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Illustrated Magazine 

For Young Folks 

Part I. — November, 1912, to April, 1913. 




Copyright, 1912, 1913, by The Century Co. 

The De Vinne Press. 

Library, Univ. ©f 
North C*ro4if»» 




Six Months — November, 1912, to April, 1913. 

Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2013 



Admiral, The. Verse. (Illustrated by B. Putnam) Herbert Putnam 544 

Adventures of Billy Bowline, The. (Illustrated by Fanny Y. Cory) Harriet L. Wedgwood. . . . 165 

Alphabet's Holiday, The. Verse. (Illustrated by George Varian) Margaret Johnson 541 

Aunt 'Phroney's Boy. (Illustrated by George Avison) L. Frank Baum 104 

Aztec Jingles : A Royal Release. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) /. G. Francis 30 

Aztec Jingles : The Jovial Judge. (Illustrated by the Author) /. G. Francis 347 

Babe, How, Escaped Polo. (Illustrated by I. W. Taber) I cola Forrester 43 

"Babes of the Wild." (Illustrated by Paul Bransom) Charles G. D. Roberts 

Teddy Bear's Bee-Tree 231 

The Adventures of Young Grumpy 291 

The Little Furry Ones that Slide Downhill 397 

The Baby and the Bear 486 

Baby and the Bear, The. ("Babes of the Wild." IV) (Illustrated by Paul 

Bransom) ' Charles G. D. Roberts. . . . 486 

Ballads of the Be-Ba-Boes: The Christmas Tree. (Illustrated by Katha- 
rine Maynadier Daland) D. K. Stevens 245 

Beatrice of Denewood. (Illustrated by Charles M. Relyea) Emilie Benson Knipe and 

Aid en Arthur Knipe 21 

116, 219, 332, 411, 509 

Billy Bowline, The Adventures of. (Illustrated by Fanny Y. Cory) Harriet L. Wedgwood. ... 165 

Birds of the Year. Verse. (Illustrated by Bruce Horsfall) Minnie Leona Upton 306 

"Birds that Fly Zigzag, The." Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) George O. Butler 129 

Book of the Black Art, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Herbert Paus) Augusta Huiell Seaman.. 492 

"Boy and the Man, The": Talks with Boys. (Illustrated from photo- 

"The Boy and the Man" President John Gricr 

Hibben 227 

The Force of Sunlight Rev. Dr. Hugh Birckhead. 227 

"Live for What You Would Like to be at Sixty" Admiral F. E. Chadwick. . 228 

Two Essentials Gifford Pinchot 229 

What is Success? Colonel Henry G. Prout. . 229 

The Ready Means of Happiness Hon. Jean Jules Jusserand 340 

A Few Suggestions Hon. John Bigelow 341 

Lessons Not Learned Out of Books James McCrea 341 

The Dawn of a New Era Rev. Endicott Peabody. . . 342 

The Challenge of Life Hamilton Wright Mabie. . 342 

A Friendly Greeting Hon. and Rev. Edward 

Lyttelton 447 

Art, a Lifelong Benefit Elihu Vedder 447 

Your Interest in Athletics General George W. 

Wingate 448 

Boy's Logic, A. Verse Oscar Llewelyn 442 

Brooks. Phillips : See "More Than Conquerors" T30 



Brownies in the Grist-Mill, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox 56 

Brownies and the Stalled Train, The. Verse. " " " 252 

Brownies Mend the Dam, The. Verse. " " 443 

"Calling." Picture, drawn by Gertrude Kay 65 

Christmas Catch, A. Verse. (Illustrated by Clara M. Burd) Cecil Cavendish 140 

Christmas Mousie, The. (Illustrated by Culmer Barnes) Ida Kenniston igo 

Christmas, Our. Verse. (Illustrated by Gertrude A. Kay) Alice Lovett Carson 114 

Christmas Secrets. Verse. (Illustrated by Edna F. Hart) Lillie Gilliland McDowell. 202 

Clocks, Curious. (Illustrated from photographs) Charles A. Brassier 257 

Conduct of the Conductor, The. (Illustrated by George Varian) Elizabeth C. Webb 328 

Dancing Class, The— "That Awkward Boy!" Picture, drawn by Ger- 
trude A. Kay 508 

Day After Christmas, The. Picture, drawn by Leighton Budd 201 

December Days. Verse. (Illustrated by Otto Rebele) Edward N. Teall 218 

"Dogs at Large." Picture, drawn by A. Z. Baker 494 

Dolly's Lullaby. Verse. (Illustrated by Blanche Fisher Wright) Mrs. Schuyler Van 

Rensselaer 360 

"Dutch Treat, A." (Illustrated by Oscar F. Schmidt) Giulia Hossfeld 31 

Emerson, Ralph Waldo : See "More Than Conquerors" 499 

Fables, Old, Brought Up to Date: The Shepherd Boy and the Wolf. 

(Illustrated by the Author) C.J. Budd 249 

Fine Feathers. Verse. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Carolyn Wells 326 

Fir-Tree, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Bruce Horsfall) Anna B. Bryant 396 

Flood Crest, On the. (Illustrated by B. J. Rosenmeyer) Charles Tenney Jackson . 495 

Flossy's Way. Verse John E. Dolsen 331 

Foot-ball, What Woodrow Wilson did for American. (Illustrated by 

Oscar F. Schmidt, and from photographs) ' Parke H. Davis 13 

Friendships, Curious, among Animals. (Illustrated from photographs) . . . Ellen Velvin 437 

Grandmother's Garret, In. Picture, drawn by George Avison 457 

Great Blue Heron, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Bruce Horsfall) Laura Spencer Portor. . . . 482 

Grumpy, Young, The Adventures of. ("Babes of the Wild." II) (Illus- 
trated by Paul Bransom) Charles G. D. Roberts .... 291 

Hallowe'en, A Rhyme of. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) George O. Butler 20 

Helene and Lucy. Picture, painted by H. S. Hubbell 491 

"Honk ! Honk !" Chorus, A. Picture, drawn by J. B. Graff 524 

Horn-blower of Ripon, The. (Illustrated from photograph) Helen Marshall Pratt 419 

Horses of St. Mark's, The Famous. (Illustrated by Robert Blum, and from 

photograph) Mary Lloyd 390 

India : See "Raja, His Highness the Young" 27 

Inventions, The First George Ethelbert Walsh. . 345 

"I 've Got a Dog." Verse. (Illustrated by Oscar F. Schmidt) Ethel M. Kelley 152 

Jacob and Gretchen. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) Elisabeth Atkins 153 

Jovial Judge, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) /. G. Francis 347 

Junior-Man. Verse. (Illustrated by Clara M. Burd) Ruth McEnery Stuart. . . . 250 

"Just Anna." (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Marion Hill 195 

Just Be Good. Verse James Rowe 112 

Kane and Pard. (Illustrated by Bruce Horsfall) Addison Hoivard Gibson. . 264 

Land of Mystery, The. (Illustrated by J. Paleologue, Jay Hambidge, Talbot 

Kelly, Jules Guerin, and from photographs) Cleveland Moffett 3 

142, 237, 349, 428, 525 

Lincoln, Abraham : See "More Than Conquerors" 30S, 499 

Little Critic, The. Picture, from painting by Francis Day 533 

Little Furry Ones, The, that Slide Downhill. ("Babes of the Wild." 

Ill) (Illustrated by Paul Bransom) Charles G. D. Roberts .... 397 

Marathon, The. Verse. (Illustrated by C. F. Peters) Fred Jacob 52 

Men Who Do Things, With. (Illustrated by Edwin F. Bayha, and from 

photographs) A. Russell Bond 402, 533 



Merry Christmas, A. Verse. (Illustrated by Ruth S. Clement) A. L. Sykes 20S 

More Than Conquerors. Biographical Sketches Ariadne Gilbert 

(Illustrated by Oscar F. Schmidt, Otto Rebele, Eastman Johnson, Harry 
Fenn, and from photographs) 

Through Failure to Success. ( Phillips Brooks) 130 

A Modern Greatheart. (William Makepeace Thackeray) 209 

The Matterhorn of Men. (Abraham Lincoln) 308, 449 

Louisa M. Alcott's Great Friend and Neighbor. ( Ralph Waldo Emerson) 499 

Mother Goose, The Nursery Rhymes of. (Illustrated by Arthur Rackham) 

"Ring a Ring o' Roses"— "Little Tommy Tucker" 97 

"The Man in the Wilderness"— "Humpty Dumpty"— "A Carrion-Crow 

sat on an Oak"— "Little Miss Muff ett" 193 

"Jack and Jill"— "If All the World was Apple-Pie" 481 

My Girl. Verse Pauline Frances Camp .... 36 

Nancy's Southern Christmas. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) '. . . . Harriet Prescott Spofford. 161 

Nancy's Way. Verse. (Illustrated by Sarah K. Smith) Nora Bennett 428 

Nightmare, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) James Route 517 

Noll and Antoonje. (Illustrated by Herbert Pans) Elizabeth Atkins 298 

Nursery Pet, A. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) Carolyn Wells 410 

Ostrich Egg, Professor Wiseacre and the. Pictures, drawn by C. F. Lester 547 

Outer Reef, The. (Illustrated by I. W. Taber) Grace E. Craig 320 

Pennybright's Circus. (Illustrated by John Edwin Jackson) Thomas H. Rogers 518 

Playing Santa Claus. Verse. (Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer) .. Pauline Frances Camp.... 139 

Prince and the Peddler, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Herbert Paus) Stella George Stem Perry 420 

Pumpkin Time. Verse. (Illustrated by Theresa Sturm Rogers) Edith Mallery 70 

Quest of the Jimblejock, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) Ellen Manly 124 

Raja, His Highness the Young. (Illustrated from photographs) . ; Mabel Alberta Spicer 37 

Rapid Transit. Picture, drawn by A. Z. Baker 494 

Reasoning. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch ) Nixon Waterman 427 

Royal Release, A. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) /. G. Francis 30 

Runty, the Boy Giant. (Illustrated by Herbert Paus) Wallace Dunbar Vincent. . 203 

Santa Claus : "I 've Something for You." Picture, drawn by G. T. Tobin 113 

Scott, Frank Hall, In Memory of. (Illustrated from photograph) 358 

Secret, A. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) James Rowe 427 

"Sheltie"— the Children's Friend. (Illustrated from photographs) Flora Macdonald 66 

Simple Thoughts on Great Subjects : Looking at the Stars George Lawrence Parker . 318 

Sir Christopher J. Jones. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) Frederick Moxon 316 

Sleeping Beauty, The. Play. (Illustrated by Margaret Ely Webb) Caroline Verhoeff 548 

Small Order, A. Verse James Rowe 129 

Stars, Looking at the. ("Simple Thoughts on Great Subjects") George Lawrence Parker . 318 

Storm, On Days of. Verse Margaret Johnson 64 

Story of a Statue, The. (Bartolommeo Colleom) (Illustrated by Alfred 

Brennan) Esther Matson 387 

Stray Letter, A. Verse. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Mrs. John T. Van Sant. . . 230 

Tea-cups. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Giulia Hossfeld 392 

Teddy Bear's Bee-Tree. ("Babes of the Wild." I) (illustrated by Paul 

Bransom) Charles G. D. Roberts 231 

Ted, Ned, and the Sled. Verse. (Illustrated by E. Wendell Mitchell) Minnie Leona Upton 344 

Thackeray, William Makepeace : See "More Than Conquerors" 209 

Thanksgiving Day, The First. Play. (Illustrated by Otto Rebele) Agnes Miller 61 

Three Guests. Verse. (Illustrated by Ethel Franklin Betts) Jessica Nelson North 151 

Through the Smoke. (Illustrated by Edwin F. Bayha) F. Lovcll Coombs 422 

Trials of Science. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Charles F. Lester 29 

Unlucky Look, An. Verse James Rowe 244 

What the Kettle Sings. Verse. (Illustrated by Albertine R. Wheelan) . ..Margaret Vandegrift 348 

When Grandma was a Little Girl. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) . . . Sarah K. Smith 339 

"When I 've Been Bad." Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Anna May Cooper 71 



When Mother 's Visiting : "Writing to Mother"— "The Monorail." Pic- 
tures, drawn by Gertrude A. Kay 296 

"Whom the King Delighteth to Honor." (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) . John K. Crce 51 

Why the Deacon was Late for Church. Picture, drawn by I. W. Taber 401 

Wilson, Woodrow, What He Did for American Foot-ball. (Illustrated by 

Oscar F. Schmidt, and from photographs) Parke H. Davis 13 

Wireless, Across the Atlantic by. (Illustrated by Otto Rebele, George 

Varian, and from photographs) Francis Arnold Collins ... 46 

Wizard Shoemaker, The. (Illustrated by Herbert Paus) Winthrop Packard 98 

World Disaster, A. Picture, drawn by Charles F. Lester 426 


"The Sisters," from a painting by Lydia Field Emmet, facing page 3 — " Ring a Ring 0' Roses," painted 
by Arthur Rackham, facing page 97 — ■" The Man in the Wilderness," painted by Arthur Rackham, facing 
page 193 — " Sir Roger de Coverley," from a painting by Fred Morgan, facing page 291 — Portrait of a Child, 
from a painting by Lydia Field Emmet, facing page 387 — "Jack and Jill," painted by Arthur Rackham, 
facing page 481. 

For Very Little Folk. (Illustrated) 

His Birthdays. Verse Isobel Lyndall 80 

What Santa Claus Brought. Verse Ida Kenniston 284 

What Happened to the Squirrel Family Julia Johnson 361 

How Neddy Got a Ride. Verse Katharine M. Daland .... 466 

Picking Apples. Verse " 467 

The Nicest Place in the World Katharine L. Edgerly 554 

Nature and Science. (Illustrated) 72, 174, 269, 364, 458, 556 

St. Nicholas League. (Illustrated) 84, 179, 276, 372, 468, 563 

Books and Reading. (Illustrated) Hildcgarde Hawthorne ... 92 

188, 380, 476, 545 

The Letter-Box. (Illustrated) 382, 573 

The Riddle-Box. (Illustrated) 95, 191, 287, 383, 479, 574 



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


Frontispiece. The Sisters. From a painting by Lydia Field Emmet. Page 
The Land of Mystery. Serial Story Cleveland Moffett 3 

Illustrated by J. Paleologue, and from photographs. 

What Woodrow Wilson did for American Foot-ball. Sketch Parke H. Davis 13 

Illustrated by Otto F. Schmidt, and from photographs. 

A Rhyme of Hallowe'en. Verse George 0. Butler 20 

Illustrated by the Author. 

Beatrice Of Denewood. Serial Story < Emille Benson Knlpe and ) . 21 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. } Alden Arthur Knlpe ) 

Trials of Science. Verse C. F. Lester 29 

Illustrated by the Author. 

A Royal Release. Verse J. G. Francis 30 

Illustrated by the Author. 

"A Dutch Treat." Story Glulla Hossfeld 31 

Illustrated by Otto F. Schmidt. 

My Girl. Verse Pauline Frances Camp 36 

His Highness the Young Raja. Sketch Mabel Alberta spicer 37 

Illustrated from photographs. 

How Babe Escaped Polo. Story izola Forrester 43 

Illustrated by I. W. Taber. 

Across the Atlantic by Wireless. Sketch Francis Arnold Collins 46 

Illustrated by George Varian, and from photographs. 

" Whom the King Delighteth to Honor." John K. Cree 51 

Illustrated by Reginald Birch. 

The Marathon. Verse Fred Jacob 52 

Illustrated by C. F. Peters. 

The Brownies in the Grist-Mill Palmer Cox 56 

Illustrated by the Author. 

The First Thanksgiving Day. A Play Agnes Miller 61 

Illustrated by Otto Rebele. 

On Days of Storm. Verse Margaret Johnson 64 

" Calling." Picture. Drawn by Gertrude A. Kay 65 

" Sheltie "—the Children's Friend Flora Macdonaid 66 

Illustrated from photographs 

Pumpkin Time. Verse Edith Mallery 70 

Illustrated by Theresa Sturm Rogers. 

"When I 've Been Bad." Verse Anna May Cooper 71 

Illustrated by the Author. 

Nature and Science for Young Folks 72 


For Very Little Folk : 

His Birthdays Isabel Lyndau 80 

Illustrated by the Author. 
St. Nicholas League. With Awards of Prizes for Stories, Poems, 

Drawings, Photographs, and Puzzles 84 


Books and Reading Hlldegarde Hawthorne 92 


The Riddle-Box 95 

St. Nicholas Stamp Page Advertising page 36 

The Century Co. and its editors receive manuscripts and art material, submitted for publica- 
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FRANK H. SCOTT, President. —— », ^.^, Tm „^.^, «^ „ . „ — , „ „ 

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-Office Department, Canada. 


Best of All Christmas 1 

We've made it early so you can enjoy it the longer 

A great story by Baum, who wrote Conquerors who were more than I Ht I 
"The Wizard of Oz." Conquerors. fid 

Christmas Stories, and Great Distinguished Men Talk with I Hosts 
Excitement in The Serials. ST. NICHOLAS Boys. E« 

A Fascinating Present 



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These boys and girls have hurried up to see what is on the St. Nicholas Bulletin. Presently they will go aw; 
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? 


Numbers Coming Next 

More interesting and more beautiful than any issue you ve seen 

than The Great Arthur Rackham's Fine new competitions, verses. 
Pictures of Mother Goose. puzzles, and fun. 

will Hosts of Other Pictures for Surprising adventures of Billy 
Everybody. Bowline. 

it For All Boys and Girls 

? .JISl!§fe 


If Remember that our Bulletin tells only a little of what you can count on getting in future numbers. Hosts of 
■ clever, valuable things that you can't afford to miss will appear every month. 
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St. Nicholas Pet Department 

Announcements of reliable advertisers only are ac- 
cepted. The Department will gladly give advice 
to all those interested in pets. Address "PET DEPARTMENT," St. Nicholas, Union Square, New York. 

Delight the children with a 

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Send for our catalogue and show it to 
Father and Mother. 
PINE HILL PONY FARM, Medford, Massachusetts. 


Give your children a pony, the best playmate they 
can have summer or winter, and the gift they '11 
prize the most. Price list sent on application. 


Sandy Hook Box 58 Connecticut 

Established 187S 


All kinds, and everything for them 

Send for Catalogue "R" 

William Bartels Co. 

44 Cortland t St., N. Y. 


of quality. Herd established 1890. Christmas 
orders given special attention. Our long experi- 
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Our prices are reasonable. Write us your wants. 

JOEL MALMSBERRY & SON, n°*™ h benton 


. What breed of dog will make the best companion 

and playfellow ? 
What kind of a pet is the best for me to keep in 

the city ? 
Where can I get the name of a dealer whom I 

know to be reliable ? 
What shall I feed my pets? 

Let the St. Nicholas Pet Department Answer You. 

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V. M. HILLYER, A.B. (Harvard), Headmaster. 


For a Christmas Present 
sent to any child on trial as per circular. 
Children can set them. 
Give children the best and 
they will do their best. 
Send stamp for circulars and 
say I saw your Ad. in St. 
GAGE TOOL CO., Vineland, N. J. 




Musical Instruments 

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OATRONIZE the advertisers 
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The Greatest Gift to Growing Minds 

Answers Every Question a 
15 Great Departments of 

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The United States and All 
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Natural History 

Plant Life 
Stories and Legends 
Men and Women 
Our Own Life 

Book of Wonder 
Famous Books 
The Earth 

Poetry and Rhymes 
School Lessons, Golden Deeds 
Familiar Things 
Things to Make and Do 

The Book of Knowledge 

The Children's Encyclopedia 

Simplicity is the Secret. It is a great achievement to arrange the important and essential 
knowledge of the world in such a comprehensive scheme, and tell it in such simple language that 
the mind of a child might not only grasp it, but enjoy it and remember it. It is this simplicity 
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ness of THE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE, not only to children, but also to adults, especially 
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President John H. Finley of the College of the City of New York, in his introduction, says: ' 'Suppose 
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thirteen knozv tnore about the earth and the life on it than the wisest men knew a few generations ago." 

The Most Profitable Investment 

We expend time and care in selecting the proper food for the growing body, because we realize that it 
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10,000 Wonderful Pictures ! 350 Colored Plates 

•THE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE will never be surpassed in the value of its 
educational pictures ; pictures of the starry universe, The Sun and His Family 
of Worlds; pictures of animals, foreign and familiar; pictures of flower.s, trees 
and shrubs; charts and diagrams of our own marvellous bodies ; portraits of famous 
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country and a hundred other countries, showing the cities, the people and their 
customs ; reproductions of beautiful paintings and sculpture ; the picture-story of 
important industries; the whole beautiful, wonderful world is before us in nearly ■ pictures, which tell a story or illustrate a fact in a way that can never be I 

Read the sample pages carefully. Show 
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on the first blue sheet. Try to explain them 
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is need for The Book of Knowledge in your 
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2 West 45th Street New York 

These Two Booklets 
Mailed Free 


The Grolier Society, 2 West 45th Street, New York: 

Please mail me descriptive booklet of The Book of Know- 
ledge, and pamphlet "The Mind of a Child " 



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Every Home Should 


Harrison Gray Otis will write 
of "The Causes of Andrew 
Johnson's Impeachment." 

FRIENDSHIP with The Century 
American art to-day and acquaint- 
eign artists. It means that liberal 
wise parent values for the growing- 
tures of very special interest in the 


will tell the story of those events since the 
tors in our national life. The articles are 
throughout the country, men who were 
picture. This is history of living interest to 
Some of the contributors to this series, and 

Travel with 

through Dalmatia and Greece in the 
Hichens's brilliant pen, Jules Guerin's 
scenes of this unfamiliar land marvelously 

A New Story by Fran- 

Do you remember "Little Lord Fauntle- 
Garden"? Then you will want to read 
who has never grown up. It is to be The 
to be called " T. Tembarom." It is a 

The Story of 

Every one has heard how when governments want 
they use a cipher which is a combination of words 
secret. Hundreds of years ago, the Greeks sent 
over telegraph and cable wires. The November 
ious means of secret writing is a fascinating one ; 

Is The Century coming regularly into 
beautiful and interesting November 
any St. Nicholas subscriber. Address: 




means familiarity with all the best in 
ance with the choicest work of for- 
education in modern art which every 
up son and daughter. Other fea- 
new volume of The Century. 

After-the-War Series 

Civil War which have been important fac- 
being" written by distinguished editors 
part of the events and conditions they 
young people who would be well informed, 
their subjects, are given on these pages. 

Robert Hichens 

pages of The Century during 1 9 1 3. Robert 
wonderful brush, will make the people and 
alive for readers of The Century. 

ces Hodgson Burnett 

roy" and "Sarah Crewe"and "The Secret 
this new story by this writer of magic pen 
Century s serial novel during 19 13, and is 
story of New York and English rural life. 

Secret Writing 

to send secret orders to their ambassadors abroad, 
or figures that no one can read unless he is in the 
such messages by swift runners. Now they flash 
Century's story of how nations have invented ingen- 
and it is interestingly told by John H. Haswell. 

your home? If not, a copy of the 
number will be sent free, on request, to 
THE CENTURY CO., Union Square, New York 


A Boy writes to 

St. Nicholas : 

"I would like to see good 
books for boys my age ad- 
vertised in St. Nicholas. 
They are very hard to find." 

Try these: 


Crofton Chums 

The new book by that prince of American story-tellers, 

Ralph Henry Barbour, author of "Team-Mates," 

"Kingsford, Quarter," "The Crimson Sweater," etc. 

Every lad who read this lively serial in St. Nicholas will want the 
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reading for young people now available. Estimated at its true 
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"The St. NICHOLAS is a monthly magazine or book, for it is 
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-, Texas. 

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More stories, more articles, more pictures, more rhymes 

More delightful competitions in prose, verse, drawing, 
and photography- 
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Turn to the next page and see! 





is a famous English artist who makes wonderful pictures. He has drawn some mar- 
velous pictures — most of them in lovely color — of the best-known Mother Goose char- 
acters and rhymes. There have never been such fascinating Mother Goose pictures. 
They are to appear in the new volume of St. Nicholas. 


It is an alluring title, is n't it ? And every boy and girl who reads the thrilling chapters 
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will be the title of a series of articles telling how two fortunate boys saw 
something of the wonderful constructive engineering enterprises now under 
way in and around New York: " Five Hundred Feet Above Broadway," 
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is the kind of magical story which all the family reads and rereads. Fanny 
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it in the Christmas number. 


this is only the beginning of the good things coming in the new volume of 
the St. Nicholas. 



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Woman's Home \ 

381 4th Avc.New York 

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Vol. XL 


No. 1 



Author of " Careers of Danger and Daring," " Through the Wall," " The Battle," etc. 

Chapter I 


Through the purple stillness of the night, in the 
strangest spot on earth, a boy of sixteen and his 
mother sat on a ledge of grayish brown stone, 
watching the August moon as it sank redder and 
redder through a bank of early morning mist, 
there on the far horizon where the sea of sand 
met the sky. This ledge of stone, the lowest step 
of the Great Pyramid, was about as high as a 
dining-room table, and as long as two city blocks. 
It was hewn perfectly flat, top and side, save 
where the stone had crumbled. Two or three 
feet back of this ledge, rose the second step, ex- 
actly like the first, but a little shorter in length. 
And back of this rose another step, and then an- 
other, scores and scores of steps, tiering away 
upward in a huge mass that narrowed and nar- 
rowed, until, far up against the velvet stars, it 
came to a dull point. This point, higher than the 
highest church steeple, was the meeting-place of 
the four steep, stone hills of steps that formed the 
four faces of this wonderful pyramid. 

