Skip to main content

Full text of "St. Nicholas [serial]"

See other formats




m I H 

■ Ml 

■ Ufl 




I I H 


■ ■■ 

I inil 

I I Wimm. 

BHuutal H 

■ w w 


rtKii:;,U.,, ,-Ur M 

— 11 

i i in i 

■ ■ 

' m 

■ ■ ■ 

W&t Hibrarp 

of tf>e 

{SJmbergttpof iBtorti) Carolina 

Carnegie Corporation Jfunb 


Snsftruction in Hiforariansrtjip 

Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2013 





For Young Folks. 

Part II. — May to October, 1912. 



Copyright, 1912, by The Century Co. 

The De Vinne Press. 


library, Univ. of 
North Carol» 




Six Months — May to October, 191 2. 



Aeroplane, The. ( Illustrations from photographs) Harold S. Lynn 982 

Afternoon Party. Ax — The First Arrival. Picture, from a painting by 

J. A. Muenier 629 

Amazon, Adrift on the. ( Illustrated by George A. King) Dezi'ey Austin Cobb 1066 

Artist and His Dogs. An. (Illustrated from paintings by Percival Rosseau) Frances W. Marshall 963 

Aztec Jingles. ( Illustrated by the Author ) /. G. Francis 

Tranquillity Disturbed 710 

The Soul Serene 1024 

Balearic Islands, The Dr. S. J. Fort 898 

Ballads of the Be-Ba-Boes. Verse. (Illustrated by Katharine M. Daland)D. K. Stevens 

The Military Band 586 

The Society Circus 684 

The Fourth of July Regatta 782 

The Annual Fishing Match 889 

The Agricultural Fair 974 

The Unsuspected Talent 1 106 

Ballooning: President Washington and Flying. (Illustrated) Marion Florence Lansing. 800 

Base-ball : 

How I Became a "Big-League" Pitcher. (Illustrated by Frank Tenney 

Johnson, and with photographs and diagrams ) Christy Mathez^'son 605 

Playing the Game. ( Illustrated with diagrams and from photographs) . .C. H. Claudy 726 

• 804, 899, 1002. 1097 
Battle-ships. For the Pennant, or. Battle-ships at Target-Practice. 

( Illustrations from photographs ) Charles B. Brewer 771 

Beetleburg Amusement Park, A Spring Evening at the. Picture, drawn 

by Harrison Cady 639 

Beetleburg, The Annual Moonlight Hop in. Picture, drawn by Harrison 

Cady IO g6 

Beetleburg. The Great June Parade in. Picture, drawn by Harrison Cady 711 

Birds, House-Builders to the. (Illustrations from photographs) Harriet Gillespie 698 

'"Book-Line," The. (Illustrations from photographs) Montrose J. Moses 740 

Boy and the Bird, The. Verse. (Illustrated) Charles F. Hardy 700 

Brave Little Mother, A. (Illustrated by George A. King) Flora Macdonald 778 

Breakfast Party, The. Picture, from a painting by Charles C. Curran 1089 

Cannon, In the Mouth of a. (Illustrated by Jay Hambidge) Mary Richards Bcrrv 1010 

Cheerful Little Girl, The, and Her Cheerful Little Doll. (Illustrated by 

Alice Caddy) Caroline Stetson Allen 837 

933. 1028 

Ch^dren's Libraries : The "Book-Line." ( Illustrations from photographs) . Montrose I. Moses 740 

Clue Chase. A. (Illustrated) F. F. H 713 

Crew of the "Eskimo," The. (Illustrated by I. W. Taber) Thomas Hollis 867 

Crofton Chums. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Ralph Henry Barbour 590 



Daddy Do-Funny's, Ole, Wisdom Jingles. Verse. (Illustrated by George 

A. King) Ruth McEnery Stuart .... 1020 

Daisy Field, The. Picture, from a painting by Cliarles C. Curran 820 

Deborah's Change of Heart. ( Illustrated by W. F. Stecher) Helen Ward Banks 579 

Dogs, An Artist and His. (Illustrated from paintings by Percival 

Rosseau) Frances IV. Marshall .... 963 

Domestic Pirate, A. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Charles F. Lester 884 

Dorothy of Salem Town. Verse. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Alix Thorn 780 

Dream-Ship, The. Verse. ( Illustrated) Miriam S. Clark 799 

"Duet, A." Picture, drawn by Gertrude A. Kay 83s 

Electricity, How, is Generated. (Illustrated with diagrams) Albert Walton 1022 

Fairy-time. Verse. (Illustrated by Elizabeth Colborne) Frances W. Marshall 874 

Famous Pictures. (Illustrated) Charles L. Barstow 1090 

Fishing-Rod, The Magnetism of the. Pictures, drawn by Hy. Mayer 999 

Galapagos Tortoise: Positively the Oldest Inhabitant. (Illustration 

from photograph ) Augusta Huiell Seaman . . . 688 

Giant, The End of a. Verse. ( Illustrated by Albertine R. Wheelan ) Pauline Frances Camp .... 802 

Gordon, Charles George. (Illustrated by Harry Fenn, R. Talbot Kelly, and 

from photographs) Hamilton Fish Armstrong. 927 

Highwayman's Surprise, The Young. Pictures, drawn by C. F. Lester 906 

Horseless Carriage, Uncle John and His, ( Illustration from photograph) . Marian Phelps 914 

How I Became a "Big-League" Pitcher. ( Illustrated by Frank Tenney 

Johnson, and with photographs and diagrams) Christy Mathewson 605 

Jingles. (Illustrated by the Author) Charles F. Lester 1116 

Johnny's Fourth of July Oration. Picture, drawn by C. F. Lester 836 

King's Vacation, The. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Alfred Hayes 1085 

Knights of the Golden Spur, The. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) Rupert Sargent Holland . . 631 

Knots, How to Tie. (Illustrations from photographs) H. D. Jones 1026 

Knox, General, Headquarters: A Relic of the Revolution. (Illustrations 

from photographs) Everett McNeil 786 

Lady-bird, The— A Folk Charm. Verse Arthur Guiterman 923 

Lady of the Lane, The. (Illustrated by E. C. Caswell) Frederick Orin Bartlett . . . 642 

734, 790, 907, 978 

Limericks. Verse : Minnie Lcona Upton 906 

Lucky Sixpence, The. (Illustrated by Arthur E. Becher) Emilic Benson Knipc and 

Aldcn Arthur Knipc 596, 

702, 826, 876, 988, 1075 

Magic Bottles, The. ( Illustrated by Rachel R. Elmer) Adapted by Julius Robinson 617 

'Maginative People Only ! For. ( Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Dorothy Canfield 675 

Mary Sunshine. (Illustrated by E. C. Caswell) Marjorie Louise Hillis . . . .1124 

Mathewson, Christy: How I Became a "Big-League" Pitcher. (Illustrated 

by Frank Tenney Johnson, and with photographs and diagrams) 605 

May-Day Song, An Old Time. Verse. (Illustrated by Otto Rebele) 

Adapted by Arthur Guiterman 585 

May-Flowers. Verse Pauline Frances Camp . . . . 641 

Miracle, The. Verse Harriet H. Picrson 628 

"Morning," "Noon." and "Night." Pictures, from paintings by Francis Day. 1071 

Mouse, Mr., and Mr. Toad. Picture, drawn by E. G. Lutz 898 

Oldest Inhabitant, Positively the. (Illustration from photograph) Augusta Huiell Seaman . . . .688 

Ostriches, A Team of. (Illustration from photograph) Lawrence W . Neff 915 

Pantry Ghosts, The. Verse Frederic Richardson 1009 

Peace Payson's Motto. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Elizabeth Price 1059 

Pennant, For the, or, Battle-ships at Target- Practice. (Illustrations 

from photographs) Charles B. Brewer 771 

Persian Kitten, The. Picture, from a painting by Louise Cox 779 

Petronel's Light. (Illustrated by Edwin J. Prittie) Jzola Forrester 893 

Phonograph and the Birds, The. Picture, drawn by Walt Kuhn 897 



Pictures, Famous. (Illustrated) Charles L. Barstou> icgo 

"Play Ball!" Verse. (Illustration by E. W. Kemble) Arthur Chamberlain 1097 

Playing the Game. (Base-ball Series) (Illustrated with diagrams and 

from photographs ) C. H. Claudy 726 

804, 899, 1002, 1097 

Point Rock. (Illustrated by the Author) Frank Stick 912 

Polly's Inheritance. (Illustrated by Blanche Fisher Wright) Edna Payson Brett 924 

President, Seeing the. Verse. ( Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) N. F. Richardson 834 

Prince Scarlet, The Story of. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) Mary Stewart 796 

Princess Mary. (Illustrations from photographs) Marion Ryan 723 

Puritan Maying, A. (Illustrated by Edwin J. Prittie) M. Eloise Talbot 690 

Revolution, A Relic of the. (The General Knox Headquarters House) 

(Illustrations from photographs) Everett McNeil 786 

Romping. Verse. ( Illustrated by the Author) Marian Greene 875 

Rosseau, Percival: An Artist and His Dogs. (Illustrated from paintings 

by Percival Rosseau) Frances W . Marshall 963 

Sadie Swung, Sally Sung. Verse James Rozvc 604 

Sea-Serpent, The. Picture, drawn by Bonnibel Butler 987 

Sensitive Plant, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Mary S. Cowles Clark .... 701 

Shore, By the. Verse. (Illustrated by S. Wendell Mitchell) Mrs. Schuyler Van 

Rensselaer 969 

Siesta, The. Verse. ( Illustration from photograph) Carl Werner 696 

"Simple Thoughts on Great Subjects." George Lawrence Parker 

The Body-Guard 640 

The World We Live In 712 

Coming Home Again 997 

Making a Living 1 1 1 5 

Sky, The. Verse Laura Spencer Portor .... 1065 

Song-Sparrow : A Brave Little Mother. (Illustrated by George A. King) . . Flora Macdonald 778 

Song-Sparrow. The Story of the. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) Mary Stewart 885 

Soul Serene, The. (An Aztec Jingle) Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) . J. G. Francis 1024 

"Spring Freshet, A." Picture, drawn by Gertrude Kay 616 

Sudan, Sight- Seeing in the. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 715 

"Summer." Picture, from a painting by Frank W. Benson 973 

Summer Battle, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Rudolph F. Bunncr 1025 

Summer Fancy, A. Picture, drawn by C. F. Lester 873 

"Surfman No. 7." (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) George C. Lane 970 

Tale of the Tailless Cat, The. Verse Pauline Frances Camp. . . .1117 

Tease, The. Verse Minnie Leona Upton 683 

Thoughtful Little Friend, A. Picture, drawn by A. Z. Baker 595 

Townsend Twins, The— Camp Directors. ( Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) . . . Warren L. Eldrcd 622 

715, 813, 916, 1013. 1117 
Tranquillity Disturbed. (An Aztec Jingle) Verse. (Illustrated by the 

Author) J . G. Francis 710 

Tricked ! Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) May Aiken 630 

Triplets' Plain Party, The. ( Illustrated by E. A. Furman) Elisabeth Price 821 

Trouble in High Life. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 836 

"Tug of War, The." Picture, from a painting by Fred Morgan 905 

"Twins, The." Picture, drawn by Gertrude Kay 697 

Waiting for the Shower to Pass. Picture, drawn by Harriet Repplier 648 

Walcheren, Holland, Summer Days on thf. Island of. Pictures from 

photographs 1012 

Washington, President, and Flying. (Illustrated) Marion Florence Lansing. 800 

"We and Our Neighbors." Verse Edith M. Russell 630 

When the Day is Over. Picture, drawn by Sarah S. Stilwell 937 

Whippoorwill, The. Verse. (Illustrated) Edzvard N. Teall 803 

Who-oo? Verse. (Illustration by Maurice Clifford) Jean Halifax 714 


Wireless Station, An Evening at the. (Illustrated by Otto Rebele, George 

Varian, and from photographs) Francis Arnold Collins. . . . mo 

Wrong Side, The. Verse '. Alice E. Allen 789 


"Springtime," from a painting by Sydney Kendrick, facing page 579 — "Homeward Bound," by C. M. 
Relyea, facing page 675 — " 'Oh, Pardon Me, Your Excellency ! ' I cried," by Arthur E. Becher, facing page 
771 — "Gathering Wild Asters," from a painting by Charles C. Curran, facing page 867 — "In the Forest," 
from a painting by Percival Rosseau, facing page 963 — "The Amateur of Painting," from a painting by 
Meissonier, facing page 1059. 


For Very Little Folk. (Illustrated) 

What Happened to Betty and Polly '. Nora Bennett 652 

Picking Flowers. Verse. ("Jack and Jane and Betsy Anne'') Katharine M. Daland 754 

The Bossy Calf. Verse. " 

The Drum-Maj or. Verse J Veils Hastings . 

Willie's Air-Castle. Verse Edwin C. Beal . 

Making Friends. Verse 




F. IV. M 851 

"Jack's Circus." Verse. ("Jack and Jane and Betsy Anne") Katharine M. Daland 946 

"Beside the Sea." Verse. " " 947 

"In the Hayfield." Verse. " " " " " " 1042 

"Jerry's Joke." Verse. " " 1043 

The Wolf and the Little Lamb Venie van Blarcom 1 136 

Books and Reading. (Illustrated) Hildcgardc Haiuthorne . . . 649 

764, 861, 956, 1052, 1 148 

Nature and Science. (Illustrated) 654, 747, 842, 938, 1035, 1129 

St. Nicholas League. (Illustrated) ! 662, 756, 852, 948, 1044, 1140 

The Letter-Box. (Illustrated) 766, 1150 

The Riddle-Box. (Illustrated) 671, 767, 863, 959, 1055, 1151 

Editorial Notes 958 

[The entire contents of this Magazine are covered by the general copyright, and articles must not be reprinted without special permission] 


Frontispiece. "Springtime." From a painting by Sydney Kendrick. " Page 

Deborah's Change of Heart. Story Helen Ward Banks 579 

Illustrated by William F. Stecher. 
An Old Time May-Day Song. Verse. Adapted by Arthur Guiterman 585 

Illustrated by Otto Rebele. 

The Military Band. ("Ballads of the Be-Ba-Boes.") Verse D.K.Stevens 586 

Illustrated by Katharine M. Daland. 

Crofton Chums. Serial Story Ralph Henry Barbour 590 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 
A Thoughtful Little Friend. Picture. Drawn by A. Z. Baker 595 

-The Lucky Sixpence Serial Story { SSSSSS ^ } 596 

Illustrated by Arthur Becher. V " ' 

Sadie Swung, Sally Sung. Verse James Rowe 604 

How I Became a " Big-League " Pitcher Christy Mathewson 605 

Illustrated by Frank Tenney Johnson, and with photographs and diagram. . 

" A Spring Freshet." Picture. Drawn by Gertrude Kay 616 

The Magic Bottles. Story. Adapted by Julius Robinson 617 

Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer. 

The Townsend Twins — Camp Directors. Serial Story warren l. Eidred 622 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

The Miracle. Verse Harriet H. Plerson 628 

An Afternoon Party— The First Arrival. Picture. From a paint- 
ing by J. A. Muenier 629 

" We and Our Neighbors.". Verse Edith m. Russell 630 

Tricked ! Verse May Aiken 630 

Illustraled by the Author. 

The Knights of the Golden Spur. Serial Story Rupert Sargent Holland 631 

Illustrated by Reginald Birch. 

A Spring Evening at the Beetleburg Amusement Park. Pic- 
ture. Drawn by Harrison Cady 639 

The Body-Guard. ( " Simple Thoughts on Great Subjects." ) George Lawrence Parker 640 

May-Flowers. Verse Pauline Frances Camp 641 

The Lady of the Lane. Serial Story Frederick Orin Bartlett 642 

Illustrated by E. C. Caswell. 
Waiting for the Shower to Pass. Picture. Drawn by Harriet 

Repplier 648 

Books and Beading Hildegarde Hawthorne 649 


For Very Little Folk : 

What Happened to Betty and Polly. Story Nora Bennett 652 

Illustrated from paintings by Percy Tarrant. 

Nature and Science for Young Folks 654 

St. Nicholas League. With awards of Prizes for Stories, Poems, 

Drawings, Photographs, and Puzzles 662 


The Riddle-Box 671 

St. Nicholas Stamp Page Advertising page 24 

The Century Co. and its editors receive manuscripts and art material, submitted for publica- 
tion, only on the understanding: that they shall not be responsible for loss or injury thereto 
while in their possession or in transit. Copies of manuscripts should be retained by the authors. 

Subscription price. $3.00 a year; single number, 25 cents. The half-yearly parts of ST. NICHOLAS end with 
the October and April numbers respectively, and the red cloth covers are ready with the issue of these numbers ; price 50 cents, by mail, 
postpaid ; the two covers for the complete volume, $1.00. We bind and furnish covers for 75 cents per part, or $1.50 for the complete 
volume. (Carriage extra.) In sending the numbers to us, they should be distinctly marked with owner's name. Bound volumes are 
not exchanged for numbers. 

Persons ordering a change in the direction of Magazines must give both the old and the new address in full. No change can be 
made after the 5th of any month in the address of the Magazine for the following month. PUBLISHED MONTHLY. 

FRANK H. SCOTT, President. „ ,_ , „ ,, 

WILLIAM W. ELLSWORTH, Vice-President and Secretary. THE CENTURY CO.. Union SQUare. NeW York, N. Y. 

DONALD SCOTT, Treasurer. ' 

Entered as second-class matter at the Post-Office Department, Canada. 










IT These boys and girls have hurried up to see what is on the St. Nicholas Bulletin. Presently they will go awal 
and tell their friends about the treats in St. Nicholas, and their friends will ask their parents to subscribe. 
IT Do you tell your friends how much you like St. Nicholas? 












§8s - "2:^. „ 




S x M-"'' : i«'»''W 

■ ■ 


4 *, 


of all ages. Beside the splendid 
interesting, valuable articles. 



3 Q C 


A Book for Every Boy 


By G. H. Glaudy 


All of the interesting material which has 
appeared in St. Nicholas — and much 

A book which gets at the heart of the 
great Ame rican^ game, 
from a bo) 
s nappy andj 

A book 
the wonder, 

fine teams, but how he, 
part at least, can do for hi 
his favorite base-ball idol 
the Major and Minor Leag 

Christy Mathewson tel 
League' Pitcher," an^th 
photographs of fa 

The price of th 






By Mary Ronald 

Indispensable for the novice in kitchen lore, helpful for the experienced cook. Economy, prac- 
ticability, and the resources of the average kitchen have been constantly in mind in the prepar- 
ation of this complete and satisfactory book, which covers every culinary point, from preparation 
of the simplest meal to the planning and serving of a state dinner. 

Helpfully illustrated. 600 pages. Price $2. 00, postage paid. 

By Mary Ronald 

A rich mine of suggestive hints on dainty and tempting dishes for dainty and tempting meals, 
anc* all possible information on every detail relating to the planning, cooking, and serving of 
every luncheon, from a pick-up family meal to the most formal company affair. 
Many illustrations from photographs. Price $1 .40 net, postage 15 cents. 

By Maria Parloa 

Here is a royal guide to the making and managing of an ideal home, covering, practically and 
helpfully, every possible detail of housekeeping and home-making. 

Helpful illustrations. Price $ 1 .50. 

By Mary A. Boland 

It is based on the scientific study of an expert; but its simple directions may be followed by any 
housekeeper. A great aid in planning the children's meals ; invaluable in any case of illness. 

Price $2.00. 

A guide — 
and illness. 

By Dr. Leroy M. Yale and Gustav Pollak 

authoritative, practical, unfailingly helpful— to the wise care of children, in health 
Price $2.00 net, postage 18 cents. 


By Mary and Sara White 

By Louise Brigham 

It tells just how to make, and to have fun in the 
making, one hundred simple, serviceable, artistic, 
and fascinating things in the furniture line. One 
hundred illustrations, showing results actually ac- 
complished. Price $t60 nelt p,,,^ i4 cenl ,_ 

Happy suggestions for happy times every month in 
the year. Every parent and every teacher should 
have it. Illustrated. Price $1.00 net, postage 7 cents. 


It's so simple 

a matter to keep pans and metal, paint and 
floors, oilcloth or marble clean with , 


that it makes child's play of cleaning. It is con- 
centrated cleaning energy. A big compressed, 
slow-wearing cake. The most economical § 
cleaner made. Given the hardest test — | 

You Know Sapolio Will Do It. \ 

Increase the pleasures 
of bicycle riding. Get a 

C O RBIN Coaster Brake 

Reduces the labor of riding up steep hills and 
against strong winds. Elderly riders find the 
Corbin Two-Speed invaluable. 

Operated entirely by the pedals. No levers or 
wires. Action is automatic and always under instant 
control. Wide choice of gears available. 

Corbin Brakes for bicycles and motorcycles 
sold by bicycle dealers everywhere. Fitted to rear 
hub by any bicycle repair shop. 

Write for 19 1 2 catalog. 

Division of the American Hdwe. Corporation 

(Licensed Coaster Brake Manufacturers) 
210 High Street New Britain, Conn. 




Mennen's ?SSJ Powder 

keeps my skin in healthy condition. 

Sample Box for 4c. stamp. 


Newark, N. J. Tra j e Mark 


gland, owners of the copyright. 




MAY, 1912 

No. 7 



"Of course I can't have what the others have. 
I 'm too homely," murmured Deborah. "But I 
hate her when she talks like that." 

The corners of her mouth drooped, and her 
eyes filled with tears. There were so many 
things Deborah hated : the bare, angular house 
perched on the hillside, the plainness of her daily 
living, the vision she saw reflected in the mirror, 
— a small figure clothed in checked-brown gingham, 
and a pale face with drooping mouth and hair 
drawn tightly back into two braids. She could 
have seen eyes blue as gentians if she had looked 
long enough, but she always turned away after 
the first glance. 

"I don't love a thing but my garden," thought 
Deborah. "It 's the only beautiful thing I have. 
Maybe I love Aunty Jones a little scrap, and I 
used to love Josie, because she 's so pretty. I 
hate ugly things. I 'm going to hate people now, 
too. I hate Josie when she talks like that." 

Pretty Josie Fenton walked on down the hill 
with Fred Dillon, unconscious that her words had 
been overheard. "It 's too bad Debby is so 
homely," she had said carelessly. 

Deborah watched them out of sight. She would 
have given all she owned to walk unconcernedly 
down the street with Fred. He was so merry and 
good-looking ; any girl would be glad to have him 
for a friend. She picked up her trowel from the 

Copyright, 1912, by The Century Co. 

door-sill, and went slowly down the walk, her 
back to the ugly, little house. She knelt among 
her flowers, and laid -a caressing hand on the 
nearest. The garden was gay now with foxglove 
and sweet-william and columbine. Later it would 
run riot with tiger-lilies and larkspur and holly- 

"I love you ! I love you !" she whispered pas- 
sionately. "You 're the only thing I have to love. 
Why do I have to be so ugly when I hate ugly 
things with all my soul !" 

She dug vigorously among her pansies for 
some time. Presently she left the trowel sticking 
in the earth, and settled back, her hands clasped 
around her brown gingham knees. She was too 
shy to have friends to talk to; she was used to 
thinking things out for herself. 

"I am ugly," she thought, "and Aunty Jones is 
ugly, and the house is ugly. It must hurt every- 
body to look at us all, for ugliness is hateful. 
Why can't the world just be full of beauty?" 

For a long time, she sat thinking about it, and 
then she slowly went back to her pansies. 

"I suppose really to make all the world beauti- 
ful, every one ought to put a little beauty into it. 
All I have is my garden, but that 's the prettiest 
in town, and I can make it prettier even than it is. 
It 's the only point I have to start from, but I '11 
do it. I sha'n't pay any more attention to people, 

All rights reserved. 




whether they 're pretty or not. I 'm going to 
hate people, and hate ugly things all my life, and 
just give myself up to putting beauty into the 

She rose to her feet and surveyed her garden 
with a dreamy look. Her eyes showed the blue in 
this direct glance, and the corners of her mouth 
did not droop quite so pitifully. She had at least 
an object in life. 

"Yes," she said. "The larkspur is in just the 
right place, and the hollyhocks will be lovely 
against the fence. The phlox needs thinning, — 
but it 's time to go and help Aunty Jones get 
dinner now." 

As she walked back toward the house, her eyes 
traveled farther up the hill. A new house was 
rising on the hilltop, and the newly graded earth 
made more raw ugliness in the landscape. 

"It 's a beautiful house," thought Deborah. 
"It makes ours worse than ever by contrast. But 
it will take forever to get the new look off the 
place. How lovely rock-pinks would be on that 
slope !" 

A sudden thought struck her, so daring that it 
sent the unaccustomed color over her face. Was 
this a broader chance in her mission of bringing 
beauty into the world? Could she take it out of 
the confines of her own little garden and spread 
it abroad? 

"Oh, I could n't ! I 'd never dare !" she ex- 
claimed. "I 've plenty of pinks, and they spread 
like lightning, but I 'd never dare offer Mr. 
Danvers any." 

She could not get the thought out of her mind, 
however. Every morning for a week, with a 
quick-beating heart, she watched Mr. Danvers 
walk by on his visit of inspection to his new 
house. Then one day, before she knew she had 
done it, she had opened the gate and was speak- 
ing to him. 

"Rock-pinks would be lovely on that slope," 
she gasped, her cheeks aflame. "I have lots of 
them. Could I plant some out there?" 

Mr. Danvers looked at her quizzically. 

"You 're the girl with the pretty garden, are n't 

you?" he said, "and we are neighbors. I 've tried 

. to speak to you before, but you always looked the 

other way. And you want to share with me? 

That 's very kind of you." 

"Don't you mind?" stammered Deborah. 

"I shall be very grateful. I 'm not much at 
flowers, and Mrs. Danvers won't be coming till 
later, for I want things settled before she ar- 

"And could I put a little bunch of pink phlox 
by the barn ?" asked Deborah, eagerly. "The color 
will be so pretty against the gray." 

"It will be extremely pretty. Do whatever you 
want to. How do you like my house?" 

"I love to look at it," said Deborah, fervently. 

The glow stayed on Deborah's face all through 
dinner-time. She had never before spoken to a 
stranger of her own accord, and it was exciting. 
So was the permission to pour some of the beauty 
of her own little garden-plot into her neighbor's 
wide domain. 

"I 'm really doing it !" she thought. "I 'm really 
putting beauty into the world out of my own 
garden !" 

Then she stopped, struck by a sudden thought. 
Was she going to be able to carry out perfectly 
her plan of hating people as she spread beauty? 
How could she hate Mr. Danvers while she was 
giving him flowers out of her garden? 

She did not have time to find an answer to her 
question just then, for transplanting kept her 
very busy. Josie Fenton's father was building 
the house, and he watched Deborah with interest 
as, day by day, she came over with a new peren- 
nial clump to tuck into its fitting nook. Deborah 
did not know he was watching her until he spoke 
to her. 

"Are you sharing up that white piny? It 's the 
handsomest one in town." 

"Do you think so ?" Deborah asked shyly. "I 
did n't know any one ever noticed it." 

"When it 's in bloom, I come down this way 
just to look at it," Mr. Fenton said. 

"Oh, do you?" Deborah asked, with a little 
smile. She did not often smile. Then she added, 
shyly, "Would you like a root, too?" 

"Indeed I would, if it won't be robbing you." 

"I 'd like to give it to you," Deborah answered, 
and went home wondering if she could leave out 
from her hating the people who loved flowers. 

She dug so hard at her peony roots that before 
she knew it she had kneed a hole straight through 
her brown gingham frock. She showed it in dis- 
may to Aunty Jones. 

"Never mind," said the kind, old lady. 
"It 's an old one. You go up to the store this after- 
noon and get you some new gingham, and I '11 
make you some new dresses. I 'm slack of work 
just now; and I don't read as easy as I did once." 

To the second brown gingham, clean and 
starched, Deborah added a brown sailor hat over 
hair tied tightly with a brown ribbon, and went 
to the store. She had to wait a long time for 
attention, for an automobile stood outside, and 
the two ladies who owned it were inside buying 
many things. Deborah sat patiently on a high 
stool and waited. She looked a good deal at the 
young lady who was matching embroidery silk, 
for she was very pretty. Presently the young 


Library, Ujhv. of 



lady looked up and met the gaze. She smiled at 
Deborah, and Deborah had shyly smiled back be- 
fore she knew what she was doing. 

"I 'm afraid we 're keeping you waiting," said 
the older girl. 

"I don't mind," answered Deborah. "I only 
want some brown gingham, and I have lots of 

"If you 're going to buy yourself a dress," the 
automobile girl said impulsively, "don't buy an- 

you will remember what I tell you. Outside beauty 
does n't always strike in, but inside beauty al- 
ways strikes out in time, though young folk 
are n't apt to think so. Will you remember that ? 
Every girl wants to be pretty, and no girl can 
carry a brave, honest, merry heart without hav- 
ing it shine through, finally, to make people call 
her beautiful." 

"My mother is preaching you quite a sermon," 
laughed the young lady. "Now remember, too, 



other brown ; buy blue, to match your eyes. See, 
there 's a lovely piece up there." 

"Why," faltered Deborah, "I 've always had 

"But that 's no reason you always should. The 
blue costs the same, and pretty things are much 
nicer to look at than ugly ones, are n't they?" said 
her new friend, with a smile. 

"Oh, yes !" exclaimed Deborah. 

The young lady had the blue-and-white check 
pulled down, and held it against Deborah's face. 
Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes were bright as 
she looked up. 

"It 's very becoming," said the older lady, with 
a satisfied nod. "I am going to make you a pres- 
ent of a blue hair-ribbon to match, so that when 
you look in the glass and find how nice you look, 

what / tell you. Just wear blue always, and 
never touch another inch of brown. Wait a 
minute ! I have a hat out in the car that would 
just suit you, I know, and it is n't my style at all. 
Will you take it to remember my little sermon ? 
My mother's ribbon will make you remember to 
be good, and my hat will make you remember to 
wear becoming clothes. They 're both very im- 

The young lady dashed out to find the hat, and 
dashed back to leave it on Deborah's lap. Then 
she smiled once more, and she and her mother 
buzzed off in the automobile, leaving Deborah's 
head buzzing as fast as the car. She went home, 
scarcely knowing who she was, the blue gingham 
and the blue hair-ribbon done up in one parcel, 
and the hat— such a pretty one!— in another. 




"I 'm getting all mixed up on my hating plan," 
she thought as she went. "I 've given Mr. Dan- 
vers and Mr. Fenton flowers ; that 's all right. 


But I like them both. And I like the pretty, 
young lady and the hair-ribbon lady, too." 

Aunty Jones chuckled comfortably when she 
saw the gingham. "I declare, Debby ! I don't 
know as my needle '11 take to anything but brown. 
We might have thought of blue long ago, for it 's 
a sight prettier. I '11 enjoy sewing on it." 

"I could read to you while you sew, if you 
like," ventured Deborah, quite thrilling with the 
soft, clear shade of her new dress. Aunty Jones's 
face brightened. "It would be a great treat. 
Maybe you 'd read me my Bible piece first." 

Deborah found the Bible marker at the account 
of Jehoshaphat going to meet the Moabites. She 
liked the swing of the old Jewish story. "He ap- 
pointed singers unto the Lord 
and that they should praise 
the beauty of holiness," she 
read finally, and stopped to 
think what the words meant. 
The beauty of holiness was 
a thing she had not thought 
about, but in a flash she saw 
it was the only true beauty 
in the world ; one must culti- 
vate beautiful thoughts and 
deeds as well as beautiful 
flowers. That was what her 
hair-ribbon lady had meant, 
and that was why she found 
it hard really to hate people. 
Hating must always be ugly. 
To bring beauty into the 
world, one must bring love 
into it. Oh, but it would be 
much harder than transplant- 
ing flowers and wearing blue 
ribbons ! 

She finished the story, and 
shyly kissed Aunty Jones 
when she went to bed. The 
old lady looked up lovingly. 
"She is n't so awfully 
ugly," thought Deborah, won- 
deringly, as she went up- 
stairs. "I guess she 's beau- 
tiful inside, and it 's shining 
through. I never noticed. I 
wonder if I could n't make 
her something soft and white 
to wear at her neck. Then 
she would look like the hair- 
ribbon lady." 

Even transplanting the 
beauty of love was n't so 
hard when Deborah really 
tried it. Maybe the blue 
frock helped along, for it was much more friendly 
than the old brown ones. Deborah, before she 
knew it, was having long flower discussions 
with Mr. Fenton, and a good many of her roots 
made their way into his garden. She found, 
too, that Mr. Danvers's head painter was very 
fond of milk, and she carried him a pitcherful 
for his lunch every day. When she proposed 
white muslin curtains for the sitting-room, Aunty 
Jones was quite ready to agree, and she brought 
out bags of carpet-rag pieces to start a new rug. 
Deborah chose all the blue, and while the old 




lady peacefully cut and sewed and rolled, her 
niece read aloud all sorts of books that they both 
enjoyed. For the first time, the house had a 
gleam of home in it, because somebody had begun 
to love it. 

All the spare time Deborah spent in Mr. Dan- 
vers's place. He had been away for a fortnight, 
and came back to find new little bunches of grow- 
ing things in all sorts of odd 
places, and Deborah busy 
with her seedling zinnias. 

"You 're a born gardener," 
said Mr. Danvers, "but you 
need more material for this 
big place. Suppose you had 
everything you wanted, what 
would you put in over here ?" 

"Oh," said Deborah, "I 've 
shut my eyes and seen that 
place over and over ; it 's full 
of dahlias— yellow ones !" 

Mr. Danvers nodded ap- 
provingly. "Yes, that 's 
good. I '11 get some. Now 
how about over here?" 

Before the morning was 
over, Deborah and Mr. Dan- 
vers had planned the entire 
garden. Deborah forgot to 
be dumb or bashful. She 
chattered and laughed, and 
glowed like any other happy, 
human creature. 

Presently Mr. Danvers 
looked at his watch. "My ! 
how the time runs away. I 
don't know when I 've en- 
joyed a morning more. I 
have a train to catch now. 
and I sha'n't be back till next 
month. Are you going to 
oversee all this planting for 
me? If you will, I '11 give 
you a percentage for yourself 
out of the dahlias and all the 
other things. And now I tell 
you what I want to do, Miss 
Deborah. If you have to 
look up at my place, I have 
to look down at yours. You 
have beautified my slopes; now I want to add 
a little beauty to your house. I have lumber 
here I 'm not going to use, and I want Fenton to 
put a porch along the south side of your house. 
Will you let him? It will take down the height 
and will make a pretty little house of it. I want 
to do it for my own sake, if you '11 let me." 

Then he ran for his train, and Deborah did 
not really know whether she had said "No, thank 
you," or "Yes, thank you." But it must have 
been yes, for the very next morning Mr. Fenton's 
men began to saw and fit and hammer by the 
little, dingy house. 

Those were exciting days. Boxes of plants and 
seeds arrived, and there was an experienced 


gardener at Mr. Danvers's who lived for nothing 
but to plant beauty as Deborah ordered it. The 
porch took on its outline and filled out to com- 
pleteness. One day the painter whom Deborah 
had fed with milk handed back the jug with a 
very grave face. 

"That there milk seems to have some magic in 



it," he said solemnly. "I declare if it ain't turned 
into white paint; enough to cover your whole 
house. If you '11 say the word, I '11 smear it over 
odd times after hours; it '11 be a good-looking 
little place when it gets whitened up." 

"Have n't you got some green cheese around, 
too?" laughed Mr. Fenton. "I was just thinking 
I 've got some blinds piled under a lot of rubbish 
over at the shop that would just fit these little 
windows. I took 'em off an old house ten years 
ago. I '11 hang 'em if you '11 daub 'em over with 
green cheese." 

"Oh !" cried Deborah. "Everybody is so good. 
Could I really have blinds ? Not having them has 
always made the house look like a person without 
any eyebrows." 

"It 's nothing to put those on," Mr. Fenton 
said ; "and it 's all the house needs to make it 
match the garden. My new flowers are doing 
finely. Why don't you come over and see 'em? 
Don't you ever come to see my girl ?" 

"She would n't want me to," stammered De- 
borah. She could not forget how homely Josie 
thought her. 

"Of course she 'd want you/' answered Mr. 
Fenton. "I '11 send her down here to prove it." 

"Oh, don't," Deborah wanted to protest, but 
she did n't. Woufd she even have to love Josie 
Fenton ? 

The paint and the blinds were on before Josie 
came. Debby tried to be cordial and entertain- 
ing, but it was Josie who did most of the talking. 
They discussed the weather and the garden, and 
all the time Josie was casting little flying glances 
at Deborah. 

"Oh, Debby !" she exclaimed abruptly at last. 
"Will you be mad? I 'm just crazy to fix your 
hair. I never noticed before how thick and soft 
it is. You could be stunning if you did it right. 
Come on up-stairs and let me try." 

Most unwillingly Deborah led the way to her 
room and sat down before her dressing-table. 

"Why, it 's gorgeous !" cried Josie, as Debby's 
loosened hair flowed over her shoulders. "But 
you must n't drag it back tight as if you were 
stuffing a pincushion. It 's got lots of wave in it. 
There, you must always roll it like that and keep 
it soft— so. Now where 's your blue ribbon? 
Why, Debby, you 're lovely! Just look!" 

Confused, yet pleased, Deborah looked in the 
mirror which had so often reflected her plain 
face. But what did she see now? A warm flush 
in the pale cheeks ; a happy smile on the discon- 

tented lips ; a friendly look in the downcast eyes ; 
softly waving hair instead of the scalp-tight locks 
— and all this set off by a blue ribbon and a blue 
dress that made her eyes look like forget-me-nots. 
It was n't herself; it could n't be! She was so 
ugly, and this girl was a joy to look at ! It was 
too good to be true. 

"Don't you ever dare do it any other way !" 
said Josie. "There 's Father going home. I '11 
catch a ride. Come and see me, Debby." 

Debby felt almost too conscious to go down to 
supper. She stole another glance at herself in 
the mirror, and smiled at what she saw. "I 'm 
not ugly," she thought with a throb of joy. "Peo- 
ple won't have to hate looking at me. Some- 
thing has shined through, but I don't know what 
it is." 

She went out to water her flowers after sup- 
per, with the smile still in the corners of her 
lips, the flush on her cheeks, and the brightness in 
her eyes. When Fred Dillon walked by, instead 
of turning her back, Deborah looked up and 
smiled. It was a friendly smile, born of her new 
sense of self-assurance. 

"Hello, Debby !" the boy said. "If you '11 in- 
vite me in, I '11 carry that water-pot for you. My, 
what a dandy porch you 've got ! You '11 have to 
have a house-warming for that, for sure !" 

"So I can !" cried Deborah. "I '11 do it just as 
soon as the moon is full." 

"Then I 'm invited, am I?" 

"Yes," said Debby, "only I can't let you pass 
lemonade if you spill as much as you 're spilling 
out of that watering-pot." 

"They 're wet enough anyhow," said the boy. 
"Let 's go sit on the porch and look at how much 
good we 've done them." 

Debby led the way to the porch, her heart beat- 
ing with a new glad glow of life. It was all so 
wonderful. Above her, Mr. Danvers's beautiful 
house stood against the evening sky, and his 
lawns sloped to her own pretty little home, 
painted and porched and shuttered, worthy of the 
garden in which it stood. Fred had come to see 
her, as he called to see other girls, and she was 
talking and laughing, and she was n't homely. 
Life was full of joy, where a few months ago 
there had been only heaviness and hopeless lone- 
liness. And she loved everything and everybody. 

"Loving is the biggest beauty in the world," 
Deborah thought. "The really ugly things are 
just hating and hate fulness. I guess we can put 
beauty anywhere if we have loving enough." 





We 've been a-roving down the dale 

Before the break o' day; 
And now we lay before your door 

A budding branch of May. 
A branch of May that looks so gay 

Before your door to stand; 
'T is but a sprout, yet leaves no doubt 

That Spring is in the land. 

Awake, awake, my pretty maid, 

Your latch is on the pin; 
Awake from out your drowsy dream, 

And take your May-bush in. 
The whippoorwill she sings by night, 

The meadow-lark by day ; 
So fare you well, we must be gone, 

We wish you a happy May ! 



.--.nS/V'S^ • ' Y,; ^■m" : ' ^H-^Mn^W ■■■'■■ 


i^D-K Stevens 

Among the Be-Ba-Boes whose fame 

Has traveled wide and far, 
Drum-Major Roland Roly 

Was a celebrated star. 
He had studied his profession 

With a master of the Art, 
And of all the known drum-majors, 

He was quite a thing apart. 

He wore a bearskin busby, 

Had a baton made of gold. 
Which he twirled in such a manner, 

T was bewild'ring to behold. 
He marched upon the Esplanade 

Like troops engaged in drill, 
And there he gave a daily 

Exhibition of his skill. 





But still he was n't happy, 

For he wanted to expand 
And be the real drum-major 

Of a Military Band. 
So he called his friends together 

And procured for each a suit. 
Together with a book which read : 

"Instructions Hozv to Toot." 

For forty weeks they practised, 

Rarely stopping for a rest, 
And ev'ry Be-Ba-Bo rehearsed 

The tune that he liked best. 
While standing on a barrel, 

With his baton in his hand, 
Drum-Major Roland Roly 

Led his Military Band. 

At last they felt quite qualified 

To give a grand parade, 
And show the latest manner 

In which music should be played. 
The public came by thousands, 

(For, of course, the show was free,) 
And they never heard such music, 

As I think you will agree. 







anA Jns 


For one played "Annie Laurie," 

And another ''Bonnie Doon," 
And one played "Turkey in the Straw" 

Upon the big bassoon ; 
Another one played "Money Musk," 

And one "The Last Request." 
In fact, each played, as he 'd rehearsed, 

The tune that he liked best. 

Now, all that vast assembly, 

From the wisest to the dunce. 
Had never heard a band that played 

So many tunes at once. 
They cheered and loudly shouted 

Till they shook the list'ning earth, 
Because they felt that they, at last, 

Had got their money's worth. 




And still the Band marched on. with each, 

Oblivious of the rest. 
Performing on his own account 

The tune that he liked best. 
And now upon the scroll of Fame 

These names forever stand : 
Drum-Major Roland Roly 

And his Military Band. 



Author of " The Crimson Sweater," " Kingsford, Quarter," " Team-Mates," etc. 

Chapter XIII 


The day of the Hawthorne game dawned cold 
and gray, with a chill breeze out of the east. 
Hawthorne, two hundred strong, took possession 
of the village before noon, taxing the capacities 
of the railroad restaurant and the various lunch- 
rooms to the limit. At one, Gil and Poke set off 
to the field. 

"If you don't win, Poke Endicott," called Hope 
from the porch, as the boys started down the 
road, "I '11 never speak to you again !" 

"After that threat," laughed Poke, "I shall 
simply eat 'em alive, Hope !" 

The rest of the household, Jim, Jeffrey, Hope, 
Mrs. Hazard, and Mr. Hanks, started an hour 
later. Mr. Hanks, having had foot-ball suddenly 
thrust into his philosophy, displayed an amazing 
interest and curiosity. "You see," he confided to 
Mrs. Hazard, "I have never witnessed a game of 
foot-ball. This may seem — er — strange to you, 
madam, for my college was, I believe, very suc- 
cessful at the game. The fact, however, is that 
I never had time to attend the contests. I am 
quite curious to see how the sport is indulged in. 
It must, it would seem, be — er— quite interesting." 

When the Sunnywood party arrived at the 
field, Hawthorne, looking, in its black-and-orange, 
like an army of young Princetonians, was already 
warming up for the fray. Along- the ropes, across 
the white-barred turf, Hawthorne's supporters 
were singing and cheering. It was cold enough 
for heavy clothing and rugs, and Hope snuggled 
down comfortably between her mother and Mr. 
Hanks on the grand stand. Beyond Mrs. Hazard 
sat Jim, with Jeffrey beside him. The Crof- 
ton side of the field was three and four deep with 
spectators; and at ten minutes before the time 
set for starting the game, two things happened 
simultaneously : the Crofton team, brave in new 
uniforms of crimson and gray, trotted onto the 
field to the wild shouts of its supporters, and the 
sun burst through the murk in a sudden blaze of 
glory. Hope waved her banner. 

"That," she cried ecstatically, "means we shall 
win !" 

Crofton took the field for practice, Gary, back 
in his togs once more, racing down the gridiron 
like a joyful colt. A moment later, Gil ran up 
and called excitedly to Jim across the rope. 

"Come on and be our linesman, Jim. You see," 
he continued, as Jim ducked under the barrier 
and strode across the field with him, "you '11 be 
nearer things, and can watch the game a heap 
better. There 's your partner in crime over there 
with the chain. Introduce yourself like a gentle- 
man, shake hands, and welcome him to the fu- 
neral. They 've got a pretty husky set of men, 
have n't they? That 's Gould, the little chap 
talking to Johnny. He 's the man we 've got to 
watch to-day. There 's the whistle. Root for us, 

Hawthorne spread herself over the west end of 
the field to receive the kick-off, Duncan Sargent 
patted the tee into shape, poised the ball, and 
looked around him. "All ready, Hawthorne? 
All ready, Crofton?" questioned the referee. 
Both teams assented, the whistle blew, Sargent 
sent the ball spinning down the field, and the 
game was on. 

Johnny had instructed his team to get the jump 
on Hawthorne at the start, and it obeyed him. 
From the first line-up, Poke Endicott tore off 
eighteen yards outside of tackle, and Crofton be- 
gan a rushing advance that took the ball to Haw- 
thorne's fifteen-yard mark. Hawthorne stiffened 
as the play neared the goal-line, and Arnold tried 
a forward pass to Tearney, right end. This 
failed, and the ball went to the orange-and-black. 
But on the very next play, Hawthorne's left half 
fumbled, and Benson, Crofton's full-back, dived 
into the scramble and recovered the pigskin. 
Crofton's machine started up again, and after 
three rushes, Poke shot through and over the 
goal-line for a well-earned touch-down. Sargent 
kicked goal. 

The crimson-and-gray flags waved madly, and 
three hundred voices cheered and yelled. Even 
Mrs. Hazard clapped her hands, and Mr. Hanks, 
just beginning to understand the scheme of 
things, beamed approvingly through his specta- 
cles. As for Hope, why, Hope was already 
breathless from screaming, and trembling with 
excitement. That was the only scoring, and the 
first period ended with the ball in Crofton's pos- 
session on her rival's twenty-seven yards. 

Hawthorne's chief mainstay was her quarter- 
back, Gould, a remarkable all-around player. A 
brainy general, a certain catcher of punts, a 
brilliant runner either in a broken field or an 
open, and a clever manipulator of the forward 



pass, Crofton held him in great respect. Haw- 
thorne's team was, in a manner, built around 
Gould, and in that lay whatever weakness it pos- 
sessed. Johnny had coached his players to stop 
Gould, knowing that, aside from his perform- 


ances, Hawthorne had very little to offer in the 
matter of ground-gaining feats. And through- 
out the first period, Gould failed to get away 
with anything. Crofton watched him as a cat 
watches a mouse, and every move of his was 
smothered. Whenever he caught a punt in the 
back field, Tearney and Gil were down on him, 
to stand him on his plucky little head immediately. 

The second period began with Crofton in high 
feather. Benson and Smith, left half, each made 
short gains, and then Arnold tried a forward 
pass from Hawthorne's twenty-five-yard mark. 
He threw too far, however, and the orange-and- 
black received the ball on its 
thirteen-yard line. Gould 
kicked, and, thanks to two 
holding penalties, Crofton 
was forced back into its own 
territory in the next few 
minutes. Then Arnold's punt 
went to Gould on his forty 
yards. With the first real 
flash of form he had shown, 
the little quarter-back tore 
off fifteen yards. From the 
center of the field, and close 
to the side-line, he made his 
first successful forward pass, 
a hard, low throw along the 
edge of the field, to his right 
end, who caught the ball 
over his shoulder, and ran to 
Crofton's thirty-four-yard 
line. A try at the line netted 
two yards. Then Gould again 
hurled the pigskin, this time 
selecting his left end for re- 
ceiver, and sending a low 
drive to him on Crofton's 
twenty-five yards. For a mo- 
ment, it looked as though 
Hawthorne would score 
there and then, for the run- 
ner sprinted to Crofton's 
eight-yard line before he 
was pulled down from be- 
hind. Across the field, Haw- 
thorne was wild with joy, 
and two hundred of her loyal 
sons shouted and danced 
with delight. Then Haw- 
thorne tried one rush, and 
lost a yard. Crofton was 
now plainly over-anxious, 
and when, on the next play, 
Gould sent his right half- 
back at the right wing on a 
delayed pass, Tearney was drawn in, and the 
yellow-and-black player simply romped across 
the line for a touch-down. From this Haw- 
thorne's right end kicked a goal from a difficult 
angle, and the score was tied. 

Then it seemed that Hawthorne had found her- 
self. The orange-and-black took heart, and after 
Crofton had kicked off again, Gould ran the ball 




back thirty yards, eluding half the Crofton team, 
and placed it on her forty-five-yard line. Crof- 
ton's defense was now severely tested. Gould 
gave the ball to his backs, and twice Hawthorne 
made first down by short line plunges. The vul- 
nerable spot in Crofton's de- 
fense was at left tackle, 
where Parker, willing 
though he was, lacked expe- 
rience and weight. On her 
twenty-five-yard line, Crof- 
ton stiffened up, and Gould 
tried a forward pass that 
proved illegal. A plunge at 
center gave the ball to Crof- 
ton, and Arnold punted on 
the first down. Gould caught 
the ball, and was promptly 
laid on his back by Gil. A 
penalty for holding forced 
Hawthorne back to her thirty 
yards. Gould tried an end 
run that gained but seven 
yards, and then punted. 
Crofton made three yards 
through right tackle, and 
then Arnold got off a beauti- 
ful forward pass to Gil, and 
the latter, by squirming and 
crowding, finally reached 
Hawthorne's twenty-yard 
line. Two rushes failed to 
gain much distance, and Ar- 
nold dropped back to the 
thirty-yard line, and, with 
every watcher holding his 
breath, drop-kicked the oval 
over the cross-bar. It was 
Crofton's turn to exult, and 
exult she did, while from the 
opposite side of the gridiron, 
Hawthorne hurled defiance. 
A moment later the first half 
ended, the score 9 to 6; Crof- 
ton ahead by three points. 

Jim returned to his party 
on the seats and squeezed 
himself down beside Jeffrey, looking very serious. 

"Is n't it just glorious?" cried Hope, her cheeks 
crimson and her hair, loosened by the breeze, 
fluttering about her face. 

"Glorious?" laughed her brother. "Yes, it is!" 

"Can we hold them, do you think?" asked Jef- 

Jim shook his head. "I don't know. I heard 
Johnny tell Duncan Sargent a minute ago that 
he 'd give a hundred dollars if the game were 

over. If Hawthorne pounded away at the left 
side of our line, she could gain like anything. 
Parker 's doing the best he can, but he can't 
stop them." Then he turned to Mr. Hanks, and 
asked him: "How do you like the game, sir?" 



"Very much indeed. I — I find myself quite in- 
terested. Hope has been instructing me in the 
— er— fine points, but I fear she has found me a 
very stupid pupil." 

"Well, I don't think I can give you more than 
a C," laughed Hope. "And Mama gets a D minus. 
Awhile ago she wanted to know why the tall man 
in the white sweater did n't play harder." 

"Well, nobody told me he was the referee, or 
whatever he is," declared Mrs. Hazard, smilingly. 




"Jim, I hope we just— just gobble them up this 
half," said Hope. 

"Gobble them up?" repeated Mr. Hanks. "Is 
that— er— a foot-ball term, or do you use the 
phrase metaphorically?" 

"She means eat 'em alive, sir," laughed Jef- 

"We won't do that," said Jim, with a shake of 
his head. "All we can hope to do is hold them 
where they are. Is n't Gil playing a peach of a 
game? And Poke, too? Did you see him go 
through for that touch-down? He was like a 
human battering-ram !" 

"How 's Gary doing ?" asked Jeffrey. 

"Putting up a great game ; playing a heap bet- 
ter than Sargent, I think. But I suppose that 's 
natural enough. Sargent 's captain, and that 
always puts a chap off his game, they say. If I 
was that Hawthorne quarter, I 'd plug away at 
Parker and Sargent, and I '11 bet I 'd make some 
bully gains." 

"They probably will this half," said Jeffrey. 
"Their coach has probably seen just what you 
have. Somebody ought to tell Gould, too, that 
he is punting too low. He does n't give his ends 
a chance to get down the field. We 've gained 
every time on exchange of kicks." 

At that moment a voice cried, "Hazard! Haz- 
ard! Is Hazard here?" 

Jim jumped to his feet and answered. A sub- 
stitute player in a much begrimed uniform ran 
up. "Johnny wants to see you at the gym," he 
called. "Right away !" 

"What the dickens does he want?" muttered 
Jim. "Keep my seat for me, Jeff." 

He found the locker-room in wild confusion. 
Rubbers were busy with strains and bruises ; 
twenty fellows were talking at once ; the air was 
heavy with the fumes of alcohol and liniment. 
Johnny was deep in conversation with captain 
and manager. 

"You wanted to see me?" asked Jim, pushing 
his way through the crowd. 

"Yes, I do ! Look here, Hazard, where do you 


"Yes," replied Johnny, impatiently. "Is n't 
there any way you can play this half?" 

"I 'm afraid not," answered Jim. "Mr. Gordon 
wired that I 'd have to take an exam before I 
could play." 

"You did n't take it?" 

"No, sir. There was n't any way to take it 
that I knew of." 

Johnny looked at Sargent questioningly. "You 
would n't risk it, would you?" he asked, in a low 
voice. Sargent shook his head emphatically. 
Vol. XXXIX.— 75. 

"I 'd be afraid to. J. G. 's a tartar about that 
sort of thing. Better try Needham." 

"All right." Johnny nodded to Jim. "Sorry. 
Thought maybe you could manage somehow to 
help us out. Better not go against the faculty, 

"I 'm willing to risk it if you need me," re- 
plied Jim, quietly. 

"I won't have it," said Sargent, decisively. 
"You 'd get fired as sure as fate, Hazard. Much 
obliged, just the same." 

"Time 's up !" called Johnny. 

Jim walked back to the field despondently. If 
they had given him any encouragement, he told 
himself, he 'd have risked J. G.'s displeasure and 
played. When he reached his seat, Jeffrey asked: 

"What was it, Jim?" 

"Nothing much. Johnny thought maybe I could 
play in this half. They 're taking Parker out. 
Needham 's going in. He will be twice as bad 
as Parker, I guess." 

"Did n't Johnny know?" 

"About me? Yes, but he seemed to think I 
might have taken an exam. I don't see how I 
could have, do you?" 

Jeffrey shook his head. "No, I don't." Jim 
glanced along to find Mr. Hanks peering inter- 
estedly through his spectacles. 

"Do I understand, Jim," he asked, "that you 
could play if you passed an examination?" 

"Yes, sir,T suppose so. That 's what Mr. Gor- 
don wired, you know." 

"Do they— er— need you, do you think?" 

"They seem to think so," answered Jim. "They 
want a fellow to take Parker's place." 

"Well— well— " Mr. Hanks's eyes snapped be- 
hind the thick lenses of his glasses — "do you 
think you could pass an examination now ?" 

"Now!" exclaimed Jim. "Why— why— do you 

"I mean now!" repeated Mr. Hanks, crisply. 
"Now and here !" 

"Yes, sir!" 

"Then I '11 examine you, and if you pass—" 

"Jeff," cried Jim, as he jumped to his feet, 
"run over and tell Johnny to find some one to 
take my place on the line. Tell him I 'm taking 
my exam ! Tell him to get me some togs, and 
I '11 be ready to play in—" he stopped and looked 
at Mr. Hanks. 

"Fifteen minutes !" said the instructor. 

Chapter XIV 


Hawthorne began to hammer the left side of 
Crofton's line at the start. Gould hurled his backs 




time and again at Needham and Sargent. Gain 
after gain was made, Needham proving no harder 
to penetrate than Parker had been. Sargent was 
a tougher proposition, but even he was weaken- 
ing. The first ten minutes of the third quarter 
was a rout for Crofton. From their forty yards 
to Crofton's twenty-five, the Hawthorne players 
swept, and then, just when success seemed within 
their grasp, a fumble lost them the ball. Poke 
reeled off twelve yards through the center of the 
Hawthorne line, and Smith and Benson plugged 
away for another down. Then Hawthorne held 
stubbornly, and Arnold kicked. After that, Haw- 
thorne came back again, slowly but surely, bang- 
ing the left guard and tackle positions for gain 
on gain, and now and then sending Gould on an 
end run for the sake of variety. Both teams 
were tiring now, and the playing was slower. 
Smith was hurt, and a substitute went in for him. 
With two minutes of the third period remaining, 
the ball was down on Crofton's eighteen-yard 
line, and the crimson-and-gray was almost in her 
last ditch. Had Gould chosen to try a goal from 
field there, he might have tied the score, but the 
plucky little general was out for a victory and 
insisted on a touch-down. He himself took the 
ball for a plunge through left tackle, and got by 
for three yards. Then a delayed pass went 
wrong, and before another play could be brought 
off, the whistle sounded. 

At that minute, over behind a corner of the 
Crofton grand stand, Mr. Hanks nodded his head 

"You pass, Hazard," he said. 

Five minutes later, Johnny had Jim by the arm, 
and was leading him along the side-line. 

"Wait till this play is over," he said. "Then 
go in for Needham. Get the jump on those fel- 
lows and break it up ! Understand ? Break it 
up! You can do it; any one can with an ounce 
of ginger. There you are ! Scoot !" 

And Jim scooted ! 

"Left tackle, sir !" he cried to the umpire. 
That official nodded. Needham, panting and 
weak, yielded his head-gear and walked off to 
receive his meed of cheering. Arnold thumped 
Jim on the back ecstatically. 

"Oh, look who 's here !" he yelled shrilly. 
"Well, well, well ! Now let 's stop 'em, Crofton !" 

"Look out for the left half on a cross-buck," 
whispered Sargent from between swollen lips. 
"And get low, Hazard. We Ve got to get this, 
you know; we 've got to get it !" 

"All right," answered Jim, quietly, eying his 
antagonist shrewdly. "Here 's where we put 'em 
out of business." 

"Hello, son," said the opposing tackle as the 

lines set again. "How 'd they let you in? Watch 
out now, I 'm coming through !" 

But he did n't. Jim beat him by a fraction of 
a second, and was pushing him back before he 
knew what had happened. Sargent, having no 
longer to play two positions, braced wonderfully. 
In three plays Hawthorne discovered that the 
left of her opponent's line was no longer a gate- 
way. Learning that fact cost her the possession 
of the ball, for she missed her distance by a half- 
foot. Crofton hurled Poke at left guard, and 
piled him through for four yards. Then came a 
mix-up in the signals in which Smith's substitute 
hit Hawthorne's line without the ball. Arnold 
kicked, but his leg was getting tired, and Gould 
got the oval twenty yards down the field. On 
Crofton's forty-yard mark, Gould got off a short 
forward pass that took the team over two white 
lines. Then an end run netted nothing, and again 
Gould kicked. Benson got under the ball, caught 
it, dropped it, tried to recover it, and was bowled 
aside by a Hawthorne forward, who snuggled the 
pigskin beneath him on Crofton's twelve-yard 
line. Two plunges netted nothing, and Gould fell 
back for a kick from the twenty-eight-yard line. 
Although half the Crofton team managed to 
break through, and though Gil absolutely tipped 
the ball with his fingers, the oval flew fair and 
square across the bar, and Hawthorne had again 
tied the score ! 

With only three minutes to play, the teams 
took their places, and Sargent kicked off. Gil 
and Tearhey again downed Gould in his tracks. 
A try at a forward pass failed, and an on-side 
kick went out at Crofton's forty-five yards. The 
ball was brought in, and Arnold pegged at Haw- 
thorne's center for twelve yards. A fumble by 
Gil was recovered by a Hawthorne end, and 
again the orange-and-black started for the Crof- 
ton goal. But there was little time left now, and 
along the side-lines it was agreed that the con- 
test would end in a tie. When two minutes re- 
mained and the ball was in Hawthorne's posses- 
sion on her opponent's thirty-eight yards, after 
two exchanges of punts, Gould dashed off around 
Gil's end of the line, and, with good interference, 
gained almost fifteen yards. Hawthorne took 
heart at this, and her cheers boomed across the 
field. A plunge at right tackle gave her five 
more. Then the unexpected happened. 

Gould dropped back into kicking position, but 
when the ball went to him, he poised it, and 
waited to find his end to make a forward pass. 
Jim, hurling himself past his opponent, dodged 
a back, and before Gould could get the ball away, 
was upon him. Down went the little quarter, and 
away bobbed the ball. An instant of wild scram- 




bling, and then Jim was on his feet again, the 
ball was scooped up into his arms, and he was 
off with a clear field ahead ! 

After him came the pursuit, foe and friend 
alike strung back along the gridiron. Past the 
fifty-five-yard line, and still well ahead, Jim 
edged in toward the middle of the field. Then 
Gould, making what was his pluckiest effort of 
all that long, hard-fought game, almost reached 
him. But behind Gould was Gil, and Gil it was 
who, just as the quarter-back's arms stretched 
out to bring Jim to earth, threw himself in front 
of the enemy. Over they went together, rolling 
and kicking, and Jim, with his breath almost 
gone, staggered and fell across the goal-line. 

What if Andy LaGrange, called on to kick the 
goal in place of Sargent, did miss it by yards 

and yards ? The game was won ! For another 
year the crimson-and-gray held the champion- 
ship ! 

Crofton was still shouting, still waving, still 
cavorting, when LaGrange missed that goal, and 
still at it when, after two plays, the final whistle 
sounded. Hope, standing on the seat, flourished 
her flag wildly. 

"Is n't it perfectly jimmy?" she cried, looking 
down at Mr. Hanks and her mother. 

Mr. Hanks, beaming with satisfaction through 
his spectacles, assented. "It is. We— er— as you 
would say, 'gobbled them up !' " 

"Did n't we just? And did n't Jim do beauti- 
fully, Mr. Hanks?" 

Mr. Hanks nodded slowly. "Yes," he replied, 
"your brother passed a very creditable, if some- 
what hurried, examination." 






Chapter X 


As I stood amid the young officers aboard the 
Good Will, I felt much embarrassed, as my blush- 
ing face must have shown, for one of them 
stepped forward and addressed me most politely : 

"You must excuse our manners, Mistress- 

"My name is Beatrice Travers," I said. 

"And mine is plain Guy Vernon, at your ser- 
vice," he returned. "These others are mostly 
lords of one sort or another, and, as you are like 
to be with us for some time, 't is fitting you should 
know them." Whereupon, with much ceremony 
and many low bows, he named them one after 
another. Each in his turn doffed his hat to me, 
and I courtesied the best I knew ; and though, 
perhaps, there was a smile here and there among 
them, they did not mock me, and behaved as 
English gentlemen should to one who had come 
among them, e'en though it was from a rebel 
ship. 'T is fitting that I should say here that, 
while I was on the Good Will, these young offi- 
cers treated me with every kindness, and one, in- 
deed, proved a friend in need. 

Once more, after this introduction, they began 
to ask me questions, but were again cut short by 
the officer who had brought me aboard. He was 
Lord Bedford, heir to one of the great dukedoms, 
but 't was not on that account that his commands 
were heeded. 

" 'T is gloomy weather when Bedford 's in 
charge," Mr. Vernon explained. "He is so mon- 
strous earnest." 

"One would think 't was a real war to see him 
act the martinet," exclaimed another. 

"And is it not a real war?" I asked in surprise, 
at which they all laughed heartily. 

"Nay, Mistress Travers," said Mr. Vernon, 
smiling; "it hath all the words of a war, I grant 
you, and there have been many declarations of 
this or that; but what can a few colonists do 
without an army, without a navy, and without a 
leader? 'T is no war, but a lark; and I, for one, 
hope they come early to their senses, for I have 
visited among them and like their ways. When 
all 's said and done, they 're Englishmen, like the 
rest of us, and it 's far from pleasant to have to 
kill your brothers because they have taken wry. 
notions into their heads." 

"Enough, Vernon," one of them called. "Stop 

your talk of politics and your croaking that there 
will be no war. Send it may last long enough to 
gain promotion for some of us at least. Other- 
wise these old topers of the quarter-deck will live 

Then they all began to talk among themselves, 
and divided into little groups, for 't was evident 
that they would have to wait to satisfy their curi- 

"Vernon," said Lord Bedford, "I will leave the 
prisoner in your care, to be produced when Sir 
John is ready to receive her." And with that he, 
too, went off. 

" 'T is a weighty charge," said Mr. Vernon, 
seriously. "May I ask you, Mistress Prisoner, to 
give me your word that you will not try to escape, 
otherwise I fear I shall have to put you in irons." 

"Am I really a prisoner?" I asked. 

"You heard the earnest Bedford," Mr. Vernon 
replied ; "but 't is not likely you can escape far 
from the ship, and aboard here we are so 
crowded, there is scarce room for a mouse to 
hide. The truth is we 're no war-ship, but a 
transport. 'T will be a comfort when we join the 
fleet and get rid of these landlubbers." 

With that, Mr. Vernon led me below to a large 
cabin, and, after some trouble, I fancy, he found 
me a sleeping place which, though but a cubby- 
hole, was comfortable enough for one small maid. 
I then asked to have my portmanteau, but that 
was denied me until my interview with the great 
Sir John should be over. 

Of him I had some fear, for in our talk Mr. 
Vernon dropped a hint now and then that the 
commander was not all a gentleman should be; 
that with his inferiors he was like to be a boor, 
while he was servile to those above him. 

It was nigh eleven o'clock when, at last, I was 
summoned before the great man, and, as I went, 
Mr. Vernon gave me a final word of caution. 

"I wish, Mistress Beatrice, for the credit of the 
navy, that you were going before another than 
Sir John, but here 's a hint : don't seem to fear 
him, or he will try to crush you. Take your cour- 
age in your two hands and talk back to him. If, 
by any chance, you have a relation with a title 
hooked to his name, let it out early; 't will help. 
Now go, and good luck to you." 

It was with a beating heart that I entered the 
cabin where a group of older officers stood about 
the head of the table, at which was seated a 
coarse, red-faced man, whom I rightly took to be 




Sir John. His head was bent, but as I entered he 
looked at me from under his brows and glared 

Lord Bedford was standing and was speaking 
when I drew near. 

"We saw the ship blown up, Sir John, and im- 
mediately sent two boats, in one of which I went 
myself. We picked up the maid here, and Lieu- 
tenant Trelawney went on to investigate. He re- 
ports that there was no sign of any one else, and 
that, except for a little wreckage on the shore, 
he found nothing. There was no evidence of any 
one having landed." 

"Do you mean to tell me they blew up the ship 
with all hands?" growled Sir John, not looking at 
Lord Bedford, but staring at me beneath his 

"It seems likely," was the answer, "for the 
boats were all at their davits except the one this 
maid came in ; of that there is no doubt." 

"A fool's tale !" Sir John snapped. "Hold, and 
let me question the girl. Now, miss, the truth, 
or 't will be the worse for you. Tell us how 
came this accident to the Bouncing Betsey." 

" 'T was not an accident," I answered, as calmly 
as I could. " 'T was by design." 

"How know you that?" he demanded. 

"I heard the captain talk about it to Mr. Green, 
the mate. He said he would send her to the bot- 
tom with all hands before he would let you take 

"Did the men leave the ship before or after 
you?" was his next question, and his eye had a 
cunning look in it as if he thought to trap me. 

"I saw none leave the ship before or after," I 

"But 't is unbelievable !" cried Sir John, an- 
grily. "The shore was scarce a mile away. They 
could have escaped to the land." 

"They feared the troops ashore," I put in vol- 
untarily, for I knew that Captain Timmons 
wished those on board the Good Will to believe 
that all hands had gone down. 

"So they knew that, did they?" said Sir John, 
more to himself than to any one else. "I would 
like to know how they found out"; then, seeming 
to break into a sudden rage, he brought his fist 
down on the table with a resounding thwack. 

"I 11 not believe I 'm to be balked by a lot of 
rascally rebels !" he shouted. 

"But, Sir John," one of the officers put in 
mildly, "it can scarce make any great difference. 
The powder is lost to them, and if the men have 
got ashore, which seems monstrous doubtful, 
they will be captured within two hours of their 

"But the powder is the smallest part of it !" 

cried Sir John. "They carried aboard their ship 
something that meant more than ten times the 
powder." He rose from his chair and began 
pacing the room, glowering fiercely all the while ; 
and the others stood in silence, shifting from one 
foot to another and seeming as uncomfortable 
as I. 

At last Sir John stopped and addressed Lord 

"Was there aught else in the boat but this 

"There were some boxes and a portmanteau 
evidently holding her belongings. They are on 
deck awaiting your orders." 

"Have them searched at once," he commanded, 
"and bring me every bit of writing you can find. 
Look sharp, now, for this is no paltry matter of a 
few pounds of powder. 'T is not unlikely these 
scoundrelly rebels might make a messenger of the 
maid, thinking to trick us. Look to it, and bring 
me every scrap of writing that is found." 

As Lord Bedford hurried away to search the 
boxes, my heart sank, for I knew, if no one else 
in that room did, for what Sir John was looking. 
It was, of course, the paper Captain Timmons 
had been so much concerned about, and which, at 
that moment, was hidden in the little book of 
Moral Maxims in my portmanteau. Now, it 
seemed to me that Sir John would surely find it, 
and I trembled for fear of what was to come, but 
I hid my anxiety and tried to look as indifferent 
as I could, for I knew that he was searching my 
face to see if, perchance, I might betray any 
knowledge of what he had hinted at. I took my 
courage in my two hands as Mr. Vernon had 
bade me, and, for love of the cause of liberty 
with which Captain Timmons had imbued me, I 
determined to do my best to keep the secret; but 
in my heart I was fearful. 

While we waited, Sir John began to quiz me 

"Why were you on the ship at all?" he asked 

"I was going to my relative in America," I an- 

"And who is that ?" was his next question. 

"Mr. John Travers, of Germantown," I re- 
plied, and then, thinking of another hint Mr. 
Vernon had given me, I added, "the Travers are 
cousins to Lord Harborough and to Sir Horace 
Travers of Kent." 

I watched to see how he would receive this 
news, and was glad to note that it had made an 
impression, for he looked at me more closely than 
before, and stopped in his walk up and down the 

"Is your relative the Lord Harborough who 




lately married with the daughter of His Grace 
the Duke of Beaumont?" he said with a hint at a 
sneer, but I could see that, although he was not 
inclined to believe me, he was uncertain. 

" 'T is the same," I replied ; "and it was be- 
cause of the marriage that I am going to my 
cousin, Mr. Travers." 

"A rigmarole," Sir John shouted. "Think you 
I believe such a tale from a waif picked up from 
a rebel ship? Stuff! Is Harborough like to have 
his cousins half over the world? I tell you 
plainly, girl, I do not believe you." 

His doubting made me very angry all in a min- 

"Nevertheless it is true as is all else I have 
told you," I retorted, and I could feel my face 
flushing, which he noted as well, for his manner 
became a little more civil. 

"Who is this relative to whom you are going?" 
he asked, after a moment's thought. 

" 'T is Mr. Travers, of Germantown." 

"What kind of a man is he?" was the next 

"I know but little of him except that he is an 
old gentleman and is reputed well to do." 

"Of Germantown," Sir John muttered, repeat- 
ing my words. And then he looked about the 
company in the cabin as if in search for some 

"Where is Mr. Vernon?" he demanded. A 
messenger went out of the cabin hurriedly, and a 
moment later entered again with Mr. Vernon, 
who stepped up to Sir John, saluting in the naval 

"I have heard that you have lately visited in 
the colonies, Mr. Vernon," Sir John began, "and 
that you had acquaintance with many people in 
Philadelphia. Did you by any chance ever come 
up with a Mr. Travers, of Germantown?" 

"Oh, yes," answered Mr. Vernon; "Jack Trav- 
ers I knew very well, indeed." 

"Is he, mayhap, a rebel ?" asked Sir John. 

"I fear so, Sir John," answered Mr. Vernon. 
" 'T is only to be expected from a hot-headed 
young fellow with plenty of money." 

"Young fellow?" demanded Sir John. 

"Why, yes," said Mr. Vernon. "He came into 
his majority but last year. I was at the supper, 
and a good one it was, too." 

But no one paid the slightest attention to the 
last remark, for Sir John had turned on me furi- 

"So, miss," he roared, "your old Mr. Travers 
turns out to be a young, hot-headed rebel ! I did 
well to doubt you, and I believe you have that for 
which I am looking, in spite of your childish 
ways and your seeming ignorance about it." 

And then, as if to put a cap to all my woes, 
Lord Bedford came in hurriedly and handed my 
little book of Moral Maxims to Sir John, who 
snatched it eagerly. But I covered my face with 
my hands, for very shame that my word had 
seemingly been proved false and that the paper 
was like to be discovered. 

When I had gained control of myself suffi- 
ciently to take my hands from my face, I saw 
Sir John again seated at the table with my book 
before him. 

He regarded it curiously for a moment or two, 
taking particular interest in the worked cover, so 
that my heart stood still, for fear he should dis- 
cover the paper hidden therein. Then, to my 
great relief, he picked it up and ruffled the leaves, 
expecting, no doubt, that what he looked for 
would fall out. Failing in this, he began to go 
through it, leaf by leaf, but I noted that here and 
there he stopped to read what had been written, 
and, as he read, the scowl on his face grew deeper 
and deeper. 

All in the room watched him, I, you may be 
sure, closest of all ; and when, at last, he came to 
the end and shut the little volume with a bang, 
I had all I could do to keep back an audible sigh 
of relief. 

Sir John glared at me, and then faced Lord 

"Was there naught else?" he asked. 

"Nay, Sir John," was the answer. "There was 
no other writing, and we searched her boxes 

Once more the commander turned his attention 
to me. 

"So, cousin to Lord Harborough," he began, 
with a sneer, "you are naught better than a rebel 
spy. Why, there is enough treason in this book 
of yours to hang a dozen men ! Take her away, 
Bedford, and have an eye kept on her till we 
come up with the rest of the fleet; then back to 
England we will ship her, where I have no doubt 
she will soon find other cousins a-plenty." 

Lord Bedford nodded to Mr. Vernon, who 
stepped forward to lead me away; but I was in a 
panic at the thought of being sent back to Eng- 
land, with the fear added that I should not be 
able to deliver that paper after all. I knew not 
what to do, but my desire was to have back my 
property, so I stepped forward and held out my 

"I want my book," I said, as resolutely as I 
could. "The book that Granny gave me." 

"Oh! you want your book, do you?" Sir John 
mocked. "Well, get that whimsy out of your 
head; I shall keep it. It will make interesting 
reading for Admiral Howe when we join him." 




"Bift 't is mine, and you have no right to it !" 
I burst out recklessly, for I was become fair des- 
perate, and felt I must have the book, not alone 
because of my fondness for it, but for what it 

"Right! right!" shouted Sir John, as if he 
scarce believed his ears; "you talk to me of 
right ? Look you here, girl, 't is my right to clap 
you in irons for a rebel wench, with a cock-and- 
bull story of being cousin to Lord Harborough. 
Don't prate to me of right, and be off with you." 

" T is no Englishman, but a brute you are !" I 
cried, and would have gone on but that Mr. Ver- 
non, catching me by the shoulder, whirled me 
round and gave me a little push toward the door. 

"Hush," he whispered, "or you 're like to land 
in the brig. Save your breath, for 't is not Sir 
John who has the last word." 

Chapter XI 


Mr. Vernon led me on deck and found a place 
for me to sit on one of the gun-carriages. He 
tried his best to console me, but, at first, I would 
not listen to him, being angered as never before 
in my life, and at my wit's end what to do, for 
I must have the book. Finally, seeing that I paid 
not the slightest heed to him, he spoke of it. 

"And how have I offended, Mistress Pris- 
oner?" he asked, assuming a most humble pos- 

"Was it not you who shamed me before them 
all by saying that Mr. Travers was a young man, 
when you know it is otherwise ?" I burst out. 
"They all believe that I have not spoken the 
truth, because you, forsooth, did not tell it." 

"But Mr. Travers is a young man," he insisted 
with a smile, and as I looked at his face I knew 
that he was not lying, though it seemed impossi- 
ble to believe. 

"Are you sure?" I asked anxiously, for here 
was another source of trouble for me. 

"Oh, yes, I am quite sure," he answered, "and, 
to speak plainly, Mistress Beatrice, it did seem a 
trifle strange to me that you should be going out 
to him, though / never doubted your word." 

"But he has a father?" I pleaded. 

"Nay, his father died a year or so ago, leaving 
only John Travers, the son, who has just come of 
age," replied Mr. Vernon, and from that I saw 
how the mistake had happened. 

Aunt Prudence had thought she had written to 
old Mr. Travers, knowing nothing of a son, and, 
the names being alike, the young man had an- 
swered, never realizing that she was unaware of 
his father's death. Here was a further compli- 

cation. It might well be that an old man would 
take in a girl when he expected a boy, but what 
would a young man think of it? His letter to 
Granny showed all too plainly. "I will take one 
of the boys, but, as I have no wife, I cannot take 
a maid." 

"What shall I do !" I exclaimed, more to my- 
self than to Mr. Vernon; but he answered quickly 
and sympathetically, for he must have seen that 
my distress was deep indeed. 

"If you will tell me all about it," he said, in a 
most kindly way, "mayhap I can help ; and, under 
any circumstances, I promise no one else shall 
know of it ; but if, perchance, you hold any rebel 
secrets such as Sir John seems to suspect, keep 
them. Tell but about yourself, Mistress Beatrice, 
for you are n't a very big girl, after all, and you 
do seem to have more than your share of trou- 

So then and there, I told Mr. Vernon how I 
had come to leave home, and about Mr. Van der 
Heist shipping me off to a relative of whom we 
knew very little ; but I said naught of the paper 
hidden in the book of Maxims, for reasons which 
any one will understand. 

" 'T is easy to see how you have been mistaken 
about Mr. Travers," he said, "and there is no 
need to be downhearted about it. You '11 find 
Admiral Howe a very different person from Sir 
John, and with him will rest the decision, for, 
whatever was aboard the Bouncing Betsey that 
Sir John is seeking, it seems to be of such impor- 
tance that a report is to be made to Lord Howe." 

Now that was the first of many long talks I 
had with Mr. Vernon. 

That afternoon, a good wind sprang up. The 
sailors set the sails, and we bore down the coast; 
but the wind freshening constantly, the ship was 
headed out to sea, and before long we lost sight 
of land again. 

That night a great storm came up, and we were 
blown out of our course, so that it was near a 
week before we made the rendezvous off New 
York. In that time, I became quite friendly with 
the younger officers, and was made much of 
among them. Mr. Vernon, in particular, seemed 
to have taken a liking to me, and it was from 
him I learned what took place on the Good Will 
after we saw her in the Thames. It seemed that 
when Lord Howe's great fleet was preparing, the 
Good Will had been sent to London to refit, and 
that there had been general instructions to detain 
all American vessels, but no special word about 
the Bouncing Betsey. 

Captain Timmons had fooled them all com- 
pletely, except Bedford, who was the officer with 
the trumpet. He had insisted upon stopping us, 



but the others, certain that any vessel that mani- 
fested such enthusiasm over one of His Majesty's 
ships must be honest, had laughed at the idea that 
she was an American. Moreover, they were anx- 
ious to get to London without delay, for they 
knew that they were soon to sail again, and 
grudged the time necessary to investigate us. 

Once in London, however, the news of what 
we were reached them as soon as they came to 
anchor, and so chagrined was the admiralty that 
we had gotten clear, that the man who had then 
been in command of the Good Will had been dis- 
missed from the service, and Sir John put in his 

They all seemed to think that this was a great 
pother to make over the escape of a trading ves- 
sel ; but it had become evident that she carried 
something of great importance, for the Good 
Will was provisioned with all speed, and sent off 
to capture her at any cost. They had guessed 
that the Betsey would not sail to her accustomed 
port, and this was borne out by the reports of 
two ships that had sighted us (for the Good Will 
had halted every vessel she met to get news of 
us). So they had followed, scarce more than a 
day behind, but we had had good luck until the 
wind failed, and then the capture was certain. 
"We should have boarded you that afternoon," 
said Mr. Vernon, "but 't is ever our witless way 
to wait until the morrow, so we put it off, think- 
ing we had you safe caught, and gave your Cap- 
tain Timmons a chance to do — " he shrugged — 
"I know not what ! 

"Sir John, I fancy, was none too pleased to 
find his prize sunk and its crew dispersed, 
whether drowned or not makes little odds. So, 
young lady," he ended, "you are all he has to 
show for his trouble, and he is like to make you 
out something of importance to justify himself." 

This, you may be sure, was far from pleasing 
news to me, and Mr. Vernon, although he en- 
couraged me to be brave and hope for the best, 
felt near certain that, in the end, I would be sent 
back to England, unless, by some chance or other, 
they found what they were looking for, in which 
case they might let me off, as having no further 

Of Sir John I saw very little. He was too 
great a man, or at least so thought himself, to be 
at all intimate with his inferiors aboard the ship, 
and contented himself with staying in his own 
quarters, only coming up occasionally to pace the 
quarter-deck, scowling at everything. 

At dinner, however, he always sat at the head 
of the long table, and I, placed among the 
younger officers, at the foot, tried not to attract 
his attention, for I knew I had made an enemy 

of him and thought it best not to intrude my 
presence. He, however, had not forgotten me, 
and occasionally, usually at some pert sally of 
mine which had brought peals of laughter from 
the young officers, he would look down the table 
and frown; but, as a rule, the gentlemen at the 
head did not trouble about us at the foot, so I was 
teased and spoiled by turns by the gay young 
fellows, who were glad enough to have something 
to amuse them. 

Dinner was a very serious and ceremonious 
affair on board the Good Will, the officers all ap- 
pearing in full dress and standing at attention 
until Sir John took his seat, so that it was indeed 
imposing; and I put on my best fallals, feeling 
very grown-up and important. It was, of course, 
proper for me to leave the table with the sweets, 
and I would make my courtesy to those near me, 
many of whom would rise at my going and salute 
me most gravely, although this I liked not, for it 
always brought Sir John's scowl. 

Chapter XII 


All this time, you may be sure, there was hardly 
a moment when the question how to regain my 
precious book of Maxims was not in my mind. 
The more I heard, the more certain I became of 
the value of the paper hidden therein, and the 
more needful it became that I should recover it. 
I appreciated that if the English had gone to 
such trouble to get it as to send a ship of the line 
after the Bouncing Betsey, then surely it must 
be equally important to the colonies. Everything 
that Mr. Vernon told me confirmed this, and, 
moreover, I was sensible enough to know that Sir 
John would not have paid so much attention to 
me unless he believed that in some way I was get- 
ting the better of him in a grave matter. 

But, on second thought, I was not getting the 
better of him by any means ; for, although he 
knew it not, the paper was in his possession, and 
at any time might be discovered. Also, I dared 
not put too much stress upon its recovery, nor 
continue making demands for it ; that would only 
serve to excite suspicion, and they might go to 
the length of cutting the book apart to find out 
why I was so anxious to have it back. I spoke of 
it to Mr. Vernon once or twice, explaining that 
I had had it all my life, and treasured it on that 
account. He cautioned me to be patient, ex- 
pressing the belief that sooner or later it would 
be returned; but he was by no means certain. 

"You and that book are all they have to show 
for an eight weeks' chase across the ocean," he 
said; "and be sure they '11 make the most of it." 

Vol. XXXIX.— 76-77. 


(SEE PAGE 597.) 




So it was with a great deal of anxiety on my 
own account, and also on account of the little 
book, that the days passed while I waited the 
ordeal that would come to me when I faced the 
admiral of the fleet, toward which we were hur- 

At length one beautiful morning, we sighted 
land, which Mr. Vernon said was the Long Is- 
land ; and soon afterward we entered a broad, 
beautiful bay in which were all manner of ships 
at anchor, for here lay the English fleet over 
which Admiral Lord Howe had command. I 
shall never forget what a wondrous sight it was. 
There were many ships of the line, huge, stately 
vessels with masts that seemed to reach into the 
blue heavens, and peaceful enough they looked, 
riding at anchor on the sparkling waters, in spite 
of the guns showing through the ports. Flags 
were a-flying everywhere, and boats of all sizes 
were running from one ship to another, so that 
the bay had a most busy look. 

Aboard the Good Will there was much bustling 
about. Everything had been made clean and 
bright, the officers all had on their best uni- 
forms, and the sailors, too, were dressed for the 
occasion. The ship herself was bedecked from 
stem to stern with flags, and a gay appearance 
we must have presented, for many cheers came 
to us as we sailed to our station. As the great 
ship headed into the wind, the sailors manned 
the yards and the salutes to the admiral boomed 
out across the water. We came to rest amid the 
echoes of the answering guns. 

Immediately Sir John appeared on deck, clad 
in a gorgeous uniform. A boat was put over the 
side, and, in a twinkling, our commander was 
being rowed to the flag-ship to make the report 
that was to decide my fate. 

I stood against the bulwarks looking across the 
water, and watched him mount the ladder and 
disappear, my heart heavy with the thought of 
what was to come. I was near to weeping, for I 
felt my courage ebbing away rapidly and despair 
taking its place. As I stood there, Mr. Vernon 
came and leaned on the rail beside me. 

"Nay, be not so downhearted," he said, noting 
the dismal look upon my face; "at worst it will 
only be a return to England." 

"And what could be worse?" I cried out. "No 
one wants me there, and here I am treated like a 
criminal. None believe what I say. I am bad- 
gered and beset till I scarce know what I am 
about. No one but a fool like Sir John would 
treat a maid so." 

"Nay, get that notion out of your small head," 
Mr'. -Vernon returned. "I '11 grant you he lacks 
manners, especially to his inferiors; but he 's far 

from being a fool, my lady. He is one of the 
best officers in His Majesty's navy, and Lord 
Howe thinks much of his opinion." 

"In that case I am lost," I cried. "Sir John 
will make it out that I am the worst rebel that 
ever lived." 

"Now you are running to the other extreme," 
said Mr. Vernon, with a smile. "Lord Howe is 
no fool either, and, knowing all the circum- 
stances, he is as able as another to put two and 
two together. He will take Sir John's chagrin 
and disappointment into consideration when he 
listens to the tale. I know not how it will turn 
out, but. the admiral can be counted on to deal 
fairly by all, in so far as any human being is 
able to do that." 

"Do you think Lord Howe will want to see me 
soon ?" I asked, for it is ever my desire to be 
done with disagreeable tasks. 

"I should expect them to send for you at any 
minute," he answered, and then looked at me 
very critically for a space, so that I wondered 
what was in his mind. 

"I hope you will know me the next time we 
meet, sir," I said saucily, for his eyes searched 
me up and down, and I felt embarrassed. 

"Do not jest," he returned gravely, "I am 
thinking of your good. Have you any other 
gowns ?" 

"Why, yes, to be sure," I answered, surprised 
at such a question. "Must I put on my best to 
visit Lord Howe?" 

"Nay," he returned quickly, "that you must not 
do ; but here is a suggestion I would take were I 
in your place : put on the plainest dress you have, 
and, if you can make yourself look younger, I 
would advise it. How to do it I leave you to con- 
trive, but the more childish you seem, the more 
likely are you to get your way, for, you see, Sir 
John will try to make you out older and more re- 
sponsible than you are, and if you appear very 
young, that will be a point in your favor at once." 

I understood, and saw the wisdom of his sug- 
gestion. Since I had been on the ship, it had 
been my desire to seem older perhaps than I 
really was ; for, though I think I was not a very 
vain or silly girl, I confess I had spared no pains 
to make myself appear grown up. It was but 
natural, as I was the only child among many who 
were older. To effect this I had always worn 
my richest petticoats and ruffles and tuckers, and 
dressed my hair as much like Aunt Prudence's as 
I could manage, though, to be sure, I had never 
dared to powder it. To make myself look younger 
than I had appeared on the Good Will was not 
difficult, for I had little calamanco smocks 
a-plenty, for morning wear about the house. In 




one of these, with my hair in curls, I would look 
child-like enough. 

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Vernon," I said to him. 
"I see what you would he at, and shall make my- 
self ready at once," and I was about to go to my 
cabin when he spoke again. 

"Oh, another thing, Mistress Beatrice !" he 
cautioned. "Do not be saucy nor talk back. 

The boat fairly danced over the water, and 
when at length I was landed on the flag-ship, I 
was taken at once below and ushered into a 
splendid cabin. Here were seated many officers, 
among whom was Sir John, and there was some 
talking going forward, for those who were with 
me held me at the entrance till an opportune mo- 
ment should present itself for me to enter. 


Tears are much more becoming to a child, under 
some circumstances, and the admiral is not Sir 

"I understand," I replied, "but Sir John angers 
me so that 't is all I can do to hold my tongue. 
You know they call me Bee at home, not only be- 
cause it 's short for Beatrice, but because Hal 
says I have a little sting, which is my tongue ; 
but I shall try to keep it in check," and with that 
I ran off to change my dress. 

I was scarce ready when the summons came, 
and I went at once on deck to find a boat await- 
ing to take me to the flag-ship. 

Mr. Vernon saw me, and there was a twinkle 
in his eye. 

"T is capital!" he whispered as I passed him, 
and I felt somewhat heartened as I went down 
over the side and started off to learn my fate. 

I knew at once which must be Lord Howe, for 
he sat at the head of the table, and those about 
him showed plainly that his was the deciding 
voice in all matters. 

Presently at a lull in the talk I was brought 
forward, and the man in charge of me told them 
who I was. 

At once there was a craning of necks, as I 
stood before them looking as demure as I could. 
For a moment there was silence, and then, as if 
at a signal, they all burst into a roar of laughter, 
all, that is, save Sir John and Lord Howe, though 
there was a smile about the latter's lips. 

"And is this the blood-thirsty rebel you cap- 
tured, Sir John ?" one gentleman called out, slap- 
ping the table with his open hand. "Had we not 
better have a company of marines to guard us 
from so dangerous a foe, Your Lordship?" 



"My faith, Sir John !" cried another, " 't is well 
you had the Good Will. Any smaller ship would 
scarce have done for so daring an enterprise." 

I looked at Sir John, and his face was well- 
nigh purple with rage. 

" 'T is a trick !" he shouted above the laughter. 
"The vixen is older than she looks." 

"Gentlemen! gentlemen!" called Lord Howe 
from the top of the table, and at once there was 
quiet. "Come hither," he went on in the most 
kindly voice, and I stepped forward at once and 
stood beside him. 

"How old are you, little maid?" he asked at 
length, and I answered truthfully that I was 

"You scarce look so old," he replied, and then, 
to Sir John, "but even twelve is no great age, 
think you ?" 

At that there was renewed merriment at Sir 
John's expense, and, though I could have laughed 
with joy to see him so baited, I kept a straight 
face and lowered eyes. 

"And now, my child," Lord Howe said, "sup- 
pose you tell us how you came to be upon this 
rebel ship." 

Amid silence, for all about the table seemed 
much interested in what I was saying, I told once 
more the tale of my coming to the Americas and 
the reasons for it. 

That my story was believed, in the main at 
least, was shown by the remarks that went 
around the table in regard to Mr. Van der Heist's 
behavior to me, and there were even several who 
blamed Granny for having let me go at all. 

But ere long, Sir John cut in harshly. 

"Your Lordship," he said, "I submit that this 
tale is scarce plausible. However, the point is 
this: I am convinced that the maid is the bearer 

of certain advices from those aboard the ship to 
those on land. How important those advices are 
we all know. I thought of course that she car- 
ried a written message, but, having searched her 
effects thoroughly and found nothing, I can only 
conclude that they planned to convey the news 
through her by word of mouth, not daring to 
trust the written document with her." 

"Nay, Your Lordship, I carry no such mes- 
sage," I burst out ere they questioned me ; and 
this was true, for I knew not at all what the pur- 
port of the letter was, and it certainly was not 
sent by word of mouth. 

"And I respectfully submit," said one gentle- 
man thoughtfully, "that they would hardly have 
sent a messenger into the lion's mouth." 

"The girl's truthfulness is already in question," 
Sir John cut in harshly. "By a lucky accident 
we discovered that the 'old Mr. Travers' she 
talked of was in fact a young man and a very 
active rebel. Those who made up the tale for 
her evidently did not count upon our having any 
one on board who knew Mr. Travers, and 
thought that her story would go unquestioned. 
If, therefore, we have found her tale false in one 
particular, what can we believe? Moreover, why 
run the risk? My suggestion is that under any 
circumstances we send her back to England with- 
out allowing her any communication with those 
on shore. She was found on a rebel ship, and I 
have no doubt she is a rebel spy. Surely there is 
enough treason in that book of hers to convict a 

"Aye, that book," said Lord Howe, musingly; 
"I should like to see it." 

Then for the first time in a week I saw my 
little volume of Maxims, as one of Sir John's 
aids handed it to the admiral. 

( To be continued. ) 


(" S-theiic Singsong 1 ') 


Sally Simm saw Sadie Slee 
Slowly, sadly swinging. 

"She seems sorrowful," said she. 
So she started singing. 

Sadie smiled; soon swiftly swung; 
Sitting straight, steered stiffly. 
"So !" said Sally, "something sung 
Scatters sunshine swiftly !" 


ew of the boys who read this 
article will become Big- 
League pitchers. The ma- 
jority of them probably have 
no such ambition. But nearly 
all boys play ball, and al- 
most all boy players wish, at 
some time, to be pitchers. 

The first necessity for a 
pitcher is to have con- 
trol of the ball. That can't be emphasized too 
strongly. A boy may be able to throw all the 
curves imaginable, but if he can't put the ball 
where he wants it, the batters keep walking 
around the bases, and he will never win any ball 
games. Therefore, I would, first of all, advise 
my young readers to practise accuracy, until they 
can place the ball just where they want to send it. 
Let them pitch to another boy, with a barn or a 
fence as a back-stop, and try to put one high, 
over the inside of the plate, the next low over the 
inside, and then high over the outside, and again 
low over the outside; and keep up this practice 
patiently until mastery of the control of the ball 
is obtained. A boy will find that even if he can't 
pitch a curve, but has good control, he will be 
able to win many more ball games than if he has 
a lot of benders, but no ability to put the ball 
where he wants it. 

There used to be a pitcher in the American 
League named "Al" Orth, who was called the 
"Curveless Wonder," because, it was said, he 
could n't throw a curve ball. But he had almost 
perfect control, and was able to pitch the ball 
exactly where he thought it would be hardest for 
the batter to hit it. The result was that, for sev- 
eral years, he was one of the best pitchers in the 
American League, with nothing but his control 
to fall back upon. But he studied the weaknesses 

of batters carefully — that is, he was constantly 
on the alert to discover what sort of a ball each 
batter could n't hit — and then he pitched in this 
"groove," as it is called in base-ball. 

When I was a boy about eight or nine years 
old, I lived in Factoryville, Pennsylvania, a little 
country town ; and I had a cousin, older than I, 
who was always studying the theory of throwing. 
I used to throw flat stones with him, and he 
would show me (I suppose almost every boy 
knows) that if a flat stone is started with the 
flat surface parallel to the ground, it will always 
turn over before it lands. That is, after it loses 
its speed, and the air-cushion fails to support it, 
the stone will turn over and drop down. The 
harder it is thrown, the longer the air sustains 
it, and the farther it will carry before it drops. 

My cousin showed me, also, that, if the hand 
were turned over, and the flat stone started with 
the flat surface at an acute angle to the earth, 
instead of parallel to it, the stone, instead of 
dropping, would curve horizontally. I began to 
practise this throw, and to make all sorts of ex- 
periments with stones. 

' I got to be a great stone thrower, and this 
practice increased my throwing power, and taught 
me something about curves. When I was nine 
years old, I could throw a stone farther than any 
of the boys who were my chums. Then I used to 
go out in the woods and throw at squirrels and 
blackbirds, and even sparrows ; and many a bag- 
ful of game I got with stones. But, when aim- 
ing at game, I always used round stones, as these 
can be thrown more accurately. 

All this time I was practising with stones, 
mainly for amusement ; I had n't played any base- 
ball, except "one old cat," with boys of my own 
age. As a matter of fact, I did n't think much 
about base-ball. Gradually, however, I became 





interested in it, and before long, I was allowed to 
stand behind the catcher when the Factoryville 
team was playing, and "shag" foul balls, or carry 
the bats or the water. For I was born with the 
base-ball instinct, and a '"mascot," or bat-boy, is 
the role in which many a ball-player has made his 

This Factoryville nine was composed of grown 
men, and it was not uncommon for small town 
teams to wear whiskers in those days. Many of 
the players, too, were really fat men. But, boy- 
like, I felt very important in being "connected 
with" this pretentious-looking club. My official 
name was "second catcher," which entitled me to 
no place in the batting order, but gave me a 
chance at all foul balls and other misplaced hits 
that none of the regular nine could reach. If I 
happened to catch a wild foul ball, I would often 
hear the spectators say, "That 's a pretty good 
kid. He il make a ball-player some day." But if 
I missed one, then it would be : "That kid 's pretty 
bad. He '11 never be a ball-player !" 

So, at the age of ten, I became a known factor 
in the base-ball circles of Factoryville, and might 
be said to have started on my career. 

My next step was learning to throw a curve 
with a base-ball, and one of the pitchers on the 
town team undertook to show me how this was 
done. He taught me to hold the ball for an out- 
curve, and then to snap my wrist to attain the 
desired result. After considerable practice, I 
managed to curve the ball, but I never knew 
where it was going. I used to get another young- 
ster, a little younger than I, up against a barn, 
with a big glove, and pitch to him for hours. At 
last, I attained fair control over this curve, and 
then I began practising what is known in the 
Big Leagues as "the fast ball," but what most 
boys call an "in-curve." 

Every boy knows that, if he grips a ball tightly 
and then throws it, with all his speed, off the ends 
of his fingers, the ball will curve in toward a 
right-handed batter slightly. This curve is easy 
to accomplish, as it is merely a matter of speed 
and letting the ball slide straight off the ends of 
the fingers, — the most natural way to throw. It 
does not require any snap of the wrist, but the 
bend of the curve is naturally slight, and that is 
the reason most Big Leaguers call it a fast ball, 
and do not recognize it as a curve. At the age of 
twelve, having no designs on the Big League, I 
called it the "in-curve," and reckoned, with some 
pride, that I could throw two curves — the "out" 
and the "in." 

I first began playing ball on a team when I was 
twelve, but most of the other boys were older 
than I, and, as pitcher was considered to be the 

most important position, one of the older boys 
always took the job without even giving me a 
tryout. In fact, they thought that I was alto- 
gether too good a pitcher for my age, because I 
had considerable speed, and it was natural that 
several of the older boys did n't want to see the 
"kid" get along too fast. So they put me in 
right field, on the theory that "anybody can play 
right field." 

I was n't much of a ball-player, outside of be- 
ing a pitcher, and it must be confessed that I 
never showed up brilliantly with that boy team. 
I could catch flies only fairly well, could throw 
hard and straight, and was pretty good at chasing 
the balls that got away from me; but I was n't 
a good hitter, and probably for just one reason. 

I was what is known as a "cross-handed" bat- 
ter,— and the experts will all tell you that this is 
a cardinal sin in a batsman. It means that I 
stood up to the plate as a right-handed batter 
does, but put my left hand on top of my right, 
which greatly reduces the chances of hitting the 
ball when a man swings at it. All boys should 
be careful to avoid this cross-handed method of 
holding the bat. It is a great weakness. No one 
that I played with knew enough to tell me to 
turn around and bat left-handed, or that I was 
probably, by nature, a left-handed hitter. I would 
advise any boys who have this fault to try hitting 
left-handed, and if this does not prove successful, 
to practise keeping the right hand on top until 
they are able to swing that way. No one will 
ever be a good ball-player who hits in the clumsy, 
cross-handed style. 

I believe I got the habit from hoeing, and chop- 
ping wood, and performing some of the other 
chores that a country boy is called upon to do. 
At all events, it "came natural," as the saying is, 
for me to hold my left hand on top of my right 
when doing any work of that kind. The result 
was, that I batted as if I were hoeing potatoes, 
and seldom obtained a hit. Once in a while, I 
would connect with the ball, in my awkward, 
cross-handed style, and it would always be a long 
wallop, because I was a big, husky, country boy ; 
but more often I ignominiously struck out. So it 
will be seen that my real base-ball start was not 
very auspicious. 

But, even then, I would rather play base-ball 
than eat, and that is the spirit all boys need who 
expect to be good players. When I was fourteen 
years old, the pitcher on the Factoryville team 
was taken ill one day, just before a game with a 
nine from a town a few miles away, and the con- 
test was regarded as very important in both vil- 
lages. Our second pitcher was away on a visit, 
and so Factoryville was "up against it" for a 




twirler. You must remember that all the players 
on this team were grown men— several of them, 
as I have said, with whiskers on their faces, and 
roly-poly bodies— but I had always looked up 
to them as idols. When the team could find no 


pitcher, some one remarked to the captain : "That 
Mathewson kid can pitch pretty well." But the 
backers of the team and the other players were 
skeptical, and, like men who come from Missouri, 
"wanted to be shown." So they told me to come 
down on the main street in Factoryville the next 
morning, which was Saturday, the day of the 
game — and take a "tryout." The captain was there. 
"We want to see what you 've got," said he. 

Most of the base-ball population of the town 
gathered to see me get my tryout, and I pitched 
for two hours, while the critics stood around and 
watched me closely, to discover what I could do. 
They sent their best batters up to face the curves 
I was throwing, and I was 
"putting everything that I 
had on the ball." After a 
full hour's dress rehearsal, 
and when, at last, I "fanned" 
out the captain of the team, 
he came up, slapped me on 
the back, and said : 

"You '11 do. We want 
you to pitch this after- 

That, I am sure, was the 
very proudest day of my 
life. We had to drive ten 
miles to the opponent's 
town, and all the other 
boys watched me leave with 
the men. And you can im- 
agine my pride while / 
watched them, as they 
stood on one foot and then 
the other, nudging one an- 
other and saying, " 'Husk' 
is going to play with the 
men !" They called me 
"Husk" in those days. 

It was a big jump up- 
ward for me, and I would 
hardly look at the other 
youngsters as I climbed 
into the carriage with the 
captain. If the full truth 
were told, however, I felt 
almost "all in" after the 
hard session I had been 
through in the morning. 

I can remember the score 
of that game yet, probably 
because it was such an im- 
portant event in my life. 
Our team gained the vic- 
tory by the count of 19 to 17 
— and largely byabitof good 
luck that befell me. With my hands awkwardly 
crossed on the bat, as usual, I just happened to 
swing where the ball was coming once, when the 
bases were full, and I knocked it over the left- 
fielder's head. That lucky hit won the game ; 
and that was really my start in base-ball. 

This happened toward the end of the summer 
season ; and in the fall I went to the Keystone 
Academy, after having completed the public- 





school course, there being no high school in Fac- 
toryville at that time. 

I played on the Keystone team during my first 
year at the academy, but I was still young, and 
they thought that it was up to some older boy to 
pitch, so I covered second base. I was playing 
ball with boys sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen 
years old at this time, and I was only fourteen. 

The next year, however, I was captain of the 
team, and pitched (the natural result of being 
elected captain, as any of my readers know who 
may have led base-ball clubs !). While I was the 
captain of this team, I hit upon a brilliant idea, 
which really was n't original, but which the other 
boys believed to be, and so it amounted to the 
same thing. When we were playing a weak team, 
I put some one else into the box to pitch, and 
covered second base myself, to "strengthen the 
in-field." We had a couple of boys on the team 
who— like certain twirlers in every league — could 
pitch, but could n't bat or play any other position. 
I caught this idea from reading an article in a 
newspaper about McGraw and the Baltimore 
"Orioles." I worshiped him in those days, little 
thinking that I should ever know him ; and it was 
beyond my fondest dreams that I should ever play 
ball for him. 

I was still batting cross-handed on the Key- 
stone team; but, in pitching, I had good control 
over my out-curve, which was effective against 
the other boys. During the vacation of that sum- 

mer, I pitched for the Factoryville team, until it 
disbanded in August, which left me no place to 
play ball. And, remember, at that time I still would 
rather play ball than eat, and, big, growing boy 
that I was, I was decidedly fond of eating ! 

But one fine day, the captain of a team belong- 
ing to a town about five miles away came to me 
and asked if I would pitch for his nine. 

"We '11 give you a dollar a game !" he said in 

"What! How much?" I asked, in amazement, 
because it was such fun for me to play ball, then, 
that the idea of being paid for it struck me as 
"finding money." 

"A dollar a game," he repeated; "but you '11 
have to walk over, or catch a ride on some 

There was no trolley route connecting the two 
villages then. I told him he need n't mind how I 
got there, but that I would certainly come. 

So, for a time, I went regularly over to the 
other town — Factoryville's old rival — and pitched 
every Saturday ; and often I had to walk both 
ways. But they always gave me my dollar, which 
was a satisfactory consolation and a good anti- 
dote for foot-weariness. By this time, I was far 
ahead of boys of my own age, in pitching, and 
was "showing them how to pitch," and rather re- 
garding them as my inferiors, as any boy will, 
after he has played with men. 

In 1898, I was graduated from Keystone Acad- 




emy, and as I had played foot-ball there, and was 
a big, husky, country kid, I was regarded as a 
desirable student by several colleges, and urged 
by friends at the University of Pennsylvania and 
by others at Lafayette College to enter one of 
those institutions of learning. But I finally de- 
cided to go to Bucknell. 

During that summer, I happened to be in 
Scranton, Pennsylvania, soon after school closed. 
It looked a big city to me then, and the buildings 
seemed to be very high. As I was only there for 
the day, I made up my mind that I would make 
sure of seeing the Y. M. C. A. team play ball, 
which it did every Saturday. At the hour ap- 
pointed for the game, I was sitting in the grand 
stand munching peanuts, when it was suddenly 
discovered that the Y. M. C. A. pitcher was miss- 
ing, and they began to look around for some one 
to twirl. 

One of their players, it seems, had seen me 
pitch in Factoryville, and, having recognized me 
in the stand, he went up to the captain of the 
team, and said : "There 's a kid up there who can 

"Where 's he from?" asked the captain. 

"Factoryville," replied my friend. 

"I don't think he '11 do," said the captain. 
"Those small-town pitchers don't make good 
when they stack up against real ball teams. But 
I '11 remember him, and I may have to try him if 
the regular pitcher does n't show up." 

The regular pitcher did n't "show up," and the 
result was that the two players came over to me, 
some ten minutes later, where I was still munch- 
ing peanuts in eager anticipation of the game, 
and began a conversation in this wise : 

"Can you pitch?" the captain asked me. 

"A little," I replied. 

"Want to work for us this afternoon?" 

I was startled. Then, "Sure I do!" I exclaimed, 
and promptly climbed down over the front of the 
stand, leaving quite three cents' worth of peanuts 
on the seat, which was no compliment to my natu- 
ral country thrift, and indicated that I was ex- 
cited. They handed me a uniform, very much 
too big for me, the one that the regular pitcher 
usually wore, and as I was putting it on in the 
dressing-room, I began to wonder if the job would 
be as much too large. When I came out and the 
crowd got a look at me, everybody began to ask 
who the big country boy was, with the misfit uni- 

But I "had something" that day, and struck 
out fifteen men. 

"You 're a pitcher !" said the captain to me 
after the game, and he ordered a uniform made 
to fit me, I was seventeen at that time, and was 

still playing with teams whose members were all 
much older than I. And that was the second op- 
portunity to pitch that came to me through a 
"break in the luck," as ball-players say. 

At midsummer of that year, I went to Hones- 
dale, Pennsylvania, where I was given twenty 
dollars a month and my board, to pitch for the 
team there. This seemed to me then a princely 
salary, and I began to speak of "J. P. Morgan 
and me." 

In 1898, I matriculated at Bucknell, and played 
foot-ball there. It was then a college of less than 
two hundred male students, but the class of men 
was generally high. The next summer I went 
back to Honesdale, after having played on the 
Bucknell base-ball team. And, in the middle of 
the season, I was offered ninety dollars a month 
to pitch in the New England League, a salary 
which turned out to be only on paper, for the 
Taunton club disbanded before I was ever paid, 
and I received only an occasional five or ten dol- 
lars, which promptly went to the landlady. 

Honesdale proved to be an important mile-post 
in my base-ball journey. Two things I learned 
during my stay there, and both have been of great 
value to me. First, and most momentous, I dis- 
covered the rudiments of "the fadeaway" ; and, 
second, I stopped batting cross-handed. This cor- 
rection of my hitting style was the result of ridi- 
cule. I was very large by this time— almost as 
big as I am now— and when I came up to the bat, 
with the wrong hand on top, and swung at the 
ball, I looked awkward. The players on the other 
teams and the spectators began to laugh at me 
and "guy" me. "Look at that big kid trying to 
hit the ball !" they would shout as I missed one. 

I made up my mind to change my style, and I 
started to try to hit with the right hand on top, 
standing up to the plate right-handed. It was 
very hard for me at first, and for a long time I 
could n't hit nearly as well that way as I could 
with my hands crossed ; but I stuck to the new 
style, knowing that it would be a big improve- 
ment in the end. I had batted the other way so 
long that it was hard for me to correct it. That 
is the reason I advise all boys with a tendency to 
hold a bat with the wrong hand on top to change 
immediately, because the longer they keep on hit- 
ting in that way, the harder it will be for them to 
adopt a new style. No one will ever be a hitter, 
swinging in this awkward manner, because the 
hands cannot guide the bat accurately. Since I 
changed my batting form, I have developed into 
a fair-hitting pitcher. 

In Honesdale, there was a left-handed pitcher 
named Williams who could throw an out-curve to 
a right-handed batter. Now the natural curve 




for a left-handed pitcher is the in-curve to a 
right-handed batter, and Williams simply exhib- 
ited this curve as a sort of "freak" delivery, in 
practice, over which he had no control. He 
showed the ball to me, and told me how he threw 
it, and I began to wonder why a right-handed 
pitcher could n't master this delivery, thus getting 
an in-curve to a right-handed batter on a slow 
ball, which surely seemed desirable. Williams 
pitched this ball with the same motion that he 
used in throwing his in-curve, but turned his 
hand over and snapped his wrist as he let the 
ball go. He could never tell where it was going 
to break, and therefore it was of no use to him in 
a game. He once played a few games in one of 
the Big Leagues, but lasted only a short time. 
He did n't have enough control over this freak 
ball to make it deceptive, and, as far as the rest 
of his curves were concerned, he was only a 
mediocre pitcher. 

