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Of H)E 

{imbergttpcif J^ortf) Carolina 

Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2012 with funding from 

University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 



Illustrated Magazine 

For Young Folks. 



Part I., November, 1890, to April, 1891. 



Copyright, 1S91, by The Century Co. 

The De Vinne Press. 

Library, Univ. »f 
North C*rr»f in* 




Six Months — November, 1890, to April, 1891. 



" A Little Boy Named Johnny." Jingle. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) .... Cornelia Redmond 370 

Alligators' Funeral, The. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Elizabeth Bisland 380 

Alphabet of Rivers, An. Verse " The Traveler" 54 

Alphabet Song. Jingle. (Illustrated) Emma C. Dowd 401 

April. Poem. (Illustrated by the Author) Katharine Pyle 470 

Artful Ant, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Oliver Herford 304 

Astrologer's Niece Marries, The. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Tudor Jenks 444 

At the Nasturtium Shop. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Mrs. Valentine Adams . . . 463 

Autograph-book, My. (Illustrated by facsimiles) .' Edward Livingston Welles . . 352 


" A Youth in the days of Beau Nash." Jingle. (Illustrated by Lee ) 

Woodward) \ 45 ' 

Bare Boughs and Buds. Poem Celia Thaxter 174 

Battle, A. Poem Richard E. Burton 443 

Bobby's Christmas Dream. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Laura Lyon White. 387 

Boyhood of Michael Angelo, The. (Illustrated) Alexander Black 217 

Boy Settlers, The. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) . . . Noah Brooks 31 

121, 196, 2S9, 361, 434 

Busy Corners in the Orient. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards from ) „ 1 r,-, it- j jt 

v ....■' \ Prank Stiles Woodruff 471 

photographs) ) 

Oesar and Pompey. Verse. (Illustrated) Tudor Jenks 331 

Cause and Effect. Verse. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Margaret Vandegrift 382 

Charlie's Shadows and their Shadow House. (Illustrated by O. ) 

„ > Matlie E. Pettus 47S 

i oaspern) ^ ^ ' 

Christmas Cure, A. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Emilie Poulsson -. . 159 

Cold Weather Predicament in 1791, A. Picture, drawn by Daniel Beard 277 

Crows and the Farmer, The. Verse. (Illustrated by W. T. Smedley) . . .Margaret Vandegrift 30 

" David and Goliath " IN Naval Warfare. (Illustrated from photographs). John M. Ellicott, U. S. N. . . 23 

December. Poem. (Illustrated and engrossed by the Author) Katharine Pyle 137 

December Ditty, A. Verse Alice Williams Brotherton . . 219 

" Ding, Dong, Bell ! " Picture, drawn by Louis Wain 158 

Easter Processional, An. Poem. (Illustrated by Frank O. Small) Helen Gray Cone 481 

Elephant-hunt in Siam, An. (Illustrated by Meredith Nugent) Adele M. Fielde. 151 

Elephants. (See "A Giant with a Sweet Tooth ") 52 

Elfie's Visit to Cloudland and the Moon. (Illustrated by E. J. Austen). Frances V. Austc7i 220 

278, 344, 464 

Excellent Emu, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by A. R. Wheelan) Lsabel Frances Bellows 341 

Exclusive Old Oyster, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by Culmer Barnes). . .Laura A. Steel 78 

Family Drum Corps, A. Verse. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Malcolm Douglas 259 

Family Group, A. Picture, from a photograph 303 

First Spelling-lesson, A. Verse L. R. Baker 81 

Fortunes of Toby Trafford, The. (Illustrated by H. Sandham) J. T. Trowbridge 3 

95, 175,262, 332,421 

, Found in the Forecastle. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) W. J. Henderson 59 

"" Gates on Grandfather's Farm, The. (Illustrated by the Author) Mary LLallock Foote 411 

j " Gator," The. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Clarence B. Moore 74 

j Gentle Reminder, A. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Tudor Jenks 244 

go Giant with a Sweet Tooth, A. (Illustrated by Meredith Nugent) Caryl D. Haskins 52 

— Going to the Head. Verse. (Illustrated by Rose Mueller Sprague) Mary E. JVi/kins 271 



Golden Fleece, The Story of the. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Andrew Lang 154, 233, 272 

Good-bye. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Oliver Herford 342 

Great Fight, A. (Illustrated by A. S. Cox) Laura E. Richards 476 

Great Industrial School, A. (Illustrated by Irving R. Wiles) //. M. Neale 185 

His Profession. Verse Dr. Malcolm McLcod 397 

How the Mails are Carried. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill and E. J. Meeker) .Max Bennett 252 

Huz AND Buz. ( Illustrated by P. Audra) Laura E. Richards 343 

Investigating Committee, The. Picture 360 

Jack and Jill Reynard. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden and from a photograph) . Charles Frederick Holder ... 55 

Jingles 78, 130, 341, 370, 401, 451 

Labor of Love, A. Picture, drawn by Jessie McDennott 19 

Lady Jane. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Mrs. C. V. Jamison 43 

131, 208, 307 

Land of Pluck, The. (Illustrated by G. W. Edwards and others) Mary Mapes Dodge 106 

Languishing Linnet, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by A. R. Wheelan) Isabel Frances Bellcaas 130 

Leaf Dollies. Picture, drawn by Mary Hallock Foote 42 

Linus. (Illustrated from a photograph) De Witt C. Lockwood 384 

Little Fir-trees, The. Poem. (Illustrated by O. Toaspern) Evalcen Stein 150 

Little Foot-Page, The. Verse. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Kaiherine S. Alcorn 418 

Little Girl's Diary in the East, A. (Illustrated from photographs) . .. .Lucy Morris Ellsworth . .316, 390 

Little Holdfast. (Illustrated by George Inness, Jr.) Roswell Smith 239 

Little Lizette. Verse. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) /Catherine S. Alcorn 184 

Little Vemba Brown. (Illustrated by the frontispiece) M. M. D 21 

Little Visitor, A. Picture, drawn by G. W. Edwards 120 

Mails, The. (See " How the Mails are Carried ") 252 

Master Muffet's Mishap. (Illustrated by F. Perard) Alice Maude Ewell 142 

Mean Revenge, A. Picture, drawn by G. T. Richards 406 

Mehitable Lamb. (Illustrated by A. B. Davies) Mary E. Wilkins 296 

Merrythought, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 431 

Michael Angelo, The Boyhood of. (Illustrated) Alexander Black . 21 7 

Midnight Sun, The. (Illustrated from photographs) Herbert L. Aldrich 385 

Mules and the Electric Car, The Mary S. McCobb 8t 

My Autograph-Book. (Illustrated by facsimiles) Edward Livingston Welles . . 352 


Not an Apple Left ! Picture, drawn by Katharine Pyle 58 

November. Poem. (Illustrated and engrossed by the Author) Katharine Pyle 20 

Old Friend, An. Verse. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Celia Thaxler 64 

Old Man-of-War and the New, The. (Illustrated by H. L. Bridwell) 28 

Old-time Valentine, An. Verse. (Illustrated) Helen Gray Cone 251 

Opinion, An. Verse. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) John Kendrick Bangs 379 

Our of Childhood. Poem Helen Thayer Hutcheson. . . 369 

" Over the Roofs of the Houses I Hear the Barking of Leo." Poem R. W. Gilder 91 

Pauline and the Policeman. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden) Benjamin Webster 398 

People who Jumped, The. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) ... .Frank M. Bicknell 92 

Pictures 19, 42, 58, 120, 158, 174, 215, 216, 277, 303, 306, 360, 406 

Polar Bear for a Jailer, A. (Illustrated by E. T. Adney) : Edmund Collins 376 

Pratt Institute, The. (See a " A Great Industrial School ") 185 

Puss in the Corner. Picture, drawn by A. Brennan 306 

Queer Boy, A. Verse W. H. S 22 

Race with Idaho Robbers, A. (Illustrated by F. Remington) Joaquin Miller 138 

Reading, A Talk About Charles Dudley Warner ... 171 

Rhoda's Visit. (Illustrated by Miss Hardy) Amy Wilson 370 

Santa Claus and His Body-guard. Picture, drawn by Marie L. Kirk 216 

Santa Claus in Trouble. Picture, drawn by E. B. Bensell 1 74 

Sequel, The. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Tudor Jcnks 13 

Sewing Song. Verse. (Illustrated by Mary Hallock Foote) Mary J. Jacques 104 

Star-blossoms. Verse Bessie Chandler 463 

Story I Told the Pirate, A. ( Illustrated by H. P. Share) 78 

Talk about Reading, A Charles Dudley Warner . ... 171 



Through the Back Ages Teresa C. Crofton 65 

To A Little Chap. Verse. (Illustrated) Mary Elizabeth Blake 68 

Toll-gate Man and the Elephant, The. Picture, drawn by E. IS. Bensell 215 

To Prince Oric. Poem Louise Chandler Moullon '.'... 277 

Torpedo Boats. (See " ' David and Goliath ' in Naval Warfare ") 23 

Turtle and the Katydid, The. Verse. (Illustrated by A. R. Wheelan) . Harry Robinson 351 

What and Where? Verse Anna Hamilton 351 

What Could the Farmer Do ? Verse. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) George William Ogden 204 

Wonderful Pear-tree, The. (Illustrated) John Carson Pembroke 68 


" Little Vemba Brown," by Irving R. Wiles, facing Title-page of Volume — " Rembrandt Van Ryn," from the 
portrait by himself, page 90 — " Young Michael Angelo at Work upon his First Piece of Sculpture," from a pho- 
tograph by Emilio Zocchi, page 170 — " An Old-time Valentine," by George Wharton Edwards, page 250 — " Caesar 
and Pompey," by J. H. Dolph, page 330 — "Portrait of a Child," by Adriaen Hanneman, page 410. 

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. (Illustrated.) 

Introduction — The Silver Dollar — Sparrows on Time — The Lady in the Moon (illustrated) — A Wise Hen — 
Red Clovers and White — An Explanation Desired (illustrated), 82 ; Introduction — Wreath-maker's Song — 
Prince's Feather — Red and White Clover — Growing after a Long Sleep — The Telegraph-pole as a Store- 
house (illustrated), 162 ; Introduction — The Yule Log — An Eskimo Journal — The Watch as a Compass — A 
Long Journey for What? — Seven Thirsty Elephants (illustrated), 242: Introduction — Sport for Maldonado 
Boys — A Garden Protector — Tot's Adopted Family — Window Pictures — Was It Man's First Dwelling? 
(illustrated) — From the Deacon's Scrap-book, 322 ; Introduction — That Plant by the Telegraph-pole — An 
Indian Challenge — Who Can Tell? — More Ice Prisons — A King in a Tortoise Shell — Bird and Boy — 
Her Little Shetland Shawl, 402 ; Introduction — The Tunkuntel — Sweeping a Tree — Pickerel from the Sky 
— Brave Little Sailors of the Air — That Unfortunate Grasshopper — Flies Do Sometimes Die — What Is 
This? (illustrated) — An Answer Requested, 482. 

The Letter-box. (Illustrated) 84, 164, 245, 324, 404, 484 

The Riddle-box. (Illustrated) 87, 167, 247, 327, 407, 487 

Editorial Notes 1 66 


(SEE PAGE 21.) 


Vol. XVIII. 

NOVEMBER, 1890. 

No. 1. 


By J. T. Trowbridge. 


That was the name of the firm, lettered on 
the broad sign over the door, and Toby Trafford 
was the boy who stood gazing ruefully at it from 
the opposite side of the village street. 

The man in the blue frock-coat, with a pink 
in the buttonhole, who stopped to speak with 
him, was Mr. Frank Allerton, the new school- 
master at Lakesend. 

" The old sign could stand a new coat of 
paint as well as not, — is that what you are 
thinking ? " he asked. And without waiting for 
Toby to reply, he added, " Trafford is your 
uncle, I believe ? " 

" Oh ! no, Mr. Allerton ! " Toby faltered a 
little as he added, " My father." 

" Indeed ! I think I 've never seen him about 
the store, — have I?" said the schoolmaster, 
with a curious downward glance at the boy's 
changing countenance. 

" No, sir ; probably not," said Toby through 
close lips. 

Copyright, 1890, by The Century Co 

" Ah ! I see ! A silent partner, perhaps ? " 

"Yes, sir, — that is, — " 

The boy winked hard, and held his quivering 
lips closer still for a moment. His father was 
in the saddest sense of the word a silent partner, 
and had been for two years. " He is dead," he 
added, resolutely, after a pause. 

" Oh ! I sincerely beg your pardon, Tobias ! " 

There was a painful pause in the conversa- 
tion, during which Mr. Frank Allerton, a man 
not above thirty, but slightly bald, lifted his hat 
and arranged a little mat of thin blond hair 
combed up carefully from the sides of his head 
to cover a bare spot on the crown. He was 
always arranging that funny little twist, in 
school or out, in church and house and street, 
often to the amusement of the boys and girls 
who took note of the unconscious habit. Toby 
himself had often made fun of it. But he did 
not feel at all like making fun of it now. 

" I was n't aware, I assure you ! " Mr. Aller- 
ton gave the precious knot a final pat with his 
palm, under the uplifted hat, before covering 
himself. " I 've been so short a time in the 

All rights reserved. 



place, you know. Your father was formerly 
in business here, I infer ? " 

" Yes, sir. He and Mr. Tazwell were part- 
ners for many years. The business is still car- 
ried on with his name." 


" That fact must have a peculiar interest for 
you ? " remarked the schoolmaster, watching the 
boy's face with deepening sympathy. 

" More perhaps than you think," said Toby, 
with a troubled smile. " I 've got to make up 
my mind about keeping the name on that sign; 
it won't be repainted till I do." 

" How so ? " Mr. Allerton inquired, saying 
to himself at the same time, as he watched 
Toby's working features, — "There 's a great 
deal more to this boy than I ever supposed, 
from merely seeing him in school." 

The pupil he had thought indifferent to his 
studies and careless of the serious duties of life, 
was certainly capable of some feeling. 

A subject had been touched that Toby had 
longed to talk about with somebody besides 
his mother; and it oc- 
curred to him that here 
perhaps was a chance 
to get some good ad- 

" It has been ex- 
pected that I should go 
into the store when I 
am sixteen; and I shall 
be sixteen next month," 
he said. " But I hate 
the store ! " 

"That 's a little 
strange," replied Mr. 
Frank Allerton. " A 
store is generally 
thought an attractive 
opening by boys of your 

" Yes ; I know many 
a farmer's son who 
thinks it would be a 
fine thing to stand be- 
hind a counter, with 
white hands and a clean 
collar, and smile at the 
girls, and do up parcels. 
If I had been brought 
up to milk cows and 
dig potatoes, I suppose 
I should think so too." 
" And what is there 
about it that you es- 
pecially dislike ? " the teacher inquired. 

" I suppose the truth is, I don't care to settle 
down to any business at all," Toby confessed. 
" Anyhow, I hate confinement, and the store is 
like a prison." 

" Would you like a farmer's life ? There 's 
nothing very confining about that." Toby shook 
his head. " Or one of the professions ? Come," 
said the master, " let 's take a stroll down by 
the lake, and talk this matter over." 

His tone and manner, as they walked on 
together, were so kind and sympathetic that a 



warm glow kindled in Toby's heart. It was 
now his turn to reflect : 

" He 's something besides the ridiculous 
dandy we fellows have imagined him ; there 's 
a good heart buttoned under that blue frock- 
coat." And he blushed to think of the nick- 
name the scholars had given him. 

" Old Topknot ! " he repeated to himself. 
" Well ! there 's more sense under that little 
wisp of hair than in all our foolish pates put 

Teacher and pupil were soon on excellent 
terms ; and Toby told his troubles freely. 

No, he would not like one of the professions ; 
too much study was required in preparing for 

" I see your difficulty," said Mr. Allerton. 
" You are like most boys. They want the good 
things of life without paying the price for them ; 
they forget that work itself, the struggle for 
success, the satisfaction of accomplishing some- 
thing, the employment of our faculties : that 
these, too, are the good things of life,- — the best 
things, I sometimes think ! One likes to have 
an easy time for a few years, and then take a 
man's place in society, having an income and 
influence, without earning them by honest en- 
deavor. That 's the case with the most of us. 
How is it with you, Toby ? " 

" It is my case precisely! I should think you 
had known me all my life," said Toby. " I 
don't think I 'm a very lazy boy. But I like a 
good time and hate anything that interferes 
with it. I know it is wrong ; I know I 've got 
to settle down to something soon. Nearly all 
the property my father left was in his business, — 
in the store and the bank ; it is there yet, wait- 
ing for me to work into his place, and keep the 
name on that old sign." 

" Then why not do it ? Was it his wish ? " 
the teacher inquired. 

" Yes, it was always the talk that Tom Taz- 
well and I should go in with our fathers, before 
anybody dreamed that my father would — " 

Toby hesitated again. He could never speak 
of his father's death, even after so long a time, 
without painful emotions. 

" I am glad you have such tender memories 
of him," said the schoolmaster. 

" I never knew what a father he was, while 

he was alive," replied Toby. " Then, how I 
missed him ! I dream of him now sometimes. 
He talks to me in his old way, — so good and 
kind ! " he added, with dimming eyes. 

The schoolmaster hardly knew what to say, 
feeling as we all feel sometimes, in the pres- 
ence of grief too sacred to be intruded upon by 
commonplace words. 

After a little while Toby went on. 

" I miss his advice so much ! But I never 
seemed to care for it when he was alive, and I 
am afraid I should n't follow it even now." 

" Maybe not," said the teacher, " since you 
know what his wishes were, and yet can not 
make up your mind to act accordingly." 

This argument struck the boy forcibly. 

" I suppose I shall have to come to it," he 
said. " But though I never cared for school, the 
thought of leaving it makes me feel how foolishly 
I have been wasting my time all along, and 
how little education I shall come out with ! " 

They had reached the lake, and were stand- 
ing on the pebbly beach which the bright rip- 
ples washed. It was an afternoon in May ; 
the apple-trees in the village orchards were still 
in pink and white bloom, while the ground un- 
der the pear-trees was sprinkled with the snow 
of fallen blossoms. All along the shore were 
gardens and farms and open fields, and, in the 
distance, high wooded banks, behind which the 
sun was going down. 

The two remained silent for a few moments, 
watching the reddening tints of the western sky 
reflected in the water, beneath the mass of 
black pines; then Mr. Allerton resumed: 

" I 've an idea, Toby. I 'm not one of those 
teachers who seem to think it their duty to drive 
every boy through a course of Latin and Greek 
and mathematics, whether he likes it or not. 
But even if you think of going into business, 
or becoming a farmer or a mechanic, a certain 
amount of education is necessary, for your own 
satisfaction, as well as for success in life. You 've 
been a year in the High School, — can't you 
keep on a year or two longer, and enter the 
store a little later if you mean to enter it at all ? 
Just wake up to the real use and meaning of 
study, and I guarantee you '11 never regret it, 
whatever work you do afterward ! " 

He spoke with enthusiasm, and at the same 



time gave Toby an inspiring tap on the shoulder. 
The boy's heart beat with renewed courage and 
ambition. He was about to reply; but just 
then the appearance of a young fellow coming 



along the shore, with a dog and a gun, put a 
stop to the conversation. 



He might have been a year or two older 
than Toby. He was quite tall ; he wore a 

stylish hunting-jacket, and carried an empty 
game-bag. A good-sized dog trotted by his 

The dog was as noticeable as the boy. He be- 
longed to some shaggy 
species, which it was 
not easy to determine, 
he was so fantastically 
shorn. He was closely 
clipped, from a huge 
,,.,,, ruffle of hair about his 
neck to an enormous tuft 
on his tail, which looked 
at a distance like a stick 
with a bad hat on it. 

'• How are ye, Tom ? " 
said Toby. 

The tall boy gave him 
an insolent stare as he 
passed, and divided be- 
tween him and the 
schoolmaster a puff of 
smoke from a short pipe, 
which he took from his 

" Is n't that young 
Tazwell ? " the teacher 
inquired, after he had 

" Yes, that 's Tom, — 
Tom all over ! " said 
Toby, with a mortified 

" The boy who was 
to go into the store with 
you ? He 's wanting 
in one very important 
qualification, I should 
say, if he was to be 
my partner." 

" What 's that ? " 
" Politeness," said 
Mr. Allerton, following 
the figure of the young hunter with an indig- 
nant look. 

" Tom does make a fool of himself some- 
times," Toby replied, blushing for his friend. 
" I don't see what makes him. Our fathers 
being partners, we have been about as intimate 
as any two boys you ever saw. And yet, when 



he meets me in company, he will often put on 
airs and treat me — as you saw him." 

"That 's an abominable trait in an acquain- 
tance," said Mr. Allerton. " What right has he 
to set himself above you ? " 

" I don't know of any, unless it is that his 
folks are a little more stylish than mine, live in 
a finer house, and indulge him in some things 
which mine have never thought good for me," 
said Toby. 

" Is he in the store ? " 

" No ; he has always said he would wait and 
go in with me." 

" Then why is n't he at school ? " the master 

" And there 's another thing," said Toby. 
" His folks have always felt, and of course have 
made him feel, that he was too good to go to a 
public school, with common people's children. 
So he goes to a private school, when he goes at 
all; which is when he feels like it, and the weather 
is fine. He could never quite forgive me for 
not going with him; and that 's perhaps one 
reason why he feels above me." 

Meanwhile the smoke had been seen, and the 
report heard, of Tom Tazwell's gun, a short 
distance up the lake ; and the dog had made a 
dash into the water, in which he swam around 
with his shaggy head and tail showing like two 
balls of dark wool above the surface. 

" That 's just like Tom, to fire and send his 
dog in, just as if he had killed something ! But 
there was n't anything; I 've been watching," 
laughed Toby. 

" He seems to be coming back now ; I think 
I '11 take a little walk the other way," said Mr. 
Allerton, with a smile. " That 's your house, 
I believe, on the short street running down to 
the water ? " 

" Yes," replied Toby. " Won't you come 
home with me ? Mother will be glad to make 
your acquaintance." 

" Not this evening, thank you." And giving 
the mat of hair under his hat a little caress, the 
schoolmaster walked briskly away. 

Toby was sauntering homeward, lost in 
thought, with his head down, when by a 
glance from under his cap front, he saw ap- 
proaching Tom Tazwell and his dog. 

Remembering the recent affront, Toby re- 

solved to resent it, and turned aside up the 
bank to avoid another encounter. 

" Hallo ! What 's the row ? Where you 
bound ? " Tom called after him, in the friendliest 
manner. " Come down here, won't you ? and 
have some fun firing at a mark. We '11 set this 
tin can afloat on a chip, and see which will knock 
it off with a bullet." 

" I 've something else to think of just now," 
Toby replied sulkily, — although the tin can on 
a chip was a temptation. 

" What 's come over you ? " cried Tom. 
" Come, Toby ! I 've plenty of cartridges." 

" I '11 tell you what has come over me ! " 
said Toby, turning and confronting him. "You 
may as well know that I 'm not going to put up 
with this sort of thing any longer ! " 

"What sort of thing?" Tom demanded, star- 
ing with real or feigned surprise. 

" Why, this, if you care to know ! " ex- 
claimed the indignant Toby, — " looking down 
on me so pompously one day, and then mak- 
ing friends with me the next ; or all in the same 
day, or even in the same hour, as you 've done 
just now ! " 

" Hey ? Blest if I know what you 're talk- 
ing about ! " replied Tom, with a foolish sort 
of smile at Toby's flushing face and earnest 

"Then it 's time you did know, and I am going 
to tell you," said Toby. '.' At the reunion the 
other night, when I spoke to you in the presence 
of some girls and asked you a question, instead 
of answering like a friend, or even a gentleman, 
you looked straight over my head and merely 
muttered ' H'm ! ' just as if I had been some 
impudent fellow claiming your acquaintance." 

" Oh, Toby ! you 're too sensitive. I don't 
believe I did that," Tom feebly remonstrated. 

" You know you did," said Toby. " And the 
same thing at the cattle-fair, last autumn. Once 
when I came up to you, what did you do but 
coolly turn your back and walk off with your 
nose in the air, never giving me a look of 
recognition the whole day ? Why was that ? " 

" Why, you know, Toby," the accused one 
stammered guiltily, " I 'm awfully absent-minded 

" Very well ! I don't like that sort of absent- 
mindedness in anybody I call a friend; and I 




wish you to understand that if I 'm not good you don't believe me," Tom continued. " You 

enough to be treated civilly by you at one 
time, I can dispense with your palaver at an- 
other time," said Toby, turning to go. 

" See here, Toby ! " Tom called after him. 
" What 's the use of our misunderstanding each 
other ? " 

" I don't see any use," Toby replied. " I 'd 
like to be friends with you, if we can be friends 
all the time, and not by fits and starts, just 
when you happen to take a notion. I know 
I 'm not such a swell as you are, and I don't 
try to be." 

" I don't know just what you mean," said 
Tom. " But now we 're talking rather frankly 
to each other, let me say — may I, Toby?" 

" Say whatever you please," Toby answered, 
wondering what was coming. 

" I 've wanted to tell you for some time, 
for your own good," said Tom, with ill-con- 
cealed spite. 

" Out of pure benevo- 
lence ? " laughed Toby. 
" Well, be benevolent, 
and go on." 

" It 's about your per- 
sonal appearance," con- 
tinued Tom. " You are 
never up with the times, 
Toby. Always a little 
below par." 

"Oh! thatisit?"said 
Toby. " I am not nobby 
enough, as you fellows 
say, to be recognized by 
you in society ! Don't 
I dress decently ? " 

" That is n't the ques- 
tion," Tom replied. 
" Take that necktie, for 

and I, Toby, ought to hold up our heads higher 
than ever, just at this time. After what has 
happened — " 

" What has happened ? " Toby's curiosity 
was roused. 


" What 's the matter with the necktie ? " Toby 
desired to know. " It was a present from Mil- 
dred ; and I thought it a very pretty one." 

" Pretty enough," Tom admitted. " But 
pretty is n't the question. The style has all 
gone by. Nobody wears it now ; nobody." 

" I do," Toby retorted bluntly ; " but perhaps 
I 'm nobody." 

" I 'm talking for your own interest, though 

" Don't you know ? Well, it 's hardly out yet. 
But it will be, to-morrow. The whole town will 
buzz with it." 

" Something that concerns you and me ? " 

" Well, rather. But you need n't be in a 
hurry to hear it. Bad news can wait." 

" Bad news ? " queried Toby anxiously, while 
Tom continued to tantalize him. " Why don't 
you tell me, if you are going to ? " 


" Of course I 'm going to tell you. There 's 
my father just going away from your house 
now ! " said Tom. " He has been to tell your 
mother what he said I might tell you." 

And with astounding coolness he launched 
his little thunderbolt. 

If Toby was not quite stunned by the news, 
it was because he was incredulous. 

" It can't be ! " he exclaimed. 

" You '11 find out ! " said Tom, with a pro- 
voking nod, as he turned to go. 

" But, Tom ! " Toby called after him. " You 
would n't be out with your gun — you would n't 
be asking me to fire at a tin can on a chip — if 
such a thing as that had happened." 

" Oh, well ! I 'm not going to let it trouble 
me" replied Tom. " As I said before, you and 
I ought to hold our heads higher than ever. / 
am going to ! " 

And, suiting the action to the word, Tom 
stalked away with his chin up, followed by his 
fantastically shorn dog. 



Toby stood bewildered for a moment, gazing 
after him ; then started to walk rapidly in the 
other direction. 

The Trafford home was in an old-fashioned 
house standing a little back from the street, with 
a grassy front yard, then beginning to be green, 
a garden and a fruit-orchard on one side, and on 
the other a broad bank sloping down almost to 
the water. On that bank grew a solitary pine- 
tree, just far enough away, and tall enough, not 
to cast the shade of its majestic top on the roof 
in the afternoon, nor to intercept the view of the 
lake from the upper windows. Out of one of 
those windows a girl's bright young face was 
looking, as Toby hurried up from the shore, 
panting with haste and his burden of bad news. 

'• You 're a pretty fellow, to keep supper wait- 
ing in this way ! " the girl called out, in silvery 
tones, as soon as he came within hearing. 
" What was your quarrel with Tom Tazwell ? " 

"Has Tom's father just been here?" Toby 
asked, anxiously. 

" Answer my question and I will answer 
yours," the silvery voice replied, with a provok- 

ing laugh, from the open casement. " Was that 
Mr. Allerton with you before Tom came ? Why, 
how cross you look, Toby ! " 

" Where 's mother ? " demanded Toby. And 
without waiting to hear her evasive reply, he 
pushed through the half-open gate and entered 
the house. 

An expression of concern came over the girl's 
face as she withdrew from the window. A very 
amiable, sweet face it was, I hasten to say, lest 
the reader should rashly conclude, from witness- 
ing this little scene between brother and sister, 
that Mildred Trafford was somewhat of a vixen. 
She was no more vixenish than he was quarrel- 
some. There was a tie of sincere affection 
between them, as you would quickly have dis- 
covered if ever you had spoken- ill of one in the 
presence of the other. 

But they were like many brothers and sisters, 
such as we have all known, but have never our- 
selves been, of course. Who of us ever hectored 
a sister or teased a brother ? That was what 
Toby and Mildred Trafford did to each other 
almost every day of their lives, not from down- 
right ill nature, for they were good-hearted 
children, but from early habit, which they should 
long since have outgrown. Mildred was a year 
and a half older than Toby, and he was almost 

" It is something serious," she said to herself, 
with a twinge of regret for the irritating words 
she had flung out when he turned up at her that 
disturbed face. What was the trouble between 
him and Tom ? And what had been, just now, 
the elder Tazwell's solemn errand to their 
mother ? 

She presently went down-stairs, and found 
Toby, alone as she thought, seated by a window, 
with the sunset light from over the lake shining 
upon his agitated face. 

" Why, Toby," she said, " what \s the matter ? 
I did n't think there was anything, when I an- 
swered you in that funning way." 

" Ask her" said Toby, in a choked voice. 

Then Mildred turned and saw, in a shadowy 
corner, a small dark figure that, with the western 
light in her eyes, she had not observed before. 
It was her mother, silently weeping. 

" For mercy's sake, what is it ? " Mildred 
asked, now thoroughly alarmed. 




" It is nothing it will do any good to cry 
about," said Mrs. Trafford, resolutely drying her 
eyes. " We have met with a misfortune, my 
child. I was excited by what Mr. Tazwell had 
been telling me before Tobias came in. Will 
you tell her, Tobias ? " 

Toby sat silent, with gloomy brows. Mrs. 
Trafford drew a deep, quivering breath. Mil- 
dred turned her scared looks from one to the 
other, and entreated them to speak. 

" You know," said Toby, " I have been think- 
ing of going into the store along with Tom." 

" Yes," replied Mildred ; " only you could n't 
quite decide about it." 

" Well," said Toby, " it has been decided for 
me. Some other things have been decided too. 
Trafford & Tazwell have failed." 

" Failed ? " repeated Mildred. She evidently 
did not understand. 

" The firm is bankrupt," said Toby. " It 
can't pay its honest debts." 

" But we are not to blame for that, are we ? 
I am sure worse things might have happened," 
she replied, with a dazed look. 

" That is bad enough," said Toby. " Mother 
never had a settlement with Mr. Tazwell. Al- 
most everything we had was in his hands. And 
now, what are we going to do ? What am I fit 
for? And mother, — she can't go to making 
dresses or keeping boarders. What would 
father say ? " he went on, bitterly. " Think of 
its happening with his name on the old sign ! " 

" Does it leave us without anything ? " asked 
Mildred in dismay. 

Mrs. Trafford hoped it was not quite so bad 
as that. She was dressed in black, a slight, 
sensitive, nervous woman, with small, fine fea- 
tures, and bright hazel eyes that shone with 
spirit now that she had dried her tears. She 
had meant to dry them before they were seen 
by the children for the sake of whom they 
were shed. 

" We own this place," said Toby. 

" If it cannot be taken to pay the debts of 
the firm," his mother replied, " and Mr. Taz- 
well assures me it cannot. But he has assured 
me of so many things that have not turned out 
quite as he has said they would, I am beginning 
to lose confidence in him. I ought not to say 
it to you, children; I ought not to say it at all; 

perhaps I ought not to think it. But there has 
been gross mismanagement — to say the least." 

" How long has it been going on ? " Toby 

" I don't know. Never till this day has he 
given me a hint that the business was not flour- 
ishing," she explained. " True, it has been hard 
for me to get much money from him, for a year 
or more ; I have had barely enough for our ex- 
penses as you know." 

" While look at the way the Tazwells have 
lived ! " exclaimed Toby. 

" In their new house, which they have built 
within two years ! " struck in Mildred ; " while 
we have had to be content with our old one ! " 
She had felt that. " Why has n't he told you 
what was coming ? " 

" Because he says he wished to spare my 
feelings; and because he hoped the firm might 
pull through." 

The widow was accustomed to speak of the 
" firm," although Mr. Tazwell had had no part- 
ner since her husband's death. She had con- 
tinued to feel that the main interest of the 
family was in the business which the father had 
built up, and which the son was expected to 
work into in his turn. 

" He built it up," she said, " and took Thomas 
Tazwell into partnership, — he was only his 
clerk, before — and trusted him as he would a 
brother. In his will he left everything to me, 
as you know, — to be used for your benefit, of 
course. It was his wish that I should keep an 
interest in the business for you, Toby ; and that 
I should consult Mr. Tazwell on all important 
matters. I have done so ; and as long as we 
have had a comfortable income, I have been 

" What does the man say for himself? " Toby 
asked, impatiently. 

"He says the business of the store has fallen 
off since the railroad was completed, instead of 
being helped by it as was expected. People 
who used to do all their trading here, now find 
it convenient to do a large part of it in the city. 
But it is the banking business that has suffered 
most. Your father was very cautious in that, 
and he always meant to keep it subordinate. 
But Mr. Tazwell enlarged it ; and hard times 
and bad loans have ruined him." 



I I 

" And the West Quarry bonds ? " Toby asked. 

" That is one of the transactions that have 
caused me to lose confidence in Mr. Tazwell. 
It was by his advice that I bought them." 

" From him ? '' 

" Of course," said the widow. " That was a 
year and a half ago. I took them in place of 
money due me, on his assurance that they were 
perfectly good. But the interest has been paid 
on them only once since, and I fear they are 
worthless. He has promised to make good to 
me the final loss, if there should be any, — which 
he would never admit ; so I have felt easy about 
them. But now what can I think ? It is all a 
tangled affair. I have been very much to 
blame," the widow declared. 

" No, Mother ! " cried Mildred, dropping on 
a hassock beside her and clasping her hands. 
" How can you say that, since father advised 
you to be guided by Mr. Tazwell's advice ? 
How could you know ? She shall not blame 
herself. Shall she, Toby ? " 

" What 's done can't be helped," said Toby, 
gloomily. " How about the lake-side lot ? " 

" That came to me like the bonds," replied 
the widow. " Mr. Tazwell turned over to me 
a mortgage, which has had to be foreclosed. 
So I have that unproductive piece of land. He 
has promised to make that good, too, but what 
can all such promises be worth to us now ? I 
should have guarded your interests better ! " 
she went on, with keen self-reproach, " but I 
have been as ignorant of business as a child." 

" How could you be otherwise ? " returned 
Mildred, still on her knees, holding both her 
mother's hands and looking up lovingly and 
anxiously into her face. " Toby ! why don't you 
say something to comfort her ? " 

" It is for me to comfort you, my dear, good 
children," said the widow, her tears starting 
again at these words of sympathy. 

" Of course, you 're not to blame," Toby 
muttered, running his fingers fiercely through 
his hair, — a dark auburn, to which the western 
light gave a reddish tinge, as he rumpled it over 
his forehead. " That Tom ! " he added, as if 
thinking aloud. " Going to hold his head 
higher than ever, is he ? The whole family 
will, I suppose, for that matter." 

" Don't say a word against Mrs. Tazwell, I 

beg of you ! " exclaimed his mother. " It is n't 
her doings, nor dear little Bertha's, nor Tom's." 

" Think of him out gunning this very after- 
noon ! " Toby couldn't get over that. " And 
telling me the news almost as if it was a joke ! " 

" Never mind him now," said Mildred. " I 
want mother to feel that she is not to be wor- 
ried on our account. We can manage to live. 
You and I can do something, can't we, Toby ? " 

" My darling, darling child ! " said the widow 
with a gush of grateful affection. Releasing 
one hand, she gave the beautiful young head in 
her lap a passionate caress. " You make me 
very happy ! " 

Toby, still grumbling and glowering over 
Tom's treatment of him that afternoon, had to 
turn his face to the window and wink away a 
tear. Then he rose and walked excitedly about. 

"If only the business had been what we sup- 
posed it was, then I should know what / would 
do ! " he said. 

How little had he thought that he would 
ever regret not going into the store ! But now 
it seemed to him that he had missed such a 
chance as might never come again. 



After a meeting of the creditors, Mr. Taz- 
well called again upon the widow. He was a 
tall man, very neatly dressed, with a decided 
stoop in the shoulders, and a genial, persuasive 
manner. He stooped still more, in the most 
expressive, sympathic way, taking her passive 
little hand in his cordial grasp, when she re- 
ceived him in her small parlor. 

" You did wrong," he said, " not to attend 
the meeting to-day." 

" It would have done no good for me to be 
present," Mrs. Trafford replied. " I know noth- 
ing about business. And the whole thing is 
too distressing." 

" There you are wrong again," he said, 
dropping his gloves in his hat, which he placed 
on the table. " You ought not to take it so 
to heart, as I said to you the other day. My 
dear woman ! " he continued, with moist, sym- 
pathetic eyes, " it will all come out right; never 
fear. I made the creditors a proposition, which 



will undoubtedly be accepted ; if it is, the busi- 
ness will go on as before. Then, if I live, 
my dear Mrs. Trafford, everything shall be 
made right, to the last dollar. I wish you could 
have been present, if only to see how carefully 
I guarded your interest." 

A sad, incredulous smile was her only reply. 

" Although you have kept, in a certain sense, 
an interest in the business," he proceeded, flood- 
ing her with the sunshine of his friendliest smile, 
" I convinced the creditors that you are in no 
way responsible for the failure — " 

" I should say not ! " she exclaimed, with a 
sparkle of her bright brown eyes. 

" Which was easy enough," he admitted ; " and 
that your husband's estate should not be held 
liable for any of the debts. That was not so 
easy. But I urged the point on the grounds 
of humanity ; and it was conceded. ' Not one, 
not one of you, I am sure,' I said, ' would wish 
to distress a poor widow.' So, in the settle- 
ment, you will be regarded simply as a creditor, 
not as a partner." 

" I don't pretend that I understand it all," 
Mrs. Trafford replied. " But it does seem only 
just that our little inheritance should not be 
seized for debts incurred since my husband died, 
and which I have known nothing about." 

" Absolutely just, Madam. Yet some of the 
creditors might make trouble for you, if I had 
not created so warm a feeling in your favor." 

" I am certainly obliged to you," said the 
widow, wondering whether, after all, she had 
not done this man injustice. " You spoke of a 
proposition. I don't suppose I can understand 
it, but I should like to know what it was." 

" It was this," Mr. Tazwell replied, put- 
ting the fingers of his two hands together, to 
help him along in his explanation ; the upshot 
of which was, that he had offered to settle with 
his creditors by paying thirty cents on a dollar. 

" That seems very little ! " she exclaimed. 

" But it is more than they could get if they 
should force me into bankruptcy," he smilingly 
argued. " I can pilot the wreck into port bet- 
ter than any other man ; in other words, by go- 
ing on with the business, I can do better for the 
creditors than they can do for themselves. They 
see that. And, my dear woman ! — " 

Then came out the real motive of his visit, 
which was, to induce her to accept his thirty 
cents on a dollar. He took the agreement from 
his pocket ; however, she declined to sign it. 

" Not now," she said. " I must know more 
about the matter first. I fear I may be wrong- 
ing my children." 

" I thank you for mentioning them," Mr. 
Tazwell blandly replied, making a tube of the 
paper in his delicate hands. " It brings me to 
a matter which I wish to speak to you about. 
Your son Tobias. What is he going to do ? " 

" I don't know ! Of course, he has given up 
all idea of going into the store." 

" Why so ? You are really taking this affair 
too seriously, Mrs. Trafford. I shall always 
consider," he went on, " that you have an in- 
terest in the business, and that the son of my 
old partner and best friend belongs in that store. 
There will be a change, under the new organi- 
zation. I shall have to cut down expenses by 
taking Thomas in ; — why not have Tobias go 
in too ? He will begin with a small salary, and 
end — I have no doubt — as a partner. I don't 
believe he can find anywhere a better opening," 
he concluded, making a confident gesture with 
his roll of paper. 

This was a new surprise to the widow. 

" But if the business is falling off, as you 
have said, — " 

" I see ways of building it up again," he 
interrupted her. " Are you aware of the fact 
that Lakesend is destined to become a great 
summer resort ? This season there will be more 
visitors here than ever before. They all bring 
business ; and we propose to keep the cream of 
it, as we have always done. Where is Tobias ? 
I wonder what he will say to the plan ? " 

Tobias was in the adjoining room, and could 
not help hearing a large part of this conversa- 
tion ; but he did not come forth to answer the 
visitor's question. 

" So you don't feel quite ready to sign this 
agreement ? " Mr. Tazwell remarked, as he 
was about to go. " I think you had better. 
You will be doing only what all the rest do ; 
for unless all sign it, of course it will amount to 
nothing. Come, my dear woman ! " 

And Mrs. Trafford signed. 

(To be continued.) 


By Tudor Jknks. 

My rudeness, as usual, was entirely uninten- 
tional ; I meant to have given him my undi- 
vided attention. But the long roll of the 
steamer, the soft ocean breeze, and the flapping 
wings of the sea-gulls must have overpowered 
me. At all events I slept, and heard only the 

The steamer ran between Calcutta and Liv- 
erpool, and was on her return voyage. Among 
the passengers was Mr. Chubaiboy Mudjahoy, 
supposed to be an East Indian gentleman from 
the interior. Attracted by his quiet and intel- 
lectual face, I had become well acquainted with 
him, and our acquaintance had grown, during 
the long voyage, almost to intimacy. Upon 
the day of which I am speaking we had been 
much together. He grew communicative, and 
at last proposed to tell me the story of his life. 

To my surprise, he said that the impression 
that he was an East Indian was without foun- 
dation in fact ; that he came from Thibet, from 
an unknown district of that unexplored region. 

If I remember correctly, he related a mar- 
velous story of having entered into competition 
for the hand of a neighboring princess. This 
part, so far as I recall it, was quite in the old- 
fashioned fairy-tale style; and the tests required 
of the candidates were certainly astounding. 
One I remember vaguely was to bring the favor- 
ite uncut pigeon's-blood ruby from the Bajah 
of Camaraputta, a cruel Indian magnate. 

Here it was, however, that the sea began to 
gently roll, the breeze to soothingly blow, and 
the sea-gulls to drowsily flap their limber wings. 
I slept some time, for when, thoroughly refreshed, 
I blinked hazily to waking, all I heard was : 

" And so I married the Princess ! " 

I was sorry to have lost the story, for it was, 
no doubt, just the sort I like. But I did not 
dare to confess my doze, so I said as brightly as 
I could : 

" And lived happily ever after ! " 

Mudjahoy moved uneasily and replied : 

" Well, hardly. Of course I expected to ! 
but then you know that real life is often differ- 
ent from what the kindly story-tellers would 
have it. No. I can't say we lived happily 


ever after. Nor was it Dorema's fault. I have 
met a number of princesses, and I really can 
not see that my Dorema has any superiors." 

" How then do you explain it ? " I asked. 
(Of course I had to be a little cautious in my 
questions, for fear of bringing up references to 
points I had missed during my nap.) 

" I '11 tell you the story, if you have not heard 
too much already ? " 

" Oh, no ! " I replied ; " not at all too much. 
Pray go on." 

So Mudjahoy told me the second part. I have 
always regretted that I heard only this sequel. 
I tell it in his words : 

You can see that after having accomplished 
such a series of tasks I was sure to be respected 
and envied at court. We passed the honey- 
moon in the mountains, and as we took but a 
small retinue, several thousands, Dorema often 
spoke of the strange solitude as a delicious rest 
after the bustle and turmoil of court life. 




For my part, even in my happiness with Do- 
rema, — she was really charming! — I found the 
retinue something of a bore. At home, I had 
never been attended by more than three or four 
servants, while here I had to find employment 
and use for a hundred times as many. It was 
really one of the minor nuisances of my new 

If the old King had not abdicated, it would 
have been easier ; but now all his servants were 
added to the new ones purchased or given as 
wedding-presents to me. 

It was like this : 

If I wished to shave in the morning in the 
old days, I would heat some water, strop my 
razor and whip up some lather, and shave 
away ; but as a king it was very different. As 
a king, I had first to clap my hands. Enter a 
small boy in white linen. To him I intimated 
my desire to see one of the high officials. High 
official arrives, and I say : " We wish to shave 
our effulgent self." High official says: "Oh, 
very good, Most Particularly Noble Cousin of 
the Dog-star," and so on. Then he disappears 
and sends the Chamberlain to tell the Seneschal 
to tell the Chief Barber that his Imperial Master 
wishes to be shaved. Not to weary you, after 
some more, many more, wholly unnecessary and 
irritating ceremonies, behold me ready to be 
shaved ! 

I am extended at length in a chair, being 
lathered by the First Latherer in Waiting, while 
the Bowl-holder or one of his assistants stands 
by with the lathering mug, and is supported by 
the Brush Receiver. The Chief Barber sits in 
state, fanned by two slaves, while the Razor- 
Stropper Extraordinary (a very powerful and 
much courted personage, as expert ones are 
rare) is getting the razor to an edge. He also 
is fanned by a fan-bearer or two. The Lord- 
High- Wielder of the Towel, and the Bay-Rum 
Custodian, also with attendants, are near, and 
in the ante-room I hear a confused murmur of 
voices, showing that the Court Surgeon and 
Court-Plaster-Bearer are, with their retinues, 
within call. 

It was not so much the crowd of people that 
annoyed me, but then it took so long to be 
shaved. We would begin at, say, ten o'clock, — 
they would n't hear of my getting up earlier! — 

and frequently when the last bit of lather was 
removed from my royal ear, it would be half- 
past one in the afternoon ! 

I give this only as a sample part of my day. 
It is vividly recalled because it was one of the 
earliest of the inconveniences attaching to my 
newly acquired royalty. Of course it is only a 
specimen brick — there were dozens of a similar 

It was only after I returned to the capital and 
took up my residence in the palace, that I felt 
sufficiently at home to make an objection. 

One memorable day, a Thursday, I betook 
myself to my dressing-room and clapped my 
hands thrice. The linen-wrapper boy entered. 
I hated the sight of him already. 

" Bring us a new turban," I said shortly. 

"O Brother-in-Law of the Pleiades — "said 
the boy in a trembling tone. 

" Speak up, copper-colored child," I answered 
a little impatiently. " What are you afraid of? " 

" O your Imperial Highestness of the Solar 
System, your rays need clipping ! " replied the 
boy violently making salams. 

" I was shaved yesterday," I said. 

" But — " began the boy. 

" By the royal Palanquin ! " I broke out. 
" send in the Master of Ceremonies ! " The boy 
vanished, and soon with a sound of bugles, 
shawms, and tubas (several out of tune, too), the 
Master of Ceremonies, and his retinue, came in. 
This took about half an hour. When they were 
all settled I said : 

"O Master of Ceremonies and — and such 
things" (I forgot the proper titles for a mo- 
ment), " we would hold converse with thee apart, 
as it were." 

Again the wind instruments were wound, the 
brass band and retinue took its devious course 
along the corridors, and the music and marching 
gradually died away. This took about twenty 

" Now that we are alone," said I to the Mas- 
ter of Ceremonies, "let 's have a reasonable talk." 

" O Nephew of — ! " he began. 

" Never mind the astronomy," I broke in, 
" but proceed to business." 

" Yes, Sire," he answered in a terrible fright, 
no doubt expecting the bowstring. 

" Don't be a fool ! " said I. " I 'm not going 


to hurt you. Stand up and 
have some style about 
you ! " 

So he did, somewhat re- 

" Now," I said, " I 'm 
tired of all this fuss. Bring 
me a razor, and I '11 shave 

" But, your Serene Im- 
perialness — " 

" See here ! " I said posi- 
tively; "there 'snot a hearer 
around. Just drop the titles ff>^5> 
and call me Mudjahoy or 
I '11 have you beheaded!" 

" Well, Mudjahoy," said 
the Master of Ceremonies 
easily. " I 'm afraid that 
it can't be done ! " 

" Can't be done ? Am I 
the Emperor of this place, 
or — what am I ? " 

" Why, of course, Mud- 
jahoy, you 're Emperor, and 
all that," he answered with 
an ease of manner that sur- 
prised me; "but then there 
are a great many things to 
be considered." 

" Well, go on," said I ; 
" but I 'd like to have this 
thing settled one way or 
the other. Speak freely." 

" It 's just this way," said 
the Master of Ceremonies: 
" what would you do with 
the Chief Barber ? " 

" Do with the Chief 
Barber ? Why, nothing. 
He could do with himself." 

" But his salary is enor- 

" Cut it down." 

" But he is a very influen- 
tial man ; he has dependent 
upon him, directly or indi- 
rectly, about twenty thou- 
sand men, and these men 
with their families are a 






powerful faction. Then, too, the officials whose same way you could justify any foolishness 
duties are similar — such as the First Turban- whatever. You would prevent all reforms." 
Twister, the Sandal-Strapper and his under- "Oh, no!" said the Master of Ceremonies; 


stiappers, and so on — would make common "oh, no, Mudjahoy. Not reforms, but rev- 
cause with him. You see ? " olutions. You can very easily institute reforms ; 
" Yes, I see," I said thoughtfully ; " but in the but you must go slowly." 





" But," I objected, " you as the official in 
charge of ceremonies may well be prejudiced. 
Let us have the Grand Vizier summoned." 

" That will take an hour, at least," answered 
the Master of Ceremonies, who really seemed 
a very nice fellow when you knew him well. 

" Well, you slip out and get him on the sly," 
I answered, with an unofficial wink. 

" All right, Mudjahoy," he said, and out he 
went whistling a popular air. 

While he was gone, it occurred to me that I 
was now a married man, and that Dorema was 
certainly entitled to know of the step which I 
was contemplating. So, by the aid of four or 
five assistants, I caused her to be summoned. 

She arrived a moment before the Grand 
Vizier made his appearance. 

" I have called you, my dear Mrs. Mudjahoy 
— " I began, but she interrupted me. 

" You must n't call me that ! " she said, look- 
ing shocked. 

" Why not ? " I asked. 

" You must say, ' my Imperial Consort,' " she 
replied, taking a seat upon a divan. 

" Oh, no. Mrs. Mudjahoy is a pet name," I 
explained. She was pacified, and I proceeded : 
" I have called you, Mrs. Mudjahoy, to be pres- 
ent at the beginning of a Great Reform. I am 
about to make our life simpler, more enjoyable, 
and less burdensome in every way." 

" Do you find it burdensome so soon ? " she 
asked reproachfully, turning away her lovely 
head and trying to coax out a sob. 

I saw I had made a mistake. " Not at all," 
I answered hurriedly; "but — here comes the 
Grand Vizier ; you listen attentively, and you 
will soon understand it all." 

The Grand Vizier entered. He seemed ill at 
ease, and I saw that he had a scimitar under 
his caftan. 

" What does the Celestial Orb require of the 
humblest of his slaves ? " said the Grand Vizier, 
prostrating himself. 

" Oh, get up ! " I said wearily. Then I asked 
the Master of Ceremonies to explain how the 
interview was to be conducted. So while Do- 
rema and I exchanged a few tender nothings 
about the weather, the Master of Ceremonies 
explained to the Grand Vizier the nature of the 
conversation I had held with him that morning. 
Vol. XVIII.— 3. 

The Grand Vizier seemed much impressed. I 
saw him tap his forehead inquisitively and feel 
for his scimitar. But the Master of Ceremonies 
soon reassured him. Then they turned to me. 

" See here, Mudjahoy, old man," began the 
Vizier, with a refreshing absence of convention- 
ality. Dorema looked horrified. She was about 
to clap her hands, undoubtedly to order the 
Vizier's instant execution, but I restrained her. 

" Vizier," I said, " I do not care for ceremony, 
but civility is a sine qua non." (That staggered 
him; he was weak on Latin.) "So drop the 
titles, but proceed carefully. Now go on." 

He went on : " Mudjahoy, sire, I have been 
told of your contemplated reforms, and I am 
bound to tell you, as an honest adviser, that 
they will not work. You propose to dismiss 
the Chief Barber?" 

" I do," said I firmly. 

" And, I suppose, the Turban-Twister, and 
so on ? " 

" Yes." 

" And to live in a -simple and businesslike 
way ? " 

" I do," I replied. 

" Well," said he, spinning his turban upon his 
forefinger and looking at it with one eye closed, 
" it will never do in the world — never ! There 
was formerly an autocrat who tried to run this 
government on business principles, and — " he 
paused and sighed. 

" Where is he ? " I asked. 

" The Garahoogly contains all that is mortal 
of him, — in a sack!" said the Grand Vizier 

Dorema clung to me and looked at my face 

" No matter," I said determinedly ; " I shall 
carry out these reforms." 

" You will fail," said the Master of Ceremo- 
nies, and the Grand Vizier nodded solemnly. 

" So be it ! " I said. " Kismet. I shall there- 
fore request you, Grand Vizier, to give public 
notice of the abolition of all useless offices, of 
which I will give you a list after dinner." 

" But consider ! " said Dorema, in a low, 
frightened tone. 

" Would you rather be the Imperial Consort 
Dorema, Queen and Empress of King Chubai- 
boy the First," I asked her proudly, " and have 



to be at the beck and call of all these palace 
nuisances, — or would you rather be my own 
Mrs. Mudjahoy, free to do as you please ? " 

For a moment she hesitated, and I trembled. 
But, brightening up, she asked : " And travel 
incog.? " 

" Certainly," I answered ; " nay, more : live 
incog, wherever we choose ! " 

" I 'm for Reform and Mrs. Mudjahoy," re- 
plied my lovely bride. 

The Vizier and Masterof Ceremonies remained 
respectfully silent during our interview. Then 
the Vizier asked me : " Do you intend to abol- 
ish the Royal White Elephant ? " 

" Precisely," I answered. " That albino sine- 
cure will be the first to go on the list." 

" Is your life insured ? " asked the Master of 
Ceremonies politely but impressively. 

" No," I said. Dorema sighed. " But," said 
I, " you will see that the whole people will hail 
me as their deliverer." 

" We shall see," said the Vizier, but I did n't 
like the inflections he chose. 

Declaring the interview at an end, I dismissed 
my ministers, said farewell to my brave queen, 
and gave the rest of the day to the preparation of 
the List. It was comprehensive and complete. 

" There ! " said I, as I laid down my reed 
pen and corked the inkhorn ; " to-morrow will 
look upon an enfranchised people ! " 

But the Grand Vizier was a man of consider- 
able wisdom. We were awakened the next 
morning by a confused sound of murmuring 
beneath the palace windows. I rose and threw 
open the flowered damask curtains. 

The whole courtyard was filled with a tumul- 
tuous mob armed with an assortment of well- 
chosen weapons. They carried banners, hastily 
made but effective, upon which I read at a 
glance a few sentences like these : 

" Down with the Destroyer of our Homes ! " 

" Chubaiboy to the Garahoogly ! " 

" We must have our White Elephant ! " 

" The Chief Barber or Death ! " 

" Turban-Twister Terrors ! " and so on. Before 
I could read more, I saw the Chief Barber on 
the back of the White Elephant at the head of 
the mob. He was a Moor. 

" O Chubaiboy ! " said he, wielding a bright 
razor so that he reflected the rays of the morn- 

ing sun into my eyes. " Will you abdicate, or 
shall it be the sack and the gently flowing 
Garahoogly ? " 

" Where is the Grand Vizier ? " I said, after a 
moment's hesitation. 

" Here, your Majesty," answered that official. 
I saw he was in command of the right wing of 
the mob. He looked very well, too. 

" And the Master of Ceremonies ? " 

" Here, your Highness," was the answer. 
He apparently led the left wing. 

" And are you both against me ? " I asked. 

" We are ! " they answered respectfully, but 
with considerable decision. 

" And where are my adherents ? " I shouted. 

" Here ! " said a sweet voice at my side. It 
was Dorema. 

" Here ! " said another soft voice. It was the 
boy in starched linen. I almost liked him at 
that moment. 

" Any others ? " 

Then there followed a silence so vast that I 
could hear a fly buzzing derisively on the 
window-pane above me. 

" And you are not in harmony with the Ad- 
ministration ? " I asked the mob. 

" No ! " It was unanimous. 

" Very well," I said. " Then I resign, of 
course. Let me thank you, my late subjects, 
for your prompt and decisive interest in public 
affairs. I had meant to carry out some much- 
needed reforms, and I had some thoughts that 
they would fill a long-felt want. Thanking you 
for this early serenade, and with the highest re- 
spects for you all and for all your families, from 
myself and from Mrs. Mudjahoy, I abdicate. 
Good-bye ! " 

There were some cheers, I think from Dorema 
and the linen-coated boy. Then the mob cheered 
for the Chief Barber, and I saw that my suc- 
cessor was already chosen. 

We left that afternoon, and purely as a matter 
of humanity took the linen-coated boy with us ; 
for I felt sure that he would not be popular nor 
long-lived if he should remain at home. He 
is a little afraid of me, but is useful. 

We made our way to Calcutta, and took the 
steamer for Liverpool. 

At this moment Mr. Mudjahoy was inter- 



rupted. His graceful wife came to his chair 
and touched him on the shoulder. 

" Come," she said. " It is chilly on deck." 
" Certainly," answered Mudjahoy, rising ; 
" but let me first present my friend to you." 
I was presented , and soon after said : 
" Mr. Mudjahoy disbelieves the fairy-tales." 

" I do not understand ? " said Mrs. Mudjahoy. 

" He thinks that the hero and princess are 
not always ' happy ever after,' " I said. 

" Why, — but they are ! " said Mrs. Mudjahoy. 
" Are n't they Chubaiboy ? " 

" On reflection, I think so too ! " said he. 

Then they bade me good-night. 





Now the cold wind rattles 

In the icy sedge, 
And the sparrows ruffle 

In the leafless hedge . 

Past the wood and meadow, 

On the frozen pool 
All the boys go skating, 

When they come from school 

The river too was frozen - ; 

I saw it far away , 
And wished that I could trace it , 

Skating night and day, 

Up to where the ice-bergs, 

On the polar sea, 
Float, like glittering castles , 

Waiting there for me. 

K .Pyle 


By M. M. D. 

Vemba was a new name in the Brown fam- 
ily ; and, very properly, it was given to a brand- 
new girl, the sweetest, prettiest mite of a girl, 
in fact, that ever had been given to the Brown 
household. To be sure, six years before they had 
welcomed a Morris Brown nearly as small and 
sweet and pretty, and, later on, a Harris Brown, 
who began life as- a baby of the very first qual- 
ity ; but they, both, were boys. And here was 
a girl ! She was so new that she did not know 
Morris and Harris were in the house. Think 
of that ! And if she had noticed them, she would 
not have had the slightest idea who they were. 
Dear me ! How very well acquainted the three 
became after a while ! But at first, when the 
little girl was only a few weeks old, she was 
still quite a stranger to the boys and had no 
other name than Miss Brown; yet she had the 
air of owning not only Mr. and 'Mrs. Brown, 
but all the family, and the very house they lived 
in. Why, the King of the .Cannibal Islands 
himself could not have made her change coun- 
tenance unless she chose to do so. 

Well, there they were, — Morris Brown, aged 
six years, Harris Brown, aged three, and Miss 
Brown of hardly any age at all. These were 
the Brown children. 

" A bonny little lady," said Uncle Torn, who 
had come all the way from Philadelphia to take 
a look at the baby. At this point of time, as he 
gazed at her through his spectacles, all the 
family crowded around; the boys, proud and 
happy, stood on either side of him to hear what 
his opinion might be. 

" A bonny little lady," repeated Uncle Tom; 
" and now, Stephania, what are you going to 
call her?" 

He turned so suddenly upon Mrs. Brown, in 
his brisk way, that it made her start. 

"Dear me! I — I — don't know," she an- 
swered. " Some novel, pretty name, of course ; 
something fanciful ; but we have n't settled upon 
one yet." 

" Why not call her Stephania, after you and 
me ? " asked Grandmamma, brightly. 

"Oh, dear, no," sighed Mrs. Brown; "I 'd 
like something not so horri , I mean, some- 
thing more fanciful than that!" 

" Well, I declare ! " exclaimed Grandmamma, 
and she closed her lips as if resolved never to 
say another word about it. 

" We have thought of Marjorie," remarked 
Mr. Brown, with a funny twinkle in his eyes, 
" and, ahem ! two or three others, — Mabel, for 
instance, and Ida, and Irene, and Clara, and 
Jean, and Olivia, and Francesca, Florence, too, 
and Lily, and Alice, and Elinor, and Anita, and 
Jessie, and Dora, and Isabel, and Bertha, and 
Louise, and Candace, and Alma ; but Stephania 
condemns every one of them as too plain or too 
hackneyed. The fact is, all the pretty names 
are used up." 

Just then the wind howled dismally; sere 
and yellow leaves whirled past the windows. 

" Goodness, what weather ! " exclaimed 
Grandmamma. " Bleak even for November — 
is n't it ? " 

" Here 's sunshine, though," murmured Mrs. 
Brown, cheerily. " You 're a 'ittle pessus bit 
of booful sunshine, so you is, even if you is a 
poor 'itty 'Vember baby ! " and she fell to kiss- 
ing Miss Brown in the most rapturous manner. 

" Ha ! there it is ! " cried Uncle Tom. " Vem- 
ba 's her name. Her mother has said it. Let us 
call her Vemba ! " 

Every one laughed, but Uncle Tom was in 
earnest ; besides, he had to take the afternoon 
train back to Philadelphia, — and you know how 
they always rush matters through in Philadel- 

" It 's a good name, and new," he said, nod- 
ding his head in a rotary way that somehow 
took in Mr. Brown, Mrs. Brown, Grandma 
Brown, Morris Brown, Harris Brown, and Miss 
Brown. " It 's a good name. Think it over. 
I must be off ! " 



" Vemba, from November ? " cried Grandma. 
" What a bleak name ! Do you want the poor 
child to be a shadow on the house ? " and the 
dear old lady flourished her knitting as she 

Whether it was the gleam of the long needles, 
or Uncle Tom's frantic but slow way of putting 
on his coat, — or whether Miss Brown, catching 
Grandma Brown's words, had suddenly resolved 
to show them that she had n't the slightest in- 
tention in the world of being a shadow on the 
house, I do not know. But certain it is she 
smiled, — smiled the brightest, sunniest little 
smile you can imagine. 

All the family were delighted. The boys 
shouted, Papa laughed, Mamma laughed, Un- 
cle Tom laughed, and Grandma exclaimed, 
"Well, I never!" 

" She 's answered you, Grandma," cried Uncle 
Tom, bending down with only one sleeve of his 
overcoat on, — and actually kissing the baby, — 
" she has answered you. Ha, ha ! No clouds 
about her; you see she 's a sunshine-girl. Well, 

good-bye, little Vemba ! good-bye, all," and he 
was out of the room and on his way to the train 
before the baby had time to blink. 

Well, to make a long story short, the more 
they thought about the new name, the better 
they liked it. Besides, Morris and Harris, who 
adored Uncle Tom, would hear of no other. 
Papa declared it was not " half bad," and even 
Mamma admitted that at least it was not com- 
monplace. Meantime, the baby fell into a pleas- 
ant sleep. 

When she awoke her name was Vemba Brown. 

That was four years ago, this November, and 
now every one says that of all the sweet, sunny, 
bright little girls in New York, Vemba Brown 
is the sunniest, brightest, and sweetest. She is 
now thoroughly acquainted with Morris and 
Harris ; and as for Uncle Tom — well, you 
should have seen her hug and kiss him the other 
day when that gentleman told the wee maiden 
that bleak November would soon be here, and 
gave her a beautiful new Fall walking-suit and 
a soft white muff to keep her little hands warm ! 


By W. H. S. 

He does n't like study, it " weakens his eyes," 
But the " right sort " of book will insure a surprise. 
Let it be about Indians, Pirates, or Bears, 
And he 's lost for the day to all mundane affairs ; — 
By sunlight or gaslight his vision is clear. 
Now, is n't that queer ? 

At thought of an errand, he 's " tired as a hound," 
Very weary of life, and of " tramping around." 
But if there 's a band or a circus in sight, 
He will follow it gladly from morning till night. 
The showmen will capture him, some day, I fear, 
For he is so queer. 

If there 's work in the garden, his head " aches to split," 
And his back is so lame that he " can't dig a bit." 
But mention base-ball, and he 's cured very soon ; 
And he '11 dig for a woodchuck the whole afternoon. 
Do you think he " plays 'possum"? He seems quite sincere; 
But — is n't he queer ? 


By John M. Ellicott, U. S. N. 

If you take your Bible and turn to Chap- 
ter xvii. of i. Samuel, you may read just the 
sort of story I am about to tell : Of two great 
nations facing each other in battle array, — the 
army of one cowed and despairing because in 
the other there is a mighty creature who is so 
gigantic and so strong that he can taunt and 
harass and crush any of them without fear of 
being hurt himself. He is big and powerful, 
he wears impenetrable armor, and his weapons 
are so heavy that none can withstand them. 

Reading on, you will see how one day there 
went out from the despondent army to meet this 
terrible warrior, a youth — a mere boy — with- 
out shield or breastplate, and carrying an un- 
tried weapon. It was a forlorn hope, but the 
youth was stout of heart and full of confidence. 
What was the result ? The lad approached his 
gigantic adversary, and unmoved by his taunts 
and threats adjusted a missile coolly and with 
care. The lad's aim was perfect ; the giant was 
struck ; the giant fell dead ! 

Now I shall tell you how just such a thing is 
done on the sea in a modern naval war. The 
mighty giant is a battle-ship. Its iron sides 
are thicker than stone walls. Its enormous 
guns can throw a shot ten miles. Its small 
guns can fire so fast as to cover the water with 
bullets plenty as hail. In all its arrogant 
majesty and might, it steams about in front of 
a wealthy seaport. The guns of the defending 
forts are firing continually, but out of hundreds 
of shells not a dozen hit the mark, and even 
these few seem to fall harmless from the invul- 
nerable sides. With the unconcern of perfect 
confidence in its strength and safety it ignores 
the flaming fortresses. The great guns swing 
slowly around until they bear upon the defense- 
less city. Smoothly and easily they lift and 
train, till presently with a roar like thunder a 
sheet of flame belches forth and the mighty 
ship is hidden for a time in great white mounds 

of smoke as completely as if enveloped in a 

The deadly missile has left the gun. It goes 
tearing and screaming through miles of air. It 
rises, curves, falls with terrible swiftness, strikes ! 

Why is that cruel monster ship destroying 
defenseless men and innocent women and chil- 
dren ? Because its country is at war with their 
country, and has demanded from them an enor- 
mous ransom in money, which they have refused 
to pay. 

Had they not better pay it than be killed ? 
you will ask. Yes ; but in their harbor they have 
a forlorn hope and they wish to try it. A little 
steamboat lies hidden there. It is long and 
narrow, but so small that the huge ship outside 
could hoist it on board like a rowboat. Its 
sides are of iron, but hardly thicker than those 
of a pasteboard box. It has no guns, but in 
the bow is a big round tube which looks threat- 
ening — as if it carried some terrible weapon. 

It is biding its time. The thin sides could 
not stand the rain of shot which that braggart 
enemy could throw upon it, so it must steal 
up in secret — in a fog or in the darkness of 
night — till near enough to deal an unexpected 

The opportunity comes, — a night dark and 
tempestuous. The clouds have covered the 
stars like a pall, and there is a howling wind 
which drowns all other sounds. The pygmy 
vessel makes ready and puts to sea. It 
rushes along as swift as the wind and as silent 
as a calm. Big waves sometimes sweep over 
it from end to end as it plunges through the 
darkness, but they are not heeded. Small as 
it is, it is stanchly built and can stand the 
strain of storm as well as its adversary. All 
men save one are snugly shut inside, tending 
the flying engine and preparing the missile of 
destruction. This is a strange bolt, shaped 
like a cigar, over ten feet in length ; and the 




crew place it in the bow tube. The man on 
deck stands behind a little iron tower which 
shields him from the shock of the waves, and 
there he steers the boat. 

In the darkness they seek their adversary 
determinedly, and with deadly purpose, since 
they are the protectors of their native land. 
The boat searches for a time in vain, for the big 
ship has covered all lights and is lying like a 
sleeping monster upon the waves, awaiting 
morning to renew the havoc. Perhaps if the 
ship remained thus, the little boat would never 
find her; but " Goliath" becomes uneasy; he 
fears " David " will make an attack, so he has 
determined to watch. A dazzling cone of white 
light suddenly starts from a point in the dark- 
ness and broadens upon the water. Slowly it 
sweeps about over the sea in circling arcs. All 
at once the little boat is bathed in a brilliant, 
blinding glare. The monster's eye finds it! 
But in finding the enemy the battle-ship has dis- 
closed itself, and the dauntless little adversary 
steams straight forward at utmost speed. Streaks 
of flame are now shooting from under the 
white light, while the rattling reports of rifles 
and machine-guns rise sharply above the wind's 
roar. Shot and small shell are falling about 
like hail upon the water, but the monster 
can not keep the range of the on-rushing boat, 
and the missiles fly wide of the mark. 

Suddenly the great ship looms up, — tall, long, 
shadowy, overpowering. It is not far off, 
almost near enough to be attacked. Yet a little 
closer and the intrepid pygmy, still unharmed, 
slows and steadies, with that ominous black 
tube pointing toward the monster's blazing 
side. Shots are falling upon the boat, and the 
man who was steering has taken refuge in his 
iron tower ; but inside there is a wheel, and he 
can steer as well as before, for around him on a 
level with his eyes are little slits through which, 
he can see. Now seconds are precious, if the 
fragile little craft is to escape destruction. The 
moment has come ! A lever is pulled, and from 
that black tube comes a short hoarse roar. At 
once the little boat begins to turn, ready to 
escape with the speed of the wind. 

But before .the boat can turn, a dull heavy 
shock has jarred the sea. A gigantic column of 
white water rushes upward toward the black 

clouds. In it the tall masts of the monster ship 
seem to sway about and clash together. The 
banging of guns is sharply succeeded by cries 
of human terror. 

The mass of water falls back into the sea 
with a roaring crash and scatters over the 
waves in great wisps of glistening foam. The 
wind, sweeping on again, forms new waves 
over the disturbed water. The monster ship 
has disappeared — the Goliath of the Deep is 
conquered by his pygmy antagonist. 

This little David of the Sea, which can thus 
annihilate the greatest ironclad at a single blow, 
is a torpedo boat. It costs less than $100,000 
to build one, and at a stroke it might destroy 
an enormous battle-ship costing one hundred 
times as much. For this reason, although peace 
has reigned so long that there has been little 
opportunity to test the value of these boats or 
their weapons, they are being constructed for 
the navies of every nation. Four great builders 
now compete for the best and fastest boats ; 
and others, as yet of less note, are building 
them. Two of the former, Yarrow and Thorny- 
croft, are in England ; a third, Normand, is in 
France ; and the fourth, Schicau (pronounced 
she cow), is in Germany. All but the last-named 
build boats of three sizes. The smallest, called 
second-class torpedo boats, are little larger than 
an ordinary pleasure launch, and are intended 
to be carried by the big ironclads themselves, 
and to be hoisted out in battle to fight other 
ironclads. They can serve, too, in times of 
peace the ordinary purposes of carrying officers 
and men between a large ship and the shore. 
Their usefulness in war time has never been 
tried. It would be an extremely awkward 
matter to lower them in even a slight sea, 
and in a heavy gale they might be swamped ; 
but a big ship must have steam launches 
to communicate with other ships or with the 
shore, so these launches might as well be 
torpedo boats. 

The next size, or first-class torpedo boat, is 
larger than a tug, at least in length, but very low 
in the water. These are the boats which are to 
protect harbors in the way I have just described 
— these, and the " deep-sea " torpedo boats. 
The latter are as large as pleasure yachts, and 
are built to make long sea voyages, even across 




the stormy Atlantic. Many have been built in 
England for South American countries. Of 
course they can carry little coal and they must 
therefore make the trip under sail, and it is a 
very trying one. The big seas sweep over them 
from end to end, and they have to keep " bat- 
tened down," i. c, all hatches, skylights, and air 
ports must be tightly closed, for days at a time. 
Now let me tell you some peculiar differ- 
ences in the boats of these rival builders. They 

as it was launched from the tube. Then look at 
the French boats of Normand (below), and 
note how their sides are rounded in to meet the 
deck till they have backs like whales. This is to 
shed the heavy seas that sweep over them. A 
few years ago one of these boats started out to 
sea with two others of different models, on a trial 
trip from a Russian port. They were to reach 
a certain headland, and a man-of-war accom- 
panied them as an umpire. There arose a ter- 



are all built long, low, and narrow, with little 
iron steering-towers and long, rounded decks 
over their bows to throw off the water. These 
decks are called " turtle-backs," and the iron 
towers are called " conning-towers." Looking 
closely at the pictures, however, you will see 
some marked differences. Notice the German 
boat of Schicau (the Nibbw), with its long, 
sharp bow and straight stem, which cut the 
water like a knife. He builds his boats thus, 
that they may run through the water smoothly, 
without piling up a great wave in front of them 
which might show where they are by its phos- 
phorescence, or might turn aside the torpedo 
Vol. XVIII.— 4. 

rible storm ; and one after another the little 
boats went back, till only the French boat was 
left with the man-of-war following behind, un- 
able to keep up. At last even the big ship had 
to seek a convenient harbor. But the little 
Normand torpedo boat kept straight on to the 
finish, not even slowing the engines to make 
the trip less trying. 

Of course all builders strive for the greatest 
speed, and each year has seen a boat built 
which is faster than any before. The palm for 
the highest speed seems at present to lie be- 
tween an English boat built for France by 
Thomycroft, — the Coureur; and a German 






boat built for Italy by Schicau, — the Nibbio. 
Each of these boats can run nearly twenty- 
seven knots an hour.* A knot, you know, is 
a sea mile, which is one and one-seventh land 
miles, so these boats can make about thirty miles 
an hour, or about the average speed of a rail- 
road passenger-train. Just think of a boat 

The next most important thing in a torpedo 
boat is quick turning ; and for this purpose the 
larger Normand, Schicau, and Yarrow boats 
have two rudders, one in the usual place at 
the stern, and one under the bow. Mr. Thorny- 
croft has another device. He puts two curved 
rudders near the stern and the propeller is 


rushing through the water as fast as a train between them, so that when the rudders are 
of cars runs over the land ! turned together, the water which the pro- 

* Since this article was written, a sister-boat to the Nibbio, the Adlcr, built for Russia, has broken the 
record for speed, by making about 27.5 knots. 



2 7 

peller is driving astern is turned a little to one 
side and helps to push around the boat. 

The latest idea in torpedo boats is to have 
their launching tubes mounted on turn-tables 
on deck instead of being fixed in the bow. 
With this improvement a boat will not have 
to steam straight at her enemy, stop, launch 
its torpedo, and then turn to run away ; but 
it can train its tube on the big ship as if the 
tube were a gun, and launch the torpedo while 
rushing past at full speed. This would be less 

only one worth mentioning is to have a big net 
stretched around the ship, hanging down into 
the water from the ends of long booms which 
stand out from her sides. The net is weighted 
to hang down to the level of the keel, and sur- 
rounds the ship like a huge cage. A torpedo 
caught in its meshes would be exploded too far 
from the ship to do her any harm. When not 
in use these nets are folded in close to the side 
by swinging in the booms, and furled on the 
booms themselves ; but they are clumsy things 


dangerous for the torpedo boat, for it would not 
afford the men on the ship a good aim at her. 

The most approved weapon as yet used in 
these boats is the Whitehead torpedo. It is 
a long, cigar-shaped projectile which runs under 
water by machinery after it is launched from 
the tube. It goes in a straight line for about 
five hundred yards, so that the torpedo boat 
must get within that distance before launching 
it. Its front end is filled with one hundred 
pounds of gun-cotton (an explosive much 
stronger than gunpowder), and this will ex- 
plode when the torpedo strikes a ship's bottom 
and would probably tear a hole big enough to 
sink the largest man-of-war. 

Many schemes have been suggested to keep 
a torpedo from reaching a man-of-war ; but the 

at best. They can not be used when the ship 
is under way, for they would retard her speed 
and might become tangled in her propel- 
lers. A ship blockading or bombarding a port 
would never lie at anchor ; for, in the one case, 
she must be always ready to chase the ships 
which try to run in or out, and in the other, 
she must not give the big guns on shore an 
opportunity to take deliberate aim at her. Yet 
these are the occasions when she must expect 
an attack from torpedo boats ; so you see a net 
could hardly be used at the very times when 
most needed. 

European countries have built large numbers 
of these boats. Italy has now about 200; Eng- 
land, 175; France, 150; Russia, 130; Germany, 
100 ; and Spain, 20. On this side of the Atlantic 


the Argentine Republic has 18; Brazil, 15; and 
Chili, 10. 

Of course you wish to know how many our 
own nation has. Well, we have one. It was 
recently launched, and if you read the papers 
you will no doubt see accounts of its trials 
for speed. It is a big one, — a "deep-sea" 
boat, — very much like the Italian Nibbio in 
appearance, but not in any way designed after 
that boat. It was built by the Messrs. Herr- 
eshoff at Bristol, R. I. This firm has built 
some very fast launches and yachts, and can 
no doubt prove equal to the best foreign 
builders in constructing torpedo boats should 
others be demanded. 

Our torpedo boat is named the Cashing, 
after a famous naval officer who during the Re- 
bellion sank a Confederate ironclad with a tor- 
pedo rigged out on a spar projecting from a 
steam launch. Torpedo boats are not always 
named. It is the custom of foreign countries 
to give names only to their " deep-sea " torpedo 
boats. The smaller ones are simply numbered. 

I know you are wondering why we have only 
one torpedo boat and would like to ask me if 
we don't need more. Perhaps we do. The 
United States has a longer sea-coast and more 
important sea-ports to protect than any other 
country; but the United States is deliberate and 

We are not in danger of a fight at any 
moment, so we can afford to look on while 
other countries are testing new-fangled ideas, 
and wait until we see them succeed before we 
adopt them. Thus we have watched this tor- 
pedo-boat invention until the experiments, 
trials, and naval manceuvers have proved (as 
far as anything but a war can prove) that these 
little boats would probably be the cheapest and 
most effective defense for our sea-ports. So we 
are beginning to build them. The present 
Secretary of the Navy has asked Congress to 
appropriate money for five torpedo boats in 
addition to the dishing, and no doubt success- 
ful trials of these will bring about the immediate 
building of many more. 


Each step forward in the peaceful arts is at 
once made useful in the art of war. Improve- 
ments in metal working suggested that armor 
might be made large enough to cover ships, 
and by rendering guns more effective made 
such protection necessary. 

When the Kearsarge fought the Alabama, 
cable-chains were hung along the sides of the 
former to shield her boilers and machinery. The 
Merrimac was protected by doubled iron plates, 
and the Monitor was covered completely in 
plate mail. 

Nelson's flagship, the Victory, was in active 
service within the lifetime of men still living, 

and the Kearsarge's victory is not beyond the 
memory of young men; but in twenty-five 
years the progress of invention has produced 
the great contrast so strikingly and artistically 
shown in the picture opposite, which puts side 
by side the old Victory and a modern French 
line-of-battle ship. 

The contrast, however, is no greater than 
that between the unarmored soldier of to-day 
and the knight of old in full mail ; and perhaps, 
as armor for the soldier became useless and 
was abandoned, the ironclad may likewise give 
way to something more like the type familiar 
a century ago. 








fe — 


By Margaret Vandegrift 

The farm-house was cozy and sweet as *. I 
could be ; 

The green fields and orchards were pleas- 
ant to see — 

Then why, do you think, was the farmer 
so glum ? 

His good wife looked out, saying, " Why 

does he stand , /' 

Like a stock or a stone, with the hoe in jfK^Sf-- 

his hand, ?' v ' vfffcMfc 

When it 's supper-time, quite, and the cows 

have n't come ? " 

The farmer stood thinking, " There 's nobody 

The life a poor farmer is led by the crows ! 
It 's much if they leave me a morsel to eat. 

How they liked it, however, he was not to see. 
Though all the next morning he hid in the tree, 
Not a crow was on hand, save one wary old 

Who crept through the bushes, flew close to 

the ground, 

'T was the pease, and the beans, and the oats, And took word to the flock, " The old gentle- 

and the rye ; 
They did n't spare cherries enough for a pie, 
And now I '11 be blest if they 're not at the 

wheat ! 

■ And I really believe that before I am older 
They will come to that scarecrow, and light 

on his shoulder, 
Or build them a nest in the crown of his hat ! 
If I live till to-morrow, we '11 some of us see — 
I '11 take the old gun, and hide up in this tree. 
I 've buckshot enough ; we '11 try how they 

like that!" 

man 's 'round 
With a gun in his hand, and we 'd better clear 

" When he puts up a scarecrow we 're certain 

at once, 
And if we were not we should each be a dunce, 
That there 's lots of good eating, and nothing 

to pay ; 
But a man with a gun 's so unpleasant a sight 
It destroys the most ravenous crow's appetite, 
And when we 're not hungry, pray why should 

we stay ? " 

fought bravely in the Mexican war and subse- 
quently became President of the United States. 
Another was Robert Anderson who, at the 
beginning of the war of the rebellion in 1861, 
commanded the Union forces in Fort Sumter 
when it was first fired upon. Another was Jef- 
Chapter I. ferson Davis who, in the course of human 

events, became President of the Southern Con- 
federacy. A fourth man, destined to be more 
famous than any of the others, was Abraham 
Lincoln. The first three of these were officers 
in the army of the United States. Lincoln 
was at first a private soldier, but was afterwards 
elected captain of his company, with whom he 
had come to the rescue of the white settlers 
from the lower part of the State. 

The war did not last long, and there was not 
much glory gained by anybody in it. Black 
Hawk was beaten, and that country had peace 
ever after. For many years, and even unto 
this day I make no doubt, the early set- 
tlers of the Rock River country loved to tell 
stories of the Black Hawk war, of their own 
sufferings, exploits, hardships, and adventures. 
Father Dixon, as he was called, did not choose 
to talk much about himself, for he was a modest 
old gentleman and was not given, as they used to 
say, to " blowing his own horn," but his memory 
was a treasure-house of delightful anecdotes and 
reminiscences of those old times; and young 
and old would sit around the comfortable stove 
of a country store, during a dull winter evening, 
drinking in tales of Indian warfare and of the 
" old settlers " that had been handed down from 
generation to generation. 

It is easy to see how boys brought up in an 
atmosphere like this, rich in traditions of the 
long past in which the early settlement of the 


There were five of them, all told ; three boys 
and two men. I have mentioned the boys first 
because there were more of them, and we shall 
hear most from them before we have got through 
with this truthful tale. They lived in the town 
of Dixon, on the Rock River, in Lee County, 
Illinois. Look on the map and you will find 
this place at a point where the Illinois Central 
Railroad crosses the Rock, for this is a real 
town with real people. Nearly sixty years ago, 
when there were Indians all over that region of 
the country, and the red men were numerous 
where the flourishing States of Illinois, Iowa, 
and Wisconsin are now, John Dixon kept a 
little ferry at the point of which I am now speak- 
ing, and it was known as Dixon's Ferry. Even 
when he was not an old man, Dixon was noted 
for his long and flowing white hair, and the In- 
dians called him Na-chu-sa, " the White-haired." 
In 1832 the Sac tribe of Indians, with their 
chief Black Hawk, rose in rebellion against the 
government, and then there happened what is 
now called the Black Hawk war. 

In that war many men who afterwards be- 
came famous in the history of the United States 
were engaged in behalf of the government. 
One of these was Zachary Taylor, afterwards 
better known as " Rough and Ready," who 




country figured, should become imbued with 
the same spirit of adventure that had brought 
their fathers from the older States to this new- 
region of the West. Boys played at Indian 
warfare over the very ground on which they 
had learned to believe the Sacs and Foxes had 
skirmished years and years before. They loved 
to hear of Black Hawk and his brother, the 
Prophet, as he was called; and I can not tell 
you with what reverence they regarded Father 
Dixon, the white-haired old man who had 
actually talked and traded with the famous 
Indians, and whose name had been given him 
as a title of respect by the great Black Hawk 

Among the boys who drank in this sort of 
lore were Charlie and Alexander Howell and 
their cousin Oscar Bryant. Charlie, when he 
had arrived at his eighteenth birthday, esteemed 
himself a man, ready to put away childish 
things ; and yet, in his heart, he dearly loved 
the traditions of the Indian occupation of the 
country, and wished that he had been born 
earlier, so that he might have had a share in 
the settlement of the Rock River region, its 
reclamation from the wilderness, and the chase 
of the wild Indian. As for Alexander, com- 
monly known as " Sandy," he had worn out a 
thick volume of Cooper's novels before he was 
fifteen years old, at which interesting point in 
his career I propose to introduce him to you. 
Oscar was almost exactly as many years and 
days old as his cousin. But two boys more 
unlike in appearance could not be found any- 
where in a long summer day. Sandy was 
short, stubbed, and stocky in build. His face 
was florid and freckled, and his hair and com- 
plexion, like his name, were sandy. Oscar was 
tall, slim, wiry, with a long oval face, black hair, 
and so lithe in his motions that he was invari- 
ably cast for the part of the leading Indian in 
all games that required an aboriginal character. 

Mr. Howell carried on a transportation busi- 
ness, until the railroads came into the country 
and his occupation was gone. Then he began 
to consider seriously the notion of going further 
west with his boys to get for them the same 
chances of early forestalling the settlement of 
the country that he had had in Illinois. In the 
West, at least in those days, nearly everybody 

was continually looking for a yet further West 
to which they might emigrate. Charlie Howell 
was now a big and willing, good-natured boy ; 
he ought to be striking out for himself and get- 
ting ready to earn his own living. At least, so 
his father thought. 

Mr. Bryant was engaged in a profitable busi- 
ness, and he had no idea of going out into an- 
other West for himself or his boy. Oscar was 
likely to be a scholar, a lawyer or a minister, 
perhaps. Even at the age of fifteen, he had 
written " a piece " which the editor of the 
Dixon Telegraph had thought worthy of the im- 
mortality of print in his columns. 

But about this time, the Northern States were 
deeply stirred by the struggle in the new Ter- 
ritory of Kansas to decide whether freedom or 
slavery should be established therein. This 
was in 1854 and thereabout. The Territory 
had been left open and unoccupied for a long 
time. Now settlers were pouring into it from 
adjacent States, and the question whether 
freedom should be the rule, or whether slave- 
holding was to be tolerated, became a very im- 
portant one. Missouri and Arkansas, being the 
States nearest to Kansas, and holding slavery 
to be a necessity, furnished the largest num- 
ber of emigrants who went to vote in favor of 
bringing slavery into the new Territory; but 
others of the same way of thinking came from 
more distant States, even as far off as South 
Carolina, all bent on voting for slavery in the 
laws that were to be made. For the most part, 
these people from the slave States did not go 
prepared to make their homes in Kansas or 
Nebraska, for some went to the adjoining Ter- 
ritory of Nebraska which was also ready to 
have slavery voted up or down. The new- 
comers intended to stay just long enough to 
vote and then return to their own homes. 

The people of the free States of the North 
heard of all this with much indignation. They 
had always supposed that the new Territories 
were to be free from slavery. They saw that 
if slavery should be allowed there, by and by, 
when the two Territories would become States, 
they would be slave States, and then there 
would be more slave States than free States 
in the Union. So they held meetings, made 
speeches, and passed resolutions denouncing 




this sort of immigration as wrong and wicked. 
Then immigrants from Iowa, Illinois, and other 
Northern States, even as far off as Massachu- 
setts, sold their homes and household goods 
and started for the Promised Land, as many of 
them thought it to be. For the men in Kan- 
sas who were opposed to slavery wrote and sent 
far and wide papers and pamphlets, setting forth 
in glowing colors the advantages of the new 
and beautiful country beyond the Missouri 
River, open to the industry and enterprise of 
everybody. Soon the roads and highways of 
Iowa were dotted with white-topped wagons 
of immigrants journeying to Kansas, and long 
lines of caravans, with families and with small 
knots of men, stretched their way across the 
country nearest to the Territory. 

Some of these passed through Dixon, and the 
boys gazed with wonder at the queer inscrip- 
tions that were painted on the canvas covers of 
the wagons ; they longed to go with the immi- 
grants and taste the sweets of a land which was 
represented to be full of wild flowers, game in 
great abundance, and fine streams, and well- 
wooded hills not far away from the water. 
They had heard their elders talk of the beauties 
of Kansas and of the great outrage that was to 
be committed on that fair land by carrying 
slavery into it ; and, although they did not know 
much about the politics of the case, they had 
a vague notion that they would like to have a 
hand in the exciting business that was going 
on in Kansas. 

Both parties to this contest thought they 
were right. Men who had been brought up in 
the slave States believed that slavery was a good 
thing — good for the country, good for the slave- 
owner, and even good for the slave. They 
could not understand how anybody should 
think differently from them. But, on the other 
hand, those who had never owned slaves and 
who had been born and brought up in the free 
States could not be brought to look upon slavery 
as anything but a very wicked thing. For their 
part, they were willing (at least, some of them 
were) to fight rather than consent that the right 
of one man to own another man should be rec- 
ognized in the Territories of Kansas and Ne- 
braska. Some of these started at once for the 
debatable land; others helped their neighbors 
Vol. XVIII.— 5. 

to go, and many others stayed at home and 
talked about it. 

Mrs. Bryant, Oscar's mother, said : " Dear 
me, I am tired and sick of hearing about 
' bleeding Kansas.' I do wish, Husband, you 
would find something else to talk about before 
Oscar. You have got him so worked up that I 
should n't be the least bit surprised if he were 
to start off with some of those tired-looking im- 
migrants that go traipsing through the town 
day by day." Mrs. Bryant was growing anx- 
ious, now that her husband was so much ex- 
cited about the Kansas-Nebraska struggle, as 
it was called, that he could think of nothing 

Chapter II. 


One fine morning in May, Mr. Bryant was 
standing at his front gate watching for his 
brother-in-law, Mr. Howell, to come down the 

He held a newspaper in his hand, and with 
this, loosely rolled, he was impatiently tap- 
ping on the gate as Mr. Howell drew near. 
Evidently, something had happened to disturb 

" See here, Aleck," he exclaimed, as soon as 
his brother-in-law was within the sound of his 
voice, " I can stand this sort of thing no longer. 
I 'm bound to go to Kansas. I 've been think- 
ing it over, and I have about made up my mind 
to go. Brubaker will take my store and the 
good-will of the concern. Oscar is wild to go, 
and his mother is perfectly able to take care of 
the house while I am getting ready for her to 
come out. What d' ye say ? Will you go 
too ? " 

" Well," said Mr. Howell slowly, " you nearly 
take my breath away ! What 's happened to 
stir you up so ? " 

" Just listen to this," cried the other. " Just 
listen " ; and, unfolding his newspaper, he read, 
with glowing cheeks and kindling eyes, an ac- 
count of an attack made by some of the " pro- 
slavery men," as they were named, on a party 
of free-State immigrants who had attempted to 
cross the river near Kansas City. His voice 
trembled with excitement, and when he had 



finished reading, he asked his companion what 
he thought of that. 

Mr. Howell looked pensively down the street 
now embowered with the foliage of early sum- 
mer, noted the peaceful aspect of the village and 
the tranquil picture which gardens, cottages, and 
sauntering groups of school-children presented, 
and then said slowly : " I never was much of a 
hand at shooting, Charles, leastways, shooting 
at folks ; and I don't know that I could take 
steady aim at a man even if I knew he was a 
Border Ruffian out gunning for me. But I 'm 
with you, Charles. Charlie and Sandy can do 
a heap sight better in Kansas, after things get 
settled, than they can here. This place is too 
old; there 's too much competition, and the 
boys will not have any show if they stay here. 
But what does Amanda say ? " 

Now, Amanda was Mr. Bryant's wife, Mr. 
Aleck Howell's sister. When Aleck asked this 
question, the two men looked at each other for 
a moment queerly and without speaking. 

"Well, she '11 hate to part with Oscar; he 's 
the apple of her eye, as it were. But I guess 
she will listen to reason. When I read this piece 
in the paper to her, this morning at the break- 
fast-table, she was as mad as a wet hen. As for 
Oscar, he 's so fired up about it that he is down 
in the wood-shed chopping wood to blow off 
steam. Hear him ? " And Mr. Bryant laughed 
quietly, notwithstanding his rising anger over the 
news of the day. 

At that moment Sandy came whooping around 
the corner, intent on overtaking a big yellow dog, 
his constant companion — Bose by name — who 
bounded along far in advance of the boy. " See 
here, Sandy," said his uncle, " how would you 
like to go to Kansas with your father, Oscar, 
Charlie, and myself? " 

" To Kansas ? Shooting buffaloes, deer, In- 
dians, and all that? To Kansas? Oh, come 
now, Uncle Charles, you don't mean it." 

" But I do mean it, my laddie," said the elder 
man, affectionately patting the freckled cheek of 
the lad. " I do mean it, and if you can per- 
suade your father to go along and take you and 
Charlie with him, we '11 make up a party — just 
we five — that will scare the Border Ruffians 
'way into the middle of next year." Then, with 
a more serious air, he added : " This is a fight for 

freedom, my boy, and every man and every boy 
who believes in God and Liberty can find a 
chance to help. I 'm sure we can." This he 
said with a certain sparkle of his eye that may 
have meant mischief to any Border Ruffian that 
might have been there to see and hear. 

As for Sandy, he turned two or three hand- 
springs by way of relieving his feelings; then, 
having once more assured himself that the two 
men had serious thoughts of migrating to Kan- 
sas, he rushed off to the wood-shed to carry the 
wonderful news to Oscar. Dropping his ax, 
the lad listened with widened eyes to the story 
that Sandy had to tell. 

" Do you know, Sandy," he said, with an air 
of great wisdom, " I thought there was some- 
thing in the wind. Oh, I never saw father so 
roused as he was when he read that story in the 
Chicago Press and Tribune this morning. Why, 
I thought he 'd just get up and howl when 
he had read it out to mother. Jimmini ! Do 
you really suppose that he will go ? And take 
us ? And Uncle Aleck ? Oh, would n't that be 
too everlastingly bully for anything ? " Oscar, 
as you will see, was given to the use of slang, 
especially when under great excitement. The 
two boys rushed back to the gate, where the 
brothers-in-law were still talking eagerly and in 

" If your mother and Aunt Amanda will 
consent, I guess we will go," said Mr. Bryant, 
with a smile on his face as he regarded the 
flushed cheeks and eager eyes of Sandy and 
Oscar. Sandy's father added: "And I '11 an- 
swer for your mother, my son. She and I have 
talked this thing over many a time, more on 
your account and Charlie's than for the sake of 
' bleeding Kansas,' however. I 'm bound to say 
that. Every man is in honor bound to do his 
duty by the country and by the good cause; 
but I have got to look after my boys first." 
And the father lovingly laid his hand on Sandy's 
sturdy shoulder. " Do you think you could 
fight, if the worst comes to the worst, Sandy, 

Of course the lad protested confidently that 
he could fight ; certainly he could protect his 
rights and his father's rights, even with a gun, 
if that should be found necessary. But he ad- 
mitted that, on the whole, he would rather 



shoot buffaloes and antelope, both of which 
species of large game he had already learned 
were tolerably plentiful in Kansas. 

" Just think of it, Oscar, we might have some 
real Indian-fighting out there, like that Father 
Dixon and the rest of the old settlers had in the 
time of the Black Hawk war." 

His father assured him, however, that there 
was no longer any danger from the red man in 
Kansas. The wild Indians were now far out 
on the frontier, beyond the region to which 
they would probably go in search of homestead 
lands for settlement. Sandy looked relieved at 
this explanation. He was not anxious for fight- 
ing with anybody. Fun was more to his liking. 

The two mothers, when they were informed 
of the decision of the male members of the 
family, made very little opposition to the emi- 
gration scheme. In fact, Mrs. Howell had 
really felt for some time past that her boys 
would be better provided for in a new country. 
She had been one of the " old settlers " of 
Dixon, having been brought out from the in- 
terior of New York when she and her brother 
were small children. She had the same spirit 
of adventure that he had, and, although she 
remembered very well the privations and the 
discomforts of those early days, it was more 
with amusement than sorrow that she recalled 
them to mind, now that they were among the 
traditions of long-past years. The two young 
Howells were never weary of hearing their 
mother tell of the time when she killed a wild- 
cat with her father's rifle, or of her walking 
fifteen miles and back to buy herself a bonnet- 
ribbon to wear to her first ball in the court- 
house. Now her silent influence made it easier 
for the Kansas Exodus (as they already called 
their scheme) to be accepted all around. 

The determination of the two families to mi- 
grate made some stir in the town. It was yet 
a small place, and everybody knew every other 
body's business. The Bryants and Howells 
were among the " old families," and their mo- 
mentous step created a little ripple of excite- 
ment among their friends and acquaintances. 
The boys enjoyed the talk and the gossip that 
arose around them, and already considered 
themselves heroes in a small way. With envi- 
ous eyes and eager faces, their comrades sur- 

rounded them, wherever they went, asking 
questions about their outfit, their plans, and 
their future movements. Every boy in Dixon 
looked on the three prospective boy settlers 
as the most fortunate of all their young play- 

" I wish my father would catch the ' Kansas 
fever,' " said Hiram Fender, excitedly. " Don't 
you suppose your father could give it to him, 
Charlie ? Do you suppose your uncle would 
take me along if Dad would let me go ? Oh, 
would n't that be just gaudy, if I could go ! 
Then there would be four of us boys. Try it 
on him." 

But the two families resolutely attended to 
their own business, asking help from nobody, and 
not even so much as hinting to anybody that it 
would be a good thing for others to go with them 
to the Promised Land. The three boys were 
speedily in the midst of preparations for their 
migration. It was now well along into the mid- 
dle of May. If they were to take up land 
claims in Kansas and get in a crop, they had 
no time to spare. The delightful excitement of 
packing, of buying arms and ammunition, and 
of winding up all the small concerns of their life 
in Dixon made the days pass swiftly by. There 
were all the details of tents for camping-out, 
provisions for the march, and rough clothing and 
walking gear for the new life beyond to be 
looked after. 

Some of the notions of the boys, in regard to 
what was needed and what was to be expected 
from the land beyond were rather crude. And 
perhaps their fathers were not in all cases so 
wise as they thought themselves. The boys, 
however, cherished the idea that absolutely 
everything they should require in Kansas must 
be carried from Illinois. " Why," said the prac- 
tical Mr. Howell, " if we cannot buy plows, 
cattle, and seed, cheaper in Missouri than we can 
here, we can at least save the labor and cost of 
transportation. We don't want to haul a year's 
provisions either. We expect to raise something 
to eat, don't we ? " 

Charlie, to whom this remonstrance was ad- 
dressed, replied, " Well, of course we can raise 
some garden truck, and I suppose we can buy 
bacon and flour cheaper in Missouri than here." 

" Then there 's the game," interrupted Oscar 




and Sandy, both in one breath. " Governor 
Robinson's book says that the country is swarm- 
ing with game," added Sandy, excitedly. 

The boys had devoured a little book by Mr. 
Robinson, the free-State Governor of Kansas, 
in which the richness of the Promised Land 
was glowingly set forth. 

" Much time we shall have to shoot buffaloes 
and antelope when we are breaking up the sod 
and planting corn," Mr. Howell answered with 
a shade of sarcasm in his voice. 

" And we may have to fire at bigger game 
than either of those," added Mr. Bryant grimly. 

" Border Ruffians ? " asked Sandy with a fee- 
ble attempt at a grin. His mother shuddered 
and hastily went out of the room. The Kansas 
scheme seemed no longer pleasant to her, when 
she read the dreadful stories of violence and 
bloodshed with which some of the Western 
newspapers were teeming. But it was settled 
that most of the tools needed for farming could 
be bought better in Missouri than in Illinois ; 
the long haul would be saved, and the horses 
with which they were to start could be exchanged 
for oxen to good advantage when they reached 
" the river." They had already adopted the 
common phrase, " the river," for the Missouri 
River, then generally used by people emigrating 

" But perhaps the Missourians will not sell 
you anything when they know that you are 
free-State men," suggested Mrs. Bryant timidly, 
for this was a family council. 

" Oh, well," answered Mr. Howell sturdily, 
" I '11 risk that. I never saw a man yet with 
anything to sell who would n't sell it when 
the money was shaken in his face. The news- 
papers paint those border men pretty black, I 
know ; but if they stop to ask a man's politics 
before they make a bargain with him, they must 
be queer cattle. They are more than human 
or less than human, not Americans at all, if 
they do business in that way." In the end they 
found that Mr. Howell was entirely right. 

All was settled at last, and that, too, in some 
haste, for the season was rapidly advancing 
when planting must be attended to, if they were 
to plant that year for the fall harvest. From 
the West they heard reports of hosts of people 
pouring into the new Territory, of land being in 

great demand, and of the best claims near the 
Missouri being taken by early emigrants. They 
must be in a hurry if they were to get a fair 
chance with the rest and a fair start on their farm, 
— a farm yet existing only in their imagination. 

Their wagon, well stored with clothing and 
provisions, a few books, Oscar's violin, a medi- 
cine chest, powder, shot, and rifle-balls, and an 
assortment of odds and ends, — the wagon, so 
long a magical repository of hopes and the 
most delightful anticipations, was ready at last. 
It stood at the side gate of Mr. Bryant's home, 
with a " spike team " (two horses at the pole, 
and one horse for a leader) harnessed. It was 
a serious, almost solemn, moment. Now that 
the final parting had come, the wrench with 
which the two families were to be broken up 
seemed harder than any of the members had 
expected. The two mothers, bravely keeping 
up smiling faces, went about the final touches 
of preparations for the lads' departure and the 
long journey of their husbands. 

Mr. Howell mounted the wagon with Sandy 
by his side; Mr. Bryant took his seat with the 
other two boys in an open buggy, which they 
were to drive to " the river " and there trade 
off for a part of their outfit. Fond and tearful 
kisses had been exchanged and farewells spoken. 
They drove off into the West. The two women 
stood at the gate, gazing after them with tear- 
dimmed eyes as long as they were in sight ; and 
when the little train disappeared into the first 
swale of the prairie, they burst into tears and 
went into the house which was now left unto 
them desolate. 

It was a quiet party that drove over the 
prairie that bright and beautiful morning. The 
two boys in the buggy spoke occasionally in 
far-off-sounding voices about indifferent things 
that attracted their attention as they drove 
along. Mr. Howell held the reins, with a cer- 
tain stern sense of duty on his dark and hand- 
some face. Sandy sat silently by his side, the 
big tears coursing down his freckled cheeks. 

Chapter III. 


The straggling, unkempt, and forlorn town 
of Parkville, Missouri, was crowded with stran- 


gers when the emigrants arrived there after a 
long and toilsome drive through Iowa. They 
had crossed the Mississippi from Illinois into 
Iowa, at Fulton, on the eastern shore, and after 
stopping to rest for a day or two in Clinton, a 
pretty village on the opposite bank, had pushed 
on, their faces ever set westward. Then, turn- 
ing in a southwesterly direction, they traveled 
across the lower part of the State, and almost 
before they knew it they were on the sacred 
soil of Missouri, the dangers of entering which 
had been pictured to them all along the route. 
They had been warned by the friendly settlers 
in Iowa to avoid St. Joseph, one of the crossings 
from Missouri into Kansas; it was a nest of 
Border Ruffians, so they were told, and they 
would surely have trouble. They must also 
steer clear of Leavenworth ; for that town was 
the headquarters of a number of Missourians 
whose names were already terrible all over the 
Northern States, from Kansas to Massachusetts 

" But there is the military at Fort Leaven- 
worth," replied Mr. Bryant. " Surely they will 
protect the citizens of the United States who 
are peaceful and well-behaved. We are only 
peaceable immigrants." 

" Pshaw ! " answered an Iowa man. " All 
the army officers in this part of the country 
are pro-slavery men. They are in sympathy 
with the pro-slavery men, anyhow, and if they 
had been sent here to keep free-State men out 
of the Territory, they could n't do any different 
from what they are doing. It 's an infernal 
shame, that 's what it is." 

Bryant said nothing in reply, but as they 
trudged along, for the roads were very bad, and 
they could not often ride in their vehicles now, 
his face grew dark and red by turns. Finally 
he broke out: 

" See here, Aleck," he cried, " I don't want 
to sneak into the Territory. If these people 
think they can scare law-abiding and peaceable 
citizens of a free country from going upon the 
land of these United States, we might just as 
well fight first as last. For one, I will not be 
driven out of a country that I have got just as 
much right to as any of these hot-headed Mis- 
souri fellows." 

His brother-in-law looked troubled, but be- 


fore he could speak the impetuous and fiery 
Sandy said : " That 's the talk, Uncle Charlie ! 
Let 's go in by the shortest way, and tackle 
the Border Ruffians if they tackle us. Who 's 
afraid ? " And the lad bravely handled his " pep- 
per-box," as his old-fashioned five-barreled re- 
volver was sportively called by the men of those 
days ; for the modern revolver with one barrel 
for all the chambers of the weapon had not then 
come into use. " Who 's afraid ? " he repeated 
fiercely, looking around. Everybody burst out 
laughing, and the valorous Sandy looked rather 

" I am afraid, for one," said his father. " I 
want no fighting, no bloodshed. I want to get 
into the Territory and get to work on our claim, 
just as soon as possible; but if we can't get 
there without a fight, why then, I '11 fight. But 
I ain't seeking for no fight." When Aleck 
Howell was excited, his grammar went to the 
four winds. His view of the situation com- 
mended itself to the approval of Oscar, who 
said he had promised his mother that he would 
avoid every appearance of hostile intention, 
keep a civil tongue in his head, have his 
weapons out of sight and his powder always 

The emigrants decided to go into Kansas by 
way of Parkville. 

At Claybank, half-way between the Iowa line 
and the Missouri River, they encountered a 
drover with a herd of cattle. He was eager to 
dicker with the Kansas emigrants, and offered 
them what they considered to be a very good 
bargain in exchanging oxen for their horses. 
They were now near the Territory, and the ris- 
ing prices of almost everything that immigrants 
required warned them that they were not far 
from the point where an outfit could no longer 
be bought at any reasonable price. The boys 
were loath to part with their buggy, for, although 
they had been often compelled to go afoot 
through some of the worst roads in the States 
of Iowa and Missouri, they had clung to the 
notion that they might have a pair of horses to 
take into the Territory, and, while the buggy 
was left to them, they had a refuge in times of 
weariness with walking ; and these were rather 
frequent. The wagon was exchanged for an- 
other, suitable for oxen. 