"Mother, look!" cried the boy, and he pointed 
up to a band of opalescent color that had sud- 
denly settled, like a flashing jewel, upon the top- 
most tip of the world-famous tomb of Cheops. 

"Yes, dear," said the woman, softly. "It 's the 
dawn. I want you to remember this as long as 
you live, Harold. There are n't many American 
boys who can say that they have sat at the foot 
of the Great Pyramid and watched the moon set 
and the sun rise. Look there — toward Cairo !" 

She rose and turned to the east, where the deli- 
cate pink and purple tints of breaking day formed 
an exquisite background to the white domes and 
minarets of the distant city. 

"Is n't it beautiful ! Is n't it wonderful !" Mrs. 
Evans murmured, and her face shone transfig- 
ured. It was a face wherein was blended, with a 
high-bred American beauty, that strength and 
nobility of soul that come through fine, womanly 
achievement, and suffering bravely endured. 

"Tell you what we ought to do, Mumsy," sug- 
gested the boy in a matter-of-fact tone. "If 
you '11 let me boost you up a few steps, we '11 get 
a corking view of good old Egypt and the good 
old river Nile, 'drink her down, down, down.' 
Only she looks awfully muddy to drink." 

"Harold, have you no reverence ?" sighed the 

"Excuse me, Mother. You see, I 'm so glad to 
be off that wobbly steamer. Um-m ! It 's good 
to be on solid earth again ! Besides, I never met 
a pyramid before." He laid his arm playfully on 

Copyright, 1912, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 



her shoulder. "I never met a pyramid, Mumsy, 
at four in the morning, and — no breakfast, and — I 
don't know the right line of talk." 

Mrs. Evans smiled as she met the gleam in 
her son's dancing gray eyes. 

"Shall I be heroic? Shall I be the great Na- 
poleon? Eh — Mumsy?" 

With an agile leap, Harold sprang to the step 
above, and struck an attitude. 

"You 're a great monkey!" she said; and then, 
more seriously, "Sit down, dear. I want to talk 
to you." 

Harold's quick ear caught the change in his 
mother's tone, and he came to her side in half- 
alarm, his antics all forgotten. 

"What is it, little Mother? Tell me." He took 
her slender hand in his, and patted it fondly. 
"You seem sort of— sort of strange." 

And now, suddenly, began the most momentous 
hour in Harold Evans's life, the hour that 
changed him, one might say, from a boy to a 
man. Some camels with swarthy drivers lurched 
across the sandy way, but he barely noticed them. 
An Arab boy with harsh cries led a flock of goats 
to a well under neighboring palm-trees, but the 
young American did not see them. The sun, in . 
incredible glory and mystery, crept up over the 
parched plain, over the rolling yellow waste of 
Sahara, but Harold scarcely turned to marvel, so 
absorbed was he in the startling story that his 
mother was telling him. 

"My son," she began, "I know you have won- 
dered why I sent for you to come over here, all 
the way from America. I know you did not want 
to come. You thought it foolish." 

"Not exactly foolish, Mother," put in the boy, 
"but, of course, I know we have n't very much 
money — that was one of the things Father told 
me last year when he took me back to America, 
that a missionary doctor did n't exactly abound in 
this world's goods, and that I must keep down my 
school expenses as much as I could. Besides, I 
thought you were coming back to be with me. I 
thought you decided that, Mumsy, after Father 
— died." He dropped his voice as he spoke the 
last word. 

"I know, dear, that 's what I wrote you; that 's 
what I meant to do, but — there 's something I 
have n't told you, Harold, about your father. It 's 
not bad news, my boy, it 's good news, blessed 
news ; but I could not write it. I dared not, and, 
if it 's true, you '11 see why I could not go to 
America, and why it was necessary that you 
should come here." 

Her voice was tense with emotion. 

"But, Mother," he said slowly, "I don't under- 
stand. How could there be such news now?" 

"Oh, but there is, my boy !" the mother cried hap- 
pily. "Yes, dear, and I can tell it to no one but you. 
We are everything to each other, are n't we? And 
this is a big thing to face — such a wonderfully 
big thing that — " she paused as if afraid to go on. 

The boy stared in half-understanding. 

"Mother ! You don't mean— you can't mean — " 
'he stammered. 

She turned to him with radiant eyes. 

"My son, your father is not dead." 

"Not dead!" he cried. 

Harold's mind flashed back to that morning at 
St. Paul's school about a year before;, when the 
terrible cable had come, forwarded from Con- 
stantinople. His father, his brave father, who 
had given his whole life to helping others, had 
been killed on his return journey from America, 
killed mysteriously in this ancient land of Egypt, 
perhaps by fierce tribesmen in the desert. And 
now his mother said that this was not true. His 
father had not been killed ! 

"Mother, tell me !" begged the boy. "Tell me 

Then, in low words, she told him, and, as 
Harold listened, he bit his lips, and his boyish 
frown deepened. 

"Let 's go over this again, Mumsy," he said 
gently, when she had finished. "Let me tell it. I 
want to be sure I 've got it straight." 

And briefly Harold reviewed the story of his 
father's disappearance and accepted death the 
previous August. It was a story that had made 
a great stir in the missionary world. 

For thirty years, Dr. Wicklow Evans had been 
a picturesque figure in that lawless, blood-stained 
mountain province of the Turkish sultan known 
as Anatolia. He was a good American, yet so 
active had he been, and so much had he found to 
do in this benighted region, fighting the Asiatic 
cholera, teaching the stupid villagers to save their 
children from eye disease, and generally letting 
his light shine, both as a physician and a man, 
that in this long period he made only two journeys 
to his native land, the first seventeen years before, 
when he had gone home to be married, the second 
only the previous summer, when he had returned 
to enter Harold in St. Paul's school. 

Up to this time (when he was fifteen), all 
of Harold's life had been spent in Adana, that 
strange Turkish city lost in the Taurus Moun- 
tains, five hundred miles east of Constantinople, 
five hundred miles west of Bagdad, four hundred 
miles north of Jerusalem. Here the boy lived the 
free, wild, missionary life, making long horseback 
journeys from village to village, sleeping in caves 
and mud houses, learning to drive a loaded araba 
(a sort of gipsy wagon) across a mountain tor- 



library, Umv. « 
North ( '%»«*'■«• 

rent, down one steep bank and up another, with- 
out ever spilling a spoon, learning to fight wild 
dogs in the villages, learning to use the sling 
native fashion — the real David and Goliath ar- 
ticle,— knowing the signs of the wild boar and the 


way of meeting him, picking up the Turkish lan- 
guage, and yet remaining an out-and-out Ameri- 
can boy whose greatest pleasure, through long 
winter evenings, was in reading and re-reading 
old copies of American magazines under the cheery 
light of a Rochester lamp, while his mother buzzed 
a Singer sewing-machine and his father read the 
weekly London Times, and while Nasr-ed-Din 
chanted dolefully outside the compound walls. 

After settling Harold in St. Paul's school, Dr. 
Evans had returned by the way of Marseilles, and 
had written his wife from Alexandria, saying 
that he would stop over a steamer there, so that 
he might run up to Cairo and see the Great Pyra- 
mid. It had always . been 
one of the doctor's ambi- 
tions to explore the mys- 
teries of Cheops. He said 
he would take the following 
steamer, three days later, 
and proceed to Jaffa, and 
then to Alexandretta, the 
disembarking port for 

This good news made 
Mrs. Evans so happy that 
she immediately set off on 
the rough horseback jour- 
ney to Alexandretta, and 
when the steamer came to 
anchor and the little boats 
pulled off, there was the 
eager wife full of joy at the 
thought of seeing her hus- 
band again, and giving him 
a pleasant surprise. 

But, alas, the doctor was 
not on board ! Nor did the 
next steamer bring him. 
Nor did any letter or any 
word come from him. In 
vain the distracted wife 
made effort upon effort. In 
vain the American consul 
in Cairo, the American 
minister in Constantinople, 
did what they could. No- 
thing availed. No news of 
Wicklow Evans was ever 
received, and as the weeks 
and months passed, it was 
generally agreed that this 
fearless and admirable man 
had perished, in some sinis- 
ter way, another victim in 
the long list of mysterious 
disappearances, so common 
in the East, where neither the criminal nor the 
motive are ever brought to light. 

"That much is clear, is n't it?" resumed Harold. 
"You thought Father was dead. You thought so 
for months. You went back to Adana to settle 
up things before returning to America to be with 
me. You were going to leave this forsaken old 
land, and — " 

"Don't say that, Harold ! It 's the land where 



your father and I have spent the happiest and 
most useful years of our lives. It 's the land 
where you were born, dear." 

"All right, Mumsy. I like the land well enough, 
barring some of the people, but the point is, you 
suddenly changed your mind and sent for me to 
come over here. You would n't tell me why. You 
just said come. So I came. And you met me 
yesterday at the steamer — say, but I was seasick ! 
And we took the train up to Cairo. And we 
drove straight out to this gorgeous old pyramid. 
And now you 've told me this extraordinary thing 
— this most extraordinary thing. Why do you 
look at me like that, Mumsy?" 

Under stress of emotion the boy had been rat- 
tling on nervously, while his mother watched him 
with sad understanding eyes. 

"Take the basket, Harold," she said quietly. 
"We '11 go over to those palm-trees where there 's 
shade and water, and we '11 feel better for a little 
breakfast. Then I '11 tell you more." 

They crossed the sand in silence, and when the 
mother spoke again it was to ask a blessing on 
their simple meal, which was spread on a massive 
slab of reddish stone that had once been part of 
the tomb of a forgotten king. 

"Bless, O Lord, this food to our use, and us to 
Thy service" — her voice broke here, and she re- 
peated the words with almost rapturous devotion. 

When they had finished eating, they rested in 
the shade of the waving palms, and again Mrs. 
Evans tried to overcome Harold's doubts. 

"I know you see nothing in what I 've said, my 
son," she began gently. "You think I am de- 

Harold hesitated before her searching eyes. 

"Well, Mother, it seems as though there is so 
awfully little to go upon. I mean so little that is 
— er — tangible. You think Father is living be- 
cause you feel that he is living, but — " 

"I knozv he is living !" she breathed. "The truest 
things are the things you know. We were so 
close together, your father and I, that — it is n't 
like America over here — this is a land of mys- 

"But if Father is living, why has n't he sent 
word?" interrupted the boy. 

"He has n't been able to send word. Have you 
forgotten what I told you?" 

"I remember everything, Mother. Father had 
enemies who wanted to drive him out of Adana, 
and they threatened him and threatened you, and, 
at last, they saw their chance, and took him, and 
now they 're keeping him a prisoner somewhere. 
It 's all right as a story, but we 've got nothing to 
go upon. We don't know ivho carried Father off, 
or where they 've got him, or anything about it." 

"We 're going to know something about it very 
soon— perhaps to-day," Mrs. Evans said firmly. 


"My boy, we must have faith. If we ask for 
guidance, it will be given us. All through this 
lonely year, I have asked for guidance, and that 
is why we are here, now, at this Great Pyramid." 

She spoke as one inspired, and Harold looked 
at her in awe-struck wonder. 

"You mean that we may find out something 
about Father from— from this pyramid?" 

"Yes, dear. You know it is the last place your 
father visited, and there are more things in the 
world than that two and two make four, Harold. 
I have never been inside this pyramid, but three 
times during the past year, I have seen inside 
of it." 

"Seen inside of the pyramid ! You mean — in 
a dream ?" 

"No. It was n't a dream. I don't know what it 
was, but I know it was real ; it was true. I saw a 
stone chamber with a low ceiling, so low that it 
was not much higher than your head." 

"I?" exclaimed the boy. "Did you see me in 
this stone chamber ?" 

"As plainly as I see you now. You were hold- 
ing a candle, and were searching for something 
near an opening in a wall." 

"An opening? What kind of an opening?" 

"A small square hole about a foot wide. The 
wall was polished, and in the middle of the floor 
there was an immense gray stone, shaped like a 
trunk, only larger. And on each side of this 
stone, there were two other stones of the same 
shape, but smaller." 

"Five stones like five big trunks !" mused 
Harold. "Well, Mumsy, did I find anything— 
when you saw me?" 

"I don't know, my boy. I only saw you search- 

"And you saw this three times?" 

"Three times," she nodded. 

"And you know there 's a chamber like that in- 
side the Great Pyramid ? Nobody ever told you 


"You never saw a picture of it ? You never 
read about it ?" 


"You just know it 's there?" 

"I just know it 's there." 

Harold was silent for some moments, his brows 
drawn together in tight perplexity. Then he 
tapped his foot and pulled at his under lip, and 
finally he murmured softly, "By George !" with a 
look of astonishment. 

"Whatisit,dear ? What is it thatsurprisesyou ?" 



"Why — er— I happened to remember something 
that seems to work in with your two-and-two- 
rnake-four idea. Along in June, Mother, before I 
got your letter to sail, I went down to Asbury 
Park with the boys on a school excursion." 


"Yes, I remember you wrote me about it." 

"Well, there was a gipsy camp there, and a 
woman with big gold ear-rings told my fortune." 


"She said I was going on a long journey across 
water. She got that right, did n't she? And s'.e 
said I was going to get an important letter." 

"That was my letter." 

"No, no, because this was to be a letter written 
on stone. The boys laughed at that, for how 
could a letter be written on stone?" 

"Go on, dear," urged his mother. 

"The gipsy woman said I was to find this letter 
in a house without a window, where there was a 
bed that had never been slept in. Sounds crazy, 
does n't it? A house without a window!" 

Mrs. Evans thought intently, and then, with a 
cry of sudden understanding, "No, it 's true! 
Don't you see? The house without a window is — 
there!" She pointed to the somber mass of 
Cheops. "The bed that has never been slept in 

is the sarcophagus in the king's 


"By George !" repeated Harold, 

stirred at last to genuine excitement. 

"And the letter written on stone? 

What do you make of that, Mumsy ?" 
"The letter written on stone is a 

message from your father. It 's 

waiting for us— there. You must 

find it, my boy ; you must find it." 

Chapter II 


Harold Evans— they called him 
"Sandy" Evans at St. Paul's school, 
where he played short-stop on the 
nine — had inherited from his father 
a certain practical businesslike qual- 
ity that had often served him. "It 's 
a sensible kid!" his room-mate used 
to say. "No stop-over, but when he 
starts, he stays." 

And now that Harold (for his 
mother's sake) was enlisted in this 
pyramid adventure, he proposed to 
see it through. If there was only 
one chance in a hundred that his 
father was alive, that father whom he 
had always looked up to as to a wise 
elder brother, why, he 'd take the 
chance if it brought him up against 
the toughest old dragon in Turkey. 
His father ! The boy shut his lips, 
choking back a gulp, and made ready 
to tackle Cheops. Where was this 
chamber with the five stone trunks? 

"Say, Mumsy, how many rooms are there in the 
pyramid? Got any idea?" he asked presently, and, 
as she shook her head, he added, "Let 's go to 
the hotel and get a guide-book, and talk to the 
clerk, and we '11 find out where we 're at." 

As they walked along the edge of the desert 
toward the Mena House, about five minutes dis- 
tant, they caught sight of a trolley-car laden with 
tourists speeding along the broad avenue, bordered 
with arching acacia-trees, that leads from Cairo. 
"It seems like a desecration," sighed Mrs. 
Evans, "to have a sputtering trolley-line running 
to this sacred spot." 

"I don't see that, Mother. The pyramids are n't 
any more sacred if you pay five dollars to see 'em 




in a carriage, are they? Hello! that must be 
where you go in !" 

He pointed to a dark opening near the base of 
Cheops where a group of white-robed Arabs were 
seated cross-legged on the great stones, two of 
which slanted together upward, as if guarding an 
entrance underneath. 

As they approached the hotel, a grizzled Turk 
in red fez, red slippers, and baggy blue trousers 
came forward respectfully to meet them. 

"Here 's Deeny, Mother. Hello, Deeny ! Sa- 
bah hire olsoun I" 1 said the boy, falling naturally 
into Turkish, as he saw their old family servant. 

"Choke eyi, effendi," 2 answered the Turk, 
salaaming three times, from the eyes and the lips 
and the heart, as is the custom. 

Deeny — his real name was Nasr-ed-Din — had 
been an important member of the Evans house- 
hold for fifteen years. He had watched over 
Harold as a baby, and had accompanied Dr. 
Evans on scores of perilous expeditions, acting as 
a faithful body-guard. 

"I can't make a Christian of him," the doctor 
used to say, "and I 've given up trying. I tell him 
he 's a Christian without knowing it." 

In spite of his sixty years, Nasr-ed-Din was 
as strong as a horse. One day he unloaded a 
small upright piano that had been brought to 
Adana on a squeaking bullock cart, and carried 
it into the house on his shoulders. And he stood 
there impassively for two or three minutes, with- 
out ever thinking of putting his burden down, 
while Mrs. Evans decided where the instrument 
should be placed. 

Nasr-ed-Din had grieved deeply over his mas- 
ter's loss, and had refused to leave Mrs. Evans's 
service. He would do whatever she wished, go 
wherever she said. He would make the beds, 
cook the food, wash the clothes, anything except 
leave the lady he had served so long. And so he 
had stayed and proved himself invaluable. 

"Say, Deeny, d' ye know anything about this 
pyramid?" questioned Harold. "Ever see it be- 
fore ? Ever been inside it ?" 

"Yok," 3 said the servant, clucking his tongue, 
and lifting his chin in decided negative. 

"No? Well, we 've got a job there, you and I, 
and I wish you 'd get busy. Have a talk with 
those Arabs. Ask 'em if they know about a room 
with five stone trunks in it. We 've got to find 
it. See?" 

After some further explanation, Harold sent 
the resourceful Turk off in search of information, 
while he addressed himself to the hotel clerk. 
Mrs. Evans, meantime, went up-stairs to her 
room to write some letters. 

1 How are you ? 2 Ve 

The hotel clerk, a red-faced Englishman with 
an important manner, had never heard of a cham- 
ber in the pyramid containing five stone trunks. 
He did n't believe there was such a chamber, but 
admitted he was not an authority, being too busy. 

In the library, Harold found a book about the 
Great Pyramid, and studied this diligently for an 
hour. It was pretty hard reading. There were 
pages of figures and diagrams like geometry. 

"Have you found anything?" asked his mother, 
when she joined him later. 

The boy looked up with flushed face and tum- 
bled hair. "Have I found anything? I should 
say I have. Listen to this." Then he read from 
the page : " 'The length of the earth's polar axis 
is assumed by pyramidists to be 500,000,000 pyra- 
mid inches, or 7891.41 pyramid miles of 63,360 
pyramid inches to the mile, or 7899.30 English 
miles.' Now that 's what I call interesting !" he 

"Harold, what is the use?" his mother began, 
but the boy stopped her with a grandiloquent 
wave of the hand. 

"Madam, I know what you 're going to ask. 
You want to know what is the use of this Great 
Pyramid. You want to know why it was built. 
Madam, I can give you nine answers — all differ- 
ent. Listen !" He turned to the index of the 
book. " 'It was built as a barrier against desert 
sands. As an imitation of Noah's Ark. As 
Satan's Seat. As a filtering reservoir. As 
Joseph's granary. As a gift of the Queen of 
Sheba. As a tomb of the King. As a standard 
of weights and measures.' And finally, to please 
the ladies. I like the last one, Mumsy," he laughed. 

"I wish you would n't trifle, Harold. Did you — 
did you learn anything about the— the chamber I 
described?" Mrs. Evans asked anxiously. 

Harold saw the tenseness of his mother's look, 
and answered affectionately, hiding the fact that 
he had searched the pages vainly for any mention 
of such a chamber. 

"Don't you worry, Mumsy. Deeny and I are 
going into the pyramid now, and if those five 
stone trunks are there — " 

"They are there; they must be there!" she in- 

"Then we '11 find 'em. You can bank on that. 
I '11 go right over and see what Deeny 's doing." 

He kissed his mother fondly and told her to 
cheer up, and said he 'd be back in a couple_ of 
hours or so. 

"God bless you, my boy !" she whispered, and 
there were tears in her eyes as he turned to go. 
"I '11 be waiting at the mouth of the pyramid to 
meet you when you come out," she added, 
ry well, sir. 3 No. 



Alas, they little knew how many weary weeks 
and months must pass before they would meet 
again ! 

Chapter III 


Ten minutes later, Harold entered the Great 
Pyramid, making his way carefully along a pas- 
sage about four feet square that 
slanted downward at a fairly steep 
incline for about sixty feet, and then 
slanted up again. Two Arabs, chosen 
by Nasr-ed-Din, went before him, 
and the Turk came last. Each one 
carried a candle, and as the bent pro- 
cession moved along, their flaring 
shadows danced strangely on the yel- 
lowish walls. 

"Deeny, what are those fellows 
carrying sticks for?" whispered Har- 

Nasr-ed-Din gestured that he did 
not know. 

At the top of the second incline, 
the passage straightened out and ran 
forward on a level for a hundred 
feet or so, where it opened into a 
large room, about eighteen feet in 
each dimension. 

"Queen's chambaire," announced 
one of the white-robed guides, hold- 
ing his candle high. 

"Hello ! you speak English !" said 
the boy. 

"Yes, sair. Vair good Engleesh. 
My name, Saide. Look out, sair." 

At this moment, Harold was star- 
tled by a whizzing sound, and a num- 
ber of small, swiftly moving crea- 
tures darted through the candle-light. 

"What are they? Birds?" he cried. 

"Bats. Turn your back, sair. They I 
hit you, or— bite you." 

As he spoke, Saide swung his stick 
about him vigorously, and moved toward a long, 
narrow recess in the wall, shaped like a Gothic 
window. It was out of this recess that the bats 
seemed to be flying. 

"Do bats bite?" 

"Peermid bats bite, sair. If he catch your 
cheek, peermid bat cut heem out a hole." 

Harold asked what this recess in the wall was for. 

"Queen's say-coph-gus," answered Saide. 

"Oh, I see !" smiled the boy. "And where is 
it now, the say-coph-gus?" 

Saide expressed the pious opinion that Allah 
alone could answer that question. 

Harold walked back and forth about this cham- 
ber, which was bare and empty, except for clouds 
of irritating dust. 

The floor was perfectly even, with no sign of 
stone trunks. 

"Try the next room," he ordered, and the pro- 
fession started back along the same level passage. 
"Wait ! Let me go first." He pushed ahead with 

Copyright by Uiidenvoud & Underwood. 

the zeal of an explorer, and Nasr-ed-Din came 
close behind, which was fortunate, for they had 
not advanced more than fifty feet along the dark 
passage, when a shriek of terror resounded 
through the pyramid. 

"You black scoundrels ! Let go of me ! Help ! 

Harold sprang forward, and presently came 
upon two Arabs who were struggling with a 
young tourist, pressing him down, with threaten- 
ing gestures, over an opening that yawned like a 
well in the floor of the passage. 

"Come on, Deeny ! Quick !" shouted the boy. 




Here was a white man in trouble, perhaps a fel- 
low-countryman, and, without waiting for further 
explanation, Sandy swung on the nearest Arab in 
good American style, catching him cleanly on the 
jaw, and tumbling him backward in dazed as- 
tonishment. Nasr-ed-Din, meantime, had seized 
the other Arab by the scruff of his neck, and, 
with huge strength, was dangling him over the 
black gulf, while the fellow rolled his eyes 
piteously and howled for mercy. 

"Brakkahyim-mi, cffcndi?" asked the Turk, 
turning to Harold, which, being interpreted, is, 
"Shall I drop him, sir?" 

"No, no ! not drop !" shouted Saide from be- 
hind, and explained rapidly that this opening 
led straight down into the rock for an immense 
distance under the pyramid. The man would be 
dashed to death. 

But the Turk paid no attention, and still held 
his captive at arm's-length, squirming over the 

"Brakkahyim-mi , cffcndi?" repeated Nasr-ed- 
Din, his eyes flashing. 

"Of course we can't drop him," said Harold 
to the stranger; "but what shall we do with him?" 

"It would serve him jolly well right," said the 
latter. He talked about dropping mc, but— oh, 
well, let the poor wretch go." 

"Koy varsin (Let him go), Deeny," said Har- 
old, as he motioned to the Turk, and the terrified 
Arab scurried away, muttering. 

Then Sandy turned to his new acquaintance. 
He was a boy of about seventeen, tall and smartly 
dressed, and he had an air about him that made 
Harold doubt whether he was American or Eng- 

"I tell you, old chap, I owe you an awful lot," 
began the stranger, awkwardly. 

"Glad I happened along," nodded Harold. 

"Stopping at the Mena House?" 


"So am I. Suppose you 're just starting in? 
I 'm just through." 

"You mean starting in the pyramid? Yes," 
answered Sandy. 

"Rotten place ! They ought to have electric 
lights here and an elevator. Why not ? Say, my 
name is John McGreggor." 

"Mine is Harold Evans." 

"I 'm from Chicago." 

"I 'm an American, too. Say, you 'd better take 
my man Deeny along with you. Oh, yes, I '11 be 
all right until he comes back. They won't try to 
hold up anybody else to-day. Besides Deeny 
picked out these Arabs of mine, and Deeny knows 
his business." 

"That 's awfully decent of you," said the other 

boy. "I '11 send him right back. By-by ! See 
you at dinner !" he called, as he drifted away, 
candle in hand, through the long, stone passage, 
straight as a telescope, that is said to have pointed 
exactly to the north star, some six thousand years 
ago, when the pyramid was built. 