But it was here that I learned the rudiments of 
the fadeaway, and I began to practise them with 
great diligence, recognizing the value of the 
curve. I also started to pitch drop balls while I 
was in Honesdale, and mixed these up with my 
fast one and the "old roundhouse curve." I only 
used the drop when the situation was serious, as 
that was my very best, and a surprise for all the 
batters. Few pitchers in that set, indeed, had a 
drop ball. 

The part of the summer with the Taunton team 
apparently did me little good, beyond teaching 
me the style of base-ball played in the New Eng- 
land League, and proving to me that there is 
sometimes a great difference between the salary 
named in a contract and that received. As a 
matter of fact, however, that portion of a season 
spent in the New England League was going to 
have a great influence on my future, although I 
could not foresee it at the time. 

I returned to Bucknell in the fall, where I 
played full-back on the foot-ball team; and, oddly 
enough, I was much better known as a foot-ball 
player at this time than as an exponent of base- 
ball. Probably this was because I developed some 
ability as a drop-kicker, and, at college, foot-ball 
was considered decidedly the more important 
sport. Moreover, I received poor support on the 
college base-ball team ; and no pitcher can win 
games when his men don't field well behind him, 
or when they refuse to bat in any runs. 

In the fall of 1899, the Bucknell foot-ball team 
went down to Philadelphia to play the University 
of Pennsylvania eleven, and this proved to be one 
of the most important trips that I ever took. 
While our players were waiting around the hotel 
in the morning, a man named John Smith, known 

in base-ball circles as "Phenom John" Smith, 
came around to see me. He was an old pitcher, 
and had picked up the name of "Phenomenal 
(shortened to "Phenom") John" in his palmy 
days in the box. He had been the manager of 
the Portland club in the New England League 
during the previous season, and had seen me 
pitch with the Taunton nine. 

"Mathewson," he said to me, "I 'm going to 
Norfolk in the Virgina League, to manage the 
club next season, and I '11 give you a steady job 
at eighty dollars a month. I know that your con- 
tract called for ninety dollars last season, but you 
will surely get this money, as the club has sub- 
stantial backing." 

I signed the contract then and there. The col- 
leges were n't as strict about their men playing 
summer ball at that time. Now I would advise a 
boy who has exceptional ability as a ball-player, 
to sign no contracts, and to take no money for 
playing, until he has finished college. Then, if he 
cares to go into professional base-ball, all right. 

"I 'm going out to see you play foot-ball this 
afternoon," said Smith, as he put the contract in 
his pocket. 

I was lucky that day, and kicked two field goals 
against Pennsylvania, which was considered to be 
a great showing for a team from a small college, 
in an early season game, regarded almost as a 
practice contest. Field goals counted more then — 
five points each — and there were few men in the 
country who were good drop-kickers. Hudson, 
the Carlisle Indian, was about the only other of 
my time. Those two field goals helped to temper 
our defeat, and we lost by about 20 to 10, I think. 
When I got back to the hotel, "Phenom John" was 
there again. 

"You played a great game this afternoon," he 
said to me, "and, because I liked the way in which 
you kicked those two field goals, I 'm going to 
make your salary ninety dollars instead of eighty 

He took the contract, already signed, out of his 
pocket, and raised my pay ten dollars a month 
before I had ever pitched a ball for him ! That 
contract is framed in Norfolk now, or rather it 
was when I last visited the city with the "Giants" 
on a spring-training trip. The old figures remain, 
with the erasure of the eighty and the correction 
of ninety just as "Phenom John" made them with 
his fountain-pen. 

As you will easily believe, I went back to Buck- 
nell very much pleased with myself, with two 
field goals to my credit in foot-ball, and in my 
pocket a contract to play base-ball for ninety dol- 
lars a month. 

The rest of my Minor League record is brief. 




I went to Norfolk the next summer, and won 
twenty-one games, out of twenty-three, for the 
team. And on a certain day in the midsummer of 

(SEE PAGE 609.) 

1900, "Phenom John" Smith came up to me, smil- 
ing in the friendliest way. 

"Matty," he began, "I 've never regretted chang- 
ing that contract after it was signed. You have 
played good ball for me, and now I have a chance 
to sell you to either the New York National 
League club or the Philadelphia club. Which 
team would you rather be with ?" 

This came to me as a great surprise, the oppor- 

tunity to "break into the Big League" — the dream 
of my life. Only one year before, I had stood 
outside the players' gate at the Polo Grounds, on 
my way to Taunton, and had 
lingered to watch Amos 
Rusie, the great pitcher of 
the Giants, make his exit, so 
that I could see what he 
looked like in his street 
clothes, and also contribute 
a little hero-worship in the 
way of cheers. Now I was 
going to be a member of a 
Big-League club myself ! 

"I '11 let you know in a 
couple of days," I told Smith, 
in reply to his question about 
my choice of the two clubs. 

Then I began to study the 
list of pitchers with each 
team. The Giants were a 
vastly different organization 
then from that of to-day, and 
were usually found near the 
bottom of the list toward the 
end of the season. But they 
were in need of pitchers, and 
so I decided that, if I went 
with New York, I, a young- 
ster, would have a better 
chance to pitch regularly. 
They had n't much to lose 
by making a thorough trial 
of me, and they might give 
me an opportunity to work, 
was the way I reasoned it 

"I 'd like to go to New 
York," I told Smith; and, 
needless to say, I have never 
regretted my decision. 

That is how I became a 
Big-League pitcher, in the 
middle of the summer of 
1900, at the age. of nineteen 
years. George Davis was 
the manager of the New 
York club at the time, and 
the first thing he did when I reported for duty 
was to summon me for morning practice. 

"Now," he said, "I 'm going to order all our 
fellows to go up to the bat, and I want you to 
throw everything you 've got." 

He started off himself, and I was nervous 
enough, facing the manager of a Big-League 
team for my tryout. I shot over my fast one 
first, and I had a lot of speed in those days. 




"That 's a pretty good fast ball you 've got, 
there," declared Davis. "Now let 's have a look 
at your curve." 

I threw him the "old roundhouse" out-curve, my 

From photograph by J'aul Thompson. 

pride and joy which, as the newspapers said, had 
been "standing them on their heads" in the Minor 
League. He stepped up into it, and drove the 
ball over the head of the man playing center field 
and beyond the old ropes. 

So was an idol shattered, and my favorite 
curve wrecked ! 

"No," he said, "that 'old roundhouse curve' ain't 
any good in this company. You can see that 
start to break, all the way from the pitcher's box. 
A man with paralysis in both arms could get him- 
self set in time to hit that one. Have n't you got 
a drop ball ?" 

"Yes," I answered ; "but I don't use it much." 

"Well, let 's have a look at it," he said. 

I threw him my drop ball, and he said that it 
was a pretty fair curve. 

"Now that 's what we call a curve ball in the 
Big League," declared Davis. "As for that other 
big one you just threw me, — forget it ! Got any- 
thing else?" 

"I 've a sort of a freak ball that I never use in 
a game," I replied, brimful of ambition. 

"Well, let 's see it." 

Then I threw him my fadeaway, although it 
had n't been named at the time. He missed it by 
more than a foot (I was lucky enough to get it 
over the plate!). I shall never forget how Da- 
vis's eyes bulged ! 

"What 's that ball?" he asked. 

"That 's one I picked up, but never use," I an- 
swered. '"It 's a kind of a freak ball." 

"Can you control it?" 

"Not very well." 

"Try it again !" he ordered. I did, and got it 
over the plate once more. He missed the ball. 

"That 's a good one ! That 's all right !" he de- 
clared enthusiastically. "It 's a slow in-curve to 
a right-handed batter. A change of pace with a 
curve ball. A regular fallaway or fadeaway. 
That 's a good ball !" 

And there, in morning practice, at the Polo 
Grounds in 1900, the "fadeaway" was born, and 
christened by George Davis. He called some left- 
handers to bat against it. Nearly all of them 
missed it, and were loud in their praise of the 

"Now," said Davis, in the club-house after the 
practice, "I 'm not going to pitch you much, and 
I want you to practise on that fadeaway ball of 
yours, and get so that you can control it. It 's 
going to be a valuable curve." 

So, every morning I was out at the grounds, 
trying my fadeaway, and always aiming to get 
control of it — absolute, sure precision. I worked 
hours at a time on it, and then Davis would try 
me out against batters to see how it was coming 
along. He did n't give me a chance in a regular 
game until toward the end of the season, when he 
put me into a contest that had already been lost 
by some other pitcher who had been taken out. 

But, the next spring, just before the opening 
game of the season of 1901, Davis came to me 
and said : 

"Matty, I want you to pitch to-morrow." 

This command was a big and sudden surprise 
to me. I went home and to bed about nine o'clock, 
so as to be feeling primed for the important con- 
test. And the next day it rained ! Again I went 
to bed early, and once more it rained ! I kept on 
going to bed early for three or four nights, and 
the rain continued for as many days. But I 




finally outlasted the rain, and pitched the opening 
game, and won it. Then I worked along regu- 
larly in my turn, and did n't lose a game until 
Memorial Day. And that brought me up to be a 
regular Big-League pitcher. 

Many persons have asked me how I throw the 
fadeaway. The explanation is simple : when the 
out-curve is thrown, the ball is allowed to slip off 
the end of the thumb with a spinning motion that 
causes it to bend away from a right-handed bat- 
ter. The hand is held up. Now, if the wrist were 
turned over and the hand held down, so that the 
ball would slip off the thumb with a twisting mo- 
tion, but, because the wrist was reversed, would 
leave the hand with the thumb toward the body 
instead of away from it, I figured that an in- 
curve to right-handed batters would result. That 
is how the fadeaway is pitched. The hand is 
turned over until the palm is toward the ground 
instead of toward the sky, as when the out-curve 
is thrown, and the ball is permitted to twist off 
the thumb with a peculiar snap of the wrist. The 
ball is gripped in the same way as for an out- 

Two things make it a difficult ball to pitch, and 
the two things, likewise, make it hard to hit. 
First of all, the hand is turned in an unnatural 
position to control, or throw, 
a ball when the palm is to- 
ward the ground. Try to 
throw a ball with the hand 
held this way, and you will 
find it very difficult. Next, 
that peculiar snap to the 
wrist must be attained. The 
wrist is snapped away from 
the body instead of toward 
it, as in the throwing of an 
out-curve, and it is an un- 
natural motion to make. The 
secret of the curve really 
lies in this snap of the wrist. 

Many times I have tried 
to teach other pitchers in the 
Big League — even men on 
opposing clubs — how to 
throw this ball ; but none have 
ever mastered it. Ames, of 
the Giants, can get it once in 
a while, and Drucke oftener, 
but it is a ball which requires 
a great deal of practice. It 
is a hard ball to control, and 

unlimited patience must be used. If anv boy 
desires to try it, let him practise for control first, 
and then try to make the curve bigger. Be sure 
to turn the hand over with the palm toward the 

ground, and throw the ball by snapping the wrist 
away from the body, which will send it spinning 
slowly up to the batter. It comes up "dead," and 
then drops and curves in. 

In conclusion, as at the beginning, I want to 
emphasize the value of control for young pitch- 
ers. Let a boy practise control, always, before 
he starts to learn curves ; for again let me assure 
him he will win many more games if he can throw 
the ball where he wants to and has n't a curve, 
than if he has a big curve but can't control the 
ball. Another thing that a young pitcher must be 
careful about is the way in which he holds the 
ball. When I went to Norfolk to pitch, I was 
wrapping my fingers around the ball when I was 
going to throw a curve, so that it was evident to 
the batter what was coming. "Phenom John" 
Smith came to me one day and said : "Matty, 
you '11 have to cut that out. You telegraph to the 
batter by the way in which you wrap your fingers 
around the ball every time you are going to throw 
a curve. It won't do in this League." 

I began to practise holding the ball in the same 
way for each kind of delivery, and then adjusting 
my fingers as I made the motion to let the ball go 
from my hand. Boys should practise this, also, 
as it is fatal to wrap the fingers around the ball 

^Pgp4~. vw^^pr— 

From photograph copyright by Paul Thompson. 

in such a way that a batter can see when a curve 
is coming. A pitcher should cover the ball up 
with his glove when facing the batter, anyhow. 
I always hold the ball in the same way for 




every curve, that is, with my whole hand around 
it, and not with two or three fingers wrapped on 


it. For a change of pace, I hold it loosely so that 
the ball can be thrown with the same motion as 
for a fast one. Sometimes, for a drop, I hold my 
fingers on the seam, to get more purchase on it. 

Many persons have asked me about the "moist," 
or "spit," ball. I seldom use it, because I think it 
is hard on a pitcher's arm, and 
difficult for the catcher to handle 
and for the players to field. It has 
many disadvantages. Occasionally, 
I used to try one on "Hans" Wag- 
ner, the great batter of the Pitts- 
burg club, because it was generally 
believed that he did n't care for a 
moist ball ; but this, too, is only one 
of the many "theories" of base- 
ball. He can hit a moist ball as 
well as any other kind ! and I have 
stopped pitching it altogether now. 
The only reason that I ever used 
it was to "mix 'em up." Next to 
control, that is the whole secret of 
Big-League pitching — "mixing 'em 
up." It means inducing a batter to 
believe that another kind of a ball is 
coming from the one that is really 
to be delivered, and thus prevent- 
ing him from "getting set" to hit 
it. That is what gives the fade- 
away its value. I pitch it with the 
same motion as a fast ball, but it 
comes up to the plate slowly. The 
result is that the batter is led to be- 
lieve a fast one is coming, and sets 
himself to swing at a speedy shoot. 
The slow ball floats up, drops, and 
he has finished his swing before it 
gets to the plate. I often pitch the 
fadeaway right after a fast ball ; 
and, as for reports that I can't con- 
trol it, I use it right along when I 
have three balls and two strikes on 
a batter, which is the tightest situ- 
ation a pitcher has to face. For it 
is a ball that will usually be hit 
slowly, on the ground to the in- 
fielders, if the batter hits it at all. 
Its value, as I have said, lies in the 
surprise that it brings to a batter 
when he is expecting something- 

I have often been asked, if it is 
such a difficult ball to hit, why I 
don't use it all the time. The an- 
swer is that such a course would 
make it easy to bat, and, besides, it 
is a ball which strains and tires 
the arm of the pitcher, if thrown continuously. 

Finally, I want to say that "Phenom John" 
Smith did a great deal toward developing me as a 
pitcher. He pointed out my weaknesses as he 




By permission of the American Sports Publishing Co., New York. 


"A. How the ball is grasped for start of the 'fadeaway.' 

" B. The ball is held lightly with the forefingers and thumb, and a slow twist is given to it. It sails up to the plate as dead as a brick, and, 
when mixed in with a speedy straight or in-ball, often causes the batter to strike at it before it reaches him. It is a ' teaser ' for the third strike. 
" C. The ball leaving the hand as it gets the final twist of the wrist for the ' fadeaway.' " 

saw them, and gave me a great deal of valuable 
advice. If any of my readers expect to play Big- 
League ball, let them find some friendly "Phenom 
John" Smith, and get his advice. There are scores 
of old ball-players ever ready to help an ambi- 

tious youngster, and they are the best-natured 
men in the world. And once more — as I said at 
the beginning — remember that control is the thing 
in pitching ! No man was ever a Big Leaguer 
for long' without it. 



Long years ago, in the far-off days, be- 
fore the scream of the steam-engine and 
the rush of the motor had made the lit- 
tle people called fairies shy of showing themselves, a poor 
farmer named Andrew Strong rented a few acres of barren 
ground in the neighborhood of the ancient city of Chester. 

Andrew had a wife and family, and they all did what they could to try 
and make a living. But as none of his children were old enough to help 
him in his work, and as all his poor wife could do was to milk their one 
cow, carry the eggs to market, and mind the children, that was but little. 
The ground was poor, too, and yielded but a scanty and stubborn crop, so, 
work as hard as they could, they had much difficulty in paying their rent. 

Things got worse and worse, and, at last, a bad year came, in which every- 
thing seemed to go wrong. Their little crop of oats, that had cost .poor An- 
drew such labor and care to grow, was spoiled. Two quarters of rent were 
due, too, and Andrew found he had not enough even to pay half of it. "Mar- 
gery," said he, sorrowfully, to his wife, "whatever are we to do now?" 

His poor wife, who starved and pinched that her children might have enough, 
and who, in spite of her heavy heart, kept a smiling face, said cheerfully: 
"Well, Andrew, we must sell the cow, that 's all; and as Thursday is fair day, 

you must go to-morrow, that the poor beast may have a rest before the fair, so that you may get a good 
price for her." 

Seeing tears in his wife's eyes, he exclaimed: "Margery, dear heart, you always look on the bright 
side of things, and I believe you are right, after all, so I won't be sorry that we have to sell the cow, 
and I '11 go to-morrow with her." 

So off he went with the cow next morning, his wife charging him not to sell her except for the best 
price he could possibly get. 

It was an early June morning, clear and bright, and the fresh foliage, the dancing stream, and the 
sweet songs of a thousand birds dispelled the gloom in poor Andrew's heart, and made him hope again. 
By and by, he came to the top of a hill — "Bottle Hill," as it is called now, but that was not the name 
of it, then — and just as he stood watching a lark falling, with sweet melody, from the sky, he suddenly 
became aware of a little man standing beside him. Rather startled, as he had seen nobody about a 
minute before, Andrew turned round and wished him "Good-morrow." "Good morning," said the 
stranger, who had a queer little squeak in his voice, like a rusty hinge. From his size, Andrew ex- 
pected to see the chubby face of a boy, but, instead, he saw an old, wrinkled, yellow face, for all the 
world like a shriveled apple, and two little, restless, red eyes. The little man had a sharp nose, and 
-long white hair, too, and Andrew did not greatly like the dwarf's company, and he drove his cow some- 
what faster. But the little old man kept up with him, not walking like other men, but gliding over the 
rough ground like a shadow, without noise or effort. Andrew's heart trembled within him, and he 
wished that he did not have to mind the cow, so that he might run away. In the midst of his fears, 
Vol. XXXIX.— 78. . 6i 7 




however, he was again addressed by his fellow- 
traveler, with, "Where are you going with the 
cow, honest man?" 

"To Chester fair," said Andrew, trembling at 
the shrill and piercing tones of the voice. 

"And to sell her?" asked the stranger. 

"To be sure I am." 

"Will you sell her to me?" 

Andrew started. He was afraid to have any- 
thing to do with the little man, and he was more 
afraid to say no. 

"What will you give for her?" at last said he. 

"I tell you what, I '11 give you this bottle," said 
the dwarf, pulling a bottle from under his coat. 

Andrew looked at him and the bottle, and, in 
spite of his terror, he 
could not help bursting 
into a laugh. 

"Laugh if you will," 
said the dwarf, "but I tell 
you this bottle is better 
for you than all the money 
you will get for the cow 
at the fair; aye, than a 
thousand times as much." 

Andrew laughed again. 
"Do you think," said he, 
"I am such a fool as to 
give my good cow for a 
bottle — and an empty one, 
too? No, no, not I." 

"You had better give 
me the cow and take the 
bottle— you '11 not be sorry 
for it." 

"Why, what would Mar- 
gery say? I 'd never hear 
the end of it; and how 
would I pay the rent, and 
what would we all do 
without a farthing of 

"I tell you this bottle is 
better for you than money : 
take it, and give me the 
cow. I ask you for the last time, Andrew Strong." 

Andrew started. "How does he know my 
name?" thought he. 

The stranger proceeded : "Andrew, I know you, 
and have a regard for you ; therefore do as I 
warn you, or you may be sorry for it. How do 
you know but that there will be many cattle at 
the fair, or you will get a bad price, or, maybe, 
you might be robbed when you are coming home ? 
—but what more need I say to you when you are 
determined to throw away your luck !" 

"Oh, no ! I would not throw away my luck, 

sir," said Andrew. "And if I were sure the 
bottle was as good as you say, though I always 
liked a full bottle better than an empty one, I 'd 
give you the cow." 

"Never mind," said the dwarf, hastily, "but let 
me have the cow ; take the bottle, and when you 
go home, do exactly what I direct." 

Still Andrew hesitated. 

"Well, then, good-by to you; I can stay no 
longer. Once more, take it, and be rich; refuse 
it, and beg for your life, and see your wife and 
children dying for want. That 's what will hap- 
pen to you, Andrew Strong!" said the little man. 

"Maybe 't is true," said Andrew, still hesitating. 
He did not know what to do; he could hardly 


help believing the dwarf, and, at length, in a fit 
of desperation, he seized the bottle. "Take the 
cow," said he, "and if you are playing me false, 
the curse of the poor will be on you !" 

"I care neither for your curses nor your bless- 
ings, but I have spoken the truth, and that you 
will find to-night, if you do what I tell you." 

"And what 's that?" 

"When you go home, never mind if your wife 
is angry, but keep quiet yourself and make her 
sweep the room clean, set the table in the middle 
of the room, and spread a clean cloth over it; 




then put the bottle on the ground, saying these 
words: 'Bottle, bottle, do your duty,' and you will 
see what will happen." 

"And is this all?" said Andrew. 

"No more," said the stranger. "Farewell, An- 
drew Strong— you are a rich man." 

"Heaven grant it," said he, as the dwarf moved 
after the cow, and Andrew retraced the road 
toward his farm; but when he turned his head to 
look after the strange little man, both cow and 
dwarf had disappeared. 

His head in a whirl, he went homeward, mut- 
tering prayers and holding fast the bottle. 

"Whatever would I do if it broke?" thought he. 
"Ah, but I '11 take care of that." So putting it 
into his bosom he hurried on, anxious to prove 
his bottle, and doubtful of the reception he 
should meet with from his wife. Balancing his 
fears with his hopes, his anxieties with his ex- 
pectations, he reached home in the evening, to the 
surprise of Margery, who was sitting over the 
fire in the big chimney. 

"What, Andrew, are you back already ! Surely 
you did not go all the way to Chester. Where is 
the cow?— Did you sell her?— How much money 
did you get for her?— What news have you?— 
Tell me all about it !" 

"Stop, Margery ! If you '11 give me time, I '11 
tell you everything. If you want to know where 
the cow is, that 's more than I can tell you, for a 
dwarf— I mean a stranger— went off with her." 

"Oh, then you sold her; and where 's the 

"Wait, Margery, and I '11 tell you all about it." 

"But what is that bottle under your waistcoat?" 
said his wife, spying its neck sticking out. 

"Be quiet now, till I tell you," and putting the 
bottle on the table, with a rather uneasy expres- 
sion, he said : "That 's what I got for the cow." 

His poor wife was thunderstruck. 

"Is that all ! And what good is that ? Oh, I 
never thought you could do such a thing ! What 
will we do for the rent? And what will the poor 
children do for something to eat?" And the 
poor woman began to cry. 

"Come, come, Margery dear," said Andrew, 
"can't you hearken to reason ? Did n't I tell you 
how the little old man, or whatsomever he was, 
met me— no, he did not meet me, but was there 
beside me— on the hill, and how he made me sell 
the cow, and told me the bottle was the only 
thing for me—" 

"Yes, indeed, the only thing for you, you 
foolish man !" said his wife, seizing the bottle to 
hurl it into the fire. But he caught it, and quietly 
(for he remembered the dwarf's advice) loosened 
his wife's grasp and placed the bottle again in his 

bosom. Poor Margery sat down, crying, while 
Andrew told her his story. His wife could not 
help believing him, especially as she had almost 
as much faith in fairies as her husband had. So 
she got up without saying a word and began to 
sweep the floor with a bunch of heath ; then she 
tidied up everything, and spread the clean cloth 
on the table (for she had only one), and Andrew, 
placing the bottle on the ground, said, "Bottle, 
bottle, do your duty !" 

"Look, look, Mammy !" said his chubby eldest 
son, a boy about five years old, "look here ! look 
there!" and he sprang to his mother's side, as 
two tiny little fellows rose like light from the 
bottle, and in an instant covered the table with 
plates and dishes of silver and gold, full of the 
choicest food that was ever seen, and when all 
was done, went into the bottle again. Andrew 
and his wife looked at it all with much astonish- 
ment; they had never seen such plates and dishes 
before, and did not think they could ever admire 
them enough ; the very sight of them almost took 
away their appetites ; but, at length, Margery 
said : "Come and sit down, Andrew, and try and 
eat a bit : surely you ought to be hungry after 
such a good day's work." 

"So after all the old man told me the truth 
about the bottle," said Andrew, in great delight. 

They all made a hearty meal. After they had fin- 
ished, they waited awhile to see if the two little 
fairies would carry away the plates and dishes 
again ; but no one came. So they went to bed, 
not, indeed, to sleep, but to settle about selling 
all the fine things they did not want, so as to buy 
all they did want. Andrew went to Chester and 
sold his plate, and bought a horse and cart, and 
lots of fine things for his wife and children and 

They did all they could to keep the bottle a 
secret, but, at last, their landlord found it out. 
For, noticing how fine Andrew's wife and chil- 
dren had now become, and the many handsome 
things they had in their house, he came to An- 
drew one day, and asked him where he got all his 
money from— "surely not from the farm !" He 
bothered and bothered so much that, at last, An- 
drew told him of the bottle. His landlord offered 
him a great deal of money for it, but Andrew 
would not give it, till, at last, the landlord offered 
to give him all his farm forever ; and Andrew, 
who was very rich, thinking he would never want 
any more money, gave him the bottle. But An- 
drew was mistaken. He and his family spent 
money as if there was no end of it ; and to make 
the story short, they became poorer and poorer, 
till at last they had nothing left but one cow, as 
before, and Andrew drove her before him to sell 




at Chester fair, anxiously hoping to meet the 
little old man and get another bottle. Just as he 
had reached the summit of the hill, and was gaz- 
ing for a moment on the fair valley which lay at 
his feet in all its early morning beauty, he was 

"And good-by to you, sir," said Andrew, as he 
turned homeward; "and good luck to this hill; it 
wants a name, and it ought to be called 'Bottle 
Hill,' I think. Good-by, sir, good-by." 

So he walked back as fast as he could, never 

HV>thcie( Kobioson Elrofcr-t 


startled and rejoiced by the same well-known 
voice, "Well, Andrew Strong, I told you you 
would be a rich man." 

"Indeed I was, sir, sure enough, but I am not 
rich now. But, sir, have you another bottle, for 
I want it now as much as I did long ago ; so if 
you have it, here is the cow for it." 

"And here is the bottle," said the little old 
man, smiling, and with a queer look in his little 
red eyes, "you know what to do with it." 

"Oh, then I do, indeed." 

"Well, farewell forever, Andrew Strong." 

looking after the dwarf and the cow, so anxious 
was he to bring home the bottle. Well, he ar- 
rived with it safely enough, and called out in 
great glee as soon as he saw his wife, "Oh, Mar- 
gery dear, sure enough I 've another bottle !" 

"Bless us all, have you? Then you 're a lucky 
man, Andrew; that 's what you are !" 

In an instant she had put everything right, and 
Andrew, looking at his bottle, 'exultingly cried 
out, "Bottle, bottle, do your duty." 

In a twinkling, two great stout men with big 
cudgels issued from the bottle (I do not know 




"Give it down to him, give it down to him, be- 
fore we are all killed !" roared out the landlord. 

Andrew put the old bottle into his bosom; in 
jumped the two men into the new bottle, and he 
carried both the bottles home. I need not 
lengthen my story by telling how he got richer 
than ever, how his son married his landlord's 
only daughter, how he and his wife died when 
they were very old, and how some of their ser- 
vants, fighting for the possession of the bottles, 
broke them both. But still the hill keeps the name 

how they found room in it), and belabored poor 
Andrew and his wife and the children till they 
lay on the floor roaring for mercy, when in they 
went again. 

Andrew, as soon as he had sufficiently recov- 
ered, got up slowly and looked about him ; he 
thought and thought, and at last he lifted up his 
wife and children ; and leaving them to recover 
as best they might, he took the bottle under his 
coat, and went to his landlord, who was giving a 
great feast to his friends. Andrew got a servant 
to tell him he wanted to 
speak to him, and at last he 
came out. 

"Well, Strong, what do 
you want now ?" 

"Nothing, sir, only I have 
another bottle." 

"Ah ha ! Is it as good as 
the first?" 

"See for yourself; if you 
like, I will show it to you 
before all the ladies and 

"Come along then." So 
saying, he brought Andrew 
into the great hall, where 
he saw his old bottle stand- 
ing high up on a shelf. 
"Perhaps," thought he to 
himself, "I may have you 
again by and by." 

"Now," said his landlord, 
with a smile of anticipation, 
"show us your bottle." An- 
drew set it on the floor, and 
uttered the words. In a 
moment, the landlord was 
tumbled on the floor, ladies 
and gentlemen, servants, 
and all were running and 
roaring, and sprawling, and 
kicking, and shrieking. 
Plates, cups, and dishes 
were knocked about in 
every direction, until the 
landlord gasped out, "Stop 
those two monsters, An- 
drew Strong, I say, or I '11 have you hanged !" of "Bottle Hill," and so it will be always to the 

"They never shall stop," said Andrew, "till you end of the world; and so it ought, for it is a 
make me a gift of my own bottle up there." strange story. 




Chapter VI 


Doctor Halsey stepped forward and removed 
his hat, as the lady turned toward him inquiringly. 

"I trust you will pardon me for stopping you," 
he began, "but we are strangers here, and want 
to find the nearest neighbor who can supply us 
with food. We reached our camp about an hour 
ago, expecting our provisions would be there, but 
we don't find them. Our cupboard is in worse 
condition than that of old Mother Hubbard." 

"Oh, I 'm so sorry !" was the compassionate 
reply. "Now, let me see ! What can I do for you ? 
Why, yes ! We have plenty of bread and meat in 
the house— and milk and tea. So we can give you 
an informal luncheon. I cannot promise you very 
much, but in an emergency like this, it will be 
better than nothing." 

"Indeed, yes !" exclaimed the doctor, grate- 
fully. "It is very kind of you to suggest it, but I 
dislike to trouble you." 

"Don't speak of it," was the prompt reply. "It 
really is no trouble" ; adding, with a smile, "but I 
will drive on and get things ready. You will find 
our landing about half a mile up the lake, the 
next one to yours. Or, if you come by land, look 
on the left side of the road for a mail-box with 
my name on it, Mrs. Elizabeth Spencer." 

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Spencer," Doctor 
Halsey responded. "I hope some day we may have 
an opportunity of repaying your great kindness." 

Mrs. Spencer nodded pleasantly and started the 
horses. "Come up and sing for me sometimes, 
and we '11 call the account settled," she said. 

They went back to the bungalow, and removed 
the marks of recent travel as well as their re- 
sources permitted. Then they started for what 
Lefty called "the palace of Lady Bountiful." 

It was nearly a mile by the road, but finally 
they found Mrs. Spencer's home— a pretty, white 
cottage with green blinds. 

Upon the shady porch, shielded from the sun by 
awnings and climbing vines, sat the girl who had 
been in the carriage, and three others. 

A sudden shyness seized the boys, and they felt 
a strange reluctance to advance. Then one of the 
girls disappeared within the house, and in a min- 
ute Mrs. Spencer came out to welcome them. 

"I know you will be willing to take things just 
as you find them," she said half jestingly. "I 'm 
only sorry that I can do so little for you." 

As she talked, she had led them into the dining- 
room. The lunch was all ready, and it seemed to 
the hungry boys as if they never had tasted any- 
thing quite as good. 

Mrs. Spencer proved a kind and gracious host- 
ess. Before the boys left the cottage, they felt 
as if they had known her a long while. The meal 
being over, Doctor Halsey excused the boys and 
himself, reminding their hostess how much work 
awaited them. With many heartfelt expressions 
of gratitude, they prepared to depart. 

"Mrs. Spencer, can you tell us where to find 
Mr. Samuelson?" Tom inquired. "He was to 
cart our stuff over from the railroad station at 
North Rutland, and I want to hunt him up and 
see what 's become of it." 

Mrs. Spencer hesitated. "You 'd better not go 
there— yet," she said finally. "You can inquire 
at the North Rutland freight office, and find out 
whether your goods were delivered, but I 
would n't let any one know, if I were you, that 
I 'd had any dealings with Mr. Samuelson." 

The boys looked surprised, so she added, by 
way of partial explanation, "This will seem like 
very strange advice, no doubt, but I assure you 
that it is the best I can give. I earnestly hope we 
all may understand the matter clearly before the 
summer passes." 

Wondering, yet not caring to question further, 
the party left their kind friend and walked back 
to Beaver Camp, discussing with eager curiosity 
the strange affair partially revealed to them by 
Mrs. Spencer's guarded warning. They had not 
yet settled upon any definite plan of action when 
they turned into the camp road. 

All at once Eliot stopped short and stared 
about. "It looks as if some one had been drag- 
ging a big box or something else large and heavy 
through those bushes," he said, pointing toward 
the left. "See how the ground is scraped and 
torn up. Suppose we investigate." 

They plunged into the underbrush, and within 
ten yards found a trunk. Walter Cornwall set 
up a shout of joy, and eagerly inspected his prop- 
erty to see if it had been damaged in transit. 

Farther in among the trees and bushes was the 
ice-cream freezer, packed full of smaller articles. 
Scattered about were boxes, barrels, trunks, and 
bundles. Apparently everything was there except 
the cots, Jack's trunk, and the smaller one belong- 
ing to Cousin Willie, who had brought two in order 
to carry what his mother considered necessaries. 




"Well, I wish whoever dumped this stuff out 
here in the wilderness would kindly tell us how 
to get it back," muttered Tom, who, nevertheless, 
was vastly relieved to know that so much of their 
equipment had arrived. "I don't see how we 're 
going to drag it up to the bungalow." 

"Hold on a minute," Eliot said thoughtfully, 
seating himself on a box; "it looks to me as if 
this stuff had been left up at the bungalow all 
right. -Whoever stowed it away locked the door 
and put the keys outside under the mat. Some- 
body came along, read the sign, opened the door, 
dragged out all the truck, and dumped it here. 
Must have used a wheelbarrow or a stone-boat." 

"All of which is very interesting, but what 's 
it got to do with getting our house furnishings 
back under the ancestral roof?" Ed interrupted. 

"My idea is to see if that stone-boat is n't 
around somewhere, load as many of our boxes 
and barrels on it as we can manage, and then 
drag it to the bungalow," Eliot went on. Luckily 
it was soon discovered, overturned on the ground, 
among some bushes. Then the tedious, back- 
breaking process of transferring all the equip- 
ment to the bungalow was undertaken. 

Although twilight lingered long for their ac- 
commodation, it was dark before they finished. 

While the boys still busied themselves unpack- 
ing the things, Doctor Halsey fried some bacon 
over the camp-fire, and made "camp flapjacks," 
which the boys pronounced "great." The evening 
meal was informal in the extreme, the bungalow 
being in a state of wild disorder, but the boys 
made the best of the situation. 

Nine o'clock came— half-past— and, at last, the 
doctor said : "We have a whole vacation before 
us, and there is no need of doing too much the 
first day. Leave the rest until to-morrow. It 's 
warm to-night and clear. We may as well curl 
up on the piazza, I suppose." 

And they did. Wrapping themselves in blankets 
and pillowing their heads on sweaters or any- 
thing else soft that came handy, they drifted off 
to dreamland. 

The doctor slept in the middle of the long line, 
with five boys on each side. Lefty found himself 
at one end with Cousin Willie next, between him- 
self and Tad. 

The boys were very tired, and soon fell asleep, 
in spite of their hard beds which afforded slight 
comfort for aching muscles. 

About an hour later, Lefty stirred uneasily, 
then rolled over, seeking a more comfortable 
position. As he did so, he was conscious of a 
sound like a stifled sob from his next neighbor. 

He smiled scornfully. What was the kid blub- 
bering about, anyhow? Then Lefty's kind heart 

reproached him. After all, he was only a little 
fellow, and this was the first time he ever had 
been so far away from home without his mother. 
No wonder the poor chap felt homesick ! 

Lefty rolled over quietly, and put his arm pro- 
tectingly around the younger boy. 

"What 's the matter, kid?" he said gently. 

At first no answer came from the sobbing boy, 
but at length his tale of woe was told. He was 
so lonesome and tired (he would n't say home- 
sick) that he could n't go to sleep, and yet he 
did n't want the boys to know how miserable he 
felt for fear they would think he was a baby. 
Lefty smiled to himself when this statement fell 
falteringly from Willie's lips. 

Lefty soothed and comforted the unhappy boy 
as best he could. "It won't be nearly as hard to- 
morrow, Willie," he whispered. "By that time, 
you '11 be so happy that the vacation won't seem 
long enough. Don't feel badly, either, when the 
fellows tease you, because you '11 notice that we 
make fun of one another every day. It 's a sign 
they like you if they sort of jolly you along. 

"Suppose we form a partnership, you and I. 
You want the fellows to think that you 've quit 
being a kid. That 's good ! That 's the proper 
spirit ! If you 're really on the level, I '11 stand 
by you and help all I can, but I '11 expect you to 
do your part, and you must n't feel sore if I sail 
into you like a Dutch uncle whenever you play the 
baby. I '11 begin now by telling you to go to sleep. 
Just forget everything, and settle down for pleas- 
ant dreams." 

"All right, partner," Willie murmured drowsily. 

When the doctor awoke, soon after sunrise, 
and looked over the still forms about him, he saw 
the partners fast asleep with their arms around 
each other, and he smiled contentedly. 

Chapter VII 


Many duties awaited the boys that first morning 
in Beaver Camp, and they were stirring before 
the sun was very high in the eastern sky. 

Doctor Halsey paired them off, and set them to 
doing different things that needed attention. One 
pair cut wood and piled it near the camp-fire ; 
another carried groceries into the room which 
had served the former occupants as a kitchen, 
and arranged them conveniently on the shelves ; a 
third finished unpacking the boxes and barrels ; 
another swept out the rubbish, aired the blankets, 
and made the premises tidy, while the last two 
boys carried water, washed dishes and cooking 
utensils that had just come out of boxes and bar- 
rels, and aided in the preparation of breakfast. 




During the morning, Tom and the doctor ar- 
ranged for a supply of milk, eggs, butter, and 
vegetables from a farmer in the neighborhood, 
while Jack and Eliot rowed across the lake to 
purchase some necessary articles. While they 
were gone, Tad and Lefty walked over to the 
railway-station at North Rutland, where they 
found the two trunks that had not yet been de- 
livered, but no cots. 

"Whatever has become of those bally beds?" 
Tad exclaimed helplessly. 

"I wanted to warn Tom not to buy 'em," Lefty 
reminded him, "but you would n't let me. I knew 
something 'd happen to 'em." 

"Maybe the railroad is using them. They have 
sleepers, you know." 

"Sure ! Maybe they 've used them for part of 
the road-bed." 

"No. I know what, Lefty. Don't you remem- 
ber the salesman said the legs could be folded 
underneath? They probably got tired, curled up 
their legs, and went to sleep." 

"Well, anyhow, I wish they 'd come. The 
piazza floor may be swell for rugged constitu- 
tions, but there are things I like better." 

"We won't sleep there to-night. We '11 cut 
branches and make camp beds. I read a book not 
long ago that told how to do it." 

"Perhaps they '11 come to-morrow. There 's a 
freight up from the south every morning. I won- 
der if some one here would cart them over to the 
camp and bring the trunks at the same time?" 

"Should n't be surprised. I '11 ask the supreme 
potentate of freight and baggage." 

That official "guessed 'Zekiel Pettingill 'd bring 
'em over for 'em if he had a load that way," and 
directed them toward the humble home of the 
worthy Ezekiel. 

As they turned away from the office, they be- 
came suddenly aware that three boys, evidently 
natives of the place, were regarding them atten- 
tively from the top rail of a near-by fence. 

"Mornin'," one of them ventured. 

Lefty removed his hat and bowed low. "Greet- 
ings," he responded. 

That stunned the trio into speechlessness, and 
it was not until Tad and Lefty had moved some 
yards away, that the previous speaker again 
found his voice. 

"Reckon you fellers play ball?" 

"Reckon we do! Want a game?" 

The boy nodded. "Be you the fellers that V 
stayin' over on the lake?" 

"We be— but not all of them. There are eight 

"Campin' on the Raymond place, ain't ye?" 

"We 're making a feeble stab in that direction." 

The natives exchanged glances of ominous 
solemnity, and sighed in a manner which some- 
how conveyed the idea of awe, apprehension, and 
gloomy foreboding all at once. 

"Reckon ye won't stay there long. There ain't 
a feller in the hull township that 'd go near the 
place. It 's haunted ! They say there 's awful 
goings on after dark, and somethin' always hap- 
pens to folks that stay there." 

"I noticed it," Lefty solemnly assured them. 
"Last night, along about midnight, I heard a 
queer noise out in the woods. It was a wild, 
mournful sound"— he shivered as he recalled the 
experience, noting the fact, as he paused, that 
his auditors were visibly impressed — "like— like 
a man playing a bass viol in a prison cell. I 
seized the first weapon that came handy, which 
turned out to be a can-opener, and went forth to 
discover the cause—" 

"All alone?" gasped one of the natives. 

"Sure ! If I 'd taken some one with me that 
would have made a pair, and it 's not time yet 
for pears. Well, I stole silently into the woods, 
and what do you suppose I saw? A red, white, 
and blue elephant with gleaming tusks and a 
steamer trunk ! He was sitting on a log, singing, 
'Has anybody here seen Kelly?' Oh, yes! the 
place is haunted, all right !" 

"Wal, I swow !" ejaculated one of the boys, and 
all three stared at Lefty with feelings too deep 
for expression. 

"We '11 arrange a game with you the next time 
we 're over," Tad hastily assured them. "Come 
along, Lefty ! We want to hunt up the great and 
only 'Zekiel and get him to bring the cots over 
when they get here. It 's no fun tramping over 
to the station every day, only to find out that 
there 's nothing doing." 

They located Neighbor Pettingill, and made 
favorable arrangements with him, then started 
back toward the camp. 

"Well, Tad, we seem to have landed knee-deep 
in an awful mystery," Lefty remarked. "We 've 
hired a haunted camp and discovered a man that 
we don't dare talk about when anybody 's around. 
I thought Tom said this was such a quiet section 
of the country." 

"That was before taking. His present ideas 
have not yet been submitted for publication. I 
wonder if those fellows can play base-ball enough 
to keep themselves warm." 

Lefty shrugged his shoulders doubtfully. "You 
never can tell about these country teams, Tad. 
They may be able to play all around us. Most 
likely they practise a lot, and have a bunch of 
heavy hitters on board. It is n't a good plan to 
underestimate a team like that. If you do get 




walloped, it makes you feel like a three-cent piece 
with a hole in it." 

"If Beaver Camp is haunted, it must have been 
spooks that moved our things out into the woods. 
Perhaps they put up the sign at the same time, 
warning us not to land on our own property. - ' 


"Won't it make the fellows' eyes stick out 
when we tell 'em that they 've struck a haunted 
house?" Lefty chuckled. "We '11 work that idea 
for all it 's worth, Tad. If you and I can't have 
some fun out of it on the side, it '11 be a wonder." 

"Cousin Willie '11 have fourteen fits when he 
learns about it," Tad made answer. "He '11 be 
so scared, he '11 be afraid of his own shadow." 
Vol. XXXIX. -79. 

"Oh, don't fret about Cousin Willie ! The 
kid 's got the right stuff in him, Tad. I had a 
talk with him last night, and he and I have 
formed a partnership for — er — for mutual im- 
provement and development." 

"That 's fine, Lefty ! A partnership like that 
ought to do you lots of good. 
I 'm so glad, for your sake, 
that Cousin Willie has con- 
sented to improve you. You 
need it ! Of course, I would 
n't say so to any one outside, 
but since you mentioned it—" 
"Exactly ! Cousin Willie 
has the right idea about 
camp life, Tad. I don't be- 
lieve he 's going to give up 
very easily, no matter what 
happens. At home, I sup- 
pose he 's humored and pet- 
ted to death, so he 's grown 
to expect it. He knows that 
he can have his own way if 
he makes a fuss about it, 
consequently he rules the 

"He seems to have sense 
enough, though, to know that 
such a program does n't 
specially draw a crowd up 
here. He 's a sensible kid ! 
I don't know where he got 
his level-headed notions — " 

"They come from our 
branch of the family." 

"A lot they do ! You 'd 
have to give trading-stamps 
to get anybody to take 'em. 
Anyhow, Cousin Willie has 
made up his mind that it 's 
time he quit being a kid. He 
wants to show the fellows up 
here that he is just as big as 
they are in feelings, and has 
just as stiff a backbone. I 
told him I 'd stretch forth a 
helping hand to aid a stum- 
\ge 022 ) bling brother as long as he 

acted as if he meant what he 
said, and he quite fell on the offer." 

"Good work, Lefty ! I did n't think the kid had 
it in him. I hope he '11 make good. It would 
tickle Mother immensely if he developed as she 
wants him to up here at camp." 

Arriving at Beaver Camp, the fun-loving pair 
lost no time in proclaiming the fact that intelli- 
gent natives had declared the place to be haunted, 




but the announcement excited only amusement 
and ridicule. 

The boys, however, welcomed the invitation to 
meet the natives in friendly rivalry on the base- 
ball diamond, and began to discuss ways and 
means of accomplishing their defeat. 

"First thing on the program, we must get our 
diamond in shape," Tom suggested. "If we play 
in the village, they may want a return game here. 
Anyhow, we need plenty of practice. We want 
to make a good showing." 

"Probably by to-morrow we '11 be able to tackle 
our athletic field," Charlie observed. "We seem 
to have things in fairly good shape around the 

And it was agreed that this matter should re- 
ceive attention the next day. 

By mid-afternoon, the campers were comfort- 
ably settled in their new quarters, and they cele- 
brated the completion of their hard toil by hav- 
ing an invigorating bath in the lake. 

Cousin Willie stood timidly on the shore, after 
having waded in until his ankles were covered, 
shivering at the thought of plunging into the cold' 

"Let 's duck the kid," Bert proposed to Lefty. 

"Don't you do it— now," was the pleading re- 
sponse. "He 's only a kid, you know, Bert, and if 
you go to work and scare him into fits the first 
time he comes down to swim, he won't get over it 
in a hurry. What 's the use, anyhow? We want 
to brace the kid up ! Most likely he '11 enjoy it 
as well as any of us once he gets the habit. If he 
sees that we 're not going to bother him, he won't 
be afraid to come in." 

"All right, deacon !" Bert laughingly replied. 
"I '11 help make a water baby of him." 

He waded ashore as he spoke, and stood for a 
moment beside the younger boy, swinging his 
arms to keep warm. 

"Can you swim, Willie?" he asked finally. 

"A little." 

"Better come in. The water 's fine to-day. 
Honest ! It does n't feel cold after you 've been 
in awhile, and it 's a lot more fun than standing 
here shivering. Come on in with me. It is n't 
deep until — until you get out there where Ed and 
Tad are." 

Willie drew back, reluctant to plunge in, but 
Bert threw an arm about his waist and lifted him 
into the water, where they both splashed about 
gaily for a few minutes. Then Bert swam off 
into deeper water, and Willie essayed a few 
strokes himself. 

"Not bad, Will ! Kick your legs out more. 
That 's the way !" Doctor Halsey called to him 
from the shore. Then he waded out to en- 

courage the boy with a few suggestions and a 
little praise. 

Will was very happy when the signal was given 
to come out of the water. New forces were stir- 
ring within him, and it seemed to him as if he 
were just beginning to be a real boy. Also he 
felt a growing regard for these lively, fun-loving, 
manly fellows, who seemed to take especial pains 
to be kind to him and to help him in the carrying 
out of certain commendable resolutions which he 
had made, and which he had partially revealed 
to Lefty when their partnership was formed. 

The campers sunned themselves on the beach for 
a few minutes, in spite of the doctor's warning of 
possible sunburn, then dressed leisurely and wan- 
dered up toward the bungalow. 

A dismal wailing, which reminded them of 
backyard fences at home, saluted their ears as 
they approached the house, and Charlie and Wal- 
ter, who were in the lead, ran forward to in- 
vestigate. No cat had been on the premises since 
their arrival, so they wondered whence came the 
unmistakably feline solo. 

"A cat!" Charlie gasped. "In a cage, too! 
Well, did you ever !" 

The others crowded around, and saw a small 
Maltese kitten imprisoned in a rough cage made 
of a crate. On this was tacked a sign bearing 
the inscription printed in red ink : 


The kitten had a piece of red ribbon tied 
around its neck, and a little bell tinkled when it 

"Must belong to some one in the neighbor- 
hood." Tom asserted. "We 'd better hang on to it 
until it 's claimed." 

"Wonder how it got into the crate." 

"Through the crater, most likely." 

There was considerable speculation as to how 
and by whom the kitten had been placed on the 
bungalow piazza, but other matters claimed the 
boys' attention, and just then they were too busy 
to attempt a complete solution of the mystery. 

A large flag was owned by Beaver Camp, and 
Tom, with the help of Eliot and Charlie, at- 
tempted to attach it to halyards on a flagpole near 
a corner of the bungalow. This required some 
little time, but they had just completed the task, 
when Bert came running up the pathway from 
the shore. 

"Hoist the flag !" he cried breathlessly, as he 
neared the house. "The girls are coming!" 




"What girls ?" Tom inquired, looking calmly at 
the excited messenger. 

"I think it 's the same pair that we saw yester- 
day in the canoe. They 're headed for our land- 

"All right ! We '11 run up the flag. You 'd 


better hustle down and extend a kindly welcome 
to 'em. They '11 need a guide if they come ashore." 
Bert nodded, and hurried toward the landing, 
arriving just in time to see a canoe swing around 
in a quarter-circle and come alongside. In it 
were two of the girls who had been sitting on the 
piazza of Mrs. Spencer's cottage when the boys 
called for their first meal the day before. 

"Excuse me for troubling you," one of them 
said, blushing a bit. "We have lost a little Mal- 
tese kitten that we are very fond of. If you see 
it around anywhere, will you please catch it and 
return it to us? We are Mrs. Spencer's nieces, 
and are staying with her." 

"Why — why — I think we 
have your cat up at the 
bungalow. We found it there 
a little while ago when we 
came back from our swim. 
Does it wear a red ribbon 
around its neck and a bell ?" 
"Oh, yes !" the girls cried 
together. "That must be 

"Cjax?" questioned Bert. 
The girls laughed at his 
evident surprise. "We have 
four kittens," one of them 
explained, "and we named 
them Ajax, Bjax, Cjax, and 

"But how could you tell 
which was which?" Bert in- 
quired. "I should think you 
would be calling Ajax Djax 
and Cjax Bjax." 

"Oh, no ! They have dif- 
ferent markings, and we can 
always tell them apart. It 's 
really funny, though, to hear 
people get them all mixed up 
when they talk about them." 
"Won't you come ashore?" 
Bert asked, politely, suddenly 
remembering his duty as host. 
The girls looked at each 
other uncertainly. Then one 
of them said: "We 'd better 
go up and get Cjax, Dorothy. 
He may run away again if 
some one brings him down to 
us, and then, you know, we 
don't want to trouble any one 
when it 's not necessary." 

Bert helped them to step 
up on the landing, then lifted 
the canoe out of the water, 
and placed it on the boards. The girls thanked 
him politely, and followed him along the path 
toward the bungalow. 

Bert was fervently hoping that the girls might 
not discover the manner in which Cjax was de- 
livered to the camp, but, alas ! a long-drawn wail 
smote the air as the trio approached the bunga- 
low, and the girls exclaimed sympathetically. A 



moment later, they discovered their pet in strange 

"That 's just the way we found it," Bert ex- 
plained, fearing that they might think the Beaver 
Campers guilty of cruelty to animals. "We 
thought it was a pet, and that some one would 
claim it soon. We were afraid it would run away 
if we let it out, so we thought it would be safer 
to keep it right in the crate." 

Eliot appeared on the scene just then, carrying 
a hammer, and it was the work of but a moment 
to liberate the imprisoned kitten. 

"Poor Cjax!" murmured the girl addressed as 
Dorothy. "I wonder who shut you up in that 

"Just what we 've been trying to puzzle out," 
Bert assured her. 

Then he told the girls of the sign which had 
saluted their arrival, of the mysterious removal 
of their baggage, and of the inscription which 
adorned the crate. He did not add that Beaver 
Camp was reputed to be haunted, for he secretly 
hoped that this might not be the last visit of the 
girls, and feared that news of such sort would 
frighten them away from the place. 

The girls promised to let him know if they 
learned anything that might throw light on the 
case, and then said that they would have to hurry 
back in order to reach home before supper. 

All the boys except Ed and Charlie, who were 
preparing the evening meal, escorted them down 

to the landing and helped them to embark. Cjax 
did not like the looks of the water, and seemed 
determined to remain in Dorothy's arm. One 
cannot well hold a kitten and manage a paddle 
at the same time, however, so Cjax was deposited 
on the bottom of the canoe, which was headed 
for home. 

He soon scrambled to his feet, clutched the side 
of the canoe, and looked over toward the boys, 
meowing vigorously. Bert waved his hand. 

"Good-by, Cjax!" he cried. 

But really he was thinking less of the cat than 
of — of — other things. 

"Nice girls, those !" Jack commented. "I hope 
we '11 know them better before the summer 's 
over. I dare say they 'd make mighty good com- 
pany if a fellow was well acquainted with them." 

Walter nodded. "They 're not a bit stiff," he 
added. "Just pleasant and polite, not silly or 

"Those girls were placed in a pretty embarrass- 
ing position, when you come to think of it, coming 
ashore among a lot of strangers to rescue a cat. 
Yet they carried themselves well and did n't do 
anything foolish. You can see that they 're well- 
bred," said Tom. 

All unconscious of these compliments, the girls 
continued on their homeward way, arriving 
safely at length, in time for Cjax to enjoy the 
evening meal in the felicitous feline fellowship of 
his brothers Ajax, Bjax, and Djax. 

( To be continued. ) 



A baby seed all dressed in brown, 

Fell out of its cradle one day ; 
The West Wind took it with loving arms 

And carried it far away. 

He laid it down on a bed of leaves, 

And hid it with blankets white ; 
And there it slept like a weary child, 

Through the long, dark winter night. 

It woke at last, when the springtime came, 

And stretched its arms on high, 
And it grew and grew through the livelong day, 

Toward the sun and the clear, blue sky. 

It drew its food from its Mother Earth, 

And it drank the cooling shower, 
Till the small, brown seed was changed at last 

To a sweet, wild, wayside flower ! 


From a painting by J. A. Muenier. 



'T is very hard to sleep sometimes ; you see, the 

first of May, 
A very noisy family moved just across the way. 
There 's Mr. Bird and Mrs. Bird, and Master 

Bird and Miss, 
And every morn at half-past four, they raise a 

song like this : 
"A ehirp-a-dee, a chirp-a-dee, a chirp, chirp, 

chirp, chirp, chee !" 
They do not seem to care a whit how sleepy 

mortals be. 

We cannot ask them to vacate (this noisy concert 

band) ; 
They occupy the highest tree there is at their 

The elevator that they use is each his own swift 

Contented in this high abode the happy household 

sings : 
"A chirp-a-dee, a chirp-a-dee, a chirp, chirp, 

chirp, chirp, chee ! 
You people miss an awful lot, who don't live in 

a tree !" 

This family does not like the cold, and journeys 

south each fall ; 
And, though we say they wake us up, we long for 

spring's recall. 
The minstrel troupe comes back to us as noisy as 

And other tree-top neighbors come to sing before 

our door : 
"A chirp-a-dee, a chirp-a-dee, a chirp, chirp, 

chirp, chirp, chee ! 
Who is it talks of little birds that in their nests 


This lively band of singer-folk ne'er ask a stated 

But, like all other mendicants, subsist on charity; 
Descending from their leafy boughs a-many times 

a day, 
They ask for all the dainty crumbs that we have 
stored away. 
"A chirp, chirp, chirp, a chirp, chirp, chirp !" 
How funny that we keep 
Our choicest bits to pay the folk who rob us of 
our sleep ! 

Edith M. Russell. 


Each springtime cool the April Fool, his rain- "Wake up and greet the May-time sweet !" he 
drop bells a-chiming, laughs, and startled flowers 

On rainbow wings a sunbeam brings to buds o'er Unclose their eyes in glad surprise — to drench- 
dark banks climbing. ing April showers. May Aiken. 





Author of " Historic Boyhoods," " Historic Girlhoods," etc. 

Chapter XII 


Real snow came late that December, not the thin 
layef- that sparkled on the grass, but deep drifts 
tha't-tl'lmost hid the fences, and made the country 
about Westover House look very new and 
strange. Every morning, Roger woke up to find 
his bedroom windows covered with queer frost 
tracings, and, when he looked out, the trees had 
long icicle fingers, and their limbs shone as if 
they were made of glass. It was good to get into 
warm clothes and go down-stairs to a hot break- 
fast, and to stand in front of the blazing logs on 
the dining-room hearth. 

His tutor left Westover House the day before 
Christmas, and Roger drove over with him to the 
railroad station. He had a few last presents he 

wanted to buy in the village, so he told John, the 
coachman, not to wait for him. He had on his 
fur coat and cap, and his fur-lined gloves, and, 
after he had made his purchases, he started home 
on foot. 

A few snowflakes were falling as he left the 
village, and the sun was a curious red-gold. With 
the eye of a weather-prophet, Roger predicted 
that a storm was coming. Then he dug his hands 
deep into his pockets and stepped on briskly. 
Soon the snow was falling faster, making a veil 
that hid almost everything but the road, and the 
sun had disappeared. 

"Bad weather to be abroad in, is n't it ?" asked 
a voice at his elbow. 

Roger turned in surprise. Beside him strode a 
slender man, muffled up to his ears in a greatcoat, 
with a broad hat pulled far down upon his brow. 






"My bonnie Scotland is not so kind to me as 
she might be," went on the stranger. "I love the 
Highlands best in sunny weather." 

"Scotland !" exclaimed Roger, in a tone that 
sounded as though he thought his companion 
must be dreaming. 

"Aye, bonnie Scotland," repeated the other. 
"We are not so very far from Perth, and if the 
snow were not so thick, you might see Kinnoul 
Hill. I must reach Perth before the dawn, but 
if the wind shift—" He broke off, and threw out 
his hands to show how he felt as to what might 
happen then. 

Roger thought they ought by now to be near 
his father's house, but he did not say so. He 
walked on silently, save for the crunching of the 
snow under his heavy-shod boots. 

"Don't you know who I am?" asked his com- 
panion presently, turning toward him. "I know 
you. Your name is Roger Miltoun." 

Roger had been thinking hard. This man must 
be the last of the Knights of the Golden Spur, 
the slender man with the deep, dark eyes and the 
smiling lips, who had kept turning a great seal- 
ring upon his finger. 

"I do remember you," he said finally. "You 
had a hat with a feather, and a blue coat under 
your cloak, and a seal-ring on your finger. I 've 
been wondering who you are." 

The man pulled his coat-collar a little away 
from his face, and Roger could see that he was 
very handsome, although very pale and thin. "My 
name is Charles Stuart," said he, "and by right I 
should be King of England and of Scotland, as 
my fathers were before me. But, instead, I am 
only called Prince Charlie, and the English troops 
are hunting me through Scotland like a common 

"Bonnie Prince Charlie !" exclaimed Roger. 
"Why, I 've heard lots of songs about you !" 

But Prince Charlie's lips had lost their smile, 
and he was staring very soberly ahead of him. 
"Tracked like a thief in my own Scotland," he 
murmured, "and driven back again to France. 
Roger, if it were not for the love some of these 
good people of the Highlands bear me, I had al- 
most as soon sink into one of these great drifts 
and never rise again as to fight on." Then, very 
abruptly, he threw back his shoulders, and his 
eyes took on a new light. "Shame on you, Charlie 
lad," said he. "The heir of the Stuarts to whine 
because he 's whipped ! Nay, not so. Courage 
and a smile will always set doubts packing !" 

Then he broke into a light laugh. "What a 
chase those Hanoverian soldiers have had after 
me ! Once I was hid in the trunk of a tree as 
they shot past in full cry, and many a day I 've 

lain in a cave in the rocks with a few faithful 
friends, waiting for the cover of a dark night to 
steal away. But traveling in company became 
too dangerous, and so we scattered. And now I 
must reach the house of one Tammas Campbell, 
a gunsmith who lives just this side of Perth, for 
to-night I will find there men who will smuggle 
me on board the French ship that waits for me. 
It should not be a long way to this Campbell's 
but for this storm." 

By this time, Roger thoroughly realized that 
they were not in the neighborhood of Westover 
House, but in a rough and hilly country. They 
were going uphill, and a new and piercing wind 
blew straight in their faces as if from a gap in 
the hills. 

So they tramped on for what seemed like miles, 
through a white desert. They could see scarcely 
a yard in front of them, and it was only the 
banks that rose on either side that kept them in 
the road. Roger was chilled through, and every 
muscle ached, but he knew that he must go on 
fighting through the storm beside Prince Charlie. 
Every little while he glanced at the man beside 
him, whose broad-brimmed hat and shoulders 
were covered with drifts of snow, while now and 
then he would fling his arms about to warm them. 
Soon Roger found himself stumbling and almost 
falling, and needed all his wits to keep his feet 
moving on the road. 

They were in very bad plight in all seriousness. 
Night had come and ringed them in, and the 
darkness added its fear to that of the cold and 
their ebbing strength. Then the road dipped, and 
he wondered if they could be coming down from 
the hills. Suddenly the wind veered and struck 
them from the left. It brought a great, whirling 
mass of snow that hit them with terrific force. 
It seemed as if they could not take another step 
forward, but must either be blown back or fall 
prone on the ground. Roger felt Prince Charlie's 
arm around his shoulders, and so they stood, hold- 
ing to each other, while the sudden whirlwind beat 
mercilessly against them. Then it slackened a 
little, and Roger heard his companion shouting at 
him, "I thought I heard a dog's bark on the right. 
We must climb up the bank." 

Roger had a remnant of strength left, and with 
it he fought his way beside the prince up the 
slippery ground at the side of the road. Then 
they stumbled on. Suddenly in the darkness they 
struck a wooden wall. Roger now heard the dog 
barking, and felt himself being pulled to the left. 
Then he heard the prince beating on wood with 
his feet, and, before he knew what was happen- 
ing, the darkness opened, and he lurched forward 
into a lighted room. He felt a sudden, sharp 




pain, as of fire, shoot through him, and then, in 
spite of his struggles, his eyelids closed. 

When he opened his eyes again, he could not, 
at first, imagine where he was. He was lying on 
a couch covered with skins. His boots and his 
fur cap and coat were gone. Great logs were 
blazing in a fireplace, a table was set with plates 
and glasses in the center of the room, and a girl 
was pouring something steaming hot from a stone 
pitcher into a great bowl that stood upon the 

A young man sat in front of the fire, swinging 
one leg slowly over the knee of the other. He 
wore a dark blue suit, but although Roger had 
only seen him in his cloak and high boots, he 
knew it was Prince Charlie. In a chair on the 
other side of the hearth sat an older man, of 
heavy build, with shaggy, gray hair. A boy, a 
little older than Roger, had just come into the 
room, and laid some logs of fire-wood on the 

"I 've drawn nae sword mysel this last year," 
the gray-haired man was saying, "for my right 
arm has lost its cunning and wull na bend. But 
my brothers and all the clan MacGregor followed 
the beacon light, and my little lad Angus here 
begged sae hard that I could na keep him hame. 
But I should beg your pardon, young sir," the 
man went on. "It may be ye are nae Jacobite 
yoursel, but hereabouts 't is hard to speak of any- 
thing but King Charles and the war." 

"Poor King Charlie," said the girl. "Each 
night we say a prayer for him." 

"An' hope he be safe and sound," added Angus, 
"and na skirling aboot the Hielands in despair." 

The man in blue turned toward the girl. 
"Those prayers of yours will save him yet," said 
he. "Say them still after he goes to France, and 
he '11 come back again." 

"Oh, do ye think sae?" said she, taking a few 
steps forward. 

"Will he come back? Will Charlie cross the 
water?" exclaimed the old man in excited tones. 

The young man rose and stood with his back to 
the fire. "Aye, he will come bacV said he, "sae 
lang as Scotch hearts beat sae true to him." 

"How d' ye ken?" asked the man, sitting for- 
ward in his chair. 

The young man twisted the signet-ring about 
on his finger. "I should know," said he, "for my 
name is Charles Stuart, and I sail for France at 

There was absolute silence for a moment, then 
the Scotchman rose from his chair and dropped 
on his knees before the man in blue, and the boy 
and girl knelt on either side of him. "Sae it is 
Your Majesty in vera truth !" the Scotchman ex- 
Vol. XXXIX.— 8o. 

claimed. "Forgi'e the likes o' us for being sae 

"Forgive you for taking me in from the storm 
and saving my life?" said the young man, with a 
smile. "No, I shall never forgive that, nor for- 
get it." 

"I saw Your Majesty once— in battle," said 
Angus, "an' I was doubtin' just afore ye spoke — " 

"And I too," said the girl. "I 've a picture in 
my locket o' Prince Charlie." 

"Of King Charles, Elspeth," corrected her 

"No," said the young man, "not King, but only 
Prince Charlie. I love the name, for those who 
call me by it are fond of me." 

"And weel they may be, sir," said the Scotch- 
man, rising from his bended knee. "And when 
ye come again, I '11 draw the claymore, right arm 
or nae right arm." 

"And that will surely help to win the day for 
me," answered Prince Charlie. He spoke so 
frankly and so courteously that his very words 
seemed to make people love him. "But until that 
day comes, I must go back to France," he added, 
"and to do that I must reach before dawn the 
house of a gunsmith, named Campbell, on the 
edge of Perth." 

" 'T is na sae far to Campbell's hoose," said 
the Scotchman. "A mile straight doon the road. 
But ye '11 na be gangin' just yet. 'T is an honor 
my bairns and I will ne'er be forgettin' if we 
micht hae our bonnie Prince Charlie to sup on 
Christmas e'en." 

"And Charlie would like that supper," said the 
prince, "for the scones smell very good, and so 
does that bowl of punch. Aha ! see the lad on the 
couch prick up his ears at the naming of hot 
things to eat." 

It was true. Even the comfort of the bed of 
skins was not so strong as Roger's appetite just 
then. He sat up, and soon, rising, stepped over to 
the fire. 

"Is n't this a merry change, Roger?" asked the 
prince. "Instead of raging snow and biting wind, 
blazing logs, a stout roof, and a steaming supper. 
Come, let 's to table." 

Prince Charlie took the chair at the head. 
None of the others would have sat down, but he 
insisted. Elspeth had set all the dishes out, so 
that now she had little to do in waiting on them. 
The prince and Roger were so hungry that their 
Scotch host was kept busy cutting slices of veni- 
son to fill their plates. 

It was a real Christmas eve feast, and it ended 
with Elspeth's pride— a fine plum-pudding. When 
the last of that had vanished, Prince Charlie 
pushed his chair back from the table, and told 




them some of the strange adventures that had 
befallen him in the last few weeks. Then he 
asked Elspeth if she would not sing for him, and, 
with a flushed face, she stood up and sang the old 
Jacobite song of "The Young Chevalier," her 
sweet voice trembling as she looked at the prince. 

The song ended, and the prince clapped his 
hands, crying, "Brava, brava, Elspeth !" But the 
words were scarcely out of his mouth before 
there was a loud knocking at the door, and a 
voice cried, "Open ! open in the king's name !" 

Then, before any one had time to think, the 
door broke inward, and an officer in English uni- 
form stood in the room with sword drawn. And 
behind him came others, all with muskets. The 
first man cast his eye over the startled group, and 
singled out the young man in blue. "My orders 
are to hold you, sir," said he, with a bow, "until 
the captain-general comes out from Perth." 

The Scotchman sprang forward, throwing him- 
self between the prince and the English officer. 
"This mon bides wi' me, and ye maun e'en kill 
me afore ye can tak him." 

"Nay, friend," said the prince. "This good 
soldier has made a mistake. He takes me for 
some other person than the simple man I am." 

"Your pardon, sir, but I take you for Charles 
Stuart," answered the officer. "My men have 
been on your track since early day. There 's no 
use fighting," he added, looking at the Scotch- 
man. "It would only be good blood spilled." 

The Scotchman looked as if he were about to 
throw himself on the officer, but Prince Charlie 
put a hand on his shoulder. "There is a time for 
everything," said he, gently but firmly, "and this 
is none for fighting." 

The prince sat down again in his seat by the 
fire, and the officer bade certain of his men to 
guard the doors of the house. Then he helped 
himself to a glass of the punch. 

"Sit here with me, captain," said the prince, 
invitingly, pointing to a chair near him. "Friends 
are much better gear than enemies." 

All this time Roger had been watching every- 
thing, but saying nothing. Two of the soldiers 
sat down by the supper-table, and another was 
talking with the Scotchman and his son Angus in 
a corner. One stood, musket on shoulder, out- 
side the front door, and another had gone to 
watch the door at the back of the house. Elspeth 
had slipped out of the room, and now Roger stole 
out of the room also. He found Elspeth in the 
little dark hall, crying as if broken-hearted. 

"Where are my boots and coat?" asked Roger, 
in a low voice. 

"Oh, the puir prince," sobbed Elspeth, seeing 
it was Roger. "And he sae bonnie, too." 

"Get me my boots and cap and coat," said 
Roger. "Then if you can draw the soldier away 
from the kitchen door a minute, I '11 slip out. 
Call him over to the fire for a dish of broth." 

Elspeth returned in a moment, and Roger pulled 
on his boots and struggled into his fur coat and 
cap. "Now go back and get that soldier over by 
the fire," said he. 

Again Elspeth did as she was told. Then, very 
cautiously, Roger looked in at the kitchen door. 
The only light in the room was what came from 
the fire. The soldier was standing beside Elspeth, 
watching her ladle hot broth into a big cup. 
Roger waited until the soldier took the cup in 
his hand and held it up to drink. Then he 
slipped around the edge of the room, keeping in 
the shadow, until he came to the door. The 
soldier had left this unlatched, and he could open 
it without making any noise. He crept out, and 
pulled the door shut after him. 

The storm had ended. Before him lay a great 
white field of snow, and beyond were the lights 
of a good-sized town. Roger knew that must be 
Perth, so he turned up his collar, pulled his cap 
down over his ears, and headed for the road that 
Prince Charlie and he had left. Luckily there 
was enough starlight now for him to see his way. 

Chapter XIII 


Roger knew that he must hurry if he was to aid 
Prince Charlie. The captain and the five men 
who were guarding him now were likely to be 
relieved at any moment by the arrival of others 
from the castle at Perth. His business was to 
get to Tammas Campbell at once. So he ran and 
slid and hurried down the highroad as fast as he 
could, until he could make out the blur of many 
houses, and could see spirals of smoke floating 
from chimneys across the starlit sky. Several 
cottages stood on either side of the road, and he 
stopped in front of each one and looked for a 
sign. They all seemed to be small farmers' 
houses, so he kept on along the road until he 
reached one that stood farther back from the 
highway. Following a path made by recent foot- 
prints, he came to the door, and peered up at a 
sign-board that hung creaking in the wind. He 
could make out two crossed muskets on it, and 
the words, "T. Campbell, Gunsmith." 

Roger knocked boldly upon the door. No one 
answered him, so he knocked again, and then, 
after a little wait, a third time. He stepped back, 
and looked the house over. It was small, with a 
thatched roof, and all the windows were covered 
with wooden shutters. He was certain that this 




must be the place that the prince had been aiming 
for, so he gave the door a stout kick with his 
foot. Almost instantly it opened, and a man 
looked out. at him. "De'il tak ye! Why be ye 


knockin' up honest folk this time o' nicht?" said 
the man, angrily. 

"There 's a man up the road needs help," said 
Roger. "A man who wants to go to France." 

The man at the door stared at him for a mo- 
ment. Then he said, "I thought ye waur a troop 
o' horse by the racket ye made, but syne ye be 
only a lad, ye may e'en come indoors." 

The gunsmith's main room was a strange-look- 
ing place. A peat fire burned on the hearth and 
filled the room with smoke. All about were the 
parts of guns, and odds and ends of old metal. 
The fire gave the only light, but it was enough to 
show Roger that there were a number of men on 
the far side of the room, a rough, weather-beaten 
lot, who looked like sailors or smugglers. 

Tammas Campbell shut the door and bolted it. 
"What was that ye said aboot a man bound to 

France?" he asked, turning around to Roger. 
"Ye seem to hae part o' a countersign I ken, but 
na the rap at the door. What is 't ye 'd say to me ?" 
Roger glanced at the men half hidden by the 
haze of peat^smoke. "I 'd 
rather speak to you alone," 
said he; and added, "that is 
if you are Tammas Camp- 

"Aye, lad, I be Tammas 
Campbell right enow. An' 
these be good friends o' 
mine wha ken all my 
secrets." Then, as if he 
understood the reason for 
Roger's hesitation, he said; 
"If there 's a man wha 's 
gangin' aff to France the 
morn, they be anxious to 
hear o' him." 

Roger realized that this 
was no time for distrust. 
"I came through the hills 
with a man this afternoon," 
said he. "We were caught 
in a storm and had to stop 
at a cottage about a mile 
from here. Some English 
soldiers broke into the 
house after supper, and 
took him prisoner." 

"An' why did they do 
that?" demanded Campbell. 
"They said he was Prince 
Charles Stuart." 

"Prince Charles Stuart !" 
echoed the gunsmith. He 
turned toward the group of 
men. "Now what think ye 
o''that? 'T is ill news the lad brings." 

"An' was he Charlie himsel?" one of the men 

"Yes," said Roger, "it was really he." 
"Then by the blessed Saint Andrew !" ex- 
claimed the gunsmith, "I '11 na be sittin' here. 
Lads, will ye leave him trapped in the hands o' 
yon English butchers?" 

In a trice, they were all up, stamping, growling 
at the English, blessing Prince Charlie, feeling 
for their dirks, and making ready to set out at 

"Every mon tak a gun," said the smith, point- 
ing to a rack of muskets. "Noo, lad, lead us to 
yon cot." 

Roger glanced at the crowd. There were a 
dozen of them, strapping big fellows, who looked 
as if they would rather fight than eat. "Come !" 




he cried, and, unbolting the door, led the way out 
into the road. 

It was harder work toiling uphill than it had 
been sliding down, but at last Roger could point 
out the cottag^ to Campbell. The gunsmith went 
first to reconnoiter, leaving the others crouched 
behind the bank at the side of the road. When 
he came back, he gave his orders, and the band 
of Scots crept forward. Two were told off to the 
front of the house, and these two came so sud- 
denly and so fiercely upon the soldier on guard 
there, that, the first thing he knew, he was flung 
forward into a snowdrift, and so stunned that he 
could give no cry. Then these two stood by the 
door, and the others went to the windows. 
Roger, one of the gunsmith's muskets in his hand, 
stood his place with the rest, ready to break the 
window in front of him and fire as soon as he 
got the word of command. 

He could see Prince Charlie and the English 
captain talking by the fire, and the soldiers sit- 
ting at the supper-table. Then suddenly the door 
was burst open, and Tammas Campbell stood on 
the threshold, a leveled musket at his shoulder. 
"Hands up !" he roared in a voice of thunder. 
Without waiting, he cried, "Fire !" Musket bar- 
rels broke the glass of every window in the room, 
and muskets, aimed at the ceiling, sent out a 
round of shot. Then, while the English soldiers 
were almost blinded by the smoke and dazed by 
the roar, the Scots sprang forward, dirks in hand, 
following Tammas through the open door. 

The captain, leaping from his chair by the fire, 
was sent sprawling by a blow from Campbell's 
fist. The soldiers at the table threw up their 
hands when the steel of the dirks danced before 
their eyes. There came a cry of warning from 
the kitchen, and then the noise of a heavy man 
falling to the floor. Two Scots had taken charge 
of the guard at the rear, and handled him With 
the same skill and despatch their mates had 
showed with the soldier at the front. Roger 
dashed into the room just in time to see the 
enemy's complete defeat. 

Campbell gave his orders sharply. The cap- 
tain's sword and his men's muskets were secured, 
and their arms bound. Not until he had seen 
them made absolutely secure did he turn to the 
man in blue. Then he pulled off his woolen cap 
and bowed low to him. 

"Heaven save Your Majesty !" said he. "Trust 
a Scottish mon to tak an English !" 

"You 've done it as neatly as ever hunter 
trapped a boar," answered Prince Charlie. "I '11 
never forget this night's work of you and your 
men. The boy brought you the tidings?" 

"Aye, the lad here," said Tammas, nodding. 

"Come here, Roger," said Prince Charlie. "Do 
you know that all the time I sat by the fire with 
the English captain, I had a hope that you 'd be 
winning down to Campbell's?" 

"He 's a clever lad," said Tammas. "When he 
rappit at the door, he did na give the countersign 
agreed to, so I e'en let him rap. But he did na go 
away, but kept on poundin', so I took a look at 

"Angus, my coat and hat and boots," said 
Prince Charlie. "They should be well warmed by 
now. We must be making for the French ship, 
or there '11 be another rescue party climbing the 

Angus brought the prince's outer garments 
from the kitchen, and now helped him on with 
them. Prince Charlie shook hands with the boy 
and his father. "Keep those claymores sharp," 
said he, "for I shall be coming back soon, and if 
you two do not join me, my cause is as good as 
lost. But where is Elspeth? I must be hastening, 
but I want to say good-by to her first." 

Elspeth, when she heard her name spoken, 
came into the room. The prince put out his hand 
and took hers. "No matter what happens to me," 
said he, "I '11 never forget how you sang, 'Charlie 
is my darling.' " 

She flushed, her eyes misty with tears. "And 
I '11 never forget Prince Charlie," said she ; and 
before he could stop her, she had bent and kissed 
his hand. 

Leaving the English soldiers in the Scotch- 
man's care, the gunsmith called his men together 
and placed Prince Charlie and Roger in the 
center of the square they formed. "So if we 
meet any soldier men," he explained, "they '11 na 
see who we hae wi' us, but tak us for a band o' 
country loons singin' Christmas carols to the 

But they looked like anything but carol singers 
as they shouldered their muskets and started 
down the road. Tammas led the march, and 
turned off by a path to the right before they 
reached Perth. The snow was deeper here, but 
the men in front made a trail which provided 
easier going for the prince and Roger. At last 
they paused upon a slope and saw where just in 
front of them a lantern on a ship made a rippling 
path of light upon the water. 

"Yon 's the French brig," said Tammas, point- 
ing to the rocking light. 

A hundred yards more brought them to a small 
inlet, and there lay a long rowboat half hidden in 
beach-grasses. The Scotchmen stepped on board 
and took their places at the oars. Prince Charlie 
and Roger sat in the stern seat, and Tammas 
crouched in "front of them. A man in the bow 




cast off. "Noo," said Tammas, "pull for the brig 
yonder. All the redcoats i' the kingdom should 
na hae Prince Charlie noo." 

The prince looked back at the shore they were 
leaving. "Farewell, Scotland !" he murmured. 
"My heart is sore at going, but I '11 come back. 
Yes, I '11 come back to you." 

The Scotchmen pulled strong oars, the water 
splashed from their blades, and the light on the 
brig grew larger, and soon Roger could make out 
her lines and even see a group of men gathered 
in the bow, facing toward them. "Noo let her 
run !" called Tammas. The oars rose and stayed 
poised, and the long boat shot gently into the 
great black shadow made by the ship. "Here we 
are, Roger," said Prince Charlie. "In good time, 
too, for yonder streak on the horizon looks like 
dawn to me." 

Chapter XIV 


When Roger woke up the next morning, he 
found the storm had cleared and he could see 
from his window the motionless white arms of 
the elm at the side of the house. But he did not 
jump right out of bed because he could not help 
wondering how Prince Charlie was faring in the 
French brig, and if he would really return to 
Scotland some day and fight for his throne again. 
As he was thinking that, Roger's father knocked 
at his door, and said, "Roger, you 'd better tumble 
out as quick as you can, or you '11 find it 's the 
day after Christmas." 

That would never do ; so Roger hastened to 
dress, and ran down to breakfast. He got there 
in time to find that it was still December twenty- 
fifth, and to wish all the family a Merry Christ- 

That was a wonderful holiday week, for the 
fine weather held, and the boys could live out-of- 
doors. But one thing worried Roger as the 
holidays wore on. Each one of the knights who 
had sat at the table had come to Westover House 
and taken him away with him, as they had 
agreed, and now he was afraid there would be 
no more adventures. 

Christmas week passed, and he saw none of 
them. New-year's eve came, and Roger's father 
and mother drove away in a sleigh to a neigh- 
bor's house, for a dinner-party, and to see the 
New-year in. Roger sat reading in the library 
until the clock struck eleven. Then he put his 
book on the table and went over to the hearth, 
where he kicked the big logs into a blaze. He 
did not feel sleepy, and he did not want to go to 
bed. Then he remembered the book, bound in 
green and gold, that he had been reading on that 

other night, and also the little amulet of jade. 
He took the book from the shelf and the amu- 
let from its drawer in the cabinet, and carried 
them to the tiger skin before the fire. He 
stretched out, and opened the book at the page 
that was still marked with the slip of paper he 
had left in it. He read the lines again, out loud, 
to catch the sound of them. 

He finished reading, and, looking down at the 
amulet in his hand, wished that he might see his 
knights again. Then, above the crackling of the 
fire, he caught a murmur of voices. With a beat- 
ing heart, he got up and looked about. Yes, the 
room was as it had been on that other night, with 
tapestries hanging where the windows would 
have been. 

Trembling with excitement, Roger dropped the 
amulet into his pocket, and walking across the 
room, pulled the tapestries apart. Beyond lay 
the hall of the Knights of the Golden Spur. The 
banner of white, with the spur of gold in its 
center, hung high above the shining table, and 
the torches in their rings about the walls lighted 
the faces and figures of the six men who sat 
about the board. One chair stood empty, just as 
it had before. 

Sir Lancelot was speaking. " 'T is well met 
we are, brothers," said he, "to cast our balance 
on this closing night of the year. When we last 
met, a lad of this new century came to us, eager 
to win yon vacant seat. Has each of ye seen him 

"Aye," came in a chorus of voices from those 
gathered there. 

"And what think ye of him?" asked Lancelot. 
"Speak first, Prince Charlie." 

The young man in blue smiled as he glanced 
about the circle of expectant faces. "Roger Mil- 
toun went through a storm with me when we 
were like to perish," he answered. "He carried 
news of my capture to a house of strange men, 
and brought them back to save me. He was true 
as steel to me." 

"What sayest thou, Philip Sidney?" asked Sir 
Lancelot, turning. 

Sir Philip Sidney pushed his chair a little back 
from the table. "England needed help," said he, 
"for Spain's Armada was ready to descend upon 
us. Traitors were sending secrets across seas, 
and, when they might have slipped me, Roger 
pursued and wrenched the gilded tube from a 
traitor's neck. My gracious Queen Elizabeth has 
thanked him, and she is a judge of daring men." 

"And I," said the tall man in the black armor, 
with the ostrich-plumes in his helmet, "can vouch 
his cunning and his courage. He won me back 
my father, who was duped by certain evil men." 



"He helped me bring a young earl out of evil 
plight," put in Richard Cceur de Lion. "And his 
wits are of keen edge." 

"So say I," said Little John. "We made him 
one of Robin Hood's band." 

"He rode with me to Forfars," said Lancelot, 
"and but for him, I should never have seen 
Camelot again. How say ye? Is he worthy the 
seat that 's waiting there?" 

Again came the chorus of voices, "Aye, he is !" 

"I pray thee bring him hither, Prince Charlie," 
said Sir Lancelot. 

Prince Charlie rose and stepped to the tapes- 
tries. He flung them back. There stood Roger, 
his eyes dancing with joy and excitement. 
"Oho," said Prince Charlie, "so you heard what 
I said about you !" 

"I could n't help it," answered Roger. "I 
did n't know you were all here again, but when I 
found you, I could n't go away." 

"There is no need of that now, Roger," said 
the young man in blue. "Give me your hand." 

Prince Charlie led him past the curtains and up 
to the big arm-chair which stood on the opposite 
side of the round table from that of Sir Lancelot. 
The knights had all risen and were looking at 

"Here is Roger Miltoun, my brothers," said 
Prince Charlie, "and he is as fit to be a knight of 
this new century as we each were of ours." 

Roger glanced about the circle of faces, each 
so different from the others, and yet each that of 
an old friend. At last he looked at the splendid 
man in gold, whose clear, deep eyes were fixed 
upon him. 

"We have all tried thee, Roger," he said slowly, 
"in peril of witchcraft and of storm, of treach- 
ery and craft, and we have all found thee stead- 
fast. The last seat at the board is thine." 

Then Sir Lancelot took a small golden spur 
that hung at his shining belt, and passed it to 
Little John. He, in turn, handed it to the Black 
Prince, and he to Prince Charlie. "This is the 
badge of our order," said Prince Charlie, as he 
placed the little spur in Roger's hands. 

"Now," came the ringing voice of Lancelot, 
"our table is complete! Hail the last knight; 
give hail to Roger Miltoun !" 

Each man drew his sword and flashed it above 
his head, pointing it toward the great banner 
that hung high above the table. "Hail, Roger 
Miltoun ! Hail, the new Knight of the Golden 
Spur !" they cried. 

The swords fell and were sheathed. Then 
Lancelot took his seat again, and after him in 


order, Little John, Richard Coeur de Lion, the 
Black Prince, Sir Philip Sidney, and Prince 
Charlie. Last of all, Roger sat down in his big 

One fear was in his mind, and he could not 
keep it from his lips. "Will the amulet and the 
verses bring you all again, Sir Lancelot?" he 

Lancelot smiled. "When there is need of brave 
work to be done, of wrongs to be redressed, of 
ills to be prevented, we will each come to thee, 
according to our need. When thou hast need of 
any one of us, hold the little spur in thy hands 
and speak his name. He will be standing by 
thee when thou lookest up again. Twice every 
year we meet here in our hall, one summer's 
night, and every New-year's eve. Thou wilt 
know we are here, for I shall summon thee." 

Roger sat back in his chair, satisfied. He had 
never been so happy in his life. Then there 
boomed out on the night the first stroke of a 
great bell, ringing somewhere in the distance. 
Sir Lancelot stood up. "The old year passes, 
brothers. A welcome to the New-year !" 

They all leaped to their feet, a sword shining 
in each unlifted hand. Roger felt instinctively 
at his belt. He found the hilt of a sword, and 
drew the blade forth. Like the rest, he pointed 
it toward the banner. "Hail to the New-year ; 
to the New-year all hail !" came the loud chorus 
of voices, Roger's among them. So they stood 
while the bell rang out its twelve slow strokes, 
and at the last each thrust his sword yet higher 
toward the banner. 

The last stroke was still echoing in the air, but 
the torches, the table, and the knights were gone. 
Roger was standing at the bow-window in his 
father's library, looking out over the fields of 
snow. He heard the last echo grow fainter, 
fainter, and then vanish. He held something 
clutched in his left hand. He opened his fingers 
and looked down at it. It was a little gold spur, of 
an old-fashioned pattern and curiously wrought. 
He turned and walked over to the fireplace. 
The book bound in green and gold still lay on the 
tiger rug where he had left it. He looked about 
the room. There was no doubt it was his father's 
library. "Yes, I 'm wide awake," said he, aloud, 
"and I 'm certainly here at home." He looked 
down at the spur again. "Yet here 's the spur 
they gave me; so it must be true. I 've only to 
keep it safe, and want one of them very much, 
and he '11 come to me. And more than that, I, 
too, am a Knight of the Golden Spur!" 






round every general 
when he goes to 
battle is a selected 
company of men, 
sometimes a whole 
troop, called his 
body-guard. Their 
main duty is to 
protect the com- 
mander. Whoever 
is in danger, he 
must not be ; whoever 
falls, he must not. They do not do skirmish duty, 
nor picket duty, this body-guard ; they protect the 
general. Their business is to serve the whole 
army by guarding the life of the one who, in his 
turn, serves the army by commanding it. The 
position of these men is a proud one, and they 
are often the pick of the fighting force. To be 
near the general and responsible for his safety is 
an enviable post, and the warm sense of friend- 
ship between the chief of the whole army and this 
small part of it, is a prize that every soldier 
would like to call his own. 

When we enter the fighting-field of life, as 
each of us must do, we are provided with a body- 
guard. In time we may come to command large 
armies in the field of business, or we may com- 
mand forces in the field of art, as Raphael and 
Rembrandt and Turner did; or in the field of 
science, as Helmholz and Edison ; or in literature, 
as did Dickens and Stevenson. We may do all 
this, and yet be exposed to great danger and 
failure if our body-guard should desert or prove 
cowardly. And, on the other hand, it is well to 
remember that if we never hold a generalship or 
a place of command, this body-guard is still 
necessary. Every person needs it, and every per- 
son has it, whether he becomes as famous as 
Napoleon, or lives quietly in a country village all 
his life. It is as much needed in carrying on 
the smallest duties of life as it is in conducting 
campaigns of war or discovering a new comet. 
The body-guard I am speaking of, as you surely 
see by this time, is something that has to do with 
us as individuals, rather than as people who hold 
this or that position. It is the protecting force, 
the selected troop of habits, influences, and char- 
acter, which is close to us to see that, no matter 
whether we win or lose the fight, we shall not 
lose the life of our best self. This body-guard 
may not keep a man from losing his money, but it 

can and will keep him from losing his character. 
It may not make a boy win every foot-ball game, 
but it will help him to win every fight with mean- 
ness or selfishness or wrong. It will make him 
commander of himself and of his own thoughts 
and actions, even if the rest of his army is de- 
feated. If the troops in the field become de- 
moralized, as the phrase is, the body-guard re- 
mains to see that our real self is not defeated. 

You see how important a thought this is. And, 
first of all, notice that there is a difference in the 
two body-guards I have mentioned. The gen- 
eral's body-guard is only provided for him after 
he becomes a general. But the body-guard of 
each of us as individuals, as Tom, or Mary, or 
Elizabeth, is provided for us from the very mo- 
ment of our birth. We go on adding to it or 
strengthening it, but it is really there almost as 
soon as we begin to live. In other words, our 
body-guard grows up with us ; it is not made up 
of strangers. It is around us from the first. 

Who and what are some of the members of 
this body-guard— some of these things that are 
closest to us? We must know them by name, 
if what I have said of them is true. 

The first I want to name is Character. Char- 
acter is the quality that keeps us always our- 
selves. It stands nearest to that innermost part 
of us that each calls "myself" ; sometimes it is even 
hard to distinguish the two. But I like to keep 
Character in my body-guard. Character stands 
firm under every trial, if we give it the chance to 
do so. It says to all the enemies,— temptation, 
discouragement, bad luck, the blues, and hosts of 
others,— "You may defeat the rest of the army, 
but you dare not come near the general." Char- 
acter is the quality that always reminds me that 
I am myself. It stands just next to myself and 
goes on repeating, "Be yourself ! Don't forget 
who you are; don't act below yourself." Wher- 
ever-'it began, Character is the first in our body- 
guard. He will never desert. A boy or girl who 
has character, who keeps character strong and 
alive, can never truly be defeated. 

Then, in our body-guard, is one called Disposi- 
tion. Some people have good characters, but un- 
pleasant dispositions. Disposition obeys orders, 
and we really are to blame if he sulks constantly. 
He is more teachable than Character, and we can 
improve him if we begin early. If I am cross 
and ugly in my tone of voice or looks, it may not 
be bad character, but more likely it is bad dis- 




position. What I need to do is to cultivate that 
Disposition, educate him until he grows better. 
If my character is really good, I must tell my 
disposition that he must not tell a falsehood about 
me, but must show me to others as I really am. 
Disposition must be made to keep step with 
Character. As the actors on the stage usually 
get their signs, or "cues," from another actor, so 
Disposition must take his sign from Character ; 
otherwise we appear worse than we are. And, 
sometimes, if Disposition remains bad too long, he 
can even spoil Character entirely. Just as a poor 
player can easily spoil the acting of a great one. 

Temper is in our body-guard, a most excellent 
protector if controlled. I will only say of him 
that he is like a good watch-dog. He does best 
service when he is chained up. Keep Temper in 
the body-guard, as we keep a good dog near the 
door of our house at night. He will bark when 
noise reaches him, but he must not run after 
noises a mile off that don't concern him. A great 
many boys lose their tempers over foolish things. 
Their watch-dog has run away, and is off duty. 
I have seen a boy get angry over a shoe-lace that 
had caught in a knot ; then when, a few moments 
later, he saw another boy act rudely, he had no 
temper left to make him go up to that boy and 
say, in a quiet but strong voice : "You ought to 
know better than that." 

In this chosen troop, so very close to us, is one 
called Habit. He is a kind of an outsider at 
first, yet he sooner or later manages the whole 

body-guard. He will obey the general only. If 
I, that self of mine, give him strict orders, he 
will obey; but if I am careless, he obeys no one 
and tries to command every one. Habit is the 
timekeeper of the body-guard. He tells the rest 
of the troop just when the general needs help. 
Habit, if allowed to get slipshod, will at once 
spoil the rest of the body-guard, and then the 
general himself, and his right-hand man, Char- 
acter, are in very great danger. Yes, very great ! 

The body-guard has many others in it whom 
you can write down for yourself. You will be 
wise if you call the roll some day soon. Ask 
Purpose if he is there; ask Good-will if he is 
there ; call for Industry, Energy, Perseverance, 
Hopefulness, and for the whole splendid com- 
pany. They like to be reminded of the general's 
care, and you are the general. 

You see why the body-guard is a selected troop 
—the King's Own. And do you not also see that, 
as we go on through life, these are the things 
that stay nearest to us. They protect us ; and be- 
tween us and them grows up an affection and 
friendship which is far greater than we can ever 
have for mere skill, or cunning, or power, or 
knowledge. These last are good troops, and we 
need them. But far more do we need about us 
the body-guard of Character, Disposition, Tem- 
per, Habit, Purpose, and their sort. When the 
battle is lost, we are still victors if we can say, 
"My body-guard stood firm. I am still a con- 
queror, for I have been true to myself." 



A thousand little plants should be a-greening o'er the land, 
Whose seeds were planted January first, you understand. 
And if they were well cared for, and the weeds pulled up each day, 
Their buds, from sleep, should be a-peep this blossom time of May. 

'Good resolutions" were the seeds they planted in the snow ; 
And kindly thoughts and words and deeds the blossoms that should blow. 
Of course there have been many weeds, to choke the little plants : 
Those naughty "Too much troubles," "I forgots," and "Won'ts," and "Can'ts. 


So, in this lovely springtime, look about beneath the leaves. 
And see if buds are showing, or have fallen prey to thieves. 
For May-time is the bloom time, and if buds are wanting there, 
'T is time the plants were getting just a little better care ! 



Author of "The Forest Castaways" 

Chapter XI 


One morning a week later, Martin came in with 
the excited announcement, "They 're up !" 

"Who 's up?" inquired Elizabeth. 

"The radishes, and lettuce, and peas, and corn." 

"They are !" exclaimed Elizabeth. "Then I 
"need n't worry any more about my dinner. I 
will have a salad and some green peas." 

"Lors !" said Martin, "they ain't up that much. 
They 're just peeking out o' the ground." 

"Oh, dear !" sighed Elizabeth. "Then they 
won't be ready to eat for a long time." 

"Not for days and days," said Martin. 

"Can't you hurry them along?" she asked. 

Martin suppressed a smile. 

"They have to ta&e their time about growing, 
just as you and I ooy' he answered. 

"When do you think they will be ready?" 

"Lor ! you '11 have radishes in a month." 

"Very well," she replied magnanimously, "if 
that 's the best you can do." 

"Would you like to see them?" he asked, with 
some pride. 

"I will come out as soon as I 've finished my 
morning's work," she answered. 

It was already beginning to be easy for her to 
prepare the early breakfast. There was a certain 
amount of excitement about this mixing of vari- 
ous dishes, sliding them into the oven, and seeing 
what resulted from the baking. It still seemed 
to her more like some mysterious trick than a 

A great many things had seemed easier since 
the ball game. She found herself going gaily 
about her tasks. Roy's kindness, the friendliness 
of Nance, and the sight of her schoolmates, all 
helped to put her in a better frame of mind. She 
began to realize that if her friends had not called 
upon her, it was perhaps her own fault. She had 
certainly not been very cordial to those who had 

Roy had already called twice at the little cot- 
tage since the game. He took such an interest 
in whatever she happened to be doing, that he 
always left her with the feeling that she was 
upon some great adventure. Mrs. Trumbull had 
told of how her grandmother had gone over the 
plains with the early pioneers, and of the hard- 
ships and privations she had endured. Of course 

what she was doing could not be compared with 
that, and yet Roy made her feel that, in a small 
way, she was doing something similar. 

"What are you thinking of?" inquired Mrs. 
Trumbull, this morning, as she noticed the girl's 

Elizabeth laughed. 

"Martin wanted me to look at the garden," she 
answered, seizing the first excuse she could think 
of to escape further questioning. "Do you want 
to come^r* 

"No. Run along and I '11 go up-stairs and put 
my room to rights." 

Elizabeth hurried out, still wearing her ging- 
ham apron. She found the brown earth alive 
with tiny sprouts, but she could not tell which 
were weeds and which were vegetables. She 
pulled up a few, but was still no wiser. As she 
looked around for Martin, she heard the sound 
of a horse's hoofs upon the grass, and saw Helen 
Brookfield galloping toward her. 

Had it been possible, she would have retreated, 
but there was nothing to do under the circum- 
stances but to look up afip smile as the latter 
drew rein. It was evident from the expression in 
Helen's bright eyes, that she was charged with 
excitement of some sort. 

"I 've.just come over to say good-by, Beth," 
she began eagerly. "I 'm going away next week." 

"Really?" Elizabeth replied with interest. 

"It 's so grand and sudden, that I can't realize 
it yet. We — we are*going to Europe for the sum- 

"To Europe ?" echoed Elizabeth. 

"Yes. Father has to go on business, and de- 
cided at the last moment to take us with him." 

She uptilted her head a trifle. 

"Why, that 's really fine, Helen," answered 

"I will send you picture postals so that you '11 
know where we are," said Helen, with great 
condescension. "I 'm afraid it will be lonely 
for you here this summer. Is this your flower 
garden ?" 

"No," answered Elizabeth, "it 's my vegetable 

"Really?" returned Helen, with a lift of her 
eyebrows. "And you planted it yourself?" 

"With some help," nodded Elizabeth. "Martin 
helped, and Mrs. Trumbull helped, and Roy 
helped— a kind of cooperative garden, you see." 







"Roy? I think that very nice of him," she an- 
swered. "He is so tender-hearted !" 

"What has that to do with it?" demanded Eliza- 

"Oh nothing, only— well, I suppose he can't 
help pitying you." 

"Pity? Me?" cried Elizabeth. 

"Of course we all do," Helen hastened to add. 
"But perhaps in the fall you can come back to 
school, though I suppose you '11 have to go into 
a lower class." 

Elizabeth murmured something, she hardly 
knew what. For a moment, she felt only shamed 
and humiliated under the sting of being pitied. 
The heart went out of her, and she felt more like 
crying than doing anything else. She heard 
Helen say good-by and heard her gallop off, and 
then she turned back slowly toward the house. 

The cruel part of this new point of view was 
that it came at just the moment when Elizabeth 
had ceased pitying herself. Even now she felt 
no trace of self-pity. And now to be pitied by 
others — even by Roy — destroyed at a single blow 
all the romance of her adventure. 

She knew, to be sure, that Helen's remarks 
were always to be taken with a grain of salt, but, 
in this case, she felt there was a certain basis for 
them. Reviewing the incidents since Roy's first 
visit, they seemed to fit into Helen's theory. He 
had found her in the kitchen, and in his wish to 
make the situation easier for her, had tried to 
help her cook the doughnuts ; he had returned, 
and, for the same reason, had helped her in the 
garden ; he had noticed that she was not attend- 
ing dancing school and had few visitors, and so 
had invited her to the game. It was for no mer- 
its or accomplishments of her own. She could 
not sing — except with the tea-kettle; she knew 
little French; she could not even play tennis. Be- 
fore she was through with herself, she was con- 
vinced she could do nothing. 

Once again she found herself dangerously near 
crying. She drew herself up sharply. Crying 
would do no good ; it was worse than moping. 
Mrs. Trumbull's advice flashed into her head like 
a warning, and she caught some of that good 
lady's aggressiveness. She was sure the latter 
would n't waste any time in useless regrets. 
Neither would her mother. Both women would 
go ahead in some way and remedy matters. Her 
lips came firmly together. 

If she had learned to cook, why should n't she 
learn to sing? if she had learned to keep house, 
why should n't she learn French ? if she had 
learned to plant a garden, why could n't she even 
learn to play tennis? That she did not have these 
accomplishments at present was her own fault 

for having neglected her opportunities, but she 
had the whole summer before her, and, if she 
worked hard, it might be possible to do much 
before fall. She felt that moment as though it 
was possible to accomplish anything before then. 
Another idea lent romance to the undertaking: 
she would do these things by herself, and then, 
when Roy and the others came back from their 
summer vacation, she would surprise them all. 
She would sing for Miss Santier as the latter 
always said she might sing if only she practised 
her exercises; she would address Helen Brook- 
field in French ; she might possibly challenge Roy 
at tennis ; and, finally, astonish her father with 
all three acquirements. 

In the glow of her new enthusiasm, she ran 
swiftly into the house and up the back stairs to 
her own room. She put her hair in order before 
Mrs. Trumbull learned of her presence. When 
the latter finally heard her moving about, she 
opened the door. 

"How 'd you find the garden ?" she inquired. 

Elizabeth kept her head turned away as much 
as possible. She did not yet wish to confide, even 
to Mrs. Trumbull, her great project. 

"They are up," she answered, repeating Mar- 
tin's announcement. 

"You were gone so long, I did n't know but 
what you got lost," said Mrs. Trumbull. 

"Helen— Helen Brookfield rode by," Elizabeth 

"Oh, she did, did she?" exclaimed Mrs. Trum- 
bull. "What did she want?" 

"She wanted to tell me she is going abroad." 

"Well, I 'm glad of it. I hope she '11 stay 

"I hope she will stay until fall," answered 

Lightly humming a song, Elizabeth hurried 
down to the kitchen. She had no sooner arrived 
than she heard a knock on the door. She recog- 
nized it with a start. It was Roy. For a mo- 
ment, she hesitated, and then retreated across 
the room on tiptoe, and hurried up the stairs to 
Mrs. Trumbull. 

"There— there 's some one at the door," she 
said, a little out of breath with excitement. 

Mrs. Trumbull looked up sharply. 

"Well," she demanded, "why did n't you open 

"Because I don't want to see him," answered 

"See who?" 


"Land sakes !" returned Mrs. Trumbull, in as- 
tonishment. "You don't mean to say that you two 
have quarreled ! You have n't been so foolish !" 




"No. It is n't that. But— won't you please tell 
him that I can't see him?" 

"I don't — I really don't like to do it," Mrs. 
Trumbull said frankly. "But if you can give me 
any good reason — " 

The knock was repeated, for Roy could tell by 
the smoke from the chimney that some one was 
at home. 

"Is it because of anything that Helen Brook- 
field said?" demanded Mrs. Trumbull. 

"It— it 's something she told me," Elizabeth 
admitted finally; "but — oh, please go down!" 

Chapter XII 



For a moment, Mrs. Trumbull studied the girl 
sharply. She saw that Elizabeth was really in 
earnest, and that whatever was troubling her was 
no mere passing whim. She started reluctantly 
toward the door. 

"All right," she said, "I '11 do it, but I don't 
like the idea at all." 

She went down-stairs, and a moment later, 
Elizabeth heard her talking with Roy. Then in a 
moment she heard the door close. She tiptoed to 
the window and saw Roy striding down the path 
carrying his shoulders well back as usual. Unseen 
by him, she waved him good-by. "Oh," she ex- 
claimed to herself, "I '11 show them ! I '11 show 
them all !" 

While Mrs. Trumbull was dressing next morn- 
ing, she heard, in the kitchen below, such a glad- 
some trill of fresh, young notes, blending with 
the morning songs of the birds, that she paused 
to listen. The voice was so strong and full of 
joy that it filled her own old heart, and sent her 
back in her thoughts a full twenty-five years. It 
was so Elizabeth's mother used to begin the day. 

Hurrying through her toilet, Mrs. Trumbull 
stole down the stairs and stood a moment at the 
kitchen door. Everything in the room seemed to 
be singing: the fire in the stove, the kettle on top 
of it, and the golden sun, which, in a broad, warm 
stream, poured through the* windows. Elizabeth, 
with crimson cheeks and in a gingham apron, 
stood beside the bread board cutting out biscuits, 
which were almost ready to go into the oven. 
She was still singing, and though her song con- 
sisted of nothing but exercises which Miss San- 
tier had given her to practise last winter, there 
was music in every note. Mrs. Trumbull did n't 
know one tune from another, anyway, but she 
knew a singing heart when she heard one. And 
if ever the spirit of a summer morning could be 
expressed in music, it was being now so ex- 

Mrs. Trumbull stepped into the room, and, 
crossing to Elizabeth's side, kissed her on the 
forehead. With a laugh and a little courtesy, 
Elizabeth greeted her in French. 

"Bon jour, Madame Trumbull." 

Madame Trumbull stared at the girl, as though 
fearing she had lost her wits. 

"What 's that?" she demanded. 

"It 's French for good morning," explained 

"What do you want to put it into French for? 
Seems to me that plain English is good enough 
for every-day Americans." 

"Vraimentf" answered Elizabeth, with a 

"Vraymong? What is Vraymong?" 

"It 's a polite way of saying, 'Really,' " an- 
swered Elizabeth. 

"Bah ! I don't call it polite answering a person 
back in a way she can't understand." 

"But you must learn with me," Elizabeth ex- 
plained enthusiastically. "If ever we should go 
to France—" 

"Catch me going to France !" answered Mrs. 
Trumbull. "That chef up to The Towers is all I 
want to see of Frenchmen." 

"There 's an idea!" cried Elizabeth. "I can 
practise on him. Thanks ! I can practise on him !" 




"Nonsense ! Whatever has got into you this 
morning, anyway?" 

Elizabeth placed her biscuits in a pan and put 
them in the oven. 

"Lots and lots of things," she answered. "I 'm 
going to learn to sing, and speak French, and 
play tennis, besides learning to keep house." 

"What for?" demanded Mrs. Trumbull, with 
her usual directness. 

*'It 's a secret," answered Elizabeth. 

"I '11 wager it has something to do with Helen 

"Perhaps," answered Elizabeth. "She really 
did make me want to do all those things, though 
I don't believe she meant to." 

"Well, you '11 do whatever you set out to do," 
nodded Mrs. Trumbull. "But what in the world 
you want to waste time on that French nonsense 
for is more than I know." 

That afternoon, Elizabeth paid a visit to The 
Towers. She found that the tennis-court there, 
though never used, was in very good condition, 
for Mr. Churchill never allowed anything about 
the estate to suffer from neglect. He strongly 
approved of tennis for girls, and had had this 
court made in the hope that it might attract 
Elizabeth to the game ; but she, after playing in a 
desultory fashion for a season, had found that it 
required so much exertion that she had finally 
dropped it altogether. 

The sight of the well-rolled court filled her 
with renewed eagerness, but one could n't play 
tennis by one's self. Here was an obstacle which, 
in the first flush of her enthusiasm, she had not 
considered. With her classmates gone for the 
summer, she would be left quite by herself. 

She went on to find the chef, in order to carry 
into effect at once her second plan. The latter 
was very glad indeed to see her, for he found 
much idle time on his hands since the mistress of 
The Towers had left. His choicest creations 
often went untasted, and, for breakfast, he was 
allowed to display his art in nothing more compli- 
cated than soft boiled eggs and hot rolls. 

"Ah, ma'm'selle !" he said to her, in French, 
with a deprecatory wave of his hands, "what is 
it possible to do with soft boiled eggs?" 

"Eat them," answered Elizabeth. "We often 
have them for breakfast. They are very easy 
to do." 

"Easy? easy?" he answered, in contempt. "It 
is not ease that a chef seeks, but art." 

Elizabeth laughed. 

"I must tell that to Mrs. Trumbull," she an- 

"Non! non! ma'm'selle," he begged, "for then 
Madame Trombooll might wish to come up here." 

And the man who held every one in his kitchen 
in abject fear, looked so very much concerned 
over this possible contingency, that Elizabeth 
hastened to change the subject. 

"I 'm going to practise my French on you," she 

Again the chef was startled, but he recovered 
himself and bowed gallantly. 

"It is a too great honor, ma'm'selle," he pro- 

"You mean you don't want me to," answered 
Elizabeth, somewhat chagrined. 

"Non! non! It is not that. But listen — I have 
a niece — Ma'm'selle Gagnon. She has just ar- 
rived, and is very anxious to give the lessons in 
French. Perhaps—" 

"That will be even better," answered Eliza- 
beth, without hesitation. "You may send her to 
the house. But I shall practise on you just the 
same whenever I come here." 

Again the chef bowed. 

"V'enever ma'm'selle wishes," he agreed. 

So that much was settled at any rate, and 
Elizabeth returned to her own house somewhat 
encouraged. She was just about to enter, when 
she heard a voice behind her. Turning, she saw 
Nance Barton, dressed in tennis costume and 
carrying a racket. Her cheeks were glowing as 
a result of her recent exercise, and she walked 
with the easy grace of one whose muscles have 
free play. It was almost as though she had come 
in obedience to the wave of a fairy wand. 

As Beth went to meet her, her eyes expressed 
an even more cordial welcome than her words. 

"Oh, Nance !" she exclaimed heartily, "I am so 
glad to see you !" 

For a moment, the latter appeared a little taken 
aback, as though she had not expected such a 
warm greeting. 

"I came over to see if you would be at home 
this evening," she said. 

"Why, I 'm at home now," answered Elizabeth. 
"I 'm at home all the time, Nance." 

Elizabeth looked wistfully at the tennis racket, 
but Nance misinterpreted the glance. Remem- 
bering Elizabeth's aversion to the game, she felt 
called upon to make an explanation, and said : 
"I 've been playing with Miss Jerome." 

"We have a very good court at The Towers," 
answered Elizabeth. 

"I know you have," nodded Nance ; "I saw it 
as I came by. I wish you knew how to play, 

"So do I," answered Elizabeth. 

"You— you do? You really do?" 