The immigrants drove gaily into Parkville. 
They were in sight of the Promised Land. The 
Big Muddy, as Missourians affectionately call 
the turbid stream that gives name to their State, 
rolled sluggishly between the Parkville shore 
and the low banks fringed with cottonwoods 
that were the eastern boundary of Kansas. 
Looking over, they could see long lines of white- 
covered wagons, level plains dotted with tents, 
and the rising smoke of many fires, where people 
who had gone in ahead of them were cooking 
their suppers; for they entered Parkville late in 
the afternoon. It was a commonplace-looking 
view of Kansas, after all, and not at all like 
what the lads had fancied it would be. Sandy 
very emphatically expressed his disappointment. 

" What would you have, Sandy ? " asked his 
uncle, with some amusement. " Did you expect 
to see wild honey dripping out of the cotton- 
woods and sycamores, buffaloes and deer stand- 
ing up and waiting to be shot at, and a farm 
ready to be tilled ? " 

" Well," replied the boy, a little shamefacedly, 
" I did n't exactly expect to see all those things ; 
but somehow the country looks awful flat and 
dull. Don't you think so ? " 

For answer, Mr. Bryant pointed out a line of 
blue slopes in the distance. " Those are not very 
high hills, my boy, to be sure, but they are of the 
rolling prairie beyond, and as soon as we get 
away from the river we shall find a bluffy and 
diversified country, I '11 warrant you." 

" Yes ; don't you remember," broke in Oscar 
eagerly, "Governor Robinson's book told all 
about the rolling and undulating country of the 
Territory, and the streams that run under high 
bluffs in some places ? " 

Sandy admitted that this was true of the book; 
but he added, "Some books do lie, though." 

" Not Governor Robinson's book," commented 
his brother Charlie, with a slight show of resent- 
ment. For Charlie had made a study of the 
reports from the Promised Land. 

But a more pressing matter was the attitude 
of the border-State men toward the free-State 
emigrants, and the question of making the nec- 
essary purchases for their farming scheme. 
Parkville was all alive with people, and there 
were many border-State men among them. 
Some of these regarded the newcomers with 


unmistakable hostility, noting which, Sandy 
and Oscar took good care to keep near their 
two grown-up protectors ; and the two men al- 
ways went about with their weapons within easy 
reaching distance. All of the borderers were 
opposed to any more free-State men going into 
the Territory ; and many of them were disposed 
to stop this by force, if necessary. At one time, 
the situation looked very serious, and Sandy got 
his " pepper-box " into position. But the trouble 
passed away, and the arrival of fifteen or twenty 
teams, accompanied by a full complement of 
men, checked a rising storm of wrath. 

From Platte City, a short distance up the river, 
however, came doleful and distressing stories of 
the ill-treatment of the free-State men who had 
gone that way. They were harassed and hin- 
dered, and, in some cases, their teams were de- 
liberately turned about and driven back on the 
road by which they had come. It was useless 
to remonstrate when the rifles of a dozen men 
were leveled at the would-be immigrants. But 
our travelers in Parkville heard a good story of 
the bravery of one free-State man who had 
been refused transportation across the ferry at 
Platte City, kept by an ardent pro-slavery man. 
The intending immigrant, unconscious of any 
hindrance to his crossing, was calmly driving 
down to the ferry-boat, a flat-bottomed craft 
propelled by long oars, or sweeps, when the 
ferryman stopped him with the question, " What 
hev ye got into yer waggin ? " 

" Oxen," sententiously replied the newcomer. 

"And what 's them thar cattle follering on 
behind ? " he asked, pointing to a drove of milch- 
cattle in the rear. 

" Caouws," answered the immigrant, in the 
broad pronunciation peculiar to provincial peo- 
ple of the New England States. 

"All right," was the rejoinder; "a man that 
says ' caouws ' can't go over this yere ferry with- 
outen he 's got the tickets." No argument 
would induce the ferryman to explain what the 
tickets were and where they could be procured. 
Finally, his patience exhausted, the free-State 
man suddenly drew from the big pockets of his 
frock a pair of tremendous pistols, ready cocked, 
and, holding them full in the face of the surprised 
ferryman, he said : 

" Here are my tickets, and I 'm going across 




this ferry right off, caouws or no caouws ! " And 
he went. 

Even at Parkville, where there was very little 
difficulty in crossing, as compared with what 
there had been earlier in the struggle for Kansas, 
they were advised by discreet friends and sym- 
pathizers to be on the lookout for opposition. 
Every fresh arrival of free-State men angered 
yet more the borderers who were gathered there 
to hinder and, if possible, prevent further immi- 
gration. Mr. Bryant chafed under the neces- 
sity of keeping his voice hushed on the topic 
that engaged all his thoughts ; and Oscar and 
Sandy were ready to fight their way across the 
river ; at least they said so. 

They did find, however, that the buying of 
provisions and farming tools required for their 
future use, was out of the question in Parkville. 
Whether it was the unexpected demand, or the 
refusal of the Missourians to sell to free-State 
men, they could not determine. But the prices 
of everything they wanted were very high. 
What should they do ? These articles they 
must have. But their cost here was far beyond 
their most extravagant estimates. When Mr. 
Howell was reminded by his brother-in-law how 
he had said that no politics could interfere with 
trade and prices, he was amused. 

" Of course," he said, " it does look as if these 
Missourians would not sell at fair prices because 
they want to hinder us ; but don't you see that 
the demand is greater than the supply ? I know 
these folks are bitterly hostile to us ; but the 
reason why they have so small a stock of goods 
on hand is that they have sold out to other free- 
State men that have come before us to buy the 
same things. Is n't that so ? 

Mr. Bryant was obliged to admit that this was 
a reasonable explanation; but as he had begun 
by thinking that every borderer hated a free- 
State man and would do him an injury if he 
could, he did not give up that notion willingly. 
He was certain that there was a plot in the high 
prices of bacon, flour, corn-meal, and plows. 

In this serious dilemma, Charlie came to the 
relief of the party with the information that a 
free-State man, whose team had just recrossed 
the river for a load of supplies sent him by a 
wagon that was to return to Iowa, brought news 
that a large trading-post had been opened at a 

new Kansas town called Quindaro. He said 
that the Iowa man told him that prices were just 
now lower in Quindaro than they had ever been 
in Parkville. 

" Quindaro ? " said Oscar musingly; — " why 
that must be an Indian name, — feminine Indian 
name, too, unless I miss my guess." 

Mr. Bryant had heard of Quindaro. It was 
a brand-new town, a few miles down the river, 
settled by free-State men and named for a 
young, full-blooded Indian girl of the Delaware 
tribe. The town was on the borders of the Dela- 
ware reservation, which in those days came 
close to the Missouri River. Charlie, also, had 
gathered some facts about the town, and he 
added that Quindaro was a good place to start 
from, going westward. The party had laid in a 
stock of groceries — coffee, tea, and other arti- 
cles of that description — before leaving home. 
Now they needed staple provisions, a few farm- 
ing tools, a breaking-plow, and some seed corn. 
Few thought of planting anything but corn; 
but the thrifty settlers from Illinois knew the 
value of fresh vegetables, and they were re- 
solved to have " garden truck " just as soon as 
seeds could be planted and brought to maturity. 

"And side-meat?" asked Sandy wonderingly, 
as he heard his father inquiring the price of that 
article of food. Side-meat, in the South and West, 
is the thin flank of a porker, salted and smoked 
after the fashion of hams, and in those parts of 
the Southwest it was (and probably is) the staple 
article of food among the people. It is sold in 
long, unattractive-looking slabs, and when Sandy 
heard its name mentioned, his disgust as well as 
his wonder was kindled. 

" Side-meat ? " he repeated, with a rising in- 
flection. " Why, I thought we were going to 
live on game, — birds and buffalo and the like ! 
Side-meat? Well, that makes me sick!" 

The two men laughed, and Mr. Howell said, 
" Why, Sandy, you are bent on hunting and not 
on buckling down to farm work. How do 
you suppose we are going to live if we have 
nothing to eat but wild game that we kill, and 
breadstuffs and vegetables that we buy ? " 

Sandy had thought that they might be able 
to step out into the woods or prairie, between 
times, as it were, and knock down a few head 
of game when the day's work was done, or 




had not begun. When he said as much, the 
two heads of the party laughed again, and 
even Charlie joined in the glee. 

" My dear infant," said his father seriously, 
but with a twinkle in his eye, " game is not so 
plenty anywhere as that; and if it were, we 
should soon tire of it. Now side-meat ' sticks 
to the ribs,' as the people hereabouts will tell 
you, and it is the best thing to fall back upon 
when fresh meat fails. We can't get along with- 
out it, and that is a fact ; hey, Charlie ? " 

The rest of the party saw the wisdom of this 
suggestion, and Sandy was obliged to give up, 
then and there, his glowing views of a land so 
teeming with game that one had only to go out 
with a rifle, or even a club, and knock it over. 
But he mischievously insisted that if side-meat 
did " stick to the ribs," as the Missourians de- 
clared, they did not eat much of it, for, as a rule, 
the people whom they met were a very lank 
and slab-sided lot. " Clay-eaters," their new 
acquaintance from Quindaro said they were. 

" Clay-eaters ? " asked Charlie, with a puzzled 
look. "They are clayey- looking in the face. But 
it can't be possible that they actually eat clay ? " 

" Well, they do, and I have seen them chew- 
ing it. There is a fine, soft clay found in these 
parts, and more especially south of here; it has 
a greasy feeling, as if it was a fatty substance, and 
the natives eat it just as they would candy. Why, 
I should think that it would form a sand-bar 
inside of a man, after awhile ; but they take to 
it just as naturally ! " 

" If I have got to choose between side-meat 
and clay for a regular diet," said Sandy, "give 
me side-meat every time." 

That night, having made their plans to avoid 
the prying eyes of the border- State men, who 
in great numbers were now coming in, well- 
armed and looking somewhat grimly at the 
free-State men, the little party crossed the 
river. Ten dollars, good United States money, 
was demanded by the ferryman as the price of 
their passage; it looked like robbery, but there 
was no other way of getting over the river and 
into the Promised Land ; so it was paid, with 
many a wrench of the patience of the indig- 
nant immigrants ; and they pitched their tent 
that night under the stars and slept soundly on 
the soil of " bleeding Kansas." 

Bright and early next morning, the boys 
were up and stirring, for now was to begin their 
camp life. Hitherto, they had slept in their 
tent, but had taken their meals at the farm- 
houses and small taverns of the country through 
which they had passed. They would find few 
such conveniences in the new country into 
which they had come, and they had been 
warned that in Kansas the rule was " every 
man for himself." 

They made sad work with their first break- 
fast in camp. Oscar had taken a few lessons 
in cooking from his mother, before leaving 
home, and the two men had had some experi- 
ence in that line of duty when out on hunting 
expeditions in Illinois, years before. So they 
managed to make coffee, fry slices of side-meat, 
and bake a hoe-cake of Indian-corn meal. 
" Hog and hominy," said Sandy's father. 
" That 's the diet of the country, and that is 
what we shall come to, and we might as well 
take it first as last." 

"There 's worse provender than this, where 
there 'snone," said Mr. Bryant cheerfully ; "and 
before we get through we shall be hungry more 
than once for hog and hominy." 

It was an enlivening sight that greeted the 
eyes of the newcomers as they looked around 
upon the flat prairie that stretched along the 
river-side. The tents of the immigrants glistened 
in the rising sun. The smoke of many camp- 
fires arose on the summer air. Groups of men 
were busily making preparations for their long 
tramp westward, and, here and there, women 
and children were gathered around the white- 
topped wagons, taking their early breakfast or 
getting ready for the day's march. Here, too, 
could now be seen the unkempt and surly-look- 
ing border men who were on the way to points 
along the route that were to be occupied by them 
before too many free-State men should come 
in. An election of some sort, the newcomers 
could not exactly make out what, was to take 
place in a day or two, and the Missourians whom 
they had seen flocking into Parkville were ready 
to vote as soon as they got into the Territory. 

Breakfast over, the boys sauntered around 
through the camps, viewing the novel sights 
with vast amusement. It was like a militia 
muster at home, except that the only soldier 




element they saw was the band of rough-looking 
and rough-talking men who were bound to vote 
and fight for slavery. They swaggered about 
with big pistols girt at their hips and rifles over 
their shoulders, full-bearded and swarthy, each 
one a captain apparently, all without much or- 
ganization, but very serious in their intention to 
vote and to fight. It really seemed as if they 
had reached the fighting-ground at last. 

" Oh, well ; I can't bother about poetry, now," 
said the father hastily. " I have some prose 
work on hand, just about this time. I 'm trying 
to drive these pesky cattle, and I don't make 
a very good fist at it. Your Uncle Aleck has 
gone on ahead, and left me to manage the 
team ; but it 's new business to me." 

"John G. Whittier is the name at the top 
of these verses. I 've heard of him. He 's 


" See here, Daddy," said Oscar, as he came 
in from the camps when the Dixon caravan was 
ready to move ; " see what I found in this news- 
paper. It is a piece of poetry, and a mighty 
fine piece, too " ; and the boy began to read 
some lines beginning thus : 

" We cross the prairie as of old 
The pilgrims crossed the sea, 
To make the West, as they the East, 
The homestead of the free ! " 
Vol. XVIII.— 6. 


a regular-built poet, — lives somewhere down 

'■ I can't help that, sonny j get on the other 
side of those steers, and see if you can't gee 
them around. Dear, dear, they 're dreadful 
obstinate creatures ! " 

That night, however, when they were com- 
fortably and safely camped in Quindaro, amid 
the live-oaks and the tall sycamores that em- 
bowered the pretty little town, Oscar again 



brought the newspaper to his father, and, with 
kindling eyes, said : ^ 

" Read it out, Daddy ; read the piece. Why, 
it was written just for us, I do declare. It is 
called ' The Kansas Emigrants.' We are Kansas 
Emigrants, are n't we ? " 

The father smiled kindly as he looked at the 
flushed face and bright eyes of his boy, and 
took from him the paper folded to show the 
verses. As he read, his eyes, too, flashed and 
his lip trembled. 

" Listen to this ! " he cried. " Listen to this ! 
It is like a trumpet call ! " And with a voice 
quivering with emotion, he began the poem : 

" We cross the prairie as of old 
The pilgrims crossed the sea, 
To make the West, as they the East, 
The homestead of the free ! " 

" Something has got into my eyes," said Mr. 
Howell, as the last stanza was read. " Great 
Scott ! though, how that does stir a man's 
blood ! " And he furtively wiped the moisture 
from his eyes. It was time to put out the light 
and go to sleep, for the night was now well 


advanced. But Mr. Bryant, thoroughly aroused, 
read and re-read the lines aloud. 

" Sing 'em," said his brother-in-law, jokingly. 
Bryant was a good singer, and he at once tuned 
up with a fine baritone voice, recalling a familiar 
tune that fitted the measure of the poem. 

" Oh, come now, Uncle Charlie," cried Sandy, 
from his blankets in the corner of the tent, 
" that 's 'Old Dundee.' Can't you give us some- 
thing lively ? Something not quite so solemn ? " 

" Not so solemn, my laddie ? Don't you 
know that this is a solemn age we are in, and a 
very solemn business we are on ? You '11 think 
so before we get out of this Territory, or I am 
greatly mistaken." 

" Sandy '11 think it 's solemn, when he has to 
trot over a piece of newly broken prairie, carry- 
ing a pouchful of seed corn, dropping five 
grains in each sod," said his father laughing, 
as he blew out the candle. 

" It 's a good song ; a bully good song," 
murmured the boy, turning over to sleep. " But 
it ought to be sung to something with more of a 
rig-a-jig-jig to it." So saying, he was off to the 
land of dreams. 

tmtinued. ) 

iiSS**."* ■"iX'' < '" ! -'"C v '- 

,■: Sri^H 


•% r .-. 

- AiW 



iW QVilrift* 


By Mrs. C. V. Jamison. 

Chapter XX. 


It was not long after the time when Paichoux 
bought the watch, that Mam'selle Diane was 

" My bill, Madame Jozain! What bill? " said 
Mam'selle Diane, looking at her with cold sur- 
prise. " I am not aware that you owe me any- 

" I owe you for teaching Lady Jane music. 
You 've been giving her lessons now for some 
months, and I 'm sure you must need your 

surprised one morning by a visit from Madame money." 

Jozain, who entered the little green gate with " Oh, Madame," gasped Mam'selle Diane, 
an air of haughty severity and insolent patron- " you are laboring under a mistake ; I never 

thought of receiving 
money for the pleasure I 
have had with the child. 
I offered to teach her; it 
was my own wish. You 
surely did not think that 
I expected to be paid ? " 
" I certainly did. Why 
should you teach her 
for nothing when I am 
able to pay ? " returned 
Madame, haughtily, 
while she drew out a roll 
of notes. " In your cir- 
cumstances, you can't 
afford to throw away 
your time, and I 'm 
quite willing to pay you 
the usual price. You 're 
a very good teacher, and 
I 'm very well satisfied 
with the child's pro- 

For a moment, Mam'- 
selle Diane was quite 
overcome by the wom- 
an's insolence ; then 
remembering that she 

age that was insufferable. She had evidently was a d'Hautreve, she drew herself up, and said 
come on business ; for after the first formalities calmly and without the least hauteur : 
had passed between them, she drew a well-filled " I regret, Madame, that you thought I ex- 
purse from her pocket, and asked, in a lofty tone, pected any pay for teaching Lady Jane ; I make 
if Mam'selle Diane had her bill prepared. no claim to any professional knowledge, there- 





fore I could not take the pay of a teacher. I 
thank you very much, but I am not a teacher." 

" It does n't matter; I insist on paying you," 
and Madame held out a bank-note for so large 
an amount, that Mam'selle Diane's eyes were - 
fairly dazzled. 

" I assure you it is impossible," said Diane, 
gently. " It is useless to discuss the matter. 
Will you permit me to open the gate for you ? " 

" Very well, then," exclaimed Madame, hotly; 
" I sha'n't allow my niece to come here again. 
I won't accept favors from any one. If she is 
to be taught, she shall have a teacher who is n't 
too proud to take her wages." 

" I hope you will not deprive us of the pleas- 
ure of seeing Lady Jane. We are very fond 
of her," said Mam'selle Diane, almost humbly, 
while the tears gathered on her eyelashes ; " of 
course, however, you must do as you think best 
about the lessons." 

" I sha'n't allow her to run about the neigh- 
borhood any more," replied Madame, tartly ; 
" she 's losing her pretty manners. I shall keep 
her with me in the future," and with this small 
parting thrust and a curt good-morning she 
went out of the little green gate, and left Mam'- 
selle Diane to close it behind her. Poor Mam'- 
selle ' — her heart was heavy. 

The interview had taken place on the gallery, 
and Madame d'Hautreve had heard but little 
from her bed. " Diane, what did that woman 
want ? What sent her here at this hour ? " qua- 
vered the old lady, sharply. 

" She came on business, Mamma," replied 
Mam'selle Diane, brushing away a tear. 

" Business — business ? I hope you have no 
business with her ! " said her mother. 

" She pretended to think I expected to be 
paid for the lessons I have given Lady Jane." 

Madame groaned. " I told you we would 
regret opening our doors to that child." 

" Oh, Mamma, I don't regret it. I regret only 
that I have lost the pleasure of seeing her. 
Madame Jozain will not allow her to come any 
more," said Mam'selle. 

" LTngrateful creature, to insult you after your 
condescension ! " 

" Mamma, she did n't insult me," interrupted 
Mam'selle Diane, proudly. " Must I remind you 
that I am above her insolence ? " 

" True, my dear, true ; and I hope you made 
her feel that she is but a Jozain." 

" I did n't wish to be unkind to her, Mamma ; 
perhaps she is not so wrong after all. Some- 
times I think it would have been better to have 
let our friends know our real circumstances. 
Then they would have helped me to get pupils. 
I could have earned more by teaching music 
than I can by making penwipers, and I am sure 
it would be more respectable and more agree- 

" Oh, Diane, you surprise me ! " cried Ma- 
dame d'Hautreve, tremulously. "Think of it, 
a granddaughter of the Counts d'Hautreve and 
d'Orgenois teaching the children of grocers and 
bakers to play the piano ! No, no ; I would 
rather bury myself here and die in poverty than 
disgrace the name in that way !" 

Mam'selle Diane made no reply, and after a 
few moments Madame turned on her pillow to 
finish her morning nap. Then the last of the 
d'Hautreves went into the little garden, and 
drawing on a pair of old gloves, she dug, and 
trimmed and trained her plants for some time, 
and afterward gathered up the small piles of 
seeds from the white papers. 

" Ah ! " she said, wearily, seeing how few 
these were, " even the flowers refuse to seed this 
year ! " 

After she had finished her work in the garden, 
she went dejectedly back to the little room 
where her mother still slept, and opening a 
drawer in her armoire, she took out a small box. 
She sighed heavily as she raised the lid. Inside 
on a blue velvet lining lay a slender bracelet 
set with diamonds and turquoises. " It must 
go," she said sadly to herself. " I have kept it 
till the last. I hoped I would n't be obliged to 
part with it, but I must. I cannot let poor 
Mamma know how needy we are. It 's the 
only thing I can spare without telling her. Yes, 
I must give it up. I must ask Madame Jourdain 
to dispose of it for me." Then she sat for a 
long time looking at it silently, while the hot 
tears fell on the blue velvet. 

Then Mam'selle Diane bravely wiped away 
her tears, and laid the little box under the duck- 
lings in the black basket. 

For more than a week Mam'selle Diane did 
not see Lady Jane, and the poor woman's eyes 



had a suspicious look of tears as she went about 
her duties, silent and dejected. Her only pleas- 
ure was no longer a pleasure ; she could not go 
near the piano for some days. 

At last, one evening, she sat down and began 
to play and sing a little song she had. taught 
the child, when suddenly she heard outside the 
window the sweet treble voice she loved so 

" It 's Lady Jane!" she cried, and springing 
up so hastily that she upset the piano-stool, she 
grappled with the rusty bolts of the shutters, and 
for the first time in years threw them boldly 
open. There stood the child, hugging her bird 
to her breast, her wan little face lighted by 
her sparkling eyes and bright, winsome smile. 

Mam'selle Diane went down on her knees, 
and Lady Jane clung to her neck and kissed her 
rapturously, over and over. 

" Diane, Diane, what are you thinking of, to 
open that shutter in the face of all the world ? " 
cried the old lady, feebly. 

But Mam'selle Diane did not hear her 
mother ; she was in an ecstasy of happiness, 
with the child's loving lips pressed to her faded 

" Tante Pauline says I must n't come in," 
whispered Lady Jane, between her kisses, " and 
I must mind what she says." 

" Yes, darling," said Diane. 

" I 've been here every day listening, but I 
have n't heard you sing before." 

" Dear child, I could n't sing. I missed you 
so I could n't sing," Mam'selle answered. 

" Don't cry, Mam'selle Diane. I love you 
dearly. Don't cry and I '11 come every day to 
the window. Tante Pauline won't be angry at 

" I don't know, my dear ; I 'm afraid she 
will," said Diane, with a sad smile. 

" Diane, close that window instantly ! " cried 
Madame d'Hautreve, quite beside herself. "A 
pretty exhibition you 're making, before all the 
neighbors — on your knees crying over that 
child ! " 

" Good-bye, darling; come sometimes. Mam- 
ma don't like me to open the window, but I '11 
open the gate and speak to you," said Diane, 
hastily remembering herself and the exigencies 
of her station. 

" Forgive me, Mamma — I really could n't 
help it. I was so glad to set the child " ; and 
Mam'selle Diane closed the window with a 
brighter face than she had shown for many days. 

" I think you must be insane, Diane ! — I think 
you surely must be, to let all these common peo- 
ple know that a blanchisseuse de fin will not al- 
low her child to come into our house, and that 
you are obliged to go on your knees and reach 
out of the window to embrace her. Oh, Diane, 
Diane, for the first time you 've forgotten that 
you 're a d'Hautreve ! " 

Chapter XXI. 


About this time a noticeable change took 
place in Madame Jozain. She did not seem 
nearly so self-satisfied, nor so agreeable to her 
customers. They remarked among themselves 
that something had certainly gone wrong, for 
Madame was very absent-minded and rather 
cross, and was always talking about business 
being poor and about the quarter growing 
duller every day, while the neighbors were a 
set of curious gossips and busybodies. 

" As soon as they find out that one has had 
trouble, they blacken one all they can," she 
said, bitterly, to Madame Fernandez, who was 
her only intimate friend. 

She spoke cautiously and vaguely of her 
troubles, for she did not know whether the 
news of Raste's escapade had reached Good 
Children Street. " I dare say that they have 
seen it in the papers," she thought angrily to 
herself. " Locked up for thirty days as a sus- 
picious character ! If he had listened to me, 
and sold that watch at first, he would n't have 
got into this trouble. I told him to be careful, 
but he was always so headstrong, and now I 
don't know what may happen any moment. 
The whole story may get out through that 
watch being talked about in the papers ; and 
perhaps the man that bought it was a detec- 
tive. Raste did n't even find out who the buyer 
was. I shall never feel easy now until Raste is 
out of the way ; as soon as his thirty days are 
ended, I shall advise him to leave New Or- 
leans for a while. I 'm disgusted with him, for 

4 6 



disgracing me in this way, and I don't want him 
here. I can hardly make enough to support 
myself and that child. If it was n't for the 
money I 've hidden away I should feel dis- 
couraged, but I 11 have that to fall back on. 
I 'm thankful Raste don't know anything about 
it, or he 'd beg it from me in some way. I 'm 
glad I 've got rid of all those things; I 'd be 
afraid to have them by me now. There 's 
nothing of any consequence left but that silver 
jewel-box, and I '11 get that off my hands the 
first time I go out." 

Then she thought of the child. Suppose 
some one should recognize the child ? She 
was becoming cowardly. A guilty conscience 
was an uncomfortable companion. Everything 
frightened her and made her suspicious. 
Madame Paichoux had asked some startling 
questions ; and, besides, she did not know what 
the child might tell. Children were so unre- 
liable. One would think they had forgotten 
everything and did not see nor hear ; then, 
suddenly, they would drop some word that 
would lead to wonderful revelations. Lady 
Jane was becoming an intelligent, thoughtful 
child, and such people as the d'Hautreves could 
find out many things from her. Then she con- 
gratulated herself that she had been clever 
enough to get her away from Mam'selle Diane, 
and the Paichoux, too. And that cunning little 
hunchback, Pepsie ; and old Gex — he was a 
sly old villain, and no doubt her enemy, for all 
he was so affable and polite. Yes; she would 
keep the child away from them all as much as 

Sometimes she thought it would be best to 
move away from that quarter of the city ; but 
then, her going might excite suspicion, so she 
waited with much anxiety for further develop- 

When Raste's thirty days were up, he came 
to his mother, very sheepish and, apparently, 
very penitent. To her angry reproaches, he re- 
plied that he had done nothing ; that there was 
no crime in his having the watch. They did n't 
steal the watch ; they did n't ask the poor 
woman into their house and rob her. She 
came there sick, and they took care of her ; and 
instead of turning her child into the street, they 
had treated her as if she belonged to them. 

As for the watch, he had been keeping it only 
until the child was old enough to have it, or 
until her relatives were found ; he had never in- 
tended to sell it, until he found that it was get- 
ting him into trouble, and then he was obliged 
to get rid of it as best he could. 

Madame listened to the plausible arguments 
of her handsome scapegrace, and thought that 
perhaps there was no real cause for anxiety 
after all; and when he treated his thirty days 
with fine scorn, as a mere trifle, a mistake of 
which no one knew, she felt greatly comforted. 

" Respectable people," he said, " never read 
about such matters, and consequently none of 
our friends will ever know of it. It won't hap- 
pen again, for I mean to cut loose from the fel- 
lows who led me into that fix. I mean to go 
with respectable people. I shall begin all over, 
and earn a living in an honest way ! " 

Madame was delighted ; she never knew 
Raste to talk so reasonably and to be so thought- 
ful. After all, his punishment had not done 
him any harm. He had had time to think, and 
these good resolves were the result of his seclu- 
sion from the friends who had nearly proved his 
ruin. Therefore, greatly relieved of her anxie- 
ties, she took the prodigal back into her heart 
and home, and cooked him an excellent supper, 
not of a fatted calf, but of a fatted pig that 
Madame Paichoux had sent her as a prelimi- 
nary offering toward closer acquaintance. 

For several days Raste remained quietly at 
work around the house, assisting his mother in 
various ways, and showing such a helpful and 
kindly disposition that Madame was more than 
ever enchanted with him. She even went so 
far as to propose that they should form a part- 
nership and extend their business. 

" My credit is good," said Madame, proudly ; 
" I can buy a larger stock, and we might hire 
the store on the corner, and add a grocery de- 
partment, by and by." 

" But the capital ? We have n't the capital," 
returned Raste, doubtfully. 

" Oh, I '11 provide the capital, or the credit, 
which is just as good," replied Madame, with 
the air of a millionaire. 

"Well," said Raste, "you go out among the 
merchants and see what you can do, and I '11 
stay here and wait on the customers. There 's 




nothing like getting used to it, you know. But 
send that young one over to the ' countess,' or 
to some of her swell friends. I don't want to 
be bothered with her everlasting questions. 
Did you ever see such a little monkey, sitting 
up holding that long-legged bird, and asking 
a fellow a lot of hard questions as serious as 
old Ducro himself? By the way, I saw Father 
Ducro; he 's just back from Cuba. He asked 
me when you were coming to church again." 

With Father Ducro's name ringing in her ears, 
Madame went out to see about the new ven- 
ture, and was absent for several hours. When 
she returned she found the house closed and 
Raste gone. 

In a moment Lady Jane came running with 
the key. Mr. Raste had brought it to her, she 
said, and had told her that he was tired tending 
shop, and was going for a walk. 

Madame smiled and said, as she took the key : 

" I thought so. I thought he 'd get tired of 
it; but I can't expect him to keep closely to 
business, just at first." 

She took off her bonnet and veil, and put 
them away. Then she went limping about the 
room, putting it in order. From time to time 
she smiled. She had met Madame Paichoux 
and Marie in the Bon Marche, on 
Rue Royal, and they had been very 
agreeable. Madame Paichoux had 
even invited her to come and dine 
with them to meet Marie's fiance. 
At last they were beginning to see 
that she was worthy of some atten- 
tion, she thought. 

Now, if Raste would only behave 
himself they could do very well. 
With the ready money she had hid- 
den away, and by using her credit, 
she could buy a large stock of goods. 
She would have more shelves put up, 
and a counter, and a fine showcase 
in the window ; and there was the 
store on the corner which Raste could 
fit up as a grocery. Suddenly, she 
remembered that her rent was due, „ 

and that it was about time for her 
landlord's visit. She took out her pocket-book 
and counted its contents. She had been rather 
extravagant at the Bon Marche, to impress 

Madame Paichoux, and had spent far more 
than she intended. She found that she lacked 
a few dollars of the amount due for rent. 

" I must borrow it from the private bank," 
she said, jocosely, as she unlocked her bureau. 
With the peculiar slyness of such people, she 
thought her hoard safer when not too securely 
concealed. Therefore she had folded up the 
whole of her year's savings, with the amount 
taken from Lady Jane's mother, inside of a pair 
of partly worn gloves, which were thrown care- 
lessly among the other contents of the drawer. 
It was true, she always kept her bureau locked, 
and the key well hidden, and, besides, she sel- 
dom left her house alone. But even if any 
one should break it open, she thought, they 
would never 
dream of un 
rolling those 
old gloves. 
When she 
opened the 
very dis 


"Surely, I did n't leave my things in such 
confusion! " she said, nervously clutching at the 
gloves, which were startlingly conspicuous. 

4 8 


With beating heart and trembling hands, she 
unrolled them, but instead of the roll of notes, 
only a slip of paper was found. 

The gloves dropped from her nervous hands, 
and staggering to the bed, she sat down on the 
edge, and read the large characters, which were 


Chapter XXII. 


The next day after Raste's sudden departure, 
Madame Jozain sat in her doorway looking very 
old and worn ; her face was of a settled pallor, 



iff p* % - - 



only too familiar and distinct, although they 
danced and wavered before her eyes i 

Dear Mamma : I 've decided not to go into partner- 
ship with you, so I '11 lake the capital and you can keep 
the credit. The next time that you secrete from your 
dutiful son money that 's as much his as yours, don't hide 
it in your old gloves. It is n't safe. I 'm going away on 
a little trip. I need a change after my close application 
to business. Your inquisitive neighbors won't mind my 
taking a vacation. What could be pleasanter than my 
uncle's ranch in Texas ? Your affectionate and devoted 
son, Adraste Jozain. 

and her eyes had a dazed, bewildered expression, 
as if she had received a heavy blow that had 
left her numb and stupid. At times, she put 
her hand to her head and muttered, " Who 
would have thought it ? Who would have 
thought it ? His mother, his own mother ! — 
and I 've always been so good to him ! " 

Suddenly, she seemed to have lost her inter- 
est in her business, her customers, and even her 
domestic affairs. Her little store was more un- 
tidy than any one had ever seen it. When a 



neighbor entered to buy a trifle or to gossip for 
a few moments, Madame made an effort to ap- 
pear cheerful and chatty, but that it was an ef- 
fort was evident to all. At last some one asked 
if she were ill. 

" Well, not exactly," she answered, uneasily, 
" but I might as well be. The fact is, I 'm fret- 
ting about that boy of mine ; he took it into his 
head yesterday to go away to his uncle's ranch. 
I miss him very much. I can't get along without 
him, and I should n't wonder if I should go too." 

When Pepsie asked what was the matter with 
her Tante Pauline, Lady Jane answered, as she 
had been instructed, that Tante Pauline had 
headaches because Mr. Raste had gone away, 
and was n't coming home for a long time. 

" Madame Jozain is fretting about her son's 
going away," observed Madame Fernandez to 
her husband, looking across the street. " She 's 
been sitting there all the morning so lonesome 
and miserable, that I 'm sorry for her. But 
there 's some one coming to see her now, — a 
stranger, and so well dressed. I wonder who 
it can be ? " 

The newcomer was a stranger to Madame 
Fernandez, but Madame Jozain welcomed her 
as an old friend; she sprang up with sudden 
animation and shook hands warmly. 

" Why, Madame Hortense," she exclaimed, 
" what chance brings you to my little place ? " 

" A happy chance for you," replied Madame 
Hortense, laughing. " I 've come to bring you 
money. I 've sold the little jewel-case you left 
with me the other day, and sold it very well, too." 

" Now, did you ? How good of you, my 
dear; I 'm so glad — for the child's sake!" 

" Would you believe that I got twenty-five 
dollars for it ? You know you said I might sell 
it for ten ; but I got twenty-five, and I think I 
could have sold it for more, easily. It is solid 
silver and an exquisite thing." 

" Yes, it was of the best workmanship," 
sighed Madame. 

" But I must tell you how I happened to sell 
it for such a high price. It 's very strange, and 
perhaps you can throw some light on the matter. 
One of my best customers happened to come in 
last evening, — Mrs. Lanier of Jackson Street. 
You know Lanier the banker ? They are very 
rich people. She was looking over the things 
Vol. XVIII.— 7. 

in my showcase, when she suddenly, as if sur- 
prised, exclaimed : 

" ' Why, Madame Hortense, where did you get 
this ? ' I turned around, and she had the little 
jewel-case in her hand examining it closely, and 
I saw that she was quite pale and excited. 

" Of course, I told her all I knew about it : that 
a friend had given it to me to sell, and so on. 
But she interrupted me by asking, where my 
friend got it, and all sorts of questions ; and all 
the while she was looking at it as if she could n't 
imagine how it got there. I could only tell her 
that you gave it to me. Then she asked other 
questions so excitedly that I could n't help 
showing my surprise. But I could n't give her 
all the information she wanted, so I wrote 
your name and address for her, and told her to 
come and see you, and that you would be able 
to tell her all about it." 

During Madame Hortense's hasty and rather 
confused narrative, Madame Jozain turned an 
ashy white, and her eyes took on a hunted ex- 
pression, but with a set ghastly smile she followed 
every word of her friend's story. 

At length she found strength and composure 
to say : 

" Why, no wonder you were surprised ! Didn't 
she tell you why she wanted to know ? " 

" I suppose she saw that I was very much 
puzzled, for after looking at it sadly for some 
time, she said that it was a mystery how the 
box came there ; that she had given that little 
casket to a schoolmate ten years before, while 
at school in New York; that she had had it 
made especially for her; and that her friend's 
initials, J. C, were on it." 

" Dear, dear, only think ! An old schoolmate, 
I suppose," said Madame Jozain, hastily. 
. " Then she asked me if I would sell her the 
little box ; and I said, certainly I would ; that it 
was put there to sell. Seeing how anxious she 
was to get it, I thought I would put the price 
at twenty-five dollars, although I did n't really 
think she 'd give it. But she never said a word 
about the price; she paid it in a dazed way, 
took your address that I 'd written down for her, 
and went out, carrying the little casket with her. 
I suppose she '11 be here to-day, or to-morrow, 
to see you ; and so I thought I 'd hurry down 
and tell you all about it." 




" And your commission ? " said Madame Jo- 
zain with a visible effort to appear calm, as the 
milliner laid the money on the table. 

" Oh, par cxemple, Madame Jozain ! As if I 
would"! No, no, we 're too old friends. I can- 
not take pay for doing you a little favor. And 
besides, I 'm glad to do it for the dear child. 
She must be a great anxiety to you ? " 

" She is ! : ' returned Madame, with a heavy 
sigh. " But she has some property in land, I 
believe. My son has just gone away, and I 'm 
thinking of going too. I 'm very lonely here." 

"Ah?" said Madame Hortense, surprised. 
" Why, you 're so well placed here. Shall you 
go soon ? " 

" Before very long," replied Madame, who 
did not care to be more definite. 

" Well, come and see me before you go." 

Madame Hortense drew down her veil and 
rose to leave. 

" I 'm sorry I can't stay longer to chat with 
you ; I 'm busy, very busy. Now, mind, be 
sure to come and say good-bye," and with a 
cordial au revoir, the little milliner hurried down 
the steps, and out of sight around the corner. 

For some time after her visitor had gone, 
Madame Jozain stood quite still in the middle 
of her little shop, with her hands pressed to her 
head, and her eyes fixed on vacancy. At length 
she muttered to herself: 

" She '11 come here ; yes, she '11 come here ! 
I can't see her. I can't tell her where I got 
that box ! I must get away at once. I must go 
out and find another place. There '11 be no 
more peace on earth for me ! My punishment 
has begun." 

Then Madame hurriedly put on her best 
gown and bonnet, and calling across to Lady 
Jane, who was with Pepsie, she said she was 
going out on business, and that she might not 
be back for some time. 

Late that same afternoon, Madame Jozain 
was limping slowly and wearily through a nar- 
row street at the other end of the city, miles 
away from Good Children Street, when she saw 
an old negro sitting on a furniture wagon to 
which two mules were harnessed. 

" Is that you, Pete ? " she asked, stopping 
and looking at him. 

" Why, law, yes, it 's me, Miss Pauline ; an' 
I is mighty glad ter see yer," said the old man, 
climbing down. 

" And I 'm glad to find you, Pete. I see 
you 've got a wagon. Is it yours?" 

" Well, 't ain't edzactly mine, Miss Pauline. 
I is hired it. But I is a-drivin' it." 

" I was just looking for some one to move me 
to-night, Pete," Madame went on. 

" Ter-night, Miss Pauline ? Why, we does n't 
often work a'ter sundown, an' it 's mos' dat now." 

" What do you charge for a load, Pete, when 
you move furniture ? " 

" I mos' gen'ly charges two dollars a load, 
when it ain't too fur, Miss Pauline," he answered 

" Well it is far, Pete. It is from Good Chil- 
dren Street." 

" Oh, Miss Pauline, I can't do dat ter-night. 
My mules is too tired fur dat." 

Madame stood still and thought for a moment. 

" See here, Pete," she said at length in a tone 
of decision, " I want you to remember that you 
belonged to our family once, and I want you 
to listen to me and to do what I say. You 're 
to ask no questions and answer none. Mind 
that ! You 're to keep your tongue still. Take 
your mules out now, and give them a good 
feed, and let them rest awhile. Then be at my 
house by ten this evening. That will be soon 
enough, for I 've got to pack. If you '11 move 
me quietly, and without any fuss, I '11 give you 
ten dollars for the load." 

"Ten dollars, Miss Pauline?" and the old 
darky grinned. " Bress yer, Miss, I is a mind ter 
try it, but it 's a mighty long road ! " 

" You 've got plenty of time ; you need n't 
hurry. Bring a man to help, and leave the 
wagon in the side street. I want the things 
taken out the back way, and no noise. Mind 
what I say, no noise ! " 

" All right, Miss Pauline, I '11 be dar, shore. 
An' yer '11 gib me ten dollars ? " 

" Yes, ten dollars," replied Madame, as she 
limped away to take the street-car. 

Some of Madame Jozain's neighbors remem- 
bered afterward that they slept badly that 
night, had uneasy dreams and heard myste- 
rious noises; but as there was a thunderstorm 
about daybreak, they had concluded that it 



was the electricity in the air which caused 
their restlessness. However, Pepsie afterward 
insisted that she had heard Lady Jane cry 
out, and call " Pepsie ! " — as if in great distress 
or fear, and that about the same time, there 
were sounds of hushed voices, rumbling of 
wheels, and other mysterious noises. But her 
mother had told her she was dreaming. 

So upset was Pepsie by the night's experience 
that she looked quite pale and ill as she sat by 
her window next morning, waiting for Madame 
Jozain to open the shutters and doors. 

How strange ! It was eight o'clock, and still 
no sign of life in the house opposite ! The 
milkman had rung his bell in vain ; the brick- 
dust vender had set his bucket of powdered 
brick on the very steps, and shrieked his dis- 
cordant notes close to the door ; the clothes-pole 
man had sung his dismal song ; and the snap- 
bean woman had chanted her three syllables, 
not unmusically; and yet, late as was the hour, 
no one appeared to open the door of Madame 
Jozain's house. 

At last Pepsie could no longer endure her 

" You go and see what 's the matter," she 
said to her little handmaid. 

So Tite zigzagged across the street, flew up 
the steps, and pounded vigorously on the door ; 
then she tried the shutters and the gate, and 
finally even climbed the fence and peeped in 
at the back windows. In a trice, she was back, 
gasping and wild-eyed : 

" Bress yer, Miss Peps ! Wat I done tol' 
yer ? Dem 's all gone. Ain't a stick or nofin' 
in dat dar house ! Jes' ez empty ez a gourd ! " 

At first, Pepsie would not believe the dread- 
ful news; but finally, when she was convinced 
that Madame had fled in the night and taken 

Lady Jane with her, she sank into the very 
depths of woe and refused to be comforted. 

Then Paichoux and Tante Modeste were 
called into a family council, and Paichoux did 
his very best to solve the mystery. But all he 
could learn was from Madame's landlord, who 
said that Madame Jozain had paid her rent and 
given up her key, saying that she had decided, 
very suddenly, to follow her son. This was all 
the information the landlord could give, and 
Paichoux returned dejectedly with this meager 

" I had my plans," he said, " and I was waiting 
for the right moment to put them in operation. 
Now, the child has disappeared, and I can do 
nothing ! " 

The next day, Pepsie, sitting sorrowfully at 
her window, trying to find consolation in a game 
of solitaire, saw a private carriage drive up to 
the empty house and wait, while the servant 
made inquiries for Madame Jozain. 

" Madame Jozain did live there," said M. 
Fernandez, politely, " but she went away be- 
tween two days, and we know nothing at all 
about her. There was something strange about 
it, or she never would have left without bidding 
her friends good-bye, and leaving some future 

The servant imparted this scanty information 
to the lady in the carriage, who drove away 
looking greatly disappointed. 

The arrival of this elegant visitor, directly 
succeeding Madame's flight, furnished a sub- 
ject for romantic conjecture. 

" I should n't wonder," said Pepsie, " if that 
was Lady's mamma, who has come back after 
all ! Oh, how dreadful that she was n't here 
to see her!" and then poor Pepsie cried, and 
would not be consoled. 

(To be continued.) 


By Caryl D. Haskins. 

An elephant may be taught to dance, to ride 
a velocipede, to stand on his head, and to do 
other wonderful things ; and his keepers have 
found, by long experience, that one of the most 
effectual methods of teaching these feats is to 
reward the great pupil with some dainty bit to 
eat. He will work hard and long for a single 
lump of crisp, white sugar, and push aside, with 
scarcely a glance, food which other captive ani- 
mals would be only too glad to receive. 

Nor is his taste for tidbits the result of life 
in captivity ; the wild elephants of the far-away 
East are quite as fond of dainties as their more 
civilized brethren, and almost every day of their 
lives, to obtain their much-loved sweets, they 
perform feats nearly as wonderful as those taught 
the trained elephants by their keepers. 

With the exception of Ceylon, which seems to 
be truly an elephants' paradise, full of everything 
that even the most particular of the monsters 
could desire, the haunts of the elephant, both 
African and Indian, are far from well-stocked 
with the sweet bits for which they seek ; and 
even such as there are, may be hidden away 
under the earth or hung far up overhead, in such 
a situation as to make their possession quite im- 
possible, except by the use of skill and intelli- 

One favorite food of the African elephant is 
the tender, juicy roots of the mimosa-tree, which 
grows in scattered groups through most of the 
meadows and lowlands of central Africa. 

When an elephant finds a young tree of this 
sort, it is not difficult, as a rule, for him to get at 
the roots, especially if the surrounding soil is 
moist and loose, as is often the case after it has 
been soaked by the heavy rainfalls of the tropics. 

If the tree is loose, the elephant, knowing his 
strength, winds his trunk firmly round the tree, 
and plucks it from the earth, a feat which is no 
harder for him than the pulling up of a flower 
is for a child. 

But the elephant does not stop here ; experi- 
ence has taught him the most comfortable way 
of enjoying his prize, so without relaxing his 
hold, he turns the tree completely over, and 
stands it with its upper branches thrust down 
into the place where the roots were. Then the 
earthy roots, now replacing the branches, remain 
within easy reach of the strong and deft trunk. 

African travelers tell us of great tracts of 
country almost covered with these inverted 
trees. Seeing the dry trees turned upside down 
one would be more likely to think a wood had 
been reversed by mischievous fairies, than to sup- 
pose hungry elephants had been feeding there. 

Sometimes an elephant will find a tree which 
defies his greatest efforts, and absolutely refuses 
to be uprooted. But the elephant does not give 
it up. Not at all. He either brings another ele- 
phant to help him — a thing they often do when 
the work is too much for one — or, if he cannot 
find a friend, he sets his own wits to work. 
He makes use of his tusks as levers, thrusting 
them, as if they were crowbars, deep under the 
roots, and pries away slowly and steadily until 
the tree is loosened; and then with a great wrench 
he completely uproots it and it goes toppling 
over, leaving the clever elephant victorious. 

But the elephant does not feed on roots only ; 
the fruits of several trees are much preferred to 
the tenderest roots or juiciest leaves and grasses, 
and to secure these fruits the elephant can be 
both intelligent and persevering. 

In the northern part of Central Africa, almost 
as far north as these animals are now found 
wild, grows an enormous tree, the fruit of which 
is perhaps the favorite food of all known to these 
fruit eaters. But the elephant can not deal 
with this sturdy forest monarch as he would 
with other trees, for in size and strength it holds 
among fruit-trees almost the rank that the ele- 
phant does among the beasts, and it defies him 
to do it harm. Its wiry roots, deep planted in 


the warm soil, are too firm to be torn up, and 
its mighty stem successfully resists any attempt 
to break or even to bend it. 

But far up in the air among the lofty branches 
hang at the proper season great masses of fruit, 
a temptation to every passing elephant, and a 
prize to be possessed at any cost. 

Devising ways to secure this fruit placed 
thus just out of reach, has, without doubt, given 
rise to much thought among the clever ele- 
phants; for, unquestionably, waiting for the 
fruit to fall unassisted, in that land where the 
wind so seldom blows, would be very weary 
work, since the fruit is scarcely larger than a 
plum. And even were a score to fall at a time, 
they would not go far toward satisfying an ele- 
phant's appetite. 

The hungry animal, however, is not likely to 
tamely abandon his efforts, in a case like this ; 
certainly not where it is a mere trial of strength 
between animal and vegetable. 

Just how the elephant reached the solution 
of the difficulty can not, of course, be known ; 
perhaps one day after having exerted himself to 
his utmost, in the way so successful with the 
yielding mimosas but quite useless with this 
tree, he lost his temper and determined to give 
battle to the stubborn tree just as he would if 
confronted by an obstinate enemy of his own 

Retreating to a considerable distance, he may 
have charged fiercely, with lowered head, and 


struck the forest king so heavy a blow with his 
great forehead, that the tree trembled and shook 
in every branch, and the fruits, jarred from 
their resting-places far above, came rattling 
down in a perfect shower, a peace-offering 
likely to appease the enraged animal. 

But, however the lesson was learned, it was 
not forgotten, — for all the elephants understand 



the trick, and can secure the dainty sweets with which nature has bestowed upon them for so 

very little more effort than they would bestow many uses, turn up the soil almost as well as the 

on obtaining any other fruit. fanner with his patent plow. 

Trees, however, are not the only sufferers But the elephants do not tear up the earth in 

from the appetite for dainties and the ready wit this way as a preparation for planting, but to 

of these great forest rangers. gather a harvest. Their delicate sense of smell 

In some parts of Africa, one may come upon has assured them that here lie buried in the 

large spaces of land which have exactly the friendly soil quantities of a certain delicious 

appearance of newly plowed fields in far-away and juicy bulb which forms one of the ele- 

lands of civilization, land which seems to await phants' most plentiful and best-prized foods, 

the coming of the sower ; but this " plowing " These bulbs they unearth, and gathering them 

is again the work of the ever-industrious ele- up with their sensitive trunks, reap a delicious 

phants, who with the sturdy plows of ivory reward for their labor and intelligence. 


By " The Traveler." 

A stands for the Amazon, mighty and grand, 
And the B 's Beresina, on Muscovy's strand, 
The placid Charles River will fit for the C, 
While the beautiful Danube is ready for D. 
The E is the Elbe in Deutschland far North, 
And the first F, I find, strange to say, is the Forth. 

The great river Ganges can go for the G, 
And for H our blue Hudson will certainly be; 

The quaint Irrawaddy for I has its claims, 
And the J is the limpid and beautiful James. 

The K is for Kama, I know in a jiffy, 
And the L is the Loire and the prosperous Liffey. 
For M we have plenty to choose from, and well, 
There 's the noble Missouri, the gentle Moselle. 
For N we have Nile, and the Onion is O, 
While for P you can choose the gray Pruth or the Po. 

The Q is the Quinebaug, one of our own, 
But the R comes to front with the Rhine and the Rhone. 
For the S there 's the Shannon, a beautiful stream, 
And the T is the Tiber where Rome reigns supreme. 
The Ural, I think, will with U quite agree, 

And the turbulent Volga will fit for the V. 
The W 's Weser, and Xenil is X 
(You may find it spelled with a J, to perplex). 
Then for Y, Yang-tse-kiang is simple and easy, 
And to end the long list with a Z, take Zambesi. 


By Charles Frederick Holder. 

ACK and Jill Rey- 
nard, before I be- 
came acquainted 
with them, lived in 
a deep dark valley 
in the Sierra Madre 
Mountains of South- 
ern California ; a 
canon that was a 
green river in its 
beauty of foliage, 
as it wound away 
for miles through 
the heart of the 
mighty range. 

Jack and Jill were 
mountain folk, hav- 
ing their home in 
the thick growth of 
greasewood and manzanita* that covered the 
slopes ; perhaps lying on isolated rocks in sunny 
places during the day, and only occasionally 
venturing down into the lowland at night, 
when their human enemies were sound asleep. 
If foxes talk, I have no doubt that Jack and 
Jill were cautioned about these lowland expe- 
ditions by certain old and gray foxes, and 
warned that there was danger even at night. 
Be this as it may, Jack became the unfortunate 
possessor of the secret, brought perhaps on the 
wind itself, that in a certain ranch yard there 
were some dainty young chickens. 

Jack, apparently, did not trust his secret to 
anyone, not even to his friend Jill; and one 
night, when it was very dark and even the 
coyotes did not care to venture out, he strolled 
down the mountain, crept through the manza- 
nita brush to a trail, and gaily trotted down into 
the valley. 

Jack failed to appear the next morning, or 
the next thereafter; and Jill, in all probability, 

decided to look for him. At all events, on 
another night when the moon was but a faint 
crescent against the sky, she stole quietly away, 
following the same trail over which Jack had 
passed a few nights before until she saw a 
ranch house where lights were gleaming ; then 
she stopped, raised her pointed nose high in air 
and sniffed, looked about her and sniffed again. 
As she stepped around a tall yucca, she made 
out in the darkness a chicken roosting on a 
limb of greasewood. Here was a supper ; and 
with a quick jump Jill seized the fowl. Then 
came a sharp quick sound, and, uttering a cry 
of fear, poor Jill found herself caught in the 
jaws of a steel trap that held her fast. Strug- 
gles, tears (if foxes cry), moans, and howls were 
of no avail, but Jill fought fitfully for freedom 
throughout the long night. In the morning 
the rancher appeared, smiling as if he knew 
where Jack had gone. He released poor terri- 
fied Jill, and, instead of killing her, handled 
her injured paw carefully; so gently, in fact, 
that she made no attempt to bite. Taking her 
under his arm he strode down to the ranch, 
jumped into his carriage, and an hour later 
drove into an orange-grove in Pasadena. Here 
the first thing Jill saw, when released from the 
bag in which she had been carried, was Master 
Jack sitting under an orange-tree, with a fine 
collar about his neck, and looking as comfort- 
able as you please except that he was holding 
up one paw. So he, too, had fallen a victim 
to the trap ! 

Jill was soon provided with a collar and 
chain and tied to the same tree; and so they 
met again. 

Exactly what they said, I can not pretend 
to tell ; but what I think they said, as I 
watched them from my window, was this : 

" Did you come down to find me, Jill ? " 
Jack seemed to ask. 

* A dense, mahogany-colored shrub which grows in the western United States. 





" Yes, and I was caught in a trap," was 
Jill's answer. 

" So was I," he must have said, for he held 
up his paw and groaned dismally. 

" Ah ! if you had not made such a secret of 
it, if you had been generous and told me about 
the ranch, I could have gone with you and we 
should not have been here," was what Jill had to 

glossy fur and brushes, and became members 
of the family. Occasionally there was a little 
trouble. Mouse and Dinah, the two grey- 
hounds of whom you have read in St. Nich- 
olas, grew jealous of the attention of their 
mistress. To stand by and see a fox, or worse, 
two foxes, have a whole chop and then be of- 
fered the bones, was too much to bear ; so, as 


say next. " You were going to eat that chicken 
alone, Jack. You know you were." 

" Did you bite that man coming down ? " 
asked Jack, probably being quite willing to 
change the subject. 

" No," Jill replied. 

Though Jack had been very savage at first, 
Jack and Jill grew tamer each day, and never 
attempted to bite their mistress. They ate from 
her hand, liked to have her stroke their fine 

soon as their mistress was out ot sight, Mouse 
or Dinah would draw near, and while one at- 
tracted the foxes' attention, the other would 
steal the chop. This went on for some time, 
and Jack had almost made up his mind to bite 
some one, — in fact, he did give his mistress one 
little nip, — before the reason was discovered. 

Jack and Jill grew fatter every day, and I 
often saw them looking in the direction of the 
little stream, with ears up, evidently listening to 




the sound of waters that came from their moun- 
tain home. 

As a rule they were taken to the barn at night. 
Once, however, they were forgotten, and a coyote 
roamed up through the grove and undoubtedly 
would have made a late supper ; but here a 
curious trick of Southern California foxes came 
into play and saved them. They both climbed 
the tree and from the top branches looked down 
on Don Coyote, who could but stand upon his 

were so attractive, it was decided that they must 
have their pictures taken. So one day a very 
patient photographer succeeded in making the 
accompanying picture of them. 

Now, whether they thought that the picture 
might be used in identifying them in case of an 
escape I do not know ; but neither fox would 
look up when placed on the piazza railing ; and 
it took three grown persons, beside boys and 
dogs, to keep their attention ; then, just as the 


hind legs and give utterance to his weird 
laughing bark. How Jack and Jill gained the 
top of the tree might be a mystery to my read- 
ers in the East, for foxes there, as a rule, do not 
climb trees ; but this pair shinned up in a way 
well known to active boys. In fox-hunting here, 
I have known the sly Reynards to leap into a 
tree, climb and reach from its branches the 
limbs of a tall sycamore, and, by following the 
masses of vines which interlace the arroyo, or 
little stream, travel for some distance without 
touching the ground, to the confusion of the 
fox-hounds, who sought in vain for the scent. 
Jack and Jill soon regained their spirits, and 
when the lame paws were cured, they were as 
bright foxes as ever stole a chicken ; and as they 

photographer was ready, Jack would look down 
again and Jill would follow suit. Finally, the 
photographer imitated the cries of dogs, cats, 
and various animals, the boys shouted, I snapped 
the whip and threatened them with the pack 
of fox-hounds (only too willing to dine upon 
them), their mistress waved a white banner 
from the balcony above, until, amid a perfect 
pandemonium, Jack and Jill looked up, the 
camera clicked — and here they are. 

But one day Jack escaped. Whether fright- 
ened by the photographer, or the Valley Hunt 
fox-hounds, or overcome by homesickness, no 
one knows ; but the following morning he was 
gone, and the truth of history requires the state- 
ment that Jill " went tumbling after." 

Vol. XVI 1 1.— 8. 



By W. J. Henderson. 

said little Violet, running 
across the deck ; " this is 
my birthday, you know." 
" So it is, my little girl," 
said Mr. Davidson, lifting 
the flaxen-haired child in 
his arms and kissing her; "and here we are 
in the middle of the Atlantic. Is n't that about 
right, Captain ? " 

" Yes," said Captain Bedford, balancing his 
short rotund body on his stout legs and sending 
a cheery smile out of his keen gray eyes over his 
plump red cheeks and across his straight little 
nose. " We shall be about half way across, this 
afternoon. And so it 's your birthday, is it, 
little one ? Well, God bless you, and may you 
have many of them." 

" Thank you, Captain," said the child; " and 
I wish you many of them too." 

" And what is my little girl going to do to 
celebrate her eighth birthday ? " asked Mr. 

" I am going all over the ship," she said, 
" and if I find any sick or poor people I 'm 
going to give them some money." 

" Where are you going to get the money ? " 
asked her father. 

" Why, from you, of course I " she exclaimed. 
Mr. Davidson laughed. He was very close 
with his money and seemed an unhappy man ; 
but Violet could have had the earth if it had 
been in his gift. 

" Captain," she said, " will you let me go all 
over the ship ? " 

" Yes," he replied, " but I must send some 
one with you." 

" Oh, I can take care of myself," she said. 

" You might get lost, though," said Captain 
Bedford, laughing. " Quartermaster, go with 
this little lady and show her over the ship." 

" Aye, aye, sir," said the old seaman, smiling 
with pleasure at his task. 

The child placed her tiny hand trustfully in 
the sailor's big, gnarled fist, and went tripping 
along beside him, chattering as if she had known 
him ever since her brown eyes opened on the 

The big ocean liner, " City of Albany," was 
plowing her way westward. She was not one of 
the ocean greyhounds, and although five days 
out from Liverpool, she had five days ahead 
of her before Fire Island light would heave up 
over the " distant purple rim of the sea." Mr. 
Davidson was a very rich man. He had been 
traveling in Europe for two months in quest 
of needed recreation, for he had fairly worn 
himself out with hard chasing after the fleeting 
dollar. Violet was his only comfort, for her 
mother was dead ; and he had taken the child 
with him because he could not bear a clay's 
separation from her. She was the one being 
whom he loved, the only creature who could 
find the way to the soft spot in his heart. He 
gratified her every wish, and had she not been a 
child of the loveliest disposition, she would have 
been hopelessly spoiled. But her sweet nature 
seemed to be above all thoughts of selfishness, 
and Mr. Davidson, as he realized this, felt that 
his daughter was much less like him than like 
her noble mother, who was lying at rest in the 
shadows of Woodlawn. 

Down in the forecastle, a swinging ship's lan- 
tern was throwing a fitful and unsteady glim- 
mer of light across a bunk in which lay a sick 
sailor boy. He was a slight young fellow, with 
fair hair that hung in curls about his hot and 
throbbing brow. He did not look strong 
enough for the bitterly hard life of a sailor ; yet 
he was on the ship's papers as an able seaman. 
One would have fancied him better suited to 
the helm of a pretty little yacht than to the 
grimy forecastle of an ocean steamer. 

There was a head-sea on, and the sick lad 
could feel himself suddenly lifted and swung 
high up with an irresistible rush. Then he would 




go plunging down again, and the next sea eyebrows, beneath which his little black eyes 
would meet the descending bows and smite gleamed like coals half smothered in ashes, 
them a mighty blow, which would ring through His cheeks were very red and flabby, and his 
the iron hollows of the hull with clanging re- nose was round, small, and purple, betraying the 
verberations. As some sea heavier than its fact that its owner had engaged in many fierce 
fellows would strike a more than usually bouts with that common enemy of the sailor, 
powerful blow, the boy would turn restlessly old John Barleycorn. But John Bloater had 
on his pillow and mutter : 

" Lay aloft there ! Man 
the fore-topsail clew-lines 
and bunt -lines ; weather 
fore-topsail brace ! No, 
Father, I can't stand it. 
Settle away the halliards ! 
Brace in and clew down ! 
I 'm going now; good- 
bye, good-bye. Ease 
off the weather sheet ! 
Clew up to windward ! 
Ease away the lee sheet ! 
Clew up to leeward ! It 's 
going to blow harder to- 
night. No, Father, it 's 
no use. I can't." 

'• Here, take a drap o' . 
this," said a voice beside 
him ; and a spoonful of 
medicine was held against 
his lips. " The boy 's got 
somethin' onto his mind." 

And old John Bloater, 
having returned the 
medicine bottle to its 
place and made a record 
of the time, sat down 
again on his three-legged 
camp-stool and resumed 
his watch. He had been 

detailed to nurse the sick boy, because they 
had been shipmates before in a sailing-ship, 
and had become attached to one another. 
The lad had shipped in Liverpool on the pre- 
vious voyage of the " City of Albany," and just 


after returning to that port had fallen sick. His 

many good qualities, in spite of the fact that 
he was not the sort of man whom you would 
invite to a dinner party. He was honest, and 
he was loyal to his friends ; and he had nursed 
the sick boy as faithfully as a woman, if not 
quite so tenderly. Very particular he was 

case did not appear to be serious, and he was about the medicines, too. There were three 

not sent to a hospital ; but when the ship was kinds, one of them being plain whisky, which 

clear of the Channel, he became much worse and John loved; but he would n't have touched 

was put to bed. it for the world, because it was for the sick 

Old John Bloater was not a handsome man. boy. The old sailor had made three beckets 

He had a low, bulging forehead and bushy gray — little loops of rope — on the bulkhead beside 



the bunk, and had slung the three bottles in 
them. The bottle upon the left hand had a 
piece of red flannel tied around its neck, and 
that on the right had a piece of green bunting. 
The center bottle was unadorned. Under the 
bottles was pinned a long slip of dirty paper, 
on which was written in a quaint, cramped 
hand the following 


28 ■ S2 

28 iJJj 
3.8 •'» 


tPLoif AgXitiatHtJl' 

*-A^H iFmiAA^ . 

. oi" 

7. 01 .00 

n.-ao; io 

1 : 30 : 

•3 .• •aA. :4-8. 

7 : So.- 16. 


" What on earth have you done to those bot- 
tles ? " asked the ship's doctor when he first saw 
these arrangements. 

" Marked 'em so 's there can't be no mis- 
tooks," said old John Bloater. " Starboard an' 
port medicals, an' grog. Starboard medical, 
green; port medical, red ; grog, nothin'. 'Cause 
why ? Any sailor man wot can't tell grog with- 
out no mark onto it ought'er be a marine." 

And the doctor perceived that old John's ar- 
rangement of the bottles, together with his time- 
table kept to the very second, insured accuracy 
in the administration of the medicines ; and he 
departed, thoroughly confident of the strange 
nurse's carefulness and of his full ability to 
discharge his duties. 

Old John Bloater was sitting in silence, 
shaking his head sadly over the mutterings of 
his patient, when the quartermaster and Violet, 
in making their rounds of the ship, at length 
reached the forecastle. 

" Oh," exclaimed Violet, " what an ugly 
place ! " 

John rose to his feet as quickly as he could, 
and, seeing the beautiful child, involuntarily 
took off his cap and made an awkward bow. 

" Yes, Missy," he said, " it ain't a putty place ; 
but it 's where sailor men lives, for all that." 

" But you have a sick man here." 

" Wal, he ain't hardly wot you might call a 

man, seein' as how he 's only twenty years old 
an' don't look that ; an' yet he 's be'n to sea 
fur four year, an' he 's as good a sailor man as 
ever I see, Missy." 

" He 's terribly sick, is n't he ? " asked the 
child in a subdued tone. 

" Yes, Missy, he 's just about as sick as he 
kin be without goin' below hatches ; but yet I 
reckon as how he 's a-goin' to pull through. 
'Cause why ? He 's young an' strong an' a 
mighty good boy, an' I — I — well, blow it all ! 
he ain't a-goin' to die ef I kin help it ! " 

And old John Bloater turned away and drew 
his hand across his eyes. 

" But he '11 never get well in this place. It 
rocks so." 

" 'T ain't edzackly wot you might call rockin', 
Missy," said John. " Don't you see we 're right 
up in the eyes of her here ? But every time she 
jumps a sea, she takes him right along toward 

" Does he live in New York ? " 

" I could n't rightly say that. 'Cause why ? 
Ever since I knowed him he 's be'n a-livin' in 
forecastles, like this one ; but he come from New 
York, I b'lieve, Missy." 

" Well, I 'm going to ask the captain to put 
him in a better place than this." 

" Lor' bless you, Missy, there ain't no better 
place fur sailor men aboard ship." 

"I don't care. He ought to have a state- 

Old John Bloater's eyes grew as round as 
saucers, and he stood shaking with laughter as 
the child took the quartermaster's hand and 
went out. 

" Papa," said Violet, entering Captain Bed- 
ford's room, where her father was engaged in a 
game of chess with the skipper, " I 've been all 
over the ship, and it 's not nice at all." 

" I was afraid that you would n't like it 
much, dear," said the captain. 

" I don't. But, Papa, I 've found a poor 
sick sailor, and I want him put in a better 

" But, my dear child — " began Mr. Davidson. 

" Now, don't talk like that, Papa. He 's 
only a young boy. ' He ain't hardly wot you 
might call a man,' " she said, unconsciously re- 




peating old John Bloater's words; "and he 's 
an American, too." 

" Well, I 'm very sorry for him, Violet," said 
Mr. Davidson. 

"All right," replied the child, decisively; 
" then you '11 come with me and see him." 


Mr. Davidson looked at Captain Bedford, 
who said in reply to the look : 

" The young fellow is very sick, but I believe 
he is very well taken care of. However, there 
is no objection to your going to see him, if you 
wish to humor her." 

" Come along then, Violet," said Mr. David- 
son. " I '11 go with you." 

" I '11 go too," said the captain. 

A few moments later old John Bloater was 

greatly surprised by the entrance of these three 
distinguished visitors. 

" How 's your patient, Bloater ? " asked the 

" Wal, sir, he don't seem no better nor no 
wuss to me ; but the doctor says as how he 's 
doin' as wal as might be sup- 

At this moment the ship's doctor 
entered, and immediately paused 
on seeing the sick boy's visitors. 
"Now, Papa," said Violet; 
" here 's the doctor. I want 
you to ask him if this sick man 
would n't get well sooner if he 
was in a better place." 

The doctor looked at Mr. 
Davidson and shrugged his 
shoulders, as much as to say that 
it would be a good thing for the 
patient, but that he did not see 
how it could be done. 

" Lay aloft ! " the sick boy 
cried out. " Man the boom 
tricing-lines ! Trice up ! Lay 
out and loose ! Oh, I can't 
stand it, Father; I must go." 
Mr. Davidson started and 
turned very white. " Bring the 
lantern," he said in an unsteady 
voice, " so that I can see his 

Old John Bloater wondering- 
ly obeyed, and Mr. Davidson 
stepped up to the bunk and 
bent over the sufferer. 

" It is ! " he exclaimed, stag- 
gering back and dropping into 
John's camp-stool. 

For a moment he was silent ; 
then, lifting his head, he said : 

" Captain Bedford, that boy is my son ! " 
" Holy mackerel ! " exclaimed old John. 
The others were silent with astonishment. 
" He ran away from home at the age of six- 
teen," said Mr. Davidson. " I drove him to it ; 
I was too hard with him, just after his mother's 
death. I tried to force him into business, when 
all his tastes ran to art. He had talent, and I 
tried to crush it. I pray that he may be spared 




to me now, or my punishment will be too great For answer the boy put his arm lovingly 

for me to bear." around his father's neck. 

Before evening the sick boy was removed to " And is this dear little girl," he asked, 

a comfortable stateroom, and old John was de- " my sister ? " 


tailed by the captain's special order to continue 
nursing him. Violet, who had been but three 
years old when the boy ran away, could hardly 
understand that this young sailor was the big 
brother whom she hardly remembered. In two 
days, however, he had made such progress that 
he was able to recognize every one. 

" Harry," said his father bending over him, 
'• come home, and be my son again ! " 

" Yes," said Violet, " I 'm your little sister." 
" It's more than I deserve," he said, kissing her. 

Harry's sailing is now confined to summer 
cruises in his handsome little sloop yacht. Old 
John Bloater has left the sea, and is janitor of 
Mr. Davidson's place of business. But his 
chief delight is to act as crew of that little 
yacht in the summer. 


By Celia Thaxter. 

Oh, whom did you meet, my children sweet, as out of the door you ran 
This sparkling autumn morning ? — Now tell me if you can ! 
What is it you say ? " Not a living thing, except high up in the blue 
We saw the white gulls sailing as we came down to you." 

But surely somebody met you as you ran skipping out. 

With your merry morning laughter and many a joyous shout, 

And kissed your lips and cheeks and chin — " Thea, we tell you true, 

We did n't meet any living thing as we danced down to you." 

But who then has made your cheeks so red, and nipped each dear little nose, 
And kissed your lips till they glow as bright as my crimson Burgundy rose ? 
You did n't see but you felt the stranger, — did n't you ? Well, he came 
Last night across the ocean, and Jack Frost is his name ! 


Aha, you did n't remember him, did you, my darlings twain ! 
A year ago he brought the snow, and here he is again ; 
And he 's always ready and waiting as soon as the summer 's done, 
Full of his tricks and his antics, just brimming over with fun. 

He frightens the poor little flowers to death, but you don't mind him at all ! 
He cracks the chestnut-burs in the woods and lets the brown nuts fall ; 
He covers the laughing little brook with a lid of sparkling ice, 
And he hunts for cricket and grasshopper and hushes their noise in a trice. 

He was riding on the wind, full tilt, when you came out of the door, 
And he said to himself, " Here are some friends I think I 've seen before ! 
Here are two little girls I met last year, and I '11 toss their yellow hair, 
And paint their cheeks, and pinch their ears, and follow them everywhere." 

Ah, dear round cheeks so fresh and pink with the touch of gay Jack Frost, 
My little girls with the shining eyes and gold hair lightly tossed ! 
I laugh to think you could n't guess who met you on your way, 
As you danced down to your Thea, this bright October day. 



By Teresa C. Crofton. 

Seventh Paper. 
An Ice World. 

The ice period properly belongs in the mid- 
dle of the last age ; but it is of such importance 
that it deserves a place all by itself. 

Hitherto our beautiful old world had never 
had a touch of frost. The poles were beginning 
to cool, for the crust was thickening and the 
earth was depending upon the sun for heat; 
but there had been no such thing as ice — no 
frost. The giant mammals did not know 
what cold meant. Suddenly it came, and prob- 
ably they never knew what killed them. It 
seems from the way the bodies are found, that 
they were overwhelmed by water which froze 
instantly ; otherwise the bodies would not be so 
perfect. What caused this sudden change, no 
one can tell. Different causes are suggested. 
Something may have happened to move part of 
Vol. XVIII.— 9. 

the earth farther away from the sun, thus les- 
sening the heat. You know what is meant by 
the earth's axis, and that the ends of the axis are 
the poles. It is known for certain that the poles 
have not always been where they are now. Some 
great shock may have upset the earth. One 
geologist thinks that it came in contact with 
comets and turned over; but how this turn- 
over made the sudden cold is a mystery. 
Others are of opinion that something kept the 
sun for a time from giving the usual heat to 
the earth. 

Whatever the cause, vast fields of ice filled 
plains, valleys, and seas. They filled the rivers, 
crept up on their banks, stretched out to the hills, 
and covered them. So deep was the ice that it 
filled the lowest valleys, and few were the peaks 
high enough to rise above its surface. Mount 
Washington was just tall enough to show its 
head. Desolate wastes of ice and snow were 




everywhere. There was no sound of running 
water, for the rivers and brooks were stilled. 

These great ice-seas each had a central point 
or line from which they seem to have started. 
In North America there were three such begin- 
nings situated where the most rain now falls. 
One ran down the well-watered Atlantic side of 
the continent, and the ice-seas which spread 
away from this were very deep and wide ; a 
second ran down the Pacific side ; and a third 
followed the high ridges of the Rocky Moun- 

In Europe, the mountains of the region now 
called Norway and Sweden were the starting- 
point, and the ice stretched from these far away 
on the east into what is now Russia, into where 
Germany lies on the south, and completely 
covered what was to be Great Britain. 

In high valleys, among the mountains whose 
tops are covered with perpetual snow, are often 
found seas of ice, called " glaciers." They are 
formed thus : Snow that falls upon lofty moun- 
tains melts very little even in summer. So in 
valleys high up among the mountains, it gath- 
ers to a great depth, and from the weight of 
the snow lying above the lower layers becomes 
icy, as a snowball does when squeezed. The 
upper crust melts a little during the heat of the 
day, and the water sinks down through the 
snow, and then freezes at night. From this 
melting and freezing the mass of snow is soon 
changed into a sea of ice. 

Remember that when water freezes, it ex- 
pands. If we fill a bottle with water and let it 
freeze over night, in the morning we find that 
the bottle is cracked by the swelling of the ice. 
So it is with the water that forms glaciers. When 
it freezes, it stretches, and pushes its way down 
in whatever direction the valleys slope. 

Glaciers of to-day are much smaller than the 
ice-seas of long ago ; but still, in studying them, 
we learn to understand the old glaciers. 

In traveling down valleys those ancient gla- 
ciers left traces of their journey. Over all the 
places where the ice-seas passed, the rocks are 
rounded and highly polished. A field of these 
rounded rocks, when seen from a distance, looks 
like a field filled with sheep crouching on the 
ground, and Swiss geologists have called them 
roches moutonnees — "sheep-like rocks." In a 

valley along the summit of the Rocky Moun- 
tains, near the " Mountain of the Holy Cross," 
there is a beautiful display of these polished, 
rounded rocks. 

As the glaciers moved down the valleys, great 
rocks, frozen fast in the ice on the sides and at 
the bottom, scratched and marked other rocks as 
they passed by and over them. Sometimes these 
scorings are very broad and deep, for the im- 
mense rocks the glaciers carried were like strong, 
powerful tools in the grasp of a mighty engine ; 
sometimes the lines are as fine as those of a fine 
engraving. They usually run all one way, and 
by looking at the direction in which the lines run 
one can tell the direction in which the glacier 
moved. In the sandstone west of New Haven, 
Connecticut, the deep, broad scorings can be 
plainly seen, running toward the southeast. The 
height at which these scratches occur tells us 
something of the depth of the ice. 

Markings in the White Mountains indicate 
that the ice was more than a mile deep over the 
region now known as northern New England. 

Wherever the glaciers melted, they left an im- 
mense amount of " drift," — that is, sand, gravel, 
and stones of all sizes, which had been frozen in 
the ice when the glaciers were forming. The 
northeastern part of the continent, down to Long 
Island, New York, is thickly covered with it. 
It changed the face of the country in a great 
many cases, filling up valleys and changing the 
courses of' rivers. The bed over which the 
Niagara River formerly flowed was so filled up 
with drift that the river slowly cut a new way 
for itself out of the solid rock, and in this new 
channel it flows to-day. 

The stones of this drift are of all sizes. Some 
are as small as pebbles, others as large as small 
houses. There is one at Bradford, Massachu- 
setts, which measures thirty feet each way, and 
weighs four and a half million pounds. There 
is another on a ledge in Vermont which is even 
larger than that, and which must have been car- 
ried by the ice across a valley lying five hundred 
feet below where the stone now is, showing that 
the ice was five hundred feet thick. Great 
boulders of trap-rock extend through Connecti- 
cut on a line running to Long Island Sound; 
and as some of the same kind are found in Long 
Island, the glacier is believed to have crossed 



the Sound, carrying these rocks with it. An 
immense statue of Peter the Great, in St. Peters- 
burg, stands on one of these glacier boulders of 
solid granite, which weighs three million pounds. 
One of the largest boulders in America is in the 
Indian village of Mohegan, near Montville, Con- 
necticut. The Indians call the rock " Shehegan." 
Its top, which is flat and as large as the floor of 
a good-sized room, is reached by a ladder. 

Sometimes these boulders are found perched 
upon bare ledges of rock, so nicely balanced 
that, though of great weight, they may be 
rocked by the hand. They are called " rock- 
ing-stones." A picture of one is in St. Nicho- 
las for March, 1888. Near the little Connecti- 
cut village of Noank, on Long Island Sound, 
there is an immense boulder called by the people 
there " Jemimy's Pulpit." It was formerly a 
rocking-stone. But the rock has worn away 
below it and it can no longer be moved. 

Some of these boulders have been carried 
great distances by the moving ice. In Ohio 
and Michigan, some are found which have been 
thus moved four hundred miles. This is ascer- 
tained by finding where rock like the boulder is 
located. For instance, on the top of Mount 
Katahdin, the highest mountain in Maine, pieces 
of limestone with fossil remains in them occur. 
No such rock can be found anywhere nearer 
than in a ledge many miles to the northwest. 
So these pieces must have been carried by the 
glaciers from the northwest ledge. 

When we think of those immense seas of ice, 
over a mile deep, and extending across conti- 
nents, creeping slowly down the slopes, we can 
form some idea of the terrible effects they pro- 
duced. Rocks were broken up and ground to 
dust. Valleys were deeply plowed out and 
widened. Geologists say there are good rea- 
sons for believing that the lakes of British 
America and our Great Lakes were once only 
river valleys which the glaciers " scooped " 
out and made into lake-beds. 

Some have attempted to prove that a large 


part of the work ascribed to glaciers is the effect 
of icebergs floating in a sea which then covered 
these regions. But no one who has studied the 
doings of glaciers of the present day can ever 
be convinced of this. The work of the glaciers 
is so different from that of icebergs that there 
can be no mistake. Icebergs, of course, con- 
tain quantities of earth and stone. The Banks 
of Newfoundland are made of the earth and 
stone which icebergs have carried down for ages 
past. Icebergs do plow up dirt and sand ; but 
it requires some strong, powerful body, moving 
both more steadily and more slowly, to make 
these parallel grooves and scratches in the rocks, 
and to polish their surfaces. Besides, there are 
no sea-shells in the drift, as there would be had 
it been left by icebergs. 

As for animals, we know that these desolate 
fields of ice and snow could support none. 
Still it may be that the ice-fields did not cover 
all the earth at the same time, and animals may 
have lived in some places, while others were 
having their ice-age. It is certain, however, 
that some species of animals, and also of plants, 
were then lost forever ; among them those gi- 
gantic animals resembling our elephants, which 
before this sudden cooling made the regions 
now called Northern Europe and Siberia their 

Now what was the purpose of this ice-age ? 
According to Agassiz, the glaciers were God's 
great plows; and when the ice vanished from 
the earth, it left a surface prepared for the hus- 
bandman. It ground up limestone and granite, 
mixed them together, and thus made a soil fit 
for grain to grow in, so that there might be food 
for a higher order of beings than any yet cre- 
ated. The ice-age was an important link in a 
grandly perfect chain, and was just the prepara- 
tion which the earth needed for the age to fol- 
low, although there seems at first so great a 
difference between our fertile fields with their 
wealth of grain and those cheerless wastes of 
snow and ice. 


By Mary Elizabeth Blake. 

Hey ! Niddy 
What is this I see ! 
Vowing he is no' 
for bed, 
While his bonny 
drowsy head 
Tosses there an' tosses 
Like a ship at sea ! 
Winking an' blinking, 

Eyes in shadow creep 
Straying an' playing 

Hide and seek \vi' sleep ; 
Whiles the flying laughter slips up his face 

Whiles the dimples round his lips fleet and fly 
away, — 

Not a notion, gude or bad, 
Is in that golden head. 

Hoot ! my weeny silly lad, 
Off wi' ye to bed ! 

Ho ! Niddy Noddy, 
An' are ye waking yet ! 
Sitting there without a word, 
Gaping like a hungry bird, 
Is na that a weary sight 
To mak' a body fret ! 
M'undering an' blundering 

Along his sleepy way, 
Lowering an' glowering 
Wi' nought at all to say ; 
Daur ye now to tell a fib, — say it is na late, — 
Wi' yon little lanesome crib waiting for its 
mate ! 

Mickle seense, or gude or bad, 

Is in that pretty head, 
But an ye 'd mak' it more, my lad, — 
Off wi' ye to bed ! 


By John Carson Pembroke. 

"T-— U AR from the routes of the stage-coaches, 

I in a certain small town, there lived 

' nearly a century ago, an old miser. 

Being mortal, this old miser died ; and 
he left no near relatives to mourn or 
pretend to mourn the loss which would have 
been their gain. There was much curiosity in 
the village as to what would become of the 
old man's money, and for a long time this 
wish for information was not gratified. 

But after the lawyers had buzzed about over 
the dead man's estate, and after the postman 
had departed very proudly one morning with a 
long letter sealed with several large black seals, 
and after all the eight-day clocks in the village 
had been wound and unwound twice, it was 
whispered about that an heir had been found 
for the old man's money. 

Better than that, it was learned that the post- 
man had brought the heir back with him from 


the last journey ; and, still better, the postman 
was expected at the inn, and when he came 
would tell all that he knew. When evening 
came the inn was crowded, but not much was 
said. All were waiting for the postman. 

Of course he was late ; he knew that his im- 
portance would be gone as soon as his news was 
told. Taking a chair modestly near the door- 
way, the postman sat himself down. 

" Good-evening, neighbor," said the village 

" Good-evening, one and all," replied the 

" What news ? " asked the schoolmaster. 

" Little enough," replied the postman. " Have 
you heard that the heir has been found ? " 

There was a sudden scraping of chairs, as 
the curious crowd gathered nearer. 

" So it has been said of late," replied the 
schoolmaster, with fitting reserve. " And it has 
also been asserted by some that none know 
better than yourself who and what the heir 
may be." 

" That I do," said the postman, trying to look 
humble ; " that I do, neighbors. In fact, as 
some of you may know, I had the good fortune 
to ride to town to-night with the youth who, for 
aught I know, will soon be the richest of all 
of us." 

" If it would not be an impropriety," said the 
schoolmaster, stroking his chin, " why not re- 
count such particulars of his lineage, manners, 
calling, and way of life as he may have con- 
fided to you without seal of secrecy ? " 

This bold advance to an understanding met 
with much favor — though there were those 
who thought such bluntness of address did no 
credit to the schoolmaster's shrewdness. 

Seeing that further delay would not add to 
either his popularity or his importance, the post- 
man began his story. It was not a long one. 
He had, it seems, been instructed by the law- 
yers to meet the young man at a certain inn, 
called the " Blue Basin and Ladle," situated in 
a seaport town some leagues away. From the 
young man himself it had been learned that he 
came from a distant colony, where he had been 
traveling for several years. 

" He is," said the postman, " a second cousin, 
I believe — or possibly a niece's son. At all 


events he is the nearest living relative, and will 
inherit all the property." 

" And what nature of a man may he be ? " 
asked the landlord. 

" It 's hard for a simple man to tell," an- 
swered the postman, stroking his chin. " He 
seems to me an odd fish. He carried a fiddle 
on his back ; sang queer songs in a gibberish no 
one could understand ; hobnobbed with a trav- 
eling Gipsy tinker whom we met upon the road ; 
made friends with the post-horses, and even 
cured one of a lame forefoot. But he said noth- 
ing to me ; never inquired about his new neigh- 
bors ; and when I asked him about the crops, 
said that he could n't wait to see them grow, 
and advised me to save my breath for the hills 
on the road. In fact, for a time I could n't de- 
cide whether he was a crazy loon or a sim- 

" And to what conclusion did you come at 
last ? " asked the schoolmaster. 

Before this question could be answered, a 
knock was heard on the door. " Come in, and 
welcome ! " shouted the host. The door opened 
and there entered an old Gipsy, once a tramp, 
now a peddler, who sometimes came to the 
town to sell knives and other small cutlery and 
to do tinkering. Room was made for him with- 
out a further word of greeting, and putting his 
pack on the floor he sat down. 

The postman, however, had not forgotten the 
landlord's question, and now answered it, adding 
enough information to interest the old Gipsy, 
and thus include him in the audience — for the 
postman was of the race of gossips, and would 
talk to a rag-doll rather than keep silent. 

" This young man from foreign parts," said 
he, " who has now fallen heir to the old miser's 
gold, seems, to put it very fairly and to do jus- 
tice to all concerned, neither more nor less than 
a ninny. In truth, he knows next to nothing ; 
and if we may believe the old adage about a 
fool and a fool's money, we shall live to see him 
leave the town as penniless as he entered it." 

There were a few questions asked and an- 
swered, and then the talk turned to other 

Several weeks passed on ; the old miser's 
money — commonly declared to be in rolls of 
bright goldpieces, and to have been found stowed 




cunningly away, as a dog hides bones — was 
handed over to his heir. The young man cer- 
tainly had nothing in his appearance or bearing 
to contradict the very unfavorable judgment 
delivered by the postman. In fact, acquain- 
tance with him had led the villagers to think 
the postman right. 

No one had noticed, that night at the inn, 
how attentively the old Gipsy listened to all that 
was said. And no one thought it at all strange 
that on the Gipsy's next visit to the town he 
should call first at the miser's house, now oc- 
cupied by the young heir. 

" Would the rich young gentleman care to 
buy any of my knives, scissors, or razors?" 
asked the Gipsy, when the door was opened. 

" I don't know," said the young fellow uncer- 
tainly, as the Gipsy opened his pack and spread 
the shining tools on the doorstep. " What have 
you to sell ? " 

" Now that you are so rich, so very rich," said 
the Gipsy, " you will have to shave every day. 
It will never do for so rich a man to go un- 
shaven like a porter ! " 

This repetition of the word " rich " was for a 
purpose. The young man noticed it, and 
said : 

" Why do you say I am so rich ? " 

" You have the goldpieces that the old man 
spent his life in securing," said the Gipsy ; " and 
he left plenty of gold — yes, plenty of gold ! " 

" How do you know ? " asked the young 
man, as if much interested. 

" I know how he grew it," said the Gipsy. 

" How he grav it ? " repeated the other. 

" How he grew it," repeated the Gipsy care- 

" What do you mean ? " asked the young 

" It is tiresome for me to stand here," said the 
peddler; " and it is too long a story to tell. If 
I could have a bit of bread and cheese, I 'd tell 
you the story gladly." 

The young man was curious to hear what the 
Gipsy had to say, and therefore invited him 
into the house. 

When they were seated in the tumbledown 
old kitchen, the Gipsy said : 

" I am glad that you show yourself to be a 
man of sense. Fortunate indeed is it for you 

that you did not yield to the silly prejudice 
against Gipsies that most of these stay-at-home 
folk have. The good man who died, and whose 
gold has come to you, had no foolish preju- 
dices either. Though you are only a distant 
relative, I see that you are heir to some of his fin- 
est traits as well as to his money. I care nothing 
for money myself, but I like to have my friends 
enjoy life." 

The young man seemed completely bewil- 
dered by this foolish rigmarole, and sat silent, 
but with his eyes fixed keenly upon his talkative 

" Yes," continued the Gipsy ; " your relative, 
whose loss we so deeply regret, was kind to me 
when I had need of kindness. I was once 
arrested, and brought before the magistrates for 
vagrancy and for sorcery, and he alone stood 
by me and secured an acquittal. In return I 
did him a favor — and he grew rich. He might 
have been much richer, but he sold the pear- 

" What pear-tree ? " asked the young man. 
" There are no pear-trees on the place." 

" Not on this place," said the Gipsy slyly. 
" As I said, he sold the tree. That is, he sold 
the farm where the tree is, which is much the 
same thing." 

" Surely one could not get rich by growing 
pears ? " said the young man. 

" You never saw pears like these," answered 
the Gipsy, pretending he was about to go. 

The young man begged the peddler to tell 
more of this strange story. 

" It is useless," said the Gipsy, " you would 
never believe a word of it. In fact, I hardly 
believe it myself. I tell it only because you 
seem to be interested." 

But the young man insisted, and the peddler, 
after a show of reluctance, sat down, being very 
willing to tell the absurd story he had invented 
with the hope of being able to rob the young 

" Your relation, whose untimely loss we all de- 
plore," began this old scamp, " after he had 
aided in clearing me of the charge of sorcery, 
took me to his own house and there told me 
that he himself dealt in the black art." Here 
the Gipsy made a rhetorical pause and fixed his 
big black eyes on the young man. Whether 


or not his hearer understood what was said, he 
appeared willing to listen. So the story was 

" I was, of course, surprised ; but in a few 
words the old man, now no more, explained to 
me that I was a somnambulist of the most ex- 
traordinary powers." 

"A — what ? " said the young heir. 

" A sleep-walker. He assured me that I was 
a sleep-walker of great ability." 

" What of that ? " said the young man. 

" So I asked. He made me no very decided 
answer, but begged I would lend him my as- 
sistance in an enterprise of his own. I con 
sented. He then requested that I should spend 
several nights beneath his roof. I did so." 

" You did ? " 

" Yes. I was his guest." 

" Is that all ? " asked the young man. 

" Oh, no. The best is to come. He was so 
eager I should prolong my stay that I determined 
to find out why. I pretended, on the next to 
the last night that I was with him, to be fast 
asleep, whereas in reality I remained awake. 
To make my story short, the deceased came to 
my room and after (as he thought) convincing 
himself that I was sound asleep, took me by the 
shoulder and said ' Come ! ' I rose and followed 
him. Going to the stable he said, ' Take the 
spade ! ' I took the spade, and away we went. 
Exactly where I can scarcely remember " — here 
the Gipsy paused and looked at the young man, 
intending to give the impression that he could 
tell all about it if he chose. Then he went on : 
" We came to a certain pear-tree, and here he 
directed me to dig. I dug a small hole in the 
ground, and then he told me to stop. Next, he 
took from his pocket a bag tightly tied. This 
he deposited in the hole; in fact, buried it. 
Then he directed me to go home ; and home 
I went. 

" You may be sure that I did not lose sight 
of him the next night. He did not disturb me, 
however, but set off by himself for the pear-tree. 
I followed him at a safe distance and watched 
all that he did. Going straight to the tree he 
picked several of the pears, and breaking them 
open, took from each a shining goldpiece ! " 

Again the peddler paused to see what effect 
he had produced upon his companion, and 


again he was disappointed, for the latter, though 
still quietly attentive, made no sign of any sort. 

" / was surprised," said the Gipsy, " for I had 
never seen anything of the kind. Did you 
ever ? " 

" No. I never," said the impassive youth 
with a pretended yawn. Thinking anything in 
the way of tact was thrown away upon the 
stupid booby to whom he was talking, the 
former tramp proceeded to state the rest of his 
scheme without any foolish waste of words. 

" Now, if I should walk in my sleep again," 
said the Gipsy, " I have no doubt I could find 
that tree. And, if I can do so, we may both be 
rich. I have very little money to plant, but as 
the tree of course increases whatever may be 
buried at its roots I have enough to secure me 
a rich reward for my trouble." 

" What do you wish to do ? " asked the 
young man. 

" Plainly put, this : You and I will collect 
all the money we can spare, and when I am 
asleep to-night you shall do as your ancestor 
did. I will walk and find the tree, and then 
we can plant our money. On the next night 
we will go and pick the pears ! " 

" I have another good plan," said the young 
man slowly. 

Pleased with any gleam of intelligence, the 
Gipsy asked, " What is that ? " 

" Bury the money crop again, and then we 
shall have more yet ! " 

" You are a genius ! " answered the peddler, 
pretending to be much pleased. " That is just 
what we will do ! " 

Though the next night was bright as day, 
with a big harvest moon pouring its mellow light 
upon the country, the plan was carried out. 

The old Gipsy arose, and with much cere- 
mony and a pretense of cabalistic nonsense, ar- 
rayed himself in a very gaily figured dressing- 
gown taken from among the choicest things in 
his pack. In a sleepy and mumbling tone, he 
said something at the same time about his 
"magic robe," thereby hoping to delude the 
young simpleton. Tying a handkerchief about 
his head for a night-cap and putting on some 
strong slippers, he sallied forth to a neighboring 
pear-tree, and to the music of a sing-song chant 
buried the money. 

7 2 

On the next night the same mummery was 
repeated ; a second visit to the tree was made, 
and to the apparent surprise and joy of the 
young man, a few of the pears were found to 
contain a small goldpiece in each. But the old 
Gipsy refused to pluck more than a very few. 
Nor did the young man insist upon it. Upon 
their return to the house, the young heir seemed 
much elated. But in the morning the Gipsy 
pretended ignorance of the trip to the tree, even 
when the young man declared that he intended 
to gather together all the gold he could, so that 
it might be planted at the foot of the wonderful 

But the old Gipsy went into the town and, 
without telling the heir, took the liberty of bor- 
rowing a large amount of money on the credit 
of the young man, which was very good. He 
added besides, all the cash he himself had ; the 
young man collected all his gold from strong- 
boxes and secret hoards, and that night they 
buried their many bags of money in the ground. 

A drowsy owl surveyed the work from a 
neighboring branch and mournfully hooted his 

This time the Gipsy pretended suddenly to 
awake, and insisted that the younger man should 
climb up and sit upon one of the horizontal 
limbs of the pear-tree. 

" For," said he, " it is the gnomes that do the 
work for us, and the tread of a strange foot dis- 
turbs them. Only a Gipsy's tread is light 
enough to escape their quick ears ! The expired 
connection of yours — who is now only a mem- 
ory — well knew this. He always climbed the 
tree, or retired a distance of forty-nine paces. 
You may take your choice." 

So, with a wink to the owl, who returned it 
before he knew what he was doing, the heir 
climbed the tree and perched himself very 
uncomfortably upon a large branch. 

Then the owl saw a strange sight. Now and 
then the old Gipsy would quickly stop his dig- 
ging, and would turn suddenly and look at the 
young man in the tree. It seemed as if he 
wished to catch him off his guard. But no 
matter how quickly the old man turned, the 
younger man was ready for him. His face 
would put on an expression of blank idiocy 
or of intense curiosity over the digging, and 



this he would keep until the old man looked 
away again, and even for a time afterward. 
Then the young man would laugh slyly to him- 
self. The owl could n't understand it, and as 
he thought men a stupid race, he did not try 
very hard to solve the mystery. 

That night the old Gipsy slept very soundly. 
He had lost so much sleep that he was tired 
out. It was broad daylight when he came 
down-stairs to seek the young man. 

But the fellow-conspirator was nowhere to be 
found. In vain the peddler searched the house 
and the grounds. 

Then an idea came to him. 

" He is probably uneasy about his money. 
It will not worry him so much," said the retired 
tramp, laughing to himself, " when I shall have 
dug it up and run off with it ! " 

So saying, he set out for the wonderful pear- 

There stood the tree — but, alas ! there was 
not a pear to be seen upon the branches. Some 
one had plucked them all. 

Then the old Gipsy ran around to where the 
money had been buried. And he saw new 
earth thrown up, a great hole in the ground, and 
when he gazed upon the place where the money 
had been hidden, he actually felt like bursting 
into tears. 

There stood the old Gipsy with mouth drawn 
down and eyebrows raised, gazing into the hole, 
until the owner of the orchard came near and 
asked what he was seeking. 

" Did you see any one digging here ? " asked 
the Gipsy. 

" A young man was digging here early, — at 
dawn," said the man. 

" What for ? " 

" He found a buried treasure," said the owner 
of the orchard. 

" But — " said the Gipsy, " it was in your 
land ? " 

" Oh, no. He bought this acre of me before 
he began to dig. I bought his house and lot 
and I threw this in as a make-weight." 

" But there was some of my money here ! " 
said the Gipsy. 

" Why did you put it in my land ? " asked the 
owner of the orchard, coolly, but received no 


" Where did the young thief go ? " asked the 
Gipsy in despair, as he thought of the 
goldpieces which he had very 
dishonestly borrowed, and of 
those he had earned by 
miles of tramping, — 
the goldpieces which 
he had put in the 
pears in order to 
bamboozle the 
young man. 

" I can not tell. 



He said he was to sail for 
foreign parts," and 
the man loitered 
away. Turn- 
ing back, 
»"« *> f-cuv how- 


'%9 :m 

^ -~- - 




ever, he called out : " He left a bit of paper in 
the hole he dug — maybe it was for you. I 
could n't read it, try as I might. It was in a 
foreign tongue." 

The old man found the bit of paper. It was 
written in the Gipsy language, and said that 
the young man, being himself a Gipsy, fond 
of roving and moderate in his ideas, had con- 
cluded to remain satisfied with the first crop. 
He therefore bestowed the " wonderful pear- 
tree " upon his dear old friend, begging him to 
remember the days they " went Gipsying to- 
gether ! " It was signed " Romany." 

For a moment the old Gipsy was angry. 
Then he began to smile. Then he laughed. 
Then he ran after the orchard owner, and sold 
him back the pear-tree for a few bits of money. 

It took all his savings to ransom his pack and 
to repay what he had borrowed, and not long 
after he left the little village forever. 

That night the moon shone again upon the 
pear-tree, and there sat the owl. 

" Now," said the owl to himself, as he settled 
down into his fluffy overcoat, " now I shall be 
able to sleep better these bright moonlight 
nights. How stupid men are ! " 

Vol. XVIII.— 10. 

cjhe batox 

By Clarence B. Moore. 



_r_The HMjnt of the"Go.tor"'- 

The alligator, or " 'gator," as it is usually 
called throughout its home, the Southern States, 
is an object of great curiosity at the North. 
Every winter many tourists visit Florida and 
carry back baby alligators, together with more 
or less magnified accounts of the creature's do- 
ings and habits, and their stories are probably 
the cause of this very widespread interest. 

Though the alligator is rapidly disappearing 
from the banks of the lower St. John's River, 
in Lake Washington and in the Saw Grass 
Lake (where that river has its source), and in 
waters still farther south, they are still to be 
found in almost undiminished numbers, and are 
hunted for a living by native hunters. They are 
commonly sought at night, by torch-light, for in 
this way they can be approached with the utmost 
ease. The alligator is hunted in the summer 
only, and the hunters usually shoot egrets, her- 
ons, and other birds of beautiful plumage dur- 
ing the winter months. They find a ready sale 
for the bird skins, as decorations for ladies' hats. 

A rifle-ball will readily penetrate an alligator's 
hide, although there exists an unfounded belief 
to the contrary. The creatures will " stand a 
deal of killing," however, and frequently roll 
off a bank and are lost even after being shot 
through and through. 

The alligator builds a nest of mud and grass, 

and lays a large number of oblong white 
■tie., eggs, but the little ones when hatched often 
serve as lunch for their unnatural papa, and 
this cannibalism, more than the rifle, pre- 
vents their numbers from increasing. The alligator 
is not particular as to diet. I once found the 
stomach of a ten-footer to be literally filled with 
pine chips from some tree which had been felled 
near the river's bank ! They are fond of wal- 
lowing in marshes, and many a man out snipe 
shooting has taken an involuntary bath by 
stumbling into their wallows. In dry seasons 
alligators will traverse long distances overland 
to reach water, and travelers have come sud- 
denly upon alligators crawling amid prairies 
or woods, in the most unexpected manner. 
The alligator as a rule is very wary, but at 
times sleeps quite soundly. I saw one struck 
twice with an oar before it woke. 

There is a very prevalent impression that the 
alligator differs from the crocodile in that one 
moves the upper jaw and the other the lower. 
Such, however, is not the case. Both animals 
move the lower jaw, though the raising of the 
head as the mouth opens sometimes gives the 
appearance of moving the upper jaw only. But 
alligators and crocodiles differ in the arrange- 
ment of the teeth, and the snout of the croco- 
dile is more sharply pointed. 

The hides are salted to preserve them and 
are shipped to dealers in Jacksonville, where 
those less than six feet long are worth a dollar, 
while for those which exceed this length twenty- 
five cents extra is allowed. Alligator hides 
to the value of twenty thousand dollars were 
shipped from Florida last year, and as the deal- 
ers probably charge twice the price paid the 
hunters, a fair estimate of the number of 
alligators killed for sale in that State, and 
not counting those shot by tourists, would be 


ten thousand annually. One hears very con- 
flicting reports as to the length of large alliga- 
tors. A prominent dealer in Jacksonville said 
that out of ten thousand hides handled by him 
none were over twelve feet long. I am told that 
at the Centennial, side by side with a crocodile 
from the Nile, there was shown an alligator 
from Florida sixteen feet in length. 

Years ago near a place called Enterprise, on 

GATOR. 75 

canoe. A bright idea struck him. He put his 
visiting-card in the beast's mouth and paddled 
swiftly back. A number of hunters were at the 
wharf, and the slayer of Big Ben hastened 
to inform them with apparent sincerity that 
while out paddling he had come within easy 
range of the " 'gator," who was, no doubt, still 
lying motionless on the point. A flotilla of 
boats and canoes, manned by an army with 

" u i" ; ; "' ■'WW I \W '■ ' 


a point jutting into Lake Monroe, during all 
bright days a certain big alligator used to lie 
basking in the sun. He was well known to the 
whole neighborhood. The entire coterie of 
sportsmen at the only hotel used to call him 
" Big Ben," and proud hunters would talk, and 
even dream, of the time when a well-aimed 
rifle-shot would end his long career. But Big 
Ben was as cunning as a serpent, and when- 
ever any one, afoot or afloat, came unpleasantly 
near, he would slide off into the water, — which 
meant " good-bye " for the rest of the day. 

One fine morning one of these sportsmen, 
paddling up the lake, luckily with his rifle in his 
canoe, came upon Big Ben so sound asleep 
that he stole up within range and put a bullet 
through the alligator's brain. What to do 
next was a problem. He could not tow the 
monster all the way to Enterprise with his small 

rifles, instantly started for the point. To avoid 
confusion it was unanimously agreed that all 
should go down together, and that the entire 
party, if they were lucky enough to find Big 
Ben still there, should fire a volley at the word 
of command. As they approached the point, 
the hearts of all beat quickly; and when, with 
straining eyes, they saw Big Ben apparently 
asleep and motionless upon the bank, even the 
coolest could scarcely control his feelings. The 
boats were silently drawn up within easy shot, 
and the word was given. Bang, bang ! went a 
score of rifles and Big Ben, riddled with bul- 
lets, lay motionless upon the point! With a 
cheer of triumph the excited sportsmen leaped 
ashore, and fastening a rope around the dead 
alligator, speedily towed him to Enterprise. 
There the original slayer awaited them upon the 
wharf. When Big Ben was laid upon the 





shore, opening the animal's mighty jaws he 
disclosed his visiting card, and thanked them 
most politely for their kindness in bringing his 
'gator home for him. 

I once met with a curious adventure. Man 
is rarely attacked by alligators in Florida, except 
by the female a^igator called upon to defend 
her young. Some years ago, in a small steamer 
chartered for the purpose, I had gone up a 
branch of the St. John's beyond Salt Lake until 
we could proceed no farther, because the top 
of the river had become solid with floating 
vegetation under which the water flowed. We 
tied up for the night, and shortly after were 
boarded by two men who said that their camp 
was near by and that they shot alligators and 
plume-birds for a living. One of the men car- 
ried his rifle, a muzzle-loader, and from its barrel 
projected the ramrod, which had become fast 
immediately above the ball while loading. He 

intended to draw it out after they should return 
to camp. 

We went ashore with these men to look at 
an alligator's nest near by, and were filling 
our pockets with baby-alligators, when we 
heard a grunting sound and saw an alligator 
eight or nine feet long coming directly at us. 
With the exception of the man already referred 
to, we were all unarmed and affairs began to 
look a little unpleasant, for the creature evi- 
dently meant mischief. When it was within a 
few feet, the man with the rifle, knowing that he 
alone had a weapon, took deliberate aim and 
fired bullet, ramrod, and all down the 'gator's 
throat. The animal turned over twice, and 
rolling off the bank, sank out of sight. 

The alligators of the Amazon River in South 
America are very numerous, and owing to 
scarcity of hunters attain a very great size. In 
the upper waters apparently they are entirely 

1 % 







unaccustomed to the report of firearms, and 
if not actually hit will lie still while shot after 
shot is fired. The largest I ever killed and 
measured was thirteen feet and four inches in 
length ; but this was much smaller than many 
which I shot from dugouts and canoes too far 
away from shore to tow them in. 

Buried an inch deep in one of these dead 
alligators I once found a pirana, that trouble- 
some fish which makes swimming in some parts 
of the Amazon a risky matter. It bores into 
flesh very much after the manner of a circular 
punch, and when it starts, its habit is to go 
to the bone. The pirana of course could not 
penetrate the hide of the alligator, but entering 
by the bullet-hole it had turned to one side and 
partially buried itself in the flesh. I have seen 
men bearing very ugly scars, the results of 
wounds inflicted by the pirana while they were 
bathing. If this fish is cut open after having 

bored its way into an animal a solid round 
mass of flesh will be found inside correspond- 
ing to the hole it has made, showing that the 
fish really bores its way in. 

It is said that the alligator of the Amazon is 
more likely to attack man than its brother of 
our Southern States. The captain of a small 
steamer running between Iquitos and Para, 
told me that on the preceding trip he had 
carried to a doctor a boy who had lost his arm 
from the bite of an alligator, while allowing his 
arm to hang in the water from a raft. The 
same captain, however, also informed me that 
he had been treed by one of these animals and 
compelled to remain " up a tree " for some 
time ; so that I have some hesitation in quot- 
ing him as an authority upon the nature and 
habits of these alligators. The flesh of young 
alligators is considered a delicacy in Brazil and 
is regularly sold in the markets. 