As soon as McGreggor had vanished, Harold 
came back to the business in hand. 

"Now, then," he turned to Saide, who had 
been squatting discreetly beyond the well, "we '11 
try the next room." 

"Yes. sair. King's chambaire— by Great Gal- 

The Arab sprang forward with nimble bare 
feet into another passage, wider than the first 
and lofty as a church, that stretched upward in a 
steep incline like a strange mountain railway 
with a four-foot depressed level between its 
stone tracks. At the upper end of this Great 
Gallery, was a chapel-like vestibule that led into 
the vast chamber where mighty Cheops was laid 
to rest in his sarcophagus. 

This was the first object that caught Harold's 
eye, the scarred and battered red-rock casket that 
has stood there, lidless and empty, these many 
centuries. Then the boy noticed that the walls 
of this king's chamber were defaced with many 
names and inscriptions, and he studied these 
mural writings eagerly, moving his candle back 
and forth ; but he came upon nothing more im- 
portant than the foolish scrawlings of tourists 
that had passed. 

"See jynte," exclaimed Saide, proudly, pointing 
to the thin, straight lines, like pencil rulings, that 
showed the joining of the huge stone blocks in the 
walls, some of them ten feet square. "Very small 
jynte. No leetle bit you can put yer finger up." 

"Next chamber," directed Harold, briefly. 

The guide held out his brown hands, palms up, 
and lifted his shoulders apologetically. 

"Ees no more chambaire, sair," he replied. 


"No more chambaire, only—" He hesitated, 
then turned and led the way back to the upper 
end of the Great Gallery, where, he pointed up- 
ward among the dim shadows. There in the 
topmost corner of the lofty vault, Harold made 
out some wooden cross-bars set across the walls. 


"Very hard, sair. Must have ladders, ropes. 
Dangeruss !" 

"That 's all right. Ah ! Here 's Deeny ! Did 
you get him out all right? Good. Deeny, we 're 
going up there. You make him get the stuff, and 
— hustle. I '11 wait here." This in vigorous 
Turkish, which Nasr-ed-Din forthwith translated 
into Arabic with fear-compelling gestures. 




Saide turned pleadingly to Harold. "You 
geeve bakshish, sair. You geeve bakshish?" 

The extra bakshish being promised, Saide and 
Nasr-ed-Din hurried off, leaving Sandy with the 
other guide, whose name turned out to be 


Mahomet. Mahomet explained that they were 
now going to climb to the mysterious five cham- 
bers that tier above the king's chamber, and are 
never visited except in rare cases by some very 
venturesome tourist. 

In a surprisingly short time, Saide and the 
Turk returned, their faces glistening from their 
efforts, and their arms filled with coils of rope. 

With fascinated interest Harold watched Saide 

as the Arab, by some miracle of skill, worked his 
way, foot by foot, up the precipitous corner walls 
of the Great Gallery with ropes hitched around 
his waist and a lighted candle in his teeth. 

"Now, sair, your turn," he called, when he 
had reached the cross-bars, 
and his voice resounded 
through the pyramid with 
strange reverberations. 

If Sandy Evans had been 
an archaeologist or an Egyp- 
tologist, he would have taken 
careful note of the next 
hour's exploring. It was a 
great experience. First (after 
reaching the cross-bars) he 
crawled on hands and knees 
through a rough horizontal 
tunnel, thick with dust, that 
led into an upright shaft full 
of twittering bats. Up this 
shaft he wriggled and pres- 
ently came to a jagged hole, 
like a fireplace out of a 
chimney, that opened into the 
first chamber. Then, a yard 
or two above this, to another 
hole that opened into the 
second chamber. And so on. 
Before he had gone far, 
Sandy Evans was a woeful 
sight, streaming with sweat 
and smudged with dirt, but 
he shut his teeth and pressed 
on. He was looking for five 
stone trunks. 

The first chamber was a 
good-sized room but ridicu- 
lously low, not over -two feet 
high in the lowest part, and 
scarcely four in the highest. 
The second chamber was 
about a foot higher, and the 
third chamber was higher 
still, so that Sandy could 
stand upright in it. In each 
of these chambers the ceil- 
ings were formed of great 
granite blocks, smooth and level, whereas the 
floor blocks offered uneven surfaces like rough- 
hewn boulders. And in the third chamber — there 
was no doubt about it — these boulders took the 
form of monster trunks, five of them, ranged 
along side by side with narrow spaces between. 

As Sandy lifted his candle and made out these 
grim gray forms one after another in the gloom, 
he gave a little gasp and then stood rigid. 



"By George! it 's true!" he murmured, swal- 
lowing hard. "Mother did see it !" 

Then he turned to the wall, and, just opposite 
the middle trunk, he discovered a small square 
opening. "That 's true, too ! It 's all true !" 

Now the boy knew that he was about to find a 
message from his father. He knew it. And, 
going to the wall with a strange, confident faith, 
he examined the polished stone about the small 
square opening. There it was ! His father's 
handwriting ! 

To Mary or Harold or Nasr-ed-Din: 

You mast go to Jerusalem and find the Greek monk, Basil, 
■who has a carpenter shop in the tower of the Church of the 
Holy Sepulcher, and ask him to 

It ended abruptly with no date and no signa- 
ture, but the handwriting was unmistakable. 

Harold stood staring like one in a trance. This 
incredible thing had happened. His father was 
alive and— in his great peril he had tried to write 
a message to those who loved him. He had tried 
to tell them what to do, but — he must have been 
interrupted— perhaps by his enemies— perhaps — 

A rush of sickening fears made the boy weak. 
He staggered away from the wall, but — it seemed 
as if he could not go on. He leaned heavily 
against a stone mound and tried to collect him- 
self. He must go on. He must hurry back to his 
mother with this wonderful news. He must 
hurry, but — 

The thought of his mother gave Harold new 
strength. His mother ! It was her love and trust 
that had brought them this great joy. He must 
be brave for her. He must think of everything 
and — the first thing was to carefully copy down 
these precious words of his father. There ! Now 
— to start on the downward climb. 

A few moments later they were safely back in 
the Great Gallery, and two minutes after that, a 

( To be con 

smudged and perspiring, but radiantly happy, 
youth sprang out from the pyramid entrance and 
looked about for his mother. She had promised 
to be here, waiting for him. Where was she? 

"Oh, Mumsy, hoo-oo!" 

He gave the familiar call, and listened confi- 
dently for the answer. But no answer came. 
Queer. She must be about somewhere. Ah, yes, 
she had gone over to their breakfast place under 
the palms. He strode across the sand, but, no, 
she was not there ! Filled with a vague alarm, 
the boy hurried back to the hotel. His mother 
must have grown tired waiting. Perhaps she had 
a headache. Had the clerk seen Mrs. Evans? 
The clerk shrugged his shoulders at Sandy's dis- 
reputable appearance. No, he had not seen Mrs. 
Evans. She went out a couple of hours ago, and 
had not returned. 

Sandy felt a sudden gripping at the heart. His 
mother had not returned. He looked at his watch. 
Three o'clock. How the time had passed ! Wait. 
Perhaps she had gone to her room, and the 
stupid clerk had not seen her. Sandy raced up 
the stairs two steps at a time, but he came down 
slowly. No, not there. And no little note on the 
pincushion. Where could his mother be? 

At six o'clock, the boy was still searching. At 
nine o'clock, he was still searching. At midnight, 
he went to his room, heart-sick and weary. He 
had learned nothing. He had found nothing. 
No one had seen his mother. No one knew any- 
thing about his mother. 

Sandy knelt down and tried to say his prayers. 
He pulled off his shoes and threw himself on the 
bed. And he lay there for a long time, listening 
to Nasr-ed-Din, who sat down below in the 
purple shadows under the window, crooning one 
of. those strange minor chants that, for centuries, 
have relieved bruised hearts, in this land of beauty 
and mystery and pain. 

tin ued. ) 

'—""' ^ J-' " 

-^at W-WNiSi** 

f>-**^si*jM*v->H..\.<:-^^.- ~. •*>•..-..■ ■ -■■■■■■ —-—.■»■ 


._ _^ 






Author of "Foot-ball, the American Intercollegiate Game," and 
epresentative of Princeton University on the Rules Committee 

In Georgia's beautiful city of Augusta, about 
forty-five years ago, a young Virginia boy was 
attending school. The lad was slightly over ten 
years of age, but for his youth was strongly built 
and athletic. His hair was black and straight, 
and his skin, naturally dark, was deepened in 
color by the tan of a vigorous outdoor life in the 
southern summers. His countenance was fea- 
tured principally by a strong jaw, a sharp pro- 
jecting nose, and two distinct eyebrows beneath 
which a pair of dark eyes continually snapped 
and sparkled with alertness. 

If such a figure and face denote unusual mental 
and temperamental characteristics, in this lad 
these signs did not mislead. He was quick of 
wit, full of courage and determination, a trifle 
pugnacious, perhaps, but possessing an abundance 
of good humor. Inventive, talkative, and fond 
of companionship, he easily was the center around 
whom the life of that school, both in the class- 
room and on the playground, daily revolved. 
Who, pray, was this boy? He was Woodrow 

Those were the years that immediately fol- 
lowed the Civil War. Some may think that it is 
a long, long road from war to sport, but it is to 
our terrible Civil War that this country owes the 
early advent of organized athletics. The soldiers 
of the north and south during this conflict found 
no happier pastimes with which to while away 
the homesickness of camp life than field games 
in which a number of men participated in team 
play. It was these soldiers of the Civil War that 
upon their disbandment carried the new game of 
base-ball far and wide throughout the country. 
Likewise, the soldiers in camp played foot-ball. 
The ball, it is true, was only an inflated beef 
bladder obtained from the regimental butcher. 
The teams were composed of all comrades who 
desired to play, and the game consisted merely in 
kicking the ball across a given line. Nevertheless 

it was foot-ball, vigorous, pleasurable, and fasci- 

Thus it came about that base-ball and foot-ball 
were the two principal games that young Wood- 
row Wilson and his companions played in that 
Georgia school forty-five years ago. But it is 
with foot-ball rather than base-ball that the name 
of Woodrow Wilson chiefly will be associated, 
for, as player, coach, and councilor, he came in 
contact with the intercollegiate game at the three 
most critical periods in its history, and so con- 
tributed to its development that he fairly is en- 
titled to a place among the brilliant fellows who 
have wrought out of English Rugby a distinctive 
and truly American intercollegiate game. 

About 1870, Woodrow Wilson moved to Co- 
lumbia, South Carolina, and entered the private 
school of Charles H. Barnwell. Here, also, the 
boys played base-ball and foot-ball. One of them 
had obtained a copy of the rules of the "London 
Foot-ball Association." This is the organization 
which, in 1863, invented and gave its name to 
that style of foot-ball known as the Association 
game. The word "soccer," by which this style 
of foot-ball also is known, is likewise merely a 
humorous derivative from the word Association, 
just as rugger is derived from Rugby. 

These rules were closely followed by those 
school-boys in their play, and although no games 
were waged with teams outside of the school, 
their struggles were not without influence in 
after years upon intercollegiate foot-ball, through 
the practical experience they were affording 
young Wilson. 

In 1873, Woodrow Wilson entered Davidson 
College, and promptly won a position upon the 
base-ball nine. Foot-ball, at that time, was not 
played at Davidson. Indeed, in 1873, foot-ball 
was played only at Columbia, Harvard, Prince- 
ton, Rutgers, and Yale, and a curious mixture of 
foot-ball it was. Harvard had devised a form of 




Rugby that to-day would be deemed grotesque in 
the extreme, but it was hugely enjoyed at Cam- 
bridge in its time. Yale, likewise, had a peculiar 
game of its own which had been adapted from 
the Association rules. Columbia, Princeton, and 
Rutgers, however, were playing a common game 
which they had constructed out of the Association 
code, and which required only ten rules— rather 
a concise body of foot-ball law in comparison 
with the great complex rule book of to-day. 

In 1875, Woodrow Wilson, having withdrawn 
from Davidson, entered Princeton College, ma- 
triculating in the class of 1879. Here the young 
Virginian found himself in a fascinating whirl 
of athletic life. Intercollegiate base-ball was 
raging, with a season in the fall as well as in the 
spring. Cricket was competing with it for favor, 
and track-athletics, just beginning, like all nov- 
elties that are truly meritorious, was sweeping 
forward in a tidal wave of popularity. Princeton 
also was rowing regularly and well in the great 
intercollegiate regatta of that day, a regatta 
which was held on Lake Saratoga and frequently 
presented as many as twelve competing college 
crews. In foot-ball Princeton had been beaten 
only once in the first six years of intercollegiate 
strife. The style of game was still a form of 

Unfortunately for Woodrow Wilson, a serious 
sickness at Davidson had incapacitated him from 
playing foot-ball, but he still maintained a mar- 
velous ability to talk it. His classmates soon 
discovered that, for a freshman, he possessed an 
exceptional knowledge of the technic of play, 
and that he also was very fertile in ideas for im- 
proving the game. At that time, foot-ball at 
Princeton was ruled by a council composed of 
representatives from the three upper classes, 
known as directors. To-day such a board would 
be called a coaching committee, but in 1875, tne 
word coach had not been applied to sports. In 
the course of time, Woodrow Wilson was elected 
as a foot-ball director, and the board immediately 
recognized his signal ability for the position by 
choosing him as their secretary. It is intensely 
interesting in this year of 1912, eventful as it is 
in the life of Woodrow Wilson, to turn backward 
in the old records at Princeton to the days of this 
board, and frequently find the name of that young 
secretary, "T. W. Wilson, '79," for his name orig- 
inally was Thomas Woodrow Wilson. Fame and 
choice in after years erased the Thomas, but to 
his college mates of thirty-five years ago he is 
still familiarly and affectionately known as 
"Tommie." Thus Woodrow Wilson was given 
an opportunity to become one of the constructors 
of the present intercollegiate game at the most 

crucial period in its history, — and well indeed 
did he take advantage of that opportunity ! 

For a new style of foot-ball was upon the hori- 
zon. In the spring of 1874, McGill University 
had sent a team down from Montreal, and shown 
a game of real Rugby to Harvard. It was only a 
few weeks afterward that the "Harvard Advo- 
cate," voicing the college sentiment, editorially 
stated: "Rugby foot-ball is in much better favor 
than the sleepy game heretofore played by our 
men." Accordingly Harvard soon abolished its 
"sleepy game," and in its place adopted full 
Rugby foot-ball. The following autumn, 1875, 
Harvard sent its first foot-ball challenge to Yale, 
inviting the Blue to meet the Crimson, or, rather, 
the Magenta, which was Harvard's color in 1875. 
Yale accepted this challenge, but demanded some 
concessions in the Rugby rules. A special code, 
therefore, was drafted, which, from these conces- 
sions, was known at the time as the "Concession- 
ary Rules." Under these rules the first Harvard- 
Yale game was played at New Haven, November 
13, 1875, Harvard winning by four goals to none. 

Among the spectators at this game were two of 
Princeton's players, Jotham Potter and W. Earle 
Dodge, the latter being a classmate of Woodrow 
Wilson. So deeply impressed were these two 
men with the Rugby style of play, that, upon their 
return to Princeton, they vigorously advocated 
the abandonment by Princeton of the Association 
game and the adoption of the Rugby rules. Re- 
form in sport, however, is not less slow and diffi- 
cult than it is in the serious affairs of life. The 
proposition of these two pioneers precipitated a 
warm controversy at Princeton which raged in- 
cessantly for a year. In this battle of debate 
between the advocates of the old game and the 
new, no one argued more aggressively and effec- 
tively than the freshman Woodrow Wilson, and, 
strange to say, notwithstanding his breeding in 
Association foot-ball, he argued in favor of the 
Rugby game. Finally this controversy termin- 
ated, November 2, 1876, in a great mass-meeting 
at Princeton, at which the Association game was 
overthrown and the Rugby game adopted. But 
this mass-meeting did more. It issued a call to 
Columbia, Harvard, and Yale to meet Princeton 
in a convention and form an Intercollegiate 
League, with the Rugby rules as a common play- 
ing basis. This call was accepted, and thus, in 
the old Massasoit House at Springfield, Satur- 
day, November 26, 1876, in a session lasting six 
hours, this league was formed and the present 
intercollegiate game of foot-ball adopted. 

During the ensuing winter, the foot-ball men at 
Princeton buried themselves deeply in the study 
of the new game, and with the inventive char- 




acteristics of their elders, young America im- 
mediately saw numerous features of the English 
game that were open to improvement and reform. 
The first of these to engage the attention of the 
tacticians was the cumbersome, unsightly "scrum- 
mage" which had come in with the English game. 
This was the Rugby method of putting the ball 
in play. This was done by placing the ball upon 
the ground between the two rush-lines, no man 

From a recent photograph taken for St. NICHOLAS. 
Woodrow Wilson was coach of the Princeton Foot-ball Team of 
on which Mr. Davis was an end rush. 

of which was permitted to touch the ball with his 
hand. The players, therefore, in an indiscrimi- 
nate struggle, endeavored to work the ball be- 
tween them with their feet, where two backs on 
each side were waiting to seize it as soon as it 
popped out of scrummage. Under such a method 
as this, time-honored though it was in English 
R u gby> there could be no prearranged team play 
for advancing the ball, no use for signals, and 
none of the orderly, machine-like formations and 

moves that to-day characterize the American 

Woodrow Wilson and his associates, studying 
the game, soon perceived that a great advantage 
would accrue to that team which could devise 
some method of team play which regularly would 
obtain the ball in scrummage. As a result, a plan 
was invented in which the linemen, instead of 
acting individually, acted together, blocking off 
their opponents with their feet, and 
either kicking the ball back themselves 
at a designated point, or, by a crafty 
feint, tricking their opponents into 
kicking the ball through the line for 
them. Since Harvard and Yale simul- 
taneously were developing the same 
idea, and all were foreseeing the great 
improvement which could be made in 
the English game if one team should 
be given possession of the ball by rule 
and permitted to snap it back in an 
orderly manner, it was not long before 
the English scrummage was abolished, 
and the far more ingenious American 
scrimmage invented and established. 
To appreciate the importance of this 
great change, one must realize that it 
is to the invention of the American 
scrimmage that we owe the advent in 
foot-ball of prearranged formations, 
plays, signals, and other tactical team 
play which have given to the American 
game its most distinctive characteristic, 
making it a veritable game of chess 
with live men for the pieces, and con- 
verting the sport into a battle of brains 
as well as a battle of brawn. 

Another problem which at the outset 
occupied the attention of Woodrow 
Wilson and his fellow tacticians was 
the comparative merits of the kicking 
and rushing games. When the English 
game was first taken over, the English 
fondness for kicking the ball was taken 
over with it. Accordingly, the ball was 
kicked far more often than it was 
rushed, and the art of kicking was de- 
veloped to a very high degree. Rushers kicked 
the ball as well as the backs. The players used 
the drop-kick for distance equally with the punt. 
Good kickers used either foot, and many a long, 
accurate kick was delivered from a ball rolling 
and bounding along the ground. 

In these days, when rushing the ball comprises 
the major offensive tactics of the game, and kick- 
ing is only a minor or defensive feature, it is 
difficult to realize that there was a period in the 




P. H. Davis, '93. E. A. S. Lewis, '91. J. B. Riggs, '92. 

P. C. Jones, '91. 

F. M. Dusenberry, '94- 

R. Furness, '91. 
C. T. Wood, '92. 


C. C. Jefferson, '92. J. G. Symmes, '92. R. E. Speer, '89. 

S. Homans, '92. E. A. Poe, '91. J. N. Thomas, '90. R. H. Warren, '93. 

P. King, '93. E. A. Dalton, '91. W. C. Spicer, '91. 

history of the game when young collegians like 
Woodrow Wilson were waging a warm contro- 
versy in councils, on the campus, and in the 
college press, in support of the superiority of 
rushing over kicking as offensive play. The work 
of these pioneers thirty-five years ago may be 
appreciated by a perusal of the following extract 
from the "Princetonian," as it was printed at the 
time of this great foot-ball controversy: 

Keeping the ball and working it by passing, running, 
and rushing is superior to the kicking game now in vogue. 
Kicking, of course, must be resorted to at times, but to 
gain by a long punt depends upon the opposite side's fail- 
ure to make a fair catch, which now rarely happens, espe- 
cially under the new non-interference rule. One thing is 
certain : as long as one side can keep the ball the other side 
cannot score, and where one team kicks the ball, the other 
team is extremely sure to get it. 

Incredible as it may seem, almost two years of 
incessant argument were necessary before the 
kicking tactics subsided and rushing tactics came 
to the fore. 

Another major feature of foot-ball which 
Woodrow Wilson aided in adjustment was the 
tactical arrangement of the players. When the 

English game was adopted, in 1876, Yale moved 
to amend the Rugby rule, which called for fifteen 
players upon each side, by substituting the Eton 
rule, which limited the players to eleven. Yale's 
motion was defeated. Each year, however, the 
Blue renewed this proposition, until, in 1879, 
Walter Camp, Yale's captain, succeeded in ob- 
taining the adoption of the rule. During these 
years, however, Yale, in her games with Prince- 
ton, had exacted a special rule that eleven men 
should constitute a team, and not fifteen. Thus 
Princeton, in 1876, 1877, and 1878, played Yale 
with eleven men and Harvard with fifteen. In 
these early times, and, indeed, for several years 
thereafter, the positions of the players were not 
fixed as now, nor were the positions named. 
"How should the fifteen players be deployed upon 
the field against Harvard?" and "How should 
eleven players be utilized against Yale?" were 
annual problems Princeton's foot-ball council 
faced for solution. In 1876, they solved it by 
playing against Yale six men on the rush-line, 
two at half-back, and three at full-back, the half- 
back position then being the same as our quarter- 
back position now. The following year against 




Yale six men again were played on the rush-line, 
but three at half-back and two at full-back. 
Against Harvard, in the same year, Princeton 
used seven men on the line, five at half-back, and 
three at full-back. In 1878, we find Princeton 
using against Yale seven men on the line, two at 
half-back, and two at full-back, while against 
Harvard the same arrangement was used as in 
the previous year, thus indicating that Woodrow 
Wilson and his fellow strategists had discovered, 
so far as Princeton was concerned, that the best 
number of players for the rush-line was seven. 

Woodrow Wilson's foot-ball activi- 
ties at Princeton, in these early years 
of the game, were not confined, how- 
ever, to the council-table. His was 
almost a daily figure at field practice. 
Coaching, of course, thirty-five years 
ago, was not the highly developed art 
that it is to-day. The period ante- 
dated by fifteen years the professional 
coach. Obviously the period even 
antedated the coaching by patriotic 
alumni veterans, for, in Woodrow 
Wilson's time, the intercollegiate 
game was in its first three years of 
life. Coaching, therefore, was con- 
fined to the undergraduates experi- 
enced in the old Association game, 
and to the members of the foot-ball 
council. In this service Woodrow 
Wilson frequently took part, correct- 
ing, advising, exhorting, admonishing, 
and praising, and especially suggest- 
ing valuable improvements in indi- 
vidual and team technic. And Prince- 
ton played fine foot-ball in those 
years. Harvard was beaten in the 
fall of 1877, and again in 1878. Yale 
won from Princeton in 1876, was tied 
in 1877, and beaten in 1878. Since 
Harvard, Princeton, and Yale at that 
time were leagued in the American 
Intercollegiate Foot-ball Association, Woodrow 
Wilson may look back through his many suc- 
cesses in the serious work of life to his senior 
year at Princeton, when, as an assistant foot-ball 
coach, he materially aided in producing a cham- 
pionship foot-ball team. 

And now came and went an interval of ten 
busy years, in which Woodrow Wilson found no 
time to participate actively in foot-ball, but in 
which he managed to keep pace with the evolu- 
tion of the sport by frequent attendance at the 
games. In 1880 and 1881, he was a student in the 
law school of the University of Virginia. In 
1882 and 1883, he was a practising attorney at 
Vol. XL.— 3. 

Atlanta, and in 1884 and 1885, we find him again 
in college, pursuing a postgraduate course at Johns 
Hopkins. During these years, he was at work 
upon a wonderful book, "Congressional Govern- 
ment," which now was published, and which met 
with such great success that it brought to Wood- 
row Wilson a number of calls to become a college 
professor. One of these calls, from Bryn Mawr, 
he accepted, and there he remained until 1888, 
when he accepted an election to the chair of his- 
tory and political economy at Wesleyan Univer- 
sity. This move brought him once more actively 


ne of the earliest photographs of foot-hall players in action. 

into foot-ball, for Wesleyan then, as now, was a 
strong competitor upon the gridiron. 