"Oh, Nance, you don't know how much !" 
Elizabeth exclaimed, taking her hand impulsively. 





"But—" said Nance, hesitating, "but I thought— " 

"That I 'd rather sit on the side-lines and look 
on ? That 's what I told you, was n't it ?" and 
for a second Elizabeth lowered her eyes. 

"Somehow I never could believe you meant it 
—that you were in earnest," answered Nance. 

"And I was n't," Elizabeth 
confessed, lifting her head. 
"Perhaps I thought I was 
then, but I know now I was 
n't. I 'm ashamed of myself, 
and I want to make up for it 
if I can. I want to do things ; 
I want to do everything." 

"I understand, Beth !" 

"I don't suppose you 'd 
want to play with me?" 

"I 'd love to, Beth." 

"But, you know, I can't 
play at all — yet." 

"But it 's in you," Nance 
declared. "Do you remem- 
ber when I played Miss Win- 

Elizabeth nodded. She re- 
membered the whole episode, 
and was not proud of her 
part in it. 

"I saw you watching me 
during the last set," went on 
Nance. "And I knew then 
that if you were in my place, 
you 'd have won that match." 

"I know that I wanted you 
to win," answered Elizabeth, 
with a laugh. "Oh, Nance ! 
if you were only going to be 
here all summer." 

"I am !" answered Nance. 

"You are n't going away ?" 

"No. It was decided to- 
day. Father can't leave, and 
so we 're going to try camp- 
ing out in the city this sum- 
mer. Mother says we must." 

"Then do you mean to say — " 

"I '11 play with you every 
day if you wish — yes, every day all summer long." 

With an eager, glad cry, Elizabeth seized her 
friend's hand. 

"Would you like to go up to the court now?" 
Nance asked. 

"It— it seems too good to be true," Elizabeth 
laughed nervously. "It won't take me a minute to 
get into my tennis shoes. Come in with me, Nance ?" 

Elizabeth led the way into the little house, and 
Nance followed, a little curiously perhaps. 

"Mrs. Trumbull," Elizabeth called, "I 'm going 
to play tennis !" 

Mrs. Trumbull came out with some sewing in her 
hands, andher spectacles shoved upon her forehead. 

"Well," she observed, "I don't see 's that 's 
anything to get so excited about. Is it, Beth ?" 



"Nance is to teach me, and she 's going to be 
here all summer." 

"Well! well! well!" replied Mrs. Trumbull. 

"I don't believe any one would go away if they 
had such a nest as yours, Beth," declared Nance, 
who had been looking around with surprise and 
interest at the cheerful, sun-lighted little room. 

"You like it?" Elizabeth asked eagerly. 

"It 's like a great big playhouse," answered 
Nance. "I should think you 'd love caring for it." 



There was a note of wistfulness in Nance's 
voice that surprised Elizabeth. She had thought 
the latter despised housekeeping and all indoor 

"I did n't at first," Elizabeth admii. J: , "but 
now — I guess I like doing everything." 

A few minutes later, the girls were at the court, 
and Elizabeth had taken her position as jauntily 
as Nance herself. She won the serve, and as a 
result of her keen observation and knack of imi- 
tation, so aped the form of a good player, that 
when she tossed up the ball and swooped down 
upon it with her racket, as she had seen Nance 
do a hundred times, the latter came up on her 
toes as though preparing for the attack of an 
expert. The ball, however, instead of speeding 
over the net and dropping to the inner court, 
flew off at an angle, as high and flighty as the 
dart of a barn-swallow. 

"Oh, dear !" cried Elizabeth, "that is n't where 
I aimed it." 

"You 're playing too hard," Nance cautioned 
her. "You must begin easy."' 

"But I don't want to play a lady's game ; I want 
to play a man's game," said Elizabeth. 

"It 's sureness that counts, whichever game you 
play," Nance returned. "I would n't try at first 
to do anything but get the ball in the court." 

Somewhat reluctantly Elizabeth obeyed the ad- 
vice, and dropped the ball lightly into the court. 
Acting upon impulse, Nance bore down upon it 
and made so swift a return that Elizabeth merely 
stood in her tracks and watched the ball speed 
past her. 

"There !" she gasped. "You see what happens 
when I serve you easy ones." 

"I ought n't to have hit it so hard," Nance 
laughed in apology. "But honestly, Beth, you 
look like such a good player, that, for a moment, 
I really forgot you are only just beginning." 

After this, Nance ro * irned the balls within 
F'izabeth's reach, and, considering everything, 
Jig latter did very well. Try as hard as she 
might, however, Elizabeth could not forget the 
hurniliraiing fact that Nance did not find it in the 
least necessary to exert herself. But this did not 
vex her. It had rather the wholesome effect of 
strengthening her resolution. 

At the end of an hour, the two returned to the 
little house by the lane, where they found that 
Mrs. Trumbull had made for them a pitcher of 
cool lemonade. She served with this some of 
Elizabeth's cake. 

"Beth can do better than this," she explained, 
"but I don't think it 's anything to be ashamed of 
as it is." 

"I 'm afraid I did n't get quite sugar enough in 
it," said Elizabeth, with the tendency of a good 
cook to undervalue her own production. 

Nance tasted of it and gave her verdict in- 
stantly : 

"It 's delicious." 

Then she added, with some hesitation : 

"Beth, could you — do you suppose— oh, Beth, 
would you mind trying to teach me how to cook?" 

"You !" exclaimed Elizabeth. 

"I — I 'd like to learn." 

"I '11 teach you all I know," cried Elizabeth. 
"And then Mrs. Trumbull will teach us both. But, 
Nance — I wonder how it happened that we never 
knew each other before?" 

It was after Nance had left and Beth and Mrs. 
Trumbull were back in the front room that Eliza- 
beth turned impulsively to the latter. 

"Aunty Trumbull," she exclaimed, "I 'm be- 
ginning to love the little house by the lane !" 

Mrs. Trumbull beamed down upon the girl. 

"It shows all over you," she answered. "And 
it shows all over the house, too." 

(To be continued.) 





Some rainy day when hardly any book seems 
good enough to make up for the disappointment 
of not being allowed to get outdoors, suppose you 
try reading one of Prescott's histories, either the 
"Conquest of Peru" or the "Conquest of Mexico." 
I think it won't be long before you have forgotten 
all about the weather, as you travel back on those 
delightful pages to a world that has vanished, a 
people that has died, a civilization picturesque 
and wonderful in the extreme, but, like a burst 
soap-bubble, gone with all its radiance and its 

Few, indeed, are the histories written as these 
are, with such a vivid life to them, so that all the 
characters are real to you : the proud Incas, the 
Aztec rulers, the gentle Peruvians and fiercer 
Mexicans, the desperately brave but all too cruel 
Spaniards, with their leaders, Cortes and Pizarro, 
those two great conquistadors mad after gold and 
careless of danger, who swept the countries they 
invaded from end to end with death and deso- 

You will find these histories to be as full of 
breathless interest as any tale of adventure or 
romance written by Stevenson or Scott, for 
rarely have these delightful qualities been so com- 
bined as they were in these amazing conquests, 
v/here the old world overflowed into the new, 
but a new in name alone, for no one can tell how 
many centuries had gone to the making of the 
Peruvian and Aztec nations, to the building of 
those splendid palaces, cities, roads, and aque- 
ducts, or the development of the arts and sciences 
and the strange forms of worship and of govern- 
ment. Many hundreds of them— that, at least, is 
certain— perhaps as many as had gone to the mak- 
ing of Spain. Unluckily the records left by these 
Western civilizations were few and almost unin- 
telligible to their conquerors, so that the past of 
these wonderful peoples is lost in fog and dark- 
ness, fragments only of their history and their 
achievements surviving among the shattered tem- 
ples and ruined towns,— the work of their hands, 
—fragments wonderful and interesting that make 
us long for more. 

But before speaking further of these two en- 
chanting books, I want to give you some little 
idea of the man who wrote them. He was odd in 
some ways, but of singular courage, simplicity, 
Vol. XXXIX. -82. 6 49 

and determination, a man not to be deterred from 
following his intention, a reticent man, confiding 
little of his hopes, his labors, or his sufferings to 
any one. 

In his youth he was the friend of Marion 
Crawford's mother, and Crawford's sister, in her 
volume of reminiscences, tells some amusing 
things about the strange boy. 

It seems that for over ten years Prescott was 
considered by his family to be a hopeless idler. 
Apparently he had no ambition or purpose in life, 
he kept almost entirely to himself, and he said 
nothing in reply to the criticisms made upon him. 

"Don't sit locked up in your library all day 
long, eating soap," they would cry, in desperation. 
For the only thing ever seen on Prescott's table 
besides the ink-well was a cake of soap, at which 
he constantly nibbled, asserting that, in his opin- 
ion, people ought to be clean inside as well as out. 
But Prescott continued to keep his own counsel, 
never letting any one into his study unless he 
were sitting quite idle, keeping all his papers 
locked up in the deep drawers— and then, finally, 
his first great historic work appeared, to the ad- 
miration of the world, and the tables were turned. 

But besides these rather trying characteristics, 
trying, at least, to an anxious and flustered fam- 
ily, Prescott had a fund of enduring courage and 
dogged persistence not found except among the 
truly great. For he suffered from almost total 
blindness, having lost one eye in an injury in 
early youth, and spending many years without 
being able to see at all, though the other eye had 
periods when it partially recovered its powers. 
When you remember that all his writing was, of 
course, based on manuscripts and documents 
gathered up from many sources and printed or 
written in many languages, you can imagine what 
a terrible handicap this misfortune was to him. 

After the failure of his second eye, he had to 
work through a secretary, who read to him for 
hours at a time, Prescott the while taking quan- 
tities of notes by means of a sort of writing-ma- 
chine made for the blind. This machine he al- 
ways used, for though, at times, he was able to 
read print as long as daylight lasted, he found 
more difficulty in writing, and he could not read 
manuscript. When his history of Ferdinand and 
Isabella was written and ready for the last re- 
vision, he felt that to do this properly he must 
read it himself, instead of having it read to him. 




So he had a single copy printed, and made his 
alterations and corrections on that. This will 
give you a notion of how thoroughgoing he was. 
His secretary was obliged to read his notes to him 
over and over, while he worked out his chapters; 
and as his writing was very hard to decipher, 
this was a slow task. 

But he never complained of all this hardship. 
On the contrary, he wrote a preface to his his- 
tory of Peru in which he explained his methods 
of work, saying that he had heard that he was re- 
ported to be blind, while on many days he was 
really fortunate enough to be able to see in a 
good light. He seemed to want no sympathy, as- 
serting that he had no such difficulties to contend 
with as the world supposed, speaking in the most 
cheerful manner, even when he admitted that he 
could not long count upon even the little sight he 
then possessed. 

It is an inspiring record, that life of Prescott, 
one that puts a glow into your heart, as heroism 
always does. And I think you will read his won- 
derful and exciting books with all the more in- 
terest when you know under what a strain they 
were produced. The books themselves give no 
hint of this ; they read as easily as though each 
sentence had flowed of itself from the ink-well on 
that big, empty table. Picture after picture, splen- 
did with color and motion, is painted for you in 
words of an unforgetable clearness. Surely the 
writer loved his topic, and was happy in his work. 

Besides the charm of Prescott's style, he had a 
fine discrimination, and was most just and un- 
prejudiced in his opinions and conclusions. His 
chief desire is to set things down with truth. The 
men whose characters he portrays appear on the 
page as they must have been in life, with their 
faults and their virtues— the Incas with their 
lofty and silent acceptance of whatever fate sent; 
Cortes, that mighty captain, with his genius, his 
immense endurance of hardship, his cruel spirit. 
Pizarro, who, on an earlier expedition under Bal- 
boa, had been one of the handful of white men 
who first gazed upon the Pacific, is shown with all 
his fierce and dangerous qualities, as well as in 
his finer moments. Bad he was, and bad his end, 
for he was murdered by his own people, and 
buried hurriedly by the few friends left him — 
buried in the dead of night, for fear of outrage, 
with no one, as the old chronicle says, to say, 
"God forgive him." Prescott calls him a "by- 
word for perfidy." He cheated every one, friend 
and foe, caring nothing for any promise, how- 
ever sacred, and he disgusted every one. Yet 
there was some good in the man, and what there 
was Prescott shows us, as well as the training 
and environment which made him what he was. 

But it is not alone the tale of the invading 
Spaniards and their new order that is told in 
these bewitching histories. They also contain a 
great deal about the strange nations as they were 
before ever a white man came to conquer and 
ruin them. 

The Peruvian government was remarkable in 
several ways. There was no such thing as a 
beggar, or any one without enough to live upon, 
in the whole country. Neither were there any 
very rich people. The laws did not permit it, and 
each man, woman, and child was taken care of 
by the government, given their work, told whom 
to marry, where to live— treated as a father 
might treat his young children, in fact. You see, 
though no one was allowed to suffer, no one was 
permitted to have a will of his own, either. Not 
a soul drew a free breath except the Inca, who 
was supposed to be descended from the sun 
(which was worshiped by the Peruvians) ; and 
so he was believed to be half divine. Although 
they were great fighters, the Peruvians were 
gentle and always mindful of human life, taking 
wonderful care of their soldiers when in the field, 
and inducing conquered races to become citizens 
as soon as possible, much as the Romans did in 
their time. 

Great public works were carried through too. 
Splendid roads, hundreds, even thousands, of 
miles long, were made, chasms being filled with 
solid masonry and bridges swung over dizzy 
canyons and swift rivers, these bridges being hung 
on cables made of a particularly tough osier. 
On these roads posts were established short dis- 
tances apart, and runners were kept ready to take 
messages, fruits and viands for the Inca's table, 
war notes and signs, anything a man could carry 
easily, from one end of the country to the other. 
These posts traveled a hundred and fifty miles a 
day when necessary, while the closest communi- 
cation between the capital and the most distant 
villages was maintained by their aid. This same 
system was in force in Mexico, although the two 
nations had no knowledge of each other, and both 
countries were far ahead of Europe in this re- 

There is one thing especially that makes Pres- 
cott excellent reading, and that is the story in- 
terest. He always makes you realize that the life 
and death of nations, with the extraordinary 
changes which have occurred in the world, are 
more marvelous than any imaginary tale. The 
past was warm and alive to him, as it was to our 
other great historian, Motley, who lived at the 
same time as Prescott. Almost one might fancy 
that these two men had discovered some magic 
spell which allowed them to slip back in time as 




far as they chose, to live with vanished peoples 
and see with their own eyes the men and the 
deeds they wanted to describe; much as the chil- 
dren in Kipling's "Puck o' Pook's Hill" stories 
are supposed to have done. Anyhow, when you 

were also beautiful and interesting, cultured and 
artistic. They ruthlessly destroyed these peoples, 
with their splendid cities, their cultivated lands, 
their palaces and temples, killing and burning 
wherever opposed in their mad search for gold. 


read the books of either, you certainly feel as 
though you were right on the spot, looking on at 
a world different, indeed, from the one we live in 

There are sad, there are terrible things told in 
the two "Conquests," for the world has done 
much wrong and gone through much suffering on 
its slow and painful march to our time. To-day, 
even, the nations are still capable of war and 
bloodshed, after the long centuries of gradual 
improvement ; so we are not surprised to find 
dark and cruel deeds in a true record of olden 
times. Cortes and Pizarro invaded countries fair 
and flourishing, living happily enough under civil- 
izations that may have been barbaric, but which 

The civilization that exists there to-day was laid 
on the hot ashes of two races who had attained 
a wonderful development, coming from no one 
knows just where, enduring no one knows how 
long, mysterious as a dream, and as utterly swept 

And yet, in spite of the sadness of the stories, 
they are also a record of marvelous fortitude 
and desperate courage, of an unyielding deter- 
mination in the face of amazing dangers, of 
many a fine and noble action. And though they 
are true, they are more full of romance and ad- 
venture than any wild west or wild east yarn that 
ever was spun by a teller of tales or listened to by 
eager boy or girl. 


By permission of C. W. Faulkner & Co., Ltd., London, E. C, England, owners of the copyright. 


Every year, when the apple-trees put on their pink-and-white spring dresses, 
Betty and Polly went to Uncle John's farm for a long visit. 

Betty and Polly were just the same age and the same size, and each had blue 
eyes and red lips that parted very often to let a bubbly laugh come through. 
But Betty's hair was curly and brown, and Polly's hair was curly and yellow; if 
you did n't notice this, it was hard to tell which was Betty and which was Polly. 

Each morning they went together and fed the chickens, and then Betty went 
to feed the pigeons and Polly went to feed the ducks. The chickens soon grew 
used to them, and would come and take the grains of corn from their hands. But 
the ducks and the pigeons were shy, and always waited until Betty and Polly had 
gone away before they would come and eat the breakfast that had been brought 
to them. Betty and Polly often wished they were as tame as the chickens. 

But one warm day, as Brown Wing, the mother duck, was floating about in 
the shade of the bridge with her three little ducklings, Downy and Fluffy and 
Topsy, she said to them: " Duckie dears, that seems to be a very kind little girl 
who brings you such a nice breakfast every morning. I think it would be quite 




safe, and much better manners, for you to meet her politely when she comes 
instead of waiting for her to go away before you eat the food she brings you." 

Just then one of the pigeons was flying by and perched on the bridge for a 
moment, in time to overhear what Brown Wing was saying ; the pigeon turned 
this over in his mind and decided she was quite right, so he flew back home and 
told the rest of the pigeon family, and all agreed that the idea did her credit. 

The next morning Polly pattered down the garden path to the brook to watch 
the little ducks for a few minutes. As soon as they saw her, Downy and Fluffy 
and Topsy paddled toward her as fast as they could. Then they scrambled up 
the stone steps to where Polly sat, quacking and stretching their necks to see 
what she had brought them for breakfast. And then, while Polly, who could 
scarcely believe her eyes, held the dish, they ate up everything in it. 

At the same time, Betty had carried the dish of corn and crumbs to the low 
bench beside the rain-water barrel, where she could look up at the pigeons in 
their house on top of the pole. 

The pigeons stood in their tiny doorways watching her, cocking their heads 
from side to side. Then one very brave pigeon flew down and perched on the 
bench. As Betty did not move, two more flew down, and began to eat the crumbs 
from the dish ; and then, best of all, Silver, the prettiest pigeon, spread his white 
wings, and came and picked the crumbs from Betty's hand. 

As soon as their dishes were empty, Betty ran to find Polly, and Polly ran to 
find Betty, to tell each other the wonderful things that had happened to them. 

Nora Bennett. 

By permission of C. W. Faulkner & Co., Ltd., London, E. C, England, owners of the copyright. 

Nature and Science^ 

v - / '/ 


"The faculty of amusement comes early in ani- 
mals given to play," writes the author of "Ani- 
mals at Work and Play," and he adds, "Many 
animals make it part of their maternal duty to 
amuse their young. Even a ferret will play with 
her ferocious little kittens, just as a cat will with 

The same author very interestingly describes 
the game of "I 'm the King of the Castle," as he 


saw it played by some lambs. One lamb mounted 
a pile of straw and rubbish, and immediately his 


comrades "stormed" his castle, and tried to push 
him from his stronghold. The one that suc- 
ceeded had a chance to defend the position as the 
former one had done, and the performance was 
kept up until all were tired out. A steeplechase 
was another exciting amusement. In this they 
jumped over a row of old feed boxes as they 
ran back and forth across the barn-yard. 

For genuine amusement in the home, select two 
well-matched kittens and set them to playing— or 
they will do it without urging. The saucy "faces" 
they make, with ears turned back, as they wait to 
close in with each other, are very amusing. It 
seems strange that they can keep such serious 
faces themselves while carrying on such funny 
performances. But we must remember that all 
their quick attacks and stealthy actions while at 
play are training them for more serious business 
in later life. 

Dogs get a great deal of exercise in their play, 
but they are not so sly nor so graceful as mem- 
bers of the cat family. My dog has "killed" 
many a rag while playing at rat-catching. Dogs 
seem to obtain great enjoyment from their play. 
Their capers with a stick thrown for them to 
bring back from the land or the water have 
amused many a small master. 

Little pigs play with as much vigor and dex- 
terity as any animals that I have ever seen ; but 
later in life, this capacity entirely disappears. 

While some young animals enjoy playing with 




one another, there are others which seem to 
prefer to play alone. So far as I have observed, 
young rabbits are of this latter class. Many times 
I have seen young rabbits amuse themselves by 
suddenly starting off from where they were nib- 


bling grass, and going "like lightning" for ten or 
more feet, then, with a sharp turn, come back 

t ■ ; ' 

' * 


will stop and listen. Then they shoot off again 
and turn themselves in the air with a kick of the 
hind feet as they skim over the ground. 

I think few have looked into the barn-yard 
where fowls are found, without having seen 
several comical actions which could come under 
no other heading than that of play. It would 
seem that the young chickens were trying to make 
themselves "cross-eyed" by looking steadily at 


with a leap in the air, and snap about again for 
another run in another direction. Suddenly they 

each other at close quarters, or, with heads jerk- 
ing up and down in a lively manner, were trying 
to stare each other out of countenance. 

In the Zoo, the bear cubs tussle with each 
other, and the polar bears wrestle while standing 
in their pool, three feet deep, or try to see how 
long one can hold another under the water. The 
graceful but grotesque gnu, in performing his an- 
tics, cuts up the ground of his yard with his sharp 
hoofs. He runs about his inclosure with great 





rapidity, turning sharply, and digging the earth 
at each quick turn as he wheels about. Monkeys 
are, of course, the master players at the Zoo. 
The ostrich dances about with wings spread and 
head swinging in a laughable way. 

While mentioning the play of birds, the author 
of "Animals at Work and Play" says, "Tame 



rooks often go through an elaborate perform- 
ance of 'killing' a biscuit before eating it, and 
tame sea-gulls play a game with sticks and stones, 

throwing them into the air and catching them in 
their beaks just as they would a fish." 

There seems to be an inborn desire for active 
movement in most creatures, and by such motions 
they get healthful exercise as well as amusement. 
Advanced thinkers on hygiene tell us that the 
most recreative exercise for human beings may 
be had in play. This active movement, when 
mind and muscle are both engaged, brings to 

> fk& 

-. r. ■ 



both body and mind greater benefit than can be 
had from any other form of recreation. Nature 
long ago taught her humbler creatures this, but 
we have been slow to learn the lesson. 

Harry B. Bradford. 


Many birds that are shy and retiring in other 
respects, show very little fear of the creaking 
and groaning of heavy machinery, or the thun- 
derous roar of heavy trains. I recall reading 
some years ago of a pair of courageous little 
sparrows that started a nest at one end of a large 
turn-table in a roundhouse. This turn-table was 
the same at both ends, and the birds built two 
nests— one on each end, working one day on one 
end, and the next day on the other, as the turn- 
table was reversed. Here, in the midst of din 
and confusion, they finally selected one of the 
nests, and raised a happy brood of young. 

In the western States, the mourning-dove is 
wild enough to be considered a game-bird, yet 
the accompanying picture shows the frail nest of 
a dove with its two delicate, white eggs, resting 
on the sloping side of a railroad grade, and 
barely three feet from the rails over which a 
dozen heavy trains thundered every day. Less 
than a mile from this nest, was the nest of a pin- 
tail—the wildest and wariest of all wild ducks— 
within eighteen feet of the rails; and the mother 
duck, as she brooded her eleven great clay- 




colored eggs, could no doubt feel the rush of 
air and the tremor of the ground as the great 
iron monsters roared by. 

The king-bird is a bird that seems to delight in 
the activities of man. One of their nests was 
built in the framework of a railroad mail-crane 
standing four feet back from the rails, at a deso- 
late little way-station. Here the lonely postmas- 
ter came each day and hung the mail-sack, and as 
the fast train rushed past, it roughly grasped the 
sack from the crane ; yet, notwithstanding the 
postmaster's daily visits and the fast train's noisy 
interruption, Mr. and Mrs. King-bird persisted 
in building their home, and, after the four beau- 



tifully spotted, cream-colored eggs were hatched, 
rearing their young in this peculiar location. 

I remember another king-bird's nest built on 
the edge of a water-tank, where the thirsty en- 
gines belched forth great clouds of black, sooty 
smoke which must have almost suffocated the 
patient little mother bird in the nest. Yet another 
pair of king-birds built their nest between the two 
diagonal braces of a large farm gate, barely five 
Vol. XXXIX.— 83. 


feet above the ground, but, although the gate 
swung back and forth many times each day, and 
horses, cattle, and men were continually within 
a few feet of the nest, the brave little mother 


was never molested, and raised four lu 
ones without accident. — Robert B. Roc 

sty young 






A cat in Hannibal, Missouri, has adopted five 
goslings as her family. She tries to keep them 
warm, and gives them as careful attention as 


she would give her own kittens. Every evening 
she gets them together in a pan, where they stay, 
as shown in the illustration. It is a strange fact 
that when a cat's kittens are taken from her, the 
mother instinct turns teward almost any available 
young. There are many examples of a cat's hav- 
ing adopted chickens, squirrels, and even rats. 
The photograph was forwarded by F. L. Kelley, 
President of the Hannibal Humane Society, and 
we are using it through the courtesy of "Our 
Dumb Animals," Boston, Massachusetts. 


The horns of cattle have from the earliest known 
times been utilized in various ways, sometimes 
as trumpets, drinking-horns, powder-horns, and, 
in former times, as inkholders. 

In the Viking age, from the second to the 

twelfth century, horns were used as war trumpets 
and as drinking vessels. They were highly orna- 
mented with carvings representing war and do- 
mestic scenes. A good illustration of them may 
be found in "The Viking Age," by Paul B. 
DuChaillu, Vol. I, page 242. That they were so 
used long before the Christian era, there is con- 
vincing evidence. 

The powder-horn has played an important part 
in the history of this country. During the Revo- 
lutionary War, the powder-horns were not carved, 
but were engraved or etched. Some were thus 
ornamented by expert engravers, but most of 
them by the soldiers who made them. History 
says that there were ten thousand in use during 
the war, but this must be a mistake, as more 
would be required, since every man had one. 
Some bore unique inscriptions, some had maps 
of the country, or figures of fish, deer, birds, and 
other animals. 

Horn-carving may be made a work of art equal 

From the top downward: Miles Standish landing at Weymouth on 
his expedition against the Indians. Scene from an expedition over 
the Rocky Mountains in 1864. A deer hunt. A fanciful piece (at 
bottom). Cuckoo sounding horn (at left). 

Cats in a flower garden. Chanticleers. A fox hunt. 

to ivory-carving. A finely carved ox-horn is 
worth from five to ten, or even twenty-five, dol- 

The old-time New England ox-horns, such as 
the soldiers of the Revolution carried, are now 
hard to find. We must get them from the western 
stock-yards if we want large ones. Cow-horns 
will do for beginners in carving, but even they 
are getting scarce, as so many cows are being 

To prepare a horn for carving or engraving, 
the best way is to file the entire surface (it may 
be scraped with a piece of glass or a sharp knife), 
then sandpaper it smooth, so that you can draw 
on the surface any design that you want. You 
may first polish it, if you like, with pumice-stone 
and water, followed by chalk or whiting and 




water. Then rub, rub, rub. It will take two 
hours to give a horn a good polish. 

For engraving, use ordinary engraver's tools. 
For cameo carving or raised work, use fine Swiss 
carving-tools. Common gouges and chisels will 
do, but the finer tools hold their cutting edge 
longer and better. 

Horn is in a class by itself. There is nothing 
just like it. Few acids will affect it. It can be 
stained by potash and red lead, which is used to 
produce the tortoise-shell effect on some combs. 
Many think that horns must be softened in order 
to carve them. This is a mistake. They can be 
softened only by a high degree of heat, either 
dry or moist, but they will remain soft for not 
more than ten minutes. 

In carving horn one must cut away all except 
the figure that one wishes to represent. This is 
slow, hard work. Engraving is much easier, but 
not so artistic. T. S. Hitchcock, M.D.S. 


The photograph of a hand-shaped carrot was 
sent by Mr. E. Kay Robinson of London, Eng- 



land, who says the carrot was dug up in the 
garden of an inn called "The Hand." This inn, 
by a remarkable coincidence, has as its sign the 
upright red hand familiar in baronets' coats of 
arms. Mr. Robinson supposes that the growing- 
point of the carrot had been injured, or perhaps 
obstructed, and that it then formed five secon- 
dary, finger-like branches. It is an interesting 
example of a freak of nature. 

Here is the photograph of a piece of wood that, 
at first glance, looks much like a snake. The end 
of the stick is remarkable in its close resemblance 
to the snake's head. It was found by Mr. Walter 
E. Boyd, Red Bank, New Jersey, while he was 
strolling in the woods. 


Edith Whitmore, Bedford, England, sends to 
"Nature and Science" an interesting photograph 
of trees that have been sewed up in cloth. She 
explains that they needed to be protected in this 
manner from the locusts that come in great num- 
bers. The covering is said to be effective, but it 
gives the trees a very odd appearance. The "hop- 
pers," as the locusts are called, attack nearly all 
kinds of plants and trees, and often destroy every 
green leaf. In the morning or in the evening they 
are easily driven, and many are then destroyed in 
various ways. The photograph was taken on an 
estate in the Argentine Republic. 








Dear St. Nicholas : Will you please tell me why it is 
that when you bend a piece of wire back and forth for a 
while it becomes hot? 

One of your devoted readers, 

Katherine Lewis. 

The "energy" expended in bending the wire 
appears as heat. A similar result is obtained by 
hammering a wire, or other piece of metal, or by 
rubbing it briskly. 

Heat is a form of motion (see Tyndall's book 
on this subject), and the motion used in bending 
the wire is changed into this other form of motion 
called heat. We believe that this heat is due to a 
rapid motion (vibration) of the particles (mole- 
cules) of which the metal is composed. These 
molecules and their motion are far too small to 
be seen.— H. L. W. 


New York City. 
Dear St. Nicholas: You would do me a great favor if 
you could tell me whether it is true that "cats have nine 
lives." We had a kitten ; it was three weeks old. A 
little boy friend let it drop out of a third-story window. 
It seemed not to be injured at all. 

From your interested reader, 

Marieli Benziyer (age 12). 

Decidedly no. The little boy who let the kitten 
fall from a third-story window, as I understand 
from the letter that he did, was a very careless 
little boy indeed, and it was only a lucky chance 
for the kitten that it was not hurt. Cats and 
kittens are very tender, delicate things, easily 
hurt, and very subject to nervous shock, but sel- 
dom showing the full extent of their suffering to 
a chance observer. I have known cats to come 
through terrible experiences apparently unhurt, 
but die of the effects weeks after.— Jane R. 

sunshine and sneezing 

Kenwood, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : My baby sister just loves to sit 
out on the grass, but Mother always turns her back to 
the sun because she says that it makes her sneeze if the 
sun shines in her eyes. Can you tell me why this is? 
Your devoted reader, 

Adele Noyes. 

A certain nerve sends one branch to the inner 
parts of the eye, and a second branch to the lin- 
ing of the nose. The strong light irritates the 

nerve branch in the eye, and by what is called 
"reflex action,"— that is, an action over which 
we have no control,— the irritation seems to be 
conveyed to the branch in the nose, and makes us 
sneeze. To tell why the effect is produced would 
call for a long lecture on anatomy and physiology. 
The nerve in the eye sometimes becomes so sen- 
sitive through disease that ordinary daylight, or 
even the light of a lamp, will make the patient 
sneeze. — A. C. S. 


Rochester, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Please explain to me why my 
kitten's eyeballs are sometimes round, and then shaped 
somewhat like a cigar, in the second case being parallel 
with her nose. 

Your constant reader, 

Lawrence Greene (age 13^2). 

The shape of the eyeballs cannot change. Any 
alteration must be in the form of the opening be- 
tween the eyelids, caused by a movement of the 
lids themselves. But when you refer to the eye- 
ball, you probably mean the pupil, or what. ap- 
pears to be a little black spot on the front of the 
eye. This changes its form by the movement of 
the iris, the colored part of the eye, which ex- 
pands in dimly lighted places and contracts when 
looking at a bright or very intense light. In man, 
the pupil is naturally circular; in the cat, it is 
naturally long, narrow, and upright, and under 
the influence of the light may become somewhat 
cigar-shaped and parallel with the nose. It is 
impossible for the ball of the eye to become 
altered as you describe. — A. C. S. 


Walloon Lake, Mich. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have for some time wanted to 
know why the rainbow is always seen in the east, and 
usually in the evening. 

The other morning one of the people around here called 
my attention to a "wonderful rainbow in the west." I 
could not see that it was wonderful, but I asked, and the 
reply was that the rainbow very rarely is seen in the 
west ; but no one could tell me why. 

Your affectionate reader, 

Marcei.line Hemingway. 

The rainbow is produced by the reflection of 
sunbeams by falling raindrops. We must look 
toward the raindrops in order to see the reflected 
rainbow, and not toward the sun, which must be 
behind us. In the afternoon, when summer 
thunder-storms occur, the sun is west of us ; 
therefore, we turn our backs to the sun, and see 
the rainbow east of us. We can see a rainbow 
in the west when thunder-storms occur in the 
morning,— that is, in the west while the sun is in 
the east.— Willis L. Moore, Chief U. S. Weather 
Bureau, Washington, D. C. 





Dear St. Nicholas : Can you tell me why little drops 
of what looks like salt gather on the inside of a glass 
of water? I have often watched water in a glass, and 
it always gets those little drops. 

Your interested reader, 

Catherine Johnson. 

The formation of tiny bubbles on the inside of 
the glass is explained by Professor H. L. Wells 
as follows : 

Water dissolves the gases of the atmosphere (other- 
wise fishes could not live in it), and the colder the 

Dear St. Nicholas : Will you please tell me why the 
eyes of some cats differ from each other in color. Is 
it a disease or are they born like that ? At the school 
where I was we found a little kitten which had one 
very light blue eye, and the other was a greenish 

Your loving reader, 

Otis Brown. 

In reply to the letter regarding "odd-eyed" cats 
and kittens, I am glad to tell you that this condi- 
tion is not a disease, many kittens, especially 
white ones, being born with this peculiarity.— 
Jane R. Cathcart. 


•*•> ©«</ 

o.. o 

J o o $ o • % ^O 

° • • f ° • 


water the more of these gases, chiefly oxygen and 
nitrogen, are dissolved. So that when cold water which 
has taken up air is warmed, some of this gas usually 
appears as bubbles. 

Therefore, whenever water which is saturated with 
air is heated, gases are given off. These gases may go 
off invisibly when the warming is slow, by evaporating 
at the surface ; but when the warming is more rapid, 
bubbles of gas collect on the walls of the containing 
vessel, or may rise up through the water. 

If you watch fresh water heating in a kettle, a great 
many bubbles of gas will be seen rising, and they get 
larger as the water approaches the boiling point, as then 
the gases contain much water vapor. Finally, when 
boiling begins, all the gases are removed, and after a 
short time, pure steam comes off. 

If cold, fresh water has been left standing in a warm 
room for some time, the gas bubbles often form inside 
the glass as the water gradually becomes warmer. The 
bubbles sometimes look bright from reflection, so that 
they might be compared to salt in appearance. 


New York City, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Yesterday my brother and I were 
out walking, when we found a robin's nest. It was in 
a shrub three feet from the ground, and had three eggs 
in it. We were surprised that a robin should be nesting 
at this time of the year. When we looked at the eggs, 
we saw that there was a hole in each one, and that they 
were empty. As there were several cracked nuts lying 
near the eggs, we think that a chipmunk, or squirrel, 
must have robbed the nest. But how could the eggs 
keep such a long time without breaking? They were so 
near the road that any one could have seen the nest. 
Will you kindly tell me how late the robin nests? 
Your interested reader, 

Gladys E. Livermore (age 12). 

The work of red squirrels no doubt. Egg-shells 
often remain in nests until the following spring. 
-C. W. B. 


Los Angeles, Cal. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have been told that if one is in a 
deep well, or looks through a long tube, or a pipe, he is 
able to see the stars in the daytime. I have never had 
an opportunity to try the experiment, and I would like 
to know if this is so. Do you see the same stars you see 
at night? If you do, do the stars turn around with the 
earth? This has puzzled me quite a little, and I shall 
be very grateful to know. 

Your interested reader, 

Helen L. Knapp. 

Stars are in the sky in the daytime as well as 
at night. The only reason why we cannot see 
them by day is on account of the glare of the sky 
illuminated by the sun. Very little of this glare 
would be cut off by go'ing down a well, and, con- 
sequently, we would be able to see from a well 
only the very brightest stars. For several days, 
at certain times, Venus is so bright that it can 
be readily seen during the daytime with the naked 
eye, if one knows just where to look for it. By 
means of a telescope, one can see the bright stars 
in the daytime. 

Stars rise and set like the sun and moon, and 
for the same reason, because the earth is rotating 
on its axis. There are stars in every direction 
from the earth. — S. A. M. 

Of the contributions in prose and verse this month, those 
that well deserved to be printed would fill almost an entire 
number of St. Nicholas ; and we assure the League 
members named on the First Roll of Honor that their 
compositions would certainly have been printed if room 
could have been found, or made, for them. 

Both "Spring" and "Winter" have their ardent 
partizans, and this month's experience has taught the 
Editor one impressive lesson : never to offer a choice of 
two seasons to the League poets in a single competition! 

As to "The Book That Has Helped Me Most — and 
Why," it called out a response that has rarely, if ever, been 
equaled in the history of the League. The essays here 
printed speak for themselves, and very eloquently. But 
they give hardly a hint of the variety and cleverness of the 
many, many others that deserved to be placed beside them. 

It was pleasant, and instructive too, to note how wide a 
range of literature was covered in these contributions. 

From that sacred book of books, the Bible, and from the 
world-famous Shakspere, the young folk wandered afield 
among the works of classic fiction, poetry, and biography, 
and, naturally, among the well-known classics of child- 
hood. " Little Women " led the list of favorite books of 
girl-readers ; but " David Copperfield " was a close second. 
Even the "Dictionary" and "Spelling Book" had their 
advocates; and one clever girl admits that her "bank- 
book " has " helped her most," and tells just why! 

Nor must we fail to mention one tribute that has 
touched us deeply, both with joy and pride, for a great 
many League members have named St. Nicholas itself as 
the "book" of their choice, and have rendered homage to 
the magazine in beautiful and affectionate words. Modesty 
forbids our awarding prizes to these offerings, welcome as 
they are. But we cannot resist the temptation to show 
some of them to our readers, and, in grateful appreciation, 
shall give a page to them in next month's Letter-Box. 


In making the awards, contributors' ages are considered. 

PROSE. Gold badges, Marjorie Trotter (age 17), Toronto, Can. ; H. Hardy Heth (age 15), Montpelier, O. 

Silver badges, Grace King (age 17), Toledo, O. ; Doris Longton (age 17), Keighley, Eng. ; Mary Kathryn Fagan 

(age 13), Savannah, Ga. ; Jennie E. Everden (age 12), Ithaca, Mich. 

VERSE. Gold badges, Marion E. Stark (age 17), Norwich, Conn. ; Marion Thanhouser (age 12), Milwaukee, Wis. 

Silver badges, Eleanor E. Carroll (age 14), West New Brighton, N. Y. ; Genevieve C. Freeman (age 12), Milford, 

Neb. ; Elizabeth Connolly (age 9), Palisades-on-Hudson, N. Y. ; Joyce Cook (age 16), Tiverton, Eng. 

DRAWINGS. Silver badges, Charlotte Tougas (age 17), Dorchester, Mass. ; Margaret Ayer (age 14), Brooklyn, 

N. Y. ; Frank L. Hayes, Jr. (age 17), Oberlin, O. ; Harold C. Lewis (age 15), Traverse City, Mich. 

PHOTOGRAPHS. Silver badges, Eugenia Parker (age 17), Winchester, Mass. ; Grace E. Toole (age 17), Branford, 

Conn. ; Lily A. Lewis (age 15), Bear Creek, Pa. ; Eleanor H. Verner (age 14), Wayne, Pa. ; Mary Dawson (age 12), 

Newark, N. J. ; Leslie M. Burns (age 14), Cripple Creek, Colo. 

PUZZLE-MAKING. Silver badges, Jessica B. Noble (age 11), Hollywood, Cal. ; S. H. Ordway, Jr. (age 11), New 

York City. 

PUZZLE ANSWERS. Silver badges, William D. Woodwek (age 15), Buffalo, N. Y. ; Clara Parks (age 15), St. 

Louis, Mo. 









{Silver Badge) 
The Bible, the book of books, has done me more good 
than any other book. From beginning to end, it is 
full of heroic and wonderful deeds. It is the book. 
Sir Walter Scott on his death-bed said: "Bring me the 
book." "What book?" asked a servant. "There is 
only one book, the Bible," answered the great writer. 
What boy wants any more exciting stories than of 


David killing the Giant? or of Joseph being sold into 
slavery by his unworthy brothers ? or a more marve- 
lous one than that of the little boy's loaves and 
fishes feeding the five thousand? Or what girl, any 
more fascinating stories than of Mary and Martha? or 
Naaman's slave-girl ? What would this country, our 
country, be without this wonderful book ? We would 
have — what? No churches, no colleges, no hospitals, 
no art, no homes for the poor, friendless, or orphans. 
And last, but not least, no books, for are not most of 
our good books inspired by the Bible ? More copies 
have been sold and translated into other languages than 
any other book, which shows its popularity. So, dear 
reader, do you not agree with me that this book, the 
Bible, has done more for humanity than any other book, 
for has it not taught us truth, and honesty, and all good, 
and helped to make better the great world we live in ? 



{Honor Member) 
When we consider this, subject we cannot but be a 
little puzzled. Many books have helped us, each in its 


own way; and so the question seems to be, "Which is 
the best and greatest way?" As this is almost im- 
possible to decide, our minds turn to follow another 
avenue of thought, which is, "What book has helped 
in the most ways ?" 

There are many kinds of literature — novels, de- 
scriptions, essays, sermons, poems, and dramas. These 
are all for a purpose, and each educates us in a dif- 


ferent way, or awakens a new interest. There is one 
book which contains all these, and in reading it we 
are impressed anew as each variety unfolds itself. 




■.-■."■ ':.::'": .:'::■.. : ■:>':- >M& ZSSS&tg, 





2K; a '3.' a -" * ^" ! 

| - ■ ,'j 

1 " '. ! 

■ . v 




What more beautiful description than the Songs of 
Solomon ? and what more impressive sermon than 
Christ's sermon on the mount ? Some of the most 
wonderfully melodic poems of history are found in the 
Songs of David, and the greatest drama ever enacted 
is the Passion Play, or the life of Christ. We cannot 
think of another book which shows within its covers 
wealth, poverty, love, hatred, sin, repentance, death, 
and beside all these, many other phases of life dealing 
with every form of character, from such a man as 
Judas to The Master himself. 

And so we come to the conclusion that the book 
which has helped us the most is the one that has 
helped us in the most ways — the Great Book — the 
Book of Life — which every one may read and under- 
stand, from the little child just entering into the 
struggles of life to the old man waiting to enter the 
"Golden Gate." Surely no more helpful book exists ! 



{Honor Member) 
I closed the battered covers, laid the well-worn book 
down, and thought of the times I had read and re- 
read the dear, shabby old volume — days when spring 
was transforming the world with its irresistible youth 
and greenness ; when summer flowers bloomed and 
birds sang ; when autumn burst forth clad in scarlet 
and gold, or when snow covered the ground like a 
mantle. There had been dark days, bright days, days 
of rain and of sunshine, but scarcely a day that I had 
not lifted my copy of "David Copperfield" from the 
book shelves. 

Hardly a day had passed that I had not wandered 
on the beach with David and little Emily ; trudged 




under the stars with the lonely little boy, or smiled 
and cried over Dora, who, with all her weakness, was 
yet so human. I felt the awful majesty and power of 
the sea when the frail boat bearing Steerforth was 
wrecked. I admired Ham's bravery, hated Uriah's 
deceit, or journeyed with Mr. Peggotty in his weary 
search. I can see Agnes as plainly as ever David did ; 
shining like a star across his path. 

But whether I am sad or lonely, glad or gay, tired 
or light-hearted, I always find in this book just what 
I need most. It seems always to respond to my every 
mood, and I laugh or cry with the dear people whom 
Dickens has given to us all for friends. These are 
the reasons why I say that "David Copperfield" has 
helped me more than any other book. 



{Honor Member) 
Season of birth and reawakening, 

Symbol of all things unfulfilled and young, 

Laughing, thou passest the green fields among, 
Glad of thy power and loveliness, O Spring! 
To the dull earth thy careless tread doth bring 

New life, which courses through her age-worn veins. 

Thine is the music of the fitful rains 
And thine the happy song the streamlets sing. 
Ripe summer's languid glory is not thine, 

Nor thine the soul of autumn, wise and mild. 

Victor of hoary winter ! Oh, fair child, 
Passionate, wilful ! thou art passing sweet — 

For in thy noble promise we divine 

The poignant beauty of the incomplete. 



{Gold Badge) 
Every good book is a friend that never fails. And 
we owe tribute to many authors for giving us such 
companions. Who could forget Louisa M. Alcott, Kate 
Douglas Wiggin, Frances Hodgson Burnett, Ralph 
Henry Barbour, Henry Van Dyke, or Lew Wallace and 
his great "Ben Hur" ? 

But as I look over my library, one small volume 
outshines all the others. It is written in words of one 
syllable, so that any child may read ; and as it has 
been in my possession ever since I was such, this book 
is a friend tried and true. Upon the cover is printed 
in gold, "The Pilgrim's Progress." 

There are many reasons for my choice, naturally 
the first being that the story is just as beneficial now 
as when I first read it years ago. Indeed, I believe 
the oftener it is re-read, the more helpful it becomes. 

Then, I greatly admire Bunyan, the author. 

He was the son of an English tinker, and for a 
time adopted his father's trade, but early in life began 
preaching. As he led a body of people whose ideas 
were opposite to those of the king, he was arrested 
in 1660 and retained in prison until 1672. During 
those long years spent in Bedford jail, "Pilgrim's 
Progress" was written. His persistence in time of 
trouble and disgrace proves him an example well worth 

The book itself has innumerable good qualities. It 
is uplifting and appeals to the imagination, yet never 
does it make light of worldly cares. Nothing is over- 
drawn ; everything is real and practical. The hero 
Vol. XXXIX.-84. 

faces trials and triumphs that any pilgrim on life's 
way must meet. His experiences aid me in mine. 

The object of every book should be to help mankind. 
I believe John Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress" fulfills 
this purpose a hundredfold. 



{Silver Badge) 
Autumn is going fast. Her last sweet breeze 
Shakes from the half-clad boughs the last dry leaves ; 
Then, gathering up her robes of russet gold, 
And settling firm her crown of wealth untold, 
Sweeps out of sight. The golden sunbeams there 
The while dance round and through her auburn hair, 
And slowly the surrounding mists enfold 
And hide from sight the form of brown and gold. 

When, hark ! there falls upon the startled ear, 
The blast of clarion trumpets, loud and clear ; 
And all the trees, where once the birds built nests, 
Robbed of their cheery, silver-throated guests, 
String up their silver harps to mournful tone, 
And play the sad sweet music of their own. 
And speeding on the north wind's mighty wing, 
Amid a blare of bugles, comes the king ! 

A robe of sparkling whiteness does he wear, 
A wreath of snowflakes in his snow-white hair, 
And hair, and beard, and robe, so long and bright, 
Mingle in one great cloud of sparkling white. 
And while the stinging frost-imp draws his bow, 
He scatters far and wide the soft, white snow. 
All hail the lovely queens, Fall, Summer, Spring, 
But call, from mount to mount, "Winter is king!" 






(Silver Badge) 
Barring the Bible, "Little Women" stands forth.— 
strongest and brightest from my list of dear old 

My reasons are many, so many that I could not 
give them all. But I love that book, or "friend" I 



(Gold Badge) 
Oh, merry winter gnomes are we ! 
We dance and prance in impish glee. 

And for our band we have a sign, 
A tiny branch of scented pine. 

In snowy ermine we are dressed, 
And in the day we take our rest. 

But when the moon hath risen high, 
Away we go on feet that fly ! 

Oh, short and plump and quick are we ! 
Our faces round and lit with glee. 

Upon the forest's silver floor 
We dance as in the fairy lore. 

We creep into the farmers' huts, 
And steal their stores of winter nuts. 

We dull their saws, enchant their wells. 
And o'er their meadows cast our spells. 

The mortals ever we molest ; 
But leave the furry folk at rest. 

"a heading for may." by hazel s. halstead, age 16. (honor member.) We bare the trees, and freeze the streams, 

think I may call it ; and when one loves a friend, 
does not that friend always help you? And strengthen 
and cheer you often ? 

"Little Women" is composed of several books, all 
within one story. 

In it you have home life and sisterly love, not as a 
dry topic or marvelous endowment, but as an ex- 
ample. It sets forth many examples, in fact, which 
might be changed slightly so as to fit into any cir- 
cumstance of one's own life. 

Amy's gay experiences abroad, with Laurie to make 
them comical, are enough for one story. 

Meg's trials and home troubles are so funny, yet 
deplorable, that they alone might fill a little book. 

Last, but not least, there are poor dear Jo's trials, 
ambitions, and temptations ! For some of Jo's faults 
are so similar to my own, it helps me so much to see 
how she overcomes hers. 

If any one does not find "Little Women" very help- 
ful and interesting, I give below my directions for 
putting it to a practical test : 

If you have the "blues," go with Amy to the 
Parisian ball. It will cheer you wonderfully. 

If you think the world has used you badly, sym- 
pathize with Jo, and you will feel better. 

If you want to laugh, read about the pranks of 
Laurie and Jo, or of Jo's trials when Laurie tried to 
propose to her. 

One can find almost anything needed in "Little 
Women" if she only tries. 



(Silver Badge) 
Little snowdrop, lift your head 
From the brown earth's wintry bed ; 
Blue-eyed violet, come up, too, 
Blue-eyed violet, shy and true. 
Spring has come to call you all. 
Hark ! I hear the bluebird's call ! 

And send them off to winter dreams. 

We silence all the world with snow, 
And pipe to make the north winds blow. 

Oh, merry winter gnomes are we ! 
We dance and prance in impish glee. 



(Honor Member) 
A row of books lines the shelf before me. Among the 
familiar titles, one seems to stand forth most promi- 
nently. Not because of its size, certainly, yet it is 
the book that has helped me most. 

It is "The Desert of Waiting," the story of Saphur. 
While he is crossing the desert toward the Golden 
Gate of the City of his Desire, which opens but once 
a year to common merchants, his camel falls lame, and 
he is forced to stop and see the caravan pass on with- 
out him. Losing hope of ever reaching the city, he 
wishes but to die. Soon, however, a bee, buzzing 
persistently around him, arouses his interest. Follow- 
ing it, he reaches the palace of Omar, the alchemist 
of the desert. Finding this wonderful man, he ex- 
pects him to turn his wares to gold with his magic. 
But, instead, Omar sends him to the rose garden, 
where each night, until dawn, he must pick the rose- 
leaves. The task is pleasant at first, but soon the 
thorns prick, and he doubts if all this labor will 
profit him anything. At length Omar calls him to 
him. With the rose-leaves he has picked may be made 
a wonderful attar, so costly that only princes may 
buy, and for the bearer of which the Golden Gate 
will open wide. So, through patience, Saphur gains 
the City of his Desire. 

Last year, moving to a strange town, thrown among 
strangers, and, at the same time, taken from school 
because of ill health, I thought often of this story, and 
of that one sentence, "From the daily tasks, that prick 




thee sorest, mayest thou distil some precious attar, that 
will gain for thee a royal entrance to the City of 
thy Desire." 



(Gold Badge) 
Apart from the Bible, which is acknowledged by every 
one in our day to hold highest place among books, 
both from a literary and moral standpoint, it is diffi- 
cult to decide what books are most helpful, for there 
is such an abundance of good literature, ministering 
to such widely varied needs. It seems to me the books 
/ need most are not those that inspire to mighty deeds 
in the dim future, or show me how to solve great 
problems I may never meet, but books that help me, 
here and now, to live an unselfish life. And when I 
ask myself what books have influenced me most in 
this regard, I am compelled to make an answer of 
which I am almost ashamed, for my choice is no 
masterpiece of writing, but merely a series of simple 
stories for girls, — the "Little Colonel" books. 

They contain no sermons, no wearisome digressions 
from the story. They are full of activity and fun, 
but the sweet atmosphere round the winsome Ken- 
tucky heroine that breathed fragrance into the lives 
of all she met, unconsciously influences those who read 
her history. It was Lloyd's high aspiration "to live 
in scorn of miserable aims that end with self," and 
any thoughtful girl, watching her character develop 
from baby days to the dawn of her gracious woman- 
hood, will herself be stirred to this lofty ambition. 
Besides Lloyd, Mrs. Johnston draws, so vividly that 
we feel them to be intimate friends, hosts of other 
charming characters. Especially lovable are the jolly 
Wares, whose sturdy determination "to remain in- 
flexible" before all their troubles is a beautiful ex- 
ample of cheery optimism. Their many other teach- 
ings cannot be enumerated here, but I have never 
opened one of these books without receiving fresh 
stimulus in the pursuit of my ideals. 



(Silver Badge) 
When the birds begin to sing, 
When every one of them 's a-wing, 

When primroses and daffodils are showing ; 
When the trees once more are green, 
And in corners all unseen 
Blue violets are blowing, 

It is spring. 

When hart's-tongues droop and quiver 
By the merry rippling river ; 

When the cherry-trees are white again with bloom ; 
When we tiptoe as we find 
A tiny bird's nest close behind 

That fir-tree in the gloom. 

Oh, yes, it 's spring ! 

When the sky is softly blue, 
And the clouds o'er it are few, 

But in the west there 's promise yet of rain, 
Then we feel, as ne'er before, 
That we 're truly at the door 

Of the fairy-world, that comes again 
In spring. 



By a shadowy, babbling brook, 
'Neath tall pines that overlook 
Fields of daisies gold and white, 
Like stars in summer sky at night, 
Every gentle breeze that blows 
Bears the scent of briar rose, 
Transparent ferns, and mosses rare, 
Sunny skies, and balmy air. 
Now and then a warbling note, 
From some joyous robin's throat, 
The shining air of summer fills, 
And echoes 'mid the distant hills. 
Fleecy clouds as white as snow, 
Memories of long ago ; 
'Neath the trees dim shadows lie, 
Mysteries of by and by. 

But the babbling of the brook 
Breaks the silence of this nook, 
Gurgling, murmuring as it flows, 
"Memories linger, but time goes." 



(Silver Badge) 
Of the many books I have read, and reading is my 
favorite occupation, Louisa M. Alcott's "Little Wo- 
men" has influenced me most. 

It contains many lessons of unselfishness, charity, 
and economy, showing how happiness may be got 


from very simple pleasures irrespective of riches. Also 
the perseverance and trials of four girls, very like 
other girls, who struggled hard against, and overcame, 
each one her special failing, seem to urge you to try 
to follow in their foot-steps. 

Jo is my special girl. I seem to have cared for her 
from the first. She is so real and true. How I en- 
joyed reading the part where, through working hard, 
she got well planted on the road leading to successful 
authorship, scribbling away in the attic on her strange 
desk. How tender a nurse she made when, the mother 
away nursing a sick father, her little Beth took scarlet 
fever ; and how she made peace with Laurie's irate 




grandfather, when both were angry and hurt, although 
she, herself, was angry when Laurie played such a 
rude trick on Meg. 

As for Beth, with her piano, her dolls, her dish-tub, 
and dusting, — gentle, shy, little Beth did every one 
good by her patient duty-loving ways and manners, 
even to harum-scarum Jo. 

Meg overcame her vanity and walked unscathed 
through "vanity fair," growing, when the mother was 
suddenly called away, from girl to woman, striving to 
care for the younger sisters and keep the home. 

The little artist Amy learned a hard lesson with 
Aunt March, growing to think of others before herself 
and curb her vanity. 

Louisa M. Alcott knew girls were not perfect, but 
what reward could be more than Mr. March's ob- 
servations on his return from the war, when he was 
able to remark upon such improvement in his girls? 



(An Acrostic in Archaic Spelling) 


(Silver Badge) 
In ye joyeuse wynter tyme, 
Neare ye fyre I lyke to sytte. 
Yellowe blazes upwarde clymbe, 
Ever leaping : ne'er they quitte. 
When ye blyzzards rage outsyde, 
Younge and olde together synge, 
Now aboute some ancyente bryde, 
Telling usse of her wedding ; 
Else, about a vallyante knyghte 
Roving 'rounde throughout the lande, 
Tyll he fynds some wronge to righte ; 
Yea, he does onne every hande. 
Months fly past, eache as a gueste, 
Every one lykes wynter beste ! 



Spring on the hillside, 
Ankle-deep in flowers, 

Her favorites flocking round her, 
Or hanging back in bowers. 

Resting in the valley 

Like a tired child from, play, 
Lying in the fern and moss, 

Breathing scents of May. 

Spring is in the woodland 
More beautiful than all, 

Budding blossoms round her 
Opening at her call. 

Birds singing o'er her, 

Blue sky above, 
God surely sent her 

To fill the world with love. 



(Honor Member) 
My friend, have you seen the northland 

When the rivers are barred with mail? 
When the pines bow low, 'neath the wind-heaped snow, 

And sing through the rushing gale? 

Then hark to the mighty blizzard 

As it roars through the northern night 
Till the dark trees gleam like a misty dream, 

Through a flickering veil of white. 

But listen ! the wind is dying, 

The clouds have been swept away ; 
And the moon sails high in a star-gemmed sky, 

O'er a world that is light as day. 

Then ho ! for the winter moonlight ! 

The monarchs of all are we, 
By the heart atune to the winds that croon, 

And the song of the gliding skee. 

But ever the home lure calleth, 

Till it kindles a wild desire ; 
Then fare we back o'er the gleaming track, 

To drowse by the open fire. 



(Silver Badge) 
I have been helped and educated by many different 
books, but I believe that during the last three years, 
the one that has helped me most has been my bank- 
account book. Before I was given my bank-book, I 
spent my allowance heedlessly ; in fact, I spent ray 
money so quickly that I really could not give my 
parents an accurate account of what it had all gone for. 

So, finally, on my fourteenth birthday, my father 
gave me a bank-book, and he told me to put my 
allowance (which was twenty-five dollars a month) 
into the bank and draw out five dollars every week, 
which should last me through the week for all my 
expenditures. He told me to keep an accurate ac- 
count of every penny that I spent during the week, 
and to record these weekly accounts in my bank-book. 

At first I thought this would be an awful task, but 
I soon learned to take pleasure in being careful with 
my expense accounts, and then my father rewarded 
me for my extra trouble by adding another five dol- 
lars to my regular monthly allowance. 

I am very glad now that I was taught to keep a 
bank-account, for it certainly did succeed in making 
me more economical, and more careful with money. 







{Gold Badge) 
Spring comes dancing o'er the sunny hilltops, 

Trees are budding, filled with sap anew ; 
Birds are winging, joyful, to their home-land, 

E'en the sun has springtime beauty, too. 

Now 's the time when all the busy housewives 
Sigh and frown upon the dirt and dust, 

Roll their sleeves, and don their work regalia, 
For clean house, indeed, they surely must. 

And their patient husbands groan and wonder, 
As they beat the carpets out-of-door, 

If, perchance, when this hard task is ended, 
They can find sweet comfort any more. 

Everything within the house is missing 
From its own accustomed shelf or hook ; 

For a hat, or pen, or clock, or necktie, 
No one ever knows the place to look. 

And the springtide's glory bright is darkened 
By the clouds of dust that upward rise, 

Veiling our fair land in all its beauty, 
Casting gloom upon e'en sunset skies. 

Thus, though spring comes dancing o'er the hilltops, 
And birds are winging, joyful, to our homes ; 

Spring house-cleaning sways relentless scepter, 
And through our laud tyrannically roams. 



Withdraw, thou cruel tyrant of the cold ! 
Desert thy heaped-up fastnesses of snow, 
Strike off thy icy chains from earth, and go 

Far hence ; and let Spring's buds unfold — 

The purple of the violets, the gold 

Of crocuses ; let Spring new life bestow. 

Depart, dread king, fair Spring's most deadly foe, 

Lead forth thy legions of frost spirits bold 

Who sheathe with ice each tender growing thing. 

The birds, the minstrels from the south, will come 
To take their place ; and butterflies will sail 

Through verdant trees, with opalescent wings ; 
Among the flowers sweet the bees will hum, 
And Spring's allies shall o'er thy power prevail. 



{Honor Member) 
A little stir, 
A winged whir, 
A flash of blue 
And crimson, too. 

The world is new ! 

A first robin's thrill, 
A tree's soft, green frill, 
A brook's flashing thread, 
A white violet bed. 

Blue sky overhead ! 

Splotches of gold on a rolling green, 
Perfume of flowers that blow unseen, 
Apple-bloom down-balls the breezes fling, 
Wee, shrilling voices that sing and sing, 
'Glory to God, for it 's spring! It 's spring 



"The book that has helped me most," I thought to 
myself. Upon which of my many favorite books should 
the choice rest? Should it be "Captains Courageous," 
"The Jungle Books," or, perhaps, Thompson Seton's 
stories of animals ? But no ; a second reading of the 
title changed my ideas. "The book that has helped me 
most," it read. That book is surely the St. Nicholas. 
And why? 

The League has given me a chance to write once a 
month, or, at least, to think about the new title, so it 
has kept me in practice. 

Then what a drill in patience St. Nicholas is. For 
instance : 

And they turned in their stirrups to see Nether Hall one great 

" Heavens! " gasped Captain Hood. 
They dashed back with white faces. 

( To be continued. ) 

or words to that effect. 

St. Nicholas, too, always can settle any dispute 
as to punctuation, capitals, etc., because it always has 
the "latest" in printing. 

All the stories are good and well written. Alto- 
gether, I do not see how I ever could get along with- 
out "the book that has helped me most." 




No. i. A list of those whose work would have been used had space 

No. 2. A list of those whose work entitles them to encouragement. 


Elizabeth C. Walton 
Katherine Judson 
Dorothy Rogers 
Margaret Vaughn 
Marie Merriman 
Mary E. Van Fossen 
Helen Gawthrop 
Elizabeth D. Macy 
Helen Grace Garnham 
Jeannette Gleed 
Nathaniel Dorfman 
Anna Charap 
Frances E. Cavanah 
Mittie Clark 
Anne K. Warren 
Arthur Nethercot 
Catherine F. Urell 
Lucile E. Merrill 
Elsie Stevens 
Anna Rimington 
Louise S. May 
Florence L. Smith 
Adeline Rotty 
Hazel B. Pawlowsky 
Hattie M. Wulke 
James Sheean 
Antonia Schwab 
Myrtle Doppman 
Mildred Thorp 
Louise Lieber 
Fredrica McLean 
Walter L. Chapin, Jr. 
William W. Ladd 
Lenore J. Hughes 


Dorothy A. Heinlein 
Vernon P. Williams 
Max Muench 
Jessie V. H. Westfall 
Naomi Lauchheimer 
Alfred J. Murray 
Hyman Estrin 
Mildred Weissner 
Vera B. Hall 
Joseph Kaufman 
Ethel M. Feuerlicht 
Anna Laura Porter 
Evelyn V. Palmer 
Marguerite Sisson 
Sarah Polansky 
Mary Daboll 
Catherine Johnson 
Roxana Chadbourne 
Etienne Donovan 


Bruce T. Simonds 
Winifred S. Stoner, Jr. 
Josephine N. Felts 
Martin Stahl 
Anita Grannis 
Elizabeth Zerrahn 
Betty Humphreys 
Katharine Baker 
Elizabeth Willcox 
Ethel London 
Margaret B. Laws 

Helen E. Master 
Isabel W, Strang 
Helen E. Dougherty 
Vera F. Keevers 
Glenn Ashdown 
W. J. Cress well 
Doris N. Chew 
Eleanor Johnson 
Dorothy W. Lord 
Rowena Lamy 
Marion Ellet 
Harold A. Brower 
Elizabeth B. White 
Elizabeth McN. 

Carolyn Krusen 
Jean E. Freeman 
Florence W. Towle 
Marjorie P. M. 

Charlotte Hawes 
Madeleine Ward 
Rose Schwartz 
Dorothy C. Snyder 
Helen R. Tolles 
Ruth M. Miller 


Mildred W. Longstreth 
Alberta M. Davidson 
Henry D. Costigan 
Quinta Cattell 
Edna Milliman 
Bertha F. Hirschberg 
Olga M. Marwig 
Elinor Hopkins 
Elsie L. Lustig 
Lazare Chernoff 
Vivian E. Hall 
Ray Del-Monte 
Elise S. Haynes 
Naomi E. Butler 
Erna Gunther 
Anna Roberts 
Donald C. Dorian 
Marian Wightman 
Hortense Lion 
Dorothea Rush 
Owens Berry 
Florence Clark 
Polly May Gorringe 
Hope Satterthwaite 
Katharine L. Trippe 


Venette M. Willard 
Dorothy Handsaker 
Alison M. Kingsbury 
Lily King Westervelt 
Horace Graf 
Walter K. Frame 
Lucie C. Holt 
Lucy Blenkinsop 
Jean Hopkins 
Schofield Handforth 
Frances M. Patten 
Ethel King 
Hunter Griffith 
Bodil Hornemann 
Rosemary H. Robinson 

Beatrice H. Robinson 
Beryl Margetson 
Margery R. Dawson 
Tecla Ludolf 
Catharine M. Clarke 
Susan Frazier 
Lucy F. Rogers 
Dorothy Hughes 
Elizabeth Winston 
Kathleen Culhane 
Goldie Zucker 
Marjorie Flack 
Caroline Cox 
Ruth Seymour 
Henry Herzog 
Marion H. Medlar 
Ethel Warren Kidder 
Marina Foster 
Dorothy Deming 
Leo Swift 


Evangeline Pendleton 
Dorothy A. Babbage 
Lucile Hotchkiss 
Adelaide White 
Max Margolius 
Dorothea Quitzow 
Dorothy von Colson 
Virginia Palmer 
Mary T. Bradley 
Charles Case 
Phyllis Coate 
Paul Johnson 
Edna C. Haines 
Philip N. Rawson 
Joe Jaroszynski 
Gertrude Russell 


Marion Rawson 
Stephen Wheatland 
Delaware Kemper 
Hilda F. Gaunt 
Robert Levison 
Gertrude Davie 
Caroline Bancroft 
James B. Taylor, Jr. 


Phoebe Schreiber 

Emilie Jeannette 

Sam Bronsky 

George Hobart 

Elizabeth E. Abbott 

Maryalice Moody 

Cecelia Rea 

Margaret Stanley- 

Harriet Henry 

Lois B. Perley 

Gustav Diechmann 

Helen C. Young 

Edith Pierpont 

Roy Elliott 


A list of those whose contributions were not properly prepared, and 
could not be properly entered for the competition. 

LATE. Robert S. Welden, Hortense Douglas, A. F. Gilman, Jr., 
Parker McAllister, Chrystie Douglas, Betty Quick, John Argens, Val- 
entine C. Hart, Laura Cook, K.. O'Hanlon, Helen Fortier, Madelaine 
Schreiber, Helen Stearns, May C. Jacobs, Beatrice Woodruff, Han- 
nah B. Trainer. 

NOT INDORSED. Mary E. Mumford, Sally S. Palmer, An- 
thony F. Brown, Jr., Albert C. Kringel, Eleanor M. Sickels, Cyril G. 
Laub, Donovan Hinchman, Lucille MacAllister, Sophie Duwalf. 

NO AGE. Ray Inman, Jr., Catharine Clement, Theodore Neu- 
staedter, Marian Speilman, Helen Beeman, Catherine B. McCoy, 
Nellie Melrose, Audrey Cooper. 

WRONG SUBJECT. William Kalning, Harry Salzman, BeUa 
Schnall, Isadore Schnall, Frances Brooks. 

FULL ADDRESS NOT GIVEN. Minna Schwarz, Elsie L. 
Morey, Lucile Lesser, Ellen Lee Hoffman, Theresa E. Tobiassen, Jo- 
seph Barrett, Eleanor Mishnun, Walter J. Baeza. 


IN PENCIL. Margaret Beauchamp, Clement Kell, Lois Gubel- 
man, James O'Brien, Esther Huntington, Joseph Deprimo. 


The St. Nicholas League awards gold and silver badges 
each month for the best original poems, stories, drawings, 
photographs, puzzles, and puzzle answers. Also, occasion- 
ally, cash prizes of five dollars each to gold-badge win- 
ners who shall, from time to time, again win first place. 

Competition No. 151 will close May 10 (for 
foreign members May 15). Prize announcements 
will be made and the selected contributions published in 
St. Nicholas for September. 

Verse. To contain not more than twenty-four lines. 
Subject, " A Song of the Woods." 

Prose. Essay or story of not more than three hundred 
words. Subject, " A Seaside Adventure. " 

Photograph. Any size, mounted or unmounted ; no blue 
prints or negatives. Subject, "On the March." 

Drawing. India ink, very black writing-ink, or wash. 
Subject, " Left Behind," or a Heading for September. 

Puzzle. Any sort, but must be accompanied by the an- 
swer in full, and must be indorsed. 

Puzzle Answers. Best, neatest, and most complete set 
of answers to puzzles in this issue of St. Nicholas. 
Must be indorsed and must be addressed as explained on 
the first page of the " Riddle-box." 

Wild Creature Photography. To encourage the pur- 
suing of game with a camera instead of with a gun. The 
prizes in the " Wild Creature Photography " competition 
shall be in four classes, as follows : Prize, Class A, a 
gold badge and three dollars. Prize, Class B, a gold 
badge and one dollar. Prize, Class C, a gold badge. 
Prize, Class D, a silver badge. But prize-winners in this 
competition (as in all the other competitions) will not receive 
a second gold or silver badge. Photographs must not be 
of "protected" game, as in zoological gardens or game 
reservations. Contributors must state in a few words where 
and under what circumstances the photograph was taken. 

Special Notice. No unused contribution can be re- 
turned by us unless it is accompanied by a self-addressed 
and stamped envelop of the proper size to hold the manu- 
script, drawing, or photograph. 


Any reader of St. Nicholas, whether a subscriber or not, 
is entitled to League membership, and a League badge and 
leaflet, which will be sent free. No League member who 
has reached the age of eighteen years may compete. 

Every contribution, of whatever kind, must bear the 
name, age, and address of the sender, and be indorsed as 
"original" by parent, teacher, or guardian, who must be 
convinced beyond doubt that the contribution is not copied, 
but wholly the work and idea of the sender. If prose, the 
number of words should also be added. These notes must 
not be on a separate sheet, but on the contribzition itself — 
if manuscript, on the upper margin ; if a picture, on the 
margin or back. Write or draw on one side of the paper 
only. A contributor may send but one contribution a 
month — not one of each kind, but one only. 
Address : The St. Nicholas League, 

Union Square, New York. 

,.,Tn« T^»»J~N . V/kteUy. 


Double Zigzag. Cross-words: i. Weight. 2. Earthy. 3. Relent. 

4. Mettle. 5. Wander. 6. Loiter. 7. Finish. 8. Rescue. 9. Atomic. 
10. Stream. 11. Tavern. Walter Scott ; Talisman; 1 to 8, Waverley; 
9 to 15, Marmion. 

Diagonal. Shakespeare. Cross-words: 1. Susceptible. 2. Chro- 
nometer. 3. Anachronism. 4. Backsliders. 5. Perpetrated. 6. Sup- 
position. 7. Discrepancy. 8. Omnipotence. 9. Assassinate. 10. 
Forefathers, n. Irrevocable. 

Illustrated Acrostic and Zigzag. Zigzag: Spartacus; Primals: 
Gladiator. Cross-words: 1. Gates. 2. Lamps. 3. Arena. 4. Diary. 

5. Inlet. 6. Atlas. 7. Tunic. 8. Oakum. 9. Rings. 
Greek Cross of Squares. I. 1. Solar, 2. Olive. 3. Lines. 4. 

Avert. 5. Rests. II. 1. Layer. 2. Adore. 3. Yokes. 4. Erect. 5. 
Rests. III. 1. Rests. 2. Ethel. 3. Share. 4. Terse. 5. Sleet. 
IV. 1. Sleet. 2. Lunar. 3. Entry. 4. Earns. 5. Tryst. V. 1. 
Sleet. 2. Leave. 3. Eaves- 4. Event. 5. Tests. 

To our Puzzlers: Answers to be acknowledged in the magazine must be received not later than the 10th of each month, and should be ad- 
dressed to St. Nicholas Riddle-box, care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth Street, New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the February Number were received before February 10 from Jean S. Peck — H. L. Schmaling — 
Clara Parks — Philip Franklin — William D. Woodwek — Horace T. Trefethan. 

Answers to Puzzles in the February Number were received before February 10 from Claire Hepner, n — Frank Black, n — Geraldine A. 
Cuthbert, 5 — Agnes L. Thomson, 8 — Reginald G. Hammond, 6 — Joseph B. Kelly, 6 — Gertrude M. Earle, 2 — Helen L. Pendergast, 10 — Isa- 
bella Wood, 4 — Edna Levinson, 3 — Grace King, 3 — Margaret Warburton, 10 — Marjorie Hyder, 4 — Muriel Colgate, 2 — Leonard Kimball, 3 — 
Evelyn Thurber, 3 — Marian Watts, 3 — Eleanor Stevenson, 3 — Mary V. R. Lorillard, 4 —Harrison W. Gill, 5 — Edna R. Meyle, 8 — Elisabeth 
Weld, 11 — Theodore H. Ames, 11 — Helen C. Wouters, 11 — Thankful Bickmore, 10 — Gladys S. Conrad, 6 — " Chums," 9 — Duncan Scarborough, 
10 — Edith Anna Lukens, 2 — Frederick W. Van Home, 8 — S. Pereira Mendes, 4 — Eleanor O'Leary, 8 — Marion L. Letcher, 8 — Henry Seligsohn, 
5 — Frances F. Gregory, 2. 

Answers to one Puzzle were received from M. T— M. S.— S. V. J.— P. M.— B. W.— H. C— J. M.— H. F. A. D.— A. B.— G. H.— F. A. 
F.— M. N. B.— H. M.— H. M. R.— I. A.— J. McL.— G. H. A.— M. L. K.— F. M. B.— E. L. G.— J. T— E. W.— C. O.— M. M.— F. S.— E. D. 
A.— A. B. 

Word-Squares. I. 1. Asses. 2. Scent. 3. Sense. 4. Ensue. 5. 
Steep. II. 1. Peach. 2. Eagle. 3. Aglow. 4. Clove. 5. Hewed. 

Geographical Acrostic. Primals: Georgia; third row: Atlanta. 
Cross-words: 1. Grand. 2. Eaton. 3. Oella. 4. Roach. 5. Gonic. 
6. Intra. 7. Adams. 

Numerical Enigma. 

" When most afflicted and oppressed 
From labour there shall come forth rest." 

Charade. Friendship. 

Connected Word-Squares and Diamonds. I. 1. Price. 2. 
Rides. 3. Idols. 4. Celia. 5. Essay. II. 1. Say. 2. Ale. 3. Yes; 
1. Era. 2. Rip. 3. Ape; 1. Sea. 2. Ell. 3. All; 1. Boy. 2. Ore. 
3. Yet. III. 1. S. 2. Ate. 3. Stove. 4. Eve. 5. E; 1. A. 2. 
Yet. 3. jEsop. 4. Toe. 5. P; 1. E. 2. Ass. 3. Essay. 4. Sap. 
5. Y; 1. T. 2. See. 3. Tears. 4. Ere. 5. S. 


All the words described contain the same number of 
letters. The primals spell the name of an American 
poet, and another row of letters the name of a famous 
English general. 

Cross-words : 1. Part of a spur. 2. Sarcasm. 3. A 
flowering shrub. 4. Relating to a kind of fairy. 5. To 

helen moulton (age 1 5), League Member. 


A small, flat fish allied to the flounder. 3. Having a 
rounded top. 4. A kind of roof. 5. A small fruit. 6. 
An Algerian governor. 7. In grappling-irons. 

III. Central Square: i. Sound. 2. A place of 
public contest. 3. One of the mechanical powers. 4. 
Sluggish. 5. Missile weapons. 

IV. Right-hand Diamond: i. In grappling-irons. 
2. An obstruction. 3. An evil spirit. 4. Gulches. 5. 
Excavated. 6. Induced. 7. In grappling-irons. 

V. Lower Diamond: i. In grappling-irons. 2. To 
strike very lightly. 3. A river of Tasmania. 4. A 
Mohammedan month. 5. An Irishman. 6. A beam of 
light. 7. In grappling-irons. 

m. w. 



9 10 
. 1 1 

I. Upper Diamond: i. In grappling-irons. 2. A 
state of equality. 3. A beautiful city. 4. A small um- 
brella. 5. Attained a height. 6. A near relative. 7. In 

II. Left-hand Diamond: i. In grappling-irons. 2. 

Cross-words: i. A prawn. 2. A place where food is 
sold. 3. To discharge from the stomach. 4. Inclines. 
5. An underground place. 6. An image. 

Zigzags, from 1 to 11, a famous author who was 
born and who died in the same month of the year ; second 
row of letters, reading downward, one of his most famous 

helen l. beach (age 11), League Member. 





In this enigma the words are pictured instead of de- 
scribed. The answer, consisting of forty-six letters, is 
a quotation from Dryden. 


{Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 
All the words described contain the same number of 
letters. When rightly guessed and written one below 
another, the zigzag through the first and second 
columns will spell the name of one of the United States. 
Cross-words: i. A famous metropolis of the United 
States. 2. A Grecian city. 3. A city of Vermont. 4. 
A State capital. 5. A German port. 6. A South Ameri- 
can country. 7. A southern State. 8. A South Ameri- 
can river. 9. A State capital, named after a famous 
valley in Greece. 10. A country in Africa. 11. An 
island owned by Denmark. 12. A country of Europe. 
13. A New England State capital. 



(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 
My first is in collar but not in tie ; 
My second, in weep but not in sigh ; 
My third is in sob but not in sigh ; 
My fourth, in pupil but not in eye ; 
My fifth is in cake but not in pie ; 
My sixth is in far but not in nigh ; 
My seventh, in ground but not in sky ; 
My whole is a thing that cannot fly. ■ 

s. h. ordway, jr. (age 11). 


All the words described contain the same number of 
letters. When rightly guessed and written one below 
another, the primals spell the first, and the finals the 
last, name of an American author who died in May. 

Cross-words : 1. A biblical character. 2. A girl's 
name. 3. Believe. 4. To stop. 5. Chief. 6. One of 
the Roman emperors. 7. A Bavarian river. 8. To 
acquire by service. 9. A narrow road. 

helen rohe (age 13), League Member. 


When Nora went bathing at first at the shore, 
She ventured in fully two inches or more. 

But no new arrival or old swimmer bold 

To her present achievements a candle can hold. 

Be he later or earlier it matters not, 

He '11 always find Nora right there on the spot. 

He cannot escape from a race if he tries, 

She 's always the winner and captures each prize. 

It 's almost distressing she always should win ; 
Just think how we laughed the first time she went in. 

Helen A. Sibley. 


1. In manliness. 2. To rest. 3. A relish. 4. A great 
number. 5. To pollute. 6. A small point. 7. In man- 
liness, harold coy (age 9), League Member. 


» 7 3 ■ * 

, 6 

Cross-words : 1. Puts in motion. 2. A finger. 3. Heals. 
4. An inclined slide or tube. 5. The fact of being else- 
where. 6. Long-winged sea-birds. 7. Untied. 8. To 
caper. 9. To whinny. 10. The capital of Croatia and 
Slavonia. 11. To arm. 12. Foreign. -13. A large bay- 

The two zigzags, reading downward, spell the name 
of an artist and the place in which are his most famous 
paintings ; and the figures from 1 to 5, and from 5 to 10, 
two of his best-known works. M. f. 


Everyday pictures of the good times 
around home are easy to take with a 

Pocket Kodak 

Kodaks from $5.00 up. Brownie Cameras (they 
work like Kodaks), $1.00 to $12.00. Catalogue 
free at your dealers or by mail. 


ROCHESTER, N. Y., The Kodak City. 



pairs will be given foil \ m 

~ .Huts 

— made of wheat and barley, was de- 
vised and is scientifically prepared to sup- 
ply the certain elements, including the 
Phosphate of Potash (grown in the grain), 
required by Nature for building and 
maintaining the nerve and brain cells that 
make up Memory's Storehouse. 


There's a Reason " 

Postum Cereal Company, Limited, 
Battle Creek, Mich., U. S. A. 

Canadian Postum Cereal Company, Ltd. 
Windsor, Ontario, Canada. 


Everyday pictures of the good times 
around home are easy to take with a 

Pocket Kodak 

Kodaks from $5.00 up. Brownie Cameras (they 
work like Kodaks), $1.00 to $12.00. Catalogue 
free at your dealers or by mail. 


ROCHESTER, N. Y., The Kodak City. 



— made of wheat and barley, was de- 
vised and is scientifically prepared to sup- 
ply the certain elements, including the 
Phosphate of Potash (grown in the grain), 
required by Nature for building and 
maintaining the nerve and brain cells that 
make up Memory's Storehouse. 


There 's a Reason ' ' 

Postum Cereal Company, Limited, 
Battle Creek, Mich., U. S. A. 

Canadian Postum Cereal Company, Ltd. 
Windsor, Ontario, Canada. 



Spring and 

When they get out of doors and roll 
their hoops, and spin their tops, and 
bat the ball, we know that Spring has 
really come. 

They run a good many miles on 
those little feet, trotting steadily about 
all day long. Nature provided them 
with soft pads on their heels; custom 
has put hard leather with nails that 
strike the floors and pavements, and 
send ajar through the delicate nervous 
system of your girl or boy. 

Do you know that you can save 
them from all those jolts and jars by 

O'Sullivan's Heels 

Of New Live Rubber 

and that there is at least one shoemaker in the United States who makes a specialty of children's 
shoes, made on the most scientific lines, with O' Sullivan's Heels attached ? 

f° \ How To Get These Shoes 

Write to the Broadwalk Shoe Company, Haverhill, Mass., and 
ask them for their catalogue. They will give you full information. 

If you have difficulty in getting O'Sullivan's 
Heels that just exactly fit your child's present 
shoes, let us know and we will be glad to discuss 
the matter with you. 

It is our business to see that 
your children, and your children's 
father and mother, are made com- 
fortable when walking or standing. 


When Nan is Cook. 

"Cooking is dreadful hard work, I s'pose, even when you know how, and when 
you don't, it's awful." 

Bobbie's bashful chum would like to say something complimentary, but "dasn't." 
Nan continues: 

" It's nice to give this kind of dinner, for it doesn't have to be cooked. The 

is the nicesl part. And I made it just as e-a-s-y. " 

"Just as easy" is the Jell-O way. The dessert is an 
important part of any dinner, and making it takes a good deal 
of the housewife's time when she doesn't use Jell-O. The 
most delightful Jell-O desserts can be made in a minute by 
anybody. They do not have to be cooked. 

There are seven delicious Jell-O flavors : Strawberry, 
Raspberry, Lemon, Orange, Peach, Cherry, Chocolate. 
At all grocers, 1 cents a package. 
The price is never more than 10 cents, however high 
everything else goes. 

Let us send you the famous recipe book, 
"DESSERTS OF THE WORLD," illustrated 
in ten colors and gold. 


Le Roy, N. Y., and Bridgeburg, Can. 

The name Jell-O is on every package in big red letters. If it isn't 

there, it isn't Jell-O 


a song, a band, or a funny story? 

You probably like them all best — most boys and girls do — and you can have 
them all in your home all the time if you own an Edison Phonograph. 
All the songs that other boys are whistling, all the pretty music which 
grown up people hear at the theatres, you can enjoy too if you get the 
Edison Phonograph Records which your dealer has to sell you each month. 

Edison Records for May 

Go to the Edison dealer and have him play 
them for you. Every new Edison Record 
makes your Edison Phonograph new. Your 
spending money will buy more fun if spent for 
Edison Records than if spent for anything else. 


28014 Vito Paulo Gruppe 

28015 Coppelia— Entr'ActeandWaltz, ArmandVecsey &Orch. 

28016 Old Folks at Home Margaret Keyes 


987 A Songologue — Winter Garden Stella Mayhew 

988 Mary Was My Mother's Name Joseph A. Phillip 

That College Rag Walter Van Brunt and Chorus 

I Want Some One to Care for Me Lottie Gilson 

You've Got Me Hypnotized, Ada Jones & Billy Murray 

Take Me Back to the Garden of Love Reed Miller 

(a) Three Little Owls and the Naughty Little Mice 

(6) I'm Old But I'm Awfully Tough Cal Stewart 

The Passing Caravan Patrol . . New York Military Band 
My Lou — Winter Garden, Stella Mayhew & Bill ie Taylor 
That Coontown Quartet Premier Quartet 



997 Your Own Dear Kiss Elizabeth Spencer 

998 When I Was Twenty-One and You Were Sweet Sixteen 

Joseph A. Phillips and Chorus 

999 Peggy Gray Manuel Romain 

1000 Good Night, Mr. Moon Campbell and Gillette 

1001 That Hypnotizing Man Premier Quartet 

1002 Alexander's Ragtime Band Medley. . . .Fred Van Epps 
1008 Cujus Animam— Stabat Mater. . . .Charles W. Harrison 

1004 Rockin' in de Win' Bessie Volckmann 

1005 Are You Going to Dance?— "The Count of Luxembourg" 

Elizabeth Spencer and Irving Gillette 

1006 Old Folks at Home, with Variations .... Andre Benoist 

1007 One Fine Day — "Madame Butterfly". . .Agnes Kimball 

1008 Let JoyousPeaceReign Everywhere, Anthony & Harrison 

1009 Count of Luxembourg— Waltzes, Amer.Stan. Orchestra 

1010 God is Love, His Mercy Brightens 

Agnes Miller, Reed Miller and Frank Croxton 

1011 Happy Days Venetian Instrumental Trio 


10551 Spanish Dance— Suite "Bal Costume," U.S.MarineBand 

10552 Pickaninny's Lullaby Elsie Baker 

10553 I Want "a Regular Pal" for a "Gal," Walter Van Brunt 

10554 'Lizabeth Ann Campbell and Gillette 

10555 Scotch Country Dances National Milita ry Ba nd 

Edison Phonographs $15to$200 

Standard Records 35 

Amberol Records (twice as long) .50 

Amberol Concert Records 75 

Grand Opera Records . . .75 to $2.00 


81 Lakeside Avenue 
Orange, N. J. 






TSeHt*. Clicaeo 

Reg. U.S. 
Pat. Offioe. 1S06 

<T -Rnffalo.f- *' 

^5UBW...H.*- Ul *» 

Avoid Imitations 

To avoid imitations — amateur brands— look for 
the " Holeproof " trademark and the signature 
of Mr. Carl Freschl on the toe of each pair. 

The prices range from $1.50 to $3.00 for six pairs, accord- 
ing to finish and weight. 

Six pairs of children's stockings, guaranteed six months, 
$2.00. " Holeproof" are just the thing for romping, grow- 
ing children. Decide today to try " Holeproof." 

Write for free book, " How to Make Your Feet Happy." 

Why Big Stores 
Sell Holeproof Hose 

Holeproof Hose — six pairs guaranteed six months — are sold 
by the greatest stores in the country. " Holeproof" are the 
original guaranteed hose, the kind backed by 38 years of 
experience. Six pairs are guaranteed six months. New 
pairs will be given for any that wear out within that time. 

The original has the greatest demand of any guaranteed 
hose on the market because of its vastly superior quality. 

Only the Best Yarn 
Used for "Holeproof" 

We use only yarn that costs an average of 70 cents per 
pound, while yarn can be bought for 30 cents. 
But ours is three-ply, soft and fine. It is 
more pliable than two-ply. Hence the hose can 
be made at once lighter and stronger. 



Then, " Holeproof " are made in twelve colors, 
five grades and ten weights, suiting every man's 
preference. For long wear in hose of correct 
style and good fit there is nothing to equal the 
genuine " Holeproof." See the assortment at 
the good stores in your city today. 


154 Fourth Street, Milwaukee, Wis. 
Holeproof Hosiery Co. of Canada, Ltd., London, Can., Distributors for Canada Tampico News Co., S. A., City of Mexico, Agents for Mexican Republic 

Gtepnib /Ante, oihuu/ud ? 



If children don't care — 

Or if they forget — 

Wrigley's EBy ^ makes it easier for them to 
care for their teeth than not to care. 

If your children chew it every day, the friction and the 
mint leaf juice preserve their teeth indefinitely. 

While they chew it they also help digestion. Most 
children don't chew food properly — don't create enough 
saliva. Chewing this dainty helps digest the "gulpings." 

And all this applies to ^ou — Mr. or Mrs. or Miss ! 

Look for the spear 

The flavor lasts 


of any dealer. It costs less. 

Pass it around after meals. 


No Trouble to Prepare 

A woman can get too much Exercise, and Housework is monotonous Exercise at that! 

It is said that the preparation of meals takes up fully one-half of the house- 
wife's busy day. 

That time could be shortened and she could have more leisure for enjoyment if 

Post Toasties 

Were used more frequently. 

We do the cooking for you, Madam, in a factory that is spotlessly clean. 

And remember, too, that in the making, "Toasties" are not touched by human hand! 

These delicious bits of crisped Indian Corn are all ready to serve from the package 
instantly. And your family will like them, too — 

" The Memory Lingers " 

Canadian Postum Cereal Co., Limited 
Windsor, Ontario, Canada 

Postum Cereal Company, Limited 
Battle Creek, Mich., U. S. A. 


St. Nicholas League Advertising Competition No. 125. 

Time to hand in answers is up May 10. Prize-winners announced in July number. 


WE shall certainly have to suppress that 
uppish young friend of ours, Alexander 
the Little! He is too fond of bringing in what 
he considers good ideas for competitions. The 
trouble with Alexander is that he is lazy, and 
does n't wish to carry out his notions, preferring 
to let most of the work be done by others. If 
it were not for the bright wits of our competi- 
tors, Alexander's ideas would be flat indeed ; 
but it really is interesting to us to see how you 
can take the merest suggestion and, by the use 
of your own clever brains, convert it into 
something worth while. 

Alexander's latest idea is that you shall use 
an unfinished sketch of his as a basis for an 
advertisement of something not already adver- 
tised in St. Nicholas which would be suitable 
for its advertising pages. It may or may not 
be something advertised in other magazines, 
the choice of the thing to which you are to fit 
the drawing being left to you. 

We are going to give Alexander this one 
more chance, and then if it does n't prove to 
be a good plan for a competition, we shall give 
the boy a piece of our mind and send him 
away on his vacation. 

As we understand it, his idea is that you 
shall not change the lines which he has already 
drawn, but shall add to them whatever lines 
you please, carrying his sketch to completion 
and fitting your drawing to an advertisement 
of your own, with text that seems to you suit- 
able. You may cut out and use the sketch 
printed above, or you may make a tracing of it. 
Either will be accepted. 

Between ourselves, we doubt whether Alex- 
ander had any clear notion of what he was 
going to draw, but we have no doubt that you 

( See also 

will be able to make out of it an interesting 
picture. Of course you can put what you 
please into the hands of the figure, make a 
background to suit yourself, add lettering, and 
so really construct . an advertisement, using the 
suggestion above only as a beginning. Your 
drawing should be suitable either to a full page 
or half page of St. Nicholas, but it is desir- 
able that the size should not be larger, either 
way, than twelve inches. 

The prizes will be given for the best adver- 
tisements submitted, both text and drawing 
being considered. Care and neatness will count 
in awarding the prizes, which are as follows : 

One First Prize, $5.00 to the one who submits the 
best advertisement. 

Two Second Prizes, $3.00 each to those who submit 
the next best advertisements. 

Three Third Prizes, $2.00 each to those who submit 
the next best advertisements. 

Ten Fourth Prizes, $1.00 each to those who submit 
the next best advertisements. 

Here are the rules and regulations : 

1. This competition is open freely to all who may 
desire to compete, without charge or consideration 
of any kind. Prospective contestants need not be 
subscribers for St. Nicholas in order to compete 
for the prizes offered. 

2. In the upper left-hand corner of your paper give 
name, age, address, and the number of this competi- 
tion (125). 

3. Submit answers by May io, 1912. Use ink. Do 
not inclose stamps. 

4. Do not inclose requests for League badges or 
circulars. Write separately for these if you wish them, 
addressing St. Nicholas League. 

5. Be sure to comply with these conditions if you 
wish to win prizes. 

6. Address answers: Advertising Competition No. 
125, St. Nicholas League, Union Square, New York. 

page 20.) 


Jwo liftie 

or yedrs 
of regret 
later on 

IT is common sense to care 
for your teeth regularly 
— and it takes but little 
time each day. You'll have 
better teeth, better looks and 
better health if you use 



Cleans safely, with no harmful grit to scratch or cut. 

Cleans antiseptic ally, checking decay-germs and leaving 
the mouth sweet, clean and non-acid. 

Cleans pleasantly, with a delicious flavor that you '11 like. 

Take care of your teeth and you '11 have better 
health for sport or study — for work or play. 

Ask Mother to get you a tube — or send 4. cents postage for a generous trial size. Ask for "The 
Jungle Poiv IVo'VO^^ too, for your little brother or sister — a funny animal rhyme book with colored 
pictures. It 's free. 

Dept. 60 199 Fulton Street New York 

Makers of Cashmere Bouquet Toilet Soap — luxurious, lasting, refined 



Report on Advertising Competition No. 123 

In looking over the answers sent 
in this time, and noting the mis- 
takes made, the Judges are won- 
dering if some of you did n't find 
that March wind very much of a 
gale. There is an old saying 
about its being " an ill wind that 
blows nobody good," which 
seems to be true here because 
some of you in chasing the bits 
of paper that blew out of Alex- 
ander's portfolio made some very 
interesting discoveries about St. 
Nicholas advertisements. And 
it blew somebody good, too, as 
you will notice from the list of 
prize winners. 

But to come back to the inter- 
esting discoveries. A great many 
found that " O'Sullivan's Heels 
of New Live Rubber" was the 
article advertised and not "O'Sul- 
livan's Rubber Heels." Quite a 
number also learned how March 
received its name. How many 
of you know how our Quaker 
friends speak of the various 
months, and why? 

There were many excellent 
essays, but they were accom- 
panied by lists containing mis- 
takes and of course could not be 
ranked with those which had both 
good essays and correct lists. 

Most of the mistakes, the 
Judges are sorry to say, were 
careless ones. You see, it really 
does pay to do things with 

thought and care, and those of 
you who are disappointed in not 
getting prizes this time, just make 
up your minds to get into the 
habit of always being careful and 
thoughtful in whatever you do. 

Take for example the word 
"The" which occurred as part 
of the name in some of the ar- 
ticles advertised. Quite a few did 
not pay any attention to this, and 
of course their papers could not 
be considered as highly as those 
who took care to write the names 
of the articles as they appeared. 

Everything considered, how- 
ever, most of you did very well. 
The prize winners, whose name^ 
follow, did excellent work: 1 

One First Prize, $5.00 : 

Horton H. Honsaker, age 14, California. 

Two Second Prizes, $3.00 each: 

Lenore J. Hughes, age 14, Massachusetts. 
Arthur Nethercot, age 16, Illinois. 

Three Third Prizes, $2.00 each : 

James F. White, age 13, Ohio. 

Elvene A. Winkleman, age 9, Minnesota. 

Gertrude Welling, age 16, New York. 

Ten Fourth Prizes, $1.00 each: 

Gilberta G. Torrey, age 13, Ohio. 

Paul Olsen, age 1 5, Washington. 

Elisabeth Sutherland, age 1 2, Massachusetts. 

Hortense Hogue, age 13, Oregon. 

Clara McMillen, age 13, Indiana. 

Byron Webb, age 10, Kentucky. 

Tom Whinery, age 1 2, Michigan. 

Malcolm Good, age 13, Ohio. 

Anna S. Gifford, age 1 5, Maine. 

Anna E. Greenleaf, age 17, New York. 


Dorothy Handsaker, age 13, Washington. 
Edith M. Johnston, age 1 2, Washington, D. C. 

(See also page 18.) 



if bought separately, an 
convenient nor so up to 
Here are some of th< 
library, however small: 

English Dictionary 

Book of Ouotations 
Dictionary of Authors 
Biographical Dictionary 

Classical Dictionary 

History of the World 
as well as many books on arts, s 

All these books and man 
together in The CentuH 
copiously illustrated wi 
plates, maps, charts or di 
in twelve compact, clearl 
niflcently bound volum 

This coupon bri 
information. Tear it o 
fill out and mail to us 


Union Square, New York 

Cyclopedia & Atlas 



perforate ; that is, the stamps are issued in rolls 
instead of sheets as ordinarily. These rolls are 
either sidewise or lengthwise of the stamp. More- 
over, the perforations, instead of being the usual 
size of twelve, are only size eight, which means 
twelve holes or perforations in a space of twenty 
millimeters. Such stamps have no perforations 
either at the sides, or ends, as the case may be. A 
series of these in shades would add to the interest 
of the collection. 

Our correspondent might go further and collect 
her stamps in pairs, for here again occur differences. 
Some stamps on the sheet are only two millimeters 
apart, others three millimeters. 

Perhaps by the time these words reach the readers 
of St. Nicholas, the new two-cent stamp with nu- 
merals in the corners will be in use. It might be 
interesting for other readers of this page to begin 
a similar collection with the first specimens of the 
new stamp. Give a full page to each perforation, 
both singly and in pairs, and see how many shades 
of each kind you can find. There is no limit to the 
pleasure of such a search. 


THERE are a few important don'ts which are of 
interest to the beginner, and one of the most 
important of these is "don't" get discouraged. A 
good collection takes time, and patience, and perse- 
verance. Things which seem difficult at first will 
soon become like "a, b, c." Then, don't paste 
your stamps in your album — use prepared hinges. 
These cost only a few cents per thousand, and will 
preserve your stamps. Don't fasten unused stamps 
with their own gum. Don't trim the perforation off 
the stamps. Don't handle your stamps unless your 
hands are clean. Don't cut your envelop stamps 
round ; have them square, and with large margins. 
Don't buy several cheap packets unless they are from 
a non-duplicating series. The cheaper stamps will 
be duplicated in each packet. Don't buy a stamp 
unless it is a good copy. Avoid all stamps that are 
damaged, or very heavily canceled. If you have a 
printed album, don't put any stamp into it until you 
are sure which is the proper place for it. Examine 
the perforations and water-mark before putting the 
stamp into the album ; it is sometimes hard to 
remove them, and even with the best hinges there 
is the possibility of injury to both stamp and album. 
If you should get a stamp in the wrong place, don't 
try to remove it until the gum has had time to dry. 
The peelable hinges can be removed much easier 
after they have dried than when just applied and 
still moist. If the corner perforations get turned 
under, don't try to bend them back without first 
moistening the stamp ; this makes the paper more 
pliable. If you get an imperforate pair, don't sever 
the stamps ; keep the pair intact. Don't throw away 
a stamp because it looks dirty ; sometimes a soft 
sponge and a little benzine and water will make a 
soiled stamp worthy of a place in any collection. 
And don't forget that the editor of the Stamp Page 
will always be glad to help you over any difficulties 
which may arise if you will tell him about them. 

ONE of the St. Nicholas girls writes that she 
has formed a very interesting collection just of 
the every-day two-cent stamp. • She has collected as 
many shades of it as she could find, arranging these 
in rows, the lighter shades at the left and the darker 
at the right. She has many shades not only of the 
perforated but of the imperforate varieties, and 
writes for suggestions toward making the page more 
complete and attractive. 

The advantages of such a collection are evident. 
It can be easily made. The stamps are everywhere 
and cost nothing, while there is much training of 
eye and mind in the making of it. One learns much 
about color, and the eye is trained to note slight 
differences. Such a collection is called, technically, 
"specializing." The collection can be broadened 
considerably. The current two-cent stamp is issued 
not only perforate and imperforate, but also part- 

fe23^aaaggSg222Zg222S^S582gg22222gga22ag 2222g232SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSgSSSSSSSSSS^Sa 





best on the market. 8x5 inches, holds 560 stamps, 160 illustrations. 
Special bargain price 10c. 108 all different stamps from Paraguay, 
Turkey, Venezuela, etc.. 10c. Finest approval sheets at 50 per 
cent, discount. Agents wanted. Write for a selection to-day. 
Scott Stamp & Coin Co., 127 Madison Ave., New York City. 


U. S. Envelopes cut square at 50% discount, each one correctly 

4 Ecuador 1899, 2 Nyassa 1901, 4 Nyassa Rep. 1911, 5 Portugal 
Rep. 1910, 5 Japan (China) 1900-08, 4 Finland 1885, 7 Portugal 
1910, 5 Finland 1882, 6 Nicaragua 1912. 1912 Price List free. 
Best Hinges. Ideal 15c. per 10Q0. Ideal Jr. 10c. per 1000. 

New England Stamp Co. 
43 Washington Building Boston, Massachusetts 

^SHJSs. STAMP ALBUM and 1000 foreign mixed, 10c. 

/ftpafi&k 1000 Old U. S., 25c. 25 rare So. and Cent. Am., 10c. 

■£ Ml 25 diff. unused, Cuba, Nit, Salv., Phil., etc., 10c. 

IVV mm] 25 diff. rare (Catal. $2.50), only 25c. 15 diff. China, 

WSRg/ 10c. 7 Siam, 12c. 10 Finland, 4c. 3 Soudan Camel, 
N 5£5S5' 5c. 8 beautiful Borneo, Labuan, etc., pictures, lOc. 
25 Persia, 25c. 25 Japan, 5c. 150 all diff. , 6c. 200 all diff., 9c. 8 Java, 
5c. 5 Crete, 5c. 1000 best hinges, 5c. 100 all diff. free for names 
of two active Stamp Collectors and 2c. postage ! Finest Approval 
sheets in America at 50% to 80% discount. Try them ! Large 
112 pp. Bargain Lists. $3.00 worth of Coupons, etc., free! We 
give valuable stamps free to our agents ! We Buy Stamps and 
Large Collections. C. E. Hussman Stamp Co., St. Louis, Mo. 

RARE Stamps Free. 15 all different, Canadians, and 10 India, 
/^j^jjs. with Catalogue Free. Postage 2 cents. Ifpossiblesend 
ytfjj^wft names and addresses of two stamp collectors. Special 
/■( JM| offers, all different, contain no two alike. 50 Spain, 
WSLWMI Uc;40 Japan, 5c ; 100 U. S.,20c; 1" Paraguay, 7c; 17 
\f$!ff&y Mexico, 10c.;20Turkey, 7c. :10 Persia, 7c. -.3 Sudan, 5c; 
^^HB^ lOChile, 3c;50 Italy, 19c.;200 Foreign, 10c; 10 Egypt, 
7c. ;50 Africa. 24c; 3 Crete, 3c; 20 Denmark, 5c;20 Portugal, 6c; 7 
Siam, 15c;10 Brazil, 5c; 7 Malay, 10c; 10 Finland, 5c; 50 Persia, 
89c. ;50 Cuba, 60c; 6 China, 1c, 8 Bosnia, 7c Remitin Stamps or 
Money-Order. Fine approval sheets 50% Discount, 50 Page List 
Free. Marks Stamp Company, Dept. N, Toronto, Canada 


ij 1 ./-VlYir <J . e ig^ Missionary stamps, 5c. 100 
foreign, no two alike, inch India, Newfoundland, etc., 
only 5c 100 U. S. all diff., scarce lot, only 30c. 1000 
fine mixed, 15c. Agts. wtd., 50%. List free. I buy 
stamps. L. B. Dover, D-6, St. Louis, Mo. 


/ Discount from cat. prices and stamp worth 15c free 
to those writing for our approval sheets. 

Centennial Stamp Co., Nashville, Tenn. 


For the names of two collectors and 2c postage. 20 different 
foreign coins, 25c Toledo Stamp Co., Toledo, Ohio, U.S.A. 


Transvaal, Servia, Brazil, Peru, Cape G. H., Mex- I 
ico, Natal, Java, etc., and Album, 10c. 1000 Finely 
Mixed, 20c 65 different U. S., 25c 1000 hinges, 5c 
Agents wanted, 50 per cent. List Free. I buy stamps. 

C. Stegman, 5941 Cote Brilliante Av., St. Louis, Mo. 


unnurtllio 10 Luxembourg ; 8 Finland ; 20 Sweden ; 
15 Russia ; 8 Costa Rica ; 12 Porto Rico ; 8 Dutch Indies ; 5 
Crete. Lists of 6000 low-priced stamps free. 
Chambers Stamp Co., Ill G Nassau Street, New York City. 



ferent Foreign Countries, including Bolivia, Crete, Guat- 
emala, Gold Coast, Hong-Kong, Mauritius, Monaco, Persia, 
Reunion, Tunis, Trinidad, Uruguay, tic. /or only 15 cents — a 
genuine bargain. With each order we send our pamphlet which 
tells all about "How to Make a Collection of Stamps Properly." 
Queen City Stamp & Coin Co., 7 Sinton Bldg., Cincinnati^. 

Mention St. Nicholas. Quaker Stamp Co., Toledo, Ohio. 

DANDY PACKET STAMPS free for name, address 2 collec- 
tors, 2c postage. Send to-day. U.T.K. Stamp Co., Utica, N. Y. 

STAMPS 105 China, Egypt,etc.,stanvpdictionaryandlist3000 (J51 
bargains 2c Agts., 50%. Bullard & Co., Sta. A, Boston. !!si 

With trial approval sheets. F. E. Thorp, Norwich, N. Y. 

POIMS 20 different foreign, 25c. Large U. S. cent, 5c 5 

V-'VyillO different Confederate State bills, 15c. 

F. L. Toupal Co., Dept. 55, Chicago Heights, III. 


or Nicaragua 1878 5c, cat. 25c. One of these sets, big lists, 
and details of $1000 prize stamp contest for 2c. postage. Fine 
50% approvals. W. C. Phillips & Co., Glastonbury, Conn. 


125 varieties foreign stamps 3c. 250 mixed foreign 4c. 1000 mixed 
12c 40 Japan with approval sheets for 2c postage and names of 
two collectors. p ALM Stamp Co . 

249 No. Carondelet St. Los Angeles, Cal. 

TWO magazines that are kept 
for leisurely reading and read- 
ing again : 


Their quality is invariably high. 

They retain their circulation by 
steady excellence — not by fire- 

They keep your advertisement 
in good company, and take it 
into good company. 

A Child's Delight 


is an unceasing source of 
pleasure. A sat'e and ideal 
playmate. Makes the child 
strong and of robust health. 
Highest type— complete out- 
fi t s — here. Inexpensive. 
Satisfaction guaranteed. Write 
for illustrated catalog. 


Box 9, Markham, Va, 

Class Pins 

For School, College or Soci- 
ety. The right kind are always 
a source of pleasure. Why 
not get the right kind? We 
make them. Catalog free. 
FLOWER CITY CLASS PIN CO., 656 Central Building, Rochester, N. Y. 


Provides health-pro- 
moting", outdoor exer- 
cise and amusement 
for your children at 
home. Strongly built; 
repair proof. Children 

operate it with hands and feet. Every machine guaranteed. Free 

trial. Write us. 


217 Ky. St. Quincy, 111. 



Helpful Support 

for Growing Feet 

Weakness in the growing foot struc- 
ture causes the arch to fall and the 
ankle to "turn in." 

The Coward Arch Support Shoe 
rests tired arch ligaments, while the 
Coward Extension Heel further re- 
lieves the arch strain, and keeps the 
ankle upright. 

This shoe is built on a special 
Coward Last, which fits perfectly. 
The broad "tread" encourages the 
child to walk naturally and confidently, 
because the foot muscles are con- 
trolled, helped, and protected. 

Coward Arch Support Shoe and Cow- 
ard Extension Heel have been made 
by James S. Coward, in his Custom 
Department, for over thirty years. 

Mail Orders Filled— Send for Catalogue 



264-274 Greenwich St., New York City 

(near warren street) 


Helps to Spring Fun 

The Second 




By Francis Arnold Collins 

The book of books for every lad, and 
every grown-up too, who has been caught 
in the fascination of model aeroplane 
experimentation, covering up to date the 
science and sport of model aeroplane 
building and' flying, both in this country 
and abroad. 

There are detailed instructions for 
building fifteen of the newest models, 
with a special chapter devoted to parlor 
aviation, full instructions for building 
small paper gliders, and rules for con- 
ducting model aeroplane contests. 

The illustrations are from interesting 
photographs and helpful working draw- 
ings of over one hundred new models. 

The price, $1.20 net, postage 11 cents 

The Author's Earlier Book 

It tells just how to build "a glider," a 
motor, monoplane and biplane models, 
and how to meet and remedy common 
faults — all so simply and clearly that 
any lad can get results. The story of 
the history and development of aviation 
is told so accurately and vividly that it 
cannot fail to interest and inform young 
and old. 

Many helpful illustrations 
The price, $1.20 net, postage 14 cents 

All booksellers, or send direct to the 
publishers : 



A Blessing to Mothers 

A mother thinks carefully when 
choosing an ointment for her baby's 
tender skin. It must be pure 
through and through — must contain 
nothing that can possibly harm. 

That is what makes "Vaseline" 
such a great blessing to mothers. . 

It is pure — absolutely pure — the 
best and safest ointment for the skin 
from earliest infancy. 



For the skin to look well it must be well. 
"Vaseline" is a wonderful cleanser of the skin. 

It goes into the pores and takes away all dirt 
and impurities with it. It keeps the skin fresh, 
clear, and soft, as Nature made it. 

That is why "Vaseline" should be used al- 
ways by every woman who wants to keep her 
child's skin in good condition and her own skin 
"like a child's." 

There are several different preparations of " Vaseline," 
put up in collapsible tin tubes. These insure untainted pu- 
rity. No dust or dirt can reach the contents — not even your 
own hands touch it until the moment of use. Be sure you get 
" Vaseline." 

Our free " Vaseline " booklet tells all about these prepara- 
tions, as well as many other things of interest to mothers. 
Write for your copy to-day. 


16J4 State Street, 
New York. 


Branch Offices: 
London — Montreal. 



Has been the 
Leading Brand 
for Nur s ery and 
Household Use 


Milk Co. 

New York 

" Send for Recipe Book. 
Send for Baby's Book." 




is for 3-in-One — the perfect bicycle oil. It oils the bearings 
exactly right and makes them run about 100 times easier. 
3-in-One won't collect dirt, gum and hurt your wheels like 
inferior greasy oils. 3-in-One cleans and polishes all metal 
parts, and absolutely prevents rust. 