.•:/.;: .Ssv 

By Laura A. Steel. 

There was an exclusive old oyster 
Who spent all his life in a cloister. 
He said, " For a cell 
I prefer my own shell." 
That very retiring old oyster. 


" Tell me a story," said the Pirate, sitting 
up very straight in the chair he had drawn as 
close as possible to mine. 

" Oh dear ! " said I. " Must I tell another 
story ? " 

" Yes," said the Pirate, firmly. " Tell me a 
true one," and he wriggled farther back in the 
chair, till the soles of his shoes stared at me in 
the most uncompromising manner. 

" Once upon a time," I began, obediently, 
" there was a little boy with blue eyes and yel- 
low curls " — 

" No, no," protested the Pirate ; " don't tell 
about me, tell me a new one," and as he is a 
very determined Pirate indeed, I began again. 

" Once when I was a little girl " — - 

" That 's good," nodded the Pirate, with a 
sigh of satisfaction; " I like them kind." For I 
am sorry to admit this particular Pirate is not 
always as grammatical as his friends could wish ; 
but I suppose few pirates are perfect. 

" Once, when I was a little girl, I knew a 
pussy cat, a great big gray pussy cat." 

" What was his name ? " queried the Pirate. 

" We called him Leopard, because he was so 
prettily striped with black. And he lived in 
the country." 

" I know," sagely assented the Pirate, " where 
it 's all outdoors, like up to my grandma's." 

" Yes," I said, " and he used to catch little 
birds, which was naughty," — the Pirate nodded 
again, — " and little mice." 




" Did n't he catch any big ones ? " inter- 
rupted the Pirate. 

" Yes," I replied. " But I wanted to tell you 
about some little ones. There were no little 
children in the house where Leop lived, so the 
nursery " (I quailed, but the Pirate did not detect 
the slip) " was not always upside down," and I 
glanced severely at the playthings piled in dis- 
order behind us. 

" Yes," said the Pirate, with the utmost seren- 

close to grandpa's chair, arch up his back, and 

" One day, while he was still quite a little 
kitty, he brought in his sharp, white teeth a 
little dead mouse. He had caught it at the 
barn, and he laid it down by grandpa's chair. 
Then he rubbed against grandpa's leg, and 
patted on his foot with his paws till grandpa 
put aside his paper, looked down, and saw the 

ity, following my glance; "they 's my cars; 
they 's had a collision." 

" But there was a dear, white-haired grandpa 
there," I went on resignedly, " and he used to 
pat Leopard and talk to him and be very good 
to him." 

" Did the kitty talk back ? " gravely inquired 
the Pirate. 

" Yes, kitty-talk," I said. " He would come 

" What did he do ? " asked the Pirate impa- 
tiently, as I stopped to rest my tongue, which 
does get so tired answering questions and telling 

" Oh, he patted Leop and told him he was 
a good kitty, and called Aunt Jeanette to see 
what a great thing Leop had done, and they 
both praised him till he was quite proud. 

" So, after that, every time Leop caught a 



mouse he would bring it into the house, carry 
it from room to room till he found grandpa and 
was petted and praised for being so clever and 

" Well, one time grandpa went away on a 

" Where did he go ? " inquired the Pirate, 
whose interest in details is wonderful. 

"Oh! — just away," I said desperately; for 
I knew if I told him where, I would immediately 
have to tell him why, and whom to see, and 
how he liked it, and as many other things as 
he could think to ask about ; so I hurried on. 
" When Leop caught his next mouse he hunted 
all over the house for grandpa, but could not 
find him." 

" Course not," said the Pirate, scornfully. 

" So at last he came to where Aunt Jeanette 
was sitting, sewing, and laid the dead mouse 
down on her dress. Then he began to purr 
and pat her foot, to call her attention to it. 

" When Aunt Jeanette looked down and saw 
what Leop had brought her she sprang out of 
her chair with a little scream," — here the Pirate 
asserted his manhood by a hearty laugh, — "for 
she was afraid of a mouse, even if it was dead. 
She scolded Leop and 
told him to take his horrid 
little mouse out of doors." 

" Was it horrid? " asked 
the Pirate, with interest. 
But I ignored the question 
and went on. 

" Leop must have under- 
stood that Aunt Jeanette 
did not like mice, for he 
did not bring in any more 
to her. 

"In about a week grand- 
pa came home ; he had 
hardly sat down in his 
chair when in came Leop- 
ard with a mouse in his 
mouth, and waited to be 
petted and praised. This 
made Aunt Jeanette re- 
member how she had scolded the poor kitty for 
bringing a mouse to her, and she told grandpa 
the story. 

" While she was talking, Leop came in again 

with a mouse, and then they saw that he had 
not carried out the first mouse to eat it, as he 
usually did, but let them both lie on the floor 
by grandpa's chair." 

" Did n't he like 'em ? " asked the Pirate. 

" You will see. Grandpa patted him again 
and praised him. Then he ran off, leaving the 
two mice on the floor, and grandpa and Aunt 
Jeanette waited to see what he would do 

" What did he do ? " asked the Pirate, who 
is always hurrying the story. 

" He came running back in a few minutes 
with another little mouse; that made three. 
And — how many do you suppose he had kept 
to show to grandpa ? " 

" I don't know," said the Pirate, solemnly. 

" Nine," I said. " Nine; he brought in nine 
little dead mice and laid them down in a row 
at grandpa's feet, and grandpa petted and 
praised him for every single one." 

" Is that all ? " demanded the Pirate. 

I nodded my head, and the Pirate knows that 
means I am too tired to say another word ; so 
he pushed himself forward, slipped from his 
chair, and returned to his cars. But in a minute 

the short legs came trotting quickly back to my 
side, and a dimpled hand was laid on my knee. 
" Thank you, Mamma," said the Pirate, 


By L. R. Baker. 

There were only two little boys in the class, 
Two fat little fellows with eyes of blue ; 
And one was Johnny, oh, listen to this, 
The other was Johnny, too. 

" Spell ' pie,' " said the teacher, with smiling lips, 
" Now, Johnny Jones, you must try." 

He looked very solemn and wise and good, 

And he spelled it, " P-i, pie." 

" Come, Johnny Smith, I will listen to you, 
While Johnny Jones has his cry." 
A gleam of triumph in two blue eyes, 
And he straightway spelled " P-y." 

Together the Johnnies came out from school, 
Their brave little spirits quelled ; 
They were wondering, wondering, wondering 
What p-i and p-y spelled ! 


By Mary S. McCobb. 

They were mules. Two little fellows, with 
dainty feet and funny long ears. They lived in 
the big stable, at the foot of the great bluff. 

But, though small, they had been accustomed 
to earn their own living. How ? Why, by 
drawing a street-car in a Western city. Briskly 
they had worked, always ready, always alert. 
Every night they ate their supper with all the 
dignity and self-respect of other wage-earners. 

When, lo ! one fine day came strange news. 
The mules pricked up their ears. What was it 
they heard? Horses and mules should be set 
aside ? Men would " harness the lightning," and 
make it drag the cars ? 

" Throw us out of employment ? " cried the 
mules. " Do they flatter their foolish selves 
they can do without us ? Not a bit of it. The 
public demands our services. The public shall 
have them ! Go to ! " 

So, what do you think those plucky fellows 
did ? The electric car was ready. The man who 
was " to drive the lightning " was in his place. 

Suddenly " patter — patter — patter — patter," 
came the sound of eight spry hoofs. 

" Here we are ! " called the mules cheerfully. 

Sure enough, here they were, in their usual 
place, in front of the car. Fastened to it ? Oh, 
no ! Why mind a trifle like that ? 

" Tang ! Tang ! " went the bell. 
Vol. XVIII.— ii. a 

" Patter — patter — patter — patter ! " 

Off scuttled the mules. 


The mules came to a standstill. So did the 
car. " Of course. It always stops when we 
do ! " said the mules, and they wagged their tails. 

"Tang! Tang!" 

Off they started afresh. Lively work this ! 
What was the stupid driver laughing at ? Was 
there a stray joke anywhere ? 

All along the town , through the streets where 
business men should attend to their own affairs, 
and not stand still to look and laugh. 

" We know what we 're about ! " declared the 
little mules. 

" Patter — patter — patter — patter ! " 

I believe they trotted in front of that electric 
car to the very end of the route, till they reached 
the place where the tall chimneys of a factory 
belch forth clouds of smoke. 

At last the mules may rest. 

" Ah ha ! Ah ha ! He haw ! He haw ! " 

It was their time to laugh now. 

" Did n't we tell you the public should have 
our services ? ' Drive the lightning ? ' Fudge ! 
We pulled that car ! " 

And a lady who lives in that very town told 
me about it. She is a very ve-ra-cious person 
so that I know that this story is true. 




Eighteen years old this month! There's an 
old Jack-in-the-Pulpit for you ! It is very strange, 
and yet I can truly say I never lived at all until the 
day that our dear magazine, ' St. Nicholas,' was 
born. That was a good while ago. Many boys and 
girls who read the very first number now hold 
upon their knees girls and boys of their own, and, 
between you and me, I verily believe that every 
one of them, little and big, takes about equal 
pleasure and comfort in St. NICHOLAS. 

Look at the dear Little Schoolma'am and good 
Deacon Green — alive, happy, young as ever, and 
devoted to you all, as is your Jack himself. Eigh- 
teen years old, eighteen years young — it is all the 
same; this is a great country, and St. NICHOLAS 
is its prophet, so far as you, the Deacon, and the 
Little Schoolma'am and the rest of us are con- 
cerned. A long life to it, and to us all ! 

Now we '11 proceed to business, taking up, first, the 
subject of 


Lately the good Deacon gave his picnic class 
a riddle to guess. As far as I can remember, it 
ran something like this : Find on our country's 
silver dollar the following things : 

An animal, a place of worship, a scholar being 
whipped, a fruit, a flower, a part of a needle, and 
a number of prominent actors. 

Well, many of the class found some of these 
things on the silver dollar, and a few found every 
one of them. But there were two other things on 
it that were not seen except by the very closest ob- 
servers, and these were two little M's. I am told 
that they are to be found on every standard silver 
dollar. It appears that the man who engraved the 
steel die used in making the coin was named Mor- 
gan, and he shrewdly put the initial in two places 
upon it, so that he might thus play hide-and-seek 
with the boys and girls of his own and later genera- 

tions. Of course grown folk did not need any such 
reminder of Morgan. They know everything, — 
more or less, so to speak. 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : Papa told us such 
a wonderful true story last night in our Happy 
Hour (that 's what we call the very little time which 
papa or mamma gives to us children before we go 
to sleep) that I will write it down for you to tell 
everybody. It was about a pair of English spar- 
rows living in Sarnia, a town of Ontario, or Can- 
ada. Well, they looked at the broad town clock, 
with its great big face, and they thought it was so 
nice and clean that they would build their nest right 
where the two hands parted and made a sort of V. 
Well, they actually did it. You may think the 
hands went on moving and so spoiled everything 
(that is just what my brother Charley told papa) ; 
but papa said it was n't so one bit. The clock 
stopped almost as soon as these two sparrows laid 
their plans, and when the man who took care of it 
went up to see what had made it stop, he found 
that the 'cute little birds had fastened bits of grass 
and fibers about the two hands so that they could 
not move ! It was the beginning of their nest, you 
know. I hope the man let them go on and finish 
it. But papa said he thought not, as town clocks 
are not intended specially for sparrows. I would 
have let them, if I had been that man. 

Your faithful little friend, Beth G . 


Here is a letter which I think will interest you, 
and set your little necks a-craning on bright moon- 
light nights : 

Stamford, Conn. 

My Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit: I wonder if 
you or any of your young folk have ever seen 
"The Lady in the Moon " ? About a year ago she 
was shown to 
me, and since 
then I have 
hardly been 
able to find the 
" Old Man's 
Face." It 
only her pro- 
file you see. 
The man's left 
eyebrow is her 
hair, or the 
shading back 
of it ; follow 
the dark out- 
line of the left- 
hand side of his nose, and you have her features ; 
the dark line of his mouth forms the shadow under 
her chin. She is really beautiful, but you have to 
wait until almost full moon to distinguish her. 
Of course the face is not as plainly seen in the moon 
as it is made in the drawing. Your loving reader, 

L. S. V-— . 

You may as well know, my friends, that your 
Jack sometimes has seen the pretty lady to whom 

1890. ] 



Miss Lydia refers — not always. Like earthly ladies, 
she often is shy and tries to hide her face. For my 
part, however, as an honest, country Jack-in-the- 
Pulpit, I incline to fancy that it is Ina whom L. S. V. 
sees — Ina in her rare moments of rest ; Ina whose 
pretty story your Jack gave you in May last. She 
is wife to the Man in the Moon. But judge for 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : Last summer we 
had a banty hen, and she had some little chickens. 

One day papa let her out of her coop to have 
a run in the yard. While he was watching her, 
the hen saw a honey-bee in the grass. 

She called her little chickens to her, as if she 
had something for them to eat. When they had 
all answered the call, the hen ruffled up her 
feathers and made a great fuss, and backed away 
as if to say : "If you ever see anything that looks 
like that, you do as I do, — back off and leave it 
alone ! " 

It was so cunning and sensible I thought I would 
tell the rest of the little folks about it. 

I am eight years old, and have had St. Nicho- 
las ever since I was born. Kate T . 


At last my children have found out for them- 
selves the differences between red clovers and white 
clovers ! They say that, since their special atten- 
tion has been called to the pretty blossoms, all the 
red clover-heads they have found are distinguished 
by two or three little green leaves close at the base 
of the clover-head (which, you know, is not one blos- 
som, but is composed of a cluster of very small 
flowers) ; and that every white clover-head springs 
from the very end of a slender bare stem, which 
has no leaf for some distance down its length, or 
until it joins the main stem. The two clover-heads 
differ also, they say. Nora Maynard writes : "Red 
clovers are oval-shaped, and white clovers are 
round " ; while most of the answers say in sub- 
stance : the red clover or clover-head is thicker 
and more solid, with its tiny flowers crowding 
closely one above another around a short, stiff, 
stem-like center; while the whiteclover-head resem- 
bles a loosely-made ball formed by the tiny white 
blossoms all springing freely from the extreme end 
of their stem. 

All these several differences may not exist be- 
tween red and white clovers in every locality, but 
certainly they are found in my meadow, and in the 
fields and grass plots which my young correspond- 
ents have searched. Many tell me that bees seem 
always to prefer the white clover to the red, that 
the busy insects can more readily get at the honey 
of the white clover, and that farmers who raise 
bees sow the white variety on this account. Some 
of the young folk speak also of often finding the 
tiny caddis or case-worm on clover-heads, — funny 
little fellows who always carry their houses with 
them, and who take no lodgers in to bear them 
company. Well, the dear Little Schoolma'am is 
not by me just at this moment, so I can not say very 

learned things on this subject, but I can say that I 
am heartily glad whenever my out-of-door young- 
sters use their eyes to see with. I '11 wager a ripe 
hazel-nut, now, that thousands upon thousands of 
young and old folk in these Middle States have 
all their lives been seeing clover-heads growing 
— white and red — and never have noticed that 
the two differ in the least except in the matter of 


Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : Walking on a 
country road last September, I saw a grasshopper 
clinging to a stalk of golden-rod. He was large, 
and I touched him gently to make him jump. He 
did not move. I touched him again, but he was 
still. Then I broke off the stalk, and he clung 
to it without a motion. He was dead. So I 
brought him home and drew his picture. 

I was puzzled by his queer position, and could 
not imagine what killed him. It seemed remark- 
able that he should have been able 
to jump up to this high ft, , aa a stalk and 

hang there during his 


ness ; and it seemed stranger that he should not 
have dropped down after the breath left his brown 
and brittle frame. His four fore legs were clasped 
around the stem ; and of his long j umping-legs, one 
was drawn up close to the body and the other was 
stretched out as shown in the picture I send with 
this. Can it be that he was in favor of the golden- 
rod as the national flower, and selected this place 
to draw his last breath as a proof of devotion to his 
choice ? Benjamin Webster. 


M. D. F. — Thank you for the well-deserved praise of 
" Marjorie and her Papa." No one could help loving 
little Marjorie nor being amused by her quaint, uncon- 
scious humor. The pictures were drawn by Mr. R. B. 
Birch, but in making them, as already has been stated, 
he carefully followed the author's admirable sketches. 

Lansing, Mich. 
To the Editor of St. Nicholas : Will you permit 
me to ask your readers, through the Letter-box, if any 
of them have spare copies of St. Nicholas for Novem- 
ber and December, 1875 ? 

I have had St. Nicholas since January, 1S76, and 
wish the volume complete before binding, and so desire 
these two numbers. I will give fifty cents apiece for them. 

Alice A. Johnson, 
523 Seymour St., Lansing, Mich. 

Chambersrurg, N. J. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We have always taken St. 
Nicholas and all of our large family love to read it. 
When I had scarlet-fever, mamma read to me the old 
numbers which my brother, now grown up, used to take. 

I want to tell you about our cats. The mothers are 
named Octavia and Cleopatra. The last has three kittens 
— Mary Anderson, the beauty, Adelina Patti, because of 
her lovely voice, and Steve Brodie, the jumper. Octavia 
has one kitten (the other three were chloroformed by a 
neighbor) named Ishmael, because he is not so much of 
a pet as the others. So we call him and his mother Ish- 
mael and Hagar. We are about to move from our present 
home and expect to have trouble taking all our cats and 
our big dog. Your loving reader, 

Janet S- — . 

Kioto, Japan. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I thought perhaps you would 
like to hear an account of a trip which papa, mamma, 
myself, and one of my friends, took last March to Nagoya 
and the famous shrines of Ise. 

We started for Nagoya on the noon train, and arrived 
about six o'clock in the evening. The fields all along 
the way were yellow with brilliant flowers and looked 
very pretty. The last part of the ride we had a beautiful 
view of Mount Mitaki, the top of which was covered with 

The next day we went to look at the Nagoya castle, 
which is very interesting. This is the way it is built. 
On the very outside of the castle grounds are a large 
stone and earth embankment and a moat, both of which 
go all around the castle. Inside the embankment is a 
large tract of land on which are the general's head-quar- 
ters and the soldiers' barracks. In the center of this 
tract of land is the ancient castle. Around the old castle 
is another embankment and moat. In ancient times 
the daimio or feudal lord occupied the old castle. The 
most interesting thing about this castle is a kind of tower, 
like a building, five stories high, on top of which are two 
golden dolphins, one at each end of the roof. The fifth 
story has a hundred mats in it and the first story has a 
thousand mats in it. Each mat is six by three feet. Each 

dolphin measures twelve feet, from its head to the tip of 
its tail. About fifteen years ago one of the dolphins was 
sent to the exposition in Vienna. Coming back, the ship 
that carried it was wrecked. After some time, however, 
the dolphin was recovered and put in its old place on 
the castle. We did not go inside the main castle, but 
looked at it from outside. I believe this castle is one of 
the two finest in Japan, the other being the Kumamoto 
castle. It certainly was very fine looking. 

From Nagoya we went across Owari Bay to Kami- 
yashiro by steamboat. From Kamiyashiro we went to 
see two famous rocks in the sea near the coast. They 
are very near each other and are called the " Futami " by 
the Japanese, who regard them as a symbol of marriage. 
The large rock is called the " husband " and the small 
one is called the " wife." After seeing them we went to 
see the shrines of Ise which are at Yamada. There are 
two shrines and their names are " Naiku " and " Geku." 
These shrines are said to be very old, but they are really 
not so very old, because half the buildings are changed 
every twenty-one years. They get to be quite decayed 
in that time, so they are pulled down and new ones built 
in the same places and in exactly the same way. We 
were most interested in the trees around the shrines. At 
"Naiku" there is a beautiful grove of grand old trees 
that is ever so much finer than the shrine. The cherry- 
trees were in bloom and were very beautiful. 

I have taken you for several years and enjoy you ever 
so much. I am always very glad when you come in the 
mail. Your loving reader, 

Grace W. L . 

Kohala, Hawaii. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little girl eight years 
old, who lives in the Sandwich Islands. Back of our 
house there is a long stretch of kalo patches. The kalo 
is the principal food of the natives. They bake it in 
ovens in the ground, then pound it to a paste with water 
and allow it to sour. It is eaten with salt fish or meat. 
The kalo tops are planted in dry land first, and then the 
natives take it up and plant it in kalo patches. A kalo 
patch is a piece of land walled in, and in the bottom are 
mud and water. The kalo has one large root, with several 
little ones around it. The water comes from springs, 
which flow out of the side of a deep ravine, and is 
brought down to the kalo patches through a water-course, 
built by the natives, under direction of the chiefs. They 
had stone tools, with which they dug through solid rock. 
In some places they had to build a wall on which to carry 
the water along. There are many beautiful springs, one 
of which is very large, and goes far in under the rock. 
Some of them are filled with beautiful ferns. We have 
taken you four years, and are very fond of you. 

Your little friend, Edith H. B . 

Kohala, Hawaii. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I live on the Sandwich Islands. 
I am ten years old. We have taken you for four years 
and like you very much. I think that you will be glad 
to hear about two of our curiosities. Here is one : 
About four miles northeast of us there is a large hole 
down by the sea that is called the Devil's Caldron. It 
is ninety feet deep. One morning some natives woke 
up to find a large hole there. It is supposed that there 



was a cavity under the water and that the heavy earth- 
quake the night before shook the earth down. There 
are two holes down at the foot of the cliff which let the sea 
into it, and the waves can be seen dashing in and out. 

Here is another curiosity. About seven miles to the 
northwest of us is an old heathen temple. It was built 
in the days of the " Chiefs," and is seventy-five feet long 
and twenty-five feet wide. The walls at the base are 
fifteen feet broad and ten feet at the top. 

Every morning the natives formed a line and passed 
the stones with which it was built from one to another, 
from Palolu Gulch to Honotpa, a distance of fourteen 
miles. There is a hole in one corner where they threw 
the bones of sacrificed victims. Just outside of it is a 
large square rock, somewhat hollowed, where they used to 
slay the victims. It has no roof and it is very hot there. 
I would like to see my letter printed if you think that it 
is good enough. 

Your faithful reader, Robert B . 


Dear St. Nicholas : As my little Cousin Daisy and 
myself are temporarily banished from home, on account 
of the illness of my Cousin Isabel, we thought this would 
be a good time to write to you. 

We are at a little place in the Catskills between Cairo 
and Acra. The scenery here is magnificent,' the different 
shades of green displayed on the mountains and valleys 
around us would afford endless study for an artist. 

Daisy and I made a ling out of a ten-cent piece. We 
found a nice bright one, and we carried it to the village 
and had a little hole bored through it, and then we took 
a little round file and commenced our work. When Daisy's 
little fingers got tired (which was very soon) I took it and 
worked away. The ring is very pretty indeed, now that 
it is finished. 

To-day it is raining hard, but as it will make the walk- 
ing all the better, we must not complain. 

Your constant readers, Daisy and Vic. 

U. S. Navy Yard, Norfolk, Va. 
My Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken your delight- 
ful magazine ever since I was three or four years old. I 
am now twelve and I don't think I could get along with- 
out you. My favorite stories are " Crowded out o' Cro- 
field," " Juan and Juanita," " Little Lord Fauntleroy," 
and many others. My papa is a naval officer and has 
been to China and all around the world three times, and 
I was born in China, but as I was only about six months 
old when we left, I don't remember anything about it. 
When mamma left China she had a collection of over 
five hundred teapots, but now has only about two hundred 
as she has given so many away. My brother and I have 
a great many curious things, picked up in different parts 
of the world. We have some pieces of the leather, bits of 
which were eaten by Greeley's men, given to us by Chief- 
Engineer Melville, and we have a collection of over two 
thousand postage stamps, and many other things. We 
have two birds, a parrot and a canary; the parrot is my 
brother's, it says " Papa," " Mamma," "Pretty Poll," 
" Look out ! " and ever so much more. Thecanary is mine 
and sings very nicely. Both are very tame ; theparrotisout 
most of the time, and I let Dick out in the morning when I 
am dressing. I used to play "Flower Ladies," only I 
called it "Flowers," and I used to make houses, and 
have stones and shells covered with leaves, the beds and 
chairs, and I sometimes used corn silk for the hair of the 
"Ladies." I remain, your loving little reader, 

N. V. W . 

Houston, Texas. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I thought I would write you 
about the Magnolia City and its lovely flowers, which are 
in bloom yet. It has the one and only magnolia park on 
the globe. Its trees are strung with festoons of moss al- 
most reaching the ground, and covered with buds and 
blooms. By it runs the beautiful Buffalo Bayou, where 
fish are plentiful. Constantly passing are boats laden 
with cotton and timber, also little yachts and tugs with 
fishing parties. I have a good time in sunny Texas. You 
can see them load cotton on the trains by the bale. Boats 
and barges go down the Bayou to the bav and Galveston 
Beach. You can hear the bells of the trains and of the 
little one-mule street-car. I was born in Texas and like 
my home. I am eleven years old. My favorite story in 
your magazine is " Crowded out o' Crofield." 

Your reader, Tom B . 

Orange, N. J. 

Dear old St. Nicholas : I wonder if anyone enjoys 
you as much as I do, and if you have ever traveled about 
with any one as you have with me ? 

I am a little English girl, nearly fifteen years old. I 
live with an uncle and my governess. I have never been 
to school in my life, and although my home is in Dev- 
onshire, England, I am always making journeys. If it 
did not take up so much space, I would like to tell you 
about some of the things I have seen in Europe, Amer- 
ica, and Asia. 

This summer I have been traveling in Europe and 
have seen the Passion Play at Ober Ammergau, and the 
Midnight Sun, and many, many interesting things. 

My health is very delicate, so I can not study much, 
but as my governess travels with me, I have a very good 
time. She is lovely and I am very fond of her. She has 
taught me for nearly ten years. 

I have a beautiful horse at home, called Duke. " Lady 
Jane," "Sara Crewe,"" Lord Fauntleroy," and your many 
short stories are delightful. The only fault I know is that 
they are all too short. Believe me, 

One of your most loving readers, 

Ethel Maude St. C . 

Kirkland, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little girl seven years 
old and live in Milwaukee. 

I have been to the Atlantic Ocean. 

I had a little boat and I used to sail it on the water. 

Every day I went in bathing. 'Most every day I went 
to the beach to gather shells. One day I found a very 
smooth stone, which is in my red dress pocket. 

Now I have come to grandmother's. 

Agnes M. S . 

New Zealand. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am ten years old and have 
taken your magazine for about three years, and have en- 
joyed it very much. I have seen many amusing things 
in it, so I thought I would add to them. 

I have such a dear, fat, cunning little piebald pony, 
called "Pie." He has lately taken a great taste for 
chrysanthemums. We have a fence dividing the horse 
paddock from our garden and, because the gate was 
broken, we put up a rail about three feet five inches 
high. Mother had been saving her white chrysanthe- 
mums to make a wedding nosegay, but on the day she 
came to gather them she found them all gone. Next 
morning Lena (our servant) saw something jump right 
out of the flowers, and Pie was racing across the lawn 
and under the rail before one could say " Hullo ! " Now, 
was n't he cunning? 

This is the first letter I have written, so I hope you will 
print it. Eleanor S. B . 



South West Harbor, Me. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am spending the summer 
at South West Harbor, which is a little village on the 
island of Mt. Desert. It is a beautiful place, and I'am 
having a fine time, and I have been to several places on 
the island. The other day my sister and I went on 
board the training ship St. Mary's, which is stationed in 
the harbor. We went all over it and it was very inter- 
esting. The ship is forty-four years old, but it has been 
painted all up so that you would not know that except for 
the fact that it is very old-fashioned. 

I have only taken St. Nicholas for this year but I like 
you ever so much. I do not know yet whether I am 
going to take you next year, but I hope so, and expect to. 
My favorite stories are " Lady Jane " and " May Bart- 
lett's Stepmother." Emeli'ne N. H . 

" Groveland." 
My Dear St. Nicholas : We have been wanting to 
write to you for a long time, but could never think what 
to say, so we thought we would write and tell you about 
our place. We live on a beautiful farm in Virginia named 
Groveland. We have eleven horses, twelve cows, two 
hunting-dogs, besides a Newfoundland, and a dear little 
pug named Flora. We have a grand doll house, and we 
have each three dolls. We have a pony carriage and two 
Shetland ponies named Donald and Dorothy. Our little 
brother, Robbie, also has a pony, named Baby Mine, and 
we go riding every morning before breakfast. Your de- 
voted readers, Florence and Helen L . 


Dear St. Nicholas : About a year ago, papa, 
mamma, and I went to Europe ; and although that is any- 
thing but unusual, I think it was a little queer to get 
ready in four days as we did ; but we had a lovely time 
over there, just the same. 

While at Paris we went to the Hippodrome, and that 
night they had. scenes of Russian life. At one time 
when a number of soldiers rushed in on foot, the cap- 
tain's horse rode over two of them, or rather bumped 
against them, threw them over and jumped over them. 
But they got up and limped off. 

Papa, mamma, and I kept a diary ; but papa's and 
mamma's were like those spoken of by Mark Twain in 
" Innocents Abroad." Mine was successful, for I never 
missed a day, except the day we landed at New York. 

Hoping you will prosper for many years to come, I 
remain, Yours sincerely, 

Theo. K . 

Osaka, Japan. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken you for two years. 
I want to tell you about Japanese New Year's celebrations 
and decorations. The rich people have three bamboo 
sticks on each side of their house. The next class have 
a cone-shaped piece of straw, a lobster, a stick of 
dried persimmons, and a piece of charcoal. The poorer 
people have a branch of pine or a cone-shaped piece of 
straw with a little bit of fern under it. About December 

26th the people begin to get ready for New Year's 
day. Most people get "mochi " (pronounced motchee) 
made. There are people who go from house to house 
and make it. 

They carry a fire and some rice. First they boil the 
rice, then they take it out and put it in a kind of mortar, 
made out of a log of wood with a hole in it. Then one 
man pounds and the other one pushes the rice into posi- 
tion. New Year's lasts three days. 

Yours respectfully, W. J. H . 

Plainfield, N. J. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little girl nine years 
old, and have taken you for some years, and like you 
very much. I have been up in the Catskill Mountains. 
I did not like it ; it was too quiet. I like my own home 
better. I took lots of nice walks up the mountains. 
On Fourth of July, I had a jolly time ; we could not fire 
off our fire-crackers before breakfast. We had a few 
showers during the day. I had so many fire-crackers 
that I had to give them away. One day my brother and 
I went fishing ; he would not let me fish, but after a 
while I got him to let me. He said, " What is the use 
of your fishing ? You won't catch anything !" I caught 
three trout, and my brother only caught one little shiner. 
I remain, yours truly, Edith. 


Dear St. Nicholas : I want to tell you about a pet 
pigeon we have. We have had it four years now. Ever 
since we got it, it has always come around whenever any 
one played on the piano ; if we opened the window it 
would fly in and alight on the piano and strut up and 
down and coo. I think it is very funny for it to be so 
fond of music. This spring it laid three eggs and went 
to setting on them ; it set on them for two or three 
weeks, but they did not hatch. Setting seemed to make 
it wild, and it very seldom comes in the house now. We 
got two squabs not long ago, but the old pigeon does 
not stay with them at all. Although it would come in 
the house it was hard to catch, and my youngest brother 
used to sing to it and catch it. 

As this is getting right long I will stop, hoping to see 
it printed. Very truly yours, "McGinty." 

We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received from them : Gertrude A. E., 
Edith R., Alice and Julia C, Garret A. R., Mabel E. D., 
Dorothy B., Meg and Peg, Rhoda and Alice S., Olive 
R., May T. H., Grace A. T.J. W. R., L. L., Flossie W., 
Blanche W., Pattie J. B., Atta A. B., Allie J. S., Stanley 
R. A., Zoe S., Sallie L., Louise B., Catherine H. H., 
Bertha C. and Josephine D., "Children of the Moon," 
W. J. A., Carita A., Anne L., Bertha V. S., May T., 
Walter S. D., Eleanor S. B., Helen S. F., Adelaide T. M., 
W. Scott B., Florence and Helen L., Fannie and Edith 
T., Grace H., " McGinty," George S. S., Lola K., Carrie 
N., Mamie H., Irene B., Ailsie L., Lois P., Marie, de F., 
Edith M. A., Theo. K., Lizzie L. and Mamie McP., M. 
G. F., Louise C, Alice L.,Emeline N. H., Theodora G., 
Hebe B. C, Grace L. E. 



Half-squares. I. i. Trafalgar. 2. Revenues. 3. Avarice. 
4. Ferule. 5. Anile. 6. Luce. 7. Gee. 8. As. 0. R. II. 1. Worces- 
ter. 2. Overload. 3. Regally. 4. Craved. 5. Ellen. 6. Sold. 7. Tay. 
8. Ed. 9. R. 

Anagram. Rustle, ulster, lustre, lurest, sutler, luters, rulest, result. 

Numerical Enigma. " For hunger gives not such a taste to the 
viands, nor thirst such a flavor to the wine, as the presence of a 
beloved guest." 

Diamond, i. E. 2. Alb. 3. Elbow. 4. Bog. 5. W. 

Grandmother's Garden, i. Rosemary. 2. Rue. 3. Heart's 
ease. 4. Hyacinth. 5. Loveage. 6. Sweetbriar. 7. Hawthorne. 
8. Columbine. 9. Jerusalem cherry. 10. Lilac. 11. Rose. 12 Flag. 
13. Snowdrops. 14. Sweet peas. 15. Elder. 16. Quince. 17. Penny- 
royal. 18. Fennel. 19. Madder. 20. Iris. 21. Violet. 22. Catnip. 
23. Periwinkle. 

Double Diagonals. Thomas Edison. Cross-words: 1. Twelve. 
2. Shreds. 3. Anoint. 4. Gasmen. 5. Dogmas. 6. Novels. 

Hour-glass. Centrals, Addison. Cross-words: 1. Treason. 
2. Elder. 3. Ida. 4. I. 5. Asp. 6. Aloes. 7. Stentor. 

Illustrated Puzzle. From 1 to 9, Cervantes; from 10 to 20, 
Shakespeare. Cross-words: 1. Tripod. 2. Basket. 3. Chains. 
4. Osprey. 5. Eagles. 6. Vipers. -^ 

Pi. Oh, loosely swings the purpling vine, 

The yellow maples flame before, 
The golden-tawny ash trees stand 

Hard-by our cottage door ; 
October glows on every cheek, 
October shines in every eye, 
While up the hill, and down the dale, 

Her crimson banners fly. Elaine goodale. 

Double Primal Acrostic. First row, Woods of Maine; second 
row, Autumn Leaves. Cross-words; 1. Waver. 2. Ounce. 3. Otter. 
4. Dupes. 5. Smack. 6. Onset. 7. Flint 8. Medal. 9. Aaron. 
10. Ivory, n. Nerve. 12. Essay. 

Word-squares. I. 
5. Sells. II. 1. Nidus. 
III. 1. Burst. 

Mavis. 2. Apode. 3. Vowel. 4. Ideal. 
:. Irate. 3. Dante. 4. Utter. 5. Seers. 
Unite. 3. Ripen. 4. Steed. 5. Tends. 

To our Puzzlers: Answers, 10 be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the August Number were received, before August 15th, from "May and 79" — Josephine 
Sherwood — Mamma and Jamie — Benedick and Beatrice — Edith Sewall — John W. Frothingham, Jr. — E. M. G. — Mamma, Aunt 
Martha, and Sharley — Pearl F. Stevens — Sandyside — Jo and I — Ida C. Thallon — Adele Walton. 

Answers to Puzzles in the August Number were received, before August 15th, from J. McCIees, 1 — C. Lamer, 1 — Elaine 
Shirley, 2 — M. E. Gordon, 1 — Louise and Max H. , 1 — Sweet Clover, Fern , and Peach Blossom, 1 — Little Sis and B. , 1 — Toddie, 3 — 
Essie and Madge, 3 — Katie Van Zandt, 5 — Mrs. James Marlor, 2 — W. B. Watkins, 1 — M. U. Bingay, 1 — Rosalind, 1 — Florence and 
Nina, 1 — Nettie G. Colburn, 3 — N. R. Shorthill, 1 — Blanche W., 1 — Gracchus, 12 — Corradino Lanza, 3 — No name, Phila., 3 — Effie 
K.. Talboys, 8 — Kitty and Pussy, 1 — Mattieand Bessie, 7 — Ada E. M. and Gussie A. G, 1 — Papa and Lily, 1 — Mamma andLydia, 1 — 
Astley P. C, Sallie W., and Anna W. Ashhurst, 9 — "Quartette," 1 — " Cat and Dog," 1 — Hattieand Carrie, 1 — Arthur B. Lawrence, 6 — 
Charfie R. Adams, 7 — Nellie L. Howes, 11 — Anna T. Buckley, 1 — Hubert L. Bingay, 12 — Isabel G., 9 — Lizzie Hunter, 4 — No 
name, Lansing, Iowa, 2 — L. Fowler, 3 — "Two Dromios," 11 — Lisa D. Bloodgood, 4 — Mabel and Lillie, 2 — Charles L. Adams, 3 — 
" Squire," 9 — " Oleander," 1 — " H. P. H. S. ," 7 — M. Harrell, 1 — Clara and Emma, 5 — Mamma and Walter, 6 — Cornelia S. Camp- 
bell, 1 — C. and Estelle Ions, 2 — Honora Swartz, 3 — Alice K. Huey, 10 — F. Oppenheimer, 1 — Kathie, Grace, and Annie, 2 — Jennie 
S. Liebmann, 8 — Nellie and Reggie, 11 — M. D. and CM., 9 — Grace and Isabel Livingston, 8 — " Infantry," 10 — Ida and Alice, 11 — 
" Charles Beaufort, 7— M. P. T., 3. 


Across: 1. A shelter. 2. Abodes. 3. Obscurity. 4. A 
multitude. 5. A musical composition. 

Downward: i. In hatchet. 2. An exclamation. 3. A 
prefix to some German names. 4. To discharge. 5. An 
African. 6. A warehouse. 7. Part of the foot. 8, One 
half a word meaning to supplicate. 9. In hatchet. 

H. H. D. 


I. I. In hedges. 2. An African cape projecting into 
the Mediterranean. 3. A heavenly body. 4. Thorough- 
wort. 5. The home of a family. 6. Building and occu- 
pying a nest. 7. The years beginning with thirteen and 
ending with nineteen. 8. A game. 9. In hedges. 

II. 1. In hedges. 2. To fortify. 3. To gather after 
a reaper. 4. A country in the northern part of Africa. 
5. Salutations. 6. A small city of Brazil. 7. A sim- 
pleton. 8. A Turkish commander. 9. In hedges. 

The fifth word of each of the foregoing diamonds, 
when read in connection, will spell what makes Thanks- 
giving Day most enjoyable. F. s. F. 



9 ■ 

■ 13 


10 . 

■ H 



• 'S 


12 . 

. 16 

From I to 5, a tribunal; from 2 to 6, a large bird; 
from 3 to 7, a useful conjunction ; from 4 to 8, the human 
race; from 9 to 13, to acquire; from io to 14, tardy; 
from 11 to 15, a Latin prefix ; from 12 to 16, epoch ; from 

1 to 13, a contract ; from 2 to 14, to rival; from 3 to 15, 
a musical term ; from 4 to 16, a command ; from 1 to 4, 
to shine; from 9 to 12, joyful. F. A. w. 


Deep within the cloister cell, 

Robed in brown or gray, 
There my first in quiet dwell, — 

Study, serve, or pray. 
I^fy last is by the children worn ; 

Verses, too, I 've made ; 
Strangest of all things beside, 

Ladies like my shade. 
Tell me what my whole may be ; 

Surely you 've the power, 
You have often gathered me, 

I am just — a flower. MARY D. N. 


The cross-words are of unequal length. When rightly 
guessed, and placed one below another, in the order here 
given, the central row of letters, reading downward, will 
spell the name of a famous queen. 

Cross-words : I. The name by which two brothers, 
famous in Roman history, are called. 2. A renowned 
Scottish hero and patriot. 3. The name of a Russian 
empress. 4. A noted queen of Palmyra. 5. The owner 
of the famous estate of Malmaison. 6. The Sultan of 
Egypt to whom Jerusalem surrendered in 1 187. 7. The 
wife of Louis XVI. of France. 8. A name borne by 
many kings of Sweden. 9. The Roman Emperor during 
whose reign Jerusalem was conquered by Titus. 





Each of the nine pictures in the above illustration 
(excepting the third) may be described by a word of nine 
letters. When these are rightly guessed and placed one 
below the other, in the order here given, the letters from 
I to 6 (as indicated in the accompanying diagram) will 
spell the name of a great military nation of antiquity ; 
from 7 to 15, her form of government; from 16 to 23, 
from 24 to 31, and from 32 to 37, the three classes into 
which her citizens were divided ; from 38 to 45, the name 
of a ruler to whom she owed much of her greatness ; 
from 46 to 51, a powerful and very famous city that she 
humbled ; from 52 to 56, a very wise man who was a 
native of that city. c. M c c. R. 


Example : Take a manner of walking from to assuage, 
and leave an article. Answer, mitigate, gait, item. 

Cross-words : 1. Take a member from exalted aloft, 
and leave utility. 2. Take a range of mountains from a 
summons to arms, and leave a parent. 3. Take to weary 
from consisting of verses, and leave unruffled. 4. Take 
to have a great aversion to from plumes, and leave a 
slave. 5. Take a heroic poem from chief, and leave an 

fers?^3^3^!H:^>X i ^"&r«:X*:a i ES?»£J 

aquatic animal. 6. Take torn asunder from models, and 
leave beyond. 

When the six four-letter words (represented by stars) 
have been rightly guessed and placed one below another 
in the order here given, the first row of letters will spell 
the name of a famous man, born in November, over four 
hundred years ago, whom Heine called " not only the 
tongue, but the sword, of his time." The third row of 
letters will spell the name of the saint on whose day he 
was born, and for whom he was named. dycie. 


Sah anneyo nese a stol semmur, 

Radytes, lontse, ro writhesoe nego, 
Strif sidems hewn eth sleeva fo betemspre 

Nedtru, edwosh su a forts-vanger wand ? 
Dan wno hes hsa hendid ni criflo 

Henbeat eht wol-lingy, gribth eslave. 
Sah nanyeo nees a slot rusemm 

Faidle thiw het dadben cron-saveseh ? 


I. I. A shrub, the leaves of which are used in making 
tea. 2. The American aloe. 3. Becomes dim. 4. Ap- 
parent. 5. Abodes. 

II. I. Fomentation. 2. A city of Italy. 3. Pushed. 
4. A portion. 5. Concluded. 

III. I. Responsibilities. 2. Active. 3. To be matured. 
4. Makes level. 5. Judgment. G. F. AND CLOVER. 




from the portrait, by himself, in the pitti gallery at florence. 

(see page 113.) 


Vol. XVIII. DECEMBER, 1890. No. 2. 

(Copyright, 1890, by The Century Co. All rights reserved.) 



By R. W. Gilder. 

Over the roofs of the houses I hear the barking of Leo, — 

Leo the shaggy, the lustrous, the giant, the gentle Newfoundland. 

Dark are his eyes as the night, and black is his hair as the midnight ; 

Large and slow is his tread till he sees his master returning, 

Then how he leaps in the air, with motion ponderous, frightening ! 

Now as I pass to my work I hear o'er the roar of the city, — 

Far over the roofs of the houses, I hear the barking of Leo ; 

For me he is moaning and crying, for me in measure sonorous 

He raises his marvelous voice, for me he is wailing and calling. 

None can assuage his grief though but for a day is the parting, 

Though morn after morn 't is the same, though home every night comes his master, 

Still will he grieve when we sever, and wild will be his rejoicing 

When at night his master returns and lays but a hand on his forehead. 

No lack will there be in the world, of faith, of love, and devotion, 

No lack for me and for mine, while Leo alone is living, — 

While over the roofs of the houses I hear the barking of Leo. 


By Frank M. Bicknell. 

THE Burgomaster 
of the little vil- 
lage of Narrdorf 
had the welfare of 
his people very 
much at heart. 
He strove to cor- 
rect their vices, to 
develop their vir- 
tues, and to en- 
courage them in every way to become good 
subjects of His Majesty the King. The Narr- 
dorfers were a well-meaning folk, but, like others, 
they had their failings. One of these, in par- 
ticular, gave the worthy Burgomaster deep con- 
cern : their habit of jumping at conclusions. 
They acted, nearly always, on their first im- 
pulses, without stopping to think what the con- 
sequences might be. And the consequences 
were sometimes unpleasant. How could it be 
otherwise ? 

For example, the principal Tailor of the town, 
who was so timid he never ventured ten steps 
from his door after dark without his blunderbuss, 
started forth one night to visit his gossip, the Tin- 
ker. As he crept onward, making himself as 
small as possible, suddenly a huge thing uprose 
in his path. It was black, and had horns, and 
its eyes seemed to glare fiercely. Thereupon 
the little man jumped at the conclusion that he 
had met the Evil One. In an instant he raised 
his gun and fired. Bang ! went the blunderbuss, 
and bellow ! went the Parson's cow, tearing 
madly down the street with several shot in her 
flank. Thus, by being too hasty, the Tailor 
wounded not only an innocent cow but the feel- 
ings of her master ; for, as the Parson did not 
himself fear the Evil One, he could but ill un- 
derstand why another should do so, and he was 
slow to forgive the Man of Cloth his inconsider- 
ate action. It was just such occurrences as 

these — and they were frequent — that made 
the Burgomaster uneasy. 

" If this sort of thing goes on," said he one 
day to his Clerk, " soon the whole village will 
be set by the ears." 

" Yes, Your Worship," assented the Clerk, a 
meek little fellow who thought his master the 
greatest man living and who never, in his pres- 
ence, so much as dared to call his soul his own. 

" The state of affairs in Narrdorf has troubled 
me for a long time," continued the Burgomaster, 
" and I have given much thought to devising a 
remedy for it. I have finally hit on a plan which 
I am going to try, — " 

" Yes, Your Worship ! " ventured the Clerk, 
jumping at the conclusion that because his mas- 
ter paused for breath he had ended his sen- 

" — and which, I hope, will be successful," 



added the Burgomaster, with a frown at the poor 
Clerk for his interruption. 

li Ye-yes, Your Worship," stammered the little 
man in great embarrassment. 

" Let a public meeting be appointed in the 
Town House for to-morrow, and cause it to be 



known that I expect every man, woman, and 
child in the village to attend." 

" Yes, Your Worship," answered the Clerk, and 
hastened away to do his master's bidding. 

The next day the Narrdorfers came in a 
throng to the Town House, curious to learn why 
the meeting had been called. When the great 
hall was so full it could hold no more, the 
Burgomaster arose and thus began his address : 

" My friends, I wish every one of you to leave 
this hall con " 

But the audience already had started for the 
door, and with so much noise that no one heard 
the Burgomaster add, " convinced of the folly 

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

At a nod from his master, the Clerk opened 
the volume about in the middle and, starting at 
the top of the left-hand page, began hesitatingly 
to read as follows : 

stop!' commanded the burgomaster, 'we will argue that point.' 

of jumping at conclusions." However the Clerk 
rushed out to explain matters, and after some 
delay the villagers were re-assembled to hear 
the Burgomaster's plan. 

The worthy functionary was proud of his gift 
of oratory, and he made a long-winded speech. 
After he had pointed out to them the many 
evils they were bringing on themselves by their 
reckless way of jumping at conclusions, he went 
on to say : 

" Thus, my friends, we see the need of acting 
cautiously in all things. But that we shall be 
unable to do without a deal of practice. There- 
fore, I propose that we meet once a week to 
argue. It matters little what we argue about. 

" Rain will fall from the sky — " 

" Stop ! " commanded the Burgomaster, " we 
will argue that point." 

" Your Worship," bluntly interposed the Mil- 
ler, who was in the audience, " I see no chance 
for argument there. We all know rain will fall 
from the sky." 

" Ah ! my good friend," retorted the Burgo- 
master, " we are jumping at conclusions again. 
Why, if you will only think a moment, you will 
see there is every reason for an argument. 
I might say, for instance, that rain will not fall 
from the sky, but from the clouds." 

" Well, and are not the clouds in the sky, 
pray ? " demanded the Miller. 



" That depends upon where you think the 
sky begins," answered the Burgomaster; " some 
people place it far above the clouds. How- 
ever," he added, knowing of old that the Miller 
was very stubborn in an argument, " perhaps 
it will not be worth our while to discuss that 
point now. Let us admit that rain will fall from 
the sky, and pass on a little. Clerk, read an- 
other of the wise man's utterances." 

" Yes, Your Worship. Please, Your Worship, 
shall I finish the sentence ? " 

" Eh ? " exclaimed the Burgomaster. " Do 
you mean to say you had not finished it?" 

" N-no, Your Worship — I mean y-yes, Your 
Worship," stuttered the Clerk, confusedly. 

" You are an idiot, sir ! " cried the Burgomas- 
ter, sternly. 

" Yes, Your Worship," meekly 
returned the little Clerk. 

" Still, I am not sorry this has hap- 
pened," the Burgomaster continued, 
" for it shows us once more the im- 
prudence of jumping at conclu- 
sions. We naturally supposed the 
sentence to be complete as read, 
but it now appears that we made 
a mistake. Read on, sir. What 
comes next ? " 

" — whenever we ask it to do 
so" read the Clerk. 

" Rain will fall from the sky 
whenever we ask it to do so t " re- 
peated the Burgomaster. " Why ! 
why ! why ! what 's all this ? Non- 
sense, sheer nonsense ! Now, my 
friends, you cannot fail to see the 
importance of avoiding hasty judg- 
ments. Before we listened to the 
reading of that passage we took it 
for granted that the book was writ- 
ten by a sage ; now we perceive it 
must be the work of a simpleton. 
No amount of discussion would convince me 
that rain will fall from the sky whenever we ask 
it to do so. Such an idea is preposterous. 
Clerk, shut the book, and let us depart, for it 
waxes late." 

Whereupon, leaving the villagers to go their 
several ways, the good Burgomaster returned to 

his home, shaking his head dolefully as he 
walked along and meditated on the folly of 
jumping at conclusions. As soon as he stepped 
into the house he said to his Clerk, who had 
silently followed him : 

" Put that book into the fire. It is trash and 
not worthy of our further consideration." 

" Yes, Your Worship," dutifully replied the 
Clerk, but before he obeyed the order he ven- 
tured when his master's back was turned to 
peep into the book again. He had an inquir- 
ing mind and there was one point on which he 
wished to satisfy himself. All Narrdorf had 
heard the end of the famous sentence, but no 
one had thought to ask for the beginning. That 
had been hidden snugly away at the foot of the 


previous page on the other side of the leaf. The 
little Clerk opened the book; then he opened 
his eyes. When he came to see the entire sen- 
tence this is how it read : 

" We are none of us foolish enough to believe 
that rain will fall from the sky whenever we ask 
it to do so." 


By J. T. Trowbridge. 

Chapter V. 


iHE moment the mer- 
chant was out of the 
house, Toby rushed in 
from the other room, 
with an excited look. 
" Did you sign that 
paper ? " he asked. 

" Yes, my son ; what 
else could I do ? " Mrs. 
Trafford replied, already repenting the act to 
which she had been persuaded. " He had se- 
cured several signers already. There was no 
use in my standing out." 

" I would have stood out ! " Toby declared. 
" And I would have told him my mind. The 
old swindler ! " 

" My dear child, I don't like to see you so 
ready to condemn people, and give them hard 
names. I don't believe he has meant to be 
dishonest ; and I am sure he is anxious now 
to atone for any wrong to us, into which his 
bad management or ill-luck has betrayed him. 
Did you hear what he said about your going 
into the store ? " 

" Yes," said the boy, "and I wanted to laugh 
in his face." 

Much as he had regretted the chance which 
he seemed to have missed, it had little attrac- 
tion now that it was again within reach. 

He had left school before the end of the term, 
rather against Mr. Allerton's advice. But the 
master did not oppose it, after Toby gave his 

" You see," he said, " I 've got to do some- 
thing; I must get my own living, even if I 
can't do much more to help mother. And I 
am so upset by what has happened — my mind 
is in such a state — I don't see how the little 
schooling I might get in the meantime is going 
to do me any good." 

" Well, do as you and your mother think 
best," said the teacher. " I am only sorry that 
your education in certain branches has n't fit- 
ted you better for a business career." 

" It would n't be so, if I had had you for a 
teacher for a year or two," said Toby, regret- 
fully. " But I must make the best of what I 've 
got. I 've just fooled away my time in school, 
and now I must go to work." 

But it was not easy for him to find work, even 
at that season of the year. He had made his 
mother's garden; he could do that pretty well; 
but to go to making gardens for other people 
hardly suited his ideas of permanent employ- 

Nobody in Lakesend needed such a boy ; and, 
as midsummer drew near, he went to the city of 

L , by the early train, every day for a 

week, spent five or six hours in looking for a 
situation, and returned home disheartened in 
the evening. He might have secured one very 
good place, if his handwriting had been better ; 
he missed another because he was obliged to 
own that he had only a confused knowledge of 

Yet, this boy had passed through the gram- 
mar-school, and had been almost two terms in 
the high-school, and was not by any means a 
dull pupil. Was it his own fault, or that of the 
system of teaching, that, at the age of sixteen, 
he had so little practical education that he 
could not write well nor spell correctly, nor 
trust himself to compose without errors of syn- 
tax a simple letter to a relative ? 

But he was a sturdy lad, and he tried to con- 
sole himself by saying, " Well, I 've got bone 
and muscle, if nothing else ; I can buckle right 
down to even the hardest kind of hard work, 
if I 'm not fit for anything better." 

It was not a source of satisfaction to know 
that Tom Tazwell had stolen a march on him by 
going into the store. One day he met that 
young gentleman on the street. 




Tom certainly appeared to be changed. There 
was nothing "stuck up " about him. that da)', at 
least. He greeted Toby in the most affable 
manner (he could be as affable as his father when 
he chose), and asked him if he had put his boat 
in the water yet. 

" No," said Toby, stiffly ; " I 've something 
else to think of this year." 

" So have I," said Tom. " I have n't fired a 
shot for a week. But I don't mind. It 's just 
fun in the store. I like it ever so much. Father 
thinks it 's too bad you did n't go in with me; 
and I think so, too." 

When Toby attempted to answer, his heart 
came up in his throat ; beside the chance Tom 
had, his own luck appeared so utterly hopeless. 

" Come ! " said Tom. " Why don't ye ? As 
there was to be a change in the force, two or 
three fellows we know have applied for places ; 
but father says, since I have gone in there is 
room for nobody else but you ; no beginner, you 
know. It '11 be just jolly, Toby, if you will ! " 

" I don't know," murmured Toby, who had 
thought of that opening more than once since 
he began his vain search for employment. " It 
might be jolly, and it might not." He could n't 
quite forget Tom's old, overbearing ways. 
" What pay do you get ? " 

" I don't get much, for I have my board," 
said Tom. " You '11 get four or five dollars a 
week at the start. But you must be ready to do 
any sort of work ; I am. At the foot of the lad- 
der, you know. 'T won't be long before we shall 
be at the top. What do you say ? " 

Tom was delighted. The chance took an 
alluring charm again. 

" I '11 talk with mother ; I '11 see what she 
says," replied Toby. 

On reaching home he met a lady and a young 
girl coming away from the front gate. It was 
Tom's mother and sister, who had been to call 
on Mrs. Trafford and Mildred. He could n't 
help scowling a little to see how elegantly 
they were dressed. For it seemed to him that 
the family of a man who had made such a 
failure as Tazwell had, might becomingly leave 
off some of their finery ; and very naturally he 
compared their circumstances with those of his 
own mother and sister. 

" We shall have to scrimp, to get along at all," 

he thought; "while they — it 's just as I ex- 
pected ! " 

But, though so richly attired, Mrs. Tazwell 
and Bertha were not carrying their heads high, 
in any sense ; and a glance of joyous recogni- 
tion out of the girl's laughing dark eyes, quite 
disarmed his resentment. She was the same 
charming little Bertha he had always known, 
and always liked. 

Then the mother gave him her hand with an 
unaffected, kindly greeting. 

" Well, Toby, how are you getting on ? " 
she asked, with a sincere good-heartedness, 
which silks and ribbons could not disguise. 
" We have thought of you so much lately ! " 

" And talked of you, too," chimed in Bertha, 
" since Tom went into the store." 

" It promises to be the making of Tom ; and 
I am so glad ! " said the mother. " I would n't 
have believed it of him ; he has settled down to 
business like a man." 

" I don't believe it of him yet," laughed 
Bertha. " It 's a new thing; Tom always was 
fond of new things." 

" My child ! why do you say that ? You 
never will believe in your brother!" 

'• Oh, yes, I will, when I see him steady for a 
fortnight; it is n't a week yet. I know Tom ! " 
said Bertha. 

" I think it would help to keep him steady, if 
you should go in with him, Toby ; he thinks so 
much of you ! " said Mrs. Tazwell. 

" He sometimes takes odd ways of showing 
it," replied Toby, smiling rather ruefully. 

" Yes, Mamma ! " cried Bertha. " You should 
see how mean Tom can be to his best friends. 
But you never would believe it, if you did 
see it." 

" Am I so partial to him as that ? " the 
mother replied, not well pleased. " I think I 
see his faults as well as any one. But I had a 
serious talk with him when he went into the 
store. And I think he has changed; I am sure 
you will find him changed, Toby." 

" I hope so, if — ," faltered Toby. 

" If I am to go into the store with him," was 
his thought, which however he did not utter. 
He was not yet ready to admit the possibility 
of such a thing, even to himself. 

" Did Mrs. Tazwell come over here to talk 


about my going in with Tom ? " he asked, as 
soon as he got into the house. 

" Do you imagine yourself of such importance 
that she could n't come for anything else ? " 
Mildred answered, from her old habit of teasing 
him ; but she was sorry for her words the mo- 
ment they were spoken. 

" I don't think she came for that," said Mrs. 
Trafford. " But she spoke of it ; and she was as 
kind as she could be. And, my son, I don't see 
anything better for you just now. Do you ? " 

" I wish I knew what to do ! " he exclaimed, 
discouraged and miserable, sinking on a chair. 

He remained wretched and irresolute until 
bedtime, and long after. But the next morn- 
ing he was cheerful; he had made up his 

Chapter VI. 


On the north shore of the lake, less than 
half a mile from Mrs. Trafford's house, lived 
Mr. Robert Brunswick, commonly spoken of as 
" Old Bob," because there was also a " Young 
Bob," whom we shall know later. He worked 
a small farm, and carried on at the same time a 
much more important business, which made an 
outward show, and a not very attractive one, in 
the shape of a great, brown, barn-like, window- 
less building, standing close to the water. This 
was an ice-house. 

Near-by, but a little farther back, was the 
farm-house ; in the kitchen door of which the 
elder Bob stood, filling his pipe, one day after 
dinner, when Toby Trafford approached by a 
path leading up from the lake. 

" Good aft'noon," the iceman said, in answer 
to the boy's salutation. He was a thickset 
man, with square jaws, bristling (it being Satur- 
day) with a stubby beard of six days' growth. 
" What 's the news with your folks ? " 

" Nothing special," said Toby. " I have 
come to borrow your flat-bottomed boat." 

" Ye ain't go'n' to practice in her for a boat- 
race, be ye ? " Mr. Brunswick inquired, with a 
grin at his own wit ; the craft in question being 
a broad, clumsy scow. 

" Not exactly," laughed Toby, in reply. " I 
want it to go haying in." 


" It 's a pooty good idee, to go hayin' in a 
boat ! " said the farmer, with another good-na- 
tured grin. " But how is it, Toby ? I thought 
you were in Tazwell's store." 

" I am." 

" And do you do hayin' there ? " 

" I do almost everything, in the store or out 
of it," said Toby. " But I am doing more out 
of it than in it, just now ; which is n't the best 
way to learn the business, I suppose you '11 

" No doubt it 's a good way for Mr. Tazwell 
to save the expense of hiring men to do outside 
work," commented the farmer, his grin taking 
on a surly expression. " But I don't see what 
object saving it is to him, if he don't pay his 
debts. Are ye go'n' a-hayin' fur him ? " 

" Yes ; to take the hay from that little strip 
of shore on the other side," said Toby, point- 
ing. " We might get it with a wagon, but we 
could n't drive very near, on account of the 
steep bank ; we should have to carry the hay up 
that, through the belt of woods." 

" So ! " exclaimed Mr. Bob Brunswick, with 
a sardonic gleam in his deep-set eyes. " Mr. 
Tazwell sent you to borry a boat of me, did 

" Oh, no ! " said Toby. " He thought we 
should take a wagon. But we thought the boat 
would be better." 

" Wal, I 'm glad he didn't send ye ! — though 
he 's got imperdence enough for anything," re- 
plied the farmer. " I would n't lend a boat — I 
would n't lend a broken paddle to him. My 
dealin's with Thomas Tazwell are done with ; 
and it would have been better for me if they 
had never begun." 

•'I am sorry — I would n't have come — I 
did n't know you were not on good terms with 
him," Toby stammered. 

" On good terms with a man that has run the 
rig he has and robbed me of seven hundred 
dollars, slick as if he had put his hand in my 
pocket ? Borried money, the most on 't ; ber- 
ried when he must 'a' known he was goin' to fail. 
Course he must 'a' known it, sence his failin' 
was all a put-up job, to cheat his creditors ! " 

It dismayed Toby to hear this plain lan- 
guage regarding his employer. It was some- 
thing like the opinion he himself had held 

9 8 



before he went into the store, and that view 
had come home to him more than once since. 
Instead of keeping his promise, and teaching the 
boy the business, Mr. Tazwell had so far made 
a mere drudge of him ; and, according to all 
appearances, the widow's interests, which he 
"had undertaken to protect, would come out of 
his hands extremely small indeed. 

" I 've no business to talk ! " old Bob Bruns- 
wick went on. " I was fool enough to sign off 


like the rest, and let him go on, so I 'd better 
hold my tongue." 

" Why did you sign off? " Toby inquired. 

" For two reasons. Because he had got his 
plunder put away in such a shape I found 
it wa'n't possible to git more. Next — but I 
guess I 'd better keep still about that " ; and 
Brunswick started to walk toward his ice- 

" I 'd like to know all you can tell me," said 
Toby, following him. "It 's a matter we are 
deeply interested in, as you know." 

" I do know, and that 's just it," replied old 
Bob. '• And I may as well tell ye. He repre- 
sented to us, at the first meetin' of the creditors, 
that if we forced him into bankruptcy, your 
mother's property would have to go, along with 
his 'n ; and that 's what determined me. For 
she ha'n't got much and 't would be distressin' 
her without doing us any material good." 

" You were very considerate, I am sure ! " 
murmured Toby. " I don't blame you for not 
lending the boat, feeling 
as you do." 

" But I be goin' to lend 
it," said the iceman. " I 
am goin' to git it for you 
now. But, mind ye, I 
don't lend it to him. I 
lend it to you." 

" That 's the same thing, 
in this case," Toby replied. 
" No, it ain't. If you 
want a boat, and will re- 
turn it in good condition, 
you can take it. Trustin' 
you is very different from 
trustin' him." 

So saying, he untied the 
painter of the scow, which 
lay afloat alongside a plat- 
form of the ice-house, and 
put the oars into it. 

" Who 's goin' with ye ?" 
Old Bob asked. 

" Only Tom," said Toby, 
seating himself on the mid- 
dle thwart and adjusting 
the oars to the rowlocks. 
" Where 's Bob to-day ? " 
" I d' n' know ; went off with some fellers 
after dinner; round the lake somewheres, I 
s'pose. Don't think I wa' n't ready to lend you 
the boat," old Bob said, pushing it off with his 

" Oh, no ! Ever so much obliged ! " Toby an- 
swered, as he pulled away. 

The lake was as smooth as rippling silk, the 
flat-bottomed boat sat lightly on the surface, 
Toby was a practiced oarsman, and he pulled 
with steady strokes. 

He was passionately fond of the water ; and 



he had hardly been on it that summer. The air 
was delicious, the sky a deep azure ; there was 
joy in the very act of plying the long-handled 
oars and giving swift motion to the boat. The 
gurgle under the bow was music to his ear. 

" I rather like this way of tending store," he 
chuckled to himself. 

He saw Tom, with a fork in his hand and 
a gun on his shoulder, coming down a lane 
to meet him. By his side walked, or rather 
skipped, a girl of twelve or thirteen, carrying a 
rake, with her head bare in the June sunshine, 
and her hat dangling by its ribbons on the 
fleece of wavy brown hair that fell upon her 
neck. Every movement she made was full of 
grace and gaiety ; she was tripping to the meas- 
ure of a tune, the whistled notes of which came 
to Toby over the water. 

" It 's Bertha ! " he said, laughing with pleas- 
ure. " How much better I like her that way, 
than when she is so dressed up ! I wonder if she 
is going, too ? " 

She was going, too, as she stopped whistling 
to inform him, the moment the bow grated on 
the beach. 

Tom's marvelously shorn dog, Bozer, with the 
tuft on his tail that looked like a hat on a short 
stick, came capering down the lane with them. 
The farming implements were put aboard, 
Bertha took a seat at the bow, and Tom went 
with his gun to the stem. Toby pulled the 
boat around with strong strokes. The dog 
dashed into the water and swam after them. 

Toby thought Tom might at least pull one 
oar, but knew him too well to think of asking 
him to do it. Tom liked to give orders and see 
others work; he delighted especially in com- 
manding Toby. No boy of spirit enjoys being 
domineered over, in that way, by another boy ; 
and Toby was getting tired of it. 

" Look here ! " he broke out impatiently, 
after Tom had expended considerable breath in 
finding fault with his rowing. " I know how 
to pull a stroke a great deal better than you 
can show me. If my rowing does n't suit you, 
take hold yourself. Or, take one oar and see 
which will beat." 

Tom was wary of accepting the challenge ; 
he had rowed against Toby too many times. On 
reaching the hay-field, — a small strip of natural 

meadow along by the lake, — he continued to 
give orders as to making the boat fast and 
beginning work ; then he stepped leisurely 
ashore with his gun. 

Tom laid his gun carefully on a log, took the 
fork, and at once commenced rolling up the hay 
as Toby and Bertha raked it. There was a 
rake already on the ground, left there by the 
mower, when he spread his swaths; this Bertha 
seized upon, and handled with much more good- 
will than skill. She was a child whom her mother 
was trying to bring up to " ladylike " ways, but 
whose repressed spirits, at every opportunity, 
broke forth in ways not quite so " ladylike." 
Hence that perverse habit of whistling, and the 
delight she took in going with her brother to 
the hay-field. 

Tom began carrying the hay to the boat by 
the forkful, despite Toby's warning that he 
would set it afire with his cigarette, and get a 
singeing. Tiring of that, he proposed to lay 
the two rakes on the ground, load the hay on 
the handles, and transport it in that way. 

But after two or three such trips to the boat, 
Tom began to loiter and wipe his forehead and 
complain of the heat. It. seemed a great relief 
to him when at length he saw a boat coming 
across the lake. 

" Hello ! " said he, " it 's ' Yellow Jacket's ' 
boat, and there are Yellow Jacket, and Bob 
Brunswick, and Lick Stevens in it." 

Chapter VII. 


Of Bob Brunswick, mention has already been 
made ; he was the son of old Bob, the ice- 

" Lick " Stevens was the son of the Rev. Alex- 
ander Stevens, a highly respectable clergyman. 
But that fact did not prevent Lick — or 
"Aleck," as he was sometimes called, or " Alex- 
ander the Little" (his father was "the Great") — 
from being a wild boy and going with bad com- 

For Yellow Jacket was decidedly common. 
He was one of several children, whose mother, 
the widow Patterson, was a poor and industrious 
washer and ironer and scrubber for the village 
people. She had two girls out at service ; and 




all three worked hard, while her able-bodied boy 
of seventeen lived chiefly upon their earnings. 

Few people ever thought of calling him Pat- 
terson, or Josiah (his Christian name) ; he was 
" Yellow Jacket " to half the village. He had 
gained the distinction by what seemed to other 
boys a miraculous power over the wasp popularly 
known by that name. He was always catching 
one (he could find one when you could n't), 
in order to show you that, however familiarly 
he might handle it, it would n't sting him. 

There was in the boat a fourth boy, 
recognized by Tom as it came nearer. 

" It 's ' Butter Ball,' " he said. 

John Ball (nicknamed Butter 
Ball, because he was so fat) 
was not so low in the social 
scale as Yellow Jacket ; but 
he was smaller than any 
of the rest of the boys, 

the minister's son, would Tom Tazwell even 
deign to look at, on ordinary occasions; and 
Lick was the only one of them who now had 
the audacity to accost him. He stood up in 
the bow, showing a rather slim and elegant fig- 
ure in a light check suit, and called out : 
" Hallo, Tom ! What you doing there ? " 
" Overseeing a little farm-work, that 's all," 
said Tom, stiffly. 

" What are you up to, Toby ? " Lick asked. 
" Overseeing a little 
farm-work," responded 
Toby drily, at the same 
time diligently plying 
his rake. 

" So am I ! " said 
Bertha, not meaning 
to be heard by any 
body but Toby and 
Tom. " We are all 

But sound travels 
far over the water ; and 
a shout of laughter 
from the boat applaud- 
ed her borrowed wit. 

A flush came into 
Tom's face. 

Lick jumped ashore. 
" Got your gun with 
ye ? " he inquired, com- 
ing up to Tom. " Oh, 
splendid ! " seeing it on 
the log. " Come ! I' ve 
got mine ; let 's pin a 
piece of paper to that 
maple, and take shots 
at it. Yellow Jacket 's 
droll ! You should hear 
his fish stories. Come ! 
make Butter Ball put up the 
No use going with such chaps, 


some of 

We '11 

targets for us. 


and the youngest, except perhaps Bob Bruns- 

Not one of this crew, with the exception of 

unless you make 'em useful." 

The scowl on Tom's brow relaxed. He took 
up his rifle from the log. 

" Work right around the edges ; rake toward 
the boat," he commanded, turning to Toby. 
" I '11 be back here, and see to loading the 

It made him good-natured to have Lick and 



his companions hear him giving these orders, the top of the load. The bow was* rilled, 
All were now ashore, and Yellow Jacket center heaped high, and only room left in 
pulled up his boat among the water weeds. stern to manage an oar. 

Young Ball had Lick's gun, 
which Lick now took from 
him, sending him forward 
to pin up a white envelop 
on the tree. 

" Hurry, Butter Ball!" 
said Lick. 

The obedient drudge 
set off as fast as he 
could trot, while his 
companions, behind 
his back, laughed at 
his short legs and his 

All but Bob Bruns- 
wick, who lingered to 
speak to Toby. 

" I see you 've got 
our old square-toed 
packet," said Bob, ob- 
serving the boat Toby 
was loading. 

" Yes, your father 
was kind enough to 
lend the boat to me. 
Though — " and Toby 
spoke lower so that 
Bertha should n't hear, 
— "he told me that 

he would n't have lent it to anybody by the 
name of Tazwell." 

" Tazwell has cheated us ! " said Bob. " And 
I don't think much of Tom. How can you 
stand it to be ordered around by him ? " 

" I can't," replied Toby, good-humoredly. 

" / did n't want to come near him ; I told 
the boys so," Bob grumbled. " They may have 
him all to themselves, now they 've got him." 

But the sudden crack of a rifle excited his in- 
terest ; and the laughter that followed a second 
shot, proved more than he could resist. 

" Come, Bob ! " Lick called to him ; " it 's 
your turn ! " 

And Toby was left alone with Bertha. Two 
or three times, Lick invited him to take a shot ; 
but he kept at work at the hay until he had got 
it all on board the boat, with Bertha seated on 



" Tom ! " he called ; 
" are you going with us ? " 

" When I get ready," 
Tom answered back. 

" Then we '11 start without 
him," said Toby, pushing away at 
the boat, to get it off, but finding to his vexa- 
tion that it was hard aground. 

He had foreseen this mischance, and had en- 
deavored to avert it by keeping the boat well 
loaded by the bow, and occasionally working it 
off a little farther from the shore as it settled in 
the water. 

" Will it make any difference if I get down ? 
I 'm sitting as light as I can ! " laughed Bertha, 
from her perch. 

" Get over toward the bow, and sit as heavy 
as you can," said Toby, smiling. Then as the 




boat did not move, she offered to get out and 
help him. But as she would have had to stand 
in the water, and could n't have been expected 
to help much even then, Toby would not let her. 

" We shall have to wait for Tom," he said, 
stepping back upon the bank with his bare feet 
(he had put his shoes into the boat), and rolling 
down his trousers-legs. 

" Do go and shoot with them ! " said Bertha. 
" I should like to see you beat them all." 

It was Toby's pride as much as anything, 
which prevented him from going where the in- 
dignities he had to bear from Tom might be 
witnessed by others. But now Tom could not 
order him to keep at work, for the work was 
done ; and Bertha's words kindled his ambition. 

He had confidence in his own skill, and he 
judged from what he overheard that the envelop 
had not been perforated many times. It had 
now been taken down from the tree, and with a 
twig thrust through two bullet-holes had been 
set up like a sail and sent afloat on a fragment 
of bark. A light westerly wind was carrying it 
away, and the boys were firing at it. 

The skipping of the bullets on the water 
showed that nobody was taking very good aim, 
when Toby, barefooted, approached the group. 
Tom was just having his turn. 

" Nobody can hit it now," Tom muttered, for 
the little sail was not only drifting at a long 
distance from the group, but it had turned in 
the wind until only the edge of it was visible. 

Tom fired, however, and his bullet cut the 
surface at least a foot from the mark. 

" I have n't been practicing, as the rest of you 
have," Toby said, taking the rifle ; " but I don't 
think I can do much worse than that." 

" Don't brag," muttered Tom. 

" That was n't bragging," Toby replied with 
a quiet laugh. " It was putting it very modestly." 

Bertha stopped whistling to watch him, from 
her place on the boat-load of hay. He dropped 
on one knee (the others had taken that privi- 
lege), rested an elbow on the other knee, raised 
the rifle, sighted carefully, and pulled the trigger. 
He was as much astonished as anybody at the 
result, for he had hardly expected to hit so diffi- 
cult a mark. 

Shouts of applause broke even from his 
competitors (only Tom remaining silent), while 

Bertha clapped her hands. When Toby low- 
ered the piece, and the smoke cleared from 
before his eyes, he saw the envelop fluttering 
from the lower part of the twig, which had been 
cut by his bullet. 

" The merest good luck ! " he exclaimed, 
laughing excitedly. " I could n't do it again, 
if I tried ever so hard. But that 's a lovely little 
breech-loader of yours, Lick ! " 

" Oh, it will do," said Lick, with satisfaction; 
" but there 's something in knowing how to use 

Chapter VIII. 


Tom, who liked neither to be beaten as a 
marksman nor to hear the praise of another's gun, 
turned abruptly and marched away to the boat. 

With the other boys' aid, the boat was soon 
floated with Tom and Bertha aboard. Then 
Tom took in his dog. The fork and the rakes 
were already disposed of; and lastly Toby 
climbed in over the stern. 

Tom did not offer to help, but throwing him- 
self over on the hay in an attitude of lazy 
enjoyment, with Bozer's wonderfully tufted tail 
waving (you could hardly call it wagging) at 
his feet, issued his orders to Toby. 

As rowing was out of the question, and scul- 
ing difficult, with so deeply laden a craft, Toby 
shaped his course along by the shore, where he 
could strike bottom with the strong oar-blade 
and propel the boat in that way. 

He enjoyed greatly the novelty of this mode 
of transporting hay. Bertha chatted or whistled; 
and Tom grew good-natured again. The light 
breeze freshened, and wafted them along. It 
blew a little too much off shore ; but Toby, with 
his oar, was able to keep the scow nearly in its 

" Now let her drift," said Tom, taking out his 

There was a broad cove to pass, and instead 
of trying to make the detour of the shore, Toby 
trusted to the wind to take them across, and 
steered boldly out on the deep water. 

" Look here, Tom ! " said he, " if you are go- 
ing to smoke, get off that hay ! " 

" Oh, nonsense ! " replied Tom. " You 've 




tried to interfere with my smoking once before. 
You said I would get singed, but I did n't." 

" I did n't care much if you did, then," said 
Toby. " You endangered nobody but yourself. 
But now — Tom!" he called out, as Tom was 
about to strike a match upon the side of the 
boat, " don't you do that ! " 

" Who 's to hinder ? " 

the more sturdily-built Toby. But now his 
pride was up and would not let him yield. 

" My business is to take care of this load — 
and the boat — and your own sister!" cried 
Toby. " Don't be afraid, Bertha ! " For Tom's 
carelessness with his matches terrified her. " He 
sha'n't do it ! " 

" Don't you dare touch me again ! " Tom ex- 


" I will ! " Toby endeavored to get hold of 
the match. Tom broke it in his hurry, and 
found himself trying to rub the stump of it on 
the board. 

" I 've got plenty more," said he. " Now 
mind your own business." 

He was cowed a little, for in good-natured 
hand-to-hand conflicts, Tom, though much the 
taller of the two, generally found his match in 

claimed, preparing to strike a second match, out 
of mere bravado. " I guess I know what I 'm 

"You don't! — you 're crazy!" said Toby, 
grasping his hand again. " Now, Tom ! " 

" Let go ! " said Tom, starting up, " or I '11 
pitch you overboard ! " 

" If you do, you '11 keep me company," re- 
plied Toby. " You sha'n't light that match." 




" What ! " exclaimed Tom, grappling him ; 
" we '11 see who 's master ! " 

He forced Toby to the edge of the stern. 
There Toby recovered himself, and grappled 

"Oh, Tom! Oh, Toby ! — don't ! " said 

Tom pretended at first to be bent on striking 
his second match, but soon forgot all about that 
in his struggle to throw Toby over, and to keep 
from going over himself. Both were good swim- 
mers, and a ducking was less to be dreaded, 
even by Tom with his boots on, than the humil- 
iation of being beaten in the tussle. 

Tom's hat fell oft' into the water, and he 

managed to knock Toby's after it. This prom- 
ised to end the scuffle, which had already gone 
quite beyond the bounds of good nature. Toby 
believed he had accomplished his object, in 
preventing the lighting of the match ; and both 
were glad of an excuse to give over the contest. 
"Wait," said Toby breathlessly, "till I fish out 
the hats ! " 

He released Tom, and looked about blindly, 
through his tumbled hair, for a rake. Tom 
stood panting, and arranging his necktie with 
shaking fingers. In the momentary pause, a 
sudden crackling and singeing sound was heard, 
accompanied by a shriek from Bertha : 

" The hay ! — the hay 's afire ! " 

(To be continued. ) 

(555 r-^0F 

I I ! ■ i ' 



By Mary J. Jacques. 

I have a little servant 

With a single eye, 
She always does my bidding 

Very faithfully ; 
But she eats me no meat, 
And she drinks me no drink, 
A very clever servant, as you well may think. 

Another little servant 

On my finger sits, 
She the one-eyed little servant 

Very neatly fits ; 
But she eats me no meat, 
And she drinks me no drink, 
A very clever servant, as you well may think. 

1890. ] 



Now, one more little servant, 
Through the single eye, 

Does both the others' bidding 
Very faithfully ; 

But she eats me no meat, 

And she drinks me no drink, 

A needle and a thimble, 
And a spool of thread, 

Without the fingers nimble, 
And the knowing head, 

They would never make out, 

If they tried the whole day, 

A very clever servant, as you well may think. To sew a square of patch work as you well may say. 

Vol. XVIII.— 13. 

% r r7/6 

By Mary Mapes Dodge. 

scribe it 
Land of 

half so 

AR over the sea is 
a famous little 
country generally 
known as Holland; 
but that name, even if 
it mean Hollow land, or 
How land ? does not de- 
well as this — The Funny 

Verily, a queerer bit of earth was never shone 
upon by the sun nor washed by the tide. It is 
the oddest, funniest country that ever raised its 
head from the waves (and, between ourselves, 
it does not quite do that), the most topsy-turvy 
landscape, the most amphibious spot in the 
universe, — as the Man in the Moon can't 
deny, — the chosen butt of the elements, and 
good-naturedly the laughing-stock of mankind. 
Its people are the queerest and drollest of all 
the nations ; and yet so plucky, so wise and 
resolute and strong, that " beating the Dutch " 
has become a by-word for expressing the limits 
of mortal performance. 

As for the country, for centuries it was not 
exactly anywhere ; at least it objected to staying 
long just the same, in any one place. It may be 
said to have lain around loose on the waters of 
a certain portion of Europe, playing peek-a-boo 
v,ith its inhabitants ; now coming to the surface 

here and there to attend to matters, then taking 
a dive for change of scene, — and a most disas- 
trous dive it often proved. 

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



but the Dutch could live so tranquilly in Hol- 
land ; though, for that matter, if it had not been 
for the Dutch, we may be sure there would 
have been, by this time, no Holland at all. 

And yet this very Holland, besides holding 
its own place, has managed to gain a foothold 
in almost every quarter of the globe. An ac- 
count of its colonies is a history in itself. In 
the East Indies alone it commands twenty-four 
millions of persons. 

It is said that the Greenlanders, in spite of 


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

built just large enough for the family to sit in. 
Each zomcrhuis, as it is called, is sure to be 
surrounded by a ditch, if indeed it is not built 
out over the water. Its chief ornaments are its lit- 
tle bridges, its fanciful roof, and its Dutch motto 
painted over the entrance. Hither the family 
repair on summer afternoons. Mynheer sips his 
coffee, smokes his pipe, and gazes at the water. 
His vrouw knits or sews ; and the children fish 
from the windows, or climb the little bridges, or 
paddle about in skiffs gathering yellow water- 
lilies. Near-by, perhaps, they can hear some 
bargeman's wife singing her cheery song while 
busy at her housekeeping, or rather home-keep- 
ing, for she lives on the canal-boat. That is her 
flower garden growing on a corner of the deck, 
quite unconscious that it is doing anything queer 
in blooming over the water. In fact, it is in 
much less danger of sinking there than it would 
be on shore. 

Now, these oddities arise mainly from the fact 
that though mankind cannot 
help admiring this Land of 
Pluck, the ocean has always 
looked down upon it. A 
large portion of Holland lies 
below the level of the sea, — in some places as 
much as twenty or thirty feet. Besides, the 
country abounds with lakes and rivers that per- 
sist in swelling and choking and overflowing to 
such a degree that, as I said before, none but 
the Dutch could do anything with them. All 
this disturbs an unpleasant phantom named 
Fog, who has a cousin in London. He some- 
times rises like a great smoke over the land, 
shutting out the sunlight, and wrapping every- 
thing and everybody in a veil of mist, so that 
it is almost as much as a person's life is worth 
to venture out of doors, for fear of tumbling 
into a canal. Again, the greater part of Hol- 
land is so flat that the wind sweeps across it 
in every direction, putting the waters up to any 
amount of mischief, and blowing about all the 
dry sand it can find, heaping it, scattering it, in 
the maddest possible way. 

What wonder the Dutch have always been 
wise, plucky, and strong ? They have had to 
struggle for a very foothold upon the land of 
their birth. They have had to push back the 
ocean to prevent it from rolling in upon them. 




They have had to wall m the rivers and lakes 
to keep them within bounds. They have been 
forced to decide which should be land and 
which should be water, — forever digging, build- 
ing, embanking, and pumping for dear existence. 
They had no stones, no timber, that they had not 
themselves procured from elsewhere. Added 
to this, they have had the loose, blowing sand 
in their mind's eye for ages ; never forgetting it, 
governing its drifts, and where its vast, silent 
heapings (as in the great Dunes along the coast) 
have proved useful as a protection, they have 
planted sea-bent and other vegetation to fasten 
it in its place. Even the riotous wind has been 
made their slave. Caught by thousands of long- 
armed windmills, it does their grinding, pump- 
ing, draining, sawing. When it ceases to blow, 
those great white sleeve-like sails all over the 
country hang limp and listless in the misty air, or 
are tucked trimly out of sight ; but let the first 
breath of a gale be felt, and straightway, with 
one flutter of preparation, every arm is turning 
slowly, steadily with a peculiar plenty-of-time 
air, or is whirling as if the spirit of seventy 
Dutchmen had taken possession of it. 

You scarcely can stand anywhere in Holland 
without seeing from one to twenty windmills. 
Many of them are built in the form of a two- 
story tower, the second story being smaller than 
the first, with a balcony at its base from which 
it tapers upward until the cap-like top is reached. 
High up, near the roof, the great axis juts from 
the wall ; and to this are fastened two pro- 
digious arms, formed somewhat like ladders, 
bearing great sheets of canvas, whose business 
it is to catch the mischief-maker and set him 
at work. These mills stand like huge giants 
guarding the country. Their bodies are gener- 
ally of a dark red ; and their heads, or roofs, are 
made to turn this way and that, according to 
the direction of the wind. Their round eye- 
window is always staring. Altogether, they 
seem to be keeping a vigilant watch in every 
direction. Sometimes they stand clustered to- 
gether; sometimes alone, like silent sentinels; 
sometimes in long rows, like ranks of soldiers. 
You see them rising from the midst of factory 
buildings, by the cottages, on the polders (the 
polders are lakes pumped dry and turned into 
farms) ; on the wharves ; by the rivers ; along 

the canals; on the dykes; in the cities — every- 
where ! Holland would n't be Holland without 
its windmills, any more than it could be Hol- 
land without its dykes and its Dutchmen. 

A certain zealous dame is said to have once 
attempted to sweep the ocean away with a 
broom. The Dutch have been wiser than this. 
They are a slow and deliberate people. Desper- 
ation may use brooms, but deliberation prefers 
clay and solid masonry. So, slowly and delib- 
erately, the dykes, those great hill-like walls of 
cement and stone, have risen to breast the 
buffeting waves. And the funny part of it is, 
they are so skillfully slanted and paved on the 
outside with flat stones that the efforts of the 
thumping waves to beat them down only make 
them all the firmer ! 

These Holland dykes are among the wonders 
of the world. I cannot say for how many miles 
they stretch along the coast, and throughout the 
interior ; but you may be sure that wherever a 
dyke is necessary to keep back the encroaching 
waters, there it is. Otherwise, nothing would 
be there — at least, nothing in the form of land ; 
nothing but a fearful illustration of the princi- 
pal law of hydrostatics : Water always seeks 
its level. 

Sometimes the dykes, however carefully built, 
will " spring a-leak," and if not attended to at 
once, terrible results are sure to follow. In 
threatened places guards are stationed at inter- 
vals, and a steady watch is kept up night and day. 
At the first signal of danger, every Dutchman 
within hearing of the startling bell is ready to 
rush to the rescue. When the weak spot is dis- 
covered, what do you think is used to meet the 
emergency ? What, but straw — everywhere 
else considered the most helpless of all things 
in water ! Yet straw, in the hands of the Dutch, 
has a will of its own. Woven into huge mats 
and securely pressed against the embankment, 
it defies even a rushing tide, eager to sweep over 
the country. 

These dykes form almost the only perfectly 
dry land to be seen from the ocean-side. They 
are high and wide, with fine carriage-roads on 
top, sometimes lined with buildings and trees. 
Lying on one side of them, and nearly on a level 
with the edge, is the sea, lake, canal, or*river, as 
the case may be; on the other, the flat fields 




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

beneath her, and, after all, mount only to where 
a snail is sunning himself on the water's edge ; 
or a toad may take a reckless leap from the land 
side of his eminence, and alighting on a tree-top, 
have to reach earth in monkey-fashion, by leap- 
ing from branch to branch ! 

To the birds skimming high over the country, 
it must be a fanciful sight — this Holland. 
There are the fertile farms or polders, studded 
with cattle and bright red cottages ; short- 
waisted men, women, and children, moving about 
in wide jackets and big wooden shoes ; trees 
everywhere clipped into fantastical shapes, with 


build her nest there, and so bring him good their trunks colored white, yellow, or brick red ; 

luck. country mansions too, and farm-houses gaudy 

A butterfly may take quite an upward flight with roofs of brightly tinted tiles. These tiles are 

in Holland, leaving flowers and shrubs and trees made of a kind of glazed earthenware, and make 




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

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

ing along with drivers sitting outside, kicking 
the funny little crooked pole ; or horses yoked 
three abreast, dragging obstinate loads; or 
women and boys harnessed to long towing- 
ropes meekly drawing their loads of market- 
stuff up and down the canal. 

Then there are the boats, large and small, 
of every possible Dutch style ; wonderful ships 
made to breast the rough seas of the coast; 
fishing-smacks (swakschepcn), heavy with fresh 
catches; the round-sterned craft by the cities, 
with their gilded prows and gaily painted sides ; 
trekschuiten, or water-omnibuses, plying up and 
down the canals for the conveyance of passen- 
gers ; brown-sailed pakschuiten, or water-carts, 
for carrying coal and merchandise upon these 
same water-roads ; barges loaded with peat ; 
pleasure-boats with their showy sails ; the little 
skiffs, the rafts, the chip boats launched by 
white-haired urchins kneeling in the mud ! 

Then, mingling confusedly with masts, and 
windmills, and sails are the long rows of willows, 
firs, beeches, or elms, planted on the highways 
wherever root-hold can be 
found or manufactured ; the 
stiff, symmetrical gardens, 
with their nodding tulips 
and brilliant shrubs ; the 
great white storks flying to 
and fro with outstretched 
necks and legs, busily at- 
tending to family needs, or 
settling upon the quaint 
gabled roofs of some little 
town ; water-fowl dipping 
with soft splashings into the 
tide ; rabbits scudding here 
and there ; water-rats slily 
slipping into their crannies, 
and bright water-insects 
rocking at the surface on 
reed and tangle-weed. See- 
ing all this, our birds have 
not seen half; but they have 
ample time to look ; for 
bird-life is not the un- 
certain thing in Holland that it is here. They 
are citizens loved and respected, and protected 
by rigorous laws. Stones are not thrown at their 
heads, nor is "salt sprinkled upon their tails." 




I I I 

They are not afraid of guns, 
for the law has its eye on 
the gunners ; and, strangest 
of all, they see nothing ter- 
rible in small boys ! Young 
eyes, to be sure, often peep 
into their nests ; but the 
owners have been taught 
not to rob nor molest. 
Human mothers and bird 
mothers are in secret league. 
Indeed, the softest, warm- 
est nest is not softer nor 
warmer than the Dutch 
heart has proved itself to 
the birds. 

When winter comes and 
the little songsters — and 
their greedy cousins, the 
storks — have flown away 
in search of warmer quarters, the country is 
still in a glitter, for its waters are frozen. Then 
all Holland puts on its skates, and gets atop 
of its beloved water, in which before it has 
only dabbled. Everybody, young and old, goes 
skimming and sliding along the canals, over the 
lakes, and on the rivers. 

"And as they sweep, 
On sounding skates, a thousand different ways 
In circling poise, swift as the winds along, 
The then gay land is maddened all to joy." 


The entire country is one vast 
skating-rink. No need of red 
balls to tell the people that 
everything is ready. They 
know winter in their land means 
ice, — and good solid ice, too, — 
sometimes for three months to- 
gether. Then come out the 
ice-boats and sleds, and slid- 
ing-chairs, and ijsbrekers. These 
last, as you may guess, by pro- 
nouncing the word, are pro- 
vided with spikes for breaking 

| passages through the ice to en- 
able barges and other vessels 
to pass. They are sometimes 
used by hand, and sometimes 
are made very large and heavy, 
and drawn by as many as twenty 
or even thirty horses. There 
is no little excitement among 
the boys and girls when a big 
ice-breaker comes out for the 
first time in the season. The 
great crashing thing inspires 
them with wonder and admira- 
tion ; yet with all its might it 
cuts only a narrow pathway for 

The main face of the country be- 

the boats, 

longs to the skaters. 

For miles and miles the glassy ice spreads 
its mirror under the blinking and dazzled sun. 
Everywhere is one shining network of slippery 
highway. Who would walk or ride then ? Not 
one. Doctors skate to their patients ; clergymen 
to their parishioners ; market-women to town 
with baskets upon their heads. Laborers go 
skimming by, with tools on their shoulders, and 
tradespeople busily planning the day's affairs ; 




head of nikolaas tulp, the anatomist, 
(from Rembrandt's painting, " the school of anatomy, "- 


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

until you can see nothing but the flashing of 
skates, and a rushing confusion of color. 

And while all this is happening in the open 
air, the simple indoor life is steadily going 
on, in the homes, the shops, the churches, the 
schools, the workshops, the picture-galleries. 



Ah, the picture-galleries ! All Hollanders, 
from the very richest and most cultivated to 
almost the very humblest, visit and enjoy the 
rare collections of paintings that ennoble their 
principal towns and cities. And what pictures 
those old Dutchmen have painted ! The Dutch- 
men of to-day well may be proud of them. 
There was Rembrandt Van Ryn (of the Rhine), 
perhaps the greatest portrait painter — or painter 
of men — this world has ever known ; and Franz 
Hals and Van der Heist and the careful Gerh- 
ard Dow, and Mieris and Van Ostade, and 
Teniers and many others. You must read 
about them, and some day see their pictures, if 
indeed you have not already come upon them 
either in your reading or on your travels ! 

But if you visit no other, you surely must 
hope some day to go to the Ryks Museum at 
Amsterdam, and see its priceless Rembrandts 
and other treasures of Dutch art. 

If you go to Holland in summer and look at 
the people, you will wonder when all the work 
was done, and who did it. The country folk 
move so slowly and serenely, looking as if to 
smoke their pipes were quite as much as they 
cared to do, — they have so little to say, and 
seem to see you only because their eyes chance 
to be open. You feel sure if the lids dropped 
by any accident they would not be lifted again 
in a hurry. Yet there are the dykes, the water- 
roads, the great ship-canals, the fine old towns, 
the magnificent cities, the colleges, the galleries, 
the charitable institutions, the churches. There 
are the public parks, the beautiful country-seats, 
the immense factories, the herring-packeries, the 
docks, the shipping-yards, the railways, and the 
telegraphs. Surely these Hollanders must work 
in their sleep ! 

But though the men outside of Amsterdam 
and the large cities may screen themselves with 
a mask of dullness, it is not so with the women. 
They are as lively as one could wish, taller in 
proportion than the men, with fresh, rosy faces, 
and hair that matches the sunshine. Many of 
them are elegant and graceful. As for work, — 
well, if there could be such a thing as a Dutch 
Barnum, he would make his fortune by exhibiting 
a lazy Dutch woman — if he could find one! 
Ah ! how they work ! — brushing, mopping, 
scrubbing, and polishing. I do believe the tini- 

est Lilliputian that Gulliver ever saw could not 
fill his pockets with dust, if he searched through 
dozens of Dutch houses. 

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




GfcciHbf vjftMWoNtfeVffi^ 


The dairy-ly inclined inhabitants consider their commonly find themselves daintily housed be- 

kine as friends and fellow-lodgers, and so the neath the family roof. 

very cattle there live in fine style. Pet cows, In some Dutch houses the rooms are cov- 

it is said, often rejoice in pretty blue ribbons ered with two or three carpets, laid one over 

tied to their tails — and in winter they not un- the other, and others have no carpets at all, 


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


among the poorer classes sleep in rough boxes, 
or on shelves fixed in recesses against the wall ; 
so that sometimes the best bed in the cottage 
looks more like a cupboard than anything else. 

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

From Broek to Amsterdam is scarce an hour's 
journey, yet how different everything is ! Here, 
as in the other large Dutch cities, you see quite 


a business look on the men's faces. They are 
thinner as a class than the rustic folk ; and, not 
having such broad backs and short legs, not 
wearing leather breeches and wide jackets and 
big waist-buckles as the countrymen do, they 
quite make you forget they are Dutch. In fact 
they look like New Yorkers. Nowadays, the 
stiff masculine costume of Paris and London 
tends to make citizens nearly all over the world 
look alike. 

Still, very often you see something distinctive 
in Dutch cities, — huge coal-scuttle bonnets on 
the women ; and wooden shoes, with heels that 
clatter-clatter at every step. Some of the women 
and girls have their hair cropped short and wear 
close-fitting caps; and these caps and head- 
dresses are seen in great variety. Some have 
plain gold bands over the forehead, others have 
gold or silver plates at the back, and some have 
deep folds of rich lace hanging from them. The 
writer once saw two women walking together in 
Rotterdam, one of whom had on quite a fashion- 
able French bonnet, and the other a queer 
head-gear with rosettes and golden blinders pro- 
jecting on each side of her forehead. Little 
girls sometimes are very pretty with their sweet, 
bright faces, their clean, stiff, simple attire, 
and their queer white caps decked with a gold 
band over the forehead and little dangling gold 
twirls at the side. The little visitor in the picture 
on page 120 is one of these, and you see how 
carefully she has 
slipped off her 
wooden shoes so 
as not to soil 
her hostess's 
spotless floors. 
Then there are 
the boys, cheer- 
ful, clean, and 
sturdy ; some 
dressed in mod- 
ern-looking hats 
and " suits "; but 
others wearing 
such short jackets and loose knee-breeches, you 
would declare they had borrowed the former 
from their little brothers and the latter from 
their grandfathers. 

Now and then, in our own country, we hear 




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

Dutchman grows sleeker and fatter behind his 
pipe ; as if the same fairy who gave him the 
season-ticket had perched herself invisibly on 
the bowl and was continually blowing him out 
like a rubber balloon. 

All things are reversed in Holland. The 
main entrance to the finest public building in 
the country, The Palace * or late town hall, of 
Amsterdam, is its back door. Bashful maidens 
hire beaux to escort them to the Kermis, or 
fair, on festival-days. Timid citizens are scared 
in the dead of the night by their own watch- 
men, who at every quarter of the hour make 


quently be seen in Dutch farm-houses. The 
men, and too often the boys, smoke, smoke, 
smoke, as if some malicious fairy had given 
them a perpetual season-ticket for enjoying the 
privilege. Perhaps that is why they seem so 
sleepy ; and yet, with what a sudden glow both 
pipe and Dutchman can brighten at a whiff! 

Instead of seeming to shrivel up, inside and 
out, as constant smokers are apt to do here, a 

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

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





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

present condition is described on the placard for 
the benefit of inquiring friends ; and sometimes, 
when such a placard has been taken down, you 
may meet a grim-looking man on the street 
dressed in black tights, a short cloak, and a high 
hat from which a long, black streamer is flying. 
This is the Aanspreker, going from house to 
house to tell certain persons that their friend is 
dead. He attends to funerals, and bears invi- 
tations to all friends whose presence may be de- 
sired. A strange weird-looking figure he is ; and 
he wears a peculiar, professional cast of counte- 
nance that is anything but comforting. 

Ah ! here is something to cheer us ! And 
now a little cart rattles past, drawn by a 
span of orderly dogs, and filled with shining 
brass kettles that were brimming with milk when 
it started on its round. How nimbly the little 
animals trot over the stones ! How promptly 
they heed the voice of their little master stalk- 
ing leisurely along the sidew — ; no, not on 
the sidewalk ; — but on the narrow footpath of 
yellow brick that stretches along near the houses. 
Excepting this, the cobble pavement, if there be 


Sometimes, instead of either pincushion or 
shingle, you will see a large placard hung out- 
side of the front door. Then you may know 
that somebody in the house is ill, and his or her 

no canal, reaches entirely across the street from 
door to door. Occasionally one may see dogs 
dragging tiny fish-carts. They jog along in such 
practiced style, we may be sure they were taught 




at the dog-school in Amsterdam ; but oftener, in 
Holland, the small milk-cart or water-cart is 
drawn by a robust boy, or a pretty rosy-cheeked 
girl with eyes brighter than the shining brass 
water-jar she may carry. Those canal-boats 
around the corner, wending their way among 
the houses, are loaded with peat for the people 
to burn ; coal is a luxury used only by the rich. 
That barge by the market-place, drawn up to 
the street's edge (for many of the principal 
thoroughfares are half water and half street), is 
laden with — what do you think ? 
What should you suppose these 
people would, least of all, need to 
buy ? You see these canals, fol- 
lowing and crossing the streets in 
every direction ; you see the mast- 
heads and sails standing up every- 
where, in among the trees and 
steeples, showing that the river 
always is close at hand; you 
know that all Holland is a kind 
of wet sponge ; and the guide- 
books will tell you that every 
house is built upon long wooden 
piles driven deep into the marsh, 
or it could n't stand there at all. 
Now, what do you think these 
barges contain ? What but water! 
— water for the people to drink. 
It is brought for the purpose from 
Utrecht, or the river Vecht, or 
from some favored inland spot. All along the 
coast, just where Holland is wettest, our poor 
Dutchmen must go dry, for there is no water 
fit to drink, unless they buy from the barges, 
or swallow the rain before it has a chance to 
catch the ways of the country. 

Now, is not Holland a funny land ? Where 
else do the people pray for fish and not pray for 
rain ? Where else do they build factories so 
enormous for the cutting and polishing of such 
little things as diamonds ? Where else do 
peasant women wear solid gold and costly old 
lace on their heads ? Where else do persons 
carry their stoves about in their hands ? Where 
else do crowds of folk sit on the sea shore as 
at Scheveningen, each in a great high hut-like 
wicker chair with a window on each side ? 
Where else do funny wooden heads or gapers 

at the apothecaries' windows " make faces " for 
all who have to take physic ? Where else is fire 
sold by the pailful ? 

Is not water often as fertile as land, in Hol- 
land? Cannot the frogs there look down upon 
chimney-swallows ? Did not the learned Eras- 
mus, who knew how the piles were driven in, say 
that their city people lived like crows, on the 
tops of trees ? And does n't everybody know 
that "Dutch pink" is as yellow as gold? 

Verily, as I said at first, Holland is the queerest 


country that ever the sun shone upon ! But the 
queerest thing of all is, when you really know 
much about it you feel more like crying than 
laughing ; for this land that lies so loosely upon 
the sea has many a time been forced to be as a 
rock against a legion of foes. Its stanch-hearted 
people have suffered as never nation had suffered 
before. They look sleepy, I know, and have 
some very odd ways ; but — Motley's history 
of the Rise of the Dutch Republic is not a 
funny book. 

The ocean, too, if it could speak, could tell 
tales of Dutch ships bound on great enterprises ; 
though it has a funny story of the brave Admiral 
Van Tromp, which you must read some day. 

Soon, in another paper, I shall try to tell you 
how Holland, in its history, has proved itself to 
be truly a Land of Pluck. 

Ci Wtfit viHNWon £i>WAR$< 

(see page 115.) 



By Noah Brooks. 

(Begrttt in the Noz>ember number.) 

Chapter IV. 


Quindaro was a straggling but pretty little 
town built among the groves of the west bank of 
the Missouri. Here the emigrants found a store 
or trading-post, well supplied with the goods 
they needed, staple articles of food and the 
heavier farming-tools being the first required. 
The boys looked curiously at the big breaking- 
plow that was to be of so much consequence 
to them in their new life and labors. The prai- 
ries around their Illinois home had been long 
broken up when they were old enough to take 
notice of such things ; and as they were town 
boys, they had never had their attention called 
to the implements of a prairie farm. 

" It looks like a plow that has been sat 
down on and flattened out," was Oscar's re- 
mark, after they had looked the thing over 
very critically. It had a long and massive beam, 
or body, and big strong handles, suggestive of 
hard work to be done with it. " The nose," as 
Sandy called the point of the share, was long, 
flat, and as sharp as a knife. It was this thin 
and knife-like point that was to cut into the 
virgin turf of the prairie, and, as the sod was 
cut, the share was to turn it over, bottom side 
up, while the great heavy implement was drawn 
on by the oxen. 

" But the sod is so thick and tough," said 
Oscar, " I don't see how the oxen can drag the 
thing through. Will our three yoke of cattle 
do it?" 

The two men looked at each other and 
smiled. This had been a subject of much 
anxious thought with them. They had been 
told that they would have difficulty in breaking 
up the prairie with three yoke of oxen ; they 
should have four yoke, certainly. So when 
Mr. Howell explained that they must get an- 
Voi.. XVIII.— 14. > 

other yoke and then rely on their being able 
to " change work " with some of their neigh- 
bors who might have cattle, the boys laughed 

" Neighbors ! " cried Sandy. <; Why, I did n't 
suppose we should have any neighbors within 
five or ten miles. Did you, Oscar ? I was in 
hopes we would n't have neighbors to plague us 
with their hens and chickens and their running 
in to borrow a cupful of molasses or last week's 
newspaper. Neighbors ! " and the boy's brown 
face wore an expression of disgust. 

" Don't you worry about neighbors, Sandy," 
said his uncle. " Even if we have any within 
five miles of us, we shall do well. But if there 
is to be any fighting, we shall want neighbors 
to join forces with us and we shall find them 
handy, anyhow, in case of sickness or trouble. 
We can not get along in a new country like this 
without neighbors, and you bear that in mind, 
Master Sandy." 

The two leaders of this little flock had been 
asking about the prospects for taking up claims 
along the Kansas River, or the Kaw, as that 
stream was then generally called. To their 
great dismay, they had found that there was 
very little vacant land to be had anywhere 
near the river. They would have to push on still 
further westward if they wished to find good 
land ready for the preemptor. Rumors of 
fighting and violence came from the new city 
of Lawrence, the chief settlement of the Free 
State men, on the Kaw; and at Grasshopper 
Falls, still further to the west, the most desir- 
able land was already taken up, and there were 
wild stories of a raid on that locality being 
planned by bands of Border Ruffians. They 
were in a state of doubt and uncertainty. 

" There she is ! There she is ! " said Charlie, 
in a loud whisper, looking in the direction of a 
tall, unpainted building that stood among the 
trees that embowered the little settlement. 
Everyone looked and saw a young lady trip- 




ping along through the hazel brush that still 
covered the ground. She was rather stylishly 
dressed, " citified," Oscar said, and swung a 
beaded work-bag as she walked. 

" Who is it ? Who is it ? " asked Oscar, 
breathlessly. She was the first well-dressed 
young lady he had seen since leaving Iowa. 


" Sh-h-h-h ! " whispered Charlie. " That 's 
Quindaro. A young fellow pointed her out to 
me last night, just after we drove into the settle- 
ment. She lives with her folks in that tall, thin 
house up there. I have been looking for her to 
come out. See, she 's just going into the post- 
office now." 

" Quindaro ! " exclaimed Sandy. " Why I 
thought Quindaro was a squaw." 

" She 's a full-blooded Delaware Indian girl, 
that 's what she is, and she was educated some- 

where east in the States ; and this town is named 
for her. She owns all the land around here, and 
is the belle of the place." 