Almost ten years had elapsed since his foot- 
ball days at Princeton. In this long period, many 
profound changes had occurred in the methods of 
play, and many equally profound changes in the 
rules. The great basic rule of the American 
game, the right of one side to possess the ball a 
certain number of downs for a minimum gain — 
at that time five yards in three downs — had been 
invented, thereby further stimulating the study of 
offensive tactics. The Intercollegiate Associa- 
tion, now augmented by the University of Penn- 
sylvania and Wesleyan, at its March meeting in 




1888, had adopted a new rule which permitted 
a tackle to be made below the waist and as far 
down as the knees. This may appear a slight 
change on paper, but it was working a revolution 
in the game to its very roots. Under the twelve 
years of waist tackling the game always had been 
open. The rush-line had deployed widely across 
the field, the backs had been played well back and 
as far out as their ends, receiving the ball from 
the quarter-back on long side passes, and then 
beautifully sprinting and dodging in an open 
field. Interference had not then been invented, 
although its advent was indicated by a method 
called "guarding," in which players ran at each 
side of the man with the ball, to make tackling 
more difficult, but never in advance of the runner, 
which, in that day, would have been off side play. 
This was the beautiful, brilliant, old-fashioned 
"open game" that is recalled so fondly by the 
older generation of foot-ball men. But the ex- 
tension of tackling from the waist to the knee 
instantly swept this style of attack out of exist- 
ence. Against the low tackle the lone, open field- 
runner was powerless to advance the ball, because 
the low tackier, unlike the high tackier, could not 
be dodged or shaken off. The rule-makers had 
not intended, nor did they foresee, this revolution 
when they introduced the low tackle. The chaos 
came unexpectedly, but it was complete. 

In this crisis, the young professor of history at 
Wesleyan volunteered his services as a coach to 
the Wesleyan foot-ball men, and his offer was 
enthusiastically accepted. Around the council- 
table, Woodrow Wilson, with F. D. Beattys and 
S. V. Coffin, worked out a new system of offen- 
sive tactics. The rush-line was contracted until 
the men stood side by side as they do to-day. The 
backs were brought closer to the line and sta- 
tioned about four yards distant. The quick line 
plunge was introduced, the double pass, or "criss- 
cross," as it was called first, adopted, and pro- 
tection given to the runner on end runs. It is 
not to be claimed that Woodrow Wilson and his 
associates at Wesleyan were the exclusive in- 
ventors of these features which now comprise the 
elements of the modern game, for they were 
worked out simultaneously at the other colleges 
of the association, but they are entitled to be 
credited with the honor that both by invention 
and adaptation they gave Wesleyan in that diffi- 
cult period a foot-ball system without a superior. 

Here, again, Woodrow Wilson's coaching ser- 
vices did not end at the council-table. Actively 
and enthusiastically he applied himself to the task 
of daily coaching the team upon the field. Other 
coaches, of course, there were, alumni veterans 
who appeared from time to time, but it was 

Woodrow Wilson and his companions, F. D. 
Beattys and S. V. Coffin, who bore the brunt of 
that memorable campaign. For 1889 was a mem- 
orable foot-ball year at Wesleyan. At that time, 
Wesleyan's dearest opponent was the University 
of Pennsylvania. The two elevens met in their 
annual struggle the morning of Thanksgiving 
Day, and Wesleyan emerged the victor. 

A factor in this great victory was a new 
mechanism of which Wesleyan men claim Wood- 
row Wilson was the inventor. This was the 
"rotation." The rotation was a varied series of 
plays the order of which the players committed 
to memory. When Wesleyan came within strik- 
ing distance of the Pennsylvania goal, the quar- 
ter-back merely clapped his hands, and the rota- 
tion was in action. Silently, mysteriously, and 
swiftly the Wesleyan plays followed one another, 
now at the center, now at the end, and all along 
the line. The absence of the usual signals discon- 
certed their opponents, and the rapidity of the 
plays wrought havoc in the defensive line. 

All foot-ball colleges possess a tradition of 
some great speech made by a coach just before a 
battle or in the intermission of a game. At Wes- 
leyan such a tradition still clings around the 
memory of Woodrow Wilson. For years Wes- 
leyan had been meeting Yale, resigned to the 
certainty of defeat and with an ambition limited 
merely to making a stout defense and, if possible, 
to score. In 1889, Wesleyan once more was about 
to play Yale. "Now, fellows," shouted a coach in 
final admonition to the team, "let every man play 
hard to hold down the score." "No ! No !" cried 
Woodrow W'ilson, "let every man play hard and 
win the game!" And then for three minutes the 
fiery, fighting Wilson poured into those men a 
torrent of words that aroused and stung and 
enthused, carrying with it such grit, vim, and 
determination that little Wesleyan went out 
against great Yale like a David against Goliath. 
In the ensuing battle Wesleyan was beaten, but it 
was one of the best games ever waged by Wes- 
leyan against Yale, and though the team went 
down to defeat, they went down gloriously, fight- 
ing hard every minute and every minute fighting 
hard to win. 

And now, in the autumn of 1890, Woodrow 
Wilson's eventful career brought him once more 
to Princeton, where he had been tendered the 
chair of jurisprudence and politics. Those were 
dark days for foot-ball at Princeton. Graduation 
had left only three members of the championship 
eleven of 1889. One of these was the captain, 
Edgar Allan Poe, now the attorney-general of 
Maryland. But if players were scarce, coaches 
were scarcer. The period still antedated the com- 




ing of the organized coaching staff. Old-time 
players like Alexander Moffat, Duncan Edwards, 
and Tracy H. Harris, famous fellows in their 
time, occasionally left their business for an after- 
noon and came to Princeton to work with the 
team, but the burden of the 
coaching was borne by Captain 
Poe. It was, therefore, a par- 
ticularly welcome sight, one 
afternoon in October, to see our 
Professor of Jurisprudence 
come striding out upon the 
field, take his place behind the 
eleven with Captain Poe, and 
proceed to whip the team up 
and down the sward. 

Only a few minutes were 
necessary to demonstrate that 
this new coach was full of 
ideas. And ideas were doubly 
valuable in 1890. Experiments' 
were being made day after 
day to find a more effective 
method of forcing an opening 
in a defensive line, of break- 
ing the powerful new device 
known as a "box on the 
tackle," and especially of 
breaking an interference such 
as Yale that year was develop- 
ing, in which a guard — and 
such a guard as W. W. Heffel- 
fmger— was leading the backs 
on all end runs, whether wide 
or short, and whether to the 
right or left. 

In those days, some coaches 
and almost all officials, Eng- 
lish fashion, affected a cane 
while discharging their duties. 
It also was the time in which 
the upturned trousers and the 
red water-proof shoes first 
made their appearance. Thus 
it is that Princetonians of 1890 fondly carry a 
mental picture of Woodrow Wilson as he ap- 
peared to them in his coaching days, clad in a col- 
legian's cap, a loose jacket, trousers upturned, and 
shod in red leather shoes, swinging his cane, fol- 
lowing the eleven up and down in fair weather or 
foul, quietly correcting the faults of the players, 
firm and stern, but companionable with all. 

At the close of the season, his practical know- 
ledge of competitive athletics won for him the 
important and highly influential post in the 
faculty of Chairman of the Committee on Out- 
door Sports, a position which carried wi*h it a 

strong voice in Princeton's committee, controlling 
all matters relating to athletic advancement. 
Thus Woodrow Wilson's days as a foot-ball coach 
came to an end; but making the most of the op- 
portunities in his powerful chairmanship, he 


vigorously entered upon a field of larger service 
to Princeton's athletics. Under his guidance the 
entire system of athletic management was reor- 
ganized. The various departments of sport were 
brought under a central body of responsible con- 
trol. The athletic association was incorporated, 
and at once began to improve its athletic grounds, 
stands, buildings, and equipment. The financial 
managements were consolidated and put upon 
a sound business basis. So satisfactory to the 
faculty, undergraduates, and alumni was his ad- 
ministration as chairman, that he held the post 
until he became President of the University. 

.A 3\l)?mc of UfalloweVn 


(A sequel to " The Lucky Sixpence") 


Chapter I 


"There now," exclaimed Mrs. Mummer, my 
cousin John Travers's housekeeper, as she 
straightened up and regarded the huge brass and- 
irons with pride. "I 've polished and rubbed 
them till my back aches, but it 's worth it, to see 
Denewood beginning to look like itself again." 

I stepped down from the chair upon which I 
had been standing while I gave a finishing touch 
to the mirror, and glanced about the great hall 
with much pleasure and satisfaction. A week 
before, the news of the battle of Monmouth had 
reached us, and feeling assured that the British 
army had left Philadelphia for good, the entire 
household had been busy putting things to rights. 
We wanted the place to look particularly fine 
against the arrival of its owner, who was ex- 
pected back at any time ; and with Mummer, the 
steward of the estate, to direct the blacks out-of- 
doors, while Mrs. Mummer saw to it that all in- 
side the house worked their hardest, we had ac- 
complished wonders. Even Polly and Betty 
Travers, cousins to Mr. Travers, did their share, 
and little Peggy, their sister, wished to sleep with 
a duster clutched in her fist. 

" 'T is Mummer we have to thank that there is 
aught left," Mrs. Mummer went on. " 'T was he 
that bade me hide all that was worth stealing." 

"How d-did M-M-M-Mummer know the sol- 
diers would take them?" stuttered Peggy. 

"Was n't Mummer a soldier himself before he 
came to the Americas?" demanded Mrs. Mum- 
mer, bristling. "He knows soldiers right enough, 
does Mummer ; though, in sooth, it was not the 
British he was thinking of so much as the Hes- 
sians. Their very music says 'plunder ! plunder ! 
plunder !' in good, plain English. Ah, Miss Bee, 
if you had been to town and seen the mess they 

've made of it ! I am right glad we are in Ger- 
mantown instead of in Philadelphia." 

Sam and Tom, two of the black house-servants, 
came in bearing the Turkey carpet to cover the 
center of the hall floor, and, in a minute, we were 
all busy again, pulling the corners this way and 
that, till it was settled to our satisfaction. 

It was the end of our task. The house was in 
order, and we stood regarding it a moment in 
silence. "Now it is as it was the first day I came 
to Denewood," I said half aloud, for, in truth, I 
was thinking rather than talking. 

"A lucky day for the house that !" declared 
Mrs. Mummer. "Ah, Miss Beatrice, how well I 
remember it ! For weeks we had been waiting for 
a sight of the boy who was to come over from 
England, and la ! the boy turned out to be a girl. 
'You have only to know her to love her,' says 
Master John, and 't was a true word he spoke." 

"And that was only two years ago," I said, my 
thoughts dwelling on the past; "only two years — 
and yet it seems as if I 'd been here always." 

"True enough," agreed Mrs. Mummer, "but 
such long years they 've been ! What with sol- 
diers coming and going, and Master John hurt, 
and the battle of Germantown right over our 
heads, 't was no very pleasant welcome to a new 
land for a little maid ; but let us pray that the 
war is ended, as they say. Are you never wish- 
ful to be back in England, Miss Bee?" she added, 
with a note of anxiety in her voice. 

"Never ! never ! never !" I cried, putting my 
arms about her, for Mrs. Mummer was like a 
mother to me. "Denewood is my home, and I 
want no other." 

"Praise be for that !" answered the old house- 
keeper, heartily. "Mummer has said a dozen 
times that, although you and Master John but 
call each other brother and sister, and are, in 
truth, only distant cousins, no real brother and 



sister could be closer the one to the other. 'T is 
a misfortune that so young a man should lack 
near kin, for 'blood is thicker than water,' Mum- 
mer says, and while he and I did our best, we 
were only plodding old servants, after all. So, 
though you were but a slip of a maid of twelve 
years when you came to us, you brought the sun- 
shine we needed to make a home of Denewood. 
You are the luck of the house, my dear. 'T is 
good to know you have no longing to go back to 

' 'T would be most ungrateful if I had, seeing 
all that Brother John has done for me," I re- 

"Nay now," she answered, bristling a little, 
"the shoe is on the other foot, I 'm thinking; for, 
without you and your lucky sixpence, Denewood 
would be ashes this day; so a truce to all this 
talk of gratitude 'twixt you and Master John." 

It was all very well for Mrs. Mummer to thus 
dismiss the question of obligation between Cousin 
John Travers and myself, and such a thought 
would never enter his head either, but neverthe- 
less all in that house were his guests, and I, in 
particular, owed him more than ever I could pay. 
Polly, Betty, and Peg were cousins also, whose 
home was across the Delaware River in Haddon- 
field, but when the British entered the Jerseys, 
their father, who was with our Continentals, 
thought it safer for them in Germantown, and 
Brother John had given them a home and a warm 
welcome until the war should end. 

With me the matter was somewhat different. 
As Mrs. Mummer had said, I was but a distant 
cousin, and belonged to the English Travers, hav- 
ing small claim upon Brother John's generosity ; 
yet when, two years before, Granny, from lack of 
money to keep my two brothers and myself, was 
forced to send me to the Americas, John Travers 
had adopted me for a sister, and placed me at 
the head of his household while he was off serving 
with Washington's army. Mrs. Mummer might 
say there should be no talk of gratitude between 
us, but I could not forget the kindness with which 
he had welcomed a forlorn little maid, and my 
heart overflowed with thankfulness in that I had 
found so true a friend. 

Some such thoughts as these were passing 
through my mind, when they were interrupted 
by a shout from Peg, who was standing by the 

"They 've c-c-come ! They 've c-c-come !" she 
cried, and we heard the sound of horses' hoofs 
beating the ground outside. 

Goodness ! what a clatter we made as we has- 
tened to welcome the new arrivals. Polly and 
Betty came down the* stairs in quite a rush, for 

them. Little Peg ran to hide her duster, and Mrs. 
Mummer and I took one last glance about to see 
that all was as it should be before we hurried to 
the front door. Outside, with cries of joy, the 
stable-boys scampered up to take the horses, and 
Mummer himself, with three or four of the farm- 
hands, appeared to give the master a welcome. 

Two horsemen came galloping up the long 
driveway. In front, Cousin John Travers, on a 
strong chestnut mare, and a little behind him, 
Bart Travers, brother to Polly, Betty, and Peg, 
putting his beast through its capers and showing 
off grandly before us all ; for Bart was but a few 
months older than I, though he had run off to 
the war. Along they came at a smart pace, 
pulled up to a standstill, and, in another minute, 
John had dismounted, and I was in his arms. 

"Oh, Brother !" I cried, " 't is fine to have you 
home again !" 

"And 't is fine to be home, little sister !" he 
answered, kissing me and giving me a loving pat 
on the shoulder. 

Meanwhile, Peggy had run to Bart, and the air 
was full of cries of welcome and questions flying 
back and forth as to how all fared. 

Presently we all moved to enter the house, and, 
as Brother John reached the threshold, he stopped 
amazed. Then turning to Mrs. Mummer, he 
shook a finger at her. 

" 'T is magic !" he cried. " 'T is well for you 
we are past the age of such superstitions, for 
otherwise you were liked to be burned for a 

"Nay then, we should need a huge fire, for all 
of us have had a hand in this magic, though 't is 
Miss Bee who kept us slaving till it was fin- 
ished," replied Mrs. Mummer, with a laugh. 

"But how have you done it?" he went on, his 
glance roving about the hall and lighting up as 
he noted, one after another, "the old familiar ob- 
jects of furniture and ornament that had been 
hidden away from sight so that they might not 
tempt the Hessian soldiers. "There are the little 
Dresden figures on the mantel-shelf just as they 
used to be, and there is the old clock, and— and 
the Turkey carpet ! In truth, I never hoped to 
see all these things again, for I have passed 
places to-day where there was scarce one article 
of household use left to the owners." 

"For that you must thank Miss Bee and her 
lucky sixpence," said Mrs. Mummer, nodding at 

"Aye, we '11 never forget that !" answered 
Brother John, warmly. "T is when I see how 
others have suffered that I realize our good for- 
tune. The country about us is in sad case." 

"Aye," cried Bart, striding about, with his 







great sword clanking as he moved. "This is all 
very well, but 't is the dining-room and its fur- 
nishings I 'm most interested in. I 'm fair starved, 
Mrs. Mummer, and that 's the truth." 

' 'T is but a poor meal I can give you," said 
Mrs. Mummer, amid the laughter that followed 
Bart's sally; "but such as it is, you have only to 
sit down, for all is ready." 

"Aye, I know your poor meals !" cried Brother 
John, as we went into the dining-room. "I shall 
let out my belt two holes at least in anticipation." 

And so, gaily and happily, we sat down to eat 
the first dinner we had all had together in pea^e 
and quiet for many a long day. 

When the excitement had worn off a little, we 
began to ask questions of how our friends in the 
Continental army fared, and little Peg wanted 
particularly to have news of Allan McLane, who 
was captain of the troop of cavalry in which 
John served, and a great favorite with us all. 
Then we asked for His Excellency, General 
Washington, and the Marquis de Lafayette, news 
of whom made Polly and Betty prick up their 
ears, and for a host of others who, at one time 
or another, had stayed at Denewood during the 
dreadful winter just passed, when the army was 
freezing at Valley Forge, and the British under 
General Howe were quartered in Philadelphia. 

"I s-s-say, B-B-Bart," piped Peggy, in one of 
the pauses in the talk, "w-w-what w-will you d-d- 
do with your s-s-sword, now that the B-B-British 
have g-g-gone and the war is over?" 

"Ah, but it is n't over," answered Bart. 

"Not over?" I echoed in consternation, looking 
at Brother John. "Has n't the war ended?" 

"Nay, Bee," he answered, "not yet, nor for 
many a long day, I fear." 

"But every one, says the British are going 
home," I insisted ; for it was generally believed 
that the evacuation of Philadelphia was the be- 
ginning of the end. 

"The wish is father to the thought to those 
who have spread that rumor," answered Brother 
John. "The British will scarce try their luck 
again in Philadelphia ; but, for all that, the war 
is far from ended. General Clinton in New York 
has but changed his base." 

"Should he do that often, he will have no army 
left," Bart put in with a chuckle. "His expen- 
sive Hessians are still straggling over the Jerseys 
to join us — and did n't we give them fits at Mon- 
mouth !" 

Later, the dinner being finished, Mummer 
thrust his long, solemn face within the room and 
begged that John would go over the estate with 
him, so that he might make ready his plans for 




the repair of the damage wrought by the sol- 
diers. There was a new stable to be built, miles 
of fences to be put up to replace those burned for 
fuel, and many other things were needed ; for, 
outside, the place had not escaped so fortunately 
as the mansion itself. 

Brother John went off with him, leaving us still 
at the table, where we at once began to ply Bart 
with questions as to his doings with the Conti- 
nental army. 

"Nay," cried Polly, with a toss of her head, 
"I do not care to hear of Bart's bloody deeds. 
'T is scarce fitting for the ears of a sensitive fe- 
male," and she got up and quitted the room, fol- 
lowed by Betty, for the two always acted in con- 
cert. Truth to tell, Polly, who was a few years 
older than the rest of us, put on such grown-up 
airs that we were often glad to be rid of her; 
for she and Betty seemed interested only in the 
fashions, and talked of beaus and balls' as if 
naught else in the world was of any consequence. 

"A good riddance," said Bart, as they disap- 
peared ; "but I think their ears would not be so 
'sensitive' if the news was of British victories. 
They are naught but silly Tories." 

"And were you at Monmouth, Bart?" I asked, 
for it seemed scarce credible that a boy should 
have taken part in so bloody a battle as that one 
was rumored to have been. 

"Aye, that I was, Bee," he answered proudly. 
"I think Father did n't like the notion altogether, 
but I told him I would run away alone again, so 
he let me go with him." 

"And are you a p-p-private, Bart?" asked Peg, 
a little breathlessly. 

"Nay, I 'm not a private," he replied. 

"Then you must be an officer," I said. 

"Nay, I 'm not an officer either— though I mean 

.to have a commission soon," he went on. "I 'm 

just a sort of aid to Father, and though some of 

the officers laugh at me, I have all the fun of 

fighting just the same." 

"T-tell us about the b-b-b-battle, B-Bart," Peg 
demanded excitedly. 

"Well," Bart began, "we were with General 
Wayne— 'Wayne the Drover/ the army called 
him at Valley Forge because, when worst came 
to worst, and we were near to starving, he always 
went off somewhere and brought in a herd of cat- 
tle to feed us. His- own men called him 'Mad 
Anthony' because he loves to. fight and stops at 
nothing; but his whole command is mad, as far 
as that goes. Now as I said, we were with Wayne 
—but let me show you how it was." 

"Yes do, Bart," I entreated, and Peggy and I 
leaned half across the table as he told his eager 
listeners the story of the battle of Monmouth. 
Vol. XL.— 4. 

"Now this plum-cake platter is Monmouth 
Court-house," he began, arranging the things be- 
fore him to represent the two armies and their 
positions. "And the fold in the table-cloth we '11 
call the road leading to Sandy Hook where Clin- 
ton wanted to get, way up by this coffee-cup. We 
were about here," and he placed an apricot to 
mark the place. "Over there, where the sauce- 
boat stands, was Knyphausen protecting Clin- 
ton's eight miles of baggage-wagons— which we 
should have captured had it not been for Charles 
Lee, the traitor !" 

"G-g-go on, B-B-Bart !" cried Peggy, her chin 
in her hands, gazing down intently, and hardly 
able to keep still. "G-g-go on with the f-f-fight- 

"Don't be so impatient," Bart admonished, 
placing a salt-cellar near the fold marking the 
road. "This is where Lafayette and Greene were 
stationed, and 'way back here, by this bowl, was 
Washington with the main army." 

He stopped, regarding his funny diagram criti- 
cally and with a most serious air. 

"Now, right in here, the road narrowed down 
between a wide swamp on each side, which we il 
mark with this saucer and the fruit-dish, and just 
'where I put this knife was a bridge. Don't for- 
get that, because it 's important. And on this 
spot where the spoon is, was a big tree, and that 's 
important, too, as you '11 see later on. 

"Well, early in the morning, we had orders to 
attack, and off we went, crossing the bridge be- 
tween the saucer and the fruit-dish, as gay as 
could be, all of us anxious to fight the redcoats, 
though it was hot, even before the sun was well 
up. We sighted them, and were just about to 
attack when along comes a message from Lee 
to withdraw. Wayne was in a rage, but he could 
n't do anything else, so back we went without a 
blow. Then along comes another order to make 
a feint, and we go off again, only to be with- 
drawn once more, till we did n't know what was 
happening, and the men thought some one was 
going crazy— and I tell you General Wayne was 
near crazy ; but that was because Lee would n't 
let him fight." 

"Why did n't he fight anyhow?" I demanded. 

"Oh, he could n't, you know," Bart explained. 
"Lee was in command of the whole force, and 
Wayne had to do as he was ordered, whether he 
liked it or not." 

"I would have f-f-fighted !" declared Peggy, 
• positively. 

"Pretty soon we had to fight," her brother 
went on, "for the first thing we knew, the Brit- 
ish came running across the knife there — I mean 
the bridge— and were attacking us, instead of 




our attacking them— and that 's a very different 
matter, let me tell you ! The redcoats came with 
a rush, and our fellows, not knowing what to do, 
and bewildered by such contrary orders, were 
taken by surprise, and— and they ran. Yes, they 
ran, though I hate to say it. I was with Father, 
who, with Stewart and Ramsay, was trying to 
rally them. Down the fold we went and came 
up with Lee, who was sitting his horse like a 
spectator, doing nothing, and I thought it was all 
up with us — when along came a man on horse- 
back, riding like the wind. Oh, you should have 
seen him, and heard the shouts that went up 
when we knew that it was His Excellency, Gen- 
eral Washington ! He is a man !" exclaimed 
Bart, his voice rising in his excitement, and 
Peggy and I gave a little cheer as if we had been 
there ourselves. 

"'What 's the meaning of this?' cried Wash- 
ington, as he reined up beside Lee," Bart con- 
tinued. "And Lee mumbled something in an- 
swer. Then the general just told him what he 
thought of him. 'You 're a poltroon, sir !' he 
shouted, and more of the same sort of talk, while 
Lee got red in the face, but could n't stand that 
storm. Oh, the general was fine and angry ! And 
had I been in Lee's place, I should have died of' 
shame. As it was, he went off to the rear, and 
Washington took command of us. It was mighty 
different then. The redcoats were running across 
that knife, bent on mischief, and meaning to 
drive us back to the bowl ; but we rallied in the 
face of them, and the general, with his sword 
lifted high above his head and greatly exposing 
himself, led us at them, and, before we knew it, 
they were driven back between the saucer and 
the fruit-dish, and then across the knife into the 
sauce-boat, where Knyphausen was. 

"I tell you, Bee !" cried Bart, firing up at the 
thought, "it was almost worth while to have re- 
treated, to have seen what one man could do. 
There was swamp on each side of the road, and 
eight thousand British were chasing us, but 
Washington re-formed two of our regiments, 
under fire, and that gave time to plant the troops 
he had brought up with him on good ground. 
But it was a close thing— so close that Alexander 
Hamilton said his only thought was to die on the 
spot, and even Laurens hoped for no more than 
an orderly retreat. But General Washington- 
well, for all his calm ways, he is as mad as 
Wayne himself when it comes to fighting, and, 
when he leads, the men will follow, caring naught 
what happens to them." 

Bart stopped out of breath. 

"And you b-b-beat them, B-B-Bart?" asked 
Peggy, excitedly. "You b-beat them at last?" 

"Aye, we beat them !" Bart continued. "They 
made a stand at the sauce-boat, but only for a 
little while, and still we drove them on. All day 
we fought, and, when at last night came, they 
were ready to cry quits. 'T was only the dark- 
ness that saved Clinton's whole army, for we 
found them gone the next morning. If Lee had 
n't played the traitor, they would never have 
reached the coffee-cup— I mean Sandy Hook, of 
course. Oh, it was splendid, but very hot !" 

"B-b-but, B-Bart," Peggy broke in, after a mo- 
ment's pause, "you have n't told us about the 
spoon that 's a t-t-tree." 

"Hush!" murmured Bart, warningly; "that 's 
where I found my Hessian." And he looked 
about the room to see if any one were within 

"Your Hessian," I echoed, not knowing what 
he meant. 

"It 's a secret," he answered. "Let 's go out 
somewhere under the trees where we '11 be alone. 
Listen !" 