Always use 3-in-One on every part of your gun, just 
like any sportsman. Every gunner will tell you it 's the 
only oil on earth. Try 3-in-One also on your ice and roller 
skates, fishing reel, golf clubs, scroll saw, camera, printing 
press, magic lantern, and every tool in your tool chest. 
A few drops of 3-in-One will preserve and keep pliable 
your catcher's gloves ; also prevent rust on your mask. 

PD 1717 Write this very day for a generous free sam- 

X J\J-jI-i pie and the helpful 3-in-One Dictionary. 

Both free to live boys. Get yours now! 

3-in-One is sold at all drug, grocery, and general 
stores, in 3-size bottles: 10c, 25c, 50c. 

3-in-One Oil Co. 

42 Q. B. Broadway - New York City 

'Silver Tlate 

|by the largest makers of silverware. 

national Silver Co., Successor) 


Send for 
catalogue " S-5 . 

You can "scratch off a 
few lines" with any old 
kind of a pen, but when you have 
real writing to do and lot3 of it, 
your pen needs to be a 


Spencerian Pens don't scratch, 6plotch or 

6plntter. They glide smoothly over any 

writing paper, under any hand writing. 

Sample card of 12 different styles 

and 2 good penholders sent for 10 cts. 

349 Broadway, N. Y. 


Every American boy and girl should be- 
long to HARPER'S BAZAR'S great 
Happyland Club. If you have not yet 
joined, send a postal card to-day, and get 
a beautiful red and gold membership 

card and 

full details about the club, m 

Aunt Joy, Harper's Bazar, 

Franklin Square New York | 

HI IlillllllilllllHIIIIIIII i :. ■:■■ llJIllllllllillHHIIIIillflnri' ■"'i"i , 'i""i illllilllllll 


Wholesome, hearty fun, and manly 
training for the live American boy. 

"Daisy Special" 1000-shot $2.50 

Other Daisy models, 50 cents to $2.00 

We dare you to ask your boy if he wants one 

Daisy Manufacturing Co., Plymouth, Mich. 



■■■-■ "•■■- 




Bl 7 A ±. 



Let 's all have a good time 

HERE'S a Junket Party. The original is in bright, pretty colors — size, 8x12 
inches. See what a good time the children are having eating Junket, and 
others are coming to join them. ^ You may have a good time, too, making 
and eating Junket — so easy to make, so good to eat, and unlike any other 
dessert. Junket Desserts are made with milk and Junket Tablets. Just fine to 
give to your friends when they come to your real party. Qf All you need do is to send 
your name and address and Ten Cents, and you 11 get this beautiful toy, a Junket Recipe Book, and 
a full-size package of Junket — enough for ten parties. We will send, all charges prepaid, three 
packages of Junket with book and toy for 25 cents. <J Sit down right now and write for them. 


Chr. Hansen's Laboratory, LITTLE FALLS, N. Y. 

"The difference be- 
tween knowledge and 
wisdom is the differ- 
ence between seeing 
an opportunity and 
seizing it." 


Great are the opportunities 
offered by St. Nicholas 
to reliable advertisers and 
wise is that advertiser who 
does not overlook the 
young folks. 

[j MlLLARflSj ll 



A Cocoa 



The growing 
child, even more 
than the parent, needs 
nourishing and build- 
ing food. Cocoa is the 
ideal sustenance— but be • 
sure it's Maillard's. 

At All Leading Grocers 

Fifth Avenue at 35th Street 

Afternoon tea, three to six, 
in the Luncheon Restaurant 

2 9 



Wanted — 
More Friends 

St. Nicholas has enjoyed the friend- 
ship* of many advertisers since 
1873, quite a number of whom are 
still using our pages. 

This friendship is based upon the 
intimate relation which exists (and 
has existed for nearly forty years) 
between St. Nicholas and some 
thousands of boys and girls and 
some other thousands of grown-ups 
belonging to families that make 
good customers. 

Perhaps if YOU and St. Nicho- 
las were to "get acquainted" you, 
too, would become good friends. 

Advertising Manager 
Union Square, New York 

•Friendship: — A mutual interest based on intimate acquaintance 
and esteem : the feeling that moves persons to seek each other's 
society or to promote each other's welfare. Century Dictionary. 




The Candy Problem is Solved 
and Solved for You! 

When your wife says, "Bring home some candy" 
— all you have to remember is 



Peter's is fresh ! No matter whether you buy it at the 

news-stand or in the biggest candy shop, the Peter 
Process and the Peter Package guarantee its absolute 

Peter's is pure! Peter's is made of the freshest, purest 
milk, carefully tested by experts — and of the finest 
grade of cocoa beans. 

Peter's is delicious! It has the most wonderful flavor — 
a flavor that always says "more." You never grow 
tired of Peter's. It never creates thirst. 

It is the Business of the Peter 

Factory to Give You Good 

Chocolate Candy 

Mr. Daniel Peter invented milk chocolate 
over thirty years ago, and has been making it 
ever since. 

" High as the Alps in Quality " 




'he cleanliness wrought by Ivory Soap is 
like the fmhness of a bright spring 
morning. For Ivory Soap not only 
removes the stains of soot and soil but restores 
to its users and to their belongings that charm- 
ing glow of clear, natural beauty which makes 
them look their best. 

Ivory Soap produces this perfect, glowing cleanliness because it is so far above tbe 
ordinary in quality — because it is pure — because it contains no "free" (uncombined) 

Ivory Soap .... 99 4 ^>° Per L<ent. Pure 

, J* 


[The entire contents of this Magazine arecovered by the general copyright, and articles must not be reprinted without special permission. ] 


Frontispiece. Homeward Bound. Illustrating the story "For 'Maginative Page 

People Only!" Drawn by C. M. Relyea. 
For 'Maginative People Only! Story Dorothy Canfieid 675 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

The Tease. Verse Minnie Leona Upton 683 

The Society Circus. (" Ballads of the Be-Ba-Boes.") Verse D.K.Stevens 684 

Illustrated by Katharine M. Daland. 

Positively the Oldest Inhabitant Augusta Hulell Seaman 688 

Illustrated from a photograph. 

A Puritan Maying. Story M. Eloise Talbot 690 

Illustrated by Edwin J. Prittie. 

The Siesta. Verse Carl Werner 696 

Illustrated from a photograph. 

" The Twins." Picture. Drawn by Gertrude Kay 697 

House-Builders to the Birds Harriet Gillespie 698 

Illustrated from photographs. 

The Boy and the Bird. Verse •. Charles F. Hardy 700 


The Sensitive Plant. Verse Mary s. Cowles Clark 701 

Illustrated by the Author. 

.The Lucky Sixpence. Serial Stor y j *££*££££ and } . . 702 

Illustrated by Arthur Becher. I A1Cten Artnur Anl P e J 

Tranquillity Disturbed. (An Aztec Jingle.) Verse J. G. Francis 710 

Illustrated by the Author. 

The Great June Parade in Beetleburg. Picture. Drawn by Harrison 

Cady 711 

The World We Live In. ( " Simple Thoughts on Great Subjects. " ) . . George Lawrence Parker 712 

A Clue Chase F. F. H 713 


Who-00 ? Verse Jean Halifax 714 

Illustrated by Maurice Clifford. 
Sight-Seeing in the Sudan. Picture. Drawn by Culmer Barnes 715 

The Townsend Twins— Camp Directors. Serial Story Warren L. Eidred 715 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

Princess Mary Marion Ryan 723 

Illustrated from photographs. 
Playing the Game. (Base-ball Series.) C. H. Claudy 726 

Illustrated with diagrams and from photographs. 

The Lady of the Lane. Serial Story Frederick Orin Bartlett 734 

Illustrated by E. C. Caswell. 

The " Book Line " Montrose J. Moses 740 

Illustrated from photographs. 

Nature and Science for Young Folks 747 


For Very Little Folk : 

SFBSFoB} Verse Katharine M.Daland 754 

Illustrated by the Author. 
St. Nicholas League. With awards of Prizes for Stories, Poems, 

Drawings, Photographs, and Puzzles 756 


Books and Reading Hildegarde Hawthorne 764 

The Letter-Box 766 

The Riddle-Box 767 

St. Nicholas Stamp Page Advertising page 24 

The •Century Co. and its editors receive manuscripts and art material, submitted for publica- 
tion, only on the understanding that they shall not be responsible for loss or injury thereto 
while in their possession or in transit. Copies of manuscripts should be retained by the authors. 

Subscription price, $3.00 a year; single number, 25 cents. The half-yearly parts of ST. NICHOLAS end with 
the October and April numbers respectively, and the red cloth covers are ready with the issue of these numbers ; price 50 cents, by mail, 
postpaid ; the two covers for the complete volume, $1.00. We bind and furnish covers for '/5 cents per part, or $1.50 for the complete 
volume. (Carriage extra.) In sending the numbers to us, they should be distinctly marked with owner's name. Bound volumes are 
not exchanged for numbers. 

Persons ordering a change in the direction of Magazines must give both the old and the new address in full. No change can be 
made after the 5th of any month in the address of the Magazine for the following month. PUBLISHED MONTHLY. 

FRANK H. SCOTT, President. «,.«..« ■■_-—...-- ..-.. -.-. _ — . ^. «— — - , -_ -— 

WILLIAM W. ELLSWORTH, Vice-President and Secretary. THE CENTURY CO., UniOn Square, NeW York, N. Y. 

DONALD SCOTT, Treasurer. 

Entered as second-class matter at the Post-Office Department, Canada. 



A Glimpse Into 

Elizabeth Now A Mysteries of 

Tennis Champion Gen. Knox's Home 

The Fourth In A Short Serial 

The Townsend Camp For Little Girls 

New Base-ball Series 

IT These boys and girls have hurried up to see what is on the St. Nicholas Bulletin. Presently they will go awa;j 
and tell their friends about the treats in St. Nicholas, and their friends will ask their parents to subscribe. 
IT Do you tell your friends how much you like St. Nicholas? 


Coming Numbers 

Fire Fighters Aviation A 

In Cities Abroad Hundred Years Ago 

A Girl Swimmer Our Battle-ships 

Who Has Saved Lives At Gun Practice 

"Playing The Game" 

St. Nicholas in 1912 is a better comrade than ever for boys and girls of all ages. Beside the splendid 
trials there will be scores of short stories, jolly jingles, beautiful pictures, and interesting, valuable articles. 
Three dollars a year. The Century Co., Union Square, New York. 



3 C 


A Book for Every Boy 


By G. H. Glaudy 


All of the interesting material which has 
appeared in St. Nicholas — and much 

A book which gets at the heart of the 
great American game, and tells of it 
from a boy's standpoint — every page 
snappy and alive. 

A book which shows a boy not only 
the wonders done by skilled players on 
fine teams, but how he, too, can become skilful, and, in 
part at least, can do for himself and for his team what 
his favorite base-ball idol does frequently in a game of 
the Major and Minor Leagues. 

Christy Mathewson tells " How I Became a 'Big- 
League' Pitcher," and there are pages of pictures from 
photographs of famous players, managers, and base-ball 

The Author Himself is 
"Crazy About Base-ball" 

The price of the book is $1.50 net, postage 11 cents extra 





sAe for Home 
[©isiie. Commfort 



;ntuhy coon 

By Mary Ronald 

Indispensable for the novice in kitchen lore, helpful for the experienced cook. Economy, prac- 
ticability, and the resources of the average kitchen have been constantly in mind in the prepar- 
ation of this complete and satisfactory book, which covers every culinary point, from preparation 
of the simplest meal to the planning and serving of a state dinner. 

Helpfully illustrated. 600 pages. Price $2.00, postage paid. 

LUMC1EOMS 8 A C®oll p © Picture B@©K 

By Mary Ronald 

A rich mine of suggestive hints on dainty and tempting dishes for dainty and tempting meals, 
and all possible information on every detail relating to the planning, cooking, and serving of 
every luncheon, from a pick-up family meal to the most formal company affair. 
Many illustrations from photographs. Price $1 .40 net, postage 15 cents. 

By Maria Parloa 

Here is a royal guide to the making and managing of an ideal home, covering, practically and 
helpfully, every possible detail of housekeeping and home-making. 

Helpful illustrations. Price $ 1 .50. 


By Mary A. Boland 

It is based on the scientific study of an expert; but its simple directions may be followed by any 
housekeeper. A great aid in planning the children's meals ; invaluable in any case of illness. 

Price $2.00. 

By Dr. Leroy M. Yale and Gustav Pollak 
A guide — authoritative, practical, unfailingly helpful — to the wise care of children, in health 
and illness. Price $2.00 net, postage 18 cents. 


By Louise Brigham 

It tells just how to make, and to have fun in the 
making, one hundred simple, serviceable, artistic, 
and fascinating things in the furniture line. One 
hundred illustrations, showing results actually ac- 
complished. Price $l60 neU postage 14 cenfa . 



By Mary and Sara White 

Happy suggestions for happy times every month in 
the year. Every parent and every teacher should 
have it. Illustrated. Price $1.00 net, postage 7 cents. 

'K&aosi. Sqjua^r© 



Good health and good sense are two of 
life's greatest blessings " 

Reg. U. S. Patent Office 

It shows good sense and is 

conducive to good health 

to use Baker's Cocoa. It 

is a pure and healthful 

drink of high food value 

with a most delicious 

Every Package flavor, the natural flavor 

of the best cocoa beans, 

which makes its constant 

use so agreeable and 

satisfying. One never 

tires of it. 






JUNE, 1912 

No. 8 



Any boy or girl who has to be warned about the 
dangers of the 'magination may read this story. 
Other folks keep away. Only if you don't know 
what the dangers of the 'magination are, you 
might as well read it and find out. 

It is something that happened to us. In fact, 
it has just this minute got through happening, 
and I 'm sitting down to write it out while Pete 
and Sallie can help me remember. The baby was 
in it, too, but he is so little that he does n't count. 
It began about one o'clock this afternoon— it 's 
nearly six now — when we heard Nora come in 
great excitement down the stairs. We can always 
tell if she is coming in excitement or not, because 
if she 's quiet in her mind, she only trips two or 

Copyright, 1912, by The Century Co 

three times. If she 's excited, it sounds as though 
she fell all the way from the top to the bottom. 
This time— well, we all jumped up from the lunch- 
table, perfectly sure she had broken herself to 

But she had n't. She was even right side up 
when we got there. But she was ever so excited ! 
Her big, blue eyes were standing right out from 
her pretty Irish face, and she could hardly talk 
straight. "Th' little bur-rd ! Th' little yally bur-rd ! 
Somebody lift th' dure to his cage open, and he 's 
gone. An' I ran to th' windy and looked out, and 
I saw him in th' crab-apple-tree by th' gate !" 

Nora is only over from Ireland a few months, 
and does n't talk very plainly, so maybe I 'd bet- 

All rights reserved. 





ter explain that what she meant to say was that 
Pete's canary-bird was loose again. We have a 
dreadful time with that canary. Pete 's always 
forgetting to shut the door to the cage, and Dick 
is forever getting out. But he never flew out-of- 
doors before. 

Pete looked anxious, and he and Nora ran as 
fast as they could to the front door and down the 
walk to the crab-apple-tree. Sallie and I stopped 
to put the baby into his go-cart, for it was a lovely 
warm day in May, and we knew it would do him 
good to get out. When we reached the apple- 
tree, Pete was n't there. We saw him running 
like the wind down the street — he can run really 
very fast if he is only eight. Nora was jumping 
up and down (she does get so excited !), and cry- 
ing to us that just as they got to the tree, they 
saw Dick fly out of the upper branches and go 
down toward Mrs. Albright's. 

"Come, Sallie, we '11 go along and help Pete," 
I said. 'We can soon catch up with him." 

"Oh, please, ma'am, can't I come, too?" said 
Nora ; "I 'm so interred in th' poor little bur-rd, 
so far from his home, and it 's such a grand day 
and all !" 

Nora has been rather homesick and low in her 
mind ever since she landed, and I thought per- 
haps getting out in the sunshine might do her 
good. So I said she might come along if she 'd 
take off her apron. It was rather crumpled. Sal- 
lie suggested that we hang it on a limb of the 
crab-apple-tree until we came back, but Nora 
thought we might need it to wrap Dickie up in 
when we brought him home, so we tucked it down 
back of the baby in the go-cart, and started after 

We found him talking to young Mrs. Albright. 
She was doing up lace curtains, and looked very 
cross and tired and pale. We heard Pete say, 
" . . . a little yellow canary-bird about as big as 
that, and when he chirped, he went so." Pete 

"Oh, Mother, Mother," said Dolly Albright, 
"don't you remember, just a minute ago, a little 
bird came and sat on the porch railing and winked 
his eye at us?" 

"Oh, that 's Dickie !" said Pete. "He has such 
a cunning way of winking his eye !" 

"Was it a yellow bird?" I asked. 

Mrs. Albright had begun to look quite inter- 
ested. "Why, I do remember ! And it flew up 
into the lilac bush." 

"Yes, yes !" said Dolly, clapping her hands. 

"And then went around the corner toward the 
new tennis-courts on Elm Street." 

Pete had already started as hard as he could 
run toward Elm Street. 

"Oh, please, Mother, may n't I go along?" 
begged Dolly. 

Mrs. Albright said at first, "Good gracious no, 
child ! You 're not over your cold yet !" But as 




she looked out at the sunshine on the new grass, and 
the lilacs all in blossom, she said : "Well, dear, it is a 
nice day. I 've been so busy, I had n't noticed. I tell 
you, Dolly, I '11 go along with you to make sure you 
don't get your feet wet." She seemed to have for- 
gotten all about her lace curtains, half on and half 
off the drying-frames, and we none of us said a 
word about them as we hurried along after 
Pete, down Elm Street toward the tennis- 
courts. It is quite a walk, and we almost 
caught up with Pete before we were near 
enough to the courts to see that a big negro 
man was dragging a roller about. 

As we came along, he stopped working and 
leaned on the handle of the roller to stare at the 
crowd. Remember, there was Pete, and Sallie, and 
Nora, and the baby in the go-cart, and Mrs. Albright, 
and Dolly, and me. That 's a bigger crowd than gen- 
erally walks around together on the streets of our town, espe- 
cially at that hour of the afternoon, when most people are sup- 
posed to be busy tending to things at home. 

"Wheah you-all gwine ?" called the negro, and then we saw 
that it was 'Rastus Smith, who always beats our carpets for us 
at house-cleaning time. Pete called to him, "Why, my little 
canary-bird, Dickie — yon know Dickie — he got out of his cage, 
and flew down to Mrs. Albright's and up in her lilac-bush, and 
then around the corner this way. Did you — " 

But 'Rastus was already down on the walk with us, his 
eyes rolling so the whites showed, and he was pointing 
toward the place where Elm Street turns north. 
"Right dere, honey," he said ; "right dere, Mister Pete. 
Not more 'n half a instanter ago, I see yo' little yaller 
bu'd, flying 'long des es chipper as though he had busi- 
ness to see to. He went 'Queet ! queet !' like dat 

"Oh, that 's Dickie!" said Pete, Sallie, Dolly 
and Nora. "That 's just the way he goes!" 

"Well, foller me, folks," said 'Rastus, and 
we all went along down the road. It 's 
rather a long way, and the children had 
time to get big bunches of dandelions. 
It was too early for buttercups 
tried with dandelions to see 
baby liked butter, but he duck 
down his fat little chin, and 
gled so, it was hard to see. 

At the turn of the road 

" ' WHEAH 




'Rastus gave a start, and cried out : "Dey he ! dey 
he ! Right dere by dat patch of brambleberry 
bushes !" 

"Oh, I see him ! I see him !" the children said, 
and began to run. Mrs. Albright and Nora and 
the baby and I came along after, but when we 
caught up with them, as we did in a few minutes, 
there was no Dickie to be seen. 

"Where is he ?" asked Mrs. Albright, very much 
interested. A pretty pink had come up in her 
cheeks from hurrying so in the fresh air. 

"He flew that way !" Sallie said. We were 
now almost out in the country, standing by a field 
that a farmer was plowing, with some hens peck- 
ing around after him in the fresh furrows. 

"No, it was that way !" said Pete positively. 
' 'T was n't ary one of them ways," said 'Ras- 
tus. "He went over to'des that there ho'se-chest- 
nut-tree. Der ain't no question 'bout dat." 

"Let 's ask the farmer," said Mrs. Albright. So 
she did, explaining that it was a pet bird of the 
little boy's, and that he was very fond of it, and all. 

The farmer leaned on the handles of his plow 
and looked down at Pete. "Well now, that 's too 
bad," he said. "I 've got a little fellow 'bout your 
age. He ain't got a canary, but he 's got a lame 
hen that he sets great store by. I know he 'd feel 
awful bad if she ran away from home." 

"But did you, see my Dickie?" said Pete; "a lit- 
tle yellow bird about—" 

"Well, I don't know but what I did, come to 
think of it," said the farmer, looking around. 
"Yes, sir, I remember now. I saw him flying 
along close to the ground. He went into the 
woods yonder." 

Pete looked pretty sober. "Oh, we '11 never 
catch him there!" he said, with a tremble in his 
voice and a little quiver of his lips. 

The farmer took up his lines again and clucked 
to his horses. "Never you fear," he said; "he 
was flying real slow, as though he was tired. 
We '11 find him in one of the first trees. Now, 

you just walk along while I plow this furrow. 
That '11 bring me to the edge of the woods, and 
then I '11 tie my horses and go in with you to find 
your bird." 

We walked along on the grass, watching him. 
None of us had ever been so near a real plow 


while it was plowing, and it was fun to watch the 
bright, sharp blade go tearing through the sod 
and turn up a big, brown ribbon of earth. 




"How good it smells !" said Mrs. Albright. "It 
must be nice to live in the country." 

The children were laughing over the antics of 
the hens. The minute the plow started up, they 
ran to get the best position behind it, and as fast 
as one fat angleworm after another was turned 
up, they gobbled him down. Sallie grew inter- 
ested in one thin, little pullet who never could get 


anywhere fast enough to have her share. Some 
big, greedy hen with her crop already just burst- 
ing open would pounce down on the worm and 

snatch it away from her. Finally, Sallie could n't 
stand it any longer, and catching hold of a long, 
fat fellow with her own fingers, she held it out to 
the little pullet. She was so set on seeing fair 
play, that she forgot entirely that usually she 's 
as afraid as can be of angleworms. 

Nora began to wipe her eyes. "It 'minds me of 
home— the purty field and all," she said. "It 's 
the happiest hour I 've seen in th' new country." 

The farmer was now at the end of his furrow, 
and we were at the edge of the woods. Fie tied 
his horses to an oak-tree and helped us climb the 
fence. "Here, I '11 carry the baby, cart and all," 
he said, and so we set off. 

It was lovely in the woods — all the spring 
flowers were out, and a brook ran full over clean 

"Now, let 's see," said the farmer. "Where 'd 
he be likely to go?" 

And just then Pete pulled my skirt and pointed 
to two men who sat in a corner of the fence, with 
a pack of greasy cards in front of them. They 
were such rough-looking tramps that I was very 
glad the farmer and 'Rastus were with us. When 
the farmer saw them, he asked them about Dick, 
and began to describe him. 

They did not look up from their cards. "No, 
we ain't see' a yellow bird, nor any other kind," 
one said crossly, and dealt out another hand. 

We went on, and 'Rastus began to chuckle. 
"Dey ain ! seen Dickie 'cause dey ain' look'!" he 
said. "Dey said dey ain' seen him nor no other 
bu'd, and dat presact minute dere was a highhole 
buildin' his nes' in de tree dey had dere backs up 
against, and fo' meadow-larks wuz a-sittin' on de 
top fence rail, singin' fit to bu'st deyse'ves !" 

And really the trouble in the woods was to pick 
Dickie out from among all the other birds who 
were flying and singing around. I had n't any 
idea that there were so many birds in the whole 
world as the farmer pointed out to us that after- 
noon. He knew them, every one, and told us 




ever so many things about how they built their 
nests, and what color their nests were, and all, 
and whether they were good-natured or quarreled 
with their neighbors. He grew more and more 
observant himself, and was almost as pleased as 
the children when he showed them a little bunch 
of leaves, and after making them guess what it 
was, pointed out an opening on one side, and, in- 
side, four speckled eggs, as yellow as cream. It 
was an oven-bird's nest, he told them, the bird 
who called, "Teacher, teacher, TEACHER!" all 
the time. He said he guessed he 'd have to bring 
his own little boy out and show it to him. 

"I declare," he said, "I ain't been out in the 
woods in springtime before in I don't know 
when ! There 's always such a lot of farm-work 
to do then." 

Finally they did catch sight of Dickie again ; 
then they kept seeing him fly from one tree to 
another, very slowly they said. It was plain he 
was tired. Poor Dickie, why should n't he be? 

It was the first time he 'd done more than to fly 
across the room and back. 

At last he settled in the tiptop of an ash-tree 
that was ever so straight and tall. "Now," said 
the farmer, "I tell you what. We could n't catch 
him now if we should climb up there. But I '11 
mark the tree so, with my knife, and early, early 
to-morrow morning, just before daybreak (you 
know birds are so dead asleep then they can't 
move), I '11 come out and get him, and bring him 
into town. Will that do ?" 

I said it would do very well, and that we ought 
to be getting home, for it must be late. Pete 
and Sallie and Dolly suddenly remembered that 
they were empty down to their toes— "just 
starved !" 

The farmer looked at his watch, and told me it 
was five o'clock. Then he said : "Now, we 've 
come clear through the woods to the other side, 
and my house is just over that next field. You go 
along and have a drink of milk all around, and 


I '11 get my horses and hitch up and take you to 
town. I 've got to go anyhow." 

So he helped us over the fence, and went back 
for his horses while we walked along through a 
field that was, actually, honestly, just as I tell 
you, red with wild strawberries. We kept stop- 
ping to pick them, and we ate and we ate ! And 




they were so good, and it took us so long that the 
farmer was at the house before we were. 

There were a lot of cups of cool milk and a 
plate of cookies set out on a tray on the porch, 
and the farmer called to us from the barn where 
he was hitching up, that his wife had put them 

i -J 

a won- 
for we 

they 'd 
tus began. 

there for us. We sat down on the steps, and 
drank the milk and ate the cookies, and we agreed 
that never in all our lives had we tasted anything 
so good. Then we wet our handkerchiefs in the 
watering-trough and put them around the big 
bouquets of wild flowers we had picked in the 
woods, and then the farmer came rattling out of 
the barn. 

He had hitched up to a hay-wagon with a deep 
layer of straw, just the kind you read about, and 
he lifted us all in pell-mell, laughing and squeal- 
ing. AH 'cept the baby. We laid him down on 
Nora's apron, turned clean side out (you see it 
was a good thing we had that along) in a nest 

of the straw ; and 
he went sound 
asleep that very 
minute, and neve'r 
woke up all the 
way in. 

It was 
der, too, 
made a lot of noise. A 
straw-ride, we found out, is 
just as much fun as they say it 
The children sang some songs 
learned at school, and then 'Ras- 
We none of us ever dreamed he 
had such a lovely voice. We are going to get 
him to sing for us at our next school enter- 
tainment. He sang one lovely old negro song after 
another, some funny and some sad, and we ap- 
plauded after each one as though we were at a 
concert. It was like a concert, he sang so well. 
When we got back to the tennis-court, he 
climbed down and went to rolling again. "I 
hopes you gets yo' bu'd all right," he called after 
us. "I 'm much obliged fo' takin' me 'long !" 

At the Albrights's we dropped Dolly and her 
mother. ''I 've had a lovely time !" said Mrs. 
Albright, holding up the big bunch of white 
violets. "Do let me know about it when you get 
Dickie back." 

When the hay-wagon drove up to our house, 
we all began to shout at the tops of our voices to 
make Bridget (Nora's aunt and our cook) come 
out and see us. We were dying to surprise her ! 
She 's a very good cook, and nice when the chil- 
dren are sick, but she 's a cross old thing who 




never will be the least bit interested or pleased in 
anything, nor show that everything is n't just the 
way she expected it to be. You know there 's 

" ' l'aving me to half break my neck over that 
squawkin' little dickie bird ! ' ' 

nothing more disagreeable than somebody who 
won't be surprised. We thought this time we 
surely would give her a turn, driving up that way 
in a hay-wagon, with our hands full of wild 
flowers, and Pete's cap running over with wild 

strawberries he 'd picked for his father's supper ; 
but Bridget hardly looked at us when she came 
out — only at the strawberries, and then she 
sniffed. "That '11 be all you get fer ye'r supper," 
she said ; "I ain't had no time to cook, you-all 
running away to pleasure yourselves in the woods, 
and l'aving me to half break my neck over that 
squawkin' little Dickie bird !" 

Remember there were now in the hay-wagon, 
Pete, and Sallie, and Nora, and the farmer, and 
me— the baby was still asleep, and he could n't 
talk anyhow. Well, as true as true, it sounded as 
though just one person with a monstrous big 
voice shouted out, "DICK ! I !" we all said it to- 
gether so. 

"Yes, Dick!" snapped Bridget, crossly. "Just 
after you-all went out, I heard him squallin'. 
Master Pete had lift the dure to th' cage open 
again, and th' little fool bird had flew out and 
got his feet tangled up in the net curtains. I had 
to climb on a step-ladder to git him down — me at 
my age — and the rheumatism in me knees some- 
thing fierce !" 

It was so still when she stopped talking, you 
could hear the little chink of the bits in the 
horses' mouths. Nobody said a word until I asked 
Nora, in a very queer-sounding voice, "But, Nora, 
I thought you looked out of the window and saw 
him fly into the crab-apple-tree?" 

And Nora said (her voice was very queer- 
sounding, too, and she hung down her head) : 
"Sure, now I mind me that th' windy was shut." 
There was such a great noise back of me just 
then that I thought something had exploded. It 
was the farmer laughing. And then I laughed. 
And then Pete and Sallie did. And then all of a 
sudden, Nora threw back her head, and her laugh 
was the heartiest and jolliest of all. She had n't 
looked so cheerful since she landed. 

Well, we laughed, and we laughed, and we 
laughed, and Bridget got crosser and crosser, be- 
cause we could n't get our breaths enough to tell 
her the joke; and so, shouting and choking and 
gurgling, we unloaded ourselves, thanked the 
farmer, and said good-by. As far away as we 
could see him down the street, we could make out 
that he was still doubling over and whacking his 
knee with his hand, and then holding his sides 
as though he certainly would fly to pieces. 

We went into the house and had supper- 
Bridget had a beautiful supper ready. She al- 
ways does, for all her talk — and we put the baby 
to bed. 

Then Pete and Sallie and I had a serious talk 
on the dreadful dangers of being 'maginative, 
and to fix it in our minds, I wrote all this down, 
and read it to them to see if it was right. They 




say I have everything in but that about the fish 
in the brook, and I can't go back and tell about 
that now. The story is told. 

P.S.— But now it is later, Pete and Sallie have 
gone to bed, and their father and I have been 
talking things over ; and I must say that it 's only 
fair to put down something I thought of. It 's 

this : it came over me with a rush that the only 
people in this story who were n't 'maginative 
were those tramps and Bridget ; and they certainly 
missed all the lovely, lovely time the rest of us 
had ! So perhaps it is better, if you have to 
choose, to be 'maginative rather than not, but you 
must not mind looking very, very foolish when 
somebody who is n't tells you what 's what. 



June is in the meadows ! 

June is on the hills ! 
Everywhere, everywhere, 

Her merry laughter thrills ! 
Gone are all the discords, 

Everything 's in tune- 
Wonders, wonders, 

Wrought by winsome June ! 

From the darkest corners 

Flowers are peeping out. 
Who 'd have thought, who 'd have thought 

This could come about ? 
Boughs that would not listen 

To a word from May 
Overflow, overflow 

With sweetest bloom to-day ! 

And oh, this burst of glory 

In gardens, one and all ! 
Splendor, splendor, 

By the roadside wall, 

Brightening the ledges 

Graved with Ocean's rune — 
Roses, roses. 

Come to welcome June ! 

All the little laddies 

And lassies, fair and wee- 
Tiptoe, tiptoe- 
Bubble o'er with glee ! 
What are they expecting, 
So merry and so wise, 
Looking, looking, 

With their shining eyes? 

Ah, June holds VACATION 
Within her rosy hands ! 

See her, see her, 

Laughing where she stands, 

Holding back the treasure 
Awhile, the saucy tease ! 

Coax her, coax her — 
"Please, please, please !" 


ve us 


In a social way, I am proud to say 
That the Be-Ba-Boes are extremely gay, 

And they all peruse 

The society news 
With a view to emulation ; 
So, when they saw on the printed page : 
Society Circuses All the Rage !" 

They said : "That 's new ; 

We will have one, too, 
And create a grand sensation !" 


a^ulA**-*^* " ^ 1 


So they forthwith went and secured 

a tent 


was large enough for the great 
And they made a ring 
That was just the thing 
To show a horse's action. 

event ; 


trapeze hung at a giddy height, 


jumping-board was pronounced 
And they had a stand 
Where the Famous Band 
Would be a chief attraction. 

just right. 





For the beasts, they drew on the regular Zoo, 
As all the amateur circuses do, 

(And of course you know 

There are some who go 
For the animals that they see there). 
And most extensive plans were made 
For pop-corn, peanuts, and lemonade, 

For, lacking those 

At circus shows, 
You might as well not be there. 

To conduct the show, (with the whip, you know, 
They chose the Talented Be-Ba-Bo, 

And they searched the town 

For a competent clown, 
Though later they came to rue it. 
For an acrobat they were quite at sea, 
Till Peter Poly claimed that he 

Performed with ease 

On the Flying Trapeze ; 
So they said : "Let 's see him do it." 





Well, it turned out right, for the day was bright, 
And the Big Parade was a beautiful sight. 

They had a gnu 

And a kangaroo 
And the Spring-leg Cassowary ; 
There were chariots, each with a charioteer, 
While a steam piano in the rear 

Played music which 

Was off the pitch, 
For that is customary. 

The scene was gay in the tent that day 
When the company came — in the Grande Entree ! 
The walrus snored 
And the lions roared — 
You 'd have thought they were surely fighting ; 
While the Band, in uniforms green and pink, 
Went boom-zing-a-cing-boom — pillie-willic- wink ! 
The horses pranced 
And the elephant danced — 
It certainly ivas exciting ! 




But the rest of the show — it was rather below 

The average mark, as circuses go ; 
For the clown just cried 
Whenever he tried 
To be funny; they should n't have let him. 

And as for the widely boasted ease 

Of Peter's act on the high trapeze- 
He hung in the air 
In a state of despair, 
And they had to go up and get him ! 

Ka»h a.rtrw 

Dal a rid 

But they luckily planned for a concert grand 
At the close of the show, by the Famous Band ; 

And those who remained 

Were entertained 
By popular songs and dances. 
As a charity thing, there was no expense, 
And the net receipts they were quite immense; 

And the money goes 

To Be-Ba-Boes 
In straitened circumstances. 



It is something to be able to boast that one is the 
oldest inhabitant of one's town or section. To 
make good this claim usually involves the pos- 
session of a plump one hundred years. The Tes- 
tudo vicina, or Giant Tortoise, of the New York 
Zoological Park, however, might smile scornfully 
on so paltry a record. For his two centuries of 
existence entitle him to the honor of being the 
oldest living creature in the United States. 

The Giant Tortoise is not native to North 
America, but hails from the Galapagos Islands in 
the Pacific, several hundred miles off the coast of 
Ecuador. He seems, nevertheless, entirely happy 
in his New York surroundings, and apparently 
regrets in no wise the change of scene and cli- 
mate. We are inclined to gasp when we learn 
his age, but there is something besides that 
astounding fact to recommend him to our inter- 
est and curiosity. He and his companions of the 
park, and a few scattered specimens in one or 
two other zoological gardens, are almost the last 
surviving members of a vanished race. Their ex- 
tinction is due less to the usual combat with natu- 
ral foes, as is the case with most wild creatures, 
than to a senseless and wasteful slaughter that 
has practically wiped out their species— during 
the last fifteen years. 

The enemies of this Giant Tortoise were three: 
the wild dogs and the natives, who killed them 
for food, and the oil-hunters, who sought them for 
their fat, from which an oil was extracted. Of 
the three, the last must bear the burden of re- 
sponsibility for their greatest destruction. 

For the last hundred years, ships have touched 
at the Galapagos Islands and not infrequently, on 
leaving, have marooned there some unwelcome 
canine passenger. From these stray animals 
sprung a race of wild dogs whose chief food was 
the smaller tortoises, and often the eggs. 

The natives also entertained a decided liking for 
tortoise meat, and had some discretion been used 
in the killing, it would probably have made but 
little difference in the steadily increasing race. 
But, alas ! too prodigal with a stock they consid- 
ered all but inexhaustible, they went about ob- 
taining tortoise meat with the most deplorable 
recklessness. In numberless instances, one of the 
great creatures would be killed, only that some 
native might obtain a pound or two of the meat 
and a small piece of fat with which to cook it. 
All the remainder of the valuable flesh would be 
left for the wild dogs and carrion-birds. 

But it was with the discovery that tortoise fat 
rendered an excellent oil, that the wholesale 
slaughter commenced. In 1903, it was reported 
that the shells of one hundred and fifty tortoises 
had been found lying near one of their drinking- 
pools, and half a mile away, at another pool, one 
hundred more— the work of a single raid ! Is it 
any wonder that, in 19 12, a few scattered speci- 
mens in zoological parks are all that remain of 
what was, fifteen years ago, an innumerable race? 

In his native haunts, the Giant Tortoise sub- 
sists mainly on grass, cactus leaves, and water. 
Water he must have, and when, in the dry season, 
even the pools disappear, he makes good the de- 
ficiency with the succulent pulp of the cactus 
plant. In the Zoological Park, however, he fares 
much better, and vegetables of every variety are 
his in their seasons. It is reported that he ex- 
hibits a particular fondness for tomatoes. From 
the illustration may be seen the expectant, almost 
jubilant, expression of his countenance while con- 
templating a yellow banana. 

The Giant Tortoise is amiable and law-abiding 
in disposition, while his life is simple and un- 
eventful to a degree. He eats at all times and 
seasons, lumbers about his quarters with exceed- 
ing deliberation when in need of exercise, basks 
in the sun when not otherwise occupied, and 
spends hours without number drawn into his 
shell, fast asleep, oblivious of all creation. It is 
only during the warmer months that he is on ex- 
hibition in the outside inclosure. In the winter, 
he and his companions are gathered into an inner 
room of the reptile-house, where they sleep away 
the time, waking only to consume a little food 

The following incident is the only one on rec- 
ord, to show that the Giant Tortoise ever varied 
the peaceful monotony of his existence at the 
park by creating any excitement. It is reported 
that one snowy winter day, when every tortoise 
was supposed to be wrapped securely in the arms 
of Morpheus, some one inadvertently left open 
the door of the inclosure. No one knows just 
how it happened, but our friend of the illustra- 
tion must have waked, apparently realized his 
opportunity, and in the absence of any too watch- 
ful keeper, bethought himself of taking a stroll. 
A quarter of an hour later, there -were noticed 
strange tracks in the snow on the path leading 
down to the bear-dens. For a time, it was sup- 
posed that one of the young elephants had es- 



caped, and great was the consternation in conse- 
quence. But the tracks, though somewhat like an 
elephant's, were still obviously not an elephant's, 
since none of that tribe were missing. Subse- 
quent investigation discovered our friend the 
Giant Tortoise serenely contemplating his fellow- 
captives of the bear-dens ! The problem of re- 
turning him to his own inclosure was met by fac- 

along the Atlantic coast represented all that was 
to be the future United States ; James Oglethorpe 
had not yet founded the colony of Georgia ; and 
twenty years must elapse before the birth of 
George Washington. 

While yet this reptile was, comparatively 
speaking, a mere infant, the American and French 
revolutions occurred, and the United States as- 


ing him in the proper direction, and giving him a 
smart rap on his shell. In the course of time, his 
leisurely locomotion brought him back to his own 
lawful domain. Perhaps in all the two centuries 
of his existence, he had never experienced any- 
thing quite so exciting before ! 

But it is the astonishing age of these reptiles 
that suddenly causes us to look upon the span of 
threescore years and ten as a paltry and insignifi- 
cant thing indeed. Let us stand before the inclo- 
sure and consider these facts : here is a living, 
breathing creature, moving about and consuming 
food even as ourselves. Yet when it first saw 
the light (1712 or before), Queen Anne still oc- 
cupied the throne of England, and Louis XIV 
that of France. A line of thinly settled villages 
Vol. XXXIX. -87-88. 

sumed its place among the nations ; and no one 
can tell to what age this creature may yet attain. 
That it has grown since its introduction to the 
park, the increased number of rings around the 
segments of its shell attest. Possibly it is now 
enjoying only middle life, and will be viewed 
with interested speculation by our descendants of 
the fifth and sixth generation, even as it is by us. 
If simple vegetarian diet, a nervous-system 
perfect almost to the point of non-existence, con- 
genial surroundings in which there is small like- 
lihood of accident, and an absolute lack of any- 
thing to do or worry about, be conditions that 
permit the possibility of indefinitely prolonging 
life, then are those conditions triumphantly vindi- 
cated by this very Methuselah of tortoises ! 



MEloise Talbot 

It was springtime in the village of Plymouth, 
more than two hundred and fifty years ago. 

There are sweet, bright days in New England 
now, but the Plymouth of to-day is a very differ- 
ent thing from the village of that time, for then 
only one street sloped down to the water's edge, 
and on the hill above stood a fort with shining 

Huldah and Timothy Speedwell stood talking 
eagerly at their father's gate. 

"Oh, Timothy, I am afraid she will not 

"Patience!" replied Timothy. "Cecile always 
keeps her word. She is not like most girls." 

"But, Timothy, the shadow of the meeting- 

house is growing long, 
and you know we must 
be back by supper-time." 
"Look !" cried Timothy, 
pointing toward a fence far- 
ther down the street. 

At that moment, a little girl 
sprang over it, and came run- 
ning toward them. 

"I thought the sewing would 
never be done !" she cried. "And 
at the very end, Aunt Dorcas 
kept me to warn me of the In- 
dians. She said if she were my father, 
I should never leave the stockade." 

"It is true about the Indians," said 
Timothy. "I overheard the governor 
saying to my father yesterday that they 
were threatening the settlements again. 
Come quickly, Huldah, lest my mother 
"Nay, if the Indians be coming — " began Hul- 
dah, hanging back. 

"I do not care for Aunt Dorcas when my 
father gives me leave," cried Cecile. "Huldah, 
if you linger, we shall have no time left to go 

"What is that?" asked both children together. 
"Why, don't you know?" exclaimed Cecile. 
"Have you never brought home the May? To- 
morrow will be May-day, and we must gather 
boughs and fasten them against the door-posts, 
to please the fairies." 

"But," interrupted Huldah, "I am sure that 
must be wrong, for tales of fairies are idle in- 

"My grandmother told me," retorted Cecile, 
"and, pray, how should you be wiser than my 
grandmother? Last year, in England, we 
trimmed the May-pole on the green with flowers 
and ribbons, and danced about it until sunset." 




"Oh, oh!" cried Huldah. "Now I know it 
must be wicked, for it is very sinful to dance. 
My mother told us so." . 

"Is it?" said Cecile, regretfully. "I did not 
know it. So many things are sinful, now that I 
am come to New England. But surely there can 
be no harm in gathering flowers to show that the 
spring has come, even in this cold Plymouth." 

Huldah and Timothy had found life much more 
interesting since Cecile had come from England 
to join her father in the Plymouth settlement. 
They had seen her first on a Sabbath morning. 
She had worn a white gown, and a wonderful hat 
with nodding pink roses, from beneath which her 
blue eyes looked with frank surprise at the bare 
church and grave congregation. But the grown 
people shook their heads. They whispered of 
Master Goodwin's young French wife, who died 
when Cecile was a baby, and they said the child's 
name was scarce a godly one. 

Aunt Dorcas did her best. She spun early and 
late, till Cecile was clad in a suit of gray, as be- 
fitted a child of the wilderness. She braided the 
golden hair, and taught Cecile to sit silent in the 
presence of her elders ; but every day the curls 
grew tighter, and all the silence in the world 
could not banish the laughter from her voice. 

Master Goodwin was a grave man who had 
crossed the sea for conscience' sake. He never 
interfered with Aunt Dorcas's strict rule, but if 
the elders of the church could have looked into 
his great oak chest, they would have rubbed their 
eyes to see a child's hat with pink roses laid 
carefully away. Fortunately big chests keep 
their secrets well, and neither Cecile nor Aunt 
Dorcas knew. 

Timothy and Huldah had never known any- 
body before who seemed to think it was the chief 
business of life to laugh and play. This after- 
noon Cecile was too happy to walk. She skipped 
along, singing a little French song, and when 
they had passed the high palisade which guarded 
the settlement, she seized Huldah's hand and 
broke into a run, which only ended as they en- 
tered the forest. 

Hundreds of birds were flying among the trees, 
and fresh, young leaves were unfolding, but the 
winter had been hard, and though the children 
wandered far, no flowers could they find. Tim- 
othy, weary of the search, climbed a tree, while 
Huldah, still doubtful of the lawfulness of the 
enterprise, contented herself with gathering 
twigs into her apron. All at once Cecile shouted 
joyously. She had been pushing the fallen leaves 
about, and suddenly she uncovered a lovely, trail- 
ing vine, the like of which none of them had ever 
seen before. Its leaves were small, and peeping 

out beneath them were starry blossoms, pink and 
white, and sweet as are no other flowers but 
those of the Plymouth woods. 

"Look !" cried Cecile, "these flowers must be 
the May that grows in New England !" 

Timothy scrambled down from the tree, and 
Huldah forgot her scruples. They filled their 
hands as full as they could hold, and Huldah fell 
to plaiting a basket of rushes, which Cecile 
heaped with blossoms. 

"Will you hang this at your aunt's door?" 
asked Huldah. 

"No !" exclaimed Cecile. "She does not love 
flowers. I shall hang it at the door of my best 
friend in Plymouth. But, dear Huldah, what is 
it? What frightens you?" 

Huldah's face had grown suddenly white, and 
she was staring into the distant hollow with ter- 
rified eyes. 

Cecile whirled around. The evening had crept 
upon them unnoticed. At first she could see 
nothing among the trees, but gradually she per- 
ceived a figure outlined against them. It was a 
tall, gaunt man. There were horrible marks upon 
his face, and a feather above his head cast an 
unearthly shadow. 

"It is the Evil Spirit," whispered Huldah, with 
trembling lips. "Oh, Cecile, it is because of these 
wicked May-flowers!" 

"Do not be afraid," said Timothy, throwing his 
arm about her, but trembling, too. "I will take 
care of you. Let us leave the flowers, and go 

But Cecile looked steadily at the motionless 

"If it is the Evil Spirit," she said, "I will tell 
him to go away." 

She laid down her basket, and walked straight 
into the shadow. 

Huldah hid her face in horror, and even Tim- 
othy did not dare to stir. They could feel the 
thumping of their hearts, while a moment passed 
that seemed an age ; then they heard Cecile's 
clear voice. 

"Thou foolish Timothy, be quick ! Fetch me 
some water ! It is but an Indian, and his poor 
arm is bleeding." 

Huldah gasped again and clutched at Timothy, 
for an Indian was hardly less dreadful to her 
than a wicked spirit ; but Timothy pulled himself 
away, ashamed, and ran to help Cecile. 

The Indian had seated himself upon a big 
boulder. His strong, brown arm was torn from 
shoulder to elbow as if by the claws of a wild 
beast, which was further indicated by some raw 
pieces of bear's meat on the ground beside him. 
Cecile was tearing her apron into strips. She 




dipped them into the water which Timothy- 
brought from a brook hard by, and bound them 
firmly round the injured arm. Gradually the 
bleeding stopped. 

The Indian gave no sign of the agony he en- 
dured, but he drew one long breath, and a pleased 
look stole into his eyes. He rose to his feet 
without a word, and bent his head till it touched 
Cecile's little fingers. Then he plucked out a bit 
■of the May-flower which she had fastened on her 
dress, placed it within his belt, and vanished into 
the forest as silently as he had come. 

Timothy shook his head. 

"It was but an Indian," he said, "but he was 
painted like those who came out to fight a year 
ago, and my mother said that it was the cruel 
thoughts within that showed upon their faces." 

The next morning Cecile was up before the 
sun had crimsoned the waves of Plymouth Bay. 
She crept down-stairs, May-basket in hand, and 
opened the street-door softly. She went on past 
the houses till she came to one over which an 
English flag floated. It was the home of Miles 
Standish, the captain of the colony. She twisted 
her basket-handle into the door-knocker ; then she 
hid herself behind a bush in the garden, and 

Meantime, within, Miles Standish was pacing 
to and fro, in grief and perplexity. Upon the 
shores of Massachusetts Bay another company 
of Englishmen had made a settlement some years 
before, and named it "Merry-Mount." They 
were different men from the God-fearing Puri- 
tans. They gave fire-water to the Indians, which 
maddened their brains, and sold them firearms, 
so that a horrible danger threatened the infant 
colonies if the tribes should break out into war- 

Furthermore, these Englishmen loved wine and 
hunting, and spent much time in amusements 
which the settlers at Plymouth did not approve. 
The day before, word had come that they had 
raised a May-pole in their village, and had bidden 
the neighboring Indians to join them in a dance 
around it. 

All night long, the Plymouth elders had sat in 
solemn council. They decided that so great an 
insult to Puritan laws must be punished, and 
though they grieved to attack men of their own 
blood, Captain Standish was ordered to march at 
daybreak with twenty men, to wipe out the blot 
from the fair fame of New England. 

The light was just shining in the east, when 

'the captain stepped out upon his threshold. His 

!first thought was that the morning air smelled 

sweet; then he saw the swaying blossoms. 

'Cecile held her breath. She thought he might 

guess who hung the basket there, for had he not 
called her his little maid, and taken her upon his 
knee to tell her stories of the time when he was 
a boy in England, he, the fiery soldier, whom all 
the other children feared ? 

Then the captain spoke, and his voice was so 
loud that it startled the people of the village, and 
several of them hurried into the street to listen. 

"Who hath done this thing?" he cried out. 
"Who hath dared to bring in this mummery of 
the May?" 

The people looked at each other in wonder. 
Timothy and Huldah, who had come running out 
with flowers in their hands, drew closer together. 
Captain Standish saw them, and fixed his flashing 
look upon Timothy. 

"Timothy Speedwell, was it thou? What dost 
thou with flowers like these ? Nay, turn not like 
a coward. Speak !" 

"Captain Standish, listen. Do not be angry 
with Timothy. It was I who hung the flowers." 

Cecile pushed the bushes aside, and stood out 
before the captain. 

"I brought the May to thee, Captain Standish. 
I meant to give thee pleasure: I am sorry." 

Her voice shook, but Miles Standish was in the 
throes of one of those terrible passions which 
made him dreaded throughout New England. He 
seized the basket, and hurled it far away from 

"There let it lie to be trodden on and die ! Is 
it not enough that we go out by day to fight 
against these heathen customs, but must we watch 
all night lest they steal to our very doors? Away 
to thy spinning-wheel, child ! One may teach wis- 
dom to a lad at a rod's end, but there is small 
hope for a foolish girl." 

So saying, he turned abruptly into the house, 
seized his sword and musket, and strode forth 
through the astonished crowd to the end of the 
palisade, where his twenty men, among them 
Master Goodwin, were already assembling. 

Cecile hid her face, and burst into tears. A 
hand was laid heavily on her shoulder. 

"Come," said the stern voice of Aunt Dorcas, 
"wilt thou make thyself a gazing-stock for the 
whole town ? This is what happens when maids 
wander idle abroad." 

Cecile suffered herself to be led home without 
a word. Aunt Dorcas allotted to her bread and 
water, and many long turns of the distaff, but she 
made no complaint, and crept silently up to her 
little chamber. 

Meantime Miles Standish and his twenty men 
marched through the forest. As the sun rose 
high in the heavens, the captain ordered a short 
rest and called Master Goodwin to his side. 




"What think you, my friend? Shall we reach 
the Bay of the Massachusetts before nightfall?" 

Master Goodwin looked up at the sun, and sent 
a keen glance into the faces of his companions. 

"The trail is heavy," he said. "Would it not be 


well to rest this night in the forest, that the men 
may be fresh to attack in the morning?" 

"And leave the sinners to finish their impious 
rites?" broke out the captain. "I will fight till 
my arm drop, before it shall be said that they of 
New England dance around a May-pole !" 

"God forbid!" replied Master Goodwin. 

"Then forward, say I," said the fiery captain, 
"and make good speed." 

As they had halted for a moment in the for- 
est track, each man had taken the opportunity to 

shift the burden of food and ammunition which 
he carried on his back. A tiny pink flower peeped 
above Master Goodwin's sword-belt. Miles 
Standish's eye fell upon it. 
"Ha !" he exclaimed. "Since when, my friend, 
do you wear a favor?" 

Master Goodwin's face 
softened; he had witnessed 
the scene that morning in the 
captain's garden. 

"It is a bit of bloom which 
my maid gave me ere I left 
her. May heaven keep her ! 
She loves each bird and blos- 
som that she sees." 

Miles Standish made an in- 
articulate sound, and strode 

The day was far spent, 
when a trail of smoke was 
seen against the sky. Cap- 
tain Standish called his men 
together, and proceeded cau- 
tiously, till they found them- 
selves on the edge of a clear- 
ing. A strange sight met 
their eyes. 

On one side of the open 
space stood a dozen houses 
of bark. A huge bonfire had 
been kindled, which threw a 
ruddy glare over the place. 
In the center of the clearing 
stood the trunk of a tall tree, 
stripped of its branches. It 
bore large bunches of flow- 
ers upon its top, and from 
these hung down bright-col- 
ored streamers, which waved 
in the breeze. Around its 
base were groups of Indian 
squaws, wearing flower- 
crowns, and other groups of 
English colonists, with gay 
festoons pinned upon their 
Hand in hand the settlers circled around the 
May-pole, singing a boisterous song, and mak- 
ing fantastic leaps into the air. Outside the 
circle sat a dark and silent group of lookers-on. 
These were the Indian braves, who, too dignified 
to join in the wild sports of the whites, yet 
watched them with grave curiosity. 
Miles Standish's eyes grew bloodshot. 
"Upon them !" he whispered, "and spare neither 
powder nor sword!" 

Under cover of the trees half of his men moved 




to the other side of the clearing; then at a signal 
both parties rushed forward to the attack. 

Instantly the scene changed. Shouts -of anger 
filled the air. The frightened squaws, dropping 
the toys with which they had been happily play- 
ing, fled, shrieking, to the Indians, who withdrew 
them into the woods. 

The careless settlers of Merry-Mount, who had 
stacked their guns with never a man to watch, 
found themselves surrounded by enemies, dis- 
posed to grant no quarter. In a short time, the 
entire company were overpowered, and secured 
within their own wigwams, and the Puritans were 
left masters of the field. 

"Tear clown those baubles !" cried Captain 
Standish, waving his sword toward the May-pole, 
"and throw them upon the fire. To-morrow we 
will kindle it anew, when we cut down this tree 
of iniquity." 

No sooner said than done. In five minutes the 
May-pole stood bare, and the festoons of the 
Indian women lay black in the dying embers of 
the fire. 

"Now we may take rest," said Captain Stand- 
ish. "Two of us shall guard in turn. Friend 
Goodwin, thou and I will take the first watch." 

Deep quiet fell upon the tiny village, so full of 
tumult an hour before. Master Goodwin, reclin- 
ing upon his arms, felt drowsiness stealing upon 
him. Suddenly he was brought to himself by a 
grasp on his arm, and a sharp whispered, 

"Friend, what is that?" 

Miles Standish was standing beside him, peer- 
ing into the encircling wood. 

Master Goodwin sprang to his feet. 

"I see nothing moving but the shadow of the 
trees," he said. 

The captain shook his head without speaking, 
and moved off across the clearing. Master Good- 
win followed. All was still at the forest edge. 
They advanced a few rods into the thicket. 

"All is well," said the captain, in a low tone. 
"A weary brain creates strange fancies." 

Just at that moment he felt his arms pinioned 
behind him, his musket was torn from his grasp, 
and he was thrown heavily to the ground. 

As soon as he could look up, he saw that he was 
surrounded by several dusky figures. Some yards 
off was Master Goodwin, also bound and helpless. 
The place still lay in perfect silence; the sol- 
diers, sleeping heavily, had heard no sound. 

The captain addressed the tallest of the group 
in the Indian tongue. 

"Do the braves war against serpents, that they 
beat their enemies upon the ground? Let me 
arise, and look upon a man." 

His request was granted in silence. Two of 

the younger braves raised him to his feet, while 
a third did the same office for Master Goodwin. 
Then they drew back, loosening the tomahawks 
in their belts. 

"What dost thou advise?" said Standish to 
Goodwin in English. "If we halloo to our men, 
we shall have the whole pack of Indian braves 
upon us at once, for I doubt not there are at least 
a hundred lurking in the woods." 

"It may well be," replied Master Goodwin. 

"Then we must use persuasion," said Standish, 
"though it ill fits the tongue of a soldier"; and 
turning to the Indians, he continued in their 
language : 

"Why does my brother wear the war-paint 
when the white man smokes the peace-pipe? 
Have hostile tribes dealt unjustly with the Mas- 
sachusetts ? Why does not the sachem come to 
his great white brother at Plymouth, that he may 
receive help?" 

A look of contempt stole into the stolid face of 
the Indian. 

"Did the white chief wear the peace-plume 
when he came among my brethren of the Mount, 
six hours agone?" he asked. "Did he offer the 
peace-pipe to my squaw, that she fled to her hus- 
band? The raven flew in the trail of my brother, 
and his shadow darkened the sun." 

"It was the avenging wrath of the Great 
Spirit," replied Standish. 

"Does the Great Spirit command that the white 
man shall war against his brother?" asked the 
Indian. "The Narragansetts may war against 
the Iroquois, and their young men may hang the 
scalp of the Delaware upon their breasts, but the 
hand of the Massachusetts is ever within the hand 
of the Massachusetts. The white chief of Merry- 
Mount is our friend, and he has been bound with 
thongs; therefore we bind the chiefs of Plymouth, 
and carry them to our wigwams, that our squaws 
may laugh. To-morrow we will meet their braves 
upon the war-path." 

"Nay, then it is useless, Friend Goodwin," said 
Standish, "and we must raise the halloo, though 
methinks our scalps will be severed before' we 
have finished shouting." 

"Wait yet a moment !" exclaimed Goodwin. 
"Perhaps kindness may yet move these poor sav- 
ages to mercy." 

So saying, he came a step forward out of the 
tree's shadow into the starlight. Suddenly the 
manner of their captor changed. His face lighted 
with an expression of surprise ; he uttered an 
exclamation, and, springing forward, he snatched 
something from Master Goodwin's belt. It was 
the May-flower which Cecile had given him in 
the morning. The Indian passed his hand within 




his girdle, and pulling out another flower, its 
counterpart, though faded and dry, he raised them 
both to his forehead. Then he glided to a rock a 
little distance off, and motioned to his warriors, 
who, leaving two to stand guard, followed him. 

■ EDWIN -John -Frit Tie- 
1 • 9 ■ I' - i- 


He lifted one arm above his head, and broke 
into a passionate harangue. His prisoners waited 
in breathless suspense. He was interrupted now 
and then by grunts from his hearers, which 
Standish's practised ear interpreted as signs of 
disapproval, but still the eloquent voice went on, 
till little by little the discontented murmurs died 
away. At length, as the chief ended, the braves 
spoke out in chorus, uttering one word of assent. 

Then the leader descended, and approached 
Master Goodwin. He took his hand and laid it 
upon his own right arm, which the colonist for 
the first time perceived was wrapped in a ban- 
dage, much spotted with blood. 

The Indian tapped it 
significantly, and pointed 
southward in the direction 
of Plymouth. 

"Eyes of the sea, and 
hair of the setting sun," 
he said in broken English. 
With a quick movement, 
he cut the withe that bound 
Goodwin, and in an instant 
he and his warriors had 
disappeared into the forest. 
The captain was the first 
to speak. 

"Art thou hurt, friend?" 
he asked. 

"Not by a hair," replied 

"The savage showed thee 
a token," said Standish, in 
an oddly softened voice. 

"It was 
which I 

The captain was silent 
for a moment, then he said 
gravely : 

"My friend, I see that 
gentleness is more mighty 
than anger. Lie down and 
rest. I will end the watch, 
for I have no mind to sleep." 
The next morning the 
captain was singularly 
thoughtful. He said little 
during the preparation for 
the homeward march until 
his men led out their pris- 
oners to place them in the 
column, when he peremp- 
torily ordered them to be 
"Let us leave the men here," he said, "in pos- 
session of their homes. We will carry the ring- 
leader, John Morton, to Plymouth, but who can 
tell whether his followers may not repent of their 
evil ways? It becomes us to show mercy." 

"They will return more like to their dance 
around the May-pole," grumbled one of the sol- 
diers, a good deal chagrined at the unusually 
pacific mood of the leader of the expedition. 

replied Goodwin. 

a strange thing, 

do not under- 



"Nay," replied the captain. "Let the May-pole 
stand, till some fitter hand come to cut it down ; 
that of Miles Standish has not earned the right." 

It was nearing the close of the second day, 
when the little band came once more in sight of 
Plymouth. The people had been anxiously await- 
ing its return, and great was the rejoicing that 
the difficult mission had been accomplished with- 
out bloodshed. 

It did not take Master Goodwin long to un- 
ravel the mystery of the Indian. He took Cecile 
in his arms and kissed her, so that she straight- 
way forgot all her troubles. 

"Oh, dear father!" she whispered, "I do not 
mind the spinning, nor the hunger, nor even 
Aunt Dorcas since you are not angry with me." 

Her father kissed her again, but contented 
himself with saying, "Thou must be obedient. 
Thy aunt is a good woman." 

But a more wonderful thing was to follow. 

The next evening, Cecile was called down from 

her chamber. Below stood the great Captain 
Standish, holding a bunch of flowers in each 
hand. One was withered, for it had lain in the 
dust of his dooryard ; the other, which was sweet 
and fresh, he had searched the Plymouth woods 
to find. 

"My little maid," he said, in the voice which 
could be the sternest and the gentlest in New 
England, "I am come to say to thee what Miles 
Standish says to few men : I have done wrong. 
I reproved thee harshly, and I scorned thy inno- 
cent flowers. I will keep thy May-gift that it may 
teach an old man a lesson ; and I bring these 
blossoms to thee, that thou mayest show thou 
canst forgive." 

Thus it came to pass that the May and the 
springtime gladness entered into the house of 
Miles Standish at Plymouth, and every year since, 
under their coverlet of fallen leaves and almost 
before the winter's snow has gone, have the May- 
flowers bloomed in the Plymouth woods. 



Sandman, Sandman, why do you come so soon? 

You should n't come till six o'clock, and here you are at noon ! 

I 've swept the floor and dressed my doll, and made a pie or two, 

But this is Monday, and I have my washing yet to do. 

I wish you 'd wait until I get my clothes out on the line, 

Before you throw your slumber-dust in Dolly's eyes and mine. 

Sandman, Sandman, please to go away; 

I '11 welcome you at six to-night, but not at noon to-day ! 





Building houses for the little feathered crea- 
tures of the air is a fad with the boys of one of 
the public schools in the 
Borough of the Bronx, 
New York City, or, at 
least, it was, perhaps, a 
fad when they first be- 
gan to develop this 
branch of architecture ; 
but to-day their interest 
in birds is so real that 
several hundred bird- 
houses have been con- 
structed and set up, and 
more are constantly be- 
ing built. 

It is interesting to see 
how many and varied 
are the styles of these 
show genuine talent on 
the part of the young carpenters. In addition to 
this, the adaptation of the houses to the needs of 
the various species of birds that haunt the Bronx, 
shows that the boys, while acquiring skill with 
tools, have also studied the habits of the birds. 


houses, some of which 

All that the boys needed was a bit of encour- 
agement, and this their school principal, an en- 
thusiastic ornithologist, supplied. The natural 
result was the making of all these charming, up- 
to-date bird-houses. And one of the best things 
about it is that the boys themselves built every 
bit of the houses, doing the work at home, with 


no supervision, simply carrying out in their own 
way suggestions made by their principal. Practi- 



cally no outlay was required, for their tools were 
of the most common sort, that all boys know how 
to use and generally possess, and their materials 
were obtained from old boxes of various sorts. 

It all goes to show that boys can do about what 
they set out to do, and, just because they live in 
big cities, there is no reason why they should 
abandon birds to their fate — and a very tragic 
fate it is too, sometimes — when, with a little in- 
genuity, they can protect them against the attacks 
of their enemies. 

"For," as their teacher said, "there is no need 
of city boys and girls lamenting the fact that, as 
they so rarely see the various birds, they can do 
nothing for their welfare. On the contrary, they 
have opportunities that their country cousins may 
not possess. The park authorities are always 
willing to help any one to protect and foster bird 
life, and one of the best ways to help birds is to 
give them a safe place in which to rear their 

"And, in this way, the number of birds is in- 
creased, hence the work that they do for us in 
destroying insect pests is much greater. There 
is no boy or girl who reads this article who can- 
not, with small effort, help some birds to live 
more comfortably and safely. 

"The illustrations show what one school alone 
has done in half a year, and not a large school at 
that. In constructing the houses, the boys adapted 
them so as to provide openings for the entrance 
of the bird and larger apertures for the cleaning 
of the houses, though the latter were kept closed 

or covered with glue and sawdust. Bark, taken 
from a dead stump, and brought back from some 


by a latch, or by making the door slide in a 
groove, or by some similar device. 

"Most of the houses were painted a dull color 


excursion into the country, served more than one 
for the covering of their bird-houses. Some boys 
who had access to more 
tools, or were more skil- 
ful, made houses after 
plans of bungalows and 
similar buildings that they 
found in various illus- 
trated publications. 

"Then, of course, all the 
boys studied the books on 
birds to get an idea of the 
size of the bird, in order 
to know of what size to 
make the entrances to the 
houses ; for it must be re- 
membered that not all 
members of the bird fam- 
ily live in harmony, and 
the sparrow has often 
been known to rout out 
from a comfortable abode 
a more useful but less 
pugnacious bird. Thus the hole for a wren must 
not be larger than a twenty-five-cent piece, or a 
sparrow may take possession and poor Jenny- 



wren will be forced to look for another apart- 
ment, just at the time, perhaps, when her family 
is about to break out from the shell. 

"By coupling the study of history and litera- 
ture with the study of birds, some of the boys 
made houses that had a double interest. For ex- 
ample, one lad who lived near the cottage that 
Edgar Allan Poe occupied when he lived in Ford- 
ham, New York City, made a bird-house that 
reproduced the Poe cottage with considerable 
fidelity. The old-fashioned shutters, the plain 
doorway, the simple porch, the shingled roof, the 
red chimney, and the little cramped windows 
squeezed in under the eaves, all gave it a very 
realistic look. He believed in making the most 

of local opportunities, and he took the house in his 
neighborhood that had the greatest traditional 
interest, and. adapted it to his purpose. 

"The school had no shop and no instructor in 
carpentry, or even in the working of wood. It 
did have a few tools and a vise, and a window- 
sill at which work could be done. The work you 
see in the pictures was not done there, however, 
but at home. Interest, the greatest factor in 
education, made the boys find ways and means. 
It made them careful of material ; it made them 
take what others had cast aside as of no value, 
and adapt it to their own ends ; it made them 
eager to learn the proper use of tools ; it helped 
them to form the habit of patient effort." 



A little boy, with some little tools 

In a little tool-chest new, 
Was looking around for a little work 

For his little hands to do, 
When a little bird, with a glossy breast, 

Flew down to a cherry limb 
That was very close to the little boy, 

And twittered a song to him. 

The little song pleased the little boy, 

Who said to the little bird : 
'Your song is sweeter, it seems to me, 

Than any I ever heard. 
But I can tell, by your tone of voice, 

That you 're wanting something now, 
And I '11 gladly help you, as best I can, 

If you '11 only tell me how." 

The little bird, with a little hop, 

Came a little closer then, 
And a joyful note from his ruffled throat 

Came bubbling in song again. 
And the little song told the little boy 

That a pretty thing to give, 
Is a little house to a little bird 

Who 's hunting a place to live. 

The little boy, with some little tools 

In a little tool-chest new, 
Was happy, indeed, for a little work 

That his little hands could do. 
And the little bird with the glossy breast 

Soon found near the cherry limb, 
A little house that the little boy 

Had built with his tools for him. 

The little bird saw the little house, 

And his heart was filled with glee; 
And I need n't say he hurried away 

For his little mate to see. 
And they built their nest in the little house, 

Where they live in peace and joy, 
And the tree-tops ring with the songs thev sing, 

In thanks to the little boy. 







©Ihio tHe s©imsata^© plant 
Is awff-aalJs'' qjtm©©^ I 

It slhraimSSs tyip wittlfe, fes^p.. 

It s©©mms t© g^ow tlsmiadl 
Fir©ffim lavaim^ ©aclh, dls^ 

®^ ttlhi© Ibaf| ttag|©ir= 
S© iS©2=<e© gumdl S( 


I gtm©ss yo^a D dt lb© ifs :, ag>]hi'it©E&®dl — 
1 wotmldU dlost^t y@m s©©? 

Hf m Ibiff ^©IJ©w ti^tsw 

Lawedl im©3stl dl@©ir to ma© I 






Chapter XIII 


My heart stood still for a moment as I watched 
Lord Howe take up my little book of Maxims. 
He looked first at the cover, and then, to my 
great relief, began turning over the leaves, read- 
ing here and there with a smile on his lips. 

" 'T is a human document, gentlemen," he said 
to the table at large; "well worth the perusal, 
but it will have to wait till this matter is settled. 
Now, Mistress Beatrice, you are before us on a 
grave charge, and what to do with you is by no 
means plain. Were you a loyal English maid, it 
would be our duty to see you safe to your friends, 
no matter who they were. On the other hand, 
rebels must be treated as— as rebels, though cir- 
cumstances may be taken into consideration. Per- 
chance, after all, you are loyal at heart. All this 
talk we read in this little book is just the silly 
chatter of others with whom you have come in 
contact, and which, in your case, could be easily 
forgiven if you forget it. So, you see, there is 
an alternative for you to choose. If you tell us 
that you are really a loyal subject to King George, 
we can arrange to send you to Mr. Travers. If, 
however, you say that you are a rebel— well, 
that 's another pair of shoes ! Now declare," he 
ended, leaning toward me and speaking impres- 
sively, "are you a loyal English maid as I hope, 
or are you, as Sir John says, a rebel spy?" 

It seemed that freedom was before me and an 
end to all my troubles in sight, if I could only 
say that I was a loyal subject of the king; but I 
could not say it. To have done so would have 
been to deny what was in my heart ; for, although 
I was but a child and knew little, mayhap, of the 
real matters that had led to the war with the 
colonies, yet Captain Timmons had won my sym- 
pathy for his cause. To deny that would have 
been to lie, and that I could not do. 

For an instant I was tempted, but I scarce 
waited to reason it all out, and answered truth- 

"Your Lordship," I began quietly, for I had no 
wish to be defiant, "I am no spy; but if to be 
sorry for the colonies and to think that the king's 
ministers have not treated them fairly makes a 
rebel, then am I one." 

There were murmurs about the table. I had 
hidden my face in my hands, thinking that all 
was over and that I would be sent back to Eng- 

land, and caring little what else might happen. 
I heard Sir John speaking sharply. 

"There is nothing more to say, Your Lordship. 
Shall I order her sent back?" 

Although I had no hope, I listened eagerly for 
Lord Howe's answer, because Mr. Vernon had 
said his was the final word. 

"Nay, Sir John," he answered, and at the word 
my heart leaped. "We do not war with children. 
Remember that, if I carry a sword in one hand, 
I also carry the olive-branch in the other. My 
motive in asking the child to declare herself was 
to find out whether or not she was truthful. I 
think all at this table will agree that she is, and, 
therefore, we may believe she is not a spy, and 
can send her to Mr. Travers." 

There was a loud murmur of approval around 
the table, and it was all I could do not to look my 
triumph at Sir John, who, I noted out of the 
corner of my eye, was very glum, and nervously 
fingered a pen lying on the table. 

"Miss Beatrice," Lord Howe continued, "we 
will send a safe-conduct to Mr. Travers, so that 
he may come and fetch you. In the meantime, 
you will stop aboard the Good Will. That, I see, 
makes you glad. Well, though you are a rebel, 
you are an honest one, which is a good deal in 
these days." And with that he bowed to me in 

I wanted to run, but having obtained my free- 
dom was less than the half of my desire if I must 
leave behind what was more valuable than the 
liberty of any small maid. 

"Please, Your Lordship," I said, stepping for- 
ward, "may I not have my little book? 'T was 
Granny gave it to me, and it can be of interest 
to no one else in the whole world." 

"Why do you not give it to me for a keepsake ?" 
he asked, picking it up from where it lay before 

"I should certainly keep it," growled Sir John. 
"There may be a cipher message in it, plain 
enough to those to whom she is going." 

"Nay, I know no ciphers," I said hastily. 
"Please, Your Lordship, let me have it." And 
then the lucky sixpence, hanging about my neck 
on a ribbon, came into my mind, and, being but a 
child, I took it off and held it toward the admiral. 
"Here is a better keepsake, My Lord. It is my 
lucky sixpence, and you may have it in exchange 
for the little book," I said eagerly. " 'T is a very 
lucky sixpence, the Egyptian said, and I should 






love you to have it because you have been kind 
to me." 

Evidently the idea took his fancy, perhaps be- 
cause sailors are superstitious ; at any rate, he ac- 
cepted it with a smile. 

"And what will you do for a talisman ?" he 

''Oh, I am but a little girl," I answered; "I do 

piece with the ribbon still strung through the hole. 
"Now we shall each have a part. I shall have 
mine pierced, and, like a lover and his lass, we '11 
always wear them. If you need me. send me your 
half, and I will come to help you." 

"And I shall do the like for you. Your Lord- 
ship, if you send yours," I said very gravely. 
"And now may I have my book and go away ?" 

" ' LOOK UP 

not fight and shall not need it. Perhaps it will 
keep you from harm in the war, and, indeed, I 
hope so." 

"Nay, I know what we '11 do," he replied. "We 
have a sailor aboard who is so strong that he 
breaks coins with his fingers; so we will e'en 
divide it." With that he gave an order, and in a 
few moments a great, tarry sailor came in, knuck- 
ling his forehead and seeming very much out of 
place in that splendid cabin. The admiral gave 
him the coin, telling him to be careful to divide 
it equally, whereupon he took it, and, bending it 
this way and that, snapped it in halves. 

"That will be even better," I said, struck by a 
sudden memory, "for the Egyptian's prophecy 
said 'the half would be luckier than the whole.' " 

"Good !" said Admiral Howe, handing me the 

He picked it up as if to give it to me, when Sir 
John spoke up once more. 

"I beg Your Lordship not to give it up. I am 
convinced that the maid has not told all she 
knows. She is too clever by half. The book has 
more significance than appears on the surface, I 
am sure." 

Well had Mr. Vernon said that Sir John was 
no fool. Had his enmity toward me personally not 
showed so plainly, I feel certain that his opinion 
would have prevailed, and I would have gone 
back to England willy-nilly. The admiral sat for 
a few minutes handling the book and looking at 
the cover, then he raised his eyes and gazed at 
me, while I stood trembling with anxiety, twirling 
my half of the sixpence between my fingers. 

With a smile meant only for me, he glanced 

I 9 I2.] 



clown at his half of the coin lying in his palm, 
and, without another word, handed me the book. 

I knew, as well as if he had told me, that the 
lucky piece was as a bond between us, and, be- 
cause of that, he had yielded to its dumb pleading. 

I seized my little book, and, with low, mur- 
mured thanks and a courtesy, I hurried away with 
my heart beating joyously, for I saw an end to 
my troubles at last and an honorable discharge 
of the responsibility put upon me by Captain Tim- 
mons of the Bouncing Betsey. 

Chapter XIV 


How gloriously the sun shone, and how beautiful 
and sparkling were the waters of New York Bay 
that day ! It was all I could do to sit still in the 
little boat while I was being rowed back to the 
Good Will. I wanted to sing and laugh,— to do 
anything, in fact, to give expression to my joy 
at being free once more ; for I had been a prisoner. 
But, best of all, I had the little book of Maxims 
pressed close beneath my arm. The precious 
paper was safe, and, though I had not the least 
idea what it was all about, I knew it was vastly 
important, and I was anxious to put it into Mr. 
Travers's hands. It had been a fortunate day 
for me, and all the heartaches and anxieties of 
the last few weeks were forgotten. 

As I gained the deck of the Good Will, Mr. 
Vernon was waiting, and he could see by my face 
that matters had turned out to my liking, for he 
smiled gaily as he stepped over to me. 

' 'T is easy to see that you have won the ad- 
miral !" he cried. "Is everything satisfactory?" 

"Oh, yes, everything !" I exclaimed. "Lord 
Howe is going to send for Mr. Travers to come 
and fetch me, and he gave me my book back 
again, and — and—" but there were no words to 
tell how happy I felt, and I could only dance up 
and down from sheer delight. 

"I am glad for your sake," said Mr. Vernon, 
"but I, for one, shall feel sorry indeed to see 
you go, and there are others that I could name 
at our end of the table who will miss you." 

"And I shall be sorry to leave you, for you 
have been very good to me," I answered. 

"Well, you are like to be with us a day or so 
yet," Mr. Vernon returned, "so you need not be 
in any hurry to pack." 

"Will it be so long?" I cried in dismay; "I 
thought I could go at once." 

"We must first get a message through to Mr. 

Travers; and, even if he starts at once, there is 

no telling where he is nor what he is about. I 

should fancy that he 's a very busy man with his 

Vol. XXXIX.— 8q. 

rebellion unless he 's vastly changed since last I 
saw him." 

This was far from good news, for, now that I 
could go, I was impatient to be off. But even the 
delay could not dampen my spirits much that day, 
and the hours passed pleasantly enough, for there 
was always something of interest going on in 
the bay. 

First of all there was constant visiting of offi- 
cers from ship to ship, and drums were beaten to 
quarters to receive this or that guest with fitting 
pomp, so that there was a never-ceasing bustle 
of excitement. 

Then there was an unending stream of people 
coming out to the boat with things to sell. There 
were vegetables such as I had never seen, one in 
particular which was quite long and had a jacket 
outside, and inside, little beans stuck, in some 
way, on a stick. Later I found that it was In- 
dian corn, and really most toothsome. 

Two days passed without a sign of my cousin. 
On the next morning, about noon, I was stand- 
ing near the ladder leading to the landing-stage, 
watching Sir John and his staff come aboard on 
their return from the admiral's ship. I had often 
stood so in the past, and Sir John had stalked by 
me without a word or a look. This time, how- 
ever, he stopped before me and stared down with 
such a smile of satisfaction that I was frightened 
at once. 

"So, Mistress Travers, cousin to Lord Har- 
borough," he began slowly, drawling out the 
words mockingly, "I have the last laugh after all, 
and there is a saying that 'he who laughs last, 
laughs best.' " 

"What mean you ?" I cned, a great fear clutch- 
ing my heart. 

"That your so-called cousin, Mr. Travers, 
though a rebel, is evidently an honest man, and 
will have none of you !" he answered, altering his 
tone and looking at me fiercely. "You are a 
prisoner again, and back to England you go on 
the first troop-ship that sails \" Then, turning, 
he addressed the officer in command : "Keep an 
eye to her; she is a prisoner of war !" 

I know not what I did for a moment or two. 
The shock seemed to rob me of all thought or 
action. It was too severe a blow for tears, and 
it had come so suddenly that I could only stand 
staring straight before me. Then I bethought me 
that this could not be, and that Sir John was try- 
ing to trick me, and I sought Mr. Vernon's face, 
hoping to find there something to encourage me ; 
but, alas, as he stood waiting for Sir John to 
leave the deck, he was careful not to look in my 
direction, and I was sure, knowing his good-will 
for me, that this latest and worst news was true. 




Almost blindly I made my way to the forward 
end of the ship, and there alone, behind one of 
the great cannon, I crouched down and cried and 
cried, as if my heart would break. And, indeed, 
it was near to breaking. 

I know not how long I had been there when 
Mr. Vernon came and seated himself beside me. 

"I 've been looking everywhere for you," he 
said, and his voice showed how sorry he felt. 

I stifled my sobs as well as I could. 

"Is it true?" I asked. 

"Yes, it 's quite true," he replied ; "he wrote 
saying he knew nothing of any maid." 

"And neither did he !" said I. "He expected a 

"Oh, yes," agreed Mr. Vernon. 

"But he will come if it is explained to him. 
I 'm sure he will !" I cried, my hopes rising a 

"Yes, I think that not unlikely," said Mr. Ver- 
non. "But," he went on, shaking his head, "he 
has cut himself off from coming. He will never 
have another safe-conduct, and without one he 
would n't dare to come." 

"I don't understand," I said. 

"Here 's how it is," Mr. Vernon explained. 
"Travers has evidently forgotten all about his 
relatives in England and the message he sent by 
the Bouncing Betsey months ago. That would 
be natural enough. The word sent to him by 
Lord Howe said nothing about the Bouncing 
Betsey, but merely related the fact that there 
was a relation of his, a little maid, waiting aboard 
the Good Will, and that a safe-conduct would be 
given to him to come and get her. Travers then, 
knowing nothing of a maid, thinks he scents a 
plot of some sort, and, though his answer was 
quite polite, there was clearly the suggestion that 
he did n't think the admiral was acting openly, 
and that there was a trick somewhere. Lord 
Howe was furious, and I don't blame him. So, of 
course, Sir John saw his chance and took it. That 
is the whole story, and what to do I don't know. 
I think you are the most unlucky small girl I 
ever met !" 

Unconsciously I fingered the ribbon about my 
neck on which hung the half of a small coin. 

"And yet," I made answer, "the Egyptian said 
it was a lucky sixpence." 

Chapter XV 


I can scarce describe my wretchedness and 
misery as I sat on that gun-carriage weeping my 
eyes out. Perhaps another girl might have been 
braver ; I know not. The blow had fallen so sud- 

denly that I had no chance to summon fortitude. 
One moment I had been looking forward eagerly 
to an end of all my troubles, and the next they 
were upon me again. Worst of all, Mr. Travers 
had denied me. I could only cry— and cry — and 
cry ! 

Mr. Vernon tried vainly to ease my sorrow. 

"I cannot stand it !" he said at length, almost 
roughly. "We must do something. Try to cease 
your weeping and think if there is not a way 
out of it \" 

He rose to his feet and began pacing the deck, 
muttering to himself now and then, and as often 
shaking his head, showing all too plainly that no 
solution came to him. 

At length I managed to stay my tears, though, 
indeed, I still shook with dry sobs, and Mr. Ver- 
non seated himself beside me once more. 

"I can see no help for it," he confessed sadly. 
"If Travers had not been so impudent, the ad- 
miral might have been prevailed upon to let you 
try again, but now it is useless to look for aid in 
that direction." 

"Yes, I suppose so," I answered hopelessly; 
"there is nothing to be done, only— only— " 

"Only what?" he asked. 

"Nothing— except that I should have liked Mr. 
Travers to know the truth of it," I answered. 
"Think you they would send a letter to him if 
I wrote?" 

"Nay, that they would not !" he answered. 
"But," he went on, low.ering his voice, "write 
your letter, and I will see that it reaches him, 
only you must let me read it. You can under- 
stand my reason." 

I went at once to my cabin to write the letter. 
I wrote out fully the reasons for my coming and 
all that had befallen since that distant day when 
I boarded the Bouncing Betsey in London, and 
told, as well as I was able, just how everything 
had happened and something, too, of my own 
sorrow and disappointment. I wished to tell him 
of the paper that had been intrusted to me, but 
dared not, knowing that Mr. Vernon must read it. 
This left me in a quandary, for I wanted to let 
Mr. Travers know of my effort to bring it safe 
into his hands. 

I bit the end of my pen in perplexity, trying to 
solve this riddle, and then there popped into my 
head what Capt'ain Timmons had told me to do 
in case I needed to see Mr. Travers privately on 
a matter of importance. 

"Just whisper to him that tea has gone up 
thrippence a pound," the captain had said. Writ- 
ing it might do as well, though what I hoped to 
gain I know not to this day. Still, once having 
seized upon the idea, I straightway wished to put 




it into practice, but here another matter came to 
plague me. To put the sentence in alone, with- 
out connection with anything else in the letter, 
would excite suspicion, so I tried to think of some 
manner in which I could include it naturally. At 
last, after much puzzling, I wrote the following: 

I regret that I have no gossip of London for you, but I 
was there so short a time that I scarce had a chance to see 
aught but a few shops. Granny says 't is a most extrava- 
gant place, and that tea has gone up thrippence a pound. I 
know not whether you will be interested in this, but Cap- 
tain Timmons told me a story of the Boston Tea Party. 
Perhaps that is the reason it is so high. 

I read this over many times, wondering if the 
true purport of it would be plain to Mr. Vernon, 
and then, deciding that he would see only what 
was written, I copied it into the letter and so 

Mr. Vernon was on deck, and together we went 
back to the gun-carriage. It took him some time 
to read, the letter being long, but at last he 
finished it, and folded it for me to place the 

" 'T is a sad letter," said he, "and your infor- 
mation about the tea touches upon a tender point. 
For tea is a sore subject in America these days. 
But I will see that it starts on its way at once," 
and, with a smile, he went off. 

There was nothing now for me to do but wait 
until a troop-ship bound for England should be 
ready. The hours passed uneventfully, for I had 
lost interest in everything, and a sort of numbness 
had come upon my spirits which, though it eased 
the pain of my disappointment, left me quite 

One morning some four days after I had writ- 
ten my letter, I became aware of a man standing 
before me, holding out some plums as if for sale. 
He was a young man, as I could see at once, 
though the rough sort of cap he wore was pulled 
down over his forehead, and the collar of his 
rather torn and soiled coat was turned up. I 
looked at him for a moment, and was about to 
tell him that I did not wish to buy, when he lifted 
his head suddenly and looked me full in the face, 
his eyes meeting mine squarely. There was some- 
thing in the bright glance that held my attention, 
and then— he deliberately winked! 

"Tea has gone up thrippence a pound," he 
whispered— and my heart stood still. 

"Come, buy my plums," he went on in a loud 
voice. "They are the best in the Jerseys, and 
I '11 make them cheap for an English maid. (Do 
not look so frighted," he added under his breath. 
"T is all right, and I am your cousin John.) 
Come, mistress, buy my plums !" 

For a few moments, he went on in this strain, 

praising the fruit and urging me between whiles 
to compose myself, and, indeed, I had need to, for 
my heart was beating furiously and I was pant- 
ing from excitement. 

We stood alone on the deck, but there were 
sailors passing constantly, and at such times Mr. 
Travers, for it was, indeed, he, would raise his 
voice for me to buy, like any hawker. 

"Nay, now, do not look so pale !" he said in an 

"But if you are caught, they will hang you for 
a spy !" I whispered back. 

"Indeed, that 's true !" he answered, with a 
reckless little laugh. "But these British are so 
cock-sure of themselves, they 'd never suspect 
that any one would dare brave their mightiness. 
'T is their conceit will be their undoing. But 
enough of that ! I was much distressed when 
your long letter reached me and I found what I 
had done. How did you manage to get it to me? 
I had not thought they would be so obliging, after 
my refusal to come for you." 

"Mr. Vernon sent it," I answered. 

"Not Guy Vernon?" he asked, with a note of 
anxiety in his voice. 

"The same," I replied; "he is aboard this ship." 

"And he would know me in any sort of dress," 
Mr. Travers went on, more to himself than to me. 
"Oh, well, it makes the adventure the more di- 
verting, that 's all. Now what of the message 
from Captain Timmons ? for he would never have 
given you that word about the tea, if there had 
not been something behind it." 

"I have the paper," I told him. " 'T is most 
important, though I know not what it is about ; 
but the English know of it, and it is on that 
account mainly that they wish to keep me 

It was some minutes before we could go on, 
for two officers stopped near us and talked for a 
while, during which time Mr. Travers kept up 
the patter about the fruit. But not content with 
showing his wares to me, he must needs go up to 
the officers as well, while I looked on in a panic. 

"They 're good loyal plums," I heard him say ; 
"grown in the Jerseys, and never a Whig near 
them. Come, Your Excellencies, buy, and may- 
hap you '11 convert a rebel." 

The officers, laughing at his audacity, told him 
to be off, and themselves walked away. 

"Where is the paper?" he asked, coming back 
to me, and I told him. 

"I guess what is in it !" he exclaimed. "Would 
it were in the general's hands." 

"Let me get it for you now !" I urged. "I can 
pretend to go for my purse." 

"But I cannot take you now," he said. 




"Oh, but never mind me !" I replied. "The 
paper is ever so much more important." 

"Nay," he answered, with a resolute shake of 
his head, "you have brought it so far, you shall 
take it all the way. Besides, I came not for that 
alone. Indeed, no ! I came to fetch my new 

"But how?" I asked, for I could see no way of 
his doing that. 

"Listen !" he said, glancing about him. "Think 
you you can come on deck to-night without being 

"Yes, I can manage that," I answered, for the 
position of the little cubbyhole in which I slept 
made it easily possible. 

"Good !" he exclaimed. "Come then as the 
ship's bells strike six to-night. That will be 
eleven o'clock, as you, no doubt, know. I will be 
waiting at the landing-stage for you. Be ready, 
and come on the stroke of the bell." 

"But there is always a guard on the landing- 
stage," I returned. 

"Yes, one," he answered with a smile. "Do 
not fear that he will stay you. Put on a dark 
dress, and come with the book. Your other things 
must be left behind. Will you be there?" 

"Yes," I answered, and was about to speak 
further, when a step sounded near us and my 
cousin raised his voice again in praise of his 
fruit. This same thing had happened so often 
before that I thought nothing of it, till a voice 
spoke to me, and I looked up to see Mr. Vernon 
standing beside us. 

"They are fine-looking plums," he said pleas- 

"Yes," I answered, "I was thinking of buying 
some, but my purse is below. I will go and 
fetch it." 

"Why trouble?" returned Mr. Vernon, taking 
a coin out of his pocket. "Let me have the 
pleasure of presenting you with the fruit. How 
much are they, fellow?" 

"Nay," I hurried to reply, for I feared the mo- 
ment when he would discover the identity of the 
man before us. "Nay, he has pestered me so that 
I have lost my desire for them. Let him go." 

"Pestered you, has he? Then we '11 teach him 
better manners !" Mr. Vernon replied, and reach- 
ing out a hand, he put it under the other's chin 
and raised the bowed head. "Look up, fellow, 
and— and— " 

He stopped as their eyes met. Mr. Travers 
said no word, but gazed back at him with a half- 
reckless, half-serious smile on his face, as if he 
cared not what was the issue. But Mr. Vernon 
was visibly affected, and I trembled with fear; for 
a word from him meant death to my cousin. 

How long they stood thus, I cannot tell, but it 
seemed to me like hours ; then in a harsh and 
rather husky voice, Mr. Vernon spoke : 

"Be off with you ! and hereafter sell your plums 
on some other ship ; for, if I find you on the Good 
Will again, you '11 not get away so easily!" 

Picking up his baskets, Mr. Travers hurried 
along the deck, and, a minute later, I saw him 
run down the ladder and jump into a small boat. 

Chapter XVI 


I was in a flutter of excitement for the rest of 
that day, and when night came down upon us I 
thought the hours till eleven o'clock would never 
pass. I went early to my little cabin, and got 
into my berth to await the time when I must at- 
tempt my escape. 

All was prepared as best I knew how. I had 
ready a gown of linsey-woolsey, and under it 
hung my pack-pocket filled with those things I 
could not bear to leave behind. They were trifles 
mostly : the shoe-buckles, a brooch, and such like 
things that Granny had given me. and also the 
tiny tea-set carved out of bone by Jim Tasker, 
the boatswain of the Bouncing Betsey. So, with 
my precious book of Maxims clutched in my 
hands, I lay and listened for the ship's bells to 
sound the half-hours. 

Finally five bells struck, and I rose quietly and 
put on my dress. Then again I waited. Oh, how 
long it seemed ! Everything about the ship was 
exceedingly still, and the occasional rapid foot- 
falls of those crossing the deck above my head 
only served to make the quiet more complete. My 
heart was beating furiously and my breath was 
coming in little gasps, so great was my anxiety. 
I was sure it must be past the time, and that the 
sailor whose business it was 'had forgotten to 
ring. When it began to sound, the first tap of the 
bell seemed so loud and ominous that it startled 
me ; but, summoning all the courage and fortitude 
I possessed, I stole forth. 

There was no one to heed me as I made my 
way on deck, and, once there, I saw a clear path 
to the break in the bulwarks where the com- 
panion-ladder dropped down to the landing-stage 
below. Gaining that, and beginning to feel al- 
most safe, I looked down— and there, softly 
whistling a tune to himself, was the guard stand- 
ing near a lanthorn that made a circle of light 
over the black water which gently lapped the 
sides of the ship. I hesitated at the top, not 
knowing what to do, for surely the sailor below 
me would put a halt to my flight and rouse the 
ship should I make a struggle. My heart sank 




like lead, for I had not expected him to be there, 
having relied on my cousin's words of assurance 
that the guard would be taken care of. All, then, 
was lost, I supposed. For some reason or other 
the plan had miscarried. Still, I meant to play 
my part to the end, and so took the first step 

There was a creak as the ladder moved 
slightly under my weight, and the sailor, catch- 
ing the sound, turned and looked up at me. I 
noted the surprised expression of his face as he 
opened his mouth to speak ; but, at the same in- 
stant, a dark shadow came into the ring of light, 
and a boat touched gently against the stage. 

Out of it leaped Mr. Travers, who immediately 
sprang upon the guard and thrust a handkerchief 
or cloth, I know not which, into his half-opened 
mouth, thus preventing any outcry. Then fol- 
lowed a short, sharp struggle, but the guard, 
taken wholly by surprise, was no match for the 
other, and, in a moment, was on his back with 
Mr. Travers atop of him. 

Meanwhile I had run down the steps, well 
knowing what was going forward, and stood be- 
side the struggling pair. 

"Ah, you are just in time," whispered my 
cousin, looking up at me with a smile. "This 
fellow is tougher than I thought for, and you 
will have to help or he will rouse the ship. Bind 
his arms with that," he ended, nodding toward a 
coil of rope which he had doubtless brought with 
him for the purpose. 

As quickly as I was able, for my fingers trem- 
bled greatly, I put the rope under the guard's 
shoulders. Then making a noose, I drew it as 
tightly as I could about his arms while Mr. Trav- 
ers held him. Once this much was accomplished 
the rest was simple, and in a few moments he lay 
helpless, though little the worse for his handling. 
A moment later we stepped into the boat and, in 
less time than I can write it, Cousin John had 
rowed away from the ship and we were swal- 
lowed up in the darkness of the bay. 

We rowed on in silence, the boat cutting 
through the water with scarce a sound. All about 
us were the lights of the British ships. Should 
my escape be discovered, an alarm would bring 
a swarm of searchers ; but our luck held, and one 
after another we passed the dim hulks of the 

fhuge vessels, till at length we were free of the 
"And now, Cousin Beatrice, we can talk to our 
hearts' content !" cried Mr. Travers, and he be- 
gan plying his oars vigorously, caring little what 
noise we made. 

"And am I safe at last?" I asked, taking a long 
breath and speaking aloud for the first time. 

"Aye," said he, "for though there are plenty of 
redcoats about, they 're on the other side of the 
bay at Staten Island. But tell me, have you the 
paper safe?" 

"Yes," I answered, "and I am anxious to be 
rid of it." 

"No doubt, no doubt!" he agreed; "but you 
must carry it yet a while, for we have a good 
way to go before we reach the town, and I do 
not mean to stop until we are there." 

"Cousin," I said anxiously after a few mo- 
ments, "can you forgive me for being a girl in- 
stead of a boy?" 

" 'T is a great tax on my forbearance," he made 
answer ; and, not being able to see his face, I 
knew not how to take it. 

"Even though I am a girl," I went on, "I shall 
try not to be a burden to you, and hope in a little 
while, after I have learned the customs of Amer- 
ica, to be useful. Granny says I 'm a good house- 
wife and—" 

"Nay," he interrupted, breaking into a hearty 
laugh, "housekeepers are easy come by, and I 
have a most excellent one already. But" — and he 
dropped his voice, so that he spoke seriously— 
"sisters are a different matter, and now that I 
have found one, I mean to keep her. Do not 
trouble your head on that score, Beatrice. I 'm 
right glad you 're here, and I hope you will soon 
love me as, by reason of your steadfast courage, 
I have already begun to love you." 

He was much in earnest, as I could tell by his 
voice, and I was very, very glad. 

"I know I shall love you," I answered, a little 
huskily ; "and I should like you to call me Bee, as 
they did at home, if you will." 

"Good!" he exclaimed, " 'Bee' it shall be, and I 
am Brother John. Is that agreed?" 

"Yes, Brother John," I hesitated. 

"That 's right," he laughed ; "now we shall be 
truly brother and sister"; and he said it in so 
kindly a way that all the heartaches and dis- 
appointments were forgotten, and I felt that, 
though I had, indeed, lost one home, I should 
soon find another. 

We talked while he rowed, and he asked me all 
manner of questions about Granny and the boys, 
and was very properly disgusted with Mr. Van 
der Heist, though he admitted owing him some- 
thing for sending him a sister. So, with the feel- 
ing of safety and the realization that my troubles 
were at an end, I must have dropped asleep, for 
one moment I was listening to Brother John's 
voice in the darkness, and the next I opened my 
eyes to find that it was broad daylight, and he 
laughing at me as he still rowed the boat. 

"I 've been waiting very patiently for you to 



wake up," he said half banteringly. '"I want to 
see that paper now that there is light to read." 

"Oh, yes, the paper !" I cried, taking up the 
book and breaking a thread in the cover with my 
bodkin. "Here it is !" and I drew it forth and 
handed it to him. 

He opened it eagerly, and I saw his face light 
up with joy. 

" 'T is splendid !" he cried, "and will put some 
heart in the doubting ones, beside giving us a 
place to buy powder for our army. Hold it safe, 
Bee," he went on excitedly, "for the general must 
have it before he goes on his daily rounds !" and 
he picked up the oars and rowed furiously. 

"And may I not know what it is now ?" I asked, 
for I confess that the contents of the precious 
document had greatly aroused my curiosity. 

"Aye !" he answered heartily. "Though 't is a 
secret, you deserve to know, and I need not fear 
to trust your discretion. 'T is a letter, Bee, from 
our agent at the French court, saying that, al- 
though King Louis is not at this time willing to 

come out before the world as a supporter of the 
new government of America, for fear of war 
with England, he, nevertheless, bids us count 
upon him as a friend, and adds that the ports of 
France are open to us." 

There could be no doubt that he was overjoyed, 
but somehow it seemed little for both the Ameri- 
cans and British to make such a pother over. 

I think he must have seen what was in my 
mind, for he spoke further. 

"You cannot possibly understand all it means to 
us, who are fighting not only the British army 
and navy, but many of our own people, who, from 
fear, or hope of gain, stick to the Tory side and 
do all in their power to discourage and hamper 
us. For us to be able to say that France is our 
friend will bring money and men to our colors, 
and we need both sadly. Then, too, the chance 
to secure arms and ammunition is most important. 
You have brought glorious news, Bee, glorious ! 
and His Excellency, General Washington, will be 
overjoyed when you hand it to him !" 

( To be continued. ) 

It is sclcloiw, -So-tcL cxrt. GTL z.t <z.c to lixs <y\Jxr<2^ , 
TTlxo,^: ~w<l, xin-ct otjl\-» Doc. 3o bnsK cv-racL £tjlII or Ixire^. 
xTcurrce^, JDcrorfc you s&rvc/ tric^T'c.c-L, -yo\x -m.T-a-sV W-y coCctceh cl-zcxc jf><i.<L, 
£osr >/vc y^cMry- cawnot ^ I a. tkxS noise cured, otr'trc^ . 

^AjiJ^i^orx -Tad/ 




("Simple Thoughts on Great Subjects") 


When Robinson Crusoe landed on his island, the 
first thing he did was to look about him to find out 
where he was. And it is pretty certain that any 
person who lands in this world of ours must do 
the same thing, if he is going to get through life 
at all well and nobly. The reason many young 
people stumble at the threshold, as some one ex- 
pressed it, is because they have not taken a square 
look at the world where they are going to spend 
their lives. A certain book says, "The wise man's 
eyes are in his head," that is, they are where they 
ought to be, where he can look straight in front 
of him and all about him, and take a survey of his 

I often meet with persons who say to me, "If 
I had only had some one to tell me, I would n't 
have made that great mistake." Now it is well 
enough to have some one to tell us, but it is vastly 
better to learn how to see for ourselves, and so 
gain our knowledge at first hand. It is better to 
have our eyes in our own head, and so be wise, 
than to have them in some one else's head, and so 
be only second-hand wise. 

So in what I am now saying, I do not want you 
to take my eyes, but to learn to use your own. I 
only want to tell you one or two directions in 
which to look. And if you honestly look, you will 
see what sort of a world we live in. Seeing that, 
you will know both how to make a friend of the 
world and so gain companionship, and also how 
to conquer the world instead of letting it conquer 

The word friend is a good one to begin with. 
For, first of all, the world we live in is a friendly 
world. It was not meant to be an enemy to men. 
Its coal-mines warm us. Its seas carry us around 
as a father carries his child on his shoulders. Its 
sun gives us light by day, and, as if that were not 
enough, we have the stars at night. Even the air 
which, as it seemed, would never be conquered, 
will, before long, prove itself a servant, perhaps, 
wafting our air-carriages here and there. It is 
true that the forces of nature sometimes kill men 
by scores and hundreds ; but, in the long run, na- 
ture is on our side, not against us. 

It is important to know this friendly character 
of the world, for this reason: no man is ever half 
a man if he is all the while afraid. I used to be 
afraid of the wind at night. I used to be afraid 
of the dark; I am ashamed to confess it. The 
little room up-stairs where I slept was very far 
away from the rest of the family. I used to be 

afraid of a dozen or more things, and suffered 
accordingly, until I took a good look at them. 
Then, one day, fear suddenly left me. Since then 
all these supposed enemies have seemed to me like 
old friends. If we run from such things, we will 
always fear them; if we look at them, we will no 
longer do so. It reminds one of the story told 
of a great general in our Civil War. Speaking of 
a certain battle, some one asked him if he was not 
very much afraid. "Yes," he replied, "I was. 
But the lucky thing was, I did n't run away !" 

That 's the whole secret ! To be afraid, and 
yet not run away ! That is bravery ! To look at 
the world, and make it our friend by standing 
still, right at our post. And all this we can apply 
to people as well as to things. There are evil 
men in the world, but, after all, there are a great 
many more who want to do us good than there 
are who want to do us harm. Beside which, evil 
men are always cowardly, and the best thing to 
do is to look them in the face and say, "I am not 
afraid." It then becomes their turn to run away. 
I have seen them do it. 

Another thing to learn about this world is that 
it was here, most of it at least, and running along 
comfortably, before we came to it. Most of us 
seem to think that we must make it all over again. 
We waste many years trying to rebuild it. Now, 
of course, we must change things about us as we 
go along, but we can do that for the better only 
when we realize that much has been very well 
done without our help. It does n't do to be al- 
ways criticizing. Good men have worked in all 
past ages, and we are their heirs. So a wise man 
or boy must always look behind him as well as 
before him. Old books, old stories, old ways, old 
lessons of honesty, and old thoughts of goodness, 
many of these have been tried and found worthy. 
We cannot afford to throw them all away, even 
though we may hope to add something of our own 
to them. 

Yes, it was a world, an old world, before we 
came ; and we ought to learn some of its old les- 
sons, be ready to listen to the past, before we get 
on very far in it. Of course, we want our own 
new enthusiasm, and our fresh eyes to see things 
for ourselves, but we must also link up with all 
that the world can tell us about itself. 

And if we use our eyes rightly, I think we must 
next see that, though the world is old, it is not yet 
complete. No matter how much has been done, 
there is much yet to be done. It will never do to 



say, "Everything is finished. I have no chance ; 
and I have no responsibility." Each of us has a 
responsibility, and we cannot get rid of it. If I 
fail in my place, or you in yours, we make a spot 
of failure in the world. 

And the world is not complete yet. I have still 
a chance, as good a chance as the very first man 
had. I have a responsibility. In this sense, the 
world is not finished, but brand-new, almost as if 
it waited for me to come and do my part. One 
of the saddest things is to feel that the world 
does not need us; to feel "out of place," as we 
say. But no person is out of place who realizes 
how much in this old world still remains to be 

done. The United States would never have been 
the United States except for the minute-men of 
Lexington. The world will not even continue to 
be as good as it is now unless we are world "min- 
ute-men," ready, at short notice, to step out and 
fight in the places of those who fall or pass on. 

These are some of the things that seem very 
plain about the world we live in. It is, first of all, 
a friendly world. Then it is a world with a past 
that I must listen to and heed. And then it is a 
world with a great future, that depends upon me 
and asks me to do my best for it. 

Like Abraham Lincoln, let us sign ourselves, 
"Yours to count on." 


BY F. F. H. 

A hard-up band of vacation spenders wanted 
something to do. Therefore the "plotter" laid a 
plot. With pencil and bits of paper he wandered 
about, keeping "shy" of the rest, till at last he 
announced he knew where there was "buried 

The mention of buried treasure at once aroused 
interest. "What?" "Where?" they asked. But 
he would not say what it was nor where it lay. 
He offered, instead, to help them on their way 
toward finding it by giving them a few clues. . 

The clue "to begin with" was simply a sprig of 
hawthorn which he presented to the searchers. 
Of course they all went straightway to the little 
hawthorn-tree stand- 
ing in the yard. In a 
few moments they dis- 
covered well up in the 
branches, where some 
of the tallest of them 
could just reach, a bit 
of gray paper stuck 
upon a long thorn. 
Opening the folded 
paper, they found a sketch done roughly with 
pencil (Fig. i). They took this to be a swing, 
and knowing where such a swing was hung, went 
and examined it. Sure enough ! on the under 
Vol. XXXIX.— 90. 

side of the board was a similar gray paper clue 
fastened with a pin. 
This time the clue showed the drawing of a 

bridge (Fig. 2). 


C, An D 


The only bridge 
like that was a 
quarter of a mile 
away, but off they 
went up the creek 
till the bridge 
was reached and 
every crack in its 
planking examined, as well as even the crev- 
ices of its abutments searched. At last in a 
hole behind a loose stone appeared the welcome 
gray paper (it was always the same color), which 
led them a step farther in the hunt. This step 
was a long v 

one, for it V. 3 

carried them 
back almost to 
the starting- 
place, since 
they thought 
they recog- 
nized the hammock (Fig. 3). 

But they found there were two hammocks very 
much alike on neighboring verandas, so that a 



search of both had to be made. Then while one 
division of the party looked in vain for the gray 
slip, the others whooped the announce- 
ment from the veranda they had in- 
vaded that it was found (pinned to the 
back of the valence of the hammock), 
and all got together quickly to try to 
make out whose portrait (Fig. 4) had 
been discovered. 

The drawing — as one may judge — 
gave a good chance for guessing, but 
finally the man whom the majority 
thought the victim was surrounded and 
"held up" till out of a hip pocket came "' 
the telltale clue. By this (Fig. 5) they were di- 
rected to a certain tree, from the tree to a closed 


shutter on a near-by house (Fig. 6), until they 
found the last bit of gray paper inclosing, in place 
of a drawing, a pinch of sand with a wild-rose 
blossom and a spray of sumac leaves. 

The sandy beach was tramped back and forth 
till a wild rose and sumac were found together. 
In their shade was a spot where the sand had 
evidently been lately disturbed. Digging down 
at this point, a box was soon uncovered. In this 


box was still another box wrapped in the fancy 
paper of a confectionery-store, on which was in- 
scribed : 

The boy who first reached the spot and located 
the "treasure" sat down beside the hole and 
waited till all had gathered and "had a look" be- 
fore opening the inner box. Then the contents 
were divided. There was truly nothing over — 
except the hunt. 



I wonder if you have ever heard 
Of the queer, little, dismal Whiney-bird, 
As black as a crow, as glum as an owl,— 
A most peculiar kind of a fowl? 
He is oftenest seen on rainy days, 
When children are barred from outdoor plays; 
When the weather is bright and the warm sun shines, 
Then he flies far away, to the gloomy pines. 
Dreary-looking, indeed, is his old black cloak, 
And his voice is the dismallest kind of a croak, 
And his whiney cry makes the whole house blue,— 
"There 's nothing to do-00 ! there 's nothing to do-00 ! 
Did you ever meet this doleful bird? 
He 's found where the children are, I 've heard. 
Now, who can he be ? It can't be you. 
But who is the Whiney-bird? Who-oo? Who-oo? 


'LOW bridge! low bridge! 



Chapter VIII 


About the same time the girls were nearing home, 
the boys at Beaver Camp were assembling to 
sample the specimens of camp fare which the 
amateur cooks provided. 

"This business of sprawling around here on the 
grass to eat, is highly informal, no doubt," Bert 
remarked; "but what are you going to do when 
it rains?" 

"We must build some sort of shelter around 
our fire," the doctor replied. "We 'd better have 
two fires— one for cooking purposes in the rear 
of the bungalow, with a protection over it, and a 
wind-shield, another out in the open, to be lighted 
after dark for warmth and cheer. On stormy 
nights, we '11 kindle a fire in the big fireplace over 
there in the corner of the assembly-room, and 
make a cozy place of it." 

"Yes, that 's all right, but how about us ?" Bert 
persisted. "I was n't thinking of the fire. When 
it rains, where shall we eat?" 

"Oh, we '11 take our meals inside," Tom told him. 

"You generally take 'em inside, don't you?" 
Lefty chuckled. "How about a dining-room table 
and chairs? A few luxuries would n't hurt us." 

"We can make a table out of those packing- 
boxes that our things came in," Eliot suggested. 
"They would give us plenty of material." 