" She 's got on hoop-skirts, too," said Oscar. 
"Just think of an Indian girl — a squaw, wear- 
ing hoops, will you?" For all this happened, 
my young reader must remember, when women's 
fashions were very differ- 
ent from what they now 
are. Quindaro, that is 
to say, the young Indian 
lady of that time, was 
dressed in the height of 
fashion but not in any 
way obtrusively. Charlie, 
following with his eyes 
the young girl's figure, 
as she came out of the 
post-office and went 
across the ravine that 
divided the settlement 
into two equal parts, 
mirthfully said : " And 
only think ! That is a 
full-blooded Delaware 
Indian girl ! " 

But, their curiosity 
satisfied, the boys were 
evidently disappointed 
with their first view 
of Indian civilization. 
There were no blank- 
eted Indians loafing 
around in the sun and 
sleeping under the 
shelter of the under- 
brush, as they had been 
taught to expect to see 
them. Outside of the 
settlement, men were plowing and planting, 
breaking prairie, and building cabins ; and, 
while our party were looking about them, a party 
of Delawares drove into town with several ox- 
carts to carry away the purchases that one of 
their number had already made. It was be- 
wildering to boys who had been brought up on 
stories of Black Hawk, the Prophet, and the 
Sacs and Foxes of Illinois and Wisconsin. A 
Delaware Indian, clad in the ordinary garb of a 
Western farmer and driving a voke of oxen, and 




employing the same curious lingo used by the 
white farmers, was not a picturesque object. 

" I allow that sixty dollars is a big price to 
pay for a yoke of cattle," said Mr. Howell, anx- 
iously. He was greatly concerned about the 
new purchase that must be made here, accord- 
ing to the latest information. " We might have 
got them for two-thirds of that money back in 
Illinois. And you know that Iowa chap only 
reckoned the price of these at forty-five, when 
we traded with him at Jonesville." 

" It 's no use worrying about that now, 
Aleck," said his brother-in-law. " I know you 
thought then that we should need four yoke for 
breaking the prairie ; but, then, you were n't 
certain about it, and none of the rest of us ever 
had any sod-plowing to do." 

" No, none of us," said Sandy, with delightful 
gravity; at which everybody smiled. One would 
have thought that Sandy was a veteran in every- 
thing but farming. 

" I met a man this morning, while I was prowl- 
ing around the settlement," said Charlie, " who 
said that there was plenty of vacant land, of first- 
rate quality, up around Manhattan. Where 's 
that, father — do you know? He did n't, but 
some other man, one of the New England So- 
ciety fellows, told him so." 

But nobody knew where Manhattan was. 
This was the first time they had ever heard of 
the place. The cattle question was first to be 
disposed of, however, and as soon as the party had 
finished their breakfast, the two men and Charlie 
sallied out through the settlement to look up a 
bargain. Oscar and Sandy were left in the 
camp to wash the dishes and " clean up," a 
duty which both of them despised with a hearty 

" If there 's anything I just fairly abominate, 
it 's washing dishes," said Sandy, seating himself 
on the wagon-tongue and discontentedly eying 
a huge tin pan filled with tin plates and cups, 
steaming in the hot water that Oscar had 
poured over them from the camp-kettle. 

" Well, that 's part of the play," answered 
Oscar, pleasantly. " It is n't boy's work, let 
alone man's work, to be cooking and washing 
dishes. I wonder what mother would think to 
see us at it ? " and a suspicious moisture gath- 
ered in the lad's eyes, as a vision of his mother's 

tidy kitchen in far-off Illinois rose before his 
mind. Sandy looked very solemn. 

" But, as daddy says, it 's no use worrying 
about things you can't help," continued the 
cheerful Oscar, " so here goes, Sandy. You 
wash and I '11 dry 'em." And the two boys went 
on with their disagreeable work so heartily 
that they soon had it out of the way ; Sandy re- 
marking as they finished it, that, for his part, he 
did not like the business at all, but he did not 
think it fair that they two, who could not do 
the heavy work, should grumble over that they 
could do. " The worst of it is," he added, 
" we 've got to look forward to months and 
months of this sort of thing. Father and Uncle 
Charlie say that we cannot have the rest of the 
family come out until we have a house to put 
them in — a log-cabin, they mean, of course ; 
and Uncle Charlie says that we may not get 
them out until another Spring. I don't believe 
he will be willing for them to come out until he 
knows whether the Territory is to be slave or 
free. Do you, Oscar ? " 

" No, indeed," said Oscar. " Between you 
and me, Sandy, I don't want to go back 
to Illinois again, for anything ; but I guess 
father will make up his mind about staying only 
when we find out if there is to be a Free State 
government or not. Dear me, why can't the 
Missourians keep out of here and let us alone ? " 

" It 's a free country," answered Sandy, sen- 
tentiously. " That 's what Uncle Charlie is 
always saying. The Missourians have just as 
good a right here as we have." 

" But they have no right to be bringing in 
their slavery with 'em," replied the other. 
" That would n't be a free country, would it, 
with one man owning another man ? Not 

" That 's beyond me, Oscar. I suppose it 's a 
free country only for the white man to come to. 
But I have n't any politics in me. Hullo ! 
there comes the rest of us driving a yoke of 
oxen. Well, on my word, they have been 
quick about it. Uncle Charlie is a master 
hand at hurrying things, I will say," added 
Sandy, admiringly. " He 's done all the trad- 
ing, I '11 be bound ! " 

" Fifty-five dollars," replied Bryant, to the 
boys' eager inquiry as to the price paid for the 




yoke of oxen. " Fifty-five dollars, and not so 
very dear after all, considering that there are 
more people who want to buy than there are 
who want to sell." 

" And now we are about ready to start ; 
only a few more provisions to lay in. Suppose 
we get away by to-morrow morning ? " 

" Oh, that 's out of the question, Uncle 
Aleck," said Oscar. " What makes you in 
such a hurry ? Why, you have all along said 
we need not get away from here for a week yet, 
if we did not want to ; the grass has n't fairly 
started yet, and we cannot drive far without 
feed for the cattle. Four yoke, too," he added, 

" The fact is, Oscar," said his father, lowering 
his voice and looking around as if to see whether 
anybody was within hearing distance, " we have 
heard this morning that there was a raid on this 
place threatened from Kansas City, over the 
border. This is the Free State headquarters in 
this part of the country, and it has got about 
that the store here is owned and run by the 
New England Emigrant Aid Society. So they 
are threatening to raid the place, burn the settle- 
ment, run off the stock, and loot the settlers. I 
should like to have a company of resolute men 
to defend the place," and Mr. Bryant's eyes 
flashed ; " but this is not our home, nor our 
fight, and I 'm willing to ' light out ' right off, or 
as soon as we get ready." 

" Will they come to-night, do you think ? " 
asked Sandy, and his big blue eyes looked very 
big indeed. " Because we can't get off until we 
have loaded the wagon and fixed the wheels ; 
you said they must be greased before we trav- 
eled another mile, you know." 

It was agreed, however, that there was no im- 
mediate danger of the raid — certainly not that 
night ; but all felt that it was the part of pru- 
dence to be ready to start at once ; the sooner, 
the better. When the boys went to their blank- 
ets that night, they whispered to each other 
that the camp might be raided and so they 
should be ready for any assault that might come. 
Sandy put his " pepper-box " under his pillow 
and Charlie had his trusty rifle within reach. 
Oscar carried a double-barreled shot-gun of 
which he was very proud, and that weapon, 
loaded with buckshot, was laid carefully by the 

side of his blankets. The two elders of the 
party " slept with one eye open," as they phrased 
it. But there was no alarm through the night, 
except once when Mr. Howell got up and went 
out to see how the cattle were getting on. He 
found that one of the sentinels who had been 
set by the Quindaro Company in consequence 
of the scare, had dropped asleep on the wagon- 
tongue of the Dixon party. Shaking him gently, 
he awoke the sleeping sentinel, who at once 
bawled " Don't shoot ! " to the great consterna- 
tion of the nearest campers, who came flying out 
of their blankets to see what was the matter. 
When explanations had been made, all laughed, 
stretched themselves, and then went to bed 
again to dream of Missouri raiders. 

The sun was well up in the sky next day, 
when the emigrants, having completed their pur- 
chases, yoked their oxen and drove up through 
the settlement and ascended the rolling swale 
of land that lay beyond the groves skirting the 
river. Here were camps of other- emigrants 
who had moved out of Quindaro before them, 
or had come down from the point on the Mis- 
souri opposite Parkville, in order to get on to 
the road that led westward and south of the 
Kaw. It was a beautifully wooded country. 
When the lads admired the trees, Mr. Howell 
somewhat contemptuously said : " Not much 
good, chiefly black-jacks and scrub-oaks " ; but 
the woods were pleasant to drive through, and 
when they came upon scattered farms and plan- 
tations with comfortable log-cabins set in the 
midst of cultivated fields, the admiration of the 
party was excited. 

" Only look, Uncle Charlie," cried Sandy, 
" there 's a real flower-garden full of hollyhocks 
and marigolds ; and there 's a rose-bush climb- 
ing over that log-cabin ! " It was too early to 
distinguish one flower from another by its blooms, 
but Sandy's sharp eyes had detected the leaves 
of the old-fashioned flowers that he loved so 
well, which he knew were only just planted in 
the farther northern air of their home in Illi- 
nois. It was a pleasant-looking Kansas home, 
and Sandy wondered how it happened that 
this cozy living-place had grown up so quickly 
in this new Territory. It looked as if it were 
many years old, he said. 

" We are still on the Delaware Indian reserva- 



tion," replied his uncle. " The Government 
has given the tribe a big tract of land here and 
away up to the Kaw. They 've been here for 
years, and they are good farmers, I should 
say, judging from the looks of things here- 

Just then, as if to explain matters, a decent- 
looking man, dressed in the rude fashion of the 
frontier but in civilized clothes, came out of 
the cabin, and, pipe in mouth, stared not un- 
kindly at the passing wagon and its party. 

" Howdy," he civilly replied to a friendly 
greeting from Mr. Howell. The boys knew 
that " How " was a customary salutation among 
Indians, but " Howdy " struck them as being 
comic ; Sandy laughed as he turned away his 
face. Mr. Bryant lingered while the slow-mov- 
ing oxen plodded their way along the road, and 
the boys, too, halted to hear what the dark- 
skinned man had to say. But the Indian, for 
he was a " civilized " Delaware, was a man of 
very few words. In answer to Mr. Bryant's 
questions, he said he was one of the chiefs of the 
tribe ; he had been to Washington to settle the 
terms of an agreement with the Government; 
and he had lived in that cabin six years, and on 
the present reservation ever since it was estab- 

All this information came out reluctantly and 
with as little use of vital breath as possible. 
When they had moved on out of earshot, Oscar 
expressed his decided opinion that that settler 
was no more like James Fenimore Cooper's 
Indians than the lovely Quindaro appeared to 
be. " Why, did you notice, father," he con- 
tinued, " that he actually had on high-heeled 
boots ? Think of that ! An Indian with high- 
heeled boots ! Why, in Cooper's novels they 
wear moccasins, and some of them go barefoot. 
These Indians are not worthy of the name." 

" You will see more of the same sort before 
we get to the river," said his father. " They 
have a meeting-house up yonder by the fork 
of the road, I am told. And, seeing that this is 
our first day out of camp on the last stage of 
our journey, suppose we stop for dinner at In- 
dian John's, Aleck ? It will be a change from 
camp fare, and they say that John keeps a 
good table." 

To the delight of the lads it was agreed that 

they should make the halt as suggested, and 
noon found them at a very large and comforta- 
ble " double cabin," as these peculiar structures 
are called. Two log-cabins are built, end to 
end, with one roof covering the two. The pas- 
sage between them is floored over and affords 
an open shelter from rain and sun, and in 
hot weather is the pleasantest place about the 
establishment. Indian John's cabin was built 
of hewn logs, nicely chinked in with slivers and 
daubed with clay to keep out the wintry blasts. 
As is the manner of the country, one of the cab- 
ins was used for the rooms of the family, while 
the dining-room and kitchen were in the other 
end of the structure. Indian John regularly 
furnished dinner to the stage passengers going 
westward from Quindaro ; for a public convey- 
ance, a " mud-wagon," as it was called, had 
been put on this part of the road. 

" What a tuck-out I had ! " said Sandy, after 
a very bountiful and well-cooked dinner had 
been disposed of by the party. " And who 
would have supposed we should ever sit down 
to an Indian's table and eat fried chicken, ham 
and eggs, and corn-dodger, from a regular set 
of blue-and-white plates, and drink good coffee 
from crockery cups ? It just beats Father Dixon's 
Indian stories all to pieces." 

Oscar and Charlie, however, were disposed 
to think very lightly of this sort of Indian civili- 
zation. Oscar said : " If these red men were 
either one thing or the other, I would n't mind 
it. But they have shed the gaudy trappings of 
the wild Indian, and their new clothes do not 
fit very well. As Grandfather Bryant used to 
say, they are neither fish nor flesh, nor good 
red herring. They are a mighty uninteresting 

" Well, they are on the way to a better state 
of things than they have known, anyhow," said 
Charlie. " The next generation will see them 
higher up, I guess. But I must say that these 
farms don't look very thrifty, somehow. In- 
dians are a lazy lot; they don't like work. Did 
you notice how all those big fellows at dinner 
sat down with us and the stage passengers, and 
the poor women had to wait on everybody ? 
That 's Indian." 

Uncle Charlie laughed and said that the boys 
had expected to find civilized Indians waiting 




on the table, decked out with paint and feathers 
and wearing deerskin leggings and such like. 

" Wait until we get out on the frontier," said 
he, " and then you will see wild Indians, perhaps, 
or ' blanket Indians,' anyhow." 

" Blanket Indians ? " said Sandy, with an 
interrogation point in his face. 

" Yes, that 's what the roving and unsettled 
bands are called by white folks. Those that are 
on reservations and earning their own living, or 
a part of it, — for the Government helps them 
out considerably, — are called town Indians ; 
those that live in wigwams, or tepees, and rove 
from place to place, subsisting on what they can 
catch, are blanket Indians. They tell me that 
there are wild Indians out on the western fron- 
tier. But they are not hostile; at least, they 
were not, at last accounts. The Cheyennes have 
been rather uneasy, they say, since the white 
settlers began to pour into the country. Just 
now I am more concerned about the white Mis- 
sourians than I am about the red aborigines." 

They were still on the Delaware reservation 
when they camped that evening, and the boys 
went into the woods to gather fuel for their fire. 

They had not gone far, when Sandy gave a 
wild whoop of alarm, jumping about six feet 
backward as he yelled, " A rattlesnake ! " Sure 
enough, an immense snake was sliding out from 
under a mass of brush that the boy had dis- 
turbed as he gathered an armful of dry branches 
and twigs. Dropping his burden, Sandy shouted, 
" Kill him ! Kill him, quick ! " 

The reptile was about five feet long, very 
thick, and of a dark mottled color. Instantly, 
each lad had armed himself with a big stick and 
had attacked him. The snake, stopped in his 
attempt to get away, turned and opening his 
ugly-looking mouth made a curious blowing 
noise, half a hiss and half a cough, as Charlie 
afterward described it. 

" Take care, Sandy ! He '11 spring at you 
and bite you in the face ! See ! He 's getting 
ready to spring ! " 

And, indeed, the creature, frightened, and 
surrounded by the agile, jumping boys, each 
armed with a club, seemed ready to defend his 
life with the best weapons at his command. 
The boys, excited and alarmed, were afraid 
to come near the snake and were dancing 

about, waiting for a chance to strike, when they 
were startled by a shot from behind them, and 
the snake, making one more effort to turn on 
himself, shuddered and fell dead. 

Mr. Howell, hearing the shouting of the 
boys, had run out of the camp and with a 
well-directed rifle shot had laid low the reptile. 

" It 's only a blow-snake," he said, taking the 
creature by the tail and holding it up to view. 
" He 's harmless. Well ! Of course a dead 
snake is harmless, but when he was alive he 
was not the sort of critter to be afraid of. I 
thought you had encountered a bear, at the 
very least, by the racket you made." 

" He 's a big fellow, anyhow," said Oscar, 
giving the snake a kick, " and Sandy said he 
was a rattlesnake. I saw a rattler once when 
we lived in Dixon. Billy Everett and I found 
him down on the bluff below the railroad ; and 
he was spotted all over. Besides, this fellow 
has n't any rattles." 

" The boys have been having a lesson in natu- 
ral history, Charlie," said Mr. Howell to his 
brother-in-law, as they returned with him to 
camp, loaded with firewood ; Sandy, boy-like, 
dragging the dead blow-snake after him. 

Chapter V. 


Supper was over, a camp-fire built (for the 
emigrants did their cooking by a small camp- 
stove and sat by the light of a fire on the ground), 
when out of the darkness came sounds of ad- 
vancing teams. Oscar was playing his violin, 
trying to pick out a tune for the better singing 
of Whittier's song of the Kansas Emigrants. 
His father raised his hand to command silence. 
" That 's a Yankee teamster, I '11 be bound," 
he said, as the " Woh-hysh ! Woh-haw ! " of the 
coming party fell on his ear. " No Missourian 
ever talks to his cattle like that." 

As he spoke, a long, low emigrant wagon, or 
" prairie schooner," drawn by three yoke of dun- 
colored oxen toiled up the road. In the wagon 
was a faded-looking woman with two small 
children clinging to her. Odds and ends of 
household furniture showed themselves over her 
head from within the wagon, and strapped on 




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

assisted the woman and children to get down 
from the wagon, and one of the cattle-drivers 
coming up, drove the team into the woods a 
short distance, and the tired oxen were soon 
lying down among the underbrush. 

" Well, yes, we have had a pretty hard time 
getting here. We are the last Free State men 


by two other men, and a lad about the age of 
Oscar Bryant. The new arrivals paused in the 
road, surveyed our friends from Illinois, stopped 
the herd of cattle, and then the man who was 
driving the wagon said, with an unmistakable 
New England twang, " Friends ? " 

" Friends, most assuredly," said Mr. Bryant, 
with a smile. " I guess you have been having 
hard luck, you appear to be so suspicious." 

" Well, we have, and that 's a fact. But 
we 're main glad to be able to camp among 
friends. Jotham, unyoke the cattle after you 
have driven them into the timber a piece." He 

allowed over the ferry at Parkville. Where 
be you from ? " 

" We are from Lee County, Illinois," replied 
Mr. Bryant. " We came in by the way of Park- 
ville, too, a day or two ago ; but we stopped at 
Quindaro. Did vou come direct from Park- 

" Yes." replied the man. " We came up the 
river in the first place, on the steamboat ' Black 
Eagle,' and when we got to Leavenworth, a 
big crowd of Borderers, seeing us and another 
lot of Free State men on the boat, refused to let 
us land. We had to go down the river again. 




The captain of the boat kicked up a great fuss 
about it, and wanted to put us ashore on the 
other side of the river; but the Missouri men 
would n't have it. They put a ' committee,' as 
they called the two men, on board the steam- 
boat, and they made the skipper take us down 
the river." 

" How far down did you go ? " asked Bryant, 
his face reddening with anger. 

" Well, we told the committee that we came 
through Ioway, and that to Ioway we must go; 
so they rather let up on us, and set us ashore 
just opposite Wyandotte. I was mighty 'fraid 
they 'd make us swear we would n't go back 
into Kansas some other way ; but they did n't, 
and so we stivered along the road eastwards after 
they set us ashore, and then we fetched a half- 
circle around and got into Parkville." 

" I should n't wonder if you bought those 
clothes that you have got on at Parkville," 
said Mr. Howell, with a smile. 

" You guess about right," said the sad-colored 
stranger. " A very nice sort of a man we met 
at the fork of the road, as you turn off to go to 
Parkville from the river road, told me that my 
clothes were too Yankee. I wore 'em all the 
way from Wobum, Massachusetts, where we 
came from, and I hated to give 'em up. But 
discretion is better than valor, I have heern 
tell ; so I made the trade, and here I am." 

" We had no difficulty getting across at 
Parkville," said Mr. Bryant, " except that we 
did have to go over in the night in a sneaking 
fashion that I did not like." 

" Well," answered the stranger, " as a special 
favor, they let us across, seeing that we had had 
such hard luck. That 's a nice-looking fiddle 
you 've got there, sonny," he abruptly inter- 
jected, as he took Oscar's violin from his unwill- 
ing hand. " I used to play the fiddle once, 
myself," he added. Then, drawing the bow 
over the strings in a light and artistic manner, 
he began to play " Bonnie Doon." 

" Come, John," his wife said, wearily, " it 's 
time the children were under cover. Let go 
the fiddle until we 've had supper." 

John reluctantly handed back the violin, and 
the new-comers were soon in the midst of their 
preparations for the night's rest. Later on in 
the evening, John Clark, as the head of the 

party introduced himself, came over to the 
Dixon camp, and gave them all the news. 
Clark was one of those who had been helped 
by the New England Emigrant Aid Society, an 
organization with headquarters in the Eastern 
States, and with agents in the West. He had 
been fitted out at Council Bluffs, Iowa, but for 
some unexplained reason had wandered down 
as far south as Kansas City, and there had 
boarded the " Black Eagle " with his family 
and outfit. One of the two men with him was 
his brother, the other was a neighbor who had 
cast in his lot with them. The tall lad was 
John Clark's nephew. 

In one way or another, Clark had managed 
to pick up much gossip about the country and 
what was going on. At Tecumseh, where they 
would be due in a day or two if they continued 
on this road, an election for county officers was 
to be held soon, and the Missourians were 
bound to get in there and carry the election. 
Clark thought they had better not go straight- 
forward into danger. They could turn off, and 
go West by way of Topeka. 

" Why, that would be worse than going to 
Tecumseh," interjected Charlie, who had mod- 
estly kept out of the discussion. " Topeka is 
the Free State capital, and they say that there 
is sure to be a big battle there, sooner or later." 

But Mr. Bryant resolved that he would go 
West by the way of Tecumseh, no matter if 
fifty thousand Borderers were encamped there. 
He asked the stranger if he had in view any 
definite point ; to which Clark replied that he had 
been thinking of going up the Little Blue ; he 
had heard that there was plenty of good va- 
cant land there, and the land office would open 
soon. He had intended, he said, to go to 
Manhattan, and start from there; but since 
they had been so cowardly as to change the 
name of the place, he had " rather soured on 

" Manhattan ? " exclaimed Charlie, eagerly. 
" Where is that place ? We have asked a 
good many people, but nobody can tell us." 

"Good reason why; they 've gone and 
changed the name. It used to be Boston, but 
the settlers around there were largely from Mis- 
souri. The company were Eastern men, and 
when they settled on the name of Boston, it 



I 29 

got around that they were all abolitionists, and 
so they changed it to Manhattan. Why they 
did n't call it New York, and be done with 
it, is more than I can tell. But it was Boston, 
and it is Manhattan ; and that 's all I want to 
know about that place." 

Mr. Bryant was equally sure that he did not 
want to have anything to do with a place that 
had changed its name through fear of anybody 
or anything. 

Next day there was a general changing of 
minds, however. It was Sunday, and the emi- 

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

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

minister's eyes sparkled, and he replied, " What ? 
Have you that beautiful hymn ? Let us have 
it now and here. Nothing could be better for 
this day and this time." 

Oscar, blushing with excitement and native 
modesty, was put up high on the stump of a 
tree, and, violin in hand, "raised the tune." It 
was grand old " Dundee." Almost everybody 
seemed to know the words of Whittier's poem, 
and beneath the blue Kansas sky, amid the 
groves of Kansas trees, the sturdy, hardy men 



and the few pale women joyfully, almost tear- 
fully, sang : 

We crossed the prairie, as of old 

The Pilgrims crossed the sea, 
To make the West, as they the East, 

The homestead of the free ! 

" It was good to be there," said Alexander 
Howell, his hand resting lovingly on Oscar's 
shoulder, as they went back to camp. But 
Oscar's father said never a word. His face 
was turned to the westward, where the sunlight 
was fading behind the hills of the far-off frontier 
of the Promised Land. 

The general opinion gathered that day was 
that they who wanted to fight for freedom might 
better go to Lawrence, or to Topeka. Those 
who were bent on finding homes for themselves 
and little ones should press on further to the west 
where there was land in plenty to be had for 
the asking, or rather, for the pre-empting. So, 

(' To be con 

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

V^^i-lKeT 1 © once W6.S ^ |&nflms hinq ]mnsi _, 

Tev/ed on her Ar^ndrooThepS SpineP 

«^ ""N & n 7S/V II"' 

) - J voyciule . 

Ike, J/cxnce o 

Icy lit" her friends 5v.s fr rule 


e roono w 

hen +hey ke<vr>d her beam l }^^^~f/£ 


By Mrs. C. V. [amison. 

Chapter XXIII. 


It was Christmas Eve and very nearly dark, 
when Mrs. Lanier, riding up St. Charles Avenue 
in her comfortable carriage filled with presents 
for her children and friends, noticed a forlorn 
little figure standing alone at a street corner. 
There was something about the sorrowful-look- 
ing little creature that moved her strangely, 
for she turned and watched it as long as she 
could discern the child's face in the gathering 

It was a little girl thinly clad in a soiled and 
torn white frock ; her black stockings were full 
of holes, and her shoes so worn that the tiny 
white toes were visible through the rents. She 
hugged a thin faded shawl around her shoul- 
ders, and her yellow hair fell in matted, tan- 
gled strands below her waist ; her small face 
was pale and pinched and had a woe-be- 
gone look that would melt the hardest heart. 
Although she was soiled and ragged, she did 
not look like a common child, and it was 
that indefinable something in her appearance 
which attracted Mrs. Lanier's attention, for she 
thought, as the carriage whirled by and left the 
child far behind, " Poor little thing ! She did n't 
look like a street beggar ; I wish I had stopped 
and spoken to her ! " 

It was Lady Jane, and her descent in the 
scale of misery had been rapid indeed. 

Since that night, some four months before, 
when Madame Jozain had awakened her rudely 
and told her she must come away, she had 
lived in a sort of wretched stupor. It was true 
she had resisted at first, and had cried desperately 
for Pepsie, for Mam'selle Diane, for Gex, — but 
all in vain; Madame had scolded and threat- 
ened and frightened her into submission. 

That terrible midnight ride in the wagon, with 
the piled-up furniture and the two black drivers ; 
Madame's violence when she complained or 
cried, and the frightful threats and cruel hints 

of a more dreadful fate, had so crushed and 
appalled the child that she scarcely dared open 
her pale little lips either to protest or to plead. 

Then there was the pitiful change in her life, 
from loving care and pleasant companionship 
to squalid misery and utter neglect. She had 
been suddenly taken from comparative comfort 
and plunged into the crudest poverty. 

Madame Jozain had caught cold during her 
hurried flight, and it had settled in her lame 
joint; she was, therefore, obliged to keep in bed 
most of the time, and the little money she had 
was soon spent. Hunger was staring her in the 
face, and the cold autumn winds chilled her to 
the marrow. She had been poor and in many 
bitter straits, but never before like this. Now, 
she dared not let any one know of her where- 
abouts, and for that reason the few friends 
she still had could not help her; she was ill, and 
suffering, and alone in her misery. Her son 
had robbed and deserted her, and left her to 
her punishment ; and for all she knew, she must 
die of starvation. Through the aid of the negro, 
Pete, she had parted with nearly every thing of 
value that she had, and to crown her cruelty, 
and Lady Jane's misery, one day when the 
child was absent on a begging expedition 
Madame sold the blue heron, Lady Jane's only 
pet, to an Italian for two dollars. 

The bird was the last comfort the unhappy 
little creature had, the only link between the 
past and the miserable present ; and when she re- 
turned to her squalid home, and found her sin- 
gle treasure gone, her grief was so wild and 
uncontrollable, that Madame was frightened. 

After this, the child spent her days wandering 
about, hoping to find Tony. 

When Madame first sent her out into the 
street to sing and beg, she went without a pro- 
test, so perfect was her habit of obedience, and 
so great her anxiety to please and conciliate her 
cruel tyrant. Since the night when Madame 
fled from Good Children Street, she had 
thrown off all pretense of affection for the hap- 




less little one. She considered Lady Jane the 
cause of all her misfortunes. 

Before Madame sent her out, she gave Lady 
Jane instructions in the most imperative man- 
ner. " She must never on any account speak 
of Good Children Street, of Maclelon or Pepsie, 
of the d'Hautreves, of Gex, or the Paichoux, 
or of any one she had ever known there. She 
must not talk with people, and above all, she 
must never tell her name, nor where she lived. 
She must only sing, and hold out her hand. 
Sometimes she might cry if she wanted to, but 
she must never laugh." 

These instructions the child followed to the 
letter, with the exception of one. She never 
cried, for although her little heart was breaking, 
she was too proud to shed tears. 

It was astonishing how many nickels she 
picked up. Sometimes she would come home 
with her little pocket quite heavy, for her won- 
derful voice, so sweet and so pathetic, as well 
as her sad face and wistful eyes, touched many 
a heart, even among the coarsest and rudest ; 
and Madame might have reaped quite a har- 
vest if she had not been so avaricious as to sell 
Tony for a few dollars. When she did that, she 
killed her goose that laid golden eggs ; for after 
the loss of her pet the child could not sing, her 
little heart was too heavy, and the unshed tears 
choked her and drowned her voice in quiver- 
ing sobs. 

The moment she was out of Tante Pauline's 
sight, instead of gathering nickels she was wan- 
dering around aimlessly, searching and asking 
for the blue heron ; and at night, when she re- 
turned with an empty pocket, she shivered and 
cowered into a corner, for fear of Madame's 

One morning when it was very cold she had 
had no breakfast and she felt tired and ill. And 
when Madame told her to go out and not 
come back without money, she fell to crying 
piteously, and for the first time begged and im- 
plored to stay where she was, declaring that she 
could not sing any more, and that she was afraid 
because some rude children had thrown mud at 
her the day before, and told her not to come 
into the street again. 

This first revolt seemed to infuriate Madame, 
for, reaching out to where the child stood trem- 

bling and sobbing, she clutched her and shook 
her violently, and then, slapping her tear-stained 
little face until it tingled, she bade her go out 
instantly, and not to return unless she brought 
some money with her. 

This was the first time that little Lady Jane 
had suffered the ignominy of a blow. She 
stopped sobbing instantly, and wiping the tears 
resolutely from her face, shot one glance of 
mingled scorn and surprise at her tyrant, and 
walked out of the room, with the dignity of a 
little princess. 

When once outside, she held her hands for 
a moment to her burning face, while she tried 
to still the tumult of anger and sorrow that was 
raging in her little heart ; then she gathered 
herself together with a courage beyond her 
years, and hurried away, without once looking 
back at the scene of her torture. 

When she was far enough from the wretched 
neighborhood to feel safe from observation, she 
turned in a direction quite different from any she 
had ever taken. The wind was intensely cold, 
but the sun shone brightly, and she hugged her 
little shawl around her, and ran on and on, 
swiftly and hopefully. 

'■ If I hurry and walk, and walk, just as fast 
as I can, I 'm sure to come to Good Children 
Street ; and then I '11 ask Pepsie or Mam'selle 
Diane to keep me, for I '11 never, never go back 
to Tante Pauline again." 

By and by, when she was quite tired with 
running and walking, she came to a beautiful, 
broad avenue that she had never seen before. 
There were large, fine houses, and gardens 
blooming brightly, even in the chilly December 
wind ; and lovely children, dressed in warm vel- 
vets and furs, walking with their nurses on the 
wide, clean sidewalks ; and every moment, car- 
riages drawn by glossy, prancing horses, whirled 
by ; and people laughed and talked merrily, and 
looked so happy and contented. It was delight- 
ful, like a pleasant dream, and even better than 
Good Children Street. She thought of Pepsie, 
and wished she, too, could see it ; and then she 
imagined how enchanted her friend would be to 
ride in one of those fine carriages, with the sun 
shining on her, and the fresh wind blowing in 
her face. The wind reminded her that she was 
cold. It pierced through her thin frock and 



+ 33 

scanty skirts, and the holes in her shoes and 
stockings made her ashamed. After a while 
she found a sunny corner on the steps of a 
church. Here she crouched, and tried to 
cover her dilapidated shoes with her short 

Presently, a merry group of children passed, 
and she heard them talking of Christmas. 
" To-morrow is Christmas, this is Christmas 
Eve, and we are going to have a Christmas 
tree." Her heart gave a great throb of joy. 
By to-morrow she was sure to find Pepsie, 
and Pepsie had promised her a Christmas tree 
long ago, and she would n't forget ; Pepsie 
was sure to have it ready for her. Oh, if she 
only dared ask one of these kind-looking 
people to show her the way to Good Chil- 
dren Street ! But she remembered what Tante 
Pauline had told her, and fear kept her silent. 
However, she was sure, now that she had got 
away from that dreadful place, that someone 
would find her. Mr. Gex had found her before 
when she was lost ; and he might find her now, 
and because she did n't have a domino on he 
would know her right away, and then she 
would get Mr. Gex to hunt for Tony, and 
perhaps she would have Tony for Christmas. 
In this way she comforted herself until she was 
quite happy. 

After a while a kind-looking woman came 
along with a market-basket on her arm; she was 
eating something, and Lady Jane being very 
hungry looked at her so wistfully that the 
woman stopped and asked her if she would like 
a piece of bread. She replied eagerly that she 
would. The good woman gave her a roll and 
a rosy apple, and Lady Jane went back to her 
corner and munched them contentedly. Then a 
fine milk-cart rattled up to a neighboring door, 
and her heart almost leaped to her throat ; but 
it was not Tante Modeste. Still, Tante Modeste 
might come any moment. She sold milk away 
uptown to rich people. Yes, she was sure to 
come, so the little girl ate her apple, and waited 
with unwavering confidence. 

And in this way the day passed pleasantly and 
comfortably to Lady Jane. She was not very 
cold in her sheltered corner, and the good wom- 
an's kindness had satisfied her hunger ; but at 
last, she saw the sun slipping down into the 

cold, gray clouds behind the opposite houses, 
and she wondered what she should do and where 
she should go when it was quite dark. Then 
she began to reproach herself for sitting still. 

She never thought of returning to Tante 
Pauline ; and if she had tried, she could not 
have found her way back. 

She had wandered too far from her land- 

(SEE PAGE 134.) 

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

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




servant. Sometimes she stopped and looked 
into the windows of the beautiful houses as she 
passed. There were bright fires, lights, pictures, 
and flowers, and she heard the merry voices of 
children laughing and playing; and soon the 
soft notes of a piano with someone singing re- 
minded her of Mam'selle Diane. Then a choking 
sob would rise in her throat, and she would 
cover her face and cry a little, silently. 

Presently, she found herself before a large, 
handsome house; the blinds were open and the 
parlor was brilliantly lighted ; a lady — it was 
Mrs. Lanier — sat at the piano playing a waltz, 
and two little girls each in a white frock and 
red sash were dancing together. Lady Jane 
pressed near the railing, and gazed at the scene 
with wide, sparkling eyes. They were the same 
steps that Gex had taught her, and it was the 
very waltz that he sometimes whistled. Before 
she knew it, quite carried away by the music, 
and forgetful of everything, she dropped her 
shawl, and holding out her soiled, ragged skirt, 
was tripping and whirling as merrily as the little 
ones within, while opposite to her, her shadow, 
thrown by a street lamp over her head, tripped, 
and bobbed, and whirled, not unlike Mr. Gex, 
the ancient " professor of the dance." And a 
right merry time she had out there in the biting 
December night, pirouetting with her own 

Suddenly the music stopped, a nurse came 
and took the little girls away, and some one 
drew down the shades and shut her out alone in 
the cold ; there was nothing then for her to do 
but to move on. Picking up her shawl, she 
crept away a little wearily ; for dancing, although 
it had lightened her heart, had wasted her 
strength ; and it seemed to her that the wind 
was rising and the cold becoming more intense, 
for she shivered from time to time, and her bare 
little toes and fingers smarted painfully. Once or 
twice, from sheer exhaustion, she dropped down 
on a door-step, but when she saw any one 
approaching, she sprang up and hurried along, 
trying to be brave and patient. Yes, she must 
come to Good Children Street very soon, and 
she never turned a corner that she did not 
expect to see Madelon's little house, wedged in 
between the two tall ones, and the light gleam- 
ing from Pepsie's small window. 

Chapter XXIV. 


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




pinned, and fastened more and more, until it 
seemed as if the branches would break under 
the load. 

And Lady Jane, clinging to the railing, with 
stiff cold hands and aching feet, pressed her 
thin white face close to the iron bars, and 
looked and looked. 

Suddenly the door was opened, and a woman 
came out, who, when she saw the child clinging 
to the railing, bareheaded and scantily clothed 
in spite of the piercing cold, went to her and 
spoke kindly and gently. 

Her voice brought Lady Jane back from Par- 
adise to the bitter reality of her position, and 
the dreary December night. For a moment she 
could hardly move, and she was so chilled and 
cramped that when she unclasped her hold she 
almost fell into the motherly arms extended 
toward her. 

" My child, my poor child ! What are you 
doing here so late, in the cold and with these 
thin clothes ! Why don't you go home ? " 

Then the poor little soul, overcome with a hor- 
rible fear, began to shiver and cry. " Oh, don't ! 
Oh, please don't send me back to Tante Pauline ; 
I 'm afraid of her ; she shook me and struck me 
this morning, and I 've run away from her." 

" Where does your Tante Pauline live ? " 
asked the woman, studying the tremulous little 
face, with a pair of keen, thoughtful eyes. 

" I don't know. Away over there, some- 

" Don't you know the name of the street ? " 

" It is n't a street ; it 's a little place all mud 
and water, with boards to walk on." 

" Can't you tell me your aunt's name ? " 

" Yes, it 's Tante Pauline." 

" But her other name ? " 

" I don't know ; I only know Tante Pauline. 
Oh, please, please don't send me there; I 'm 
afraid to go back, because she said I must sing 
and beg money, and 1 could n't sing, and I 
did n't like to ask people for nickels," and the 
child's voice broke into a little wail of entreaty 
that touched the kind heart of that noble, ten- 
der, loving woman, the Margaret whom some 
to-day call Saint Margaret. She had heard just 
such pitiful stories before from hundreds of 
hapless orphans, who never appealed to her in 

" Where are your father and mother ? " she- 
asked as she led the child to the porch. 

Lady Jane made the same pathetic answer 
as usual : 

" Papa went to heaven, and Tante Pauline 

"lady jane, clinging to the railing, looked 
and looked." 

says that Mamma 's gone away, and I think 
she 's gone where Papa is." 

Margaret's eyes filled with tears, while the 
child shivered and clung closer to her. " Would 
you like to stay here to-night, my dear ? " she 
asked as she opened the door; "this is the 
home of a great many little girls, and the good 
Sisters love and care for them all." 

Lady Jane's anxious face brightened instantly. 

" Oh, can I — can I stay here where the 
Christmas tree is ? " 



" Yes, my child, and to-morrow there will be 
something on it for you." 

And Margaret opened the door and led Lady 
Jane into that safe and comfortable haven, 
where so many homeless little ones have found 
a shelter. 

Time went on, and Lady Jane, not being 
claimed by any one, was considered as a perma- 
nent inmate of the home. She soon became 
the idol, not only of the good Margaret, but of 
all the Sisters and even of the children, and her 
singing was a constant pleasure, for every day 
her voice became stronger and richer, and her 
thrilling little strains went straight to the hearts 
of those who heard them. 

" She must be taught music," said Margaret 
to Sister Agnes ; " such a voice must be carefully 
cultivated for the church." Therefore the Sis- 
ter who took her in charge devoted herself to 
the development of the child's wonderful talent, 
and in a few months Lady Jane was spoken of 
as quite a musical prodigy, and all the wealthy 
patronesses of the home singled her out as one 
who was rare and beautiful, and showered all 
sorts of gifts and attentions upon her. Among 
those who treated her with marked favor was 
Mrs. Lanier. She never visited the home 
without asking for little Jane (Margaret had 
thought it best to drop the " Lady," and the 
child, with an intuition of what was right, com- 
plied with the wish), and never went away 
without leaving some substantial evidence of 
her interest in the little singer. 

" I believe Mrs. Lanier would like to adopt 
little Jane," said Margaret, one day to Sister 
Agnes, when that lady had just left. " If she 
had n't so many children of her own, I don't 
think she would long leave Jane with us." 

" It is surprising, the interest she takes in 
her," returned Sister Agnes. " When the child 
sings, she sits as if she was lost to everything 
else and listens with all her soul." 

" And she asks the strangest questions about 
the little thing," continued Margaret reflectively. 
" And she is always suggesting some way to find 
out to whom the child belonged ; but although 
I 've tried every way I can think of, I have 
never been able to learn anything satisfactory." 

And of course Margaret had made every 

{To be con 

effort, from the very first, to discover something 
of the child's antecedents ; but she had been 
unsuccessful, owing in a measure to Lady 
Jane's reticence. The simple statement she 
had made the first night, when the good 
woman found her, cold and forlorn, clinging 
to the iron railing in front of the Home, con- 
tained all that Lady Jane seemed willing to tell 
about her past. 

But Lady Jane's reticence was not from 
choice. It was fear that kept her silent about 
her life in Good Children Street. Often she 
would be tempted to mention Pepsie, Mam'selle 
Diane, or the Paichoux, and the fear of Tante 
Pauline would freeze the words on her lips. 
But she never ceased to think of Pepsie, 
Madelon, and Gex. And when she sang, she 
seemed always to be with Mam'selle Diane, 
nestled close to her side. 

And so the months went on with Lady Jane, 
while her friends in Good Children Street never 
ceased to talk of her and to lament over 
their loss. Poor Mam'selle Diane was in 
great trouble. Madame d'Hautreve was very 
ill, and there was little hope of her recovery. 
And during the last days of the hot month of 
August, the poor lady, one of the last of an old 
aristocracy, closed her dim eyes on a life that 
had been full of strange vicissitudes, and was 
laid at rest in the ancient tomb of the d'Hau- 
treves, not far from Lady Jane's young mother. 
So Mam'selle Diane, the noble, patient, self- 
sacrificing daughter, was left alone in the little 
house, with her memories, her flowers, and her 
birds. And often, during those first bitter 
days of bereavement, she would say to herself, 
" Oh, if I had that sweet child now, what a 
comfort she would be to me!" 

On the morning of Madame d'Hautreve's 
funeral, when Paichoux opened his paper at 
the breakfast-table, he uttered such a loud 
exclamation of surprise, that Tante Modeste 
almost dropped the coffee-pot. 

" What is it, Papa; what is it ? " she cried. 

And in reply Paichoux read aloud the notice 
of the death of Madame la veuve d'Hautreve, 
nee d'Orgenois. And, directly underneath, 
" Died at the Charity Hospital, Madame Pau- 
line Jozain, nee Bergeron." 




On Christmas day, when fires were lit, 
And all our breakfasts done, 

We spread our toys out on the floor 
And played there in the sun . 

The nursery smelled of Christmas tree, 

And under where it stood 
The shepherds watched their flocks of sheep 

-All made of painted wood . 

Outside the house the air was cold 

And auiet all about , 
Till far across the snowy roofs 

The Christmas bells rang out 

But soon the sleigh-bells jingled by 

Upon the street below , 
And people on the way to church, 

Went crunching through the snow. 

We did not auarrel once all day ; 

Mamma and Grandma said 
They liked to be in where we were, 

So pleasantly we played . 

I do not see how any child 

Is cross onChristmas day , 

When all the lovely toys are new, 
And everyone can play . 

Vol. XVIII.— 15. 137 


By Joaquin Miller. 

1VTOW that the President has 
*- * signed the bill admitting Idaho 
into the Union, the forty-fourth 
star in our glorious constellation 
of States, it may not be out of 
place for one who, if he did not 
really give the name to this 
new State, first put that name 
in print, to record a page or two 
of its early history, and recall an 
incident that still makes his nerves 
tingle as he tells it. 

Gold was first found, in that 
vast and trackless region now 
forming the new States of Wash- 
ington, Idaho, and Montana, in 
the spring of i860, by a small 
party of prospectors led by 
Captain Pierce on the spot where 
Pierce City now stands. 

The writer, although not then 
of age, had read law and been admitted to practice under Judge Geo. H. Williams, afterwards 
President Grant's Attorney-General. And when news of the discovery of gold reached Oregon, 
I gathered up one law-book and two " six-shooters," and set out on a ride of many hundred 
miles through the mountains for the new placers. 

But as gold was not plenty, and there was no use for the law-book, because there was no 
law ; and as there was an opening for a good and hardy horseman to carry letters and money 
to and from the new mines, the writer and a young man by the name of Mossman soon had 
nailed up over the door of the only store as yet in all that wild region, a sign which read : 
" Mossman and Miller's Express." 

It was two hundred miles to the nearest post-office at Walla Walla. The lover of pretty 
names will easily trace this Walla Walla back to its French settlers' " Voila ! Voila / " 

No man can look down from the environment of mountains on this sweet valley, with its 
beautiful city in the center, whose many flashing little rivers run together and make it for- 
ever green and glorious to see, without instinctively crying out Voila ! Voila ! It is another 
Damascus, only it is broader of girth and far, far more beautiful. In this ride of two hundred 
miles there was but one town, Lewiston. Get your map now, and as you follow the story of 
the ride, fix the geography of this new empire in your minds, for it will be a grand land. 

Lewiston, you observe, is at the head of navigation on the " Shoshonee " or Snake River, 
by way of the Columbia River. This word Shoshonee means snake. I fancy you can al- 
most hear the rattle of the venomous reptile as you speak this Indian word. The accent, 
as in nearly all Indian names, such as Da&?ta, I^wa, and so on, is on the middle syllable. 





In reading Longfellow's poems you will find 
he has preserved the proper pronunciation 
of Omaha, by putting the accent where it be- 
longs. And more than once this learned man 
reminded me that Idaho must be pronounced 
in the same soft and liquid fashion : I da ho. 

In these long, long rides we changed horses 
from five to ten times daily, and we rode at a 
desperate speed. We used Indian ponies only, 
and usually rode without escort, with pistols 
ready at hand. Indians were numerous, but 
our fear was not of them, but of white men. In 
fact, the Indians were by far the most peace- 
able people we had to deal with. They al- 
ways kept our " Stations," that is, the places 
where we changed horses and drank a cup of 
coffee. These Indians were of the Nez Perce 
tribe. It may not be generally known that 
these noble Indians were nearly civilized long 
before the renowned Chief Joseph (who fought 
the whole United States for half a year not 
long ago) was ever heard of. These Indians, 
under the direction of good old Father Spauld- 
ing, published the first newspaper that was 
issued west of the Rocky Mountains. They 
also printed some portions of the Bible in their 
own tongue, including many Psalms. Keep 
these facts of history as well as the geography 
of this great region in mind ; and we will now 
get to the robbers. 

As before stated, we did not find gold plenty 
at first, and the " Express " did not pay. We 
two boys worked hard, took many desperate 
risks, and lived almost literally on horseback, 
with little food and with less sleep for the first 
few months. But suddenly gold was found, as 
thick as wheat on a threshing floor, far away to the 
east of a big black mountain which the Indians 
called " l-da/i-ho," which literally means, " moun- 
tain where light comes." I happened to be in 
Lewiston, on my way to Pierce City with the 
Express, when the ragged and sunburnt leader 
of the party that had made the discovery be- 
yond the Black Mountain came in. He took 
me into his confidence. I sent an Indian on 
with my Express; and branching off a hundred 
miles to the southeast, reached the new mines, 
took up "claims," and opened an Express Office 
before a dozen people knew of the discovery 
which was to give State after State to the 

Union. You will find the place on the old 
maps, and some of the new ones, marked 
" Millersburgh." But there is no town there 

The gold lay almost in the grass-roots, in the 
shallow surface, like grains of wheat. It was a 
high bleak place, densely wooded and intensely 
cold as winter came on. Greater discoveries 
lay further on and in kindlier climes, and broad 
valleys and rich cities receive you there now. 
But our story is of the snow and the stony steeps 
of Mount I-dah-ho. 

Returning to Lewiston with saddle-bags nearly 
full of gold, I wrote the first published account 
of the discovery; and the new mines were nat- 
urally called in that publication, as they were 
called by all that excited mass of people from 
Lewiston on their way to the mines beyond the 
Black Mountain, the " Ida/iho Mines." The 
name, however, like that of Omah-ha, soon 
lost in the mouths of strangers its soft, sweet 

California now emptied her miners, good and 
bad, gamblers, robbers, desperados, right in 
upon our new mines and the roads thither. 

My young partner, a daring and dashing boy, 
who, as I write, is visiting me here after thirty 
years, had many desperate encounters. 

Suddenly, as winter came on, the rivers closed 
with ice, and horses could not go and steamers 
could not come. 

I was lying ice-bound at Lewiston. Men 
wanted to send money below to their friends or 
families ; merchants, anticipating the tremendous 
rush, must get letters through the snow to Walla 
Walla. Would I go ? Could I go ? 

The snow was deep. The trails, over open 
and monotonous mountains, were drifted full. 
Could any living man face the drifting snow 
and find his way to Walla Walla ? At first the 
merchants had tried to hire Indians to under- 
take the trip and deliver their letters. Not one 
could be found to go. When the storm abated 
a little, the men who kept the ferry across the 
Shoshonee River scraped off the snow, and cut- 
ting down the upheaved blocks of ice made it 
possible to cross with a horse. 

I picked out a stout little iron-gray steed, 
with head in the air, an eye like an eagle, and a 
mane that tossed and tumbled like a thunder- 




storm. At first I meant to carry only letters. 
But having finally consented to take a little 
gold for one merchant, I soon found I should 
lose friends if I did not take gold for others. 
The result was that I had to take gold worth 
nearly ten thousand dollars. And ten thousand 
dollars of dust you must know means nearly 
fifty pounds ! 

A few muffled-up friends came down to the 
river bank to see me off. It was a great event. 
For two weeks we had not had a line from the 
outer world. And meantime the civil war was 
raging in all its terrible fury. As I set out that 
bleak and icy morning, after I had mounted my 
plunging pony I saw in the crowd several faces 
that I did not like. There was Dave English, 
who was hung on that spot with several of his 
followers, not forty days later; there was Boone 
Helm, hung in Montana; Cherokee Bob, killed 
in Millersburgh ; and also Canada Joe. This 
last lived with some low Indians a little way 
down the river. So when he rode ahead of me 
I was rather glad than otherwise ; for I felt that 
he would not go far. I kept watch of him, how- 
ever. And when I saw that he skulked around 
under the hill, as if he were going home, and 
then finally got back into the trail, I knew there 
was trouble ahead. 

But the " Rubicon " was now behind. My 
impetuous horse was plunging in the snow and 
I was soon tearing through the storm up the 
hill. Once fairly on my way, I looked back 
below. Dave English and Boone Helm were 
bidding good-by to two mounted cow-boys at 
the ferry-house. Ten minutes later, as I looked 
back through the blinding snow, I saw that 
these two desperate fellows were following me. 

True, there was nothing criminal in that. 
The two highwaymen had a right to ride behind 
me if they wished. And Canada Joe had just 
as good a right to ride ahead of me. But to be 
on a horse deep in the blinding snow and loaded 
down with gold was bad enough. To have a 
desperado blocking the narrow trail before you 
with his two friends behind you was fearful ! 

I had two six-shooters close at hand under the 
bearskin flap of my saddle-bag where the gold 
was. I kept my left hand in my pocket where 
lay a small six-shooter warm and ready. Once, 
as the drifting and blinding snow broke away 

up the mountain, I saw Canada Joe with his 
head bent down in the storm still pushing on 
ahead of me at a safe distance. A few mo- 
ments after, as I crossed and climbed the far- 
ther bank of an ugly canon, the two robbers 
came close enough to hail me. One of them 
held up a bottle. They evidently intended to 
overtake me if they could, and profess to be 
friendly. This I must not allow. I urged my 
ambitious horse to his best. But, to my dis- 
may, as I hastened up a narrow pass I found 
that I was not far behind Canada Joe. This 
low-browed black fellow was reported to be the 
worst man in all that country. And that was 
saying he was bad indeed. 

I was in a tight place now, and had to think 
fast. My first plan was to ride forward and 
face this man before the others came up. But 
I was really afraid of him. It seemed a much 
easier task to turn and kill the two rear men 
and get back to town. But, no! No! All this 
was abandoned almost as soon as thought of. 
In those days, even the most desperate had 
certain rights, which their surviving friends 
would enforce. 

I remember that I fell to wondering what 
the murderers would do with my body. I had 
a horror of being eaten by wolves. I then 
thought of the true and trusting men who had 
sent me forth on my responsible task, and I 
took heart. 

I was now but a few hundred yards behind 
Canada Joe. So far as I could find out, the 
robbers were closing in on me. But we had 
ridden over the roughest part of the road and 
were within a few miles of the high plateau, so 
that the wind was tearing past in a gale, and 
the drifting snow almost blinded me. 

Suddenly, I had a new thought. Why not 
take to the left, gain the plateau by a new route, 
and let these bloodthirsty robbers close their 
net without having me inside? I rose in my 
saddle with excitement at the idea, and striking 
spurs to my brave horse, I was soon climbing 
up the gradual slope at a gallop. Ah, but I 
was glad ! Gallop ! gallop ! gallop ! I seemed 
to hear many horses ! Turning my head sud- 
denly over my shoulder, I saw my two pursu- 
ers not a hundred yards behind me. They 
shouted ! I was now on the high plateau and 


"my pursuers were not a hundred yards behind me." 





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

And then : Whiz ! Crack ! Thud ! 

I looked back and saw that they both had 
thrown themselves from their saddles and were 
taking deliberate aim. 

But to no purpose. Not one shot touched 
me or my horse, and I reached the first station 
and, finally, rode into Walla Walla, with my 
precious burden, safe and sound. 


(As related on a December evening of ibqo, by Thomas Muffct, himself.) 

By Alice Maude Ewell. 


me m m) 

NEVER have told 
that tale afore to 
anybody in this 
mortal world. I 

•^'Al* ? * , ' , ^ e ' *^ always keep 

m *&'■ --£ that to myself. 

**' Yet I reck' ye 'd 

count it worth the 
listening to, for a 
or so (we being 
here round the fire to- 
gether), for of all the 
chances that ever did befall 
youngish days, whilst I was liv- 
ing in Babbletown, that was the strangest, 
curiousest chance. Aye, aye ; the fix that 
Thomas Muffet was in that time (and it the 
dead hour o' the night) was such as no mortal 
human, that ever I 've heard tell of, hath ex- 
perienced and overlived. I was hanged up by 
the heels o' my head, an' 't was even as the 
blessed Psalmist saith, " all my bones were out 
o' joint." 

Now, 't was naught to be ashamed on — by 
reason I never told it. Ye see 't was an accident, 
just a-happening that way, an' such as might 
befall the best of us poor creatures. Maybe 
some would ha' been, contrariwise, too proud 
o' the outcome to keep secret, seeing how by 
means of it I got the upper hand so finely over 
Jerry Todkill an' gave him his lawful deserts. 
Nay, I was ne'er ashamed on 't; but they were 

such chattering fool-creatures in Babbletown for 
ringing the changes on every little matter, an' 
't is likely I 'd never ha' heard the last concern- 
ing it. For my part I see nothing to laugh at 
in such mischances, but there be some folks will 
laugh at their gran'father's funeral. Let but a 
man trip up on the ice an' crack his crown, with 
them looking on, sure 't will be " te-hee ! " 

Now, that was always the way on 't with the 
Babbletown people, for ye see they were but 
rustical ; a-giving way to unmannerly nature 
an' not sensing the rules of polite breeding. 

Well, I was a single man, an' youngish, 
then, an' living with my gran'father — we two 
together — in a snug house as any you '11 find, 
situate at one end o' the town. I reckon if all 
our neighbors had been peaceable-natured as 
we two, 't would ha' been better for us an' them. 
We 'd as pretty a dish of bacon an' beans for 
our one-o'clock dinner that day as ever ye 
tasted, well cooked an' served, for we 'd a handy 
black wench in the kitchen, and all orderly car- 
ried on. There we sat to table, and I 'd just 
been holpen to second cut o' bacon, when here 
cometh " rat-tat-tat " at the door. Well, up I 
got and opened it, an' who should I clap eyes 
on but Jerry Todkill, a-leading my colt, " Sally," 
by a halter, an' Sam Crook there grinning right 
behind 'em. 

Now, the minute I saw Jerry Todkill I knew 
there 'd be mischief brewing. There was never 
a body in Babbletown but some time or other 



had had Jerry's meddlesome finger stuck in his 
pie ; an' the worst on 't was (being what made 
folks maddest of any) he 'd always some lawful 
handle to catch hold of. Law, law, law, was 
evermore his word on tongue's end. You 'd 
ha' thought, to hear him (not knowing contra- 
riwise), he was gentleman born an' school-bred. 
Ye see he had picked up, by hook an' crook, 
enough law knowledge to help him with 's 
roguery — an' this was the sly cunning way he 'd 
set about it, mayhap. There he 'd be, year in 
and out, a-looking an' listening ; a-peeping an' 
prying all round the town ; an' soon as he 'd 
spied a flaw in anybody's matters that the law 
might stick tooth in (folks being careless or un- 
beknowing, as they often will) here he 'd come 
with his warning talk of fine or punishment. 

" Ye are like to be in for it, neighbor," he 'd 
say then, mayhap, " if I do inform upon you." 

An' then, having got 'em finely scared up, 
would that rascal go on to say cunningly how, 
if they were for peace an' quiet, for saving their 
goods, or maybe saving themselves from stocks 
•or pillory, whipping or ducking or 'prisonment, 
why, just pay him (Jerry Todkill) the half o' the 
fine, or whatsoever price he set on his warning, 
an' mum was his word. 

An' so ye see that was his plan for working ; 
an' the way poor timorsome fool-bodies fell into 
the trap was a mighty curious thing. Now, he 
was too keen to mix himself up in any hanging 
offence, or the like grave criminality ; but all 
lesser misbehavior or oversighting would be so 
much grist to his mill. If it suited his mind to 
stir up a lawsuit betwixt two neighbors, Jerry 
Todkill was always the only one left with a full 
pocket at the end o' the business. He 'd a way 
of talking round your simple ones till (for all 
they knew his roguery) they 'd fairly believe 
that black was white ; and even they that kept 
their eyes open did seem too afeard of his spite 
to trouble or cross him. He was the stingiest 
fellow in our town, an' the most underhanded. 
An' so did this villain do as I 've told ye, go to 
an' fro on the earth, an' round about Babble- 
town, a-seeking what he might devour. 

Well, well ; when I saw my gray colt, Sally, 
there along with such company — when I saw 
that blessed little beast, with her pretty head on 
one side, a-nibbling at the halter and a-smiling 

so innocent-like, yet saucy, out of her pretty, 
bright eyes, I was mightily put about, you may 

I 'd turned her out for a run on the town 
common only that morn, for our paddock 
was a little one to keep a lively skittish young 
thing evermore penned up in. She was gentle 
as a dog, for all her natural liveliness (such as 
prancing, kicking up her pretty little heels, an' 
so on), an' the pet of every youngster in Babble- 
town. Now, even the little toddling children, 
they 'd be a-stroking an' patting of her ; and as 
for that sweet maid, Mistress Peggy Joy, she'd 
always a lump o' sugar in her frock pocket 
ready for Sally. Bless the hearts o' them two ! 
To see 'em together once more would do my 
old eyes good. There would be Mistress Peg — 
the takingest little wench in all Virginia — in all 
her fal-lals an' ribbands flying, with head on 
one side, a-holding up the sugar-lump in her 
little lily-white hand ; an' there would be Sally, 
just as fair-shapen an' comely after her sort as 
the maid after hers, with her head on one side, 
too, a-taking it daintified as you please. 

Knowing well the little creature was so great 
a favorite, not like to hurt anybody, nor neither 
get hurted herself, I 'd turned her out on the 
green that morn, an' there she came, led back 
by Jerry Todkill. 

Now, I do not bear in mind the words he 
spake that time, but the long an' the short on 't 
(according to his say-so) was that he 'd catched 
her a-barking fruit-trees, contrary to the law. 
There was she, with her head over his fence (said 
he), nibbling the bark of his young pippin apple- 
tree, that was the pride an' joy of his heart, even 
as she nibbled that rope afore our eyes whilst he 
told it. Sam Crook was his witness (said he), 
they two having seen the overt act (as he called 
it) with their own mortal eyes. So they could 
prove it in law (quoth he), it needing only two 
witnesses for that end ; an' the fine was ten 
shillings. Howsoever (as he went on to say, 
a-smiling so deceitfully, as if he would give 
'most anything to keep the peace), if I would 
pay him five shillings without more ado an' keep 
her well in bounds, he 'd say no more concern- 
ing it. 

Well, I never believed a word on 't ; nay, not 
even when I went along with 'em later on an' 




saw where the bark was scratched. There it 
was, a bit scarred, sure enow, but I reckon 
Jerry Todkill's finger-nails might ha' done the 
business. He 'd a mind to make five shillings 
that day, one way or t' other, an' seeing my Sally 
go by (as I reckon), he set his plan accordingly. 
'T was a mighty strange tale an' naught likely 
(as I told 'em) that she should go sticking her 
head o'er his fence into mischief she 'd all 
chance for any day at home, in the paddock an' 
yard, aye, an' garden, too, an' never did the like 
of before. Ne'er had I seen her so much as 
nibble a rosebud, an' to have such a slander 
started on the little creature, it cut me to the 
heart. Aye, let alone the vexingness of it, an' 
let alone the five shillings — but it hurt me unto 
the middle heart. Now, we all have our faults, 
neighbors — we poor humans — an' that there 's 
no denying. Ye have yours and I have mine. 
Aye, aye; let one come unto me this day an' 
say " Thomas Muffet, thou hast thy faults," I 
would make answer, " 'T is true enough." To be 
sure, I do think nobody can say but Thomas 
Muffet is an honest man. Nobody can fairly 
call me aught but good neighbor, good hus- 
band, an' good father. I pay my debts ; I 
go to church regularly as parson himself; I 
always do the right thing at the right time, by 
high an' low ; but I '11 ne'er deny that I have 
my faults. Now, there 's my wife, Patsey (that 's 
commonly as good, well-behaved a creature as 
any in Virginia), she hath her faults, too ; an' 
ever since we were wed I 've been a-trying to 
correct 'em. You see we be all weak human 
creatures ; but as for that Sally horse o' mine, I 
raised her from a baby colt an' for twenty year 
I rode upon her back, an' if ever she 'd flaw in 
mind or manners, morals or behavior, I never 
found it out. Aye, if so 't were she was not a 
perfect moral beast, I misdoubt if ye '11 ever 
find one. An' to hear tell of her barking 
fruit-trees ! 

Well, I was ready to fight it out, with no mind 
to give over the five shillings, I promise you. 
However, my gran'father was back-set and 
timorsome, as your old people will be. Poor 
soul, there was he with his dinner clean spoilt that 
day. " Thomas," saith he to me when he saw 
my choler rising ; " Thomas ! " quo' he ; no more 
nor less ; an' he put one bean in 's mouth dis- 

tressfully, in an unbeknowing way, so that it 
came nigh choking him as 't went down. An' 
the long and the short on 't was that, content 
to ease the old man's mind, I paid the five shil- 
lings (which I 'd better ha' thrown i' the dirt) an' 
let those two rascally rogues walk off. 

Now, for several days after that, I kept the 
filly up in paddock, till she was like a hen on a 
hot griddle for fidgeting. It went to my heart 
to see her looking so wishfully over the fence, 
fairly longing to get out once more — for all she 
was ne'er the sort to jump over, as she might ha' 
done easy enough, an' some, of less proper prin- 
ciples, would. There 'd be the town children 
coming to see her, for (as I said afore) she was 
the pet of 'em all ; an' when they 'd go away 
again 't was pitiful to see her a-gazing after. At 
last one day came Mistress Peggy Joy, handing 
a lump of sugar over the hedge. " Alack-a-day ! 
poor pretty one ! " quo' she ; an' her voice 't was 
like the turtle-dove 's a-cooing in springtime o' 
the year. 

" Pr'ythee, Master Muffet " (quo' she), " why 
not turn her out for a run ! I 'd risk it if she 
were mine, poor dear! — fruit-trees or no fruit- 

" Bless your heart an' eyes," quoth I, as stout 
as any lion in resolve, all on a sudden ; " Bless 
your heart, Mistress Peg" (quoth I), "out she 
shall go this day ! Let all the rogues in Christen- 
dom go hang on their own apple-trees ! " So with 
that I turned her out (she fairly kicking up her 
pretty little heels, for joy o' freedom), an' that 
very evening Jerry Todkill came a-leading her 
back, with the same tale as afore on tongue's 
end, about her barking his apple-trees, an' 
with Sam Crook for a witness. 

Now, 't was a mighty strange come-to-pass 
(as everybody said) that she never troubled any 
other tree atop of this earth but Jerry Todkill's 
apple-tree, and a stranger still that Sam Crook 
was always by, an' nobody else, to see her do 
it. We all talked it over a deal amongst us ; 
an' we all agreed together 't was a mystery in 
horse-nature. After that I kept her up pretty 
straightly. There were two or three trees 
a-growing i' the paddock, and I watched her 
close to see if ever she troubled 'em. In sooth 
she never did do it, so far as we might tell ; but 
ye see I was busy with my work (being, as I 've 


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


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


an' so I hit on a little plan o' my own to test 
the business properly. 

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

mon bedtime, an' gran'daddy tucked up a-snoring 
like any lamb in 's feather bed ; then I went 
out and I turned Sally into the orchard. 

" Two hours by the town clock I '11 watch 
you, my lady," quoth I ; " now take your fill o' 
grass ; an' if you 've a hankering after nibbling 
fruit-trees, quince-tree or apple-tree, pearmain 
or peach, I 'm likely to see you a-doing it." 

Well, she seemed mightily tickled at the 
change, as your skittish young creatures will be, 



for all (I reck') scarcely knowing at first what 
to make on 't. She rubbed her nose 'gainst my 
cheek, so pleasured-like, an' roguishly, a-whin- 
nying low and a-smiling till her eyes they shamed 
the moonshine. But the grass under the trees 
was fine an' tempting an' tender, and pretty soon 
she fell to grazing. 

Now, I 'd not bethought me to bring out a 
chair, an' 't was tiresome business a-standing 
there after long day's work. The orchard was 
a. smallish one back of our house an' garden, 
a bit slanting on a hillside. An' some o' the 
youngest trees I 'd planted myself, an' some 
older ones my gran'father had planted many 
years before. The biggest one of all, an' belike 
the oldest, too, was a pear-tree i' the very midst 
situate. Well, a-leaning 'gainst this tree, I could 
see all o'er the orchard by the moonshine, plain 
as day, for not a many leaves were in the way 
yet a while ; an' there I stood, eying the filly 
for some space, till presently (my back an' my 
legs 'ginning to ache), what must I do next 
but climb up into the crotch o' the tree. 

So there I sat awhile, an' there I 'd better ha' 
gone on a-sitting. 'T was a comfortable seat 
enough, for the crotch was none so high from the 
ground, an' free-spreading ; but when once you 
do adventure aught beyond the common, there 's 
no telling where 't will stop ; an' so I, once 
having set out to climb, must needs go a bit 
higher. A great one for 't I 'd been, when a 
little lad, an' such as would go to the highest 
tree-tops, like any monkey. Many 's the time 
my gran'f'er would screek at me to come down, 
an' stand all of a tremble (bless his good, kind 
soul ! ) till I touched ground again ; but I never 
had tumble once. So having once begun (as I 
spoke afore), 't was like the former feel of it had 
got into my legs, with the notion of going higher 
swelling uppishly in mind. Truly I felt as light 
an' nimble as a cat. 

" Thomas, my lad " (saith I to myself), 
" you 're getting an oldish lad, but you 've 
not outgrown the way on 't." 

So up I went (a-laughing to myself), hand 
over hand, and as nimble as you please, with one 
eye on Sally an' t' other cocked up yonder, choos- 
ing my way. There was she hard by, below, 
grazing like a lamb, an' here was I presently, at 
tip-top o' that tree. 


Well, there I sat, 'way up yonder in the top- 
most fork o' that tree, a right long while — may- 
hap a half hour or so. 'Most all the lights were 
out in the town houses, only I saw a few twink- 
ling, dim-like, thro' the moonshine one way an' 
t' other, and I wondered inside my mind what the 
folks in those houses, making ready for bed, 
belike, would say to see Thomas Muffet so un- 
commonly upliften. 

Never a sound I heard, but some dog a-bark- 
ing now and again off yonder, an' the filly crop- 
ping grass down below me. 'T was pretty 
coolish up so high, so I buttoned my coat round 
me tight ; an' then, next thing, my legs both 
went to sleep ; whereupon, bethinking me 
enough o' that prank was enough, I was just 
on the start to go down when I heard all at 
once a noise of steps, an' likewise saw some 
white thing or other coming down the lane 
alongside the orchard. 

Now, I know some folks that would ha' took 
it for a ghost, an' maybe screeked out for fear or 
tumbled head-foremost down the tree ; but I was 
ne'er that sort, to be sure. 'Most as soon as I 
clapt eyes on 't I knew 't was Jerry Todkill's 
old white horse, an' then I was n't long finding 
out 't was Jerry Todkill driving of her. I 'd on 
my tongue's end to call out Hi ! Then quick 
as a flash it did come in my mind that he was 
up to some rascal roguery, for it seemed a queer 
time to be driving horses, and I knew the nature 
o' Jerry's sly tricks. Mum is the word, thinks 
I, an' so I kept still; an' lo ! what did he do 
but ope the little gate there 'twixt orchard an' 
lane (being truly scarce wide enough for her to 
pass thro'), an' turn the beast into the orchard. 

Now, 'pon my soul and body, the effrontery 
of that rogue, an' cunning wickedness no less, 
it fairly made my blood boil to see. Whether 
he 'd ever done 't afore, goodness knoweth ! I 
promise you 't was the last time, if not the first. 
" So this is the sly game you 'd play, Master 
Jerry, when honest folks be abed and asleep," 
thinks I to myself; "an' this is the way you 
steal my grass, who are so monstrous careful of 
your apple-tree." 'Twas all I could do to stay 
up that tree an' keep my two fists off his pate ; 
but thinks I to myself, " I '11 catch slyness with 
slyness, an' have my witness ready for the law- 
ful proving." Ye will wonder he did not see me, 



or Sally ; but she was a good bit off 'mongst the 
trees (besides being gray-colored), an' beyond 
lifting her head once to listen when the gate- 
latch clicked, she ne'er took any note. Then 
Jerry seemed always a deal more apt to look at 
the ground than skyward, an' was short sighted 
to boot. He never catched sight of one or 
t' other. As for his old mare she fell to eating 
like a creature starved afore she fairly got thro' 
the gate ; an' there stood Jerry Todkill a-look- 
ing at her, chuckling for very cunning pleasure. 
An' with that he walketh off down the lane, 
out o' sight. 

An' now I come to the part of this tale — to 
that turn o' matters (so to speak) — which came 
nigh putting an end to Thomas Muffet in this 
world. Mayhap some of you will be a-laugh- 
ing to hear tell on 't, but if ever ye chance to 
the like I misdoubt if ye 'd crack a smile. For 
my part, I see naught in 't to laugh at. I do 
reck' I was too hopping mad, an' too a-tremble 
with the same passion, to get me safe down the 
tree. One step down I made, bare one, an' 
some way a-missing the sound limb I set foot 
on one that was rotten. Crack ! it went, an' 
then broke clean off; an' 'fore I 'd half sensed 
the way on 't, there I went down, helter-skelter, 
head-foremost. I catched at the little limbs an' 
twigs this way, that, an' t' other, an' ne'er laid 
holt on one. There was a sharp scrag sticking 
out, where a big low limb had been broke off 
by the wind nigh a year before, when 't was 
heavy with pears, an' that I 'd never trimmed. 
How it happed to catch me so, I know not (nor 
ever can say), but first thing I knew then, lo 
and behold ! I was hanging to that scrag by the 
tail o' my coat, with my head about four feet or 
so from the ground. 

Zounds ! if I live to a thousand year old 
('fore I die) I'll ne'er forget the feeling o' that 
upsetment. The like of it I never did know 
nor feel, before nor after. My legs they went 
nine ways for Sunday on the instant. Now, 
they 'd fell to sleep up in the tree an' they 'gan 
to wake up on a sudden, a-prickling like ten 
million pin-sticks ; an' truly (for the matter o' 
that) it felt like I was turned into a pin-cushion, 
from the crown o' my head to the sole o' my 

Whichsoever way I rolled my eyes (yet 't was 

not far a body could see, so situate), I saw stars 
a-twinkling like mad, an' the man i' the moon 
a-laughing fit to kill. The ground did n't seem 
so mighty far off but 't was a deal too far to 
touch with my hand — strain hard as I would : 
neither could I get my hands up, to save me, 
for unbuttoning that coat. 'T is a curious 
thing (come to think on) how buttons will fly 
off when they ought to stay tight, an' stick on 
like grim death, spite o' pulling an' tugging an' 
the uncommonest strain upon em', when you 
want 'em to come off. As for that same coat, 
it was 'most a new one, an' thick an' strong, the 
cloth being some of Sukey Steptoe's weaving, 
an' it never gave way once. 

So there I hanged by the scrag o' that pear- 
tree with my head down — an' surely, surely I 
do think never was there any Christian man i' 
this world (and in a Christian country) brought 
to such a pass. And for a Christian man (and a 
leather-breeches maker, at that), who hath lived 
life-long in a country like Virginia, — for such 
an one, namely Thomas Muffet, to be so situate 
an' hanging, i' the middle o' Babbletown (and 
unbeknown to anybody in the dead hour of 
night) was a lawful wonder in nature. Aye, 
there be many hanged with their heads up, for 
this, that, an t' other offence, but never another 
(that I heard tell of) hanged with 's head down ; 
an' for all I did come off better than they, being 
still alive in this mortal world, — still, there I 
hanged (as I said afore) no one knoweth how 
long by the clock ! Neither up nor down could 
I get; neither could I reach anything with my 
hands, save maybe my hair, to be a-tearing it, 
like 't is told some people do in extremity. 
Then what a buzzing in my ears, too ! Zizz-z ! 
it went, like any whip-saw, yet all the time I 
heard thro' it (as 't were) that horse o' Jerry 
Todkill's, a-munching my grass. Once the 
beast came up an' looked at me, enough to make 
one mad ; and also there was Sally herself step- 
ping round at the far corner of the orchard. 

Now, I might ha' screeked out Help ! or 
Murther ! or the like, an' scared my gran'father 
out o' his wits (the poor timorsome soul) as well 
as waked the town. Most people would ha' 
come out with it, I reckon, like house afire, but 
I 'd no notion to fright him thus, besides mak- 
ing myself a gazing-stock and a laughing-stock, 




most likely, to every fool-creature in Babble- 
town. Faith 1 I did know I 'd never hear the 
last on 't whilst I lived in that place. " If the 
worst cometh to the worst" (thinketh I to my- 
self), " 't will have to be known. If daylight 

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


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

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



again ; Come lass ! Come lass ! An' she by that 
while being got up right close (only just out o' 
my reach) stopped still an' stood looking hard 
at me with her head on one side. 

Now surely the knowledgeable sense of that 
colt was something to marvel at. There be 
people an' people in this world (as the saying 
goeth) an' there be horses an' horses. How 
was she to know, forsooth, that 't was me up 
yonder ? Did she ever see me before a-hanging 
upside down in a tree, with my head twice as 
big as the rest o' my body? Not she. Did she 
ever hear my voice before when it sounded like 
somewhat 'twixt a sick kitten and a screech-owl ? 
But that Sally colt, she knew her master, right 
enough. Aye, if ever there was a perfect moral 
beast, and a knowing, and a tender-true in ser- 
vice, 't was she. Some while she stood, a-look- 
ing doubtfully, an' then what doth the precious 
little jade, a-whinnying low, but step right up 
an' rub herself against me ! I catched hold of 
her quick as I could for being so stiff an' heavy, 
and I eased myself down on her back with 
one hand whiles with t' other I reached behind 
me an' pulled my coat off the scrag. Zounds ! 
't was a toughish tug. I was mightily 'feared 
she would start to run. But there she stood 
like an old horse, sirs. An' there, when I 'd 
pulled myself loose from that tormenting tree, I 
hugged that little creature tight round the neck 
with all my might. 

Well, well ; I promise you I let no grass grow 
under my feet in making ready for Jerry Tod- 
kill after I 'd got my head a bit cool an' the 
cramps out o' me, with blood running natural- 
like. I clapt Sally into the stable, safe an' tight 
(bless the little innocent heart of her, she 'd 
ne'er touched fruit-tree among 'em), an' then I 
waked up gran'father. I told him I 'd seen 
Jerry turn his horse into the orchard. Mind 
you, I never told him or anybody about that 
pear-tree business, not till this very present night. 
Nay, not I ; for 't is no use dwelling on perils 
past ; but I told 'em enough to make straight my 
tale. Now, to make all sure we must have more 
witnesses; so long afore daybreak I had Nick 
Tucker an' Tommy Grill a-ready an' waiting in 
the orchard ; an' what do ye reck' we found, 
when we went in there, but that roguish horse 
of a villainous master chewing one o' the young 

peach-trees. With our own mortal eyes we saw 
her a-doing it; an' 'fore long with those same 
eyes we saw Jerry Todkill come sneaking along 
down the lane ; and I tell you he met up with 
warmer welcome that time than any he 'd looked 

Well, 't was tried i' the law-court an' duly 
proven. He was ready enough, was Jerry, to buy 
himself off, but for once in 's life I made him to 
know that justice cometh 'fore money. A hun- 
d'ed pound of tobacco he was sentenced to pay, 
or stand half a day in pillory. Now, for all he 
was a stingy man, he had his pride, an' so he 
chose the fine — but it cut him deep, I promise 
you, it cut him mighty deep. I truly think no- 
body in Babbletown was sorry for this turn. 
An' the best on 't was, he got tripped up again 
next after that by a law he 'd never heard of. 
That was the barratry law, to be sure. Ye see a 
barrator, in law, is just such a body as Jerry 
himself; namely, one who doth, on divers days 
an' times, stir up divers quarrels, suits, slanders, 
an' so on, 'mongst peaceful neighboring folks 
'gainst the peace an' well-doing o' this colony — 
for his own naughty dishonest profits. Nev^r 
did cap so well befit a meddlesome rascally 
head as this law befitted Jerry Todkill. I trow 
he 'd his proper fill o' law when he found him- 
self catched on 's own ground an' fined another 
good hund'ed pound of tobacco — an' 't was the 
main pleasure of Babbletown a-many a day, an' 
set all tongues a-wagging. 

We all have our faults, for certain, we human 
creatures (even as I spoke afore), but if any 
mortal man could ever rightly pick flaw in that 
gray mare Sally, why, my name 's not Thomas 

-' \J 

EY! little evergreens, 
Sturdy and strong ! 
Summer and autumn-time 

Hasten along. 
Harvest the sunbeams, then, 

Bind them in sheaves, 
Range them, and change them 

To tufts of green leaves. 
Delve in the mellow mold, 
Far, far below. 

And so, 
Little evergreens', grow ! 
Grow, grow 
Grow, little evergreens, grow 

Up, up, so airily, 

To the blue sky, 
Lift up your leafy tips 

Stately and high ; 
Clasp tight your tiny cones, 

Tawny and brown ; 
By and by, buffeting 

Rains will pelt down ; 
By and by, bitterly 

Chill winds will blow ; 

And so, 
Little evergreens, grow ! 
Grow, grow ! 
Grow, little evergreens, grow ! 

Gather all uttermost 

Beauty, because, — 
Hark, till I tell it now ! 

How Santa Claus, 
Out of the northern land, 

Over the seas, 
Soon shall come seeking you, 

Evergreen trees ! 
Seek you with reindeers soon, 
Over the snow ; 

And so, 
Little evergreens, grow ! 
Grow, grow ! 
Grow, little evergreens, grow ! 

What if the maples flare 

Flaunting and red, 
You shall wear waxen white 

Tapers instead ! 
What if now, otherwhere, 

Birds are beguiled, 
You shall yet nestle 

The little Christ-child ! 
Ah, the strange splendor 

The fir-trees shall know ! 

And so, 
Little evergreens, grow ! 


grow ! 

Grow, little evergreens, grow ! 

Evaleen Stem. 


By Adele M. Fielde. 

One scorching morning in April, 1870, a small 
party of Europeans left the city of Bangkok, the 
present capital of the Kingdom of Siam, for 
Ayuthia, the old seat of government, sixty miles 
northward up the river Menam. A hunt had 
been appointed by the king, and the elephants 
were to be brought in through the country 
bordering the ancient ruins. 

We traveled leisurely, in house-boats rowed 
by native crews, who stood and pushed their 
oars. We had with us our camp-beds ; and 
our Chinese cooks had charge of such foreign 
provisions as we should require during a week's 
outing, in addition to the rice, fruits, black- 
boned fowls, and excellent fish that could be 
bought at every landing. Up the broad, swift 
stream we made our way ; past canoes, with sin- 
gle paddlers, that shot like shuttles to and fro ; 
past dragon-headed barges, gay with gilded 
carvings and crimson pennants ; past floating, 
splint-woven dwellings, built on rafts and moored 
to the shore ; past hamlets, where women gos- 
siped in the shade, and children sported in the 
sun ; past temples covered with porcelain mo- 
saic, and surrounded by porticos where yellow- 
robed priests droned their hymns ; past slopes 
densely wooded with feathery bamboos, half 
merged in shrubs and creepers, and flecked by 
the brilliant blossoms of a tropical forest. 

On the second day we arrived at Ayuthia, 
and set up our screens and hung our mos- 
quito bars in a sala or rest-house by the river- 

The following morning the elephants arrived. 
Just outside the city, and overlooking a plain 
extending to the horizon, was a high platform, 
mounted by stone steps, and covered with a tiled 
roof supported by pillars. On this, screened 
from the sun, and with a broad outlook over the 
rice-fields that had lately been shorn of their 
crop, sat a high official, his aids, a few native 
nobles, and the foreign guests. Other specta- 
tors perched in trees or found standing-room 

wherever the view was most attractive. Im- 
mediately before the platform, was the stockade, 
made by setting deep into the ground teak logs 
two yards in girth and twenty feet in length. 
These logs were so arranged as to leave inter- 
spaces of about one foot in width. They inclosed 
a half acre of level ground, and extended out, at 
the side opposite the platform, into a funnel- 
shaped entrance, only wide enough, where it 
joined the stockade, for the passing of a single 

Gazing far across the stubbly plain, we saw the 
troop of elephants, encompassed by the many 
hunters who had been sent months before into 
the wilderness, to entice the wild animals toward 
a rendezvous. The families, scattered in the 
jungles, foraging among the luxuriant herbage, 
had been separately entered by tame decoy 
elephants, under the direction of wily hunters, 
and one had followed another into captivity. 
Two hundred and eighty elephants had thus 
been brought together. The sound of their 
roaring was like that of distant thunder; and, 
as they approached, the earth seemed to shake 
under their tread. 

By a skillful combination of leading and driv- 
ing, they were slowly urged along toward the 
stockade. Foremost were the decoyers trained 
to their work, which they do with complacent 
discretion. They were ridden by experts in 
elephant-training, and followed by the wild 
herds in which were elephants of all ages. Hem- 
ming in the assemblage on the sides and in the 
rear, many other tamed elephants, directed by 
their riders, urged on the laggards with their 
long tusks and shouldered the stragglers into 

Occasionally a huge fellow, becoming con- 
scious of being directed by a will not his own, 
would rear, trumpet a protest, bolt through 
the cordon of sentinels, and gallop toward the 
distant woods. But these fugitives were quickly 
chased by three or four trained beasts, and were 




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

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


When the herd entered the wide mouth of the strong fore legs, her active proboscis, and her 

funnel that narrowed down to the stockade, it body set as a bulwark for its defense. In many 

became frantic with rage and terror. Dozens cases two mothers united in the care of some 

at a time stood on their hind legs, waving their little one. Shoulder to shoulder they leaned 

trunks wildly, and bellowing with open mouths, over the youngster that was between them, and 

1890. ] 


shielded it under frightful pressure and peril, 
with courage and calmness. So perfect was 
the protection of the babies, that more than 
a score of these — some of them weaklings, 
no larger than sheep — survived the crush of 
entrance into the stockade, while ten full- 
grown elephants were thereby killed, 

Once within the stockade, the maddened 
herd rushed round and round the arena. As 
they passed and repassed the stand, the official, a 
connoisseur of elephants, indicated to the hunt- 
ers which ones were to be taken. When these 
happened to come upon the outside of the 


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

The dismissed elephants gradually made their 
way to the jungles, there to feed and grow 
until the king should appoint another hunt. 


swirling mass, and near the palisades of the 
enclosure, they were lassoed around the ankles 
as they raised their feet in walking, and the ca- 
bles which formed the nooses were made fast to 
the posts of the stockade. Several cables bound 
the feet of each captive, and restrained him from 
moving about with his companions. Having 
secured as many of the elephants as would be 
required by the government for several years, 
Vol. XVIII.— 16. 

The prisoners were to be tamed and then used 
in lifting lumber, in carrying goods and travelers 
across the country, and in war. 

The trained elephants are manifestly larger, 
stronger, healthier, and more sagacious than 
their wild fellows. They bathe, eat, exercise, 
and sleep more regularly, and apparently gain 
much in cunning and intelligence under human 



or THE, 


pbdi^^^MbS^&^m'M^ S 




This is the story of the Fleece of Gold, and of the Golden Ram, and what he did, and where he died, and how a 

Dragon guarded his Fleece, and who the man was that won it, and of all that befell him on his way 

to find the Fleece, and on his way home. Because it is a long story, it is divided into 

parts. And the first part is the tale of "The Children of the Cloud." 



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

them was even more beautiful than the others, 
and as soon as he saw her the king fell in love 
with her, and said to himself, " This is the wife 
for me." 

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



rose far off like a mist, and so up, and up into 
the sky, and at last he only followed them with 
his eyes, as they floated like clouds among the 
other clouds across the blue. All day he 
watched them, and at sunset he saw them sink, 
golden and rose-colored, and purple, and go 
down into the dark with the setting sun. Now, 
the king went home to his palace, but he was 
very unhappy and nothing gave him any pleas- 
ure. All day he roamed about among the hills, 
and looked for the beautiful girls, but he never 
found them. And all night he dreamed about 
them, till he grew thin and pale and was like 
to die. 

Now, the way with sick men then was that 
they made a pilgrimage to the temple of a god 
(for they were heathen people, worshiping many 
gods), and in the temple they offered sacrifices. 
Then they hoped that the god would appear to 
them in a dream, and tell them how they might 
be made well again. So the king drove in his 
chariot, a long way, to the town where this 
temple was. And when he reached it, it was 
a strange place. The priests were dressed in 
dogs' skins, with the heads of the dogs drawn 
down over their faces, and there were live dogs 
running all about the place, for these were the 
favorite beasts of the god. And there was an 
image of him, with a dog crouched at his feet, 
and in his hand he held a serpent, and fed it 
from a bowl. So there the king sacrificed before 
the god, and, when night fell, he was taken into 
the temple, and there were many beds made up 
on the floor and many people lying on them, 
both rich and poor, hoping that the god would 
appear to them in a dream, and tell them how 
they might be healed. There the king lay, like 
the rest, and for long he could not close his 
eyes. At length he slept, and he dreamed a 
dream. But it was not the god of the temple 
that he saw in his dream ; he saw a beautiful 
lady, and she seemed to float above him in a 
chariot drawn by doves, and all about her was 
a crowd of chattering sparrows. She was more 
beautiful than any woman in the world, and she 
smiled as she looked at the king, and said, "Oh, 
King Athamas, you are sick for love ! 

" Now this you must do : go home, and on the 
first night of the new moon, climb the hills to 
that place where you saw the Three Maidens. 

In the dawn they will come again to the river, 
and bathe in the pool. Then do you creep out 
of the wood, and steal the clothes of her you 
love, and she will not be able to fly away with 
the rest, and she will be your wife." 

Then she smiled again, and her doves bore 
her away, and the king woke, and remembered 
the dream, and thanked the lady in his heart, for 
he knew she was a goddess, the Queen of Love. 

Then he drove home, and did all that he had 
been told. On the first night of the new moon, 
when she shines like a thin gold thread in the 
sky, he left his palace, and climbed up through 
the hills, and hid in the wood by the edge of 
the pool. When the dawn began to shine silvery, 
he heard voices, and saw the three girls come 
floating through the trees, and alight on the 
river bank, and undress, and run into the water. 
There they bathed, and splashed each other 
with the water, laughing in their play. 

Then he stole to the grassy bank, and seized 
the clothes of the most beautiful of the three; 
and they heard him move, and rushed out 
to their clothes. Two of them were clad 
in a moment, and floated away through the 
glen, but the third crouched sobbing and weep- 
ing under the thick cloak of her yellow 
hair. Then she prayed the king to give her 
back her soft gray and rose-colored raiment, 
but he would not, till she had promised to be 
his wife. And he told her how long he had 
loved her, and how the goddess had sent him 
to be her husband, and at last she promised, 
and took his hand, and in her shining robes went 
down the hill with him to the palace. But he 
felt as if he walked on the air, and she scarcely 
seemed to touch the ground with her feet. And 
she told him that her name was Nephele, which 
meant " a cloud," in their language, and that 
she was one of the Cloud Fairies that bring the 
rain, and live on the hilltops, and in the high 
lakes, and water springs, and in the sky. 

So they were married, and lived very happily, 
and had two children, a boy named Phrixus 
and a daughter named Helle. And the two 
children had a beautiful pet, a Ram with a fleece 
all of gold, which was given them by a young 
god called Hermes, a beautiful god, with wings 
on his shoon, — for these were the very Shoon of 
Swiftness, that he lent afterwards, as perhaps you 




have read or heard, to the boy, Perseus, who 
slew the monster, and took the Terrible Head.* 
This Ram the children used to play with, and 
they would ride on his back, and roll about with 
him on the flowerv meadows. 

Now they would all have been happy, but for 
one thing. When there were clouds in the sky, 
and when there was rain, then their mother, 
Nephele, was always with them; but when the 
summer days were hot and cloudless, then she 
went away, they did not know where. The 
long dry days made her grow pale and thin, 

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

"and there thev met an old woman, and took pity on her, and brought her home with them." 

and, at last, she would vanish altogether, and at last he married her, and they had two chil- 

never come again, till the sky grew soft and dren, a boy and a girl, and Ino wore the crown, 

gray with rain. and was queen. And she gave orders that 

Now King Athamas grew weary of this, for Nephele should never be allowed to enter the 

* See St. Nicholas for July, 1878. 

1890. j 



palace any more. So Phrixus and Helle never 
saw their mother, and they were dressed in 
ragged old skins of deer, and were ill fed, and 
were set to do hard work in the house, while 
the children of Ino wore gold crowns 
in their hair, and were dressed in fine 
raiment, and had the best of everything. 

One day Phrixus and Helle were in 
the field, herding the sheep, for now they 
were treated like peasant children, and 
had to work for their bread. And there 
they met an old woman, all wrinkled, and 
poorly clothed, and they took pity on her, 
and brought her home with them. Now 
Ino saw her, and as she wanted a nurse 
for her children, she took her in to be the 
nurse, and the old woman took care of 
the children, and lived in the house. And 
she was kind to Phrixus and Helle. But 
neither of them knew that she was their 
own mother, Nephele, who had disguised 
herself as an old woman and a servant, 
that she might be with her children. 
And Phrixus and Helle grew strong, and 
and more beautiful than Ino's children, so 
hated them, and determined, at last, to 
them. They all slept at night in one room, but 
Ino's children had gold crowns in their hair, and 
beautiful coverlets on their beds. Now, one 
night, Phrixus was half awake, and he heard the 
old nurse come, in the dark, and put something 
on his head, and on his sister's, and change their 
coverlets. But he was so drowsy that he half 
thought it was a dream, and he lay, and fell 
asleep. But, in the dead of night, the wicked 
stepmother, Ino, crept into the room with a 
dagger in her hand. And she stole up to the 
bed of Phrixus, and felt his hair, and his cover- 
let. Then she went softly to the bed of Helle, 
and felt her coverlet, and her hair, with the gold 
crown on it. So she supposed these to be her 
own children, and she kissed them in the dark, 
and went to the beds of the other two chil- 
dren. She felt their heads, and they had no 
crowns on, so she killed them, thinking they 
were Phrixus and Helle. Then she crept down- 
stairs, and went back to bed. 

Now, in the morning, there were the step- 
mother Ino's children cold and dead, and no- 
body knew who had killed them. Only the 

wicked queen knew, and she, of course, would 
not tell of herself, but if she hated Phrixus and 
Helle before, now she hated them a hundred 
times worse than ever. But the old nurse was 




gone, nobody ever saw her there again, and 
everybody but the queen thought that she had 
killed the two children. Everywhere the king 
sought for her, but he never found her, for she 
had gone back to her sisters, the Clouds. 

And the Clouds were gone, too ! For six long 
months, from winter to harvest time, the rain 
never fell. The country was burned up, the 
trees grew black and dry, there was no water 
in the streams, the corn turned yellow and died 
before it was come into the ear. The people 
were starving, the cattle and sheep were perish- 
ing, for there was no grass. And every day the 
sun rose hot and red, and went blazing through 
a sky without a cloud. 

Then the wicked stepmother, Ino, saw hei 
chance. The king sent messengers to consult a 
prophetess, and to find out what should be done 
to bring back the clouds and the rain. Then 
Ino took the messengers, and gave them gold, 
and threatened also to kill them, if they did not 
bring the message she wished from the prophet- 
ess. Now this message was that Phrixus and 
Helle must be burned as a sacrifice to the gods. 

So the messengers went, and came back 
dressed in mourning. And when they were 
brought before the king, at first they would 



tell him nothing. But he commanded them to 
speak, and then they told him what Ino had 
bidden them to say, that Phrixus and Helle 
must be offered as a sacrifice to appease the 

The king was very sorrowful at this news, 
but he could not disobey the gods. So poor 
Phrixus and Helle were wreathed with flowers, 
as sheep used to be when they were led to be 
sacrificed, and they were taken to the altar, all 
the people following and weeping. And the 
Golden Ram went between them, as they 
walked to the temple. Then they came within 
sight of the sea, which lay beneath the cliff 
where the temple stood, all glittering in the 
sun, and the happy white sea-birds flying 
over it. 

Then the Ram stopped, and suddenly he 
spoke to Phrixus, and said : " Lay hold of 
my horn, and get on my back, and let Helle 
climb up behind you, and I will carry you far 
away ! " 

Then Phrixus took hold of the Ram's horn, 
and Helle mounted behind him, and grasped 
its golden fleece, and suddenly the Ram rose 
in the air, and flew above the people's heads, 
far away over the sea. 

Far away to eastward he flew, and deep 

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




By Emilie Poulsson. 

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

Santa Claus sat there 
thinking — thinking. It 
was just before Christ- 
mas. What was the 
matter with the good 
jolly old Saint ? Had 
his sleigh broken 
down ? Had any of 
his reindeer run away ? 
Had he lost his own, 
particular, pet, private 
map? — for a body must 
have a wonderful map 
to guide him all about 
among the chimneys 
of the whole world. 

But no, — it was none of these things. 
Could n't he find toys enough to go round ? 
Bless your dear little anxious heart, don't you 
be afraid of that ! He had thousands of bushels 
of toys left after planning all the stockings of 
the children whose names were down in his 
books ! Oh ! no. Santa Claus had toys enough. 
That was n't the trouble ! 

I should n't have said, " after planning all 
the stockings." One stocking there was for 
which Santa Claus had not yet planned a single 
thing; and that was why poor dear old Santa 


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

Perhaps it seems strange to you that Santa 
should be puzzled about such a thing as that, 




when filling stockings is his regular profession, 
— (a highly honorable one, too, and long may 
Santa live to grace it!), — but the little boy to 
whom that stocking belonged was a very 
strange and unusual child. If anything was 
given to him he would either break it to pieces 
very soon or do some naughty mischief with it. 
Worst of all, he would even hurt his nurse or 
his little brothers and sisters with his beautiful 
toys, if he happened to feel like doing so. 

Yet kind old Santa could not bear to leave 
even this stocking empty. So he had been 
puzzling his brains to find something with which 
the little boy could not hurt people, and some- 
thing he could not break; and although he had 
been thinking over all his lists of toys and pres- 
ents, nothing had he found yet ! 

" Chirp ! Chirp ! " sounded a sharp little 
voice. " Chirp ! chirp ! You may as well give 
it up. He does n't deserve anything, the little 
scamp ! " 

" Oh ! Is that you, Cricket ? " said Santa. 
" Come up here," and as he held out his fat 
forefinger a tiny black cricket reached it with 
a sudden jump. 

" You may as well give it up ! " creaked the 
cricket in a shrill tone. " You can 't think of 
anything, / know." 

" It begins to seem as if I could n't," said 
Santa Claus dolefully. " But I am so sorry for 
the boy ! I can't bear to think of that stocking, 
and of the poor little rascal's disappointment on 
Christmas morning. What do you think of 
those nice little donkeys, saddled and bridled, 
and with cunning little baskets slung at each 
side? Little — (ahem! you know who I mean, 
and it is best not to mention names) — he 
would be delighted with one of them, and they 
are really quite strong." 

" Chirp ! " snapped out the cricket, scarcely 
waiting for Santa to finish ; " quite strong, in- 
deed ! But you know perfectly well that it 
does n't matter much how strong a thing is, any 
more than how nice it is. That boy breaks every- 
thing ! You know yourself he had ten presents 
on his birthday, about a month ago, and where 
are they now ? All broken but the umbrella his 
mamma gave him, and that has been put away." 

" I know, I know," said Santa. " No ! I 
can't give him the donkey ! — nor any other of 

those fine little animals that we have this year. 
Nor a drum ; nor a cart ; nor a wheelbarrow ; 
nor a ship ; nor a fire-engine ; nor a top ; nor 
a music-box ; nor a clock ! Oh ! how I did 
want to give him one of those fascinating 
clocks ! " and Santa Claus looked very wist- 
fully at the cricket, and then sighed heavily. 
" But I know I could n't. I can't bear to see 
the nice presents and interesting toys broken 
to pieces. But I 've thought of one thing, 
Cricket ; and I don't believe he could break it. 
And yet he would like it, I am sure." Santa 
looked a little more cheerfully at the cricket, 
and continued : " I thought of a nice little 
hammer and box of nails, and some blocks of 
wood for him to hammer the nails into ! That 's 
the present for him. Hey, now ! what do you 
think of that ? " 

" What do I think ? " said the cricket. " I 
think, Santa Claus, that you have forgotten 
how the little boy beat his brother with his 
drumsticks ; how he snipped his sister's fingers 
with the scissors; how he threw his harmonica 
at the nurse ; how he — " 

" Dear, dear, dear ! " groaned Santa, " so he 
did ; so he did ! " 

" And if you keep giving him things when 
he uses them so wrongly," continued the 
cricket, " how will he ever learn better ? To 
be sure, his mamma and papa and all his 
kind friends are trying to teach him, but it is 
necessary that everybody should help to train 
such a boy as — " 

" I know," interrupted Santa, " I know. 
You 're a wise little counselor, and not as 
hard-hearted as you seem. And if you think 
it will cure the poor little fellow, I suppose we 
must give him the sawdust this year." 

" Yes," said the cricket solemnly, " sawdust 
it must be." 

Christmas morning came. The little boy, 
whose name Santa Claus did not wish men- 
tioned, saw all the other children pull out one 
treasure after another from their long, well- 
stuffed stockings, while in his own, which he 
had hung up with so much hope the night be- 
fore, there was nothing but sawdust ! 

If I should use all the sad words in the Eng- 
lish language I never could tell you how sad 






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

It was almost a year later, just before Christ- 
mas, when Santa Claus again sat by his fire — 

But this time he was in no trouble ; no, 
indeed, not he ! He was rounder and rosier 
and jollier than ever before ; and how he was 
smiling and chuckling to himself! His eyes 
twinkled so, and were so very bright, that you 
could almost have lit a candle at them. He 
and the cricket had been planning all sorts of 
ecstatic surprises for the stocking of the boy to 
whom they had given sawdust the year before ; 
for, if you can believe it, the little boy had been 
trying all the year to be careful and gentle, and 
he was really quite changed ! 

" Sawdust is a grand thing," chirped the 
cricket, leaping about in delight. 

" Yes, but I am glad we do not need to use 
it this year," replied Santa. " Let me see the 
list again. Don't you suppose we could cram 
in one or two more things ? Have you put 
down the — " 

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

if v> 





Christmas is coming, my beloved ! and your 
Jack wishes every one of you all the brightness, 
goodness, and happiness that the Beautiful Day 
can give you. 

And now will those of you who can in reality help 
to make Christmas wreaths, and those who can do 
so only in imagination, unite in singing this pretty 
ante-Christmas chorus, sent you by Mistress Caro- 
line Evans : 

Holly red and mistletoe, 

Waving Prince's Feather, 
Twine we in our Christmas wreaths, 

Joys and greens together. 
Holly hides a happy wish 

'Neath each scarlet berry, 
Prince's Feather nods to say : 
" Let us all be merry ! " 
While upon the mistletoe 

Kisses sweet are growing 
That may bloom on Christmas day, 

In a goodly showing. 

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


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

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


It is delightful to see how much interest many 
of you young hearers have taken in the difference 
between red and white clover, since your attention 
was called to the matter. Last month I was glad 
to thank hosts of bright young investigators ; but 
letters still are coming, and right in the face of 
approaching winter, too. Here is a careful account 
from an honest young fellow living at Rye, in New 
York State: 

Dear Jack : There is a great deal more difference 
between white and red clover than that one is white and 
the other is red. 

Some of the differences are these, which I give partly 
from my own observation, and partly from " Wood's 
Class Book of Botany." 

First, the stem. That of the white clover is creeping, 
spreading, smooth, and rooting at the joints. The stem 
of the red clover is ascending and hairy. 

Second, the leaflets. Those of the white clover are 
rarely more than three-quarters of an inch long, and are 
denticulate and slightly obcordate. In the red clover 
they grow to one and a half inches in length, and are 
entire, ovate, and higher colored in the center. 

Third, the inflorescence. The flowers of the white 
clover are in heads, on very long, axillary peduncles, 
while the red clover heads are sessile, and often more 
than twice the size of those of the white clover. 

Yours truly, A Young BOTANIST. 

By the way, for the benefit of those among you 
who do not speak Botanese, I may as well hand 
over these translations that the dear Little School- 
ma'am has just given me : 

denticulate — finely toothed or notched; obcordate — 
heart-shaped, with the point toward the stem ; entire 
— without division ; ovate — egg-shaped; inflorescence 
— arrangement of flowers ; axillary — growing from the 
angle between leaf and branch ; peduncles — flower- 
stalks ; sessile — attached directly without a stalk. 

growing after a long sleep. 

Dear Mr. Jack : Papa read to us one evening out of 
the London Garden an account of some mummy peas 
hundreds and hundreds of years old. My brothers and 
myself were so deeply interested in it that I am going to 
copy it out for you and your " chicks." I hope you will 
surely show it to all the English and American children, 
dear Mr. Jack. This is it : 

" Perhaps it may interest your readers to know that 
many years ago some peas that fell out of the wrapping 
of a mummy that was being unrolled were given to my 
brother-in-law. They were planted at once, and most of 
them germinated. I saw them when in blossom, and a 
nice little row they were, about two yards long, and the 
seed ripened well. There could be no question as to their 
being foreigners ; the foliage seemed more succulent and 

1890. ] 



was larger than the English garden pea. The form of 
the flowers also was different. Instead of the standard 
being upright it fell forward, surrounding the keel, and 
giving the appearance of a bell-shaped blossom — doubt- 
less a provision against the scorching sun of Egypt during 
the infancy of the delicate seed-vessel. We found the 
peas excellent for the table; in size they were rather 
larger than the marrow pea. After a year or two in 
Hampshire they got mildewed, and were lost. I brought 
a handful into Devonshire, and we grew them for some 
little time ; and one of the Exeter nurserymen had them 
and sent them out as ' mummy peas ' ; but they always 
seemed liable to get mildewed, possibly from debility in 
consequence of their prolonged sleep." 

I have heard about planting mummy wheat, centuries 
after the grain had been placed in the burial case holding 
some distinguished Egyptian, and of the wheat growing 
finely after its long rest ; but mummy peas are different. 

Now, don't you think this account is very interesting, 
dear Mr. Jack ? Your little friend, Amy G . 


DEAR Jack : While walk- 
ing through the Museum of 
Natural History at Central 
Park, recently, I saw in one 
of the glass cases part of a 
cedar telegraph-pole, thickly 
perforated with holes. On in- 
quiry, I learned that these 
holes had been dug in the pole 
by the California woodpecker, 
for the purpose of storing 
acorns for its winter food. 
Some of the acorns may still 
be seen in the pole, although 
most of them had been ex- 
tracted before it was cut down. 

It has long been known that 
these busy workers store acorns 
in the bark of standing trees, 
but choosing a telegraph-pole 
for this purpose is an entirely 
new selection ; and while per- 
haps the feathered gentry find 
it a very convenient store- 
house, their method of taking 
possession is decidedly damag- 
ing to the telegraph-pole. 

There is a cousin of this 
same bird in Mexico, who has 
discovered that the stalk of the 
aloe makes a much better 
storehouse than trees or tele- 
graph poles, besides saving 
him a great deal of labor. The 
aloe, after flowering, dies, 
but the hollow stalk remains 
standing. The flinty texture 
of the stalk is easily pierced through to the cen- 
tral cavity by the woodpecker, who then thrusts 
in an acorn, then another, and another, until the 
hollow space is filled to the level of the hole. He next 
makes a second opening higher up, and thrusts in 
more acorns until the level of that hole is reached. So 
he proceeds all the way up the stalk, until it is com- 

pletely filled with acorns. Often aloes thirty miles 
distant from the nearest oak tree have been found 
stored in this way. 

All this good work is turned to use in times of 
famine, when not only the woodpeckers, but other 
birds, and even animals, live on this preserved 

Before I finish I must tell you of a little practical 
joke which the woodpecker occasionally indulges 
in. Instead of inserting an acorn in the tree 
selected he slily puts in a small stone ; the wood 
grows over this in time, and when the tree is finally 
taken to the mill the stones play sad havoc with 

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


prizes the meat of the stored acorn not so much for 
its own sake as for the plump little maggots that 
grow and thrive therein. Am I misled, or may 
I look kindly upon these insinuations? 

A query: What plant is this, my chicks, grow- 
ing beside this slightly damaged, but very interest- 
ing telegraph-pole ? 


Mare Island, Cal. 

Dear St. Nicholas : As I have never seen a letter 
from Mare Island, I thought I would write and tell you 
all about it. Of course you know it is a navy-yard. 
Papa is a civil-engineer, and has built the stone dock, 
which is the largest in the world. 

We have a little donkey and cart, and we have lots of 
fun with him. We have lived here eight years, so, of 
course, we know r all about the yard. 

I am twelve years old, and I have a brother, and he 
was sixteen yesterday ; he is very large for his age, but 
I am small. 

We have two horses and seven cows, and a lovely dog 
named "Countess." My brother Stanton is a beautiful 
rider, and I can ride right well. Our horses' names are 
"James " and " Toby." 

From your little friend, Cora W . 