He leaned across the table, and we three put 
our heads together. 

"I know where there 's a pirate's treasure !" he 

Chapter II 


Bart was so mysterious that, without another 
word, we all three went out-of-doors on tiptoe, as 
if we feared to make a noise. We scampered 
through the orchard near the house and into the 
woods bordering it, and were soon hidden among 
the trees, certain that no one would hear our 
secrets there: 

"This will do," said Bart, seating himself at 
the foot of a huge chestnut, and Peggy and I 
dropped down beside him. 

"Hurry and t-t-tell us, B-Bart !" cried his sis- 
ter, impatiently. "I 1-1-love m-m-mysteries." 

"This is no joke," replied Bart, very seriously, 
"and I misdoubt I have made a mistake in letting 
you know anything about it. It popped out with- 
out my thinking." 

"Oh, you need n't worry about Peggy, Bart," I 
hastened to put in. "She can be as secret as 
any one. She 's proved that." 

"B-b-besides, you c-c-coul3 n't keep it from me 
a-a-anyway," said Miss Peggy, with a toss of her 
head. "I always know." 

"Remember then, not a word of this to a soul," 
insisted Bart, and it was plain from his manner 
that, whatever he had to tell us, he attached 
much importance to it. "I don't want any one 
else to get-hold of it, least of all Polly and Betty. 

"To begin with," Bart said, "we found that 





Clinton had gone off, leaving behind his dead and 
wounded for us to care for, and I was sent out 
with some others to look for the injured. Now, 
as I was returning to headquarters, along in the 
afternoon, I was passing that tree that I marked 
with a spoon on the table, when I heard a great 
groan. At first I saw nothing, but, upon going 
around the trunk, I found a Hessian soldier 
propped up against it. He had a bullet in his leg, 
and he thought he was going to die right then 
and there. When he saw me, he began to chat- 
ter in broken English, begging me not to scalp 

. "What nonsense !" I cried, "as if we were 
Indians !" 

"Oh, he believed it," Bart explained. "He 
had been told tales of torture, and I know not 
what else about us all. The British had to do 
something, for you know the Hessians have been 
offered grants of land if they desert, and scores 
of them have been coming in with their pots and 
kettles and wives all ready to set 'up housekeep- 
ing. 'T was no easy matter to get word to them 
until Doctor Franklin hit upon the plan of hav- 
ing the offer printed in German and stowed in 
packages of strong tobacco such as soldiers 
smoke. But to go back to Hans Kalbfieisch, my 
wounded Hessian. He was dreadfully fright- 
ened, but I got him into camp, and the surgeons 
cut off his leg, so he was about as well as ever." 

"That 's n-no m-m-mystery !" Peg broke in, 
disgustedly, as Bart paused for breath. 

"Nay, now, do not be so impatient !" retorted 
Bart. "I 'm coming to that in good time. When 
Hans was a little recovered from his hurt, and 
found that he was not to be massacred, he was 
monstrous grateful to me, and now and then, when 
I had nothing else to do, I would stop and talk 
to him, for he was a decent sort of chap, though 
he was a Hessian. Well, one day when we were 
alone, he asked me, in his funny, broken Eng- 
lish, if I knew old Schmuck, the Magus in Phila- 
delphia. You 've heard of old Schmuck, have n't 
you, Bee?" 

"Never," I answered, "and I have n't the faint- 
est idea what a Magus is." 

"Well, a Magus," Bart explained, "is named 
from an old-time word meaning a 'wise man,' or 
wizard, or enchanter. Nowadays, he is a sort of 
diviner— a fellow who finds things that are hidden 
under the ground, like treasure; but mostly they 
search for springs of water." 

"How do they do it?" I asked, much puzzled. 

"With a hazel wand, usually," Bart answered, 
"though some use a peach branch. Oh, 't is true 
they can tell, Bee !" he insisted, no doubt seeing 
my look of incredulity. "All the farmers have a 

Magus pick out the spot when they want to dig a 
well. He takes the hazel twig" between the palms 
of his hands and walks slowly over the land till 
it bends down to the ground, and that is the spot 
to dig, whether it be for treasure or only water." 

" 'T is very funny," I said, "but go on with 
your Hessian ; he 's interesting." 

"I told him I had heard of old Schmuck," Bart 
continued, "and expected he would say some- 
thing more about him, but he turned the conver- 
sation to the country about Philadelphia, and 
asked me did I know of Wissahickon Creek. I 
told him I did, and he said he had a friend who 
had camped there for a while, and that he him- 
self had hoped to visit it, but that now he feared 
he would never see the place. It was plain that 
Hans had something on his mind which he 
wanted, and yet did n't want, to tell me. But at 
length, after he was convinced that it was use- 
less to think of going there himself, he took me 
into his confidence." 

"N-n-now it 's c-c-coming," whispered Peggy, 
wriggling with expectation. 

"Mind you," Bart continued, "this did n't hap- 
pen all in a minute. It was maybe a day or two 
later that, after looking about to see that no one 
was within hearing, he drew me close to him and 

" 'I have dreamed a dream three times, and to 
dream three times is sure.' 

"What have you dreamed?' I asked him, 
though I did n't feel much interested. 

" ' 'T is a dream of hidden gold and silver, and 
much other wealth,' he answered, his eyes gleam- 
ing covetously as he talked, and his excitement 
growing, so that I understood less than half of 
what he said." 

Bart paused a moment, looking about to see 
that no one could overhear. 

"Why did the Hessian tell you about a dream ?" 
I asked, with increasing interest. 

"Now you are just as impatient as Peg," 
laughed Bart; "but to tell the truth, Bee, that 's 
the very question I asked Hans, and then out 
came the whole of his plan. He wanted me to 
hunt for the treasure he had seen in his dream." 

"But— but— " I began. 

"Hold on," Bart interrupted, "let me tell you 
just how it was. At first I laughed at what he 
called his dream, but he was so earnest that 
finally I really became convinced that, in some 
way, he knew of a hidden treasure, and I con- 
sented to make a search for it. 

" "T is hid,' he told me, 'half-way between the 
tree blazed with the skull, where 't was buried by 
the crooked man with one eye.' " 

"Oh-o-o-oh," came in a long drawl from Peg, 




"the c-c-crooked man with one e-eye ! It s-s- 
sounds awful !" 

"But half-way between the tree and what?" I 
asked, noting that the description was not com- 

"That was what I wanted to know," Bart went 
on, "and Hans said old Schmuck, the Magus, 
could find the spot when I told him it was on the 
right bank of the Wissahickon, north of the Rit- 
tenhouse Mill road, and buried between the 
blazed tree and— something ! 'T is well known 
that Kidd and Blackbeard came up our rivers 
with their gold, and like as not Hans's treasure is 
some such plunder." 

"Nay, Bart, 't is a silly story," I said with a 
laugh. "Your Hessian was quizzing you." 

"Aye, Bee, that was my very thought," agreed 
Bart, earnestly, by no means abashed at my 
doubt. "But when I laughed, and told Hans I 
would have none of his dreams, he was fair be- 
side himself, and begged that I, at least, tell 
Schmuck. He protested that he wanted me to 
share the gold out of gratitude for my having 
saved him, and a lot more such talk, which I 
had no great faith in, for the end was always 
the same. 'Tell Schmuck. Tell the Magus,' was 
his plea, until I grew sure that there was a hid- 
den treasure. T is plain Hans would never have 
told me a word of it had he been fit to go him- 
self; but, seeing no other way, he was forced to 
take some one into his confidence— and now I 
mean to find it." 

"And what is he to get out of it, if you do 
find anything?" I asked, becoming as convinced 
as Bart that there was something more in this 
tale than appeared on the surface. 

"Oh, he wanted half, of course," Bart said 
easily, "but I told him flat that I would not take 
all the risk and all the trouble for so small a 
share. 'T was not for myself I bargained, but for 
the cause. He grumbled mightily, but finally con- 
sented to leave the matter to me so long as I 
would tell the Magus as quickly as possible." 

"I can see no such need of haste if 't was a 
dream he dreamed," I suggested. 

"He insisted it was a dream to the very last," 
Bart replied. "But he gave me a sly wink, and 
said that others might dream too, and that there 
was no time to lose. I don't believe all he told 
me, but I 'm sure he knows of a hidden treasure. 
He hints that it is a pirate's hoard, and I mean 
to have a look for it. Pirate gold belongs to him 
who finds it, and I have no mind to see it in the 
hands of some Tory or moderate, when the cause 
stands in need of money." 

"Did Hans say that he had known the Magus?" 
I questioned. "He must have known him,— eh?" 

"No, he protested that he had never seen him," 
Bart explained; "and I think he was telling the 
truth, though of course I can't be sure." 

"What do you mean to do?" I inquired. 

"To go with old Schmuck, and seek the trea- 
sure, taking some one with me to help me guard 
and carry it here, where it will be safe until I find 
a way to transport it to His Excellency," Bart 
answered succinctly. 

"Who will you get to go with you?" I asked. 
"John or Allan McLane will be best." 

At this I fancied Bart looked a little embar- 
rassed, but when he spoke it was quke frankly. 

"Nay, Bee, I '11 be honest with you," he said. , 
"If Jack or Captain McLane go, they are my 
superior officers, and I get no credit out of the 
affair. General Washington needs money even 
more than he needs men, and I am hot for my 
commission, so if I find the treasure by myself, 
I '11 get it, you '11 see, even despite my years." 

"Then whom can you ask to help you?" I de- 
manded, puzzled, and Bart looked straight in my 
eyes, and said : 

"You, Bee !" 

"T-t-to be s-s-sure," agreed Peggy, in the most 
matter-of-fact way ; "and I '11 h-h-help, too." 

"No, no!" said Bart, impatiently, "don't get 
that into your head. You could n't be of any 

"I c-c-could s-s-so !" Peggy was very indig- 
nant. "I c-c-could k-k-keep watch and t-tell you 
if any one was c-c-coming." 

Whereat we had to smile, to the little lady's 
great disgust. 

"But will you go, Bee?" Bart was all eagerness 
and not to be diverted. "You 'd like to do some- 
thing for the cause, would n't you?" 

"What are your plans?" I asked cautiously. 

"Well, I shall see Schmuck first," Bart began ; 
but I interrupted. 

"Can't you get along without this Schmuck?" 

"No, I cannot," answered Bart. "If I could 
I would, willingly enough ; but 't is impossible for 
me to dig up the ground for a mile, maybe, around 
the blazed tree. The treasure may lie near or it 
may not be within a hundred yards. That 's 
what the Magus must determine, and 't is on that 
account I am forced to take him." 

"But you need n't tell him all you know," I in- 
sisted, full of a vague distrust. "Only enough to 
get him interested, without saying just where the 
spot is." 

"Exactly," agreed Bart. "All I '11 say is that 
the treasure is on the right bank of the Wissa- 
hickon, and that he must find the place, though 
my Hessian told me twice to be sure to tell him 
about the blazed tree and the crooked man," 




"And then what ?" I asked. 

"Then we '11 agree upon a night—" 

"Night!" I exclaimed. "Must we go at night?" 

"Why, of course, Bee," he replied, surprised 
at my question. "Who ever heard of hunting 
treasure in the daytime?" 

"To be sure, that 's true," I answered, admit- 
ting the force of this argument. "But Mrs. Mum- 
mer would never let me go." 

"There 's my m-m-mouse's h-h-hole," sug- 
gested Peg, crossly ; w you can g-g-go by that if 
you w-w-want to." 

■"What 's that ?" Bart was curious. 

" 'T is a queer passageway she found, down 
through the nursery chimney and out by the 
spring-house," I explained. 

"Allan McLane w-w-went out b-b-by it once, 
and he was s-s-so big that he n-n-nearly s-s- 
stuck," Peg remarked, good-humored once more. 
Her little tempers were only surface tantrums and 
never endured for long. 

"So you can go, Bee, if you only will,"' Bart 

"But of what use can I be to you?" I asked.' 

"You could help with the gold," he replied, 
"and watch and see that old Schmuck did n't 
bash me over the head when my back was turned. 
You could carry a pistol, could n't you?" 

"Aye, I could carry a pistol," I said a little 
doubtfully, "but 't would be better to take one of 
the black boys along." 

"Nay, they would be frightened out of their 
wits," Bart protested. 

"Not Charley," I insisted. "Moreover, he is 
strong and could help with the. digging. Please 
take Charley," I ended pleadingly. 

"Will you go if I do?" he questioned eagerly, 
and I nodded in agreement. 

And so, swept off my feet by my wish to help 
Bart, by my desire to aid the cause, and not a 
little influenced, if it must be confessed, by the 
thought of the adventure itself, I found myself 
committed to the expedition. It is passing strange 
how matters turn out, and a wiser head than 
mine could not have foreseen how much de- 
pended on my answer to his pleading ; but had I 
refused to go, I might have been spared many, 
many weeks of anxiety. 

(To be continued.) 

When an apple fell 

And hit 
Sir Isaac Newton 

On the head, 
He discovered then 

The law 
Of gravitation ! 

So I 've read. 

But / 've sat here 

Two hours, now, 
Watching, till I 'm 

Late for tea, 
And that obstinate 

Old apple 
Simply will not fall 

On me. 

C-lio C3X2CC-0 lCtra<g Cox.t.LcL xz<Zy\\:\t<^y Snttle. nor- cLcxn.ce, 
X_itfe^ JaeAcL j^im Lit o. £t.x£' < =L. o-orzcL fornzal trcxiac-e,, 
UlrzLLl orie- clo.-^ tlrze- Ol^e-e^fTju. Ccits 
CJX']ope'Ccir , C'cL o-L Co-uxirL i-n, "wondroixs T^o-ts 

v — riis loT.c.bvtr'e, "bells bl-2-c r*csl~ of tJxis X\piaici.i-zce^. 

i^** 6 *- 



Ted Cunningham closed his chemistry with a 
slam, and pushed it across the table. "That 's the 
last of chemistry for this week," he said cheer- 
fully to his room-mate. "Another try at that last 
problem in trig, and I 've finished my work for 

"I 'm glad you take it so pleasantly," returned 
Robert Burling, dryly, as he looked up from his 
work with a frown. "I still have another half- 
hour's work on my Latin. I should be very glad 
to have you explain to me the use in granting the 
students a half-holiday, if every one of the pro- 
fessors gives out so much extra work that a fel- 
low has to spend his whole afternoon and evening 
over his books." 

Ted threw back his head and laughed. "Poor 
old Bobs ! You are down, are n't you ! I knew 
the sole-leather you were eating last night would 
make a pessimist of you to-day, though you were 
charitable enough to call it pie." 

Some one was coming up the stairs three steps 
at a time, and a moment later, Harvey Ransom 
threw open the door and stepped in, without the 
formality of waiting for an invitation. 

"Get out of here," growled Robert, inhospi- 
tably. "I 'm not half through with my lessons, 
and I can't have you racketing around." 

The intruder caught the leather pillow which 
had been aimed at his head with a polite "Thank 
you," and, throwing it down on the floor, seated 

himself upon it. He looked up at Ted inquiringly : 
"What 's the matter with the senator? He seems 
to be on the war-path to-night." 

Ted shook his head. "Oh, he 's all right so 
long as you pay no attention to his growling. 
He thinks that the earth is n't running in its ac- 
customed orbit to-day, but it 's only that the pie 
he got down at that little corner restaurant last 
night gave him bad dreams." 

Harvey grinned. "We all have to learn by sad 
experience," he remarked sententiously, then hur- 
riedly dodged a second pillow that came perilously 
near its mark. "But fortunately not all of us 
develop this homicidal tendency." 

Robert closed his book and leaned back in his 
chair. "I had to spend the whole afternoon over 
that assignment in trig, and the everlasting grind 
is spoiling my disposition," he explained apolo- 

"You 're quite right there," returned Harvey, 
encouragingly ; then added in a more serious tone, 
"You two fellows spend too much of your time 
here in this stuffy room. If you 'd get out with 
the rest of us once in a while, you 'd be a great 
deal better off. I 've come over here this evening 
with a special invitation for you to join us in a 
lark we 've planned for to-night, but I have n't 
a doubt but that it will be declined with thanks." 

"I hope you have n't been counting too much 
on a refusal," said Ted, "for I 'm ready for any 




fun that may come my way to-night— not because 
I 'm taking your advice to neglect my work, but 
simply because I am practically through with it, 
and feel ready for a frolic. You play all the 
time, Harvey, so you are never in a position to 
really appreciate your good times," added Ted, 

Harvey was not in the least disconcerted by this 
allusion to his well-known aversion to study. 
"You '11 soon be called upon to fill the chaplain's 
place if you persist in giving us these choice ser- 
monettes— your eloquence deserves a larger audi- 
ence. How about you, Senator ?" 

"Oh, well, I guess I can finish my Latin in the 
morning before class, so I 'm with you, too. 
What 's the program?" 

Harvey had already risen, and was pulling on 
his cap. "This is better luck than I had expected. 
But we 're already late, so take your hats and 
let 's be off. I '11 explain as we go." 

When they had crossed the campus, Harvey 
led the way down a little side street which neither 
of the boys could remember having traversed 
before. "Where does this road lead, Harvey?" 
inquired Ted, curiously. "And what have you 
fellows in view for to-night?" 

"This road leads out into the fields west of 
town, to the best of my knowledge, and you are 
on your way to partake of a 'Dutch treat,' " re- 
plied their leader with a comical air of secrecy. 

Ted thrust his hands down into his trousers 
pockets and jingled the coins he found there. "I 
trust it 's not the same sort of a 'Dutch treat' 
that the watermelon party we had last year turned 
out to be — you remember that Bobs and I chanced 
to be the only ones who had any change in our 
pockets on that occasion, and we were therefore 
forced to foot the bill. We 're not freshmen this 
year, and, besides, I only have thirty-seven cents 
with me— and perhaps the quarter that I think I 
feel may chance to be a nickel when it is brought 
to light." 

His two companions chuckled reminiscently. 
"This is a Dutch treat without money and without 
price," Harvey reassured him. 

"Oh, come now !" protested Robert, "tell us 
where we are going." 

"We '11 have to cross this field," said Harvey, 
vaulting the fence. "We 're to meet the rest of 
the fellows over near the Westville road, and then 
all of us are to go on to Professor Donnerberg's, 
where refreshments will be served." 

The two other boys stopped short. "But he 
has n't invited us !" exclaimed Ted. • 

Harvey laughed. "That need n't worry you, 
for he has n't invited any of us. It 's something 
in the nature of a surprise party, in fact." 

"That 's not much better," returned Ted. "I 
don't even know Professor Donnerberg by sight, 
and I doubt whether Bobs here does. He '11 won- 
der to what he owes the honor of our call." 

Harvey seemed more amused than ever. "There, 
the fellows are already waiting for us, but before 
we join them, perhaps I 'd better relieve your 
minds of the fear of meeting the professor. You 
see, there 's some sort of a reception to the faculty 
over at Dean Wright's to-night, so the professor 
will unfortunately be unable to be present at our 
little gathering." 

"What 's the joke?" asked Robert, impatiently. 
"I thought you said that we were going out for a 
Dutch treat." 

"And so we are," returned Harvey, coolly. . 

"Then just where does Professor Donnerberg 
come in?" insisted the other. 

"He comes in on the 'Dutch,' " explained Har- 
vey, soberly. "He looks Dutch, acts Dutch, and 
was christened 'Old Dutch' the first day he set 
foot on the campus. His special hobby is a vine- 
yard which is just now in its glory, as you shall 
presently see, for we are now on our way to pay it 
a visit. Need I further demonstrate the fitness 
of the term 'Dutch treat' ? Hello, there, fellows ! 
Are we the last ones ?" 

"Every one else has been here fifteen minutes," 
replied Winston Carter. "Hello, Burling ! Hello, 
Cunningham ! If you '11 take the lead now, Ran- 
som, we "11 get under way at once!" 

Ted and Robert had paused uncertainly on the 
edge of the little group, but as Ransom was about 
to set off, Ted called him aside. "I 'd a little 
rather you 'd count us out of this, Harvey," he 
began rather angrily. "If you had told us in the 
beginning that you were going out to rob some 
one, you might have spared yourself and us this 

Harvey remained unruffled, and, laying a hand 
on the shoulder of either boy, he drew them on 
with him. "Don't be foolish, boys !" he protested 
under his breath. "The fellows would never for- 
get it if you were to go back on us now, and it 's 
all right at any rate. It 's a regular class 'stunt' 
down here to do something like this, and no one 
ever thinks of calling it stealing." 

The two chums fell into step without making 
any reply, for Harvey's words had silenced but 
not convinced them. But the dozen boys who 
made up the party were a jolly, fun-loving lot, 
the night was glorious, dark but clear, and as they 
made their way quietly, yet with many a whis- 
pered joke and much gay banter, through the 
fields and around to the back of Professor Don- 
nerberg's vineyard, both Ted and Robert forgot 
their scruples and were quite carried away by the 




feeling of adventure, touched with just enough 
of danger to make them tingle pleasantly with ex- 

The boys came to a halt just under the high 
stone wall that separated the vineyard from the 

a sound. Carter came last, having been drawn 
up by two of his fellows. 

"Every one here?" whispered Ransom. "All 
right then. We '11 go right up to the center path, 
where we 're not so apt to be heard or seen from 


fields. "Here !" said Ransom, in a whisper, "some 
one lend me a shoulder, and I '11 go over first to 
see whether the coast is clear." 

They heard him drop softly onto the turf on the 
other side of the wall, and then, after a few mo- 
ments of anxious waiting, his muffled call of "All 
right." Carter and Dick Walton lent willing 
shoulders, and one after another of the boys 
scaled the wall and joined Ransom with scarcely 
Vol. XL.— 5-6. 

the street and house, and then we '11 scatter out 
a little." 

Just as the boys turned to follow Ransom's 
lead, there came a blinding flash of light. The 
little group stood as though petrified for a mo- 
ment, then turned to run, but a hearty voice, 
with a strong German accent, arrested their 
flight. "I 'm very sorry that my flash-light star- 
tled you so, gentlemen, but I did n't want to lose 



the opportunity to get a good photograph while 
I had you all together. I should have been very 
sorry to have broken up the party, though, for 
I refused one invitation for to-night in order not 
to forego the pleasure of meeting you here." 

The boys were still too amazed for words. The 
flash-light had died down, but a small search-light 
was still turned full upon them, and into this 
circle of light stepped Professor Donnerberg. 
He extended his hand cordially to Ransom, who 
was in the lead. "I 'm very glad to welcome you 
here, Ransom," he said cordially. "And you, 
Sargent; how do you do, Parr? I am very agree- 
ably surprised to find you here to-night. When 
I heard that you were too ill to attend my class 
this morning, I feared that you might be seriously 

Parr blushed crimson, but the professor ap- 
peared not to notice his confusion, and went on 
down the line, greeting each one of his guests by 
name. When he came to Ted and Robert, who 
brought up the rear, he paused a moment. "I 
believe I have not had the pleasure?" he said 

"My name is Robert Burling, sir," replied Rob- 
ert, a little unsteadily. 

"I am happy to know you. And this gentle- 
man?" He turned to Ted. 

"Theodore Cunningham, sir." 

"Is your father a Princeton man?" inquired the 
professor, eagerly. 

"Class of '83, sir," replied Ted, in surprise. 

The professor held out his hand again. "Then 
I am doubly glad to meet you. Your father and 
I are old classmates, and I am delighted to know 
his son." He turned again to the whole group. 
"But I know that you are becoming impatient of 
all these preliminaries and are eager for the real 
business of the evening to begin. Are you all 
armed with pocket-knives? Yes? So much the 
better. Now if you will just follow me, I '11 
show you where the best table grapes grow." 

He led the way into the vineyard, talking as he 
went. "There was a party of boys out here from 
town last night, but they neglected to tell me of 
their coming, and, left to themselves out here in 
the dark— they had even neglected to bring lan- 
terns—they got hold of the poorest grapes that 
grew here this year." He took the search-light 
from the grinning negro who had held it, and 
threw the light over the vines. "You '11 find the 
best black grapes on those small vines there in 
the northeast corner. Personally I prefer the red 
ones— those little fellows there at your right— 
they are so much sweeter. And if any of you are 
partial to the white grapes, you '11 find a late 
variety on those large vines that are trained over 

the arbor, but I can't recommend them very 
highly— I can't raise good white grapes here in 
this climate, though I 've tried it again and again. 
If you '11 just gather several bunches while you 're 
about it, you can bring them to the big table in 
the arbor, and we can talk while we eat." 

The professor continued his pleasant talk while 
they ate, but the boys found it very difficult, to 
keep up their end of the conversation. It was 
not, however, because they were too busily en- 
gaged with their grapes— eating and talking 
seemed equally difficult, and in spite of their 
host's urgent invitation, they did not return to 
the vines for a second supply of fruit. 

When, at last, they rose to leave, Professor 
Donnerberg shook hands with each of them again, 
assuring them that he had greatly enjoyed the 
evening, and then led the way toward the street. 
"Let me show you the gate/' he said cheerfully. 
"It is really a much more convenient entrance 
than the one you chose to-night, and I hope that 
you '11 make use of it often in the future." 

The boys walked down the street in absolute 
silence, but as they neared the campus, Ransom 
said with a groan: "I 've already got some black 
marks from last year, so I suppose this means 
expulsion for me !" 

"You '11 have plenty of company at least," re- 
turned Carter, grimly. "And by the way, Ran- 
som, it was a fine old 'Dutch treat'— was n't it?" 