"Sure ! Every time we want to make it bigger, 
we '11 just add a box. Then it '11 be a kind of 
multiplication table. But if you sit on the floor 
and eat off a box, don't you think it will be just a 
trifle awkward? Don't let me discourage you at 
all. I 'm willing to sit on the box and eat off 
the floor, if it gets to be stylish up here. I only 
mention the matter because it lies very close to 
my heart," and Lefty concluded with a comical 
flourish which drew howls of merriment from the 

"There 's a sawmill over at North Rutland," 
Tad observed. "Why not get some planed boards 
and make a few benches ? Neighbor Pettingill 
can bring 'em over with the cots and trunks, and 
we could put 'em together, easy enough." 

"We ought to have something to sit on," Bert 
asserted vigorously. "We may have visitors some 
time, and you would n't want to ask them to sit on 
a trunk" or a barrel." 

"If we have some visitors I know of, we may 
have to sit on you," Lefty reminded him. "For 
instance, Mr. Cjax Cat may call." 

"I was n't thinking of Cjax," Bert protested. 




Finally it was agreed that some one should 
visit North Rutland the next day, and order 
enough lumber to make several benches for the 
comfort and convenience of the campers and 
their possible guests. 

The cots had not arrived at nine o'clock, so the 
party sought Tad's camp beds laid out on the 
piazza floor. The night was warm and still. 
There was no moon, and the dark shadows of the 
woods seemed to shut the bungalow in on every 

Edgar Sherman did not know how long he had 
been asleep, when suddenly he opened his eyes 
and looked about him. Perhaps a muscle had be- 
come cramped ; perhaps a bad dream had aroused 
him; perhaps some unusual noise had disturbed 
his slumber. Whatever the cause, he awoke with 
a start, and seemed vaguely conscious of some- 
thing amiss. 

He raised himself on one elbow and looked up 
and down the piazza. As far as he could see, 
each camper was in his place, some sleeping 
quietly, others restless, but asleep nevertheless. 

Then he sat up to survey the grounds. No- 
thing unusual there, except— what was that light, 
gleaming for an instant along the path to the 
lake, then becoming invisible, only to shine out 
again? It must be a lightning-bug; but, no! the 
fireflies darted hither and thither, and, by con- 
trast, their glowing lights were dim. As Edgar 
watched, the mysterious light moved, as if sig- 
naling to some one in the bungalow. What could 
it mean? 

He crept to the end of the piazza and peered 
into the dark shadows beyond. Involuntarily, he 
gasped in astonishment. There was another light, 
so like the first that it might have been a dupli- 
cate. It gleamed and signaled from the dense 
blackness of the woods near the camp road. 

For a minute, Edgar was paralyzed with be- 
wilderment, and stood staring at the uncanny 
swinging of these strange signal-lights. Then a 
novel plan suddenly suggested itself, and he 
quietly disappeared inside the house. 

Hurrying through the hall and out of the back 
door, he found that a pile of glowing embers still 
remained in the trench dug for the camp-fire. A 
few of these he hastily transferred to a small 
pan, using two pieces of wood as a pair of tongs. 
He stopped in the house only long enough to 
grasp two objects, shaped like cylinders, and then 
returned to the piazza. 

Yes, the two lights could still be seen. Now 
they were drawing closer together and nearer the 
bungalow. Onward they came, slowly, uncer- 
tainly, nearer, ever nearer ! Now stealthy foot- 
steps could be heard; now a cautious whisper 

reached Edgar's ears ; now the lights stopped less 
than ten yards away. 

Edgar held one of the cylinders over the pan, 
close to the red-hot coals. Then, rising quickly, 
he hurled it toward the lights. 

There was a sharp, sudden explosion, two dis- 
tinct cries of terror, a crash, a sound of breaking 
glass. Then the intruders could be heard running 

The explosion rudely awakened the campers, 
and Edgar was surrounded by an eager group of 
blanket-clad forms, all talking and questioning 
at once. He told them of the invasion of their 
premises, of his discovery of the intruders, and 
of his suddenly formed plan to discomfit them. 
Some of the boys had purchased a few fireworks 
to celebrate the Fourth of July, which was close 
at hand. Edgar knew where the giant crackers 
had been placed for safe-keeping, and, in this 
emergency, had thought of using one to hurl at 
the trespassers. In the stillness, the explosion 
had sounded like the bursting of a bomb. Little 
wonder, then, that the intruders were so terrified 
that they fled at top speed, leaving behind them a 
broken lantern. 

Of course, the camp was now thoroughly 
awake, and excited comments fell from the lips of 
one and another of the boys. 

"You say one came up from the lake, Ed?" 
cried Lefty. "Let 's have a lantern ! I '11 go 
down and investigate if somebody '11 come along. 
Who '11 go with me?" 

No one cared to volunteer. The shock of sud- 
den awakening, and the sensational news graph- 
ically and excitedly told by Edgar, had, just for 
a moment, stricken them with the paralysis of 
panic. Then a voice cried: 

"I '11 go with you, Lefty !" 

The boys were dumfounded. It was Cousin 
Willie ! 

"All right, kid ! Put on your shoes, and come 

Some one had brought a lighted lantern, and 
this Lefty took. Waiting only long enough to 
slip on their shoes and wrap their blankets about 
them, the two boys hurried out into the dark- 
shadows. Then Willie discovered that he had his 
right foot in his left shoe, and his right shoe on 
his left foot; but he was too excited to pay much 
attention to the discomfort. 

They made as little noise as possible, and kept 
close together as they hurried down the path, 
now colliding with a tree when they failed to 
notice a turn, now stumbling over some obstruc- 
tion, but keeping steadily on until, finally, they 
stood on the landing. 

Leftv flashed the lantern around, but there was 




only one thing that betrayed the presence of the 
marine division of the invaders. To one of the 
little posts on the landing a piece of rope was 
tied securely. Inspection of the end showed that 
the rope had been cut with a sharp knife, a little 
more than a foot below the post. 

"He 's gone, Willie!" Lefty cried. "Listen! 
Maybe we can hear something." 

Faintly, over the water, came a sound of 
splashing oars, growing ever more distant. 

"H-m-m ! He can't get away fast enough !" 
Lefty chuckled. "Say, kid, you had your nerve 
with you all right to come down here in the dark 
with me. I noticed that none of the others were 
specially eager to come." 

"I guess the doctor would have gone with you, 
Lefty, but he did n't know anything about it," 
Willie made answer. "He and Tad were looking 
for that other man." 

Lefty could hear Willie's teeth chattering now, 
and his voice trembled as he formed the words, 
though he tried hard to control it. 

"Well, you get the credit, anyhow," Lefty ob- 
served approvingly. "I think you deserve promo- 
tion, kid. Hereafter, I 'm not going to call you 
Willie or Cousin Willie. From this time for- 
ward, I christen thee Bill !" 

Cousin Willie was so overcome that his terror 
was banished, and he gasped in pleased surprise. 
This honor meant more to him just then than a 
doctor's degree, and he felt well repaid for forc- 
ing himself to appear courageous at a time when 
really he was quaking with fear. 

"Will you, Lefty?" cried the delighted boy. 
"I 'd like it ever so much if you would; but I 'm 
afraid I was n't very brave. I was awfully 
scared coming down here." 

"So was I," Lefty cheerfully confessed. "You 
can't help getting scared sometimes, Bill, but a 
gritty fellow '11 pull himself together and do what 
he thinks ought to be done, even if he is scared 

"You said you 'd stick to me, Lefty, and I 
was n't going to have you come down here all 
alone when I could risk it just as well as you." 

"Good for you, Bill ! You 've made a fine 
start ! You 've got all the fellows sitting up and 
taking notice. Keep it up, and you '11 surprise 
yourself. See if you don't !" 

And the boy mentally resolved that he would. 

Returning to the bungalow, the pair reported 
the discovery of the rope, and this added a new 
bit of sensation to the chronicle of the invasion. 

There was little more sleep in Beaver Camp 
that night, but the sun rose early, and made the 
restless period of waiting seem shorter. As soon 
as it was light enough, the boys explored the 

grounds, hoping to find some further clue to the 
identity of their unbidden guests ; but nothing 
could be discovered except broken pieces of the 

The bright sunlight and the quiet, peaceful 
atmosphere of early morning in a measure calmed 
their fears. They began to think that the in- 
truders came with a purpose mischievous rather 
than malicious. They fancied that possibly the 
parties responsible for the peculiar appearance 
of Cjax might have returned to regain the cat 
and play some further trick on the unsuspecting 
campers. At any rate, the headlong, precipitate 
flight of the trespassers proved that they were 
badly frightened, and the boys believed that they 
would not soon venture upon property so vigi- 
lantly guarded and so noisily protected. 

This was the day that had been set apart for 
work on the athletic field, and, after an early 
breakfast, the transformation was attempted* It 
was an ambitious undertaking to convert a rough 
clearing into a base-ball diamond, with possi- 
bilities of basket-ball, tennis, and a running 
track ; but the boys were determined to overcome 
the natural obstacles, and this seemed to assure 

It was hard work— digging, leveling removing 
rocks and stones, cutting down bushes, and try- 
ing with a sickle to get rid of the tall grass. 
They were glad to stop at half-past ten, and 
plunge into the lake to cool off, and to gain rest 
and refreshment from the change in exercise. 

They went to work again after dinner, for it 
seemed as if only a beginning had been made 
during the morning. Tad and Lefty were ex- 
cused, having announced their intention of visit- 
ing the sawmill at North Rutland to purchase 
lumber for the benches. 

"It 's hot here in the sun," Lefty declared when 
they were on the main highway. "Let 's cut 
through those woods. It '11 be cooler, and it 
looks as if we 'd come out again on the road. 
See ! it bends around just the way the woods 

Climbing over a rickety rail fence, they en- 
tered the woods and walked along in the shade. 
At first, they tried to keep the road in sight, but 
finding this difficult, they decided on what was 
believed to be a parallel course, and held to that. 
Presently the trees became more scattered, and 
the boys could see fields beyond. A barbed-wire 
fence barred their progress now, but they 
scrambled through, each holding the wires apart 
for the other to crawl between. Once on the 
other side, however, no trace of the road was 

"Oh, it 's just over here a little way," Tad said, 




halting and pointing to the right. "I wonder 
what that thing is over yonder." 

Lefty looked at it a minute, then suggested, 
"Maybe it 's a ruined castle, Tad, like those they 
build on the Rhine to make it romantic." 

"Ruined mill, more likely ! or maybe the ruins 
of a fort. You know this is revolutionary country 
all through here, and that could easily be an old 
fort, or some such thing. Let 's take a look at it." 

The building in question had been constructed 
of brick and appeared to have been partially de- 
stroyed by fire. Its blackened and crumbling 
walls and gaping window openings were almost 
completely covered with ivy, which shielded their 
bare ugliness, and softened the appearance of ex- 
treme desolation. 

The boys changed their course and approached 
the building. Suddenly, a dog sprang out, bark- 
ing and growling angrily. Close behind him came 
a man almost as savage in appearance. He held 
a heavy stick in his hand, and as he approached 
the boys, he shouted excitedly, 

"Get out of here ! get out of here !" 

Chapter IX 


enemy's COUNTRY 

The boys were so startled at the sudden appear- 
ance of these savage guardians of the ruins, that 
they neither moved nor spoke. The dog halted 
within a yard of their feet, growling in a man- 
ner most trying to the nerves, while the man 
flourished his club wildly, meanwhile shouting 
commands to leave the premises, and threats of 
dire vengeance if they presumed to delay their 

Presently Tad found his voice. 

"We are trying to reach North Rutland," he 
said in a pacific tone. "Will you be kind enough 
to tell us how to reach the road? We seem to 
have lost our way." 

"We did n't know that we were trespassing on 
your land," Lefty added. "We got off the road, 
and now we 're trying to get back to it again. 
We 're not trying to steal your — er— your dog. 
All we want is to get to North Rutland." 

The man looked suspiciously at them, and re- 
mained silent for a moment. Then he spoke 
sharply to the dog, and abruptly turned back 
toward the ruins, his canine companion reluc- 
tantly following. 

"Thank you !" Lefty called after him. 

The man swung around and strode toward him, 
while Lefty held his ground and faced him de- 
fiantly. When about four feet from the boys, the 
hermit stopped and raised his club menacingly. 

"What did you say?" he snarled angrily. 

"I merely desired to assure you of our appre- 
ciation of your great kindness in directing us 
toward North Rutland," Lefty replied calmly. 
"Not many men, I fear, would have taken so 
much trouble for strangers." 

The hermit stared at him a moment, as if he 
had failed to understand. Then he pointed toward 
a fence in the distance, and said roughly : 

"See that fence? Just keep following that till 
you get to the road. Now clear out ! If you 
come sneaking around here again, you '11 wish 
that you 'd stayed home !" 

"We do now," Lefty muttered. 

"And if you tell anybody that you found me 
here— well, I '11 make you wish you 'd kept still. 
Get along, now !" 

"Au revoir," Tad responded, bowing politely. 
"Very glad to have had the pleasure of meeting 
you, sir !" 

They turned away then, keeping a sharp look- 
out for the dog, and tried to cross the field at a 
pace swift enough to be prudent, though not so 
rapid as to suggest flight. 

Several times they looked back, and each time 
found the monarch of the ruins watching them, 
the dog, meanwhile, crouched near him. The 
two figures scarcely moved as long as the boys 
remained in sight, and they could almost imagine 
that they still heard the savage growl of the 
four-footed sentinel. 

"Pleasant man to meet," Lefty ventured, after 
a little. 

"Extremely ! so amiable and sweet-tempered ! 
But, really, I think he 's crazy, Lefty. That 's 
the reason I spoke gently to him. I 've heard 
that it 's better to humor an insane person." 

"I don't believe he 's been humored much. He 
did n't seem specially humorous. Do you think 
the dog was loony, too ?" 

"Sure ! he had the same wild look in his eyes." 

"And the same pleasant voice. I don't know 
what 's going to become of us, Tad. We lease a 
camp, pay our hard-earned ducats in advance for 
it, and arrive on the spot to find a sign warning 
us not to land. We arrange to have our stuff 
lugged over from the railroad station, and lo ! it 
appeareth in the woods. We lay us down in 
peace to sleep, and behold ! stealthy stealers steal 
stealthily upon us. We go splashing in the lake, 
and find that Cjax mysteriously cometh among 
us. We walk peacefully through the verdant 
meadows, and a crazy man with a loony dog sort 
of hints that our presence is undesirable. The 
strain is awful ! and just think — we 've been here 
only one full day and parts of two others ! What 
will become of us before ten weeks roll around?" 




"I can see where we all have to take refuge in 
a sanatorium," Tad gloomily predicted. "Is n't 
our life quiet and restful up here? No noise, no 
excitement, just a peaceful, drowsy, monotonous 
existence — not !" 

After a little, they found that the hermit had 
correctly informed them, for, by following the 
fence which he pointed out, they came presently 
upon the road to North Rutland. The hot after- 
noon sun blazed down upon the highway with 
almost no shade to relieve the heat, and the light 
breeze felt like the hot blast of a furnace. 

The boys did not feel inclined to hurry, so it 
was mid-afternoon when they reached the rail- 
way-station. Wandering over to the freight- 
house, they hailed with delight -a dozen long, flat 
bundles, tied in burlap wrappings and consigned 
NORTH RUTLAND, VT." These were the 
much-desired cots. 

Neighbor Pettingill announced his intention of 
bringing the cots, and the two trunks not yet de- 
livered, over to Beaver Camp the next morning, 
and they quite easily persuaded him to add to 
his load such lumber as they would need for half 
a dozen benches. 

Next they visited the sawmill. 

"We want board, Tad," Lefty whispered, "but 
not table-board. Don't let the man get mixed up 
and charge us for table-board when we want it 
for benches." 

"When you 're buying lumber, you have to 
plank down your money in advance/' Tad re- 
sponded; and Lefty collapsed. 

Having bought their supplies, they prepared to 
return to Beaver Camp. 

"Do you suppose they sell ice-cream or soda- 
water in this benighted place?" Lefty asked, 
looking up and down the village street. "I 'd like 
a banana split or a maple-nut frappe." 

"Maybe they sell ice-cream at the feed store," 
Tad responded doubtfully; "but don't go to call- 
ing for any of those fancy mixtures. If you do, 
the natives '11 think you 're trying to make fun 
of them. Where shall we go— to the tinsmith's 
or the shoemaker's?" 

"Not much variety to confuse us. There 's 
only the railway-station, the general store, the 
sawmill, the feed store, and the two industrious 
citizens you mentioned. Let 's tackle the general 

This shop displayed ancient confectionery in a 
glass case, and sold root-beer, ginger-ale, sarsa- 
parilla, and birch-beer in bottles (eight cents 
each, and a rebate of two cents for the return of 
the bottle), but the beverages were not kept on 
ice, so Tad and Lefty decided to forego them. 

Just as they turned away from the counter, 
two young men entered the store, and the boys 
had a good view of them. Their clothing and 
manner betrayed the fact that they were not na- 
tives of any farming district. Indeed, they ap- 
peared like college students, enjoying a summer 

One of the young men, turning suddenly, dis- 
covered the scrutiny of the two boys. For a mo- 
ment, he appeared startled, then abruptly turned 
his back and became much interested in the 
wares displayed for sale. 

Tad and Lefty walked slowly out of the door. 
Once on the piazza, they looked back, and found 
both youths watching them with very apparent 

"Well, I hope they '11 know us when they see 
us again," was Tad's comment, and Lefty re- 
sponded : 

"I wonder how those fellows come into the 
family. They seemed surprised to see us, and 
terribly interested in something connected with 
us. Well, I 'm shock-proof, now ! Nothing that 
happens hereafter will upset me in the least. 
Mysteries are getting to be every-day affairs." 

"Maybe that crazy old hermit was one of those 
fellows in disguise," Tad laughed. 

"Sure! maybe the other fellow was the dog!" 

Several other theories, some more sensible, 
some equally ridiculous, were advanced during 
the homeward trip. They discussed the hermit, 
too, without reaching an agreement as to his 
sanity. Tad thought him crazy; Lefty believed 
he was only surly and ugly. Neither had con- 
clusive proof, so each held to his original idea. 

They agreed to say nothing about their ad- 
venture, except to their fellow-campers, and as it 
was now close to supper-time, they postponed the 
recital of their experiences until the big camp- 
fire was lighted and all had gathered around it. 

Then, with all the dramatic power of which 
they were capable, Lefty and Tad related their 
adventures, concluding by telling their com- 
panions of the peculiar interest which a certain 
pair of young men had taken in them, at the 
general store in North Rutland. 

To say. that the boys were excited is express- 
ing the situation very conservatively. 

"What kind of a dog was it, Lefty?" Charlie 
asked, after the first torrent of questions and ex- 
clamations had spent its force. 

"A character like that would, of course, have a 
little black-and-tan," was the bland response. 

"But we were afraid of turning black and 
blue," Tad supplemented. "It looked dangerously 
like it when those two brutes got after us. It 
was a big dog, Charlie. Also it was a fierce dog. 




Also, I think it was a cross between a wolf and 
an elephant— very cross, in fact." 

"What do you suppose the old fellow does out 
there in the wilderness?" Walter asked curiously. 

"Maybe he 's one of the witches of 'Macbeth,' 
and the dog 's another." 

"Yes, but there were three ! Where 's the 
third witch?" 

"Give it up ! attending a dress rehearsal, may- 
hap," was the reply. 

"I wonder if he really is crazy." 

"He certainly acted crazy/' Tad affirmed. "He 
had a wild, vacant look in his eyes, and you 
ought to have seen how worked up he got when 
we did n't clear out just as soon as he told us to." 

"He may be crazy," Lefty admitted; "but it 
seemed to me that he was more ugly than batty. 
Perhaps he acted in that wild, loony way just to 
make us think he had wheels in his head. I be- 
lieve the old fellow has something out there that 
he does n't want anybody to see. He keeps this 
dog— a great, big, savage brute— and it 's not 
likely that anybody would go near the place while 
he was around. Perhaps he has a wonderful in- 
vention that he 's half crazy about, and does n't 
want anybody to steal his ideas. That would n't 
be anything very unusual." 

"Sure ! he may be building an aeroplane." 

"That 's right ! He seemed to go up in the air 
when he saw us coming." 

"I 'd like to find out what he 's up to," Jack 
ventured eagerly. "I wonder if we could coax 
the dog away, and explore those ruins." 

Lefty looked doubtful. "Perhaps you could, 
but I 'm afraid the dog will be a hard animal to 
coax, Jack. He seems to have very positive 
ideas— dogged determination, I suppose. If you 
attempt to persuade him to leave the premises, I 
advise you to do it by telephone." 

"Send him a wireless, Jack," Edgar suggested. 
"Fling a thought-wave at him." 

"Climb up into a tree and make a noise like 
the bark to attract his attention," Bert added. 
"Do you suppose he sleeps nights?" 

"Maybe he does," Tad replied, "but it would n't 
surprise me a bit to hear that he walked in his 
sleep. I 'd hate to fall over him in the dark. He 
has a peevish, fretful manner, and his society 
would be most unpleasant after such an acci- 

"I 'd like to have a look at the place," Tom ob- 
served. "I 'm curious to know what the old fel- 
low is doing out there in the wilderness." 

"It 's our duty to call on him," Charlie added. 
"He 's one of our neighbors, and we ought to 
get acquainted with him. I wonder it did n't 
occur to you to ask him if he had reception days." 

"Considering the dog, had n't we better call at 
night?" Lefty inquired. "An evening call at nine 
or ten would be quite dressy. I think we shall find 
him in, and if he and the dog are asleep, of course 
we won't be rude enough to disturb them." 

"Why not go to-night?" Tom urged. "We 're 
all worked up to it now, and if we put it off, 
likely as not the doctor won't let us go, or some- 
body '11 back out and break up the party. Let 's 
start now ! it '11 be dark when we get there." 

"By the way, where is the doctor?" Eliot 
asked. "I have n't seen him since supper." 

"Gone up to see Mrs. Spencer. She sent for 
him to come at some convenient time, and he lit 
out as soon as we finished eating. Did n't you 
notice how he was fixed up ? Tell you what ! 
Purple and fine linen are n't in it with the doctor 
on dress-parade." 

"I wish I had a chance," Jack groaned. "All 
you fellows have your fixings, but my trunk has 
been gathering dust over there in North Rutland, 
waiting for Neighbor Pettingill to get ready to 
bring it over. It 's a good thing I had some stuff 
in my suitcase, or I 'd look like a scarecrow." 

"Far be it from me to hint at anything like 
that," Lefty retorted. "I have wondered why 
the pretty crows with their musical voices passed 
us by, but Jack has suggested the reason." 

"Crows go for the corn, and we have n't any." 

"Have n't we? You look in the kitchen closet, 
Jacko ! I saw a whole can of corn on the shelf 
this afternoon." 

"What were you doing in the kitchen closet?" 

"Oh— er— why, I just looked in to see if there 
was anything needed in North Rutland; but 
we 've decided to do our shopping across the 
lake, hereafter, have n't we, Tad?" 

"Sure!" was the good-natured response. 
"They don't sell ice-cream, or banana splits, or 
maple-nut frappes, or cantaloup sundaes in North 

"Of course not!" Tom exclaimed indignantly. 
"They sell wholesome food, like beans, and flour, 
and peppermint sticks. You have n't any money 
to waste on those fizzy things, Tad. You '11 need 
it before the summer is over." 

"That 's the worst of having a little brother," 
Tad complained. "He lets out all the family 
secrets. Besides, proud critic, I have financial 
resources that you know not. I have this day 
sold unto Cousin Willie a two-cent stamp and a 
postal card, receiving therefor three cents in 
cash," and Tad rattled the coins triumphantly in 
his pocket. 

"Be good and we '11 give you some ice-cream 
to-morrow," Tom promised. "It '11 be the Fourth 
of July, and we 're going to celebrate." 




"Well, I hope old 'Zekiel Pettingill will cele- 
brate by bringing my trunk over," Jack com- 
plained. "This costume is getting a bit monot- 

"Cheer up, Jack," Lefty remarked consolingly. 
"When you have only one suit, you don't have to 
worry about what you '11 put on. It might be lots 
worse ! Just suppose you were sailing over the 
briny deep to visit the crowned heads of Europe, 

that way." But Eliot, too intent on his subject 
to notice Tad's nonsense, shook his head doubt- 
fully as he responded: "I was just planning for 
straight, plain benches, extra strong." 

"And extra soft?" Lefty inquired. 

"Why— er— no ! Who ever heard of soft 
benches? Such luxury would n't be good for us, 
I 'm afraid." 

"Well, are we going over to call on our mys- 


with your baggage on a different steamer. I 've 
heard of such tragedies." 

Jack sighed and shook his head. "I could be 
cheerful, too, Lefty, if your outfit was missing," 
he declared. "It 's lots easier to bear trials philo- 
sophically when they strike some one else." 

"Now, Jacko ! You know that your tender 
heart would be wrung with pity if I was minus 
clothes," Lefty remonstrated. 

"Speaking of being without things reminds 
me of our furniture," Eliot remarked. "Did you 
get the boards for those benches while you were 
at the hustling metropolis?" 

"Oh, yes," Tad assured him. "Can't we make 
them up in the mission style, Eliot? It would be 
really 'dressy' to have the bungalow furnished 
Vol. XXXIX. -91. 

terious neighbor?" Tom demanded, after a little. 
"It 's quarter-past eight now. If we 're going, 
we ought to get started." 

"So say we all of us !" Tad agreed. "Get the 
lanterns and any other trappings of war which 
the camp can furnish. Then let us sally forth to 
fling the gage of battle before yonder brave 
knight of the ivy-clad castle." 

"Yonder dark night !" Bert grunted. "Do you 
know the way, you two? It '11 be dark as tar 
pretty soon." 

"Aye, follow the trusty guide !" Lefty an- 
nounced, with a dramatic flourish. "We will 
be in yonder moated grange (whatever that is) 
before the stars that wink in yonder sky have 
marked the passing of another hour." 



They walked rapidly along the camp road, and 
followed the highway at a brisk pace in the 
gathering darkness until they came to the place 
where Tad and Lefty had regained it after their 
encounter with the hermit and his doe. The two 


(SEE PAGE 718.) 

boys had carefully noted this spot for possible 
future reference. 

Here they turned, climbed over a stone wall, 
and, with lanterns unlighted, crept along in the 
shadows. No one ventured to speak, and if some 
hearts were beating faster than usual, perhaps 
it was only reasonable to expect such a coin- 

cidence with the exciting venture which claimed 
their attention. 

Tad and Lefty were in the lead, the others 
following close behind. All at once the guides 
stopped, and pointed across the fence. 

The others looked in the 
direction indicated, and could 
dimly see a dark mass off in 
the middle of the field be- 
yond. It was the ivy-clad 

Silently and quietly, they 
climbed over the fence and 
cautiously approached the 
abode of the mysterious her- 
mit. Not a sound betrayed 
the presence either of man or 
dog, and the boys grew bolder 
as they advanced. Now they 
were close to the walls. 

Cousin Willie had an elec- 
tric pocket-lamp that dis- 
played a bright light when a 
button was pressed, so Lefty 
mounted the smaller boy on 
his shoulders, directing him 
to look inside the nearest 
window and see what was 

Determined to appear brave, 
although he really was much 
frightened, the boy steadied 
himself against the wall, and 
took from his pocket the elec- 
tric flash-lamp. His hand 
trembled violently, but it was 
so dark that the boys could 
not see his agitation, for 
which Willie was thankful. 

The wall was thicker than 
from the outside it appeared to 
be, so Willie stepped up on the 
broad bottom of the window 
opening, and edged forward, 
feeling his way carefully. 

The bricks and mortar had 
been there for many years, 
and even his slight weight 
was more than could be sus- 
tained. While the boys waited eagerly for the 
flash of his lamp, and nerved themselves for any 
sensational result that might follow, they heard 
a sudden cracking, crumbling sound, a fright- 
ened cry, and a soft, dull thud. 

At once they realized what had happened : 
Cousin Willie had fallen inside the ruins ! 

{To be continued.) 



Princess Mary of England is probably the best- 
loved little princess in the world to-day. Not 
only is the princess adored by her people through- 
out the country, the beloved sister of five brothers, 
and the idol of the court circle, but, as the only 
daughter, she is specially dear to the king and 
queen. So it is rather surprising that, instead of 
being a spoiled, ill-tempered, exacting princess, 
impressed with her own importance to the ex- 
clusion of everything else, she should remain, in 
spite of all this adulation, a bright, jolly, and un- 
affected girl. 

A few years ago, when Edward, Prince of 
Wales, her elder brother, started off to school, 
Princess Mary, with tears in her eyes, begged her 
mother to allow her to go to boarding-school also, 
but the queen could not make up her mind to give 
her consent. She did arrange, however, to have 
her daughter with her as much as possible, so 
that, after all, Mary is not as lonely as she feared 
she would be, as, one by one, her brothers are 
sent off to various institutions to complete their 

King George, too, devotes a great deal of time 
to his little daughter. He gave her her first rid- 
ing lessons not long ago, and, when she had 
mastered the art of sitting her horse well, of 
galloping, trotting, and jumping, he presented her 
with the most beautiful chestnut pony for her 
very own. 

Until two .years ago, Princess Mary was a 
genuine tomboy. She used to declare that she 
hated being a girl, and she insisted' upon taking 
part in all her brothers' games and sports. The 
Prince of Wales pronounced her a "first-class 
cricketer," and the younger boys admitted that 
she could beat them as a fast runner, or even as a 
high jumper. In those days the princess used to 
weep bitterly when she was summoned indoors to 
hem or knit, to practise scales on the piano, or to 
have an hour's French or German conversation 
with her governesses. She behaved much like 
any other small girl on these occasions, if the 
truth must be told. Now, however, since her 
elder brothers are away most of the time, games 
have lost much of their charm for her, and she 
does not seem to mind the tasks which once 
caused her such anguish. She makes all sorts of 
useful garments for the poor, she is always 
sketching or painting little pictures for church 
fairs, and she does all the things her mother, 
grandmother, and great-grandmother did before 

her, and which are considered necessary to the 
development of an English princess. 

As a matter of fact, Her Royal Highness's days 
are pretty full, and she is not allowed many idle 
moments. She usually rises at seven and has a 
ride in Hyde Park, or around the grounds at 
Windsor, if the court is there. In very bad 
weather, however, she prepares, instead, some of 
her lessons at this early hour. She generally 
breakfasts with Queen Mary at half-past eight. 
At nine-thirty, she goes to the school-room, where 
she works till one. After luncheon, she does some 
sewing or painting, and the rest of the afternoon 
she spends with her mother, unless the queen has 
some public duty to perform in which the princess 
cannot take part. In the evening, she can play 
games with her little brothers, and parcheesi, lotto, 
and checkers are great favorites in the royal nur- 
sery. Sometimes she is taken to a concert, or 
sometimes she dines with her father and mother, 
and listens to music afterward in the queen's own 
private boudoir, where only the family and very 
intimate friends are admitted. 

Reading is Princess Mary's chosen pastime at 
present, and she would like to have more leisure 
for this than she is allowed. She does not care 
at all for girls' books, but loves tales of adven- 
ture — Henty, Ballantyne, and Rider Haggard are 
her favorite authors. Rather a curious selection 
for a sedate young damsel of fourteen. Poetry, 
too, has some charms for her, and only recently 
she got into trouble by reading in bed, long after 
she was supposed to be asleep, Tennyson's "Idylls 
of the King." Queen Mary happened to visit the 
children's rooms that night, and found her small 
daughter sitting up in bed, her yellow hair done 
in two tight braids, just as it had been prepared 
for the night, her cheeks flushed, and her blue 
eyes filled with tears for the woes of Elaine. As 
nursery rules and regulations are very strict at 
Buckingham Palace, Queen Mary took the book 
away, administered a fitting rebuke, and turned 
out the light, in spite of pleas from her daughter 
to be allowed to read "just one more page." Next 
day, there was an extra task added to the ordi- 
nary ones of the princess, for Queen Mary is not 
an over-indulgent mother, and the offense was a 
serious one in her eyes. 

Princess Mary has lovely, golden hair which 
waves and curls and will not stay pinned back or 
restrained in any way, but is always escaping 
from nets and ribbons. Her eyes are gray blue. 




Her face is very bright and animated when she is 
talking, and she has a charming, silvery laugh — 
just such a laugh as a princess in a fairy tale 
might have. She has a rather quick temper, but 
she tries hard to control it, and is always deeply 

Prince Albert. 

Prince Henry. 

him. She is exceedingly proud of him, talks of 
him continually, and writes to him every other 
day, eagerly awaiting his replies, which are not 
very prompt. As Edward is now away most of 
the time, preparing for his duties when he comes 

Edward, Prince of Wales. 

Prince John. Prince George. 

From photograph by W. & D. Downey, London, Eng". 

mortified whenever anger gets the best of her. 
Not long ago, she asked one of the officials of her 
mother's household to perform some small ser- 
vice for her. He answered that he would do as 
she desired as soon as he finished a task on which 
he was engaged. The princess became very im- 
patient, stamped her foot, and demanded that he 
should at once do as she wished. Queen Mary 
happened to be in the next room, and heard all 
that had taken place. She came at once and 

joined her daughter, saying quietly, "Mr. is 

here to serve me, not to wait upon naughty little 
girls who do not know how to behave themselves. 
Go to your room immediately and wait till I 

After a talk with her mother, the princess apol- 
ogized to the official for her rudeness. 

Of all her brothers, Mary is most fond of the 
Prince of Wales— "Eddie," as she always calls 

to the throne, Mary is thrown upon the compan- 
ionship of her younger brothers, and last summer 
in Scotland she learned Scottish dances with 
them, and also took up golf. The boys found 
great difficulty in mastering the difficult reels and 
foursomes— as a reel with four dancers is called 
— which are danced in the Highlands, but Prin- 
cess Mary enjoyed her lessons and learned 

Golf proved a joy to all the royal children. 
They played on the links at Balmoral, which have 
been specially laid out for them, and, as it was 
holiday time, they passed whole days following 
the little white ball. 

When Prince Albert first commenced the game, 
he begged Mary to come and watch him "drive 
off," so his sister took up her position near him 
and waited events. Prince Albert started with a 
tremendous flourish, but onlv hit the earth. He 




tried again and yet again, with the same result. 
At last he did move the ball about a foot. Prin- 
cess Mary watched him with her blue eyes danc- 
ing with mischief, and at last she said quietly, 
"Oh, Bertie dear, don't be so violent ! You will 
lose the ball if you are not careful." 

Certainly no one in all England enjoyed the 
coronation more than Princess Mary. She rode 
in a carriage with four of her brothers, and the 

must behave as such. When she put on her pretty, 
white coronation frock, her pale-blue velvet robe, 
and the coronet of her exalted rank, the princess 
was quite delighted, and nothing would do but 
she must make a tour of the palace and show her- 
self to her favorites in the royal household, be- 
fore getting into the state coach to drive through 
the streets to Westminster Abbey. 

On the whole, Princess Mary of England is a 

From photograph by Lafayette, Ltd., London, Eng. 

royal children were greeted with as much ap- 
plause as the king and queen themselves. Mary 
bowed right and left, and could be seen nudging 
her small brothers on the opposite seat, to remind 
them that they must bow to the crowds, and not 
get so interested in all around them as to forget 
that they, too, were a part of the pageant, and 

very fortunate girl, indeed, and considers that she 
has but one grievance in life — that she has no 
sister ; nor has she in England even any girl cous- 
ins of her own age, but Queen Mary has prom- 
ised her that she shall have some of the European 
princesses as guests at Buckingham Palace, a 
privilege, we may be sure, she will fully appreciate. 


(A sequel to " The Battle of Base-ball" ) 


Chapter I 


"Play ball!" 

With the first touch of the spring breezes, and 
often long before the frost is well out of the 
ground, a hundred thousand men and boys hunt 

spent in which he has not had a base-ball in his 
hands. And, if he be a true knight of the leather 
sphere, the green diamond, and the three bags 
(so near together, yet oh, at times, so very far 
apart!), he is seldom happy if he has n't had at 
least one chance to demonstrate to his companions 
and fellow-players how he can "curve 'em over." 


Showing the "follow through" motion, as the ball was released for 
the pitch long before the arm crossed the body of the pitcher. 

up the old gloves, the much-used bats, the dented 
masks, the stained and roughened balls, and be- 
gin the summer's campaign. Most of them play 
"just for fun," a few to make themselves better 
ball-players, but all for the love of the greatest 
of games. And in the intervals between their 
own games, these players read the papers, watch 
the Big and little League games, and, most of all, 
the scores of the sixteen Major League clubs in 
their battles, day by day. 

Meanwhile the average boy is not content with 
reading of fine base-ball, and counts that day ill 


A remarkable picture of a noted left-handed pitcher in action. Note 
the "follow through" of the arm, the shoulder, and the body, and the 
perfect poise of the whole figure, showing that the throw has not over- 
balanced the pitcher. 

Were it a possible thing, every nine of lads 
would have nine pitchers ! To the boy who would 
play ball, there is always an especial fascination 
in pitching, and this, be it said, quite outside any 
ability he may possess in this direction. He 
wants to pitch, whether he can or not, probably 
because he knows the pitcher often holds the 
opposing team in the hollow of his hand; because 
on him seems to rest the greatest responsibility ; 
and also, perhaps, because the pitcher- is the 
busiest player in the field and has more work to 




do than the rest of his fellows. And all boys 
love to "work" — on a ball-field! 

If only it were possible to convince boys that 
no one position is of greater honor than another ! 
If only that team of lads of fourteen, of which 
the writer was once a member, could have real- 
ized that each position on the team is of equal 
importance with the rest, that no special merit 
should belong to any one position ! But, alas ! 
there was only one boy who really knew anything 
about pitching, and they would n't let the author 
pitch more than one game in nine ! Of course, 
only when he pitched was there any decent hurl- 
ing done at all. (What are you laughing at?) But 
every boy wanted his "turn" on the mound, and, 
being a democratic group of lads, every one of 
them got it, with the sad result that only about 
two games in ten were won ! 

Now, admitting for the sake of argument that 

absurd ; that out of any nine boys or men, one or 

two must pitch far better than any of the others. 

In this chapter and the next, it is hoped to 


He has just finished pitching an out-drop, which has swung his body 
and arm far over to one side. He has " followed through " his pitch, 
and is instantly ready to field the hit which may be made, particularly 
if it is a bunt, in the handling of which this pitcher is especially skilful. 

pitching represents more fun and less waiting, — 
that you have more to do when you pitch, and, 
therefore, have a better time,— let us also agree 
that the plan of rotation in the pitcher's box is 

He has just pitched a straight fast ball. See the easy swing of his 
whole body in the "follow through" pose in which the camera caught 
him, and note how the shoulder has backed up the arm in making the 
pitch. Bender led the American League in 191 1 in percentage of 
victories with a mark of .773. 

show something of the way to such success, and 
also of the way in which a young captain and 
manager can determine which of his nine players 
is already the best pitcher. 

Before you can either pitch well yourself, or 
judge another's pitching from the pitcher's stand- 
point, you must, of course, know something of 
the theory of pitching— both the mechanics, or 
science of the actual muscular act of pitching a 
ball, and the theory on which the game is built, 
or the reasons why the pitcher must do the va- 
rious things he does. 

What is a pitcher for? 

"To fool the batters !" "To prevent the bat- 
ters from hitting the ball !" "To strike out as 
many men as he can !" "To pitch balls for the 
batters to strike at !" "To prevent batters mak- 
ing hits and getting on first base !" 

These and many other answers come quickly to 
mind. Yet it is rather hard to define, in one sen- 




tence, a pitcher's duties and his reason for exis- 
tence. And perhaps the best definition of what a 
pitcher is for would be a collection of all those 
answers given above and a few others. It is true 
that a pitcher is supposed to fool the batters ; but 
he must do much more. It is true he wants to 
prevent the batters from hitting the ball, if he can 
do so easily and without strain to his arm; but he 
would be a poor pitcher who forgot that there 
were eight other 
players on the 
team, and who 
tried to win the 
game all alone. It 
is true that strik- 
ing out the batter 
is a feat which 
any pitcher is glad 
to perform on oc- 
casion ; but few pitch- 
ers in big leagues 
accomplish it often. 
Ten or twelve strike- 
outs in a game is a big- 
record,— and the Big- 
League strike-out record 
for the season of 1910, 
of 313 men, made by 
Walter Johnson, of the 
Washington Club, was 
admitted by the holder 
to be entirely too big. 
since, in 191 1, he had 
fewer strike-outs, by 
many, but he won a 
greater percentage of 
his games ! Surely it is 
the pitcher's business to 
pitch balls for the bat- 
ter to strike at, inas- 
much as if there were 
no pitcher, there could 
be no ball game. Yet 
any boy knows that the 

balls thrown for the batter to strike at must be 
pitched in as puzzling and deceiving a manner as 
possible. Pitchers do try to prevent batters from 
making hits and getting on first base, yet there are 
times when it is the wise thing to do to let the 
batter get "on," and get rid of him in that way, in 
favor of a weaker hitter. For instance, Mathew- 
son, the great, passed "Home-Run Baker" in an 
important game of the last World's Champion- 
ship, rather than take the chance of another one 
of those disconcerting home runs. 

So the question of what a pitcher is for is 
complicated, and not to be answered in a breath. 

MARK OF .774. 
Showing a pronounced "follow 
through," a perfect after-pitch poise, and 
how the whole body gets into the work 
of pitching a ball with terrific speed. 

As to the question of the theory of the me- 
chanics of pitching, it is a matter of record that 
the great pitchers are those who have heads as 
well as arms. Mathewson, Bender, Walsh, Ford, 
"Old Cy" Young, are all men with brains as well 
as brawn. So it may well be that if you will go 
a bit into the theory of the art of pitching, and 
try to understand just what makes a base-ball act 
in such peculiar ways when thrown with various 
grips and motions, you will, as a result, be able 
to pitch winning ball. 

If it were possible to make a ball of a perfectly 

spherical shape which was of the same density all 

through, and to throw that ball without any 

twisting motion, through a vacuum, it would 

travel in a perfectly straight line, its only 

curvature being that of rise and drop, due 

to the effort of the throw and the action 

of gravity. This is easily understood. 

But no such 
ball is ever made ; 
it is very diffi- 
cult to throw any 
ball without some 
twisting motion 
being imparted 
to it, and no balls 
are thrown in a 
vacuum. The re- 
sult is that no thrown ball ever 
does travel in a straight line. 
It was many years, however, before 
the slight deviations from the supposedly 
straight path of a thrown ball were noticed, 
and even then, for a long time, they were 
supposed to be optical illusions. But with 
the discovery, not only of the fact that a 
ball did curve in the air naturally, but could 
be made to curve in any direction, came a 
revolution in the art of pitching. Now this 
finger magic has been developed to a point 
where the pitcher seems to have control of 
the ball even after it leaves his hand ! 

But note this, and note it carefully. While, 
once the ball has left the pitcher's hand, nothing 
that he can do can have any effect upon its course, 
the position which his hand, arm, and body take, 
after the ball has been pitched, has much to do 
with the way the ball travels. It is the theory of 
"follow through," which finds a place in all ath- 
letic sports involving the use of a ball. The foot- 
ball kicker kicks a ball off the ground. A snap- 
shot picture of his kick shows his leg at the 
finish of the kick almost on a line with his head. 
Yet the ball was several feet away from him at 
that time. But by kicking his foot as high as his 
head, he got the maximum of force into his kick. 




The golf-player hits the elusive golf ball on a 
tee, and photographs have shown that the ball al- 
most instantly leaves the head of the club. Yet 
he continues his swing on and up and over his' 
shoulder. If he did n't have force enough in his 
swing to do that, he would n't drive the ball very 
far. The tennis-player should serve (according 
to an eminent English authority) so that the 
racket continues down until it hits his knee ! Yet 
the ball leaves the racket in service, overhead. 
But if the racket were-checked in its course, not 

A ball from a gun will not shoot true for any 
distance, if the bore of the gun is not rifled, or 
cut in spiral grooves. These spiral grooves im- 
part a rotary motion to the ball or bullet, the axis 
of which is the line of flight of the bullet, which 
keeps it true on its course. It is also rotary mo- 
tion on a base-ball that causes it to curve, and vari- 
ations in this rotary motion and its direction with 
reference to the line of flight of the ball which 
is responsible for all the different curves. But 
pitchers not only make a ball curve, in, out, down 


all the force possible would have been in the 
swing of the racket-strings against the ball. 

So in pitching. The hand, arm, and body must 
"follow through" the pitch. Failure to throw 
with an effort which will swing the hand and 
body to their limit of motion, means failure to get 
the full effect of which the pitcher is capable. 

But, impossible though it is for any one to con- 
trol the path of a thrown ball after it leaves his 
hand, it is certain that a pitcher can make the 
ball do his bidding by the way he handles and 
throws it. And this wonder is accomplished by 
no more mysterious means than the grip upon the 
ball, the position of the hand, arm, and wrist at the 
instant the ball is let go, the angle at which it is 
thrown, and the way the throwing force is applied. 
Vol. XXXIX.— 92. 

(and, as some have even claimed, up), but they 
make the ball "jump" and "shoot" suddenly and 
oddly. Moreover, they control, with an ability 
which is quite uncanny, the place at which this 
jump or shoot of the ball is to occur! These 
jumps and shoots are the result not only of the 
revolution of the ball about its own center, but of 
the force of the thrown ball, piling up a billow of 
air in front of it, which suddenly becomes dense 
enough materially to affect its progress, acting 
almost as a solid obstacle, and deflecting its 
course. Add to this the practice of moistening 
one side of the ball, and the result in the so-called 
"spit" ball is a series of aerial antics which fool the 
wisest batsmen. Finally, the pitcher can even con- 
trol to some extent the apparent size of the ball. 




It is wise to get at least the elements of the 
theory of base-ball curves into one's head, before 
attempting to pitch a curve. The whole theory is 
not understood. No one has yet been able to cal- 
culate all the factors which enter into the appar- 
ently simple fact that a pitched ball curves in dif- 
ferent directions, nor all the reasons for its acting 
as it does — so many complicated problems in 
physics and mechanics are involved that even 
mathematicians and astronomers have balked at 
the problem. But its elements are simple enough. 

Let us suppose a ball is traveling from A to B 
(Fig. i), and revolving in the direction of the 
arrow. It is obvious that the side of the ball 
toward the bottom of the page is traveling faster 
against the air than the side toward the top of 
the page, since it is moving against the air, not 
only with the forward motion of the ball, but 
with the revolution of the ball. The side of the 
ball toward the top of the page is rubbing against 
the air through which it passes with its forward 
motion, but less its speed of revolution. 

The ball, going through the air at speed, com- 
presses, or piles up, or "billows" the air in front 
of it, just as a boat, moving through the water, 
piles up a little billow or wave of water in front 
of its stem. There is, of course, friction between 
the cover of the ball and the air. And the fric- 
tion is greatest on the lower side of the ball in 
Fig. I, because that part of the ball is rubbing 
faster and harder against this billow of air than 
the side of the ball nearer the top of the page. 

The ball naturally follows the path of least re- 
sistance. All its impulse is to continue in a 
straight line, but the greater friction on one side 
fairly pushes the ball out of a straight line, mak- 
ing it follow the path A— C (greatly exaggerated 
in the diagram). 

Now, if you will imagine this ball to have been 
thrown by a right-handed pitcher, with a side- 
arm motion, and that his hand had grasped the 
ball tightly with two or three fingers before he 
threw it, you will have a fair conception of the 
in-curve of a right-handed pitcher. 

But just here let it be said that there is a vast 
difference between the sweeping in-curve of a 
right-handed pitcher and the in-shoot which 
pitchers use to fool batsmen. The natural in- 
curve is a wide curve, a "barrel hoop," as it is 
sometimes called, and the ball curves almost from 
the time it leaves the pitcher's hand. It is easily 
seen and easily judged, and fools no one who has 
ever hit against it. Because it is thrown with a 
side-arm motion, it is seldom seen in "Big- 
League" base-ball, where all pitched balls must 
look alike when they are delivered. The in-shoot, 
while curving in the same direction, "breaks," in- 

stead of curving from the time it leaves the 
pitcher's hand— in other words, it goes straight 
for a while and then curves suddenly, and when 
well pitched, is hard to hit (Fig. 3). It is hard to 
learn to pitch and control, compared to the ordi- 
nary wide or barrel-hoop curve, particularly when 
the in-shoot has to be pitched so that it does n't 
look like one when it starts ! 

All the various curves are produced, however, 
by imparting a rotary motion to the ball as it is 
thrown. Pitchers say "the ball curves the way it 
is pinched," which means that the direction of the 
curve is toward that part of the ball which re- 
ceived the most friction from the fingers. The 
harder the ball is pinched between the fingers, the 
more drag or pull the fingers exert on the surface 
of the ball when it is released (see Fig. 9) ; and 
the faster the revolution, the more decidedly the 
ball curves, providing always that revolution is 
at an angle with the line of flight. Only, be it 
noted, the speed of the ball affects the curve also 
—thus, a ball traveling fast and revolving fast 
will "break" or "shoot," where one traveling 
slowly and revolving swiftly will curve more 
slowly; hence one hears much of the "fast in- 
shoot," "a fast jump ball," "a fast, waist-high 
ball which broke sharply," and but seldom of 
slow-jumping or breaking balls, although there 
are ways of throwing a slow ball which, if it 
does n't exactly jump, does act as if controlled 
by an imp. Of these, more later. 

The more common curves are the "out," the 
"in," and the "drop," which are thrown or pitched 
so that, in the out-curve, the ball revolves from 
right to left, the in-curve, from left to right, the 
drop, in the direction in which the ball is going. 
The so-called "raise ball" probably never was 
pitched, although "Iron-man" McGinnity is cred- 
ited with having mastered it; theoretically, a ball 
pitched forward and revolving backward ought 
to travel on a straight line gradually bending up- 
ward into a curve. But the action of gravitation 
is too strong for the feeble pull of the friction of 
the cover of the ball against air to overcome. So 
the "raise ball," so-called, does n't really rise up 
out of a horizontal course, but it does refuse to 
drop at the same point at which a "straight" ball 
would drop. And it has other effects, some of 
them at times very curious. In Fig. 2 is a dia- 
gram of the out-curve, usually the easiest of all 
curved balls to throw, apparently because the 
curve to the ball is imparted by a motion of the 
hand and wrist which is a natural continuation of 
the natural curve of hand and wrist when used in 
the act of throwing. In this diagram, the ball is 
made to revolve from the pitcher's right to the 
pitcher's left. The heaviest friction has been ap- 




plied by the ends of the fingers and the side of the handed pitcher can pitch what is to the batsman 
index-finger, the back of the hand being to the an in-shoot with the same ease the right-handed 


right and down when the ball is released between 
fingers and thumb. Following the pitcher's rule, 
that the curve is in the direction of the heaviest 
pinch, this ball curves to his left, or the batter's 
right, hand. If a right-handed batter, the ball 
curves away from him ; hence it is called an "out- 

Figs. 3 and 4 show diagrams (all these diagrams 
are, of course, greatly distorted and exaggerated, 
in order to make the direction of the curve plainly 
visible) of an in- and an out-shoot, which are dif- 
ferent from an in- and an out-curve in that the 

pitcher handles the out-shoot, that he is so valu- 
able to his team— he can get a wider, sharper 
break on the in-shoot than can the right-handed 
pitcher. Hence it is that the left-handed pitcher 
is not used against teams of men who bat left- 
handed, as often as against a right-handed team, 
and that, when a left-handed pitcher is an- 
nounced, so many managers will shift their line 
up, to bring more left-handed batsmen into play. 
In Figs. 6 and 7 are found diagrams showing 
the so-called raise ball and the drop ball. In these 
diagrams, the spectator is supposed to be standing 



«° % 

FIG. 7. THE " DROP.' 

ball, while shooting in or out, commences its curve 
later than with the simple curve, and breaks more 
sharply. Pitchers usually claim that the dif- 
ference between the shoot and the simple curve 
is a difference in pinching the ball, and the pres- 
ence or absence of a wrist twist or flick at the 
instant of delivery, which adds greatly to the 
speed of the revolution of the ball ; also the in- 
clination of the axis of this revolution with refer- 
ence to the line of flight has much to do with the 
point at which the "break," or deflection, occurs. 

on the ball-field, looking at right angles to the 
pitcher. In Fig. 6, the ball is seen leaving the 
pitcher's hand with a reverse revolution; it is 
going forward but revolving backward, and the 
greater friction against the bottom of the ball 
(that part toward the earth) tends to hold it in 
its course longer than if it was a straight ball. 
It does n't drop when the batsman expects it to, 
in other words. 

Fig. 7 shows the reverse : the ball, sent from 
the pitcher's hand so that it drags off the surface 

(Has qo revolution) 



Fig. 5 shows an "out-curve" as thrown by a 
left-handed pitcher. To him it is thrown with the 
same motion and effort as the in-curve is thrown 
by a right-handed pitcher. It is because the left- 

of the fingers underneath the ball, instead of on 
top of the ball, is revolving in the direction of its 
motion. As soon as a little billow of air is created 
in front of it, it is forced out of its normal path 




away from this friction, and drops, sharply, aided, 
of course, by gravity. 

But it must not be imagined for an instant that 
there are only four varieties of curve balls. There 
are almost as many curves as there are pitchers. 
Moreover, balls curve differently and "break" at 
different points, according to the position in 
which the hand may be, with relation to the body 
of the pitcher, at the moment of release. Add to 
these factors each man's individual knack of 
grasping a ball, holding it, letting it go, and it can 
easily be seen why there are so many varieties of 
curve balls, "hooks," "shoots," "jumps," "floaters," 
etc., in the arsenal of the Big-League pitchers. 

Nor does the pitcher's equipment end with his 
multitudinous varieties of curve balls, his armory 
of jumpers and breakers. He also has that most 
puzzling of weapons, the change of pace, and a 
curious thing called a slow ball. Consideration 
of these takes one at once from the realm of 
physics and mechanics into that of athletics, 
muscle, and the action of the mind. It is a 
curious fact but a true one, that a ball which re- 
volves rapidly while traveling through the air 
looks smaller than one which does n't revolve. A 
plain, slow ball, thrown without any attempt to 
produce a curve or deceive the batter, looks "like 
a balloon," as the players put it. Pitch a dozen 
fast balls to a batter, and then, without warning, 
a slow one, and he will almost fall over in his 
anxiety to hit it. He generally hits at it before 
it gets to him ! But pitch him another imme- 
diately, and he will judge it correctly, and knock 
it out of the lot ! The ball did n't deceive him 
the first time; he saw that it was bigger and 
slower than the fast curves, and knew just what 
he ought to do, but being "set" for faster ones, 
he did n't have time to get ready to advance on 
the slow one, his swing was too quick, and he 
"fanned." But the slow ball may be delivered so 
that it looks small, like a fast one ; and one of 
the most puzzling of the various deliveries it is ! 
Like the curves, it is made to revolve by friction 
with the fingers, but its direction of revolution is 
directly opposite to its line of flight — it is, in fact, 
one variety of the raise ball. But whereas the 
raise ball, like all the more puzzling of the curve 
balls, is thrown with swiftness, since the higher 
the speed and the greater the revolution the 
sharper the "break" of the curve, the revolving 
"floater" is not thrown fast at all. All the muscu- 
lar effort ordinarily imparted to the ball in an en- 
deavor to get swiftness is here put into a flip of 
the wrist and a squeeze of the fingers, to get a 
sharp backward revolution of the ball. It is hard 
to describe, but it may be said, perhaps, that the 
effort is made to throw the ball forward and pull 

the hand throwing it backward at the same time, 
so that the ball is made to revolve very rapidly 
backward. It comes up to the plate looking like 
any other swift and curving ball, small to the 
eye, since it is revolving swiftly, and as it can be 
thrown with the same motion of the arm and ap- 
parently with full muscular force, the batter has 
no reason to doubt that it is a fast ball. So he 
strikes at it, and the ball, of course, being much 
slower than it looks, has n't got there yet ! and the 
batter looks, as he feels, foolish ! 

You must never forget that the batter seldom, 
if ever, hits at the ball. He hits where he ex- 
pects it to be. He has only a fraction of a second 
to make up his mind where he is going to hit that 
ball ; only a tiny interval to make his plan and 
swing his bat. So when he sees a ball start toward 
him with the same motion and the same appear- 
ance which accompany a very fast ball, he gets all 
ready, and hits at that fast ball. It is for this 
reason that the real slow ball, as developed by all 
good pitchers nowadays, is so effective, and why 
the average boy has no success with it. The Big- 
League pitcher pitches a slow ball which looks 
like a fast one; the lad pitches a slow ball which 
is simply his fast ball thrown with less effort. 

But still we are not at the end of the pitcher's 
collection of "teasers." There is what is known 
as the "spit" ball. It is n't a very pretty name, 
but it is highly descriptive of the thing itself— a 
ball one part of which is moistened to make it 
slippery. It is obvious that any ball held in the 
hands must be held on more than one side. It is 
also obvious that to make that ball revolve, one 
side must have a heavier friction from one part of 
the hand than the other part has with the other 
part of the hand, at the instant the ball is let go. 
So it seems plain enough that if that part of the 
ball where friction is not wanted is made slippery, 
the fingers will slide off it more easily than other- 

That is the reason for moistening one part of 
the ball— to make it slippery. But it is not, as 
might be imagined, simply to produce a wider 
curve. It is to make the ball indulge itself in 
antics which fool batsmen— nay, which fool the 
pitcher himself sometimes, and his catcher not 

A pitcher named Elmer Stricklett is credited 
with the invention of the spit ball. He was with 
the "White Sox," in training camp, and one day 
pitched a ball in practice to the batters which 
none of them could hit. One of them said after- 
ward : 

"That ball was bewitched! You can't tell me! 
I 've been playing ball all my life, and Major- 
League ball for seven years, and I never saw a 




ball do two things at once before ! It starts off 
like a curve, and then wobbles round in the air 
like a slow one, and ends up with a jump !" 

And that is n't a bad description of a spit ball, 
at that. It is a little doubtful if the ball really 
does all these things. What probably happens is 
this: the ball is held very much as one holds it for 
an in-curve. The thumb is placed squarely against 
a seam of the ball, and the ball tightly gripped to 
make the thumb's skin "bite" on the seam. Then 
the ball is moistened with saliva, where the fingers 
will grip it. The ball is then pitched overhand, 
with great force. The result is that the ball, 
slipping out from the moistened fingers, gets its 

Look at this diagram and suppose it is from the point of view of a 
man standing beside a pitcher. It shows a drop ball — one revolving 
the way it is going, and having its greatest friction on top. 

only revolution from the thumb, which has not 
surface enough to impart much revolution. It 
progresses toward the batter without much spin 
of any kind— the seams are sometimes visible to 
the man waiting for it at the plate. 

Now a ball without revolution and thrown 
swiftly is at the mercy of the air— as a billow of 
air piles up in front of it, it "wobbles" from one 
side to the other, in the effort to escape this ob- 
struction. Finally, as the speed dies out but as 
the billow of air gets most dense, the ball breaks 
sharply down (Fig. 8) and to one side or the 
other— and the batsman is left staring at what 
has to him at different times in its flight ap- 
peared a slow ball, a fast ball, a curve, a straight 
one, and which finally ends up as some variety 
of a drop ! Do you wonder that it is hard to hit? 

Here are different accounts of it by two men 
who ought to know a great deal about it. Clark 
Griffith, formerly a star pitcher, now manager of 
the American League Washington Club, said to 
the writer : "The ball is misnamed. It ought to be 
called a thumb ball, because it takes its last im- 
pulse and friction from the thumb, which is down 
under the ball when it is pitched." 

"Doc" White, the great left-handed pitcher of 

Notf. : The various diagrams and figures are all greatly exaggerated in drawing, to make them easily understood. Of course, no " spit " ball, 
for instance, "breaks" from a player's shoulders to his knees within a few feet of the distance traveled, but it has been so drawn here to show 
plainly a "spit" ball's behavior. 

The plate in the diamond diagrams has been drawn as a rectangle instead of a five-sided and pointed figure (which it actually is) to avoid 
confusion in tracing the path of the ball over it. 

The balls in all the figures have been drawn much too large in proportion, in order to make their direction of revolution perfectly plain to the 
reader, who will clearly understand this exaggeration and the reason for it. 

( To be continued. ) 

the Chicago White Sox, told the writer : "This 
ball slips off the fingers and thumb together, and 
because the fingers are slippery from being moist- 
ened, the ball has practically no revolution at all. 
It differs entirely from a 'floater' because it is 
thrown with great force. And some people never 
can get a spit ball to 'break' for them, and others 
can't get it to 'break' on certain days. When I 
pitched in the city of Mexico, which is eight thou- 
sand feet up and where the air is thin, I thought 
I had lost my curve — I could n't get any of them 
to 'break.' But when I got down in New Orleans, 
I thought I was getting younger — I had all kinds 
of curves in that damp and heavy air !" 

Since the advent of this form of pitching, many 
pitchers have become proficient in its use, notably 
Walsh, of the White Sox, in whose hands it is a 
wonderful delivery. And here a curious condition 
has arisen. Walsh does n't pitch the moist ball 
nearly as often as he seems to ! Batters expect it 
from his hands, and are so worried over it, that 
he has found it to be a very effective pitching 
method to pretend to pitch it and really pitch 
something else ! Half the time he is only pretend- 
ing. And sometimes he will pitch the ball with 
a side-arm instead of overhead motion, when it 
will break "out" instead of down, in a most 
puzzling way. This ball requires great strength 
of arm to pitch well, and many pitchers think it 
injures their arms to use it. But how, then, does 
it happen that it is so successfully used by so 
many pitchers who do not seem to suffer from 
its employment ? 

The second part of this article on pitching, to 
be published next month, will contain some hints 
as to the way you, a lad, can learn to curve balls ; 
the way you, not yet at your full growth, can 
learn "finger magic" without injury to your arm; 
the way you can do something, at least, of what 
the Big-League pitcher does. Meanwhile, by 
way of caution, take this to heart : never throw a 
ball which hurts you to throw, or throw a curve 
until your arm is warm, and don't try to master 
all the curves at once. If, between the time you 
read this and the next half of this account of the 
art of pitching, you have mastered the difference 
between a straight ball (which is your natural 
throw) and the out-curve (which is the easiest 
and most natural curve), you will have cause to 
congratulate yourself on your progress. 

"Make haste slowly" is a good motto. 



Author of " The Forest Castaways " 

Chapter XIII 


Elizabeth proved herself gifted by nature with 
three essentials of a good tennis-player— quick- 
ness of thought, quickness of eye, and quickness 
of movement. It remained for her to make her 
racket obedient to these faculties. This was a 
matter largely of practice, but, if she had not had 
such a good coach as Nance, she might, in the 
meanwhile, have acquired faults that would have 
taken her long to correct. Like most girls, Nance 
had learned the game in a haphazard fashion, and 
had only seen her mistakes after she had pro- 
gressed to a point where they made all the dif- 
ference between an exceedingly good player and 
a merely fair player. By that time, they had be- 
come so fixed as to be extremely difficult to over- 
come. From the first, Nance insisted that Eliza- 
beth play very carefully, even though the result 
made a game more like battledore and shuttle- 
cock than tennis. 

"It 's very poky," protested Elizabeth, who 
longed to hit the ball as hard as she could. 

"I know it," Nance agreed. "But it 's the only 
way to learn. In a game I generally feel the way 
you do, and pay for it by getting beaten. Miss 
Winthrop knew this, and just waited for me to 
beat myself." 

"Does n't she play good tennis?" asked Eliza- 
beth, in some surprise that Nance should put this 
forward as an excuse for her defeat. 

"Indeed she does !" Nance replied quickly. 
"It 's good tennis to take advantage of your op- 
ponent's weakness." 

"I thought you played a better game than she 
did in the tournament," said Elizabeth. 

"At times I did," laughed Nance. "But that 
is n't what counts. It 's better to play a good 
game all the time than a brilliant game part of 
the time." 

"I don't believe it 's as much fun though," 
Elizabeth declared. 

"In the end it is," answered Nance. "It 's 
steadiness that wins, and winning is part of the 
fun, anyhow." 

Day after day they used the court at "The 
Towers," and, for three weeks, Nance insisted 
upon making the play as slow as it was possible 
to make it and keep the ball moving. She allowed 
Elizabeth to attempt nothing but straight shots. 

"For," she explained, "the first thing to make 
sure of is that your return lands in the court. 
The fastest and prettiest stroke in the world 
won't count you a point, if it goes out of bounds." 

But, even using no speed, Nance was able to 
keep Elizabeth running about the court in a way 
that gave her plenty of exercise. And though, at 
first, this practice seemed dull to Nance herself, 
she discovered before long that it was proving 
just as valuable to her as to her pupil. 

In this way Elizabeth became thoroughly lim- 
bered up, and learned to keep her eye on the ball, 
and to move her racket almost unconsciously. 
The little she had played the year before helped 
her in this. 

The next step added both interest and excite- 
ment to the game, without increasing the speed 
of the ball ; Nance instructed Elizabeth to do as 
she herself had been doing all along, and to at- 
tempt place shots. 

"You ought to know just where every ball is 
going when you strike it, and just why you want 
it to go there," explained Nance. "But you 
must n't forget your first lesson while you are 
trying this. Remember, the thing that always 
counts is to have the ball land somewhere in the 
court. It gives you one more chance." 

To emphasize the value of placing, Nance at 
first stood still at the end of each play until the 
ball on the return struck the ground. This gave 
Elizabeth an opportunity to see just how far out 
of reach of her opponent she succeeded in driv- 
ing it. It taught her, furthermore, to look for 
open spaces and to keep Nance on the move. 

This continued for another three weeks, and 
then Nance allowed more speed. 

"Hit the ball a little harder, Beth," said Nance ; 
"but don't try any cuts for the present. A hard, 
straight ball, well placed and sure, is better than a 
hundred fancy strokes that go wild. Miss Win- 
throp taught me that, though I ought to have 
known it before." 

By the first of August, the two girls were play- 
ing a game that was really interesting to watch. 
It was straight, heady tennis, with some speed 
and few faults. Every point was contested as 
much with the brain as the arm, and, though 
Nance, of course, was still beating Elizabeth, she 
found it necessary to work harder every day. 

But the thing that made it interesting, after all, 
was Elizabeth's intense earnestness. Some new 



quality had been roused in her which gave her 
not only eagerness but patience. From the be- 
ginning of every game to the end, she played 
each point as hard and as conscientiously as pos- 
sible. She never flagged. The last game of the 
last set called forth as much in her as the first 
game. More, perhaps, for it nettled her to think 
she was not yet able to press Nance to her best. 

"You keep on playing better all the time," 
laughed Elizabeth, at the end of one hard-fought 

"You make me," Nance replied quietly. "But, 
even if I beat you, I 'd rather play with you than 
any one I know." 

"Now, Nance !" 

"Honestly. I have to use my head more." 

The compliment pleased Elizabeth, and she 
knew it was sincere. Nance was as outspoken as 
a boy, especially in the matter of tennis. 

"And I love to play with you, but I can't help 
wanting to beat you, Nance," Elizabeth answered 
with equal frankness. 

"I think you will, in the end," Nance answered. 
"But, if you do, you '11 make me play my hardest." 

"And it 's playing hard that makes it fun," 
added Elizabeth, with her lips firmly together. 

But, if Elizabeth was catching up with Nance 
on the tennis-court, Nance had the satisfaction of 
seeing herself catch up with Elizabeth in the 
kitchen. It added to the interest of both girls to 
work together, and, under the able tutoring of 
Mrs. Trumbull, they advanced rapidly. Mrs, 
Trumbull had much the same idea about learning 
to cook that Nance had about learning to play 

"Learn the plain, simple things first," she said* 
"After that there 's time enough to fool round 
with folderols. Beth's mother made the best 
bread I ever ate. A man won't starve to death 
if he has good bread." 

At first, Nance found it impossible to work up 
very much enthusiasm over this new acquirement. 
Only a sense of duty, and Elizabeth's eagerness, 
saved the task from drudgery. That was all it 
had ever been considered at home, where the con- 
stant worry over securing and satisfying a good 
cook made housekeeping a real burden. But, at 
the end of a few weeks, Nance imbibed a new 
spirit here in the house by the lane. The kitchen 
was not so much a feature of housekeeping as it 
was of home-making. This was equally true of 
the other necessary duties. The result was the 
creation of so intimate and personal an atmo- 
sphere under this roof that the presence of a ser- 
vant would have seemed almost like an intrusion. 
From cellar to garret, this was Elizabeth's house 
—as much a part of her as she was a part of it. 

Though Nance, of course, did not have an 
equally personal interest in the house, she found 
herself in a very short time sharing, to a large 
extent, Elizabeth's enthusiasm. Mrs. Trumbull 
made her feel that, as a woman, she would be 
called upon, some day, to direct a household, and 
that it would then be to her honor that she was 

"A man is n't a man who can't handle tools and 
animals !" Mrs. Trumbull exclaimed one day, as 
the conversation drifted back to what boys used 
to know in the old days. "No, sir, not if he 's 
president of a bank ! And a woman is n't a wo- 
man who can't take care of a house— not if she 's 
the wife of a bank president. A woman can be 
whatever she likes after she knows how to sew 
and cook and make a home ; but she 's got to 
know that first to be a woman." 

"But a great many of them don't know how to 
do those things," laughed Nance-. 

"I 've learned that since I came up here," Mrs. 
Trumbull answered. "And I 've no patience with 
that kind ! They are as helpless as kittens when 
the cook leaves, and of about as much use." 

"All girls don't have the chance to learn that 
Beth has had," answered Nance. 

"If I 'd had my own way, I would n't have had 
the chance," laughed Elizabeth. "You don't know 
how I hated to come down here." 

"You were different then, Beth," answered 

"So were you," replied Elizabeth. 

That evening after Nance had gone, Mrs. 
Trumbull observed : 

"I wish every one of your friends could live 
here a while with you." 

"Even the Brookfield girls?" asked Elizabeth. 

"Well, it would do them good," declared Mrs. 
Trumbull ; "but I must say I 'd hate to be around." 

"There 's Daddy," began Elizabeth, with a 
little break in her voice, and a wistful look 
toward "The Towers." 

"It would do him more good than any one," 
Mrs. Trumbull affirmed. 

"But he won't come." 

Mrs. Trumbull placed her hand affectionately 
on the girl's shoulder. 

"There, child, there !" she said. "Don't worry 
about him. It takes time to change a man as set 
in his ways as he is." 

But it happened that this very evening, as they 
were sitting down to supper, there was a rap at 
the front door. Elizabeth answered it, and found 
her father there. She threw her arms about his 

"Oh, Daddy, but I 'm glad to see you !" she 
cried. "You don't know how very glad I am !" 




He softly smoothed back her hair without 

"We were just sitting down to supper. You '11 
stay, Daddy?" 

"I 'm afraid not," he answered, "I just stopped 
to see you for a moment. I have a great deal to 
do to-night." 

But, seizing his hand, Elizabeth drew him into 
the dining-room. The table looked very dainty, 
and the simple repast very tempting. Before he 
had time to protest further, she had run about 
and brought a chair to the table, and set a place 
for him. The next thing he knew, he found him- 
self seated. 

"You 're getting as tanned as though you had 
been at the sea-shore," commented Mr. Churchill, 
as Elizabeth handed him his tea. 

"Why should n't she?" challenged Mrs. Trum- 
bull. "Every one around here seems to think 
there is n't any sun or blue sky at home. They 
act as though they did n't dare breath fresh air 
unless they pack up and go off a hundred miles. 
Lors ! if you could see Beth racing round that 
tennis-court every day !" 

"You 've taken up tennis again ?" asked Mr. 

"Nance and I," nodded Elizabeth, who was dis- 
appointed that Mrs. Trumbull had divulged the 
secret. She had planned to surprise her father 
in the fall, as well as her school friends. 

"That 's fine !" he exclaimed enthusiastically. 

"It 's Nance that makes it fine," said Elizabeth. 
"Oh, Daddy, she 's been awfully good !" 

"It 's six of one and half a dozen of the other," 
Mrs. Trumbull broke in. "But I must say Nance 
is a nice girl." 

"I rather think all girls are nice when you get 
at them," smiled Mr. Churchill. "You look very 
homelike here, Beth." 

"You think so, Daddy?" 

That he did, he proved to her satisfaction, by 
the way he enjoyed his supper, and by staying 
until nearly nine o'clock. Even then he left re- 
luctantly, and with many backward glances as 
Elizabeth stood at the door and watched him out 
of sight. 

Chapter XIV 


With every hour of every day occupied, the 
month of August sped by like a single week. 

"I don't see where the time goes !" Elizabeth 
exclaimed to Mrs. Trumbull, as the latter an- 
nounced at breakfast that it was the first day of 

"I wonder about that twice every year ; once in 
the fall, once in the spring," said Mrs. Trumbull. 

"I wonder about it every day," laughed Eliza- 
beth. "I wish there was a year between now and 
next month." 

"What happens then?" 

"Nance goes back to school on the twentieth." 

"You need n't look so sorrowful about that," 
Mrs. Trumbull said gently. "That is n't the end 
of her, is it?" 

"No, only — well, I suppose it will give me more 
time for my French," said Elizabeth, grasping at 
the only consolation she could think of at the 

"And preservin' time will be here afore we 
know it," added Mrs. Trumbull. 

"Preserving time?" questioned Elizabeth, not 

"We ought to make some jelly and pickles, and 
put up some plums and grapes and quinces." 

"I thought you bought those things all put up," 
said Elizabeth. 

"Maybe some folks do, but I don't," answered 
Mrs. Trumbull. "What do you want to buy them 
for when the things are growin' all around you?" 

"I don't know," answered Elizabeth, "only most 
people do." 

"Most people are plumb lazy !" snapped Mrs. 
Trumbull. "No, sir ! we '11 have our shelves full 
before snow flies. I know your father has n't 
had anything of the kind for fifteen years." 

"We can have them for Thanksgiving !" ex- 
claimed Elizabeth. 

Mrs. Trumbull nodded. 

"It 's time we were beginning now. Perhaps 
we can get around to it by next week." 

"We might keep that to do for the week after," 
suggested Elizabeth. "I '11 want a lot to do then." 

"There 's plenty to do all the time, if you do 
things right," said Mrs. Trumbull. 

There was certainly plenty to do on this, the 
first day in the month, for Elizabeth, in the morn- 
ing, tidied up the whole lower floor of the house, 
and finished the forenoon by making a cake. Im- 
mediately after luncheon, Mademoiselle Gagnon 
came for an hour, as she did three times a 
week. She had scarcely gone before Nance ap- 

Elizabeth played an unusually good game that 
day, pressing Nance to her best and winning the 
first set by six four. It was the first time she 
had ever won against Nance. 

"I told you I 'd beat you !" she exclaimed en- 
thusiastically. "And oh, Nance, I 've done it ! 
I 've done it !" 

In her excited joy she gave a step or two that 
resembled an Indian war-dance. But Nance was 
looking serious. 

"That 's only one set," she answered soberly. 




"I know it, but think of winning even one set 
from you !" cried Elizabeth. 

"It won't count unless you win the second," re- 
plied Nance. 

The latter was seated on the wooden bench by 
the side-lines, nervously tapping her foot with 
her racket, anxious to begin again. She was 
really disturbed, for she always felt keenly every 

It was Nance's serve, and she shot a fast ball 
over the net that completely baffled Elizabeth. 
Changing to the other court, she repeated the 
feat, making it thirty love. The third time she 
tried, she served twice into the net, but succeeded 
on the fourth attempt in making the score forty 

By this time the smile had left Elizabeth's face. 


defeat. She was a girl who could be more gener- 
ous to a defeated opponent than to a victorious 
one. In this case, remembering how short a time 
ago it was that Elizabeth could play scarcely at 
all, the defeat was particularly humiliating. 

Elizabeth danced to her side and placed an arm 
about her. 

"You don't mind if I 'm glad, Nance?" she 

"No," answered Nance ; "but I 'm going to do 
my best to beat you this next set." 

"Then come on !" cried Elizabeth, flushed with 
victory. "I '11 try hard, but with no hard feeling !" 
Vol. XXXIX.-93. 

Her lips became firm, and she held herself alert. 
She stood back farther for the next serve, and 
succeeded in returning it. Nance swooped down 
upon the ball, and, attempting to drive it at full 
speed, drove it into the net. A moment later she 
made a double fault; and now with the score at 
deuce, Elizabeth again returned the serve and ran 
up to the net. Nance lobbed the ball, but Eliza- 
beth recovered it and sent it back very deliber- 
ately along the side-lines for the advantage. 
Once again Nance attempted to win on the serve, 
and, putting her full strength into the strokes, 
shot two fast balls into the net, and lost the game. 




She was by now thoroughly aroused, and waited 
eagerly for Elizabeth's straight serving in order 
to recoup. But, though Elizabeth attempted 
neither cut nor curve, there was considerable 
speed in her serve, and much precision. She 
varied the serve to the right and left of the court 
with an occasional slow ball that was extremely 
irritating. It dropped lightly over the net, and 
was very difficult to return for one who was wait- 
ing far back for a swift ball. It bounced low, and 
Nance, if she reached it, was pretty sure to re- 
turn it out of bounds, because of her impetuosity. 
■In the process, she not only lost her point, but 
more and more of her self-control. In this way, 
Elizabeth actually won the second game. This 
gave her such self-confidence that in the third 
game, where Nance steadied down a little, she 
lost only by a single point, and this was con- 
tested back and forth in a hard-fought rally. 

"Good, Nance !" exclaimed Elizabeth, as her 
opponent finally succeeded in passing her. 

A gentle handclapping came from the side- 
lines, and she looked around to see there a light- 
haired young man, whom, at first, she did not 
recognize. He stepped forward. 

"I beg pardon," he said with a smile. "May I 
interrupt the game long enough to inquire if you 
have completely recovered?" 

"Recovered?" stammered Elizabeth. 

"It 's rather a foolish question, is n't it?" he 
faltered, as he noted her red cheeks. "I should 
have called before if I had not been away." 

It was not until then that Elizabeth brought to 
mind all the episode of the frightened horses at 
the country club. 

"Oh ! Mr. Crawford !" she laughed, extending 
her hand. "I remember now. But I was n't hurt 
at all." 

He still looked so solicitous that, for a moment, 
Elizabeth felt concerned that she had received no 
injury worthy of his anxiety. There was some- 
thing foreign in his deferential courtesy and in 
the slight stoop of his shoulders. 

"I am very glad," he answered. "I was n't told 
that the horses were afraid of automobiles." 

Elizabeth introduced the new-comer to Nance. 

"I must n't interrupt your game," he apologized, 
with a bow. 

"Our games are never finished," answered 
Elizabeth. "Will you not come to the house and 
meet Mrs. Trumbull?" 

He hesitated. 

"My house is just below here," she said, point- 
ing to the house by the lane. 

He glanced in that direction with some sur- 
prise. A bed of many-colored zinnias lent a 
touch of color to the quiet gray of the house, 

while the rose vine over the porch made it stand 
out like a cool oasis among the formal houses to 
be seen beyond. 

"May I?" he asked. 

Elizabeth led the way across the fields, and, as 
she saw him still studying the cottage, she said : 

"It 's a very old place. It was my mother's." 

"Then I should n't call that very old," he an- 

"It must be twenty-five years old, at least." 

"Oh !" he exclaimed in surprise. "You don't 
call that old— really?" 

"What would you call old?" 

"Why— five hundred years," he answered. 

"But the Pilgrims had n't come over then, so a 
house could n't be that old !" she exclaimed. 

"I did n't think of that," he answered with a 

Mrs. Trumbull was somewhat surprised to see 
the girls returning with a stranger, but, as soon 
as Elizabeth explained, the good lady greeted the 
lad cordially. 

"Beth never told me a word about that scrape," 
said Mrs. Trumbull. "I s'pose she misses death 
by a hair a dozen times a day that I don't know 
anything about. It all comes of having those 
fool automobiles round loose." 

"I like horses better myself," answered Craw- 

"Then you must have been brought up in the 
country," declared Mrs. Trumbull. 

"I was," he admitted. 

The girls excused themselves for a few mo- 
ments to put their hair in order after their exer- 
cise; but Mrs. Trumbull, with her old-fashioned 
and informal hospitality to the guest who "hap- 
pens in," insisted that he should remain and share 
with them the lemonade and cake which she al- 
ways had ready for the girls after the game. He 
watched her with interest as she made her prep- 

"You don't happen to be a State of Maine boy, 
do you?" she asked, with good-natured curiosity. 

"No," he answered. 

"Vermont, perhaps?" 

"No," he answered. "I 'm an Englishman." 

"An Englishman!" she exclaimed in astonish- 

"Yes," he nodded. "I came over here for the 
summer, to see something of America. I 'm 
going back to-morrow." 

"Well, well, well !" she murmured, quite con- 
fused for the moment over this revelation. "Then 
you visited Maine ?" 

He shook his head. 

"I spent most of my time in New York and 
Chicago, and the rest of it on trains." 




"Land alive !" she protested, "do you call that 
seeing America !" 

"I don't know," he replied wearily. "At any 
rate, I can't say that I 'm keen about what I saw. 
It all seems so new." ' 

He gave a quick glance around the room. 

"Do you know," he added impulsively, "I like 
it here better than any place I 've been." 

"Well, I reckon this is better than some places, 
anyhow," she answered proudly. "And it 's all 


due to Beth. She likes it better than 'The Tow- 
ers,' though she 's lived here only a few months." 

"It seems very homelike," he said, boyishly. 
"I suppose that 's because I found most of my 
friends living in houses like hotels." 

"Like the big house yonder?" she asked. 

"Yes," he laughed, "I was afraid, at first, that 
Miss Churchill lived there." 

"No, siree !" answered Mrs. Trumbull. "She 
lives right here." 

At this point Beth and Nance returned, and the 
conversation became more general. They talked 
of tennis, and found that Crawford played. 

"You must come out some day and have a set 
with Nance," said Elizabeth. 

"With Beth," Nance corrected. "You saved 
me from being defeated to-day, Mr. Crawford." 

"No," laughed Elizabeth, "you saved her from 
beating herself." 

"I 'd like to play with both of you," he assured 
them, "only I 'm afraid I can't. You see, I sail 

"Back to England, where he lives," put in Mrs. 
Trumbull, a little proud of having already 
learned the fact. 

"Then that 's why you did n't think the house 
was very old !" exclaimed Elizabeth. 

"It really does n't seem very old 
compared with buildings that have 
been standing for four or five hun- 
dred years, does it?" he asked. 

"Five hundred years !" exclaimed 
Mrs. Trumbull. "I must say that I 
should n't want to undertake keep- 
ing a house neat which was that 
old. Would you, Beth?" 

Mr. Crawford laughed. 
"You must come over 
sometime and see how 
we do it. You have vis- 
ited England ?" 

"Once," answered Eliz- 
abeth ; "but it seems as 
though we were either 
in hotels or trains most 
of the time." 

"I know, I know," he 
replied quickly. "That 's 
the trouble with visiting 
other countries, I fancy. 
But when you come 
again — will you let me 
show you another side 
of it?" 

"Thankyou," answered 
can have our game over 
there," he added with a smile. 

It was almost supper-time before he rose to go, 
and then it was with evident reluctance. This 
was one of those quick friendships which seem to 
cover months in a few hours. He left, promising 
to write, and exacting a promise from Mrs. 
Trumbull that if she ever visited England, she 
would let him know. 

"But," she assured him, "I 'm too set, at my 
age, to go skylarkin' around the world." 

So, in a single afternoon, the young stranger 
came and went. But as Mrs. Trumbull said to 
Elizabeth and Nance, who were eagerly discuss- 
ing who he might be, "he 's the kind of lad that 
makes you feel that you are bound to see him 

"And perhaps we 

( To be continued. ) 




They trail through the alley and mart 

To this Palace of Tomes — 
Wee urchins, red-hatted and swart 

As their underworld gnomes, 
And hundreds of quaint little maids 

Wearing ribands of green 
Or scarlet on duplicate braids, 

Quick-eyed, orderly, clean, 
And silent. Some take from the shelves 

Of the volumes a-row 
Those legends of goblins and elves 

That we loved long ago ; 
Yet more choose the stories of men 

Whom a nation reveres — 
Of Lincoln and Washington ; then 

Of the bold pioneers 
Who plowed in a blood-sprinkled sod, 

Whose strong hands caused to rise 
That Temple which these, under God, 

Vet shall rear to the skies ! 

Arthur Guiterman. 

A decrepit book, like a fire-engine horse too old 
to pull the truck, like a faithful "mount" of the 
traffic police put out of service, is a book too old 
to circulate. There used to be a time in the lives 
of boys and girls when they had to rummage 
about for themselves among musty books for 
something to read, and to find fairy tales in the 

midst of ponderous tomes was like finding a 
sweet rose in the forest primeval. More often 
would the time be spent in looking over some 
startling pictures in the books for grown people, 
pictures that one would remember for years 
after, just as Charles Lamb remembered the 
Stackhouse Bible, or Coleridge the bulgy panta- 
loons of the queer gentlemen in "The Arabian 

The American boy and girl had often to rum- 
mage in the same way. "The New England 
Primer" was their chief delight, and we are told 
that the reason this little book is so rare to-day is 
because of its great popularity and its constant 
use in the past. But the older children read 
things far beyond their years ; Shakspere, Milton, 
Dryden, Pope, were John Marshall's chief relish 
before he was twelve; and nearly all boys were 
well versed in the classics. But by those who 
were not so fortunate as to be near a library, 
books were had only after a tramp of miles, and 
then they did not ask for the kind of books most 
boys and girls ask for to-day. Lincoln borrowed 
"Tisop's Fables," Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress," 
and "Robinson Crusoe" ; he read the dictionary 




page by page ; he pored over the statutes of 
Indiana. He was ravenous to read, but there 
was no library near him. 

Now all this has changed ; perhaps in no period 
of the world's history is there better opportunity 
for girls and boys to have all the books they want. 
In most libraries to-day there are special rooms 
for them in which all manner of good reading is 
spread upon the shelves. There are nearly fif- 
teen thousand places in New York alone where 
books may be had free of charge. There is 
hardly a home of a boy or girl in the city more 
than a mile away from a library; and if, by 
chance, in certain sections of a crowded city, the 
children do not belong to a library, then clubs 
are formed and boxes of books are sent to them, 
and distributed in the afternoon from one of the 
member's homes. 

One day, in the vestibule of a children's li- 
brary, I noticed a bench. A row of boys and 
girls sat upon it, and I wondered what they were 
doing. They were busy watching the eager 
crowd inside ; from their position they saw a line 
of readers drawing out books, another line re- 
turning them. It was a busy room — a boy in a 
corner looking over a college story, a girl in 
another lost in some adventure. Any question 
they might ask was answered by the librarian, 
whose special duty is to know the books and 
to tell which are best to read. If a boy wants 
some sea stories, she mentions a whole list; if 
a girl is anxious for a summer tale, she can 

name two or three good ones. This is what the 
"benchers" saw, and it was all this that decided 
them to join the library later. 


The general idea seems to be that a library is, 
on the one hand, a kind of storehouse for books, 
and, on the other, a place from which books may 
be drawn. But this is only one part of what a 
library means. It is also a room in which one 
may sit and read, and that is a great thing in the 
lives of boys and girls who have no such luxury 
at home ; it is a place in which one should culti- 
vate the habit of good reading, in which to have 
a good time with a book means to enter heartily 






into the story, to relish the strength of adventure, 
to lose one's self in the realm of fancy, and to 
become friends with Puck and Robin Hood. 

In the children's room there are not simply 
stacks and stacks of books; it is a playground 
for minds and hearts ; you may make merry over 
a book, — you may sport by forest and stream; 
you may shout with the legions of advancing 
armies ; you may win a foot-ball game or a tennis 
match — all within the compass of a window-seat, 
and without uttering a word. 

There are some children's rooms in which 
ingle-benches are built on either side of large 
fireplaces; here in winter-time big logs send 
flames leaping up the chimney, while the librarian 
gathers around her as many boys and girls as 
may be comfortably warmed by the blaze, and 
tells a story, just as at home some of us have 
been brought up to expect the story hour in the 

This story hour in the library is a splendid 
treat. In Pittsburg the children flock so eagerly 
to the different libraries that only three hundred 
in an afternoon can be cared for at one branch. 
Norse vikings, Greek heroes, myths, and legends 
are talked of, and afterward there are books at 
hand in which the same stories may be read. A 
Cleveland library has an interesting mantelpiece 

with tiles around it, a picture on each square 
representing some special tale or fable. This in 
itself means a separate story for every tile, and 
if the librarian has told one story and there is 
yet time for another, a girl or boy from the 
group volunteers to be the narrator. And some- 
times these boys and girls are the best of story- 
tellers, for there is special joy in making others 
feel the same interest, the same excitement, the 
same sympathy, you yourself have felt over a hero 
or a deed. 

A bench before a fireplace gives one a feeling 
of coziness, whether the opening be aglow with 
flame, or a mass of green or of dogwood. Usually 
the walls and ceiling of the room are warm in 
color, and by degrees the libraries are being 
decorated with pictures which are full of images 
one must love as well as know. The libraries are 
thus making homes for young readers, to whom a 
book is something real. Take the comic supple- 
ment of a paper, and put it by the side of the 
Jeanne d'Arc pictures by Boutet de Monvel. You 
will feel the difference. 

In the Boston Library the children's reference- 
room contains a fine ceiling decoration called 
"The Triumph of Time," while for the reading- 
room the late Howard Pyle painted eighteen 
water-colors dealing with incidents in the career 





of Washington, and with characteristics of colo- 
nial life. 

The children's department in the Pittsburg 
Library consists of three rooms — one for study, 
one for reference and reading, and one for gen- 
eral circulation. The first object you are sure 
to notice as you enter is a drinking-fountain, 
which sends a thin stream of water into the 
mouth of any youngster who presses the silver 
top. This in itself is great fun, as the picture on 
another page will show. But no sooner does 
one go beyond the librarian's desk, into the spa- 
cious room, with its low book-shelves filled with 
inviting books, than there is a different sort of 
thirst to satisfy— the thirst for something good 
to read. There are legions of fairy tales, bat- 
talions of nature books, companies of stories 
ranged within easy reach ; it is simple to find 
what you want in this way, or to refer to the 
card catalogue, which every one should learn to 
use. If you will look at the cards under Alcott, 
Barbour, Henty, and such authors, the worn con- 
dition of the edges will tell you how popular their 
books are with boys and girls. 

"This way to the Mall" is a sign in Central 
Park, and in the same way a picture bulletin in 
the library is a sign-board which gives you a list 
of interesting books, the books being placed just 

below the bulletin-board to look at. What boy 
would not like to know something of airships ? 
What young naturalist would not stop to examine 
some illustrated volumes on birds, flowers, and 
butterflies? The library is a place where all 
tastes are satisfied in some way, in all seasons. 
But it is often the case that readers like stories 
which later they dislike, because they have had 
so much of a kind. One girl asked a librarian if 
she had any "weepy" stories, and was told, "Yes, 
five of them." "However," said the librarian, "if 
you read one, promise me you '11 read the other 
four." By the time she had finished the third, 
she began to grow weary, and never again, after 
she had completed the fifth, did she pledge her- 
self to one kind of story alone. After the first 
few volumes of a series, do we not begin to want 
a change ? 

A Russian boy, whose whole love was wrapped 
up in his violin, searched one day for some music 
at the library, but only found a volume of short 
pieces for the piano. "If you had books for the 
violin," he wrote the librarian, "I would play 
them over and over again." Such a request is 
easily satisfied, for the chief object of books is 
to give joy, and the library welcomes a healthy 
desire. Of course we turn to some volumes for 
facts, but there are many young readers who 




throw a book aside merely because on looking 
through the pages they do not see "conversa- 
tion." Perhaps they have a wrong idea about a 
type of book which the librarian and the teacher 
have spoken of as "non-fiction." A girl once 


read "The Scottish Chiefs," by Jane Porter. "I 
suppose you would call it non-fiction," she said, 
"because it is full of historic facts, but I found 
the story splendid," which proves that the worth 
of any book — fiction or non-fiction — is in the 

But the children's rooms are not used by chil- 
dren alone. A boy once drew out a simplified 
"Robinson Crusoe" and came back with it the 
same afternoon. "I want a harder 'Robinson 
Crusoe,' " he said, and the librarian found out 
that his father was learning English, and that the 
son was helping him. Indeed, among the foreign 
people, the grown-up members of a family gener- 

ally depend upon the children tor stories. An- 
other Russian boy I have heard of used to take an 
English book and translate as he read aloud to 
his father and mother. Still another, who had 
attended a story-hour course one winter, where 
the tales of Shakspere were being told, would 
hasten home each time and report them carefully 
to his family. 

The Museum of Natural History in New York 
has done great service in lending to the different 
children's rooms special exhibits which do more 
than illustrations to whet one's interest in man- 
ners, customs, and dwellings of strange people 
and strange animals. On Staten Island an arctic 
exhibit drew crowds of children, to whom Peary 
among the ice-floes of the North was like the 
heroes of ancient times. There were "story hours," 
explanations of the snow-shoes, blankets, and 
other strange details hung on the walls, and then 
a story. In the children's room of the Medford 
(Mass.) Library, a beehive was placed for a 
while, and a hole pierced through the window- 
glass so that the bees might go in and out. Every 
one could watch the comb being built and see the 
bees fed on sugar and water when winter came. 

But the museum exhibit, the bees, the bulle- 
tins, the book lists, the talks, would be of no use 
in the library if they did not result in the boys 
and girls reading books which relate to the sub- 
jects. That is why librarians are only too glad 
to receive suggestions from the members of the 
library, and I have often thought, on looking 
through the St. Nicholas League each month, 
how much the young artists, writers, poets, could 
do for the librarian if they would tell of those 
things which most please them in the children's 
rooms, or would suggest what they wanted most 
to see there ; if they would draw bulletins con- 
taining their own welcome ideas, and make lists 
of books they specially recommend to other read- 
ers of their age. 

Where there is a library, there is always a 
school near by, and the relation between the two 
is close. Not only do the classes draw books, 
but they also go in groups to the children's room, 
where they are shown how to use reference 
books, how to find quickly what they want, for 
besides catalogues there are magazine indexes, 
cyclopedias, and dictionaries, which are useful 
only to those who understand the machinery of 
their contents. But besides the training in the 
use of reference works, there is the delight of 
reading for the mere entertainment, and in New 
York I have seen groups of girls listening in 
deep interest while a librarian talked to them of 
the books she had read when she was their age, 
giving to each an introduction to stories which 




they ought to know, not because they were in- 
forming, but because they were good and added 
to her love of life, to her understanding of the 
ways of people. A young critic was once asked 
to give her opinion of "Little Women," and said : 
"There is n't anything in the book that I don't 
like," a hearty indorsement which not every 
author can have. 

Reading clubs dot the city of Cleveland ; they 
are generally formed in connection with the 
children's reading-room, and they are sometimes 
the beginning of a children's library in a new 
neighborhood. Those girls I mentioned above 
went away fully determined to band themselves 
together, keeping notes on what they read, not 
with any artificial or forced feeling, but with 
enthusiasm over something they might enjoy. 
For, however far from fact a book may be, it 
should in some way add to our growth, by en- 
riching our fancy, our imagination, our charac- 
ter, our experience, else it had best never have 
been written. In the case of boys, interest in a 
subject usually results in debates, which any li- 
brary-club leader is glad to organize and to aid 
in the required research and reading. 

Can vou imagine six million five hundred thou- 

number two million one hundred and seventy-five 
thousand were taken bv children. That means 






a large amount of reading only in one direction, 
for there are besides traveling libraries that try 
to reach rural districts, just as the rural free 
delivery now tries to reach every isolated neigh- 
borhood with the mail. 

One must remember also that there are many 
children of foreign birth, who, when they or 


sand books strung in a row? The line would 
represent the number of books read by New 
York City people during 1908, as they were 
drawn from the regular library buildings ; of this 
Vol. XXXI X. -94. 

their parents came to America, left behind them 
a rich store of folk-tales, which the children 
should never be allowed to forget. In large cities 
there are foreign quarters, and the libraries are 



trying to have stories told in the native tongue to 
the Italians, Slavs, Bohemians, and Russians. A 
foreigner, even though he wishes to become an 
American, a good citizen, need not forget that he 
has had something given to him out of the past 


which is part of his speech, his education, and 
the way he thinks. 

The main idea of a public library is to show in 
what way one may reach the best book— the most 
interesting book; but the room is being so fitted 
up that each girl and boy soon feels a certain 
pride in being part of it. In Providence the Chil- 

dren's Library Helpers have done much in col- 
lecting a special case of books called "A Child's 
Own Library," kept behind glass, which not only 
represent the children's own personal tastes, 
but in many instances are gifts from the mem- 

The chief desire of the children's room is to 
create associations, for there are many who 
would never have them, were it not for such 
story hours, such cozy corners, such decorations, 
as are to be found here. I know of two girls 
whose whole knowledge of mythology was gained 
while taking long walks with their father ; he 
never tired of repeating to them the adventures 
of the Greek heroes. The story hour is supposed 
to take such a place as this father occupied, 
among children who otherwise would never have 
the dreams of golden deeds to remember. 

In a crowded district of Pittsburg, where the 
steel-works are, and where the flare of light and 
the smoke of furnaces fill the air, there is a 
children's reading-room which might well be 
called a "bookless library," because of the con- 
stant circulation of all the good volumes on the 
shelves. One has only to imagine how many 
boys and girls handle the books, to realize why 
they soon become decrepit and have to be re- 
placed by new ones. Speaking of "Hans Brinker," 
"The Age of Fable," and "Little Women," a girl 
of thirteen once wrote : "I have read them so 
much, I can almost recite them from memory." 
But, unlike the feeble fire-horse or the police- 
man's "mount," too old for service, a decrepit 
book is not past its usefulness. Those books 
which are no longer strong enough for vigorous 
circulation are sent to the sick-wards of the hos- 
pitals for youngsters whose whole days depend 
on bright stories and fresh flowers. Then there 
are the very, very old books, falling to pieces— 
too old, indeed, to do anything with, save to 
throw away. These, however, before they are 
taken from the library, are gathered together, 
and scrap-books made of the illustrations, and 
thus to the very last the books of the children's 
room are kept in service, and fill their chief pur- 
pose of giving readers a good time. 



— r 1 

The top of the box is hinged. 


The mere strewing of strings and bits of yarn 
about the premises, haphazard, so that the birds 
may find and use them in nest-building, is a prac- 
tice that I would discourage, because it is not 
intelligent cooperation with the birds. 

For several years a pair of Baltimore orioles 
built in an elm in the yard of a charitable lady 
of my acquaintance. One day she, in the kind- 
ness of her heart, put out a quantity of yarn for 
the birds. They were not long in finding it, nor 
in building a large and many-colored nest. All 
went happily until the young orioles were well 
grown, when the nest began to sag, and one day 
the bottom fell out under the weight of the grow- 
ing birds, so they fell to the ground and perished. 
Common white wrapping-twine or any cord equally 
strong, carpet-thread or stout rope ravelings, 
in lengths of from two to four feet, and horse- 
hair, are the best material for orioles. The qual- 
ity of the material for other birds, excepting 
vireos, is not so important. For robins strips of 
cloth and pieces of wrapping-twine are best. For 
house wrens, feathers and horsehair; for tree- 
swallows (who readily build in bird-boxes), 

feathers and straw ; for warblers, rope ravelings 
of cotton and hemp, cotton batting, and raw 
wool ; for phoebes, horsehair. The materials 
should always be placed in a conspicuous position 
where the wind will move them but not blow 
them away. Wads of batting may be nailed to a 
post or a fence ; horsehair may be wedged in a 
splintered post or a fence board or a branch. The 
stuff should not be placed too near the nest, I 
should say at least a hundred feet from it. 

There are several other birds beside those 
named above that may be cooperated with in a 
similar way, but they are not commonly found 
near home ; the king-bird, crested flycatcher, 
orchard-oriole, and indigo bunting are a few of 
them. One of the illustrations shows a nest that 
I helped an indigo bunting to build. The bird 
started the work in the edge of a brier patch 
about a hundred feet from my tent. I gathered 
some wool from the barbed-wire fence of a 
sheep pasture a mile away, and hung it with a 
few strips of cloth on a wire fence about fifty 
yards from the nest. The bird promptly found 
these, and with them built the most picturesque 
and artistic bunting's nest that I have ever seen. 








In addition to the raw material, I furnished a 
little delicate "landscape gardening" immediately 
about the nest; the bird did the rest. 

For the very reason that so much has already 
been written about bird-houses, a few additional 
words would seem in place here. In the majority 
of bird-houses the birds are expected to cooperate 
with us. But we should endeavor to take our 
ideas from the birds, as far as possible, rather than 
expect them to conform to our notions. As a 
rule, there should be only a deep hollow with a 
small opening near the top, a description that cov- 





The rope should be frayed out more than is here represented. 

ers the essentials of a common-sense bird-box. 
For bluebirds, wrens, and tree-swallows let the 
width be four or five inches, the depth from 
twelve to sixteen, and the openings, which should 
be round, two inches, one inch, and one and a 
quarter inches respectively. The opening in each 
should be within two inches of the top. The top 
or one side may be on hinges, so that the box 
may be inspected and cleaned. 

Edmund J. Sawyer. 



Aviators find an unevenness in the air and places 
where the machine suddenly drops for a short 
distance, and some of them have been claiming 
that there are "holes in the air," meaning by that 
that there are places where there is no air of 
sustaining qualities. The expression, "holes in 
the air," is, of course, only figurative, denning 




the effect noticed but not the cause. If one were 
to step into a hole in ice, there would be a sudden 
drop on account of lack of support. So the avi- 
ators claim that there are places where the aero- 
plane drops from lack of air support. 

Scientific men prefer not to call these places 
"holes in the air." Professor Elihu Thomson 
says that, while this sudden drop may be ex- 
plained by descending currents of air, such cur- 
rents are not by any means so serious as the 
"following gust" — or a wind which increases so 
fast as to overtake the machine before it can 
speed up, assuming that the wind blows in the 
same direction as that of the aeroplane. A sud- 
denly slackening head wind, which has been hold- 
ing the aviator back, may give rise to effects 
similar to those of the "following gust." While 
the descending current does not prevent control, 
the "following gust" and the "slackening head 
wind" may destroy all power of control by planes 
or rudders, and the aviator falls, as the kite does 
with its string cut. For control of an aeroplane 
it is absolutely necessary that it be moving fast 
enough to push upon the air with its planes and 
rudders. It must go fast enough to produce a 
strong head wind in the face of the aviator. 

When a boy flies a kite, if there is no wind or 
an insufficient wind, he must run fast so as to get 
the same effect as if a wind was blowing against 
the sloping kite surface. When there is a good 
wind, he need not run, for the wind itself slides 
under the sloping kite and lifts it. If the string 
breaks, there is nothing left to hold the kite fac- 
ing the wind ; it turns edgewise, and falls in an 
irregular course, for it has lost all guidance of 
any kind. When the engine stops in an aero- 
plane, there is similar danger, for it is the pro- 
peller which pushes the machine against the air, 
taking the place of the kite-string. 

When the engine stops, the aviator is com- 
pelled to soar or slide downward in a sloping 
course, and so maintain as much as possible the 
headway he has and which the engine, when run- 
ning, gives him. The "following gust" and 
"slackening head wind" really deprive him of 
headway against the air, at least for a time, and 
put him in imminent danger. If the machine 
could pick up speed, as fast as the wind can in a 

gust, tbere would be no danger. But, unfortu- 
nately, this a beavy machine cannot yet do. 


In blasting for a road in the Catskills, a big stone 
was thrown high in the air and then lodged in a 


tree, as shown in this photograph, sent to St. 
Nicholas by E. K. Anderson of Brooklyn. 


A very rare shark, named Scapanorhynchus jor- 
dani by the scientists, was discovered in the deep 
sea, off the coast of Japan. Its curious long 
"nose," protruding jaws, and small eyes give it an 
exceedingly grotesque appearance. Its mouth is 
full of sharp, slender, pointed teeth. 

There is only one other species of shark like it, 
and this also is found off the coast of Japan. In 
earlier geologic ages, these sharks were quite 
abundant, as is shown by the frequent finds of 
their fossil teeth. The largest goblin shark ever 
caught was eleven feet long; the species probably 
grows to a leneth of fifteen feet. 







The photograph here shown is of a tea-set, the 
pieces of which were made from the vertebrae — 
that is, from the bones that together form the 
backbone— of a codfish. After they had been 
boiled, they were flexible and easily molded into 
any shape. They were then bleached in a solu- 
tion of lime chloride, which gave them a peculiar 
appearance, like alabaster. The photograph was 
sent to us by Miss Florence Meigh, Ash Hall, 
Stoke-on-Trent, England. 


"Susie," a chimpanzee purchased by the New 
York Zoological Society, has been attracting 
much attention at the park. She manifests a 
great amount of intelligence and some apparently 
human traits. She sits at the table and eats her 
meals in a dignified manner, making a fairly good 
use of fork and cup. It is said by the keepers 

that, in a week, apes may be taught to behave at 
table much like human beings. Susie was ob- 
tained in Africa by Professor Richard L. Garner 
while on a trip there, during which he was en- 
gaged in the study of the habits of the gorilla 
and the chimpanzee. When first captured, she 
was too young to walk, and was fed on milk and 
fruit juices. From the very first, her owner 
sought to teach her how to distinguish geomet- 
ric forms, such as the cube, cylinder, cone, 
sphere, square, circle, and rhomb. He also 
showed that the great apes are not color-blind, 
because he arranged a series of movable flaps of 
such colors as green, yellow, blue, and red, and 
Susie soon learned to lift the different flaps at the 
word. She also learned to pick out the different 
geometric forms, and to pick up objects to the 
number of one, two, or three at command. 






This is a photograph of a part of the rarest kind 
of animal in the world, rarer, perhaps, than the 
zebra-like okapi of Central Africa. It is the head 


of the gigantic, white, square-mouthed rhinoceros 
from the Lado district of the Upper Sudan. It 
was shot, in 1910, by Colonel Roosevelt, and pre- 
sented by him to the New York Zoological Park, 
where it is preserved in the Collection of Heads 
and Horns. It is one of the most noted trophies 
of Colonel Roosevelt's African hunt. 


This picture is a photograph of a tunnel for a 
canal near Paw Paw, West Virginia. This tun- 
nel is 3130 feet long, 27 feet wide, and 223/2 feet 
in height from the ground to the keystone in the 
arch. When the canal is full, the water is seven 
feet in depth. 

Note the white spot, a little smaller than a pin- 
head, apparently just above the railing. This is 
the opening in the other end of the tunnel, and is 
an astonishing example of what the artist calls 
diminution by perspective. 

The reader is familiar with the fact that the 
farther away the object is the smaller it looks 

to us. As you have stood by the railroad, you 
have observed that the farther you look along the 
track the narrower seems the space between the 
rails, and the nearer together the rails themselves 
appear to be. This is a good example of an opti- 
cal illusion. One of the laws of nature here acts 
in such a way that our eyes would be deceived, 
if we did not correct the illusion by an act of 
our intelligence. We have learned by experience 
that "seeing is not always believing," and in this 
case we know that the rails do not come together 
in the distance. 

The little white spot in the photograph is an- 
other example of an optical illusion. In the pic- 
ture, the entrance to the tunnel seems to be 1*4 
inches in width, while the white spot is, perhaps, 
only the ^2 of an inch, yet the spot is the oppo- 
site opening of the tunnel, reduced in size by dis- 
tance, as the result of the law of perspective. 

The white dot is the farther opening of the tunnel. 







Worcester, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Last spring, we had a red rambler 
rose-bush in our garden. All through April and June 
it bore red ramblers, but later, on the same bush on 
which the ramblers grew, there were pink rosebuds that 
looked like moss-roses. Maybe you can tell me why that 
was ; if so, you will oblige 

Ruth Whiting. 

This was evidently due to the hot, dry weather. 
The coloring-matter was not produced as freely 
under such circumstances, and, in addition to this, 
the great heat of the sun bleaches out the color 
that is formed. During a trip last summer among 
the rose-growers in Europe, I noticed that, in the 
moist and cool climate of England, the roses had 
a much darker and richer color than similar roses 
had when grown in countries where the air is hot 
and dry. I also noticed similar effects in France 
and in Germany. It is probable that all your roses 
would have been deeply red, if the weather had 
been cooler and more moist. — Robert Pyle. 


Appleton, Wis. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Whenever anything is done in an 
uncommon way, or better than usual, or on a larger scale, 
or with remarkable rapidity, it makes a reputation not 
only for the man who does the work, but for the State and 

the city in which he lives. This has been plainly shown 
by the making of the big cheese by which Appleton has 
been so widely advertised. 

On the morning of August 15, on all the roads around 
Appleton, farmers were traveling, and each was carrying 
milk to the dairy factory nearest to him. They had the 
milk from eight thousand cows. A big cheese was to be 
made. To make it right, the cows were all milked at the 
same hour, and the milk was all cooled to the same 
temperature. At the dairy factories (there are thirty-two 
of them), the milk was turned into vats, and, by rennet 
dissolved in sour milk, was changed to curd. The curd 
was conveyed from the thirty-two different factories to 
Appleton, where thirty-five expert cheese-makers in white 
uniforms awaited its arrival. 

Here the curd was dumped into seven vats, each with a 
capacity of seven hundred gallons, and was allowed to 
stand until the separate little flakes became united into one 
mass. It was then cut into strips, which were passed 
through a mill and chopped into fine pieces. These were 
thrown into a mold. 

The mold, an iron frame five feet high and five feet in 
diameter, was built on an outdoor platform. Four hundred 
pounds of cheese-salt were added, and the cheese-makers 
stirred vigorously until the mixture was evenly salted. A 
thousand-pound cover was fastened on and the press 
applied, to force the water from the cheese. It was then 
seven o'clock in the evening. The men now left the 
cheese, for the first process was complete; but just before 
going to bed, they tightened the press. Next day the side 
of the huge cheese was rubbed vigorously to keep it from 

A case was built on the outside leaving a space six inches 
in width between it and the rim. Into this space ice was 
packed. The cheese was stored in the warehouse to ripen 
and to await the time of its shipment to Chicago. 

On October 20, another refrigerator was built around 
it, and it was sent on a special flat-car to Chicago, where 
it was put on view. President Taft, in the presence of a 
large crowd, cut the first slice from the cheese at the 
National Dairy Exhibition. A Chicago store purchased 
the cheese for advertising purposes. 





When this monstrous cheese, which weighed exactly 
twelve thousand, three hundred and sixty-one pounds, was 
cut up, it was sold immediately for about fifty cents a 

Large crowds had witnessed the making, and moving 
pictures of all the work were taken for the Agricultural 
Department of the United States. 