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

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

Your little friend, 
Lola K- 

Manuia, H. I. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am another little Hawaiian 
girl, born in Honolulu on the island of Oahu. I am 
twelve years old. 

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

Your little Hawaiian friend, 

Carrie N . 

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



I6 5 

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

Charlie A. G . 

Trenton, N. J. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I live in Trenton, and my aunt 
sends you to me, and I enjoy you very much. 

I have a little brother who is very fond of your non- 
sense rhymes, but he thinks you ought to come oftener 
than once a month, for he is very impatient, and to quiet 
him I often make up little rhymes myself. The last one 
I made up he thought so very funny that I said I would 
send it to you, and I would like very much to see it in 
your Letter-Box. Now I must say good-bye. 

Your loving friend and reader, Kate W. T . 

The Feast of the Cat. 

A large black cat and a small gray rat, 
In peace lived together in a fine tall flat, 
Both sharing the same nice, large, soft mat. 

Said the cat to the rat, 
" Let 's seek our friend Pat, 

And after a chat 
We '11 ask him to catch us a nice big bat." 

Said the small gray rat, 
" 1 agree to that; 
We '11 then take supper on our large soft mat." 
So together they went and sought Mr. Pat, 
Who agreed at once to catch them a bat, 
So they might have for supper, both lean and fat, 
And eat it with joy on the large soft mat. 
They ate and they ate till no mite of the bat 
Was left on the plate, not even the fat. 

Said Mr. Rat to his friend Mr. Cat, 
" I have had quite enough and will now take my hat." 
" Wait ! wait ! " said the cat, 
" Till we have some more chat. 
Suppose I eat you, as you ate the bat ? " 
" Oh, no ! " said the rat, " you would not do that." 
But " 'Tis done ! " said the cat, 

And he sat all alone on the large soft mat. 

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

Sitka, Alaska. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I live in the capital of this ter- 
ritory, and a funny little place it is. There is only one 
road, and that is only one mile long. There are but two 
horses and a few mules, and these have been here but a 
short time. They run loose over the parade ground. 

There are about twelve hundred Indians and four 
hundred whites, including the Russians. We have about 
every nation represented here : Poles, Russians, Span- 

iards, Italians, Germans, French, Chinese, Japanese, 
Norwegians, English, Negroes, Indians, and Americans. 

We had about two or three thousand tourist visitors 
here during the summer, having a boat each week. But 
now the tourist season is over, and we shall have but two 
steamers a month. 

So you may imagine how eagerly I look for you each 
month. My favorite stories are " Crowded out o' Cro- 
field," " Six Years in the Wilds of Central Africa," and 
"The Great Storm at Samoa." With three cheers for 
St. Nicholas, 

I am, your faithful reader, EDWIN K . 

Erie, Penn. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Wehave never seen aletter from 
Erie published in your Letter-Box, and we hope you 
will put this one in your paper. We love your paper 
very dearly, and we have it read to us when it comes 
every month. 

We are two little friends, and we are in the Hamot 
Hospital. Our names are Fred and Helen, and our 
nurse is writing this for us. Fred was run over by the 
electric-car and was terribly injured, and Helen is just 
getting over a serious illness. Our beds are next each 
other, and we can talk to each other about your lovely 

Yesterday we had ice-cream for dinner, and we liked it. 
We never had it before. 

Please put this letter in your paper right away, so that 
we can see it together before we leave the hospital. We 
are tired now. Good-bye. 

Your little friends, Helen. 


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

Yours truly, ANNIE B . 


September is a pleasant month, 

The air is soft and cool ! 
Then all the children in the land 

Are sent to public school. 

Wise and simple, great and small, 

We make an army grand! 
If all were standing in a line 

We 'd reach across the land ! 

Chicago, III. 

Dear St. Nicholas : My grandma in New Orleans 
sent the St. Nicholas to me. 

I used to live in New Orleans. It is such a clear, de- 
lightful old place, and I think the Mardi Gras is so beau- 
tiful ; I have seen it so many times. That 's why I am so 
interested in " Lady Jane " ; it tells of so many places 
and things that are familiar to me. In the summer I went 
to the country to visit. I had a delightful time, and my 
auntie gave me St. Nicholas for 1882 ; they seemed so 
queer and old-fashioned compared with the ones we 
have now. 

One day this summer I had a doll's wedding. The 
bride had a bridal dress on, and the groom was in even- 
ing dress. I had bridesmaids and groomsmen, and 

1 66 


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

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

The Little Visitor. 

By K. S. 

(A Young Contributor.) 

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

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

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

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

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

At last out he went, 
As if on an errand bent, 

And we never saw him more. 

Here is a harrowing little tale that comes to us all the 
way from California : 

Lost Bessie. 

By M. McP . 

{A \omtg Contributor;) 

ONCE there was a little girl named Bessie Stewart who 
wanted to go for a walk in the woods', but her mother 
did not like to have her little girl go to the woods as 
there were bears and wolves. But she told her mother 
she would not go far, so her mother told her to go and 
be back in time for supper. Then she told her mother 
good-bye and was gone. She was gone an hour and her 
mother was getting anxious about her, when she heard 
the tea-bell ring. She went in and ate supper and Bessie 
had not come yet. She waited and watched for her, but 
it was getting dark, and so she got one of her servants and 
her husband to go and hunt for Bessie. When they got in 
the woods they heard a dog bark, and just then they saw 
the large Newfoundland dog that had gone with Bessie 
jump out of a thicket in the woods, but Bessie was not 
with him. Her father went home and got some of his 
neighbors to help him search. They went all through 
the woods, but the hunt was in vain. 

Four years after, Mr. Stewart was walking along the 
streets, and met a gentleman friend whom he had not 
seen for years ; this friend asked how Bessie was, and 
he said, " Poor Bessie was lost in the woods four years 
ago. " 

On the other side of the street sat a little girl crying 
for her mamma. When she heard her name spoken, she 
jumped up to see who it was, and when she saw it was 
her father she ran and caught hold of his hand and said, 
" Papa, don't you know me ? " And wheD he saw it was 
his little girl, he took her in his arms and kissed her 
again and again. You do not know how surprised her 
mother was to see her long-lost Bessie. 

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


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

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


Rhomboid. Across : i 
5. Opera. Charade. 

Night. 4. Troop. 

Haven. 2. Homes. 

Diamonds. Homestead greetings. I. 1. H. 2. Bon. 3. Comet. 
4. Boneset. 5. Homestead. 6. Nesting. 7. Teens. 8. Tag. 9. D. 
II. x. G. 2. Arm. 3, Glean. 4. Algeria. 5. Greetings. 6. Mari- 
ana. 7. Ninny. 8. Aga. 9. S. 

Compound Double Acrostic. From 1 to 13, bargain; 2 to 14, 
emulate ; 3 to 15, andante ; 4 to 16, mandate. 

Central Acrostic. Centrals. Cleopatra. Cross-words: 1. GraC- 
chi. 2. WalLace. 3. CathErine. 4. ZenObia. 5. JosePhine. 
6. SalAdin. 7. Marie AnToinette. 8. ChaRles. 9. VespAsian. 

Illustrated Puzzle. Sparta, oligarchy, Spartans, perioeci > 
helots, Lycurgus, Athens, Solon. Cross-words : 1. Handcuffs. 
2. Pentagons. 5. Caryatid. 4. Crab-apple. 5. Tricycles. 6. Stand- 
ards. 7. Gondolier. 8. Hollyhock. 9. Colosseum. 

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

Pi. Has any one seen a lost summer, 

Strayed, stolen, or otherwise gone, 
First missed when the leaves of September, 
Turned, showed us a frost-graven dawn ? 
And now she has hidden in frolic 

Beneath the low-lying bright leaves. 
Has any one seen a lost summer 

Afield with the banded cornsheaves? 
Word-squares. I. 1. Yapon. 2. Agave. 3. Pales. 4. Overt. 
5. Nests. II. 1. Stupe. 2. Turin. 3. Urged. 4. Piece. 5. Ended. 
III. 1. Cares. 2. Alive. 3. Ripen. 4. Evens. 5. Sense. 

To our Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the September Number were received, before September 15th, from Maud E. Palmer — E- 
M. G. — Paul Reese — Emmy, Jamie and Mamma — " Mamma, Aunt Martha, and Sharley " — Pearl F. Stevens — Sallie W. , Astley P. C 
and Anna W. Ashhurst — Nellie L.Howes — Gertrude L.— Helen C. McCIeary — Blanche and Fred — John W. Frothingham, Jr. — Bene- 
dick and Beatrice — Uncle Mung — Jo and I — "The Nick McNick" — A Family Affair— Edith Sewall — Adele Walton. 

Answers to Puzzles in the September Number were received, before September 15th, from Elaine Shirley, 2 — Bertha F. E. , 3 — 
Anna K. Verdery, 1 — Grace and Mamma, 2 — M. Ella Gordon, 1 — J. McClees, 1 — "Queen Bess," 1 — Florence and Mina, 1 — Grace 
and Isabel Livingston, 6 — Lucia A. R., 2 — Katie Van Zandt, 5 — "Tweedledum and Tweedledee," 7 — Louise Fast, 2 — Arthur and 
Harry, 1 — " Annie R-," German town, 2 — P. R. W., 3 — Clara Dooley, 2 — Lottie and Mamma, 2 — Josie Brooks, 1 — " Harriette," 1 — 
F. Hilton, 1 — Raymond, 1 — A. Steiner, 2 — Belle and Griswold, 1 — Tom Rue, 2 — " Papa and Lill," 1 — " Vags and Stags," 1 — M. J. 
Stoll, 1— "Pixy and Nixy." 2 — Effie K. Talboys, 7— C. S. H. and H. H. H., 2 — C. Hell, 1 — Mary and Maud, 2 — E. P. and Com- 
pany, 2 — Lillie M. Anthony, 3 — Margaret Dabney, 1 — Susie T. S., 1 — A. M. D. and Jean B. G.,8 — A. M. Cooch, 6 — Will and 
Rex, 6 — Clara and Emma, 2 — Helen L. Webb and Mabel H. Perkins, 4 — Edith G., 1 — C. L. Hamilton, Jr., 1 — Lisa D. Elood- 
good, 8 — E. P. R. and E. W., 6 — " Infantry," 10 — " Mrs. Jim," 3 — Edith W. A., 4 — "Squire," 9 — Evie B., 2 — Robert A. Stewart, 8 — 
Sissie Hunter, 2 — Dora N. Bertie, 3 — H. M. C. and Co., 4 — Sadie and Bessie Rhodes, 8 — No name, Trenton, 1 — Hilda Gerhard, 10 — 
Annie, Jim, and Helen, 2 — Estelle Ions, 3 — Liland Del, 3 — Jennie S. Liebmann, 9 — Honora Swartz, 2 — Paul L. S., 1 — Carleton, 9 — "The 
Bees," 2 — H. P. H. S., 6 — "Charles Beaufort," 8 — "May and 79," 10 — Hubert L. Bingay, 9 — Ida C. Thallon, 10 — Perry Talcott 
Risley, 8 — A. Humphreys and M. Partridge, 1 — Arthur G. Lewis, 8 — Amy and Maida Y., 1 — Josephine Sherwood, 9 — "Swamp- 
scott," 3 — " Mamma and Me," 1 — " Waccabuc," 3 — " We, Us, and Co.," 7 — Edith and Emily, 3 — "Paganini and Liszt/' 7 — Camp, 9 — 
Harry L. and Nellie B., 1 — Charles L. and Reta Sharp, 3 — Nellie and Reggie, 9 — Harriet D. Fellows, 3 — Lulu Laurent, 10 — Mere 
Magor, 3 — Elsie, 8 — " Wallingford," 8 — E.G. Pelton, 1 — "Dame Durden, 10 — Bessie McCracken, 2 — Alice Blanke and Edna Le 
Massina, 6. 


away fro: 


by artifice. 


A theatrical representation. 
3. To stay or continue in a 
n honorable decoration. 5. 
e name. 

A kind of rampart. 2. To get 
3. Confuses. 4. Completely 


versed or acquainted with. 5. Snug residences. 


Dens het drudy refi-ghilt ghirhe ; 

Wrad ruyo ayes haric pu hirneg ; 
Gothhur het newrit, keabl dna clilh, 
Ew yam haev rou semrum lilts. 

Heer rea smope ew yma dear, 

Netlapsa nifesac ot rou dene : 
Ha, learnet resumm-emit 
Weldsl hiwtin het stope hermy. 


I. Cross-words: 1. Neat. 2. One of the queens of 
England. 3. Cessation. Primals, a resinous substance; 
finals, to procure ; primals and finals connected, a small 
shield ; six middle letters, transposed, an offender. 

II. Cross-words: i. A couple. 2. A river of Italv. 

3. Afloat. Primals, state of equality ; finals, to corrupt ; 
primals and finals connected, a bird; six middle letters, 
transposed, the flour of any species of corn. 

III. Cross-words : 1. A Latin prefix. 2. To cau- 
terize. 3. To accumulate. Primals, a serpent; finals, 
wrath; primals and finals connected, to soar; six middle 
letters, transposed, to limit in descent. dycie. 


BEGIN with a single letter, and, by adding one letter 
at a time, and perhaps transposing the letters, make a 
new word of each move. 

1. A vowel. 2. A preposition. 3. Wickedness. 4. Use- 
ful little instruments. 5. A bird highly prized for food. 
6. Matures. 7. Pinchers. 8. A member of a royal 


I. A group of islands near the western coast of Scot- 
land. 2. An old Scottish palace associated with the life 
of Mary, Queen of Scots. 3. Wind-instruments, very 
popular in the highlands of Scotland. 4. The mountain 
home of Queen Victoria. 5. A daughter of James I. of 
Scotland. 6. The Christian name and surname of a 
great Scottish reformer. 7. A large district in the south 
of Scotland, famous for its cattle. 8. The title of a novel 
by Scott. 

The diagonals, from the upper left-hand letter to the 
lower right-hand letter, will spell the name given, in 
Scotland, to the last night of the year. dycie. 

,6 7 




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


A distinguished American : 

He lives well, lord o' men. 
oblique rectangle. 

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

fered. 9. Deduced. 10. Restored to health. II. A 
county in England. 12. A cave. 13. In paid. 

When rightly guessed, the words should read the same 
downward as across. CYRIL DEANE. 


I. I. A measure of weight usedin the East. 2. To turn 
aside. 3. Infusions made of the dried leaves of plants. 
4. An abbreviation of mistress. 5. A preposition. 6. In 

II. 1. A country of South America. 2. A military engine. 
3. To coalesce. 4. A prefix. 5. An animal. 6. A prep- 
osition. 7. In plunder. 


You will find us in the "chimney" where the yule logs 

flame and roar ; 
And we are in the "children" who o'er story-books will 

Just look for us in " presents " when the holidays draw 

near ; 
And in the midst of "visitors" we surely will appear; 
We are the mates of " scholars " who go home vacation 

days ; 
And we are in a " pantomime," the jolliest of all plays ; 
Seek for us in pretty "mottoes" that we treasure with 

great care ; 
And we love to be in " carols " sounded on the midnight 

Then of all the dainty " suppers " we must surely have 

a share. 
A holy day and holiday you first must call to mind, 
And then a decorative plant I 'II leave you all to find. 




(SEE PA(;E 2T8.) 


Vol. XVIII. 

JANUARY, 1891. 



By Charles Dudley Warner. 

If I owned a girl who had no desire to learn 
anything, I would swap her for a boy. If the 
boy did not desire to learn, I would trade him 
off for a violin or a Rookwood vase. You could 
get something out of a violin, and you could 
put something into the vase. The most useless 
of things is that into which you can put nothing, 
and from which you can get nothing. The boy 
or girl who has no wish to know anything is the 
one and becomes the other. 

There is a great deal of talk in these days 
about reading, how to learn to read, and what 
to read. Now, there is nothing mysterious about 
reading any more than there is about seeing, 
and it is really no more credit to a person to be 
able to read than it is to be able to see, or to 
hear. The object of reading is exactly the same 
as the object of seeing and hearing — to get 
information. The notion that a person has 
gained an accomplishment when he has learned 
to read should be no more a source of pride 
than the fact that he can see and hear. It takes 
the puppy nine days to open his eyes, and it 
takes the infant a much longer time apparently 

before he can distinguish one thing from another. 
When he can do this, we say he begins " to take 
notice." A boy may be able to read along time 
before he begins to take notice. The use of see- 
ing and hearing and reading is to establish rela- 
tions with the world. The puppy does very well 
in this respect by the use of his eyes and his ears, 
but as he can not learn to read, he never gets as 
far as the boy, that is, as the boy who learns how 
to turn to account his ability to read. But as 
some boys seem to see or to hear little that is 
good, they also derive small benefit, and often 
great harm, from what they read. A boy can 
receive as much injury from bad reading as he 
can from bad conversation. So it appears that 
there is no moral quality in the mere ability to 
read. Reading only offers a chance of getting 
more information, on a greater variety of topics, 
than one can get by seeing and hearing. 

The most agreeable way of getting informa- 
tion is by conversation. If you talk with a well- 
informed person, who can express clearly his 
ideas on any subject in which you are interested, 
you can ask questions, you can have explana- 

Copyright, 1890, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 




tions, you can go over the subject until you 
thoroughly understand it, and searching out in 
this way, in the mind of another, a thing which 
vou earnestly desire to know, you are more 
likely to remember it, and to profit by it. This is 
why a competent teacher is better than any text- 
book. Besides, talk inspires both the speaker and 
the listener — the one becomes more eager to 
know, and the other more eager to communi- 

Reading is a substitute for this sort of com- 
munication. You can not always meet the per- 
son who is familiar with the subject you are 
interested in : the man who has made the dis- 
coveries you wish to know about, the traveler 
who has seen the countries and the people con- 
cerning which you have or should have curi- 
osity. Therefore you are usually obliged to go 
to the books that the scholar and the discoverer 
and the traveler have written. It is always only 
a means of getting what you want to know. If 
you meet one of these persons, and have no 
curiosity, and do not give heed to what he says, 
and have no capacity to take what he has to 
give, you will gain little by the association. 
And it is exactly so about reading. It seems, 
therefore, that knowledge of words and how 
they are put together in language, or ability to 
say them like a graphophone, is of little use 
unless you know how to read and what to read. 
One should read exactly as he would listen to a 
talk, or as he would look at an object about 
which he is anxious to increase his knowledge. 
And as he listens and looks to gratify his curi- 
osity, he should read in the same spirit. The 
curiosity ought, of course, to be a clean and 
wholesome curiosity. It is just as unworthy of 
a decent boy to read what is silly or vulgar as it 
is to see and hear vulgar things. And it is not 
a good plan to read about things — that is, to take 
the testimony of others about things — that you 
can, with a little effort, find out for yourself. 
Get as much information as you can first hand, 
and use the book not to save labor, but to help 
your study of the matter in hand. Half the 
juvenile reading, books and stories — children's 
literature it is called — contains nothing that the 
intelligent child does not know or can not know 
by looking around and listening, and the read- 
ing of them not only is a waste of time and does 

not stimulate the mind, but it gives a namby- 
pamby tone. 

You should treat a book as you would a per- 
son with whom you are talking for information ; 
that is, question it, read it over and turn back 
and try to get at the meaning ; if the book itself 
does not answer the questions you raise, go to 
some other book, ask a dictionary or encyclope- 
dia for an explanation. And if a book treated 
in this way does not teach you anything or does 
not inspire you, it is of no more service to you 
than the conversation of a dull, ignorant person. 
I just used the word " inspire." You do not 
read all books for facts or for information merely, 
but to be inspired, to have your thoughts lifted 
up to noble ideas, to have your sympathies 
touched, your ambition awakened to do some 
worthy or great thing, to become a man or a 
woman of character and consideration in the 
world. You read the story of a fine action or a 
heroic character — the death of Socrates, or the 
voyage of Columbus, or the sacrifice of Nathan 
Hale, or such a poem as " The Lady of the 
Lake " — not for information only, but to create 
in you a higher ideal of life, and to give you sym- 
pathy with your fellows and with noble purposes. 
You can not begin too young to have these ideals 
and these purposes, and therefore the best liter- 
ature in all the world is the best for you to begin 
with. And you will find it the most interesting. 

Reading, then, is the easiest way of being en- 
tertained, and it is the most convenient way of 
getting into your mind what you want to know. 
I do not think it is very serviceable to make a 
list of books for children to read. No two have 
exactly the same aptitudes, tastes, or kinds of 
curiosity about the world. And one story or bit 
of information may excite the interest of a class 
in one school, or the children in one family, 
which will not take at all with others. The 
only thing is to take hold somewhere, and to 
begin to use the art of reading to find out 
about things as you use your eyes and ears. I 
knew a boy, a scrap of a lad, who almost needed 
a high chair to bring him up to the general level 
of the dining table, who liked to read the ency- 
clopedia. He was always hunting round in the 
big books of the encyclopedia — books about 
his own size — for what he wanted to know. 
He dug in it as another boy would dig in the 


l 73 

woods for sassafras root. It appeared that he 
was interested in natural history and natural 
phenomena. He asked questions of these 
books, exactly as he would ask a living author- 
ity, and kept at it till he got answers. He 
knew how to read. Soon that boy was an 
authority on earthquakes. He liked to have 
the conversation at table turn on earthquakes, 
for then he seemed to be the tallest person at 
the table. I suppose there was no earthquake 
anywhere of any importance but that he could 
tell where it occurred and what damage it did, 
how many houses it buried, and how many peo- 
ple it killed, and what shape it left the country it 
had shaken. From that he went on to try to dis- 
cover what caused these disturbances, and this 
led him into other investigations, and at last 
into the study of electncity, practical as well 
as theoretical. He examined machines and in- 
vented machines, and kept on reading, and 
presently he was an expert in electricity. He 
knew how to put in wires, and signals, and bells, 
and to do a number of practical and useful 
things, and almost before he was able to enter 
the high-school, he had a great deal of work 
to do in the city, and three or four men under 
him. These men under him had not read as 
much about electricity as he had. 

An active-minded boy or girl can find out a 
great deal about the world we live in by the 
h'abit of attention, by looking round ; and he or 
she can get much inspiration from the example 
of good men and women. But this knowledge 
can be added to indefinitely by reading, and 
people will read if they have a genuine desire to 
know things, and are not, as we say, " too lazy 
to live." When I hear a boy say that he does 
not know what to read, I wonder if he has no 

curiosity. Is there nothing that he wants to 
know about? Most children ask questions. 
It often happens that the persons they ask 
can not answer the questions. Now, it is the 
purpose of books to do just this thing which 
the particular person asked can not do. And 
that is about all there is in reading. Of course 
it must be borne in mind that curiosity is of 
many kinds : curiosity about facts, about emo- 
tions, about what happened long ago, about 
what is taking place now, about the people 
who lived ages ago, and the people who live 
now, about others, and about one's self. So it 
happens that one wants to read science, and 
poetry, and history, and biography, and ro- 
mances, and the daily news. 

It is quite impossible to lay down rules for 
reading that will suit all children, and generally 
difficult to map out a " course " to be inflexibly 
pursued by any one. But nearly every mind is 
or can be interested in something, and a very 
good plan is to encourage reading concerning 
the subject the child shows some curiosity about. 
One thing will certainly lead to another, for 
nothing is isolated in this world. Try to find 
out all you can about one thing, one fact in 
history, one person, the habits of one animal, 
the truth about one historical character; pur- 
sue this, and before you know it you will be a 
scholar in many things. 

Do not forget that reading is a means to an 
end. The indulgence of it is good or bad 
according to the end in view. The mind is 
benefited by pursuing some definite subject 
until it is understood, but it is apt to be im- 
paired by idly nibbling now and then, tasting a 
thousand things, and swallowing none, in short, 
by desultory reading. 


By Celia Thaxter. 

" Alas, alas, how the North wind grieves ! " 
Said the black-ash tall, " I am losing my 
leaves ! " 

And " Well-a-day," sighed the elm-tree old, 
" I stand in a rain of my falling gold ! " 

And " Oh," cried the maple overhead, 
'• On the dark ground rustles my robe of red ! " 

The birch-tree shook in a yellow shower, 
And glimmered more ghostly every hour ; 

While the silver poplar whispered loud 
As its shimmering leaves joined the flying 

A sound of mourning filled all the land, 
For the trees grew barer on either hand. 

But the little buds laughed on the twigs so 

That sprang from the branches up and down, 

As tucked in safe, and glad, and warm, 
Ready to weather the winter storm, 

They waited patiently and still 
Till the wild, cold wind should have worked 
its will, 

And blown the sad skies once more clear, 
And wakened from slumber the sweet New 

If you look, my child, at the tree-tops high, 
You '11 see them clustered against the sky, 

The little brown buds that rock and swing, 
Dreaming all winter of coming spring ! 

And if when April comes again, 

You watch through the veil of her balmy rain, 

You '11 see them pushing out leaves like wings, 
All crowned with the beauty that patience 
brings ! 



By J. 


(Begun in the November number. J 

Chapter IX. 


The blaze started close by where Tom had 
been reclining, and where he had left his gun — 
a little smoldering nest at first that might so 
easily have been extinguished. But even 
Bertha's attention had been so completely ab- 
sorbed by the boys' wrestling, that she was con- 
scious of nothing else until a little snake-like, 
rustling, fiery head darted up at her. 

Even then a dash of water might have suf- 
ficed to put it out. If there had only been a 
bucket on board ! — or even a hat ! There were 
both, within reach of the rake that Toby turned 
to clutch ; but before either of them could 
be recovered, and used, the whole cargo of 
well-dried hay would be overrun by the flames. 
They were spreading with frightful rapidity, 
fanned by the breeze, and flashing over the loose 
edges of the load. Both boys were quite beside 
themselves with terror, and deserved neither 
much praise nor much blame for what they did 
in that awful crisis. 

Tom obeyed a natural instinct, and caught his 
gun out of the flames, the first thing. Toby saw 
in despair the water of the lake all around, yet 
nothing to quench the fire with — nothing but 
his shoes. He caught up one, and began to dip 
and dash water with frantic energy ; at the same 
time calling to Bertha to jump down into the stern. 
He thought afterwards he might have quenched 
the blaze, if she had heard and heeded him. 

After her first wild scream she had not uttered 
a word. And all at once she had disappeared. 

" Bertha ! where are you ? " he called, in a 
voice that was not much more than a hoarse, 
inarticulate cry. 

He dropped the dripping shoe. He cared 
nothing more for the hay, nothing even for the 

" Where are you ? " He was regaining his 
voice. And now the faint answer came: 

" Here ! " 

Bertha had meant to do just as she was told ; 
for she felt that everything depended upon her 
brother and Toby. But she had not understood 
Toby's order. And she too, though perhaps the 
most self-possessed of the three, had obeyed in- 
stinct rather than reason ; and instead of slipping 
quickly down into the stern, and so getting past 
and behind the fire, while there was yet time, 
she had retreated before it, and was now at the 
other end of the boat, with the flames between 
her and the two boys. 

There was no longer any hope of saving any- 
thing. Tom, knowing that it was his matches 
that had done the mischief, quite lost his head. 
" What will become of us ? " he cried out in an 
agony of consternation, throwing first his gun 
overboard, then his dog, then jumping over 

We are excitable mortals, and few of us can 
depend upon keeping cool in a frightful emer- 
gency. But a generous person's impulses will 
nearly always be right, and it is a consolation 
after the event, to remember that one's foremost 
thought was not a selfish regard for his own 

When Tom went into the water, Toby went 
into the fire. At the height of the danger, his 
only thought was of Bertha. What he did as he 
scrambled after her, through the crawling edge 
of the flames, was so little a matter of calculation 
that he was no more aware of dragging an oar 
after him, than of scorching his clothes and 
burning his hands and feet. He had scarcely 
passed by, when the whole stack behind him 
burst into a pyramid of fire. 

He found Bertha clinging to the forward 
slope, on the swiftly narrowing verge between 
two deaths, the flames before and the water 
behind. If she remained where she was, she 




would be burned. If she let go, she would fall 
into the lake, and the boat would pass over her. 
Every child, every girl as well as every boy, 
should learn to swim. But this 
pleasant and useful ac- 
complishment Bertha 

leaped in after her. And the tower of fire swept 
by, casting on them its terrible glare. 

" Are you all right ? " he asked, swimming 
beside her, and seeing that she had both hands 
grasped tightly around the oar. 

She answered only by a look; fright and 

had never been the chill of the cold lake had taken away her 

allowed to 
She had 


" Don't try to keep your head too far out of 
water ; only just far enough to breathe," he 
said. " The boat is coming. You 're safe ! 
That 's all I care for." 

"But the scow! — and all that hay!" 
said Bertha. " O Tom ! why did 




given herself up for lost, when Toby went 
over to her. 

" Oh, Toby ! " was all she could gasp out, in 
the sudden hope of deliverance his appearance 

He pulled her to one side of the bow. 

" Hold this oar ! " He put the blade into her 
arms, which he made her clasp about it. " Hug 
it ! Don't let go, for your life ! Slide ! slide ! you 
sha'n't drown ! " 

And keeping hold of the handle, he launched 
her and the oar together into the lake, giving 
her a hard push away from the boat. Then he 

you ? " And her excitement broke forth in 
shivering sobs. 

Tom was within hearing. He had been 
swimming aimlessly about, uttering short, mad 
yells for help, Bozer swimming and yelping at 
his side ; a situation that would have been com- 
ical under less serious circumstances. At sight 
of Toby and Bertha, he struck out toward 

" T was n't my fault ! " he whimperingly de- 
clared. " I don't know how it happened ! I 'm 
so glad for you, Bertha ! I thought you were a 
goner ! " 



He seemed anxious to do something to assist. 
" That oar is n't the thing. Here 's a board." 
It was the thwart, which Toby had a faint 
recollection of having himself thrown over, that 
it might serve some such purpose as this. But 
Bertha would not accept it, nor loose her hold 
of the oar Toby had put into her grasp. 

Chapter X. 


And now rescue was at hand. The blazing 
hay had been observed by the boys on the 
shore, before they heard Tom's cries for help. 
Yellow Jacket sprang to his boat, and pushed 
it off, taking Lick Stevens into it with him ; and 
here they came, the yellow shirt with the sus- 


drew her into the boat, with only such assist- 
ance as Toby could lend. 

The village idler was a sort of hero in his 
way. A worthless member of industrious soci- 
ety, he was just the fellow for an occasion like 
this. He was an accomplished diver, who had 
already saved two boys from drowning, when 
they had the cramps in deep water; and his 
only regret now was that Bertha had not sunk 
at least once, so that he could have had the 
satisfaction of bringing her up from the lake 

Toby clung to the side of the boat and 
hoisted the dripping girl over the rail; then 
he climbed in himself. Tom followed. But Tom 
was reluctant to leave the spot. He was mourn- 
ing for his gun. 


penders crossed on the back conspicuous above 
the prow which was rushing high out of water. 
It was Yellow Jacket who rowed, and he 
rowed manfully. It was Yellow Jacket who 
guided the course of the boat, backed water 
with powerful arms as it approached Bertha and 
Toby, and, dropping his oars, seized hold of her 
before Lick Stevens could get a chance, and 

" I think we can see it, somewhere, as soon 
as the water gets still," he said, looking down 
into the lake. "And you can fetch it up in no 
time," he said to Yellow Jacket. " I '11 give 
you five dollars if you will." 

" Hang your five dollars, and your gun, and 
you too ! " said the hero, disdainfully. 

He had probably never earned so much 

i 7 8 



money, at a single job, in his life. But, what- 
ever his faults may have been, avarice was not 
one of them. 

" This girl is going home the first thing ! " 
and once more he clapped oars in rowlocks. 
"This boat" — he was always bragging of his 
leaky old skiff, and he could n't forbear even 
now — " this boat is worth her weight in Cali- 
forny gold! " 

Toby begged the privilege of rowing ; but 
no, Yellow Jacket must have the glory of the 
rescue all to himself. Toby, however, had taken 
in the oar that floated Bertha ; and the other, 
adrift with the hats and one of the rakes, he 
recovered when those were picked up. There 
was another set of rowlocks; and now there 
was another pair of pulling oars. 

The exercise was not only a relief to Toby's 
mind ; it was also a good thing for his body, 
after the drenching he had had while heated 
from his recent exertions. He now became 
aware that his hands had suffered from the fire. 
But he scarcely minded the pain of pulling the 

Bertha sat in the bow, behind Yellow Jacket, 
where he had placed her. He would have been 
jealous even of Tom's being near her, if he 
had n't regarded Tom also as one whose life 
he had saved. Lick Stevens was at the stern, 
facing Toby. 

" How in the name of gumption, boys," 
Lick called out, " did you manage to burn up 
your load of hay ? " 

Toby drew a long breath, with his oar stroke, 
but made no reply. Tom was hesitating as to 
his explanation, which, once made — he was 
now cool enough to reflect — must be adhered 
to afterward. 

" Did it with your cigarette, did n't ye, Tom?" 
said Lick. 

" No, I did n't. I did n't light my cigarette 
at all," Tom replied, in an agitated voice. 

'• Oh, Tom ' " Bertha remonstrated. " You 
know you were going to I " 

" What of that ? " said Tom. " 'T would n't 
have been any harm. I know how to light my 
cigarette, and take care of the fire. But Toby 
pitched into me, and knocked my matches out 
of my hand, — or something, — I don't know just 
what ; and first we knew, the hay was all afire ! " 

" That so, Toby ? " Lick asked. 

" Somehow so," Toby answered. ' : Though in 
one sense, not so at all. But he can have it 
that way, if he likes. I 'm willing to take my 
share of the blame." 

He uttered these short, detached sentences 
between the strokes of his oars, and refused to 
say more. Tom, however, continued to talk, lay- 
ing all the blame upon Toby ; interrupted only 
by occasional remonstrances from Bertha, such 
as, " Oh, Tom ! how can you ? " 

" No use talking ! " struck in Yellow Jacket. 
" I 've got you all safe. And what 's a little 
hay? — or an old scow like that?" 

Lick Stevens laughed. 

" What do you think was the first thing Bob 
Brunswick blurted out when we saw the fire ? " 

" Something about their boat, I suppose," said 

" Yes ! ' It 's our square-toed packet,' says he ; 
' won't Pa be mad ! ' " 

" It was Toby's doing, borrowing that," said 
Tom, who should have added that the borrow- 
ing had been done with his cordial approval. 

Toby was minded to say that ; but his heart 
sank within him, and he uttered no comment. 

In the excitement of saving Bertha he had 
cared little for the scow. But he remembered 
well that it had been lent to him personally 
and that he had accepted the responsibility. 
And he now perceived, with miserable forebod- 
ings, that the entire burden of blame was to fall 
upon his shoulders. 

" 'T was a magnificent sight, anyway ! " Lick 
Stevens declared, showing how much he had 
enjoyed it. " If it had only been in the night ! " 

Yellow Jacket's point of view was different. 

" I saved a life in the night once. And I 
did n't have a blazing load of hay for a candle, 
neither ! I jest had to grope. Dove three times, 
clawing about on the bottom like an absent- 
minded crab. But there wa! n't nothing very 
absent-minded about me ! I mos' gener'ly know 
what I 'm about, when I go saving lives. If I 
did n't, the census would be different by a figger 
or two ! " 

The scow was still floating with its freight of 
fire. But the flames no longer shot up into the 
air. The loose outside hay having been con- 
sumed, they gradually subsided, and the whole 

i8 9 i. 



became a smoldering and smoking heap, with a 
pulsing underglow, and little red tongues quiver- 
ing here and there through the blackened surface, 
and with a fringe of fire around the lower 
edges, where the boat had become ignited. 

Then Yellow Jacket had to tell how he would 
have saved the scow if he had not had more 
important business on hand. 

" I 'd have gone alongside, and with my bailer 
I 'd have kep' her sides wet, and finally have 

within thirty or forty feet jest where your rifle 
sunk. Even if I could find it, I 'd rather bring 
a dro wneded body to the surface any day. When 
I git holt of a drowneded body my fust lookout 
allers is that the drowneded body sha'n 't git holt 
of me. Then I — " 

But we may as well omit the thrilling details. 

'• I '11 sell you my rifle now," said Lick Stevens, 
" cheap. And it 's a better gun than yours ever 
was. To-day's shooting proves that." 


got water enough into her to sink her. She might 
'a' got scorched a little about the gills." 

"And so might you," said Tom. "You 
could n't have stood the heat. It was just 
awful before I went overboard ! " 

" What did you throw your gun away for ? " 
Lick asked. 

" To save it," said Tom. 

" You saved it with a vengeance ! " said Yellow 
Jacket. " You never '11 see it again. I 've had 
too much experience as a diver to give three 
cents for your chance." 

This opinion, from the lips of an expert, 
Tom found depressing. 

" You can get it, without half trying," he said. 
"Just remember where it went down." 

" I would n't take the contract," replied Yel- 
low Jacket, exaggerating in advance the difficul- 
ties of what he really meant to undertake. " It 's 
muddy bottom out there ; and you can't tell 

Tom was not consoled by this offer. He 
remained silent the rest of the way, rehearsing 
in his mind the account he should give of the 
accident on reaching home. 

Chapter XI. 


The end of the lane was near, and soon the 
boat struck gravel. In a moment Toby was at 
the bow, helping Bertha, and asking anxiously 
how she was. 

" I don't mind the drenching a bit," she cried 
cheerily, jumping ashore with the support of his 
hand. " Excitement has kept me warm." 

Yet in her clinging garments, and with her 
wet, heavy hair hanging down her back, she 
looked blue and pale, and very different from the 
radiant child he had so lately seen come whist- 
ling and dancing down to the shore ! She did not 

i So 



speak a word of blame, neither did she utter 
a word of praise or thanks for anything he 
had done. He would have been glad to see 
her home, notwithstanding his own drenched 
clothes, and his bare, blistered feet. But he 
dreaded to meet her father; and he felt that 
nothing he might say could compete with Tom's 
version of the adventure. 

Rumors of it had already reached the village. 
People were coming down to the shore to learn 
more about it, and to see the last of the burning 
boat. Toby had started for home, carrying the 
oars, which were all that he had saved from the 
scow, when, looking back from the beach, along 
which he was painfully picking his way, he saw 
Mr. Tazwell approach with long strides and 
meet Tom and Bertha. Bertha was hidden in 
the lane, by the fence; but Mr. Tazwell towered 
above it, bending eagerly forward, while Tom 
gesticulated and talked loud. Toby could hear 
Tom's voice, without understanding his words; 
and see him point now at the smoking scow, 
now at Yellow Jacket and Lick Stevens, and 
more than once at the wretched culprit, Toby 

For if not a culprit in his own eyes, he 
knew that he was, or would be, in the eyes of 
others. There was wrath and condemnation 
even in the stoop of Mr. TazwelPs shoulders, 
when he turned to look at Toby over the fence, 
as Tom pointed. 

" I shall get all the blame," he said to him- 
self, as he tramped on, avoiding as well as he 
could the neighbors who came down, across 
their back lots, to meet and question him. 

" Well ! You are a pretty looking object, I 
must say ! " was Mildred's sisterly greeting, the 
moment he entered the house. " Where have 
you been ? " she exclaimed, looking at him from 
head to feet. 

" I 've been in the lake, for one thing. 
Have n't you heard about it ? Almost every- 
body else has. Did n't you see the fire ! " 

" What fire ? " 

" What fire ! " echoed Toby, with a bitter 
laugh. " Well ! I 'm glad you did n't know what 
I was going through, just now. Mother!" he 
said in brave accents, but with a tremor of emo- 
tion, as Mrs. Trafford entered the room, " what 
do you think of your young hopeful ? " 

" Why, Tobias ! " she said in amazement, 
" what has happened ? Have you been in the 
water ? " 

"I'vebeen in the water — and I 've been in the 
fire — and I've been in one of the prettiest little 
scrapes, on the whole, that you ever heard of! 
Give me some salve to put on my burns, 
and I '11 tell you about it. Or, maybe I 'd 
better take off my wet clothes first." 

" Your burns, my son ! " exclaimed his mother, 
examining him with alarmed solicitude while 
Mildred ran for the salve. " Your hands ! — and 
your ankles ! Why, Tobias ! " 

" It 's nothing serious," said Toby. " Only 
a little smarting. How are my eyebrows ? I 
thought they got a singe. It was just the fool- 
ishest piece of business ever you heard of! 
There ! That makes them feel better ! " as Mrs. 
Trafford applied the salve. " Now I shall be 
all right. My clothes got it a little, I think." 

" No matter about the clothes, since they 
did n't take fire and burn you worse. Do tell 
me about it, my son ! I thought you went for 
the hay." 

" So I did, mother." Toby had seated him- 
self in a kitchen chair, to have his feet attended 
to, and was now in no hurry to change his 
clothes. " And we had a big boat-load of it — 
Mr. Brunswick's scow, which I borrowed. And 
I tell you, it was lucky you did n't go with us, 
Milly, as Bertha did ! I don't know what we 
should have done if there had been two girls ! " 

" Bertha ! — did anything happen to her? " 
cried Mildred. 

" She was on top of the load, and Tom and 
I were in the stern, where there was just room 
to turn about and manage the boat, when Tom 
— I don't know just how to tell it," said Toby, 
" for I don't want to say a word that is n't true, 
and we were all so excited — but I 'm sure about 
the main points. Tom undertook to light his 

" On the hay ? " said Mildred. 

" Right on the hay." 

" Oh, how foolish ! " groaned Mrs. Trafford. 

" Foolish is no word for it ; he was crazy," 
cried Toby, with growing excitement, " and I 
told him so." 

" So he set the hay afire ? " said his mother. 

"Well," said Toby, " I '11 tell you. I sup- 

i8 9 i.] 



pose I was partly to blame for that. Bertha 
was frightened, and as he would n't mind when 
I told him to put up his matches, but started to 
strike one, I tried to stop him. The first one 
got broken ; he will say that was my fault, and 
maybe it was. Then he got out another, and 
because I would n't let him light it, he under- 
•took to throw me into the lake. The fire broke 
out while we were having our squabble ; and 
that 's how it got such a start. Whether the 
end of his first match was lighted when it flew 
off, and dropped into the hay ; or whether his 
second match, or his whole bunch of matches, 
fell and got stepped on, I don't know, and I 
don't believe he does, or that anybody ever will 

" But I can't see that you were to blame 
at all, for trying to stop him," said Mildred, 
eagerly ; " and Bertha was on the load ! " 

" Yes ; and you can imagine the situation. 
Hay dry as tinder, all bursting into a blaze; just 
wind enough to fan it, and nothing to dip water 
with ! I had taken off my shoes and stockings, 
so I could step into the shallows, when we got 
the boat off. The shoes were in the stem, and 
I started to use one of them for a dipper, but the 
fire was spreading too fast. It was between us 
and Bertha ; she was driven over to the other 
end of the load by it. That 's the way I got 
scorched — going to her. I got her off into 
the water, with an oar — one of the big, clumsy 
oars that belonged to the scow — to keep her 
afloat. Then Yellow Jacket came in his boat 
with Lick Stevens, and picked us all up. And 
here I am," said Toby ; " not exactly as happy 
as a clam at high water, but happy enough, to 
think how much worse it might have been." 

" If Bertha had been burned or drowned ! — 
or you, my son ! " said the widow, with wet 
eyes, and in tremulous tones. 

" There was n't much danger, so far as I was 
concerned," replied Toby. " But it was a rather 
close squeak for her! It makes me feel old 
when I think of it." 

Suddenly he burst out laughing. 

" What do you think Tom did ? Threw his 
gun and dog in the lake, then jumped in after 
them, and let the pitchfork and one rake burn ! 
As if a water-dog like that would n't have taken 
care of himself, as soon as he saw his master 

go overboard ! But the gun will be a more 
serious matter, if he can't find it. And the 
scow," — Toby grew sober once more, — "that's 
the most I care for now." 

" Surely Mr. Tazwell can't refuse to make 
good the loss," remarked his mother. 

" One would say not. But there 's no know- 
ing what he '11 do or won't do. I must go on 
and speak to Mr. Brunswick about it, at 

" You can't go, my son, with those feet ! " 

" I can't go with anybody else's. The soles 
did n't get burnt ; only the ankle and instep of 
this one, and the other just a trifle. I need n't 
change my clothes; they are drying on me. 
Give me another pair of socks; and my low 
shoes, Milly, that 's a good girl ! I never will 
speak another cross word to her in my life ! " he 
said to himself, touched by her sympathy and 
devotion as she hastened to wait on him. 

If she had stopped to think of it, she would 
surely have made a similar resolution, — such a 
dear, good, generous brother as he was ! And 
yet how long was it, do you suppose, before the 
two were teasing and pestering each other again, 
as of old ? 

How easy it seems to turn over a new leaf! 
And yet how hard it sometimes is, with the 
breath of a bad habit always blowing it back! 

Chapter XII. 


Toby's mother insisted on his putting on dry 
clothes ; which done, he reclined on the kitchen 
lounge, with his feet up, while he put fresh 
salve on his burns, laid on cool linen, and drew 
a pair of loose socks over all. 

As he was thus engaged, the door-bell rang, 
and Mildred went to answer it. In their altered 
circumstances, since the failure, the Traffords 
had no servant, except on two days in the week, 
when Mrs. Patterson (mother of Yellow Jacket) 
came in for the heavy household work. 

The visitor was Mr. Frank Allerton, the 
schoolmaster, who inquired for Tobias. 

" Bring him in here," said Toby. " He won't 

11 In the kitchen !" said Mildred, blushing. 
" What are you thinking of? " 




" He has seen a kitchen before, and never a 
neater one, I warrant ! " replied Toby. 

" He will excuse everything, under the cir- 
cumstances ; it will be better than to keep him 
waiting," said the mother. 

So Mildred went to show the master in. He 
wore his blue frock coat, with a pink in the 
button-hole ; and he paused to pat the little 
coil of hair on the top of his head as he crossed 
the entry. 

" Well, Tobias, what 's this I hear ? " he 
said, bowing to Mrs. Trafford, and advancing 
to take the boy's hand, which, however, Toby 

" You will please excuse him from rising, and 
from shaking hands," said Mrs. Traftbrd. " I 
was just dressing his burns." 

" Burns ! " said the master. " I have n't heard 
anything about burns. I was told that you 
had been in the lake." 

" I made a mistake in not going into the lake 
first," replied Toby. " I went into the fire first ; 
and it was a very bad blunder. But the burns 
are nothing to speak of. It 's not the burn, 
but the salve," laughingly showing his anointed 
fingers, " that prevents my shaking hands." 

" This is my mother, Mr. Allerton," said 
Mildred, who had been waiting for Toby to 
make the introduction. 

" Oh yes ! I forgot ! " said Toby. 

" You always do forget," said Mildred, in an 
undertone, placing a chair for the visitor. 

Mrs. Trafford made no apology for receiving 
Mr. Allerton in the kitchen. Having already 
dressed the worst bums, she proceeded to ban- 
dage Toby's hands, which he declared did not 
need bandaging. He finally consented to have 
his right hand done up, provided she would 
leave his left hand free. That was the hand that 
had dragged the oar through the outer edge of 
the fire, and had suffered less than the other. 

Mr. Allerton took a seat by the lounge, and 
inquired how the hay took fire. 

" Have n't you heard ? " said Toby, anxious 
to know what sort of a story had got about. 

" I heard you boys were having your Fourth 
of July a little in advance," replied the master, 
smiling; " and that you, Tobias, lighted some fire- 
crackers on the boat-load of hay. How was it? " 

" Oh, Mr. Allerton ! " exclaimed Mildred, 

while Toby sat silent with astonishment, " do 
you think my brother would do such a silly 
thing as that ? " 

" With Bertha Tazwell on the load with 
them ? " added the mother. 

" I confess," said the master, " it did n't seem 
to me very probable. Another account I heard 
was that he was smoking a cigarette ; but I knew 
he did n't smoke. You see how the most recent 
events get twisted about in the telling — and 
how what we call history gets written ! " 

"And what do they say of Tom Tazwell ? " 
Toby asked, with a curious smile playing about 
his lips. 

" He was in the same boat with you, in both 
a figurative and a literal sense. The fire-crackers 
were some you two had taken out of the store; 
he furnished the matches, and you lighted 

" And what about Yellow Jacket ? " 

" The Patterson boy ? " said the master. " It 
seems he was the hero of the hour. He rowed to 
the spot at the critical moment, and caught the 
Tazwell girl by the hair just as she was sinking 
for the third time. He had already thrown off 
his coat and shoes in order to dive for her, when 
fortunately her curls floated to the surface." 

" Oh, what, whoppers ! " Mildred exclaimed, 
but immediately clapped her hand on her lips, 
blushing deeply. " I mean the stories that 
were told to you, Mr. Allerton." 

Toby made no comment. He was sitting 
with his head down, trying to put on a shoe 
without hurting his foot. 

" Let me," said his mother. 

" Let you what ? " he replied with a laugh, 
looking up suddenly. " I have n't been scorched. 
I have n't been in the water. There was n't 
any load of hay. It 's all make-believe, from 
first to last." 

" 1 saw the boat still afloat and smoking, as 
I came in," replied the master. " But I don't 
wonder, Tobias, that you should speak as you 
do. Was the Yellow Jacket episode all an in- 
vention, too ? " 

" No, and that 's the provoking part of it. 
There 's a little truth in everything you have 
said. Yellow Jacket was on the spot, and I 
have n't a word to say against his being the 
hero of the hour. But, facts are facts. There 


I8 3 

was never a life more easily saved than Bertha 

" After you had got her off the boat, out of the 
fire and into the water, with an oar to keep her 
afloat ! " Mildred struck in eagerly. 

" Never mind about that," said Toby. " She 
was afloat, like Tom and me ; and there was no 
immediate danger of anybody's drowning when 
Yellow Jacket came in his boat, with Aleck Ste- 
vens, and picked us all up. He behaved well ; 
nobody could have done better ; but as to the 
floating curls, just as she was sinking for the 
third time — that ! " snapping the fingers of his 
best hand, with a laugh. 

" Bertha has n't any curls, to begin with," 
said Mildred ; " she wears her hair in a wavy 
fleece on her neck." 

" As good as curls to catch hold of," said 
Toby, " provided there was any truth in the 
story. She did n't even get the top of her head 
wet, I let her off into the lake so easy-like ! " 

He went on to repeat his own account of the 
accident, as briefly and simply as possible. It 
did not occur to him to take any credit to 
himself for doing all in his power to avert 
a calamity which he had done something to 
bring on. 

" I ought not to have meddled with Tom and 
his matches in the way I did ; that 's a fact. 
If all I could say did no good, then I ought to 
have let him alone. And so I would have done, 
if it had n't been for Bertha's being aboard. I 
would have taken care of myself. But with his 
sister right there on the hay, I could n't help it. 
I had to interfere ! " 

Mr. Allerton looked earnestly at the boy, and 
gave two or three gentle nods, with a peculiar 
smile. Toby hoped he would say, " I don't see 
that you could have acted differently " ; but he 
remarked merely : 

" I am very glad to have heard your version 

of the affair, Tobias. And I think I know of 
one or two mothers who are thankful it was no 

He extended his hand to Mrs. Trafford as he 
rose to go. 

" I am thankful, indeed ! " said the widow in 
a quivering voice, and with suffused eyes. " I 
am thankful, too, and have been for a long 
while," she added, " for the interest you have 
taken in my son. He has needed such a coun- 
selor, and your talks with him have done him 

It was Mr. Allerton's turn to betray emotion 
in his tones. 

" What a man in my position has to say to 
boys is often regarded by them as an imperti- 
nence," he replied. " It is to your son's credit, 
rather than mine, if he has taken it in a different 

Toby had risen, too. " I am going out with 
you," he said. 

" Oh, Tobias, are you able ? " remonstrated 
his mother. 

" Of course ; it does n't hurt me at all to step," 
said Toby. " I must go over and tell Mr. 
Brunswick about his scow, the first thing." 

" I have no doubt he has heard of it," said 
the master, with a smile. 

" If he has heard of it a hundred times," Toby 
replied, " I should think I ought to go and tell 
him myself. Though I dread it!" 

" I '11 walk " along with you," said Mr. 

Encouraged by what Mrs. Trafford had said 
to him, — for he was a shy and diffident man, — 
he gave Mildred his hand at parting, and felt his 
heart warmed by the glistening, grateful look 
that beamed in her bright eyes. Then giving 
his little wad of hair a final, unconscious twist, 
he put on his hat in the entry, and went out 
with Toby. 

( To be continued. ) 



By Katherine S. Alcorn. 

As little Lizette was out walking one day, 
Attired with great splendor in festal array, 
She met little Gretchen, in sober-hued gown, 
With a basket of eggs, trudging off to the 

" Good-morning ! Good-morning ! " cried little 

" You have n't been over to visit me yet. 
Come over and live with me always ; pray do. 
For I have no sisters ; how many have 
you ? " 

" Nein," answered wee Gretchen. Lizette 
cried, " Ah, me ! 
I have to pretend I have sisters, you see. 

But try as I will, I can't make it seem true. 
And I have no brothers. How many have 
you ? " 

" Nein," answered wee Gretchen. " Nine ! " 

echoed Lizette, 
" Why, you are the luckiest girl I have met ! 

And have you a baby at home, tell me now ? " 
" Nein," answered wee Gretchen, and made a 

droll bow. 

Then lingered Lizette by the roadside that day, 

To watch the wee maiden go trudging away. 

" Nine brothers, nine sisters, nine babies to pet ! 

Oh, I wish I was Gretchen ! " sighed little 




By H. M. Nealk. 

Some of the boys and girls who read St. 
Nicholas may not understand just what an 
industrial school is ; please allow me to tell, in 
a general way, what it includes and how it dif- 
fers from other schools. 

Industrial education means one thing in 
Europe and quite another in America. In 
France, Germany, Russia, and some other 
European countries, children are taught in the 
public schools, not general knowledge, as with 
us, but just enough of arithmetic, geometry, 
drawing, and mechanics to fit them for the 
trade by which they expect to earn their living. 
For instance, when a boy enters school there, 
he is usually allowed a week or ten days to try 
his hand at each one of several trades which in- 
terest him, and is then expected to choose that 
for which he is best adapted, and upon choos- 
ing he becomes (we will say) a watchmaker for 
life. It is not really necessary that he should 
know anything about Latin or Greek, history, 
literature, or advanced mathematics, and so he 
is kept at those studies only which will help 
him to become a good watchmaker. Such 
training is called " industrial " because it edu- 
cates for an especial industry. 

In America, we believe that all boys and 
girls should have a certain amount of general 
knowledge quite independent of the occupa- 
tions they may intend to follow after graduation, 
and until within a few years, only such know- 
ledge has been taught in our schools. But wise 
men who have studied educational matters 
very carefully have come to the conclusion 
that Americans have paid too little attention 
to training the eye and hand : that children are 
taught to learn things from their books, but do 
not use their eyes to observe carefully ; and so, 
by and by, when they wish to work with their 
hands they are not well prepared to do so. 
They say, too, that young people ought to 
learn how to make things with their hands 
Vol. XVIII.— 18. ii 

and how to use tools, not chiefly because they 
may need to know these things in order to earn 
a living, but because drawing and constructing 
help them to acquire habits of accuracy, de- 
cision, and quick judgment, and because these 
studies teach such habits far better than any 
other branches. Others say that since a large 
proportion of the scholars who graduate from 
our schools must earn a living by working with 
their hands, the eye and hand should be trained 
to careful perception and skillful imitation ; and 
that just as the present literary system assists 
the boy who is to become a lawyer or a min- 
ister, or the girl who is to teach or to write, so 
manual training should be given to teach the 
use of tools and the properties of materials, 
which are essential to the understanding of all 

This training of the hand, or " manual train- 
ing," is included in the broad use that we 
Americans make of the term " industrial edu- 
cation " ; but it is also true that we speak of 
many schools as industrial, in which special in- 
dustries are taught to fit the scholars to gain 
a living, as in the large charitable schools of 
New York and other cities. 

In Brooklyn, New York, there was estab- 
lished, in 1887, a very large and complete in- 
dustrial school, the largest in this country and 
perhaps in the world, where manual training 
in all its numerous departments is very care- 
fully taught. 

The fine building, or series of buildings, the 
ample grounds, and all the splendid equipment 
of machinery and furnishings, as well as the 
means to carry on the courses of instruction, 
are given by Mr. Charles Pratt, of Brooklyn, 
a man of fortune, who wished to bestow some 
gift of lasting value on the city, and after care- 
ful consideration decided that a school of this 
kind was the most useful institution he could 
establish. The splendid success of its three 




years' work has fully proved the wisdom and 
the philanthropy of the generous founder. 
Beginning with less than twenty pupils (the 
school having capacity for several thousands), 
the present number at work in all the depart- 
ments is about twenty-two hundred, and fully two 
million dollars have already been expended. 

On a regular school-day, the building seems 
like a vast bee-hive of busy workers. If we 
were to attempt a visit to each one of the 
eighty-four rooms comprised in the nine de- 
partments, it would need a whole number of 
St. Nicholas to describe them all. We shall, 
therefore, look into those only which are of most 
interest to readers of this magazine. 

The only department which is entirely given 
up to boys and girls of high-school age, and 
therefore of chief interest to them, is the Manual 
Training School, called at Pratt Institute the 
Technical High School. We will visit this 
department first. Only young people of high- 
school age are admitted here, and the scholars 
are a bright-looking company of young people, 
I can assure you. 

Perhaps you will better understand the work 
done here, if you imagine that you have grad- 
uated from the grammar-school and wish to 
enter the Technical High School. Remember 
that you are not to fit yourself to be a car- 
penter or a blacksmith, or a cook or a dress- 
maker, but simply to learn how to use your 
eyes and hands as well as your brain, so that 
you can do anything well. 

The regular course includes such studies as 
algebra, geometry, trigonometry, rhetoric, Eng- 
lish literature, political science, physics and 
chemistry, French and Latin, for both boys and 
girls, very much the same as in an ordinary 
high school. But in addition to this, the boys 
have three periods each day for drawing and 
shop work, and the girls the same time for 
drawing and cooking, sewing, dress-making, 
wood-carving or modeling, the work varying 
with each term. 

Let us visit the large, airy room, containing 
forty-eight benches (though only half that num- 
ber of scholars is allowed to work at a time), 
where boys of the first year spend two periods 
of each day learning to work in wood. Each 
bench has a neat set of tools snugly put away 

in a little closed cupboard which stands on the 
bench. Each boy has his own and keeps it in 
good order. Suspended above the bench is a 
blue-print picture of the piece of work which is 
to be given for the day's lesson. From a large 
lumber-room on another floor, boards of suita- 
ble size have been brought, and as the boys come 
in, with faces full of interest in the work before 
them, they lay aside any superfluous articles of 
dress in neat lockers in the adjoining room. 
Each has been taught the use of hammer and 
plane, saw, chisel, and square, one at a time ; and 
now, with a few instructions from the teacher in 
charge, the scholar knows just how to goto work. 
Perhaps it is a joint or a sash that is given him. 
He works carefully, frequently consulting his 
blue-print model. The result of his work is 
not a matter of indifference, by any means. 
Thirty patterns of different pieces must be 
made, and accepted by the instructor, before the 
boy can pass from this room to the next ; and 
as much depends on his faithfulness in this part 
of his duty as in the geometry or chemistry class. 

Next term, all who have successfully com- 
pleted this work will go on to the wood-turning 
room, where there are forty-eight benches and 
wood-turning lathes, besides circular and scroll 
saws, a buzz-planer and various other machines 
necessary to a full understanding of the art of 
wood-turning. Such neat little rings, cylinders, 
and cups as are turned out here; and after 
regular hours, you often may see the boys at 
work by themselves, busily making some pretty 
cabinet, book-rack, or even a set of doll's furni- 
ture for the little sister, thus pleasantly applying 
the principles learned in class. 

The study of pattern-making, during the last 
term of the first year, naturally precedes the 
foundry-work which follows at the beginning 
of the second year. There is a fine large foun- 
dry in the basement sixty-six feet long and 
twenty-nine feet wide. The ceiling is eighteen 
feet high, and there are twelve big skylights. 
The equipment of this room includes an iron- 
melting cupola-furnace, two brass-furnaces, and 
a white-metal gas-furnace. The boys have 
delightful times down there, learning to mold 
and cast their patterns in iron. 

The smith shop, where forging is studied dur- 
ing the rest of the school year, is one of the 

9 i.] 


I8 7 

most interesting in the whole building. This is 
even a little larger than the foundry and has 
ventilating skylights, and all the appliances for 
smiths' work. Each student has his own forge 
and anvil, — there are twenty-five of them, — 
and just now the forges are glowing with bright 
heat, for the boys are taking their first lesson in 
welding. The air is as clear as it is in the street. 
There is no smoke nor dust, for both are carried 
away by pipes laid under the floor and an ex- 


haust-fan. The instructor has no occasion to 
reprove his pupils for inattention in this room. 
Time is much too precious to waste. You have 
all heard the old maxim, " Strike while the iron 
is hot," but unless you have worked at a forge, 
you do not realize its full meaning. When the 
iron that is being heated has reached a certain 
temperature it must be taken quickly to the an- 
vil and there hammered into the desired shape. 

It may be reheated if necessary, but the striking 
must be done just when the metal is ready for it, 
else the whole work is spoiled and a new piece 
must be obtained. Each boy makes his own fire 
and has to learn how to keep it at the right tem- 
perature for the work in hand. His little shovel 
must take up just enough coal to supply the 
right amount of heat, but not enough to smother 
the fire. Among other good things acquired 
here, the pupils learn the nature and values of 
different sorts of fuel. Hardening and temper- 
ing of iron and steel, soldering, and brazing, are 
other useful arts taught in the second year. In 
one part of the room each student has a drawer 
marked with his own number, and from these we 
are shown bolts, screws, parts of chains, and 
various other fine pieces of ironwork from the 
forges of these young smiths. 

For the last year is reserved the more difficult 
bench-work in metal-turning and boring, screw- 
cutting, the study of the construction of the 
turning-lathe and other machinery, including the 
steam-engine, with practice in the engine-room. 
Strength and utility of materials, machine de- 
sign, principles and construction of the tele- 
graph, telephone, dynamo, call-bells, etc., also 
belong in the last year, together with the higher 
English branches and theoretical studies already 

Every boy connected with the institute be- 
comes interested in the engine-room. It is as 
clean and well-kept as the handsomest parlor, 
and is the home of a splendid 40 horse-power 
Harris-Corliss engine which furnishes power for 
all the machinery in the building. Here also is 
a high-speed engine which drives an Edison dy- 
namo, and supplies about two thousand incan- 
descent electric lights. An 800-light dynamo 
furnishes arc-lights for the shops and trade- 
school. In the room adjoining are two huge, 
black boilers, each of 100 horse-power. The fur- 
naces are fed with oil, once refined, and furnish 
heat for all the buildings as well as power for the 
engines, elevators, electric lights, etc. The oil is 
brought into the basement in pipes, and as one 
looks into the mouth of the furnace it is seen 
shooting out in a stream of liquid which at once 
becomes gas and ignites, making a hollow, 
cavernous, roaring mass of pure red and blue 
flame suggestive of explosives and general de- 



[J AN. 


struction. But so carefully is each day's supply 
of oil inspected that no possible danger attaches 
to this method of heating. In one week five 
thousand gallons of oil were used. 

From the first floor of the main building, the 
elevator takes us on a flying trip up to the sixth 
floor, where the cooking-classes are at work, and 
where the girls of the Technical High School 
are having their lessons in manual training, 
though a large number of pupils join these 
classes who are not connected with the work of 
this department. If you wish to take the full 
course in cooking, you will learn also the man- 
agement of fires ; how to keep in order the 
kitchen, with its big range, cooking-tables and 
sinks ; how to select meat and vegetables from 
the market ; as well as the preparation of every 
article of food, from bread to beefsteak in the 
first course, to distracting desserts and salads 
in the second course. Four " housekeepers " 
are appointed to share the work of preparation, 
and each member of the class performs this 
duty in the course of the term. Here, for ex- 
ample, is a list of the tasks required from House- 

keepers Numbers One and Two, and all the 
white-fingered young women whom you see at 
work at the neat tables have performed them : 

Housekeeper No. i. 

First Lesson. 

Get kindlings and coal. 

Build the fire. 

Regulate the dampers. 

Empty ashes into sifter. 

Brush stove, under and around it. 

Blacken stove. 

Fill tea-kettle with fresh water. 

Wash hearth or zinc under stove. 

Wash cloth and put to dry. 

Sift ashes. 

Bring cinders to kitchen. 

Regular Work. 

Regulate the fire. 

Brush under and around the stove. 
Replenish the tea-kettle. 
Wash dishes. 
Wash sink with hot suds. 
Empty tea-kettle and turn it over to dry. 
Arrange the fire to last several hours, or let it go out, 
as required. 



Housekeeper No. 2. 

Dust the room thoroughly. 

Begin at one corner and take each article in turn as 

you come to it. 
Dust from the highest things to the lowest, taking up 

the dust in the cloth, not brushing it on the floor. 
Shake the duster occasionally in a suitable place, and 

when done, wash and hang it up to dry. 

When sweeping is to be done, these direc- 
tions are given : 

Begin at one side and sweep toward one place. 

Hold the broom close to the floor ; sweep with short 

strokes, and let the broom take the dust along the 

floor, instead of tossing it into the air. 

Regular Work. 

Bring stores to teacher and pupils when directed. 

Scrub teacher's table. 

Collect soiled dishes from tables and take them to the 

Put clean dishes in their places. 

The floor is spotlessly clean, the little gas- 
stoves, at each division of the long tables where 
the young cooks prepare their viands, are in 
perfect order. Each drawer contains its proper 
allowance of spoons, knives, measuring-cups, 
graters, egg-beaters, etc., etc., and is as fresh 
and sweet as it can be made. The big range 
smiles with black good-humor across the room 
to the polished glass doors of the buffet where 
a pretty china table-service is displayed. 

The trying times for the young housekeepers, 
after the six months' course is completed, are 
the examination, and the " test dinner " which 
each student must satisfactorily prepare before 
receiving her certificate. For the test dinner 
she receives a plain bill of fare, consisting of 
soup, fish, roast, vegetables, dessert, and coffee, 
each article being specified in kind, and this she 
is to serve nicely in courses to a little company 
of guests which always includes some of her 
instructors. Official guests are often requested 
to mark their estimates of the various dishes 
presented. For instance, a well-flavored, appe- 
tizing soup may be marked 100; the fish or 
roast, lacking in some respects in cooking or 
service, receives 90 ; the vegetables, being just 
about right, 98. Perhaps a slow fire has spoiled 
the " bake " of a fourth dish, and 60 is the high- 
est mark allowed by one just diner; while an- 
other, compassionating the anxiety of the young 

hostess, lets mercy run away with his judgment 
and puts down an 80 for the unfortunate dish. 
But in general the favored guests speak in the 
highest terms of the choice cooking and dainty 
methodical service of the pupils in the Pratt In- 
stitute cooking-classes. An additional course 
in fancy cooking, and another in the selection, 
preparation, and serving of food for invalids, are 
offered, and hundreds of Brooklyn young women 
are being trained in one of the most useful of all 
housewifely arts and fitting themselves to help 
their mothers now, and to superintend homes of 
their own by and by. There are also evening 
classes where those who are employed in any 
way through the day are admitted at lower rates 
of tuition. 

Occasionally, a man comes over from Fulton 
Market bringing a mysterious-looking, odd- 
shaped bundle, and various knives and saws. 
Perhaps the bundle contains a quarter of beef, 
or a side of mutton, which the man cuts up in 
the presence of the class, explaining carefully 
where are the best pieces for roasts, soups, and 
stews. He teaches the pupils how to tell 
whether the meat is in good condition. Hang- 
ing on the wall is a large colored drawing of a 
cow marked off in portions for cooking, and on 
the following day each scholar is expected to 
tell how she would go marketing and select a 
first-class dinner. 

Down on the third floor, dozens of shining 
needles are at work in the sewing, dress-making, 
or embroidery rooms. A most interesting place 
just now is the room devoted to art embroidery, 
for the young lady at the head of this depart- 
ment went to Europe last summer and brought 
home some fascinating specimens of designs from 
South Kensington and other art centers of the Old 
World, besides various cunning devices in Ger- 
man tapestry and ecclesiastical stitches on which 
the young students are now pleasantly at work. 
Here is a class of the first term, making pretty 
drawn-work ; another learning damask and 
tapestry stitches, or tapestry-staining and ap- 
plique. Four approved pieces of work and a 
sampler similar to that which your grandmother 
made when she was a little girl, must be completed 
and exhibited before leaving this room. There 
is a second and very interesting course which 
occupies five mornings in each week for the en- 




tire school year, and includes the study and 
arrangement of materials and colors, lessons in 
drawing ornaments from the cast, and the study 
of plants for use in making designs; all of which 
are carefully taught and much enjoyed. 

But no young lady can enter the embroidery 
classes or the dress-making rooms, who has not 
first passed a thorough examination in all forms 
of plain sewing, and these she may learn, if she 
has not been taught them at home, in the pleas- 
ant sewing-room on the same floor. Such fine 

from patterns is taught ; in the second, taking 
measures and fitting dresses ; while in the third 
or advanced course, all the more difficult work, 
such as fitting polonaises, tea-gowns, children's 
clothing, and outside garments, is studied. 
Perhaps one day the lesson is about sleeves. 
Around the room are models of all the most 
elaborate designs, as well as the plainer kinds. 
The teacher gives a lecture on sleeves at the 
beginning, and each scholar has her own little 
table, supplied with measures and sewing ma- 


specimens of work as are exhibited here ! — such 
hemming and felling, such gathering and darn- 
ing, button-holing and hemstitching, and such 
excellent sewing-machine work as well. For 
there are several kinds of sewing-machines, so 
that one may select her favorite and learn its 

In the dress-making rooms, which are light 
and airy, and supplied with everything needed, 
from dummies to dusters, girl students are busily 
at work learning how to cut, fit, and drape their 
own dresses, and also how to make children's 
clothes. On an exhibition day at the end of 
the year, that long line of dummies wears each 
a pretty, stylish costume, the work of the students. 
In the first course, cutting and making dresses 

terials, where she prepares her sleeves. The 
teacher goes about to inspect the work, and to 
make corrections. There is a best way of doing 
every thing with the needle, and a great many 
of the best ways are taught here. Besides being 
taught how to make and fit garments, the girls 
hear lectures about the most healthful ways of 
dressing, and are advised how to select goods 
and combine colors to make a tasteful costume. 
" Every girl her own milliner " must be the 
motto in the next room of the Domestic Science 
Department, where a score of girls are learning 
to cover hat-frames, or to bind and face all 
kinds of hats and bonnets. All the work here is 
done in Canton flannel, which is soft and easily 
worked, but so inexpensive that it does not mat- 

i8 9 i.; 


I 9 I 

ter so much if one does make a mistake in the 
first day's lesson. In the second course, pretty 
bonnets and toques are made, still in the plain 
material, while the velvets and laces, feathers and 
flowers and ribbons are reserved for the third 
course, and all the pretty ideas are made use of 
in a handsome head-covering of the most ap- 
proved style and finish. 

Where do you think those artistic models 
come from ? Not from any Fifth Avenue mil- 
liner, but from the public schools of Paris where 
the little daughters of the poor are taught to de- 
sign beautiful work, and are so carefully trained 
in the combination of colors and selection of 
materials that our most tasteful milliners eagerly 
seek their hats and bonnets for patterns. All of 
the St. Nicholas readers in the United States 
must have noticed the unusual beauty of the dolls 
offered for sale last Christmas, and especially 
their beautiful toilets, so charming in color, and 
of so many different designs. Many, indeed 
nearly all, of these are the work of Paris school- 
girls, who may not know so much of history, 
physiology, algebra, or arithmetic as you do, but 
who have learned very thoroughly these lessons 
in which they have been taught to use their fin- 
gers on dainty silks and laces. A case of these 
artistic hats and bonnets in the millinery room 
of Pratt Institute furnishes models for the busy 
students, and when their work is exhibited at 
the end of the school-year, it is always very 
much admired. 

It would seem that a girl could learn very 
nearly everything that she would ever need to 
know for herself and her home in the Domestic 
Science Department; for besides all that has 
been described to you, about fifty young ladies 
during the past year have been learning how 
to give aid in such emergencies as poisoning, 
sunstroke, drowning, and accidents of all sorts, 
and also how to care for sick people, apply 
bandages, make poultices, keep the sick-room 
clean and well-aired without disturbing the 
patient, and how to prepare nice gruels and 
toasts and dainty dishes that invalids enjoy. 
The head-nurse of the Seney hospital comes 
over to teach the young nurses how to make 
beds for invalids and how to give them all 
possible comforts. 

And one more branch of instruction must be 

described to you. It has been opened recently, 
but promises to be very popular. What do you 
think of a course of lessons in which the pupils 
learn how best to ventilate and heat a house, 
and to take care of the cellar, garden, and side- 
walks, how to keep sleeping-rooms, store-room, 
attic, and linen-closet in order, and how to ar- 
range the work of a house for the week so that 
the sweeping, dusting, and general cleaning 
need not interfere with the comfort of the family, 
or be crowded together and interfere with the 
comfort of the mistress ? — And more than that, 
how to keep your household accounts, manage 
servants, and how to entertain guests and at- 
tend to the social duties of a home. 

There are two large rooms occupying the 
entire fifth floor of the main building, where all 
boys who like to see curious and instructive 
articles, and all girls who enjoy works of art and 
beauty, will wish to spend a long time. The 
ushers whose business it is to show people over 
the building will tell you that of all the ten 
thousand visitors during the past year, the 
greater part spent more than one-half of the 
time allowed for seeing the entire series of build- 
ings in this, the Technical Museum. Its object 
is " to illustrate, by means of specimens properly 
classified and labeled, the consecutive stages 
through which materials of different kinds pass 
in their transition from the crude to the finished 
article." A full illustration of the method is seen 
in the case devoted to iron, where fine speci- 
mens of iron ore are shown ; and, following on 
in regular order, pig-iron, with a small model 
showing how it is made ; then the three forms, 
cast-iron, wrought-iron, and steel, with hand- 
some specimens of articles made from each 
of these. Any one who examines this case care- 
fully, learns a useful and lasting lesson in the 
manufacture of iron and steel. 

Another interesting corner of the museum, 
and one where visitors like to linger, is that 
where glass, pottery, and porcelain are displayed 
in large cases. A learned professor spent several 
months in selecting and purchasing the choicest 
specimens of these articles that he could find in 
England, France, Austria, Germany, Holland, 
and Belgium; and the result is very fascinating. 
If you take time to study the cases, instead 
of simply admiring the pretty things that they 




contain, you will have another valuable lesson 
— a lesson in ceramics. For here is the clay or 
kaolin of which all these beautiful jars and vases 
are made, just as it is taken from the earth ; 
and then all the common forms of pottery in 
process of manufacture. Here are beautiful 

machinery complete, which is sometimes run- 
ning at full speed, the motive power being fur- 
nished by a tiny engine ; or of the beautiful 
forms of crystals, the hundreds of mineral speci- 
mens, the collections of textile fabrics, of laces 
and embroideries, and many other curious and 


Moorish jars whose pattern and coloring re- 
mind you of the Alhambra and of Washington 
Irving's stories about the Moors in Spain. Here 
are exquisite Sevres, and splendid specimens 
of Doulton, Wedgwood, Copeland, and Minton 
wares, with fine pieces of faience from Rome, 
Milan, and Naples. Some choice pieces are 
made in New Jersey. One large case illustrates 
the process of glass-making and shows beautiful 
pieces of cut, blown, etched, and engraved work. 
Some of these pieces are from Austria and Bo- 
hemia, some from France and Venice. Hand- 
some mosaic work from Rome and Florence, 
and some exquisite cameo vases, attract our at- 
tention as we hasten by. 

I have not space to tell you about the inter- 
esting model of an oil-well with derrick and 

wonderful things which have been selected by 
experienced men and women from many por- 
tions of the world. There are a great many 
museums in this country that are larger than 
this, but not many so thoroughly interesting 
and instructive, and the young people who are 
pupils in the Institute often come here to see 
practical illustrations of the processes they are 

The Art Department occupies one entire 
floor and several rooms besides and is one of the 
most important features of the Institute. Much 
of its work is like that of any art school, and 
therefore it is not necessary to describe it. In the 
clay-room, seated on high stools, students are 
industriously working out designs in moist clay, 
while across the hall beautiful picture-frames, 


panels, or cabinets of wood are being carved in 
lovely patterns. Some of the young lady wood- 
carvers have taken a course in shop-work and 
have first made the frames or cabinets on which 
they are carving vines and leaves and conven- 
tional patterns. Here, as in other art schools, 
designing for carpets, wall-papers, and prints is 
taught, and there is a Normal art class where 
teachers are fitted for their work. 

Nearly every student in the building comes 
to the art rooms at some period of the course. 
The young milliners and dressmakers learn to 
draw models of the hats, bonnets, and dresses 
which they are to make. The carpenters and 
smiths draw their designs for working patterns. 
Girls from the Manual Training Department, and 
boys as well, have regular weekly lessons in art. 


wood and metal working rooms, the foundry, 
forge-shop, engine-room, and the laboratories 
and lecture-rooms, there is a series of large 
rooms devoted to the building trades, such as 
bricklaying, plumbing, carpentry, plastering, 
modeling, and stonecutting. These classes are 
only for those who wish to become bricklayers, 
plasterers, stonecutters, and so on, and have no 
connection whatever with the other work of the 

If we visit this long room (for from the vis- 
itors' gallery we can see all these rooms at once), 
we must come in the evening as there are no 
day classes. Here is a long line of young men, 
twenty or thirty perhaps, steadily working with 
lead pipe and little furnaces, getting ready to 
repair water-pipes that may burst next winter. 


The institute buildings 
extend through the width 
of a block ; and passing 
from the main building 
by a " bridge," as it is called, in which the sounds 
of twenty-five busy type-writers announce the 
school of phonography and type-writing which 
is located here, we come to the department 
of mechanic arts, a portion of which has al- 
ready been described to you. Besides the 

In the next room, piles of brick 
and mortar are rising in the air, 
and an instructor walks around 
giving directions about hand- 
ling the trowel and applying 
mortar, building flues and fireplaces, mak- 
ing walls and piers. Another teacher superin- 
tends the plasterers, most of whom are young 
men, while in the farther room a class is engaged 
in molding wet clay into the shapes of grim grif- 
fins or fierce dragons, or some other ornamental 

i 9 4 



figures which the same young workers will soon 
be taught to carve skillfully in stone for archi- 
tectural use. 

The first floor and the basement of the main 
building yet remain to be visited. On a bright 
afternoon, just after the schools of the city have 
closed for the day, you will meet many little 
companies of boys and girls crowding into the 
free library, which is at the right as one enters. 
Here are about thirty thousand books, all 
selected within three years, and containing the 
best reading and newest information that could 
be found. This library is entirely free to any 
resident of Brooklyn, fourteen years of age or 
over. Special type-written lists of books for 
young people are placed on the tables, and all 
the bright young women behind the desk are 
willing to help boys and girls in selecting good 
books. You will readily guess the name of the 
book for young people that has been most fre- 
quently taken from the library the past year. 
It was written by an author who contributed a 
great many stories to St. Nicholas, and the 
book is, of course, " Little Women." 

Many boys and girls who come for library 
books like to linger in the reading-room across 
the hall, where there are nearly two hundred 
periodicals including all the best papers and 
magazines for young people. In the evening, 
the room is brilliantly lighted by electricity, and 
the globes hang so low over the pretty oak 
tables, that reading is quite easy and pleasant. 

Down in the basement is a large lunch-room 
with neat, prettily-furnished tables where teachers 
and scholars and people from outside, if they 
wish, can get wholesome, well-served luncheons 
at moderate prices. And across the hall from 
the lunch-room is the office of a new depart- 
ment which might have been founded by Ben- 
jamin Franklin himself. Its object is to induce 
people, and especially young people, to save 
their money and put some aside regularly. The 
name of this association is The Thrift, and 
each investor is required to put in the same 
sum, whether it be large or small, each month 
for ten years. At the end of that time, the 
principal and a liberal rate of interest, besides a 
premium of ten dollars per share, will be paid 
back to the investor, making a handsome sum 
for a small investment. Suppose, for example, 

that you put in the smallest sum that is taken, 
that is one doliar each month, which you may 
do by saving four cents each working-day. You 
are then the possessor of one share. If you 
keep on investing one dollar each month for ten 
years, at the end of that time you are entitled 
to $160, which includes principal, interest, and 
premium. Two shares at two dollars each 
month amount with premium, at the end of ten 
years, to $320; four shares, four dollars each 
month, to $640 ; twenty shares, twenty dollars 
a month, to $3200. Any one may invest, 
whether connected with the Institute or not. 
If only one share is taken by a boy or girl, and 
kept up the whole ten years, a very neat little 
sum is realized, quite enough to help toward a 
year's expenses at college or scientific school, or 
a trip to California or Europe. Of more con- 
sequence than the money gained is the founda- 
tion for habits of thrift and perseverance which 
is laid by the regular setting aside of a certain 
amount. The young people of Pratt Institute, 
as well as the older ones, are becoming much 
interested in this new plan, and are taking shares 
with great pride in their ability to save money. 
The money is lent, on favorable terms, to 
people who wish to buy homes and have not 
the means to pay for them all at once. By 
borrowing the needed amount from The 
Thrift, and repaying each month a sum not 
much larger than the rent would be, they are 
able, after some years, to own free from debt 
the house they live in. 

In passing through the building from room to 
room, we notice everywhere on the walls fine pic- 
tures, photographs, etchings, or engravings. The 
stairways are lined with illustrations of ancient 
and modern art. In the broad window-seats 
there are beautiful palms or other foliage plants, 
or flowers in bloom. In the hallway of the 
Mechanic Arts building, there are three large 
camelia trees, which were in full bloom at the 
time of my visit. In the evening, hundreds of 
electric lights make the rooms bright as a mid- 
summer day. All the furnishings are new, and 
excellent of their kind. An elevator takes vis- 
itors from the main entrance hall to any story of 
the building. A number of ushers are always 
in waiting to escort visitors about the buildings 
and explain to them the different objects of 



interest. Over ten thousand people have visited ant times, you have only to visit them during 

the Institute during the past year. recreation hours. 

Across the street from the Institute build- As the Institute has been established only 

ings, a large plot of ground, 350 feet long and about three years, it is not yet in the height 


200 feet wide, 
is a playground 
for the young wom- 
en. A noble willow-tree 
stands in one corner, and 
in the other, in winter time, 
there is a toboggan slide. Numer- 
ous tennis-courts are laid out on the space 
between. In the rear of the Institute build- 
ings there are, for the boys, grounds very nearly 
as ample, fronting on Grand Avenue. And 
if you doubt whether the pupils have pleas- 


of its power 
and influence ; 
but classes are 
constantly increas- 
ing, and everything 
that can add to its use- 
fulness is provided by the 
generous founder. The students are taught to be 
persevering, honest, faithful, and ambitious, and 
with its excellent principles and splendid equip- 
ment, Pratt Institute cannot fail to become one 
of the best educational institutions of our day. 


By Noah Brooks. 

Chapter VI. 


The following two or three days were wet 
and uncomfortable. Rain fell in torrents at 
times, and when it did not rain, the ground 
was steamy, and the emigrants had a hard time 
to find spots dry enough on which to make up 
their beds at night. This was no holiday jour- 
ney, and the boys, too proud to murmur, ex- 
changed significant nods and winks when they 
found themselves overtaken by the discom- 
forts of camping and traveling in the storm. 
For the most part, they kept in camp during the 
heaviest of the rain. They found that the yokes 
of the oxen chafed the poor animals' necks 
when wet. 

And then the mud ! Nobody had ever seen 
such mud, they thought, not even on the black 
and greasy fat lands of an Illinois prairie. Some- 
times the wagon sunk in the road, cut up by 
innumerable teams, so that the hubs of the 
wheels were almost even with the surface, and 
it was with the greatest difficulty that their four 
yoke of oxen dragged the wagon from its oozy 
bed. At times, too, they were obliged to un- 
hitch their oxen and help out of a mud-hole 
some other less fortunate brother wayfarer, 
whose team was not so powerful as their own. 

One unlucky day, fording a narrow creek 
with steep banks, they had safely got across, 
when they encountered a slippery incline up 
which the oxen could not climb ; it was " as 
slippery as a glare of ice," Charlie said, and 
the struggling cattle sank nearly to their knees 
in their frantic efforts to reach the top of the 
bank. The wagon had been " blocked up," that 
is to say, the wagon-box raised in its frame or 
bed above the axles, with blocks driven un- 
derneath, to lift it above the level of the stream. 
As the vehicle was dragged out of the creek, the 
leading yoke of cattle struggling up the bank 

and then slipping back again, the whole team 
of oxen suddenly became panic-stricken, as it 
were, and rushed back to the creek in wild 
confusion. The wagon twisted upon itself, 
and cramped together, creaked, groaned, top- 
pled, and fell over in a heap, its contents being 
shot out before and behind into the mud and 

" Great Scott ! " yelled Sandy. " Let me 
stop those cattle ! " Whereupon the boy dashed 
through the water, and, running around the 
hinder end of the wagon, he attempted to head 
off the cattle. But the animals, haying gone 
as far as they could without breaking their 
chains or the wagon-tongue, which fortunately 
held, stood sullenly by the side of the wreck 
they had made, panting with their exertions. 

" Here is a mess ! " said his father, but, with- 
out more words, he unhitched the oxen and 
drove them up the bank. The rest of the 
party hastily picked up the articles that were 
drifting about, or were lodged in the mud of 
the creek. It was a sorry sight, and the boys 
forgot, in the excitement of the moment, the 
discomforts and annoyances of their previous 
experiences. This was a real misfortune. 

But while Oscar and Sandy were excitedly 
discussing what was next to be done, Mr. 
Howell took charge of things; the wagon was 
righted, and a party of emigrants, camped in 
a grove of cottonwoods just above the ford, 
came down with ready offers of help. Eight 
yoke of cattle instead of four were now hitched 
to the wagon, and, to use the expressive lan- 
guage of the West, the outfit was " snaked " 
out of the hole in double-quick time. 

" Ho, ho, ho ! Uncle Charlie," laughed 
Sandy, " you look as if you had been dragged 
through a slough. You are just painted with 
mud from top to toe. Well, I never did see 
such a looking scarecrow ! " 

" It 's lucky you have n't any looking-glass 


i8 9 i.] 



here, young Impudence. If you could see 
your mother's boy now, you would n't know 
him. Talk about looks ! Take a look at the 
youngster, mates," said Uncle Charlie, burst- 
ing into a laugh. A general roar followed the 
look, for Sandy's appearance was indescribable. 
In his wild rush through the waters of the 
creek, he had covered himself from head to 
foot, and the mud from the wagon had painted 
his face a brilliant brown ; for there is more or 
less of red oxide of iron in the mud of Kansas 

It was a doleful party that pitched its tent 
that night on the banks of Soldier Creek and 
attempted to dry clothes and provisions by the 
feeble heat of a little sheet-iron stove. Only 
Sandy, the irrepressible and unconquerable 
Sandy, preserved his good temper through the 
trying experience. " It is a part of the 
play," he said, " and anybody who thinks 
that crossing the prairie, 'as of old the pilgrims 
crossed the sea,' is a Sunday-school picnic, 
might better try it with the Dixon emigrants ; 
that 's all." 

But, after a very moist and disagreeable 
night, the sky cleared in the morning. Oscar 
was out early, looking at the sky; and when 
he shouted " Westward ho ! " with a stentorian 
voice, everybody came tumbling out to see 
what was the matter. A long line of white- 
topped wagons with four yoke of oxen to each, 
eleven teams all told, was stringing its way 
along the muddy road in which the red sun 
was reflected in pools of red liquid mud. The 
wagons were overflowing with small children ; 
coops of fowls swung from behind, and a gen- 
eral air of thriftiness seemed to be characteristic 
of the company. 

" Which way are you bound ? " asked Os- 
car, cheerily. 

" Up the Smoky Hill Fork," replied one of 
the ox-drivers. " Solomon's Fork, perhaps, but 
somewhere in that region, anyway." 

One of the company lingered behind to see 
what manner of people these were who were 
so comfortably camped out in a wall-tent. 
When he had satisfied his curiosity, he ex- 
plained that his companions had come from 
northern Ohio, and were bound to lay out a 
town of their own in the Smoky Hill region. 

Oscar, who listened while his father drew this 
information from the stranger, recalled the fact 
that the Smoky Hill and the Republican Forks 
were the branches of the Kaw. Solomon's 
Fork, he now learned, was one of the tributa- 
ries of the Smoky Hill, nearer to the Republican 
Fork than to the main stream. So he said to 
his father, when the Ohio man had passed on : 
"If they settle on Solomon's Fork, won't they 
be neighbors of ours, Daddy ? " 

Mr. Bryant took out a little map of the Ter- 
ritory that he had in his knapsack, and, after 
some study, made up his mind that the new- 
comers would not be " neighbors enough to 
hurt," if they came no nearer the Republican 
than Solomon's Fork. About thirty-five miles 
west and south of Fort Riley, which is at the 
junction of the Smoky Hill and the Republican, 
Solomon's Fork branches off to the northwest. 
Settlers anywhere along that line would not be 
nearer the other fork than eighteen or twenty 
miles at the nearest. Charlie and Sandy agreed 
with Oscar that it was quite as near as desira- 
ble neighbors should be. The lads were al- 
ready learning something of the spirit of the 
West. They had heard of the man who had 
moved westward when another settler drove his 
stakes twenty miles from his claim, because the 
country was " gettin' too crowded." 

That day, passing through the ragged log 
village of Tecumseh, they got their first letters 
from home. When they left Illinois, they had 
not known just where they would strike, in the 
Territory, but they had resolved that they would 
not go further west than Tecumseh ; and here 
they were, with their eyes still fixed toward the 
West. No matter; just now, news from home 
was to be devoured before anybody could talk 
of the possible Kansas home that yet loomed 
before them in the dim distance. How good it 
was to learn all about the clear ones left at 
home ; to find that Bose was keeping guard 
around the house as if he knew that he was the 
protector of the two mothers left to themselves 
in one home ; to hear that the brindle calf had 
grown very large, and that a circus was com- 
ing to town the very next day after the letter 
was written. 

" That circus has come and gone without our 
seeing it," said Sandy, solemnly. 




" Sandy is as good as a circus, any day," 
said his uncle, fondly. " The greatest show in 
the country would have been willing to hire you 
for a sight, fixed out as you were last night, 
after we had that upset in the creek." The 
boys agreed that it was lucky for all hands that 
the only looking-glass in camp was the little bit 
of a one hidden away in Uncle Charlie's shav- 
ing case. 

The next day, to their great discomfiture, they 
blundered upon a county election. Trudging 
into Libertyville, one of the new mushroom 
towns springing up along the military road that 
leads from Fort Leavenworth to Fort Riley, 
they found a great crowd of people gathered 
around a log-house, in which the polls were 
open. County officers were to be chosen, and 
the pro-slavery men, as the Borderers were now 
called in this part of the country, had rallied in 
great numbers to carry the election for their 
men. All was confusion and tumult. Rough- 
looking men, well-armed and generally loud- 
voiced, with slouched hats and long beards, 
were galloping about, shouting and making all 
the noise possible, for no purpose that could be 
discovered. " Hooray for Cap'n Pate ! " was 
the only intelligible cry that the new-comers 
could hear; but who Captain Pate was, and 
why he should be hurrahed for, nobody seemed 
to know. He was not a candidate for anything. 

"Hullo! there 's our Woburn friend, John 
Clark," said Mr. Howell. Sure enough, there 
he was with a vote in his hand going up to the 
cabin where the polls were open. A lane was 
formed through the crowd of men who lounged 
about the cabin, so that a man going up to the 
door to vote was obliged to run the gantlet, as 
it were, of one hundred men, or more, before 
he reached the door, the lower half of which 
was boarded up and the upper half left open 
for the election officers to take and deposit the 

" I don't believe that man has any right to 
vote here," said Charlie, with an expression of 
disgust on his face. " Why, he came into the 
Territory with us, only the other day, and he 
said he was going up on the Big Blue to settle, 
and here he is trying to vote ! " 

" Well," said Uncle Charlie, " I allow he has 
just as good a right to vote as any of these men 

who are running the election. I saw some of 
these very men come riding in from Missouri, 
when we were one day out of Quindaro." As 
he spoke, John Clark had reached the voting- 
place, pursued by many rough epithets flung 
after him. 

He paused before the half-barricaded door 
and presented his ballot. " Let 's see yer 
ticket ! " shouted one of two men who stood 
guard, one either side of the cabin-door. He 
snatched it from Clark's hand, looked at it and 
simply said " H'ist ! " The man on the other 
side of the would-be voter grinned ; then both 
men seized the Woburn man by his arms and 
waist, and, before he could realize what was 
happening, he was flung up to the edge of the 
roof that projected over the low door. Two 
other men, sitting there, grabbed the new-comer 
by the shoulders and passed him up the roof to 
two others, who, straddling the ridge-pole, were 
waiting for him. Then the unfortunate Clark 
disappeared over the top of the cabin, sliding 
down out of sight on the farther side. The 
mob set up a wild cheer and some of them 
shouted, " We don't want any Yankee votes in 
this yer 'lection ! " 

"Shameful! Shameful!" burst forth from Mr. 
Bryant. " I have heard of such things before 
now, but I must say I never thought I should 
see it." He turned angrily to his brother-in-law 
as Mr. Howell joined the boys in their laugh. 

" How can you laugh at such a shameful 
sight, Aleck Howell ? I 'm sure it 's something 
to cry over, rather than to laugh at — a spectacle 
like that ! A free American citizen hustled away 
from the polls in that disgraceful fashion ! " 

"But, Charlie," said Uncle Aleck, "you '11 
admit that it was funny to see the Woburn man 
hoisted over that cabin. Besides, I don't be- 
lieve he has any right to vote here ; do you ? " 

" He would have been allowed to vote fast 
enough if he had had the sort of ballot that 
those fellows want to go into the box. They 
looked at his ballot, and as soon as they saw 
what it was, they threw him over the cabin." 

Just then, John Clark came back from the 
ravine into which he had slid from the roof of 
the log-house, looking very much crestfallen. 
He explained that he had met some pro-slavery 
men on the road that morning, and they had 



told him he could vote, if he chose, and they 
had furnished him with the necessary ballot. 

" They took in my clothes at a glance," said 
Clark, "and they seemed to suppose that a man 


with butternut homespun was true-blue ; so 
they did n't ask any questions. I got a Free- 
State ballot from another man and was a-goin' 
to plump it in ; but they were too smart for me, 
and over I went. No, don't you worry, I ain't 

I 99 

a-goin' up there to try it ag'in," he said, angrily, 
to an insolent horseman, who, riding up, told 
him not to venture near the polls again if he 
" did not want to be kicked out like a dog." 
" Come on, neighbor ; let 's be 
goin'," he said to Uncle Aleck. 
" I 've had enough voting for to- 
day. 'Let 's light out' of this 
town." Then the men, taking up 
their ox-goads, drove out of town. 
They had had their first sight 
of the struggle for freedom. 

Chapter VII. 


The military road, of which 
I have just spoken, was con- 
structed by the United States 
Government to connect the mili- 
tary posts of the Far West with 
one another. Beginning at Fort 
Leavenworth, on the Missouri 
River, it passed through Fort 
Riley at the junction of the forks 
of the Kaw, and then, still keep- 
ing up the north side of the Re- 
publican Fork, went on to Fort 
Kearney, still farther west, then 
to Fort Laramie, which in those 
days was so far on the frontier of 
our country that few people ever 
saw it except military men and the 
emigrants to California. At the 
time of which I am writing, there 
had been a very heavy emigration 
to California, and companies of 
emigrants, bound to the Golden 
Land, still occasionally passed 
along the great military road. 

Interlacing this highway were 
innumerable trails and wagon- 
tracks, the traces of the great 
migration to the Eldorado of the 
Pacific ; and here and there were the narrow trails 
made by Indians on their hunting expeditions and 
warlike excursions. Roads, such as our emi- 
grants had been accustomed to in Illinois, there 
were none. First came the faint traces of human 





feet and of unshod horses and ponies ; then the 
well-defined trail of hunters, trappers, and In- 
dians ; then the wagon-track of the military 
trains, which, in course of time, were smoothed 
and formed into the military road kept in repair 
by the United States Government. 

Following this road the Dixon emigrants came 
upon the broad, bright, and shallow stream of 
the Big Blue. Fording this, they drove into the 
rough, new settlement of Manhattan, lately built 
at the junction of the Blue and the Kaw rivers. 

It was a beautiful May day when the travelers 
entered Manhattan.. It was an active and a 
promising town. Some attempt at the laying 
out of streets had been made. A long, low 
building, occupied as a hotel, was actually 
painted, and on some of the shanties and rude 
huts of the newly arrived settlers were signs 
giving notice of hardware, groceries, and other 
commodities for sale within. On one structure, 
partly made of sawed boards and partly of can- 
vas, was painted in sprawling letters, " Coun- 
sellor at Law." 

" You '11 find those fellows out in the Indian 
country," grimly remarked one of the settlers, 
as the party surveyed this evidence of an ad- 
vancing civilization. 

There was a big steam saw-mill hard by the 
town, and the chief industry of Manhattan 
seemed to be the buying and selling of lumber 
and hardware, and the surveying of land. 
Mounted men, carrying the tools and instru- 
ments of the surveyor, galloped about. Few 
wheeled vehicles except the ox-carts of emi- 
grants were to be seen anywhere, and the gen- 
eral aspect of the place was that of feverish 
activity. Along the banks of the two streams 
were camped parties of the latest comers, many 
of whom had brought their wives and children 
with them. Parties made up of men only, sel- 
dom came as far west as this. They pitched 
their tents nearer the Missouri, where the fight 
for freedom raged most hotly, A few com- 
panies of men did reach the westernmost 
edge of the new settlements, and the Man- 
hattan Company was one of these. 

The three boys from Illinois were absorbed 
with wonder as they strolled around the new 
town, taking in the novel sights, as they would 
if they had been in a great city, instead of a 

mushroom town that had arisen in a night. 
During their journey from Libertyville to Man- 
hattan, the Dixon emigrants had lost sight of 
John Clark, of Woburn; he had hurried on 
ahead after his rough experience with the 
election guardians of Libertyville. The boys 
were wondering if he had reached Manhattan. 

" Hullo! There he is now, with all his fam- 
ily around him," said Charlie. "He 's got here 
before us, and can tell all about the lay of the 
land to the west of us, I dare say." 

" I have about made up my mind to squat 
on Hunter's Creek," said Clark, when the boys 
had saluted him. " Pretty good land on Hun- 
ter's, so I am told ; no neighbors, and the land 
has been surveyed off by the Government sur- 
veyors. Hunter's Creek ? Well, that 's about 
six miles above the fort. It makes into the 
Republican, and, so they tell me, there 's plenty 
of wood along the creek, and a good lot of oak 
and hickory not far off. Timber is what we all 
want, you know." 

As for Bartlett, who had come out from New 
England with the Clarks, he was inclined to 
go to the lower side of the Republican Fork, 
taking to the Smoky Hill country. That was 
the destination of the Jenness party, who had 
passed the Dixon boys when they were camped 
after their upset in the creek, several days be- 
fore. This would leave the Clarks — John and 
his wife and two children, and his brother Jo- 
tham, and Jotham's boy, Pelatiah — to make a 
settlement by themselves on Hunter's Creek. 

Which way were the Dixon boys going ? 
Charlie, the spokesman of the party because 
he was the eldest, did not know. His father 
and uncle were out prospecting among the 
campers now. Sandy was sure that they would 
go up the Republican Fork. His father had 
met one of the settlers from that region, and 
had been very favorably impressed with his 
report. This Republican Fork man was an 
Arkansas man, but " a good fellow," so Sandy 
said. To be a good fellow, according to 
Sandy's way of putting things, was to be 
worthy of all confidence and esteem. 

Mr. Bryant thought that as there were grow- 
ing rumors of troublesome Indians, it would be 
better to take the southern or Smoky Hill 
route ; the bulk of the settlers were going that 



way, and where there were large numbers, 
there would be safety. While the lads were 
talking with the Clarks, Bryant and his bro- 
ther-in-law came up, and, after greeting their 
former acquaintance and ascertaining whither 
he was bound, Mr. Howell told the boys that 
they had been discussing the advantages of 
the two routes with Younkins, the settler from 
Republican Fork, and had decided to go on to 
"the post," as Fort Riley was generally called, 
and there decide which way they should go — 
to the right or to the left. 

As for the Clarks, they were determined to 

had in mind for them. Younkins was a kindly 
and pleasant-faced man, simple in his speech and 
frontier-like in his manners. Sandy conceived a 
strong liking for him as soon as they met. The 
boy and the man were friends at once. 

" Well, you see," said Younkins, sitting down 
on the wagon-tongue, when the party had re- 
turned to their camp, " I have been thinking 
over-like the matter that we were talking about, 
and I have made up my mind-like that I sha'n't 
move back to my claim on the south side of 
the Republican. I 'm on the north side, you 
know, and my old claim on the south side will 


take the trail for Hunter's Creek that very day. 
Bartlett decided to go to the Smoky Hill coun- 
try. He cast in his lot with a party of Western 
men, who had heard glowing reports of the 
fertility and beauty of the region lying along 
Solomon's Fork, a tributary of the Smoky Hill. 
It was in this way that parties split up after 
they had entered the promised land. 

Leaving the Clarks to hitch up their teams 
and part company with Bartlett, the Dixon 
party returned to their camp, left temporarily 
in the care of Younkins, who had come to 
Manhattan for a few supplies, and who had 
offered to guide the others to the desirable 
place for settlement which he told them he 
Vol. XVIII.— 19. 

do just right for my brother Ben; he 's coming 
out in the fall. Now if you want to go up our 
way, you can have the cabin on that claim. 
There 's nobody living in it ; it 's no great of 
a cabin, but it 's built of hewed timber, well- 
chinked and comfortable-like. You can have 
it till Ben comes out, and I 'm just a-keeping it 
for Ben, you know. P'r'aps he won't want it, and 
if he does n't, why then you and he can make 
some kind of a dicker-like, and you might stay 
on till you could do better." 

" That 's a very generous offer of Mr. Youn- 
kins's, Charles," said Mr. Howell to Bryant. " I 
don't believe we could do better than take it up." 

" No, indeed," burst in the impetuous Sandy. 




" Why, just think of it ! A house already 
built ! " 

" Little boys should be seen, not heard," said 
his elder brother, reprovingly. " Suppose you 
and I wait to see what the old folks have to say 
before we chip in with any remarks." 

" Oh, I know what Uncle Charlie will say," 
replied the lad, undismayed. " He '11 say that 
the Smoky Hill road is the road to take. Say, 
Uncle Charlie, you see that Mr. Younkins here 
is willing to live all alone on the bank of the 
Republican Fork, without any neighbors at all. 
He is n't afraid of Indians." 

Mr. Bryant smiled and said that he was not 
afraid of Indians, but he thought that there 
might come a time when it would be desirable 
for a community to stand together as one man. 
" Are you a Free State man ? " he asked Youn- 
kins. This was a home-thrust. Younkins came 
from a slave State ; he was probably a pro- 
slavery man. 

" I 'm neither a Free State man nor yet a pro- 
slavery man," he said, slowly and with great 
deliberation. " I 'm just for Younkins all the 
time. Fact is," he continued, " where I came 
from, most of us are pore whites; I never 
owned but one darky, and I had him from 
my grandfather. Ben and me, we sort er quar- 
reled-like over that darky. Ben, he thought 
he ought 'er had him, and I knowed my grand- 
father left him to me. So I sold him off, and 
the neighbors did n't seem to like it. I don't 
justly know why they did n't like it; but they 
did n't. Then Ben, he allowed that I had 
better light out. So I lit out. and here I am. 
No, I 'm no Free State man, and then ag'in, 
I 'm no man for slaver)'. I 'm just for Youn- 
kins. Solomon Younkins is my name." 

Bryant was very clearly prejudiced in favor 
of the settler from the Republican Fork by this 
speech ; and yet he thought it best to move on 
to the fort that day and take the matter into 

So he said that if Younkins would accept the 
hospitality of their tent, the Dixon party would 
be glad to have him pass the night with them. 
Younkins had a horse on which he had ridden 
down from his place and with which he had 
intended to reach home that night. But, for 
the sake of inducing the new arrivals to go up 

into his part of the country, he was willing to 

" I should think you would be afraid to leave 
your wife and baby all alone there in the wilder- 
ness," said Sandy, regarding his new friend with 
evident admiration. " No neighbor nearer than 
Hunter's Creek, did you say? How far off is 
that ? " 

" Well, a matter of six miles-like," replied 
Younkins. " It is n't often that I do leave them 
alone over night ; but then I have to, once in a 
while. My old woman, she does n't mind it; she 
was sort of skeary-like when she first came into 
the country. But she 's got used to it. We 
don't want any neighbors. If you folks come 
up to settle, you '11 be on the other side of the 
river," he said, with unsmiling candor. " That 's 
near enough — three or four miles, anyway." 

Fort Riley is about ten miles from Manhattan, 
at the forks of the Kaw. It was a long drive 
for one afternoon ; but the settlers from Illinois 
camped on the edge of the military reservation 
that night. When the boys, curious to see what 
the fort was like, looked over the premises next 
morning, they were somewhat disappointed to 
find that the post was merely a quadrangle of 
buildings constructed of rough-hammered stone. 
A few frame houses were scattered about. One 
of these was the sutler's store, just on the edge 
of the reservation. But, for the most part, the 
post consisted of two- or three-story buildings 
arranged in the form of a hollow square. These 
were barracks, officers' quarters, and depots for 
the storage of military supplies and army equip- 

" Why, this is no fort ! " said Oscar, con- 
temptuously. " There is n't even a stockade. 
What 's to prevent a band of Indians raiding 
through the whole place ? I could take it 
myself, if I had men enough." 

His cousin Charlie laughed and said : " Forts 
are not built out here nowadays to defend a 
garrison. The army men don't propose to let 
the Indians get near enough to the post to 
threaten it. The fact is, I guess, this fort is only 
a depot-like, as our friend Younkins would say, 
for the soldiers and for military stores. They 
don't expect ever to be besieged here ; but if 
there should happen to be trouble anywhere 
along the frontier, then the soldiers would be 




here, ready to fly out to the rescue, don't you 
see ? " 

"Yes," answered Sandy; "and when a part of 
the garrison had gone to the rescue, as you call 
it, another party of redskins would swoop down 
and gobble up the remnant left at the post." 