"I thought those grapes would choke me !" put 
in Parr. "I never want to see another grape-vine 
the longest day I live." 

"It seems to me, just now, that I could bear 
choking or expulsion better than the professor's 
politeness," said Ted, whose face looked drawn 
and haggard. 

"He was awfully clever to get that picture of us 
before we knew he was there. There was n't any 
use in even trying to run after that," groaned 
Sargent, dejectedly. 

The expected notices, summoning them to appear 
at the president's office, were not received the 
next day nor the next. Then a week went by, 
and the boys, in anxious uncertainty, decided that 
"Old Dutch" was waiting to bring the matter up 
at the next meeting of the faculty. But the fac- 
ulty meeting was held, and again a week went by 
without any mention having been made of the 
"Dutch treat." The boys began to breathe a little 
more freely. Ted Cunningham had twice been 
invited to take supper at Professor Donnerberg's 
home, but on neither occasion had any mention 
been made of their first meeting. 

Then one evening in early November, Robert 
and Ted invited their companions of that Septem- 




ber excursion to assemble in their room, and Ted 
took the floor. 

"I don't know how the rest of you fellows feel 
about the 'Dutch treat' Professor Donnerberg 
gave us six weeks ago," he began, "but I think the 
professor a perfect brick." (There was a hearty 
chorus of assent.) "I 've felt all along that we 
fellows owed him some sort of an apology, and it 
has occurred to me that we might send him a 
basket of those big white grapes on 
Thanksgiving morning, with our cards. 
You remember he told us, that fateful 
night, that he could n't raise good 

white ones. But perhaps one of you will have 
some better suggestion to make." 

That first suggestion, however, was adopted 
unanimously, and the order despatched at once. 
The morning after Thanksgiving, each one of 
the donors received a personal note of thanks 
from "Old Dutch," and in each was inclosed 
a photograph of a startled group of boys— "as 
a souvenir of the very pleasant evening we 
spent together last September," the pro- 
fessor wrote, "and an invitation to re- 
peat the visit each September during your 
college course." 



The dear little children who pass all day, 
I watch from my window above,— 

Darlings, with blue eyes and black and gray ; 
But one little girl I love. 

It is n't because of her lovely face ; 

Her hair is as straight as a string. 
It is n't because of some wondrous grace ; 

She 's a round, little dumpy thing. 

But she always mothers the littlest tots, 
And is kind to the weak and small. 

Swift on her two busy feet she trots, 
To comfort and help them all. 

Once, when the circus was passing by, 
And the band was blaring along, 

At the sound of a baby's piteous cry, 
She turned from the hurrying throng. 

She lifted the baby, and kissed the smart; — 
(I saw from my window above.) 

She lost the circus, but won my heart, 
This dear little girl I love. 

Marble palaces, jeweled carpets, golden car- 
riages, elephants resplendent with gold and silver 
trappings and silken blankets, princes gorgeous 
with aigrets, epaulets, ear-rings, bracelets, 
anklets, and rings, all gleaming with jewels, 
throngs of servants in rich liveries with gold 
lace,— could any place come nearer being fairy- 
land realized than India, where all of these 
splendors abound ? India, where princesses and 
wealthy ladies are shut up in palaces and allowed 
to look out only through latticed windows, and 
the poor women cover their faces when they go 
out in the streets ; where most of the people eat 
too little, and the others eat too much, and every- 
body all he can get ; where the people have brown 
skins and wear curious clothes that look like 
carnival costumes? Would not all this be as in- 
teresting to see as the land of "Arabian Nights" ? 

Yet I could never forget that it was just the 
earth after all, for was I not obliged to eat three 
meals a day of potatoes and cauliflower (boiled 
without even salt), and tough chicken or goat? 
And when I was looking at the most wonderful 
things, would not a swarm of mosquitos attack 
me, or the sun beat down so fiercely, or the rain 
fall in such torrents, that I could not forget who 
or where I was? The odors in the streets, more- 
over, would never be permitted in a properly 
regulated fairy-land. 

The most interesting parts of India to visit are 
those governed by the native princes. So long as 
they remain loyal to the king-emperor in Eng- 
land, and do not violate his ideas of justice and 
good government, they are allowed to rule quite 
independently, issuing their own currency and 
postage, making and executing their own laws. 
A resident or political agent, appointed by the 
British, acts as intermediary between the im- 
perial and state governments. 

Some of these princes claim to trace their line- 
age back to the sun, and others to the moon. 
They have little respect for a person who cannot 

boast of a long line of illustrious ancestors. The 
chief in a Hindu state is usually called a raja 
(prince) or maharaja (great prince), and, in a 
Mohammedan state, a nabob, sometimes Nizam. 
The title is hereditary, but often the chief dies 
without a son, and a successor is chosen from 
among the nobles of his family. Self-indulgence 
and high living cause many of them to die early 
or to lose their health. At present, in a number 
of states, the chief is a minor. In such cases, 
the British government appoints an administrator 
to take charge of the state until the chief becomes 
of age, when he is installed on the gadi, or 
throne, with great ceremony. 

It is almost impossible for an American boy or 
girl to imagine the extravagance and luxury that 
surround some of these young princes. Servants 
attend them night and day, fan them, dress them, 
and obey their slightest wish. If a wind stirs 
while they sleep, curtains are drawn that they 
may not be disturbed. When they drive out, a 
mounted escort accompanies them, and all the 
people salaam as they pass. Once, when taking 
tea with a raja in his garden, I was amused to 
notice that, as he moved about among his guests, 
a servant followed carrying a cup which he kept 
always within reach of his master's hand. The 
raja would take a sip of tea, and, with perfect 
unconcern, set his cup down in mid air. With 
unfailing dexterity, the saucer was placed under 
it by the servant in time to avoid accident. One 
prince had, suspended from the ceiling, a silver 
couch which was kept gently swaying while he 
slept or read. Another had a beautiful vine- 
covered arbor where artificial rain was made to 
fall, while the nabob sat under a marble canopy 
in the center, cool and refreshed, with the rest of 
the world broiling about him. 

In Baroda, one of the largest states, I saw the 
heir, a boy of three, at the flower show, with his 
little sister and nurse, in a small golden carriage 
drawn by white ponies with gold harness. The 




cushions were of cloth of gold, and the livery of 
the coachman and grooms was ornamented with 
gold lace. These children are much loved by 
their grandfather, the Gaikwar of Baroda, the 
present chief. Their father died recently, leav- 
ing his baby son heir to the gadi. They live in 
a palace set apart for them 
by the gaikwar, where an 
English nurse, assisted by 
native servants, cares for 
them, and is rearing them 
much like English boys. 

Many of the princes now 
have English nurses and 
tutors for their children. 
In Palitana I had tea with 
the young chief, Bahadur 
Singji Mansingji, a minor 
of twelve years. During 
his minority, the state is 
being administered by a 
very capable Englishman, 
Mr. Tudor Owen, whose 
wife acts as tutor to the 
young chief. When I ar- 
rived, the young prince was 
playing tennis with a cousin, 
who lives with him as com- 
panion. When the set was 
finished, he came into the 
drawing-room where Mr. 
and Mrs. Tudor Owen were 
receiving" several guests. 
His eyes were sparkling, 
and he could scarcely wait 
to greet us before an- 
nouncing that he had won. 
His manners were those of 
any well-bred English or 
American boy. 

Later, when we were all 
sitting about the dining- 
room table having our tea, 
Bahadur Singji whispered 
anxiously to a servant, who 
thereupon reminded Mrs. 
Tudor Owen that it was 
jam day. It seemed that, 
sometime before, the boy 
was getting very fat, and 
the doctor prescribed less 
jam. He was consequently 

restricted to jam once a week, and this happened 
to be the gala-day. Had he been reared in 
strictly Hindu fashion, of course he could not 
have eaten of our food, nor even have sat at table 
with those not of his own caste, or social class. 

He was dressed in a simple native costume of 
white linen, and wore a bright-colored turban. 
For an Indian to appear without his turban 
would be a mark of disrespect to his guests. 
Next year the young Takor Saheb, as the chiefs 
of this district are called, will attend Rajkumar 



His Highness is now twenty-two years old, and has a heavy black beard which he parts in the middle 

and twists up over his ears, as is customary with the Sikhs. 

College (college for the sons of princes), at 
Rajkot, and later go to England to complete his 
studies. He is being brought up as any Amer- 
ican boy of wealthy parents might be, and with- 
out the extravagance of many of the native courts. 



The little Nabob of Junagarh, somewhat 
younger than Bahadur Singji, received us in 
state, wearing silks and bedecked with jewels. 
He understands very little English, so we had to 
resort to an interpreter. The poor child made a 
brave effort to appear a cordial host, but it was 


the recreation hour, and he wriggled and 
squirmed and smiled slyly at his young cousin in 
his impatience to shed his finery and be off for a 
game of ball — his favorite sport. He wrote his 
autograph on his picture for me, talked a few 
minutes, then went off to the playground, and was 
soon running and laughing like any other boy. 

His Highness the Maharaja of Jodhpur, a 
charming boy of thirteen, and his brother, Ma- 
haraj Umed Singh, an unusually attractive boy 
of eight, have recently gone to England with 
their English tutor to complete their studies be- 
fore the young chief is installed. 

Many of the young 
princes are now sent to 
school in England, in spite 
of the fact that the training- 
received there often unfits 
them for the lives they are 
destined to lead later at 
in the 

education received 
Indian colleges is 
better adapted to 
giving the princes an un- 
derstanding of the people 
and country over which 
they are later to rule. 
There are several colleges 
exclusively for the sons of 
chiefs. The principal one 
is Mayo College at Ajmir, 
which is maintained by the 
chiefs of the Rajputana 
district. These Rajput 
princes represent the pur- 
est Hindu blood, and have 
an air of distinction at 
times wanting in the other 

At Mayo College, each 
boy has a separate estab- 
lishment, with his own cook 
and servants. It is custom- 
ary for Hindus to eat in 
private, but the boys some- 
times invite one another 
for a meal. Athletics play 
as important a part in the 
college life there as in 
America or England. 
Cricket and polo are the 
chief sports. Most of the 
boys bring a number of 
ponies with them. Nowhere 
can one see polo to better 
advantage than in India, 
where the princes have stables filled with ponies 
of the finest breeds, and are never hampered by 
having to use a tired horse. On the contrary, 
many of the ponies, I am told, die for lack of 
exercise. The game is much faster than at home. 
These dark-skinned riders produce a most pic- 
turesque effect as they dash after the ball with 




unparalleled abandon, the streamers of their gayly 
colored turbans floating behind them. Most of 
them, especially the Rajputs, are consummate 

The college was opened in 1875 by Lord North- 
brook. The main building is a beautiful struc- 
ture of white marble, showing modern Indian 
architecture at its best. Surrounding it are the 

India is now going through one of the most 
critical stages of its history, and its future wel- 
fare depends largely upon these young princes. 
New and wholesome ideas from the West are 
making themselves felt. A great many changes 
have already taken place, railways, public in- 
struction, hospitals, and sanitation have been in- 
troduced. With tact and sympathy and trust 


dormitories erected by the different states: Un- 
der the supervision of a highly cultured English 
gentleman, Mr. C. W. Waddington, these young 
princes are given the education best adapted to 
the lives they are to lead. Here they are all 
treated as equals and are removed from the lux- 
ury and intrigues of their own homes, where 
they are pampered and spoiled by underlings. On 
the other hand they escape the snares to which 
so many succumb when sent to foreign countries. 

between the British and Indians, the transition 
may be made naturally and harmoniously, whereas 
a false step might plunge both nations into untold 
bloodshed and misery. The stand taken by the 
native princes will be very important in recon- 
ciling popular opinion to the changes, and Eng- 
land has every reason to expect hearty coopera- 
tion from this generation of intelligent boys who 
are preparing to represent the Indian nation. 
Long live his youthful highness, the minor raja ! 



zoltt Fprresiiei 

Marie Louise rode slowly, chin up, eyes half 
closed, perhaps to keep back the tears. She did 
not look at Slim, beside her on the white-footed 
bronco, but Slim pretended not to notice, and 
talked just as if he were being answered. 

"You see, it 's this way, M'ree. A pony 's a 
pony, but a trick pony like Babe is worth an 
awful lot of money. That chap from the East 
has offered Dad one thousand in cold cash for 
her ; a whole thousand, M'ree. She 's going to 
be a polo pony, and move only in the upper 
classes; ain't you, Babe?" 

Slim leaned over and gave Babe a playful pat, 
but she curveted away from him easily. 

"See that side-step she can do !" exclaimed 
Slim, excitedly. "Would n't that make them 
easterners' eyes bulge? And it ain't any teach- 
ing she 's had. It 's just nature. Why, M'ree, 
you ought to be glad she 's going to be a pam- 
pered pet. That 's what I heard the man tell 

"She 's my pet, and I love her, and I don't 
think Dad ought to sell her when she 's mine," 
protested Marie Louise, forcibly. Marie Louise 
was likely to be forcible at strenuous moments. 
Back at the ranch, when the fur started to fly, 
old Louis Buteau, father of both children, would 
shake his head, and say, with shrewdly smiling 

"Non, non, M'ree Louise, and you named for 
the queen most charming!" 

To-day Marie Louise had clearly forgotten the 
precedent in manners set by the "queen most 
charming." She was just a ranch girl, born and 
bred, tanned, keen-eyed, and not very pretty. 
But there was a grace and vitality about her at 
fifteen as she rode Babe over the hills that many 
a city girl would have envied. Even Slim's 
eyes rested on her admiringly. 

She halted abruptly at the topmost point in the 

mountain trail. Below them lay the Buteau 
ranch, a little, low, log shack, with many strag- 
gling lean-tos wandering back from it. The 
sheep grazing along the lower hill-slopes looked 
like dull gray rocks, their heads bent low. It was 
late October, and nearly all of the trees were 
swept bare of leaves. Their trunks stood out in 
sharp silhouette against the red-and-yellow-col- 
ored ground, ankle deep in the dry leaves. 

Babe lifted her soft, sensitive nose, and sniffed 
the air restlessly. She started to back on the 
narrow path, and Marie Louise pulled her up al- 
most crossly. 

But Slim leaned forward in his saddle, and 
looked down below them over the rocky ledge. 
There was a strip of timber there, and from it 
curled upward through the hazy, still air a thin 
white cloud of smoke, hardly visible. Slowly it 
rose, and settled, hanging above the trees like a 

"M'ree !" gasped Slim, tense and alert on the 
instant with the true scout's instinct that scents 
danger, "the timber 's afire! It 's those eastern 
chaps. They rode through there this morning, 
and both of them smoking cigarettes. What do 
they care where they throw the stubs? It ain't 
their woods. I wonder if Dad sees the smoke 

"He can't !" answered Marie Louise, shortly. 
"He 's gone with the men fishing." 

"It 's got a bully start." Slim was off his pony, 
lying face downward over the ledge, scanning 
the scene below. "It will reach those spruces in 
an hour, crawling as it is through the leaves. I 
could keep it back that long — maybe, M'ree. I 
can take my saddle-blanket and wet it in the lit- 
tle waterfall back yonder, and ride down—" 

Marie Louise met his eyes then, and there was 
a flash of understanding between them. They 
knew each other well, and they knew, too, what 





it would mean to the timber belt, and perhaps the 
ranch itself, if a forest fire started raging 
through the valley. 

"You do that, Slim," she said, turning Babe 
around on the narrow trail. "I '11 go and tell 

"Don't run all the way," Slim shouted after the 
flying streak, as it vanished down the mountain, 
but she did not even turn to wave. Four miles 
lay between her and the trout brook, not level 
miles on a good road, but mountain miles, of 
rough, dangerous roads, where a single misstep 
in places would land pony and rider hundreds of 
feet below on the gray crags of the deep ravines. 

The smell of smoke seemed to have set Babe 
half crazy. Ears back, nose out, she took to the 
trail as if pursued. On her back, Marie Louise 
clung, riding like Slim himself, knees gripping 
the pony's sides, sitting well back, swaying with 
every move of the slender, supple body beneath 
her. Several times she half turned to look back 
at that pale cloud of smoke that hung over the 
timber. It looked like the smoke from a great 
camp-fire. Not two miles away from it, she 
knew, lay a stretch of good grazing-ground, 
where a bunch of choice cattle was herded. One 
whiff of the smoke, and they would all stampede, 
perhaps dash headlong over the brink of a half- 
hidden ravine, and be killed. 

She knew that Slim would do his best to beat 
it back, but the strength of one boy was little 
against a fire that had got a good start amongst 
the dry leaves, and might be smoldering in 
twenty places. So she leaned forward over 
Babe's neck, and tried to make her understand 
what was expected from her. 

Babe realized it. Carefully she picked her way 
down the dangerous places in the trail, then let 

out her speed where the road lay clear ahead. 
Never had Marie Louise enjoyed a ride as she 
did that one, which she thought was her last on 
Babe. The very next day her pet was to be sold, 
and shipped east for a polo pony. A polo pony ! 
Even in the excitement of the ride, a surge of 
indignation swept through Marie Louise's heart, 
to think of her wild, light-footed ranch pet spend- 
ing the rest of her life chasing polo balls ! And 
safely away from Slim's boyish chaffing, she let 
the tears fall freely on Babe's glossy neck. 

Buteau was out in midstream, trolling content- 
edly for rainbow and brown beauties in the deep 
pools of Little Laramie River, when he heard the 
clear "Coo-ee!" above him on the hillside. He 
knew the signal of danger, and, without a word, 
left his fishing. 

"The timber 's burning, Dad !" cried Marie 
Louise, galloping" toward him, and Buteau, shout- 
ing the news down-stream to his two eastern 
guests, scrambled toward his own horse. 

All night the men from the ranch worked fight- 
ing back the fire, and all night Marie Louise rode 
between the ranch and the fighting line, carrying 
fresh coffee and food, on Babe. When it was 
over, and the last smoldering embers stamped 
out, she stood beside her father, looking at the 
blackened trees. Babe was near by, nosing hun- 
grily around. 

"That was a good ride you took to warn me. 
M'ree," the old ranchman remarked proudly. "I 
don't think ten thousand dollars can buy that 
pony, eh?" 

Marie Louise flashed her quick smile at him. 
and said nothing. She knew Babe was safe from 
polo ! Slim turned to grin happily at her. 

But Babe only lifted a hungry nose, sniffing 
toward where the home ranch lay. 



Sailing day finds the wireless operator early at 
his post. Long before the passengers come 
aboard and commence to search for their state- 
rooms, the wireless booth is a center of activity. 
The machinery is carefully overhauled, supplies 
are looked to, and a number of test messages are 
sent out. The operators do not call up any one 
in particular at this time, but depend upon the 
sharp crack of the sending apparatus to tell 
them if everything is working properly. Every 
detail of the apparatus is examined, including, of 
course, the aerials strung from the topmasts. The 
tests are made fully three hours before sailing, 
when the operators are free until the boat leaves, 
almost the only carefree interval they will have 
until the steamer is docked on the other side of 
the Atlantic. 

The first regular wireless message is sent out 

as the steamer slowly backs from her pier. It is 
timed just five minutes after sailing. The sharp 
crack of the sending apparatus is usually drowned 
by the roar of the whistle calling for a clear pas- 
sage in midstream. All transatlantic steamers 
send to the wireless station at Sea Gate, while 
the coastwise steamers call up the station on top 
of one of the skyscrapers on lower Broadway. 
This is merely a formal message, but no wireless 
log would be complete without it. This first 
message is known as the "T R," no one seems to 
know just why. The wireless station replies as 
briefly as possible, and the wireless operator 
shuts off. 

Business soon picks up. Before the passen- 
gers are through waving farewells, some one has 
usually remembered a forgotten errand ashore, 
or decided to send a wireless (aerogram is the 


m I* j "1 


■J f l L ^B 

in**E» tin' *l 





word), and visitors begin to look up the wireless 
station. It is usually a detached house on the 
uppermost or sun deck, just large enough for the 
mysterious-looking apparatus and a bunk or two. 
Before the voyage is over, most of the passengers 
will have become very familiar with the station, 
for it is, after all, about the most interesting 
place aboard. If no messages are filed for send- 
ing, the operator picks up the shore station and 
clicks off the name of his ship, as, for instance, 
"Atlantas. Nil here" (meaning "nothing here"). 

Should the operator have 
any messages to file, he 
will add the number, for 
example: "Atlantas 3." 

The receiving station 
picks this up and replies 
quickly. If it has no mes- 
sages to send, it will reply, 
"O K. Nil here." 

Should there be any mes- 
sages to deliver, it will re- 
ply, "O K G." (Go ahead.) 

All the way down the 
harbor, the great ship is 
in constant communication, 
sending and receiving be- 
lated questions and an- 
swers. The passengers, who 
have been calling their 
farewells from the ship's 
side as the waters widen, 
are merely continuing their 
conversations with the 
shores now rapidly slipping 
past. Your message, mean- 
while, will be delivered 
almost anywhere in the 
United States within an 
hour, and in near-by cities 
in much less time. 

The wireless service is 
the last detail needed to 
give one the impression 
that the steamer is a great 
floating hotel. A steward 
comes to your room to de- 
liver an aerogram written 
ashore a few minutes be- 
fore, as any messenger-boy would look you up 
at home. If you are walking on deck, or loung- 
ing in the social-room or library, you are "paged" 
exactly as in a hotel. Meanwhile a bulletin, 
posted at the head of the main companionway 
or in the smoking-rooms, announces the latest 
weather forecast, the land station, and the vari- 
ous ships then in wireless communication. A 

little later, the daily newspaper will be published. 
A novel diversion of a transatlantic crossing, 
nowadays, is a game of chess or checkers played 
between passengers on two steamers hundreds of 
miles apart. The squares of the boards are num- 
bered and the moves announced by simply tele- 
graphing these numbers, when each move is made. 
One of a thousand advantages of having the 
wireless apparatus aboard is the control it gives 
the captain if his ship should chance to ground 
down the harbor. The ship's owners know all 


1'he other player may be hundreds of miles away. Each, by a wireless 

message, communicates his move to the other. 

about the trouble almost immediately, and assis- 
tance can be rushed from the nearest point 
within a few minutes. There is the case, for 
instance, of the great liner with a thousand pas- 
sengers which sailed from New York one Elec- 
tion Day, and stuck her nose in the mud just 
inside Sandy Hook. Late at night, a tug filled 
with newspaper men ran down the bay and came 




alongside. To their surprise they found the pas- 
sengers in high good humor, lining the decks 
and shouting the latest election returns, which 
were being announced meanwhile in the cabin 
exactly as on any newspaper bulletin board. 

The ship keeps its wireless connection with 
land through the Sea Gate station for several 
hours, even after the point has been left far 
astern. If the vessel is bound down the coast, 
a formal report will be sent to the Ambrose light- 
ship, and later to the Scotland lightship. The 
transatlantic liner keeps her instrument carefully 
attuned to the tall masts at Sea Gate until she 
has left them about ninety miles behind. About 
this time she will add "Good-by" to one of her 
messages, and turn to the next wireless station 
on her course, at Sagaponack, Long Island. 
Throughout the long run along the shore of 
North America, she will let go one wireless grasp 
only when another is within easy reach. 

Out here on the Atlantic, far out of sight of 
land, the wireless station becomes much more 
interesting than it is on shore or alongside the 


dock. At sea, this invisible link with the land 
is always more or less in one's mind. The door 
of the wireless booth seems to lead to a bridge 
which spans the ocean. The wireless room has 
all the fascination of a newspaper bulletin board, 

for all the news must reach one through this 

It is considered a great privilege to "listen in" 
during an Atlantic crossing. There are very 
few hours, indeed, when a visitor to the wire- 
less house, or cabin, would not be seriously in the 
way. If a corner of the cabin be found for you, 
however, and the receiving apparatus clasped to 
your ears, you will be amazed to find how busy 
the apparatus is kept. The air above New York 
harbor is as crowded with wireless messages as 
are the waters with ships. You are, besides, in 
easy range of many commercial stations and hun- 
dreds of amateurs. Long after the shores have 
disappeared from view, the buzz of wireless talk 
continues. There are hundreds of amateur wire- 
less stations along the Atlantic seaboard listening 
to ships' messages. It is comforting to know that 
if, by an accident, the powerful shore stations 
should fail to catch our messages, an army of 
alert boys are on guard. 

Some four hours after your ship has passed 
out of Sandy Hook, or after a ninety-mile run, 

the operator bids 
the Sea Gate sta- 
tion good-by, and 
begins to feel ahead 
for the next sta- 
tion at Sagapo- 
nack, or even the 
one at Siasconset, 
on Nantucket Is- 
land. If your ear 
is sensitive enough, 
you have probably 
heard her call 
sometime before. 
For a few minutes 
all sending and re- 
ceiving is stopped 
while the ship 
throws out her 
name, over and 
over again. Soon 
the wireless man 
catches the Nan- 
tucket's reply, and 
explains ■ that he 
could recognize the 
operator's sending 
among a thousand. 
Then he plunges 
into the work of sending and receiving messages. 
It was the Nantucket station, he will explain to 
you, that first picked up the C Q D call of the 
ill-fated Republic, and, by its promptness, gave 
the rescue steamers the news in time to save all 




on board. The first call of a station is always 
listened to with a thrill of expectation. 