To make this great cheese cost about six thousand dollars. 

: \k -P* 


L^ & Jll Mi ■ L 



■j - ,i„ ^^ n f*-i] 

C i.urf • 

1! .^^IaJhBI 



-AH i I 


_¥JB BEIt 



u B A Bw 

*' tiiair ^bj 

Cil^lj. ™ fcsr" 

^ ■ taJftVflftnBMHK -_-___^ 


* * 



This is eight feet in diameter and five feet high. 

This is undoubtedly the biggest cheese ever made. It 
was remarkably successful not only in the making, but in 
the quality, which was pronounced excellent. It has given 
Appleton and Outagamie County great prestige as a dairy 
center. Francis Bradford. 


New Haven, Conn. 
Dear St. Nicholas : If an automobile tipped when 
going around a curve, would it tip toward the inside or 
the outside of the curve, and why? 
Yours sincerely, 

Stanley Daggett. 

The automobile will upset toward the outside. 
This is a test question of physics in some schools, 
and probably a "catch" question elsewhere. For 
it is likely that nine out of ten persons would at 
once answer that the machine would upset toward 
Vol. XXXIX.— 95. 

the inside of the curve. And., as we all know, 
it is the tendency of a body moving rapidly in a 
circle, or the segment of a circle — a curve — to 
fly from the center. A horse, or the rider on a 
bicycle or motor-cycle, instinctively leans toward 
the center to counteract this tendency; and the 
builder of a railroad follows the same law when 
he constructs his road-bed slanting downward to- 
ward the inner side of the curve. 

But, with the automobile, the road is presuma- 
bly as level on the curve as elsewhere. In going 
around a curve, therefore, the centrifugal force 
causes the automobile to tip outward, increasing 
the weight on the rubber tires of the outside 
wheels, and of course taking off the weight from 
the inner wheels. 

Theoretically, even a little motion on a curve 
produces some of this effect, but the tipping is 
not visible except in higher speed. With speed 
increased sufficiently to cause the centrifugal 
force to overcome the weight, the automobile is 
overturned— and, it will be found, invariably out- 
ward from the curve. 

If the chauffeur, in racing, takes a man to help 
"hold down the machine," that man leans to the 
inner side of the curve, as shown in photographs 
of machines rounding a curve in a race. 

If the occupants of an automobile, running at 
high speed, fear that it will overturn on a curve, 
they should lean inward, to help hold down that 
side of the machine, just as each would do if he 
were riding a bicycle. 

varying colors of different parts of 
ocean or lake 

Loon Lake, Adirondack Mountains. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Why does the water seem to be 
gray in some parts, green in others, and blue in others? 
Hoping you will answer my question, I am, 
Your loving reader, 

Charlotte Demorest (age 9). 

The ocean water holds many kinds of mud in 
suspension, and many salts in solution ; hence its 
own color varies from pale blue and pale green 
to muddy yellow or white. When we look at sea- 
water, we get some of its real color mixed with 
the sky light that happens to be reflected just then 
from the surface of the ocean, and this compound 
color may be blue, white, gray, or red, etc. ; con- 
sequently, the color of the ocean will seem to be 
different in different directions on different days. 
Blue for clearest water in clearest weather, and 
light green in cloudy weather ; gray for muddy 
water in cloudy weather.— Willis L. Moore, 
Chief U. S. Weather Bureau. 

With lake or pond water, this explanation ap- 
plies with the exception of the "salts in solution." 





,.*, ... £k*JJL. 

',/.., ...1 

W ft*.. UA-* 

WW ' " '' »^*^ 

1_9 » 3, 

Jack and Jane and Betsy Anne 

Drove Ned, the donkey, through a lane ; 

They found a spot all bright with flowers, 

" Oh, stop ! " cried Betsy Anne and Jane. 

Out Betsy hops ; Jane reaches up 
To get the blossoms on the tree ; 

Ned chose the wreath on Betsy's hat ! 
And so they had wild flowers for three. 





Said Jack to Betsy Anne and Jane, 
" We '11 fetch the Bossy home to tea ! " 
The rope is tied round Bossy's neck, 
And then what happens, you shall see. 

For Bossy frisks and jumps about, 
Then races off in antic glee ; 

Jack, Jane, and Betsy Anne hold tight — 
While Bossy brings them home to tea 




o c^ 


The list of prize-winners this month is so long that it 
leaves us only scant space for mention and encouragement 
of those whose contributions would have been printed if 
only St. Nicholas could have made room for them. The 
task of selection has never been more difficult than in this 
competition ; and in the effort to include as many offerings 
as possible, we have been compelled, for once, to omit the 
Second Roll of Honor. Therefore, every name that ap- 
pears upon the Honor Roll this month represents a con- 


tribution of surpassing merit and quite worthy to rank 
with many of those here printed. It is as disappointing 
to the Editor, as to the contributors themselves, that so 
many of these clever essays, poems, and pictures are 
crowded out. But some of the young authors and artists 
who sent them are already Honor Members ; and it is 
only a question of time when the rest of these ardent 
workers will join the ranks of the leaders of the League — 
both in its pages and its prize-lists. 


In making the awards, contributors' ages are considered. 
PROSE. Gold badge, Dorothy M. Rogers (age 17), Gloucester, Mass. 

Silver badges, Eva Jane Lattimer (age 11), Columbus, O. ; Helen L. Beede (age 12), Orleans, Vt. ; Dorothy May 
Russell (age 15), Albany, N. Y. ; Susan Cleveland (age 7), Bryn Mavvr, Pa.; Elizabeth Hendee (age 14), 
Hopkinton, la. 

VERSE. Silver badges, Stanley Bonneau Reid (age 14), Oakdale, Cal. ; Ellen Lee Hoffman (age 14), St. Louis, Mo. 
DRAWINGS. Silver badges, Jean Eleanor Peacock (age 11), Norfolk, Va. ; Rebekah Howard (age 14), Pittsburg, 
Pa. ; Walter K. Frame (age 16), Pittsburg, Pa. 

PHOTOGRAPHS. Silver badges, Genevieve Blanchard (age 14), Oak Park, 111. ; Olive L. Ladd (age 11), Lincoln, 
Neb. ; Elizabeth H. Armstrong (age 13), New York City; Hazel Chisholm (age 14), New York City; Nancy Ambler 
(age 14), Burlington, la. ; Mary Hogan (age 13), Decatur, Ala. ; Marjorie C. Huston (age 12), Coatesville, Pa. ; 
Josephine Sturgis (age 15), Boston, Mass. 

PUZZLE-MAKING. Gold badge, Marjorie K. Gibbons (age 15), Paignton, England. 

Silver badges, Margaret Waddell (age 13), Colville, Wash. ; Eleanor King Newell (age 11), Lausanne, Switzerland; 
Marion J. Benedict (age 13), North Tarrytown, N. Y. ; Fannie Ruley (age 14), West Philadelphia, Pa. 
PUZZLE ANSWERS. Silver badge, Dorothy Belle Goldsmith (age 14), New York City, N. Y. 











{Silver Badge) 
'T is dawn ; that time when breaking day 
Lifts the veil of night away. 
From yonder hills of sapphire hue, 
Fading now to lighter blue, 
The sun oomes up, and, lo, the plain 
Becomes a rose-touched sea of grain. 

Now come the toilers, scythe in hand, 
A merry, wholesome, peaceful band, 
Who spread abroad o'er all the field, 
To gather in the golden yield ; 
With arms that ache, but hearts that sing, 
Each man as happy as a king. 

Hotter and hotter grows the day, 
The cooling shade seems far away ; 
Each busy man is pausing now 
To wipe the sweat from off his brow, 
■ Or leans to rest his tired back 
Against the nearest fragrant stack. 

* * # * # * * 

At last the day of work is o'er ; 
The weary toilers, hot and sore, 
Wind homeward o'er the dusty trail, 
And through the evening's gathering veil, 
Until they vanish from our sight. 
The stars are in the sky — 't is night. 

(A true story) 


(Silver Badge) 

In the days when our city was a little village, there 
were Indians all around it. Some of them were 
friendly, and some were hostile ; but most of them 
would respond if the white people did them a kindness. 
Among the citizens was a man who had been verv 



kind to the Indians. He was called away on business, 
and left his wife and eight-months'-old baby alone in 
their cabin. 

One morning the child was lying in his cradle, and 
the mother was doing her work in another part of the 
room, when, to her terror, two tall Indians appeared in 
the doorway. They took the baby in their arms and 
walked swiftly away toward the woods. The mother 
followed, screaming to them to give back her child. 
The Indians made signs to her to go back, but as she 
could not understand their language, nor they hers, 
neither knew what the other said. 

She soon lost sight of them, and rushed to her near- 
est neighbor's ; but in all the village there was not one 
man, for they had all gone away to fight some hostile 

The women assembled in the mother's cabin to dis- 
cuss what to do. In about two hours, while they were 
still undecided, to their surprise and joy the Indians 
again appeared, with the child in their arms. They laid 
him in his cradle and left the cabin. 

As the women crowded around the baby, they noticed 


that on his feet were a pair of beautifully wrought 
Indian moccasins. The Indians had carried away the 
child to fit the moccasins to his little feet, and they 
meant this as a kindness to the baby's father, for the 
favors he had shown them. 



(Silver Badge) 
One night I sat by the fire reading, when things slipped 
away, and I seemed to be in another land. 

The scene I saw was a stretch of woods with a quaint 
old church, and just as I decided I was viewing a scene 
of 1620, I noticed a small procession of about fifty men, 
women, and children coming into view. 

The leader was the parson holding the large Bible, 
followed by the men. They were dressed in the old 
Pilgrim style, and carried huge guns. They were fol- 
lowed by the women and children. They were also 
dressed in the old style, and the children looked very 
quaint and pretty. 

The procession passed on and went into the church, 
leaving a guard at the door. 

Scarcely had the service begun, when I could see 
savage forms crawling up behind the trees. 




Just then the guard discovered them and gave the 

Bang ! ! ! 

I had been asleep, and my book had fallen to the 

I have often wondered whether the Pilgrims were 
victorious, but I have never been able to finish my 


si ** \ <JU>**^ 



{Honor Member) 
Surrounded by a grove of tall, dark trees, 

An old, old garden lies, deserted, sad ; 
And o'er the grass-grown beds the summer breeze 

Bewails the beauty which before they had. 
Flowers have vanished ; here and there a rose 
Blooms wanly, — only waits for life to close. 

Farthest within, a fountain may be seen, 

Once clear and sparkling, now a stagnant pool ; 

The brim was gay with flowers too, but e'en 

These now are dead; yet where the earth is cool, 

One slender, pale blue iris still has grown, 

And quiet stands there, musing all alone. 

"coming home." by kathryne alling, age 13. 


(Honor Member) 

The world is old, the way is long ; its toilers ply their 
labors still, 

A heavy-laden, weary throng, ascending now the cloud- 
capped hill. 

The hill of Progress they must climb ; its mist-clad 
summit hid from sight — 

Perfection is a thing sublime, not yet revealed to 
mortals' light. 

From east, from west, from south, from north, the free, 

the slave, the man, the child, 
They make their journey bravely forth into the 

unfrequented wild ; 
They struggle on, a ceaseless stream, in art, in craft, to 

rise up higher, 
I see them pass as in a dream, half marveling they 

never tire. 

Their fathers' paths they leave behind, revered ; for 

Time must bear them on, 
And oft they sadly call to mind the Past — irrevocably 

gone ! 
Half-joy, half-sorrow is the way, all fraught with 

unimagined change, 
Transient the Past — an honored day ! — the veiled 

Future new and strange. 

What is their Present? great or mean? noble or 

worthless their advance? 
A tragic or a gladsome scene? or some strange 

interlude of chance ? 
The toilers see not as they go ; they bend beneath their 

burdens' weight, 
The way is long, they yearn to know the hidden issue of 

their fate. 

The darkness still obscures the day ; but, mystical, 

Faith's mighty wave 
Bears into the dim far away the dauntless spirits of the 

So toiling man doth leave behind the o'erlived Past he 

doth revere, 
And, in the unstable Present, find a perfect future 

drawing near. 



(Gold Badge) 
It was my eleventh birthday, and to celebrate the occa- 
sion my mother had invited three of my cousins and a 
small boy neighbor to pass the day with me. 

During the afternoon, we tired of playing around the 
house, and took a walk, which finally led us to a gravel 
pit. This pit is very deep, and the side from which the 
gravel is taken is almost forty or fifty feet high. 

I had found a patch of blackberries, and was eating 
them as fast as I could, when I heard the boy say : 

"I '11 bet I can stump the whole of you." 

My cousin Pauline was standing on the edge of the 
pit where the turf overhung the steep slope. Hardly 
had the boy sp'oken the words, when the turf gave way, 
and she went over and over down the slope in a series 
of back somersaults. We were horror-stricken, for the 



child wore glasses, and, besides, she was dislodging 
gravel and rocks. 

Half-way down she partially caught herself on a 
large piece of turf, but this started to slide, and she 
continued her way down to the bottom among a lot 
of rocks, gravel, and turf. 

We all rushed toward her as she stopped, thinking to 
find a badly hurt, if not unconscious, child. 

The boy reached her first, and was about to offer his 
assistance, when, to our joy, she got up as if her un- 
expected descent was an every-day affair, and said to 
the boy : 

"Now you try that stunt, Dick !" 


















{Honor Member) 
High aloft in- the old oak-tree, 

A woodpecker toiled through the long, hot day ; 
As he pecked and pecked the dry bark away, 
He twittered and chirped to himself, chirped he : 
"Here 's a nice, fat worm for my wifie wee ; 
A grub apiece for the nestlings three ; 
And, ha ! here 's a big one left for me ! 
I 'm as happy and gay as a bird can be !" 

Down in the mine, near the old oak-tree, 

A coal-miner toiled through the long, hot day ; 
As he picked and picked the hard coal away, 
He whistled, and sang to himself, sang he : 

"There 's a nice, warm shawl for my wifie wee 
A toy apiece for the kiddies three ; 
And a pipe o' tobacco left for me ! 
I 'm as happy and gay as a man can be !" 




{Silver Badge) 
One day in the springtime, beneath the trees of a beau- 
tiful old orchard that were in bloom, was Bess, a little 
girl of four, with long, golden curls, and her brother 
Bob, a manly little boy of eight. 

They were playing horse. Bob put the reins over 
Bess's head, then twisted them around his wrist. Then 
they ran. The golden curls bobbed up and down be- 
neath the trees that smelled so sweet, King, their dog, 
barking furiously, when Bess disappeared, and Bob 
was pulled to the ground. 

"The old well ! help ! help !" Bob cried. 

King seemingly understood and ran away. 

"Mother ! Mother I" Bess screamed as she fell and 
felt the reins tighten under her arms. She was held 
at the mouth of the well. "Pull me up, quick." 

"I can't, Bess ; but if you '11 keep still, I can hold 
you till Mother comes," Bob said, and manfully dug 
his toes in the ground, and grasped the branch of a 
bush. The minutes seemed years. 

"Pull me out, Bob, oh, please !" Bess cried. 

"You must keep still." 

"I 'm so afraid." 

"Bess, shut your eyes and say your prayers." 

"Now I lay me down to sleep — Bob, don't let me fall !" 

"No, Bess, I 'm holding; go on." 

"I pray thee, Lord, my soul to keep. If I should die" 
— a scream, "Mother, quick !" 

"Go on, Bess ; I 'm holding." But, oh, how cruelly 
the reins cut the boyish wrist, drops of blood staining 
the white reins ! Slowly, but surely, he was being- 
pulled into the dark well. He tried to say, 

"I 'm holding on," but the words were drowned in 
the barking of King, steps were heard, — and Mother's 
strong hand grasped the reins. Bess was pulled up. 

"My brave boy," his mother said. 

"Oh, that 's nothing, Mother," said Bob. "A fellow 
had to hold on." 

{A true story) 


About forty years ago, in Rome, in an apartment-house, 
lived a little girl with her mother. 

As the little girl was fond of music, her mother gave 
her music lessons. They had no piano in their apart- 
ment, so the little girl would go down to the music- 
room on the floor below to practise. 

One day when she was playing an air from the opera 
"Lucia," she heard a step in the hall. Turning, she saw 
a tall, handsome man with long, white hair and a wart 
on his forehead, coming in the door. 

As she turned, he said, in a very sweet manner : 
"Go on playing, little girl ; I love music, too." The 
girl, not at all frightened, played again, and while she 
played, he showed her how to hold her hands. 

When she had finished playing, he asked her if she 
would like to have him play it for her. With an excited 
face she answered : "Yes, please." 



He took his place at the piano and played it for her. 
He played other things from Bach and Beethoven, and 
when he had finished, he turned and said to her : 

"My dear little girl, you have a talent for music, and 
if you work hard, you will become a fine musician." 
Then he went away, leaving her speechless, for her 
mind was still on the beautiful pieces he had played. 

It was not until some time later that she learned that 
the great king of the piano, Franz Liszt, had played 
for her, and had given her a lesson. 






(Silver Badge) 
There was a little girl who wanted always to see every- 

Yesterday her mother brought home a big package, 
and, of course, she wanted, right away, to see what was 
in it ; but her mother put it in the garret. 


She grew very inquisitive, and, at last, she could 
stand it no longer, so she got out of her bed and put 
on her slippers, and went up to the garret, where the 
box was. She was just going to open the box, when a 
sudden fear came upon her, and she stopped ; and 
again she tried, and this time she did. And what do 
you think was in the box? 

Nothing ! 



(Honor Member) 
Where Grandmother's footstep's used to treaJ 

Beside the garden wall, 
There bloom fair hollyhocks, pink and red, 

In stately grandeur tall. 

And where she sat near the old stone gate, 

The pansy bed still lies ; 
And the flowers seem to watch'and wait 

For her dear, smiling eyes. , 

The larkspur blue, and the pink moss-rose, 

Bloom as in long ago;* 
And the summer wind still gently blows 

Their fair heads to and fro. 

The sweet-peas sway, and the poppies red 

Lull them to sleep full well; ■ 
While the moon and stars shine overhead, 

And weave their magic spell. 

For when the still of the night does fall, 

There gleams a silver glow, 
And Grandmother's sweet voice seems to call 

From the realms of long ago. 
Vol. XXXIX. -96. 

(Villa d'Este, near Rome) 


(Silver Badge) 
In sunny land, 'neath azure skies, 
Where ilex trees to slim heights rise, 
An ancient garden rests in sleep, 
While centuries their vigils keep. 

And fountains fair their waters plash, 
And in the sunlight gleam and flash ; 
While roses tinge the unkempt stair, 
And fill the air with perfume rare. 

Once down these moss-encumbered ways 
Proud ladies walked, in bygone days, 
And harken'd to the tales of love 
Breathed fervently to heav'n above. 

Gay peacocks followed in their train 
With tails outspread in grand disdain, 
Mimicking ev'ry haughty air 
That ladies fine are wont to wear. 

Hundreds of years since then have passed, 
And Myst'ry her soft spell has cast 
, <£>To bathe this garden full of dreams, 
MSsDSf '" In purest sunlight's golden beams. 



(Silver Badge) 
The sun was sinking in a cloudless sky ; the day had 
been hot and scorching, and the little band of men and 
women who were traveling across the prairie land were 
weary and almost despairing. Such a long, long time 
it seemed since they had left their eastern homes and 
started - for. that distant country known only as "the 

Now they -had reached it; and what had they found? 


A vast unbroken plain, whereon no tree grew to soothe 
their forest-loving eyes, nor hill arose to remind them 
of their own beautiful mountains. 




But with the morning they took fresh heart, hitched 
their teams to the great covered wagons, and again 
pressed on. 

And at last they were rewarded by the sight of a 
broad stream of water, with a few cottonwood trees 
growing along its banks. 

Here they stayed through the nig+it, and in the morn- 
ing the men rose early, to begin work on a sod house. 
Day after day they worked, building more houses, and 
shelter for the horses, and in every way possible pre- 
paring for the winter. 

When it came, it was long and hard, and four of 
their number died ; one of sickness caused by exposure, 
two in a blizzard, and one shot by an Indian. 


When the next summer came, more easterners ar- 
rived and settled near them, until they had quite a little 
village, with broad fields of corn spread round about 

As time went on, trees were planted, frame houses 
built, and more towns sprung up near them. 

Now the whole great Middle West is populated, and 
is no more a pioneer country. And to whom do we 
owe it all? To the little bands of people who left their 
comfortable eastern homes to suffer hardships and pri- 
vations in a land they knew little about. Ought we not to 
feel grateful to those men and women of the yesterdays ? 



As we look behind us at the road to yesterday, we 
sigh. We have yearned to come to the land of to-day, 
and now that we are here, we wish we were back in the 
land of yesterday. 

Behind us stretches a road ; it is white, but not 
smooth. Here and there is a stone, and it reminds us 
of some blunder we have made. 

We stretch out our arms and implore, "Oh, cannot 

we go back to yesterday for just a little while?" A 
breeze gently shakes the trees, and we hear a soft voice- 
whisper, "Yes." 

An old stage-coach rumbles by. On the driver's seat 
sits a man. He wears high-topped boots, a long-tailed 
coat, and a cocked hat. 

"Can we go to the land of yesterday ?" we ask. The 
man replies that we can, and we get in. We gaze out 
of the window, and queer sights meet our eyes. We 
see men and women dressed as our grandmothers and 
grandfathers might have dressed. Everything looks 
strange and old-fashioned. At last we come to a town. 
The main street is very narrow, and on either side are 
small houses. You could almost call them huts. Wo- 
men sit on the porches, spinning. Along the sidewalk 
comes a puritan maiden. She wears a quilted petticoat 
of sober gray, and carries a prayer-book, so we know 
she is going to church. A faint whiff of lavender is 
wafted on the breeze as she passes. We hear a voice 
whisper in our ear, "Time is up." We suddenly find 
ourselves back in the land of to-day, behind us is a 
mist, but in front of us stretches the long, white road 
of to-morrow. 



O red and yellow tulips, 

Your brazen beauties show 

When zephyr's tender breezes 
Amid your petals blow. 

And thou, O lovely daisy, 

Thy golden, sunlike face 
Is hidden by white petals, 

And blended in with grace. 

And in a sunlit corner, 

Our pussy, gray, doth sleep ; 

While hollyhocks and roses 
Our garden old complete. 

But one sweet head 's forgotten, 
And that 's of silv'ry gray, — 

Ah, yes ! 't is little Grannie, 
Who owns this garden gay. 



A list of those whose work would have been used had 

Muriel W. Avery 
Irene Ivins 
Dorothy H. De Witt 
Agnes Hines 
Walter E. Halrosa 
Jennie E. Everden 


Gladys Naramore 
Helen A. Winans 
Dorothy von Olker 
Fredrika W. Hertel 


Cora Kane 
Henrietta L. Perrine 
Rutledge Atherton 
Fanny Bradshaw 
Gladys B. Furst 
Ethel M. Feuerlicht 




Margaret E. Beakes 
Edith M. Levy 
Marcella Smith 
Sybil Cobb 
Priscilla Robinson 
Lois Hopkins 
F. Earl Underwood 
Ruth B. Brewster 
Elizabeth F. Bradbury 
Nancy A. Fleming 
Lillias Armour 
Mary C. Lines 
B. V. Huiell 
Winifred Birkett 
Gertrude V. R. Dana 
Dorothy Talbot 
Edith M. Howes 

Doris F. Halman 
Rachel L. Field 
Marian Thanhouser 
Virginia E. Hitch 
Pauline P. Whittlesey 
Eliz. McN. Gordon 
Nellie Adams 
Elizabeth Zerrahn 
Harriett T. Miles 
Rebecca Merrill 
Janet Hepburn 
Betty Humphreys 
Dorothy Ward 
Edith H. Walton 
Dorothy C. Snyder 
Marian Wightman 
Anna S. Gifford 



Arthur Bent 
Henry Van Fleet 
Clara Holder 
F. Marion Brown 
Marian G. Banker 
Walter L. Chapin, Jr. 
Doris Knight 
Harriet Henry 
Katherine L. Guy 
Elmer H. Van Fleet 
Mae L. Casey 
Frances Cavanah 
James Sheean 
Marion C. White 
Marian Shaler 
May Ody 
Sarah Davison 
Mary C. Burgoyne 
Eliza A. Peterson 
Hester R. Hoffman 
Hilda Mabley 
Edgar Krauch 
John B. Main 
Catharine Clement 
Vida Cowin 
Mary Daboll 
Ruth B. Sentner 
Harold A. Lemmler 
Caroline E. Lipes 
Celia Carr 
Sarah Roody 
Alison Hastings 
Landis Barton 
Margaret R. Bell 
Marion Pool 
Frances M. Ross 
Geraldine B. Beach 
Naomi Lauchheimer 
Roy L. Mangum 
Hattie M. Wulke 
Betty A. Weston 
Adeline S. Paul 
Grace Grimes 
William W. Ladd 
Elsie Terhune 
Mildred Thorp 
Frances Morrison 
Grace B. Philp 
Eleanor De Lamater 
Arthur Nethercot 
Edna C. Eifler 


Winifred S. Stoner, Jr. 
Vera F. Keevers 
Alice Trimble 
Katharine Riggs 
Isabel Adami 
Bertha E. Walker 

Eleanor Hebblethwaite 
Leisa G. Wilson 
Mildred Ascheim 
Dorothy McClintic 
Loretto Chappell 
Edith H. Besby 
Fay E. Doyen 
Vera J. Leighton 

Phyllis Coate 
Margaret Taylor 
Jack Merten 
Justin Griess 
Nora M. Mohler 
Elizabeth Moore 
Hester B. Curtis 
Alison M. Kingsbury 
Adelaide H. Elliott 
Rosella M. Hartmann 
Marian Walter 
Margaret V. Hanna 
Margaret Brate 
Catharine H. Grant 
Lucie C. Holt 
Dorothy Hughes 
Ray Miterstein 
Philip N. Rawson 
Lucy Blenkinsop 


Mary O. Sleeper 
Hazel Pawlowsky 
3etty Comstock 
Dora Stopford 
Evelyn Holt 
Margaret Moon 
Emmie H. Goetze 
Margaret Condict 
E. Alden Minard 
Mary R. Stark 
Florence Maclaren 
Beatrice Stahl 
Willie Meffert 
Alice Moore 
Elverton Morrison 
Leslie M. Burns 
Wilson Meyer 
Renee Geaffrion 
Margaret Leathes 
D. Everett Webster 
Claire Walker 


Lillie G. Menary 
Arminie Shields 
Helen K. McHarg 
Elsie E. Glenn 
Phoebe S. Lambe 
Hazel Sawyer 
Marion E. Stark 
Cleary Hanighen 
Clarisse Sheldon 
Helen B. Weiser 


Harleigh Wathen 
Chester B. Morris 
Elizabeth Wilcox 
Jean E. Peacock 
Lily King Westervelt 
Margaret A. Foster 
Dorothy E. Handsaker 
Dorothy Calkins 
Harry Till 
Harry Zitter 
George T. La Due 


AGE 16. 

Virginia Konan 
Henry E. Eccles 
Persis D. Moore 
William A. Nuzum 
Dorothy Hall 
Margery Andrews 
Mary Botsford 
Caroline F. Ware 
Ellen R. Sherman 
Kiki Roest 
Ethel Malpas 
J. Sherwin Murphy 
Augusta Michael 
Dorothy Parks 
Howard Sherman 
Louise Ladue 
Valerie Underwood 
Paul C. Rogers 
Anne Ashley 
Francis B. Wreaks 
Margaretta Archbald 
Adele Lowinson 
Julia F. Brice 
Alexander Scott 

Gladys West 
Charles S. Roll 
Paull Jacob 
Elwyn B. White 
Charlotte L. Bixby 
John Toole 
Willet L. Eccles 
Meredyth Neal 
Frederick Biilch, Jr. 


Madelyn Angell 
Edith P. Stickney 
Lucy Lewis Thorns 
Charles A. Stickney 
May Gunn 
S. H. Ordway, Jr. 
Deborah Iddings 

John M. Kellogg 
Bessie T. Keene 
Richard H. Randall 
Anthony Fabbri 
Julis Singer 
Josselyn D. Hayes 
Martha V. Pallavicino 
Stephen Jacoby 
Jessica B. Noble 


The St. Nicholas League awards gold and silver badges 
each month for the best original poems, stories, drawings, 
photographs, puzzles, and puzzle answers. Also, occasion- 
ally, cash prizes of five dollars each to gold-badge win- 
ners who shall, from time to time, again win first place. 

Competition No. 152 will close June 10 (for for- 
eign members June 15). Prize announcements will be 
made and the selected contributions published in St. 
Nicholas for October. 

Verse. To contain not more than twenty-four lines. 
Subject, "A Message," or "A Messenger." 

Prose. Essay or story of not more than three hundred 
words. Subject, " A Good Beginning. " 

Photograph. Any size, mounted or unmounted; no blue 
prints or negatives. Subject, "Curiosity." 

Drawing. India ink, very black writing-ink, or wash. 
Subject, "A Fashion," or " Fashionable," or a Heading 
for October. 

Puzzle. Any sort, but must be accompanied by the an- 
swer in full, and must be indorsed. 

Puzzle Answers. Best, neatest, and most complete set 
of answers to puzzles in this issue of St. Nicholas. 
Must be indorsed and must be addressed as explained on 
the first page of the " Riddle-box." 

Wild Creature Photography. To encourage the pur- 
suing of game with a camera instead of with a gun. The 
prizes in the "Wild Creature Photography" competition 
shall be in four classes, as follows : Prize, Class A, a 
gold badge and three dollars. Prize, Class B, a gold 
badge and one dollar. Prize, Class C, a gold badge. 
Prize, Class D, a silver badge. But prize-winners in this 
competition (as in all the other competitions) will not 
receive a second gold or silver badge. Photographs must 
not be of "protected " game, as in zoological gardens or 
game reservations. Contributors must state in a few words 
where and under what circumstances the photograph was 

Special Notice. No unused contribution can be re- 
turned by us unless it is accompanied by a self-addressed 
and stamped emjelop of the proper size to hold the manu- 
script, drawing, or photograph. 


Any reader of St. Nicholas, whether a subscriber or not, 
is entitled to League membership, and a League badge and 
leaflet, which will be sent free. No League member who 
has reached the age of eighteen years may compete. 

Every contribution, of whatever kind, must bear the 
name, age, and address of the sender, and be indorsed as 
"original" by parent, teacher, or guardian, who must be 
convinced beyond doubt that the contribution is not copied, 
but wholly the work and idea of the sender. If prose, the 
number of words should also be added. These notes must 
not be on a separate sheet, but on the contribiction itself— 
if manuscript, on the upper margin ; if a picture, on the 
margin or back. Write or draw on one side of the paper 
only. A contributor may send but one contribution a 
month — not one of each kind, but one only. 

Address : The St. Nicholas League, 

Union Square, New York. 




Junetime is here again. Vacation will be the 
next thing. Vacation, with all its fun and frolic, 
its outdoor life, its boating, swimming, tramping 
and camping, fishing and riding. 

The chief joys of vacation are, naturally, those 
to be found outdoors, and you are all of you prob- 
ably full of plans for country doings. The days 
are going to be filled full of green growth and of 
sunshine, and you are going to be out in it every 
waking minute. Only, of course, the days won't 
all be bright ones; picnics and tennis parties will 
have to be given up just as often this year, on 
account of rain, as in the past ; rain that lasts all 
day, or sudden thunder-showers that send you 
scampering home. And there will also be sultry 
afternoons that are made for the hammock under 
the apple-trees or in the shady porch corner ; or 
chill evenings when you prefer sitting around 
the lamp in the living-room. 

It is these quieter times that can be made as 
memorably delightful as the rest, if, among your 
rackets and clubs and fishing-rods, you have 
packed along a few well-chosen books. 


It is the choice of these few books that I want 
to talk over this month. Once you are away in 
your country home, it won't be so easy to get a 
book as it is now; on the other hand, your trunk 
has just so much room, and you must n't waste it 
on a book you are not going to find worth 
while. Six or eight well-chosen books ought to 
be enough. You can fill a summer full of good 
reading with that number, if each one is of value, 
if it is enjoyable and, at the same time, able to 
add to your possessions — those inner possessions 
which are so much more enduring and precious 
than the outside things we are apt to work so 
hard to get. 

In making up your mind as to just which books 
you will take on your vacation with you, books 
that won't bore or disappoint you, books that 
won't be so light and frivolous as to waste your 
time, nor yet so heavy as to make it a burden, 
you must take certain things into consideration. 
In the first place, the things you like and the 
things you don't like. That seems easy enough. 
"But hold !"— as they say on the stage. Are you 

sure you don't like the things you think you don't 
like? Perhaps you have never given them a fair 
chance. Suppose you 've always said — and 
thought— that you hated history. Now, history is 
really a very wonderful and exciting subject, and 
it seems likely that if you got over your prejudice, 
you might find history as enthralling as other 
people have found it. Last month I spoke of 
Prescott's histories as being such excellent read- 
ing. One of these on your summer's list may help 
to open fascinating new regions to you. Or you 
might try a history of a different kind, more like 
a story, such as Lanier's "Boys' Froissart" and 
"Boys' King Arthur," or Bulfinch's "Legends of 
Charlemagne." Biography belongs with history. 
Too many of you are afraid of it, without ever 
really endeavoring to discover whether or not 
you would care for it. There are lives of Daniel 
Boone and Davy Crockett that beat most adven- 
ture stories for excitement. There is also a world 
of entertainment as well as information in a book 
like Miss Seawell's "Decatur and Somers"— orig- 
inally published as a serial in St. Nicholas— or 
in any of Frank Trevor Hill's delightful histories 
and biographies on American subjects. Buffalo 
Bill's story of his life is capital, and so are Gen- 
eral Grant's Memoirs. So don't decide too has- 
tily that you dislike books on certain subjects — 
subjects that most people find to be interesting. 

The best choice for a group of summer books 
is a varied one. Don't be afraid to be interested 
in many things; it will help you to grow men- 
tally, just as a variety of good food helps your 
physical growth. Most of you have, however, 
some favorite subject, and that is as it should be. 
You want a book on that. Perhaps it is nature. 
In that case be sure to take along a book by John 
Burroughs, or William T. Hornaday, or John 
Muir. Muir's splendid "Mountains of Califor- 
nia" has been issued in a new edition this year, 
and is a real treat. Or you might take one of 
Thoreau's books, "A Week on the Concord and 
Merrimac Rivers," for instance, or "Mount Ka- 
tahdin." Some of you prefer Thompson-Seton's 
animal stories, with their excellent drawings. 
And one of the best of the late books is Overton 
W. Price's "The Land We Live In," which is 
simply crammed with interest and value from 
cover to cover. 

If you are interested in art or music or science, 
be sure to take a volume on these subjects, or a 




life of one of the men associated with them, of 
which there are many. There are many books, 
too, that tell how to know and understand the 
best in pictures or in the operas, and other won- 
derful volumes on recent discoveries and inven- 
tions. Send to any bookseller for a catalogue on 
your special subject, whatever it may be, and then 
choose one of the books from his list. 

Always take along a volume of poetry. Not 
to love poetry is very much like not loving flow- 
ers, or sunsets, or sweet thoughts, or noble feel- 
ings. You will lose a great deal if you do not 
learn to love it ; and the best, in fact the only, 
way of learning to love it, is to read it. You can 
take a book of collected poems, like "The Golden 
Treasury," or "The Oxford Book of Verse." Or 
you might choose Macaulay's "Lays," or Long- 
fellow's "Hiawatha," or Tennyson's "Idylls of 
the King." And an excellent choice is Pope's 
translation of the Iliad and the Odyssey. Or 
there are Riley's lovely songs ; and Stevenson ; 
and Field ; or Scott's stories in verse. 

You surely want a good long novel or tale of 
adventure, like Scott's "Rob Roy," or his "Quen- 
tin Durward." Then there is the always new 
"Tom Brown at Rugby," by Hughes, or perhaps 
Jane Porter's "Scottish Chiefs," a moving story 
full of stir and incident. There are Stevenson's 
stories ; there are Dickens and Victor Hugo ; 
there is Howard Pyle, with his "Merry Adven- 
tures of Robin Hood," and many another, the 
pictures as delightful as the text, and both made 
by him. Or you might enjoy a quiet story like 
one of Louisa Alcott's, or Jane Austen's, or Mrs. 
Gaskell's "Cranford," or Miss Yonge's "Dove in 
the Eagle's Nest," or Kenneth Grahame's beau- 
tiful "Golden Age." Let your story, however, be 
by some writer you know to be good, and not too 
recent, so that it has had time to ripen. For that 
is good for books, just as it is for fruit. 

As for fairy tales, I always think there is room 
for a bulky volume of those delicious things, just 
as there is room for moonshine in a summer night 
or golden shadows in a wood. Perhaps you 
have n't yet read Fergus Humes's "Chronicles of 
Fairy Land." If not, you ought to, for it is an 
adorable book. Then, too, there is Jean Ingelow's 
charming "Mopsa the Fairy," and George Mac- 
Donald's "Back of the North Wind," and "The 
Princess and the Goblin." As we all know, there 
is practically no end to the good fairy stories. 

Let 's see : you now have a book on history or 
biography; a book on your favorite subject; a 
book of adventure or story ; a book of verse ; a 
fairy book. That still leaves room for one or 
two more in our little list for rainy and lazy sum- 
mer days. I believe that, even though it may not 

be your special subject, you ought always to in- 
clude a nature book dealing with some particular 
form of natural life, a book that tells you about 
the birds, the wild flowers, or the trees of the 
locality where you are to be. Or you might 
choose a volume on geology, on the depths of the 
sea or the heights of the sky and the shining 
stars. There are stories about bees, ants, and 
spiders that are brimful of interest and of sur- 
prise. Nor should you neglect the small animals 
of field and woodside, the snakes and moths, or 
any of the manifold lives that go on so near you, 
yet remain such mysteries unless you study them. 

It seems to me that another type of book you 
cannot afford to neglect is the travel story. Here 
you have again a wide choice, for you have the 
whole round earth to voyage over, once you em- 
bark in a book. You can take some old volume, 
like Dana's "Two Years Before the Mast," or 
else a comparatively new one, like Stanley's 
"Darkest Africa," or Peary's "Farthest North." 
A book that is n't exactly a travel book, but near 
enough, is "The Crooked Trail," by Lewis B. 
Miller, which tells of a thousand-mile ride along 
the Texan border in the days when the Lone Star 
State was wilder than it is now. This book gives 
a true and unforgetable picture of the West, and 
you are sure to like it immensely. 

Well, now we have about as many as we meant 
to take along with us. It is n't a great number, 
but if you make up your list in some such order 
as I have suggested, your summer will hold 
plenty of good reading. Of course you are tak- 
ing about as much of the great ocean of liter- 
ature in this little handful of books as you would 
be taking water from the sea if you filled a cup 
with it. But that cupful of water has the tang 
and smell of the ocean, its wetness, a hint of its 
color. And your handful of literature will give 
you a taste of all reading, with its wealth of fact 
and fancy, of imagination and information, song 
and story. 

It is far better to read seven or eight good 
books thoroughly, than to waste your time doubled 
up over a worthless collection of stories, all more 
or less alike. Summer is the time for you to 
keep outdoors, to play and gather fresh impres- 
sions, to laugh and grow tanned. Any of it you 
spend indoors you ought to make very worth 
while, and hours spent reading a detective story 
or a lot of cheap stuff that leaves nothing behind 
but tired eyes, are foolishly spent. Better not 
read at all for those free months. But if you use 
the time you spend with a book in the company 
of one who is clever and sympathetic and inter- 
esting, who has something to tell you and tells it 
well, you are doing a wise and a pleasant thing. 


In accordance with the announcement in the League pages 
for May, we take pride in devoting the Letter-Box this 
month to the following contributions by girl readers of the 
magazine who loyally declare that St. Nicholas is "the 
book " that has " helped them most." And we extend our 
thanks to these young friends for the kindly appreciation 
so cordially expressed in their letters. 


Since I first learned to read, I have read a great 
many books of almost every description, yet I cannot 
think of one of them that has helped me in so many 
ways as the St. Nicholas. 

The funny verses make me laugh when I am feeling 
"blue" ; the advertising contests and the puzzles help 
to keep my brain from beooming too rusty, and the 
stories are pleasant to read after the work is done 
(and sometimes before), or in the evening. 

The League is where I think I have received the 
most help, for it has given me a chance to make use 
of my love of writing "stories." Since I was able to 
write, I have been writing thoughts on paper that 
amuse my small sisters, but are not worth wider at- 
tention. The League has given me a chance to see 
whether I could do anything worth while in com- 
position or not. 

Since my mother first urged me to write, I have sent 
every month but one, and every month but one I 
have been rewarded by seeing my name on either one 
Roll of Honor or the other. My silver badge made 
me feel very proud and happy, but I now long to 
possess a gold badge, and I have not much more time 
in which to win it. 

I know, however, that when I truly deserve it, I 
shall receive it, and so it rests with me to make my 
work worthy of this honor from the League. 

Dorothy M. Rogers (age 17). 

The book that has helped me most is St. Nicholas. 
I have taken it since I was four years old, and only 
missed a year and a half. 

In 1905 or 1906 there was a poem about "Smiley 
Boy." Mother, when I was cross, would say, "Re- 
member Smiley Boy." Then I would get over my 
crossness. Later came the story of. "Queen Silver- 
bell" and how she lost her temper. The temper was 
a little fairy in a silver cage. When I was about to 
lose my temper, Mother would remind me of "Queen 

So St. Nicholas has done for me more good than 
any other book. 

Katherine Judson (age ioJ/£). 

Many books pass through my mind. First come two 
great stories of chivalry — "Ivanhoe," by Sir Walter 
Scott, and Malory's "Morte Arthure." And then comes 
the "Chaplet of Pearls," a historic novel of France. 
After these come many college stories. But, as I 
reflect, there is one book which comes to my mind 
and remains there. Does this not contain legends of 
chivalry, historic stories, and stories of to-day, as 
well as other useful and desirable knowledge?' What 

book is this ? Why, it is my bound volume of St. 
Nicholas. My favorite school story, "The Crimson 
Sweater," first appeared in the pages of St. Nicholas. 

I am much interested in foot-ball, and if there is 
any point in the game I do not understand, I have 
only to turn to my well-worn volume of St. Nicholas 
and read the splendid articles by Walter Camp. The 
base-ball articles are very interesting. I understand 
the game much better since I read them. If a ques- 
tion arises in connection with nature or science, it 
is usually answered by consulting St. Nicholas. Only 
a few days ago, I wished to know why some days 
were called "weather-breeders." When my last num-. 
ber of St. Nicholas came, the answer was found in, 
its pages. 

We often wish a change from the popular "rag- 
time" music. Then, what can please us better than 
the old-time ballads, published in St. Nicholas? Can 
any book be found more useful, entertaining, or in- 
structive than dear old St. Nicholas? The book, 
then, that has helped me most is St. Ni-cholas ; and 
it has helped me because it always contains something 
easy, something hard, something new, something old ; 
but, best of all, I always find something that I need 
most to know. 

Elizabeth C. Walton (age 15). 

I have books and books ! Why, one Christmas I re- 
ceived fifteen books, but the next Christmas, I received 
only one, and that one was the St. Nicholas. 

Of course I was delighted to get this magazine, but 
I was very disappointed that I did not receive more 
books ; as the months rolled by, however, I found out 
how very foolish I was, and how valuable this one 
book was, and how very interesting the stories were ; 
and not only this, but I found out the League was the 
most interesting of all amusements. It helps one along ; 
it makes one have an aim, something to look forward 
to ; whether you are an artist or a writer, you are sure 
of having a chance. 

Marie Merriman (age 13). 

The book that has helped me most is St. Nicholas. 

St. Nicholas is not only a story-book, but it is a 
book that teaches many things that one has not known 

St. Nicholas makes one think more about the 
things around us, especially the pages of "Nature and 
Science and Because We Want to Know" ; and others 
are very instructive. 

The stories of "Dorothy, the Motor-Girl," and "Crof- 
ton Chums" are interesting and helpful. 

Dorothy's trips in her car took one back to some 
of our most noted writers' homes. One could just 
imagine seeing the homes of Longfellow, Louisa M. 
Alcott, and others as much loved by all. 

I was reading "Little Women" at the same time 
Dorothy was visiting the author's old home. 

The prize competitions and puzzles set our minds 
to working hard, and doing a lot of thinking about the 
work, and the way we write and express our thoughts. 

So far as the good we get from books and maga- 
zines, St. Nicholas has helped me most, and I am 
sure that all of the readers of St. Nicholas will agree 
with me. Margaret Vaughan (age 13). 



Novel Acrostic. 
words: i. Rowel. 2. 

Primals : 
Irony. 3. 



third row: Wolfe 
4. Elfin. 5. Yield. 


2. Par. 3. Paris. 
Dab. 3. Domed. 
Valid. 2. Arena. 
Dam. 3. Devil. 
2. Tap. 3. Tamar. 

Diamonds Connected by a Square. I. 1. 
4. Parasol. 5. Risen. 6. Son. 7. L. II. 1. G 
4. Gambrel. 5. Berry. 6. Dey. 7. L. III. 

3. Lever. 4. Inert. 5. Darts. IV. 1. R. 

4. Ravines. 5. Mined. 6. Led. 7. S. V. 1. ] 
4. Ramadan. 5. Paddy. 6. Ray. 7. N. 

Novel Zigzag. Zigzag: Shakespeare: second row: Hamlet. Cross- 
words: r. Shrimp. 2. Bakery. 3. Emesis. 4. Slopes. 5. Cellar. 
6. Statue. 

Illustrated Numerical Enigma. "He who purposes to be an 
author should first be a student." 

Geographical Zigzag. North Carolina. Cross-words: 1. New 
York. 2. Corinth. 3. Rutland. 4. Atlanta. 5. Hamburg. 6. Ecua- 

dor. 7. Alabama. 8. Orinoco. 9. < llympia 10. Algeria, n. Ice- 
land. 12. England. 13. Augusta. 

Cross-word Enigma. Leopard. 

Double Acrostic. Nathaniel Hawthorne. Cross-words::. Noah. 
2. Anna. 3. Trow. 4. Halt. 5. Arch. 6. Nero. 7. Iser. 8. Earn. 
o. Lane. 

Concealed Square Word. 
Notes. 5. Tress. 

1. Event. 2. Valor. 


Diamond, i. M. 2. Sit. 3. Salad. 4. Million. 5. Taint. 6. 
Dot. 7. N. 

Double Zigzag. Zigzags: Michael Angelo, Sistine Chapel; 1 to 5, 
David; 6 to 10, Moses. Cross-words: "1. Moves. 2. Digit. 3. 
Cures. 4. Chute. 5. Alibi. 6. Terns. 7. Loose. 8. Dance. 9. 
Neigh. 10. Agram. n. Equip. 12. Alien. 13. Oriel. 

To our Puzzlers: Answers to be acknowledged in the magazine must be received not later than the 10th of each month, and should be 
addressed to St. Nicholas Riddle-box, care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth Street, New York Crty. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the March Number were received before March 10 from Judith Ames Marsland — "Midwood" — R. 
Kenneth Emerson — Constance Guyot Cameron. 

Answers to Puzzles in the March Number were received before March 10 from Robert L. Moore, 7 — Ruth Adele Ehrich, 7 — Ralph 
P. Barnard, 8 — M. W. Johnstone, 8 — Margaret Thurston, 7 — Agnes L. Thomson, 8 — Isabelle M. Craig, 7 — Harmon B., James C, Glen T. 
Vedder, 7 — Nellie Adams, 7 — Philip Franklin, 8 — Dorothy Belle Goldsmith, 8 — Courtland Weeks, 7 — Florence S. Carter, 7 — Thankful Bick- 
more, 8 — Theodore H. Ames, 7 — Mrs. W. G. Hafford, 7 — Gladys S. Conrad, 3 — Margaret B. Silver, 3 — Horace L. Weller, 2 — Guy R. Turner, 
6 — Elizabeth B. Williams, 3 — Claire Hepner, 6— Elizabeth J. Parsons, 2 — Janet B. Fine, 4 — John Martin, 3 — Mary Lorillard, 2 — Katharine L. 
Drury, 2 — Dorothy Bowman, 5 — Edna R. Meyle, 4 — Henry Seligsohn, 5— Elizabeth Heinemann, 3 — Kathryn Lyman, 5 — Emily L. Abbott, 5 — 
George B. Cabot, 4 — Joseph B. Kelly, 5. 

Answers to one Puzzle were received from M. F.- 
B. H— G. R— B. B.— M. D.— M. B.— B. M. 

-F. C. S.— H. F.— E. E.— L. R.— W. E E. T.—D. W— M. Y. R.— B. K.— W. L.- 


I am composed of fifty-two letters and form a quotation 
from Lowell. 

My 24-15-52-7-30-37 is a clown. My 35-1-26-8-28- 
51 is empty pride. My 12-5^20-42-10-39—3-21 is a 
rambling composition. My 16-40-13-48-27-25-44 is 
non-professional. My 33— 18-17— 29-32— 1 1—3 1—43— 49 is 
formed. My 19-34-45-36-23-9-46 is protection. My 
38-50-4 is the call of a bird. My 14-6-2 is flowed. 
My 22-47-41 makes a winter sport. 

Esther dempsey (age 16), League Member. 


My first is a creature decidedly small, 
My second once rescued the race, 

My third comes along with a telegraph call, 

And my whole is a far distant place. 
Gertrude russell (age 1 2), League Member. 


(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 
In each of the following sentences a feminine name is 
concealed. When rightly guessed and written one below 
another, the primals will spell the name of a president 
of the United States. 

1. That teacher made linear measure seem easy. 

2. She wore a bonnet tied with blue ribbon. 

3. The odor is very sweet. 

4. Pedro sees the monkey. 

5. The lean organ-grinder begged for money. 
' 6. Ask Edwin if reddish brown will do. 

7. At San Jose Phineas met his uncle. 

8. The man handed him a license. 

9. "Get in the car, old fellow !" he shouted to his dog. 

10. "Meet me under the oak at eight o'clock." 

11. "Ah!" cried the hussar, "ah, could I see thee but 
once again !" 

12. The • new bass viol gave the boy great pleasure. 

13. Use the funnel lying on the table. 

MARION j. benedict (age 13). 


(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 































































43 . 
















53 . 


D 1 














N A 

Beginning at a certain square, move to an adjoining 
square until each .square has been entered once. If the 
moves are correctly made, the letters in the succeeding 
squares will spell the names of eleven well-known flow- 







Each of the eight pictured objects may be described by 
a word of five letters. When rightly guessed and writ- 
ten one below another, the middle row of letters will 
spell the name of a June visitor. nora bennett. 


(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 

Example: Triply behead and quadruply curtail unim- 
portant, and leave consumed. Answer, imm-ate-rial. 

In the same way behead and curtail : i. Simple, 
and leave human beings. 2. Inflammatory, and leave 
an aim. 3. A period of forty days, and leave hastened. 
4. A manager of another's affairs, and leave a despica- 
ble fellow. 5. According to the principles of mathe- 
matics, and leave to edge. 6. Control, and leave ma- 
turity. 7. Written names of persons, and leave a boy's 
nickname. 8. Relevancy, and leave a metal. 9. Per- 
taining to parts under the skin, and leave a kind of 
lyrio poem. 10. Pierced with holes, and leave a prep- 
osition. 11. Continuous bendings, and leave a large 
tub. 12. To free from prejudices, and leave an epoch. 
13. Pertaining to a phonotype, and leave a negative ad- 
verb. 14. Wavers, and leave evil. 15. Unsettled, and 
leave a vehicle. 16. Monarchs, and leave before. 

The remaining words are all of the same length and 
their initial letters spell the title of a play by Shak- 
spere. fannie ruley (age 14). 


(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 

Example : Transpose to forfeit, and make part of a 
shoe. Answer, lose, sole. 

In the same way transpose: 1. To weary, and make 
a dress. 2. To wander, and make above. 3. Naked, 
and make an animal. 4. A residence, and make a 
direction. 5. A minute orifice in a body, and make a 
stout cord. 6. Recent, and make a story. 7. Apparel, 
and make to boast. 8. Dreadful, and make a kind of 
excursion. 9. Answers the purpose, and make poems of a 
certain kind. 10. Handles awkwardly, and make a winged 

insect. 11. Part of a window, and make part of the 
neck. 12. Part of a doorway, and make misfortunes. 
13. A sound, and make a memorandum. 14. To whip, 
and make a game. 

The initial letters of the new words will spell the 
name of an English poet. 



(Gold Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 
















































000 000 000 
* * * * o * * o * * 


* # # 

* * * * 

# # * * # 

1. Upper Left-hand Square: i. Speed. 2. A Greek 
letter. 3. A twig. 4. A pronoun. 5. Earnest. 

II. Upper Diamond: i. In prestige. 2. Uninterest- 
ing. 3. Immense. 4. An animal. 5. In prestige. 

III. Upper Right-hand Square: i. In an auto- 
mobile. 2. A fruit. 3. Fatigues. 4. Open to view. 
5, Musical signs. 

IV. Left-hand Diamond: i. In prestige. 2. A 
drinking vessel. 3. Sin. 4. To work steadily. 5. In 

V. Central Diamond: i. In prestige. 2. A period 
of time. 3. Snares. 4. To imitate. 5.' In prestige. 

VI. Right-hand Diamond: i. In prestige. 2. A 
card. 3. Panic. 4. Before. 5. In prestige. 

VII. Lower Left-hand Square: i. To stop the 
progress of. 2. To be sufficient. 3. Tests. 4. Public. 
5. Plagues. 

VIII. Lower Diamond: i. In prestige. 2. A min- 
eral spring. 3. A garden tool. 4. To join to. 5. In 

IX. Lower Right-hand Square: i. Transparent. 

2. Permission. 3. Consumed. 4. To turn aside. 5. 
Tears. marjorie k. gibbons (age 15). 



Your Candy 

Every one in your home gets "candy-hungry." 
Peter's Chocolate fills the ever-present demand for 
chocolate candy — because it has that peculiarly 
delicious taste which you have always considered 
the ideal chocolate flavor. 


is the food and candy combined. 
Itis as wholesome as it is delicious, 
and you can give your family all 
they want of it. 

Peter's is the original milk 
chocolate. For more than thirty 
years it has been the purest milk 
" M g h a* the Aip S chocolate made. 

in Quality ' ' 

It is the business of the Peter Factory 
to give you good chocolate candy 


An Advertisement to Children 


K\>.l:bl->H< \l$ 

THE disease germ is a tiny, living thing 
that can only be seen through the most 
powerful microscope. 

Though so small, he has done much harm 
in the world. 

It is he that gives you sore throat, measles, 
whooping-cough, and all the other "catching" 
sicknesses. It is he that makes your sore ringer 
get well so slowly. 

Even the doctors are afraid of him and 
always try to destroy him.' 

To-day every disease germ lives in mortal 
fear of Dioxogen. One touch of it means death 
to him. 

That is why doctors, nurses, and wise 
mothers and fathers use Dioxogen at once for 
every kind of wound. Why they want you to 
gargle with it, or at least rinse your mouth. 

When it is busy killing germs, Dioxogen 
bubbles and foams. You can see it work. Ask 
mother to let you try it yourself. 

Dioxogen is a germicide — 
a germ destroyer — not 
merely an antiseptic. It 
is absolutely harmless, too. 

Three Sizes: Small (5 ^3 oz. ) 25c. 
Medium (10^ oz. ) 50c. Large 
(zo oz.) 75c. 

Dioxogen, 98 Front Street, New York City 





HP HE glistening whiteness and clear, spark- 
ling crystals proclaim the absolute purity 
of Crystal Domino Sugar. The dainty, easy- 
breaking shape is the last touch of perfection. 

Because it is sweetest and purest, it is also the 
most economical — as thousands of housewives 
have learned. 

One of the "Qualify Products" of 

The American Sugar Refining Company 

117 Wall Street, New York 

Read the story of its making ' n our splendidly illus- 
trated booklet, sent on request. Address Debt. is. 




Begins at the 

Breakfast Table \ 

The most common table 
beverages — coffee and tea — 
contain a drug — caffeine — 
which to some persons is an 
irritant, and interferes with 

If you find this to be true 
in your own family, stop the 
coffee and tea and use 


Well boiled, according to directions, it is a comforting 
drink resembling Java coffee in color and taste. 

The test is worth the trouble and may solve the 

"There's a Reason" 

Postum Cereal Company, Limited, 
Battle Creek, Mich., U. S. A. 

Canadian Postum Cereal Co., Ltd., 
Windsor, Ontario, Canada. 







Let 's all have a good time 

HERE'S a Junket Party. The original is in bright, pretty colors — size, 6x12 
inches. See what a good time the children are having eating Junket, and 
others are coming to join them. ^ You may have a good time, too, making 
and eating Junket — so easy to make, so good to eat, and unlike any other 
dessert. Junket Desserts are made with milk and Junket Tablets. Just fine to 
give to your friends when they come to your real party. <J All you need do is to send 
your name and address and Ten Cents, and you '11 get this beautiful toy, a Junket Recipe Book, and 
a full-size package of Junket — enough for ten parties. We will send, all charges prepaid, three 
packages of Junket with book and toy for 25 cents. <J Sit down right now and write for them. 


Chr. Hansen's Laboratory, LITTLE FALLS, N. Y. 




Has all the good features— secur- 
ity, neatness, "handiness," 
and wear value. Buy it by 
name and be sure. 

Children's sample pair 16c. postpaid (give age). 
GEORGE FROST CO., Makers, Boston 
(Also makers of famous Boston Garter for Men.) 


Borated Talcum 


For Prickly Heat and Sunburn 
Relieves all Skin Irritations 

Sample Box for 4c stamp 


Newark, N. J. 



From St. Paul, Minneapolis, 
Duluth, Superior, Kansas 
City, St. Joseph, Omaha. 

Correspondingly low fares from all points East and South. 


| For Yellowstone tour 
_ of 53^ days from Liv- 
2 ingston, Montana. 

This Park rate includes 
all meals, lodging and 
stage transportation in 
the Park, 

Write for booklets about the trip and service. Enclose 6 cents for 
"Through Wonderland," the most beautiful book on 
Yellowstone ever issued. Address 



"The difference between 
knowledge and wisdom is 
the difference between see- 
ing an opportunity and 


seizing it, 


Great are the opportunities 
offered by St. Nicholas to 
reliable advertiser and wise is 
that advertiser who does not 
overlook the young folks. 




has never 
had a 

si'c£ day. " 

Mrs. W. B. 




't right, he cannot 
stand the summer heat without serious illness. 


is used by thousands of physicians, nurses and 
mothers who have learned horn experience that 
pure cow's milk modified with Eskay's can be 
digested by baby's delicate stomach with no 
more effort than mother's milk. 

"Ask your doctor" about Eskay's, and 

let us mail you our helpful mother's 


Smith, Kline & French Co. 462 Arch St., Phila. 


Fifth Avenue at 35th Street 

The unique Luncheon Restaurant is a popular 
resort for ladies — afternoon tea 3 to 6 



Getting <j$um 

Chiclets are the refine- 
ment of chewing gum 
for people of refine- 
ment. Served at 

swagger luncheons, teas, 
dinners, card parties. The 
only chewing gum that ever 
received the unqualified sanc- 
tion of best society. It's the 
peppermint — the true mint. 
Look for the Bird Cards in the 
packages. You can secure a beau- 
tiful Bird Album free. 

For Sale at all the Better Sort of Stores 
5c. the Ounce and in 5c, 
10c. and 25c. Packets 



Metropolitan Tower 

New York 


St. Nicholas League Advertising Competition No. 126 

Time to hand in answers is up June 10. Prize-winners announced in August number. 

It is very evident to any one reading those depart- 
ments of the St. Nicholas Magazine which are 
the work of the readers themselves that there are 
few subjects more interesting to those who favor 
us with contributions, than pet animals. In the 
Letter-Box and in the League alike, communica- 
tions appear constantly testifying to the interest 
of owners in their pets. 

This has suggested to us a form of competition 
somewhat novel, and yet appealing to most of 
you, both because the subject-matter is interest- 
ing and because the thing to be done is one well 
within your grasp. 

The art of advertising consists in conveying to 
a reader a knowledge of an impression in your 
own mind, and in conveying that impression so 
strongly as to make your advertisement act upon 
his mind. Thus the making of an advertisement 
involves clear understanding of its subject, the 
choice of those parts of it which make the strong- 
est appeal, and the putting of your statements 
into convincing form. 

Knowing, therefore, that so many of you are 
believers in keeping pets, such as dogs and cats, 
ponies and birds, we ask you to write out a 
statement showing the benefits of the keeping of 
pets upon their owners. The task that you have 
to perform is to tell plainly why it is of benefit to 
young people to have the care of pets, to study 
them, to care for them, to observe their ways, 
and to become acquainted with their characters. 

The objects to be borne in mind in writing such 
a statement are : First, to compose it as if you 
were writing an advertisement that would induce 
people to keep pets; secondly, put your facts not 
only strongly, but briefly, as if you had to pay for 
the space required and therefore meant to make 
every word valuable; third, to make such a state- 
ment apply either to the keeping of one kind of 
pet or to the keeping of pets generally, as you 
may prefer. 

You may put your facts and reasons into any 
of these forms : 

I. A "reader," which means a brief article 
from 500 to 800 words in length, such as might 
be printed upon the advertising pages in St. 

Nicholas, something after the manner of the 
"Old Bicycle Days," in the current numbers. 
This means writing an article readable for itself 
alone, and yet useful in advertising. 

2. You may write in the form of an imaginary 

3. You may write in letter form, telling of a 
pet or pets, and then winding up by the statement 
of what pleasures pets afford those owning them. 

In no case should your statements in 2 and 
3 exceed 300 words. 

Though it is not necessary, you may also send 
a picture of a pet if it adds to the attractiveness 
of your paper. 

You will see that the purpose of this competi- 
tion is to test your ability to express facts and 
arguments effectively, just as is necessary in 
writing advertisements. 

The prizes are as follows : 

One First Prize, $5.00 to the one who submits the 
best advertisement. 

Two Second Prizes, $3.00 each to those who submit 
the next best advertisements. 

. Three Third Prizes, $2.00 each to those who submit 
the next best advertisements. 

Ten Fourth Prizes, $1.00 each fo those who submit 
the next best advertisements. 

Here are the rules and regulations : 

1. This competition is open freely to all who 
may desire to compete, without charge or consid- 
eration of any kind. Prospective contestants need 
not be subscribers for St. Nicholas in order to com- 
pete for the prizes offered. 

2. In the upper left-hand corner of your paper give 
name, age, address, and the number of this competi- 
tion (126). 

3. Submit answers by June 10, 1912. Use ink. Do 
not inclose stamps. 

4. Do not inclose requests for League badges or 
circulars. Write separately for these if you wish them, 
addressing St. Nicholas League. 

5. Be sure to comply with these conditions if you 
wish to win prizes. 

6. Address answers : Advertising Competition No. 
126, St. Nicholas League, Union Square, New York. 



( See also page 22.) 



The "Good Old Bicycle Days" 

Making a Bicycle Tire — Third Article 
By Harry Davis 

WHEN my last article closed we had a cargo of crude rubber on the wharf at a South American 
port ready for shipment to the United States. 
In that article I told you all about the sharp-eyed little brown men of the Tropics — how they 
carry on the first stages of the great rubber industry, gathering sap from the tall, stately rubber trees 
and smoking it over palm nut fires until it hardens and takes the form of big balls, or "biscuits." 

This month we will visit a factory. There we will see how 
the crude rubber is made into bicycle tires. 

Suppose we select for our trip one of the great plants operated 
by the United States Tire Company. This concern has four 
immense factories. Each is equipped with the most modern 
machinery known to the rubber industry, and at each hundreds 
of men work twenty-four hours (in three "shifts" ) every day, 
making tires — bicycle, motor-cycle, and automobile. As we 
enter the door the musical buzzing of machinery greets our ears, 
and we soon discover that this factory is a very busy place. 
An attendant meets us and will show us through. 
First of all we will go to the store-room where thousands and 
thousands of dollars' worth of crude rubber is kept. Here we 
find the balls that have come by steamboat and railway train 
from far-off countries. 

A workman pushes a wheelbarrow into the room, piles it full 
of split balls and pushes the load away. Let 's follow him. 

He wheels up alongside of a large metal tank filled with 
water. Dip your finger in it. Hot, is n't it? 

Into this water the crude rubber is dropped and the actual 
work of making a bicycle tire has begun. The object of placing the rubber in hot water is to soften it. Several hours 
of soaking are required to get it in shape for further handling. 

After being removed from this tank the first process in the treatment of rubber is washing. This is a very important 
step. Above everything else rubber must be clean. Every particle of sand, bark, and other substances that have dropped 
in while the liquid was being smoked must be washed out of it ; otherwise, a perfect tire cannot be turned out. 

The washing is done on huge rollers over which trickle streams of pure water. The rubber is rolled and washed and 
washed and rolled until it is absolutely clean. At this stage rubber resem- 
bles bands of crushed sponges. The bands vary in size. They may be as 
much as half an inch thick and four feet wide. In this form rubber is 
known as "crape." 

Following the crape as it leaves the washer we are led to the drying 
room. We won't care to stay more than a minute or two here. It is 
too warm. You know how hot it gets sometimes in Summer. Well, 
in this room it is just as hot all the time as it is on a scorching August 
day. A temperature of about 90 degrees is maintained. 

The bands of crape are hung in rows in this hot room, where they are 
allowed to remain for several days until they are thoroughly dried. 

Now comes the mixing process. You may have watched your mother, 
or perhaps the cook, mixing bread. You know how she kneads the 
dough with her two hands until it is ready for the baking pan. Well, 
rubber is handled in much the same way except that the work, instead of 
being done by human hands, is performed by powerful rollers. The rub- 
ber is fed into them and is squeezed and rolled and rolled and squeezed un- 
til it becomes a big plastic mass looking for all the world, except as to 
color, like an enormous batch of bread-dough. 

Before we go any further let me ask you — do you think your tires are 
made out of pure rubber? If you do you 're mistaken. You probably 
would use up a set of tires every week if they were. Pure rubber tires 
would be too soft to wear. Therefore the rubber gum must be mixed 
with mineral substances to make it strong and tough. This process is 
called compounding. Sulphur and other materials are used to give your 
tires wearing qualities. 

After rubber .has been thoroughly mixed with the compound it is almost 
ready to go into tires. But there are several important steps yet to be taken. 

In my next article I '11 tell you about them. Don't fail to read it. Washing rubber 

Split balls of crude rubber — called "biscuits' 



Report on Advertising Competition No. 124 

The Judges were rather sur- 
prised to find that almost all of 
you had different ideas as to how 
dens should be furnished. They 
ranged all the way from that little 
crowded room in the attic which 
mother uses to store old furni- 
ture, trunks, and odds and ends, 
to a large room in your brand- 
new house, as yet only partially 
furnished because you have n't 
found just exactly the right kind 
of chair for that particular corner. 

The Judges are pleased to note 
that most of you sent in your 
papers so carefully wrapped and 
so clean and fresh, that it was a 
pleasure to open them. 

Of course there were some of 
you, as usual, who did n't read 
the rules carefully and failed to 
copy and enlarge the drawing of 
the room itself; and quite a number 
put too many things in their dens, 
in spite of the warning we gave 
them, with the result that the room 
looked very crowded and anything 
but neat. It was also very difficult 
for some of you to get the right 

There were a large number of 
rooms that really were furnished 
very prettily, but the Judges, as 
youknow, can award only acertain 
number of prizes, and it is always 

quite a task to select the best 
papers and be fair to all. 

There were some dens, how- 
ever, which looked so comfortable 
and cozy that the Judges just 
could n't help butgive them prizes 
right away. The work was really 
very good, and showed much 
taste and care. 

Here is a list of the most expert 
house furnishers: 

One First Prize, $5.00: 

Marian R. Priestley, age 17, Pennsylvania. 

Two Second Prizes, $3.00 each: 

Harry R. Till, age 16, Pennsylvania. 
Vernon B. Smith, age 1 7, New York. 

Three Third Prizes, $2.00 each : 

Elizabeth Weld, age 14, Michigan. 
Eleanor T. Middleditch, age 16, New York. 
Jean P. Mumford, age 13, Pennsylvania. 

Ten Fourth Prizes, $1.00 each : 

Isabel Dell Shelpman, age 1 2, Missouri. 
Margaret Conty, age 16, New York. 
Elizabeth Chase, age 13, Massachusetts. 
Wilbur A. Moore, age 9, New York. 
Dorothy Morris, age 1 2, Illinois. 
Theodore S. Wray, age 11, New York. 
Dorothy Pickhardt, age 14, New York. 
Beatrice Holliday, age 11, Massachusetts. 
Dorothy E. Hartford, age 16, Massachusetts. 
Dorothy M. Hoops, age 14, Hawaii. 


Anita Ferguson, age 14, Canada. 
Katherine Wilson, age 10, New Jersey. 
Howard J. Abbott, age 8, Minnesota. 
Ruth Aldridge, age 1 5, New York. 
Hildegarde Beck, age 13, Wisconsin. 
Iverne Haus, age 14, Colorado. 
Russell Clark, age 1 2, New York. 
Marjorie MacMonnies, age 14, New York. 
Wortha Joy Merritt, age 13, California. 

(See also page 20.) 



The Old Nest 


A book for every grown-up son and daughter, the story 
of one mother's longing for her scattered brood — a story 
of which one son wrote to the author: " I read the story this 
morning— to-night I leave for Kansas City to visit my mother. " 
One of those great little books that win the reading world 
by its humor, its pathos, and its universal, heart-touching 

'' A charmingly made book. Price $1.00 net, pontage 6 cents 



A masterly novel by a finished and brilliant author, of which Andrew 
Lang writes : " I stand amazed at the qualities of the author's genius." And 
other readers: "Marvelous," "fascinating." 

"Anne Douglas Sedgwick has written many good stories, but none so per- 
fect or so brilliant as this. 'Tante' is one of those few novels that show a 
human character nearly in its entirety, and that can make its appeal not by its 
incidents, but by its analysis of an extraordinary mind." 

Price $1.30 net, pottage 14 cents 

The Fighting Doctor 


Another entertaining and quaintly humorous story of life among the Penn- 
sylvania Dutch, by the author of 'Tillie : a Mennonite Maid." A love 
story spiced with the unusual. „ . . _, „. 

J r Price $1. OO net, postage 7 cents 

The Woman from Wolverton 


The story of what Washington life brought to one newly elected Con- 
gressman's family. A book of which Vice-President Sherman says: 
"A real book about real people. A most refreshing departure from the gaud 
and glitter which have been served us." _ . ,, __ 

fo Price $1.25 net, 

postage 11 cents 

The Burgundian 


A splendid tale of fair ladies and brave knights, of love and battle, in the 
days of the mad King Charles VI of France, and of Rosamonde and her 
beauty and her pride — a tale glowing with life and color. 

Illustrations by Rosenmeyer. Price $1.30 net, postage 11 cents 

Captain Martha Mary 


A sunshiny tale of a plucky little Mother of the Tenements, and of her 
devotion to her brood of younger brothers and sisters. Martha Mary 
has the efficiency that often goes with red hair, and how she wins out is 
delightfully told. _ .. . „.»«„,, 

° J trontispiece. Price $1.00 net, postage 7 cents 





THESE lines are addressed mainly to those read- 
ers of St. Nicholas who live south of the 
Mason and Dixon line, and who have access to old 
letters written in the early sixties. The so-called 
Confederate Locals are all rare, and many of them 
exceedingly so. Some of them are not really stamps, 
but are provisional envelops. Do not destroy an 
old envelop because no stamp appears upon it. 
Many postmasters, having no stamps to supply the 
demand, manufactured a "provisional" stamp or 
envelop in this manner : they surcharged one corner 
of the envelop with what looks like a circular post- 
mark. This usually reads, "paid five cents" or "paid 
ten cents," and is without date, while the canceling 
post-mark which appears also upon the used en- 
velop is usually in a different colored ink and bears 
a date. Do not destroy such envelops because they 
seemingly bear no stamp, but submit them to some 
experienced collector. There are doubtless many 
varieties of these provisionals yet to be discovered. 


IN the making of a collection the source from which 
additions to it may be made is a vital and inter- 
esting problem. After the beginner has exhausted 
the various opportunities at hand, he usually resorts 
to some dealer for the continuance of supply. Here 
one may buy in three ways — packets, approval 
sheets, and want-lists. If the collection is only a 
small one, money can be invested to the best advan- 
tage in the purchase of a packet of stamps. Buy as 
large a packet as your pocket-money will allow, or, 
if you wish to spend only a small sum at a time, buy 
one of a series of what are called "non-duplicating" 
packets. Any of our advertisers can give you a list 
of many kinds of packets — all sizes and varieties to 
fit the needs of every purse. After having purchased 
either a large packet or an entire series of non- 
duplicating packets, it is obviously unwise to depend 
upon this source of supply unless one is willing to 
run the risk of accumulating many duplicates. Re- 
course then should be had to what are called "ap- 
proval sheets." These are sheets of paper, varying 
in size, and ruled to accommodate twenty-five, fifty, 
or one hundred stamps, as the case may be. In each 
space is placed a stamp and the price for which that 
particular stamp is offered. Some dealers give also 
the catalogue number and price of the stamp. The 
collector who receives the sheets compares the 
stamps offered with those he already has, and so 
selects for purchase only such as are additions to 
his collection, returning the remaining stamps to the 
dealer who sent the sheet, with a remittance for 
those taken from it. In this way no duplicates are 
accumulated. The stamps on these sheets are nearly 
always in good condition, genuine specimens, and 
offered at attractive discounts from the catalogue 
prices. Most of the sheets for beginners are offered 
at fifty per cent, discount, and this by dealers of 
unquestioned responsibility and integrity. 

Stamps from approval sheets can be sold by a 
dealer at greater discounts from catalogue prices 
than if called for on a want-list. This is because of 

the saving of time in the making up of the sheets. 
They are made up in this manner : for sheets con- 
taining twenty-five stamps a series of drawers is 
made, each drawer containing twenty-five compart- 
ments. In each compartment the dealer puts one 
hundred or more specimens of a certain stamp. 
Each compartment is marked with the price of that 
especial stamp. He has then before him the ma- 
terial for one hundred sheets. The sheets bear the 
request that they be not torn or soiled. Stamps 
taken from the sheet by the first recipient can be 
readily replaced from the corresponding boxes in 
the drawer, and the sheet is as good as it was orig- 
inally. This means a great saving of time to the 
dealer and enables him to offer the stamps at large 

When asking any of our advertisers for approval 
sheets, always mention about how many stamps you 
have in your collection, and tell him about how 
much money you can spend if the stamps sent are 
such as you desire. When a minor asks for stamps, 
it is necessary to have some responsible person guar- 
antee the payment of the account. 


£U \ GAIN we must caution correspondents to be 
jl ri particular about inclosing their address with 
their inquiries. We are always glad to answer 
questions, and if a stamped envelop is inclosed, we 
will reply more promptly than can be done through 
these columns. We have before us a letter from 
Mrs. M. A. C, who gives no address, but inquires 
about the value of certain Civil War Revenues and 
some stamped envelops. In reply we would say 
that some of the stamps referred to are quite scarce 
and desirable. But there is a great deal of tech- 
nicality about stamps, and the description given is 
not sufficient to definitely determine the stamp. For 
instance, one of the stamps is mentioned as the 
"one-cent internal revenue of 1863." This stamp 
was issued imperforate, part-perforate, and perforate, 
and also has different wordings in the label. It may 
be "Express," or "Playing Card," "Proprietary," or 
"Telegraph," and its value varies with its label. If 
Mrs. . M. A. C. will send her address to the Editor 
of the Stamp Page, fuller information on the sub- 
ject will gladly be given. IJ A collection of "entires"' 
means a collection of entire envelops still bearing 
the stamps which were used to pre-pay the postage. 
The earlier issues, especially the very earliest, are 
much sought after on the entire envelop or cover. 
Certain stamps like the "local" issues of the United 
States are worth much more when on the cover. 
<J The private match and medicine stamps of the 
United States should be saved. Many of them are 
scarce and all are interesting. Many of the older 
collectors devote themselves entirely to collecting 
these and the United States Revenues. <]| A stamp 
with perforated initials is worth only about one half 
as much as a similar specimen without the initials. 
The varying initials are those of large firms which 
use stamps extensively — purchasing them in entire 
sheets and perforating them as a guard against theft. 
These sheets should not be found outside the prem- 
ises of the firm indicated by the initials. 

' fe2a222Z£2gZ2222225aaag32g222222SaZ2ZSg2223^ 




THE CONTINENTAL lished for beginners'. The 
best on the market. 8x5 inches, holds 560 stamps, 160 illustrations. 
Special bargain price 10c. 108 all different stamps from Paraguay, 
Turkey, Venezuela, etc., 10c. Finest approval sheets at 50 per 
cent, discount. Agents wanted. Write for a selection to-day. 
Scott Stamp & Coin Co., 127 Madison Ave., New York City. 


U. S. Envelopes cut square at 50% discount, each one correctly 


4 Ecuador 1899, 2 Nyassa 1901, 4 Nyassa Rep. 1911, 5 Portugal 
Rep. 1910, 5 Japan (China) 1900-08, 4 Finland 1885, 7 Portugal 
1910, 5 Finland 1882, 6 Nicaragua 1912. 1912 Price List free. 
Best Hinges. Ideal 15c. per 1000. Ideal Jr. 10c. per lOoO. 

New England Stamp Co. 
43 Washington Building Boston, Massachusetts 

jf&Sis. STAMP ALBUM and 1000 foreign mixed, 10c. 

/W^SSk 1000 Old U. S., 25c. 25 rare So. and Cent. Am., 10c. 

[Mi Ml 25 diff. unused, Cuba, Nic, Salv., Phil., etc., 10c. 

WmMwl •« diff. rare (Catal. $2.50), only 25c. 15 diff. China, 

\jf5fjgwr 10c. 7 Siam, 12c. 10 Finland, 4c. 3 Soudan Camel, 
^SSr 5c. 8 beautiful Borneo, Labuan, etc., pictures, 10c. 
25 Persia, 25c. 25 Japan, 5c. 150 all diff., 6c. 200 all diff., 9c. 8 Java, 
5c. 5 Crete, 5c. 1000 best hinges, 5c. 100 all diff. free for names 
of two active Stamp Collectors and 2c. postage ! Finest Approval 
sheets in America at 50% to 80% discount. Try them ! Large 
112 pp. Bargain Lists. $3.00 worth of Coupons, etc., free ! We 
give valuable stamps free to our agents ! We Buy Stamps and 
Large Collections. C. E. Hussman Stamp Co., St. Louis, Mo. 

RARE Stamps Free. 15 all different, Canadians, and 10 India, 
xgS[Jjv with Catalogue Free. Postage 2 cents. If possible send 
«»*SSm names and addresses of two stampcollectors. Special 
[Ml jMl offers, all different, contain no two alike. 50 Spain, 
ImfcJMW lie. 40 Japan, 5c; 100 U. S..2nc; 10 Paraguay, 7c; 17 
NjSsSQ*/ .Mexico, 10c.:20Turkey,7c.;10 Persia, 7c; 3 Sudan, 5c; 
^9£gr loChile, 3c.;50 Italy, 19c. ;200 Foreign, 10c; 10 Egypt, 
7c.;5o Africa. 24c.; 3 Crete, 3c; 20 Denmark, 5c; 20 Portugal, 6c; 7 
Siam, 15c; 10 Brazil, 5c; 7 Malay, 10c; 10 Finland, 5c; 50 Persia, 
89c;5oCuba, 60c; 6 China, 4c; 8 Bosnia, 7c. Remit in Stamps or 
Money-Order. Fine approval sheets 50% Discount, 50 Page List 
Free. Marks Stamp Company, Dept. N, Toronto, Canada 


For the names of two collectors and 2c. postage. 20 different 
foreign coins, 25c Toledo Stamp Co., Toledo, Ohio, U.S.A. 


Transvaal, Servia, Brazil, Peru, Cape G. H., Mex- 
ico, Natal, Java, etc., and Album, 10c 1000 Finely I 
Mixed, 20c 65 different U. S., 25c 1000 hinges, 5c 

Agents wanted, 50 per cent. List Free. I buy stamps. 

C. Stegman, 5941 Cote Brilliante Av., St. Louis, Mo. 

RA RCA INS EACH SET 5 CENTS. 10 Luxembourg ; 8 Finland ; 20 Sweden ; 
15 Russia; 8 Costa Rica ; 12 Porto Rico; 8 Dutch Indies; 5 
Crete. Lists of 6000 low-priced stamps free. 
Chambers Stamp Co., Ill G Nassau Street, New York City. 



ferent Foreign Countries, including Bolivia, Crete, Guat- 
emala, Gold Coast, Hong-Kong, Mauritius, Monaco, Persia, 
Reunion, Tunis, Trinidad, Uruguay, etc.. for only 15 cents — a 
genuine bargain. With each order we send our pamphlet which 
tells all about "How to Make a Collection of Stamps Properly." 
Queen City Stamp & Coin Co., 7 Sinton Bldg., Cincinnati, O. 

Mention St. Nicholas. Quaker Stamp Co., Toledo, Ohio. 

DANDY PACKET STAMPS free for name, address 2 collec- 
tors, 2c postage. Send to-day. U.T.K. Stamp Co., Utica, N. Y. 

STAMPS 105 China, Egypt.etc, stamp dictionary and list 3000 isa 
bargains 2c Agts., 50%. Bullard & Co., Sta. A, Boston, as) 

With trial approval sheets. F. E. Thorp, Norwich, N. Y. 

different Confederate State bills, 15c. 
F. L. Toupal Co., Dept. 55, Chicago Heights, III. 

|J * ^ V1T11 ~" eign Missionary stamps, 5c. 100 
foreign, no two alike, incl. India, Newfoundland, etc., 
only 5c 100 U. S. all diff., scarce lot, only 30c. 1000 
fine mixed, 15c Agts. wtd., 50%. List free. I buy 
stamps. L. B. Dover, D-6, St. Louis, Mo. 

STEEL Sample card 12 pens & 2 penholders for 10 cents. 
PENS, Spencerlan Pen Co. ,349 Broadway, New York. 


Make Childhood Memorable 

Fun, fresh air, and splendid training for 
mind and body go with a " Sheltie." Give 
your child this best and jolliest of child- 
hood-comrades. We breed and train superb 
Shetland Ponies. 300 in our herd. Write 
for free Price List. " Pony Fairyland," 
a great book, sent for 6c to cover postage. 

20 Spring St.. Greenfield, Ohio 

CUCTI AUII PnNIFC The hest playmate for the children, summer or 
OMLILUHU rUHILO winter p au i ille w. Smith, Sandy Hook, Ct. 


Official Record 1691 feet, 6 inches. Complete Materials to 
build the Peoli Racer, with plan and instructions, S3. 75. 
J Plan and directions for building aaA flying this 
I famous Racer, 25c. Wright Biplane, 3-ft. Flying 
Model, plan and instructions, 25c. Plan and instruc. 
tions for 3-ft. Flying Model Bleriot Monoplane, 15c, 
Complete Stock of Guaranteed Materials and Parts. 

84-86 "West Broadway, - New York City- 

Easy to 


is an unceasing source of pleasure. A Bafe 
and ideal playmate. Makes the child 
strong and of robust health. Highest 
type — complete outfits — here. 
Inexpensive. Satisfaction guar- 
anteed. Write for illustrated 

Dept. 9 Markham, Va. 

For School, College or Soci- 
ety. The right kind are always 
a source of pleasure. Why 
not get the right kind? We 

^z=^^^^==^^=^^=z make them. Catalog free. 

FLOWER CITY CLASS PIN CO., 656 Central Building, Rochester, N. Y. 

Class Pins 


Provides health-pro- 
moting, outdoor exer- 
cise and amusement 
for your children at 
home. Strongly built; 
repair proof. Children 
Every machine guaranteed. Free 

operate it with hands and feet. 
trial. Write us. 


217 Ky. St. 

Quincy, 111. 


For Sale Everywhere 

Learn to Swim by- 
One Trial 

Plain, 25c. 
Fancy, 35c. 

AYVAD MAN'F'G CO., Hoboken.N 



Is Your Glove Stiff? 

Put a little "3-in-One" oil on 
fingers and palm and the leather 
becomes soft and pliable at once. 
The ball will stick better and 
glove will last twice as long. 

"3-in-One" makes base-ball 
cover and stitches stronger and 
hold longer. It also prevents 
rust on mask, fasteners, etc. 
Not sticky or greasy. 
rnrP Write today for 
flff f large free sample 

.7 > tde and " 3 - in - 

One** dictionary. 
3-ln-0ne0ilCo.,42Q.M. Brdwy., N. Y. 


the ball, put "3-in- 
One" oil on your 
glove ; softens the 
leather so the ball 
sticks right in the center; makes your glove look 
twice as good and wear four times as long. Get a 
sample bottle free from t 

3-in-0ne Oil Co., 42 Q. M. Broadway, New York City 


your tools in cheap oil. A few drops of "3-in-One" 
makes brace. and bit, plane, saws, all tools work per- 
fectly — keeps them bright and clean, free from rust. 
Writeto3-in-One Oil Co., 42 Q. M. Broadway, 
New York City for generous sample bottle — FREE. 


Over Five Million Free Samples Given 
Away Each Year. 

The Constant and Increasing Sales 

From Samples Proves the 

Genuine Merit of 


Shake Into Your Shoes 

Allen's Foot=Ease, the antiseptic 
powder for the feet. Are you a trifle 
sensitive about the size of your 
shoes? Many people wear shoes 
a size smaller by shaking Allen's 
Foot=Ease into them. Just the 
thing for aching, hot feet and for 
Breaking in New Shoes. If you 
have tired, swollen, tender feet, 
Allen's Foot-Ease gives instant 
relief. We have over 30,000 
testimonials. TRY IT TO-DAY. Sold 
everywhere, 25c. Do not accept any 
substitute. FREE TRIAL PACKAGE sent by mail. 

Mother Gray's Sweet Powders, S?£ftffffiS 

Children. Sold by Druggists everywhere. Trial package FREE. 



"' Florida Water ** 


Has a distinctive 
quality, a rich 
fragrance, which 
from every other 
appeals to all 
and refinement, 
forms the daily 
luxury and a 
the best thing 
shaving and 
purpose; an 
ity in every 

i nvi gor atin g 
and permanent 
distinguishes it 
toilet water, and 
people of taste 
Its use trans- 
bath into a 
delight. It is 
to use after 
for every toilet 
actual necess- 


Sample mailed on receipt of six cents to defray 
mailing charges. 

LANMAN & KEMP, 135 ^ E ? wc EET 



SPLENDID STEAMERS of OCEANIC STEAMSHIP CO. iSpreckels Line), 10,000 tons 
displacement, sail from San Francisco, July 2, July 30 (new 
schedule) and every 28 days thereafter on a 19-DAY SERVICE TO SYD- 
TIVE ROUTE TO THE ANTIPODES. New York to Sydney, 1st class, $277.75 ; 
2nd class, {190.75. Round world, $600 1st class; $375 2nd class, via 
Ceylon and Mediterranean. (Stop-overs.) 

HONOLULU $110 •"AtfR&sr 

Sailings Every 2 Weeks 
OCEANIC STEAMSHIP CO., 673 Market St., San Francisco 


Complete for $1.00 

Here's vour chance, boys, girls, every- 
body ! We 're making a remarkable 
offer for the Fourth this year : I dozen 
balloons 4^ ft. high, I "RIGHT" air- 
ship 5^ ft. long (the kind that sails like a real one), 
and I dozen sparkler torches — all for $1.00. You'd 
have to pay $1.85 for this outfit at any store. 

Order today and we '11 
forward by Express at once 
the greatest Fourth Outfit yuu 
ever saw. (Package weighs only 
2% lbs ) 
5j£ ft. airship alone, postpaid, 30c. 

1739 Ella St., Cincinnati 

^gs^y^ bf 

[The entire contents of this Magazine are covered by the general copyright, and articles must not be reprinted without special permission.] 


Frontispiece. " 'Oh, Pardon Me, Your Excellency! ' I cried." Illus- Page 

trating the story "The Lucky Sixpence." Drawn by Arthur E. 

For the Pennant, or, Battle-ships at Target-Practice Charles B. Brewer 771 

Illustrated from photographs. 

A Brave Little Mother. Story Flora Macdonald 778 

Illustrated by George A. King. 

The Persian Kitten. Picture. From the painting by Louise Cox 779 

Dorothy of Salem Town. Verse Alix Thorn 780 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

The Fourth of July Regatta. (" Ballads of the Be-Ba-Boes.") Verse. D. K. Stevens 782 

Illustrated by Katharine M. Daland. 

A Relicof the Revolution. (The General Knox Headquarters House.). Everett McNeil 786 

Illustrated from photographs. 

The Wrong Side. Verse Alice E. Allen 789 

The Lady of the Lane. Serial Story Frederick Orin Bartlett 790 

Illustrated by E. C. Caswell. 

The Story of Prince Scarlet Mary Stewart 796 

Illustrated by Reginald Birch. 

The Dream-Ship. Verse. Illustrated Miriam S. Clark 799 

President Washington and Flying, illustrated Marion Florence Lansing. . . 800 

The End of a Giant. Verse Pauline Frances Camp 802 

Illustrated by Albertine Randall Wheelan. 

The Whippoorwill. Verse, illustrated Edward N. Teall 803 

Playing the Game. (Base-ball Series.) C. H. Claudy 804 

Illustrated from photographs and with diagrams. 

The Townsend Twins — Camp Directors. Serial Story Warren L. Eldred 813 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

The Daisy Field. Picture. From the painting by Charles C. Curran 820 

The Triplets' Plain Party Elizabeth Price 821 

Illustrated by E. A. Furman. 

-The Lucky Sixpence. Serial Story \ Emilie Benson Knipe and > ggg 

Illustrated by Arthur E. Becher. ( Alden Arthur Knipe , 

Seeing the President. Verse N. F. Richardson 834 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 
" A Duet." Picture. Drawn by Gertrude A. Kay 835 

Just for Fun : 

Johnny's Fourth of July Oration. Picture. Drawn by 

C. F. Lester 836 

Trouble in High Life. Picture. Drawn by Culmer Barnes 836 

The Cheerful Little Girl and Her Cheerful Little Doll. Serial 

Story Caroline Stetson Allen ..... 837 

Illustrated by Alice Caddy. 

Nature and Science for Young Folks, illustrated 842 

For Very Little Folk: 

The Drum-Major. Verse, illustrated Wells Hastings 850 

Willie's Air-Castle. Verse Edwin C. Beal. 851 

Illustrated by Mary Anderson. 

Making Friends. Verse f. w. m 851 

Illustrated from photographs by Alice L. Clark. 
St. Nicholas League. With awards of Prizes for Stories, Poems, 

Drawings, Photographs, and Puzzles. Illustrated 852 

Books and Reading, illustrated Hildegarde Hawthorne 861 

The Riddle-Box. illustrated 863 

St. Nicholas Stamp Page Advertising page 18 

The Century Co. and its editors receive mamtscripts and art material, submitted for publica- 
tion, only on the understanding that they shall not be responsible for loss or injury thereto 
•while in their possession or in transit. Copies of manuscripts should be retained by the authors. 

Subscription price, $3.00 a year; single number, 25 cents. The half-yearly parts of ST. NICHOLAS end with 
the October and April numbers respectively, and the red cloth covers are ready with the issue of these numbers ; price SO cents, by mail, 
postpaid ; the two covers for the complete volume, $1.00. We bind and furnish covers for ?5 cents per part, or $1.50 for the complete 
volume. (Carriage extra.) In sending the numbers to us, they should be distinctly marked with owner's name. Bound volumes are 
not exchanged for numbers. 

Persons ordering a change in the direction of Magazines must give both the old and the new address in full. No change can be 
made after the 5th of any month in the address of the Magazine for the following month. PUBLISHED MONTHLY. 

FRANK H. SCOTT, President. wwt-r-r^% »««««««** «**v m. • r* t.-r >r i ■it tr 

WILLIAM W.ELLSWORTH, Vice-President and Secretary. THE CENTURY CO.. UniOn SdUare, NeW York, N. Y. 

DONALD SCOTT, Treasurer. ^ 

Entered as second-class matter at the Post-Ofhce Department, Canada. 


A Few of the New TreatstCon 


Bravery of Four Boys in a Sailboat Accident 


Courage of a Lighthouse Keeper's Daughter 


Hosts of Fine Surprises 





IT These boys and girls have hurried up to see what is on the St. Nicholas Bulletin. Presently they will goal 
and tell their friends about the treats in St. Nicholas, and their friends will ask their parents to subscribe. 
IT Do you tell yovr friends how much you like St. Nicholas? 


Coming in St. Nicholas 


Especially Interesting to Younger Children 


A Great Story Told by a St. Nicholas Reader 


s Ready f or Your Enjoyment 

|!t. Nicholas in 1912 is a better comrade than ever for boys and girls of all ages. Beside the splendid 
als there will be scores of short stories, jolly jingles, beautiful pictures, and interesting, valuable articles, 
'hree dollars a year. The Century Co., Union Square, New York. 



The Ideal Birthday Gift 

Do you remember how, when you were a 
child, a letter or mail package all your own 
made the day a red-letter one ? 

A year's subscription to St. Nicholas 
means a red-letter day every month in the 
year, and countless golden hours of reading 
and re-reading this most captivating of all 
magazines for young folks. 

A Real Letter to St. Nicholas 

" I was just wondering what I would do this year without you, when 
my dear Aunt Ella wrote that she had taken you again for me. She 
has given me lots of presents, but you are the nicest and best of all. 
I should n't like to miss a single copy." 

Make your birthday gift to your own boy or girl, to 
nephew and niece, to younger brother or sister, to your 
friend's child, to some lonely young shut-in, a year's 
subscription to St. Nicholas. 

All Ages — Three to Eighteen 

New subscriptions may begin with any month, and the publish- 
ers will gladly send a special birthday letter on request. Only 
three dollars for twelve months of happiness. 

Your own bookseller will forward your subscription, or send 
three dollarsby check, money 
order, express order, or reg- 
istered mail to the publishers: 


Union Square New York 


This is a great book for a boy 
to give his father 

The Battle of Base-Ball 

By G. H. Glaudy 

" A book primarily for boys — but which the seasoned fan 
will find vastly entertaining and extremely illuminating." 

Written by an Insider for 
Insiders and Outsiders 

It gives the national game's great general principles, all 
the fine points of up-to-date "inside" base-ball, the ideal 
play for every position on the nine, plenty of anecdote, Christy 
Mathewson's " How I Became a Big-League Pitcher." 

Pictures and pictures. Price $1.50 net, postage 11 cents. 

Every boy should have these books 

Xhe Boys' Book of Model Aeroplanes 

Xhe Second Boys' Book of 
Model Aeroplanes 

By Francis Arnold Collins 

Covering up to date the science and sport of model aeroplane building 
and flying, both in this country and abroad, with detailed instructions 
for building many fascinating models. 

' ' The palmiest days of kite-flying never saw the fractional part of the joy of a model aero- 
plane meet, where a dozen boys, each with his pet machine, line up and let 'er go and, in 
nine cases out of ten, see the best flight made by the smallest and cheapest — but best 
designed — model. It is a sport that no full-grown man can keep out of, once he gets near 
the flying grounds. No boy with real red blood in his veins and honest youthful imagina- 
tion in his make-up will rest satisfied until he has built for himself a model aeroplane that 
can outfly the best built by his neighbors." — Philadelphia Telegraph. 

Each book is lavishly illustrated. "The Boys' Book of Model Aeroplanes," 
$1.20 net, postage 14. cents. "The Second Boys' Book of Model Aero- 
planes," $1.20 net, postage 11 cents. 



DIRT IS VARIOUS— always out of place. 
It mars lives and homes and people* 'Tis the 
best of good manners to be clean* A cake of 
Hand Sapolio is half a social introduction* Its 
price is small* its use a fine habit* 

HAND SAPOLIO* for toilet and bath* is a 
delicate preparation* as necessary for you as Sapolio 
is for the home* Should be on every washstand* 
It keeps the skin soft* removes stains* and in the 
bath aids natural changes of the skin* and gives 
a delightful sensation of new life* Try a cake* 


Borated Talcum 


For Prickly Heat and Sunburn 
Relieves all Skin Irritations 

Sample Box for 4c stamp 


Hundreds of City Hospitals and Public Schools dis- 
carded feather dusters because they scatter dust and germs. 
Why should ymt not dust the easy, sanitary, right way, too 
— the dustless 3-in-One way? 

Put a little 3-in-One on a piece of cheese cloth. Then 
wipe your mantel, buffet, piano, dining - table, any varnished 
or veneered surface. Every single atom of dust collects on 
the cheese cloth. None can fly around. 

3-in-One isabsolutely free from grease or acid. Positively 
will not leave any residue on furniture to rub off and injure 
the most delicate dress fabric. Will not discolor or stsin the 
finest wood work. 

3-in-One is the all-around Household oil. Lubricates per- 
fectly locks, clocks, sewing machines, and everything that 
needs oiling. Cleans and polishes furniture and fixtures in 
the most satisfactory way. Prevents rust on all metal surfaces, 
indoors and out. 

Fl'PA fill Fi\r Ynil Write today for a generous free 

rree w. rur iuu. bottlc and the free dictionary 

that is so helpful to housekeepers. Get both now ! 

Sold at all good stores in 3 size bottles — 10c- 
newsize % pint lor l A dollar. 


42 Q. W. Broadway NEW YORK 

-25c. — and 






JULY, 1912 

No. 9 



Every boy who reads this might have been rather 
angry if he had heard some of the naval officers, 
who had been keenly watching the progress of 
foreign navies, go to the President several years 
ago, and claim that the gunners on our battle- 
ships could not shoot. 

Some of the ordnance men in the department 
probably felt that way about it. At any rate, 
they would not believe it. But President Roose- 
velt, who knew a good deal about shooting, half- 
way believed it, and decided to find out for sure. 
He ordered some special tests made to try out 
the shooting, and, sure enough, as good shooting 
goes, they could n't shoot ! 

Old methods were quickly and thoroughly 
changed. What is known as "continuous aim," 
that is, keeping the guns on the target all the 
time, instead of the old method of aiming them 
after they were loaded, soon became very popu- 
lar. The number of "hits per minute" piled up 
so rapidly as to be almost unbelievable. This 
was smooth-water shooting, however. So when 
shooting in rough water was added to the re- 
quirements, the big scores took a tumble. But 
the former training had served the men splen- 
didly. They had learned how to shoot rapidly. 
So, with intense competition, the scores soon be- 
gan to grow again. To-day, from what we know 
from foreign reports, our shooting is better than 
that of any other nation, and, in addition to this, 
the distances of the targets are much greater. 

Copyright, 191 2, by The Cent 


Our fine gunners, of whom we have the right 
to feel proud, no longer shoot at a bull's-eye. 
Like Buffalo Bill, they have moving targets ; and 
battle practice, held each April and September, is 
as much like a real battle as it is possible to make 
it. At night practice, however, the targets are 

When the fleet goes to battle practice, to the 
Southern Drill Grounds, about ioo miles off 
Hampton Roads, it separates, for convenience, 
into divisions of four battle-ships each. Each 
division fires on separate ranges — or firing 
courses — about twenty miles apart. 

When the signal is received from the flag-ship, 
each division starts out in search of the "enemy." 
After a division passes a ship known as the 
"range vessel," they get their first sight of the 
targets. A signal known as "general quarters" 
has been sounded on each ship, and every mem- 
ber of the ship's company has gone to his as- 
signed "battle-station," which is the place to 
which he would be assigned in a real engagement. 

The firing vessels are not allowed to know the 
speed at which the targets are towed, or how far 
away they are. This must be mathematically 
worked out. The course which must be followed 
diverges enough from an exactly parallel course 
to that made by the targets to necessitate work- 
ing out new ranges every time the guns are fired. 
At the battle practices, the ranges are often 
about 12,500 yards, or over seven miles — the 

URY Co. All rights reserved. 




longest ever known. Imagine what Nelson, who 
sometimes fought with his ship lashed to the 
enemy's, would have thought of such ranges ! 

While the firing is in progress, certain officers, 
called "spotters," act as the eyes of the ship. 
They are in the "spotters' top" of the "waste- 
basket" cage mast, about 120 feet above the wa- 
ter. This is purposely placed as high as possible 
(the height being limited to that which will pass 
under the Brooklyn Bridge), so that the splash 
of the projectile, as it hits the water, may be 
observed to best advantage, and the gunners, if 
necessary, directed by telephone or speaking-tube 
to point more accurately for the next shot. 

The writer was in one of these tops on the 
Michigan (which, later, won the pennant) during 
the September practice, and had a wonderful 
bird's-eye view of all the guns of the division, 
which, in a few minutes' time, fired 100,000 
pounds of steel at a speed of thirty times that of 
an express-train making sixty miles an hour. To 
do this, 50,000 pounds of powder is required. 

While we are speaking of weights, it is inter- 
esting to know (and few people, even those ac- 
customed to dealing with ammunition, have 
knowledge of the rule) that the actual weight in 
pounds of a projectile is very close to one half 
the cube of its diameter. Thus, the actual weight 
of a twelve-inch shell is 870 pounds. Applying 
the rule, 12x12x12-^-2= 864 pounds. The rule 
holds approximately true for all sizes, even clown 

to a 0.32 caliber pistol ball weighing but a fifth 
of an ounce. 

After the first vessels finish firing, the target 
screens must be removed and brought on board 
the individual ships for the umpires (always vis- 
iting officers) to count the hits and send their 
reports, through the flag-ship, to Washington. 
The shot-up masts of the targets must be replaced 
by the "repair-party" from the vessel that did the 
shooting ; and, this done, the first vessels to fire 
become observers of those that follow. You are 
then close enough to see that the tiny speck at 
which you have been shooting really has some 
size. Yet it is only about one fifth the length of 
a battle-ship. 

From an observing ship a sublime sight com- 
mences when the other ships open fire". A vivid 
flash is seen through the heavy atmosphere, 
though the firing ship itself is scarcely discernible 
at this range of six or seven miles. 

Eleven seconds can be timed between the flash 
and the arrival of the shell at the target. Bursts 
of snow-white mist and sea ("geysers," they are 
called) are dashed to the towering height of 200 
to 300 feet as the shells hit the water. The be- 
lated sound arrives a few seconds later. A sec- 
ond, and sometimes a third, smaller burst of mist 
can be seen two or three miles beyond, as the 
shell ricochets, or rebounds, along the water's 
surface in the final stages of its seven-mile jour- 
ney before going to its last resting-place. 






From photograph, copyright, ign, by Enrique Muller. 

In the ricochet the shell sometimes leaves its 
line of flight many degrees, usually to the right, 
being thus influenced by the rapid rotation given 
it by the rifling of the gun-barrel. For this rea- 
son, it is usual for observing vessels to remain 
some distance away, unless they are to the left 
of the firing vessel. 

It seems scarcely credible that the flight of a 
twelve-inch shell moving 2800 feet a second can 
be followed with the eye, yet it can be so traced 
if a position is chosen well in the line of fire. A 
position to the rear is doubtless more popular, 
but the observers of the test of the dynamite guns 
of the old Vesuvius had such faith in the limit 
of its reach, that many of them faced the shell 
as it was fired. A twelve-inch shell in flight can 
also be seen at times from one side, when a 
"geyser" from another shot happens to form a 
background at the appropriate instant. 

Many things are happening during the eleven 
seconds that the shell is in flight. So perfectly 
have the ammunition parties and the gun crews 
been drilled that the heavy twelve-inch gun is 
almost ready to fire again before its former shell 
has landed; and some of the crack crews of the 
seven-inch guns, which can be loaded more rap- 
idly, actually had tzvo shells in flight at the same 

time. The handling and loading of the charge for 
a twelve-inch gun is as pretty a piece of clock- 
work as could be done by human hands. It takes 
more than a score of men to supply and feed its 
shell and its four bags of powder. Each of these 
men has a particular part of the job to do, and, 
like a foot-ball player, has learned to do it just at 
the right moment and in the shortest possible 
time. Strength is required as well as skill, for 
one load weighs over half a ton, and must be 
raised from the handling room to the turret, a 
height of forty or fifty feet. 

During the same period that the ammunition 
and gun crews are handling and loading the pow- 
der and shell, the pointers and trainers are "get- 
ting on" the target. This seems almost a super- 
human task ; for the ship, by rolling and pitch- 
ing, and steaming ahead at the same time, is 
given a peculiar zigzag or "corkscrew" motion, 
and the target has also had time, while the shell 
is in flight, to move 100 feet and change its posi- 
tion vertically ten feet with one wave, and start 
in the opposite direction on the next. Reference 
to the skill of these men means "skill" in its 
broadest sense. 

Target-practice, like everything else in this era 
of progress, has been a development. Many 





raph, copyright, by Enrique Mitller. 

Michigan's" twelve-inch shells 

problems had to be solved and all sorts of ob- 
stacles overcome by long experience, before four 
immense crewless and rudderless target hulks 
could be successfully operated at a speed which 
would faithfully represent cruising vessels. 

It has been but a few years since the target 
consisted of a stationary piece of triangular can- 
vas, ten feet high, stretched between two masts, 
and intended only as an aiming point. Observers 

near the target would note the splashes and calcu- 
late how many shots would have been "hits" had 
the targets been 25 feet by 100 feet. Actual 
holes in this target were not looked for. 

On a recent practice, an old boatswain on the 
Michigan, who had served on the Kentucky, told 
me how, at her early practices, the latter vessel 
had used an island for a target. The island was 
inhabited by gulls. If the shot struck anywhere 

From photograph, copyright, by H. K. Jackson. 




on the island, the gulls would fly up. If they 
were seen to rise, the shot was counted a "hit." 

Since that time our gunners have made mar- 
velous strides. As fast as they advanced in skill, 
new conditions were prescribed and the distances 
increased. The best thought throughout the ser- 
vice has been put on the subject. Training has 
been incessant, and the most advanced methods 
have been introduced to attain accurate aim and 
rapidity of fire. 

Actual conditions are imitated, as far as prac- 
ticable, to prevent false training even in the drill 
practice. The "dummy" ammunition is made just 
the proper shape and weight. One end of the 
powder bag is even painted red to accustom the 
teams to keep the ignition powder, or fast-burn- 
ing end of the bag, next to the primer, though 
both kinds of powder used at drill practice are 
actually represented by a harmless bag of beans. 

The pointers and trainers are drilled even in 
port with actual firing. The miniature target is 
ingeniously rigged on a spar a few feet away, to 
move with the gun, and presents itself whichever 
way the gun is trained. The firing is done with 
a rifle which shoots a ball the size of a pea. This 
rifle is rigged sometimes inside and sometimes 

key is pressed, a gun is always actually fired. 
The crack of a rifle is heard, however, instead of 

From photograph by Brown. 

the roar of its big brother. Effective prelimi- 
nary training is thus secured and a great saving 
effected, for the ammunition to fire a twelve-inch 
gun costs $360, and the gun generally requires 

From photograph by Brown. 

outside the bore of the large gun, yet always ar- reboring after about 100 shots. The ammunition 
ranged to move and point with it. Thus when of the new fourteen-inch guns for the New York 
the pointers and trainers are "on" and the firing and Texas, now building, will cost $750 per shot. 





e victory at Santiago was complete, and a changed as to its fundamentals since men began to fight on 
ful country will never minimize the work Iand or sea - The P ur P° se is - with a stronger force, to 

overwhelm the weaker opposing 
fleet ; to strike first, hardest, and 
quickest. It was Goliath's idea 
to pick off the Israelites one by 
one, and a modern pugilist could 
defeat a hundred men if they 
charged him singly, and he could 
down the first before a second 
came up. ... A battle-ship 
steaming as fast as any rivals, 
bringing more guns into action 
than any rival, hitting an enemy 
at seven miles, could destroy the 
whole of an opposing fleet one 
by one, even as the pugilist 
would take the lighter weights 
one by one. But the horse- 
trotting, fire-fighting, American 
stop-watch practice is also in the 
Navy, and it was realized that if 
these big guns could be fired four 
times as fast, it would be very 
nearly the same as having four 
times as many guns, or four times 
as many dreadnoughts ; and also 
that if the skill of aim could be 
increased fourfold, if four shots 
would reach the target as com- 
pared with one in the older 

From photograph by H. R. Jackson. 


of the men who fought and won that famous and 
effective sea-fight. At that battle, however, the 
efficiency of our gunners was only from two to 
four per cent, of the shots fired. We cannot but 
feel gratified, therefore, to know that the effi- 
ciency of our marksmen has increased over a 
thousand per cent, since that time. 

Percentages for battle practice are not made 
public. In elementary practice the men are al- 
lowed prize-money. This will average about $10 
per man, but has run up as high as $125 in an 
individual case. Prize-money is not allowed for 
battle practice. The trophy which the successful 
individual can win is a small pennant, intrinsi- 
cally worth about five cents. Yet the honor of 
possessing' this bit of cloth is such that an enor- 
mous interest is manifested by the men. They 
have been quick to appreciate the difference be- 
tween winning a game — a contest— and winning 
out in actual test under battle conditions. 

Mr. Harrington Emerson, writing in "The En- 
gineering Magazine" on another subject, recently 
paid a great compliment to the American Navy 
in the following words : 

Probably the most marvelous and valuable example of 
standardized operations anywhere in the world is on our 
American fleets in battle practice. The art of war has not 

From photograph, copyright, by Enrique 

practice, one modern Arkansas or IVyoni 
twelve-inch guns firing four times as fast 

nig, w 
and h 

ith twelve 
ittin" four 




times as often, will, for the time being at least, be sixteen 
times as effective. . . . 

I have also watched diminutive and juvenile Igorrote 
savages shoot dimes from a forked stick at sixty feet with 
bow and arrow. The Igorrotes show us the beginning of 
offensive skill; modern American battle-ship target- 
practice shows us the highest speed, accuracy, and dis- 
tance yet attained, and we may not doubt that our present 
achievement is but a step in man's ultimate achievement. 