" If I were you, Master Sandy," said his 
brother, " I would n't worry about the soldiers. 
Uncle Sam built this fort, and there are lots of 
others like it. I don't know for sure, but my 
impression is that Uncle Sam knows what is 
best for the use of the military and for the 
defense of the frontier. So let 's go and take a 
look at the sutler's store. I want to buy some 

The sutler, in those days, was a very impor- 
tant person in the estimation of the soldiers of a 
frontier post. Under a license from the War 
Department of the Government, he kept a store 
in which was everything that the people at the 
post could possibly need. Crowded into the 
long building of the Fort Riley sutler were dry- 
goods, groceries, hardware, boots and shoes, 
window-glass, rope and twine, and even candy 
of a very poor sort. Hanging from the ceiling 
of this queer warehouse were sides of smoked 
meat, strings of onions, oil-cloth suits, and other 
things that were designed for the comfort or 
convenience of the officers and soldiers, and 
were not provided by -the Government. 

" I wonder what soldiers want of calico and 
ribbons," whispered Sandy, with a suppressed 
giggle, as the three lads went prying about. 

" Officers and soldiers have their wives and 
children here, you greeny," said his brother, 
sharply. " Look out there and see 'em." 

And, sure enough, as Sandy's eyes followed 
the direction of his brother's, he saw two prettily 
dressed ladies and a group of children walking 
over the smooth turf that filled the square in 
the midst of the fort. It gave Sandy a home- 
sick feeling, this sight of a home in the wilder- 
ness. Here were families of grown people and 
children, living apart from the rest of the world. 
They had been here long before the echo of civil 
strife in Kansas had reached the Eastern States, 
and before the first wave of emigration had 
touched the head-waters of the Kaw. Here 
they were, a community by themselves, uncar- 
ing, apparently, whether slavery was voted up 

or down. At least, some such thought as this 
flitted through Sandy's mind as he looked out 
upon the leisurely life of tne fort, just beginning 
to stir. 

All along the outer margin of the reservation 
were grouped the camps of emigrants; not many 
of them, but enough to present a curious and 
picturesque sight. There were a few tents, but 
most of the emigrants slept in or under their 
wagons. There were no women or children in 
these camps, and the hardy men had been so 
well seasoned by their past experiences, jour- 
neying to this far western part of the Territory, 
that they did not mind the exposure of sleeping on 
the ground and under the open skies. Soldiers 
from the fort, off duty and curious to hear the 
news from the outer world, came lounging 
around the camps and chatted with the emi- 
grants in that cool, superior manner that marks 
the private soldier when he meets a civilian on 
an equal footing, away from the haunts of men. 

The boys regarded these uniformed military 
servants of the Government of the United States 
with great respect, and even with some awe. 
These, they thought to themselves, were the 
men who were there to fight Indians, to protect 
the border, and to keep back the rising tide of 
wild hostilities that might, if it were not for 
them, sweep down upon the feeble Territory 
and even inundate the whole Western country. 

" Perhaps some of Black Hawk's descendants 
are among the Indians on this very frontier," 
said Oscar, impressively. " And these gold-laced 
chaps, with shoulder-straps on, are the Zack 
Taylors and the Robert Andersons who do the 
fighting," added Charlie, with a laugh. 

Making a few small purchases from the surly 
sutler of Fort Riley, and then canvassing with 
the emigrants around the reservation the ques- 
tion of routes and locations, our friends passed 
the forenoon. The elders of the party had 
anxiously discussed the comparative merits of 
the Smoky Hill and the Republican Fork coun- 
try and had finally yielded to the attractions of 
a cabin ready-built in Younkins's neighborhood, 
with a garden patch attached, and had decided 
to go in that direction. 

" This is simply bully ! " said Sandy Howell, as 
the little caravan turned to the right and drove 
up the north bank of the Republican Fork. 

( To be continued. ) 


By George William Ogden. 

There was an old farmer who had a cow, £- 

Moo, moo, moo ! 
She used to stand on the pump and bow, 

And what could the farmer do? 
Moo, moo, moo, moo, 

Moo, moo, moo! 
f§fShe used to stand on the pump and bow, 

And what could the farmer do? 

*^^5^~7 ~\ 1 ' A 

V i 

There was an old farmer who owned some sheep, ^ v 

Baa, baa, baa! 
They used to play cribbage while he was asleep, 

And laugh at the farmer's ma. 
Baa, baa, baa, baa! 

Moo, moo, moo! 
He owned a cow and he owned some sheep, 
^~"And what could the poor man do? 



By Mrs. C. V. Jamison. 

Chapter XXV. 


When Paichoux read of the death of Madame 
Jozain in the charity hospital, he said decidedly, 
" Modeste, that woman never left the city. She 
never went to Texas. She has been hidden 
here all the time, and I must find that child." 

"And if you find her, Papa, bring her right 
here to me," said the kind-hearted woman. 
" We have several children, it 's true ; but there 's 
always room for Lady Jane, and I love the little 
girl as well as if she was mine." 

Paichoux was gone nearly all day, and, much 
to the disappointment of the whole family, he 
did not find Lady Jane. 

His first visit had been to the charity hospital, 
where he learned that Madame Jozain had been 
brought there a few days before by the charity 
wagon. It had been called to a miserable little 
cabin back of the city, where they had found 
the woman very ill, with no one to care for her, 
and destitute of every necessity. There was 
no child with her — she was quite alone ; and 
in the few lucid intervals that preceded her 
death she had never spoken of any child. 
Paichoux then obtained the address from the 
driver of the charity wagon, and, after some 
search, he found the wretched neighborhood. 
There, all they could tell him was that the 
woman had come a few weeks before ; that she 
had brought very little with her, and appeared 
to be in ill-health. There was no child with her 
then, and none of the neighbors had ever seen 
one visit her, or, for that matter, a grown person 
either. When she became worse, they were 
afraid she might die alone, and had called the 
charity wagon to take her to the hospital. The 
Public Administrator had taken charge of what 
little property she had left, and that was all they 
could tell. 

Did any one know where she lived before she 

came there ? No one knew ; an old negro had 
brought her, and her few things, and they had 
not noticed the number of his wagon. The 
landlord of the squalid place said that the same 
old man who brought her had engaged her 
room ; he did not know the negro. Madame 
had paid a month's rent in advance, and just 
when the month was up she had been carried 
to the hospital. 

There the information stopped, and, in spite 
of every effort, Paichoux could learn no more. 
The wretched woman had indeed obliterated, 
as it were, every trace of the child. In her fear 
of detection, after Lady Jane's escape from her, 
she had moved from place to place, hunted 
and pursued by a guilty conscience that would 
never allow her to rest, and gradually going 
from bad to worse, until she had died in that 
last refuge for the miserable, the charity 

"And here I am, just where I started! " said 
Paichoux, dejectedly, after he had told Tante 
Modeste of his day's adventures. " However," 
said he, " I sha'n't give it up. I 'm bound to 
find out what she did with that child. The more 
I think of it, the more I 'm convinced that she 
never went to Texas, and that the child is still 
here. Now, I 've a mind to visit every orphan 
asylum in the city, and see if I can't find her in 
one of them." 

" I '11 go with you," said Tante Modeste. 
" We '11 see for ourselves, and then we shall 
be satisfied. Unless she gave the child away, 
Lady Jane 's likely to be in some such place; 
and I think, as I always have, Paichoux, that 
she stole Lady Jane from some rich family, 
and that was why she ran off so suddenly and 
hid. That lady's coming the day after, proves 
that some one was on Madame's track. Oh, 
I tell you there 's a mystery there, if we can 
only get at it ! We '11 start out to-morrow and 
see what can be done. I sha'n't rest until 



the child is found and restored to her own 

One morning, while Lady Jane was in the 
school-room, busy with her lessons, Margaret 
entered with some visitors. It was a very 
common thing for people to come during study 
hours, and the child did not look up until she 
heard some one say : " These are the children 
of that age ; see if you recognize ' Lady Jane ' 
among them." 

It was her old name that startled her, and 
made her turn suddenly toward the man and 
woman who were looking eagerly 
about the room. In an instant 
the bright-faced woman cried, 
"Yes! yes! Oh, there she is"; 
and simultaneously, Lady Jane 
exclaimed, " Tante Modeste, oh, 
Tante Modeste ! " and quicker 
than I can tell it, she was clasped 
to the loving heart of her old 
friend, while Paichoux looked 
on, twirling his hat and smiling 

" Jane, you can come with us," 
said Margaret, as she led the 
way to the parlor. 

There was a long and inter- 
esting conversation, to which the 
child listened with grave wonder, 
while she nestled close to Tante 
Modeste. She did not under- 
stand all they said ; there was a 
great deal about Madame Jozain 
and Good Children Street, and 
a gold watch with diamond in- 
itials, and beautiful linen with the initial letters 
J. C. embroidered on it, and Madame's sudden 
flight, and the visit of the elegant lady in 
the fine carriage, the Texas story, and Ma- 
dame's wretched hiding place, and miser- 
able death in the charity hospital ; to all of 
which Margaret listened with surprise and 
interest. Then she in turn told the Paichoux 
how Lady Jane had been found looking 
in the window on Christmas Eve, while she 
clung to the railings, half clad and suffering with 
the cold, and how she had questioned her and 
endeavored to get some clew to her identity. 

" Why did n't you tell Mother Margaret about 

your friends in Good Children Street, my dear ? " 
asked Tante Modeste, with one of her bright 

Lady Jane hesitated a moment, and then re- 
plied timidly, ; ' Because I was afraid." 

" What were you afraid of, my child ? " asked 
Paichoux kindly. 

" Tante Pauline told me that I must n't." 
Then she stopped and looked wistfully at Mar- 
garet. " Must I tell now, Mother Margaret ? Will 
it be right to tell ? Tante Pauline told me not 
to," she asked, eagerly. 


" Yes, my dear, you can tell everything now. 
It 's right, you must tell us all you remember." 

" Tante Pauline told me that I must never, 
never speak of Good Children Street, nor of any 
one that lived there, and that I must never tell 
any one my name, nor where I lived." 

" Poor child ! " said Margaret to Paichoux. 
" There must have been some serious reason for 
so much secrecy. Yes, I agree with you that 
there 's a mystery which we must try to clear 
up, but I would rather wait a little while. Jane 
has a friend, who is very rich and very influen- 
tial, — Mrs. Lanier, the banker's wife. She is 
absent in Washington, and when she returns, 




I '11 consult with her and we '11 see what 's 
best to be done. I should n't like to take any 
important step until then. But in the mean 
time, Mr. Paichoux, it will do no harm to put 
your plan in operation. I think the idea is 
good, and in this way we can work together." 

Then Paichoux promised to begin his inves- 
tigations at once, for he was certain that they 
would bring about some good results, and that 
before many months had passed, Mother Mar- 
garet would have one orphan less to care for. 

While Margaret and Paichoux were discus- 
sing these important matters, Tante Modeste 
and Lady Jane were talking as fast as their 
tongues could fly. The child heard for the 
first time about poor Mam'selle Diane's loss, 
and her eyes filled with tears of sympathy for 
her gentle friend. And then there were Pepsie 
and Madelon, Gex and Tite, — did they re- 
member her and want to see her ? Oh, how 
glad she was to hear from them all again. And 
Tante Modeste cried a little when Lady Jane 
told her of that terrible midnight ride, of the 
wretched home to which she had been carried, 
of her singing and begging in the streets, of 
her cold and hunger — and of the blow she had 
received as the crowning cruelty. 

" But the worst of all was losing Tony. Oh, 
Tante Modeste," and the tears sprang to her 
eyes, " I 'm afraid I '11 never, never find him ! " 

" Yes you will, my dear. I 've faith to be- 
lieve you will," replied Tante Modeste, hope- 
fully. " We 've found you, ma peiite, and now 
we '11 find the bird. Don't fret about it." 

Then, after Margaret had promised to take 
Lady Jane to Good Children Street the next 
day, the good couple went away, well pleased 
with what they had accomplished. 

Tante Modeste could not return home until 
she had told Pepsie as well as little Gex the 
good news, and Mam'selle Diane's sad heart 
was greatly cheered to know that the dear 
child was safe in the care of the good Mar- 
garet. And oh, what bright hopes and plans 
filled the lonely hours of that evening, as she 
sat dreaming on her little gallery in the pale, 
cold moonlight ! 

The next day, Pepsie cried and laughed 
together when Lady Jane sprang into her 
arms and embraced her with the old fervor. 

• ; You 're just the same," she said, holding the 
child off and looking at her fondly; "that is, 
your face has n't changed ; but I don't like 
your hair braided, and I don't like your clothes. 
I must get Mother Margaret to let me dress you 
as I used to." 

And Mam'selle Diane had something of the 
same feeling, when, after the first long embrace, 
she looked at the child, and asked Mother 
Margaret if it was necessary for her to wear the 
uniform of the home. 

" She must wear it while she is an inmate," 
replied Margaret, smiling. " But that will not 
be long, I suspect; we shall lose her — yes, I 'm 
afraid we shall lose her soon." 

Then, Mam'selle Diane talked a long while 
with Margaret, about her hopes and plans for 
Lady Jane. " I am all alone," she said, pa- 
thetically, " and she would give me a new inter- 
est in life. If her relatives are not discovered, 
why cannot I have her ? I will educate her, 
and teach her music, and devote my life to 

Margaret promised to think it over, and in 
the mean time she consented that Lady Jane 
should remain a few days with Mam'selle Diane 
and her friends in Good Children Street. 

That night, while the child was nestled close 
to Mam'selle Diane, as they sat together on the 
little moonlit gallery, she suddenly asked with 
startling earnestness : 

" Has your Mamma gone to heaven too, 
Mam'selle Diane ? " 

" I hope so, my darling; I think so," replied 
Diane in a choked voice. 

" Well, then, if she has, she '11 see my Papa 
and Mamma and tell them about me, and oh, 
Mam'selle, won't they be glad to hear from 
me ? " 

" I hope she will tell them how dearly I love 
you, and what you are to me," murmured 
Mam'selle, pressing her cheek to the bright little 
head resting against her shoulder. 

" Look up there, Mam'selle Diane ; do you see 
those two beautiful stars so near together ? I 
always think they are Mamma and Papa watch- 
ing me. Now I know Mamma is there too, and 
will never come back again ; and see, near those 
there is another very soft and bright ; perhaps 
that is your Mamma shining there with them." 


21 I 

" Perhaps it is, my dear. Yes, perhaps it is," 
and Mam'selle* Diane raised her faded eyes 
toward the sky, with new hope and strength 
in their calm depths. 

About that time Paichoux began a most 
laborious correspondence with a fashionable 
jeweler in New York, which resulted in some 
very valuable information concerning a watch 
with a diamond monogram. 

Chapter XXVI. 

at mrs. lanier's. 

It was a few days before the following Christ- 
mas, and Mrs. Lanier, who had just returned 
from Washington, was sitting alone one evening 
in her own pretty little parlor, when a servant 
handed her a card. 

" Arthur Maynard," she read. " Let him 
come up at once " ; and as the servant left the 
room, she added to herself: " Dear boy ! I 'm 
so glad he 's come for Christmas." 

In a moment the handsome young fellow was 
in the room, shaking hands in the most cordial 

" You see I 'm home, as usual, for the holi- 
days, Mrs. Lanier," he said, showing a row of 
very white teeth when he laughed. 

" Yes, you always do come for Christmas and 
Mardi-gras, don't you ? You 're such a boy 
still, Arthur," and Mrs. Lanier looked at him as 
if she approved of his boyishness. " Sit down 
and let us have a long chat. The children have 
gone to the theater with Mr. Lanier. I was too 
tired to go with them. You know we reached 
home only this morning." 

" No ; I did n't know that, or I would n't 
have come. You don't wish to be bothered 
with me when you 're so tired," said Arthur, 

" Nonsense, Arthur; sit down. You always 
cheer me up. You 're so full of life and spirits, 
I 'm really glad to see you." 

While Mrs. Lanier was speaking, the young 
fellow's bright, clear eyes were traveling about 
the room, and glancing at everything, pictures, 
bric-a-brac, and flowers. Suddenly, he uttered 
an exclamation, and, springing up, seized a 
photograph in a velvet frame that stood on 
a cabinet near him. 

It represented a family group : father, mother, 
and child ; and for a moment he seemed too 
surprised to speak. Then he asked in a very 
excited tone, " Mrs. Lanier, where did you get 
this, and who is the lady ? " 

" She is a friend of mine," said Mrs. Lanier, 
much surprised. " Why do you ask — have 
you ever seen her?" 

" Yes, yes ; and I have a copy of this picture. 
It is such a strange story ; but first, before I 
say a word, please tell me who she is, and all 
about her." 

" Why, Arthur, you seem greatly interested," 
returned Mrs. Lanier, with a smile. " The lady 
is my dear friend, Jane Chetwynd. We were 
classmates at boarding-school in New York ; 
her father is the rich Mr. Chetwynd. You 
have heard of him, have n't you ? " 

" Yes, indeed ; but please go on." 

" Do you want all the history ? " 

" Everything, please. I 've a serious reason 
for wanting to know all about the originals of 
this photograph." 

" Well, the gentleman is Jane's husband, Mr. 
Churchill, an Englishman, and the little girl is 
' Lady Jane,' their only child. There 's quite 
a romance connected with Jane's history, and 
I 'm just now floundering in a sea of darkness 
in regard to that same Jane Chetwynd." 

" If you please, go on, and perhaps I can 
help you out," urged the young man, eagerly 
and abruptly. 

" Well, as it 's a subject I 'm greatly interested 
in, I don't mind telling you the whole story. 
Jane Chetwynd was the only daughter — her 
mother died when she was a child. Jane was 
her father's idol, he had great plans for her, and 
when she was only eighteen he hoped she would 
marry one of the rich Bindervilles. Jane, how- 
ever, married a young Englishman who was in 
her father's employ. The young man was hand- 
some, as you can see by his picture, well born, 
and well educated ; but he was unknown and 
poor. To Richard Chetwynd that was unpar- 
donable, and, therefore, he disowned Jane — cut 
her off entirely, refused to see her, or even to 
allow her name to be mentioned. 

" A cousin of Mr. Churchill, who lived in 
England, owned a fine ranch in Texas, and 
there the young couple went to pass their 

2 I 2 



honeymoon. They were delighted with the 
ranch, and decided to make it a permanent 

" Their little girl was born there, and was 
named for her mother. On account of some 
dainty little ways, and to avoid confusing her 
name and her mother's, her father called her 
Lady Jane. 

" In her frequent letters to me, my friend 
spoke of her as a remarkable child, and, of 
course, she was the idol of her parents. In 
spite of the trouble with her father, Jane never 
regretted her choice, and even her isolated life 
had many charms for her. She was of a quiet, 
domestic disposition, and loved the country. 
Indeed, I know her life there was one of idyllic 
happiness. When the child was three years old, 
Jane sent me that picture ; then, about two more 
years passed during which time I heard from 
her frequently, and after that, suddenly, the cor- 
respondence stopped. I was in Europe for a 
year, and when I returned, I set to work to find 
out the cause. Many letters were returned from 
San Antonio, the nearest post-office ; but finally 
we succeeded in communicating with the over- 
seer on the ranch, who informed us that Mr. 
Churchill had died suddenly of a prevalent 
fever, the summer before — more than two 
years ago, now — and that Mrs. Churchill, with 
her little girl, had left the ranch directly after her 
husband's death to return to New York, since 
which time he had received no news of her ; and 
in his letter the overseer also expressed surprise 
at her long silence, as he said she had left many 
valuable things that were to be sent to her 
when and where she should direct, after she 
reached New York ; he had since received no in- 
structions and the property was still in Texas. 

" Then I wrote directly to New York, to a 
friend who was very intimate at one time with 
the Chetwynds, for some information about 
Jane; but she could tell me nothing more than 
the newspapers told me, that Richard Chetwynd 
had gone abroad, to remain some years. Of 
Jane, I could not hear a word. 

'• Sometimes, I think she may have followed 
her father to Europe, and that they are recon- 
ciled and living there together. But why does 
she not write to me — to the friend whom she 
always loved so dearly ? 

" Then, there is another thing that has wor- 
ried me no little, although in itself it is a trifle. 
When we were at school together, I had a little 
birthday gift made at Tiffany's for Jane, a silver 
jewel-box, engraved with pansies and forget-me- 
nots, and a lot of school-girl nonsense. I made 
the design myself, and the design for the mono- 
gram also. About a year ago I found that very 
box for sale at Madame Hortense's, on Canal 
Street. When I asked Hortense where she got 
it, she told me that it was left with her to sell by 
a woman who lived down town on Good Chil- 
dren Street ; and she gave me the name and the 
address ; but when I w^ent there, after a day or 
two, the woman had gone — left mysteriously 
in the night, and none of the neighbors could tell 
me where she went. Of course the woman's sud- 
den disappearance made me feel that there was 
something wrong about her, and I can't help 
thinking that she got the little box dishonestly. 
It may have been stolen, either in Texas or in 
New York, and finally drifted here for sale. I 
took possession of it at once, very thankful that 
such a precious relic of my girlhood should 
have accidentally fallen into my hands ; but 
every time I look at it, I feel that it is a key 
which might unlock a mystery, if only I knew 
how to use it." 

All the while Mrs. Lanier was speaking, Ar- 
thur Maynard followed every word with bright, 
questioning eyes, and eager, intense interest. 
Sometimes he seemed about to interrupt her; 
then he closed his lips firmly and continued to 

Mrs. Lanier was looking at him inquiringly, 
and when he waited as if to hear more, she said : 
" I have told you all. Now, what have you to 
tell me?" 

" Something quite as strange as anything you 
have told me," replied Arthur Maynard, with an 
enigmatical air. " You must not think you 're 
the only one with a mystery worthy the skill of 
a Parisian detective. If I had any such talent, 
I might make myself famous, with your clues 
and my clues together." 

" What in the world do you mean, Arthur ? 
What do you know ? — for pity's sake tell me ! 
You can't think how Jane Chetwynd's long 
silence distresses me." 

" Fool that I was ! " cried the young fellow, 




jumping up and pacing the room with a half 
tragic air. "If I had n't been an idiot — a 
simpleton — a gosling — if I 'd had a spark of 
sense, I could have brought that same Jane 
Chetwynd, and the adorable little Lady Jane, 
straight to your door. Instead of that, I let 
them get off the train at Gretna alone, when 
it was nearly dark, and — Heaven only knows 
what happened to them ! " 

" Arthur Maynard, what do you mean ? " 
asked Mrs. Lanier, rising to her feet, pale and 
trembling. "When — where — where is she 
now — where is Jane Chetwynd?" 

'• I wish I knew. I 'm as wretched and 
anxious as you are, Mrs. Lanier, and what 
has happened to-day has quite upset me ; but 
I must tell you my story, as you have told 

And then, while Mrs. Lanier listened with 
clasped hands and intent gaze, Arthur Maynard 
told of the meeting with Lady Jane and her 
mother on the train, of the gift of " Tony," the 
blue heron, and of the separation at Gretna. 

" Oh, Arthur, why — why did n't you go with 
them, and bring them to me ? She was a stran- 
ger, and she did n't know the way, and — your 
being our friend and all." 

" My dear Mrs. Lanier, she never mentioned 
your name or number. How could I guess you 
were the friend to whom she was going ? and 
I did n't like to seem presuming." 

" But where did she go ? She never came 

" Wait till I have told you the rest and then 
we will discuss that. I stood on the platform 
until the train started, and watched them walk- 
ing toward the ferry, the mother very feebly, 
and the child skipping along with the little bas- 
ket, delighted with her new possession. Then I 
went back to my seat, angry enough at myself 
because I was n't with them, when what should 
I see on the floor, under their seat, but a book 
they had left. I have it now, and I '11 bring it 
to you to-morrow ; inside of the book was a 
photograph, a duplicate of this, and on the fly- 
leaf was written ' Jane Chetwynd.' " 

" I thought so ! I knew it was Jane ! " ex- 
claimed Mrs. Lanier, excitedly. " But she never 
came here. Where could she have gone ? " 

" That 's the mystery. She may have changed 

her mind and gone to a hotel, or something may 
have happened to her. I don't know. I don't 
like to think of it ! However, the next day, I ad- 
vertised the book, and advertised it for a week ; 
but it was never claimed, and from that day to 
this, I 've never been able to discover either the 
mother or the child." 

" How strange, how very strange ! " said Mrs. 
Lanier, greatly troubled. " Why should she 
have changed her mind so suddenly ? If she 
had started to come to me, why did n't she 
come ? " 

" The only reasonable solution to the prob- 
lem is that she changed her mind and went on 
to New York by the night train. She evidently 
did not go to a hotel, for I have looked over all 
the hotel registers of that time, and her name 
does not appear on any of them. So far there 
is nothing very mysterious; she might have 
taken the night train." 

" Oh, Arthur, she probably did. Why do 
you say, she might have ? " 

" Because, you see, I have a sequel to my 
story. You had a sequel to yours, a sequel of 
a box. Mine is a sequel of a bird,— the blue 
heron I gave the little Lady Jane. / bought 
that same blue heron from a bird-fancier on 
Charter Street this very morning." 

" How can you be sure that it is the same 
bird, Arthur? How can you be sure ?" 

" Because it was marked in a peculiar way. 
It had three distinct black crosses on one wing. 
I knew the rogue as soon as I saw him, al- 
though he has grown twice the size, and — 
would you believe it? — he has the same 
leather band on his leg that I sewed on more 
than two years ago." 

" And you found out where the fancier 
bought him ? " asked Mrs. Lanier, breathlessly. 

" Of course I asked, the first thing ; but all 
the information I could get from the merchant 
was that he bought him from an Italian a few 
days before, who was very anxious to sell him. 
When I called the bird by his name, Tony, he 
recognized it instantly. So you see that he has 
probably been called by that name." 

" The child must have lost him, or he must 
have been stolen. Then, the box, the jewel- 
box here, too. Good heavens ! Arthur, what 
can it mean ? " 



" It means that Mrs. Churchill never left 
New Orleans," said Arthur, decidedly. 

" My dear Arthur, you alarm me ! " cried 
Mrs. Lanier. " There is something dreadful 
behind all this. Go on and tell me everything 
you know." 

" Well, after I bought the bird, and while I 
was writing my address for the man to send 
him home, a funny little old Frenchman came 
in, and suddenly pounced on Tony, and began 
to jabber in the most absurd way. I thought 
he was crazy at first ; but after a while, I made 
him understand that the heron belonged to me ; 
and when I had calmed him down somewhat, I 
gathered from his remarks that this identical 
blue heron had been the property of ' one leetle 
lady,' who formerly lived on Good Children 

" Good Children Street," interrupted Mrs. 
Lanier, opening her eyes. " What a remark- 
able coincidence ! " 

" — That the bird had been lost, and that he 
had searched everywhere to find it for the ' leetle 
lady.' Then I asked him for a description of 
the ' leetle lady,' and, as I live, Mrs. Lanier, he 
described that child to the life," and Arthur 
Maynard pointed to the photograph as he 

" Oh, Arthur, can it be that Jane Chetwynd 
is dead ? What else can it mean ? Where is 
the child ? I must see her. Will you go with 
me to Good Children Street early to-morrow ? " 

" Certainly, Mrs. Lanier. But she is not 
there. The old man told me a long story of a 
Madame Jozain, who ran away with the child." 

" Madame Jozain ! " cried Mrs. Lanier ex- 
citedly — "the same woman who had the 
jewel-box ! " 

" Evidently the same, and we are on her 
track, — or we should be if she were alive ; but, 

unfortunately, she 's dead. The little French- 
man says so, and he says the child is now in 
Mother Margaret's Orphans' Home. I meant 
to go there to-day." 

" Oh, I see it all now. It is as clear as day 
to me ! " cried Mrs. Lanier, springing from her 
chair and walking excitedly back and forth. 
" It is all explained — the mysterious attraction 
I felt for that child from the first. Her eyes, 
her voice, her smile are Jane Chetwynd's. Ar- 
thur, would you know her if you saw her ? " 

" Certainly. She has n't grown out of my 
recollection in two years, though of course she 
may not resemble the photograph so much. 
You see it is four or five years since that was 
taken ; but she can't have changed in two years 
so that I won't know her, and I 'm very sure 
also that she '11 remember me." 

" Well, come to-morrow at eleven, and I 
think I can have her here. The lovely child 
in Margaret's Home, in whom I have felt 
such an interest, must be the one. Her name 
is Jane. I will write to Mother Margaret at once, 
to bring her here to-morrow morning, and 
Arthur, if you can identify her, she is Jane 
Chetwynd's child without a doubt; — but Jane 
— poor Jane! what has happened to her? It 
is a mystery, and I shall never rest until it is 

" And perhaps you will hate me for my stu- 
pidity," replied Arthur, looking very much cast 
down, as he shook hands and said good-night. 

" No, no, my dear boy. You were not in the 
least to blame, and perhaps your generosity in 
giving Lady Jane the blue heron may be the 
means of restoring her to her friends." 

Thinking the matter over from Mrs. Lanier's 
point of view, Arthur went away somewhat 
comforted, but still very anxious about the de- 
velopments the next day might bring forth. 

( To be concluded. ) 


jfjiK SSiiffi 


'■■■ ■ ■■'/ 



By Alexander Black. 

On a certain day, a little over four hundred 
years ago, two boys walked homeward through 
the streets of the beautiful city of Florence. The 
name of one of the boys was Francesco Gra- 
nacci, who was then a pupil of the leading pain- 
ter of the city, Domenico Ghirlandajo. The 
name of the other boy, who had that day, in 
company with his friend, made his first visit to 
the great artist's studio, was Michael Angelo. 

This was a great day for Michael Angelo. 
For months and years he had dreamed of being 
an artist, and now for the first time he had seen 
and spoken to the famous teacher, watched the 
work of the pupils gathered in the studio. 
Had it been left to his choice, Michael Angelo 
would have joined the school the next morning. 
But he had no reason to believe his father would 
allow him to take up paint brushes instead of 
going into a profession, or the woolen trade, 
like his brothers. 

In fact, it was because his parents, who were 
of some rank in Florence, though with little 
wealth, had planned for him a great position in 
law or politics, that Angelo had been sent to an 
academy where it was expected he would get a 
good education. But instead of studying his 
books, Angelo made chalk drawings on the walls 
and floor of his room. This greatly disappointed 
his father, who first rebuked him, and then, when 
the lessons were persistently neglected for the 
pictures, added a flogging. The whole family 
was worried about the boy's obstinate wish to 
be an artist. This was why the lad, elated by 
his visit to the art-school, was still doubtful 
of the effect his enthusiasm might produce at 

This enthusiasm would have had little influ- 
ence with Michael Angelo's father, but for one 
important fact. This important fact was that 
the boy's drawings had extraordinary merit. 
Nobody, not even the annoyed brothers and 
Vol. XVIIL— 20. 2 

uncles who made such continued remonstrance, 
denied that they were remarkable. So that 
something more eloquent than Michael Angelo's 
spoken arguments was constantly pleading his 
cause. Perceiving that his son had not merely 
great energy, and great hopes, but great natural 
aptitude for art, the father finally gave up his 
own cherished plans, and permitted Michael An- 
gelo to become an apprentice of Ghirlandajo. 

When this long-desired permission was given, 
Michael Angelo was just passing his thirteenth 
birthday. How much confidence the master 
had in his new apprentice is shown by the fact 
that instead of exacting a fee, or taking him on 
trial, he agreed to pay Michael Angelo six gold 
florins for the first year, eight for the second, 
and ten for the third. From the outset, the 
young artist pursued his studies, as well as the 
apprentice work assigned to him, with the ut- 
most earnestness and activity. His progress in 
drawing astonished his companions, and almost 
bewildered his master, who one day exclaimed 
on seeing one of Angelo's original sketches : 
" The boy already knows more about art than I 
do myself." 

At this time the control of the Florentine 
government was in the hands of Lorenzo de' 
Medici, then probably the most distinguished 
man in all Italy. Lorenzo took a most tyranni- 
cal view of the people's rights, and his personal 
habits were not always what they should have 
been. But he was a man with a brilliant mind, 
who made great and successful efforts to increase 
the splendor of the city, and who came to 
be called Lorenzo the Magnificent. He gave 
every encouragement to art and literature, 
particularly when they might extend his own 
reputation for magnificence. His taste and 
judgment in matters of art were equal to his 
shrewdness and courage as a politician. Dur- 
ing the time of Michael Angelo's apprenticeship, 




Lorenzo formed new plans for furthering art 
study in the gardens of San Marco, in which he 
placed many valuable examples of the ancient 
masters. When Lorenzo suggested to Ghirlan- 
dajo the sending of worthy pupils to study 
sculpture in these gardens, the master selected 
Michael Angelo and his friend Francesco. 

It has frequently been said that the Florentine 
teacher was jealous of Michael Angelo's genius 
as a draughtsman, and was prompted by this 
feeling, in turning the lad from painting to 
sculpture. Ghirlandajo had certainly received 
some occasion for irritation, since the apprentice 
was always very positive in his opinions, and, 
on one occasion, at least, went so far as to cor- 
rect a drawing which the master himself had 
given to one of his pupils as a model. Yet there 
is no evidence of any unkindly feeling in Ghir- 
landajo's recommendation. It is quite probable 
that Michael Angelo had shown a strong lean- 
ing toward sculpture. At any rate, he was as 
delighted to find himself in the gardens of San 
Marco as if he had been dropped into the Gar- 
den of Eden. 

One afternoon, the Duke Lorenzo in walking 
through the garden came upon young Michael 
Angelo, who was busily chiseling his first piece 
of sculpture. The Duke saw in the stone the 
face of a faun which the boy was copying from 
an antique mask, but which, with his usual im- 
patience of imitation, he was changing so as to 
show the open lips and teeth. " How is it," 
said the Duke, drawing closer, " that you have 
given your faun a complete set of teeth ? Don't 
you know that such an old fellow was sure to 
have lost some of them ? " Michael Angelo at 
once saw the justice of the criticism. Art- 
ists are not always ready to receive adverse 
comment. Michael Angelo himself was quick- 
tempered and hard to move. A hot word to 
one of his boy companions on a certain occasion 
brought so severe a blow in the face, that all 
truthful portraits of Michael Angelo have since 
had to show him with a broken nose. But the 
Duke's criticism was kindly given, and was 
plainly warranted, and the young sculptor could 
hardly wait until the Duke walked on before 
beginning the correction. When the Duke saw 
the faun's face again he found some of the teeth 
gone, and the empty sockets skilfully chiseled out. 

Delighted with this evidence of the lad's will- 
ingness to seize and act upon a suggestion, and 
impressed anew by his artistic skill, the Duke 
made inquiries, learned that Michael Angelo 
had borrowed stone and tools on his own ac- 
count in his eagerness to begin sculpture (he 
was first set at drawing from the statuary), and 
ended by sending for the boy's father. The 
result of the consultation was that the Duke 
took Michael Angelo under his own special 
patronage and protection, and was so well 
pleased after he had done it that no favor 
seemed too great to bestow upon the energetic 
young artist. Michael Angelo, then only fif- 
teen, not only received a key to the Garden 
of Sculpture, and an apartment in the Medici 
Palace itself, but had a place at the Duke's 
table. In fact, a real attachment grew up be- 
tween Michael Angelo and the Duke, who fre- 
quently called the boy to his own rooms, when 
he would open a cabinet of gems and intaglios, 
seek his young visitor's opinions, and enter into 
long and confidential talks. 

Michael Angelo found himself in the com- 
pany of the best instructors, and otherwise sur- 
rounded by many influences that developed his 
mind and incited his ambition. The most illus- 
trious people in Italy were daily visitors at the 
Palace, where the Duke not only gave imposing 
entertainments, but gathered quiet groups of 
artists, writers, and musicians. It is likely that 
there were many distracting and even dangerous 
temptations in life at such a palace. But fortu- 
nately Michael Angelo had a strong will, and 
little love for things that were not noble. He 
permitted nothing to stop his progress in art. 

It was under the encouragement of one of 
his teachers that Michael Angelo, when about 
seventeen, undertook to chisel an important 
bas-relief of the Centaurs and the Lapithae, in 
which his success was marvelous. Michael 
Angelo himself, looking on the work many 
years later, said that he wished he had never 
given a moment to anything but sculpture. 

This remark of Michael Angelo recalls the 
fact that at the time the Centaurs were carved 
the author of the work was steadily increasing 
his knowledge and grasp of painting and archi- 
tecture, as well as acquiring useful ideas of his- 
tory and literature. A world of thought-riches 



was opening up before him. It may, therefore, omy, so that no turn of vein or muscle might 

be imagined that his grief was very great when, 
at the end of three years of such happy advance- 
ment, the Duke Lorenzo died, and Michael 
Angelo returned to his father's house in much 
misery of mind, and set up his studio there. 
Lorenzo's son Piero asked the boy back to the 
palace. But the place never was the same, for the 
new Duke had not his father's qualities of mind. 

be false to the absolute truth. It is by such 
means that any mastery is secured. Behind 
every work of genius, whether book, picture, 
or engine, is an amount of labor and pains — 
yes, and of pain — that would have frightened 
off a weak spirit. 

When political disturbances broke out in 
Florence, Michael Angelo hurried away to Ven- 

One of his whims was to induce Michael Angelo ice, and to Bologna. Poor Florence was always 
to work during a severe winter on an immense tumbling from one revolution into another, 
figure in snow. This was undoubtedly the finest The troubles of Florence were reflected in the 
snow man ever built ; but Michael Angelo had life of Michael Angelo, who never again found 
no heart for work that so soon must melt away, the peace of those San Marco gardens. But 

Before his return to the palace, Michael An- Michael Angelo's stern and courageous mind 
gelo had begun a series of careful studies in was never crushed by disappointment. After 
anatomy, to familiarize himself with every line a life crowded with labors, he left behind him 
and dimension of the figure. He toiled at colossal triumphs in painting, in architecture, 
this study for years, until his mastery of the and in sculpture, besides making a great name 
human form was complete. He never painted as a poet. He was a giant in every labor 
or chiseled a figure without working out in a that he undertook, one of the world's greatest 
drawing the most delicate details of the anat- men. 

Michael Angelo was born in 1475 at a castle in Tuscany where his father held office as a Governor. His father's 
name was Ludovico Buonarroti, and he himself was christened Michelagniolo Buonarroti, but for four centuries he 
has been popularly called Michael Angelo. The head of a faun, upon which the boy worked in the San Marco 
Gardens, may still be seen in one of the museums of Florence. The piece of sculpture representing Michael 
Angelo at work on the faun's head, and which forms the frontispiece to this number of St. Nicholas, was 
executed by Emilio Zocchi, and occupies a place in the Pitti Gallery at Florence. 


By Alice Williams Brotherton. 

The Holly, oh, the Holly ! 

Green leaf, and berry red, 
Is the plant that thrives in winter 

When all the rest are fled. 
When snows are on the ground, 

And the skies are gray and drear, 
The Holly comes at Christmas-tide 
And brings the Christmas cheer. 
Sing the Mistletoe, the Ivy, 

And the Holly-bush so gay, 
That come to us in winter — 
No summer friends are they. 

Give me the sturdy friendship 

That will ever loyal hold, 
And give me the hardy Holly 

That dares the winter's cold ; 
Oh, the roses bloom in June, 

When the skies are bright and clear, 
But the Holly comes at Christmas-tide 
The best time o' the year. 
Sing the Holly, and the Ivy, 

And the merry Mistletoe, 
That come to us in winter 

When the fields are white with snow ! 

- *c. 


Frances V. Austen 


E. J. Austen 
Trick, the First. 

how elfie wondered about the moon and 
mother goose, and how e-ma-ji-na-shun 
appeared out of the smoke. 

Once upon a time, although it was not such 
a very very long time ago, there lived a little 
girl named Elfie. 

Her home was with her papa and mama in 
one of those pretty villages on the banks of the 
great Hudson River, which you all know winds 
through the State of New York. The mighty 
Catskill Mountains, where old Rip Van Winkle 
was lost, were not far from her house. 

She was really a very pretty child with brown 
eyes and lovely fair curling hair, and was seven 
years old on her latest birthday. Besides her 
papa and mama she had a most delightful 
grandma and grandpa who lived with them, 
both of whom used to tell her the most beautiful 
fairy stories that any little girl ever listened to. 

Then she had several aunties who lived in 
the city, one of whom, Auntie Louie, was quite 
as good as a story-book herself, for she had been 
all over the world, and loved to tell tales of her 
travels to whoever would listen to her. There 

Copyrighted, 1890, by Frances 

: - '•-- 

\ ;_-J 

was an Aunt Eva, who was very fond of Elfie, and 
would play with her by the hour, and an Uncle 
George, who was just as good and kind as Uncle 
Georges always are in the story-books. So you 
see that Elfie had no lack of friends, and had so 
many people to tell her stories that her little 
mind was full of Mother Goose and goblins and 
princes and fairies and all the wonderful things 
that have been written for the amusement of 
children since the beginning of the world. 

Now you would think that if ever there was 
anybody who ought to be happy, Elfie ought 
to have been ; but in spite of all the stories she 
had heard and read, and in spite of all the play- 
things she had to amuse her, she was, in many 
ways, the most discontented little girl that ever 
lived. She was always wishing for something 
that she did not have : one day for a bigger 
dolly, another for three birthdays a year, another 
for something else — always wishing, wishing. 

You have all read or heard of the little boy 
who cried for the moon. Well, Elfie actually 
did that, too, until she grew old enough to 
know that no one could climb up to get it for 
her ; and then she began to wish she could go 
there. She kept wishing this so much, that at 

V. Austen. Alt rights reserved. 



last she began to think of very little else, and 
when in the evening it grew dark, so that she 
could not see to play any more, she would creep 
to a seat at the window and watch for the moon. 

One thing that surprised her more than any- 
thing else about the moon, was the way it would 
first appear as a tiny streak, and then every 
night grow a little bigger till at last it was as big 
and as round as the prize pumpkin Erne had 
seen at the State Fair. She supposed it must 
grow during the day; but then no sooner did it 
become quite round and full than it would get 
smaller every night, just as mysteriously as it had 
grown, till at last it would disappear altogether, 
to make way for a new one. This puzzled Elfie 
a great deal; and although she did not speak to 
people about it, for fear they would laugh at 
her, or give her some funny answer, she often 
wished some one would tell her the reason. 
She became so curious about it that she even 
dreamed about it ; but her dreams never told her 
why the moon grew larger and smaller, or why 
it disappeared and came again. 

Another thing that worried Elfie greatly was 
whether Mother Goose was a real person or 
not. " Who was she ? " she wondered. " Was 
she a 'surely' old lady who gave up her whole 
time to writing those wonderful rhymes, or was 
it only just make-believe?" Then, who were 
Little Tommy Tucker, Humpty Dumpty, Little 
Jack Horner and all the other delightful people 
she wrote about ? Did they really live any- 
where, or were they like old Mother Goose, just 
" made up " ? 

Good gracious ! when Elfie began to think 
and wonder, it seemed as if she never would 
be able to live long enough to find out all 
about it. To be sure, Uncle George always 
talked about Mother Goose, and Jack and Jill, 
and the rest, as if he knew them quite well ; 
and she was quite sure in her own mind that 
Santa Claus was a real person because her 
papa and mama and every one of her aunties 
used to speak of him, just as if they had met 
him, and did he not always bring her the 
loveliest presents at Christmas ? 

Elfie used to feel that if she could only be 
grown up she would know all about him, just 
as every one else did. 

One Christmas-day, Santa Claus had brought 

her more presents than ever, and among them 
was a splendid book of Mother Goose's rhymes, 
full of pictures. Elfie thought she never would 
become tired of reading it, and looking at the 
lovely pictures ; but, after all, it only set her 
wondering more than ever as to where the 
artist who drew the portraits of all these peo- 
ple could have seen them ; for he must have 
seen them somewhere, she thought, or he never 
could have made these beautiful pictures. 

One of papa's friends was an artist, and he 
was also a great crony of Elfie's ; so she made 
up her mind that the very first time she saw 
Mr. Krome she would ask him about it. 

It was not many days after this that Mr. 
Krome called at the house and found Elfie sit- 
ting in a great easy-chair in front of the fire 
in the parlor, with her wonderful book. 


" Well, my little wonder-child," he said, " what 
is the trouble now ? — and what is the last 
mystery that little head is puzzling itself over ? " 

You see, Mr. Krome had heard something 
of Elfie's funny questions. He took the little 
girl on his knee and sat down in the chair. 
After a short talk, she told him all she had 
been thinking about, and wound up by asking 




him where the artists found all the pictures of 
Tommy Tucker, Jack Horner and the rest of 
Mother Goose's family. 

Mr. Krome smiled at the number of questions 
that Elfie asked, but said after a little : 

" Well, my dear, I will tell you. You must 
know that all these people 
live in a country that 
floats about in the 
air just above our 
heads. One can- 
not see it or 
ever go to it, 
without the 
aid of a cer- 
tain good 
fairy, who 
— visits a 

few \T*' 
of us 
and whose 
name is E- 
ma-ji-na-shun. The 

country is the 'Realm of Fancy ' or ' Cloudland.' 
" Now if you will let me hold you tight and 
look straight into the fire, I will try to per- 
suade old E-ma-ji-na-shun, who is quite a good 
friend of mine, and often calls upon me, to pay 
us a visit and take you back to this wonderful 
country, where you will perhaps be able to see 
some of these good people yourself." 

Elfie cuddled close up to her friend and fixed 
her eyes on the fire. For some time she could 
see nothing but the coal gleaming in the grate, 
with here and there a deep fiery chasm, while 
from the mass of black unburned coal on the top 
shot and flickered tiny little blue flames, which 
seemed to Elfie, as she sat in her friend's lap, to 
leap and to dance and to take on all sorts of fan- 
tastic shapes. By and by, while she was still 
looking hard at the fire, she saw that the thin 
bluish smoke, which had been floating up the 
chimney in faint streaks, was no longer rising 
very high from the coals, but was collecting in 
a little mass of vapor just above the fire, and 
was slowly taking on the shape of a tiny man. 
As it grew more and more distinct, she saw 
that he was very, very old, and that he had a 

long white beard, which reached nearly to his 
toes. He was dressed in the same queer fash- 
ion as she had seen in the pictures of goblins and 
gnomes in her story-books. The color of his 
garments seemed to have been borrowed from 
the tints of the fire and the smoke, from which 
he had come. His tightly fitting jacket, or 
doublet, was black like the blackest of the 
coals ; so was the outside of a cloak which fell 
from his shoulders, the lining being the color 
of the flame. His legs were clad in orange-col- 
ored tights, with black trunks slashed with fiery 
streaks. His hair and beard were the tint of the 
smoke, and had the same vapory look; the 
color of his face was like a mixture of hot coals 
and ashes. His eyes were formed by two of the 
brightest coals, and twinkled with so much life 
and jollity that Elfie could see, even if he was 
as old as his hair and beard made him appear, 
that he was as full of fun and frolic as a boy. 

His head 
was capped 
with a ruby 
colored tam- 
o'-shanter with 
a yellow feath- 
er. To com- 
plete his ex- 
traordinary ap- 
pearance, he 
was only about 
fifteen inches 

As soon as 
he was clearly 
visible he de- 
scended from 
the fireplace, 
and came for- 
ward to where 
Elfie sat on Mr. Krome's knee. He took off his 
cap with a low bow, and said most politely, 'At 
your service, my lady. What is your will ? " 




WILL i ' " 

i8 9 i.; 



Trick, the Second. 

what e-ma-ji-na-shun told elfie about him- 
self, the wonderful ride to cloud- 
land in a wreath of smoke. 
the castle in the air. 

LFIE was 
not a bit 
b u t 
looked up 

at Mr.Krome to tell her what to say. He had 
already nodded familiarly to the old gentleman, 
and said in answer to his question : 

" First tell this young lady a little about 
yourself, and then take her on a visit to the 
' Realm of Fancy.' " 

The little old man's eyes glowed and twinkled 
merrily as he sat down on a hot coal and placed 
one little foot on the second bar of the grate. 
He began to talk in a quaint, funny little voice 
which sounded for all the world like ashes 
dropping from the fire. 

" My name, my dear, is E-ma-ji-na-shun, and 
I am six thousand years old or older. I have 

lost track of my birthday for a long time, but I 
am just as old as the world. I am the King of 
the Realm of Fancy, or Cloudland. Indeed I 
created it, as well as all the people who live 
in it. I have been acquainted with all the 
great people that ever lived ; and, long after they 
have died and the history of them has been 
written, the historians who have lived at a 
later period have had to come to me for in- 
formation about them. Sometimes I would 
forget what I had told them, and tell some- 
body else something quite different about 
the same man, but it has made very little 
difference, and the world has gone on just 
the same. I invented every story that ever 
has been written, and have told them to the 
people who have had the credit of writing 
them; but they have been such good friends 
of mine that I have been glad of their suc- 
cess. I am always pleased to make new 
friends, especially among little girls and 
boys ; and any child who makes a friend 
of me, and does not neglect me as he grows 
up, is sure to become famous. But there 
are many persons who think they are 
cleverer than I am, and sit down to write 
without giving me full liberty to stir their 
ink for them or to ride on their pens. 
" I must say, however," he added, with a 
funny little look at his toes as he swung on the 
top bar of the grate, " that some people are bet- 
ter without me. I am afraid I have helped to 
ruin numbers of business men who have come 
to me for advice instead of going to my brother 
Common Sense ; for I may as well own to you 
at once, my dear, that I don't know anything 
at all about business, and I always get the worst 
of it when I try to have anything to do with it. 
I have always let Common Sense, and Experi- 
ence, another brother of mine, look after the 
printing and selling of my many books ; it has 
been enough for me to do, to invent them." 
All the time that E-ma-ji-na-shun had been 
talking, he had been fidgeting about, first in one 
position and then in another, so that it had 
been quite hard at first for Elfie to keep her 
eyes on him; but as he went on she found it 
easier. He now selected a very hot piece of coal 
for a seat, and, crossing his legs, went on : 
" I have always tried to use my talents for 




the benefit of only 

honest men and 

women; but I have 

assisted a great 

number of dishonest 

folk to earn a living. 

For this 

you must 



me, my 



If wicked people will get hold of my ideas, and 
use them for a bad purpose, I am sure I can't 
help it. If they would put these same gifts to 
a good use, they would always do better, as my 
brother Experience is forever telling them." 

" My greatest work in the story-telling line," 
he continued, in answer to a question of Mr. 
Krome's, " is, I have always thought, ' The 
Arabian Nights.' 

" I wrote that book centuries ago, and though 
I could do just as well to-day, if some clever 
man would only employ me, still people go to 
that, instead of coming direct to me. Yes, they 
use the same old stories to-day. They put them 
in a new dress, and get me to touch them up 
here and there, disguising them so, sometimes, 
that even I can hardly recognize them.'' 

While he had been speaking, he had been 
stirring the coal with his toe until there was 
quite a cloud of smoke rising up the chimney, 
and as he came to an end he took off his cap 
again and held out his hand to Elfie. 

" Come, little one, and we will explore the 
wonderful land you have heard about : My 
Realm of Fancy, the beautiful country of 

Elfie stretched out her hand, and the little 
man, who seemed as strong as a giant, lifted 

her down from the chair. In one second more 
he had seated her comfortably in a cozy nook 
he had made for her among the blue wreaths 
of smoke, and, before the little girl could have 
an idea of where she was, — pouf! — shoo! — 
she was up the chimney and out of it, floating 
away to Cloudland. 

Elfie could never tell how she got through 
the chimney ; when she looked at it long after, 
it seemed quite impossible that she could have 
squeezed into it. As it was, she never felt it, 
and was through so quickly that she only 
caught one glimpse of its black sides. 

She could only explain this as one of the 
wonderful tricks of E-ma-ji-na-shun ! 

They seemed to float through the air as if 
they really were part of the smoke upon which 
they were seated ; indeed, when Elfie had 
partly recovered from her astonishment, and 
was able to look round, she saw that she had 
become quite like vapor, and as for old E-ma- 
ji-na-shun, she could see right through him. 

It was a splendid ride through the clear frosty 
air. Elfie was surprised that she felt quite warm, 
and when she 
spoke of this, 
her guide told 
her that so long 
as they were 
with him, and 
treated him 
rightly, persons 
need never feel 
heat nor cold 
nor hunger nor 

Away they 
floated over the 
village where 
Elfie lived with 
could see quite 
distinctly the 
chimney from 
which they had 
come, and she 
was not sur- 
prised to be 
told by the merry old gentleman that, if she 
chose to spare the time, they could float over 




the houses of her friends, and he would tell her 
just what they were to have for dinner, or what 
they were thinking about ; but Elfie was in too 
great a hurry to explore the Realm of Fancy to 
delay for other things just then. 

Higher and higher they went, till the village 


became a mere speck beneath them, and the 
great river a tiny silver thread. They were 
already among the clouds, when Elfie saw that 
the air all around them was thick with snow. 
" Ha ! ha ! " laughed E-ma-ji-na-shun, " Mother 
Goose is plucking one of her flock for dinner." 

" What do you mean ? " asked Elfie. 

" Have n't you ever heard of that ? " ex- 
claimed the old man. " Whenever it snows on 
the earth," he said, " it is a sign that old Mother 

Goose and her children are to have a goose for 
dinner ; and the flakes are the feathers that she 
plucks from the bird. That is the reason I 
named her Mother Goose, and," he sagely added, 
" I made up that story a long time ago, in fact, 
quite soon after I created the old lady, and I 
consider that she and her history are 
among the most successful efforts I 
ever made in the Realm of Fancy — 
but here we are ! " he cried briskly, 
" step off carefully upon this rock 
and we will have dinner at one of 
my castles in the air." 

Elfie almost gasped for breath in 
her astonishment. The smoke on 
which she came up had disappeared ; 
the snow, the clouds, were gone, and 
here she was standing on the wide 
stone steps of a beautiful castle, just 
such a castle as she had seen in 
one of Mr. Krome's pictures. There 
were the gates, the moat, the draw- 
bridge, the battlements, the portcul- 
lis, a burly soldier in iron cap and 
leather jerkin standing at the farther 
end of the drawbridge — everything 
that she had read about in her fairy- 
story books as being necessary for 
a " really truly " castle. 

" This castle, Elfie, my dear," said 
E-ma-ji-na-shun, " is your own es- 
pecial property, and whenever you 
wish to come here and enjoy it, all 
you have to do is to shut your eyes 
and call upon me. I will bring you 
here before you can count ten. 
Come along, and let us have 

They crossed the drawbridge, 
which the soldier on guard had 
lowered with a tremendous clatter as they 
came near, and passing under the portcullis 
entered the lofty hall of the castle. There 
was a splendid fire of logs blazing away in an 
enormous fireplace, and coming to meet them 
were two of the dearest old retainers that ever 
were read about in any story-book that ever 
was written. 

Immediately they said, both speaking at 
once, " Dinner is served in the dining-hall ! " 





and Elfie with E-ma-ji-na-shun lost no time in 
following them there. 

They sat down to a glorious dinner, consist- 
ing of everything that Elfie liked, and she was 
afraid once or twice, as she ordered another 
help of some of the very best things, that her 
mama would appear and tell her not to eat so 
much. But E-ma-ji-na-shun told her that nothing 
she could eat or do in the Realm of Fancy 
would ever hurt her. 

After she had eaten of every kind of candy 

and dessert that she ever had tasted, and a large 
number she had never seen before, they started 
out from the castle to see the wonderful things 
E-ma-ji-na-shun had promised to show her. 

Trick the Third. 

how elfie met the north wind, and what 
he said to her. 

When they had recrossed the drawbridge, 
passed the soldier, who respectfully saluted 



22 7 

Elfie as if she were a princess, and walked 
down the great stone steps, Elfie had an op- 
portunity of looking around her and seeing 
what a really remarkable place this country 
was. There were hundreds of just such castles 
as her own to be seen from where she stood, 
and E-ma-ji-na-shun told her that they belonged 
to poor people who could not afford to live in a 
real castle on earth. Far away in the distance 
was a range of mountains, which glistened so 
gloriously in the sunlight that she was not aston- 

" Hullo, Elfie ! is this cold enough for you ? " 
Elfie looked around, and saw what she felt 
sure must be one of the famous giants she had 
read about. It was the form of an enormous 
man, nearly sixty feet high, seemingly made of 
ice and snow. He had on an ice overcoat, a 
crown of ice, and a snow beard. His face ap- 
peared to be made of strawberry ice-cream, and 
his legs and feet were two great blocks of frozen 
snow ; his hair was composed of icicles, and 
under his arm was a tremendous pair of bellows. 


ished when her guide told her they were made 
of solid gold and silver. 

Many of the trees which grew near the castles 
had diamonds, emeralds, and rubies hanging 
on them for fruit. 

They strolled on gently, Elfie looking from 
side to side with delight, when she heard a ter- 
rible, rushing, roaring noise, and at the same 
time felt an icy cold wind blowing past her and 
into her face. She looked up to see the cause 
of the cold and the noise, when she heard a big, 
blustering, boisterous voice shouting : 

On looking further, Elfie saw that he had just 
come from a gigantic cave in the side of an 
iceberg, which was floating around in a crimson 

" How did you leave all your friends, down 
below on the earth ? " he roared. 

" How do you know I came from the earth ? " 
said Elfie, who, seeing that E-ma-ji-na-shun was 
laughing away heartily, was not afraid. 

" Ho, ho ! don't you know that I visit that 
place quite often ? I am the North Wind. Ha, 
ha ! Whew-w-w! " he whistled. " Have n't you 



been out with your sled in winter, and felt me 
blow on your nose till it was so numb that you 
could n't feel it ? Have n't I nipped your little 
fingers and toes, and driven you in crying to 
mama ? Ha, ha, ha ! " he shouted till his icy 
sides cracked, " I remember you, little girl." 

Elfie was surprised to find the giant was 
the North Wind, but she spoke bravely and 

" Well, I don't think you are very kind to 
little children. I am sure I don't like you a 
bit, and I wish you would n't speak to me." 

" Ha ! ha ! ha ! " laughed the giant, so heartily 

the good folks of St. Paul along with their ice- 
palace, or else they will be grumbling at me 
finely. So, good-bye, Elfie ! Stick to old E-ma- 
ji-na-shun. He is the best friend of the chil- 
dren, and the old folks as well. Good-bye ! 
Whoop ! — Swish ! — Whizz ! — ■ Whew-w-w — 
ew ! " and away flew the North Wind, leaving 
a long track of ice and snow to mark his 

" Like the tail of a comet," said E-ma-ji-na- 
shun, who had perched himself goblin- fashion 
on the limb of a tree near-by. 

The sight of ice and snow made Elfie think 

EJ.*u, v / 


that a regular shower of icicles fell around his 
feet. " Ha! ha ! ha ! That 's all you little girls 
know about it. Why, I am one of the very 
best friends the children have. I make your 
blood fly through your body, and force you to 
run about to keep warm. I give you fine ice to 
skate on, and freeze the snow so that you can go 
sleigh-riding. I make you as hungry as a hunter, 
so that you run home and eat so much that you 
grow up strong and healthy men and women, 
able to do something in the world, instead of 
lolling about all day, and having to be waited 
on, like the children who never feel my cold 
healthful breath ; but I can't stay talking to you 
any longer. I must be off to Minnesota to help 

of Santa Claus, and E-ma-ji-na-shun, even while 
he was clambering down from the tree, knew 
her thought and came running toward her. 

" Come, then, and we will go and see him," 
said E-ma-ji-na-shun. 

" Is n't that splendid ! " said Elfie. " Oh, make 
haste! — please. I'm in such a hurry to see 
how Santa Claus lives." 

" Shut your eyes, turn round three times, and 
say : 

" Linkey, linkey, linkey laws, 
Show me the house of Santa Claus ! " 

Elfie did as she was told, and in a second she 
felt herself lifted off her feet and flying through 





the air, but, before she could gasp for breath, her 
feet touched the ground and she opened her eyes. 

Trick the Fourth, 
elfie visits santa claus. 

, HEN Elfie opened her eyes 

she saw she was standing, 

with E-ma-ji-na-shun by her 

side, before the door of a 

magnificent palace. 

It seemed to be made 

of ice and decorated with gold and silver, for it 

shone so in the rays of the sun that it really hurt 

her eyes to look at it. 

There were walks and terraces all round the 
palace, formed out of snow, and snow trees cut 
into the most fantastic shapes. Snow men were 
set along the terraces to serve for statues. 

Elfie gave one good look around before she 
hurried through the archway. There she found 
herself in an enormous hall, the ceiling of which 
seemed to reach nearly to the sky ; it was hung 
with icicles and decorated with glass balls of 
many colors, and was lighted by millions of 
tiny wax-candles, the same as those Elfie had 
seen on the Christmas-tree at home. 

In the center of the hall, and seated on a 
most comfortable-looking arm-chair, made of 
snow, was old Santa Claus, and Elfie sat down 
on a snow footstool to examine the kind old 
man who is so beloved by the children of the 

Elfie noticed that he was very much like his 
pictures. His face was round and rosy, and 
fairly shone with good humor, and his snow- 
white hair and beard helped to carry out the 
kind look of his dear old face. He was clothed 
in a long red robe, lined and edged with white 
fur ; great heavy boots, also lined with fur, were 
on his feet and legs ; his cap was crimson, and 
his hands were covered by sealskin gloves. 

He was surrounded by a number of little 
goblins, who were all busy doing something to 
amuse or please the old man. 

Some were bringing him food and drink, 
while others were playing leap-frog over one 
another's backs so that he could see and enjoy 
the game. The old gentleman was watching 
them closely, and every now and then he would 
lean back and roar with laughter at their 

After a little while he looked over to where 
Elfie was sitting. As soon as Santa Claus saw 



2 3 l 

the little girl, he called two of the goblins, 
and told them to bring her to where he sat. 

They turned three or four somersaults on their 
way, and when they reached her, each seized a 
hand and led her to the King of the Castle. 

Santa Claus looked at her very kindly for a 
moment, and then, bending down in the gentlest 
way you ever saw, he took her upon his knee 
and gave her a great sounding kiss. 

The noise of that kiss echoed through the hall 
like the crack of a whip. Back and forth the 

me so much. How do you ever get down the 
chimney ? Our chimney is so very little that a 
great big man like you could never get through." 

Santa Claus threw back his head and laughed 
so loud that another shower of icicles came rat- 
tling down. There was such a perfect rain of 
them that Elfie was half afraid she would be 
buried under them, but the little sprites kept 
clearing them away as fast as they fell. 

" Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! my dear, you will 
have to ask our friend E-ma-ji-na-shun about 

echo went until it was lost far away up in the 
ceiling, where it made a lot of icicles come 
clattering down like a shower of needles. 

" Well, Elfie, my child," said Santa Claus, 
'■ how did you get here ? The last time I saw 
you, you were fast asleep in your little crib. I 
thought you had caught me surely, once, for 
you woke up and reached over to see if your 
stocking was filled, but I managed to make my- 
self invisible till you were asleep again ; then I 
left you all those pretty toys that surprised you 
so on Christmas-day." 

" Oh ! " cried Elfie, " that is what has puzzled 

that ; he 's the fellow who helps me out. When- 
ever I find a chimney is too small (and I 
generally do, nowadays), I call upon him, and 
he helps me with his tricks. I don't know how 
he does it, but he does ; and the main thing, 
my dear, is that, big chimney or little chimney, 
old Santa Claus gets through just the same." 

" But how do you manage to go so far all in 
one night ? " said Elfie. 

" Ask your friend again, my dear ; that 's 
another one of his tricks. In fact, I am one of 
his tricks myself, for he made me nearly one 
thousand years ago, out of a great log of wood, 



in the Black Forest in Germany. Of course my 
reindeers help me to some extent, and then 
you know that the earth takes twenty-four hours 
to get quite through the night 
all over the world, so, 
with the help of my 
reindeers and 

shun, and by 
following the 
turning of 
the world, I 
manage to 
make all my 
visits before 
morning. But I have to make haste, I can 
assure you ; and I am generally so tired by the 
time I reach home, that I have to sleep nearly 
six months of the year to become thoroughly 

" Then my little goblins here look after the 
toy-factory for me, and see to the sending down 
to the toy-stores on the earth of enough toys to 
provide for all the birthdays. You may be sure 
they have their hands full." 

While he was speaking, Elfie saw a very funny- 
looking old woman walking toward them. She 
was dressed in a black cloak with a red lining ; 
a strange-looking steeple-crowned hat; a red 
quilted petticoat, short enough to display a pair 
of very elegant black silk stockings ; a red cloak ; 
and low shoes buckled with silver buckles and 
having very high red heels. Her hair was white 

and neatly arranged in a knot, and covered with 
a net. A pair of large, gold-rimmed spec- 
tacles ornamented her hooked nose; she car- 
ried a long, crutch-handled stick, 
and under one arm was a great 
bundle of papers. 

Elfie thought the old lady 
looked very familiar to her ; she 
felt sure she had seen her or her 
picture before, and she was just 
about to ask Santa Claus who 
she was, when the old gentle- 
man burst out with : 

" Oh, dear me, here comes old 
Mother Goose, with a whole lot 
of new verses and stories for 
me to select those that I think 
will best suit my boys and girls for next 
Christmas! It's 
no use. Mother 
Goose ! " said 
the jolly old 
voice, " I pos- 
itively will not 
look over any 
verses to-day. 
I am too tired 
— besides, I am 
engaged. Call 
when I am not 
so busy." 

Elfie thought 
this was rather 
absurd, seeing 
that he seemed 
to have nothing 
to do but to 
watch his gob- 
lins play leap- 
frog and to talk 
to her. 

Old Mother Goose — but I think that Mother 
Goose deserves a new chapter, so we will make 
a pause and give her one. 


(To be continued. ) 


By Andrew Lang. 



Some years after the Golden Ram died in 
Colchis, far across the sea, a certain king reigned 
in Greece, and his name was Pelias. He was 
not the rightful king, for he had turned his 
brother from the throne, and taken it for himself. 
Now, this brother had a son, a boy called Jason, 
and he sent him far away from Pelias, up into 
the mountains. In these hills there was a great 
cave, and in that cave lived Chiron who was 
half a horse. He had the head and breast of 
a man, but a horse's body and legs. He was 
famed for knowing more about everything than 
any one else in all Greece. He knew about the 
stars, and the plants of earth, which were good 
for medicine, and which were poisonous. He 
was the best archer with the bow, and the best 
player of the harp, he knew most songs and 
stories of old times, for he was the last of a 
people half-horse and half-man, who had dwelt 
in ancient times on the hills. Therefore, the 
kings in Greece sent their sons to him to be 
taught shooting, singing, and telling the truth ; 
and that was all the teaching they had then, 
except that they learned to hunt, and fish, and 
fight, and throw spears, and toss the hammer, 
and the stoije. There Jason lived with Chiron 
and the boys in the cave, and many of the 
boys became famous. There was Orpheus, who 
played the harp so sweetly that wild beasts fol- 
lowed his minstrelsy, and even the trees danced 
after him, and settled where he stopped playing ; 
and there was Mopsus, who could understand 
what the birds say to each other ; and there was 
Butes, the handsomest of men ; and Tiphys, the 
best steersman of a ship ; and Castor, with his 
brother Polydeuces, the boxer; and Heracles, 
the strongest man in the whole world was there ; 
and Lynceus, whom they called Keen-eye, be- 
cause he could see so far, and he could see the 
Vol. XVIII.— 21. 

dead men in their graves under the earth ; and 
there was Euphemus, so swift and light-footed 
that he could run upon the gray sea, and never 
wet his feet ; and there were Calais and Zetes, 
the two sons of the North Wind, with golden 
wings upon their feet ; and many others were 
there whose names it would take too long to tell. 
They all grew up together in the hills, good 
friends, healthy, and brave, and strong. And 
they all went out to their own homes at last ; but 
Jason had no home to go to, for his uncle, Pelias, 
had taken it, and his father was a wanderer. 

So at last he wearied of being alone, and 
he said good-bye to his old teacher, and went 
down through the hills toward Iolcos, his father's 
old home, where his wicked uncle, Pelias, was 
reigning. As he went, he came to a great, 
flooded river, running red from bank to bank, 
rolling the round boulders along. And there 
on the bank was an old woman sitting. 

" Cannot you cross, mother ? " said Jason ; 
and she said she could not, but must wait till 
the flood fell, for there was no bridge. 

" I '11 carry you across," said Jason, " if you 
will let me carry you." 

So she thanked him, and said it was a kind 
deed, for she was longing to reach the cottage 
where her little grandson lay sick. 

Then he knelt down, and she climbed upon 
his back, and he used his spear for a staff, and 
stepped into the river. It was deeper than he 
thought, and stronger, but at last he staggered 
out on the further bank, far below where he 
went in. And then he set the old woman down. 

" Bless you, my lad, for a strong man and a 
brave ! " she said, " and my blessing will go with 
you to the world's end." 

Then he looked, and she was gone he did 
not know where, for she was the greatest of the 
goddesses, Hera, the wife of Zeus, who had 
taken the shape of an old woman. 

Then Jason went down limping to the city, 




for he had lost one shoe in the flood. And when 
he reached the town he went straight up to the 
palace, and through the court, and into the open 
door, and up the hall, where the king was sitting 
at his table, among his 
men. There Jason stood, 
leaning on the spear. 

When the king saw 
him, he turned white 
with terror. For he had 
been told that a man 
with only one shoe 
would come some day, 
and take away his king- 
dom. And here was 
the half-shod man of 
whom the prophecy had 

But he still remem- 
bered to be courteous, 
and he bade his men 
lead the stranger to the 
baths, and there the 
attendants bathed him, pouring hot water 
over him. And they anointed his head with 
oil, and clothed him in new raiment, and 
brought him back to the hall, and set him 
down at a table beside the king, and gave 
him meat and drink. 

When he had eaten and was refreshed, 
the king said : " Now it is time to ask the 
stranger who he is, and who his parents are, 
and whence he comes to Iolcos ? " 

And Jason answered : " I am Jason, 
^Fon's son, your own brother's son, and I 
am come to take back my kingdom." 

The king grew pale again, but he was 
cunning, and he leaped up, and embraced 
the lad, and made much of him, and had a gold 
circlet twisted in his hair. Then he said he was old, 
and weary of judging the people. " And weary 
work it is," he said, " and no joy therewith shall 
any king have. For there is a curse on the 
country, that shall not be taken away, till the 
Fleece of Gold is brought home, from the land 
of the world's end." 

When Jason heard that, he cried, " I shall 
take the curse away, for I shall bring the Fleece 
of Gold from the land of the world's end, before 
I sit on the throne of my father." 

Now this was the very thing that the king 

wished, for he thought that if once Jason went 

after the Fleece certainly he would never come 

back living to Iolcos. So he said that it could 

never be done, for the land 

was far away across the 

sea, so far that the birds 

could not come and go 

in one year, so great a sea 

was that and perilous. 

Also there was 

a dragon that 

~'-~i guarded the 

Fleece of 
Gold, and 
no man -&v£^ 
could face ' 
it and live. 


But the 
idea of 

fighting a dragon was itself a temptation to 
Jason, and he made a great vow by the water 
of Styx, an oath the very gods feared to break, 
that certainly he would bring home that Fleece 
to Iolcos. And he sent out messengers all 

i8 9 i.] 



over Greece, to all his old friends, and bade meat, and wine on board, and hung their 

them come and help him, for that there was shields with their crests outside the bulwarks. 

a dragon to kill, and that there would be Then they said good-bye to their friends, went 

fighting. And they all came, driving in their aboard, sat down at the oars, set sail, and so 

chariots down dales and across hills : Hera- 
cles the strong man, with the bow that none 
other could bend, and Orpheus with his 
harp, and Castor and Polydeuces, and Zetes 
and Calais of the golden wings, and Tiphys, 
the steersman, and young Hylas, still a boy, 
and as fair as a girl, who always went with 
Heracles the strong. These came, and many 
more, and they set shipbuilders to work, and 
oaks were felled for beams, and ashes for oars, 
and spears were made, and arrows feathered, and 
swords sharpened. But in the prow of the ship 
they placed a bough of an oak-tree from the 
forest of Dodona, where the trees can speak. 
And that bough spoke, and prophesied things 
to come. And they called the ship " Argo," 
and they launched her, and put bread, and 

away eastward to Colchis, in the land of the 
world's end. 

All day they rowed, and at night they beached 
the ship, as was then the custom, for they did 
not sail at night, and they went on shore, and 
took supper, and slept, and next day to the sea 
again. And old Chiron, the man-horse saw the 
swift ship from his mountain heights, and ran 
down to the beach ; there he stood with the 
waves of the gray sea breaking over his feet, 
waving with his mighty hands, and wishing his 
boys a safe return. And his wife held in her 
arms the little son of one of the ship's company, 
Achilles, the son of Peleus of the Spear, and of 
the goddess of the Sea Foam. So they rowed 
ever eastward, and ere long they came to a 
strange isle where dwelt men with six hands 





apiece, unruly giants. And these giants lay 
in wait for them on cliffs above the river's 
mouth where the ship was moored, and before 
the dawn they rolled down great rocks on the 
crew. But Heracles drew his huge bow, 
the bow for which he slew Eurytus, king of 
CEchalia, and wherever a giant showed hand 
or shoulder above the cliff, he pinned him 
through with an arrow, till all were slain. And 
after that they still held eastward, passing many 
islands, and towns of men, till they reached 
Mysia, and the Asian shore. Here they landed, 
with bad luck. For while they were cutting 
reeds and grass to strew their beds on the 
sands, young Hylas, beautiful Hylas, went off 
with a pitcher in his hand to draw water. He 
came to a beautiful spring, a deep, clear, green 
pool, and there the water-fairies lived, whom men 
called Nereids. There were Eunis, and Nycheia 
with her April eyes, and when they saw the 
beautiful Hylas, they longed to have him al- 
ways with them, to live in the crystal caves 
beneath the water. For they had never seen 
any one so beautiful. And as he stooped with 
his pitcher and dipped it to the stream, they 
caught him softly in their arms, and drew him 
down below, and no man ever saw him any more, 
but he dwelt with the water-fairies. 

And Heracles the strong, who loved him like 
a younger brother, wandered all over the coun- 
try, crying Hylas ! Hylas ! and the boy's voice 
answered so faintly from below the stream 
that Heracles never heard him. So he roamed 
alone in the forests, and the rest of the crew 
thought he was lost. 

Then the sons of the North Wind were angry, 
and bade set sail without him, and sail they did, 
leaving the strong man behind. Long after- 
ward, when the Fleece was won, Heracles met 
the sons of the North Wind, and slew them with 
his arrows. And he buried them, and set a 
great stone on each grave, and one of these 
is ever stirred, and shakes when the North Wind 
blows. There they lie, and their golden wings 
are at rest. 

Still they sped on, with a west wind blowing, 
and they came to a country of Giants. Their 
king was strong, and thought himself the best 
boxer then living, so he came down to the ship, 
and challenged any one of that crew : and Poly- 
deuces, the boxer, took up the challenge. So 
the rest, and the people of the country, made a 
ring, and Polydeuces and the Giant stepped 
into the midst, and put up their hands. First 
they moved round each other cautiously, watch- 
ing for a chance, and then, as the sun shone 

9 i. J 


forth in the Giant's face, Polydeuces leaped in, 
and struck him between the eyes with his left 
hand, and, strong as he was, the Giant staggered 
and fell. Then his friends picked him up, and 
sponged his face with water, and all the crew 
of Argo shouted with joy. He was soon on his 
feet again, and rushed at Polydeuces, hitting 
out so hard that he would have killed him if 
the blow had gone home. But Polydeuces just 
moved his head a little on one side, and the 
blow went by, and, as the Giant slipped, Poly- 
deuces planted one in his mouth, and another 
beneath his ear, and was away before the Giant 
could recover. There they stood, breathing 
heavily, and glaring at each other, till the Giant 
made another rush, but Polydeuces avoided 
him, and struck him several blows quickly in the 
eyes, and now the Giant was almost blind. So 
Polydeuces at once ended the combat by a 
right-hand blow on the temple. The Giant fell, 
and lay as if he were dead. When he came to 
himself again, he had no heart to go on, for his 
knees shook, and he could hardly see. So Poly- 
deuces made him swear never to challenge 
strangers again as long as he lived, and then 
the crew of " Argo " crowned Polydeuces with a 
wreath of poplar leaves, and they took supper, 
and Orpheus sang to them, and they slept, and 
next day they came to the country of the unhap- 
piest of men. 

His name was Phineus and he was a prophet ; 
but, when he came to meet Jason and his com- 
pany, he seemed more like the ghost of a beggar 
than a crowned king. For he was blind, and 
very old, and he wandered like a dream, leaning 
on a staff, and feeling the wall with his hand. 
His limbs all trembled, he was but a thing of skin 
and bone, and all foul and filthy to see. At last 
he reached the doorway and sat down, with his 
purple cloak fallen round him, and he held 
up his skinny hands, and welcomed Jason, for, 
being a prophet, he knew that now he should 
be delivered from his wretchedness. Now he 
lived, or rather lingered, in all this misery, be- 
cause he had offended the gods, and had told 
men what things were to happen in the future 
beyond what the gods desired that men should 
know. So they blinded him, and they sent 
against him hideous monsters with wings and 
crooked claws, called harpies, which fell upon 

2 37 

him at his meat, and carried it away before he 
could put it to his mouth. Sometimes they flew 
off with all the meat ; sometimes they left a little, 
that he might not quite starve, and die, and be at 
peace, but might live in misery. Yet, even what 
they left they made so foul, and of such evil 
savor, that even a starving man could scarcely 
take it within his lips. Thus, this king was the 
most miserable of all men living. 

So he welcomed the heroes, and, above all, 
Zetes and Calais, the sons of the North Wind, 
for they, he knew, would help him. And they 
all went into the wretched naked hall, and sat 
down at the tables, and the servants brought 
meat and drink, and placed it before them, the 
latest and last supper of the harpies. Then 
down on the meat swooped the harpies, like 
lightning or wind, with clanging brazen wings, 
and iron claws, and the smell of a battle-field 
where men lie dead ; down they swooped, and 
flew shrieking away with the food. But the two 
sons of the North Wind drew their short swords, 
and rose in the air on their golden wings, and 
followed where the harpies fled, over many a 
sea and many a land, till they came to a distant 
isle, and there they slew the harpies with their 
swords. And that isle was called " Turn Again," 
for there the sons of the North Wind turned, and 
it was late in the night when they came back 
to the hall of Phineus, and to their companions. 

Now, Phineus was telling Jason and his com- 
pany how they might win their way to Colchis 
and the world's end, and the wood of the 
Fleece of Gold. First, he said, you shall come 
in your ship to the Rocks Wandering, for these 
rocks wander like living things in the sea, and 
no ship has ever sailed between them. For 
they open, like a great mouth, to let ships pass, 
and when she is between their lips they clash 
again, and crush her in their iron jaws. By 
this way even winged things may never pass ; 
nay, not even the doves that bear ambrosia to 
Father Zeus, the lord of Olympus, but the rocks 
ever catch one even of these. So, when you 
come near them, you must let loose a dove from 
the ship, and let her go before you to try the 
way. And if she flies safely between the rocks 
from one sea to the other sea, then row with all 
your might when the rocks open again. But if 
the rocks close on the bird, then return, and do 


not try the adventure. But, if you win safely 
through, then hold right on to the mouth of the 
River Phasis, and there you shall see the towers 
of .^Fetes, the king, and the grove of the Fleece 
of Gold. And then do as well as you may. 

So they thanked him, and next morning they 
set sail, till they came to a place where high 
rocks narrowed the sea to the breadth of a 
river, and the stream ran swift, and the waves 
roared beneath the rocks, and the wet cliffs 
bellowed. Then Euphemus took the dove in 
his hands, and set it free, and she flew straight 
at the pass where the rocks met, and sped right 
through, and the rocks gnashed like gnashing 
teeth, but they caught only a feather from her 
tail. Then slowly the rocks opened again, like 
a wild beast's mouth that opens, and Tiphys, 
the helmsman, shouted, " Row on, hard all ! " 
and he held the ship straight for the pass. And 
she leaped at the stroke, and the oars bent like 
bows in the hands of the men. Three strokes 
they pulled, and at each the ship leaped, and 
now they were within the black jaws of the 
rocks, the water boiling round them, and so 
dark it was that they could see the stars. But 
the oarsmen could not see the daylight behind 
them, and the steersman could not see the day- 
light in front. Then the great tide rushed in 
between the rocks like a rushing river, and 
lifted the ship as if it were lifted by a hand, 
and through the strait she passed like a bird, and 
the rocks clashed, and only broke the carved 
wood of the ship's stern. And the ship reeled 
in the seething sea beyond, and all the men of 
Jason bowed their heads over their oars, half 
dead with that fierce rowing. 

Then they set all sail, and the ship sped 
merrily on, past the shores of the inner sea, 

(T t > be continued.') 

past bays and towns, and river mouths, and 
round green hills, the tombs of men slain long 
ago. And, behold, on the top of one mound 
stood a tall man, clad in rusty armor, and with 
a broken sword in his hand, and on his head a 
helmet with a blood-red crest. And thrice he 
waved his hand, and thrice he shouted aloud, 
and was no more seen, for this was the Ghost 
of Sthenelus, Actason's son, whom an arrow had 
slain there long since, and he had come forth 
from his tomb to see men of his own blood, 
and to greet Jason and his company. So they 
anchored there, and slew sheep in sacrifice, and 
poured blood and wine on the grave of Sthene- 
lus. And there Orpheus left a harp, that the 
wind might sing in the chords, and make music 
to Sthenelus below the earth. 

Then they sailed on, and at evening they saw 
above their heads the snowy crests of Mount 
Caucasus, flushed in the sunset; and high in 
the air they saw, as it were, a black speck that 
grew greater and greater, and fluttered black 
wings, and then fell sheer down like a stone. 
And then they heard a dreadful cry from a val- 
ley of the mountain, for there Prometheus was 
fastened to the rock, and the eagles fed upon 
him, because he stole fire from the gods, and 
gave it to men. And the heroes shuddered 
when they heard his cry; but not long after 
Heracles came that way. and he slew the eagles 
with his bow, and set Prometheus free. 

But at nightfall they came into the wide 
mouth of the River Phasis, that flows through 
the land of the world's end, and they saw the 
lights burning in the palace of yEetes the king. 
So now they were come to the last stage of 
their journey, and there they slept, and dreamed 
of the Fleece of Gold. 


(A Christinas Story.) 

By Roswell Smith. 

It was Christmas Eve in a Western city. 
Lights shone brightly in all the churches where 
children were gathered for Christmas festivities, 
singing Christmas songs and receiving Christmas 
presents, sometimes from great evergreen trees 
all abloom with apples, oranges, toys, books, 
warm mufflers, and warmer mittens for snow- 
balling and coasting. And even when early in 
the evenings these festivities were over, and a 
succession of snow flurries had settled into a 
steady storm, groups of happy children rushed 
gleefully out into the cold, cheerless streets, 
shouting and singing as they scattered to wend 
their way homeward as fast as their young legs 
could carry them. Lamps in the shop-windows 
flickered and shone by turns. Door-steps were 
silently covered with thick drifts of dry snow, 
or in a moment left bare and dark. Blinds 
were shut and curtains drawn close to keep out 
the cold and storm, though nearly every dwell- 
ing showed at least one window cheerful with 
light and warmth, and decorated with Christmas 

The snow was falling faster; the wind from the 
lake rushed up and down the silent streets and 
played fantastic tricks with the bewildered snow. 

Among the boys who had started homeward 
in the storm, was one laden with presents for 
his widowed mother. He was a little fellow 
with an unpronounceable Norwegian surname, 
which his mates and school-fellows, following 
only its sound, had translated into " Holdfast." 
At first he tried to correct the error, but at 
length he gave that up, and accepted the new 
name, with its full meaning, resolved to bear it 
worthily. He went to the day-school, and to 
the Sunday-school, and gained the approval of 
his teachers by his faithfulness and his intelligent 
interest in his work. When a call was made 
for recruits for the Sunday-school, Holdfast not 
only brought in more children than anybody 
else, but he kept them too ; for if they were ab- 

sent he was sure to look them up; and so it had 
come to pass that there were in the school 
several classes known collectively as the Hold- 
fast Brigade. 

The room where his widowed and invalid 
mother lived was in the poorer part of the 
city, and it was far from the great and beau- 
tiful church whose Christmas festival he had 

This was before the days of district-telegraph 
companies, and uniformed and disciplined mes- 
senger boys, but Holdfast was known in the 
city as a kind of express messenger company in 
himself. It was mainly by his earnings that his 
mother had lived since her illness. Almost at 
daylight he would be at the newspaper office 
waiting for it to open, to get his bundle of pa- 
pers in time to deliver on a double route, twice 
as long as that assigned to any other boy — and 
at morning and at night, before and after school- 
hours, he was sure to have errands and com- 
missions. Sometimes these would keep him busy 
far into the night — for he never felt willing to 
stop and rest until every parcel and every mes- 
sage had been delivered. 

This particular Christmas Eve he was to 
spend with his mother, but while he was bent 
on his homeward way, sturdily facing the storm, 
a man hastily dismounted from a horse and 
recognizing him said : " Here, Franz, hold my 
horse until I come back," and almost before he 
knew it the bridle was in the cold little hand, 
and the man had disappeared in the driving 
storm. Franz, suppressing a sigh, buttoned his 
jacket over his presents, and waited, standing 
first on one foot, and then upon the other. 
The passers-by took no note of the tired boy 
and the chilled and impatient horse. One by 
one the lights in the windows of the city went 
out. The passers-by became fewer, until the 
streets were almost deserted. The gas-lamps in 
the streets flared in the gusts of wind, and 




sometimes these too disappeared, blown out by 
the unusual gusts. The snow fell thicker and 
faster, and still the boy held the horse. At first 
the fine animal had been restless, pawing the 
snow, and snorting as he snuffed the air; but 
in time he had lost his spirit and surrendered 
to his misfortune. Then he made friends with 

custody, but Holdfast expostulated — he was to 
hold him, he said, until the rider came back. The 
official gave expression to a sentiment more 
emphatic than complimentary concerning the 
absent owner of the horse, and marched boy 
and animal to the nearest livery-stable. There 
he rang the night-bell, and delivered the horse, 

"the snow fell thicker and faster, and still the boy held the horse." 

the boy, his companion in misery, drooping his 
head down over the lad's shoulder in the pitiful 
way in which I have seen a mare brooding over 
its dead colt. The great alarm-bell in the tower 
of the city hall slowly pealed out the midnight 
hour. The city marshal and his little force of 
night-police began their round of the streets to 
see that the saloons were closed, and that the 
belated citizens did not suffer from assaults of 
the disreputable and lawless, — and so it hap- 
pened that a watchman discovered the cower- 
ing horse and lonely boy. 

He at once proposed to take the former into 

notwithstanding Holdfast's remonstrances, and, 
with a threat to lock him up also unless he took 
himself off, sent the boy home. 

By this time Franz felt himself to be strangely 
weak. He scarcely could make his way through 
the streets. Even the snow and darkness hardly 
could make them unfamiliar. Dreamily the boy 
held his slow course ; at one moment, he seemed 
to see the lights and hear the music of the church, 
and, at another, everything became confused in 
his mind; he was leading the horse, and they 
seemed to be dragging some heavy load be- 
tween them ; then the lights came again and the 



music, and he would have lain down to dream, 
and listen, but for his sturdy habit of moving 
on, moving on, till his route was completed. 

At last he saw the feeble candle-light in his 
mother's window ; he reached the door — and, 
what did it mean ? — he could not turn the 
handle ! He tried again and again, when sud- 
denly the door opened. His mother, who had 
been anxiously waiting for him, once more had 
come out to peer into the darkness and call his 
name. Then he fell down upon the steps. 
His mother pulled him into the bright warmth 
of the sitting room, and, with a low cry of dis- 
tress, began to chafe his hands and face, and 
loosen his clothes. She cried for help in her 
anxiety ; kind neighbors from the adjoining 
apartment soon came to her aid, for the poor 
are always kind to the poor. Soon the boy 
was tenderly cared for and put to bed. His 
feet and legs were found to be badly frozen, 
and his fingers numb and swollen. 

By and by poor Franz slept, and the city 
became as silent and noiseless as the falling 
snow, save the moaning and soughing of the 
wind, and the clatter of blinds, and the banging 
of loose shutters. 

And the man who had left his horse in the 
boy's charge — where was he ? 

It was on Christmas Eve, you know, and he 
had gone down the street a few steps to get some 
presents for his little ones, and not finding just 
what he had looked for, he had been sent by the 
sleepy salesman to a shop a few doors farther 
down the street ; and there he had met some 
merry friends, who clapped him upon the shoul- 
der, and laughed and chatted and badgered him 
gaily as he selected the toys, and insisted upon 
his getting into their covered wagon with his 
armful of bundles. They would set him down 
at his own door in less than no time, they said ; 
and he, as merry as they, full of thoughts of his 
own little ones, but quite forgetting the horse and 
that poor, half-frozen boy, enjoyed the jolly 
drive homeward and was soon warming his toes 
at his own fireside, the lightest-hearted but most 
absent-minded man in town, as his friends knew 

him to be. He felt that he had done a good 
evening's work, and he looked upon the storm 
itself simply as a merry Christmas prank that 
served only to make matters livelier. 

Poor Franz — poor little " Holdfast." Fortu- 
nately there were no papers to be delivered on 
Christmas Day — but it was not for several days 
thereafter that he was able to get out, and even 
then, for a time he could get about only by the 
help of crutches. 

The sleighing had been fine, and all the city 
was alive with merriment and good cheer. In 
some of the smaller cities of the West, where 
everybody knows everybody else, there is a 
kindliness and friendship among all classes, that 
we who live in great cities, and do not know 
our next-door neighbors, often miss. Franz and 
his mother had not been forgotten or neglected. 
The best physician in the place had heard of 
his illness, and, knowing him well, had come 
in to see that all went on favorably with the 
frozen feet. 

The man who had forgotten him and the 
horse, and who, indeed, often forgot for a space 
his own wife and little ones, did all that money 
could do to make amends ; everybody sent the 
boy presents ; and the Holdfast Brigade was in 
rather superfluous attendance, if the truth were 
told. Franz enjoyed all the honors, and many 
of the disadvantages, of having for the moment 
become a hero in everybody's estimation. 

If you go to his western city to-day, you will 
hear Franz " Holdfast " well spoken of — an hon- 
ored though a modest citizen. He does not 
own the town, and he is not governor of the 
State. Since that Christmas Eve, everybody 
knows that Franz " Holdfast " (for the name 
still clings to him) will keep his promises at 
whatever cost. Respected by all, he has gained 
that trust which is the foundation of honor 
and prosperity. He is master of himself, and 
a warm friend to small boys — especially on 
Christmas Eve. 

And this is the simple story of the hero of 
the Holdfast Brigade. 





A Happy New Year to us, one and all, my 
friends — and the kind of happy year, too, that 
will leave us better than it finds us. There is 
always room for improvement, even in folks who 
read Sx. Nicholas. And now we '11 take up 


What kind of wood is a yule log? It need not 
come from a yew tree. No, indeed. Yew trees 
are sad, as a rule ; but the yule log always has 
merry Christmas in its heart, and is cheery even 
when it is passing away in the bright glow of the 
hearthstone. There are many pretty stories about 
the yule log, and as for its being associated with 
Christmas and jollity, the dear Little Schoolma'am 
says you have only to search your big dictionaries 
to find that out. Once discover what the word 
''jolly" comes from, and you will see that words 
sometimes are most unexpectedly related. In 
Denmark, in speaking of Christmas Day, they 
call it "Yule" and spell it "J-u-u-1." Now, is n't 
that queer ? 


I AM not at all sure that any of you, my hearers, 
wish to subscribe to an Eskimo journal; but if you 
should have such a thing in contemplation, it 
might be well for you to begin at once learning the 
name of one which the Little Schoolma'am says 
was held in high esteem by the Eskimos as late as 
1874. She says it may be even more prosperous 
to-day, but she cannot be absolutely sure of this 
as she is not one of its constant readers. Here is 
the pretty name of this journal : 

Atuagagldliutit NALINGINARMIK. tusarum- 

You will find it mentioned, I am told, in the 
" Encyclopaedia Britannica," Vol. VIII., page 546, 

and its name is thus translated: " Something for 
Reading. Accounts of all Entertaining Subjects." 


New York, November 12th. 
Dear Mr. JACK: The other night, when we 
all were sitting around a big fire, my brother read 
aloud this astonishing bit of news from the evening 

Point the hour-hand of a watch at the sun, that is in 
a horizontal direction toward the sun. Then the south 
point will be just half-way between the hour-hand and 
the XII point. 

Well, we were instantly interested, of course, 
and upon examining papa's watch, it did seem to 
be as the paper said ; but we decided that the best 
way would be to try it by the real sun itself. It 
seemed a long way off — but we waited. 

And, the next morning, when the sun shone 
clear and bright, we children tried that experiment 
with every watch in the house, and the rule worked 
perfectly ! Brother Leslie even gave me the little 
compass from his guard-chain because, as he said, 
he should n't need it any more. We flew about 
borrowing everyone's watch, and "trying" till 
mama said we might as well all have been 
weather-vanes. We wanted to turn the parlor 
clock over on its back, but they would n't let us. 
Yes, sir ; morning, noon, and sundown, the rule 
worked. Ask the boys and girls to try it. 

Yours, Mabel J. S . 


New York, Oct. 4, 1890. 
Dear Jack : As you and your chicks seem to 
be interested to find out things about natural 
history, I would like to submit this ''uestion to 
their examination. At dinner to-day .../ eye hap- 
pened to rest on the milk pitcher. I noticed a fly 
alight on the rim and put down a grain of sugar, 
nicely balanced on the edge of the pitcher. Then 
he rubbed his fore legs together as flies often do — 
and, trying to take hold of the grain again, he 
started to walk along the edge of the pitcher. 
Well, he did not have a good hold of the grain 
and so dropped it, and it fell into the milk. Now, 
the question is, what object had he in carrying it, 
and where was he going? The sugar-bowl was 
clear across the table, about four feet, so he must 
have had some reason for his labor. C. B . 

seven thirsty elephants. 

Chestertown, Md. 

Dear Jack-in-the-Pulpit : One day a circus 
and menagerie train halted at the railway station 
on its way through this town. Of course there was 
great curiosity among the railroad men to inspect 
this queer special train ; and with the others the 
engineer and the fireman of one of the locomotives 
in the yard left their posts for a short time to see 
the different menagerie cars. 

When they came back and were ready to move 
their locomotive, they noticed that the cover of the 

9 i.] 



water- tank was open ! Further, they luckily dis- 
covered that the tank was nearly empty — although 
it had been full to the brim when they left it. 

Such an extraordinary thing had never hap- 
pened before ! No wonder there was great sur- 
prise on all sides ; every one knew the tank was 
full when the men had left it ; in fact some of the 
" hands" had seen it filled, neither was there a 
leak in it, and yet, the tank was empty. The 
question was, where had the water gone ? 

Seven thirsty elephants, shut up all day and 
all night in a car that gave them hardly room 
to move ; their warm bodies fairly touching one 
another, a paltry allowance of water to quench 
their thirst, and, then, to be left standing on the 
hot railroad-track, the sun's rays pouring down 

ample, then another, until seven trunks had felt 
and snuffed around, over engine, tender, and coal. 
What they sought was not there; but they still 
kept moving about, and, coming to the water-tank, 
one of them stopped, felt all over the cover, and 
at last managed to get the finger-like end under 
the edge of the cover. Then slowly and carefully 
it was opened ; when, behold ! there was what the 
elephants wanted — water, and plenty of it. The 
owner of that particular trunk took a long draught, 
its companions meanwhile shoving and pushing 
one another, in their anxiety to drink. One after 
another they filled their trunks with the cool water, 
and poured it down their dry parched throats. 

How grateful ! How refreshing ! After the long 
dusty ride, with what keen enjoyment they squirted 



upon the roof of the car, and with only such air 
as could come through the small open windows ! 
Was it any wonder, when their keen scent told 
them water was near, that they should search for 
it ? How were they to know that it was not there 
for their convenience. At any rate, no sooner were 
the men gone, than through a small window of the 
elephant car, the dusky trunk of an elephant made 
its way sinuously out. Another followed its ex- 

the water over their tired, hot bodies, until they 
were cool and comfortable. 

The mystery of the empty tank was a mystery 
but a short time. The keeper of the elephants on 
visiting the car had found it and the elephants 
deluged with water. A few inquiries, and the 
matter was explained to everyone's satisfaction. 
Yours trulv, 

M. B. D. 

By Tudor Jenks. 

Time: Christmas morning. 

Scene : Vicinity of everywhere. A cold day. 


A Little Girl, who is "not in it." 
Mr. Santa Claus, a benevolent and well-meaning 
old gentleman, unusually fond of children. 


Little Girl: a la ragbag. 

Mr. S. Claus : P'urs and an engaging smile. 

(Mr. S. Claus enters during a paper snow-storm, care- 
lessly swinging his empty pack.) 

S. C. — My work is done, and now my goal 
Is a little north of the old north-pole ! 

(Little Girl enters "left." Runs after S. C and 
catches his coat.) 

L.G. — But, Mr. Claus, one moment stay ! 
Listen, before you hurry away ; 
Neither in stocking nor on tree 
Has any present been left for me ! 

S. C. — You 've no present ? That 's too bad ! 
I 'd like to make all children glad. 
There 's something wrong; the fact is 

I 'm very sorry indeed, my dear. 

I brought an endless lot of toys 

To millions and millions of girls and 

But, still, there are so many about 
Some have been overlooked, no doubt ! 

L. G. — Well, Santa Claus, I know you 're kind, 
And mean to bear us all in mind. 
But I can't see the reason why 
We poor are oftenest passed by. 

S. C. — It 's true, my child. I can't but say 
I have a very curious way 
Of bringing presents to girls and boys 
Who have least need of pretty toys, 
And giving books, and dolls, and rings 
To those who already have such things. 
'T is done for a very curious reason 
Suggested by the Christmas season : 
Should I make my gifts to those who need, 
'T would become a time of general greed, 
When all would think, "What shall we 

•' What shall we give ? " they would quite 

So when I send my gifts to-day 
'T is a hint : " You have plenty to give 

And then I leave some poor ones out 
That the richer may find, asthey look about, 
Their opportunities near at hand 
In every comer of the land. 
My token to those who in plenty live 
Is a gentle reminder, meaning 


(Curtain, and distribution of presents by t/ie 
thoughtful audience after they reach home. J 


Washington, D. C. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am an English girl, making my 
first visit to Washington, and I should like to tell you, 
as you are one of America's great friends, how much I 
like it. 

I have been here since July, and since my arrival I 
have been to Canada, San Francisco, Chicago, New York, 
and a great many smaller cities; I think I like New 
York best of all. 

I am traveling with my uncle and eldest brother. I have 
five other brothers ; two are fifteen and seventeen years 
old, and they live in London with my papa; the others 
are grown, and one lives in St. Petersburg, Russia; one 
is in India, with his regiment, and the other is a naval 
officer. They are all very good to me, as I am the 
youngest of all, and they pet me a great deal ; I think 
brothers are lovely, but I know some girls who think their 
brothers are horrid (some of them are). 

I remain your loving admirer, 

Dorothea V. De C . 


(By a yoitng contributor. ) 

Joy is a beautiful thing — 

It keeps sorrow back ; 
Joy makes the little birds sing, 

And the little ducks go quack, quack. 

Evelyn H. Cheney. 

New Albany, Pa. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I owe the pleasure of reading 
you to my uncle, who sends you to me as a birthday 
present. He could not have thought of anything nicer 
had he tried for years. 

My little brother was once standing by the window 
during a heavy thunder-storm. He was told to come 
away and replied. " No, I want to see God light 

A good many have mentioned their different ways of 
making dolls, some with flowers, and some with potatoes ; 
my way is to cut the pictures out of fashion plates, and 
arrange them in groups, some sitting, some lying down, 
and some leaning against tables or chairs. 

Your sincere admirer, FLORENCE L . 

Toronto, Canada. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We are two little Canadian 
children, and we have something to tell you, which we 
hope may interest you. We have an uncle (by marriage), 
Chas. Corbould, Esq., who was a midshipman in his 
Majesty's service at the time of Napoleon's imprison- 
ment at Elba. 

The commander of his ship had at one time been a 
prisoner of war in France, and had received great kind- 
ness at the hands of the Emperor. So when his ship 
was near Elba he resolved to put in there, and go and 
pay his respects to Napoleon. 

It so happened that Uncle Corbould was detailed to 
go with him on shore ; we think he said he was " orderly 
for the day." 

However, he went with the captain on shore, where 
the latter paid his respects to Napoleon, and, when the 
interview had ended, the great Emperor turned to Uncle 

Corbould, and, laying his hand on his shoulder, said to 
him in English : 

" And you, my little man, how long have you served 
his Britannic Majesty?" 
Affectionately yours, 

Arthur and Helen D . 

West Point, N. Y. 
My Dear St. Nicholas : Have you ever had a letter 
from West Point ? I have lived here three years, and 
like it very much. Of course you know what a lovely spot 
it is, for it is so near New York. I have lived in the army 
all my life. I was born at Fort Stevens, at the mouth 
of the Columbia River. I have lived at seven forts : Fort 
Stevens, F'ort Monroe, Fort Trumbull, Fort Adams, Fort 
Snelling, Fort Warren, and here; though Fort Snelling 
and West Point are not real forts. I wonder how many 
little girls could tell in what States these forts are? I 
am ten years old. Your friend, 

Cornelia E. L . 


Dear St. Nicholas : We have a literary cat ; he is 
fond of newspapers. He will not lie in any chair that 
has not a paper in it. He has a paper for a table-cloth, 
which he carries on his back to a certain corner of the 
room, where he is fed. We call him the " Old Man." 
He is the greatest hunter anywhere around. Nearly 
every evening at nine o'clock, we hear him calling like 
an old mother cat, for us to come and see his prize ; very 
often it is a large rat. I have three other nice cats ; also 
pretty colts and calves. 

My home is in the beautiful Berkshires, and I love it 
dearly. Your friend, HELEN T. M . 

St. Paul, Minn. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am only a little shaver, three 
years and seven months, but have taken two of your vol- 
umes. Papa and grandma show me the pictures, and tell 
me the stories, for mama is not living. I have a big dog, 
and lots of books and toys, and go to kindergarten five 
mornings a week. I am going to stand in my express 
wagon to post this. Percy Arnold R . 

San Jose, Cal. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I wrote you a letter quite a 
while ago, but it was not printed, and so I try again. 
Mama says I wrote in too much of a hurry. I never 
read a description of San Jose in the Letter-Box. It 
is a pretty town, situated between two mountain-ranges, 
in a valley filled with little fruit farms. We can have 
strawberries every month of the year. Sometimes in 
winter we can see snow on the mountains, when it is 
green in the valley. We can see Mount Hamilton from 
our house. On the summit of it is the Lick Observa- 
tory which has the greatest telescope in the world. 

There are a great many people from the East and 
Europe who visit the observatory; they go with a six- 
horse team. They start about six o'clock in the evening, 
Saturday, and, after looking at the stars, return at three 
in the morning. Most people here go to the seaside or 
to the mountains during the summer months. 

Your loving reader, Mabel M . 



Georgetown Convent, West Washington, D. C. 

Dear St. Nicholas : As I have not seen many letters 
to you about your charming " Lady Jane," I think I will 
write you that it is the greatest success of the season. 
Mrs. Jamison certainly is a delightful writer, and we 
hope " Lady Jane " will not be the last gem from her pen. 
Dear Lady Jane is so fascinating, and Tite Souris so 

The letter from "An Admirer of the St. Nicho- 
las," speaks of "The Iturbide," once the palace of the 
Emperor Iturbide, and now a hotel in that old city of 
Mexico. This made me conclude to tell you that we 
girls have the grave of one of the daughters of the 
ex-Emperor in our cloister, and the sisters often show it 
to us when we go through the convent once a year. Per- 
haps you have read in the life of John Quincy Adams, 
his reflections on the fleeting honors of this world, while 
he was crowning the ex-Princess at one of the com- 
mencements in this old convent. On Miss Iturbide's 
tombstone the date, Oct. 2, 182S, seems a long time ago 
to youngsters. I must say good-bye, dear St. Nicholas. 
Yours, Mary W . 

Tuxtla, Mex. 

Dear St. Nicholas : Papa is the chief engineer on 
the M. P. L. I have two sisters and one brother. 

We have four parrakeets. I have one horse of my own. 
The natives here are lazy. They wear clothes that do 
not cost more than two dollars a year. You can buy 
here six oranges for a cent and a half. 

We live in the southern part of Mexico, on the Pacific 
Ocean. We came from Tonala here on horseback, one 
hundred and fifty miles. At one time we were three 
thousand feet above the ocean, twenty-four miles south 
of us. 

The houses are made of mud bricks ; they are square, 
with a courtyard in the middle. 

They raise three crops of corn in a year. 

They have coffee plantations here ; the coffee is good. 

There is a church here that they know, without a doubt, 
to be one hundred and fifty years old, and many believe 
to be much older. I have lived here ten months, but I 
can not speak much Spanish. J. D. O . 

We take the St. Nicholas, and sometimes we have a 
long wait for it. When it comes there is a grand rush 
for it. 

Buffalo, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Quebec — quaint, picturesque, 
old Quebec — was one of the most interesting, by far, of 
the places I visited last summer, and it may be that a few 
words concerning "The Gibraltar of America" will not 
be out of place. I enjoyed the Thousand Islands, the 
Rapids of the noble St. Lawrence, and sight-seeing in 
Montreal; but Quebec took me by storm. It is very 
easy, when strolling about the narrow streets of this fas- 
cinating old town, to realize that one is in a city nearly 
three centuries old, and not hard to realize that one is 
not at home. The city is intensely foreign in aspect. 
" Quebec is the most fascinating city I 've ever seen," 
said one Buffalo girl, and I, though I have seen many 
of the most famous places in both the Old World and the 
New, consider it one of the most picturesque and inter- 
esting I 've ever beheld. I boarded, while there, in the 
family of a French Protestant clergyman, where grace 
was said at the table in the French language, by a gen- 
tleman from Montreux, Switzerland. As we approached 
the city on the morning of the first of August, and I 

looked from the steamer's deck — I could not bear to 
enter a city like Quebec by rail — to the Citadel, and saw 
the British colors flying in the breeze, I thought, with a 
thrill at my heart : " Oh ! how much it cost to plant those 
colors there ! " Of course I visited the Plains of Abra- 
ham, and saw the Monument with its impressive inscrip- 
tion: " Here Wolfe fell, victorious." There is much to 
see in this old-time city, and yet when I told a business 
man whom I met on the St. Lawrence that I had spent 
a week in Quebec, he exclaimed in forcible, if not classic, 
diction : " Land ! I would n't stay in Quebec longer than 
a day and a half, if you 'd pay me." But I stayed in the 
old French town a week only to realize that I would like 
to stay a fortnight. How I enjoyed going up and down 
Breakneck Staircase, in picturesque Little Champlain 
Street, strolling up and down the Terrace, where all 
Quebec walks at will, and looking upon the view of great 
and varied beauty it commands ; going to the Montcalm 
Market where, on Fridays and Saturdays, the French 
habitans from the surrounding country congregate with 
their stock of fruits, flowers, and vegetables, and last, but 
not least, strolling up and down the ancient streets of the 
Lower Town. Quebec streets have queer names : as, 
Holy Family, Lachevrotiere, D'Aiguillon, Sous Le Fort, 
etc. But, however much I may enjoy Quebec as a tourist, 
I 'm glad that I don't live there. 