An incessant chatter of shore talk reaches 
every ship, but your boat, you will find, has no 
time for idle gossip. But let a faint call flash 
from the Atlantic, and every nerve is strained to 
catch it. From now on, you will be constantly 
picking up news from the 
incoming steamers, and their 
messages are certain to be 
interesting. When a steamer 
is far out on the Atlantic 
and out of direct communi- 
cation with the stations near 
New York, it is cheaper to 
relay messages from one 
steamer to another than to 
send to the far northern sta- 
tions, and have them cable 
New York. In other words, 
the steamers scattered along 
the ocean lanes are used as 
stepping-stones to communi- 
cate with New York and 

About this time you may 
look for news from the 
steamers on "the banks," as 
the region along the eastern 
shore of Newfoundland is 
called. Such news is of the 
greatest importance, and must 
be carried instantly to the 
captain, who makes his plans 
accordingly. The incoming 

steamer reports the weather, the presence of fogs 
or icebergs, and their exact location. News of 
this kind takes precedence over everything else, 
and the apparatus is tuned to catch these reports, 
whether it gets the regular messages or not. 

Your wireless operator seems to be on the 
friendliest possible terms with all the wireless 
stations. The men are constantly changing about 
between the ships and the shore stations. To this 
group of operators the world seems small indeed. 
The men may not meet for years, and yet, in sta- 
tions thousands of miles apart, their friendship 
is kept alive by almost constant conversation. 

When Siasconset is dropped astern, the ap- 
paratus is attuned to the lonely station at Cape 
Sable, on the bleak shores of Nova Scotia. The 
steamer has been plowing steadily ahead for two 
days over the trackless ocean, but is still in al- 
most instant communication with its last port. 
The wireless man will probably find time for a 
friendly word or two to cheer up the lonely 
watchers in these northern stations. The opera- 
Voi.. XL.— 7. 

tor on one of our crossings explained that on his 
westward trip, a few days before, this station 
had been silent for as much as half an hour. 
There had been a slight accident to the machin- 
ery, and, in this isolated position, the wireless 
man must make his own repairs. Our operator 
understood perfectly, but he found time to ask 


his friend if the fishing were good, and received 
instantly an indignant reply. 

After Cape Sable, the ship continues its shore 
messages through the wireless station at Sable 
Island. Our ship is far north now, and the wire- 
less stations are well up toward the verge of the 
snows. If you have sailed out of New York on 
a hot summer's day, it will be difficult to picture 
to yourself the man who is now talking to you, 
perhaps wrapped in heavy winter clothing, look- 
ing out on a field of ice. It is not uncommon to 
receive messages from the tropics and from the 
stations not. very far below the arctic circle at 
the same moment. If the operator wishes to do 
so, he can tune his instrument now to pick up 
the series of wireless stations scattered along 
the Labrador coast. These stations are not used 
by the transatlantic steamers, but work only with 
the vessels, sealing expeditions, etc., plying in 
these waters. 

The good ship is now nearing the eastern- 
most point of North America, and at Cape Race 





picks up the last land station. ice more a 

batch of messages is received and despatched. 
Cape Race is not a post to be coveted. It is one 
of the most isolated in the world, and through- 
out the greater part of the year perhaps the cold- 
est. Operators stationed here have gone blind 
from the glare of the sun upon unbroken ice- 
fields. In leisure hours they have some com- 
pensation in hunting wild northern game. Yet, 
through the long winters, they have snatches of 
the news only a few minutes later than the news- 
paper offices in London or New York. An opera- 
tor stationed here once broke the monotony of 
his life by chatting, with the wireless men on the 
ships, about the base-ball games, which were re- 
ported to him inning by inning. 

Ever "since the steamer left New York, the 
editors of her daily newspaper have been receiv- 
ing the latest news and publishing it in their 
daily editions, exactly as in any well-equipped 
newspaper ashore. This news is sent out regu- 
larly from a station at Cape Cod. The news of 
the world, including the latest stock-exchange 
quotations, is boiled down to 500 words, and is 
sent broadcast out across the Atlantic at exactly 
ten o'clock every night. It is thrown out for 
about 1800 miles in all directions, so that any 
vessel between America and the middle of the 
ocean may catch it. When the despatch is com- 
pleted, there is a pause of fifteen minutes, when 
it is repeated over the same enormous area, and 
the repetitions continue steadily until 12:30. The 
ships suit their own convenience, picking up the 
news, at any time between these hours, when they 
are not engaged with other messages. 

When the calls from the Cape Race station 
grow faint and are finally cut off, our steamer 
ends its direct service to shore. We are now 
more than one third of the way across the At- 
lantic. Nevertheless, the ship is very rarely 
completely out of touch with the shore through- 
out the crossing. The ocean lanes are so peo- 
pled with great ships that a message can be re- 
layed from ship to ship to the land station in an 
incredibly short time. 

And for some hundreds of miles farther, as we 
go across the Atlantic— to the very middle of the 
ocean — the news service still follows our ship. 
Regularly every night at 10:30, the operator tunes 
his instrument to the Cape Cod station and writes 
down the latest news at the dictation of the oper- 
ator, now more than a thousand miles away. 

Half-way across the Atlantic, before the Cape 
Cod messages have died away, our operator 
catches his first wireless from Europe, flung out 
to welcome him from the powerful station at 
Poldhu, on the Cornwall coast. There is scarcely 

a moment on the broad Atlantic when we can- 
not listen to one or the other of these stations. 
Poldhu sends out news and the stock reports, 
just 500 words of it, exactly as does Cape Cod, 
beginning every morning at two, and repeating 
the messages at regular intervals until three. 
And so the wireless newspaper you pick up at 
your breakfast in any region of the Atlantic, is 
quite as up-to-date as the one you read at home. 

Even in the middle of the ocean, there is very 
little rest for the wireless operators. There is 
scarcely an hour when our ship is not in com- 
munication with one or more vessels. On a sin- 
gle crossing, aboard one of the great liners, 
there are usually from 500 to 600 wireless mes- 
sages transmitted and received. When a ship is. 
picked up, a notice is posted in the companion- 
way, smoking-room, and elsewhere, announcing 
that messages may be sent to such a vessel up 
to an hour, easily calculated, when she will be 
out of range. 

The first direct landward messages are sent to 
the station at Crookhaven, on the Irish coast. 
Land will not be sighted for many hours, but the 
passengers are at once busied with preparations 
for going ashore. There are scores of messages 
filed for both sides of the Atlantic, announcing 
a safe arrival — for under the protecting arms of 
the wireless one feels himself almost ashore — . 
greetings are exchanged, invitations extended, 
and the details of land journeys arranged. 

When Crookhaven is dropped, the Liverpool 
steamer next picks up the wireless station of 
Rosslare at Queenstown, and Seaforth at Liver- 
pool. For the other steamers there are the Lizard, 
Bolt Head, Niton, and Cherbourg, passing in 
rapid succession. But the thrill of the ancient 
sea-cry of "Land ho !" has been anticipated a 
thousand miles offshore. 


Sept. 28 — In communication with Liverpool all day. 
Sept. 29 — In communication with Crookhaven all day. 
Sept. 29 — 12:40 a.m., signaled Scheveningen Haven, 315 

Sept. 29 — 1 : 50 a.m., signaled Pola, Austria, 930 miles. 
Sept. 29 — 9 : 20 p.m., signaled Scheveningen Haven, 600 

Sept. 30 — 12 :20 A.M., signaled St. Marie-de-la-Mer, 920 

Sept. 30 — 1 : 1 1 A.M., signaled Seaforth, Liverpool, 400 

Sept. 30 — 2:40A.M., signaled Scheveningen Haven, 705 

Sept. 30 — 10:39 P-M., signaled Seaforth, Liverpool, 800 

miles. Sent messages. 
Oct. 1 — 3:20 A.M., signaled Seaforth, Liverpool, 890 

Oct. 1 — 9: 30 P.M., signaled S.S. Cameronia, 1000 miles. 





Oct. 2 — 1:40 A.M., signaled Cape Race, 900 miles. 
Sent messages. 

Oct. 2 — 2 a.m., signaled Seaforth, Liverpool, 1250 

Oct. 2 — 7:45 P.M., signaled Cape Race, 550 miles. 
Sent messages. 

Oct. 3 — In communication with Cape Race all day. 

Oct. 3 — n : 59 p.m., in communication with S.S. Kaiser 
Wilhelm II, eastbound, and remained in touch 
until 8 : 50 p.m. on Oct. 5, making over 1000 
miles ahead and astern. Kaiser says, " We 
cannot get out of your range." 

Oct. 4 — In cu ^unication with Cape Race and Sable 

Island aii day. 
5 — In communication with Sable Island and Cape 

Sable all day. 
Oct. 6 — In communication with Cape Sable, Siasconset, 

Sagaponack, Cape May, Sea Gate, all day. 
Oct. 7 — In communication with Sea Gate. Docked 

8 a.m.- 
On October 2 the Cedric was in communication with both 
Cape Race and Seaforth together ; the signals from both 
stations were very good, the total distance covered from 
Cape Race to Seaforth being 2190 miles. 


i 1 


(A case where " the office " certainly " sought the man ") 


The old saying, "Some have greatness thrust 
upon them," was never better exemplified than 
when, in 1516, Sultan Selim of the Ottoman Em- 
pire wished to promote his secretary, Mohammed, 
to be his Grand Vizir. This secretary was a man 
of high scientific attainments whom the sultan 
had appointed to the post of secretary as a mark 
of his regard, and in recognition of his learning. 
A question came up one day in regard 'to de- 
claring war against the Sultan of Egypt, Kanssou- 
Ghawri. The secretary, Mohammed, spoke so 
strongly in favor of war that the sultan, as a 
mark of his approbation, promoted him to the 
post of Grand Vizir on the spot. The position 
of Grand Vizir at that time was, in addition to 
the honor, one of some insecurity, also, for Sul- 

tan Selim was a monarch of quite uncertain tem- 
per, and his vizirs seldom enjoyed their office 
for much over a month before they received a 
visit from their sovereign's mutes with the fatal 
bowstring. In fact, most of them kept their 
affairs settled up to date, and their wills made 
out, immediately from their accession to the 
office. Mohammed, therefore, while he appreci- 
ated the honor that Selim desired to confer upon 
him, expressed a desire to be excused from ac- 
cepting it. Selim, however, was so bent upon 
having him for his vizir, that, with his own 
royal hands, he applied the bastinado to the 
unhappy secretary until he cried for mercy and 
expressed his willingness to accept the proffered 


f «- 

iHE heroes of muscle come and pass, men cheer 

and forget each name ; 
Swiftly the glory blooms and die's in Marathon or 

But I '11 tell you the tale of the race I ran when I 

made my bid for fame. 

The band had droned till the cornet's notes 

Gave forth the airs in a dreary whine; 

But oh, how they shrieked from their brazen 

When the twenty and two of us formed in line ! 
The twenty and two, and our trainers near 
With their final words for each. runner's ear; — 
To use his speed while his legs were strong, 
Or to save himself as the way was long,— 





But Tom said nothing of speed or heat, 
Only, "Bill the Spike is the man to beat." 

Away ! We spread till the mass of men 
Stretched like a serpent along the track; 
The Spike was leaping along in front ; 
He led through the gate ; I knew that then 
He would reach the hillside and there come back- 

We all had heard of his "sprinting stunt" ; 
He would settle down in a mile or so, 
And it worried no one to see him go. 

There comes a time, while the race is young, 
When your heart throbs fast and your pulses beat 
Till they seem to batter your brain and ears; 
Your hot breath scorches your throat and tongue, 
And your shoes are weights on your weary feet ; 

But just as you falter, your eyesight clears, 
Your strength comes back, and your step grows 

Till your spirit leaps with the love of fight. 

'T was where the wood to the road creeps down 
Till it seems a pathway among the trees, 
Losing the touch of the dusty town ; 
There where the clover scent fills the breeze, 
I felt the joy of the race grow keen. 

But where were the twenty, and where was Bill ? 

I lost him first when he topped the hill, 

But not a runner could now be seen. 

Out from the bushland, across a farm, 

And never a man as a test of speed ; 

A chicken raced me in wild alarm, 

Then dodged from the roadway beside a stile, 







On a long bare stretch, where the sun beat down, 
He noticed me as we neared the town ; 
He threw his head back and burst away. 

I followed. The sun rays seemed to play 
Straight on the dusty road, that lay 
Parched as the noon of an August day ; 
The fields and the fences all grew gray; 
I saw the shrubbery swim and sway, 
But each throb in my muscle seemed to say, 
"This is the crisis, your strength must stay." 

Could he keep the pace ? Was he falling back ? 
The world before me was growing black— 
We were breast by breast. I could hear his breath 
Gasp from his nostrils like long-drawn sips ; 
His eyes were staring, his face like death, 
His teeth shone white between bloodless lips. 

I had him ! I had him ! and yet again 
He stiffened himself, and I felt him strain 
To throw me off. I could hold him ! No, 
Slowly I weakened and let him go. 

We passed the gate and were on the track, 
When his shoulders trembled, his wiry back 
Shrunk and collapsed ; he clutched the air ; 
Then one bony hand ran through his hair 
As I heard him utter a weary moan, 
And his frame sank down on the stretch like 

I saw the crowds swarming from the stands, 
And felt on my shoulders my trainer's hands. 

He led me away, and my breath came fast, 
But I gasped : "I did it ; he could not last. 
I kept him in sight, it was hard to do, 
But I got in. front, at the right place too." 

Said Tom : "There were twenty in front of you. 





Around a mill the Brownies strode 

Where wheels were still, though water flowed 

Said one: "A labor strike, I fear, 

Has made it so deserted here; 

And, on the belts that now should run, 

The crafty spider's web is spun." 

Another said : "That 's not the case. 

The miller here has quit the place 

Because complaints of lack of skill 
Were piled much higher than the mill. 
Some said the bread was slow to rise, 
More found no joy in cakes or pies. 



The bread, indeed, was not a treat, 
But frost had spoiled the farmer's wheat ; 
But, that the flour might go around, 
The wheat must in the mill be ground. 
The corn, no better as a crop, 

No second-rate, makeshift affair 
Should in the face of diners stare, 
But something that would praise inspire, 
And make one edge the table nigher. 
We '11 find the grain, in cars around, 

Refused to ripen, or to pop; 

And so the children felt their share 

Of hardship and misfortune there. 

The hopper must take up its clack,— 

We '11 bring the hum of business back, 

And stir the spider in her net ; 

We 've several hours to midnight yet. 

It is, you know, the time of year 

That to some foreign land is bound; 
It could not serve a better end 
Than to folks here at home befriend. 
The Chinamen can boil their rice, 
And Filipinos live on mice,— 
We understand that naught can run 
Around on legs beneath the sun, 
Or crawl about in sand or clay, 

For puddings, cakes, and all good cheer, 
When pies should from the oven slide, 
A father's joy, a mother's pride, 
To nothing say of younger eyes, 
Where quality gives way to size, 
And criticism as to make 
Rests easy on both pie and cake. 
Vol. XL.— 8. 

But to their kettles finds its way. 
Let work in which we '11 take delight 
Now occupy our time to-night." 
Another cried : "We '11 start the mill, 
And set things moving with a will. 
We 've but to let the water go 
Upon the wooden wheel below, 




And everything that rests above 
Will get a most decided shove; 
For water that goes bubbling by 

The idle cogs begin to mesh, 

And start each other's work afresh, 

And soon you '11 hear the rumbling sound 

Contains a power that makes things fly. 
The belts will then commence their race, 
As though to find a hiding-place, 

The miller hears the season round." 
Some ran for oil with eager zeal, 
And with it eased the whirring wheel. 




Though some was lost through leaky cans, 
'T was not enough to spoil their plans, 
And rusty bearings here and there 
Ran as if cushioned on the air. 
The mill, with heavy post and beam, 
That stood half-way across the stream, 
Was made to start at dead of night, 
Before the touch of Brownies bright; 
For they knew how the gate to raise 
As if they 'd done it all their days ; 
Could shake the bolt, and pick the stone, 





I -*■■/ Li 



V# 10?*^b\ 

i=~ ydj»4|/n '^ J 

Jf BvV ^^ 

&L^%£*- /BraS^C 

And run the business as their own. 

United effort was required 

To raise the gate as they desired, 

But let alone the Brownie band 

To carry out a scheme as planned ! 

Unfinished work is seldom found 

Behind the sprites when day comes round. 

It may take strength, it may take weight, 
It may take action more than great, 
But gates will rise, and floods will flow, 
And wheels will turn, as well we know. 
It takes good work to run a mill, 
For hands may never long be still ; 
And eyes must note when oiling dries 



Or hoppers chatter for supplies. 
But with the Brownies at the task, 
The mill itself no more could ask. 
For every worker had his toil, 
And every bearing had its oil, 
While every belt was tight with strain, 
And every hopper heaped with grain. 
In such a place, with wheels at play, 
'T was hard to tell where danger lay ; 
On shafts and belts, when off their guard, 
A few went through some trials hard, 
And, but that friends with courage grand 
And action prompt were near at hand, 
They might have needed some repair 
To bones as well as outer wear. 
A few who, in their secret way, 
Had watched the miller, day by day 
In summer-time, when grists were slow 
And fish were running to and fro, 
Come from the mill if signs were fine 
And drop a while his work, and line, 
Were quick to take the miller's stand 
And bring some handsome fish to land. 

Where we both work and sport unite 
We play our Brownies' part aright." 

The story goes, next morning found 
A full supply of bushels ground; 
And better still, nigh every door, 
In all the place, two bags or more 
Of flour as fine as one could wish 
Were standing ready for the dish ; 
And then such pudding, pie, and cake 
That carried not a pain nor ache. 

They little cared what took the bait 
As long as it had life and weight. 
Said one: "A touch of sport you '11 find 
Well rooted in a Brownie's mind, 
A pleasure-seeking trait that will 
Assert itself through trials still. 
And that is well ; why should one toil 
Nor lift his eyes above the soil? 

Then cookies rolled without a stop, 

Like buttons in a tailor shop, 

Upon the table, chair, and floor, 

And still the fingers spread for more. 

The children from the blankets crawled, 

The babies in their cradles bawled, 

To take a hand at mixing flour 

The Brownies ground through mystic power. 

In order to make this play practicable for general 
use, the scenery and stage-directions suggested have 
been made as simple as possible. Regarding cos- 
tumes, it may be said the play can be effectively pro- 
duced when the children wear ordinary clothes, the 
Puritan costume being suggested by white caps and 
deep collars and cuffs for the women characters, and 
broad-brimmed hats and wide collars for the men. 
These accessories can be easily made of very inex- 
pensive material, and copied from any of the well- 
known Puritan pictures. The Indians may either 
appear in the Indian costumes possessed by so many 
boys, or, in case these are unavailable, they may be 
draped in gay blankets and wear feather head-bands, 
which may be easily imitated. 


John Winthrop, Governor of the Massachusetts Bay 

William Pierce, Captain of the ship Lyon. 

Thomas Dudley, Deputy-Governor of the colony. 

John Wilson 1 

Roger Clap 

Mrs. Freeman 

Mrs. Garrett J 

Patience Freeman, aged 8, daughter to Mrs. Free- 

Samuel Garrett, aged 10, son to Mrs. Garrett. 

Chief of the Narragansett Indians. 

Young' Narragansett brave. 

Man-servant to Governor Winthrop. 

Scene : A room in Governor Winthrop's house in 
the Massachusetts Bay Colony. The front door of 
the house opens at center back of stage, and has 
small windows on each side of it. A door on the 
left opens into the next room. The room is very 


plainly furnished, and is evidently used for trans- 
acting business. On the right of the front door is 
a settee, with a chest standing near it, and on the 
left of the door is a chair. Near the front of the 
stage, on the right, stands a flour barrel, and be- 
side it, a table with weighing-scales. On the left 
side of the room there is a chair before a desk 
covered with papers, etc. Several portraits and 
old prints hang on the walls. 

(A knock is heard on the front door. Enter Ser- 
vant, at the left, who crosses to front door, and 
opens it, disclosing Mrs. Freeman and Patience. 
Mrs. Freeman has a basket on her arm.) 

Mrs. Freeman. Is the Governor at home? 

Servant. Yes, madam; he has just come in. 

Mrs. Freeman. Will you let him know that I am 

Servant. Directly, madam. Please be seated. 
(Motions them to settee, and exit, left; Mrs. Free- 
man and Patience sit down on the settee. Patience 
breathes on her hands, to warm them.) 

Patience (fretfully). Mother, do you really think 
the Governor will give us some more corn? I 'm 
so tired of having nothing good "to eat ! 

Mrs. Freeman. Why, Patience, of course he will 
if he can spare us any; but you must remember how 
many sick people there are in the colony, who need 
it more than we do. 

Patience. Yes, Mother, but why can there not be 
enough for everybody? 

Mrs. Freeman. I hope that there may be before 
long, my dear. We must try to think that our ship 
with provisions is coming in soon. 'Sh-h! I hear 
the Governor coming! Now remember your man- 
ners ! Rise and curtsey as I have taught you. 




for Captain 

(IVinthrop enters at left; bows to Mrs. Freeman. 
She and Patience curtsey.) 

Winthrop. Good day, Mistress Freeman. I trust 
that you and all your family are well. 

Mrs. Freeman. All well, Your Excellency, and 
thankful to be so in this season of want and cold. 
All that we could complain of is that our larder is 
getting low, so I came to see if I could buy a few 
pounds of corn. 

Winthrop {evidently worried, but trying to con- 
ceal the fact). Why, Mistress Freeman, it is about 
just that matter that I am awaiting tidings. This 
morning I sent word to the chief of the Narragan- 
setts that we should like to trade with him for corn. 
I expect that Master Dudley and Master Wilson, 
who took the message, will be back soon. Can you 
not wait till their return? If our trade is good, we 
shall doubtless have plenty of food for all. 

(Mrs. Freeman and Patience sit down on settee. 
Winthrop sits on chair at left.) 

Mrs. Freeman. I suppose Your Excellency has, 
as yet, no word of the good ship Lyon? 

Winthrop. Not yet. No doubt the date of her 
sailing was deferred. 

Mrs. Freeman. It would 
Pierce sailed last August to 
fetch us provisions, and here 
it is now February. 

Winthrop. If we were all 
in health, the delay would not 
matter so much. But when 
half our people are too sick 
to leave their beds, we long 
to give them some of the 
comforts they left in England. 

(Knock on front door. Ser- 
vant enters at left, and opens 
door. Enter Mrs. Garrett, 
zvho curtseys to the company. 
Exit Servant.) 

Ah! Mistress Garrett! I 
was lamenting to Mistress 
Freeman that we had few 
English comforts for our sick, 
but I did not forget that we 
brought the best nurse in 
England with us ! 

Mrs. Garrett. Your Ex- 
cellency is very kind. I could 
only wish that I might do 
more in all the homes where sickness has entered. 
I thought, however, that you might like to hear that 
Master Humphrey and his wife are much better of 
their fever. (Sits at center.) 

Winthrop. I rejoice to hear such good news, and 
I trust that you can give as good an account of your 
other patients. 

Mrs. Garrett. I would that I could, Your Excel- 
lency, but what with this biting cold and our poor 
victuals, it goes hard with them. Is there still no 
hope of the Lyon? 

Winthrop. No immediate hope, madam, but I 
am expecting that we may be able to buy corn from 
the Narragansetts. 

(Knock on the front door. Enter Servant at left, 
opens door to admit Dudley, Wilson, the Narragan- 
sett chief, and the young brave. Dudley and Wilson 
greet the company, and, with the Indians, come for- 

ward to right center of stage. Servant stands in 
background, at left of front door.) 

Dudley. (To Winthrop) We have brought the 
chief back with us, Your Excellency, as you directed, 
but he does not seem favorable to making a trade. 
However, we can but try. (Dudley and Wilson then 
endeavor to conduct the trade, in dumb show, as fol- 
lows: Dudley beckons the chief over to the flour 
barrel, and indicates to him by gesture that it is 
empty. He and Wilson then go to the chest, and 
take from it several long and shozvy strings of beads, 
which they offer to the chief, suggesting by their 

motions that the Indians may have the beads if they 
will fill the barrel. The chief shakes his head. Both 
men urge him in vain for some time. Winthrop then 
takes a red blanket from the chest, approaches the 
chief, and offers it in similar fashion. Finally, after 
all three men have persisted in their offers for some 
time, both the chief and the young brave shake their 
heads decidedly, and by pointing to their own mouths 
and showing their empty hands, indicate that they 
themselves have not enough to cat. Upon this Win- 
throp lays down the blanket upon the table, and 
Dudley and Wilson cease their offers, in apparent 
despair. The Indians then file stolidly out of the 
front door, which is opened for them by the Servant. 
Exit Servant.) 

(A silence falls on the company. It is broken by 
Patience, who is frightened, and begins to cry.) 

Patience. (Clinging to her mother's hand) Mother! 




Mrs. Freeman. Yes, what is it, little daughter? 
Patience. If we had only stayed in England, we 
should have had plenty to eat ! 

(Mrs. Freeman does not anszver her, but puts her 
arm around her, and turns to Winthrop.) 

Mrs. Freeman. Is it not hard sometimes, Your 
Excellency, for all of us to realize how much more 
precious liberty is than the comforts we gave in ex- 
change for it? 

Winthrop. You speak truly, Mistress Freeman. 

But we have crossed the sea in safety ; we have been 
kept from harm among the savages; we have 
founded a colony where freedom is to be the birth- 
right of every citizen. I believe that we have a 
right to expect to receive our daily bread. What- 
ever happens, we must not give up hope. I will pro- 
claim a day of prayer and fasting for to-morrow. 
We must not lose faith, for all may yet be well. 