A requirement which will be far-reaching in its 
importance in advancing the Navy even beyond 
the state referred to by Mr. Emerson, was added 
winter before last by the Secretary of the Navy 
for succeeding battle practices. Thereafter the 

chusetts, on August 15, 191 1, in the presence of 
the whole Atlantic fleet, to be held by her for the 
year ending June 30, 19 12. The pennant, red in 
color, with a black ball in the center, was hoisted 
to the foretop on that date. It had been made by 
the U. S. S. Maryland of the Pacific fleet, which 
recognized the marked efficiency of her success- 
ful competitor, and at her own expense sent an 
enlisted man across the continent to deliver this 
silk battle efficiency pennant to the Michigan. 

The magnificent performance of the Michigan was 
graciously recognized by President Taft in the 
following letter to her captain, now a rear-admiral : 

From photograph by Herbert 

final battle efficiency was to mean both gunnery 
and engineering efficiency, and the ability of the 
vessel's crew to keep up their own repairs. Thus 
the efficiency of the ship in its entirety becomes 
of first importance to every member of its com- 
pany, from the captain down to the coal-passer 
and the mess-boy handling ammunition in the 
magazine ; and even greater results may be looked 
for than those already accomplished. The pen- 
nant which was then offered to the most efficient 
vessel, in addition to the trophy which goes to the 
individual, was for the first time won by the Mich- 
igan, a splendid ship and our first dreadnought. 
This highest honor in the Navy that can be won 
by a ship, the battle efficiency pennant, which now 
flies from the Michigan's foretop, was, for her 
success, awarded to her at Provincetown, Massa- 


The White House, 
Washington, D. C, August 9, 191 1. 

My Dear Captain : As the U. S. S. MicJiigan under your 
command, in competition with all the other battle-ships of 
the Navy, has obtained the highest combined final merit 
in gunnery and engineering for the year ending June 30, 
191 1, and has been awarded the battle efficiency pennant, 
I take great pleasure, as the commander-in-chief of the 
Navy, in announcing this award to you ; and I wish to 
commend you and the officers and men of the U. S. S. 
Michigan for the zealous and efficient handling of all the 
elements, the proper coordination of which has made the 
Michigan, with the material placed at her disposal, the 
most efficient battle-ship of the Navy in guarding the 
country's interests. 

I have directed my naval aide, Lieutenant-Commander 
Palmer, director of target-practice and engineering compe- 
titions, to deliver this letter to you in person. 
Sincerely yours, 

(Signed) Wm. H. Taft. 

Captain N. R. Usher, U. S. N., commanding U. S. S 
Michigan, Provincetown, Mass. 



*" t $■• 



With a wonderful burst of golden song, she wel- 
comed me from the top of the summer-house, 
that first morning at Sachem ; and all through my 
busy day of making the house homey before the 
boys arrived, I was conscious of that glorious 

Often I stopped to listen, that I might not lose 
a note of the music she gave to me so generously. 
Sometimes she would sing from the veranda rail, 
sending her trills in through the open window like 
the delicate notes of some rare instrument ; some- 
times she preferred a top branch of the scrub 
cedar, pouring out her song in bursts of clearest 
melody that seemed to cease only when it reached 
the vast blue dome above ; and when at sunset 
I came out onto the rocks to rest, she perched 
sociably near and sang to me her bird-song of the 
sea. The next day was Fourth of July. 

The boys came bringing fireworks and full of 
excited plans for celebrating the wonderful day. 

The song-sparrow hopped curiously about as 
targets were fastened in between the rocks and 
holders for the huge crackers were set up. The 
cottage itself was built upon the rocks, that ex- 
tended some distance out into the water on three 
sides. The other side was green lawn to the 
white, sandy road. Chicory, wild rose, and bay 
bush grew wherever there was a bit of sod on 
which to root. 

Fourth of July morning broke perfectly. A 
soft south wind came in on the new tide from 
Long Island shore. The boys were up and sa- 
luted the sun as he peeped up over the rim of the 
sea behind Falkner's. Then pandemonium reigned. 
So great was the noise and confusion the big 
cannon crackers made, they seemed to fairly 
shake the rocks. Suddenly I was conscious, 
above it all, of the pure, sweet notes of the song- 
sparrow. She must have been singing for some 
time before I noticed her. Stepping out onto the 
veranda, there she was, not safely perched on the 
summer-house, but right in the midst of the noise. 

"Mother, watch this little bird," Jack called 

when he saw me. "She just sings at every ex- 
plosion. She does n't seem afraid at all." 

As Jack spoke, he touched off a big cracker, 
running a safe distance from it as it exploded. 
The song-sparrow perched on a rock only a short 
distance away. When the deafening explosion 
came, she simply flew to another rock, then burst 
into volumes of wonderful song. 

"She does that every time, Mother," Jack in- 
formed me. "Look now, when we fire the gun 
at the target." 

I looked, filled with deep concern, as the sharp 
cracks of the cartridges cut the air all about her ; 
but not once did she show actual fear. Only, after 
every explosion, she sang her splendid song. 

All the morning the firing went on, until the 
rocks looked as if a battle had been fought upon 
them. Still never once did the little brown bird 
cease to sing, neither did she leave the rocks, as 
far as I could see, to seek the least refreshment. 

After lunch the boys went over to the club- 
house, and the place was quiet again. 

Curious to learn, if possible, what had held the 
bird so persistently to those rocks, I began search- 
ing cracks and crevices. For a while I found 
nothing, and the song-sparrow herself, flying 
from rock to rock, only misled me. But finally 
a bunch of chicory, growing on a ledge of earth 
that formed a bit of bank beneath it, attracted my 
attention. And there, in a tiny nest, fastened se- 
curely to the clay, I discovered five gray babies. 

My eyes suddenly grew dim as I realized that 
they had been there all during the terrific firing 
above them, comforted only by the burst of mo- 
ther song, the bravest song that ever left a bird's 
throat. Dozens of times she had risked her little 
life, and had borne the fright of the noise, that 
she might be near to tell her babies not to be 
afraid. For as long as the mother bird sang her 
brave, beautiful song, they knew all was well. 
With swelling heart I looked out over the Sachem 
Sea. Surely no soldier on the Gettysburg field 
stood more bravely for 
his country, nor did 
Joan of Arc ride more 
fearlessly before the 
armies of the French, 
than did the song-spar- 
row of Sachem sing to 
her little family that 
Fourth of July day. 

77 8 

From a Copley print, copyright, 1908, by Curtis & Cameron, publishers, Boston. 



:, : A ■ 


\ mm 


Dorothy of Salem town, from her corner, 

long ago. 
Watched the stately gentlefolk tread the minuet 

so slow ; 
Lustrous gowns a-sweeping wide, powdered 

gallants stepping high ; 
Polished floors, and candlegleams yellow as the 

sunset sky. 

Dorothy of Salem town saw the narrow streets 
run down 

Till they met the waters blue and the wharves all 
warped and brown ; 

Saw the roses rioting, fountains leaping, sun- 
dials gray ; 

Wore her sober little gowns, worked her sampler, 
every day. 




Dorothy of Salem town saw the village, 

legends say, 
Through her tears, one April morn, in the 

distance fade away. 
Did she sigh, the gentle bride, for her tranquil 

girlhood's hours? 
For the hedges, for the sea, for her garden gay 

with flowers? 

Dorothy of Salem town, yet her presence haunts 

the air, 
In the rooms she knew and loved seems to linger 

young and fair ; 
Curious travelers of to-day wander through her 

home at will — 
See ! from out her tarnished frame, Dorothy is 

watching still ! 




by D-KStevens 



The one great day that the Be-Ba-Bo 

Holds high in his estimation, 
Is the Glorious Fourth, with the torpedo, 
The squib to light, and the horn to blow, 

In the annual celebration. 

Well, the Fourth which I have now in mind 

Was a rather strenuous matter, 
For the Sports Committee was forced to find 
Some big event of a novel kind ; 

And they hit on a Grand Regatta. 

They had two excellent rowing crews, 

I 've heard, though I never have seen them, 
So nearly alike it was hard to choose: 
The "Resolute Reds" and the "Baby Blues"- 
But only one boat between them! 




Yet, nevertheless, it was carried by vote 

To engage in the competition; 
For they all declared it was worthy of note 
That to race two crews in the very same boat 

Was a singular exhibition. 


Well, the hour arrived, and the crowd did, too,— 

They are all quite fond of racing ; 
Each end of the boat had a dauntless crew, 
The front being held by the Baby Blue, 

Which the Resolute Red sat facing. 

When the pistol popped, 't was a glorious sight, 

For they all got away together ; 
Their form was unimpeachable, quite, 
For though they pulled with a terrible might, 

They never forgot to feather. 





Now the Blues were rowing, of course, one way, 
And the Reds in the other direction ; 

And the Be-Ba-Boes, I will venture to say, 

Had quite the most sensational day 
Within their recollection. 

For the Resolute Reds appeared at first 

Advantage to be gaining, 
When the Blues made a very spectacular burst, 
And the case was forthwith quite reversed — 

'T was remarkably entertaining ! 

Well, it finally came to a tug of war, 
And neither crew could mend it ; 
When all of a sudden the people saw 
That in case it continued to be a draw, 
There would be no way to end it ! 

Dalan & 





For, of course, the Reds, you understand, 

Were the kind that yielded never ; 
It was equally true, on the other hand, 
That the Baby Blues — intrepid band! — 
Would keep right on forever. 

The committee looked extremely blank, 

Their prestige much diminished; 
When suddenly both crews gave a yank— 
The boat just parted in two — and sank!- 
And the famous race was finished! 

But the Be-Ba-Boes to a man agree, 
And they could n't say it flatter, 

That in future they 'd prefer to see 

Decidedly less of novelty — 
And rather more regatta! 

Vol. XXXIX.— 99. 





One of the most interesting old houses that time 
has spared us from the days of our Revolutionary 
fathers is the General Knox Headquarters House, 
situated near the little village of Vail Gate, some 
five miles southwest of Newburg, New York. 
The house was built about the year 1734, by John 



Ellison, and was still the property of the Ellisons 
at the time of the Revolution. Washington and 
his army were in camp near there for many 

months during the last years of the war; and, 
as a consequence, this house was made the mili- 
tary headquarters, at different times, of three of 
his generals, Greene, Gates, and Knox. General 
Knox occupied the house for a longer period 
than did either of the other two generals, and 
therefore it is to-day known 
as the General Knox Head- 
quarters House. General 
Knox was Washington's chief 
of artillery during the war, 
and one of his favorite offi- 
cers ; consequently, while he 
made his headquarters there, 
Washington was a frequent 
visitor at the house, along 
with Lafayette, Rochambeau, 
and others who helped to 
make the history of our 

For many years this old 
house possessed a unique 
and most interesting me- 
mento of Revolutionary days 
— a pane of glass, in one of its windows, on 
which a French officer had scratched, with the 
diamond of his ring:, the names of three belles 




of that clay; but, unfortunately, this pane of one of Lafayette's French officers, were standing 
glass was removed from the house by a former in a little group together. 

owner, so that this curious and interesting sou- "The rooms are so warm !" said Gitty Wyn- 
venir of the past cannot now be seen in its proper koop. "Let us try to find some cooler place." 
setting. Benson John Loss- 
ing, the historian, tells of 
visiting this old house in 
1848, and of finding the 
pane of glass still in the 
window, with the three 
names showing as plainly 
as when cut with the dia- 
mond of the French officer's 
ring. The curious will find 
facsimiles of the names 
printed in his "Pictorial 
Field-book of the Revolu- 

The story of how the names 
came to be scratched on the 
pane of glass is interest- 
ing and worth repeating. 

While General Knox had 
his headquarters here, Lucy 
Knox, his beautiful wife, 

the dullness of the season, gave a grand ball in 
honor of Washington and his generals. The ball 
was opened by Washington himself, with pretty 
Maria Golden, one of the belles of the occasion. 

wishing' to enliven 


"Good !" declared Maria Colden, laughing. "A 
full moon shines in the sky. Let us sit by the 
window and watch it." 

Accordingly the three couples made their way 
to one that looked out toward the west. 


Later in the evening, Maria Colden and her two "Of a surety this has been a most delightsome 

friends, Gitty Wynkoop and Sally Jansen, and evening !" Maria Colden sighed, as she seated her- 
their gallants, a couple of American' officers and self on the wide sill of the window. "Never did 




I dream of such an honor as having our great 
General Washington for a partner ! Oh, but is n't 
he a wondrous man ! I do not wonder there be 
some who think him almost more than mortal. 
Truly I could not have felt more awed had I 
been treading the measure with an archangel !" 
"And truly I would not care to dance with an 


archangel, howsoever great the honor might be !" 
laughed Gitty Wynkoop, with just a little touch 
of envy in her voice. "I would prefer the colonel 
here," and she glanced archly at her escort. 

"The night, indeed, has been one of great 
pleasure," and the eyes of the French officer 
rested with admiration on the face of his com- 
panion. "Already has its memory been written 
deep in my heart," and he bowed low to the fair 
Maria. "But I would leave here some souvenir 

of this delightful hour, something that will tell 
to aftertimes that this room and this hour were 
graced by the presence of three most beauteous 
and winsome maidens. Ladies, allow me," and 
the courtly Frenchman rose from the window- 
sill, where he had been sitting by the side of 
Maria Colden, and, bowing to each girl in turn, 
slipped a diamond ring from his finger and turned 
to the window. "Allow me to inscribe here, on 
this pane of glass, the names that this evening 
has cut deep in our hearts !" and, pressing the 
sharp edge of the diamond to the glass, he slowly 
scratched the names of the three girls, Maria 
Colden, Gitty Wynkoop, and Sally Jansen, while 
the girls joked merrily over the awkwardness of 
his writing. 

One must regret the removal of this unique 
and interesting souvenir of the past from the 
house where the gallant French officer made it, 
on that far-off night when Lucy Knox gave her 
great ball in honor of Washington and his 

But the General Knox Headquarters House 
has an interest all its own, aside from its his- 
torical associations. 

In one room there is a secret treasure-vault 
dug under the floor, with a carefully concealed 
trap-door opening down into it. The hole is large 
enough for several men to hide in it, and is sup- 
posed to have been made during Revolutionary 
times to hide the valuables of the house, or, on a 
pinch, to conceal an American or two, in case of 
a sudden raid by the British soldiers. 

In another room there are two small closets, 
made in the chimney above the fireplace and con- 
cealed by panels, in every way like the others 
with which the wall above the fireplace is faced, 
except that they now have keyholes and hinges. 
In former times they are supposed to have been 
locked and opened by the pressure of secret 
springs. They must then have looked exactly 
like the other panels, and no one could have told 
that there were secret recesses behind them. 
Valuable papers and jewels might have been hid- 
den in them in time of need. 

Another interesting feature of the old house is 
found in the large hall that runs directly through 
the middle of the main building. A thick stone 
partition, with a narrow door passing through it, 
divides this hall, midway, into two parts ; and 
from the front part a stairway leads to the upper 
rooms of the house. At the first landing on these 
stairs, where they make a turn, is a large square 
hole cut through the thick wall of the partition 
and looking very much like the embrasure of a 
fort; and probably this is what it was intended 
for— an embrasure through which the Americans 




could fire on the Indians or other enemies, should 
they attack the house and break in the door at 
either end of the hall. At least it would answer 
such a purpose very well; and there seems to be 
no need of it for either light or ventilation. 

Running from the second floor to the garret in 
the main building is another curiosity, a very 
queerly constructed stairway, known as the 
witches' stairway, possibly because the stairs go 
almost straight up, and yet one can walk up them 
quite easily without the aid of the hands. The 
steps are made in the form of right-angled tri- 
angles so placed on alternate sides of the steep, 
narrow, box-like stairway as to enable one to 
walk up the stairs by swinging the feet alter- 
nately upward, from the step below to the step 
above on the opposite side. A very convenient 
arrangement, where the stairs must occupy little 
space ; but it is almost like a ladder. 

The General Knox Headquarters House, like 

all old houses, has its legends, weird and other- 
wise. From one of its rooms, in Revolutionary 
times, a young girl is said to have disappeared 
one dark night, never again to be seen alive, and 
this room is now declared to be haunted by her 
uneasy spirit. There is also a legend of a secret 
passage running from the old house to Mur- 
derer's Creek, a quarter of a mile away, and of a 
buried treasure ; but the secret tunnel appears 
hardly probable on account of the rocky nature 
of the ground through which it would have had 
to be dug, and the buried treasure has never yet 
been found. 

Surely this quaint old house, that tells so much 
of the past and how the people of that past lived, 
should be held in remembrance, and kept as a 
hallowed shrine, where the young and the old 
may come to have their thoughts turned anew to 
the great and good men it once sheltered, and to 
whom we, who live now, owe so much. 

General Washington and other Revolutionary heroes must often have crossed this bridge. 



In his bed, fully dressed, on a day warm and fine, 
I found little Ted, and the clock had struck nine ! 
'Why," I cried, "Teddy, dear, are you ill, little 

If not, hurry down just as soon as you can !" 

"I was cross when I got up," said queer little Ted, 

"They said I jumped out of the wrong side of bed ; 

So I came back again just as quick as I could, — 

I '11 get out on the right side — and then I '11 be 

good !" 



Author of "The Forest Castaways" 

Chapter XV 


As the opening day of school approached, Eliza- 
beth grew more and more serious. She wanted 
to go back with Nance and begin again. For the 
first time in her life, she felt a desire to learn 
and to do for the sake of learning and doing, 
whereas, the year before, what little incentive she 
had sprang from pride alone. It was only the 
fear of appearing stupid that had made her study 
at all. But now, having proven her power in one 
direction, her ambition had been roused to excel 
in others. 

The semi-victory over Nance in tennis brought 
it to a head. She laughed gaily to herself as she 
realized the surprise to her old friends this new 
acquisition of hers would be. She had made 
Nance promise not to breathe a word to any one 
of their practice during the summer. She laid 
awake nights picturing to herself how the girls 
would smile when she went upon the court, and 
the amazement which would follow should she 
beat one after another of the minor players. 
And she knew she could beat them. At times she 
felt as though she could beat even Nance— per- 
haps even Miss Winthrop. Ah, if she could win 
a game against Miss Winthrop ! 

And, after all, there was a good spirit back of 
these dreams. It was no self glorification she 
sought. Rather she seized upon the opportunity 
as a chance to redeem herself. She saw her- 
self now as others had seen her, and it brought 
the hot color to her face. If they had looked 
upon her as proud and indolent, it had been her 
own fault. The spring tournament had roused 
her somewhat, but it was the inspiration of Mrs. 
Trumbull and the house by the lane that had 
completed the work. One fared ill in attempting 
the role of pretty incompetence before Mrs. 

Several times she was upon the point of asking 
her father to allow her to return to school, but in 
the end her pride checked her. It would n't be 
worth much coming that way. She must win the 
right to go back, as she wished to win other 
things, by her own ability. 

Three days before school was to open, her 
father dropped in one evening for supper. He 
watched her with unusual^ keenness as she pre- 
sided at the table, and later as, with Mrs. Trum- 

bull, she made the dining-room and kitchen tidy 
for the night. Even after they had gone into the 
sitting-room, he said nothing until he was about 
to leave. Then he asked, as casually as though it 
were an every-day matter : 

"Elizabeth, would you like to go back to school 
this fall?" 

"Daddy !" she exclaimed. 

"I 've had a talk with Miss Grimshawe, and 
I 've told her that it 's the Lady of the Lane and 
not the Lady of 'The Towers' I wish to enroll. 
Am I right ?" 

Elizabeth for a moment hung her head. The 
comparison brought back very vividly that first 
episode, now almost forgotten. 

"Look up, my daughter," said Mr. Churchill. 
"I want you to understand that I 'm very proud 
of you !" 

Mrs. Trumbull rose and placed her arm about 
the drooping figure. 

"I won't have her shamed by no one," she 
asserted aggressively. "If Miss Grimshawe or 
any one else dares—" 

"But Miss Grimshawe wants her very much," 
he said reassuringly to Mrs. Trumbull. 

He turned to his daughter. 

"I think that, in spite of everything, she has a 
warm place in her heart for you, Elizabeth." 

"She 'd better have," Mrs. Trumbull warned. 

"What do you say, Beth?" 

"I '11 be very, very glad to go back, Daddy !" 
she exclaimed. "Only— it does n't mean giving 
up the home, does it?" 

"It would hurt me very much if you wanted to 
give up that," he answered. 

And so, after Elizabeth had cried a moment on 
her father's shoulder, and Mrs. Trumbull was 
through sputtering about Miss Grimshawe, the 
matter was all settled. 

"I suppose you will need some new clothes, 
Beth," said her father. "Perhaps Mrs. Trumbull 
had better go into town with you to-morrow and 
help you pick out what you need." 

Elizabeth finished her shopping in a very few 
hours, where, a year ago, it would have taken her 
several days. Somehow gowns did not seem to 
count for so much now. What she did select 
she chose with her usual good taste. 

She told the news to Nance when the latter 
came that afternoon, and Nance was almost as 
delighted about it as Elizabeth herself. 




"Then you '11 enter the tournament, after all !" "I know," Nance answered slowly. "But- 
exclaimed Nance, when they had talked over sev- well, there 's no use trying to cross a bridge be- 
eral other matters. "But, Beth, I hope you are n't fore we come to it. Anyhow, we must practise 
drawn against me in the preliminaries." 

"Why not?" asked Elizabeth with a smile. 

"Because it 's going to make me feel just as 


bad to beat you, as to be beaten by you. I 've 
half a mind to keep out of it this fall." 

"Nonsense !" answered Elizabeth. "That would 
n't be fair to either of us. I guess we can both 
stand a beating now and then, if it comes to that." 

hard these next few weeks. Are you too tired 

to have a game this afternoon ?" 

"Why should I be tired?" asked Elizabeth. 
"You said you were shopping all the morning." 
Elizabeth made a wry face at the recollection. 




"The first time I ever get tired shopping, I 'm 
going to stop doing it," she answered. 

"Good !" laughed Nance. "Then come on. Mr. 
Crawford won't be here to watch us to-day." 

"Did n't you like him ?" asked Beth, as they 
started arm in arm for the court. 

"Well enough," answered Nance. "He seemed 
rather foreign." 

But it happened that, even with Mr. Crawford 
on the high seas, they did not find themselves 
free from interruption. Before the first ball was 
served, Elizabeth heard a familiar voice, and 
turned to find herself facing Roy Thornton. 
Tanned and ruddy, he 
strode toward her, with 
— first of all— a surprised 
greeting to Nance. 

"Mrs. Trumbull said 
you were up here," he 
explained. "I could n't 
help coming over, even 
though — " 

He paused and studied 
Elizabeth a moment, as 
though to learn just what 
her attitude toward him 
might be. She looked un- 
easy, but he caught a 
smile about the corners 
of her mouth that en- 
couraged him. 

" 'Shake, please !' as we 
boys say. Won't you ?" he 
said, extending his hand; 
and she obeyed. 

"I 'm glad to see you 
again, and I 'm glad to 
see you out here." 

He crossed to Nance. 

"You, too, Nance !" he 
added. "You both look as though you had been 
at it all summer." 

"And you had a pleasant, summer?" Elizabeth 
asked, anxious to change the subject. 

"Fine !" he answered enthusiastically. "Wen- 
ham, Harden, and I took a walking trip through 
New England. We covered hundreds of miles." 

"That must have been good fun," said Nance. 

"Great ! We started without a cent, and worked 
our way — just to see if we could do it. But— ex- 
cuse me ! I 'm interrupting your game ; I '11 
watch a minute, if I may. Do go on !" 

"I 'd rather hear more about your trip," Eliza- 
beth said hastily. "Would n't you, Nance?" 

Nance, understanding Elizabeth's motive in not 
wishing to play before Roy, nodded. But the 
latter would not hear of their giving up the game. 

"If you won't play, I '11 go," he said decidedly. 
"The story can wait, but you are n't always sure 
of such tennis weather as this." 

There seemed to be no alternative. They had 
either to play or let him go, so Elizabeth reluc- 
tantly picked up the balls. While doing this, how- 
ever, she found a chance to whisper to Nance : 

"Don't you dare speak, no matter how badly I 
play !" 


Elizabeth took her position, and with an awk- 
ward swoop of her racket, sent the first ball spin- 
ning twenty feet out of the court. The next one 
she served into the net. She made herself as 
awkward as possible, and, when it came time for 
Nance to serve, acted just as ridiculously in try- 
ing to return the ball. Nance began to laugh, 
and soon reached a point where she could not 
control herself. As a result, she played about as 
badly as Elizabeth. 

"Oh, look here, Beth," protested Roy, "take 
things easier." 

This was just after she had run under a gentle 
lob from Nance, missing it entirely. 

But Elizabeth was able to keep up the farce no 
longer. "I don't feel much like playing to-day," 
she said. "I 'm not doing- at all well." 


"Oh, you must n't get discouraged, Beth ! ' Roy 
said seriously. "I wish you 'd let me come up 
and play with you some day." 

"I 'm afraid I 'd give you as dull a game as 
poor Nance has had to endure," she replied. 

"We '11 arrange for it some Saturday, shall 

"I '11 see," she answered, without committing 
herself. "But I expect to be very busy. School 
begins Monday, and that, with my housework—" 

"You 're going back to school ?" he exclaimed. 

She nodded, though her cheeks turned scarlet, 
for a second, at the word "back." 

"Good ! that 's great !" he went on, and added in 
explanation, "somehow it made you seem awfully 
grown up, not being in school." 

The three returned to the house by the lane, 
and there Roy was persuaded to tell more of his 
summer adventures. 

"We wanted to see if we could n't be as good 
pioneers as our great-grandfathers were," he 
said, "so we started from Portland to find out 
just how far we could work our way. It was 
easy enough. We chopped wood, helped with 
the haying, and lived like kings. I guess we could 
have kept on going clear to the Pacific Ocean, if 
we 'd had time." 

"I '11 wager you could," agreed Mrs. Trumbull. 

But it was only bit by bit that he was induced 
to tell the interesting details of the experiment. 
In fact, they kept cropping out all winter. 

"Don't forget about the tennis game," he said, 
as he was leaving. 

"Oh, Beth !" exclaimed Nance, when they were 
alone, "I— I tried not to laugh." 

"I don't know that it was a very nice thing to 
do," Elizabeth apologized, "but I did n't want to 
give away my secret just then. And I won't play 
with him until after the tournament." 

"I would n't, if I wanted to keep the secret," 
laughed Nance. "I don't believe you could play 
so outrageously a second time." 

In many ways, Elizabeth dreaded the ordeal of 
that first day at school, but when the time came, 
to her surprise she found it no ordeal at all. 
Miss Grimshawe greeted her with a cordiality 
that, in a moment, effaced all memory of the past. 
Neither in word nor manner did she in any way 
refer to it. And little Miss Santier actually wept 
at sight of Elizabeth. 

"Cherie! cherie !" she choked, "the school 
was n't the same without you." 

And when Elizabeth answered her in very good 
French, the little woman was forced once again 
to wipe her eyes. 

But with the girls it was another matter. There 
was a great deal of gossip which, as usual, started 
Vol. XXXIX.— ioo. 



with the Brookfield pair. The latter, in new 
frocks, bought abroad, held their chins high and 
vouchsafed Elizabeth nothing but a nod in pass- 
ing. It might have hurt had she not known her 
chance was coming— a chance which came before 
a week had passed, with the opening of the fall 
tennis tournament. 

Chapter XVI 


When the entries for the tournament were 
posted in the school corridor, and Elizabeth 
Churchill's name led all the rest, the Brookfield 
girls could hardly believe their eyes. But there 
was no denying that her name was there, written 
in her own firm, round handwriting. They called 
the attention of several other girls to the strange 
fact, whereupon there followed much giggling. 

"It will be worth watching; won't it, Jane?" 
Helen observed. 

"Why, she can't play at all; can she, Helen?" 

"I call it very bold of her even to try," an- 
swered Helen. 

But if they were surprised that Elizabeth was ■ 
daring enough to enter the contest, their astonish- 
ment knew no bounds when, after the drawing, 
it was found that she was pitted in the prelim- 
inaries against no less a player than Miss Win- 
throp herself, and intended to fight it out. 

"I heard her say so !" exclaimed Helen to an 
excited group of eager inquirers. "I was standing- 
close by when Miss Winthrop came up and asked 
her if she did n't mean to forfeit the set. And 
Elizabeth answered, as cool as you please, 'No, I 
mean to play it.' Those were her very words ; 
were n't they, Jane?" 

Jane nodded. 

"And Miss Winthrop turned as red as a beet, 
and said she thought Elizabeth might want to 
save herself the trouble." 

"And Elizabeth said, 'No trouble at all,' " put 
in Jane. 

"Just like that," nodded Helen. " 'It 's no 
trouble at all, Miss Winthrop.' " 

A chorus of exclamations and giggles greeted 
this, interrupted by the arrival of Nance at the 
bulletin board. As the latter saw the result of 
the drawing, her face grew serious. 

"What do you think of that, Nance?" de- 
manded Helen. 

"Of what?" answered Nance. 

"Why, of Elizabeth Churchill daring to play 
Miss Winthrop. She refused to forfeit the set, 
you know." 

"I 'd be ashamed of her if she did," answered 
Nance, her spirit and her color rising. 




"You don't mean to say she has a chance?" 
exclaimed Helen. 

"You can tell better after the game," replied 
Nance, hurrying away. She found Elizabeth at 
her desk, reviewing her morning lessons. 

"It 's hard luck, Beth," she said in a whisper. 

"What is?" demanded Elizabeth. 

"Drawing Miss Winthrop at the start." 

"Pooh ! I don't mind at all," Elizabeth an- 
swered with a smile. "Do you know she wanted 
me to back out?" 

"I know. Helen is spreading it all over the 

"She is, is she?" answered Elizabeth, her lips 
growing firm. Then she laughed. "All right. 
Just you wait, Nance ! Honestly, I think I can 
play better against Miss Winthrop than against 
any one in school. I '11 be fresh and sure of my- 
self, and she '11 be a little over-confident. You 
see if she is n't. I 'd rather play her than you. 
And I '11 beat her." 

"Good ! good !" exclaimed Nance. "Oh, Beth, 
but the game will be worth seeing!" 

When Roy heard the news, he came straight 
over to the little house by the lane. 

"They tell me you drew Miss Winthrop in the 
preliminaries, Beth, and that you are going to 
play her!" he exclaimed excitedly. 

"Why not?" asked Elizabeth, with a smile. 

"My stars, but you 're game !" he cried de- 

"Is n't it what you would do?" she asked. 

"Every time !" he answered. "I don't believe 
in being whipped before you are— no matter what 
the odds. But, Beth, to-day is Monday and the 
tournament is n't until Saturday. If you could 
get in a little practice before then." 

"I shall," she answered coolly. "Nance has 
promised to come over every afternoon." 

"Then you don't want me?" he asked. 

"Thank you, Roy. It is good of you to offer, 
but I 've been playing with Nance all summer, 
you know." 

"Yes, I know," he answered, somewhat crest- 

"And I really can play better than I did the 
other day," she assured him. 

"I want you to do your best, Beth," he replied 
seriously, and as though he did not have much 
confidence in that statement. 

"I '11 do that, anyhow," she answered lightly. 
"You '11 be at the game?" 

"Helen Brookfield invited me," he answered 

Elizabeth flushed. 

"And Wenham and Harden are coming down 
for over Sunday with me. But, Beth—" 

"Yes," said Elizabeth as he hesitated. 

"I won't come if you 'd rather I would n't." 

"You 're afraid I may disgrace myself?" 

He turned away, more embarrassed than he 
had ever been in his life. Then he faced her 
again with his hand extended. 

"No," he said. "Because I know you '11 do 
your best, and when a fellow does that, he 's 
done all he can." 

"Then you 'd better come," she answered with 
a smile. 

The day of the tournament turned out to be 
fair and crisp — ideal weather for playing. The 
whole school was present, for the stand Elizabeth 
had taken was the chief topic of discussion 
throughout the week. The Brookfield girls ar- 
rived late, and took positions on the side-lines 
next to Roy and his two friends; but after the 
greetings were over, Roy gave his whole atten- 
tion to the field and forgot the girls. He was 
decidedly worried. Even admitting that Eliza- 
beth could play better than he had seen her play, 
even admitting the fighting blood in her which 
would lead her to play her best, it did n't seem 
within the bounds of possibility that she could 
offset the 'skill and experience of as clever a 
player as Miss Winthrop. And, when the latter 
stepped out on the court, he knew that Elizabeth 
could expect no mercy. It was certainly plucky 
of Beth to stick to her determination to play, but 
also, it seemed to Roy, decidedly foolhardy. For 
one thing, he knew that, in her first attempt, she 
would take a beating very much to heart, and it 
might destroy her confidence for a long time to 
come. He wished sincerely that she had drawn 
a less experienced antagonist. 

When Elizabeth appeared, however, he led the 
applause, and urged Wenham and Harden to do 
their best. The crowd, always, if unconsciously, 
in sympathy with the weaker, took it up, and gave 
Beth a brave greeting. But if she heard it, she 
gave no sign. Her face was tense, and her lips 
tightly closed. She showed no trace of nervous- 
ness as she took her position, but it was evident 
that she was under a strain. 

Miss Winthrop won the toss, and chose the 
serve, there being no advantage in either court. 
She began with a vicious cut that sent the ball 
off to one side, where it bounded at a sharp angle. 
It was slower and more baffling than anything 
Nance served, and bothered Elizabeth. She 
missed the first three points, which made the 
score forty love. 

"Too bad," muttered Roy. 

Harden, who had been watching her carefully, 
heard him. "She 's studying that out," he said. 
"I have a notion she '11 master it in a moment." 




Elizabeth stepped in a little closer, and nearer 
the middle of the court, where she could jump 
either to the right or left, the ball having in- 
variably struck close to the side-lines. This time 
she returned it without, however, a very close 
calculation as to direction. Miss Winthrop ran 
up to the net and volleyed back, but Elizabeth 
was ready, and sent it along the side-lines for a 
neat pass. 

"Good ! good !" exclaimed Roy, and led a vigor- 
ous applause. 

Miss Winthrop changed her next serve to a 
swift, straight ball, but this was the kind that 
Nance had been using largely, so that it was 
easier for Elizabeth than the cut. As Miss Win- 
throp ran to the net, Elizabeth lobbed the ball 
over her head. Miss Winthrop reached it, but, 
by that time, Elizabeth herself was at the net and 
turned it one side at a sharp angle, thereby win- 
ning her second point. 

Somewhat nettled, Miss Winthrop returned to 
her cutting serve, and succeeded in winning her 
final point and the game. But both Miss Win- 
throp and the gallery began to realize that this 
was not to be quite the farce that both had 
anticipated. . 

When it came Elizabeth's turn to serve, she 
sent a straight line ball, hitting it with a full-arm 
swing that gave it great speed. Miss Winthrop 
was not looking for this. It sped past her before 
she had even swung for it. On the second ball, 
she moved farther back, but that time Elizabeth, 
with the same motion, served one of her easy 
ones, which barely dropped over the net. Once 
again Miss Winthrop was taken completely by 
surprise. Mortified by having been so deceived, 
she lost her head at the next serve, and, swinging 
wildly for it, sent it into the net. She did better 
on the fourth ball, but, with a pretty return, slow 
and accurate, Elizabeth placed the ball just out 
of her reach, making the score in games one to 

But this was only the beginning of one of the 
hardest-fought and most exciting contests that 
the school ever witnessed. The experience of 
Miss Winthrop helped her to win the first set, 
but she was forced to use every trick and every 
ounce of strength at her command. And when 
she began the second set, it was like having to 
begin all over again, for she found her antagonist 
just as fresh, just as steady, just as determined 
as at the start. Elizabeth was neither disheart- 
ened nor excited. She proceeded to take ad- 
vantage at once of all she had learned in the first 
set, correcting the faults she had then made, and 
forcing Miss Winthrop hardest where she had 
discovered the latter's weakness. She was 

especially successful in teasing her opponent with 
slow balls. Miss Winthrop could not resist the 
temptation that they offered to attempt kill shots, 
and, being accustomed to fast playing, almost in- 
variably made a fault. By the middle of the set, 
which stood four-two in Elizabeth's favor, the 
latter resorted almost wholly to this game, re- 
turning the balls slowly, but with rare accuracy 
and judgment, and waiting for Miss Winthrop 
to beat herself. 

Roy fathomed Elizabeth's tactics and glanced 
at Harden. The latter nodded his appreciation. 

"That 's great head-work," he said. 

"And it 's head-work that wins any game !" ex- 
claimed Roy. "Miss Winthrop is getting rattled." 

It certainly looked that way, and the fact that 
she knew that, after all, she was playing with an 
inferior player, added to her confusion. In the 
last three games, she went to pieces completely, 
while Elizabeth, steadily and coolly, took full ad- 
vantage of her opponent's slightest faults. The 
set went to Elizabeth at six-two. 

Roy could hardly contain himself. 

"It 's wonderful !" he exclaimed. "I don't 
understand how she does it !" 

"I think she has been very lucky," suggested 

"Lucky !" returned Roy, hotly. "There 's no 
luck in such playing as ! If there 's any- 
thing besides clean tennis, it 's grit !" 

For the third and final set, Elizabeth once 
again took her place with no trace either of 
fatigue or nervousness, while Miss Winthrop 
looked decidedly worried and a trifle exhausted. 
She was paying for her wildness with both men- 
tal and physical fatigue. But now she went to 
another extreme and played with such excessive 
caution as to place her strictly on the defense. 
Elizabeth, on the other hand, in this third set 
played more aggressively than she had at any 
time before. She used more speed and took 
chances as she had* not dared to do before. She 
kept Miss Winthrop running from one end of the 
court to the other, until the latter was in utter 
rout. The set went to Elizabeth at six-two, the 
last game being a love game. 

Elizabeth hurried up to Miss Winthrop to 
shake hands. "I 'm glad I won," she said heart- 
ily; "but I 'm sorry you lost." 

"I did n't expect to lose, but I know I deserved 
to," answered Miss Winthrop. 

Roy, Wenham, and Harden rushed up to Eliza- 
beth with congratulations, with Nance close at 
their heels. Through eyes shining with joy, Eliz- 
abeth thanked them in some way, and then, with 
Nance's arm about her, sought the club-house. 

"Beth, you did wonderfully !" exclaimed Nance. 

( To be continued. ) 

(C>ije Stctry of 

^ Mary Stewart 

There was once a prince whose robes and mantle 
were always of gorgeous, scarlet silks. Upon his 
head he wore a crown of rubies, and his golden 
belt and sword-hilt flashed with the same splen- 
did, red stones. He rode a milk-white horse, and 
could be seen miles away, a shining spot of red 
and white. 

But when the people of his father's kingdom 
saw him coming, they ran into their houses, or 
hid behind trees; and as he rode proudly up to 
the palace, no one cheered him, not even the small 
boys. Even his father, the king, was afraid of 
him, and his sisters, who were little girls, hid 
beneath the table rather than speak to him. 

For this Prince Scarlet, as he was called, was 
mean and cruel ; his eyes were narrow and sly, 
and his voice harsh and loud. 

The king knew that he was growing old, and 
that soon this son would be king in his place. 
That thought worried him a great deal, for he 
knew what a wicked ruler the prince would make. 

So the old king sent for the forest fairies, who 
had always been his friends, begging them to 
come and advise him in his trouble. 

In answer to his summons, they all flew in at 
the palace window one bright morning; and when 
they had folded their rainbow wings, and settled 

in a circle around the king, they looked very seri- 
ous. They knew why they were needed, and the 
night before, in the forest, they had discussed the 
problem by the light of a full moon. There they 
had come to one decision : before Prince Scarlet 
became king, he must be taught how to behave in 
a kingly fashion. 

The king agreed to this. "But how?" he asked 
sorrowfully; "how can such a cruel man be 
taught ?" And the fairies answered together, "He 
must become the bird he is most like." "What is 
that?" questioned the king, and the chorus of 
fairies answered: "A crow!" 

"I do not see how that will teach him any- 
thing," moaned the king. But the fairies prom- 
ised that if the prince were left entirely in their 
hands, they would teach him to wish to be kind; 
and the king promised. 

When the prince awoke the next morning and 
looked for his scarlet clothes, they were gone. In 
their place lay a mantle of black feathers. Angry 
and puzzled, he kicked it aside, but immediately 
it sprang up, and folded itself around him. He 
became an ugly crow, and crying, "Caw ! Caw !" 
flew right out of the palace window to the forest 

He was furious; but anger was of no use. 







When he tried to shout with rage, the only word 
he could utter was a harsh, dismal "Caw !" and 
the only motion he could make was a napping of 
his wings. Round and round the trees he flew, un- 
til he was so tired and miserable that he dropped 
upon the ground. But soon he began to think 
how hungry he was, and as there was no chance 
of a dozen servants bringing him dainty food in 


golden dishes, as they did 
in the palace, he won- 
dered how he would find 
something to eat. 

Then, because he was a 
crow, it seemed to him 
that nothing in the world 
could be as delicious as a 
few kernels of raw corn. 
Raising his wings, he flew 
across the tree-tops to a 

corn-field, and was just about to alight and eat 
from the ripe ears, when he saw a farmer stand- 
ing below pointing a gun straight at him. He 
dashed aside just as the gun went "bang!" and 
flew quickly back to the deep woods. 

Prince Scarlet was now frightened as well as 
hungry, two feelings that he had never experi- 
enced before ; and as he cowered down upon the 
ground, he suddenly thought, "How many times 
in my father's kingdom have I seen hungry folks 
whom I laughed at ! Did they feel as wretched 

as I did when that gun was pointed at me ? How 
sorry I am I did not help them !" 

At that moment, although Prince Scarlet did 
not know it, one of the feathers beneath his wings 
turned to a brilliant red. 

A very miserable life the prince led for the 
next months. Sometimes he found a bite to eat, 
often he was driven away by the fear of a gun 
or a scarecrow; and at last the cold weather 
came. He did not have sense enough to fly south 
with the other birds ; perhaps the fairies did not 
mean that he should, for the first snow-storm 
taught him another lesson. As he ruffled his 
black feathers and shivered with the cold, it 
flashed across his mind, "How often have I 
scoffed at people shivering in rags. Oh, how 
sorry I am !" 

Then another feather turned scarlet, and the 
fairies smiled, and rustled their wings with de- 

As the poor crow flew across the snow-covered 
fields in search of food, he passed a little girl 
crying bitterly. Perching on a tree near by, he 
cried, "Caw ! Caw !" which sounded so dismal, 
that the child cried harder than ever. 

"If only I could sing one sweet note to comfort 
the poor little girl !" thought Prince Scarlet, and 
at once, all his feathers turned to a gorgeous 
scarlet ! He had become the most splendid bird 
you have ever seen, a cardinal-bird, and out of 
his little throat poured a beautiful, clear song. 

The child stopped crying at the sound, and 
when she looked up and saw the cheerful red bird 
beside, her, she smiled with pleasure. 

After that, Prince Scarlet's life was a very 
happy one. He sang his ringing song in storm 
and sunshine, comforting many who were tired 
and sad and sick. And never in his life as a 
prince had he been so contented. 

The fairies watched him closely, and at the 
end of a year, they circled around him as he 
perched on the bough of a forest tree, already 
covered again with green leaves. "We have 
come," they cried, "to give you a wish as a re- 
ward for the useful life you are leading." 

Do you suppose the scarlet bird wished to be a 
prince again ? Not at all ; he had grown to think 
first of others. 

"I wish," he answered, in his lovely bird voice, 
"that in all the dark places beside the road and 
on banks of streams, there could be something 
as bright and cheerful as my red feathers." 

The fairies waved their wands, and among 
ferns, bending over brooks and streams, along 
bare roadsides, and in dark nooks of the forest, 
appeared, — not a red feather, — but a red flower 
as brilliant and cheerful as the cardinal-bird. 




"The cardinal-flower will remind many people 
of your sweet song," sang the fairies. "And your 
wish was such a beautiful one, you may have 

"Oh," sighed Prince Scarlet, "there are so 
many homes I cannot fly to, so many people who 
need my song, can you not send other cheerful 
birds to them?" 

Again the fairies waved their wands, and in 
response a great flock of scarlet birds filled the 
air, and flew, singing, across the forest to glad- 
den the hearts of many, many people. 

"Now for a third wish," cried the fairies, "and 
we must tell you, first, that the king, your father, 
is too old and feeble to reign any more; the peo- 
ple are looking for a new king, and there is strife 
and discontent within the kingdom." 

"I have but one desire for them," answered 
Prince Scarlet. "May they find a king as brave 
and faithful as my father !" 

Once more the fairies waved their wands, and 
in ^n instant the cardinal-bird was flying straight 
to the palace. As he reached its long flight of 
marble steps, he alighted, and then,— the bird had 
gone ! 

In its place stood a young prince in gorgeous 
red robes. Could he be Prince Scarlet? His eyes 
were so kind, his mouth so smiling, and his voice 
so sweet and ringing, that a crowd of people 
gathered around him, crying, "Our King! Our 
King !" 

And so Prince Scarlet was crowned king ; and 

as the golden crown was placed upon his head, 
his robes seemed to glow, to flutter, to fill the air 


with a ruby light. "Almost like the wings of a 
cardinal-bird !" exclaimed the joyful people. 


"Oh, hush, little child, if you want a dream, 
You must close your eyes — ah, yes ! 
For the dream-ship carries a gift for you 

More lovely than you could guess ; 
Perhaps a moon that will shine all day, 
Perhaps a gown of color gay, 
Or a queer little fish 
In a silver dish- 
Sail away, little boat, and away !" 

Miriam S. Clark. 

A sweet little ship stole up from the South 

With a cargo of baby dreams; 
Of dolls and kittens and warm little mittens, 

And rose-colored peppermint-creams ; 
A wee wind wafted it on its way, 
And it sailed along, at the end of day, 
Down the sleepy streets where the lights were lit, 
To leave each child some wonderful bit. 


(A true story) 


"What 's this, Grandfather?" asked Robert, ris- 
ing from his seat on the floor, and bringing to his 
grandfather a folded paper, yellow with age, with 
a picture of a balloon on the outside. "It looks 
as if it had a story." 

Robert and his mother had come to tea, and, 
according to an old custom, Robert was rummag- 
ing in Grandfather's drawer of keepsakes, with 
the understanding that if he found anything that 
"had a story," Grandfather would know it and 
would tell him about it. 

"That?" — Grandfather adjusted his spectacles 
and looked at the closely printed page — "I have n't 
seen that for years ! You have found something 
this time ! 

"Helen," he continued, calling to the boy's 
mother, who was just then passing in the hall, 
"did John ever tell you that his grandfather saw 
the first successful attempt at flying in America, 
and that George Washington was there?" 

"Never," said Robert's mother. 

"It 's a story ! Come, Mother ! Let 's hear it !" 
cried Robert, excitedly. She came gladly, and 
sat down by Grandfather, who was poring over 
the old paper. 

"Yes," said Grandfather, "this is a clipping 
from a Philadelphia newspaper giving an account 
of the flight. Here is the date, January, 1793, 
— that was just before the close of Washington's 
first administration, Robert. Congress met in 
Philadelphia, then, you know, and all the distin- 
guished people of the capital went to see this 
Monsieur Blanchard make his exhibition of fly- 
ing. How often I have heard Father tell all 
about it !" 

"But I thought they did n't know how to fly till 
just lately," interrupted Robert. 

"Not in aeroplanes ; but ballooning had been in- 
vented a few years before by another French- 
man, named Montgolfier, and every one was 
greatly excited over it. The shops of the city 
were closed the day the ascent was to be made, 
and people came in from all the country round. 
Father used to tell how he was awakened at day- 
break by the booming of cannon, which was re- 
peated every half-hour until ten o'clock, when 
the ascent was to be made from the prison court- 
yard. That was the only inclosed space in the 
city big enough for balloon and spectators." 

"And Washington was there?" said Robert's 
mother. "It must have been a great occasion." 

"Yes, it was really a wonderful event. Mr. 
Blanchard was one of the most famous balloon- 
ists of the day. He was the first man to cross 
the English Channel in the air, and he had made 
ascents before all the kings and queens of Eu- 
rope. The remarkable thing was that a boy like 

From the "Town and Country Magazine," London, 1783. 

Father went. As the tickets cost five dollars, 
few children could go ; but he was so eager that 
the family decided to take him." 

"How old was he ?" asked Robert. 
' "Ten years old," replied Grandfather. "After- 
ward people told him what a distinguished as- 



sembly of men and women it had been. He then 
cared for nothing but the balloon and its operator. 
He thought Mr. Blanchard the handsomest man 
he had ever seen. He used to tell us just how he 
was dressed. He had on a bright blue suit, with 
a white, fluted ruffle, and a three-cornered cocked 
hat with a huge white plume. He must have had 
a Frenchman's fondness for effect, for the bag 
of his balloon was of bright yellow silk with 
green stripes, and the car which hung below it 
was painted light blue with silver spangles. The 
bag was about half full of gas when Father got 
there, and he watched it fill gradually till it 
tugged at its cords like a huge creature trying to 
get away. Meanwhile the band played gay music, 
and Mr. Blanchard moved about, looking after his 
arrangements and greeting distinguished persons. 
Some one brought a little black dog and asked 
him to take it on the trip to see how it stood the 
upper air. Father said he would have given any- 
thing in the world to be in that little dog's place, 
as Mr. Blanchard took it and lifted it into the car. 

"At last the bag was full. The band began a 
slow march, and Mr. Blanchard turned to bid 
farewell to the audience. Then President Wash- 
ington stepped forward and shook hands with 
him, presenting him with an official-looking docu- 
ment. It was a passport. I see there is a copy 
of it here. Do you want to read it, Helen ? The 
print is too fine for me." 

Robert's mother took the paper and read : 

" George Washington, President of the United States 
of America, To All to Whom these Presents shall come. 

"The bearer hereof, Mr. Blanchard, a citizen of France, 
proposing to ascend in a balloon from the city of Phila- 
delphia, at 10 o'clock A.M. this day, to pass in such di- 
rection and to descend in such place as circumstances may 
render most convenient — 

"THESE ARE therefore to recommend to all citizens 
of the United States, and others, that in his passage, de- 
scent, return, or journeying elsewhere, they oppose no 
hindrance or molestation to the said Mr. Blanchard ; 
And that on the contrary, they receive and aid him with 
that humanity and good will which may render honor to 
their country, and justice to an individual so distinguished 
by his efforts to establish and advance an art, in order to 
make it useful to mankind in general. 

"Given under my hand and seal, at the 
city of Philadelphia, this ninth day 
[Seal] of January, one thousand seven hun- 

dred and ninety-three, and of the inde- 
pendence of America the seventeenth. 

"George Washington." 

"Does n't that sound grand !" said Robert, with 
a sigh, when his mother had finished the reading. 
"Mr. Blanchard must have been pleased." 

"He had reason to be very grateful for that 
paper later," replied Grandfather. "He put it 
away carefully in his breast pocket, then stepped 
Vol. XXXIX.— 101. 

into the car. The ropes were untied, the ballast 
thrown out, and he sailed upward, standing hat 
in hand and waving a flag decorated on one side 
with the Stars and Stripes and on the other with 
the tricolor of France. For a moment nobody 
moved or made a sound ; then there rose from the 
people within the courtyard a great cheer, which 
was taken up by the crowds watching from the 

From the painting by Trumbull, in the City Hall, New York. 

roofs of the city as the balloon came into view 
and then sailed off over their heads. Father al- 
ways said that was the most thrilling moment of 
his boyhood." 

"What happened?" asked Robert. "Did Mr. 
Blanchard come back?" 

"No," replied Grandfather. "Some gentlemen 
galloped off along the road in the direction he 
had taken, but they soon lost sight of him. They 
did not have steam-cars then, you must remem- 
ber, much less telegraphs and telephones. That 
was one reason why every one was' so excited 
over flying. Until balloons were invented, no one 
had traveled across country faster than a horse 
could take him. No ; that was the last the people 
of Philadelphia saw or heard of Mr. Blanchard 
until seven o'clock that night, when news spread 
among the waiting crowds that he had returned 
and was at the President's house telling his story. 

"When he had been in the air about an hour, 
the gas in his balloon had given out. Pie had 
to come down in the first open space he could see. 
He had made the descent safely and found him- 



self in a field in the midst of woods. Then the 
question was what to do. He had no idea where 
he was. From his compass he could tell the gen- 
eral direction of Philadelphia, but he could only 
guess how far he had traveled. Fortunately some 
farmers came to his aid. They had been chop- 
ping wood near by, and, seeing him land, had 
come to investigate. It was then that President 
Washington's passport served him. The men 
were very much frightened. Mr. Blanchard could 
speak no English, and his French only increased 
their terror. He bethought him of the passport 
and gave it to them. As soon as they saw Wash- 
ington's signature and gathered the meaning of 
the paper, they were eager to assist him. They 
brought a cart for his balloon, and escorted him 
to a near-by tavern. There some gentlemen wel- 
comed him and entertained him at dinner. They 
told him where he was, which explained why the 
farmers had been so surprised to see him drop 
down out of the air. He was no longer in Penn- 
sylvania, where the news of his flight had been 
carried far and wide. He had crossed the Dela- 

ware River, and had come down some eighteen 
miles inland in the State of New Jersey. A pa- 
per was drawn up, which all signed, testifying to 
the place and hour of his landing. This news- 
paper contains a copy of it. It took Mr. Blan- 
chard six hours to return by horseback, carriage, 
and ferry over the distance which he had covered 
in his balloon in less than an hour. 

"This was the story which he told to President 
Washington, to whom he at once went to report 
in order to thank him for the passport and to 
present to him the flag which he had carried on 
the trip. The President showed great interest, 
congratulating him on his success, and making 
many inquiries about how the altitude affected his 
breathing and heart action, and how the country 
looked from such a height. 

"So the next time you go to an aviation meet, 
Robert," concluded his grandfather, "remember 
that your great-grandfather saw the first success- 
ful flight in America; and add to the things 
which you know about Washington that he was 
the first great American to encourage aviation." 



«J l «l«allw B JmBBSi5^ 



I BATCH; *£a 


I MATCH i^-^ 



When all the other birds have gone to bed, 

And everything is still ; 
When Mister Moon Man with his lantern threads 

The pine woods on the hill, 
I hear each night The Bird That Sits Up Late— 

I hear the whippoorwill. 

'Whip— poor— Will !" he cries, 
And sometimes, "Whip— poor- 

I 'm sorry for that other chap, 
And glad my name is Phil ! 


His voice is like the whistle of a whip, 

So sharp is it, and shrill; 
I lie and watch the Moon Man climb the sky, 

And listen to him, till 
I wonder, "Can he be some dead bird's ghost 

That haunts the old stone mill?" 

"Whip— poor— Will," he cries; 

"Poor Will-poor Will-poor Will!" 
I pull the bedclothes to my eyes, 
And whisper : "My name 's Phil !" 

From photographs by the Pictorial News Co. 






(A sequel to " The Battle of Base-ball") 


Chapter II 


Mere ability to throw a fast ball, pitch a curve, 
make the ball perform antics in the air, is, by 
itself, of no value whatever. The mere ability 
to pitch a ball with speed, with a curve, with a 
shoot, is of no value to a pitcher, if he cannot put 
it zvhere he wants it! 

Of greater value than any speed, or jump, or 
puzzling antic, is control — ability to pitch a ball 
with a reasonable assurance that, eight times out 
of ten, the ball will do your bidding and go to 
the exact spot you desire. Every League pitcher 
will tell you the same thing, and every year sees 

dozens of widely heralded "phenomenal" pitchers 
turned back from the Major to the Minor Leagues 
for this one reason. 

"He had the speed," the manager will say, "but 
he had n't learned control." 

Better far, on any diamond, is the pitcher who 
can fool batsmen with change of pace and tease 
them into striking at wide balls, than one who, 
with every known variety of curve and shoot, 
sends man after man to first base on balls ; or 
sees him jog there, painfully rubbing some part 
of his anatomy, because struck with a wild ball ; 
or watches men galloping about the bases while 
his angry catcher chases a wild pitch. 

Control, then, is the first thing to acquire. 




And there is only one way to get control, and 
that is by intelligent practice. Note that mere 
practice in pitching won't do — the practice must 
be intelligent. In the first place, control of the 
fast ball comes before any other kind — and that 
can only be obtained by beginning with little 
force and gradually increasing the pace. Stand- 
ing sixty feet from a catcher and hurling in a 
hundred straight balls with all your might in the 
hope that, by constant repetition, you can gage 
control, won't do one tenth as much good as 
throwing him ten easy ones, ten a fraction 
harder, ten more a little harder yet, and so on, 
until you find the amount of force and speed 
which begins to affect your accuracy of aim. 
Then use this as a starting-point and pitch at this 
speed until you can put one over the right, one 
over the left corner of the plate, and one over 
the center, half a dozen times in succession. 
Then begin to put a little more pace 
on the ball, and so, very gradually, 
train your muscles to obey your will, 
until you can send the ball with all 
your strength true and straight to the mark. 
This is the one and only known way of getting 
control— and it is n't a road to be traveled in a 
week nor even in a year — but it is the road to 
travel. And you will find, the first time you pitch 
a real game, after having ascertained to a nicety 
just how fast you can pitch and still keep con- 
trol, that you can do more by teasing the batter 
with "near strikes" that just don't go over the 
plate, alternated with those which do, than you 
can by wildly hurling them with all your force in 
the general direction of the catcher, in the (al- 
most always vain) hope that they will have the 
good luck to be "strikes !" 

And just here let us note a very important point 
for all young pitchers to think about and remem- 
ber. It is this : control means not only the ability 
to put a ball over the center, the inside, or the 
outside corner of the plate; not only ability to 
throw within a few inches of the plate at will, 
and to "tease" the batter into striking at a ball 
which will result in a foul or a weak roller to 
some fielder. It means, as well,' control of the 
height of the ball as it crosses the plate. 

Rule 31 says that "A fairly delivered ball is a 
ball pitched or thrown to the bat by the pitcher, 
while standing in his position and facing the 
batsman, that passes over any portion of the 
home base, before touching the ground, not lower 
than the batsman's knee, nor higher than his 
shoulder. For every such fairly delivered ball 
the umpire shall call one strike." 

From knee to shoulder may be any distance 
from about twenty-six inches in the case of a 

short man to thirty-eight inches with a tall man. 
A reference to Fig. 1, page 809, will show how 
much greater chance there is of fooling the bats- 
man by altering the height at which the ball 
crosses the plate, than by changing its direction 
to right or left. The bat presents a much smaller 
target for the ball from A to C than it does from 
A to B. Hence the necessity of control of height 
as well as direction of the ball. 

So your practice should include throwing low 
balls, waist balls, high balls, at the signal of the 

Start of the out-shoot 

Finish of the out-shoot. 

Posed expressly for St. Nicholas by WALTER JOHNSON, of the 
Washington American League Club. 

"I shall be glad to show how I pitch this ball," said Mr. Johnson, 
"but it should be remembered that no two pitchers pitch this ball in 
just the same way. There is no standard way of throwing an out-shout 
— I can only show you how I pitch it." 

catcher, and not until you can throw a high ball, 
inside, outside, or "straight through," a waist 
ball, and a knee ball in those three positions, and 
do it, too, almost at will, can you step back satis- 
fied that you really are able to control your fast 

If you have this control, and are able to use it 
on both a fast and a slow ball, you can (whether 




you have the slightest ability to throw a curve or 
not) go in and pitch a better game, allow fewer 
hits, and strike out more batters than if you 
pitched half a dozen wide curves of which only 
one in six was true enough to be called a strike. 

Start of the slow ball. 

Posed expressly for St. Nicholas by Carl Cashion, Washington, 
American League. 

Note how loosely the ball is held. It is thrown with the regular over- 
hand motion used for a fast ball. 

While talking base-ball to a group of boys re- 
cently, the author was emphasizing necessity of 

"Shucks !" commented one young enthusiast, 
"control is all right, of course, but if I could just 
'fade 'em' like Matty, or get 'em over as fast as 
Johnson, or as slyly as 'Rube' Marquard, I '11 
wager I 'd win every game I pitched if I passed 
every other man !" 

"But the figures, my lad, don't bear you out," 
was the reply. "The records show that Mar- 
quard, whose percentage of games won — .774 — 
was the greatest in the National League in 191 1, 
hit but four men during the season, and passed 
106 men. At first thought this may seem a large 
number. But remember that 1007 men had 'times 
at bat' against him, that many more faced him 
not charged with 'times at bat,' and that these 
106 passes were given during 278 innings of play. 
Marquard had control. 

"Mathewson, always known as a pitcher with 
perfect control, hit one batsman in 191 1 and 
passed thirty-eight men in 307 innings of play, 
and had 1169 men charged with 'times at bat' 
against him. Mathewson had remarkable control. 

"Johnson, one of the leading pitchers in the 
American League, has always been handicapped 
by the fact that he is too kind-hearted and gentle- 

natured wilfully to throw so near the batsman as 
to make him fear to step too close to the plate. 
As his control is so perfect, and his disposition 
is so well known, players 'stand to the plate' 
when he is on the mound, and make more hits off 
him by so doing than they otherwise would. 
Even so, in 191 1, Johnson hit but eight batsmen, 
and gave bases on balls to seventy more, having 
1228 men charged with 'times at bat' against him, 
in 323 innings of play. Johnson, too, had won- 
derful control." 

And, to clinch the argument — if any more be 
needed — consider the remarkable games pitched 
in both Big Leagues in 191 1. In the American 
League there were two no-hit games pitched dur- 
ing the season, Wood, of Boston, turning this 
most unusual trick against St. Louis, and Walsh, 
of Chicago, shutting out Boston without a hit. 
Coombs, of Philadelphia, Wood, of Boston, and 
Walsh, of Chicago, each pitched also a one-hit 
game during the season. All these pitchers are 
men noted for control— on the days when they 

Finish of the slow ball. 

pitched these phenomenal games, they had prac- 
tically perfect control. 

In the National League there was no no-hit 
game in 191 1, but ten pitchers pitched one-hit 
games. Compare the list with the pitchers' rec- 
ords, and you find almost all men of fine control. 
They were Moore, Philadelphia ; Fromme, Cin- 
cinnati ; Rucker, Brooklyn ; Chalmers, Philadel- 
phia; Steele, Pittsburg; Marquard, New York; 
Alexander, Philadelphia; Woodburn, St. Louis; 
Burns, Philadelphia, and Cole, Chicago. 

Once having control of the fast ball, you are 
in a position to take up some variety of curve. 
Here you need advice (which, in all probability, 
you won't take) and caution about your arm 
(which you probably won't heed). The advice 
is this : don't try to master more than one curve, 
shoot, hook, or slant at a time ; don't try ever to 




master more than two or three. Great pitchers 
do not— why should you? 

Walter Johnson, the American League pitcher 
(Washington), depends on his fast ball with a 
jump on it, his slow ball for a change of pace, 
one swift curve, and almost perfect control. He 
can throw other things, but these are what he 
does throw. Christy Mathewson, the great 
pitcher of the New York Giants, depends on his 
famous fadeaway, a high in-shoot, a slow ball, 
and a swift straight one — plus almost perfect 
control. Edward Walsh, the phenomenal steel- 
armed man of the Chicago White Sox, uses 
speed, a spit ball, a slow ball occasionally, a jump 
curve, and a plain, straight, not very hard ball 
which looks like a spitter and— is n't. He also 
has magnificent control of the ball. 

Now just as there are no two faces in the 

ascertain, before you begin to develop a curve or 
shoot, just which particular kind comes easiest to 

Start of the knuckle ball. 

Finish of the knuckle ball. 

Posed expressly for St. Nicholas by Jerry Ackers, Washington, 
American League. 

The knuckle ball is a slow ball which wavers in the air. It is very 
puzzling when properly thrown and controlled. 

world exactly alike, so no two arms in the world 
are exactly similar. Therefore no two boys or 
men will have exactly the same way of getting 
exactly the same curve. So it is vital that you 

Start of the drop ball. 

Finish of the drop ball. 
Posed expressly for St. Nicholas by Dixie Walker, Washington, 
American League. 

Note that this powerfully built pitcher pitches a drop over the side 
of his index-finger. Other pitchers sometimes release the ball over the 
ends of the fingers, with the back of the hand up. 

you naturally. It is likely to be some variety of 
the out-curve, because this curve, as previously 
explained, is thrown by the hand and arm and 
wrist in a position which is a continuation of the 
natural curve of hand, arm, and wrist in throw- 
ing. The ball, firmly grasped between thumb and 
first two fingers, is brought over the shoulder 
with the ordinary throwing motion, and the back 
of the hand is turned to the pitcher's right and 
slightly down as the ball is let go, so that it rolls 
off the sides of the index-finger and faces of 
both fingers, which serves to give it the neces- 
sary revolution from right to left to curve it to 
the pitcher's left and the batter's right. By bring- 
ing the hand directly down over the head and 
having the back of the hand toward the batter, 
the ball is made to revolve from top toward the 
bottom, or in the direction of its motion, so that 
it becomes a drop ball— dropping from its revo- 
lution, and not from impact with the air, as a 
spit ball drops. 

Now, somewhere between these two, out-curve 
and drop-curve, is the out-drop. The position at 




which the drop or curve commences is dependent 
on a good many things— the force of the throw, 
the speed of revolution, the angle of the throw 
(from the shoulder to the plate), and the position 
of the arm when the ball is released — whether 
fully extended, or something short of that. These 

Start of the in-shoot. 

Finish of the in-shoot. 


Posed expressly for St. Nicholas by WALTER JOHNSON, Wash- 
ington, American League. 

things must be experimented with by the indi- 
vidual until he finds which variety of this curve 
he throws with the least effort. For if he throws 
a slight curve with little effort, he may throw a 
sharp or wide one with greater effort ; whereas, if 
a slight curve takes "all he has," he cannot, well, 
increase the speed or latitude of that particular 
curve. So it is very important to find the curve 
that you can throw most easily, and make that 
the basis of what you will develop. 

But whatever the curve which seems to be most 
natural to your build and habits of throwing, and 
which seems to jerk and twist your arm the least 
in delivery, try to develop it not only with the 
arm and hand, but with the whole body. Having 
a good "motion" means a great deal to a pitcher. 
It means that every muscle in his body, almost, is 
used in his pitch, and that, as a result, he can get 
greater speed, a wider curve, a sharper break, 
with less effort on any one muscle than he could 

if his "motion" was at fault. Amos Rusie, the 
great "speed king" who pitched balls so hard and 
fast that none of his catchers could keep a good 
record all the time, had an almost perfect "mo- 
tion." Walter Johnson, who, some players say, 
pitches as speedy a ball as ever Rusie pitched, 
has a perfect swing to his body, and uses not 
only his powerful arm and shoulder muscles, but 
those of his back, his thighs, and his legs, in his 
speed ball, so that he can finish a game almost as 
strong as when he began it. Mathewson's work 
has long been remarkable for the smoothness of 
his motion— he seems to propel the ball with his 
whole body, using his hand and arm rather to 
guide the ball than to propel it. Bender, who led 
the American League pitchers last year, has a 
long body, every bit of which gets into his throw 
— and similar instances might be multiplied with- 
out number. 

The secret of good "motion," like that of con- 
trol, is practice — only in this case the practice 
consists in throwing, throwing, throwing, using 
the arm as little as possible, save as a guide to 
the ball, and getting all the propelling effort pos- 
sible by starting the pitch from a position in 
which the body is bent backward, stepping for- 
ward, and swinging the body from right to left 
so that all its muscles back up and supplement 
those of the arm. 

Having mastered the elements of pitching — 
control, and a good body swing, or "motion" — a 
great deal of progress is made toward pitching a 
good game. But without some knowledge of how 
to apply what you know, you might as well toss 
the ball up to the batter and let him hit it. Re- 
cruit players breaking into the Big Leagues often 
start out with tremendous batting averages — for 
a dozen games or more. Then the pitchers dis- 
cover their likes and dislikes, find out what they 
can hit with ease and what they hit with diffi- 
culty, and promptly the new-comers' batting aver- 
ages shrink tremendously. 

Of course any lad soon catches on to the pe- 
culiarities of his fellow club-members who stand 
at the plate and face his pitching. But suppose 
you go to the other side of town or to a neigh- 
boring town, to play a nine you never saw before 
—what sort of balls are you going to pitch those 
batters? Use speed, and trust to luck? Make 
every pitched ball different from the preceding 
one, in the hope of fooling the man at bat? 
Throw two balls in the hope of their being called 
strikes, stick one over, and then trust to your in- 
field to get the batter out at first? 

None of these systems will do. You must study 
the first batter the first time he comes to the 
plate, and deduce what you can from his size, 




his hold on the bat, his position at the plate — 
later, when he has hit, you will have more data 
to reason from for his next time up. If the bats- 
man holds his bat "choked," that is, several 
inches from the end, and, instead of swinging, 
chops at the ball, your best play is a low ball 
rather than a high one. "Choked bats" don't 
reach so far down, and are less likely to connect 
well with low balls than with those between 
waist and shoulder. Does the batter hold his bat 
at the extreme end and stand there waiting, 
swinging his bat in wide arcs? It is the trick of 
the free hitter— one who wallops the ball when 
he does hit it, and strikes out with a loud swish- 
ing noise of fanning air when he does n't. Free 
hitters rarely face the pitcher ; they stand facing 
the plate or three quarters of the way between 
pitcher and plate (Fig. 2). The ball that this 
type of batter likes least is that which comes 
close to him on the inside of the plate. He likes 
it least because, even if he does hit it, it is usually 
with the handle of the bat, resulting in a slow 
roller or a little "pop fly." Change of pace is a 
great weapon against the swinging slugger, or 
free hitter: a fast ball well outside that he may 

center. The chances are he will then hit too 
eagerly, and before the ball gets to him at all, or, 
if he does hit it, will drive a decided foul to left 
(if he be a right-hander— see Fig. 3). 

Fig. 1. Why variation in height, as in the drop-curve, is more puz- 
zling to the batsman than flat curves "in" or "out." A to B : width 
of plate. A to C : knee to shoulder of batsman. 

not hit it, a fast ball well inside that he will not 
want to hit, then a slow, teasing, "floating" ball 
which crawls up to him fair and full in the 
Vol. XXXIX.— 102. 

"Where the free-batter 
doesn't like them 

"Where he does 
liKe them 

Fig. 2. The batters who stand sidewise to the plate can reach low 
balls with ease. 

Snappy hitters— men who choke their bats and 
hit with a choppy motion, rather than a swing- 
will generally do more execution against a slow 
ball than a fast one. Not having to start their 
hit so soon, they are not so easily thrown out of 
balance as is the swinging hitter who must begin 
his swing some time before the ball reaches him, 
and who, therefore, on a slow ball he has n't 
recognized, either fans or fouls to left. 

Batters who do not fear the ball, and step well 
into it at the plate, not infrequently take the heart 
out of a pitcher by hammering his best curve 
ball before it has fairly had a chance to break. 
Such men should get balls as close to them as 
possible, and high or low, according to their man- 
ner of standing at the plate. Always remember 
that a man who stands sidewise to the plate can 
do anything he wants with the average low ball, 
but has difficulty in hitting a high one; whereas 
a man who faces the pitcher squarely can handle 
high ones easily and low ones with difficulty. 

Batters who are timid — who "pull away" as 
they bat— are the easy prey of the pitcher with 
control— all he has to do is keep the ball on the 
outside corner of the plate. As the batter is 




going one way, due to his pulling habit, the ball, to right field (Fig. 4), all slow ones to left (the 

at the same time, is "breaking" to the other side, natural hit) ; others, by some peculiar mental 

and the usual result is a foul, a strike-out, or a twist, swing more quickly on fast balls (so driv- 
weak hit easily handled. Players who "pull" ~"----/°ui a 

<s^ — 




Hit to R.sM-jiflf V VV 





* \ 

• \ 

/ V 

/ \ 
/ t 

• J; 

/ i\ 












Bat swung far 



Bat swung far 


Bat has not 

over waiting foe 



enough to get 


swung far 



slow ball 



ball to right-field 









Fig 3 

Fig 4 

Fig 5 

have no place on a team playing real base-ball, 
according to the Big-League managers. 

In some cases the pitcher may to a certain ex- 
tent control the direction of the batsman's hit. 
That is, by knowing where the batsman usually 
hits a straight, fast ball, he can, by giving him a 
decided in-curve, or a decided out-curve some- 
times, cause him to hit to right or left of his 
usual direction (see Fig. 6). Of course this 
little strategy won't always succeed— the batter 
won't always hit as expected— but it succeeds 
often enough for most Major League teams to 
notify the outfield and the infield by signal what 
sort of a ball is to be pitched to a batter, so 
that they may know what is the most probable 
result should the batter succeed in hitting it. 

In the same way (see Fig. 7) the pitcher 
may control to some slight extent the probable 
direction of the hit, by knowing the batter's 
usual style, and changing the speed of the ball 
accordingly. This is not a particularly sure 
method, but often, with a canny batsman, it is of 
advantage in getting two strikes on him by the 
foul route, first, perhaps, with a swift ball, and, 
second, with a slow "teaser." 

Of course there are a great many individual 
peculiarities which have no general application — 
every boy will have to master those of his op- 
ponents as practice shows him their weaknesses. 
Some can't hit a slow ball at all, others kill slow 
balls every time. Some batters will hit every 
time at the first ball if it is within reach— these 
should always get the first ball well outside the 
plate. Other batters almost never offer at the 
first ball— a straight, plain, swift one through the 
heart of the plate should be the first pitch to lads 
of this disposition. Some batters hit all fast balls 

ing them to left) than they do on slow ones, which 
they recognize and which they unconsciously 
wait for, driving them to right. The diagrams 
show why a fast ball is usually driven to right 
and a slow one to left, but this is not a hard-and- 
fast rule. But it is a noticeable fact that pitchers 
of the Rusie-Johnson type, who have extreme 
speed, do get a lot of strikes by the foul route, 

Fig. 6. Showing a left-field hitter hitting a straight ball to left field, 
and why he is likely to foul off a sharp in-curve, and why an out-curve 
may result in a clean hit to right center. These results vary with 
different batters — the diagram merely shows the principle. 

and for the same reason that fast pitches are so 
often hit to right field— the ball is faster than 
the batter calculates, consequently his bat hits it 




too soon in the flight of the swift hall over 
the plate, as shown in Fig. 5. 

There are times when you must consider not 
only what the man at bat can do best, but what 
he is likely to try to do. Thus, with a man on 
third and less than two out, the sacrifice fly is 
often attempted. The hardest ball from which to 
hit a long, high sacrifice fly is a high ball. Natu- 
rally, therefore (unless 
this particular batter is 
one who hits all high 
balls particularly well), 
in this situation, keep 
the ball up. Similarly it 
is harder to bunt a high 
ball than a waist-high or 
low one— bunting a ball 
from a shoulder-high 
pitch is easily seen to be 
difficult. On the other 
hand, with a very speedy 
man at the plate who 
often chops the ball 
straight down, in the 
hope of it making a high 
bounce or two during 
which he can beat it to 
the base, keep the ball 

It is highly necessary 
that the young pitcher 
realize the importance 
of having the same pre- 
liminary attitude previ- 
ous to all pitches, and the 
same variety of "mo- 
tion" in all deliveries, 
otherwise the batter will 
soon recognize that your 
little step backward before you pitch means a 
fast ball, or your slight hunching of the shoulder 
means a drop, or. whatever telltale motion you 
make means some one particular pitch. One of 
the reasons for Mathewson's great success with 
his fadeaway is his uncanny ability to pitch it 
with the overhand motion — the same motion he 
uses on his straight ball and his high in-curve. 
He could pitch his high in and his fadeaway with 
less effort and perhaps greater effect, if he could 
use his arm any way he pleased. But he cannot. 
He must use a motion which gives no indication 
of what is coming— so, indeed, must all pitchers. 
It is in this point, too, that the lad whose slow 
ball is but his fast ball thrown easily, fails so 
lamentably— any one can see what he is doing 
while he does it. Take a pitcher like Alexander, 
of the "Phillies," or Marquard, of the Giants, or 

"Three-fingered" Brown, of the "Cubs," and you 
can't tell their fast ball and their slow one apart 
by their motion— the same attitude, the same 
speed of arm, the same everything— except the 


1 ^7 — \ r^ 

y^\y \ «l \ f ■ J 

x\ VA * 

A*A \*V 

Straight to Right-field X \ A \ \r\ 

( \ Vx J \*\ 

X\ * ^V \a\ \ ti \ 

Vv\ XA \ \ 

How fast and slow balls, and 

x^Nf°\\ \\\ 

early and late swings affect 
the direction of the hit. 

( -^> t 5^ ^$^x \V\ \ 

y m>%x>o\\\ 

y*- / ' k- ^^-v-£°S£0\nO\ 

y ' r * x^o^ovN 



r ^ a 

y' >\ /'J 

u y / \ 1 \ 

*7' ' & 1 \ 

y * -jy t 1 \ 

1 * $' ■* ^ 

P £>' :C 

y ! I M 

Fig. 7 i { 

— -■- .,■■■■■■ .I, j , i ■ i J..„ . , -..,-.-. \ _ 

grip and the last wrist flick, which does the busi- 
ness without any telltale hint to the batter. 

While, perhaps, more properly belonging to the 
chapter to be devoted to fielding, a few words 
seem necessary here on the pitcher's duties out- 
side the box. A pitcher might have every known 
delivery, deception, speed, slow ball, curve, fader, 
drop, everything, and still be hopelessly a "Minor 
leaguer," if he did n't watch bases and hold run- 
ners on, as well as field bunts and cover first base. 

Barney Pelty, pitcher of the St. Louis 
"Browns," recently stated that, in his opinion, it 
should be the pitcher instead of the catcher who 
was charged with a stolen base. Suppose the 
pitcher does n't hold the runner glued to first. 
He gets off with a fifteen-, perhaps a twenty-, 
foot lead. The pitcher takes a bit of a wind-up, 
and the runner is twenty-five feet from first 



before the pitcher gets the ball away to the 
catcher. The catcher must make his catch, step 
out of line of the batsman, who is probably "ar- 
tistically" engaged in getting in his way, draw 
back his arm, and throw to second, where the 
ball must be caught, held, and tagged on the run- 
ner ! When it is n't done, the catcher is charged 
with a stolen base, when, as a matter of fact, it 
is n't his fault at all, but the pitcher's. 

Thinking base-ball critics, seeing the stolen 
base charged to the catcher, often add in their 
own minds, "but it was n't his fault." But that 
does n't help the catcher's record ! Yet it is not 
to help out a catcher, but to play the game, that 
young pitchers must watch the bases. Throw 
often enough and suddenly enough to first to 
make the runner hug the base. Have a signal 
with the catcher as to when to whirl and throw. 
But don't throw the game away by throwing too 
often, or when there is no need of it. Watch the 
base — indeed, watch second and third, too, but 
most especially first base. Then, when you do 
turn to pitch, forget the runner entirely, and see 
only the batter and the plate ! 

As for fielding, you have only to refer to the 
scores of the World Series in 191 1, to see how 
important it is for a pitcher to be a fielder as 
well. Bender had one put-out and six assists, 
Plank two assists, and Coombs one put-out and 
two assists, while Mathewson had two put-outs 
and nine assists, Marquard, Crandall, and Wiltse 
two assists each, and Ames one assist. In six 
games, then, the pitchers had a total of four put- 
outs and twenty-six assists. Is it coincidence that 
Bender, the Athletics' star pitcher, and Mathew- 
son, the Giants' star pitcher, lead their teams in 
pitchers' assists? Both are expert fielders. 

The pitcher who cannot run in, scoop up a 
bunt with one hand, and throw to first, is no 
pitcher at all. 

But it is on first-base plays that the pitcher 
must be most especially alert, not -only in fielding 
bunts, but in covering the bag on bunts fielded by 
the first baseman, and on hits down the foul line 
or in short right field, which perhaps both second 
baseman and first go after. The instant a ball 
is hit toward first base, the pitcher should start 
for the bag. He has less distance to run than 
the runner, and can easily get there first. He 
should get there just in time to make the catch 
of the ball frequently tossed by the fielder while 
the pitcher is still running, since often the pitcher 
will not be able to stop. 

As every boy knows, the sight of a runner, a 
pitcher, and the ball all meeting at first base 
(Fig. 8) is one of the prettiest plays on the 
diamond. As first is the only base where neither 
fielder nor runner need stop after touching the 
bag for the put-out, this play never occurs any- 
where else. 

But, remember, this fine faculty of running to 
cover first, arriving there just in time to step 
on the bag the instant the tossed ball is caught, 
is the result of hard practice, and the lad who will 
devote fifteen minutes a day to fielding bunts 
with one hand, and whirling and throwing, and 
another fifteen minutes to covering first and re- 
ceiving fielded balls, will make a pitcher his nine 
will rather have in a game than that other lad 
who, superior, perhaps, in actual pitching, is yet 
unable, through laziness or lack of practice, to 
leave the firing-line and become one of the in- 
fielders— unable, in the real meaning of the 
words, to play the game ! 

( To be continued. ) 

First-baseman fields 
ball and throws to 
pitcher on First-base. 
Runner is out by 
several feet. 

1 — 1 m>g — : - -7K-| 

jgjox Kunner ___ _ oJJMy 

.-*— °--*"~" 

_ \« * " B "IttedBaU Batter 


X * 

\ v / 

V* /» 


** N „< '& 




% \ y . 






Chapter X 


"To the rescue !" cried Lefty, dashing around to- 
ward the rear. "This way !" 

Tad and Jack paused to light the lanterns 
which they carried. Then they rushed forward 
and entered the ruined building, where the others 
already were groping about in the darkness. 

The two lanterns threw a partial light over 
piles of brick, mortar, and rubbish of several sorts 
which littered the interior. Cousin Willie was 
discovered in one corner, lying on a pile of hay, 
just as he had fallen— too terrified to move or 
speak. Except for him and the rescuing party, 
no one was in the place, nor was the dog in evi- 
dence. Tad hurried over to the corner. 

"Hurt, Will?" he cried anxiously. 

The boy sat up, pale and trembling, but silent. 

"It 's all right, Will," Tad went on consolingly ; 
"nobody 's around, you see, except our crowd. 
The old hermit and Fido have skipped. I guess 
the fall knocked your breath out, did n't it?" 

Will nodded and gasped. 

Lefty rushed forward and lifted him in his 
arms. "The chi-i-i-ld is saved !" he announced in 
a dramatic tremolo. 

"But where 's the dog?" Bert cried in surprise, 
picking up a stout club which lay near him. 

"Fido seems to have skipped to the happy hunt- 
ing-grounds," Tad announced. "May his bark 
find a quiet harbor !" 

"Ah, how poetic !" murmured Bert, poking 
around with his stick. "It 's a mighty good thing 
for Willie that the old man and his dog are not 
around. I thought he was a goner when that 
wall gave way." 

"Yes, I thought it was all up with him," Eliot 
added. "He chose a good spot to fall — over there 
on the hay. It 's a lot more comfortable to land 
on hay than on a pile of bricks." 

"Bill showed artistic judgment in picking out a 
landing-place," Lefty agreed. "If only he 'd gone 
to sleep, he might have been taken for Little Boy 
Blue— 'under the haystack, fast asleep.' " 

Lefty had been talking to Cousin Willie in a 
low tone, in an attempt to revive his courage, and 
the boy now had quite recovered from his fright. 

Having found the ruins deserted, the Beaver 
Campers felt perfectly secure, and began a lei- 
surely inspection of the dilapidated building. In 
the beginning of its history it might have been 

a fort, or perhaps an old mill with a wheel turned 
by some stream that now flowed in another chan- 
nel. The roof was broken through, and the rear 
wall had a gaping opening large enough to admit 
a two-horse truck. Here and there the vines 
which covered the outside had forced themselves 
in through the openings, and reached out bravely 
in an effort to cover the bare ugliness of the 

It seemed probable that the owner of the prem- 
ises had stored some farm produce in the build- 
ing during the months past, for a pile of old hay 
lay in one corner — fortunately for Cousin Willie 
— and several barrels and baskets were lying on 
the ground. 

A rude shelter made of brush and boards 
marked the lodging of the hermit and his dog. 
A fire still smoldered before it, and empty cans 
were scattered about in disorderly confusion. 

Bert poked around with his stick in an inquisi- 
tive fashion for a while, but found nothing espe- 
cially interesting, so he threw himself down upon 
the pile of hay to wait until the others had satis- 
fied their curiosity. 

As he touched the hay, he uttered a smothered 
exclamation and sprang to his feet, rubbing one 

"What 's the matter, Bert ?" Ed cried in sur- 

"Ouch ! There 's something hard and sharp 
down there," said Bert; "and I landed right on 
it !" 

"Maybe it 's the hermit, Bert," Tad suggested. 
"He 's hard and sharp." 

"Take a look, Bert !" Charlie urged. "See 
what 's hidden down there." 

Cousin Willie had somewhat disarranged the 
pile of hay when he fell, and Bert's heavier 
weight still more noticeably had crushed and flat- 
tened it. Still nursing his shoulder, Bert grasped 
his stick and thrust it into the pile. It struck 
something solid, and he stooped to investigate. 

Just then the stillness of the night was broken 
by a sound which struck terror into the hearts of 
the boys — the angry barking of a dog. 

"They 're coming back !" Tad cried in alarm. 
"Put out the lights and run for all you 're worth !" 

In an instant the lighted lanterns were extin- 
guished, and the boys were scrambling through 
the opening in the broken rear wall. Onward 
they ran, stumbling over obstructions, breathless, 
frightened, yet spurred to their utmost exertion 




by the deep, savage barking that seemed to be 
coming alarmingly near. 

They reached the fence that ran down to the 
road after what seemed like a desperately long 
interval, and somehow they scrambled over it and 
gained the partial security of the farther side. 
Here they turned and hurried on. 

"I suppose there 's no use trying to be quiet," 
Lefty gasped. "They can't hear us back there, 
and, anyhow, we made enough noise for a regi- 
ment, getting across that field." 

"We '11 be all right if only that blood-thirsty 
brute does n't take a notion to follow us !" was 
Tad's breathless reply. "I suppose he can follow 
our track if the old fellow lets him." 

"Sure ! It would be right in his line ! Where 's 

"I don't know ! Is n't he in the crowd some- 

"Don't see him ! Hold up a minute, you fel- 
lows ! Any of you seen Bill?" 

"He was with me when we climbed over the 
fence," Tom reported. "I have n't seen him 

Jack hastily counted the dark figures gathered 
around him. One, two, three, four, five, six, 
seven, eight — Cousin Willie was not with them! 

"He 's probably fallen down somewhere," Wal- 
ter ventured. "Seems to me I heard a fellow fall 
near me, right after we got over the fence. I 
did n't pay much attention then, because I took it 
for granted that whoever it was would pick him- 
self up and hustle along." 

"Hark!" cried Eliot. "Listen to that dog! 
Is n't he coming nearer?" 

"He surely is !" Lefty muttered anxiously. 
"You fellows had better run along ! Leave a lan- 
tern with me. I '11 climb up in this tree, and if 
the dog is following our trail, likely as not he '11 
run right by me. After he 's gone on, I '11 walk 
back and look for Bill." 

There was no time for argument or delay, be- 
cause the sound of excited barking was coming 
closer to them, and it seemed apparent that the 
dog was in full pursuit. 

Lefty fastened the lantern to his belt and 
climbed carefully into a tree not far from the 
fence, while the others hurried on toward the 

For some minutes, he sat in this friendly shel- 
ter. The sound of the rapidly retreating boys 
died away in the distance. Nearer and nearer 
came the dog. Now Lefty could hear him crash- 
ing through the bushes close at hand. At the foot 
of the tree, he seemed to hesitate. Here it was 
that the boys had stopped, and the dog ran around 
Uncertainly, trying to pick up the scent. 

Lefty held his breath in suspense, thankful that, 
even should the dog discover him, he could not 
reach him. Then Lefty heard a voice which he 
at once recognized as belonging to the hermit, and 
realized that the dog was being urged forward 
by his master, who seemed eager to overtake and. 
punish those who so boldly had invaded his 

In a minute or two, the dog found the scent 
and ran forward, the man hurrying in pursuit, 
but Lefty judged that by this time his fellow- 
campers must have reached the road, and hoped 
that, once there, they might regain the camp 
quickly and in safety. 

When the dog and his master had passed on, 
Lefty scrambled to the ground and unfastened the 
lantern from his belt. He plunged a hand inside 
his pocket, and then suddenly remembered that he 
had given his matches to Jack. He had no means 
of lighting the lantern which he had so carefully 
shielded in ascending and descending the tree. 

"Thunder !" he muttered. "Also lightning !" 

There was nothing to be done about it, how- 
ever, so Lefty made the best of existing conditions, 
and retraced his steps over the course which the 
boys had followed along the fence. Every minute 
or two he whistled cautiously, and soon heard a 
faint answering signal. 

"Is that you, Bill?" he cried, as loudly as he 

"Yes! All right, Lefty! Where are you?" 
and Lefty saw the bright light of Willie's pocket- 
lamp gleaming in the distance. 

"Here ! straight ahead ! More to the right 
now ! Well, Bill ! I 'm glad to find you again. 
Where were you?" 

"I caught my foot in getting over the fence," 
he explained, "and tumbled down in a lot of weeds 
and stuff. It did n't hurt me, but I got all mixed 
up and turned the wrong way— opposite to the 
other fellows. When I found out what I 'd done, 
I heard the dog coming, and was afraid to run 
back until he got out of the way." 

"It strikes me that you 're getting more than 
your share of excitement out of this thing, Bill," 
Lefty responded, with a little chuckle. "I 'm glad 
you have that electric lamp. I 've got a lantern, 
but no matches, and, somehow, an unlighted lan- 
tern does n't give much illumination." 

"I have a match-box," Will said, searching 
through his pockets. "Here ! help yourself !" 

Lefty gratefully "borrowed" a match and 
lighted the lantern. Then together they set out 
for the highway, and as they went, Lefty related 
the experiences of the party from the time of 
Will's fall to the discovery of his absence. 

"Is n't it funny, Lefty, how you never know 




what 's going to happen to you?" Will remarked 
reflectively. "If anybody 'd told me six months 
ago that I 'd be going through these things, I 
would n't have believed it." 

"No, I suppose not ! It may not be a bad thing 
though, Bill ! You '11 get accustomed to being in 
thrilling adventures by the time you 've passed 
through half a dozen more, which at the present 
rate of progress will be about this time to-mor- 
row night. Just think, Bill ! it was only this morn- 
ing early that you and I were pattering around 
in the dark after that fellow who got away in 
the boat." 

"That 's so ! It seems farther back than that, 
Lefty. It might have been a week ago, so much 
has happened since." 

Thus talking together, they followed the fence 
until, at length, the highway appeared before 
them. Then they turned toward Beaver Camp. 

Occasionally, they had heard the vocal efforts 
of the hermit's dog, and now Lefty noted with 
some anxiety that the sound was coming nearer. 

"The fellows must have reached camp all 
right, Bill," he announced as calmly as possible, 
"because our kind-hearted neighbor seems to be 
returning from the chase, bringing his menagerie 
with him. If you care to see the procession go 
past, don't let me hinder you; but as for myself— 
well, there 's a brook just ahead, and I think I '11 
stop under the bridge until the parade is out of 

"That ought to be a good place to hide, Lefty ! 
The dog can't follow our trail in the water." 

They reached the brook in plenty of time, and 
walked up the nearer bank a hundred yards or 
more in order to draw the dog farther away, in 
case he felt inclined to follow their trail. Then 
they removed their shoes and stockings and 
waded back through the brook until they were 
concealed under the bridge that carried the high- 
way across the little stream. 

Here they waited until after the dog had passed 
their refuge, and the heavy footfalls of his re- 
turning master had sounded upon the boards over 
their heads. Then they climbed out on the far- 
ther bank and made their way back to camp, 
where a joyful welcome awaited them. 

The other boys had reached Beaver Camp 
safely, though it had been necessary for them to 
run most of the way. The dog had followed 
them even into the "clearing" around the bunga- 
low, from which point he had been called off by 
his master. Shortly after their arrival, the doctor 
had returned from his call at Mrs. Spencer's cot- 
tage, and the full history of their adventure had 
been related to him. 

Doctor Halsey was enough of a boy to relish 

the excitement of this recital, and yet, being 
mindful of his duty as camp director, he re- 
minded the boys of the folly and danger of plung- 
ing into reckless adventure, as well as of the 
lack of proper regard for him which they had 
manifested in leaving camp on such a mission 
without his knowledge and consent. 

Just then Lefty and Cousin Willie appeared, 
and the doctor was eager to learn how they had 

"Anyhow, Bert saved the box that he fell on !" 
Edgar announced triumphantly, when Lefty and 
Willie had related the account of their experi- 
ences. "We have that much to show for our 
night's work !" 

"That 's so !" cried Bert. "There 's been so 
much excitement since that I 'most forgot about 
it. I had just dragged the box out of the way 
when the blooming dog began to yawp, and we all 
beat it. I had the thing under my arm all the 
time, and never realized it until we climbed the 
fence. It was too late to do anything about it 
then, so I brought it back to camp with me, and 
here it is !" 

So saying, he produced a box of heavy tin, 
wrapped in several layers of soiled and torn 
newspapers. The tin was coated with black 
japan, ornamented with gilt stripes, and the box 
looked just like some that the boys had seen in 
stationers' windows, designed to hold cash, jew- 
elry, and valuable papers. 

"No wonder the old fellow chased us !" Eliot 
exclaimed. "Most likely he 's a miser, and has 
a lot of money and all kinds of valuable things in 
that box. I '11 bet he 's gone off to get the con- 
stable, or whoever it is up here that does such 
business, and means to have us all locked up !" 

"I should n't wonder," Jack added soberly. "If 
we 're found with that box in our hands, it won't 
do us any good to say that we did n't go over 
there to steal it !" 

The doctor had another theory, but was quite 
willing that the boys should be conscience-stricken 
for a time, in order that the folly of rushing heed- 
lessly into danger might be impressed upon their 
minds, and that they might learn to respect the 
property rights of their neighbors. 

"You see how seriously you are involved," he 
remarked quietly. "Not only did you leave camp 
on a dangerous and needless mission at a time 
when I was absent and was trusting to your 
honor and good sense to keep you out of mischief, 
but you have trespassed knowingly on the prop- 
erty of a neighbor, you have actually stolen some- 
thing that may be assumed to belong to him, and 
have placed yourselves in a position where you 
could be arrested and severely punished." 




The boys looked frightened and ashamed. No 
one could frame an appropriate reply. 

"What would your parents and friends in the 
city think if the news should reach them that you 
had been arrested for stealing?" the doctor went 
on. "You might convince them that it was a 
mere thoughtless prank, but I fancy they would 
be distressed and displeased to know that you had 
been so imprudent." 

"We just went for the excitement of the thing," 
Bert urged in defense. "We '11 put the box back 
and the old hermit can see that we have n't taken 
anything. Anyhow, he did n't see any of us, and 
can't prove that we were there. He can't prove 
that we took the box, either, so I don't see what 
trouble he can make." 

"He knows that some one was in the ruins to- 
night," the doctor replied. "He traced the tres- 
passers with the aid of his dog, and found that 
they belonged here. While he may not be able to 
prove anything more, you have been very unwise, 
and I hope you will never again do a thing which 
might bring disgrace upon Beaver Camp and 
spoil our vacation." 

The boys' were very penitent, and assured the 
doctor with much earnestness of their regret. He 
accepted their apologies, but gave them little com- 
fort, and they wandered off by twos and threes to 
seek forgetfulness in slumber. By this time they 
were thoroughly alarmed, and had visions of ar- 
rest and all manner of unpleasant sequels to their 
nocturnal adventure. 

"And just think ! to-morrow will be 'the glori- 
ous Fourth !' " Lefty sighed unhappily. "We 
were going to have so much fun, but now — well, 
we can't tell what will become of us." 

"We 're certainly in one horrible mess," Ed re- 
plied hopelessly. "I feel awful, but I 'm sorry 
most of all about the doctor. We left him sitting 
there all alone by the fire, and holding that old 
box that 's got us into such a snarl. He looked 
mournful as anything, and I '11 bet he feels 

At that minute, however, the doctor was smil- 
ing grimly at the leaping flames, as he remem- 
bered the alarm of the boys and reflected on its 
probable value as a moral tonic. Also he won- 
dered how this box, so unexpectedly placed in his 
keeping, might fit into a strange story which Mrs. 
Spencer had told him that evening. 

Chapter XI 

"the glorious fourth" 

The boys' sleep was restless and troubled that 
night, and they awoke on the morning of Inde- 
pendence Day feeling downcast and apprehen- 

sive. The box was not in sight, and the doctor 
did not refer to it. The dawn was not saluted 
with a roar of exploding gunpowder. Somehow, 
none of the Beaver Campers felt exactly in the 
mood for it. 

When breakfast had been eaten, and the boys 
were busy, in a half-hearted way, about the camp, 
Doctor Halsey announced his intention of going 
up to Mrs. Spencer's cottage. The boys were 
surprised when he produced the box from a se- 
cure hiding-place and carefully deposited it in the 
boat, but they asked no questions. 

Without dropping any hint of his purpose in 
taking the box with him, the doctor grasped the 
oars and started up the lake, leaving the boys 
plunged in a feeling of helpless, defenseless soli- 

"Well, what shall we do— stay here or quit the 
diggings?" Bert asked. 

"Stay, of course !" Tom at once replied. "No 
matter what happens, let 's face the music !" 

"It won't be very joyous music, I 'm thinking," 
Lefty observed in a mournful tone. "Chopin's 
Funeral March would be quite appropriate, I 
should say." 

"Oh, well, we may have been foolish, but we 
have n't done anything desperately wicked," Tad 
remarked, with an attempt at cheerfulness. "Let 's 
brace up ! If anybody should drop into our merry 
midst, he 'd be apt to think we were guilty of 
something dreadful." 

"Some one 's coming!" Jack cried excitedly. 
"We 're in for it now ! I can hear the sound of 
wheels on, the camp road." 

Tad made a comical gesture of resignation. 
"Tell them I met my fate bravely," he muttered. 
"I yield, noble Roman—" 

"Oh ! Why, it 's only Neighbor Pettingill with 
the cots and stuff!" Jack announced, with very 
evident relief. 

"Humph ! I had all my yielding for nothing," 
Tad complained. "Next time, I positively will 
not surrender without a struggle. I sha'n't go 
through that performance again." 

Mr. Pettingill, with the help of the boys, un- 
loaded the cots, the lumber, and the two belated 
trunks. Then he drove off to join in the ex- 
tremely mild hilarity of the North Rutland cele- 

"We may as well get busy on the benches," 
Tad remarked. "It '11 occupy our minds and keep 
us from moping around. Besides, it '11 look bet- 
ter if the police force pounces on us to demand 
the box. We can give them a seat for it, but not 
a receipt." 

Some of the boys attacked the burlap wrap- 
pings which protected the cots, while others, in 




an effort to construct a few benches that would 
stand the wear and tear of camp life, sawed and 
measured and hammered as Eliot directed. 

While they were thus employed, their friend, 
Doctor Halsey, minus the box, returned to camp. 


"The box has been restored to its owner," he 
quietly announced. 

"What did the old fellow say?" Bert asked 
with breathless interest. 

"What old fellow?" 

"Why, the hermit out there in the ruins ! 
Does n't the box belong to him?" 

"Oh, no ! It belongs to our good neighbor Mrs. 
Spencer," said the doctor in a matter-of-fact way. 
Vol. XXXIX.— 103. 

"Mrs. Spencer !" the boys gasped in bewildered 
surprise. "How could it belong to her!" 
The doctor laughed at their astonishment. 
"It 's a rather odd story," he said, "but I '11 
tell it as simply as I can. Mrs. Spencer has occu- 
pied the cottage above us 
for a number of summers. 
Mr. Raymond has lived here, 
and Mr. Samuelson (who, by 
the way, may be discussed 
now without fear) is an all- 
the-year-round resident of a 
comfortable farm below us. 
"A year or two ago, Mr. 
Samuelson induced Mrs. 
Spencer to invest some 
money in a piece of property 
some miles back. It included 
a quarry and several acres 
of timber. He also had a 
share in the venture, and it 
promised to result quite fa- 
vorably for them both. 

"About a month ago, a com- 
pany was formed to purchase 
this land and operate the 
quarry. Both Mrs. Spencer 
and Mr. Samuelson received 
an offer from this concern 
to buy their interests at good 
prices. They decided to ac- 
cept the terms, and Mrs. 
Spencer brought up from the 
city all the papers relating 
to the matter. These were 
packed in the tin box which 
you discovered, and given to 
Mr. Samuelson, who acted as 
her agent in the matter. 

"A week ago the box dis- 
appeared from his house, and 
all efforts to locate it have 
been unsuccessful. The man 
whom you discovered out 
there in the wilderness has 
been employed as a farm- 
hand by Mr. Samuelson, and 
it looks as if he stole the box 
and was guarding it in that out-of-the-way spot. 
He is a wild, surly fellow, of whom very little 
is known ; but he worked well about the farm, 
and help is so hard to get that he was kept, in 
spite of his shortcomings. 

"Some man across the lake was anxious to pre- 
vent the formation of this company because he 
had an idea of getting possession of the property 
for his own use and profit. He must have learned 




in some way that the success of the enterprise 
depended upon the ability of the company to ar- 
range terms with Mrs. Spencer and Mr. Samuel- 
son, because— too late— he called upon them, and 
tried to induce them to decline the proposition 
which had been submitted to them. 

"This they were not at liberty to do, having 
signed certain agreements, but evidently this 
shrewd schemer planned to prevent the perfor- 
mance of the contracts by getting possession of 
the papers. 

"He did not destroy them, or in any way alter 
them. Mrs. Spencer examined the contents of 
the box this morning, and nothing has been dis- 
turbed. She supposes that he had some hope 
that the men who proposed to organize this com- 
pany would become discouraged and disgusted 
when they learned of the delay which would be 
occasioned, and would give up the idea. In this 
case his plan would be to have the box then found 
and restored, and make a bid on his own account 
for the property. 

"He doubtless hired this man whom you 
thought a hermit to take the box and keep it in 
a safe hiding-place until it should be needed. 
He was shrewd enough to avoid having the box 
in his possession at any time, so that he could 
claim to have no knowledge of the affair, if nec- 
essary. You will see that some of these conclu- 
sions can only be guessed at, but they seem quite 

"I think the guardian of the box and the 
schemer from across the lake were the two 
prowlers who disturbed our sleep night before 
last. Perhaps they were meeting here to plan 
what next should be done. 

"At any rate, the box now is in the hands of its 
owner, with contents unharmed, so there is good 
cause for a celebration of the glorious Fourth." 

"Hooray !" cried Lefty. 

"Well, how about our stuff being dragged out 
into the woods, and the sign, and the cat left 
here, and those tricks ?" Tom asked. "The vil- 
lain and the assistant villain were n't responsible 
for those things, — were they? Or were they?" 

The doctor shook his head. "No. Mr. Ray- 
mond always left the keys to his buildings here 
with Mr. Samuelson, and I think Mrs. Spencer 
did, too. In their absence, he looked after the 
property and had repairs made when necessary. 
Mr. Samuelson arranged with Neighbor Pettingill 
to bring our baggage and freight over from the 
North Rutland station, and evidently he did so. 
I suppose some of our neighbors are trying to 
play a few tricks on us. The fact that those boys 
in the village assured us the place is haunted 
seems to indicate something of the sort." 

"Why did n't Mrs. Spencer want us to talk 
about Mr. Samuelson?" Tom wanted to know. 

"As soon as the box disappeared, he left home 
to trace it. He did not want his absence talked 
about too freely in the neighborhood. He was at 
Mrs. Spencer's cottage this morning when I 
called, and is much relieved to know that the 
matter is settled." 

"What has become of Fido?" Tad inquired. 

"I don't know. I rather think Fido and his 
master will disappear from the neighborhood. 
You are not at all likely to see either of them 

"Farewell, Fido !" Tad murmured. "Joy be 
your portion evermore !" 

"Another thing !" the doctor announced. "There 
will be a little celebration this evening at Mrs. 
Spencer's cottage, and we are invited. On your 
behalf, I accepted with much pleasure. Is that 
according to your wishes?" 

"Sure thing !" cried Lefty, with much enthusi- 
asm. "I am very anxious to see — er — Cjax 

And the others seemed equally delighted at the 

They discussed the mystery of the tin box with 
considerable enthusiasm, and the spirits of the 
boys rose rapidly. The reaction from gloom and 
apprehension carried them into a condition of 
exhilaration and noisy animation. 

Tad lifted his cap from his curly locks. "A 
great weight has been taken off my mind," he 
announced. "No more do my eyes behold dismal 
visions of prison bars ! No more do my ears hear 
the dull clanking of chains ! No more does my 
nose — er — what does my nose do?" 

"Reflects the beauteous sunset," Tom told him. 
"If I were as green as you, and had such a sun- 
burned nose, I 'd be afraid people would mistake 
me for a poppy plant in full bloom." 

"Why, the idea !" gasped Tad. "Hear the child 
talk! Never mind! It 's only jealousy that 
makes him allude to my peachblow complexion !" 

In the afternoon they had a jolly frolic in the 
lake, and used every noise-making article that the 
camp could furnish in an effort properly to cele- 
brate the day. When all the gunpowder available 
had been sacrificed to salute the birthday of na- 
tional independence, and the ardor of the cele- 
brators had somewhat cooled, the Beaver Camp- 
ers carefully inspected their several wardrobes 
so that they might appear at their best when they 
visited Mrs. Spencer during the evening. 

"A collar feels extremely dressy after you 've 
been wearing a flannel shirt !" Lefty groaned. 
"Ah ! behold Bill in his white ducks. I see where 
William Ainsworth, Junior, makes a hit, all right !" 





Cousin Willie laughed good-naturedly. Al- 
ready he had caught the camp spirit, so conta- 
gious in this merry company, and it is doubtful 
if those who had known him in the city would 
have realized at once that this was indeed the 
same William Langley Ainsworth, Jr., of their 

"I 'd lend you a pair, Lefty, only they would n't 
fit," he replied. 

"Can you sit down in those things, Bill?" 
Charlie asked. 

It was the first time that any one but Lefty had 
addressed him by this name, and the boy's satis- 
faction grew measurably larger. 

"Sure ! Why not ?" 

"I should think you 'd be afraid of getting 
them dirty." 

"Oh, they can be washed, you know." 

"Why, yes ! That 's the reason they call 'em 
ducks," Tad explained. "They take to water so 
easily. Who 's got a button-hook?" 

"Going to take your mandolin along, Tad?" 
Cousin Willie asked. 

"I don't know ! I guess so !" 

"Sure ! Take it along, Tad !" the others urged. 

The Beaver Campers found Mrs. Spencer wait- 
ing to receive them, and soon were chatting pleas- 
antly with her two daughters, and two nieces 
who were spending the vacation with her. 

Of course the boys had to tell the story of their 
adventure, which resulted so happily, and their 
audience was entirely sympathetic and plainly in- 

Then there were fireworks to be displayed, and 
the campers gallantly offered to set these off, that 
the ladies might be saved exposure to possible 

Tad and his mandolin helped the evening to 
pass very pleasantly. He played a few instru- 
mental pieces, then changed to songs which the 
others knew, and soon the clear, young voices 
were raised in chorus, much to the delight of 
Mrs. Spencer. 

No celebration which numbers boys among the 
guests is quite complete without refreshments, 
and Mrs. Spencer knew boy life well enough to 
appreciate this fact. 

Shortly before ten o'clock, they were invited 
into the dining-room where they had eaten the 
first meal after their arrival. This time it was 



not lunch which was offered, but plenty of ice- 
cream and home-made chocolate cake cut in gen- 
erous slices. To this festal fare the guests gave 
prompt and devoted attention. 

A little more music followed, then the Beaver 
Campers reluctantly spoke their words of part- 
ing, and started back toward camp. Already they 
felt well acquainted with Mrs. Spencer, and per- 
haps equally so with the four girls. This prom- 

ised to be an added feature of enjoyment in fu- 
ture plans. 

"Well, it 's been a really glorious Fourth !" 
Tom remarked. "We 've had a fine day of it." 

"Yes," Walter agreed. "You never can tell 
how a day is going to end by the way it starts." 

To which philosophical remark there was a 
chorus of assent from all the boys as they made 
ready to enjoy the luxury of the new camp beds. 

( To be contmued. ) 




Chapter I 

The "Triplets" had stayed for a belated recita- 
tion, so everybody else had finished luncheon 
when they took their seats at the table. 

"We 're sorry, Mrs. Bainbridge," apologized 
Eurie, unfolding her napkin. "But it was a case 
of necessity." 

Madeline laughed out gleefully. "As if you 
needed to explain !" she said. "Don't you think 
Mrs. Bainbridge knows we are sorry if we have 
to be late for a meal ?" 

"And that nothing less than a 'case of neces- 
sity' ever keeps us from the table?" finished Kitty. 

"Of course she knows it, girls !" Eurie as- 
sumed a superior look. "But it is usual in polite 
society, to which / have been accustomed, to ask 
people's pardon when you inconvenience them, 
even if they already know why you do so." 

"Thanks, awfully. Your lessons on etiquette, 
Miss Martin, are the only safeguards of our be- 
havior. Are n't they, Mad?" 

"Sure thing ! Mrs. Bainbridge, is there any 
more of this delicious soup, or are we too late 
to deserve any?" 

The little woman smiled quietly. "There is 
plenty of soup," she assured her young boarder. 
"And it 's all right about your being late ; one 
cannot always be on time." 

"Only in this case it was three who could n't, 
and that hinders, I know." 

Madeline passed her empty plate, and, as her 
landlady left the room, remarked impressively : 
"There is always plenty here. Nothing ever gives 
out — I never saw anything like it. But say, girls, 
do you suppose Mrs. Bainbridge ever eats any- 

"Really, I can't be sure, since I 've had no ocu- 
lar demonstration that she does, but the infer- 
ence is that she must— sometimes, you know." 

Madeline shook her head. "I don't believe it," 
she declared. "We 've been in this dining-room 
early and late, and even between meals, yet we 've 
never surprised Mrs. B. at the table. She 's 
learned the true inwardness of total abstinence, 
that 's my opinion." 

"Well, hand me that salad, and stop wasting 
precious time on what does n't concern you. 
There 's an exam at three— maybe the fact has 
slipped your mind." 

"I only wish it had !" Madeline nibbled a roll sor- 
rowfully, for examinations were not her favorite 

pastime. The subject being changed, the three 
tongues rattled on at a lively rate, teachers, les- 
sons, and athletics each receiving a share of at- 
tention, till Kitty finally started up with a quick 
exclamation. "Girls, do you see that clock? 
We '11 have to fly !" 