I miss Buffalo's shade-trees, Buffalo's verandas, Buf- 
falo's beautiful homes ; in short, Buffalo's beauty. Now 
I am in the " Queen City of the Lakes," and from the 
window at which I sit and write, I can look out upon 
the beautiful, blue Niagara, and upon the International 
Bridge between the British dominions and our own. 
But I '11 not say another word for fear of saying too much. 

Julia B. H . 

Lincoln, Neb. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I thought I would write you 
about my seeing little Elsie Leslie here in Lincoln. She 
was only here one night ; she played in the " Prince and 
the Pauper," which is one of Mark Twain's stories. 

I enjoyed seeing the play ever so much, and would 
not have been so interested if I had not read that inter- 
esting article in your magazine about "Elsie Leslie." 

The serial story you just commenced in the November 
number, entitled "The Boy Settlers," is very interesting 
to me, because I am familiar with the place in which the 
scene was laid. All my life till three months ago was 
spent within twenty miles of Dixon. I have heard my 
grandfather quite often speak of Father Dixon. My 
grandfather has seen him a good many times. 

My grandfather lives at Fulton, where the Howells 
and Bryants crossed the Mississippi. 

Your devoted reader, Bessie H. N . 

We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received from them: Margaret H. D., 
Ethelwynne K., Lilian S., Charlotte T., Gaston O. W. 
G. and A. B., M. B. C, Monica B., Carrie R. E.. W. 
Xeyle CJune B., Harold R. T., Beatrix S. M., William 
H. H., Sarah E. C., Lycurgus J. W., Katie D., Edward 
A. H., Paul A. L., Walter F. S., Abigail G, E. P. L., 
Will D., Clara M., Nannie B. G., Morty J. K., Mary L. 
B., Josie E. D., A. W. W., Marion R., Winifred C. D., 
Cora and Mary, Nora M., Charles W., Olive P., Adelaide 
Y. M., Lilly M., Edith H., Ethel H., Alice H., G. B. S., 
Cecelia C, Fannie, Elsie, and Louise B., Rose L., S. W. 
D. and S. M. McL. , Yronne, Rita McN. , Elsie T. , Helen 
S., Laura Van A., Lucile E. T., Jennie McC. S. 


Word-squares. I. i. Drama. : 
5. Adele. II. 1. Redan. 2. Evade. 


. Robed. 3. Abide. 4. Medal. 
3. Dazes. 4. Adept. 5. Nests. 

Send the ruddy fire-light higher; 
Draw your easy-chair up nigher; 
Through the winter, bleak and chill, 
We may have our summer still. 
Here are poems we may read, 
Pleasant fancies to our need : 
Ah, eternal summer-time 
Dwells within the poet's rhyme ! 

'"December," by ina d. coolbrith. 
Christmas Puzzle. From 1 to 14, Sir Isaac Newton ; 15 to 26, 
Christmas Day. Cross-words : 1. Chest. 2. Melon. 3. Tower. 
4. Sacks. 5. Diary. 6. Snake. 7. Paint. 8. Fairy. 

Scottish Diagonal Puzzle. Diagonals : Hogmanay. Cross- 
words : 1. Hebrides. 2. Holyrood. 3. Bagpipes. 4. Balmoral 5. Mar- 
garet. 6. John Knox. 7. Galloway. 8. Waverley. 

Anagram. Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

Oblique Rectangle. r. P. 2. Bet. 3. Bides. 4 
5. Tensile. 6. stipend. 7. Slender. 8. Endured. 9, 
10. Revived. 11. Devon. 12. Den. 13. D. 

Half-squares. I. 1. Batman. 2. Avert. 3. Teas 
5. At. 6. N. II. 1. Ecuador. 2. Cannon. 3. Unite. 
5. Doe. 6. On. 7. R. 

Double Cross-Word Enigma. Christmas, mistletoe. 

Compound Double Acrostics. I. Cross-words : 1. Trig. 2. Anne. 
3. Rest. II. 1. Pair. 2. Arno. 3. Raft. III. 1. Ami. 2. Sear, 
3. Pile. 

Word-building. I, in, sin, pins, snipe, ripens, pincers, princess. 




To our Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the October Number were received, before October 15th, from Paul Reese — Maud E. 
Palmer — M. Josephine Sherwood — Mamma and Jamie — "The McGs." — "The Sisters" — Grace, Edith, and Jo — E. M. G. — Arthur 
Gride — Alice Mildred Blankc — " Ayis" — Jo and I — " Lehte " — " Mohawk Valley " — Ralph Rainsford — W. L. — Blanche and Fred — 
"The Owls"— Effie K. Talboys — Nellie L. Howes— Hollis Lapp— Aunt Martha and Mabel — John W. Frothingham, Jr.— " Miss 
Flint " — " The Wise Five " — " The Spencers " — " Uncle Mung " — " Nick McNick " — Ida C. Thallon — Pearl F. Stevens — " A Family 

Answers to Puzzles in the October Number were received, before October 15th, from M. Ella Gordon, 1 — Maud E. Palm- 
er, 10 — Rosalind, 1 — Phyllis, 2 — Edythe P. J., 1 — Honora Swartz, 4 — "The Lancer," 2 — A. H. Stephens, 1 — R. MacNeill, 1 — 
C. Bell, 1 — A. M. Robinson, 1 — Clara and Emma, 1 — Mabel S. Meredith, 2 — G- V., 1 — Katie M. W., 9 — Grace P. Lawrence, 6 — 
H. M. C. and Co., 4 — A. P. C, S. W., and A. W. Ashhurst, 9 — Nellie, Ailie, and Lily, 1 — Z. N. Z. K., 1— "B. and Soda," 1 — Elsie 
LaG. Cole, 1 — Clara, 5 — Charles Blackburne Keefer, 5 — W. W. Linsly, 3 — Eliza F. D., 2 — H. A. R., 10 — "Two Dromios," 4 — 
Victor V. Van Vorst, 4 — " Paganini and Liszt," 9 — Lisa Bloodgood, 5 — Hubert Bingay, 10 — " Pye," 2 — Sissie Hunter, 1 — Robert 
A. Stewart, 9 — Mabel S. R., 1— "Amer," 8 — Grandma and Arthur, 8 — "May and 79," 8— M. H. Perkins, 1 — " Rector's Daugh- 
ter," 4 — Mary S. K., 1 — Nellie and Reggie, 10 — "Charles Beaufort, " 10 — Camp, to — Emily Dembitz, 9 — "Squire," 6 — " H. P. 
H. S.," 4 — " The Nutshell," 7 — Bird- and Moll, 10 — Rachel A. Shepard, 10 — Arthur G. Lewis, 9 — Alex. Armstrong, Jr., 6 — C. H. P. 
and A. G., 9 — Eugenie De Stael, 2 — Adele Walton, 6 — " Wallingford," 7 — Dora Newton Bertie, 7 — A. O. F., 4 — "Mr. F's Aunt," 1. 

EllHliSinc EH3MQI llllti owmniiaii 

iDiLP: bo;t 



All of the cross-words contain the 
same number of letters. When these 
are rightly guessed, and placed one be- 
low the other, in the order here given, 
the first row of letters, reading down- 
ward, and the third row, reading upward, will both spell 
the same holiday. 

Cross-words : I. An old word meaning a watchword. 
2. A subterfuge. 3. Stuffing. 4. Relating to the day 
last past. 5. Sooner. 6. Similarity. 7* Pertaining to 
the Rhine. 8. Cunning. 9. A rich widow. 10. A salt 
formed by the union of acetic acid with a base. II. 
Citizens of New England. Arthur gride. 


I. A black bird. 
5. Abodes. 

2. To love. 

Elects. 4. Upright. 



II. I. A chariot. 2. A large basin. 3. A company 
of travelers. 4. Cupidity. 5. Became re-animated. 6. A 
kind of black snake. 7- A masculine nickname. 

"SAM U. ELL." 


From 1 to 2, a castle ; from 2 to 4, referees ; from 1 to 
3, a large kettle ; from 3 to 4, races ; from 5 to 6, clear ; 
from 6 to 8, fatiguing ; from 5 to 7, oriental ; from 7 to 
8, opinions ; from I to 5, to give up ; from 2 to 6, one; 
from 4 to 8, drinks a little at a time ; from 3 to 7, part of 
the day. "kettledrum." 

I. 1. A vehicle. 2. A scriptural name meaning a 
palm tree. 3. Pertaining to heat. 4. A musical term 
meaning in a tender, slow manner. 5. The degree of 
honor above a knight. 6. Ascended. 7. A small house. 


I. A vowel. 2. A preposition. 3. A color. 4. A 
small lake. 5. A retinue. 6. Ranking. 7. Pulling apart. 
8. A city in Africa. 9. Conquering. 10. A superficial 
knowledge. ELDRED AND ALICE. 




All of the words described contain the same number 
of letters. When rightly guessed and placed one below 
the other, the primals will spell the name of one who was 
" without fear and without reproach " ; the finals will spell 
the surname of a President of the United States; the 
primals and finals connected will spell the name of an 
author and traveler who was born on January II, 1S25. 

Cross- words : 1. A covering for the head. 2. A fleet 
of armed ships. 3. Annually. 4. Starry. 5. A kind 
of rust on plants. 6. A circuitous route. c. n. 


i. In thimble. 2. A useful article. 3. Always on 
hand. 4. An Australian bird. 5. In thimble. 


2. A sailor. 3. Wearies. 4. A traveling menagerie. 
5. To carouse. 6. The chemical term for salt. 7. In 

III. Central Diamond : 1. In lances. 2. Three- 
fourths of a word meaning mysterious. 3. Natives of 
Denmark. 4. Part of a soldier's outfit. 5. A bird. 6. A 
diocese. 7. In lances. 

IV. Lower Left-hand Diamond : 1. In lances. 
2. To injure. 3. A word used in architecture, meaning 
the plain surface between the channels of a triglyph. 

4. A design colored for working in mosaic or tapestry. 

5. To perch. 6. A drunkard. 7. In lances. 

V. Lower Right-hand Diamond : 1. In lances. 
2. A fish. 3. A mistake. 4. Irritable. 5. To free from 
restraint. 6. To deplore. 7. In lances. f. s. f. 



Example : A recompense ; to suppose. Answer, 
meed, deem. 

1. A coal wagon ; a place of public sale. 2. A famous 
island ; having power. 3. A deceiver ; to reproach. 
4. The place where Napoleon gained a victory in 1796; 
an object of worship. 5. A volcano in Sicily ; a Latin 
prefix. 6. Active; calamity. 7. One quarter of an acre ; 
entrance. 8. To boast; clothing. 9. Wounded; the god 
of love. 10. To glide smoothly; an animal. II. There- 
fore; an imaginary monster. 12. To look askance; a 
dance. 13. A share ; a snare. 14. An exclamation of 
contempt ; a band of wood. 

All of the words described are of equal length, and, 
when reversed and placed one below the other, the ini- 
tials will spell the name of an authoress who was born 
in England on January 1, 1767. DYCIE. 

# * # 

*f * # w * * 

Across: i. In Congress. 2. A vulgar person. 3. The 
Christian name of a poor toy-maker in "The Cricket on 
the Hearth." 4. The Indian cane, a plant of the palm 
family. 5. Modest. 6. A place of exchange. 7. To 
look for. 

By cutting off the last letter of the fifth word, the last 
two of the sixth, and the last three of the seventh, a com- 
plete diamond will be left. cousin frank. 


I. Upper Left-hand Diamond: i. In lances. 
2. A decree. 3. Limited to a place. 4. Concise. 5. Di- 
minished in size. 6. A cover. 7. In lances. 

II. Upper Right-hand Diamond: i. In lances. 


I am composed of one hundred and twelve letters, and 
am a quotation from an essay entitled " New Year's Eve." 

My 41-32-98 is large. My 76-94-47-18-10 is a young 
person. My 62-3 7-1 12-50-80 is to draw up the shoulders 
to express indifference. My 83-67-22-26-104 is part of 
a rake. My 6-73-S8-59-44 is a small table. My 64-54- 
3-15-24-IOO-86 is a large boat with two masts, and usu- 
ally rigged like a schooner. My 57-70-8-34-102 is to 
boast. My 43-96-49 is to dress in a fanciful manner. 
My 91-30-79 is an inhabitant of Hungary. My 107-1- 
53-110 is solitary. My 39-7-74-71 is in a short time. 
My 12-81-9-55 ' s to mulct. My 2-28-97 i s marsh. My 
90-65-52-4 is the hair of sheep. My 48-61-78-20-105 
is tumult. My 68-101-25-31-58-14 and my 106-109- 
82-63-17-46, each names a marine bivalve. My 36-11- 
40-84 is one of an ancient tribe who took an important 
part in subverting the Roman empire. My 51-92-103- 
33-77 is to hurl. My 29-42-108-45-23 is a norm. My 
16-75-69- 72-19-38 is a package. My 93-27-13-95-66- 
85-99 5-111-60-21 is the author of the quotation on 
which this enigma is founded, and my 87-89-35-56 is the 
name under which he wrote. "CORNELIA blimber." 


'-ihKVoiJ t u -Jhw-i ;', l'«S 




i ' -US 


' . 



Vol. XVIII. FEBRUARY, 1891. No. 4. 


By Helen Gray Cone. 

One February midnight, while bright stars laughed above, 

A poet, in his garret, sat rhyming " love " and " dove " ; 
He drew his gown about him, because the air was chill ; 

He wrote of Venus' snowy swans, and dipped his gray goose quill. 

And when the cold east kindled with morning's rosy fires, 

When all the merry sparrows chirped, and sparkled all the spires, 

Appeared a proper bachelor, who could not write a line 
(At least in rhyme), in happy time, to get his valentine. 

He grasped the'hand that penned it, with fervor quite absurd; 

He cried, " 'T is elegant indeed ! " — a cheerful chink was heard, 
A silver sound of kissing coins ; the poet rhymed for these, 

And yoked his teams of "loves " and " doves " to bring him bread and cheese ! 

To seal the precious missive, well pleased the lover sped ; 

He sealed it with a heart and dart, extremely neat and red ; 
He wrote upon the back a name ('t was Jane, if tell I must ) ; 

He would have liked to sand the same with diamonds ground to dust. 

To knock just like the postman, he used his utmost art ; 

And Mistress Jane came tripping down ; she saw the heart and dart ; 
Trim Jane, with eyebrows jetty, and dimple in her chin. 

" A Valentine ? It can't be mine ! " — and yet she took it in. 

And she and sister Betty laid by their work awhile, 

And bent their heads above the sheet, and praised the sugared style ; 

'T was all of " roguish Cupids," and " rainbow-pinioned Hours," 

And "golden arrows tipped with flame," and " fetters made of flowers." 

" I vow it 's vastly pretty ; and yet, my dear, you see 

It says within ' To Chloe' — it can't be meant for me ! 
And yet it says without ' To Jane ' — I think it must be mine ! " 
Meantime the poet toasted cheese, and blessed St. Valentine ! 

Copyright, 1890, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 

WE stamp a letter i 
drop it into 
iron box upon 
side of a lar 


post, secure in the 
knowledge that it 
will reach the 
friend to whom we 
wish to send it, 
even though he 
live thousands of 
miles away. Some 
day the postman 
brings the answer 
to our door, and 
so common a con- 
venience has this 
great service now 
become, that we give no thought to the wonder 
of it. But of all that was done with that letter 
after it was mailed, until it reached the one 
to whom it was addressed, the many hands 
through which it passed, the many watchful 
eyes which cared for it, we know next to noth- 
ing ; for so far as the working part is con- 
cerned, the post-offices and postal cars offer only 
closed doors to the general public. It is right, 
moreover, that this should be so, and if at some 
time the thought has come that we would like 
to inspect the contents of a mail-bag, it has 
been followed by the thought that we would 
not care to have our own letters and packages 
handled by outsiders. 

The government strictly requires that no one 
but duly authorized persons, under oath, shall 

be allowed to handle the mails ; and the busi- 
ness part of the post-office and the postal car 
are closed to all others. 

All this privacy, however, is peculiar to the 
mail itself. A knowledge of the work of sorting 
it, and of the methods by which this great busi- 
ness is carried on is free to every one. 

In cities and large towns the letters are gath- 
ered from the boxes by the carriers and taken 
to the central office or to designated branch sta- 
tions. In smaller places they are mailed directly 
at the office. If the office is large enough to re- 
quire a number of clerks, one is detailed for the 
work of getting the mail ready for despatch, 
and is called the mailing clerk. The table at 
which he works is called the mailing table, and 
is raised so high from the floor that he can work 
comfortably at it while standing. The back 
edge is usually a few inches the higher, so that 
the top will incline toward the person at work ; 
and into the table is set, so as to be even with 
the top, a large piece of rubber an inch or more 
in thickness. On the table beside this lie the 
canceling stamp and ink pad. The government 
requires that the stamp be of metal, and the ink 
black and indelible, but this rule is sometimes 
broken in small country offices by the use of 
rubber stamps and colored inks. The govern- 
ment furnishes all necessary stamps and ink, 
and the only excuse for not following the rule 
is that where there are few letters the rubber 
stamp and common ink may be more conve- 
nient. The penalty for removing the cancel- 
ation from a stamp and using the stamp again, 
is imprisonment for from six months to three 
years, or a fine from $100 to $500. 

The letters and postal cards taken from the 



box are arranged in piles, all right side up ; and 
the mailing clerk, placing a pile of them on the 
table in front of him, cancels them with almost 
incredible rapidity, sliding each piece, before he 
strikes it, upon the rubber in the table, thus 
securing a good impression of the stamp, and 
a slight rebound to aid the next stroke. 

It has become a custom which all thoughtful 
persons always observe, to place the stamp on 
the upper right-hand corner of the envelop, but 
few people have ever stopped to think what 
was the reason for this choice of position. The 
canceling stamp and the postmarking stamp 
are fastened side by side upon the same handle, 
and if the stamp is correctly placed one blow 
makes both impressions. If, however, the stamp 
is on the lower right-hand corner the postmark 
falls on the address, and both are blurred, while 
if the stamp is on the left-hand side, the post- 
mark, which is always at the left of the can- 
celer, does not strike the envelop at all, and a 
second blow is necessary to secure it. So if the 
stamp is anywhere except in the upper right- 
hand corner it makes just twice as much work 
for the clerk, and this, where he is stamping 
many thousand pieces every day, is no small 
matter. There has been in use for some time, 
in the post-office in Boston, a number of can- 
celing machines, into which the letters, all faced 
upward, are fed. These machines, if the stamps 
are correctly placed, do the work quite well, 
leaving on the envelop the row of long black 
lines which we all have noticed on Boston letters. 

I am not able to learn, however, that there is 
any other office in the country, as yet, which 
uses these. The Boston office has also quite 
recently put in operation a most ingenious 
machine for canceling and postmarking postal 
cards, which differs from the other in the greater 
rapidity of its work. Two hundred cards can 
be placed in it at once, a crank is turned, and 
click, click ! they fall into a basket, all stamped. 

It seems to be the impression of many people 
that the mail when sent from an office is gath- 
ered carelessly together and thrown into a mail 
bag which is then locked and despatched. This 
is wholly wrong, for even in the smallest offices 
the letters and cards are all gathered face up- 
ward and tied into a neat package. The govern- 
ment furnishes the twine to do this, and some 

idea of the immensity of the postal service can 
be formed from the fact that in one year the 
cost to the government of the twine for this 
purpose (which though strong is of the cheap- 
est quality) was nearly seventy-two thousand 

As the offices grow larger the size of the mail- 
ing case increases and the distribution grows 
more elaborate. The mailing case is a case of 
pigeonholes, set up before the mailing clerk, each 
opening being labeled " Boston," " Providence," 
" New York," " Boston and Albany," etc. Into 
the first are put all the letters for Boston, into the 
second all those for Providence, while into the 
one marked " Boston and Albany " go all the let- 
ters for the offices on the road connecting these 
two places, unless there may be among them 


cities so large as to have a box to themselves. 
Of course, the larger the office is, the more let- 
ters there will be, and consequently a need for 
more boxes. Boston, for instance, sends mail- 
pouches directly to many hundred of the larger 
towns all over New England, and therefore 




there must be, in the mailing case of the Boston 
office, a box for every one of those towns. 

So far in this article I have spoken, for con- 
venience, only of letters ; but the same methods 
apply also to newspapers and packages, except 
that the greater size of these requires larger 
boxes for sorting, and more sacks for carrying. 
Letters and all sealed mail are always sent in 
leather pouches, locked ; newspapers and other 
similar matter, in large canvas sacks, merely 
drawn together with a cord and fastened with a 
slide. It is to be noticed that the bag made of 
leather is always called a " pouch," while the 
one made of cloth is always called a "sack." 

Nearly every railroad in the United States 
carries, at least once a day, one or more men 
whose business it is to receive, sort, and deliver 
the mail gathered at the towns along or near 
that road. 

If there is little work to be done, one man 
does it alone, in a small room built in a part of 
the baggage-car or smoking-car. As the busi- 
ness increases, two or more men work together, 
having a whole car for their accommodation. 
This car is drawn directly behind the engine, so 
that there shall be no occasion for any passing 
through it. With still more business, between 
the large cities, two or more cars are run ; until 
between New York and Chicago we have a 
whole train run exclusively for the mail service, 
made up of five cars and worked by twenty 
men. A line of railroad between two cities, 
used in this way, for sorting the mail, is called 
an " R. P. O.," or " Railway Post-Office," and 
there is an immense number of such in the 
country, taking their names from the chief 
offices on the line. 

Such are the " Boston and Albany," " Boston, 
Springfield, and New York," " Portland and 
Island Pond," " Chicago and Cedar Rapids," 
and many hundred others. The runs vary 
greatly in length, ranging from twenty miles to 
as high as a thousand miles. The extremely 
long runs, with the exception of the " New York 
and Chicago," are found only in the West, 
where there are great distances between the 
cities. On such a run there will be two or more 
men, one crew sleeping while the other works. 
The " New York and Chicago " is divided into 
three sections. On this run, the twenty men who 

start out from New York are relieved by as many 
more at Syracuse, and these in turn are relieved 
at Cleveland by another company who take the 
train into Chicago. As a general thing, how- 
ever, a run is planned to be about the distance 
which can be covered in a day. 

On all the more important lines there are two 
sets of men, one for day and one for night ser- 
vice. If the run is a short one with but little 
mail, one man does the work alone, running 
every day, and usually having several hours to 
rest at one end of the road or the other. Where 
the run is long enough, so that the trip takes all 
day, there will be four sets of men. One man, 
or set of men, starts at one end of the run, and 
covers the entire line, meeting the other some- 
where on the route, and returning the next day. 
When these men have worked a week, they go 
home to rest a week, and the others take their 
places. Such is the arduous nature of the work, 
the strain to mind and body, and particularly to 
eyesight, from working all day long in the con- 
stant jar and rattle, that few men would be able 
to retain a place were it not for these periods 
of rest. 

The railway mail service of the whole country 
is divided for convenience into eleven divisions, 
all under the charge of a general superintendent 
at Washington. Each separate division has 
a superintendent of its own. There were, for 
the fiscal year ending June 30, 1888, 5094 clerks 
in the service, and they handled that year 
6,528,772,060 pieces of ordinary mail matter, 
besides registered pieces. The salaries of the 
clerks range from $500 to $1300 according to 
the amount of work or responsibility. 

We have seen how the mail is made up and 
despatched from the post-office. Let us see how 
it is received at the postal car. On a run of 
average importance, one whole car will be 
devoted to the work. In one end of this car 
a space several feet in length is reserved for 
storing the sacks filled with mail. Often a hun- 
dred or more of them are on board at one time. 
Near this space are the doors, one on each 
side, through which the mails are received and 

On many postal-cars there is fastened to 
each doorway an ingenious iron arm called a 
crane, which can be swung outward ; and, while 

9 i.l 



the train is still at full speed, this catches and brings in a pouch hung on a frame at some way- 
station so small that the train does not stop there. 

In the opposite end of the car is the letter case, where the letters are sorted. This con- 
tains several hundreds of pigeonholes labeled with the names of all the large cities of the 
country, the railway post-offices with which this one connects, etc. If the run happens to be 

in New England, for instance, there are also boxes 
for each one of the Southern States, and Western 
States and Territories. 

Each car is furnished with canceling stamp, pad, 
and ink; for each car is a post-office in itself, and 
must receive, wherever it stops, the letters which for 
convenience people would rather mail there than at a 
post-office. The postal clerk is only required, however, to 
keep on hand two-cent stamps, and he is not obliged to make 
change. Between the ends of the car and occupying much the larger space, the " paper man " 
has his station. Where two or more men run in the same car, one man has command of the 
others and is called " the clerk in charge." As a general thing he sorts only letters, and is spoken 
of sometimes as the " letter clerk," while the others are called " paper men " or " helpers." On 
the New York and Chicago train, mentioned before, one whole car is devoted to sorting letters, 
and the four others to papers. The responsibility of the clerk in charge is supposed to be the 
greatest, and he usually receives the largest salary. Through the middle of the car extends a table 
two or three feet in width, made in sections so as to fold up if necessary, and often twenty feet long. 







On this the papers are sorted, and all around 
it are hung the sacks, covering the walls before 
and behind. In a postal car fitted up with the 
latest improvements, from one hundred to two 
hundred sacks can be hung, and half as many 
pouches in addition. The sorting of the pa- 
pers differs from that of the letters in the par- 
ticular that the former are in most cases thrown 
directly into the sacks, while the latter are sorted 
into boxes. A very recent invention, which is 
found a great improvement, is a double floor, 
laid firmly on rubber springs above the floor of 
the car, in front of the cases and tables where 
the clerks have to stand all day long. This 
greatly diminishes the jar of the train. 

It is the duty of the helper to lock and un- 
lock all the pouches, and to put off and take on 

all the mail at the stations. And just here a 
word about mail locks and keys. All over this 
whole great country, from Maine to California, 
and from St. Paul to New Orleans, every mail 
lock is the exact counterpart of every other 
one of the many hundreds of thousands; and 
every one of these, the key in any post-office 
in the country, whether it be the smallest cross- 
roads settlement or the immense New York 
City office, will lock and unlock. Every key 
is numbered, and though the numbers run high 
into the thousands, — the key which I last used 
was number 79,600, — a record of every one is 
kept by the government, and its whereabouts 
can be told at any time. Once in six or seven 
years, as a measure of safety, all the locks and 
keys are changed. New ones of an entirely 
different pattern are sent out, and the old ones 
are called in and destroyed. 

When the helper takes in a pouch at a sta- 
tion, he unlocks it and pours out the mail upon 
his table. Before he hangs it up, he must look 
into it carefully to see that no stray letter or 
paper remains at the bottom, as is very apt to 
be the case; for any that were left there would 
be delayed, perhaps a whole day. If the pouch 
which he opens is from a small office the let- 
ters will all be in one package, and this he hands 
directly to the letter clerk, and sorts the papers 
himself. If it is from a larger office the letters 
will be in several packages. All those for Bos- 
ton will be by themselves in a package, on the 
face of which is tied a brown paper slip, printed 
plainly " Boston." Another will be marked 
" New York," etc. These he throws directly 
into the pouches going to those cities. The 
remainder of the letters will be for various 
places and will be tied in a number of bundles 
which the letter clerk must sort, or " work " as 
the process is called. If the run is a long one 
with much business, there will be a great many 
packages ; and if the letters were put up with- 
out system, it would be impossible for the letter 
clerk to work them all until he was far past 
many of the offices on the line, and then all the 
letters which he found for those places would 
have been carried by and thus delayed. To ob- 
viate this, the offices along the line are divided 
into sections, the sections being numbered. 
Thus, for instance, on the Boston and Albany, 


moving west, the sections are as follows, the 
distance being two hundred and three miles : 

I. Boston to South Framingham. 2. South Framing- 
ham to Worcester. 3. Worcester to Palmer. 4. Palmer 
to Springfield. 5. Springfield to Westfield. 6. West- 
field to Pittsfield. 7. Pittsfield to State Line. 8. State 
Line to Chatham Village, N. Y. 9. Chatham Village to 
Albany, N. Y. 

All mail for places between Boston and 
South Framingham is put into one package 
and marked " Boston and Albany, West, No. 1," 
and that for the other sections is marked in a 
similar manner. The clerk is in his car long 
before the train leaves Boston, and before he 
starts, his No. 1 mail — and often much more — 
is worked. Then the No. 2 is finished before 
he reaches South Framingham. Thus, he is 
always able to keep ahead of time. 

The letters for the large cities are quickly 
disposed of. Those for the Western and South- 

25 7 

nearly all New England, and he must have 
in his mind the location of every one of the 
hundreds of post-offices in all this area, and 
know just which way to send a letter so as to 
have it reach its destination quickest. If this 
could be learned once for all it would be no 
small task, but time-tables, and stage-routes, 
and post-offices, are continually changing, and 
he must keep up with the changes. There 
are at present in the New England States, 
for example, the following numbers of offices : 
Maine, 1066; New Hampshire, 526; Ver- 
mont, 523; Massachusetts, 839 ; Rhode Island, 
129; Connecticut, 484. In New York State 
the number rises to 3317. The agent who runs 
on the Boston and Albany railway, for instance, 
must have in his mind the location of every 
office in Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Con- 
necticut, and a part of those in New Hampshire, 
Vermont, and New York. This run is not ex- 


era States and Territories are made up into 
packages by States merely, and sent on their 
way to be more fully worked by someone else 
before their destination is reached. All this is, 
however, only a small part of the postal clerk's 
duty. His run connects more or less directly 
with half a hundred others, extending over 

ceptional. Many others are equally hard ; some 
harder. An agent is expected to keep in mind 
the location of 5000 offices. Where the run is 
so long that its distribution requires more than 
this, one man is trained to take charge of some 
part of it while another learns some other part. 
The superintendent of a division in which a 




Railway Post Office is situated must learn 
of all the changes relating to distribution in 
his division, keep his men informed of them, and 
see that the men properly perform their duties. 

tion. The time required by each man is also 
noted, and is reckoned into the standing, since 
the efficiency of a postal clerk depends largely 
upon the rapidity with which he can work. An 

■-- , 


The first division comprises all of New England, 
and the headquarters of the superintendent are 
in Boston. Twice a week he issues a printed 
bulletin of several pages, giving information of 
changes that have been made and instructions 
for new work. These bulletins are sent regu- 
larly to all postal clerks and to the larger offices. 
Once in so many months every clerk is examined 
by his superintendent, or some one designated 
by him, to see how well the clerk has mastered, 
and retained, the work of his position. The way 
in which this examination is made is interesting. 
The examinations are made by States, and we 
will suppose a clerk is to be examined on Mas- 
sachusetts. The examiner has a small case of 
pigeonholes, usually made to fold up so as to 
be light and portable. This is labeled, by means 
of movable labels, just as a car would be in which 
the man to be examined is an agent. In addi- 
tion to this the examiner furnishes a set of cards, 
as many in number as there are offices in Mas- 
sachusetts, the name of some one office being 
written on each of the cards. 

The clerk takes these cards and rapidly sorts 
them into their proper places in the case, just 
as if he was sorting so many letters into the case 
in his car. The examiner watches the operation, 
and when it is done takes the cards out, one by 
one, to see what errors have been made. A 
written report of every examination is made 
out, giving the percentage of each clerk, as 
in the case of a pupil at a school examina- 

efficient paper clerk will throw from fifteen to 
twenty pieces in a minute, and an equally good 
letter clerk will sort from thirty to forty letters 
in the same time. The reason the latter is able 
to work so many more pieces is because they 
are already faced up for him, while the paper 
mail comes in a jumble. 

Another way in which the division superin- 
tendent can oversee the work of his clerks is by 
means of the facing slips. 

As already has been stated, all the letters go- 
ing to any one office, or to any division of a 
railway, are tied into a bundle on the face of 
which is placed a brown paper slip, about as 
big as a postal card, on which is plainly printed 
the destination of the package. Every postal 
clerk, or post-office clerk using one of these 
slips is obliged to put on it his own name and 
address, and the date it was used. Now when 
some other clerk comes to open the package, 
if he finds in it any letters which have been put 
there by mistake, and thus have been delayed, 
he at once writes upon the back of the slip a 
list of the errors, and sends it in to the office of 
the superintendent of the division. Here an ac- 
count is kept with every man in the division. 
He is debited with all the errors reported 
against him, and credited with all that he 
reports against anybody else. At the end of 
each month a record of this account is sent 
him, that he may be encouraged in well-doing, 
or spurred on to improvement. 


= 59 

It is this complex system, so carefully en- 
forced, which has given us our present excellent 
mail service. 

The contract of the government with all 
railways requires the latter to deliver the mails 
at, and bring them from, offices within eighty- 
rods of the station. Where the distance is greater, 
the government has to furnish a carrier. 

After the mails are received at the office of 
destination the work is simple. All letters are 

stamped on the back with the day and hour of 
receipt, so that if they have been delayed on 
the way it will be shown that the delay was not 
at that office. Unless it is a large office, the let- 
ters and papers are put directly into the boxes. 
If the office is large enough for free delivery, 
the carriers take the larger part of the mail, 
but their work, and the methods for quickly hand- 
ling the mail in a city office, would furnish mate- 
rial for a separate article. 

r ^%#%§Lj 

By Malcolm Douglas. 

A little man bought him a big bass-drum ; 
Boom — boom — boom ! 
" Whc knows," said he, " when a war will come ? ' 

Boom — boom — boom ! 
" I 'm not at all frightened, you understand, 
But, if I am called on to fight for my land, 
I want to be ready to play in the band." 
Boom — boom — boom ! 




He got all his children little snare-drums; Boom — tidera-da — boom! 

Boom — tidera-da — boom ! " Won't you stop it, I beg you ? " he often said. 

And they 'd practice as soon as they 'd finished " I 'm trying to think of a text, but instead 

their sums. The only thing I can get into my head 

'"'..■. fli 9> •-. '■ 

Boom — tidera-da — boom ! 
" We 're just like our papa," in chorus said they, 
" And, if we should ever get into the fray, 
Why, it 's safer to thump than to fight any day ! " 

Boom — tidera-da — boom! 

And, showing her spirit, the little man's wife — 

Boom — tidera-da — boom ! 
With some of her pin-money purchased a fife ; 

Boom — tidera-da — boom ! 
And, picking out tunes that were not very hard, 
They 'd play them while marching around the 

back yard, 
Without for one's feelings the slightest regard. 

Boom — tidera-da — boom-a-diddle-dee — 

Boom — tidera-da — boom ! 

The little old parson, who lived next door — 

Boom — tidera-da — boom ! 
Would throw up his hands, as he walked the 

Is your boom — tidera-da — boom-a-diddle- 
dee — 
Boom — tidera-da — boom ! " 


L »^\^=d_. 



i8 9 i. 



And all of the people, for blocks around — 

Boom — tidera-da — boom ! 
Kept time at their tasks to the martial sound; 

Boom — tidera-da — boom ! 
While children to windows and stoops would fly, 
Expecting to see a procession pass by, 
And they could n't make out why it never drew nigh, 

With its boom — tidera-da — boom-a-diddle-dee — 

Boom — tidera-da — boom ! 

ft "fr"-^ ^ 


It would seem such vigor must soon abate ; 

Boom — tidera-da — boom ! 
But they still keep at it, early and late ; 

Boom — tidera-da — boom ! 
So, if it should be that a war breaks out, 
They '11 all be ready, I have no doubt, 
To help in putting the foe to rout, 

With their boom — tidera-da — boom — 

Boom — tidera-da — Boom — 

Boom — tidera-da — boom-a-diddle-dee - 

Boom — boom — BOOM! 


By T- T. Trowbridge. 

(Begun in the November number.) 

Chapter XIII. 


As the)' walked down to the lake together, 
they saw the wreck, still adrift and smoking, 
not far from shore. But it was deep in the 
water, and the hay was reduced to a low, 
sunken, black, and formless mass, which ex- 
posed scarcely any surface to the wafting wind. 

" The water has got into the old hulk, and 
foundered it, and soaked out the fire," Mr. Al- 
lerton observed. 

•■ Don't call it an old hulk," Toby replied. 
" It was almost new when I had the bad luck 
to borrow it." 

" But it could n't have had much value." 

" That 's what I hope Mr. Brunswick will 
sav ; but I 'm afraid he won't ! " 

" There are not so many boats on this lake 
that it seems necessary to burn them up," said 
the teacher. " I wonder there are not more. 
Summer boarders are coming now, and if other 
people are half as fond of the water as I am, 
row-boats and sail-boats should be in de- 

" Do you spend the summer here ? " Toby 

" A large part of it, at any rate ; I don't 
know of a more attractive place to pass a va- 
cation. If I thought I should keep your school 
another year — " 

" You '11 do that, very surely ! " 

" It is n't sure at all. I find there are many 
discordant elements in the place, and I am by 
no means satisfied that I am the man to har- 
monize them. But, as I was saying, if I 
thought I should stay, I would have a boat 
of my own." 

" You can take mine any time," said Toby. 
" I 've been so busy I have n't put it into the 
water yet. But I mean to have it in soon." 

" I am very much obliged to you. I should 
think it would be a good thing, for somebody 
who has a little leisure, to keep a few boats to 
let, and to take people out rowing." 

" That 's a good idea ! " Toby exclaimed. 
" Is n't there anybody you can suggest it to ? " 

" How about the young fellow you call Yel- 
low Jacket?" 

Toby thought a moment. 

" It would be just the thing for him, if he 
only had the boats, and a little business enter- 
prise. Shiftless habits and one leaky boat 
would n't answer." 

" I 'm afraid not," said the master. " But 
the fellow seems to have good stuff in him, if 
one could manage to get hold of him and bring 
it out." 

" He 's a jolly, good-hearted chap," said 
Toby ; " though something of a braggart. He 
might get a good living, if he would only take 
hold of some kind of work, and stick to it, in- 
stead of letting his mother and sisters support 
him. About all he cares to do is to catch 
wasps and paddle his boat. That 's he, out 
there now, with the three other boys." 

" Which is Yellow Jacket ? " 

" The one with the suspenders crossed on 
his back over his yellow flannel shirt. He 
nearly always wears yellow flannel — to be in 
keeping with his nickname, I suppose. They 
are going to look at the wreck." 

" He has really saved two or three lives, 
I hear." Mr. Allerton mused a moment. " I 
think I must manage to get acquainted with 

While Yellow Jacket and his companions 
were rowing around the foundered scow, and 
punching their oars into the heap of burnt 
hay, Mr. Allerton and Toby walked on to- 
ward Mr. Brunswick's house. 

" There 's Mr. Brunswick now, coming down 
to the shore ! " said Toby, drawing an anxious 


breath. " He 's looking off at the scow. I 'd 
give something to know what he 's thinking." 

" Perhaps we shall find out," said the school- 
master. " I don't see why you should be afraid 
of meeting him." 

"I 'm not exactly afraid," replied Toby; 
"but I know it will be disagreeable. I should 
dislike to tell him, even if I knew I was n't to 
blame for anything. A fellow hates explanations 
and a row and all that sort of thing, even when 
he 's sure of being in the right. He 's calling." 

" How is she ? " shouted old Bob, from the 
shore, to young Bob in Yellow Jacket's boat. 

" What ? " young Bob answered, standing 
upright in the bow, and calling back over the 
heads of his companions. 

" How 's the scow ? " 

" There 's no scow left ! There 's a half-burnt 
bottom, that 's all, — full of water and burnt 
straw," replied his son, from the boat. Young 
Bob, to illustrate, punched an oar into the mass. 
" The upper part of the sides is all gone ! " he 

The iceman stood silent for a moment, with 
his hands on his hips, and his arms making 
triangles with his sides; then turned to accost 
Toby, with ironical pleasantry. 

" Wal, young feller ! That 's a pooty pictur' ! " 

" You see what has happened," said Toby, 
trying to be pleasant in return, but making a 
sickly business of it. 

" I ruther think I du ! — Don't take more 'n 
half an eye to see that," replied the elder Bob, 
with a smile as cool as if it had been kept on a 
large quantity of his own ice until served up for 
the occasion. " I never thought you 'd be fool 
enough to burn her up, whatever happened." 

" Neither did I think so," said Toby, more at 
his ease. " But you see I — or somebody — was. 
It makes very little difference to you who was 
the fool. Your scow is burnt, and she '11 have 
to be paid for. That 's the short of it, Mr. 

" Yes ; that 's to the p'int ; that 's fair," said 
the iceman, his sarcastic grin somewhat relax- 
ing. "Who 's to pay?" 

"I — if nobody else does ; if I live," replied 
Toby, his spirits rising more and more. " I 
borrowed it, and I 'm responsible." He had 
said that to himself many times, and it was now 


a satisfaction to say it aloud to the owner of 
the boat, with the schoolmaster within hearing. 
" Only I hope it won't be very costly." 

" I don't know 'bout that," Mr. Brunswick 
said, doubtfully. " Scow was new last summer. 
Had her built a-purpose for my business. 
Guess she must 'a' cost twenty dollars and 
up'ards. I 've got the bills for the lumber 
and labor." 

Mr. Allerton, who had kept in the back- 
ground, now said : 

" I should suppose Mr. Tazwell would pay 
for the scow without raising a question." 

" Mabby he will, and mabby he won't," re- 
plied the elder Bob. " I 've no dealin's with 
Tazwell, as I told Toby here. I shall look to 
Toby ; he can look to Tazwell." 

" That 's all right," said Toby. " I have 
saved the oars." 

He was starting to go, when Mr. Brunswick 

" How did the fire ketch ? Ye ha'n't told 
me yit." 

" I did n't suppose that would make much 
difference, as far as you are concerned," Toby 
answered. " Tom Tazwell tried to light his 
cigarette, I tried to hinder him, we got into a 
scuffle, and somehow the hay caught from his 

"Wal!" The iceman's lips tightened with 
a grim expression. " If he was my boy, I guess 
he 'd never hanker much after lightin' another 
cigarette on a load of hay, long as he lived ! " 

Then he called to young Bob in the boat : 

" Can't ye manage to hitch yer painter on to 
what 's left of her, and tow her in ? " 

There was a consultation in the boat ; then 
Yellow Jacket made answer : 

" Ain't nothing to hitch on to." 

" Pull ashore," said old Bob, " and I '11 give 
ye an ice-hook. Ye can ketch on to her with 

He once more turned his ironic grin upon 
Toby and the teacher. 

" We '11 haul her up," he said ; " and if Taz- 
well wants what 's left of his hay, he can come 
and git it. Or he can send an idiot of a boy with 
a cigarette and matches. Guess the' won't be 
no danger of its gittin' afire a second time ! " 

He turned and entered the tool-room of the 



I Feb. 

ice-house, from which he presently brought out the store, was taking down the shutters, when 
a long-handled ice-hook. While the boys in the Toby made his appearance. Neither Tom nor 
boat were rowing in to receive it, Mr. Allerton his father had arrived. Mr. Tazwell usually 

came late ; and Tom 
went to business or 
stayed away, about as 
he pleased. 

" We did n't see you 
on Saturday afternoon," 
Peters remarked with a 
look of quiet drollery, 
over a shutter he was 
handling. " How was 
that ? " 

" Did n't you know ? " 
replied Toby, as drily. 
•' Mr. Tazwell gave Tom 
and me a stint, to get 
some hay, and excused 
us from the store till this 

" Did you bring home 
the hay ? " asked Peters. 

" We brought it part 
way," said Toby. 

" I guess Tazwell was 
delighted," suggested 

" No doubt about it," 
replied Toby. 

He was sick with anx- 
iety to know what Mr. 
Tazwell had said of the 
catastrophe, and what 
was generally thought of 
his own share in it ; but 
he would not ask, and 
Peters did not volunteer 
to tell him. Toby helped 
and then went to work 


and Toby walked back along the shore to the 

Chapter XIV. 


Toby did not return to the store until Mon- 
day morning. By that time he had pretty well 
recovered from the inconvenience his burns 
occasioned, and was ready for work again. 

Peters, the clerk, whose duty it was to open 

about the shutters, 

The morning was well advanced when Tom 
and his father walked in together, cheerfully 

Tom gave Toby a supercilious look, but Mr. 
Tazwell took no notice of him. He was a polite 
and politic man, who had his impulses well 
under control. He rarely raised his voice above 
a low and well-modulated tone, and he was 
often most quiet when most angry ; but at such 


times there would be an expression in his gray 
eyes, and even in the stoop of his genteel shoul- 
ders, which those who knew him understood. 

There was no mistaking the silent manner 
that took possession of him the moment he saw 
Toby. The boy stood ready to give him " Good- 
morning," if spoken to ; and to receive any 
amount of censure for interference with Tom 
and his matches. But Mr. Tazwell passed him 
and without a word entered the counting-room. 

Determined to rise above his trouble, Toby 
turned to Tom and asked : " How is Bertha this 
morning ? " 

" Well enough," Tom replied, with something 
of the repressed and ominous paternal manner ; 
but he could n't resist the temptation to add, 
" — thanks to Yellow Jacket." 

Toby had very little jealousy in his nature ; 
but he felt this as a blow. Tom, who was stoop- 
ing behind a box in the back room, to change 
his boots, looked up and said : 

" Was n't he splendid ? " 

" Who ? " said Toby. 

" Yellow Jacket, of course. Father says he is 
going to make him a handsome present." 

" I hope he will," replied Toby. " He won't, 
though, and you know it." 

" I know it ? " said Tom, in a blaze of resent- 
ment. The son had not yet acquired the self- 
control which worldly prudence imposed upon 
the father. " Then why should I tell you so ? " 

'•Just to hurt my feelings." That was what 
Toby thought, and firmly believed, but he was 
too proud to say it. Yet his burning sense of 
injury would not let him remain silent. " If he 
chooses to give Yellow Jacket something," he 
said, " I don't know who is to object. I was 
only thinking — " But there he stopped, afraid 
of saying too much. 

" Speak out ! What were you thinking ? " 
Tom demanded. 

" He might give something to some other 
people, too," said Toby. " There are enough 
who feel, if he has any money to spare, some of 
it belongs to them." 

The moment he had made this allusion to 
the creditors he believed to have been defrauded, 
he felt how indiscreet it was, and was sorry 
for it. 

Mr. Tazwell's treatment of him, which seemed 
Vol. XVIII.— 23. 


so cruel under the circumstances, and which had 
no doubt been caused by Tom's misrepresenta- 
tions, would not alone have provoked him to 
it ; nor would he at another time have cared 
much for Tom's ungenerous taunts. But these 
were sparks to something compressed in his 
bosom, ready for an explosion. What Mr. Bruns- 
wick had said to him of the failure had reawak- 
ened his worst suspicions, lulled for a season ; 
and he was full of the feeling that his mother 
was the victim of a deep and deliberate wrong. 

But Tom did not — or pretended he did not 
— understand him. 

" Oh !-" said he ; " you think you are entitled 
to something, as well as Yellow Jacket ? I see 
what has made you flare up so. You want a 

" I want a reward ? " Toby repeated, with 
amazement and indignation. " For what ? " 

" For what you think you did, helping Yellow 
Jacket lift Bertha out of the water." 

" Helping Yellow Jacket — ! " Toby ex- 
claimed ; but there he paused. 

Was it possible that no more was known of 
what he had done for Bertha than what Tom 
himself had seen while swimming aimlessly 
about behind the scow and calling for help ? 
Or, even if all were known, could anybody deem 
him so base as to wish for any other recompense 
than to know that Bertha and her friends recog- 
nized his readiness to risk anything for her sake ? 

Such astounding injustice and ingratitude, on 
the part of her own brother, filled him with rage 
and grief. He could make no reply to such a 
charge as that. 

" How much do you think you ought to 
have ? " Tom urged, with an exasperating 

" Tom Tazwell," said Toby, " you know no 
more what is in my mind than a barking dog 
knows what 's going on in the moon ! " 

And he went about his affairs, while custom- 
ers coming in prevented Tom from following 
up his attacks. 

All that day, and the next, Mr. Tazwell ad- 
dressed not a word to Toby, who received his 
orders from Peters, and from Tom, who was 
more insolent than ever. 

By Wednesday, Toby had made up his mind 
to endure his employer's silence no longer. A 




little before noon he walked into the counting- 
room, where Mr. Tazwell was seated at his 

" Mr. Tazwell," he began, in a voice that 
trembled despite his utmost efforts to be brave. 
The merchant turned and gave him a cold look 
out of his gray eyes. " I was n't here Saturday- 
night — " 

The boy had got so far, when he was stopped 
by his own heart-beats. 

" We were made aware of that fact," Mr. 
Tazwell replied, in his most ominous quiet tones. 

His words broke the spell, and Toby took 

" For that reason," he said, " I did n't draw 
my week's pay. As mother has need of the 
money, I — " 

Mr. Tazwell took from his pocket-book a 
number of bank-notes, which he spread on the 
desk and turned over with his thumb. Drawing 
out four one-dollar bills, he shoved them toward 
Toby, without a word. 

So far so good. But what the boy most 
dreaded to say was still to come. The sight of 
the bank-notes that were still lying on the desk 
emboldened him. He fumbled his week's wages 
in his nervous fingers, and made the venture : 

" There is the scow, — Mr. Brunswick's boat 
that got burnt, and that he expects to be paid 
twenty dollars for." 

" I am sorry for Mr. Brunswick," the mer- 
chant replied, as if he were expressing regret for 
something that had occurred at the North Pole. 

But Toby was not to be rebuffed. He had 
got his breath now, and he spoke boldly : 

" He looks to me for the pay; and I suppose 
I must look to you." 

" Look to me ? " queried the merchant. " I 
don't understand." 

"You mean to say," Toby replied, his heart 
swelling with something besides fear of his em- 
ployer, " that you don't understand why you 
should pay for the boat that was burnt when 
we were bringing home your hay in it ? " 

" Certainly ; that 's just what I mean to say. 
The boat was borrowed against my advice and 
without my consent." 

" I did n't think so," said Toby. " You told 
us we had better take the wagon ; but when 
Tom suggested the boat, you did n't object. 

Anyway, Tom consented to my borrowing it ; 
he was glad enough to have me. And we were 
both in your service. And Mr. Brunswick would 
like to be paid," he added, facing his employer 
with pale but unflinching looks. 

" No doubt," said Mr. Tazwell. " So would 
I. But I have n't asked you to pay me for my 
hay, and fork, and rake; let alone Thomas's rifle." 

" No," said Toby, " and I should think it 
strange if you had ! " 

" It would n't be strange," said the merchant, 
in a low, even tone, but with an intense glitter 
in his steady eyes. " Nine employers out of ten 
would think themselves justified in keeping back 
the amount out of your wages. But out of regard 
for your mother, I have n't proposed to do it." 

'• I am obliged to you for your regard for my 
mother ! " said Toby, aware that his face was 
growing white. 

He meant this for sarcasm, but the politic 
Tazwell did not see fit to take it so. 

" I accept the loss of the hay, but I have 
nothing to do with the loss of the boat. You 
borrowed it, and you burned it up. I have heard 
that Brunswick says he told you he would n't 
lend it to me, — coupled with some insulting 
remark that I don't care to repeat." 

Toby could not deny this. 

" Now, I say if he was foolish enough to lend 
the scow to you, and you accepted it on such 
terms, I wash my hands of the result." 

" When it was Tom's matches that fired it ? " 
returned Toby. 

" It was your interference with Thomas and 
his matches that caused the accident." 

Mr. Tazwell's level tones, as he said this, 
and the eyes of the man, as he looked piercingly 
at Toby, even the stoop of his shoulders as he 
leaned over toward the boy, were full of their 
most relentless expression. Poor Toby felt that 
he was losing the battle. 

" I did interfere ! " he exclaimed. " For I 
could n't sit still and see him light his cigarette 
right there on the load of hay. Do you say he 
did right ? " 

" By no means. I would n't have him light 
his cigarette anywhere. I am opposed to his 
smoking at all. But there is n't the slightest 
probability that he would have set the hay afire, 
if you had let him alone — not the slightest." 

l8 9 l.] 



Toby felt that further argument was useless ; 
and the burning fullness of his heart could not 
be relieved by any words he was prepared to 
speak. He stood for a moment, with pale and 
quivering lips, then silently withdrew. 

Chapter XV. 


The boy carried home his meager week's 
earnings, with an account of his recent inter- 
view with Mr. Tazwell. 

" It was all I could do to keep my wrath from 
bursting out on him," he said. " But I held 
it in. Now there 's twenty dollars I must pay 
Mr. Brunswick out of my own pocket, if I ever 
can; for I sha'n't let you pay a dollar of it, 
Mother ! I would n't work for Tazwell another 
day, if it was n't for earning that money." 

The widow counseled patience ; but it was 
with pain and pity that she saw him return 
to the store that afternoon. 

Mr. Tazwell now condescended to give him 
orders, and even Tom spoke to him pleasantly. 
There was a rather brisk trade, but after five 
o'clock the customers had departed. Then 
Mr. Peters went to his supper, in order to come 
back and remain in the store while the rest 
went to theirs, and to shut it up afterward. 

" Tobias ! " Mr. Tazwell called from his office, 
the door of which was open, " see here a mo- 

Toby went, hoping to hear that Mr. Tazwell 
had something more generous to say regarding 
the payment for the scow. 

" As there seems to be not much else to do 
just now," said the merchant, " you may take 
my boots and black them." 

It was not the first time he had been re- 
quired to do that menial service; and he had 
submitted to it humbly. The boots were on 
the floor beside the desk. He took them in 
silence, and carried them to the back room, 
where he had begun to polish one, when Tom 
came in. 

" While you are about it," Tom said, " you 
may black mine." 

Toby stood with his coat off, his left hand in 
a boot, and his right holding the brush, and 
gave Tom a look ; remembering all at once 

something Tom had predicted, at the time when 
he announced the failure. 

Tom did not heed the look, but taking a 
pair of boots from a closet, dropped them be- 
side the box where the blacking was kept, and 
walked out again. 

" He said I might be his bootblack some 
time," thought Toby. " We '11 see ! " 

He took the time occupied in polishing one 
boot, to consider what he should do. 

" I '11 black his father's boots," he said to 
himself, " but I won't black Tom's. If that is 
expected of me, it 's time for me to strike. I '11 
find out ! " 

He put down brush and boot, and walked 
behind the main counter to the office door, bent 
upon another and perhaps final interview with 
the merchant. 

The door was closed, but not latched ; and he 
overheard Tom talking earnestly within. With- 
out the slightest intention of being an eaves- 
dropper, Toby paused, fearing he had chosen a 
bad time for his visit. 

Tom was asking for money to enable him to 
make some sort of trade for a rifle to replace 
the one he had lost in the lake. 

" Yellow Jacket declares he can't get it ; and 
if he can't, nobody else can. And it 's too bad 
that I should lose a gun that way, through no 
fault of my own." 

" I don't know about that," the father re- 
monstrated, but in the tone of indulgence that 
usually softened his reproofs of his son. " I 
have begged you so many times to give up your 
smoking ! If it had n't been for that — " 

" If it had n't been for Toby, " Tom inter- 
rupted him. " If he had only minded his own 
business. Aleck says he '11 trade for twenty 
dollars ; and everybody knows his rifle 's worth 
more than that and my old shot-gun. Only 
twenty dollars, father ! " pleaded Tom. 

Just the sum which Toby himself had asked 
for to pay Mr. Brunswick for his boat ! But 
how differently was this second request re- 
ceived. It was no longer in Toby's power to 
cease to listen and to go away. 

" I '11 tell you what I '11 do," said Mr. Tazwell. 
" I '11 give you the twenty dollars, provided you 
will make me the most solemn promise you ever 
made in your life, not to smoke any more." 



Tom had made several such promises before ; 
but he was ready enough to make another. 

" I have n't touched tobacco since that time," 
he said ; " and I don't mean ever to smoke again. 
I pledge you my word I won't, if you '11 give 
me the money." 

" Well, remember," the father replied, in a 
tone more of entreaty than command; "and, 
one thing, Thomas, don't let Toby nor anybody 
know it. It would n't do, you understand, to 
have it get out, just now, that I have money to 
spare for such a purpose." 

" But what shall I tell Aleck, if I make the 
trade ? " Tom asked. 

" Tell him he must keep the money ' to boot ' 
a secret, and even he may as well be led to 
suppose you came by it in some other way." 

At first, when Toby began to listen to this 
conversation, the rush of blood to his head 
made such a roaring sound that he could hardly 
hear anything else. But 
that tumult had sub- 
sided. He regained his 
self-possession ; and, in- 
stead of breaking in im- 
petuously on father and 
son, as he was tempted 
to do, he returned quiet- 
ly to the back room and 
to his task. 

It seemed to take a 
long time to put a satis- 
factory polish on the 
second boot. This might 
have been owing to his 
agitated frame of mind ; 
he felt that the crisis had 
come, and was hardly 
aware what his hands 
were doing. 

Presently Tom came 
in haste for his boots. 

" Not ready yet ? " he 
said impatiently ; " you 
are a slow coach." 

" You may as well take them as they are," 
Toby replied significantly. 

" I won't ; and I can't wait any longer for 
them," Tom declared, as he clapped on his hat 
and left the store. 

" He 's in a hurry to finish his trade with Lick 
Stevens," thought Toby. And he muttered 
aloud, with a grim sort of smile : " He would 
have had to wait a long while, if he had stayed 
for me to black his boots." 

The other pair were now polished, and the 
owner was calling for them. Toby remained 
to wash his hands and to put on his coat ; then, 
without haste, but with a swelling heart, obeyed 
the summons. He found Mr. Tazwell sitting 
with one shoe off, and showing about as much 
impatience as it was in his calculating nature 
ever to betray. 

Toby had at his tongue 
end a little speech regardii 
Tom and his boots, 
the understanding 
that he, Toby, was 
there to learn the 
business, and not 


for such tasks as he had the most of the time been 
set to do. But he did not deliver a word of it ; a 
result he would not have believed possible, when 
he went so resolutely to confront his employer. 
For, as he stooped to set down the boots, an 




object on the floor fixed his attention, and put 
everything else for the moment out of his 
thoughts. It was lying close beside the edge of 
the desk, that hid it from the merchant's eyes, 
but not from the boy's. He could almost have 
picked it up, without being detected in the act ; 
but he made no attempt to do so. 

'• Try to be a little more prompt in future," 
said Mr. Tazwell, pulling on one of the neatly- 
fitting congress-boots, and regarding it. " But 
you have done them well. And, Tobias," as 
Toby was retiring, " stay and look after things 
until Mr. Peters comes back ; then you can go 

He took his hat, and walked off with his cane 
under one arm, putting on his gloves. Toby 
watched till he had turned a corner, then stepped 
back into the office, saw the thing he had no- 
ticed still on the floor by the desk, picked it 
up, and put it into his pocket. 

It was a twenty-dollar bank-note. 

Chapter XVI. 


In a short time the clerk, Peters, returned to 
the store ; and Toby, with the bank-note in his 
breast pocket, and an uncomfortable feeling un- 
der it, started for home. 

Was it the little monitor, conscience, that 
troubled him ? He could not understand why it 
should. He had promptly and defiantly de- 
clared to himself that he was justified in taking 
the money and keeping it, and handing it over 
to Mr. Brunswick in payment for the scow. 

" Yes ! and even if I should keep it myself," 
he argued, " where would be the wrong ? 
Has n't he " — meaning the merchant — " kept 
back from us a hundred times as much, and 
more, by downright dishonesty ? But this is n't 
dishonest, to get back a little that he owes us, 
when it seems as if it had been dropped on pur- 
pose under my very hand." 

But suppose the money should be missed, as 
it probably would be, and he should be accused 
and questioned ? It was n't so pleasant thinking 
of that, but he reasoned : 

" They can't call it stealing, for I won't deny 
anything. ' Yes ! I found the money, and I 
went straight and handed it over to the rightful 

owner. The rightful owner is Mr Brunswick ; 
I gave it to him.' That 's what I '11 say, and 
they may make the most of it." 

So, with his coat buttoned over the bank-note 
in his pocket, and the uneasy feeling under it 
in his unreasoning heart, he took his way home- 
ward, along one of the shady village streets. 

The parsonage was to be passed, and he was 
rather sorry he chose that way, when he discov- 
ered Tom Tazwell talking with Aleck the Little, 
in front of the gate. They seemed to have two 
guns under discussion, one of which Aleck 
had leaned against the fence, while Tom poised 
and aime^l, and carefully examined the other. 

All this Toby saw when he was far enough off 
to have changed his course and taken another 
way home, perhaps without being noticed by 
either of the boys. But why should he avoid 
Tom ? At all events he must n't appear to 
avoid him now, he said to himself as he walked 
straight on. 

But while he was still at a distance, sudden 
and strange movements on Tom's part attracted 
his attention. Holding the gun by his side while 
it rested on the ground, he felt in one of his 
pockets, gave a start, felt in another ; then, hand- 
ing the gun to Lick Stevens, explored all his 
pockets with an air of wonder and consterna- 

" He has missed the money just as he was 
going to pay it over and close the bargain," said 
Toby to himself, with a thrill of interest. " He 
sees me ! I must n't laugh ! " For the thrill 
touched his risibilities, and he shook with sup- 
pressed convulsions of merriment. 

Having evidently satisfied himself that the 
money was lost, Tom put back those of his 
pockets which he had turned wrong side out, 
and started to walk very fast toward the store. 
Then he saw Toby. Lick, meanwhile, with both 
guns in his keeping, leaned by the gate-post, 
watching his friend with an incredulous smile. 

To hide his emotion, and give the muscles of 
his face some mechanical employment, Toby 
called out : " What 's the matter, Tom ? " 

" Have you come straight from the store ? " 
asked Tom anxiously. 

" As straight as convenient, with a corner to 
turn," Toby replied, as unconcernedly as pos- 
sible. "Why?" 



" Have you seen — have you picked up " 
(Tom hesitated) " anything by the way ? " 

" I have seen lots of things by the way," said 

"But I — I might have dropped it — I went 
home for my shot-gun," said Tom ; " you did n't 
go up to the house ? " 

" Not to-day," replied Toby. " What have 
you dropped ? " 

" No matter," said Tom suddenly. " I thought 
I had it in my vest pocket, and how I ever 
lost it is a perfect mystery. Did you go into 
the office after I left ? " Tom was recovering 
from his bewilderment, and beginning to retrace 
in memory all his movements since his father 
gave him the money. 

"Yes," said Toby; "I carried your father 
his boots." 

Tom was fearful that the bank-note, if he in- 
quired for it explicitly, would be connected im- 
mediately with his trade for Lick Stevens's gun ; 
a difficulty which Toby perceived. A moment 
later Tom hurried away. 

When Toby approached the parsonage gate, 
he found Aleck the Little laughing derisively; 
and it was a relief to Toby to be able to laugh, 
too. "Tom did that pretty well, did n't he?" 
said the parson's son. " He would make a tip- 
top actor ! " 

" How so ? " Toby asked. 

" He was going to trade for my rifle ; and he 
was to give me his fowling-piece and twenty 

" You don't say so ? " 

" Yes," said Aleck ; " but you must n't tell. 
He made me promise not to; for he said he 
was ashamed of giving so much to boot. Now, 
see the fellow's craft. He 's just like his dad, 
for all the world." 

" I don't understand," replied Toby. 

" Don't you see ? " said Lick. " He had no 
twenty dollars ! It was only a pretense. Now, 
he '11 be back here in a little while, and beg 
me to trust him for the money, because he has 
been so unlucky as to lose it. He had already 
teased me to make the trade, without the cash 
down, but I would n't. Do you blame me ? " 

" Not a bit ! " said Toby. 

He wondered how Aleck could bring himself 
to speak in that way of Tom, whose most intim- 
ate friend he professed to be ; yet he was not ill- 
pleased to hear Tom belittled. It was with 
quite altered feelings that he now went on 

" If the money is missed," he said to himself, 
" it will be accounted for well enough ; Tom 
had it, and has no idea how or where he lost 
it ! It will never be traced to me." 

( To be continued, ) 


By Mary E. Wilkins. 


K.„ «(..».. v-i 

Swiftly past the rueful class, 
With a skipping tread, 

Little Mary Ellen 's 
Going to the head. 

Apron-strings that all untied 
Switch the dusty floor — 

Little, unkempt, heedless maid, 
Her victory counts the more. 

Roughly straying yellow locks, 

Ribbon lost at play, 
But she is the one who spelled 

The word the proper way. 

Quality is in oneself, 
After all is said — 

Little Mary Ellen 's 
Going to the head. 


By Andrew Lang. 

{Begun in the November number.) 



Next morning the heroes awoke, and left 
the ship moored in the river's mouth, hidden by 
tall reeds, for they took down the mast, lest it 
should be seen. Then they walked toward the 
city of Colchis, and they passed through a 
strange and horrible wood. Dead men, bound 
together with cords, were hanging from the 
branches, for the Colchis people buried women, 
but hung dead men from the branches of trees. 
Then they came to the palace, where King 
^Eetes lived, with his young son Absyrtus, and 
his daughter Chalciope, who had been the wife 
of Phrixus, and his younger daughter, Medea, 
who was a witch, and the priestess of Brimo — 
a dreadful goddess. Now, Chalciope came out 
and she welcomed Jason, for she knew the 
heroes were of her dear husband's country. 
And beautiful Medea, the dark witch-girl, saw 
Jason, and as soon as she saw him she loved 
him more than her father and her brother and 
all her father's house. For his bearing was gal- 
lant, and his armor golden, and long yellow 
hair fell over his shoulders, and over the leop- 
ard skin that he wore above his armor. And 
she turned white and then red, and cast down 
her eyes, but Chalciope took the heroes to 
the baths, and gave them food. Then ^Eetes 
asked them why they came, and they told 
him that they desired the Fleece of Gold. 
Then he was very angry, and told them that 
only to a better man than himself would he 
give up that Fleece. If any wished to prove 
nimself worthy of it he must tame two bulls 
which breathed flame from their nostrils, and 
must plow four acres with these bulls. And 
then he must sow the field with the teeth of 
a dragon, and these teeth when sown would 
immediately grow up into armed men. Jason 
said that, as it must be, he would try this adven- 

ture, but he went sadly enough back to the ship 
and did not notice how kindly Medea was look- 
ing after him as he went. 

Now, in the dead of night, Medea could not 
sleep, because she was so sorry for the stranger, 
and she knew that she could help him by her 
magic. Then she remembered how her father 
would burn her for a witch if she helped Jason, 
and a great shame came on her that she should 
prefer a stranger to her own people. So she arose 
in the dark, and stole just as she was to her sister's 
room, a white figure roaming like a ghost in the 
palace. And at her sister's door she turned back 
in shame, saying, " No, I will never do it," and she 
went back again, and came again, and knew not 
what to do ; but at last she returned to her own 
bower, and threw herself on her bed, and wept. 
And her sister heard her weeping, and came to 
her, and they cried together, but softly, that no 
one might hear them. For Chalciope was as 
eager to help the Greeks for love of her dead 
husband, as Medea was for love of Jason. And 
at last Medea promised to carry to the temple 
of the goddess of whom she was a priestess a 
drug that would tame the bulls. But still she 
wept and wished she were dead, and had a mind 
to slay herself; yet, all the time, she was longing 
for the dawn, that she might go and see Jason, 
and give him the drug, and see his face once 
more, if she was never to see him again. So, 
at dawn she bound up her hair, and bathed her 
face, and took the drug, which was pressed from 
a flower. That flower first blossomed when 
the eagle shed the blood of Prometheus on the 
earth. The virtue of the juice of the flower was 
this, that if a man anointed himself with it, he 
could not that day be wounded by swords, and 
fire could not burn him. So she placed it in a 
vial beneath her girdle, and so she went secretly 
to the temple of the goddess. And Jason had 
been warned by Chalciope to meet her there, 
and he was coming with Mopsus who knew the 
speech of birds. Then Mopsus heard a crow 



that sat on a poplar tree, speaking to another 
crow, and saying : 

" Here comes a silly prophet, and sillier than 
a goose. He is walking with a young man to 
meet a maid, and does not know that, while he 
is there to hear, the maid will not say a word 
that is in her heart. Go away, foolish prophet ; 
it is not you she cares for." 

Then Mopsus smiled, 
and stopped where he 
was ; but Jason went on, 
where Medea was pre- 
tending to play with the 
girls, her companions. 
When she saw Jason she 
felt as if she could not 
come forward, nor go 
back, and she was very 
pale. But Jason told 
her not to be afraid, and 
asked her to help him, 
but for long she could 
not answer him ; how- 
ever, at the last, she gave 
him the drug, and taught 
him how to use it. " So 
shall you carry the Fleece 
to Iolcos, far from here; 
but what is it to me 
where you go, when you 
have gone from here ? 
Still remember the name 
of me, Medea, as I shall 
remember you. And 
may there come to me 
some voice, or some bird 
with the message, when- 
ever you have quite for- 
gotten me ! " 

But Jason answered, 
" Lady, let the winds 
blow what voice they 
will, and what that bird 
will, let him bring. But 

no wind nor bird shall ever bear the news that 
I have forgotten you, if you will cross the sea 
with me, and be my wife." 

Then she was glad, and yet she was afraid, 
at the thought of that dark voyage, with a 
stranger, from her father's home, and her own. 

So they parted, Jason to the ship, and Medea to 
the palace. But in the morning Jason anointed 
himself and his armor with the drug, and all 
the heroes struck at him with spears and swords, 
but the swords would not bite on him nor on 
his armor. And he felt so strong and light 
that he leaped in the air with joy, and the 
sun shone on his glittering shield. Now they 


all went up together to the field where the 
bulls were breathing flame. There already was 
yEetes, and Medea, and all the Colchians had 
come to see Jason die. A plow had been 
brought, to which he was to harness the bulls. 
Then he walked up to them, and they blew 




fire at him that flamed all round him, but the 
magic drug protected him. He took a horn 
of one bull in his right hand, and a horn of 

utes of striking and shouting, while the sparks 
of fire sprang up from helmet, and breastplate, 
and shield. And the furrow ran red with blood, 


the other in his left, and dashed their heads 
together so mightily that they fell. When they 
rose, all trembling, he yoked them to the plow, 
and drove them with his spear, till all the 
field was plowed in straight ridges and furrows. 
Then he dipped his helmet in the river, and 
drank water, for he was weary ; and next he 
sowed the dragon's teeth on the right and left. 
Then you might see spear points, and sword 
points, and crests of helmets break up from 
the soil like shoots of corn, and presently the 
earth was shaken like sea waves, as armed 
men leaped out of the furrows, all furious for 
battle. But Jason, as Medea had told him to 
do, caught up a great rock, and threw it among 
them, and he who was struck said to his neigh- 
bor, " You struck me. Take that ! " and hewed 
him down through the helmet ; but another said, 
" You shall not strike him ! " and ran his spear 
through that man's breast, but before he could 
draw it out another man had cleft his helmet 
with a stroke, and so it went. A few min- 

and wounded men crawled on hands and knees 
to strike or stab those that were yet standing 
and fighting. So ax and sword and spear 
flashed and fell, till now all the men were 
down but one, taller and stronger than the rest. 
Round him he looked, and saw only Jason 
standing there, and he staggered toward him, 
bleeding, and lifting his great ax above his 
head. But Jason only stepped aside from the 
blow which would have cloven him to the 
waist, the last blow of the Men of the Dragon's 
Teeth, for he who struck fell, and there he lay, 
and died. 

Then Jason went to the king, where he sat 
looking darkly on, and said, " O King, the field 
is plowed, the seed is sown, the harvest is 
reaped. Give me now the Fleece of Gold, and 
let me be gone." But the king said, " Enough 
is done. To-morrow is a new day. To-morrow 
shall you win the Fleece." 

Then he looked sidewise at Medea, and she 
knew that he suspected her, and she was afraid. 

■8 9 i.; 



Now ^Eetes went and sat brooding over his 
wine with the captains of his people ; and his 
mood was bitter, both for loss of the Fleece, 
and because Jason had won it not by his own 
prowess, but by magic aid of Medea. And, as 
for Medea herself, it was the king's purpose to 
put her to a cruel death, and this she needed 
not her witchery to know. And a fire was in her 
eyes, and terrible sounds were ringing in her ears, 
and it seemed she had but one 
choice, to drink poison and die, 
or to flee with the heroes in the 
ship, " Argo." But at last flight 
seemed better than death. So 
she hid all her engines of witch- 
craft in the folds of her gown, 
and she kissed her bed where 
she would never sleep again, 
and the posts of the door, and 
she caressed the very walls with 
her hand in that last sad fare- 
well. And she cut a long lock 
of her yellow hair, and left it in 
the room, a keepsake to her 
mother dear, in memory of her 
maiden days. " Good-by, my 
mother," she said, " this long 
lock I leave thee in place of 
me ; good-by, a long good- 
by to me who am going on a 
long journey : good-by, my 
sister Chalciope, good-by ; 
dear house, good-by." 

Then she stole from the 
house, and the bolted doors 
leaped open of their own ac- 
cord, at the swift spell Medea 
murmured. With her bare feet she ran down 
the grassy paths, and the daisies looked 
black against the white feet of Medea. So 
she sped to the temple of the goddess, and 
the moon overhead looked down on her. 
Many a time had she darkened the moon's 
face with her magic song, and now the Lady 
Moon gazed white upon her, and said, "I am 
not, then, the only one that wanders in the 
night for love, as I love Endymion the sleeper, 
who wakens never! Many a time hast thou 
darkened my face with thy songs, and made 
night black with thy sorceries. And now, 

thou too art in love ! So go thy way, and 
bid thy heart endure, for a sore fate is before 

But Medea hastened on till she came to the 
high river bank, and saw the heroes, merry at 
their wine in the light of a blazing fire. Thrice 
she called aloud, and they heard her, and came 
to her, and she said, " Save me, my friends, for 
all is known, and my death is sure. And I will 


give you the Fleece of Gold for the price of 
my life." 

Then Jason swore that she should be his 
wife, and more dear to him than all the world. 
And she went aboard their boat, and swiftly 
they rowed to the dark wood where the dragon 
who never sleeps lay guarding the Fleece of 
Gold. And she landed, and Jason, and Or- 
pheus with his harp, and through the wood they 
went, but that old serpent saw them coming, 
and hissed so loud that women wakened in 
Colchis town, and children cried to their moth- 
ers. But Orpheus struck softly on his harp, 


and lie sang a hymn to Sleep, bidding him 
come and cast a slumber on the dragon's 
wakeful eyes. 

This was the song he sang : 

Sleep ! King of gods and men ! 
Come to my call again, 
Swift over field and fen. 

Mountain and deep : 
Come, bid the waves be still ; 
Sleep, streams on height and hill; 
Beasts, birds, and snakes, thy will 

Conquereth, Sleep ! 
Come on thy golden wings, 
Come ere the swallow sings, 
Lulling all living things, 

Fly they or creep ! 
Come with thy leaden wand, 
Come with thy kindly hand, 
Soothing on sea or land 

Mortals that weep, 
Come from the cloudy west, 
Soft over brain and breast, 
Bidding the Dragon rest, 

Come to me, Sleep ! 

This was Orpheus's song, and he sang so 
sweetly that the bright small eyes of the 
Dragon closed, and all his hard coils softened 
and uncurled. Then Jason set his foot on the 
Dragon's neck, and hewed off his head, and 
lifted down the Golden Fleece from the sacred 
oak tree, and it shone like a golden cloud at 
dawn. But he waited not to wonder at it, but 
he and Medea and Orpheus hurried through the 
wet wood-paths to the ship, and threw it on 
board, cast a cloak over it, and bade the heroes 
sit down to the oars, half of them, but the 
others to take their shields, and stand each 
beside the oarsmen, to guard them from the 
arrows of the Colchians. Then he cut the 
stern-cables with his sword, and softly they 
rowed, under the bank, down the dark river 
to the sea. But by this time the hissing of 
the Dragon had awakened the Colchians, and 
lights were flitting by the palace windows, and 
/Fetes was driving in his chariot with all his 
men, down to the banks of the river. Then 


their arrows fell like hail about the ship, but 
they rebounded from the shields of the heroes, 
and the swift ship sped over the bar, and leaped 
as she felt the first waves of the salt sea. 

And now the Fleece was won. But it was 
weary work bringing it home to Greece, and 
that is another story. For Medea and Jason 
did a deed which angered the gods. They slew 
her brother Absyrtus, who followed after them 
with a fleet. And the gods would not let them 
return by the way they had come, but by 
strange ways where never another ship has 
sailed. Up the Istes (the Danube) they rowed, 
through countries of savage men, till the Argo 
could go no further, by reason of the narrow- 
ness of the stream. Then they hauled her 
overland, where no man knows, but they 
launched her on the Elbe at last, and out into 
a sea where never sail had been seen. Then 
they were driven wandering out into Ocean, 
and to a fairy far-off Isle where Lady Circe 
dwelt, and to the Sirens' Isles, where the sing- 
ing women of the sea beguile the mariners ; but 
about all these there is a better story, which 
you may some day read, the story of Odysseus, 
Laertes' son. And at last the west wind drove 
them back through the Pillars of Heracles, and 
so home to waters they knew, and to Iolcos 
itself, and there they landed with the Fleece, 
and the heroes all went home. And Jason was 
crowned king, at last, on his father's throne, but 
he had little joy of his kingdom, for between 
him and beautiful Medea was the memory of 
her brother, whom they had slain. And the 
long story ends but sadly, for they had no hap- 
piness at home, and at last they went different 
ways, and Medea sinned again, a dreadful sin 
to revenge an evil deed of Jason's. For she 
was a woman that knew only hate and love, 
and where she did not love with all her heart, 
with all her heart she hated. But on his dying 
day it may be that he remembered her, when 
all grew dark around him, and down the ways 
of night the Golden Fleece floated like a cloud 
upon the wind of death. 

V4S> - =£ 

¥ SiY — - Erf 



(■5V-C I'Vtfrj Old.) 

you remember, centuries gone by, 

When you were Prince, and I, your subject, came 
To kiss your hand and swell the loud acclaim 
Wherewith the people greeted you, and cry — 
" Long life, and love, and glory, oh, most high 
And puissant lord ! " — the city was aflame 
With torches ; banners streamed ; and knight and dame 
Knelt at your feet — your proud smile made reply. 
I think you do remember ; for I caught 
That same swift smile upon your royal lips 
When once again (the centuries' long eclipse 
At end), I found my monarch, and my homage brought : 
" Long life, and love, and glory, now as then ! " 
And you ? — your smile is my reward again. 

Louise Chandler Moidton. 


By Frances V. and E. J. Austen. 

Trick the Fifth. 

mother goose and 

her troubles. 

the celebrated 


'LD Mother Goose 
evidently did not hear what Santa Claus said, 
for she came hobbling along, humming to her- 
self in a cracked voice : 

" There was an old woman who lived in a shoe — " 

" None of that ! " shouted Santa Claus, and 
the clatter of the icicles, which fell in a perfect 
shower, made Mother Goose look up. 

" None of that ! " repeated Santa Claus. " I 
am so tired of that old woman and her everlast- 
ing shoe that I am thinking of having her 
scratched out of my new books. If you have n't 
any new rhyme you had better go home again." 

" Ho ! ho ! " cried Mother Goose. " You 
ungrateful soul, you ! Why, that old poem — 
yes, I insist upon it — poem" she repeated, 
striking her stick on the ground, " that o\A poem 
has pleased more children than you could count 
in a month of Sundays ! None of the modern 
poets seem to know how to write to please the 
babies. Here are the last verses I 've received. 
Read 'em ! read 'em I and then tear 'em all up. 
I declare that unless I get some really good 
ones before next Christmas I '11 just send out the 
same old batch ! The children never seem to 
get tired of those. Listen to this nonsense," added 
the old lady, taking a sheet from the bundle. 


Mrs. Arithmetic gave a fine ball 
To little and great, to big and to small ; 
No one was neglected ; she tried very hard 
Not to leave out one person who should get a card. 
There was sweet Miss Addition, the first one to come, 
And she footed it gaily with young Mr. Sum, 
Who, 't was easy to see, was her favorite. Though 
Subtraction proposed, she had answered him — No ! 

This refusal, of course, made Subtraction quite solemn, 
And he left very early, hid away in a column. 
Then Multiplication, that jolly old elf, 
Who was always on very good terms with himself 
(Though all those who knew the same Multiplication 
Declared that he caused them unending vexation). 
Division came later, and, needless to say, 
Behaved himself meanly, as is always his way. 
He made friends into foes, and spoiled all the fun 
Of the poor little figures, from 9 down to I. 
The cute little Fractions were there (very small) 
With their brothers the Decimals, not quite so tall, 
And every one present had brought his relations, 
None prouder than Lord Algebraic Equations. 
The Duke Logarithm and the Count Trigonometry 
Had quite a long chat with the Marquis Geometry. 
Only five of the figures danced in the quadrille, 
Six, Seven, and Eight went away feeling ill, 
While old Mr. Nine, who ate a large supper, 
Sat down in the library and read Martin Tupper. 
At last it was time for the people to go ; 
Each charming young figure selected her beau, 
And in leaving their hostess, they said, one and all, 
They had greatly enjoyed Dame Arithmetic's ball. 

" Fancy giving that for the mamas to read to 
their babies. They always will put too many 
ideas into the poetry. They will be expecting 
the babies to think, next thing we know ! 



one. Did 

you ever 

hear the 

like ? " 

Why is the 

little boy 


Why does 

the little 

boy cry ? 

He has eaten 

so much of 

the rare 

roast beef, 

He has no 

room left 

for the 




" Ha ! ha ! ha ! " laughed jolly old Santa 
Claus. " Old Mother Goose is suffering from 
what men and women on earth call Pro-fes- 
sion-al Jeal-ous-y. We shall have to give you 
some medicine in the shape of some ad-verse 
crit-i-cism. That will cure you ! Ha ! 
ha! ha!" 

" Oh, you will, will you ? — you '11 give me 
some of that medicine, will you ? You would 
better not ! Why, there is not a man nor a 
woman on earth who has ever been a child 
who would not rise up and declare such con- 
duct shameful! No, sir; you would better not 
— so take my advice. As for the poets, I have 
given them up, long ago, as hopeless. So many 
of them have taken to living altogether up here 
' in the clouds,' and they bother me all the time 
for orders to compose new rhymes for the chil- 
dren ; but I have forbidden them to stir outside 
of the gardens of their own house. 

" Then the house where they live when they 
are in the clouds, I am sure is just like a 
lunatic asylum, for they strut about declaiming 
and making up new poems on everything that 
takes place on earth, so that it is really quite 
laughable to see them. 

" Some of them are nice, lovable people, and 
I take care they are not bothered by the noisy 
ones ; but some are quite dangerous, and one class, 
especially, I have had to 
shut up by themselves. 
They call them on earth, 
the Spring poets — they 
are dreadful, indeed. But 
there, Santa Claus ! I 
can't stay here chattering 
to you ; just look through 
that lot of nonsense when 
you have time, and if you 
find anything worth sav- 
ing, save it. 

" Mercy on us ! Who 
is that ? " said the old 
lady suddenly, as she 

caught sight of Elfie. " Dearie, dearie me ! " she 
said, setting her spectacles straight, " I declare, 
child, you gave me quite a turn. I actually thought 
it was Contrary Mary, who had run away again. 
Come here, and let me look at you," and 
Mother Goose fell back into an arm-chair which 

one of the little goblins had brought for her, and 
beamed so sweetly on Elfie that the little girl 
slipped down from Santa Claus's knee and ran 
into the kind old lady's outstretched arms. 

"And what is 
your name, my 
dear ? " said the 
dame, after em- 
bracing Elfie and 
setting .her on a 

"'mercy on us! who is that?' said the old 
lady suddenly." 

footstool, which had risen through the floor 
at a nod from E-ma-ji-na-shun. 

" I 'm Elfie," replied the little girl. 

'• Elfie, eh ? — and a dear sweet little girl you 
look," said old Mother Goose ; " and so you 
have started out with old E-ma-ji-na-shun to 


explore the wonders of Cloudland, have you ? 
Well — well — there are not many little girls 
like you who come up here. Nearly everybody 
waits till they are older; but we love the chil- 
dren best, after all," and she stooped down and 
kissed Elfie again. " Now, what, of all that I 




can show you, would you like to see most ? " 
Mother Goose asked. 

" Oh ! " said Elfie, " I want to see where you 
live, and I want to see the Old Woman who 
lives in the shoe, and Jack and Jill, and Tommy 
Tucker, and Jack Horner, and Jack Sprat, and 
Little Bo-peep." 

" Ha ! ha ! ha ! " laughed Mother Goose, "and 
so you shall, my lamb, you shall see them all, 
and more, too ; and what is better, I will give 
you a ride on my broomstick. What do you 
think of that?" 

started out with Mother Goose. They passed 
through the wonderful entrance, across the ter- 
races, and down the snow steps. 



Elfie was at first a little timid about riding on 
the broomstick ; but, at the kind old lady's sug- 
gestion, she made a short trial trip on a broom 
that happened to be in the room 
and found it delightful. Then she 
did not know how to say enough, 
but she said " Thank you ! " over 
and over again until Mother 
Goose stopped her with a kiss. 

" Come along then, dearie ! 
E-ma-ji-na-shun will come with 
us, for you could not go a step 
up here without 1dm. Say good- 
bye to Santa Claus, and we will 
start at once, for I must get 
home and give Little Boy 
Blue his supper, and see that Contrary Mary 
has n't run away again." 

Elfie went up and kissed Santa Claus, and 


There Elfie saw one of Santa Claus's sprites 
leading the celebrated broomstick up and down, 
for Mother Goose said he had become rather 
warm on the way from her dwelling, and she 
did not care to leave him standing still in the 
snow for fear that he might become chilled. 

Elfie examined the famous stick very curi- 
ously, for she had often wondered how a broom- 
stick could make such journeys as this one did. 
She was rather surprised, and a wee bit disap- 
pointed, to see that it was nothing but an ordi- 
nary every-day broomstick, with a very old, 
worn-out broom at one 
end. Mother Goose 
took it from the goblin 
who had been looking 
after it, and taking it 
by the handle sat down 
on it, exactly as a lady 
would take a seat on 


a horse ; Elfie took a seat in front of her, while 
E-ma-ji-na-shun jumped on behind and perched 
himself gracefully on the broom-part. 

i8 9 i.J 



No sooner was Mother Goose seated than the 
stick began to jump and dance about, and, after 
one or two leaps as if to show its powers, away 
it went sailing through the air ; keeping well 
up above the tallest trees. 

Elfie thought it delightful, and told Mother 
Goose so, but the old lady was too busy man- 
aging her steed to be able to give much atten- 
tion to her. They flew and flew till they came 
in sight of what looked to Elfie like an enor- 
mous book standing on end ; one of the covers 
was toward them, and the broomstick, guided 



by Mother Goose, descended gently to the 
ground .in front of it. 

" Here we are at home I " said Mother Goose, 
and she took Elfie in her arms and jumped 
down from the broomstick ; which at once 
started of its own accord in the direction ot 
the stable. 

Trick the Sixth. 

mother goose's home, and all the stories, 
little red riding hood tells elfie about 
the fairy-story people. a piece of the 


HY, what a funny 
house it is ! " cried 
Elfie, taking a good 
look at what Mother 
Goose called her home. 
" It looks like a great book." 

" Yes, my dear, that is just what it is intended 
to be," said the old lady. " You see it is quite 
different from other houses, for though it is 
built in stories the stories are one behind the 
other, just like a book, a story for every leaf. 
Come along, now, and you shall see." 

Mother Goose clapped her hands and in- 
stantly the cover of this wonderful book flew 
open. But we must not forget what a splendid 
sight this cover was. It was covered with all 
sorts of the loveliest colors, and pictures of all 
of Mother Goose's children done in gold and 
silver. It was like the outside of the finest 
Christmas book you ever saw, only a thousand 
times more beautiful. 

Well, when the cover flew open, Elfie saw 
the first story and a wonderful sight it was. 
There was the old woman that lived in the 
celebrated shoe, and scores upon scores of chil- 
dren ran about the place laughing and shouting 
at the top of their voices, and evidently driving 
the old woman nearly crazy. The old woman 
herself looked older and more wrinkled than 
anybody whom Elfie had ever seen, and she 
seemed to be worrying herself all the time 
about the behavior of the children, for she 
would run about in every direction, correcting 
this one, punishing the other, or kissing an- 
other, just as she thought each deserved. 

The shoe had a door in the side and was 
as big as an ordinary house ; a line of windows 
was in front where the holes for the laces would 
be in a real shoe, and the roof was made of what 
looked like a stocking stuffed into the top. On 
a big sign in front was written the story : 

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, 

Who had so many children, she did n't know what 

to do; 

Vol. XVUI. 




So she gave them some broth, without any bread, 
And spanked them all soundly and sent them to bed. 

Elfie wanted to stay and play with the chil- 
dren, but Mother Goose told her that, if she did, 


the old woman might punish her and send her 
to bed just as she did the others. So, after a 
little while they passed on to the second story. 

Here lived Jack and Jill, Contrary Mary, and 
Little Boy Blue. They were having a game all 
together, and Mother Goose gave Elfie permis- 
sion to join in. Jack and Jill would walk up a lit- 
tle hill at the end of a long walk, to a well that 
was at the top, where they would fill a pail with 
water. Then they would start 
back, carrying the pail between 
them — when they would trip up 
and come tumbling down with the 
pail of water rolling after them. 
Then Contrary Mary would 
at once sprinkle them with her 
watering-pot, while Little Boy 
Blue blew a loud toot-toot on his 
horn ; and everybody laughed till 
it was time for Jack and Jill to 
start off again. On the walls were 
big sheets of paper with the stories 
of Jack and Jill, Contrary Mary, 
and Little Boy Blue. 

After leaving this story they went through 
the others. Elfie saw Jack Horner eating the 
celebrated pie, out of which he picked a plum 
for her ; she heard little Tom Tucker sing for 

his supper, and was introduced to Jack Sprat 
and his wife. Then she had a long talk with 
Little Bo-peep, who told her all about losing the 
sheep, and she met Miss Muffet and the spider. 
It took them a long time 
to see all the book, but they 
were through at last, and old 
Mother Goose said : 

" Now I will show you 
some other friends of yours. 
They don't properly belong to 
my family, but as I am in the 
story-telling business, they are 
placed in my charge to take 
care of. Look this way ! " 

Elfie looked up and saw a 
very pretty cottage, and there, 
leaning out of the window, 
was a lovely little girl with 
blue eyes and golden hair, 
and a red hood on her head. 
In front of the door, and al- 
most blocking it up, was a dreadful sight — 
nothing else than a hideous wolf, stone dead. 

" Little Red Riding Hood ! " cried Elfie. " Do 
let me go up to her and kiss her ! " She knocked 
at the door, and a sweet little voice inside called 
out : 

" Pull the string of the latch and walk in." 
Elfie pulled the string and the door opened. 
She ran upstairs, and after kissing Little Red 


Riding Hood (for she felt as if they were old 
friends) she sat down with her on the edge of 
the snow-white bed, and began to ask her about 
her adventures and how she came there. 

i8 9 i.] 


" Well, dear," said Red Riding Hood, " you 
must know that after my grandmother was eaten 
up, and the horrid wolf was killed, there was no 
one to live in the cottage. So the people of 
Cloudland said that as the earth children would 
always love to hear my story, it would be best 
for me to live here forever, and keep the wolf, 
just as he was killed, in front of the door; so that 
any one who disbelieved the story, could see us 
both and know it was true." 

" How deeply interesting," said Elfie; "but 
do you live here all by yourself ? Don't you 
ever see anybody ? " 

"Oh, yes," replied Red Riding Hood. " Cin- 


derella lives in the palace you see over there, 
and she often calls, and the Sleeping Beauty is 
not far away. Then Jack the Giant Killer calls 
every Saturday evening," she added with a 
pretty blush. " He wishes me to marry him 
when we grow up, but I do not think they will 
let us marry," she sighed. 

" Then the two Babes that were lost in the 
Wood are buried under the leaves close by here, 
and the Robins often come and tell me their 
sad story. 

" Oh, yes," she went on, " I have lots of com- 
pany ; all the people in the fairy-story books are 
good friends of mine, and we sometimes have a 
big picnic in the woods all together. 

" Puss in Boots and Hop-o'-my-thumb make 


great fun for us, and sometimes when Blue 
Beard or some of the other people won't be- 
have, we get E-ma-ji-na-shun to give them 
indigestion, so that they get quite ill and 
keep quiet." 

" And how are Cinderella and her prince, 
and the Sleeping Beauty and her prince, and 
all the rest of the good people ? " asked Elfie, 
full of curiosity. 

" Oh, they are all well and happy," replied 
Red Riding Hood. " You see, we story-book 
people, after our stories are finished, just go on 
living happily forever." 

" Is n't that splendid ! " said Elfie. " But 
Mother Goose is waiting for me. Good-bye, 
dear; I am so glad to have met you!" 

" Good-bye, Elfie ! Call again when you come 
to Cloudland. Good-bye ! " and Elfie ran down 
to Mother Goose, who had waited for her in 
front of the house. 

" Now, Elfie, child, what is the next thing 
you wish to see in Cloudland ? " said Mother 
Goose, with a smile. 

" The toys and the dollies," said Elfie, at 

Mother Goose clapped her hands. E-ma-ji- 
na-shun touched Elfie on the shoulder, and be- 
fore she quite knew what had happened Elfie 
found herself flying toward the Cave of the 
Nortli Wind. But what toys and dolls she saw 
in that region is told in another part of her 

Trick the Seventh. 

the toy castle. the wonderful things 
and funny sights that elfie saw there, 
maggie may. the invalid doll. 

f?jjl OT very far from the crimson 
lake on which floated the 
iceberg which contained the 
cave of the North Wind, 
Elfie saw a very large 
castle which was quite 
different from the others she had seen. It 
somehow reminded her of the doll's house 
which she had at home, although it was a 
thousand times larger : and she thought to her- 
self, " I wonder if that is where the dollies live." 
E-ma-ji-na-shun, who never seemed to require 




her to speak, but who an- 
swered her thought just as if 
she had really asked a ques- 
tion, said : 

" Yes, you are quite right ; 
that is the home of the dollies 
— in fact it is more. It is 
Toy Castle, and there it is 
that all the toys that are used 




on earth are made and stored. Let 
and see them ! " 

In front of the castle or house or villa (Elfie 
hardly knew which to call it. for it looked not 
unlike either of them), 
was a very pretty garden, 
set thick with toy trees, 
and laid out with imi- 
tation flower-beds and 
gravel walks. The front 
of the house was a queer 
mixture of a castle, a 
villa, and a doll's house. 
They opened the front 
gate and walked up the 
path leading to the front 
door; on each side of 
this walk were little green 
trees, all placed very 
neatly on round stands 
and carefully arranged 
in two perfectly straight 
lines. They were all neatly painted a bright 
green, and were evidently the pride of the doll 


gardener who attended them, and who was 
leaning against the fence. 

When they reached the door, which was 
painted green like the trees, they saw it was 
adorned with a very handsome knocker and 
that there were also two bell-handles, one on 
each door-post. To make quite sure, they pulled 
each bell and knocked a rat-tat-tat on the 
knocker. They had not long to wait before the 
door was opened by a very trim little doll, 
dressed in a neat cotton gown, with a cute, 
pretty apron, and a tiny lace cap. She was not 
half as tall as Elfie, and had to stand on a 
chair to reach the door-knob. 

She made a stiff little curtsy, and said in 
a very funny voice : 

" Will you be pleased to walk in, madam ? " 

She spoke her words without any change in 
her voice, all on one note like this, 




1 1 1 1 — '--I 1 1- 

Will you be pleased to walk in, madam. 

and stopped short at the end as if she spoke 

by clockwork. " Which is exactly what she 

i8 9 i.] 



does," said E-ma-ji-na-shun, in answer to Elfie's 

They followed the hired-girl dolly into the 
hallway of the villa, and she turned with funny 
little jerky steps into the parlor on the right, and 

held open the door for Elfie and her companion 
to follow. 

When the little girl looked around the room, 
she at first thought she must be in an immense 
toy-store. The ceiling was so high above 
her head that the paper lanterns hanging from 
it, with which the room was lighted, seemed 
like tiny stars. There were thousands of these 
lamps, and they gave an excellent light. Very 
little light came in at the windows, for though 
they were real glass, they were nearly covered 
by the curtains painted on them. " Just like 
those in my doll's house!" thought Elfie. 

Toys of every kind lay scattered all over the 
room, and hung from hooks in the walls and 
ceiling. Some of them Elfie had never seen 
before, but many looked like those Santa Claus 
had brought on Christmas Day for her and her 
little friends. Then there were dolls of all sorts, 
conditions, and sizes amusing themselves in all 
sorts of ways, while a great number simply hung 
from the hooks or sat on the shelves, which ran 
all round the room, and these looked gravely on 
while the others played. 

Some little boy-dolls were having much fun 
spinning a great top, which was larger than any 
one of them ; more of them were riding around 
the room on toy bicycles or playing football 
with a rubber ball, while a group in the corner 
were trying to break in a very fierce and restive 
rocking-horse which seemed to take great de- 
light in kicking off the tiny jockeys as soon as 
they had mounted him. 

Against one side of the room there was a 
great pile of dolls, some in boxes, and others 
simply wrapped in tissue-paper, and most of 
them only half dressed. There were so many 
of them that Elfie could only just see the top 
of the heap as it extended toward the ceiling. 

Then on the floor, on the chairs, on the tables, 
were other dolls, big dolls and little dolls, white 
dolls, black dolls, red dolls, gentlemen-dolls, 
and lady-dolls, though by far the greater num- 
ber were ladies ; walking about and talking with 
sweet little clockwork voices, and playing all 
sorts of cute little games. Some of the ladies 
were dressed most gorgeously in satin, silk, tulle 
or lace ; and, as Elfie stood looking at them with 
delight, a band of toy musicians struck up the 
" Blue Danube " waltz, and straightway a space 
was cleared on the floor, the dolls took partners, 


and away they started with a dance. Round 
and round the room they flew, and no doubt 
they would have danced forever if the music had 
not stopped with a loud click ! The conductor 
of the orchestra came forward and said : 

Ladies anil gentlemen, the band needs winding up ! 




Then the dolls who had been dancing walked 
around the room three or four times, arm in 
arm ; and the gentlemen-dolls said to the lady- 
dolls, " May I bring you something ? — ice- 
cream or lemonade ? " and some of the ladies 

While Elfie was laughing and enjoying the 
sight, with the aid of E-ma-ji-na-shun, who ex- 
plained everything she did not quite understand, 
one of the lady-dolls who was very richly dressed 
in a purple silk polonaise, with a canary satin 


said, " No, thank you ; I am not the least tired 
or thirsty," — and others said, " Well, if you will 
be so kind, I will take just the tiniest morsel of 
ice-cream " — or " the smallest drop of lemon- 
ade"; and then the gentlemen-dolls would go 
into the corner and come back with other little 
waiter-dolls who carried tiny trays with glasses, 
with real lemonade in them, and dishes with a 
wee speck of ice-cream, which the lady-dolls 
tasted, and seemed to enjoy very much, and 
altogether they appeared to be having a very 
good time, indeed. 

skirt, and real lace at her throat and on the 
sleeves, came up to her and said : 

" How do you do ? I am pretty well, thank 
you. How did you leave your mama and 
papa ? It is very nice weather — I think it 
will rain to-day " — click ! 

Elfie had a hard time not to laugh at the 
strange, squeaky little voice, especially as while 
the dolly was speaking Elfie could hear the 
whirr-r-r of the clockwork which served her 
for lungs. When the young lady had reached 
" rain to-day," she stopped short, opened her 



mouth two or three times without speaking, and 
then pointed to a keyhole in her shoulder. 

" She needs winding up," said E-ma-ji-na- 

So Elfie took one of the keys that were lying 
on a table and wound her ladyship up. 

Directly it was done, she began again : " You 
seem to be surprised that we are having such a 


good time here. But you see, this is our home, 
and the home of all the dollies that are made, 
until a batch of us are sent for to keep up the 
supply on earth. At Christmas time the house 
is cleared out entirely, and Santa Claus takes 
the whole lot with him to supply the little earth- 
children. Then, during the year, as the children's 
birthdays come round, more of us are sent for, 
and it keeps the workmen busy to make us fast 
enough. Some of the dresses that you see have 
taken quite a long time to make. The dress that 
I wear took one of the best of the dolls' dress- 
makers two whole days to make" — click! 

Elfie looked again at the dolly's frock and 
saw that it was very much finer than any of her 
own, and the fine lady-doll was gazing quite 
scornfully at Elfie's gown. But Elfie's mama 
had taught her not to think so much about her 
dress as about her behavior, so she said to the 
doll, gently : 

" I suppose you have n't any kind mama to 
teach you to be good and unselfish ; mine has 

told me that so long as my clothes are clean and 
whole, I should never be ashamed of them." 

The doll looked surprised and tried to speak 
but only made a whizzing noise with a click ! — 
click! — and pointed to her shoulder. Elfie 
wound her up again and she said : 

" Why, I never heard of such a thing ! All 
we have to think about up here is the kind of 
dresses we are going to wear, and the number 
of times we shall be asked to dance." 

" Poor thing ! " said Elfie, for she thought of 
all the loving talks she had had with her kind 
mama, and the funny stories her papa had told 

" I hope you can be sent to me on my birth- 
day or next Christmas so that you can hear all 
the good things I hear." 

" So do I," said dolly, " for I shall have to 
belong to somebody, and I would rather be 
given to you than to some little girl who would 
not be so kind to me." 

" I would give you the loveliest name ! " cried 

" What would you call me ? " piped dollie. 

" Maggie May ! " replied our little traveler. 
" I have a great mind to call you that now as 
long as I am here ; shall I ? " 



" Oh, yes ! " squeaked the doll, " and then I 
shall not find it so strange to be called by a 
name when I go to the earth. Oh, dear ! when 
I think of going I feel quite wretched ! We lead 




such lovely lives here, and play all day long the 
most delightful games, which dear old Santa 
Claus invents for us. We are always sorry when 
the time comes for us to leave, for we never know 
what our future will be. Some of the dolls have 
come back to tell us of their adventures ; one 
dolly " — click ! 

Elfie wound her up again and Maggie May 
continued : " whose mistress named her Isabella, 
came back here yesterday, and I will ask her to 
tell you the sad things that happened to her." 

Maggie May walked across the room with 
her funny jerky walk and stopped in front of a 
little invalid chair which stood in one corner. 
In it lay a poor pale-faced dollie, propped up on 
pillows. She looked frightened, and shook her 
head when Maggie May spoke to her, but in a 
few moments Maggie nodded to two little sailor 
dolls, who had been very busy in the recess be- 
hind the invalid playing with a toy ship — a very 
fine specimen with three masts and fitted with 
ten brass cannon. These merry tars hitched 
up their trousers, touched their caps to Maggie 
May, and giving a " Yo-heave-ho ! " raised the 
invalid chair, with poor Isabella, upon their 
brawny shoulders; then, with the greatest of 
care, they brought the chair and its suffering 
burden over to where Elfie was standing, and 
set Isabella down before her. She looked a little 
bit afraid when she saw Elfie, but the little girl 
looked at her so kindly and with so much pity, 
that the afflicted doll took courage and held 
out one thin little arm. 

Elfie took her up and saw that she was a 
cripple ; she had only one arm and but one leg, 
her head was quite bald, and one of her poor 
eyes was out. 

Elfie did not like to ask her how she came to 
be so miserable, for she looked so much like one 
of Elfie's own little dolls which she had thrown 
into the woodshed, out of the way, that she felt 
ashamed. The little doll did n't wait to be 
asked questions, but after being wound began 
to tell Elfie of her adventures. 

(To be continued. ) 



By Noah Brooks. 

\Begnit in the November Number.} 

Chapter VIII. 


A wide, shallow river, whose turbid waters 
were yellow with the freshets of early summer, 
shadowed by tall and sweeping cotton woods 
and water-maples ; shores gently sloping to the 
current save where a tall and rocky bluff broke 
the prospect up stream ; thickets of oaks, alders, 
sycamores, and persimmons — this was the scene 
on which the Illinois emigrants arrived as they 
journeyed to their new home in the Far West. 
On the north bank of the river, only a few hun- 
dred rods from the stream, was the log-cabin of 
Younkins. It was built on the edge of a fine 
bit of timber-land in which oaks and hickories 
were mingled with less valuable trees. Near-by 
the cabin and hugging closely up to it, was a 
thrifty field of corn and other garden stuff, just 
beginning to seem promising of good things to 
come ; and it was a refreshing sight here in the 
wilderness, for all around was the virgin forest 
and the unbroken prairie. 

Younkins's wife, a pale, sallow, and anxious- 
looking woman, and Younkins's baby boy, 
chubby and open-eyed, welcomed the strangers 
without much show of feeling other than a 
natural curiosity. With Western hospitality, the 
little cabin was found large enough to receive 
all the party, and the floor was covered with 
blankets and buffalo-skins when they lay down 
to sleep their first night near their future home in 
the country of the Republican Fork. The boys 
were very happy that their journey was at an end. 
They had listened with delight while Younkins 
told stories of buffalo and antelope hunting, 
of Indian " scares " and of the many queer ad- 
ventures of settlers on this distant frontier. 

" What is there west of this ? " asked Charlie, 
as the party were allotting the floor and the 
shallow loft among themselves for the night. 

" Nothing but Indians and buffalo," said 
Younkins, sententiously. 

" No settlers anywhere ? " cried Sandy, eagerly. 

" The next settlement west of here, if you can 
call it a settlement, is Fort Kearney, on the other 
side of the Platte. From here to there, there 
is n't so much as a hunter's camp, so far as I 
know." This was Younkins's last word as he 
tumbled, half dressed, into his bunk in one 
corner of the cabin. Sandy hugged his brother 
Charlie before he dropped off to sleep, and whis- 
pered in his ear, " We 're on the frontier at last ! 
It 's just splendid ! " 

Next day, leaving their cattle and wagon at 
the Younkins homestead, the party, piloted by 
their good-natured future neighbor, forded the 
fork and went over into the promised land. 
The stream was rather high as yet, for the snow, 
melting in the far-off Rocky Mountains as the 
summer advanced, had swollen all the tributaries 
of the Republican Fork, and the effects of the rise 
were to be seen far down on the Kaw. The 
new-comers were initiated into the fashion of the 
country by Younkins, who directed each one to 
take off all clothes but his shirt and hat. Then 
their garments were rolled up in bundles, each 
man and boy taking his own on his head, and 
wading deliberately into the water, the sedate 
Younkins being the leader. 

It seemed a little dangerous. The stream was 
about one hundred rods wide, and the current 
was tolerably swift, swollen by the inrush of 
smaller streams above. The water was cold, 
and made an ominous swishing and gurgling 
among the underbrush that leaned into the 
margin of the river. In Indian file, Mr. How- 
ell bringing up the rear, and keeping his eyes 
anxiously upon the lads before him, they all 
crossed in safety, Sandy, the shortest of the 
party, being unable to keep dry the only gar- 
ment he had worn, for the water came well up 
under his arms. 