"I 'm afraid we ought to ask forgiveness again, 
Mrs. Bainbridge," Eurie paused to say. "We 've 
stayed so long and eaten so much. But we were 
hungry, and everything is so good. I wonder if 
you know what a dandy cook you are." 

"It is n't your fault if I don't," Mrs. Bain- 
bridge replied appreciatively. "You young ladies 
make the best of everything." 

"But how about you? Don't you ever take 
time to sit down and enjoy your goodies?" 

"Oh, yes, in a way. But, Miss Martin, it is n't 
the same when you do all the cooking and plan- 
ning yourself. By the time one woman markets, 
arranges, and prepares the food, she has had 
almost enough of it." 

"And no wonder ! Such a quantity as it takes 
for your hungry tribe, too. All of us are rave- 
nous always, are n't we? Good-by." 

"They are fine girls." It was n't the first time 
the little boarding-house keeper had made this re- 
mark to herself, apropos of the Triplets, who 
were n't triplets at all, but, being inseparable 
friends and chums, had been nicknamed by their 
acquaintances in true school-girl fashion. They 
were students in the near-by high school, but, as 
their homes were some miles away in a neighbor- 
ing town, the three, with a number of other out- 
of-town students, found a pleasant boarding-home 
with Mrs. Bainbridge. 

There was a "spread" after school in the room 
of one of the older girls, and the Triplets were 
invited. The affair was more elaborate than the 
usual impromptu feasts, and the guests were duly 
impressed by its elegance. The Triplets were 
talking it over as they lounged before their open 
fire that evening. Lessons were finished for the 
day, and Eurie stretched her arms in luxu- 
rious ease as she declared : "I feel so leisurely 
now— just as if I should n't have to join the gen- 
eral scramble the minute I step out of bed in the 
morning. Girls, were n't those sandwiches the 
best things ever?" 

"Which ones? Hortense's cream-cheese and 
brown bread?" 

"Yes, and that fudge. What do you suppose 
she ever did to make it so creamy and delicious ?" 




"Don't ask me. Mine invariably sugars, as you 
are aware," and Madeline scowled darkly as she 
recalled repeated attempts and dismal failures in 
the manufacture of her favorite dainty. 

"You can make gorgeous marshmallow butter- 
cups," comforted Kitty. "You ought n't to ex- 
pect to excel in everything." 

"I don't — not quite," modestly confessed Made- 
line. "Eurie, do stop poking those coals to de- 
struction, and tell us what 's on your mind ! As 
sure as you get an idea, you vent it on the fire 
and freeze us." 

Eurie set the poker primly in its rack. "I am 
going to give a party," she announced, in the tone 
of one who expected opposition but was pre- 
pared to combat it. 

"All right," was Madeline's cheerful rejoinder, 
while Kitty added: "Of course we '11 have to, 
after all the invitations we 've accepted." 

Eurie still wore her defensive expression. "No, 
not that sort," she declared. "Not an obligation 
party, but just a— a — a plain party." 

"Neither ruffles nor bias folds on her festivity," 
teased Kitty, nodding at Madeline. 

"Go on, Eureka ! The certainty cannot be more 
harrowing than this suspense. Tell us the worst 
at once, I beg." 

"There is n't any 'worst' to it, Kit. It 's going 
to be lovely, and you '11 both help me." Eurie 
reached for the poker again, but Kitty got it first 
and hung it away in the closet, so her friend 
folded her hands and went on : "The idea has 
been simmering in my brain all afternoon, and 
since Hortense's party it has taken definite 
shape — " 

"Like the genii that issued from the casket in 
the old fairy tale?" 

"Exactly. Kindly refrain from further inter- 
ruption. You remember how at Hortense's there 
was almost an embarrassment of riches and other 
bonbons. I could n't help thinking how some 
people would enjoy all those goodies— people who 

s r 


"Yes, both, and tucks and embroidery besides," don't usually get invited to such places. So my 

insisted Eurie. party is going to be different; a sweet, homelike 

Madeline yawned and leaned back comfortably, affair." 
"Too much for me," she said. "I may feel able to "Nothing like frankness in describing the at- 

tackle puzzles to-morrow, but I draw the line now." tractions of your own spreads," said Kitty. 




"So I think. I 'm going to ask only the girls "Oh, I see. A house-party, where the guests 

we know real well, and who will enter into the spend a week." 
spirit of the occasion, with hearty enthusiasm." "Nonsense. We can do a lot of things in an 


"If it is n't too much trouble to explain, what 
is 'the spirit of the occasion?' " 

"And, incidentally, what is the occasion ?" 

"You girls are a great trial to me at times." 
Eurie sighed resignedly. "When one yearns for 
sympathy and intuitive understanding, it is most 
discouraging to have to stop and explain that 
b-a-t spells bat." 

"Give our intuitions the merest crumb of a 
clue, and they '11 go straight to work," promised 

"Sympathy has to have some foundation to rest 
upon. It is n't like an orchid, which subsists on 
oxygen— or is it carbonic-acid gas?" This from 
Kitty, who was studying botany. 

"Now do hush and be as sensible as you can, 
girls," said Eurie, "and help me to think of every 
nice thing we can do. Mandolins, you know, and 
glees and charades and a sketching contest." 

afternoon — Saturday, of course — and have a 
dream of a spread, too." 

"I utterly refuse to go to a party where the 
refreshments are only dreamed of," began Kitty, 
but Eurie withered her with a glance. 

"Chafing-dish stunts," the announcement pro- 
ceeded, "and Russian tea, with little bits of 
pickles and crisp crackers and olives and cara- 
mels and cheese-straws." 

"Served in the order named?" asked Madeline, 

"Of course not, goose ! You are to be the god- 
dess of the chafing-dish, because you can do all 
the creamed things so well. Kitty, you can at- 
tend to the tea, because you can't cook a human 

"Which, not being a cannibal, I do not contra- 
dict," interpolated that young lady. 

"There is something still unrevealed." Made- 
line spoke with conviction. "She has n't told us 
the reason for this inspiration. I feel it !" 




"I can do it in two words. Mrs. Bainbridge." 


"You heard. Yes, I mean it. I am— or, rather, 
we are — going to make her our guest of honor 
and entertain her royally, and, for once, give her 
something to eat she has n't had to prepare or 
even think about till it 's set before her !" 

"Oh, but, Eurie ! grown-ups would n't care for 
our harum-scarum spreads. We '11 have to have 
table-cloths and dishes, and — " 

"No, ma'am." Eurie was firm. "Just a regular 
school-girl frolic, eatables and all. She '11 enjoy 
it, but even if she did n't it would do her good 
and give her something to think about for a day 
or two besides pork and beef and ice-cream." 

"Maybe she might enjoy a change." 

Kitty's voice was thoughtful, but Eurie was 

"Enjoy it? She 's suffering for it. She 's been 
as good as she could be to us girls all winter, and 
we have n't done a thing to show we appreciate 
it. I think it 's time we did." 

"If you are determined to go outside our ranks, 
had n't we better borrow the dining-room?" 

"No— no — no ! Don't you see that the dining- 
room is the main thing we want to keep her out 
of— that and the kitchen?" 

"But she could n't spare the time on Saturday. 
She 's always too busy." 

"I thought about that, too. Girls — " Eurie 
paused long enough to make her next sentence 
impressive — "we, the Triplets, are going to help 
her with her work all Saturday forenoon. We 
will rub silver, polish glass, pare potatoes, and 
make French dressing, till our landlady won't 
have the ghost of an excuse to decline our invita- 

"Well, did you ever?" demanded Madeline. 

"Cool, to say the least," remarked Kitty. 

Eurie rocked calmly on. "There 's no use get- 
ting tragic," she declared. "It 's decided, and 
there 's nothing to do but fall in line. Honestly, 
girls, put us in her place. She is n't old nor ugly 
— though if she was both she 'd still be human — 
and she 's overworked and uncomplaining and 
good to us — and — she needs a lark." 

"Anything else?" Kitty's tone was mildly 

"Several things, only I had to stop to take 
breath. Anyhow, that 's enough, and we 're going 
to give her the time of her life." The speaker 
paused, but there was no response, so she bowed 
politely and remarked : "Thanks, ever so much. 
I knew I could depend on you both." 

"Come on to bed, Mad. We could argue 
straight through till breakfast-time, and when 
Eurie 's in her present mood she 'd be unmoved." 

Kitty twitched her room-mate's sleeve, but 
Madeline sat still. "I guess she 's right," she re- 
marked presently. "I don't suppose it would be 
much fun to cook and wash dishes all the time 
without any recreation, and if we do it we might 
as well do it right." 

"My sentiments, exactly." Eurie beamed. 

"Of course I '11 give in when all my Triplets 
are against me," Kitty said, with mock gravity, 
but her eyes were bright as she added inconsis- 
tently: "She is a dear and no mistake. She shall 
have a lark to remember, or it sha'n't be our fault." 

Chapter II 

Mrs. Bainbridge was in the kitchen next day 
when they waylaid her. Not that the fact was at 
all remarkable, for she spent much of her time 
in that humble but very important apartment. 
She had a little worried line between her eyes, 
for Sarah Jane, her helpless "help," had just de- 
molished a treasured dish, and the roast for din- 
ner had not put in an appearance. She sighed 
heavily just as three bright faces peeped through 
the slide and three blithe voices chimed a greet- 
ing. She smiled, of course— who would n't with 
a picture like that in sight? 

"Just one minute, Mrs. Bainbridge." Eurie 
was spokesman. "We are n't going to bother; 
we 've come to invite you to a party up in our 
room, Saturday from two-thirty to five-thirty. 
Oh, yes, you can. Why, bless you, lady mine ! 
you 're the guest of honor— you can't send re- 
grets. Yes, we do want you, so much we mean 
to have you. You won't be too busy— we 're 
coming to help you get ready. No, indeed ! no full 
dress; gingham aprons if you like. Just a frolic, 
Mrs. Bainbridge. You '11 enjoy it. Good-by." 

The three bright faces disappeared as suddenly 
as they had come, but somehow the kitchen 
seemed less gloomy. "The dears!" exclaimed 
Mrs. Bainbridge. "The idea of their asking me 
to their party !" Sarah Jane stared stupidly while 
her mistress wiped a suspicious dimness from 
eyes that nevertheless shone softly. "I 'd love to 
go. They do have such good times together. I 
often hear them laughing and singing, and it al- 
most makes me forget that I 'm not a girl myself 
again. After all, it has n't been so long since I 
was their age. Bless their hearts ! Sarah Jane, 
you may lay those pieces on the shelf. I think 
the dish can be mended." 

"But you told me to throw them away, ma'am." 

"So I did, but I 've changed my mind. And 
there comes the butcher's boy, so the roast is in 
time after all. It does me a world of good to 
think they want me, though of course I can't go." 




But of course she did. She had not counted on 
her would-be hostesses when she said that. Early 
Saturday morning they appeared, "armed for the 
fray," as Kitty expressed it. Mrs. Bainbridge be- 
gan a polite refusal of their assistance, but she 
never finished it, for Eurie seized broom and 
duster as one to the manner born, Kitty took 
forcible possession of dish-mop and tea-towel, 
while Madeline fell to seeding raisins with a prac- 
tised hand. "You see," she assured her bewildered 
landlady, "we are not solely ornamental. We 've 
been brought up to know a few useful things, just 
for the sake of variety." 

Mrs. Bainbridge came to believe it before the 
morning was gone, for the work disappeared as 
by magic, and the drudgery of the Saturday bak- 
ing was turned to a pleasure. Who would n't 
enjoy making cake with an admiring trio to ex- 
claim over its deliciousness? Or pies, when three 
assistants begged for directions for making the 
flaky crust? Of course it kept them busy the 
morning long, but as they left to dress for lunch- 
eon, Eurie waited to say : "Two-thirty, sharp, 
Mrs. Bainbridge. We 've got dinner planned so 
Sarah Jane can't spoil it if she tries, though, to 
relieve your own mind, I suggest that you put her 
to bed for the afternoon." 

"I am coming if my dinner goes to rack and 
ruin !" was the reckless rejoinder. "After all that 
has been done to prove that you want me to go, I 
could n't do less than prove that I want to go. 
I '11 be there, you dears !" 

"She 's coming; now it 's up to us to make 
good." Eurie was earnest if slangy. 

"We '11 do it, never fear, even though it is a 
trifle complicated to run a boarding-house and 
cater for a banquet at one and the same time. 
Eurie, have you any alcohol for the chafing-dish?" 

"I have. Also some oysters and patty-shells. 
Everything 's in the big bandbox. My hat? Oh, 
it 's in there somewhere. Don't spill that milk 
over my Sunday gown if you can help it. Kitty, 
count the spoons, will you? Not as a precau- 
tionary measure, but just to see if I must ask my 
guests to bring their own utensils. Somebody 
hook me up, please, while I open the olives." 

They had kept their word in the matter of in- 
vitations, so the girls who helped to entertain the 
"guest of honor" that Saturday afternoon were 
as pleasant as one could wish to meet, and obeyed 
to a man the strict injunction each had received. 
"You are to act as if there was n't a soul there 
but ourselves. Be as silly and giggly as usual, 
and do all your entertainment stunts as if you 
were alone with your looking-glass." 

Mrs. Bainbridge, in a pretty black dress, with 
a girlish pink bow in her hair, entered into the 
Vol. XXXIX. -104. 

fun with all her might, and after a while took her 
turn at the program and told a Southern dialect 
tale inimitably. That brought down the house, 
as it were, and put her on an equality with her 
entertainers. "Age limitations" were lost sight of, 
dignity forgotten, and stiffness thrown to the winds. 

"But we '11 have to get at our spread, girls, or 
we '11 never finish by five-thirty," insisted Eurie, 
at last, passing pickles as she spoke and following 
them with caramels. Nobody cared, and, stranger 
still, nobody suffered from indigestion afterward, 
though every rule of dietetics was shattered. As 
for Mrs. Bainbridge, they heaped her plate with 
every dainty the bandbox offered, and she en- 
joyed them all. 

"I have n't eaten as much in years," she de- 
clared at last. "Those patties were nectar and 

"Not half as good as the ones you make," said 
Kitty, emphatically. "And, to be quite frank, the 
tea is bitter and the cheese-straws tough. But 
everything goes at our spreads, Mrs. Bainbridge." 

That lady sighed contentedly. "It 's all per- 
fectly delicious. Yes, Miss Madeline, just one 
more spoonful. I shall not eat anything there is 
down-stairs after this. No common boiled ham 
and mince-pies for me to-night !" 

They would n't let her go till she had promised 
to spend an evening with each girl in turn, and 
had almost consented to a "reading" in her own 
parlor, where some of the favorite teachers from 
the school could be invited. 

She broke away at last and hurried to the 
kitchen and the dinner for her boarders, but she 
ran down the stairs as if a half-dozen years had' 
fallen away from her since she ascended them, 
and hummed blithely over her range the refrain 
of a college glee. 

Up-stairs the Triplets were talking it over. 
"She 's a regular Cinderella in disguise !" de- 
clared Eurie. "I always knew she was nice, but 
I never dreamed how nice !" 

"We started out to be self-sacrificing, but we 
surely did get left." Kitty's diction was emphatic, 
if not above reproach. "She 's as full of fun as any 
girl in the lot when she gets a chance to show it." 

"We '11 count her in after this whenever she '11 
let us," said Madeline. And they did. 

It was a small thing, yes, but it led to many 
pleasant happenings, as small things sometimes 
do. The little landlady never again had to listen 
to the girlish song and laughter in her upper 
rooms, with a wistful longing for her own girl- 
hood, only a little way behind. Instead, she was 
freely "counted in," both giving and receiving 
help. But of all her girl friends none were quite 
so near and dear as the Triplets. 



Chapter XVII 


Brother John was so happy and so boyish, and 
so earnest withal, "that I caught his enthusiasm 
over this good news from France. 

"Oh, I am pleased!" I cried; "I hoped the pa- 
per would secure me a welcome, but if 't will help 
to beat the British and free us from slavery, I 
am more than glad !" 

"Listen to the little rebel !" he mocked gaily. 
"When and where have you come by such trea- 
sonous notions?" 

And this, of course, led me to tell of Captain 
Timmons and of our talks together. 

"I fear 't will be a long time ere we see the 
captain again," said Brother John, rather sadly. 
"He and the crew have certainly been taken, and 
will be shipped to England. No doubt he ex- 
pected to be exchanged sooner or later, and then 
give us the location of the cargo. But now 't is 
like to stay hid till the end of the war, and we 
need powder this minute." 

"But I know where 't was hid," I exclaimed. 

"Nay, do you, Bee? Then you are a treasure 
indeed ! Tell me !" he cried. 

But though the words were on the tip of my 
tongue, they would not come, and for a while I 
racked my brains. 

"Aye, now I have it !" I said at last. " 'T is 
ten miles north-northeast of the Candlestick." 

"But where is the Candlestick?" asked Brother 
John, in perplexity. 

"Nay, that I cannot tell you," I replied; "but 
Captain Timmons said that all the men on his 
part of the coast knew the Candlestick and — " 

"Then we '11 find it, be well assured of that !" 
he vowed. And it will not be amiss to say here 
that it was found, and right useful it proved. 

Meanwhile Brother John had been rowing 
hard, and we were now rapidly approaching the 
town of New York, which was situated on a point 
of land running between two great rivers. 

I looked eagerly ahead as we approached it, and 
was surprised to see, instead of Indian wigwams, 
pleasant houses with gardens coming down to 
the water's edge. 

But no sooner had Brother John brought his 
boat to land than he hurried me into the town. 
Once or twice we were stopped by sentries, and 
there were barricades in some of the streets. 
Soldiers were everywhere in a uniform that, 

though strange to me then, was to become very 
familiar ; and all about there were signs of great 
activity and preparation; for, although I did not 
know it, the British were expected to attack at 
any moment. 

"And where are we going now?" I asked Bro- 
ther John as we hurried along. 

"To General Washington," he told me. 

"But must I go?" I demurred; for from what 
I had heard of General Washington, not only 
from Captain Timmons, who seemed to worship 
him, but from the British officers as well, I 
thought he must be so great and splendid that I 
was awed at being obliged to go before him. 

"Aye, indeed you are to go !" he cried. "Think 
you I would miss the chance of presenting so 
brave a sister? And, moreover, His Excellency 
would be sure to send for you; so I am saving a 

"But my dress and— and— " but he cut me short. 

"General Washington won't heed your clothes," 
he answered, "though he is somewhat particular 
on such matters, too. Come along and fear not. 
He is the best man in the whole world." 

Shortly we reached a house before which stood 
sentries. There was some little delay before we 
were admitted, and Brother John grew impatient ; 
but at last we were shown into a large room off 
the hall. 

As we entered, the hum of voices stopped and 
the heads of some half-dozen officers turned in 
our direction. 

" 'T is Jack Travers," I heard some one say, 
and then two or three of them stepped back, leav- 
ing an opening in the group; and I saw General 
Washington for the first time. 

There was no need to name him. I knew it 
must be he from the look in his face as he turned 
it toward us. He was so tall and stately that I 
thought no king could be half so commanding. 

He stepped forward to meet us with a rather 
anxious face, I thought. 

"You have it?" he asked, and his voice thrilled 

"Yes, Your Excellency," answered Brother 
John, saluting. "And here is the maid who 
brought it. May I present to Your Excellency 
my sometime cousin, now my sister by adoption, 
Mistress Beatrice Travers." 

My heart fluttered as General Washington 
turned his eyes to me, and why I know not, ex- 
cept that I was scarce aware of what I was 




doing, I stood very straight, and, putting my 
hand to my head, made a military salute as had 
Brother John. A look of surprise came into the 
general's face, but, with much gravity, he raised 
his hand to his forehead in acknowledgment, and 
that action brought me to my senses. 

"Oh, pardon me, Your Excellency !" I cried, my 
face going crimson with embarrassment; and I 
made the best courtesy of which I was capable. 

"Nay, do not ask pardon," he said, taking my 
hand. "I think no man ever received a greater 
nor a sincerer compliment." And he smiled, 
bowing over my hand as if I had been a great 

With that he took the paper that I held out to 
him, and, with, "Your pardon, gentlemen," he 
read it through, with a very earnest face. At the 
end he lifted his head, and I saw that he was 
much pleased. 

" 'T is all we have a right to expect," he said 
musingly, "and must be despatched with all speed 
to Philadelphia. Mr. Travers," he went on, 
handing Brother John the paper, "you will pro- 
ceed at once to deliver this to Congress. This 
will fit in with the safe disposition of Mistress 
Beatrice, whom, I doubt not, you will be glad to 
see settled in Germantown. Once that is accom- 
plished, ydu will report to Captain McLane." 

"But, Your Excellency," Brother John broke 
in, and his face showed anything but pleasure, 
"the British may attack at any moment now, and 
I will miss all the fighting !" 

"Enough !" cried General Washington, in so 
angry a voice that every one in the room jumped. 
"Enough, sir ! Must I give my orders twice ? 
You talk of fighting as if it were the whole duty 
of a soldier. His duty is to obey without words. 
Think you, Mr. Travers, that I like to stay 
back of the lines in safety, or that I never long 
to be in the thick of it? Each man of us has his 
part, and yours is to proceed as I have directed 
you without further delay." 

He paused, and the red flush of anger that had 
mantled his face died out, leaving it a little 
drawn ; then he turned to me. 

"Mistress Beatrice Travers," and his voice had 
changed so that I scarce knew it for the same, 
"I read your letter to your cousin, Mr. Travers, 
and know with what faithfulness, zeal, and cour- 
age you have performed a most difficult task. 
For the welcome message that you bring the 
thanks of this sorely tried country are due you. 
Were the matter not a secret one, I should be 
glad to recommend to Congress that some special 
note be taken of it. That being impossible, I can 
only give you my words of thanks, and a pledge 
that my services are always at your command." 

With that he held out his hand to me, bowing 
low to my courtesy ; and though I wanted to say 
something, the words would not come to my 

Somehow or other I found myself outside the 
room again, trying to keep up with Brother John, 
who strode along at a rapid pace. 

"Oh, is n't he splendid !" I cried, meaning, of 
course, General Washington. 

"Aye, he 's splendid," Brother John agreed, 
"and I would go through fire and water at his 
nod; but," he added, "he has a testy temper when 
he 's crossed." 

Brother John grumbled mightily for a while 
because he was to miss the fighting, but that did 
not hinder his prompt despatch upon his mission. 
Two hours later we were across the river in New 
Jersey, having stopped only long enough in New 
York to buy the few things I stood most urgently 
in need of. 

He was overjoyed to find that I could ride a 
horse, and, a pair being procured, we set off in 
high spirits ; for it was not Brother John's way 
to be gloomy overlong, no matter what might 

There is no need to dwell on this first journey 
of mine in America. We met all manner of sol- 
diers and officers hurrying toward New York, and 
all stopped us for news of what was going for- 
ward. Every one of these seemed extremely gay 
and happy, as if they were on a picnic rather than 
a war, at which Brother John would often shake 
his head, predicting that there would be another 
story to tell ere long. The weather was exceed- 
ingly hot, and the inns at which we were forced 
to stop for food and lodging were overcrowded, 
and our accommodation was so bad that I was 
well content to leave them in the early morning 
as soon as the sun was up. 

Many, many things interested me, and I think 
Brother John must have been well-nigh distracted 
by my constant questions ; but he never showed it, 
and now I find that what I most remember of that 
ride was the fact that he and I became, in truth, 
like brother and sister. 

He seemed scarce older than Horrie, though 
he was bigger and stronger, of course, but he had 
a boyish recklessness and gaiety about him that 
made me love him at once ; and soon we were as 
intimate as though we had been brought up to- 

We crossed the Delaware River at a little town 
called Trenton, that was to become famous later 
on, and arrived in Germantown the third day. 

I need not tell you that by this time I had gotten 
all over my funny notions that people in America 
dressed in tiger skins and lived in wigwams. Bro- 




ther John had laughed very heartily when I told 
him what I had expected, but I had no notion 
what his home in Germantown would be like. He 
had spoken of Mrs. Mummer, his housekeeper, 
and of Mummer, her husband, who had been his 
father's body-servant and was now steward of 
the estates. But he had given me no idea of the 
size and splendidness of it all, so that when we 
turned into a lane bordered by beautiful trees, 
and he said, "This is Denewood," I thought we 
would come to the house at once, though, as yet, 
I could see nothing of it. 

But in this I was vastly mistaken. We rode on 
and on through a wonderful forest that now and 
then opened out, showing meadows and grain 
fields such as are seen only on the finest estates 
in England ; and when at length we came to a 
broad lawn running up a gentle rise to a splendid 
house set on the crest of a hill, I held back my 
horse and stopped to look about me. 

"And is it all yours, Brother John?" I asked in 

"Yes," he answered ; "all as far as you can see. 
And yours, too, if you find that you can be com- 
fortable in my— my — 'wigwim,' " he ended, with a 
little laugh. 

But I was too much impressed to think of aught 
but how beautiful it all was. 

We rode on again and came to the house, 
where many servants, both white and black, ran 
out to welcome their master and to look curi- 
ously at the little girl he had brought with him. 

At the door stood a plain, kindly faced woman 
with a smile of welcome for her master that 
showed a whole-hearted devotion, and behind her 
stood a thin, lantern-jawed man, his face twisted 
in a wry smile. These I knew to be Mrs. Mum- 
mer and her husband. 

"We had news of you when you entered the 
woods, Master John, and there is food ready," 
were Mrs. Mummer's first words. 

"Aye, you 're going to stuff me as usual !" cried 
Brother John, patting her shoulder. "But here is 
another you must care for," he went on, bring- 
ing me forward. "The boy we expected, Mrs. 
Mummer, has turned out to be a maid, whom you 
have only to know to love as I do." 

"Aye," returned Mrs. Mummer, stooping down 
and putting an arm about me, "I knew that the 
moment I set eyes on her pretty face." And she 
kissed me on the cheek, and I, glad, of the com- 
fort of having a woman near me once more, put 
my arms about her eagerly. 

But Brother John had no time to lose, and after 
a hurried meal was off again to Philadelphia. 

"Mrs. Mummer," he said before he left us, 
"you will see to it that the servants understand 

that while I am away Miss Beatrice stands in my 
place in this house. To her, with your help, I 
intrust the honor and hospitality of Denewood. 
Good-by, little sister," he went on, stooping and 
kissing me ; " 't is a great comfort to know you 
will be here to welcome me when I return, for 
it has been a very big home for just one lone 

There were tears in my eyes when I stood in 
the portico with Mrs. Mummer and waved to him 
as he rode out of sight— and well there might be, 
for my heart went with him. 

That night I took out my little book to write 
therein what had happened that day, and my eye 
caught the words of the prophecy set forth on 
the first page. 

" 'She shall find happiness across great wa- 
ters,' " I read. Surely it was a true prophecy, 
and my heart was full of thankfulness ; for I had 
come among those who would love me, and had 
found a new home. 

Then, noting the bit of the sixpence hanging 
about my neck, I thought of those other words 
of the Egyptian : 

" 'The half shall be luckier than the -whole.' " 

Had that prophecy, too, been fulfilled? I 
thought so then, but I was mistaken. 

Chapter XVIII 


My first weeks at Denewood passed in a sort of 
dream. There was so much that was new, and 
the place itself was so extensive, that a large part 
of my time was spent in exploring the huge man- 
sion and grounds. I had determined not to be a 
drone, and soon had my own special duties in that 
busy household. For Mrs. Mummer I developed 
a real affection, and she for me, and from her 
I learned much about Brother John and his fa- 
ther, who had been a most prosperous merchant, 
well respected of all Philadelphia, and had left 
this large estate and many trading ships to his 
only son. 

There were many servants, both black and 
white, and many horses and cattle on the place ; 
these were all under Mr. Mummer, a capable and 
valued steward albeit the most silent of men, 
whose name fitted as does a glove the hand. Mrs. 
Mummer would have me believe that he was in 
reality a talkative person, for she was constantly 
repeating some saying of his, either wise or witty, 
as the case might be, but I, for one, though he 
always treated me most respectfully, found it dif- 
ficult to get more than a word or two out of him. 

That summer was a time of preparation for the 
American patriots, and there was a bustling about 




all over the country. War was in the air, and we 
at Denewood talked of little else, seeing that 
scarce a day went by that troops of newly mus- 
tered men did not pass our way on their march 
to join General Washington's army. 

And for us, too, it was a time of preparation. 
Even before I had come, Mrs. Mummer had be- 
gun laying away a vast store of provisions for 
the cold season ; and when I asked what it was all 
for, she answered, as she often did, with a quota- 
tion from her husband. 

" 'In time of peace prepare for war,' so Mum- 
mer says. There 's many depend upon this house 
in winter, so I will make ready all I can." 

Great quantities of flour, with corn and vege- 
tables grown upon the place, were hid in deep 
vaults under the house, and, wherever it was pos- 
sible, the entrances were sealed up so that no one 
would guess what lay behind the walls. 

"Mummer says," Mrs. Mummer explained, 
"that war may well pass this way, and that an 
army is like a horde of locusts that devour all in 
their path. So I mean to keep something for our- 
selves in case of need." 

Nor did Mrs. Mummer stop at what the farm 
produced. When salt had risen to twenty-five 
shillings the bushel, she doled it out as if it was 
so much gold; but she sent off to Philadelphia, 
which was but ten miles away, whenever she 
heard of a ship-load arriving, to buy as much as 
the regulations would permit. 

"For," she said dubiously, shaking her head, 
" 't will go higher, and salt we must have." 

I, too, did my share. There were jellies and 
jams to be made, and many other ways in which 
I could help Mrs. Mummer, so that she compli- 
mented me, telling me she wondered how she 
managed before I came. The days were long, 
for we were up at cockcrow, but they passed 
quickly nevertheless. 

Of Brother John we saw little. He would 
come galloping in at the most unexpected times, 
perhaps only for a fresh horee, and would be off 
with scarce a word to any of us; but this was 
rare, for usually Mrs. Mummer would insist upon 
his staying long enough for some "decent food." 

One day early in October he sent word ahead 
that he would be there to dine with a party of 
gentlemen on their way to town, and bade us see 
to it that the entertainment was worthy of Dene- 
wood. Mrs. Mummer went about her preparation 
calmly. There had been many distinguished 
guests in that house, and this was no new matter. 
But when it came to dressing me, she was all in 
a flutter, and well-nigh distracted me. 

Since I had left my outfit on board the Good 
Will, I had been rather limited in my wardrobe, 

having only those things that might be purchased 
in the shops of Philadelphia, and none of these 
suited Mrs. Mummer. 

At last, however, the weighty matter was de- 

"This Indian muslin must e'en do," she said dis- 
consolately. "But next year you shall have a 
gown worked over every inch of it. I '11 make it 
with my own hands." 

"Nay, and what 's wrong with the muslin ?" I 
asked, thinking it very pretty. 

"There is nothing wrong, but 't is scarce good 
enough for to-night's guest," replied Mrs. Mum- 

"Why, who will be here?" I asked, for I ex- 
pected only some officers of the army. 

"Doctor Franklin," she answered ; "Mummer 
says he is second but to General Washington him- 

Now, of course, Doctor Franklin's name had 
been in every one's mouth, were he Whig or Tory, 
and when I heard this news, I was like to be as 
flustered as Mrs. Mummer. 

Finally I was dressed to her satisfaction, and 
she held me at arm's-length for a moment. 

"Sure, you 're a picture !" she said. "Mr. John 
wants you to have a maid, but I tell him none 
shall care for you but a childless, cross old wo- 
man by the name of Mummer." 

"Nay, I want no other !" I said, and flung my 
arms about her, for she had been as a mother to 

"Now bless your pretty ways !" she answered, 
with a hug. "But look to your dress and do not 
muss it. 'T is time for you to be off" ; which was 
true enough, for we heard the men's voices in the 
hall below. 

There were, perhaps, half a dozen gentlemen 
assembled as I descended the broad stairway, but 
one standing before the fire attracted my atten- 
tion at once, perhaps because his dull, brown 
dress was in sharp contrast to the brighter uni- 
forms about it. He was far from young, with a 
rather large, flat face, and I should not call him 
a pretty man, yet somehow I was drawn to him 
from the first. 

As I reached the last step, he looked up and 
caught sight of me, whereupon he smiled broadly. 

"Here she is!" he cried; "here is my hated 
rival, the writer of Maxims !" and he stepped for- 
ward and held out his hand. "Perhaps some day 
you will let me take a peep into that book and so 
start 'Poor Richard' on again." 

" 'T is Doctor Franklin, Bee," said Brother 
John, coming up; and I made my most respectful 

I was not awed, though that must have been 




because I was a child, for, save that of General 
Washington, there is no greater name in the his- 
tory of those times than Benjamin Franklin. 

But what surprised me was that he should have 
knowledge of my book of Maxims, and I wanted 
to ask him about it then and there, but at that 
moment Sam, our black serving-man, announced 

Doctor Franklin at once offered me his arm 
and led me forth like a great lady, the other gen- 
tlemen following. 

Of the talk that night I remember some little, 
for I put down in my book several sayings I 
heard there. Of course it was all on one subject, 
the war with England. Some were gloomy, others 
recklessly confident, but all seemed determined 
to go on as they had begun to the end of the 

During the sweets, mention was made of Doc- 
tor Franklin's approaching departure for France, 
and there were many expressions of regret. 

"We can ill spare you just now, sir," said Mr. 
Philips, "particularly from Philadelphia." 

"In truth Philadelphia is a hotbed of Tories," 
said Doctor Franklin ; "and when they are not 
Tories, they are what I like less : those who sit 
upon the fence with a leg on either side, ready 
to drop to safety no matter what befall." 

"But we have some true patriots in Philadel- 
phia," protested one gentleman. 

"But all should be patriots," said Doctor Frank- 
lin. "Who shall row a man's galley if he will not 
set his own back to the oar?" 

"Should France come out openly for us, there 
will be a scramble to our side of the fence," 
laughed Brother John ; "and that Doctor Frank- 
lin will secure for us." 

"But no one can be spared here," Mr. Philips 
insisted, "the doctor least of all." 

"Nay, you all exaggerate," said Doctor Frank- 
lin. "As I told His Excellency, General Wash- 
ington, I cannot fight. As the drapers say of 
their remnants of cloth, I am but a fag-end, at 
seventy years. If you will have the truth, gen- 
tlemen, I shall be of more use there than here." 

So the talk ran on till it was time for me to 
withdraw, and I rose, making my courtesy to the 
table. Much to my surprise Doctor Franklin got 
to his feet also, and escorted me out of the room 
to the foot of the stairs, talking all the while. 

"And now, Miss Maker of Maxims, good-by," 
he said, holding out his hand. 

"But pray, Doctor Franklin," I said, "I have 
been dying all the evening to ask the question, 
but feared to interrupt. How did you know of 
Granny's maxims? There 's scarce a soul in the 
colonies who has heard of them, I think." 

"My dear," he began, "if you will promise to 
cease saying 'the colonies' and to remember that 
you are living in the United States of America, 
I will tell you." 

"I shall try," I vowed. 

"Good !" he went on ; "and now for your ques- 
tion. I am but lately come from a useless meet- 
ing with Lord Howe. He is a most gallant gen- 
tleman ; but, if he thinks to win his cause with 
pardon for those who ask it not, he must fail, as 
he himself no doubt sees by this time. However, 
it seemed you disappeared rather suddenly and 
mysteriously from among them, and they in- 
quired of your safe arrival. That led to our 
speaking of your book of Maxims, which Lord 
Howe gave up to you most reluctantly, I have 
his word for that." 

"Do you know what was concealed in the 
book?" I asked in a whisper. 

He nodded. " 'T is somewhat on account of 
that message that I go to France." 

"And I 'm sure you will convince them there," 
I said earnestly. "People say you are a wizard." 

"And that I get messages from the clouds," 
he laughed. "Well, 't is not difficult to bewitch 
the enemy's brains." 

"Did you do that?" I asked. 

"Aye, by just speaking the plain truth to 
them," he answered, "for honesty is the best 
policy; and there 's a maxim for your book." 

With that he kissed my hand and I ran up- 

But before I went to rest I had to recount all 
to Mrs. Mummer, and then Brother John slipped 
in for a moment to say good night and good-by. 

"What thought you of Doctor Franklin?" he 
asked. "Did you like him as well as General 

"General Washington is splendid," I answered 
seriously, "and he is wonderful, too, but he 
seems very far away. Even when he speaks to 
you most kindly, 't is as if he were a cold moun- 
tain top and you were but a little flower growing 
down in the valley. But Doctor Franklin is like 
a nice, hot stove. He is near and comfortable." 

Brother John exploded with laughter. 

"Oh, I should love to tell him that !". he ex- 

"Don't, please!" I begged in agony. 

"I won't," he promised; "but you know he 
would n't mind. He has invented a kind of stove 
that is most comfortable, and beside, he had a 
compliment for you." 

"Oh, tell me !" I cried eagerly. 

"He congratulated me upon the new mistress 
of Denewood," said Brother John, and with a 
kiss he left me to return to Philadelphia. 




'T was with such occasional visits and din- 
ner parties that the monotony of the autumn and 
early winter was broken; for Denewood was a 
convenient place of meeting between certain 
gentlemen of influence in Philadelphia and those 
who were with the army in New Jersey. But 
for- the most part we were alone, and my only 
companion was Mrs. Mummer. True, there 
were children living near us; but Mrs. Mum- 
mer said plainly that they were "Tory turn- 
coats," and that I must have nothing to do with 

So for a while I was a little lonely, but this 
came to an end one fine winter morning. As I 
ran down-stairs to breakfast, I heard the sounds 
of children's voices outside the front door, and 
opened it myself. There stood a girl somewhat 
older than I, a boy of about my own age, and 
two little girls. At sight of me the girls drew 
back, but the boy stepped forward. 

"I am Barton Travers," he said, with a rather 
conceited air; "and I have brought my sisters to 
stop here. Who are you?" 

His manner was so rough that I was angered, 
though at first I had been delighted at the 
thought that here were visitors near my own 
age ; then I remembered that Brother John had 
said that all who came should be entertained, so 
I tried not to show my resentment. 

"You are very welcome ; won't you come in ?" 
I said. 

"But who are you?" the boy demanded again. 

"My name is Beatrice," I replied, "and I am 
Mr. Travers's sister." 

"Nay, 't is not so," he retorted ; "John Travers 
hath no sister." 

"That is true," I answered, trying to keep my 
temper, "but I am his cousin out of England, and 
we call each other brother and sister." 

"I wonder John Travers hath an English Tory 
in his house !" he burst out rudely. " 'T is then 
no place for honest Whigs like us." 

"Nay, I am no Tory !" I replied hotly, for this 
was more than I could bear. "Come in if you 
will, and if not, at least let your sisters in out 
of the cold," and with that I went up to the 
largest girl and took hold of her hand. 

She listlessly let me have it, and the older of 
the two small maids clung to her ; but the young- 
est, a girl of five, looked up into my face and 
laughed aloud. 

"I like you, Bu-Bu-Beatrice," she said, with 
a funny, little stammer, "and I '11 help you 
fi-fi-fight with Bu-Bu-Bart." 

At this there was a laugh which seemed to 
smooth out all the difficulties, and though the 
boy, sure that I was a detested Tory, still looked 

at me askance, they all came in, and Mrs. Mum- 
mer feasted us with hot chocolate. 

The children were distant cousins of Brother 
John. Their mother had died long ago, and 
their father was fighting with Washington's 
army. Their home was in Haddonfield, in New 
Jersey; but since the defeat of the patriot army 
in New York and the steady advance of the 
British toward Philadelphia, their father thought 
it better that they should be in Germantown, 
and you may be sure I was glad to have them. 
Stammering little Peggy was my favorite, though 
in time I came to like Bart too ; but Polly and 
Betty, the two older girls, were far too fine for 
me, and seemed to care for naught but their 
looks and the fashions, so that I was constantly 
reminded of my cousin Isabella in England. 

Still the winter passed the more pleasantly 
for their being with us, and, except for Bart, 
we were all well content, especially as the schools 
were closed the greater part of the time, and we 
had but to amuse ourselves. 

Peggy and I played little with dolls, but when 
we did, it was always at a war game, and we 
had soldiers "dressed in brown and buff, or in 
red, like the Pennsylvania troop. Sometimes 
Bart would condescend to help us, telling us 
how to post our sentries and what to do to 
make it seem real. When I grew to know him 
better, I found that he was not a bad fellow. 
What galled him was not being allowed to go to 
the war. He was a patriot and longed to fight 
for freedom. 

"I can shoot," said he, "as well as any man. 
I can march as far, and I would eat less." 

But his father had forbidden his going, saying 
that if he were shot, there would be no one left 
to look after the girls. This was a sop that did 
not satisfy Bart. He suspected that it was only 
said to render him the more content, and his 
disposition suffered from his disappointment. 

Spring came again, with the planting, and 
soon summer was upon us. In August the Con- 
tinental troops paraded through Philadelphia 
wearing green sprigs in their hats, and all of us 
went to see them. What a fine show they made ! 
While they were passing, there were in America 
no better patriots than Polly and Betty ; but, like 
many another in the city that day, their feeling 
soon changed to the other side. 

So far, though we had heard of little else than 
the war, it had not come near us, but in Septem- 
ber there were rumors of our defeat in a battle 
at Brandywine Creek, and one day Mummer ran 
into the house with a face like ashes. 

"The Hessians have entered Philadelphia," he 
cried ; "and they will soon be upon us !" 




With that he left us, trusting that his wife 
would know what measures to take in the house 
while he looked after the farm. 

Mrs. Mummer at once secreted all the silver 
in one of the vaults and raised the Turkey car- 
pets. Costly hangings and paintings were put 
away, and in a short time the place was dis- 
mantled of everything of value that could be 

On the farm the horses and cows were driven 
into the woods to a place where 't was hoped' 
they would not be found, and we did what we 
could to prepare for what surely would come to 
us unless all reports of depredations and out- 
rages committed by the British forces were false. 

But we had scarce finished the half of what 
we had planned, when one of the darky boys 
tore in with a blanched face, crying that the red- 
coats were on the road. 

Ten minutes later, as I was about to go up- 
stairs to my room for something, there was a 
galloping of horses, and then a thundering knock 
on the door. 

"Open !," cried a voice ; "open in the name of 
the King!" 

Chapter XIX 


I scarce can tell why, but for a full minute I 
stood as one palsied. Then came another tre- 
mendous knock and shout. 

"Open in the name of the King!" and with 
that there sounded a pattering of small feet 
along the passage. It was Peggy, and glad was 
I to see her, as if she had been a giant come 
to protect me. 

"Cu-cu-come on, Bu-Bu-Bee!" she cried; "I '11 
help you to fi-fi-fight the Bub-Bub-British !" and 
she took my hand and together we opened the 

Before us stood a number of officers, and be- 
hind them on the lawn were many soldiers. All 
looked dusty, tired, and hungry, and the private 
soldiers eyed the place, wondering, no doubt, 
what they would find to fill their empty stomachs. 

One of the officers doffed his hat as we came 
out, and, half apologetically, and in a most pleas- 
ant voice, spoke : 

"I am come to ask if you will give us food 
and lodging for the night." 

"And mayhap for some time to come," another 
snarled; "why ask when you can take?" he 

"Strangers are never turned away from 
Denewood," I answered, as coolly as I could for 
a beating heart. ' 'T is the custom in this house- 
hold to give food willingly to those who ask." 

."Is it the custom also to furnish horses?" the 
rougher of the two sneered ; "because I must on 
to Philadelphia, and the nag I have is foundered." 

"Most of our horses are gone," I answered; 
"we have but two or three in the stable ; I will do 
what I can, though the best I have may not suit 

"It needs must suit," he replied. "Have it up 
at once, for I cannot even stay to eat." 

A black stable-boy named Charley had come 
within ear-shot, and, at a nod from me, went off 
to get a horse. We stood waiting on the portico 
till he should return, for I was glad to speed so 
churlish a man on his way; and while we were 
there Mrs. Mummer appeared and took in the 
situation at a glance. 

"Well," she said, addressing the officers, "Mum- 
mer says, 'what can't be cured must be endured,' 
so I suppose you 've come to stay ?" 

"Aye, my good woman," said the first officer, 
with a patronizing air ; "if you will look after the 
men — " 

"Nay," Mrs. Mummer cut in, her hands on her 
hips, "I 'm no good woman of yours ! My name 
is Mrs. Mummer, and I '11 be glad, sir, if you '11 
remember it. As for your men, forsooth, they '11 
have to work for their keep. You 've scared 
nigh all the servants from the place, and there 's 
wood to carry and water to draw, and I know 
not how much else to do, to feed that lot of hun- 
gry soldiers." 

I feared the officer would resent Mrs. Mum- 
mer's words, they seemed over-bold to me, yet he 
but laughed. 

"Your pardon, Mrs. Mummer," he returned; 
"by all means make them work. They '11 be glad 
enough to do it, I warrant, if it brings their din- 
ners to them the sooner." 

By this time Charley had come with a saddled 
horse for the other officer. Where he had found 
it I know not, for so forlorn and dismal-looking 
a beast never lived at Denewood. I was for 
making some protest, but Charley caught my eye, 
and I saw a twinkle of mischief in his, and held 
my peace. And I was like to laugh outright at 
the contrast between the sorry animal and the 
gorgeously dressed man who was to ride it. 

He, on seeing it, turned on me angrily. 

"Now what 's this?" he demanded loudly. 

" 'T-t-t is a ho-ho-horse !" cried Peggy, at the 
top of her small voice. "C-ca-can't you see it 's 
fu-fu-funny legs?" 

Whereat there was an explosion of laughter 
from all the officers about us. 

"Gad, Blundell," cried one of them, "did you 
think it was a bu-bu-bu-bear ?" 

The man at first fumed and then smiled rather 




sourly. I saw that he was really vexed, and ere 
long would take it out on some one, so I wanted 
to be rid of him. 

"Charley," I asked the boy, "is that the best 
horse you have in the stables?" 

" 'Deed, Miss Bee," he said, touching his cap, 
"he 's a fine horse, 'deed he is. I 'low he ain't got 
much style, but he 's spry, Miss Bee, he suttenly 
am spry. You don't think I 'd bring nothin' but 
de best we has for dese British gemmens?" 

No sooner had Mr. Blundell put foot in the 
stirrup than the horse began to show signs of the 
"spryness" Charley had predicted; and when he 
flung his leg over and settled in the saddle, it 
straightway bounded in the air, throwing up its 
head in a most violent manner, and coming again 
to earth with all four legs stiff as boards. This 
it did again and again, so that a good horse- 
man would have had difficulty to keep his seat ; 
and Blundell was far from a good horseman, as 

^BP^-' ' ■$£$' 










Jw^^^KL i niBifiTj-irjniTfc*j«iiMj» j 1 
zJr^^' HPv 'J 


U T 


llllll' "" 


• IBr 


I i 



B ^^K"* wi 

iii # 




v^t: •(._- 

\ i \ 


"But will the beast carry me to Philadelphia?" 
demanded Blundell. 

"Did n't you hear the boy say he was spry," cut 
in an officer. Blundell shook his head doubtfully. 

"If that 's the best you have, put the saddle 
back on my own horse," he commanded Charley; 
and I saw the boy's face fall. 

"Sink me!" said another of the officers, "I '11 
wager Blundell 's afraid to ride the beast." 

It was said in a tantalizing way ; it hit the mark. 

"Fetch me the horse," said Blundell to Charley, 
angrily, "and I '11 show you whether I can ride 
it or not!" And with that he strode down and 
prepared to mount. We watched eagerly, for all 
were curious to see him seated on that sorry nag. 
Vol. XXXIX. — 105-106. (To be 

might have been guessed from his sensitiveness 
to the taunt that he was afraid. So after a plunge 
or two, he landed, sprawling, in the middle of the 
road, amid the boisterous laughter of all. 

Now I,.too, laughed — no one could have helped 
it — and it was plain that the man was not hurt, 
for he leaped to his feet, the picture of fury. 

"You rebel vixen !" he cried, venting all his 
spleen on me ; " 't is a trick you and that black 
rascal have put upon me ! I would that I had 
time to catch him now, but I promise you he '11 
be well beaten when I return. There was a bur 
under that saddle, I '11 warrant !" And with that 
he stalked off toward the stables, and soon went 
clattering away on the horse that had brought him. 




Sy N. F. %_ 



-_.. ___ <^ * 

Oh, Grandma, could you ever guess ! 

Oh, Grandma, did you see? 
The President went down our street, 

And he took off his hat to me! 

You know the others go to school, 
And, just before they went, 

They said they 'd have to hurry 
So they 'd see the President. 

I cried a little, though I 'm big 
(But Mother thinks I 'm small) ; 

And I was 'fraid I would n't see 
The President at all. 

But Mother said that I could go 
And stand out by the gate, 

And maybe he might pass our house, 
If I would only wait. 

And then he did! I waved my hand, 

And he saw me and smiled, — 
The others all had gone to school, 

So I was the only child. 

Maybe the other girls and boys 

All heard him speak, but he 
Just smiled and smiled, then raised his hand- 

And he took off his hat to me ! 

Papa says he 's a great big man 

In more ways than in one, 
I don't know always what he means — 

Sometimes it 's only fun. 

But I know this : the President 

Is not too big to see 
A little girl when she waves her hand. 

And he took off his hat to me! 


8 34 






(.4 " To-be-continued" story for Middle-Aged Little Folk) 


Chapter I 


Dear little girl, how much do you love your doll ? 
Does she sit close beside you at breakfast and 
share your bread and butter? Does she sit in 
your lap when you coast, with your brother steer- 
ing in front? And then, in the June days, when 
you and your doll are out in the fields, do you 
put her hand on the daisy petals and teach her, 
"One I love, two I love, three I love, they say?" 

I knew a little girl who loved her doll quite as 
much as you love yours. This little girl's name 
was Elizabeth, and she lived in a pleasant village. 

Elizabeth had long been wanting a new doll. 

"But there 's Edith Grace Ermyntrude," said 

"Yes, but she looks so grown-up, and her ears 
have melted off," said Elizabeth. 

"And there 's Jamie Gordon." 

"Yes ; but boy dolls are n't as much fun," said 
Elizabeth, still more sadly. 

"And there 's Susie Jane. You surely love 
her?" said Cousin Eleanor. 

"Oh, yes, I love her!" And Elizabeth flew to 
catch her up from her willow cradle. "But Susie 
Jane needs a sister near her own age. She 's 
growing selfish." 

So on Elizabeth's seventh birthday, Mama told 
her to put on her second-best hat (the one 
trimmed with brown ribbon and buttercups), and 
said they would walk to Miss Field's shop to buy 
a new doll. Elizabeth jumped up and down five 
times with joy, and ran as quickly as she could 
to the closet under the stairs for her hat. 

"May Susie Jane come too, Mama?" she asked. 

Mama was going to say "no," because Susie 
Jane looked as shabby as shabby could be; but 
she glanced at Elizabeth, and said "yes." 

Elizabeth and her mama, Mrs. Dale, walked 
out of the front door, and down the path to the 
gate. The path was bordered with box ; and 
when Mrs. Dale looked toward the fence on her 
side, she saw hollyhocks growing; and when 
Elizabeth looked toward the fence on her side, 
she saw sweet-peas growing. 

And they raised the latch of the low green 
gate, and walked out into the narrow lane, and 
down the lane where a wood-thrush was singing, 

and so to the street which led to the shop. I am 
really glad we have got to this part of the story, 
because I know you would like to go into this 
shop. It was n't like any other toy-shop. It was 
kept by a young lady who, even though she was 
grown up, was very fond of dolls. Her shop was 
arranged in three rooms, and as Elizabeth and 
Mama came up the street, they saw a doll looking 
smilingly out of the front window of each roonu. 

One room was devoted to dolls' dressmaking, 
and two girls sat in this room, cutting, fitting, 
and sewing the dearest little petticoats, frocks, 
pinafores, and bonnets for dolls. How their 
fingers flew, to be sure ! 

In the second room a girl was making birthday 
cakes, and fruit tarts, candies, and mottos, to be 
used at children's tea-parties. 

The third and last room was most important of 
all, for here sat rows upon rows of dressed dolls 
— rubber dolls, wooden dolls, china dolls, wax 
dolls, and other kinds, of all sizes, ready for sale. 
Miss Field herself, who was as pretty as a pink, 
and old enough to wear her hair on top of her 
head, stayed in this room and waited on the 

Now Mama supposed it would take, at the very 
least, ten minutes for Elizabeth to choose a doll ; 
but five minutes had not gone by, when Elizabeth 
said decidedly: "This one, Mama dear, please!" 

And no sooner had Mama looked at the doll 
than she knew why it was chosen. The reason 
was that its cheeks were so pink. Perhaps you 
think they were as pink as apple-blossoms? 
Pinker than that. As pink as the inside of a 
shell? Pinker! As pink as Baby's corals? Full}' 
as pink, and I really think a trifle pinker. I 
can't tell you the exact shade, but it certainly was 
charming; and as she gazed at the doll, Eliza- 
beth's own cheeks grew very rosy indeed. 

The doll had soft, curly brown hair, bright 
blue eyes, a pretty mouth, and could say "Mama !" 

"I won't climb trees with her — not ever," said 

"It is in-de-struc-ti-ble," said Miss Field, softly. 

And then her mama said : "Yes, we will take it. 
And now I would like to look at those little 

Guess whether she bought one, and I will tell 
you the answer in the next chapter. 





Chapter II 


She did ! the parasol had blue and white stripes, 
with the tiniest forget-me-nots sprinkled over 
the white stripes. It opened and shut easily. 
Elizabeth carried the doll home, but you 

him into the house, and up into the nursery, 
where he found, in the cupboard, a two-inch red 
flag, and hung it out of the window. "It 's safer 
for the neighbors !" said he. 

Don't you find it interesting to choose names? 
I do. It is half the fun when there is a new baby 
in the family. And with one's own doll and ever 


(SEE PAGE 837. 

must n't think Susie Jane was forgotten. She was 
carried just as carefully under the other arm. 

When they reached home, and turned in at the 
green gate, there was Uncle Nathaniel ; and he 
looked fearfully frightened, and jumped behind 
the nearest apple-tree. 

"What is the matter, Nathaniel ?" asked Mama. 

"Scarlet fever !" cried Uncle Nathaniel, point- 
ing at the new doll's cheeks. Elizabeth chased 

so many names to choose from — well, no wonder 
Elizabeth looked beamingly happy, as she sat in 
her little rocking-chair with the new doll in her 

"Have n't you thought of a name yet?" asked 
her brother Jack, after a few minutes. "I could 
name the thing right off ! Call it Ann. That 's 
a good short name." 

"Oh, Jack !" said Elizabeth, "you don't know 




in the least about naming a doll ! Shortness 
is n't all. It must be a pretty name, and it must 
be after somebody— somebody I love; and it must 
be a name the children around here have n't got 
for their dolls." 

"Don't name her Dorothy then. There are six 
on this street," said ten-year-old Sophie. "I '11 
tell you ! Let 's all write the name we like best, 
and put them in this box ; and then you shut your 
eyes and take out two." 

"That would be fine !" said Elizabeth. 

So she called in Grandpapa and Grandmama 
and Mama, and Uncle Nathaniel, and Cousin 
Eleanor, and big Brother Bob. To each 
was handed a slip of paper, and Sophie 
passed around pencils. Every one wrote, 
and these were the names they 
chose : Grandpapa wrote Daisy, be- 
cause he thought that the 
sort of name a little' girl of 
seven would like. Grand- 
mama wrote Elizabeth, think- 
ing her little granddaughter 
would like to give the doll 
her own name. Mama wrote 
Grandmama's name, Lucy ; 
Uncle Nathaniel wrote Red- 
cheeks, just for fun. Cousin 
Eleanor wrote Alice, because 
she thought it the most beau- 
tiful of names. Big Brother 
Bob wrote Jemima, the name 
of their last-but-one cook, 
famous for her waffles and 
pop-overs. Sophie wrote 
Elsie ; Charlotte wrote Bea- 
trice ; and Jack (with a defi- 
ant air) wrote Ann. Down 
in Yarmouthport lived Aunt 
Alice, who was "a perfect 
love," as Cousin Eleanor 
said ; and the name Elizabeth 
herself wrote was Alice, be- 
cause of this aunt. 

And now a strange thing happened. When the 
papers had all been put into the box and shaken 
up by Jack as hard as he could shake, Elizabeth 
shut her eyes tight, and drew out two of the slips. 
She then opened her eyes and read the names, 
and "Oh, what do you think !" she cried; "they 're 
both Alice ! And Alice is the very name I 
wanted !" And then all the family clapped their 
hands, and big Brother Bob and Cousin Eleanor 
especially clapped so hard that Teddy Hallowell 
ran over from next door to see "what those Dales 
were up to now." Every one, even Jack, agreed 
that the doll's name certainly ought to be Alice. 

The christening was next day at three o'clock, 
in the clover-field back of the house, with only 
the family invited, though the calf, Bossy, seemed 
to like looking on with the rest. 

Grandpapa gave up his afternoon nap to come, 
and complimented Elizabeth on the becomingness 


of Susie Jane's new buff frock, and on Alice's 
complexion, surprisingly healthy for one who had 
lived for some months in a shop. 

They sat in a big spreading circle on the soft 
green grass under a butternut-tree. All the little 
girls wore girdles of daisy-chains, and Jack a 
daisy in his buttonhole. Edith Grace Ermyn- 
trude, Jamie Gordon, and Susie Jane (you re- 
member, these were Elizabeth's other dolls) were 
made to look as if holding one another's hands, 
and the children sang for them a favorite hymn, 
"Brothers and sisters, hand in hand." Maybe you, 
too, have sung it on Sunday evenings at home. 




Next, Mama made a little speech, and this is 
what she said : 

"My darling children, I am glad that we have 
such a bright, sunny day, and I only wish your 
Aunt Alice could be with us. I am sure it will 
please her when she knows that her name was 
chosen for Elizabeth's doll. Every one loves 
Aunt Alice, because she makes people happy. 
When you are playing with this doll, try, your- 
selves, to be like this dear aunty, and teach the 
doll to have kind ways. She can let other little 
girls' dolls share her hammock, her books, and 
her toys of every sort. We wi]l try, and they will 
try, to treat all these things carefully; but if any 
of the playthings are injured, Alice must be 
patient, must n't she, dears? I hope you will 
dress her simply; a doll should never wear jew- 
elry on the street. Don't give her rich food, for 
I am sure you wish her to keep those rosy 

Then Mama, who, while she made this speech, 
had been standing, sat down, and Grandpapa 
stood up. 

"Your mama is, as usual, perfectly right," said 
he ; "but the sugar at the doll-shop is so extremely 
pure, that we may, on great occasions, like the 
present, indulge in a little candy." 

With these words, he put his hand in his 
pocket, raised it high in the air, and let fall a 
perfect shower of tiny sugar-plums— pink, brown, 
yellow, green, red, and white ; and the circle was 
for a moment broken up, as the children scram- 
bled all about to pick them up. Grandpapa's 
speech, though short, was thought to be very 

It was followed by another song. Then Eliza- 
beth said: "I name my doll — " 

"Ann," said Jack, loudly. 

"No— Alice! I name her Alice, because Aunt 
Alice is so kind, and because I want my child to 
grow up just like her." 

Then the family jumped up from under the 
butternut-tree. They said good-by to the babbling 
brook and to the calf, Bossy, and walked home. 
For the christening was over, and Elizabeth's 
doll had, for always, the beautiful name Alice. 

"Don't you think my speech was best ?" asked 

Guess if the children said yes, and I will tell 
you the answer in the next chapter. 

Chapter III 


They did ! 

Well, now would you like to hear about all the 
different things in Elizabeth's doll's wardrobe? 

Elizabeth had for her new doll, Alice, a nice 
little bureau. In the top drawer she kept Alice's 
handkerchiefs (six, and all neatly hemmed and 
marked with A, made by Elizabeth herself), her 
hair-ribbons, sashes, locket, beads, and other little 
ornaments. In the middle drawer she kept Alice's 
hoods, hats, knit jackets, and her morning, after- 
noon, and Sunday pinafores. The morning pina- 
fores were of brown-and-white and blue-and- 
white checked gingham, and were high-necked 
and long-sleeved. They were to wear while work- 
ing. The afternoon pinafores were also high- 
necked and long-sleeved, but were made of white 
barred muslin. The Sunday pinafores were of 
dotted white muslin, low-necked and short- 
sleeved, and were daintily edged with narrow 
lace. They also had pockets, edged with lace. 

Cousin Eleanor had filled the lowest drawer 
with such neat piles of snowy underwear ! Grand- 
mama said it really was a joy to look in that 
lowest drawer. The stockings she knit were in 
it too. Oh, and I want to tell you that she finally 
decided to knit six pairs,— three pairs of stockings 
and three pairs of short socks. These socks, worn 
with ankle-tie slippers, were much admired by 
Elizabeth's friends. The party slippers were 
pink, the Sunday ones bronze, and the every-day 
ones black. 

Alice's best hat was one she had worn home 
from the doll-shop. It was truly exquisite, made 
of the finest white muslin, with a wreath of 
eleven pink rosebuds. It fastened under the chin 
with pink satin ribbon, three eighths of an inch 
wide. Her every-day hat was of white pique, the 
wide brim cut in little scallops all around. 

Among the scraps taken from the chest in the 
attic was a piece of green-and-blue plaid, and 
Cousin Eleanor found that, by piecing under the 
hood, there was just enough of it to make a 
waterproof. It was the Gordon plaid, which, you 
know, has a yellow thread in it, and Cousin 
Eleanor lined the hood with yellow silk to match. 

As to Alice's frocks, she had a white lawn, a 
"Dolly Varden" muslin, a pink cashmere, and a 
blue pique. These were all for best wear. Then 
she had useful gingham frocks, some striped and 
some checked, made by a simple pattern and 
drawn in at the waist with a narrow brown 
leather belt. I wish you could have seen her in 
one of these every-day frocks, climbing a cur- 
rant-bush to get at an especially large, juicy red 
currant she spied at the top. Elizabeth was all 
ready to catch her if she fell. And was n't it 
lucky that Alice was in-de-struc-ti-ble? 

Alice looked very cunning, too, in her new 
bathing-suit. This was made of white flannel, 
trimmed with several rows of light green braid. 




Sophie and Elizabeth and Charlotte some- 
times played out in the meadow, the same meadow 
where Alice was christened. And the brook 
flashed in the sun, and babbled its low, crooning 
song, to which the daisies nodded drowsily. 
Sometimes a bright blue darning-needle whizzed 
near them. Butterflies— brown, yellow, and white 
—tilted on the swaying grasses. Bossy, the calf, 
played, too, and the children were very happy. 

Jack thought it rather stupid under the butter- 


nut-tree. He liked better to fly his kite, and to 
dash with it from end to end of. the field, Giest, 
the puppy, at his heels. The dolls sat in a row 
facing their young mothers. How quickly sup- 
per-time came ! Would Mama remember that 
they wanted their bread and milk on the piazza 
instead of indoors? 

Guess whether she did or not, and I will tell 
you the answer in the next chapter. 

Chapter IV 


She did n't ! Ah, I caught you that time ! But 
wait a moment ! As it happened, it did n't make 
one bit of difference that she forgot, because 
Uncle Nathaniel did remember, and reminded 

Mama of the children's wish just as the blue-and- 
white bowls were being put on the dining-room 

The next Monday, as Elizabeth was starting, 
directly after breakfast, to play in the nursery, 
Cousin Eleanor brought from the kitchen a basket 
of peas, and asked her to help her shell them. 

So Elizabeth sat on the top step of the side 
porch, and she held Alice in her lap and showed 
her how to run her little thumb along the edge of 
the light green pod. Pop ! why, this was as good 
as torpedoes on the Fourth of July ! Out tum- 
bled the peas, with a merry clatter, into the shin- 
ing pan. Three peas bounced out onto the floor. 

"Be careful, deary," said Elizabeth, "your 
mama is n't as young as she was once." And she 
hopped down nimbly, in spite of her seven years, 
and picked up the peas. Alice took great pains 
with the next pod. 

"Are you at play?" asked Grandpapa, passing 
through to the vegetable garden. 

"No, indeed, Grandpapa," said Elizabeth; 
"we 're zvorking very hard." 

"Bless your bright eyes!" said Grandpapa; 
"don't work too hard." And he passed on to see 
how his tomatoes were coming along. 

"Playing?" asked Uncle Nathaniel, coming up 
the steps with the morning mail. 

"No, Uncle Nathaniel, I 'm working hard," 
said Elizabeth. 

"Don't work too hard," said Uncle Nathaniel, 
as he went into the house. 

"Sure 't is the rale hilp yez are !" said Hannah, 
the cook, when Elizabeth brought her the peas, 
all ready to be boiled for dinner. 

After that, until the dinner-bell rang, Alice 
took a sound nap in her own little red-and-white 
hammock, while Cousin Eleanor and Sophie and 
Elizabeth and Jack had a game of croquet. 

But as the days and weeks passed on, the doll 
was taught many kinds of work. When Baby's 
cradle was made up, she smoothed the pillow and 
tucked in the down coverlet. When Elizabeth 
tidied the nursery, Alice, too, held a wee duster, 
and dusted her own little bureau and rocking- 
chair. When the table was being set, she helped 
put around the bibs and napkins. And once — I 
think it made her feel an inch taller — she filled 
the salt-cellars! Oh, a doll, if she is obliging 
and well-bred, can do many useful things. 

Guess if Mama was pleased when she saw her 
little girl and her little girl's doll helping so 
cheerfully, instead of being a care to others, and 
I will tell you the answer in the next chapter. 

(To be continued.) 

NATURE^5CIENCE por young to 

edited by EDWARD F. BIGELOW ■ /^~\ lULlXZ) 1 WJ 


Every one knows that water flows downward. 
This fact is as familiar to even our youngest 
reader as is the fact that an unsupported pencil 
will fall to the ground or to the floor. The 
downward flow of water is due to exactly the 
same cause as the fall of the pencil — that is, to 
the power that we call the attraction of gravi- 
tation. If the pencil is attached to a string, and 
the string is passed over a pulley, it will balance 
at the other end of the string a pencil as heavy 
as itself, or will lift a pencil lighter than itself. 
The same principle applies to water in a pipe. 
When a pipe shaped like the inverted letter U, 



It seemed to me that even the dog, " Daisy," appreciated the "magic." 

in which the arms are of equal length, is filled 
with water, and each end of the pipe is put into 
a separate vessel full of water, "the downward 
pull," or weight, of the liquid in each of the two 
arms will balance the other, and, if the water is 
at the same level in the two vessels, it will remain 
at that level in both vessels. But if the level of 
the water in one vessel is lower than in the other, 
since the two vessels are connected with a pipe 
full of water, the water will run down from the 
higher level to the lower. This constitutes what 
is called a siphon. A siphon itself has no more 
magic about it than a pencil has when it falls, or 
than any other similar phenomenon in nature, yet 
some of the siphon's manifestations seem to be 
not only magical, but almost incredible. 




I remember that in my early boyhood I took ward, but this downward slope was not necessary 
advantage of this principle of the siphon, and to help me in what I intended should seem like a 
made experiments. Near my home was a well magical performance. One man held the longer 
from which water was drawn by a bucket^ and 
poured into a big tub from which the cattle 
drank. One day several of the workmen on the 
farm were gathered around this well. On the 
ground were several lengths of pipe that had been 
taken from a disused pipe-line between a spring 
in the distant pasture and the barn-yard. The 
action of the siphon had always appealed to me, 
and I quietly decided that I would play the magi- 
cian and entertain these men with an exhibition 
of the siphon in action. From the discarded pipe 
I took a section about fifty feet in length, and 



with the assistance of the men, who wondered 
"what the boy was up to now," I bent it into a 
curve so that the shorter branch was about twenty 
feet in length and the longer branch thirty feet. 
Holding the curved pipe in a horizontal position, 
I poured in water by the aid of a funnel until the 
pipe was full. Then I instructed a man to hold 
his thumb over one end of the pipe, and another 
man to hold his thumb over the other end. This 
pipe, thus kept filled with water, had all its parts 
in nearly the same level, because the curve was 
held horizontally. We then lifted the curved part 
in the air, and placed the shorter end in the tub 
of water. The ground about the tub sloped down- 

arm of the pipe near the ground several feet away. 
And when I gave the order: "Remove thumbs!" 
the water began to flow in a steady stream, and 
continued to flow as long as there was water in 
the tub. I must confess that, even to me, it seemed 
almost like magic, when I realized that the water 
was flowing upward for almost twenty feet into 
the pipe, and doing it without any apparent cause. 
Of course our young people understand that it 
was the forcible downward "pulling" of the water 
in the longer arm of the pipe that was stronger 
than the weight of the water flowing upward in 





the shorter section, and that it was this continu- 
ous downward "pull" that resulted in the contin- 


uous flow. The upward flow of the water in the 
shorter arm only depended upon the atmospheric 
pressure of the water in the tub, because the flow 
in the longer section tended to make a vacuum in 
the curve ; but water was constantly driven in by 
the atmospheric pressure to prevent the forma- 
tion of a vacuum. 

This siphon at the well tub is illustrated in the 
heading to this article, and is also shown on a 
smaller scale by the two tumblers with the curved 
glass tube between them. Such a siphon will 
"pull" water over an elevation about thirty-three 
feet in height. The atmospheric pressure is not 
great enough to lift it higher than this to supply a 
vacuum. It will raise water to the curve as high 
as a suction-pump will lift it, and for the same 

reason— both depending upon the fact that water 
can be raised by suction as long as its weight is 
less than the force of atmospheric pressure. 

Our young folks may easily construct siphons 
in any form that they see fit, by using strong rub- 
ber hose, or small glass tubing, which may be 
easily bent into any desired shape by the aid of 
a gas or alcohol flame. The accompanying illus- 
tration shows a boy with a siphon, made of a 
series of glass tubes connected by pieces of rub- 
ber hose, that is only two inches lower at one end 
than at the other, and yet is raising the water 
some six feet above, and around, his head. The 
water will flow from one tumbler into the other, 
though the higher tumbler be raised, as in the 
illustration, only two inches (or even less) above 
the lower one, and the flow may be reversed by 
lowering the emptied tumbler and raising the one 
that has been filled. Thus the water can be made 
to flow back and forth, at first upward, then 
through the horizontal pipe above the boy's head, 
and down on the other side. All that is required 
is that the flow of the water be started by suction, 
and then it will continue as long as there is water 
in the higher vessel. 

In all these forms of the siphon it is necessary 
to start the flow every time that the siphon is 
used. In the pipe at the well, I started it, as ex- 
plained, by filling the pipe with water ; in the 
piping over the boy's head we started it by suc- 
tion ; that is, we drew the air from the tube, and 
the pressure of the atmosphere on the water 
forced the water into the siphon until it was filled, 
when the downward pull of the liquid in the long 


arm started the flow, which continued as long as 
there was any water to pull and to be pulled. It 
required little force to pull the water around the 
curve by suction at the end of the lower pipe. 




The current may be reversed by putting the two-inch block 

under the other tumbler. 

Siphons are used to draw off the liquid from a 
vessel containing it, especially where there is sedi- 
ment at the bottom and we desire to take off the 
clear liquid without disturbing the sediment ; or 
the reverse may be done, and we may remove the 
sediment with little of the liquid. Thus the siphon 
may be employed to remove the objectionable 

refuse or debris from an aquarium, or for many 
other useful purposes. 

I recently had occasion to connect together a 
series of aquaria, each with a glass bottom. It 
was impossible for me to bore holes in the glass, 
so I was necessarily forced to use the siphon ; but a 
difficulty arose. If the siphon should fail to carry 
out the water as fast as it ran in, the aquaria 
would overflow; and if it should carry the water 
out faster than it came in, the aquaria would soon 
be empty and the siphon would no longer act, be- 
cause the siphon could not fill itself. To over- 
come all this I devised a form of siphon with up- 
turned ends that will, after stopping, start into 
action without any aid. In the books of physics 
that I have examined I do not find this siphon 
mentioned. It is a useful form because, when a 
series of vessels are connected by it, the siphon 
will regulate itself, and will keep the water always 
at the same level. Adjustment is made by the 
length of the last upward curve of the pipe. The 
illustration shows the series of aquaria in which 
the water is kept to within an inch of the top 
of each. 

These siphons, unlike the simpler ones men- 
tioned in the books, may be lifted entirely out of 
the water, and when replaced will at once, or 
"voluntarily," as one may express it, resume their 
work, because they keep full of water. 

A series of tubs might be thus arranged for 
fish, for watering cattle, or for other useful and 
labor-saving purposes. These suggestions may 
enable our young folks to make some interesting 
experiments in the use of the siphon. 


Mr. H. R. Carey invented a device by which a 
crow took a photograph of himself when he 
pecked the bait, which was connected with a 
string that operated the shutter of the camera. 

By courtesy of " Bird-Lore." 





The railroad from the southeastern end of Flor- 
ida to Key West is now completed and is open to 
the public. It is, indeed, a remarkable engineer- 


ing feat because it is really a railroad over the 
sea. This is not a figure of speech, for, of the 
one hundred and twenty-eight miles of track be- 
tween Homestead and Key West, fully seventy- 

five miles are over the water, and a considerable 
portion is over the sea itself. 

The series of islands known as the Florida 
Keys may be called a series of stepping-stones 
leading into the ocean. They extend between 
the Florida peninsula and Key West in the form 
of a curve, the channels that separate them vary- 
ing in width from a few hundred feet to several 
miles. Between the nearest key and the main- 
land is a stretch of prairie or marsh with insuffi- 
cient water to float dredges, and not enough ma- 
terial within reach for wheelbarrow work. This 
condition made it necessary to dig channels on 
each side of the road-bed to accommodate the 
dredges used in building this section of the em- 


bankment. Channels were first dug so as to pro- 
vide a depth of two and one half feet of water. 
Up these the two dredges slowly made their way, 
each digging its own channel deeper. They piled 
up between them the material thus dredged out, 
and with it formed the road-bed. The progress 
of the dredges was hampered and delayed in 
many places by the rocks, which came so near the 
surface as to necessitate the construction of 
locks to float the dredges over them. Nearly 
thirty islands are utilized for short stretches of 
the construction, the longest being sixteen miles 
Qn Key Largo. More than fifty miles of rock 
and of earth embankment had to be put in where 
the water is shallow, but, where the water is 
deeper and the openings exposed to storms by 
breaks in the outer reef, concrete viaducts were 





built, consisting o-f arch spans and piers, or steel 
bridges resting on concrete piers, some spans of 
the latter being two hundred and forty feet. This 
was the most difficult part of the work. The wa- 
ter is from ten to thirty feet deep, and the bottom 
is coralline rock. There are twenty-eight of 
these arch viaducts, aggregating ten and eight 
tenths miles in length, and eight steel bridges, 
aggregating six and one tenth miles in length. 

The longest viaduct is between Knight's Key 
and Little Duck Key,' seven miles, and is called 
the Knight's Key Viaduct. In many places the 
embankment for the roadway is eight or nine 
feet in height, the road-bed being ballasted with 
coralline limestone, of which these islands are 
composed. This makes a very strong, safe road. 

Tn many places where the water is deep enough 

to float an ocean steamship of large size, and 
where the locality is exposed directly to the gales 
from the Atlantic, much of the work has been 
performed with floats, on which the concrete was 
mixed and from which it was placed in position 
by means of powerful derricks. In the shallower 
waters molds for the foundation of the viaduct 
were formed by driving piling which held in 
place a water-tight framework, which, when the 
water was pumped out, was filled with concrete. 
This, the only railway of the kind in the world, 
is now in actual operation, and reflects great 
credit on modern enterprise and skill. Both land 
and sea are laid under tribute ; and these islands, 
which have been likened to lazy lizards sleeping 
through uncounted centuries, now teem with life 
and thrill with the rush of commerce. 

•■Wfc»* : jdttpV^ 

: ■ 








Forest Gate, London, England. 
Dear St. Nicholas : When I walk rapidly by vertical 
railings, and, as I walk, look at some object on the other 
side of these railings, all is clear. But when I turn away 

the fence with upright and horizontal bars. 

for a few seconds, there appear lines running before my 
eyes. What I want to know is, why are these lines hori- 
zontal, and why do they move horizontally, instead of being 
vertical lines moving horizontally, as you would expect 
from an image that remains in your eye ? 
Yours, puzzled, 

R. T. Clapp. 

What happens is, that the upright bars of the 
railing make no lasting impression on your eye. 
As you look at the object on the other side of the 

W ■: 




■ I 


^ SS5: ^ ^S 


fence while you are walking along, the vertical 
rods quickly pass in front of your eye and there 
leave no after-image. 

But the image of the horizontal bars always 
falls on the same spot in the retina at the back 
of your eye, and as, in walking, your eyes re- 

main at the same height, the horizontal bars 
remain in the same relation to the eyes and to 
the object on the other side, and make a strong 
impression on the retina. As they are darker 
than the background, they produce a sharp after- 
image when the eyes are turned away. There 
seem to be several horizontal lines in the after- 
image because you probably look for a while at 
the upper part of that object on the other side, 
then for a while at the middle part, then for a 
while at the lower part. With every raising or 
lowering of the eyes, the image of the horizontal 
bars falls on another spot in the retina, and leaves 
there the condition for another after-image, pro- 
ducing in this way a series of parallel horizontal 
lines. — H. M. 

Note : A scientific friend says he has observed that when an automo- 
bile passes under a light at night, the wheels seem to him to run back- 


Purchase, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Can you tell me why peepers do 
not peep in the morning? If you can, I wish you would 
tell me. 

Your interested reader, 

Benj. Collins, Jr. (age 10). 

Frog "peepers" are nocturnal animals, and sel- 
dom active except during the late afternoon or 
at night. I have heard them calling during the 
day, but they usually begin to evince signs of in- 
terest in things as the day comes to a close, and 
continue the calls during the night. — Raymond 
L. Ditmars. 


New York Mills, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have often wondered what makes 
black-and-blue marks on your skin when you are bruised. 
I take physiology and am very much interested in it, but 
my book fails to answer this question. I should be very 
much obliged if you would tell the reason. 
Yours as ever, 

Lois W. Kellogg (age 13). 

The color of blood is due chiefly to iron in the 
little blood-cells. When the iron is kept in these 
little blood-cells, which are living and traveling 
around in the blood-vessels, the color is red. Hit 
the skin hard enough to break some of the little 
blood-vessels beneath the surface, and the little 
red cells escape front the injured blood-vessels, 
wander about for a while in the tissues, and die. 
When they die, the iron that made them red be- 
fore, then changes to black-and-blue coloring. 
After a while, this iron is taken up by the glands 
called the lymphatics, and made over again into 
nice red cells. The iron is taken up very much 
more quickly by the lymphatics if the black-and- 
blue spot is rubbed and massaged. — Dr. Robert 
T. Morris. 




fragrant fireworks 

Worcester, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Orange-peel fireworks are great 
fun. Papa and my brother Roland squeeze the rinds and 
I hold the match. Sometimes when the orange peel is 

producing a flash by igniting the volatile oil 
from orange peel. 

fresh and full of oil, a great fountain of flame flashes more 
than a foot high. Squeezing the rind and at the same time 
giving a quick pinch, cause the greatest outburst of oil and 
so the largest flash. 

The orange-oil as it is thus burned perfumes the room 
like incense. We never tire of fragrant fireworks. 
Very sincerely yours, 

Mazie E. Hodge. 

These interesting fireworks were exhibited to 
me by the son and daughter of Professor Clifton 
F. Hodge when I was a guest in his house. Sev- 


eral demonstrations of - the method were made. I 
took the accompanying photograph, and later an- 
other to show how the peel should be held. This 
experiment, like all in which a flame is used, how- 
ever, should only be tried under the supervision 
of an older person, and care should be taken to 
keep at a safe distance from any inflammable 
materials. — Editor of "Nature and Science." 
Vol. XXXIX. -107. 


The gas-plant (Dictamnus), which has fragrant 
leaves and bears curious flowers, "gives off dur- 
ing hot weather a fragrant, volatile oil, which 
ignites when . match is applied to it." 

Mr. Nathan R. Graves, Rochester, New York, 
sends the accompanying illustration of the bloom. 
He writes : 

"I have found that the flash, when a lighted 
match is held near to the bloom, is more certain 
on a sultry evening after a very warm day. Then 
one seldom fails to get quite spectacular results." 

The gas-plant is attractive and of value aside 
from its peculiar inflammable gas. The seeds 
should be sown in the autumn in a plant nursery 
bed where they are to remain for two years. 

(Dictamnus fraxinella.) 
In dry, sultry weather the flowers sometimes give out a vapor which 
is inflammable. 

They can then be transplanted to rich, heavy 
soil. They bloom in the months of June and July. 
[The fireworks with orange peel and flowers 
have in themselves no danger, but, because 
matches are so common, one should never groiv 
careless in the use of them, even- to light a 
lamp.-E. F. B.] 


The Drum-Aajor 


Two and two, and two and two, go the 

soldiers in the street, — 
And, oh, but it 's just wonderful the way 

they work their feet! 
Their captain rides a prancing horse, but 

I would rather be 
The man who twirls the shiny thing for 

every one to see. 

So when I drill my soldiers here (they 're 

fine ones, dressed in red), 
I am the man in the fur hat, who walks a 

step ahead. 
And though their captain 's very fine, and 

though his sword is bright, 
I think they all depend on me, whenever 

there 's a fight. 




I wish I had an airship, 
One 'at would really fly ; 

I 'd take a ride all by myself 
Away up in the sky. 

And when the trip was over, 
I 'd sit on Daddy's knee, 

And tell him all the funny things 
An airship man must see. 


My mother called on his one day, 

So I, of course, went too. 
They talked and laughed, and talked 
some more, 

The way that mothers do. 

Then Bobbie came in from a walk, 
While I was sitting there ; 

He 'tended not to notice me, 
And climbed upon a chair. 

But when, at last, he turned his head, 

As shy as shy could be, 
I smiled and threw a kiss to him, 

And he smiled back at me. 

This being the month for "celebrating," St. Nicholas 
would be justified in sending up a special display of fire- 
works in honor of the contributions of its League members. 
Little stories of fact and fancy, told with remarkable skill 
and feeling; brief poems, brilliant in idea and beautifully 
worded ; photographs of rare charm, whether of figure or 
landscape subjects ; and drawings, showing the touch of 
the real artist — all these combine to form a delightful, 
inspiring exhibit of what earnest boys and girls can 

accomplish nowadays. Our only regret is the familiar 
and oft-repeated one — that the space allowed us is alto- 
gether too small to admit scores of similar contributions 
which, in merit and cleverness, crowd closely upon those 
here printed. 

But every month adds many recruits to our list of Prize- 
winners ; and the disappointed contestants, every month, 
merely grow more determined, and exclaim: " Not yet — 
but soon ! " 


In making the awards, contributors' ages are considered. 
PROSE. Gold badges, Hester R. Hoffman (age 16), Terre Haute, Ind. ; Betty Humphreys (age n), Cambridge, 

Silver badges, Lydia Selden Chapin (age 15), Erie, Pa. ; Harriet Henry (age 14), New York City; Edith Townsend 
(age 13), Buffalo, N. Y. ; Kathryn Hulbert (age 13), Bangor, Me. ; Constance Kilborn (age 14), Whitby, Can. 
VERSE. Gold badge, Ben Sleeper (age 17), Waco, Tex. 

Silver badges, Frances Duggar (age 16), Auburn, Ala. ; Martha Means (age 15), Akron, O. ; Merrill T. B. Spalding 
(age 14), Brookline, Mass. ; Hester B. Curtis (age 12), Point Pleasant, N. J. 
DRAWINGS. Gold badge, Alison M. Kingsbury (age 14), Pittsburgh, Pa. 

Silver badges, Marion Monroe (age 14), Muskogee, Okla. ; William McK. Murray (age 17), Pittsburgh, Pa. 
PHOTOGRAPHS. Gold badges, Dickson Green (age 15), Syracuse, N. Y. ; Anita Delafield (age 14), Lenox, Mass. 
Silver badges, Herbert F. Traut (age 17), Sheridan, Wyo. ; Elwood H. Gallien (age 17), Portland, Ore. ; Joseph Kiss 
(age 16), Appleton, Wis. ; Margaret W. Taylor (age 14), Haverford, Pa. ; Richard S. Emmet (age 14), New York City. 
WILD CREATURE PHOTOGRAPHY. Class "A" prize, Dorothea B. Smith (age 12), New York City. 
PUZZLE-MAKING. Gold badge, Helen A. Moulton (age 15), New York City. 

Silver badges, Isidore Helfand (age 13), Cleveland, O. ; Laurens M. Hamilton (age it)',- Sterlington, N. Y. ; John M. 
Kleberg (age 12), Cornwall, N. Y. 

PUZZLE ANSWERS. Silver badges, Claire A. Hepner (age 11), Helena, Mont. ; William T. Fickinger (age 11), 
Sewickley, Pa. 




(Prize, Class "A," Wild Creature Photography.) 






(Silver Badge) 
I love a knight ; he loves me, too ; 

He wins the hearts of many. 
His voice is kind, his heart is true ; 

He 's nobler far than any. 

He says I am his lady fair, 
He is my strength and light ; 

He shares my every pain and care— 
My father is my knight ! 




(Gold Badge) 
Herr Ludwig fingered caressingly the violin of his 
fathers with its four strings, Love, Hope, Memory, and 
the dark one — Hate. Then, settling the instrument com- 
fortably under his chin, the old man bent his white head 
lovingly over the violin, his eyes assumed a far-off ex- 
pression, and he drew the bow lightly yet lingeringly 
over the string Memory. 

The notes, though soft, came forth clearly with un- 
surpassable sweetness, and, after lingering in the room, 
sped forth to the village street, where many stopped to 
listen, for they recognized the opening notes of Herr 
Ludwig's sweetest composition, "My Happiest Memory." 

The violin was a human voice telling them of a day 
long ago when a German lad, carrying a violin, swung 
joyously along a country road. The boy was on his way 
to a music carnival, held by the emperor, and he, the 
young Ludwig, intended to pit his talent against the 
most renowned musicians of the empire. 

Soon the boy reached the hall, and the rustling of 
silks and satins told him that the courtiers and their 
ladies were arriving. The rules were read and the con- 
test began. Ludwig was the last to play. He mur- 
mured to his violin, tightened its strings, and began. 

The violin in the old musician's hands thrilled again 
with that melody played so long ago. It was a melody 
telling of love and hope, as sweet and pure as the boy's 
heart from which it sprang. One note, high, sweet, 
triumphant, ended the divine harmony. There was a 
silence, and then could be heard the enthusiastic ap- 
plause. The emperor rose majestically. 

"Thou art a great musician, lad," said he, "and in 
addition to the prize, I give you this token of your 
emperor's homage to a great artist !" 

The notes of the violin were jubilant, ecstatic, tri- 
umphant, depicting the state of that young heart. As 
the last high, sweet notes melted into silence, the listen- 
ers stole quietly away, leaving Herr Ludwig staring at a 
small gold medal, bearing the emperor's arms, which 
glistened as brightly in the twilight as that one incident 
shone in the old musician's memory. 

(As told by a kitten) 


(Gold Badge) 

Little kitten, 
'1 his was written 

For you to obey : 
Stay at home 
Until you 've grown, 

That 's a kitten's way. 
If you don't obey this rule, 
You will be a kitten fool. 

That was the rule my mother 
taught me. I had always obeyed 
it, until one day I could n't bear 
the poky old basket any longer. 
My mother had gone to catch 
mice in the cellar, so it was a 
good chance to jump out and 
explore the house, which I did. 

I stole some fish, broke a vase 

full of flowers, almost caught the 

canary (I scared him, anyhow), 

and had a fine time. Then I 

came back and pretended to be 

asleep in the basket. Mother never knew how I enjoyed 

myself that day. My happiest memory was being a 

"kitten fool." 

N.B. I have grown up now, ana tell that story to my 
kittens, who are never tired of hearing it. I am glad to 
say, however, that they obey the kittens' golden rule. 



JULY 1112 









Six summers ago, our family ate their meals on the 
porch all the season. A chipping sparrow was attracted 
by the crumbs on the floor, and finally became tame 
enough to eat at the table with us. Every time we put 
the bread on the table, "Velvet," as we called her, be- 
cause she had a little brown spot on her head, was 
always ready to be the first one at the table. 

Once Velvet burned her toes in Papa's coffee, trying 
to get a drink of it. Sometimes we heard a flutter, and 
Velvet would light on our heads. I remember once that 
I had some bread crumbs in my hand, and went to look 
for Velvet to feed her. She came at once, and brought 
one of her baby birds, and he perched on my foot. 
Velvet flew to my hand, and got some crumbs to feed 
the baby bird, and while she was getting the crumbs, 
she let me stroke her feathers. She came to us two 
summers, and her visits were my happiest memories. 




{Honor Member) 
He was but a little jester, 

Ugly, small, of low degree ; 
She his master's only daughter, 

Fair and proud, a princess free. 
At the jester's wit and folly, 

All the company made glad, 
She amongst them, no one dreaming 

That one little heart was sad. 

Came a prince from o'er the mountains, 

Won her heart, and asked her hand ; 
And, one merry, sunny May-day, 

They were wedded. All the land 
Rang with mirth ; glad merrymakers 

Thronged to pay their homage due. — 
Princess, thou hast won a king's heart ! 

Still one heavy heart beats true. 

See ! a rosebud on the pathway, 

Fallen from her glittering hair. 
It is his now, his forever ! 

She has many flowers as fair. 
Hers a throne, true homage, splendor, 

His a jester's cap and bells ; 
And of course his heart is merry, 

Here 's the tale a rosebud tells. 





{Honor Member) 
In days of chivalry, so I 've been told, 
All knights were gallant, kind, and bold ; 
But ladies, though ever so modest and sweet, 
Made the bold knights kneel down at their feet. 
















(Silver Badge) 

I was very small, and yet I felt awed and dazed. I did 
not quite understand it. My mother had taken me to 
the master's studio, had placed me high among a great 

■B2Sr" *• > »**^ 


mass of silken cushions, had given me a little woolly 
dog to play with, and had told me to sit very, very still. 
Then she went off into another corner of the vast 
lighted room, and stood talking to the master, who be- 
gan slapping at a large piece of canvas with long 
brushes such as I sometimes used to paint with in my 
picture books. 

I began to inspect the wonderful vastness around me. 
Everywhere were great heaps of painted canvas and odd 
golden frames ; on the walls hung tempting-looking pic- 
tures, tempting because children smiled out of them, 
smiled at me, and called me to them. They were all 
pretty children, little boys in rollicking sailor-suits, and 
little girls in bright-colored dresses ; a few wore silks 
and satins, which I was sure must have been very un- 
comfortable when they wanted to play hide-and-seek. 
One of my pillows fell down ; the master picked it up, 
and told mc that I had been a very good little girl, that 

And every day after that, Mother would take me to 
the "wonderful place" — I still call it that — and set me 
high up among the cushions, high up in the sunlight, 
with my woolly dog. And then, one day, I did not go 
back any more, and a new little girl, sitting on a pile of 
cushions, clasping a little woolly dog, and smiling out of 
her golden frame, came to live in our parlor. 



(Silver Badge) 
Dreaming, I watched the fire, 

'T was red and yellow and blue ; 
I saw a black knight riding by, 

'T was Richard — that I knew. 

Then a lady in fine array, 

With servants three she came ; 

Now a knight, with armor white, 
To try with Richard for fame. 

They came together with might, 
'T was cjuite a serious bout ; 

Down went the knight in white, 
But, alas, the fire went out ! 



(Silver Badge) 
"Hi there ! Git up ! !" I start forward clumsily under 
the pain of the stinging lash, and the stupid driver 
jerks me back with brutal force. Oh, my heart is 




he had never known any one to sit quite so still before ; 
then he went back to his strange occupation of painting 
in a very much glorified picture book. I wondered 
afterward why I had not told him about the children. 
Was I afraid of him ? I never quite knew ; the master 
was always a sort of strange and mystic being to me. . 


heavy these days. What with the cruelty of my mas- 
ter and the hard, hard work, my life is one weary round 
of misery. I think I would die if it were not for the 
pleasant memories of better days, which I so love to 
recall, and which blot out the dull agony of the present. 
I like to dwell upon one May afternoon, ten years 
ago. I sped along a smooth, broad race-track while 
crowds on either side yelled loudly. A dapple filly was 
abreast of me and a big roan in front, while far behind, 
there straggled a half-dozen horses who were almost 
spent. I remember as if it were yesterday, Miss Con- 
stance leaning well over the rail with her head tilted 




dubiously to one side and her pretty lips drooping at 
the corners. Did she doubt me ? The thought gave 
me renewed vigor, and I shot forward, leaving the filly 
far in the rear. A great cheer rose from the crowd, 
and I overtook the roan. A moment later I crossed the 
line. All the men patted and praised me, and then Miss 
Constance came running up, and, standing on tiptoes, 
flung her arms around my neck. 

"Dixie," she whispered, "Dixie, I 'm so proud of 
you !" 

That was the happiest moment of my life. 





{Gold Badge) 
A queen went forth to take the air 
In garments rich, bejeweled, rare; 
Her very shoes were 'broidered round 
With pearls upon a golden ground. 
In joyous mood she merry made 
With all her brilliant cavalcade, 
Who laughed at e'en the tiniest jest 
The queen essayed (or tried their best). 
But soon she stopped in dire dismay, 
A filthy puddle barred her way ; 
She looked first at one satin shoe, 
Then at the mud — what should she do ? 
She hesitated not for long ; 
From out the agitated throng 
Stepped forth a youth of noble mien, 
Who, bowing low before the queen, 
His cloak of orimson velvet tossed 
Into the mud. His monarch crossed. 
Then, to complete the courtier's bliss, 
Gave him her royal hand to kiss. 



{Silver Badge) 
My happiest memory is of Mother, when. 
on peaceful, tranquil evenings, after the 
romps and good times of the day are over, 
you climb into her lap, and entwine your 
arms around her neck ; outside the wind 
blows little crystal snow-flakes against the 
window-panes, and the fire burns brightly. 
You feel so contented and you cuddle 
down, while she tells stories, or sings 
sweet songs of long ago. 

Or when in the soft and balmy twilight of a sum- 
mer evening you and Mother sit out on the porch, and 
listen to the crickets chirping, and the frogs talking to 
one another down in the swamp, until a sense of 
drowsiness steals over you, and you fall asleep. Per- 
Vol. XXXI X.- 108. 

haps, better still, when you are older, and the bustle of 
the day has made you tired and cross, you go to her 
and put your head on her shoulder, and tell her all 
about the scrapes of school, of the losing of temper, or 
other trials that seem so great to you ; then Mother 
seems to smooth out the snarls, and you are content. 



{Silver Badge) 
Five summers ago, Father rented a dear little cottage 
on the east side of Sebago Lake. 

My favorite uncle and his family spent that summer 
with us, and we had the happiest of times together. 

Our beach, long and smooth, was in a little cove, and 
we built a breakwater at the entrance, making our 
swiniming-pool safe and quiet. 

Our days began early and passed all too quickly, with 
the early morning strolls, the dip at eleven, the after- 
noon tramps, or quiet readings, and, best of all, the 
thrilling stories around the evening camp-fire. 

Father and Mother often planned a picnic on Picture 
Rocks, rocks from which, tradition relates, Captain 
Frye, chased by Indians, leaped into the lake, sixty feet 
or more below, and swam over to the island which now 
bears his name. On these massive rocks are crude 
drawings of hideous Indians, canoes, signs, and a pic- 
ture of Frye making his leap. 

We always lighted the camp-fire early, so that evenings 
might be as long as possible ; and as darkness came 
on, and the weird call of the loon came floating over the 
water, we gathered closer to the crackling logs, to listen 
to Uncle's always-anticipated story. 

The stars peeped forth from the dark sky, the story 
closed, and later, long after the good nights had been 
said, we lay awake watching the red embers, which 
seemed like little dancing fairies with torches in their 


hands ; and the fireflies, flitting past, flashed their tiny 
search-lights in reply. 

Thus passed the summer, and with the fall, we turned 
our faces toward home and school, carrying with us the 
memory of a delightful vacation. 






{Honor Member) 

A perfectly terribly rainy day, 

A little girl had come in to play 

With the ftttle boy of the curly hair, 

Who snuggled up in the red plush chair. 
"Knight and lady," they planned their game, 

When another, almost a big boy, came. 
"Say, kid, you be the carpet-knight!" 

Quivering lips replied, "All right." — 
Poor little mite ! 

"Is n't that nice?" said the little girl, 
"I really wanted a great big earl ; 

You can stay home and the coward be, 

And he '11 fight and kill you for love of me. 

The ink will do for a coward's gore, 

I '11 make a pool on the battle floor!" 

But, truly, it was an awful sight. 
"Oh, don't do that !" cried the carpet-knight, 
All in affright. 

A terrified spring from the red plush chair, 
A push from the brave knight standing there, 
The craven fell in his pool of gore, 
And his mother stood in the open door. 

"Who made this ink-spot ? You 'd better tell, 
I '11 get your mothers to spank you well, 
Or I will do it. Who caused this sight?" 

"I must not tell !" sobbed the carpet-knight — 
Chivalrous mite ! 



{Silver Badge) 
When spring is singing her joy in every tree, bush, and 
flower ; when the sun filters through the green leaves, 
filling the woods with a strange glory, and I can wander 

T^uia. K-9/ia^ui, 



alone in their shelter, the dream pictures come, 
sweet, and far away. 

I see a little old-fashioned English school-house where 
noisy, excited children are talking in little groups. 
Savory odors are floating from the kitchen as large 
hampers are Backed with good things. Now many pairs 

of little brown, bare feet are pattering down the grav- 
eled driveway, and into the dusty road, sturdily climbing 
the steep mountain-side, and descending to the valley. 
A faint roar is heard, and the foaming, dashing, moun- 
tain torrent bursts into view, as, sparkling, it bounds 
to the valley below. There, hushed to whispered lull- 
abies, it steals softly onward, amid the kisses of droop- 
ing ferns and gaily colored wild flowers. 

See the little merrymakers, tired from their long 
walk, sporting in the cool waters with many childish 
screams of delight ! 

Oh, what a perfect work of Nature ! this wild, se- 
cluded valley of the mountains, where the marring hand 
of man has not yet been ; where the song of the bird 
mingles fearlessly with the gay laughter of little chil- 
dren, and the sun shines over all. 

But now the dusk of evening is gathering, and twi- 
light approaches, veiling in awful mystery these won- 
derful works of God. The little band is returning, with 
lagging steps and heavy heads ; but soon kind hands 
have tucked them into little beds, and they are journey- 
ing into dreamland. The moon has risen, and sheds her 
pale glory over the sleeping earth. Peace reigns su- 

The dream has flitted, and with a start my mind is 
brought back to earth and reality, for I am no longer a 
wee lass of six. 



{Silver Badge) 
The morning sun was rising on a day, long, long ago, 
When a knight upon his charger started out to fight the 

foe ; 
He was clad from foot to helmet in a suit of armor 

And as he left his castle's gate, his heart was gay and 


A maiden fair, with golden hair, and wond'rous eyes of 

Had given him that very morn her hand and heart so 

true ; 
And as he rode along his way, beneath the azure sky, 
He thought of how he loved her — he would fight for 

love or die. 

The sun was high in heaven orrthat day, long, long ago, 
When, with his band of followers, he marched against 

the foe. 
His look was stern and fearless as the enemy drew near, 
But his heart was warm and loving for the maid he held 

so dear. 

The conflict raged, great blows were struck, and shields 

were split in twain, 
Both friend and foe alike did fight with all their might 

and main ; 
But when the day was won, the victors' hearts were 

filled with grief, 
For among the dead and dying lay their brave and noble 


The silvery moon was shining on a bright and starry 

When by her dying lover knelt a maiden, clad in white ; 
They interchanged a few sweet words, and then he 

softly sighed, 
He had kept full well his promise — he had fought for 

love and died. 






(Honor Member) 
The brooklet laughed as it leaped along, 
The castle frowned from its ramparts strong, 
The robin caroled a joyous song, 
In the days of chivalry. 

The drawbridge fell and spanned the foss, 
Two glittering horsemen rode across, 
Each fiery steed gave its head a proud toss, 
In the days of chivalry. 

"My lord," said the younger knight, "I tire 
Of the dull and harmless chase ; I desire 
To seek real adventure." For youth had its fire 
In the days of chivalry. 

"My son, I know full well how you yearn, 
But, mayhap, if you go, you will never return." 
For already the combat was grim and stern 
In the days of chivalry. 

"My father, the fairest maid in the land 
Has smiled on me ; for her sake I withstand 
The fiercest dangers." For strong was the hand 
In the days of chivalry. 

The bowed old head did not gainsay ; 
The same human heart that rules to-day 
Beat high, as the young man went his way 
In the days of chivalry. 



So many beautiful memories crowd into my mind that 
it is difficult to determine which is best ; but I think my 
happiest memories are those of little children. 

None of us girls who have passed into our 'teens can 
turn back and be as we were seven years ago. We can- 
not lessen our height, shorten our dresses, or narrow 
our ideas to childish ones. But though we can never 
be children again, there is one thing which we may do, 
and that is, we may keep the heart of childhood, which 
may best be accomplished by bringing ourselves into 
close contact with those now in the midst of the land 
we have just left. 

It is late afternoon. The rays of sunlight are stream- 
ing through the windows, lighting up a group of childish 
faces belonging to seven little people snuggled among 
the cushions of my window-seat. The faces are full of 
eagerness as they listen to a story which I am reading 
aloud. When I have finished, one little girl asks in- 
quisitively, "But why?" How like myself, I think. I 
was the same inquisitive little body, always wanting to 
know the "whys" and "wherefores." And the primness 
of the child next to her, who casts a reproving glance 
at the interrupter — how she reminds me of Rose Mary, 
one of my early friends ! 

Perhaps I am speaking in too "grown-up" a manner, 
and talking as if childhood were a very distant past ; 
but I think many girls try to appear very "young-lady- 
fied" and proper, and instead look very foolish and 
unnatural. I think that to have little ones about us is 
one of the best ways to make us realize that we are 
children still, for as I helped my little friends on with 
their wraps, kissed them good-by, and watched them go 
gaily down the street, I felt very near to the kingdom 
of childhood and the happy memories that dwell there. 



(Silver Badge) 
Little boy and little girl, on the grass at play, 
And they hear the sound of dogs barking far away ; 
She is frightened, but he whispers, with his arms about 
her neck, 
"Do not cry, my sister dear, don't you know, while I am 
I won't let the bad dogs harm you, 
I '11 let nothing hurt nor harm you?" 

Little girl and little boy, coming home at night, 

And no silvery moon above them makes the pathway 
bright ; 

She is frightened, at the darkness, but he gently whis- 
pers to her, 
"Never fear, sister dear, don't you know, while I am 

I won't let the darkness harm you, 

I '11 let nothing hurt nor harm you?" 

Many years have passed away, 

They 're no longer at their play ; 

But he still protects and shields her, still he proudly to 

her says, 
"Never fear, sister dear, don't you know, while I am 

Nothing shall disturb nor harm you, 
I '11 let nothing hurt nor harm you?" 



(Honor Member) 
Not only when the trumpet's stirring sound 

Shrilly proclaimed the opening tournament ; 

Not only when the victor, humbly bent, 
Before his lady knelt, and there was crowned ; 
Not only when the knights of old renowned, 

Arthur's companions, on their duty sent, 

Rode far away, and helped where'er they went, — 
Not only then may chivalry be found ; . 

But now, whenever there is seen a man 
Helping the weak as none but strong men can, 

In quiet field, in busy, bustling mart ; 
Unstained in honor, speaking only truth — 
Ah, where he stands, there is a knight in sooth ; 

True chivalry reigns ever in his heart. 


No. I. A list of those whose work would have been used had space 
permitted. No. 2. A list of those whose work entitles them to en- 
couragement. (Unavoidably crowded out this month.) 


Hattie M. Wulke 
Edith M. Levy- 
Dorothy H. DeWitt 
Charles R. G. Page 
Miette Brugnot 
Caroline C. Bedell 
Elmer H. Van Fleet 
Helen Casey 
James Sheean 
Ruth B. Brewster 
Amy C. Love 
Rachel L. Field 
J. Marjorie Trotter 
Nathaniel Dorfman 
Emily S. Reed 
Alice M. Hamlet 
Elizabeth F. Bradbury 
Rebekah B. Hoffman 

Sophie E. Woods 
Norah Heney 
Winifred Gaynor 
Elizabeth Macdonald 
Helen Stearns 
Dorothy H. Sutton 
Margaret Johnson 
Elizabeth Boyd White 
Marian Shaler 
Helen A Winans 
Robin Hood 
Elsie Windsor 
Dorothy M. Rogers 
Anna L. Porter 
John J. Hanighen, Jr. 
Madeleine J. 
Cornelia S. Jackson 
Dorothy May Owens 
Helen Bolles 

Ruth Starr 
Frances Weil 
Marion B. Reed 
Julia M. Herget 
Elizabeth Boorum 
Fannie W. Butterfield 
Sarah Sirit 
Howard Putzel 
Minnie Gottlieb 
Elsie Terhune 
Doris H. Voss 
Mary E. Taggart 
Isabel M. Cundill 
Jennie E. Everden 
Winifred M. Bateman 
Louise S. May 
Carolyn Weiss 
Mary Mason 
Alice Lee Tully 
Mary Dendy 



Frances Riker 
Barclay V. Huiell 
Dorothy J. Bogart 
Mildred Thorp 
Herbert Philpott 
Anthony Fabbri 
Katherine E. Read 
Doris R. Wilder 
Goldie Zucker 
Lois Hopkins 
Ethel M. Feuerlicht 
Geo. F. Milliken, Jr. 
Ethel London 
Annabelle La Plant 
Herbert Snider 
Muriel W. Avery 
Margaret C. Bland 
Gertrude Thilly 
Mary Van Fossen 
Jane Coolidge 
Margaret E. Beakes 
Henry Wilson Hardy 
Marie H. Wilson 
Mary Nathan 
Mildred Weissner 
Mary Rhoades 
Katharine McLain 
Harold E. Newcomb 
Lois Kellogg 
Althea R. Kimberley 
Florence L. Smith 
Mildred A. Gutwillig 
Naomi Lauchheimer 
Emily M. Gile 


Eleanor Johnson 
Frederick H. 

Strawbridge, Jr. 
Irma A. Hill 
Renee Geoffrion 
Bernard J. Snyder 
Vera F. Keevers 
Henry M. Gardiner 
Hazel Sawyer 
Henry D. Costigan 
Mildred W. Longstreth 
Virginia Sledge 


Jack Hopkins 
James Williamson 
Marian E. Stearns 

Genevieve K. Hamlin 
Rosella M. Hartmann 
Lily A. Lewis 
Margaret Brate 
Henrietta H. B. 

Nellie L. Leach 
Margaret Couty 
S. Dorothy Bell 
Dorothy Hughes 
Marjorie Flack 
Helen A. Baker 
Gladys Cole 
Gene Davis 
Ellen W. Coates 
Rebekah Howard 
Margaret A. Foster 

Richard R. Haas 
Mildred Wilsey 
W. Coburn Seward 
Katherine L. Guy 
Frances Scoville 
Martha Robinson 
Nellie Melrose 
Marjory F. Velie 
Joseph M. Hayman 
Allen Thomas 
Charlotte M. White 
Lavinia Sherman 
Richard L. Bartlett 
Mary P. Zesinger 
Elsie A pel 
Adele Noyes 
Margery Andrews 

Ambler, John W. Cloghorn, Jr., 
Simon Sneller. 

Gordon Lane, W. Irving Harris, 


Agnes Abbot 
Gustave Diechmann 
Margery F. Morgan 
Jessica H. Robinson 
Lucy F. Rogers 
Alice Carter 
Marian Stabler 
Harold Beck 
George Bradley 


Jennie Hicks 
Marian E. Taylor 
Marjorie Beard 
Bob Burgher 
Mary H. S. Pittman 
George Woodward, Jr. 
Marion A. Reynolds 
Elizabeth W. Pharo 
Gordon Kent 


F. Cooley Eveleth 
Emeline W. Kellogg 
Harriot A. Parsons 
Eleanor E. Barry 
Gerald H. Loomis 
Doris Bunton 
Leopold A. 

Camacho, Jr. 
Dorothy Helmle 
Thomas C. Norcross 
Eric H. Marks 
Grahm Mchaffey 


Bessie T. Keene 
Rebecca N. Vincent 
Olga M. Griffin 
Angeline Bennett 
Calista P. Eliot 
Lucile Robertson 
Helen Briggs 
Gilbert Templeton 
Jessica B. Noble 
Helen L. Beach 
Gladys H. Pew 
Fannie Ruley 
Marjorie K. Gibbons 
Eugene Scott 
Alan Dudley Bush 
Miriam Loring 
Guy R. Turner 
Norval D. Marbaker 
Marjorie M. Carroll 
H. K. Luce 
Theresa W. Neuberger 
Janet Putnam 
Virginia M. Bliss 
Arnold G. Cameron 
Elizabeth Guerin 


A list of those whose contributions were not properly prepared, and 
could not be properly entered for the competition. 

LATE. Clarice French, Annie H. Parrott, Lillie G. Menary, Hes- 
ter D. Nott, Audrey M. Cooper, Elsa Clark, Donald Friede, Doris 
Longton, Beryl H. Margetson, Katharine H. Seligman, Marjorie Se- 
ligman, Hester Raven Hart, Dora Guy, Margherita Auteri, Loyala B. 
Lee, Elizabeth Martindale, Heather F. Burbury, Eleanor King New- 
ell, Olive M. Kimbell, Charles P. Newton, Margaret Barcalo, Marga- 
ret Polhamus, Dorothy Smith. Elizabeth Dudley, Hester M. Dicksy, 
Edith Rice, Russell Hendee, Dora E. Bailey, Lucille Wardner, Ethel 
W. Kidder, Phyllis Coate, Mabel Patterson, Lillian Patterson, Claude 
Pelly, Antonia Schwab. 

NOT INDORSED. Lucius H. Barbour, Julian Ross, Elizabeth 
Williams, Eleanor Fish, Elizabeth Robinson, Dorothy Phillips, Chas. 
Podaski, Emily Goltzmann, Erma Sheridan, Caroline de Windt, Mau- 
rice Irons, Dorothy Barnard, Eliot G. Hall, Elizabeth Waddell, 
Laurens Williams, Georgina Yeatman, Horace Yeomans, Wyllys K. 

NO AGE. Daniel B. Benscoter, Ja