" Well, that was funny, anyhow," he blithely 



remarked, as he wrung the water out of his 
shirt, and, drying himself as well as he could, 
dressed and joined the rest of the party in the 
trip toward their future home. 

Along the lower bank of the Republican Fork, 
where the new settlers now found themselves, 
the country is gently undulating. Bordering the 
stream they saw a dense growth of sycamores, 
cottonwoods, and birches. Some of these trees 
were tall and handsome, and the general effect 
on the minds of the new-comers was delightful. 
After they had emerged from the woods that 
skirted the river, they were in the midst of a 
lovely rolling prairie, the forest on the right; 
on their left was a thick growth of wood that 
marked the winding course of a creek which, 
rising far to the west, emptied into the Republi- 
can Fork at a point just below where the party 
had forded the stream. The land rose gradually 
from the point nearest the ford, breaking into a 
low, rocky bluff beyond at their right and near- 
est the river, a mile away, and rolling off to the 
southwest in folds and swales. 

Just at the foot of the little bluff ahead, with 
a background of trees, was a log-cabin of hewn 
timber, weather-stained and gray in the summer 
sun, absolutely alone and looking as if lost in 
this untrodden wild. Pointing to it, Younkins 
said, " That 's your house so long as you 
want it." 

The emigrants tramped through the tall, lush 
grass that covered every foot of the new Kansas 
soil, their eyes fixed eagerly on the log-cabin 
before them. The latch-string hung out hospi- 
tably from the door of split " shakes," and the 
party entered without ado. Everything was 
just as Younkins had last left it. Two or 
three gophers, disturbed in their foraging about 
the premises, fled swiftly at the entrance of the 
visitors, and a flock of blackbirds, settled around 
the rear of the house, flew noisily across the 
creek that wound its way down to the fork. 

The floor was of puncheons split from oak 
logs and laid loosely on rough-hewn joists. 
These rattled as the visitors walked over them. 
At one end of the cabin a huge fireplace of 
stone laid in clay yawned for the future comfort 
of the coming tenants. Near-by, a rude set of 
shelves suggested a pantry, and a table, home- 
made and equally rude, stood in the middle of 

the floor. In one corner was built a bedstead, 
two sides of the house furnishing two sides of 
the work, and the other two being made by 
driving a stake into the floor and connecting 
that by string-pieces to the sides of the cabin. 
Thongs of buffalo-hide formed the bottom of 
this novel bedstead. A few stools and short 
benches were scattered about. Near the fire- 
place long and strong pegs driven into the logs 
served as a ladder on which one could climb 
to the low loft overhead. Two windows, each 
of twelve small panes of glass, let in the light, 
one from the end of the cabin and one from 
the back opposite the door, which was in the 
middle of the front. Outside, a frail shanty of 
shakes leaned against the cabin, affording a sort 
of outdoor kitchen for summer use. 

" So this is home," said Charlie, looking 
around. " What will mother say to this — if 
she ever gets here ? " 

" Well, we 've taken a heap of comfort here, 
my old woman and me," said Younkins, looking 
around quickly and with an air of surprise. 
" It 's a mighty comfortable house ; leastways 
we think so." 

Charlie apologized for having seemed to cast 
any discredit on the establishment. Only he 
said that he did not suppose that his mother 
knew much about log-cabins. As for himself, 
he would like nothing better than this for a 
home for a long time to come. " For," he 
added, roguishly, " you know we have come 
to make the West, ' as they the East, the home- 
stead of the free.' " 

Mr. Younkins looked puzzled but made no 
remark. The younger boys, after taking in the 
situation and fondly inspecting every detail of 
the premises, enthusiastically agreed that nothing 
could be finer than this. They darted out of 
doors and saw a corral, or pound, in which the 
cattle could be penned up, in case of need. 
There was a small patch of fallow ground 'that 
needed only to be spaded up to become a 
promising garden-spot. Then, swiftly running 
to the top of the little bluff beyond, they gazed 
over the smiling panorama of emerald prairie 
laced with woody creeks, level fields as yet un- 
disturbed by the plowshare, blue distant woods 
and yet more distant hills among which, to the 
northwest, the broad river wound and disap- 



peared. Westward, nothing was to be seen 
but the green and rolling swales of the virgin 
prairie, broken here and there by an outcropping 
of rock. And as they looked, a tawny yellow- 
ish creature trotted out from behind a roll of 
the prairie, sniffed in the direction of the boys, 
and then stealthily disappeared in the wildness 
of the vast expanse. 

" A coyote," said Sandy, briefly. " I 've seen 

without discomfort, while it was so high, were 
left on the south bank to receive the returning 

There the boys sat, hugely enjoying the 
situation, while the others were loading the 
wagon and yoking the oxen on the other side. 
The lads could hear the cheery sounds of the 
men talking, although they could not see them 
through the trees that lined the farther bank of 


them in Illinois. But I just wish I had my gun 
now." His wiser brother laughed as he told 
him that it would be a long day before a coyote 
could be got near enough to be knocked over 
with any shot-gun. The coyote, or prairie-wolf, 
is the slyest animal that walks on four legs. 

The three men and Charlie returned to the 
further side of the fork, and made immediate 
preparations to move all their goods and effects 
to the new home of the emigrants. Sandy and 
Oscar, being rather too small to wade the stream 

the river. The flow of the stream made a 
ceaseless lapping against the brink of the shore. 
A party of catbirds quarreled sharply in the 
thicket hard-by ; quail whistled in the under- 
brush of the adjacent creek, and overhead a 
solitary eagle circled slowly around as if look- 
ing down to watch these rude invaders of the 
privacy of his dominion that had existed ever 
since the world began. 

Hugging his knees in measureless content, as 
they sat in the grass by the river, Sandy asked, 



almost in a whisper, " Have you ever been 
homesick since we left Dixon, Oscar ? " 

" Just once, Sandy ; and that was yesterday 
when I saw those nice-looking ladies at the fort 
out walking in the morning with their children. 
That was the first sight that looked like home 
since we crossed the Missouri." 

" Me, too," answered Sandy, soberly. " But 
this is just about as fine anything can be. Only 
think of it, Oscar ! There are buffalo and ante- 
lopes within ten or fifteen miles of here. I know, 
for Younkins told me so. And Indians, not 
wild Indians, but tame ones that are at peace 
with the whites. It seems too good to have 
happened to us ; does n't it, Oscar ? " 

Once more the wagon was blocked up for a 
difficult ford, the lighter and more perishable 
articles of its load being packed into a dugout, 
or canoe hollowed from a sycamore log, which 
was the property of Younkins, and used only at 
high states of the water. The three men guided 
the wagon and oxen across while Charlie, 
stripped to his shirt, pushed the loaded dug- 
out carefully over, and the two boys on the 
other bank, full of the importance of the event, 
received the solitary voyager, unloaded the 
canoe and then transferred the little cargo to 
the wagon. The caravan took its way up the 
rolling ground of the prairie to the log-cabin. 
Willing hands unloaded and took into the house 
the tools, provisions, and clothes that constituted 
their all, and, before the sun went down, the 
settlers were at home. 

While in Manhattan, they had supplied them- 
selves with potatoes ; at Fort Riley they had 
bought fresh beef from the sutler. Sandy made 
a glorious fire in the long disused fireplace. His 
father soon had a batch of biscuits baking in the 
covered kettle, or Dutch oven, that they had 
brought with them from home. Charlie's con- 
tribution to the repast was a pot of excellent 
coffee, the milk for which, an unaccustomed 
luxury, was supplied by the thoughtfulness of 
Mrs. Younkins. So, with thankful hearts, they 
gathered around their frugal board and took 
their first meal in their new home. 

When supper was done and the cabin, now 
lighted by the scanty rays of two tallow can- 
dles, had been made tidy for the night, Oscar 
took out his violin, and, after much needed 

timing, struck into the measure of wild, warb- 
ling " Dundee." All hands took the hint and 
all voices were raised once more to the words 
of Whittier's song of the " Kansas Emigrants." 
Perhaps it was with new spirit and new tender- 
ness that they sang : 

No pause, nor rest, save where the streams 

That feed the Kansas run, 
Save where the Pilgrim gonfalon 

Shall flout the setting sun ! 

" I don't know what the Pilgrim's gonfalon 
is," said Sandy, sleepily, " but I guess it 's all 
right." The emigrants had crossed the prairies 
as of old their fathers had crossed the sea. 
They were now at home in the New West. The 
night fell dark and still about their lonely cabin 
as, with hope and trust, they laid them down to 
peaceful dreams. 

Chapter IX. 


" We must n't let any grass grow under our 
feet, boys," was Mr. Aleck Howell's energetic 
remark, next morning, when the little party had 
finished their first breakfast in their new home. 

" That means work, I s'pose," replied Oscar, 
turning a longing glance to his violin hanging 
on the side of the cabin, with a broken string 
crying for repairs. 

" Yes, and hard work, too," said his father, 
noting the lad's look. " Luckily for us, Brother 
Aleck," he continued, " our boys are not afraid 
of work. They have been brought up to it, and 
although I am thinking they don't know much 
about the sort of work that we shall have to 
put in on these beautiful prairies, I guess they 
will buckle down to it. Eh ? " and the loving 
father turned his look from the grassy and roll- 
ing plain to his son's face. 

Sandy answered for him. " Oh, yes, Uncle 
Charlie, we all like work ! Afraid of work ? 
Why, Oscar and I are so used to it that we 
would be willing to lie right down by the side 
of it, and sleep as securely as if it were as harm- 
less as a kitten ' Afraid of work ? Never you 
fear ' the Dixon boys who fear no noise' — what 's 
the rest of that song ? " 

Nobody knew, and, in the laugh that followed, 



Mr. Howell suggested that as Younkins was 
coming over the river to show them the stakes 
of their new claims, the boys might better set 
an extra plate at dinner-time. It was very good 
of Younkins to take so much trouble on their 
account, and the least they could do was to 
show him proper hospitality. 

" What is all this about stakes and quarter- 
sections, anyway, Father ? " asked Sandy. " I 'm 
sure I don't know." 

" He does n't know what quarter-sections 
are ! " shouted Charlie. " Oh, my ! what an 
ignoramus ! " 

" Well, what is a quarter-section, as you are 
so knowing ? " demanded Sandy. " I don't 
believe you know, yourself." 

" It is a quarter of a section of public land," 
answered the lad. " Every man or single woman 
of mature age — I think that is what the books 
say — who does n't own several hundred acres 
of land elsewhere (I don't know just how many), 
is entitled to enter on and take up a quarter of 
a section of unoccupied public land, and have 
it for a homestead. That 's all," and Charlie 
looked to his father for approval. 

" Pretty good, Charlie," said his uncle. " How 
many acres are there in a quarter-section of 
land ? " 

" Yes, how many acres in a quarter of a sec- 
tion ? " shouted Sandy, who saw that his brother 
hesitated. " Speak up, my little man, and don't 
be afraid ! " 

" I don't know," replied the lad, frankly. 

" Good for you ! " said his father. " Never be 
afraid of saying that you don't know when you 
do not know. The fear of confessing ignorance 
is what has wrecked many a young fellow's 
chances for finding out things he should know." 

" Well, boys," said Mr. Bryant, addressing 
himself to the three lads, " all the land of the 
United States Government that is open to settle- 
ment is laid off in townships ten miles square. 
These, in turn, are laid off into sections of six 
hundred and forty acres each. Now, then, how 
much land should there be in a quarter-section ? " 

" One hundred and sixty acres ! " shouted all 
three boys at once, breathlessly. 

" Correct. The Government allows every 
man, or single woman of mature age, widow or 
unmarried, to go upon a plot of land, not more 

than one hundred and sixty acres nor less than 
forty acres, and to improve it, and live upon it. 
If he stays there, or ' maintains a continuous 
residence,' as the lawyers say, for a certain 
length of time, the Government gives him a 
title-deed at the end of that time, and he owns 
the land." 

" What ? — free, gratis, and for nothing ? " cried 

" Certainly," said his uncle. " The home- 
stead law was passed by Congress to encourage 
the settlement of the lands belonging to the 
Government. You see there is an abundance of 
these lands, so much, in fact, that they have not 
yet been all laid off into townships and sections 
and quarter-sections. If a large number of 
homestead claims are taken up, then other set- 
tlers will be certain to come in and buy the 
lands that the Government has to sell ; and 
that will make settlements grow throughout that 

" Why should they buy when they can get 
land for nothing by entering and taking pos- 
session, just as we are going to do ? " interrupted 

" Because, my son, many of the men can not 
make oath that they have not taken up Govern- 
ment land somewhere else ; and then, again, 
many men are going into land speculations, and 
they don't care to wait five years to prove up a 
homestead claim. So they go upon the land, 
stake out their claim, and the Government sells 
it to them outright at the rate of a dollar and a 
quarter an acre." 

" Cash down ? " asked Charlie. 

" No, they need not pay cash down unless 
they choose. The Government allows them a 
year to pay up in. But land speculators who 
make a business of this sort of thing generally 
pay up just as soon as they are allowed to, and 
then, if they get a good offer to sell out, they sell 
and move off somewhere else, and do the same 
thing over again." 

" People have to pay fees, don't they, Uncle 
Charlie ? " said Sandy. " I know they used to 
talk about land-office fees, in Dixon. How much 
does it cost in fees to enter a piece of Govern- 
ment land ? " 

" I think it is about twenty-five dollars — 
twenty-six, to be exact," replied Mr. Bryant. 




" There comes Younkins," he added, looking 
down the trail to the river bank below. 

The boys had been washing and putting 
away the breakfast things while this conversa- 
tion was going on, and Sandy, balancing in the 
air a big tin pan on his fingers, asked : " How 
much land can we fellows enter, all told ? " 
The two men laughed. 

'• Well, Alexander," said his father, ceremo- 
niously, " We two ' fellows,' that is to say, your 
Uncle Charlie and myself, can enter one hun- 
dred and sixty acres apiece. Charlie will be 
able to enter the same quantity three years from 
now, when he will be twenty-one ; and as for 
you and Oscar, if you each add to your present 
years as many as will make you twenty-one, 
you can tell when you will be able to enter and 
own the same amount of land ; provided it is 
not all gone by that time. Good-morning, Mr. 
Younkins." Sandy's pan came down with a 
crash on the puncheon floor. 

The land around that region of the Repub- 
lican Fork had been surveyed into sections of 
six hundred and forty acres each ; but it would 
be necessary to secure the services of a local 
surveyor to find out just where the boundaries 
of each quarter-section were. The stakes were 
set at the corner of each section, and Younkins 
thought that by pacing off the distance between 
two corners they could get at the point that 
would mark the middle of the section; then, by 
running lines across from side to side, thus : r— r-i 
they could get at the quarter-sections nearly I I I 
enough to be able to tell about where their 
boundaries were. 

" But suppose you should build a house, or 
plow a field, on some other man's quarter-sec- 
tion," suggested Charlie, " would n't you feel 
cheap when the final survey showed that you 
had all along been improving your neighbor's 
property ? " 

" There is n't any danger of that," answered 
Younkins, " if you are smart enough to keep 
well away from your boundary line when you 
are putting in your improvements. Some men 
are not smart enough, though. There was a 
man over on Chapman's Creek who wanted to 
have his log-cabin on a pretty rise of ground- 
like, that was on the upper end of his claim. 
He knew that the line ran somewhere about 

there ; but he took the chances-like, and when 
the line was run, a year after that, lo, and 
behold ! his house and garden-like were both 
clean over into the next man's claim." 

" What did he do ? " asked Charlie. " Skip 
out of the place ? " 

"Sho! No, indeed! His neighbor was a white 
man-like, and they just took down the cabin and 
carried it across the boundary line and set it 
up again on the man's own land. He 's livin' 
there yet ; but he lost his garden-like ; could n't 
move that, you see " ; and Younkins laughed one 
of his infrequent laughs. 

The land open to the settlers on the south 
side of the Republican Fork was all before 
them. Nothing had been taken up within a 
distance as far as they could see. Chapman's 
Creek, just referred to by Younkins, was eigh- 
teen or twenty miles away. From the point at 
which they stood toward Chapman's, the land 
was surveyed ; but to the westward the surveys 
ran only just across the creek, which, curving 
from the north and west, made a complete circuit 
around the land and emptied into the Fork, just 
below the fording place. Inside of that circuit, 
the land, undulating, and lying with a southern 
exposure, was destitute of trees. It was rich, 
fat land, but there was not a tree on it except 
where it crossed the creek, the banks of which 
were heavily wooded. Inside of that circuit 
somewhere, the two men must stake out their 
claim. There was nothing but rich, unshaded 
land, with a meandering woody creek flowing 
through the bottom of the two claims, provided 
they were laid out side by side. The corner 
stakes were found, and the men prepared to 
pace off the distance between the corners so as 
to find the center. 

"It is a pity there is no timber anywhere," 
said Howell, discontentedly. " We shall have 
to go several miles for timber enough to build 
our cabins. We don't want to cut down right 
away what little there is along the creek." 

" Timber ? "said Younkins, reflectively. " Tim- 
ber ? Well, if one of you would put up with a 
quarter-section of farming land, then the other 
can enter some of the timber land up on the 
North Branch." 

Now, the North Branch was two miles and a 
half from the cabin in which the Dixon party were 

i8 9 i.] 



living; and that cabin was two miles from the 
beautiful slopes on which the intending settlers 
were now looking for an opportunity to lay out 
their two claims. The two men looked at each 
other. Could they divide and settle thus far 
apart for the sake of getting a timber lot ? 

It was Sandy who solved the problem. " I '11 
tell you what to do, Father ! " he cried, eagerly, 
"you take up the timber claim on the North 
Branch, and we boys can live there; then you 
and Uncle Charlie can keep one of the claims 
here. We can build two cabins, and you old 
folks can live in one and we in another." 

The fathers exchanged glances, and Mr. 
Howell said : " I don't see how I could live 
without Sandy and Charlie." 

Mr. Howell looked vaguely off over the rolling 
slope on which they were standing, and said : 
" We will chance it with the boys on the tim- 
ber land ; but I am not in favor of taking up 
two claims here. Let the timber claim be in 
my name or yours, and the boys can live on 
it. But we can't take up two claims here and 
the timber besides — three in all — with only two 
full-grown men among the whole of us. That 
stands to reason." 

Younkins was a little puzzled by the strictness 
with which the two new-comers were disposed 
to regard their rights and duties as actual set- 
tlers. He argued that settlers were entitled to 
all they could get and hold ; and he was in 
favor of the party's trying to hold three claims of 

"younkins argued that settlers were entitled to all they could get and hold." 

Younkins brightened up at Sandy's sugges- 
tion, and he added that the two men might take 
up two farming claims, side by side, and let the 
boys try and hold the timber claim on the North 
Branch. Thus far, there was no rush of emi- 
gration to the south side of the Republican 
Fork ; most of the settlers went further to the 
south ; or they halted further east, and fixed 
their stakes along the line of the Big Blue, and 
other more accessible regions. 

" We '11 chance it, won't we, Aleck ? " said 
Mr. Bryant. 

one hundred and sixty acres each, even if there 
were only two men legally entitled to enter 
homesteads. Would n't Charlie be of age be- 
fore the time came to take out a patent for the 
land ? 

" But he is not of age to enter upon and hold 
the land now," said his father, stiffly. 

So it was settled that the two men should 
enter upon the quarter-section of farming land, 
and build a cabin as soon as convenient, and that 
the claim on the North Fork, which had a fine 
grove of timber on it, should be set apart for the 


boys, and a cabin built there too. The cabin 
in the timber need not be built until late in the 
autumn; that claim could be taken up by Mr. 
Howell, or by Mr. Bryant ; by and by they would 
draw lots to decide which. Before sundown, 



the one hundred and sixty acre lot of farming 
land, on which the party had arrived in the 

It was dark before they returned from looking 
over the timber land in the bend of the North 

that night, they had staked out the corners of Fork of the Republican. 

{ To be continued. ) 


By Mary E. Wilkins. 

GREEN sat on the 
north door-step, and 
sewed over and over 
a seam in a sheet. She 
had just gotten into her 
teens, and she was tall 
for her age, although 
very slim. She wore a 
low-necked, and short-sleeved, brown delaine 
dress. That style of dress was not becoming, 
but it was the fashion that summer. Her neck 
was very thin, and her collar-bones showed. 
Her arms were very long and small and knobby. 
Hannah Maria's brown hair was parted from 
her forehead to the back of her neck, braided in 
two tight braids, crossed in a flat mass at the 
back of her head, and surmounted by a large 
green ribbon bow. Hannah Maria kept patting 
the bow to be sure it was on. 

It was very cool there on the north door-step. 
Before it lay the wide north yard full of tall 
waving grass, with some little cinnamon rose- 
bushes sunken in it. Hardly anybody used 
the north door, so there was no path leading 
to it. 

It was nearly four o'clock. Hannah Maria 
bent her sober freckled face over the sheet, and 
sewed and sewed. Her mother had gone to the 
next town to do some shopping, and bidden her 
to finish the seam before she returned. Han- 
nah Maria was naturally obedient ; moreover, her 
mother was a decided woman, so she had been 

very diligent ; in fact the seam was nearly 

It was very still — that is, there were only 
the sounds that seem to make a part of stillness. 
The birds twittered, the locusts shrilled, and the 
tall clock in the entry ticked. Hannah Maria 
was not afraid, but she was lonesome. Once 
in a while she looked around, and sighed. She 
placed a pin a little way in advance on the seam, 
and made up her mind that when she had sewed 
to that place she would go into the house and 
get a slice of cake. Her mother had told her 
that she might cut a slice from the one-egg cake 
which had been made that morning. But before 
she had sewed to the pin, little Mehitable Lamb 
came down the road. She was in reality some 
years younger than Hannah Maria, but not so 
much younger as Hannah Maria considered her. 
The girl on the door-step surveyed the one 
approaching down the road, with a friendly and 
patronizing air. 

" Hullo," she sang out, when Mehitable was 
within hailing distance. 

'• Hullo," answered back Mehitable's little, 
sweet, deferential voice. 

She came straight on, left the road, and struck 
across the grassy north yard to Hannah Maria's 
door-step. She was a round, fair little girl ; her 
auburn hair was curled in a row of neat, smooth 
" water curls " around her head. She wore a 
straw hat with a blue ribbon, and a blue and 
white checked gingham dress ; she also wore 
white stockings and patent leather " ankle-ties." 




Her dress was low-necked and short-sleeved, 
like Hannah Maria's, but her neck and arms 
were very fair and chubby. 

Mehitable drew her big china doll in a doll's 
carriage. Hannah Maria eyed her with seeming 
disdain and secret longing. She herself had given 
up playing with dolls, her mother thought her too 
big ; but they had still a fascination for her, and 
the old love had not quite died out of her breast. 

" Mother said I might come over and stay 
an hour and a half," said Mehitable. 

Hannah Maria smiled hospitably, 
keepin' house," said she. " Mother 's 
gone to Lawrence." 

Mehitable took her doll out of the 
carriage with a motherly air, and sat 
down on the door-step with it in her 

" How much longer you goin' to 
play with dolls?" inquired Hannah 

" I don't know," replied Mehitable, 
with a little shamed droop of her 

" You can't when you get a little 
bigger, anyhow. Is that a new dress 
she 's got on ? " 

" Yes ; Aunt Susy made it out of 
a piece of her blue silk." 

" It 's handsome, is n't it ? Let me 
take her a minute." Hannah Maria 
took the doll and cuddled it up against 
her shoulder as she had used to do 
with her own. She examined the blue 
silk dress. " My doll had a real hand- 
some plaid silk one," said she, and she spoke as 
if the doll were dead. She sighed. 

" Have you given her away ? " inquired Me- 
hitable in a solemn tone. 

" No ; she 's packed away. I 'm too old to 
play with her, you know. Mother said I had 
other things to 'tend to. Dolls are well 'nough 
for little girls like you. Here, you 'd better 
take her; I 've got to finish my sewin'." 

Hannah Maria handed back the doll with a 
resolute air, but she handed her back tenderly ; 
then she sewed until she reached the pin. Me- 
hitable rocked her doll, and watched. 

When Hannah Maria reached the pin she 
jumped up. " I 'm comin' back in a minute," 
Vol. XVIII.— 25. 

said she, and disappeared in the house. Pres- 
ently Mehitable heard the dishes rattle. 

" She 's gone after a cooky," she thought. 
Cookies were her usual luncheon. 

But Hannah Maria came back with a long 
slice of one-egg cake with blueberries in it. 
She broke it into halves, and gave the larger 
one to Mehitable. " There," said she, " I 'd 
give you more, but mother did n't tell me I 
could cut more 'n one slice." 

Mehitable ate her cake appreciatively ; once 
in a while she slily fed her doll with a bit. 

A'ft'D — 


Hannah Maria took bites of hers between the 
stitches ; she had almost finished the over and 
over seams. 

Presently she rose and shook out the sheet 
with a triumphant air. " There," said she, " it 's 

" Did you sew all that this afternoon ? " asked 
Mehitable, in an awed tone. 

" My ! yes. It is n't so very much to do." 

Hannah Maria laid the sheet down in a heap 
on the entry floor; then she looked at Mehita- 
ble. " Now, I 've nothin' more to do," said she. 
" S'pose we go to walk a little ways ? " 

" I don't know as my mother 'd like to have 
me do that." 




" Oh, yes, she would ; she won't care. Come 
along ! I '11 get my hat." 

Hannah Maria dashed, over the sheet, into 
the entry and got her hat off the peg ; then she 
and Mehitable started. They strolled up the 
country road. Mehitable trundled her doll-car- 
riage carefully ; once in a while she looked in to 
see if the doll was all right. 

" Is n't that carriage kind of heavy for you to 
drag all alone ? " inquired Hannah Maria. 

" No ; it is n't very heavy." 

" I had just as lief help you drag it as not." 

Hannah Maria reached down and took hold 
by one side of the handle of the doll- carriage, 
and the two girls trundled it together. 

There were no houses for a long way. The 
road stretched between pasture-lands and apple- 
orchards. There was one very fine orchard on 
both sides of the street a quarter of a mile 
below Hannah Maria's house. The trees were 
so heavily loaded with green apples that the 
branches hung low over the stone walls. Now 
and then there was among them a tree full of 
ripe yellow apples. 

" Don't you like early apples ? " asked Han- 
nah Maria. 

Mehitable nodded. 

" Had any ? " 


" They don't grow in your field, do they ? " 

Mehitable shook her head. " Mother makes 
pies with our apples, but they 're not mellow 
'nough to eat now," she replied. 

" Well," said Hannah Maria, " we have n't got 
any. All our apples are baldwins, and greenin's. 
I have n't had an early apple this summer." 

The two went on, trundling the doll-carriage. 
Suddenly Hannah Maria stopped. 

" Look here," said she ; " my Aunt Jenny and 
my Uncle Timothy have got lots of early 
apples. You just go along this road a little 
farther, and you get to the road that leads to 
their house. S'pose we go." 

" How far is it ? " 

" Oh, not very far. Father walks over some- 

" I don't believe my mother would like it." 

" Oh, yes, she would ! Come along." 

But all Hannah Maria's entreaties could not 
stir Mehitable Lamb. When they reached the 

road that led to Uncle Timothy's house, she 
stood still. 

" My mother won't like it," said she. 

" Yes, she will." 

Mehitable stood as if she and the doll-car- 
riage were anchored to the road. 

" I think you 're real mean, Mehitable Lamb," 
said Hannah Maria. " You 're a terrible 'fraid 
cat. I 'm goin' anyhow, and I won't bring you 
a single apple ; so there ! " 

" Don't want any," returned Mehitable with 
some spirit. She turned the doll-carriage 
around. Hannah Maria walked up the road 
a few steps. Suddenly she faced about. Me- 
hitable had already started homeward. 

" Mehitable Lamb ! " said she. 

Mehitable looked around. 

" I s'pose you '11 go right straight home, and 
tell my mother, just as quick as you can get 

Mehitable said nothing. 

" You '11 be an awful telltale if you do." 

" Sha'n't tell," said Mehitable in a sulky voice. 

"Will you promise, — 'Honest and true. 
Black and blue. Lay me down and cut me in 
two,' — that you won't tell ? " 

Mehitable nodded. 

" Say it over then." 

Mehitable repeated the formula. It sounded 
like inaudible gibberish. 

" I shall tell her myself when I get home," 
said Hannah Maria. " I shall be back pretty 
soon anyway, but I don't want her sending 
father after me. You 're sure you 're not goin' to 
tell, now, Mehitable Lamb? Say it over again." 

Mehitable said it again. 

" Well, you '11 be an awful telltale if you do 
tell after that ! " said Hannah Maria. 

She went on up one road toward her Uncle 
Timothy Dunn's, and Mehitable trundled her 
doll-carriage homeward down the other. She 
went straight on past Hannah Maria's house. 
Hannah Maria's mother, Mrs. Green, had come 
home. She saw the white horse and buggy 
out in the south yard. She heard Mrs. Green's 
voice calling " Hannah Maria, Hannah Maria!" 
and she scudded by like a rabbit. 

Mehitable's own house was up the hill, not 
far beyond. She lived there with her mother 
and grandmother and her two aunts ; her father 


? 99 

was dead. The smoke was coming out of the 
kitchen chimney; her Aunt Susy was getting 
supper. Aunt Susy was the younger and pret- 
tier of the aunts. Mehitable thought her per- 
fection. She came to the kitchen-door, when 
Mehitable entered the yard, and stood there 
smiling at her. 

" Well," said she, " did you have a nice time 
at Hannah Maria's ? " 

" Yes, ma'am." 

" What makes you look so sober ? " 

Mehitable said nothing. 

" Did you play dolls ? " 

" Hannah Maria 's too big." 

" Stuff! " cried Aunt Susy. Then her short- 
cake was burning, and she had to run in to see 
to it. 

Mehitable took her china doll out of the car- 
riage, set her carefully on the step, and then 
lugged the carriage laboriously to a corner of the 
piazza, where she always kept it. It was a very 
nice large carriage, and rather awkward to be 
kept in the house. Then she took her doll and 
went in through the kitchen to the sitting-room. 
Her mother and grandmother and other aunt 
were in there, and they were all glad to see her, 
and inquired if she had had a nice time at Han- 
nah Maria's. But Mehitable was very sober. 
She did not seem like herself. Her mother 
asked whether she did not feel well, and in spite 
of her saying that she did, would not let her 
eat any of her Aunt Susy's shortcake for supper. 
She had to eat some stale bread, and shortly 
after supper she had to go to bed. Her mother 
went up-stairs with her, and tucked her in. 

" She 's all tired out," she said to the others, 
when she came down ; " it 's quite a little walk 
over to the Greens', and I s'pose she played 
hard. I don't really like to have her play with 
a girl so much older as Hannah Maria. She 
is n't big enough to run and race." 

" She did n't seem like herself when she came 
into the yard," said Aunt Susy. 

" I should have given her a good bowl of 
thoroughwort tea, when she went to bed," said 
her grandmother. 

" The kitchen fire is n't out yet ; I can steep 
some thoroughwort now," said Aunt Susy, and 
she forthwith started. She brewed a great 
bowl of thoroughwort tea and carried it up to 

Mehitable. Mehitable's wistful innocent blue 
eyes stared up out of the pillows at Aunt Susy 
and the bowl. 

" What is it ? " she inquired. 

"A bowl of nice hot thoroughwort tea. You 
sit up and drink it right down, like a good little- 

" I 'm not sick, Aunt Susy," Mehitable pleaded 
faintly. She hated thoroughwort tea. 

" Well, never mind if you 're not. Sit right up. 
It '11 do you good." 

Aunt Susy's face was full of loving determi- 
nation. So Mehitable sat up. She drank the 
thoroughwort tea with convulsive gulps. Once in 
a while she paused and rolled her eyes piteously 
over the edge of the bowl. 

" Drink it right down," said Aunt Susy. 

And she drank it down. There never was a 
more obedient little girl than Mehitable Lamb. 
Then she lay back, and Aunt Susy tucked her 
up, and went down with the empty bowl. 

" Did she drink it all ? " inquired her grand- 

" Every mite." 

" Well, she '11 be all right in the morning, I 
guess. There is n't anything better than a bowl 
of good hot thoroughwort tea." 

The twilight was deepening. The Lamb 
family were all in the sitting-room. They had 
not lighted the lamp, the summer dusk was 
so pleasant. The windows were open. All at 
once a dark shadow appeared at one of them. 
The women started — all but Grandmother 
Lamb. She was asleep in her chair. 

" Who 's there ? " Aunt Susy asked in a grave 

" Have you seen anything of Hannah Maria ? " 
said a hoarse voice. Then they knew it was Mr. 

Mrs. Lamb and the aunts pressed close to the 

" No, we have n't," replied Mrs. Lamb. 
" Why, what 's the matter ? " 

" We can't find her anywheres. Mother went 
over to Lawrence this afternoon, and I was 
down in the east field hayin'. Mother, she got 
home first, and Hannah Maria was n't anywhere 
about the house, an' she 'd kind of an idea 
she 'd gone over to the Bennets' ; she 'd been 
talkin' about goin' there to get a tidy-pattern 




of the Bennet girl, so she waited till I got 
home. I jest put the horse in again, an' drove 
over there, but she 's not been there. I don't 
know where she is. Mother 's most crazy." 

"Where is she?" they cried, all together. 

" Sittin' out in the road, in the buggy." 

Mrs. Lamb and the aunts hurried out. They 
and Mr. Green stood beside the buggy, and 
Mrs. Green thrust her anxious face out. 

" Oh, where do you suppose she is ? " she 

" Now, do keep calm, Mrs. Green," said Mrs. 
Lamb in an agitated voice. " We 've got some- 
thing to tell you. Mehitable was over there 
this afternoon." 

" Oh, she was n't, was she ? " 

" Yes, she was. She went about four o'clock, 
and she stayed an hour and a half. Hannah 
Maria was all right then. Now, I tell you what 
we '11 do, Mrs. Green : you just get right out of 
the buggy, and Mr. Green will hitch the horse, 
and we '11 go in and ask Mehitable just how 
she left Hannah Maria. Don't you worry. You 
keep calm, and we '11 find her." 

Mrs. Green stepped tremblingly from the bug- 
gy. She could scarcely stand. Mrs. Lamb took 
one arm, and Aunt Susy the other. Mr. Green 
hitched the horse, and they all went into the 
house, and up-stairs to Mehitable's room. Me- 
hitable was not asleep. She stared at them in 
a frightened way, as they all filed into the room. 
Mrs. Green rushed to the bed. 

" Oh, Mehitable," she cried, " when did you 
last see my Hannah Maria ? " 

Mehitable looked at her, and said nothing. 

" Tell Mrs. Green when you last saw Hannah 
Maria," said Mrs. Lamb. 

" I guess 't was 'bout five o'clock," replied 
Mehitable in a quavering voice. 

" She got home at half-past five," interposed 
Mehitable's mother. 

" Did she look all right ? " asked Mrs. Green. 

" Yes, ma'am." 

" Nobody came to the house when you were 
there, did there ? " asked Mr. Green. 

" No, sir." 

Aunt Susy came forward. " Now look here, 
Mehitable," said she. " Do you know anything 
about what has become of Hannah Maria ? 
Answer me, yes or no." 

Mehitable's eyes were like pale moons; her 
little face was as white as the pillow. 

" Yes, ma'am." 

" Well, what has become of her ? " 

Mehitable was silent. 

" Why, Mehitable Lamb ! " repeated Aunt 
Susy, " tell us this minute what has become of 
Hannah Maria ! " 

Mehitable was silent. 

" Oh," sobbed Mrs. Green, " you must tell 
me. Mehitable, you '11 tell Hannah Maria's 
mother what has become of her, won't you ? " 

Mehitable's mother bent over her, and whis- 
pered, but Mehitable lay there like a little stone 

" Oh, do make her tell ! " pleaded Mrs. Green. 

" Come, now, tell, and I '11 buy you a whole 
pound of candy," said Mr. Green. 

" Mehitable, you must tell," said Aunt Susy. 

Suddenly Mehitable began to cry. She 
sobbed and sobbed ; her little body shook con- 
vulsively. They all urged her to tell, but she 
only shook her head between the sobs. 

Grandmother Lamb came into the room. 
She had awakened from her nap. 

" What 's the matter ? " she inquired. ; ' What 
ails Mehitable ? Is she sick ? " 

" Hannah Maria is lost, and Mehitable knows 
what has become of her, and she won't tell," 
explained Aunt Susy. 

" Massy sakes ! " Grandmother Lamb went 
up to the bed. " Tell grandmother," she whis- 
pered, " an' she '11 give you a pep'mint." 

But Mehitable shook her head, and sobbed. 

They all pleaded, and argued, and com- 
manded, but they got no reply but that shake 
of the head, and sobs. 

" The child will be sick if she keeps on this 
way," said Grandmother Lamb. 

" She deserves to be sick ! " said Hannah 
Maria's mother in a desperate voice ; and 
Mehitable's mother forgave her. 

" We may as well go down," said Mr. Green 
with a groan. " I can't waste any more time 
here ; I 've got to do something." 

" Oh, here 't is night coming on, and my poor 
child lost ! " wailed Hannah Maria's mother. 

Mehitable sobbed so, that it was pitiful in 
spite of her obstinacy. 

" If that child don't have somethin' to take, 


she '11 be sick," said her grandmother. " I 
dunno as there 's any need of her bein' sick if 
Hannah Maria is lost." And she forthwith went 
stiffly down-stairs. The rest followed — all ex- 
cept Mrs. Lamb. She lingered to plead longer 
with Mehitable. 

" I vvould n't go over to Timothy's to-night, 
if I were you," said Mrs. Green. "Jenny 's dread- 
ful nervous, and it would use her all up; she 
thought so much of Hannah Maria." 

Mrs. Green's voice broke with a sob. 

" No, I 'm not going there," returned Mr. Green. 


"You 're mother's own little girl," said she, 
" and nobody shall scold you whatever happens. 
Now, tell mother what has become of Hannah 

But it was of no use. Finally, Mrs. Lamb 
tucked the clothes over Mehitable with a jerk, 
and went down-stairs herself. They were having 
a consultation there in the sitting-room. It was 
decided that Mr. Green should drive to Mr. 
Pitkin's, about a quarter of a mile away, and 
see if they knew anything of Hannah Maria, 
and get Mr. Pitkin to aid in the search. 

" It is n't any use. It is n't likely they know 
anything about her. It 's a good five mile off." 

Mr. Green got into his buggy and drove away. 
Mrs. Green went home, and Aunt Susy and the 
other aunt with her. Nobody slept in the Lamb 
or the Green house that night, except Grand- 
mother Lamb. She dozed in her chair, although 
they could not induce her to go to bed. But first 
she started the kitchen fire, and made another 
bowl of thoroughwort tea for Mehitable. 

" She '11 be sick jest as sure as the world, if she 
does n't drink it," said she. And Mehitable lifted 



her swollen, teary face from the pillow and drank 
it. " She don't know any more where that Green 
girl has gone to than I do," said Grandmother 
Lamb, when she went down with the bowl. 
"There is n't any use in pesterin' the child so." 

Mrs. Lamb watched for Mr. Green to return 
from Mr. Pitkin's, and ran out to the road. He 
had with him Mr. Pitkin's hired man and eldest 

" Pitkin 's harnessed up, and gone the other 
way, over to the village, and we 're goin' to 
look round the place thorough, an' — look in 
the well," he said in a husky voice. 

" If she would only tell," groaned Mrs. Lamb. 
" I 've done all I can. I can't make her speak." 

Mr. Green groaned in response, and drove 
on. Mrs. Lamb went in, and stood at her 
sitting-room window and watched the lights over 
at the Green house. They flitted from one 
room to another all night. At dawn Aunt Susy 
ran over with her shawl over her head. She 
was wan and hollow-eyed. 

" They have n't found a sign of her," said she. 
" They 've looked everywhere. The Pitkin boy 's 
been down the well. Mr. Pitkin has just come 
over from the village, and a lot of men are going 
out to hunt for her, as soon as it 's light. If 
Mehitable only would tell ! " 

" I can't make her," said Mrs. Lamb, despair- 

" I know what I think you 'd ought to do," 
said Aunt Susy in a desperate voice. 

" What ? " 

" Whip her." 

" Oh, Susy, I can't ! I never whipped her in 
my life." 

" Well, I don't care. I should." Aunt Susy 
had the tragic and resolute expression of an 
inquisitor. She might have been proposing 
the rack. " I think it is your duty," she added. 

Mrs. Lamb sank into the rocking-chair and 
wept, but, within an hour's time, Mehitable 
stood shivering and sobbing in her night-gown, 
and held out her pretty little hands, while her 
mother switched them with a small stick. Aunt 
Susy was crying, down in the sitting-room. 
" Did she tell ? " she inquired, when her sister, 
quite pale and trembling, came in with the stick. 

" No," replied Mrs. Lamb. " I never will 
whip that dear child again, come what will." 


And she broke the stick in two, and threw it 
out of the window. 

As the day advanced, teams began to pass 
the house. Now and then, one heard a signal 
horn. The search for Hannah Maria was being 
organized. Mrs. Lamb and the aunts cooked 
a hot breakfast, and carried it over to Mr. and 
Mrs. Green. They felt as if they must do 
something to prove their regret and sympathy. 
Mehitable was up and dressed, but her poor 
little auburn locks were not curled, and the 
pink roundness seemed gone from her face. 
She sat quietly in her little chair in the sitting- 
room, and held her doll. Her mother had pun- 
ished her very tenderly, but there were some red 
marks on her little hands. She had not eaten 
any breakfast, but her grandmother had made 
her some more thoroughwort tea. The bitter- 
ness of life seemed actually tasted, to poor little 
Mehitable Lamb. 

It was about nine o'clock, and Mrs. Lamb 
and the aunts had just carried the hot breakfast 
over to the Green's, and were arranging it on 
the table, when another team drove into the 
yard. It was a white horse and a covered 
wagon. On the front seat sat Hannah Maria's 
aunt, Jenny Dunn, and a young lady, one of 
Hannah Maria's cousins. Mrs. Green ran to 
the door. " Oh, Jenny, have you heard ? " she 
gasped. Then she screamed, for Hannah Maria 
was peeking out of the rear of the covered wagon. 
She was in there with another young lady cousin, 
and a great basket of yellow apples. 

" Hannah Maria Green, where have you 
been ? " cried her mother. 

" Why, what do you think ! That child 
walked 'way over to our house last night," 
Aunt Jenny said volubly ; " and Timothy was 
gone with the horse, and there was n't anything 
to do but to keep her. I knew you would n't 
be worried about her, for she said the little 
Lamb girl knew where she 'd gone, and — " 

Mrs. Green jerked the wagon-door open, and 
pulled Hannah Maria out. " Go right into the 
house ! " she said in a stern voice. " Here she 
would n't tell where you 'd gone. And the whole 
town hunting ! Goin." 

Hannah Maria's face changed from uneasy 
and deprecating smiles to the certainty of grief. 
"Oh, I made her promise not to tell, but I 

i8 9 i.] 


s'posed she would," she sobbed. " I did n't 
know 't was going to be so far. Oh, mother, 
I 'm sorry ! " 

" Go right in," said her mother. 

And Hannah Maria went in. Aunt Susy and 
Mrs. Lamb pushed past her as she entered. 
They were flying home to make amends to 
Mehitable, with kind words and kisses, and to 
take away the taste of the thorough wort tea, 
with sponge cake and some of the best straw- 
berry jam. 

Later in the forenoon, Mehitable, with the 
row of smooth water curls round her head, 
dressed in her clean pink calico, sat on the 


door-step with her doll. Her face was as smil- 
ing as the china one. Hannah Maria came 
slowly into the yard. She carried a basket of 
early apples. Her eyes were red. " Here are 
some apples for you," she said. " And I'm 
sorry I made you so much trouble. I 'm not 
going to eat any." 

" Thank you," said Mehitable. " Did your 
mother scold ? " she inquired timidly. 

" She did, first. I 'm dreadful sorry. I won't 
ever do so again. I — kind of thought you 'd 

" I 'm not a telltale," said Mehitable. 

" No, you 're not," said Hannah Maria. 


Re Artful Ant 

A <£r&mc @&i& 

By Oliver Herford. 

Once on a time 
an artful Ant 
Resolved to give 
a ball, 
For tho' in stature 
she was scant, 
She was not what you 'd call 
A shy or bashful little Ant. 
(She was not shy at all.) 

She sent her invitations through 

The forest far and wide, 
To all the Birds and Beasts she knew, 

And many more beside. 
(" You never know what you can do," 

Said she, " until you 've tried.' 

Five-score acceptances came in 

Faster than she could read. 
Said she: " Dear me ! I 'd best begin 

To stir myself indeed ! " 
(A pretty pickle she was in, 

With five-score guests to feed ! 

The artful Ant sat up all night 
A thinking o'er and o'er, 

How she could make 

her scanty store, 

Enough to feed 


(Between ourselves, I 

think she might 

Have thought of 

that before.) 

She thought, and 
thought, and 

thought all night, 
And all the follow- 
ing day, 
Till suddenly she 
struck a bright 
Idea, which was 
— (but stay ! 
Just what it was I 
am not quite 
At liberty to say. 



To smile in a peculiar way, 
As if — (but you may glean 

From seeing tragic actors play 
The kind of smile I mean.) 

They danced, and danced, and danced, and 
danced ; 
It was a jolly sight ! 

They pranced, and pranced, and pranced, 
and pranced, 
Till it was nearly light, 

From here and there and everywhere 
The happy creatures came, 

The Fish alone could not be there. 
(And they were not to blame. 
" They really could not stand the air. 
But thanked her just the same.") 

The Lion, bowing very low, 
Said to the Ant : " I ne'er 

Since Noah's Ark remember so 
Delightful an affair." 

(A pretty compliment, although 
He really was n't there 

And then their thoughts to supper chanced 
To turn. (As well they might!) 

Then said the Ant : " It 's only right 
That supper should begin, 

And if you will be so polite, 
Pray take each other in." 
The emphasis was very slight, 
But rested on '■'■Take in." ) 

They needed not a second call, 
They took the hint. Oh, yes, 



The largest guest " took in" the small, 
The small " took in" the less, 

The less " took in" the least of all. 
(It was a great success !) 

As for the rest — but why spin out 

This narrative of woe ? — 
The Lion took them in about 

As fast as they could go. 
(He went home looking very stout, 

And walking very slow.) 

And when the Ant, not long ago, 

Lost to all sense of shame, 
Tried it again, I chance to know 

That not one answer came. 
(Save from the Fish, who " could not go, 

But thanked her all the same.") 



By Mrs. C. V. Jamison. 

Chapter XXVII. 


The next morning, when Margaret brought 
little Jane, Mrs. Lanier sent for them to come 
to her room, and there she heard the strange 
story that Paichoux had told Margaret. 

Putting together one thing and another, the 
incidents seemed to form a chain of which there 
was only one link missing, and that was an 
explanation of the mystery surrounding the fate 
of the young mother. What had become of 
her ? and how had Madame Jozain got posses- 
sion of the child, as well as of the property ? 

" It is work for a skillful detective," said Mrs. 
Lanier, when Margaret had told her of Pai- 
choux's plan. 

And Margaret replied that with the aid of a 
little money the snarl could soon be unraveled. 

" The money will be forthcoming," returned 
Mrs. Lanier. " It shall be my sacred duty to 
begin an investigation as soon as the child's 
identity is established. Mr. Lanier will interest 
himself with me, and every possible effort shall 
be made to get at the bottom of the mystery. 
Meanwhile, my good Margaret, you must leave 
little Jane with me. Jane Chetwynd's child 
must not be dependent on charity." 

To this Margaret readily agreed, and then 
Lady Jane was called from the nursery, where 
she had been with Mrs. Lanier's little girls, 
during this long, serious conversation. 

The child came in dressed in her homely 
orphan's garb, with all her beautiful hair braided 
and hanging stiffly down her back ; but she was 
lovely in spite of her unlovely attire, her sweet 
little face was dimpled with smiles, and her 
wide eyes were full of pleasant expectation. 

" Come here, my dear," said Mrs. Lanier 
holding out her hands. " Now, tell me : which 
name do you like best, Lady Jane, or simply 

She hesitated a moment, and looked wistfully 
at Margaret, while a slight shadow passed over 
her face. " / like Lady Jane, but Mother Mar- 
garet likes Jane best." 

Then Mrs. Lanier opened a drawer and took 
out a photograph in a velvet frame. 

" My dear," she said, holding it before her, 
" who are these ? " 

In an instant the child's face changed. Every 
vestige of color fled from it, as she fixed her 
eyes on the picture with a look of eager affec- 
tion and pitiful surprise. 

"It 's papa and mama ! " she exclaimed 
passionately. " It 's my dear, dear mama ! " 

Then, with a cry of distress, she threw herself 
into Margaret's arms and sobbed bitterly. 

"This is proof enough for me," said Mrs. 
Lanier, as she laid the picture away. " the 
recognition was instantaneous and complete. 
She is Jane Chetwynd's child. Margaret, leave 
her to me; I will love her and comfort her." 

An hour after, Mrs. Lanier was sitting in her 
library, writing hastily and excitedly, when the 
door-bell rang, and, just as she was addressing 
a letter to " Richard Chetwynd, Esq.," Arthur 
Maynard entered. 

The boy looked quite pale and anxious as he 
glanced at Mrs. Lanier's flushed, excited face. 

"Don't ask me any questions; just wait a 
moment," she said, with a reassuring smile. 

Presently, there was a sound of children's 
voices on the stairs, and three little girls entered 
the room quietly and demurely. They were 
dressed exactly alike in dainty white frocks and 
broad sashes ; two were pale and dark ; they 
were Ethel and May Lanier ; and one was fair 
and rosy, with wonderful golden hair hanging in 
burnished, waving masses below her waist, while 
the thick fringe across her forehead, although 
it looked a little refractory, as if it had just 
been cut, gave her a charmingly infantile and 
picturesque appearance. 


3 oS 



The moment the little Laniers saw Arthur 
Maynard, they ran to him, talking and laughing 
gaily, while Lady Jane (for it was she, though 
quite metamorphosed through the skill of Mrs. 
Lanier's French maid, and one of Ethel's dainty 
suits) remained standing shyly in the center of 
the room. 

Mrs. Lanier was watching the sweet face 
with its puzzled, anxious expression. Lady Jane 
held her hands tightly clasped, and her soft 
brows were slightly contracted while she looked 
with large, serious eyes at the merry group. 
Presently, a winsome smile broke over her face, 
and, going slowly forward, she said softly : 

" If you please, are n't you the boy who gave 
me the blue heron ? " 

Arthur Maynard was quite beside himself 
with delight. Holding out both hands, he drew 
her to him, and, putting his arms about her 
caressingly, said gaily : 

" Yes, Lady Jane, I 'm the very boy. And 
so you remember me ? I thought you 'd for- 
gotten me long ago." 

" Oh, no, no ! I had n't, but " — with a little 
tremulous smile — " you — you did n't know me, 
did you?" 

" Yes, you darling, I did ; I was only waiting 
to see if you really remembered me." 

" Oh, but you did n't know I saw you once 

" No, indeed. When and where was it ? " 
asked Arthur, eagerly. 

" It was a long while ago. It was Mardi- 
Gras, and I was lost ; but you could n't see me, 
because I had on a domino," replied Lady Jane, 
with dancing eyes, and a roguish little smile. 
" I called you, and you heard me, because you 
looked around; but you couldn't see me." 

" Well, I declare ! Now I remember. Of 
course, I could n't guess that the little, pink, 
crumpled thing was Lady Jane. Why did n't 
you call me again ? " 

" Oh," with a little sigh, " I thought maybe 
you did n't remember me." 

" As if I could ever forget ! But where is 
Tony ? Have you given him away ? " and he 
looked into her eyes with a smile. 

" No, I did n't give him away. I loved him 
too much to give him to any one ; but he 's 
lost. He broke his string while I was out sing- 

ing, Tante Pauline said, and she was too lame 
to catch him, and I searched everywhere for 
him, and then I could n't sing any more — 
and — and — " Here she paused, flushing deeply, 
while tears gathered on her lashes. 

" She 's just the same adorable little crea- 
ture," whispered Arthur to Mrs. Lanier, while he 
stroked her hair softly. Then he bent over her 
and asked her very earnestly and gravely : 

" Do you remember that day on the cars, 
Lady Jane, when I gave you Tony ? " 

" Why, yes, — or I would n't know you," 
she replied ingenuously. 

" Well, your mama was with you then. 
Where is she now ? " 

" Oh," with a very sad sigh, " I don' t know ; 
she 's gone away. I thought she 'd come back, 
and I waited, and waited ; but now I don't look 
any more. I think she 's with papa, and is n't 
coming back." 

" When did she go ? My darling, try to re- 
member about your mama," urged Mrs. Lanier 

" It was so long ago, I can't tell when it was," 
she said dejectedly. " I was ill, and when I got 
well, Tante Pauline said she had gone." 

" Was it in Good Children Street that she 
went ? " 

" No, it was before. It was away across the 
river, because Tante Pauline, and Mr. Raste, 
and I, and Tony in his basket, all came in a big 

" You see Jane Chetwynd never left Gretna," 
said Mrs. Lanier, to Arthur, in an awe-struck 

" Where is Tante Pauline now ? " continued 

" I don't know. I ran away, and I have n't 
seen her for ever so long." 

" Why did you run away from her ? Did n't 
you love her ? " 

" No, no ! Please don't ask me, — Oh, please 
don't ! " and suddenly she covered her little, 
flushed, troubled face with both hands and 
began to cry silently. 

" We must n't question her any more, Arthur," 
said Mrs. Lanier, softly, as she soothed the child. 
" Her little heart has been probed to the very 
depths. She is a noble little soul and she won't 
utter a complaint against that wretched woman. 




" Never mind, my darling. Forget all about 
Tante Pauline. You will never see her again, 
and no one shall make you unhappy. You are 
my child now, and you shall stay with me 
always, and to-morrow we are going to buy 
Christmas presents for all your friends in Good 
Children Street." 

"And I" — whispered Arthur, pressing his 
cheek close against her golden head — " I have 
a Christmas present for you, so don't cry any 
more but prepare to be very happy." 

" I have just written to her grandfather," said 
Mrs. Lanier, after they had sent Lady Jane away 
to the children, all smiles and dimples again. 
" I see by the papers that he has returned from 
Europe. There 's not the least doubt that she 
is Jane's child, and, if he has any heart, he '11 
come and investigate this mystery. I don't 
dare do anything until I shall have heard 
from him." 

" That will be very soon ; he will probably be 
here in a day or two, for he is on his way now." 

" Arthur, what do you mean ? How has he 
heard ? " 

" Oh, Lady Jane has a great many friends 
who are deeply interested in her. Paichoux, 
the dairyman, has been in correspondence with 
the millionaire, and I have been interviewing 
Paichoux. The little Frenchman put me on 
Paichoux's track. It seems that Paichoux got 
Mrs. Churchill's watch from Madame Jozain's 
son, and Paichoux was inspired to write to the 
jeweler in New York, whose name and the num- 
ber of the watch were on the inside of the case, 
to find out for whom that watch was made. 
After some delay a letter came from Mr. Rich- 
ard Chetwynd himself, telling Paichoux that the 
watch was made for his daughter Jane Chet- 
wynd. The jeweler had forwarded Paichoux's 
letter to Mr. Chetwynd, who was in Paris, and 
the millionaire has hastened home to investigate. 
His prompt action is a favorable omen for 
Lady Jane." 

The next day, the day before Christmas, and 
just one year from the time when Lady Jane 
sat on the church steps eating the bread and 
apple given to her by a charitable impulse, she 
was making almost a royal progress in Mrs. 
Lanier's carriage, as lovely in her rich dress as 
a little fairy and every bit as much admired as 

Pepsie had predicted she would be, in the future, 
when she should ride in a blue chariot drawn 
by eight white horses. Mrs. Lanier's generosity 
allowed her to remember every one with suitable 
gifts, and her visit to Good Children Street was 
something long to be remembered. Mrs. Lanier 
when she found herself once more in the presence 
of Diane d'Hautreve, almost wept with shame 
and regret, to think that for all these years 
she had forgotten one who was once a queen 
in society by right of both birth and wealth. 
" It is unpardonable in me," she said to herself 
when she saw the gentle lonely woman hold 
the child to her heart so fondly. " It is un- 
pardonable to forget and neglect one so entirely 
worthy of the best, simply because she is poor. 
However, now that I have discovered her 
through Lady Jane, I will try to make up for 
the indifference of years by every attention that 
I can show her." 

While these thoughts were passing through 
Mrs. Lanier's mind, Lady Jane was unfolding 
before Mam'selle Diane's dazzled eyes a rich 
mourning silk. 

" You must have it made right away," she 
whispered, pressing her rosy cheek to her 
friend's, " for Mrs. Lanier says you will visit 
your friends again, and I want you to wear my 
Christmas present the first visit you make." 

Then Pepsie was made happy by a beauti- 
ful wheeled chair for the street, which was so 
arranged with numerous springs that she could 
be lifted over rough places without hurting her 
poor back; and Madelon was the recipient of a 
beautiful, warm cloak ; and Tite's love of finery 
was fully gratified by a gay hat " wid fedders 
on it"; little Gex was fitted out with a supply 
of useful articles ; and the Paichoux, one and all, 
were remembered with gifts suitable for each, 
while the orphans' Christmas tree was loaded 
with presents from Lady Jane, who only the 
year before had clung to the railings cold and 
hungry, and peeped in at the glittering display 
which was being prepared for other little or- 
phans not half as friendless and needy as she 

And the homely, kind face of Mother Marga- 
ret fairly shone with happiness, as she watched 
her little favorite dispensing pretty gifts with a 
beaming smile of love and good-will to all. 




Chapter XXVIII. 


It was Christmas eve, and Mrs. Lanier's 
beautiful house was bright with lights and flow- 
ers, and merry with music and laughter. 

There were, beside the little Laniers and Lady 
Jane, a dozen children or more who had been 
invited to see the wonderful Christmas tree, 
which Mr. and Mrs. Lanier, and Arthur May- 
nard had spent the greater part of the day in 
decorating. It stood at one end of the draw- 
ing-room, and its broad branches were fairly 
bending beneath the treasures heaped upon 
them. It glowed and sparkled with the light 
of a hundred wax-candles, reflected over and 
over by innumerable brilliant objects, until it 
seemed like Moses's burning bush, all fire and 
flame ; and amid this radiant mass of color 
and light were the most beautiful gifts for every 
member of the family as well as for the happy 
little visitors ; but the object which attracted the 
most curiosity and interest was a large basket 
standing at the foot of the tree. 

" Who is that basket for, Papa ?" asked Ethel 
Lanier, of her father, who was unfastening and 
distributing the presents. 

" We shall see presently, my dear," replied 
Mr. Lanier, glancing at Lady Jane, who stood, 
a radiant little figure, beside Arthur Maynard, 
watching every movement with sparkling eyes 
and dimpling smiles. 

At last, with a great deal of difficulty, the 
basket was untied, and Mr. Lanier read, in a 
loud, distinct voice, from a card attached to it : 
" For Lady Jane Churchill. With Arthur May- 
nard's love and good wishes." 

'• There ! I thought it was for Lady Jane ! " 
cried Ethel, delightedly. " I know it 's some- 
thing lovely." 

Mr. Lanier, with no little ceremony, handed 
the basket to Arthur, who took it and gave it to 
Lady Jane with a low bow. 

■' I hope you will like my present," he said, 
smiling brightly, while he helped the wondering 
child untie the strings that fastened the cover. 

Her little face was a study of mingled curi- 
osity and expectancy, and her eyes sparkled 
with eagerness as she bent over the basket. 

" It 's so large. What can it be ? Oh, oh, oh ! 

It 's Tony ! " she cried, as the cover was lifted and 
the bird hopped gravely out and stood on one 
leg, winking and blinking in the dazzling light. 
" It 's Tony ! dear, dear Tony ! " and in an instant 
she was on her knees hugging and kissing the 
bird passionately. 

" I told you I would find him for you," whis- 
pered Arthur, bending over her, almost as happy 
as she. 

" And you knew him by the three little crosses, 
did n't you ? Oh, you 're so good, and I thank 
you so much," she said, lifting her lovely, grate- 
ful eyes to the boy's face. She was smiling, but 
a tear glistened on her lashes. 

"What a darling she is!" said Mrs. Lanier, 
fondly. " Is n't it pretty to see her with the 
bird. Really, it is an exquisite picture." 

She was like an anxious mother over a child 
who had just been restored to her. 

" You know me, Tony, don't you ? and you 're 
glad to see me?" Lady Jane asked, over and 
over, while she stroked his feathers and caressed 
the blue heron in the tenderest way. 

" Do you think he remembers you, Lady 
Jane ? " asked Mr. Lanier, who was watching 
her with a smile of amusement. 

" Oh, yes, I know he does ; Tony could n't 
forget me. I 'm sure he '11 come to me if I 
call him." 

" Please try him. Oh, do try him ! " cried 
Ethel and May. 

Mr. Lanier took the bird and placed him be- 
hind a chair at the extreme end of the room, 
where he stood gravely blinking and nodding ; 
but the moment he heard Lady Jane's little 
chirp, and the call " Tony, Tony," he ran flutter- 
ing to her and nestled close against her. 

Every one was pleased with this exhibition 
of the bird's intelligence, and the children were 
nearly wild over the new acquisition. The other 
presents were forgotten for the moment, and 
they could do nothing but watch every move- 
ment with admiration and delight. 

To Lady Jane, the recovery of her lost treas- 
ure was the crowning point of happiness ; and 
she consented reluctantly to leave him alone in 
the conservatory, where he was to spend the 
night, and where he looked very comfortable, as 
well as picturesque, standing on one leg under 
a large palm. 



" It is almost time for Mr. Chetwynd's com- 
ing," said Mrs. Lanier, glancing at the clock. 
" Mr. Lanier will meet him at the station and 
bring him here, if he will accept our hospitality. 
I '11 confess I 'm filled with consternation. He 
used to be such a grim, cold man; henevereven 
softened to Jane's young friends ; he was polite 
and kind, but never genial, and I dare say 
he has quite forgotten me. It 's a trial for me 
to meet him with this awful mystery hanging 

" It is Mr. Chetwynd," she said to Arthur. 
" They have come ; he is in the library, and 
Mr. Lanier asks me to bring the child." 

A few moments later, Mrs. Lanier led Lady 
Jane into the room where Mr. Richard Chet- 
wynd waited to receive her. He was a tall, pale 
man, with deep, piercing eyes, and firmly closed 
lips, which gave character to a face that did not 
lack kindliness of expression. As she advanced, 
a little constrainedly, holding the child by the 


over Jane's last days. Oh, I hope he will take 
kindly to the child ! He idolized her mother 
before she thwarted his plans, and now I should 
think his remorse would be terrible, and that 
he would do everything to atone for his un- 

" I have faith in Lady Jane," laughed Arthur. 
" It must be a hard heart that can withstand 
her simple winning ways." 

Just at that moment a servant entered, and 
handed Mrs. Lanier a card. 

hand, he came forward to meet her with an air 
of friendly interest. 

" Perhaps you have forgotten me, Mrs. La- 
nier," he said, cordially extending his hand; 
" but I remember you, although it is some time 
ago that you used to dine with my daughter in 
Gramercy Park." 

" Oh, no, I have not forgotten you, Mr. 
Chetwynd ; but I hardly expected you to recall 
me among all Jane's young friends." 

" I do, I do, perfectly," he replied, with his eyes 




fixed on Lady Jane, who clung to Mrs. Lanier 
and looked at the tall, grave stranger with timid 

Then he held out his hand to the child. 

" And this is Jane Chetwynd's daughter. 
There is no doubt of it; she is the image of 
her mother," he said in a low, restrained voice. 
" I was not prepared to see such a living proof. 
She is my little Jane as she was when a child 
— my little Jane — my darling! Mrs. Lanier, 
will you excuse me ? — the sight of her has quite 
unnerved me ! " 

And suddenly sinking into a chair, he pressed 
the child to his heart and hid his face on her 
bright, golden head. 

What passed between Lady Jane and her 
grandfather, Mr. and Mrs. Lanier never knew, 
for they slipped quietly out of the room, and 
left the saddened man alone with the last of his 
family — the child of that idolized but disobedient 
daughter, whose marriage he had never forgiven 
until that moment, when he held in his arms, 
close to his heart, the little one, her living image. 

It was some time before Mr. Chetwynd ap- 
peared, and when he did he was as cold and 
self-possessed as if he had never felt a throb of 
emotion, nor shed a tear of sorrow on the pretty 
head of the child, who held his hand, and prat- 
tled as freely and confidingly as if she had 
known him always. 

" What will Mother Margaret say," she ex- 
claimed, looking at Mrs. Lanier with wide glis- 
tening eyes, " when I tell her that I 've found 
Tony and my grandpapa both in one Christmas ? 
I never saw a grandpapa before ; Pepsie read to 
me about one in a book, and he was very cross, 
but this one is n't. I think he 's very good." 

Before long, Mr. Chetwynd did not seem to 
have any other interest in life than to gratify 
every wish the child expressed. 

" She has taken complete possession of me," 
he said to Mrs. Lanier ; " and now my greatest 
happiness will be to make her happy. She is 
all I have, and I shall try to find in her the 
comfort of which her mother deprived me." 

In spite of his affection for the child, his feel- 
ings did not entirely change toward the mother ; 
he could not forget that she had disappointed 
him, and preferred a stranger to him ; that she 
had given up wealth and position to bury herself 

in obscurity with a man he hated. It was a 
bitter thought, yet his fatherly affection would 
spare no pains to solve the mystery that hung 
over her last days. 

Money and influence together soon put the 
machinery of the law in motion ; therefore it was 
not a month after Mr. Chetwynd's arrival in 
New Orleans, before everything was as clear as 
day. The young widow was traced to Madame 
Jozain's ; there were many who remembered the 
death and funeral. The physician's certificate 
at the Board of Health bore the name of Dr. 
Debrot, who was found, and interviewed during 
one of his bright moments; he described the 
young mother and child, and remembered even 
the blue heron ; and his testimony, sad though 
it was, was still a comfort to Jane Chetwynd's 
friends. She had died of the same fever that 
killed her husband, and she had been carefully 
nursed and decently buried. 

A careful search was made for her personal 
effects; but nothing was recovered except the 
watch that Paichoux was fortunate enough to 
secure. Mr. Chetwynd handed Paichoux a large 
check in exchange for it, but the honest man 
refused to take any more than he had paid 
Raste Jozain in order to get possession of it. 
However, the millionaire proved that he was 
not ungrateful, nor lacking in appreciation, 
when he presented Paichoux with a rich, plain 
watch suitably inscribed, from the donor to a 
most valued friend. And when the pretty Marie 
was married, she received from the same jewelers 
who had made the watch an exquisite silver tea- 
service, which was the pride of her life, and 
which was cherished not only for its value, but 
because it was a gift from Lady Jane's grand- 

Mr. Chetwynd made a number of visits to 
Good Children Street in company with Mrs. 
Lanier and Lady Jane. And there were a 
great many long consultations held by Mam'- 
selle Diane, the millionaire, and the banker's 
wife, while Lady Jane played with her jolly 
little friend the canary, among the branches of 
the rose bush. During these conversations 
there was a great deal of argument and anx- 
ious urging on the part of the visitors, and a 
great many excuses, and much self-depreciation 
on the part of the gentle faded lady. 


O l 3 

" I have been buried so long," she would 
say pathetically, " that the great world will ap- 
pal and confuse me. I shall be like a blind 
person suddenly made sensible of the light." 

" But you will soon become accustomed to 
the light," urged Mrs. Lanier. 

" And I might long for seclusion again ; at 
my age one cannot easily change one's habits." 

" You shall have all 
the seclusion you wish 
for," said Mr. Chet- 
wynd, kindly. 

" Besides I am so old- 
fashioned," murmured 
Mam'selle Diane,blush- 
ing deeply. 

" A quality which I 
greatly admire," re- 
turned Mr. Chetwynd, 
with a courtly bow. 

" And think how 
Lady Jane loves you," 
said Mrs. Lanier, as if 
to clinch the argument. 

" Yes, my love for 
her and hers for me 
are the strongest points 
in the situation," replied 
Mam'selle Diane, re- 
flectively, " when I 
think of her I can 
hardly refuse to comply 
with your wishes." 

At that time it 
seemed as if Lady Jane 
acted the part of fairy 
godmother to those 
who had been her 
friends in her days of 
adversity, for each had 
only to express a wish 
and it was gratified. 

Pepsie's cottage in 
the country was about 

to become a reality. In one of the charming, 
shady lanes of Carrollton they found just such 
a bowery little spot as Pepsie wished for, with 
a fine strip of land for a garden. One day Mr. 
Chetwynd and Lady Jane went down to Good 
Children Street and gave the deed of it to Ma- 
Vol. XVIII.— 26. 

demoiselle Madelon Modeste Ferri, which was 
Pepsie's baptismal name although she had 
never been called by it in all her life. The lit- * 
tie cripple was so astonished and delighted that 
she could find no words of thanks ; but, after a 
few moments of very expressive silence, she ex- 
claimed : " After all, my cards were right, for 
they told me over and over that I should go to 



, live in the country ; and now I 'm going, thanks 
to Lady Jane ! " 

When little Gex was asked what he most 
wished for in the world, he hesitated for a long 
time, and finally confessed that the desire of his 
life was to go back to Paris. 




" Well, you shall go, Mr. Gex," said Lady 
Jane, confidently, " and I shall see you there, 
for I 'm going to Paris with grandpapa soon." 

It is needless to say that Gex went, and the 
little shop in Good Children Street saw him no 
more forever. 

And Margaret, the good Margaret. What 
could Lady Jane do for her ? Only the noble 
woman and the destitute orphans could testify 
to the generous aid that came yearly in the 
shape of a check for a large amount from Lady 
Jane for dear Mother Margaret's home. 

" And Mam'selle Diane, dear Mam'selle, what 
can I give her ? " asked Lady Jane, eagerly. 

" There is only one thing to do for her," said 
Mrs. Lanier, " and that is to take her with you. 
Your grandpapa has begged her to take charge 
of your education. Poor, lonely woman ! she 
loves you dearly, and, in spite of her reluctance 
to leave her seclusion, I think she would go to 
the world's end with you." 

And it was so arranged that when Mr. Chet- 
wynd and Lady Jane left New Orleans, Mam'- 
selle Diane d'Hautreve went with them, and 
the little house and tiny garden were left to 
solitude, while the jolly canary was sent to 
keep Tony company in the conservator}-. 

Chapter XXIX. 

AS it is NOW. 

All this happened years ago, some ten or 
twelve, more or less, and there have been many 
changes in that time. 

In front of the iron railing where Lady Jane 
clung on that cold Christmas Eve, peering into 
the warmth and light of the Orphans' Home, 
there is now a beautiful little park, with mag- 
nolias, oaks, fragrant white jasmine, and pink 
flowering crape myrtle. Flowers bloom there 
luxuriantly, the birds sing merrily, and it is a 
spot beloved of children. Their joyous laughter 
mingles with the songs of birds and the busy 
hum of little voices in the Orphans' Home a few 
paces away. 

In the center of that square, on a green 
mound bordered with flowers, stands a marble 
pedestal, and on that pedestal is a statue : it 
is the figure of a woman seated, and holding a 
little orphan to her heart. The woman has a 

plain face, the thin hair is drawn back aus- 
terely from the broad forehead, the eyes are 
deep set, the features coarse, the mouth is wide. 
She is no high-born dame of delicate mold, 
but a woman of the people ; her hands, caress- 
ing the orphan at her side, are large and rough 
with honest toil; but the face, and the whole 
figure, is beautiful with purity and goodness. It 
is Margaret, the orphans' friend, who though a 
destitute orphan herself, by her own worth and 
industry earned the wealth to found homes and 
asylums, to feed and clothe the indigent, to 
save the wretched and forsaken, and to merit 
the title of Mother to the Motherless. 

And there sits her marble image through 
summer's heat and winter's cold, serene and 
gentle, under the shadow of the home she 
founded. It is a monument of honest, simple 
virtue and charity, as well as an enduring testi- 
mony to the nobility of the women who erected 
this statue in respectful recognition of true great- 
ness, under the homely guise of honest toil. 

If one of my young readers should happen 
near this spot, just at the right moment, on 
some fine evening in early spring, he or she 
might perchance see an elegant carriage draw 
up near the statue of Margaret, while its oc- 
cupants, an elderly woman of gentle and dis- 
tinguished appearance, and a beautiful young 
girl, study the homely, serene face of the or- 
phans' friend. 

Presently the girl says reverently : " Dear 
Mother Margaret ! She was a saint, if ever earth 
knew one." 

" Yes, she was a noble woman, and she came 
from the poor and lowly. All the titles and 
wealth of earth could not ennoble her as did 
her own saintly character." 

The occupants of the carriage are Lady Jane 
and Mam'selle Diane d'Hautreve. 

The beautiful child is now a beautiful girl of 
seventeen, her schooldays are over, and she has 
not disappointed the expectations of her friends. 
At home and abroad she is known not only as 
the Chetwynd heiress, but also for her many ac- 
complishments, as well as for beauty and char- 
itableness. And her wonderful voice, which time 
has enriched and strengthened, is a constant de- 
light to those who hear it. And the good sis- 
ters and grateful little orphans in Margaret's 




Home count it a day long to be remembered 
when Lady Jane sits down among them, and 
sings the hymns she loved so well in those old 
days when she herself was a homeless little 

Mr. Chetwynd still likes to spend part of 
the year abroad ; but he has purchased a beau- 
tiful winter home in the garden district of New- 
Orleans. The Laniers are neighbors, and Lady 
Jane and Mam'selle Diane spend several months 
every spring in its delightful seclusion. 

And here Madelon comes to bring her de- 

when the bright-faced little cripple, who seems 
hardly a day older, spreads out her beautiful 
needlework before Lady Jane, and expatiates 
eloquently on the fine results she obtains from 
the Paris patterns, and exquisite materials with 
which she is constantly supplied. She is a natural 
little artist with the needle, her dainty work sells 
readily and profitably. " Just think ! " she says 
with one of her bright smiles, " I could buy a 
piano now, if I wished to, and I think I shall, 
so that you can play to me when you come." 
During sunny afternoons, on a certain lawn 

<9 f\ 


licious cakes, which she now sells to private cus- 
tomers instead of from a stand on the Rue 
Bourbon, and Tante Modeste often rattles up in 
her milk-cart, a little older, a little stouter, but 
with the same bright face ; and on the same seat 
where Lady Jane used to sit, is one of Marie's 
little ones, instead of one of Modeste's. " Only 
think, my dear," she says proudly, " Tiburce 
is graduated, and is studying law with Marie's 
husband, who is rising fast in his profession." 

But of all Lady Jane's good times, there is 
none pleasanter than the hours she spends 
with Pepsie in the pretty cottage at Carrollton, 

in the garden district, there is nearly always 
a merry party playing tennis ; while a gentle- 
faced woman sits near holding a book, which 
she seldom reads, so interested is she in watch- 
ing a golden-haired girl and a handsome young 
man, who frequently interrupt their game to 
enjoy the grave antics of a stately blue heron 
stalking majestically about the lawn, or posing 
picturesquely on one leg under a glossy palm. 

But we must not approach the border-land 
of romance. Lady Jane is no longer a child, 
and Arthur Maynard is years older than the boy 
who gave her the blue heron. 



By Lucy Morris Ellsworth. 

The quaint and interesting diary from which these extracts are taken was kept by a little girl only ten 

years old, and of her own accord, as a record of her travels last year through Egypt, Italy, and 

Greece. The selections here given are printed, word for word, as they were written. 




Steamship "Arizona," Oct. 22c!. 
T was Tuesday morning at nine o'clock when we started 
from New York harbor and in the evening I was quite 
sick and stayed in bed until Friday then I got up 
and Saturday I was able to go to the meals in the 
i saloon. Fraulein is sick in bed yet and said a few 
I days ago that she was a miserable wretch. 
I Yesterday a ma"n was sitting on the northern 
deck and a wave came from the south and went 
over the top of the deck and gave him such a 
ducking that I think he will not forget it. A 
few days ago Mamma and Papa were sitting on the 
deck without having their chairs tied on and the ship 
gave an awful rock and they went pretty near head 
over heels. And another time all the gentlemen went on 
the southern deck and a big wave came and wet them very 
much and wet Bradford so much that he had to change every 
stitch. I have had quite a good many falls and once I cut my knee but not very much. Yes- 
terday the ship rocked ten feet. 

London, Oct. 27th. 
We are now in Morley's Hotel and right in front of our parler is the Trafalgar Square with 
two very beautiful fountains and five Statues. We arrived here on Friday, Oct. 25th. Yester- 
day we went out shopping with Miss W to show us the stores and how much money to 

pay for it. And we went to the Parliament Houses. In the first room there was a throne 
but the Queen does not sit in it very often ; then we went into the next room and we saw another 
great big throne, where the Queen sits when all the lawyers come together. It is a very foggy 
and rainy morning. 

In church I could not understand a word, because the minister spoke so softly. There are 
a good many children there : boys and girls. The girls wore very pretty white caps, black short- 
sleeved dresses, white collars and long white aprons. I thought altogether they looked very 
pretty. The boys were dressed in uniform. We saw the boys march in to their dinner and first 
they all stood behind their benches and folded their hands and sang a little prayer and took 
their seats. Mamma and Papa are going out to walk but I can not go, because it is so wet 
and muddy. The name of the church where we went was " the Foundling Hospital." 

The lights in London are very pretty in a dark night like to-night. We went by the 
treasury and saw two horse-guards on coal black horses and red shirts brass and silver helmets and 
a blue mantel to keep themselves from getting wet. When the church-bell rings it always rings 
a tune, but it is so much out of tune that I can not make any thing out of it. 

Oct. 28th. 
To-day we went to St. Paul's church and the Tower of London. Fraulein and I borrowed a 
peace of paper and a pencil from Papa and wrote down what we thought we could not remember. 



First in St. Paul's we went up 24 steps, then we went up 122 steps into the Library where 12,000 
volumes were. Then we went up another lot of stairs and came to the Whispering Gallery, and 
Mamma, Fraulein, Bradford, Helen, and I went over to the other side and Papa and another man 
stayed near the entrance. The man that stayed with Papa found out what Bradford's name was 
and he asked him how old he was in a whisper and Bradford and all the rest of us heard him just as 
clearly as if he was right next to us and Bradford answered that he was nine years old and then the 
man replied he would be a man soon and lots of other things, which I did not understand. I 
will have to stop now, because I must go to bed. Good-night everybody. 

Oct. 29th. 

We did not come to the Hotel yesterday for our Luncheon, but we ate it in the Throne Room 
of Richard II. The room had a place, where the music players sat, when they played. To- 
day we are going to the Zoo and Westminister Abbey, so I think I can write quite a good 
deal. . . . Here I am again at my journal, to write all I saw to-day. First we went to West- 
minister to see it, but the minister began to preach, so we could not walk about to see 
things. The next place was the Zoo, where we saw Lions, Tigers, Leopards, Monkeys, Cats, 
Parrots, and O so many other animals, so many I could not count them. We fed the elephants. 
There was a monkey and her name was Sally and the keeper showed us her tricks. He gave her 
an apple to come out of her house. Then he cut another apple into a little piece and a big 
piece, and he said : " take the smallest piece, Sally," and she took the smallest piece and ate it. 
Then he told her to take some soop and she took up the spoon and drank a little bit, then he took 
it and fed her ; then she took the cup and drank it all down. He told her take up three straws. 
" Sally, there is one, now go on." And she counted three and gave it to him. Then he said 
again : " take up five, Sally," and she counted five straws, and gave it to her master. " Take up one 
straw and stick it through the key-hole," he said, and she did. " Stick it through the loop-hole, 
Sally," and she did. " Now stick it through my button-hole," said he, and she did. Then we went 
to the other monkey, who had his cage write next to Sally's. And when he saw that we were 
coming to him he came down from the bars turned his back to us and sat down. Then he 
sat around and put his hand through the bars and begged for some biscuits. We gave him some 
but he would beg over and over again, until we went away. Then 
we went to the snakes of all kinds. And the Alligators were 
very big. We saw a turtle a foot and a half long and 
about three-quarters of a foot wide. A\ 

Gibraltar, Nov. 8th. 

. . . The last day on the steamer" Merzipore " 
coming from London was Guy Fawkesday, so 
we had a very merry time ; we had all kinds of 
races, cock-fights and we had a potatoe race only 
for the ladies and a flat race only for the childern. 
There were seven childern on board, we made 
it three more which is ten. ... I think Gibraltar 
is a very pretty place. . . . We went to the house 
where the guards stay and got a guide. He took 
us up a beautiful path with flowers blooming all 
over the wall. Then we went up a big hill and came to "^B ^^ THE 

^^^B , x "THREE- 

where the cannons are. and we went out and saw real live ^^^H ^^^^ LEOGED " RACE . 

monkeys, not in a cage, but wild and cross, climbing all over 

the trees and coming in through the cannon holes to get some water to drink. . . . 

November 26th. 
. . . We went to Algeciras where we saw two very young bulls used for the Bull fight. Nine 
young horses and two pretty little poneys, seven dogs two aggravate the bull, a little wild hog and 




two big white mice with little pink ones. In more cages were other white mice with little 
bits of pink eyes. . . . 

Suez, January 9, 1890. 
When we came from Naples in the "Orizaba" we went through the Suez canal; there were 
lots of little and big Arab boys begging for money and they ran along the sand-bank until we got to 

Suez. Miss F a friend of mine only on the steamer lent 

me some of her paints to sketch the sand-bank while we were 

^A standing still. I made a sketch and put it in my Journal. 

4|J| |Bk They have no ladie's saddles here so everybody has 

™j |8k to ride on gentle-mans saddles. Helen, Papa and I 

went out riding yesterday and just as the donkey 
boys heard that somebody wanted to have a ride 
they all came rushing because they wanted to have 
their donkeys taken so they could earn some 
money. They all came around Papa and crowded 
him so that he said he thought he was going 
to be swallowed up. The Hostess came out 
with a whip to drive them away but they did n't 
care at all. The waiter went up to the top of the 
house with a bucket full of cold water and poured it down 
on the donkeys and men both. At last Papa jumped on a 
donkey and all three of us rode away. We saw quite a good 
many camels some lying down 
and some standing. To-day we went to church and when 
we came home we saw donkey-boys. They asked us 
if we wanted a ride and we said no. They said do 
you want to ride my Miss Mary Anderson. Then 
another one said: ride my Good old Man. Those 
names were funny names for donkeys I think and 
I suppose you think so to. 

Cairo, Jan. 12, 1890. 
We went through the principal streets. Just 
before sunset we went to the mosque in the 
Citadal. They would not let us go in without 
great big flopping slippers which we wore all the 
time walking around the mosque. 

I bought a piece of alabaster for a cabin of 
curiosities when I am at home. This is a beauti 
ful Hotel we are staying at. Everything is furnished 






Wednesday, 15th. 
but in the afternoon it just sprinkled. Papa, 
I had a double tooth pulled out, Helen had 

Yesterday it rained very hard in the morning 
Fraulein, Helen and myself went to the dentists, 
a single tooth pulled and I do not know what Papa had done with his tooth neither do I know 
what Fraulein had done with hers. We walked to the dentists and without a bit of exagger- 
ation that the donkeys went up to their knees in water. The streets were all flooded with the 

When we got there the servant washed our rubbers inside and out and so we could not put 
them on. . . . In Suez we saw a hole caravan lying down. I hope it is not going to rain 
all the while we are here. Mamma and Papa are going up the Nile next Tuesday. I went 






to the Arabic meusium with Mamma and Papa. There were some very pretty lamps and places 
to put the Koran in. 

January 17th. 
Yesterday morning we went all of us to the Isl of Rhoda with our man who brings us around. 
We went to the gardens, mosque and up some steps to see the view. We saw the two great 

big pyramids. We are going to see the dancing howling 
dervises this afternoon. The gardener gave us two man- 
darins each, we eat them on the way back again to the 
Hotel. We have seen a beautiful yet small mosque 
all set in with beautiful stones and nearly every one 
had a different patern. Day before yesterday we 
went to see the fair. We saw a dancing lady 
dancing with little tin saucers two in each hand 
and slapping them together. Papa gave her 
some money and we went on. There were lots 
of people dressed up and one man was all dressed 
in bags had red paint on his cheeks and had a 
sword in one hand. Then we saw an old man 
with one eye out and a great big terban. I should 
say it was half a foot wide made of bags. 

January 19th. 
To-day I am going to begin with the pyramids. We 
took a large wagon and we went a beautiful road which led 
there. We bought some eggs for lunch but we forgot to eat them because we had plenty 
other things for all of us. When we got there Papa got a letter out of his pocket and read it to 
the sheak. Then he steped out of the carriage and gave him a decoration and on this decoration 
was the head of Washington. Papa gave Mamma his kodak and while the sheak was listing with 
great atention to him Mamma took his picture. The sheak was very good to us and he gave us 
all two very nice Arabs and they took us inside the pyramid to the kings chamber and to the Queens. 
It was awfully hot inside and I thought it very lucky that I had and all the rest had taken off our 
cloaks. Then when we came out we went to have lunch. 
We brought it out with us so we did not have the trouble 
to by it on the way or go into the Mena Hotel a beau 
tiful Hotel that was near the pyramids. Then after 
we had finished our lunch we got two other 
Arabs to help us up to the top of the pyramids. 
We got up the best way we could and took rests 
when we were tired. When we got up to the top 
our Arabs tried to sell us some old money but we 
would not by them anyway I could not because 
I had no money. We stayed up there and an 
Arab asked Papa if he would like to see him 
go down the pyramid we were on and up the other 
in ten minutes. Papa asked how much he would 
ask for it and he said 5 shillings or six. Papa said yes 
and he went down one and up the other. He did it in 1 1 
minutes and nine moments. Then we went down again and 
the Arabs said always yump, yump. I could not understand 

them at first but at last I did. Then we went to ride camels and see the sphinx. We 
rode the camels to the sheak's house where we all sat cross-legged on a mat and the sheak 






passed around tea. Our dragoman was offered some and he said " no I can not take it, give it 
to the children." Then we said we did not drink tea. He said: Well if the gentleman will 

give me permission to drink it I will. He drank it because papa 

said he might. When we got through we took the camels 

and rode to our carriage which was standing out in the 

road. Then we said good-by to the sheak and we 

drove away to our Hotel. Just think I climbed up 

the pyramids at the age of 10. I hope I shall 

remember it all my life. 

January 21st. 
Yesterday we had a donkey-ride. We saw a man 
I dance and another do some tricks. My donkey's 
name was Yanky-doodle. He would not run but 
when we got near to the Hotel he ran and gal- 
lopped like everything. This morning we saw the 
new English soldiers come 
past our Hotel. I — , ,._ 

have not very much 
to write because I 
wrote yesterday morn- 
ing. It was a beautiful day and we were going to ?'■' 
the Bulack meuseum, but Papa does not feel well. ,' 
He went to Mr. Stanley's banquet last night and I / 
think that is what made him ill. 

We are going to pack to-day because we are going 

to Mrs. H 's for three weeks while Mamma 

and Papa go up the Nile. 

January 23rd. 
Yesterday we went to the Geesa meuseum where 

we saw so many, many 
things which I am 
going to write about 
now. When we went 
in the first room there were two statues in 
the middle of it. There was one lady and one 
man. Herr Brugsch Bay said they looked per- 
fectly new when he found them and now they 
have lost some of the color since they were 
removed. There were many stones all put in 
wooden cases with writings on them. I can not 
discribe every room and everything because there 
were to many things. The second room was 
larger than the first. There was a wooden man in 
the middle with a railing around it. The feet were 
new but everything else on the body was old and 
cracked. More rooms had old stones and stone kings. There 
were great big kings and little ones all in the same room. 
Mamma read the hyroglificks to us and told us storys about 
them. I will repeat one story Mamma told me. There was a big stone with oxen hiding behind 
some bushes and the men who owned the cattle were hunting them in a little boat. One man 









came to the others and said he saw them behind the bushes. He took them in the boat with 
them and whipped very hard when they got on the land. Then we went to the next room where 
was a mummy in a glass case. The under jaw was gone and so was the breast. Then we got 
to very, very old mummy cases ; some with the bottom broken out and some with the top broken 
off. The next room consisted of big black statues and quite small sphinxes. Then we went 
up some long stairs into a little room with a little table in it and some chairs around it. We 

had two baskets of lunch with us, one for Mr. and Mrs. D and one for us. When we had 

finished we went up another pair of stairs where the mummies were. Herr Brugsch showed us 
and told us about the mummies and where he found them. We saw a queen with a little baby at 
the foot of it. Some of them were still wrapped up in the linnen in which they were found. One 
mummy was so old that his skin stuck to his bones. His neck was awfully long ; I should 
say it was nearly half a foot. Then we saw the meat which was found in a basket. There was 
a calfs head, a leg of motten and different things. In another basket they found little blue stone 
slaves because they thought he would come to life again and then all these little slaves would 
work for him. I [have] nothing more to say or write about 
the museum interesting but the jewels. There was a big and 
long beautiful chain which a queen wore around her 
neck when she was found. And a bracelet made of 
gold and shaped into a snake. A little boat was 
there with little lead images rowing. . . . 

February 4, 1890. 
Yesterday was the day we were going to the 
sham battle. We ordered a carriage and went to the 
place where the battle was to be when the soldiers 
said it was not going to be until to-morrow. Now 
we could not go to-morrow because we have our 
French lesson. We had put our lesson off until to-morrow 
and we are going to make up for it Saturday. Next time 
a soldier comes I am going to ask him why they put it off until 
to-day. Well we were not going home without seeing anything 
so we drove to the Obalisk and the Virgen tree. It looks very old but we don't believe that the 
holy family ever rested in its shade because it could not be two thousand years old. The 
Obalisk was just covered with bee-hives. There were pictures of ducks, snakes, knives and other 
things carved in the stone. 

( To be concluded.) 






GoOD-day to you, my friends and Valentines ! 
Skating, and coasting, and snowballing are in 
danger, I am told, for there is a suspicious warmth 
in the air, and all the icicles in my meadow are 
shedding tears. 

Ah, well ! the course of true winter never did 
run smooth outside of the Arctic regions, so we 
may as well be content. 

Meantime, we must improve the shining mo- 
ments. February is a short month in this part of 
the country; therefore, without further delay, let 
us take up our first subject : 


Dear Mr. Jack : My father read something 
aloud to my little brother and myself last Saturday, 
that interested us very much. It was from Dar- 
win's "Voyage of the Beagle," and I thought, as 
it was very short, I would copy it for you to show 
to your happy crowd. Here it is : 

. . . We everywhere [near Maldonado, in Uruguay] 

saw great numbers of partridges (Nothura major). 
These birds do not go in coveys, nor do they conceal 
themselves like the English kind. It appears a very 
silly bird. 

A man on horseback, by riding round and round in a 
circle, or rather in a spire, so as to approach closer each 
time, may knock on the head as many as he pleases. The 
more common method is to catch them with a noose, or 
little lazo, made of the stem of an ostrich's feather, fast- 
ened to the end of a long stick. A boy on a quiet old 
horse will frequently thus catch thirty or forty in a day. 

You and the Little Schoolma'am will be sorry for 
these partridges and so am I, but that does not 
affect the fact that it means considerable fun for 
the Maldonado boys. 

Walter L. F. 

Dear Jack: Is this statement true? It was sent 
to my mother, and the friend who sent it said he had cut 
it from the Houston " Post," published in Texas. 

" A shoemaker of Hubbard City is about to patent a 
most useful invention. He calls it a patent garden 
protector. It consists of two pieces of hard wood, each 
about ten inches long, sharpened at one end and having 
a hole bored in the other. These are to be tied to the 
legs of chickens that infest gardens, with the sharp ends 
of the sticks in such a position that they will drag 
behind. Then when the chicken attempts to scratch, 
the sharp ends of the pieces of wood will stick in the 
ground and thus walk the chicken right out of the 
garden in spite of itself." 

Your little friend, Herbert G. 

Well, my boy. I've inquired of the Deacon, 
and he says "it sounds plausible"; but my birds 
titter over it very suspiciously. They tell me the 
domestic hen is exceedingly cute, and if she should 
find herself being walked out of a garden by any 
patented trick of this sort, she would not stop 
scratching, but would simply turn herself about 
and be walked into it again. Authorities differ, 
you see. 


Now you shall hear a true story, which has been 
written down on purpose for you by Tot's owner. 

Tot came to me one morning with a puzzled and in- 
quiring look in her large, beautiful brown eyes. " What 
would you do with him?" she seemed to say. "He 
worries me more than all the others put together." 

Tot was a small cream-colored Eskimo dog, and it 
was one of her adopted children, a turtle, that was just 
then causing her motherly heart so much anxiety. After 
thus questioning me with her expressive eyes, a bright 
idea seemed to strike her. She ran to her closet and 
separated the troublesome turtle from the other members 
of her rather singular family, pushing him with her nose 
into a corner of the room. Then she brought some 
pieces of muslin, and covered him over so that not a bit 
of him could be seen. " There, now, I think he will 
sleep and give me time to attend to my other children," 
was her apparent comment. 

Tot was in the habit of adopting all the motherless 
strays she came across. At the time of which I write, 
we had two little ducks that had been left orphans. Tot 
heard them complaining one day. It seemed to make 
her very miserable. At last she could bear it no longer ; 
so downstairs she went, and, to my utter astonishment, 
returned with one of the ducklings, safe and sound, in 
her mouth, depositing it in the box with her three pup- 
pies. In the course of the day she succeeded in bring- 
ing the other little fellow upstairs and placing him with 
his brother. The ducks seemed quite happy with their 
adopted mother, and, when older, followed her every- 
where, running after her, and screaming if she got too 
far ahead of them. A singular thing it was that Tot and 
her own children never injured these feathered found- 
lings. But I am sorry to say that Tot never loved the 
turtle, always covering up the ungainly little creature 
whenever it ventured to put out its head or be sociable 
with the rest of the family. Your friend, A. E. 


I've heard the dear Little Schoolma'am give 
wonderful accounts of beautiful things that she 
finds upon the school-room windows, on cold 
Monday mornings, when the big boy has belated 
himself in lighting the school-house stove — but 
they are tame compared with the scenes which your 
friend Mabel Nichols views at home. Hear this 
description which she has lately sent you : 




FROM eve till dawn, the long night through. 
Cold winter's elfin band 
Such pictures drew 
As never grew 
Beneath the touch of human hand. 
In dawn's dim light they faintly gleamed 
On frozen panes, and glimpses seemed 
To give of fairy-land. 

The boughs of great old trees were bent 
With silver sheen ; and forth was sent 
A frosty light from distant height, 
Where glitt'ring spires appeared to sight, 
And far-off castle walls. 

Now here at hand, like a silver strand, 

Hanging in mid-air fairily, 
A drawbridge spanned the chasm grand, 

Gleaming before us airily. 

A stream flowed down the mountain's side, 

And cast a silvery spray, 
Then dashing on with leap and slide, 
With graceful bound and easy glide, 

It reached the boulders gray, 

And in deep gorges swept away. 

Now o'er the cold, gray landscape came 
A wavering light, a pale rose tinge 
That touched the leaves and mosses' fringe, 

Then slowly grew to ruby flame 
Setting the distant peaks aglow, 
Melting from frozen heights their snow. 

So fairy-land now fades away, 

And we may watch in vain. 
Our frost-made pictures melt from sight — 

The drops roll down the pane. 


LONG, long ago some men traveling in the low 
countries of South America came upon a remark- 
able dwelling. 

Only a little one-story habitation, seven feet by 
nine, left by its owner sweet and clean. A cot of 
one room, just large enough to hold a whole 
family of little ones, provided they did not need 
too much room for running and 

Such a beautifully decorated i 
ing! None but a master in the ; 
have fashioned the delicately 
mented roof reaching high above 
vines clinging about it — and 
a roof warranted not to leak 
during the hardest rain, 
and sure to last for ages 
and ages. There were two 
entrances to this primitive 
mansion, one at the front 
and one at the rear, not ■ 
very large to be sure, but 
large enough for one to 
crawl through comfort- 
ably, and these entrances 

scalloped and cut with a perfection not to be ex- 
celled — were always open, too, as if waiting for an 
occupant. And all to be had rent free ! Now was 
not this a remarkable structure for our travelers 
to find in the wilderness? 

There were unmistakable proofs, too, of its 
having been inhabited, and by savages, undoubt- 
edly of a very ancient day. On examining the 
dwelling and remnants of others (for the discover- 
ers found only one perfect one), these wise men 
decided it must have been at one time the bony 
covering of some animal of the armadillo family. 

Further research and study convinced them they 
had found, not only a perfect armor of the Glyp- 
todon, the gigantic armadillo of prehistoric times, 
but, what was still more wonderful, that this armor, 
abandoned by its original wearer, had become, 
probably, the very first habitation of man. 

The only perfect one of these dwellings, now 
known to be in existence, is in the possession of 
the French Government, and is kept in the Jardin 
des Plantes, in Paris. 

A number of casts or copies have been taken of 
this ancient homestead, and one of these is to be 
found in each of the larger museums in the United 


'■Speak as you think, be what you are, pay 
your debts." 





Jack-in-the-Pulpit and the Little Schoolma'am 
request us to give their thanks to May G. M., of Troy, 
N. Y., and to D. B. McL. (who writes from Scotland), 
for good letters on the difference between red and white 
clovers. May's letter, they say, is excellent because it is 
the record of close personal observation of nature, and 
D. B.'s is admirable because it proves that when once 
his attention is called to a subject he is just the boy to 
study it up, and, on request, " pass along " the informa- 
tion he gains. They thank, also, Helen T. G., a little girl 
of Southern Dakota, who has sent them a very neatly 
written account of John James Audubon. 

Judging from the letters Jack has received, it is very 
evident that the history of the great naturalist has lately 
been read by hundreds of his congregation. 

Clinton, Mo. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little girl, eleven years 
old, and am always glad when the day brings you. I 
like all of your stories. I have been so anxious to read 
" Lady Jane," I have been going up town every day for 
nearly a week to see if you had come. To-day brought 
you. It seemed real to us when we read of the kind 
Margaret who took Lady Jane in, for my little brother 
had a nurse that was an adopted daughter of Margaret's, 
and she had told us so many things about Margaret, 
how she was kind and good, and always ready to help 
the poor and needy. 

Your little friend, Alice B. 

DURING the winter season, whatever has to do with 
charity or helpful giving has an especial claim. And as 
the following letter from Mrs. Dodd embodies a prac- 
tical and excellent plan for helping poor children, and 
one which, in part, answers the question often asked by 
children and young girls, "What can we do?" we 
gladly show it to our readers. 

The Brownies' Guild. 

Glen Ridge, Nov. 21, 1890. 
Dear St. Nicholas Readers : You have all been 
so interested in the pictures of the busy " Brownies," 
that I am sure you will wish to join the real living little 
"Brownies," who are working for their needy and suf- 
fering brothers and sisters. If I but had the talent of Mr. 
Palmer Cox, I would draw a picture of my little Brownies 
carrying boxes and packages to homes of distress, to hos- 
pitals, and to cases of need, wherever they might be ; but 
as it is, you will have to imagine such a one, with all 
the little Brownies, representing yourselves and your 
companions. This charity that I speak of exists now 
among the grown people, but we have formed a children's 
branch of this Guild, and call thechildren the " Brownies' 
Branch of the Needlework Guild of America." Each 
little society, wherever it may be, is independent, with 
the exception that a yearly report is to be sent once a year 
to headquarters. There need not be any sewing circles, 

unless you desire them. By simply giving two articles 
of clothing for children, you become a member of the 
Guild, during a whole year ! This seems very little, 
but, children, if you could only have been present at our 
last meeting, when, to our surprise and delight, we opened 
packages containing altogether two thousand garments, 
you could have seen how much many can do by each giv- 
ing a little. The two meetings are in October and January, 
as then the distribution is more necessary than in the 
warmer months. Each Guild is formed of President, 
Vice-President, Secretary and Treasurer, Directors, and 
Subscribers. The directors are those who collect from 
ten other people outside of the Guild-workers, so that 
when they hand in their yearly offering, their package 
will contain two garments given by themselves, with 
twenty others from their ten subscribers. It is of great 
advantage to be a director, as you have a vote in giving 
to any charity in which you may be interested. Any 
little boy or girl who can talk may be a Brownie, and 
even a director, as each child can surely get ten friends 
to contribute two garments each. The very first little 
Brownie who ever joined, and who is just eight years old, 
has fifteen subscribers. It would be better for the very little 
members to choose some older person for their president, 
until they are old enough to do for themselves. The gar- 
ments given must be new; we know ourselves how nice a 
feeling it is, to have new clothes on; and while cast-off 
clothing has made many a child warm and comfortable, 
there is a little different feeling about being dressed in 
new clothes ; one feels as if one could act better. Do 
not you all think so too ? I hope I shall have encouraging 
words from all the places from which I see your letters 
dated in the "Letter-box." Help me to form a band 
of Brownies, all around the world, and remember that 
each guild will add a link. Not only form one for your- 
selves, but start them in other places. As it will be too 
late for the January work this year, let it be February, 
and then next year we may begin in good order. I shall 
be most happy to answer any questions that the Brownies 
may desire to ask, as this is a regularly organized guild, 
and we shall have to abide byits rules. All Brownie cor- 
respondence may be addressed to 

Mrs. Charles T. Dodd, 
Secretary of the Glen Ridge Branch, Glen Ridge, 
New Jersey. 

New Orleans. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have just finished reading 
your last number, and was so interested in " Lady Jane." 
I thought the little girls and boys might like to read a 
letter from New Orleans. 

I am a little boy nine years old, and have two sisters, 
one eleven and the other eight. We have a Creole nurse 
who lives on Good Children Street. When she first 
came to us, four years ago, she could scarcely understand 
English, and, although a grown woman, had never been in 
the American portion of the city. You know Canal Street 
divides the city into two parts. The French is below and 
the English above. 

Lady Jane's Mardi Gras was just as natural as could 
be. I have often seen a crowd of boys scrambling for 
nickels on the Banquette. I like to read travels and 
about fights. 



In the October St. Nicholas I read " How a Single 
Shot Won a Fight " over about five times. I think it 
was a pretty good shot, don't you ? 

I am just finishing " Robinson Crusoe," but always 
put down any book I am reading to exchange for the new 
St. Nicholas. From your little friend, 

Audley Maxwell P . 

We are indebted to Mr. Thornycroft, the well-known 
builder of torpedo boats, for the following letter and the 
spirited picture which accompanies it. This instantane- 
ous view of a torpedo boat at full speed is a welcome 
supplement to the article by Ensign J. M. Ellicott 
in the November St. NICHOLAS. 

from all points of the world come here to visit the canon, 
I thought your readers might like to hear what a boy of 
eleven thinks of it. 

We drove from our home in Canon City to the top of the 
Grand Canon in two hours and a half. The distance is 
about twelve miles by carriage road, which goes to the 
highest point. As we stood at the top, we could look 
down, down, to the Arkansas river, which runs through 
the canon ; by its side is the railroad, and the cars passed 
while we were looking over ; they looked like little tin 
cars in the toy-stores. The overlooked like asilverthread. 
By the side of the track were three tents ; they looked 
like ant-hills ; the track-walkers stay in these tents when 
they rest from walking ; they walk the track always before 
every train is due, to see whether rocks are on the track ; 

Eyot Villa, Chiswick Mall, 
Nov. 10, 1890. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Someof the young members of 
my family have called my attention to the interesting 
article in your November number, entitled " David and 
Goliath in Naval Warfare." Will you allow me to make 
a slight correction? It was the " Ariete," built for the 
Spanish Government which, at the time it was built, was 
the fastest vessel afloat. The "Coureur," built later for 
the French navy did not attain quite so high a speed as 
given in your magazine; it was a sister vessel to the 
Ariete, but carried rather more load. 

Will you accept the accompanying photograph of the 
Ariete which I myself took from the deck of another tor- 
pedo boat, when the Ariete was running at full speed ? 
The American torpedo boat, the " Cushing," lam pleased 
to say, is fitted with " Thornycroft " boilers, designed by 
my firm. Yours faithfully, 

John I. Thornycroft. 

Canon City, Colo. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I went to the top of the Grand 
Canon of the Arkansas last week. As so many people 

if they find any, they flag the train, and it stops ; men are 
then sent at once to take the rocks from the track. These 
rocks often fall ; some of them are large enough to smash 
the cars. 

Mama was afraid to let me look down, for it was two 
thousand feet to the bottom, and about a quarter of a 
mile across to the other side. 

While we stood on the edge of the chasm, five ravens 
flew across to the other side ; it was so quiet up there 
that we could hear the rustle of their wings. 

We ate our lunch on a big rock at the top, and it tasted 
very good, for we were hungry. At the base of the en- 
trance of the Grand Canon, is marked on the rocks 
" 5280 feet," which is the height from the level of 
the sea. 

Then we climbed two thousand feet more, to the top, 
so we were 7280 feet above sea level. 

There is a mountain near Canon City called Monument 
Mountain ; some people call it Fremont. When at the 
top of the canon, the top of Monument Mountain is level 
with the eye. 

I have taken St. Nicholas three years. 

Ever your friend, HELBERT B . 





My Dear St. Nicholas : I have never seen a letter 
from Russia in the "Letter-Box," so I thought I would 
write you one, and I hope you will print it. 

I have eight sisters and three brothers. Two of my 
brothers are in England, and the third one is at home, 
but the others come home for the summer holidays, and 
we have great fun ! 

We live on an island quite close to Lake Ladoga, and 
we generally bathe there every day if it is fine weather. 
Our island is called St. Catherine's Island; it is a mile 
long, and Empress Catherine built a palace here ; our 
house is on the same foundation as the palace was, and we 
have some of her old furniture. The distance from here 
to St. Petersburg is sixty versts (nearly 40 miles). On 
another island, and very far from us, at the mouth of the 
Neva, is the fortress where Nihilists are kept. 

Not long ago people were allowed to visit the fortress, 
but now it is forbidden ; but, this winter the governor 
there has been ill, and the officer who took his place is a 
friend of my father's, so he let us go and see it. We 
did not see the prisoners' cells, but we saw a very nice 
church. In the church there is a Bible which was given 
by Peter the Great. The cover is gold, with some dia- 
monds, rubies, and emeralds set in it. There is also a 
picture supposed to be painted by St. Luke, and which 
some Russians say works miracles. We were not al- 
lowed to see anything else. 

We have a very nice skating-ground, with fir-trees all 
round it. We all skate every day. We have also an ice- 
hill on the skating ground, and we go down on small 
sledges or mats. 

I like your stories very much, and I think " Little 
Lord Fauntleroy " is the prettiest story I have ever read. 
Sincerely yours, Margaret McC. 

of hands. Midget, as the kitten is call