(Wilson, who has been standing by the table, 
crosses to the barrel and glances into it.) 

Wilson. See, there is still some corn in the bot- 
tom of our last barrel. May not this be a sign that 
we shall be fed until help comes, even as we read in 
the Scriptures that the widow's handful of meal 
lasted till the famine was past? (As the company 
nod approval to his words, there is a knock on the 
front door. Servant enters at left, and opens door 
to admit Roger Clap. Clap is wild-eyed and shiver- 
ing, and looks distractedly about until he sees Win- 
throp. Servant stands at left of door.) 

Clap (impetuously crossing stage to Winthrop). 
Your Excellency, my wife is dying, and my children 
have been without food for two days. Can you give 
me nothing for them ? 

(Winthrop goes to barrel, and scoops out a small 
portion of meal.) 

Winthrop (sadly). This is the last of our corn. 
(Looks at Mrs. Freeman.) 

Mrs. Freeman (promptly) . Let Clap have it, by 
all means. What say you, neighbors? 

All. Yes, let him have it, to be sure ! 

(Winthrop puts meal in a dish, which he is about 
to hand to Clap, when there is a knock on the door. 
It opens before the Servant can reach it, and Sam- 
uel Garrett rushes in.) 

Samuel. (To Winthrop, breath- 
lessly) Your Excellency, the Lyon 
has come! (The company are star- 
tled and surprised, and scarcely be- 
lieve him.) 

Winthrop. Boy, is this the truth? 
How do you know ? 

Samuel. Indeed, Your Excel- 
lency, it is nothing but the truth ! 
I was down on the shore, when I 
looked across the bay, and saw a 
great ship entering the harbor. And 
as I ran up to bring you word, I 
heard a man saying that Captain 
Pierce was even now being rowed 

(Before any one can speak, there 
is a loud knock on the door, and as 
the Servant hastily opens it, Captain Pierce ap- 
pears on the threshold. Winthrop rushes to 
meet him, and seizes him by both hands.) 

Winthrop. Never was man, or ship, more 
welcome ! William Pierce ! Thank Heaven ! 

(The others crowd around Pierce, and greet 
him with joyous and grateful exclamations.) 

Pierce. (To Winthrop) Your Excellency, 
I have the honor to report the safe arrival of 
the Lyon! 

Winthrop. An hour ago we had well-nigh 
given you up ! 

Pierce. We have met with many unforeseen 
delays on our voyage. 
Wilson. Did you meet with storms ? 
Pierce. Many of them, one so severe that one of 
our sailors was washed overboard. But our great- 
est delay was caused by our meeting a dismasted 
bark, which we must needs tow back to Bristol. We 
could only imagine what you must suffer in our ab- 
sence. I, too, thank Heaven we have arrived ! 
Dudley. Have you provisions aboard? 
Pierce. Yes, verily, a goodly store. We have 
wheat, peas, and oatmeal ; we have beef and pork 



and cheese and butter! {Great relief and thankful- 
ness shozvn by the company.) 

(To IVinthrop) If Your Excellency will ask a 
few men to volunteer to go down to the Lyon and 
help us unlade her, we shall have everybody fed 
within the hour. 

Samuel (eagerly). I will volunteer! 

(All laugh. Pierce pats him on the shoulder.) 

Pierce. You shall come down to the ship with 

me. There is plenty for smart lads to do as well as 

Winthrop. Friends, I will now proclaim not a 
day of fasting and prayer, but one of praise and 
thanksgiving for our deliverance. However great 
the destiny that may await our colony, struggling 
here in the wilderness, this day must never be for- 
gotten ! 




I love the sunny days for play, 
And all the outdoor things we do; 

But days of storm— they shut me in, 
Yet they 're the ones I wait for, too. 

For somehow, when the floods come down 

And pour through all the tossing trees, 
And all the windows, streaked with rain, 

Look out as if on foaming seas; 
When, streaming from the roaring boughs, 

The yellow leaves in crowds are blown, 
And all the furious gutters choke, 

And thick the weltering ways are sown; 
When dimly show the driving clouds 

The sweeping rain and tempest through, — 
It 's then, not on the sunny days, 

The splendid story-things come true ! 

The tumult rises in the trees, 

And through it, where I, sheltered, stay, 
I hear the din and clash of arms, 

And battles raging far away. 
Then plumed knights on neighing steeds 

Career across the swelling storm; 

Strange scents from ladies' scarfs are blown, 

And swinging censers, rich and warm. 
The trampling hoofs of hosts go by, 

With banners torn and rending cries; 
Crusaders shout their battle-hymns 

Above the havoc of the skies; 
Beleaguered castles heave and fall ; 

Great conflagrations heavenward roar; 
And shouting breakers run and plunge, 

Tumultuous, on the crashing shore; 
The blare of bells where kings are crowned, 

The trumpet's peal, the rolling drum, 
The surge of cheering multitudes, — 

Still on across the storm they come; 

I hear the fury and the rout, 

And watch the proud parade go by, 

Till something swells into my throat 
That almost makes me want to cry ! 

And though the sunny days are best, 
Perhaps, for men who work and fight, 

Someway, on stormy days like this, 
I know what makes the poets write ! 

Vol. XL.— 9. 




In the Shetland Is- 
lands, far up in the 
cold North, two 
hundred miles be- 
yond Scotland, there 
lives a shaggy, strong 
little horse called a 
"Sheltie," that has 
been for generations 
the friend and helper 
of the simple inhab- 
itants. The steep, 
rugged hills made 
his little feet strong, 
the great cold gave 
him a thick, warm 
coat, and the friend- 
ly hearts of the peo- 
ple among whom he 
lived developed in him a gentle, affectionate na- 
ture. Especially did the children come to love 
him and take him for their playmate, and when 
some of these ponies were brought to America, 
the children soon claimed them for their own. 


They grew to be such good friends that every 
child wanted to have a pony of its very own. 
Fathers and mothers gladly gratified this wish, 
for they saw how "Sheltie" helped the children 
to grow strong and healthy, full of life and 

A Shetland pony is not only an ornament and a 
child's plaything, but is useful about a place in 
many ways — in running errands or taking the 
children to school. His care and keep are very 
simple matters, as grass is his best food in sum- 
mer, and no object on a lawn is more attractive 
than a pony. In winter, his food is hay, cured 
while still green, with the addition of a little 
grain, especially if he is much used. 

A very young pony will be easily broken by the 
children playing with him. They will naturally 
climb upon his back to ride him, and hitch him to 
a sled in winter, or a little cart in summer. He 
is soon accustomed to any and all uses. But an 
older pony needs to be broken to the saddle and 
harness by one who understands how to do it 
patiently and gently. He is keen to learn any- 
thing in a friendly way, and is naturally fearless. 







The cost of a pure Shetland pony is not large. 
It depends upon his age, breeding, beauty, and 
value for children's use. One can be bought as 
soon as it can leave its mother for from sixty to 
eighty dollars, while a mature pony, of three or 
four years of age, is worth from one hundred and 

ridden her pony up the steps into our house, 
where he has walked through the rooms, a most 
welcome visitor. Especially is this a pretty inci- 
dent at a time like Christmas. They do no more 
damage than a dog, and can manage the steps 
nearly as well. At one time, we had a young 


twenty-five to two hundred dollars. The purchase 
of a Shetland for children is strongly advised by 
Dr. S. B. Elliot, of the Belle Meade Farm, at 
Markham, Virginia, the largest pony farm in the 
east. He says, "If a young pony is given to a little 
child, they will grow up together and become the 
best of friends, each acquiring confidence to the 
extent that the breaking to saddle and harness 
is hardly noticed by either. Furthermore, when 
the Shetland is well taken care of, he matures 
rapidly, and can be used moderately at fifteen 
months' of age. He often lives to be thirty or 
forty years old." 

The Shetland pony becomes of greater use 
where he is made a real member of the family, 
loved and petted "by all. Then he is in the best 
condition for his development, if his simple wants 
are attended to carefully. My little girl has often 

English cook who loved animals dearly, and the 
ponies seemed to know it, for they would come 
to the kitchen window and neigh till she gave 
them a bit of bread or other titbit. When she 
went out to the garden for vegetables, they would 
follow her, till often her pan would be half empty 
when she reached the house, especially if it con- 
tained carrots, of which they are very fond. I 
have known them to rattle the door-latch or knob 
till she came to see them. All animals have a 
language of their own, and where friendship ex- 
ists between man and an animal, the animal will 
learn to let his wants be known in strange sounds 
and queer ways. 

The baby ponies are as full of fun as human 
babies, and play just as hard. My little daughter 
and I have often gone to the fields where the 
mothers and colts were pastured, at about four 




o'clock in the afternoon. After their noon meal, 
they take a good sleep, and as it gets cool, they 
wake, full of the spirit of fun. Two or three lit- 
tle ones will act as if they were playing tag, 
tearing across the field after each other. In- 
stead of tagging, they suddenly wheel about and 
kick each other in the funniest way, their tiny 
heels making a drumming noise as they strike. 
Then off they fly again like the wind, keeping it 
up till they are tired, and glad to lie down and 
roll over in the cool grass. Their coats, as babies, 
are like silk plush, and every movement is full 
of grace. Their faces are very pretty, with a 
soft, innocent expression that makes one long to 
hug the dear little things. It is also a great pleas- 
ure to see their love for their mothers, and the 
care the mothers give them. 

There is a side to the value of ponies to chil- 
dren which is not generally understood. Physi- 
cians frequently recommend them as playmates, 
and repeatedly children have been known to ob- 
tain rugged health and develop rapidly when 
given a pony. It is quite true that a child who 
has a pony is happier and will take more exer- 

cise in the open air, but that is only part of it. 
A child of four or five years learns to ride as 
easily as it does to play, and he has a natural 
love for a horse of any kind. Having a pony of 
his own develops in a child a sense of owner- 
ship and control, and he learns to govern other 
natures ; this child will, I believe, develop into 
a finer, more robust, and more able man or wo- 
man than he would have done without the pony. 
My own little girl began to ride as soon as she 
could sit up on a pony, and now, at seven years 
old, she is very strong and active, well-grown, 
and almost never ailing. We believe her years 
of riding have greatly helped to develop her into 
the strong, muscular child she now is. As to her 
mental development, I find that ruling animals 
in an active, country life has made her not only 
intelligent and acutely alive, but has strengthened 
her will power and self-control. It has also fos- 
tered a deep love and sympathy for all animal 
life, which must ever be a help and blessing to 
her. Animals were intended by our Creator to 
be our friends and helpers, and in our childhood 
especially there is no better friend than a pony. 




Now the autumn leaves are falling 

And the chilling breezes blow, 
And the clouds that sail above us 

Tell of ice and sleet and snow; 
Yet the children all are happy, 

Singing many a cheery rhyme,— 
Need you ask of me the reason? 

Boys and girls, 't is pumpkin time ! 

Here they come with song and laughter, 

Merry elves with face aglow ! 
Each one, from small, chubby fingers, 

Swings a pumpkin to and fro. 
As you look across the corn-field, 

Smiling fairies may be seen; — 
Need you ask of me the reason? 

Boys and girls, *t is Hallowe'en ! 



When I 've been bad, my mother says, 

"All right, son. Just you wait !" 
And when night comes, we listen 

For my father at the gate. 
And if it 's me that hears him first, 

I run to let him in, 
And tell him all about it 

'Fore my mother can begin. 

And sometimes when I 've finished, 
He looks down at me and grins. 

And says that it reminds him 
Of his own boyhood sins; 

Then he leads me in to Mother, 
And he says, "Poor little lad, 

I really don't think, Sweetheart, 
That he 's been so very bad." 

But last night, by the window. 

While I watched the shadows creep, 
My eyes got very heavy, 

And I, somehow, fell asleep. 
I could have told him, easy, 

Just why I screamed and kicked ; 
But Mother was ahead of me,— 

And that time I got licked ! 


The power to keep in motion the machinery of a 
watch is supplied by the mainspring. In winding 
a watch, this spring is coiled in the central part 
of its holder, known as a "barrel." The main- 
spring in its constant endeavor to uncoil turns 
this barrel in one direction, and its power is 
transmitted through the teeth on the outer rim 
of the barrel to the "train" of wheels. 




(Magnified abuut five times.) 

The motion is prevented from being too fast by 
what is known as an escape-wheel, the cogs of 
which work in connection with the "pallet and 
fork." This lets the motion "escape" in a series 
of short stoppings, well known as the ticking of 
the watch. In connection with the "pallet and 
fork" is the balance-wheel, whose vibrations reg- 
ulate the speed at which all shall move. This 
balance-wheel serves the same purpose in a 
watch that the pendulum does in a clock. 

The • vibrations of the balance-wheel are the 
result of the action of two forces, one being 
the force of the mainspring acting through the 
"train" of wheels and the escapement, to turn 

the balance-wheel on its axle, and the other being 
the opposing force of a very small spring, known 
as the hair-spring, coiled loosely about the bal- 
ance-wheel, and which thus tends to regulate the 
power of the mainspring. 

The bearings for the ends of the tiny shafts of 
the wheels give better service if they are not 
made of metal but of some hard mineral or jewel, 
as, for example, garnet, chrysolite, ruby, etc. The 
lower-priced watches have these jewels in only some 
of the most important bearings. The better classes 
of watches have more jewels. If all the important 
wheel bearings have these minerals, the watch is 
said to be "full-jeweled." The jewels are held in 
place by screws so small as to be almost invisible 
without the aid of a microscope. Very small 
screws are also used in other parts of the watch. 

Ask some one you know to let you look at the 
works of his watch, or, better still, as watches 
nowadays are often made with a protecting plate 
that conceals all but a few parts of the mechan- 
ism, ask some friendly jeweler to let you see the 


This regulates the speed 

(Magnified about five times.) 

machinery of a watch from which he has 
moved this outer plate, and to explain it to 





(Magnified and photographed with the head of a medium-sized pin to show relative size.) 


It is a matter of every-day occurrence for a 
person to say to his watchmaker, "Here is a 

(Greatly magnified.) 

watch which you sold me ten years ago. It has 
gone well till lately, when it has taken to stop- 
ping without any apparent cause." 

The people who speak in this way little think 
of the amount of work that a watch has per- 
formed in this space of time, and may be aston- 
ished at the following figures : 

"In ten years," says London "Answers," 
"which include two leap-years, and consequently 
a total of 3652 days, the hour-hand has made 
7306 and the minute-hand 87,648 revolutions. 
The end of an average minute-hand has traveled 
more than 10,280 yards — more than six miles. 
The second-hand has made 5,258,880 revolutions, 
and its extremity has traversed on the dial a dis- 
tance of nearly 123 miles. The escape-wheel has 
made 52,588,880 revolutions, and as it has fifteen 
teeth, it has come 788,832,000 times in contact 
with each pallet. The balance-wheel has made 
Vol. XL.— 10. 

1,577,664,000 vibrations, and any point on the 
outside of the rim has covered a distance of 
about 50,000 miles, and that is equal to twice 
the circumference of the earth." 

These amazing statements and figures have 
been submitted to the Elgin National Watch 
Company of Elgin, Illinois, and Mr. George E. 
Hunter, the superintendent, says that they are 
almost right for an Elgin watch, small changes 
being due to the size of the watch. In the Elgin 
No. 16 size, the end of the minute-hand in ten 
years travels 11,473 yards; in No. 18 size, 12,238 
yards. The second-hand in No. 16 travels 130.38 
miles; in No. 18, 143.42 miles. A point on the 
outside rim of the balance-wheel of 16 and of 18 
respectively, travels 44,511 and 48,891 miles. 

Interesting as these figures are, and surprising 
as are the distances traversed, one's interest is 
increased by a knowledge of the amount of force, 



(Magnified about three times.) 

in horse-power, required to drive an Elgin watch, 
size 18. Of this Mr. Hunter says: "All watches 
are built to run for at least thirty hours, and on 
that basis, the power required to drive an 18 size 




watch is approximately 192-10,000,600,000 horse- 
power." One hundred and ninety-two ten-bil- 
lionths of one-horse power ! The distance trav- 
eled is enormously great, the power needed is 
enormously small, if I may be allowed to use 
such an expression, and one's astonishment is 
increased when he remembers that a single horse- 
power is the power to lift 33,000 pounds one foot 
in one minute. 

A copy of the item from the London publica- 
tion was also sent to the Waltham Watch Com- 
pany of Waltham, Massachusetts. Mr. E. A. 
Marsh, of that company, adds the following even 
more astonishing facts as to the accurate work 
done by a watch : 

"In addition to the above it ought to be said 
that, however astonishing the statements as to 
the enormous amount of work which is per- 
formed by the pocket watch, the truly remarka- 
ble feature concerning it is the marvelous ac- 
curacy with which that work is done. The fol- 
lowing brief statements will help to show how 
wonderfully accurate the work of a running watch 
really is: 

"In nearly all modern watches the mechanism 
is so designed that, in order to obtain accurate 
'mean sun time,' the balance-wheel must vibrate 
exactly eighteen thousand times (18,000) every 
hour. We say 'exactly eighteen thousand,' for 
if there should be one vibration in each hour less 
than the required number, the watch would lose 
two and two fifths minutes in a month. Such an 
error would be serious." 

An interesting comparison may be made in 
this way: in a No. 16 watch (the ordinary size 
for men), the balance-wheel makes about one 
and one quarter turns for each vibration, and its 
rim, in each vibration, will travel two and three 
quarters inches. In a single day this will amount 
to rather more than sixteen and one half (16.61) 
miles, or farther than most persons care to walk 
in a day. 

If you planned to walk exactly the 16.61 miles, 
and should fall short of that distance by only 
ten feet, or by only about five steps, it would be 
a trifling matter ; but if the watch balance should 
make a similar failure, it might become serious 
in its results, for the watch would then lose nine 
and four fifths seconds a day, or four and nine 
tenths minutes a month. A watch that kept no 
better time than that would be exceedingly un- 

Wonderful as are the achievements of a watch, 
it is still more wonderful that man has been able 
to invent machinery of such marvelous delicacy, 
that, when set in operation, it will automatically 
manufacture the microscopic parts required. 


of the New York Zoological Society. 

The New York Zoological Park has recently 
obtained a pair of the rare and strange pygmy 
hippopotamuses (Cha:ropsis liberiensis) recently 
obtained in Africa. Director Hornaday thus 
describes them : 

"This adult male is thirty inches high at the 
shoulders, seventy inches in-length from end of 
nose to base of tail, and the tail itself is twelve 
inches long. The weight of this animal is four 
hundred and nineteen pounds. All these figures 
are offered subject to correction. 

"The female is believed to be only two years 
old. It stands eighteen inches high at the shoul- 
ders, and weighs one hundred and seventy-six 

'"The pygmy hippo is characterized first of all 
by its midget size, which, in the adult animal, is 
about equal to that of a twelve-months-old baby 

By permission of the New York Zoological Society. 




hippo of the large species. Its skull is more con- 
vex, or rounded, on its upper surface, than that 
of H. amphibius; its legs are longer and more 
slender in proportion, and its eyes do not "pop" 
out of its head, like those of the giant species. 
Another striking character is the long tail, which, 
in proportion, is about twice as long as that of 
its only living relative, H. amphibius. 

"The face of the pygmy is relatively smaller 
than that of the large species, which brings the 
eyes nearer to the median line of the skull. The 
lower jaw of the pygmy bears only two incisor 
teeth, while the large species has four; and while 
the eyeballs of C. liberiensis are large, they are 
proportionally less elevated than those of the 
large hippo. As the latter swims nearly sub- 
merged, the eyes seem to float on the surface of 
the water like two shiny glass marbles." 

Pygmy elephants were discovered in 1905. 
The specimen at the New York Zoological Park 
is about fourteen years of age. 


"glass-sponge" is often applied to the framework 
of this group of animals. The animal tissues of 
this sponge, as of others, cover the interlacing 
fibers of the framework which acts as a support- 
ing structure. The skeleton itself is sometimes 


Our young people are undoubtedly familiar with 
the fact that the sponge, as we ordinarily know 
it, is in reality the flexible skeleton of a colony 
of salt-water animals. 

The Venus flower-basket, a favorite and beau- 
tiful object found in many natural history collec- 
tions, is a similar growth, only its skeleton is 
composed of silica, which in appearance resem- 
bles colorless glass. For this reason the name 

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** fl 

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!,*• 1 ■ 

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^kE£ '7. ' 

MM '- ^m 


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Hi - r '-im 

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p . " i 

■ ' St, 

f:*- 1 * 4 

W ftf »#v:»'.* , *V' - 

• . 79'- m . . - 

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HE ! '.. ■''-.•■-'■-.'■. 

• --;•--:■•:#■.■■ «lH 

[ " Jijsr. ~a»fc *t| 

K •••«*^f|ki 

'; :.•«-.•-. ■■■■;#%Mm 

& ' :iBti>'- •• J| 

|f; •*■' :•>>**• .«*:■ 

"■-<■ *»#1- :.#iff!S 

.. •■» '-*-*wiil 

( » ;*.-•/.# ; <rfff§"| 

P H-,-m; -.#**■ JM 

r - • ■•%••: St ■ 

f ' • *J 1 

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fc». ■;•*. *»•;*:. 7 *■ 



- . ■ : ; 

W> ■>*'?*« "sMV'f ,. *| ■ 



(Euplectella aspergillum.) 

formed, as in this example, of needle-like struc- 
tures, which are called sponge-spicules. In other 
sponges, these spicules may take the form of 




anchors ; of hooks that may be single or double ; 
of a long axle with a wheel-like body on one or 
both ends ; of a long, tapering rod with a knob 
at one end roughened by projecting spikes, and 
various other graceful and beautiful shapes. In 
the Venus flower-basket these spicules are scat- 
tered throughout the sponge walls, and often are 
welded together or so interlaced as to form a 
very beautiful network. The specimen from 
which the accompanying illustrations were made, 
is about a foot in length ; not quite all of one is 
shown in the illustration. 


The herding and breeding of domesticated rein- 
deer, introduced as an experiment a number of 
years ago from a small herd imported by the 
Government from Siberia, have now become the 
most prominent feature of the industrial educa- 
tion of many thousands of the natives of arctic 
Alaska. The means of living, formerly obtained 
by hunting and fishing, have been greatly lessened 
by the destruction of the fish by canneries, and 
of the fur-bearing animals and game by white 
trappers. The reindeer industry is therefore 
an important part of life in many Eskimo vil- 
lages. The total number of reindeer in Alaska 
is now over thirty-three thousand; of these the 
natives themselves own sixty per cent., or more 
than twenty thousand, and are always anxious to 
obtain more, preferring deer rather than cash for 
their services. The Government does not sell 

reindeer. This is done entirely by natives and the 
missions. It has been found necessary by the 
Government to put the young native Eskimo 
through a course of training, and those who get 
their deer directly from the Government have to 
serve as reindeer apprentices for four years. With 
careful training they make good herders. They 
are taught how to care for the reindeer, to har- 
ness and drive them, to throw the lasso, and 


to protect the fawns from the attacks of wolves 
and dogs. At the end of their apprenticeship, 
the herders have about fifty deer, which, with the 


I 9 I2.] 



4*. *. * I **** 

-n >*% 

*W"" — 


yearly increase, provides a good income for the 
future. Well-trained sled-deer have been used to 
carry the United States mail from Barrow to 
Kotzebue, a distance of six hundred and fifty 
miles. This is the most northern mail-route in 
this country, and the most perilous and desolate 
mail-trip in the world. The average speed is 
from forty to fifty miles per day. 

At Barrow, "the jumping-off place" of the 
American continent, there is a herd of more than 
seven hundred deer. Here about one hundred 
and twenty Eskimo boys and girls attend the 
Government school. They are the most northern 
school children in the world. Some of the boys 
get up at three or four o'clock in the morning 
and walk five miles to the open water to capture 
a seal for their mother, but they always get back 
in time for school at nine o'clock. Occasionally 
the young people ride reindeer for amusement, 
but it is not a customary method of travel in 
Alaska, as it is in Siberia. 


In early times, certain trees were invested by 
human beings with a mystic or a sacred character, 
and many plants were associated with religious 
beliefs. One of the best examples of the last is 
the passion-flower. When the early Spanish set- 
tlers in South America saw this flower, they fan- 
cied that they had discovered a marvelous symbol 
of the crucifixion, and they devoutly believed that 
it was an assurance of the ultimate triumph of 
Christianity. One of their writers, Jacomo Bosio, 
according to "The Folk-Lore of Plants," obtained 
detailed knowledge of how the Mexicans regarded 
it, and gave a minute description of the blossom. 

The ten colored petals and sepals represent the 
ten apostles present at the crucifixion (Peter and 
Judas being absent). 

Inside the corolla is a showy crown of fila- 
ments, by some taken to represent the crown of 
thorns, by others the halo. 

It is interesting, in the study of plant life, to 
note the extent to which various peoples have 

assigned to plants qualities and meanings that 
existed only in their own ideas or beliefs. Some 
of these have been beneficial, as, for example, the 
idea that a tree has a soul, and for that reason 
should not be cut down, lest one should hear "the 


wailing of the trees when they suffer in this way." 
It might be a good thing if certain people, nowa- 
days, had such beliefs as would lead them to treat 
considerately not only trees and plants, but birds 
and four-footed animals as well. 





a cat's eyes of two colors 

Kansas City, Mo. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have a little two-months-old Per- 
sian kitten which has one light blue eye and one green 
gray eye. Could you please tell me why it is so? 
Your very loving reader, 

Louise Meckes (age n). 

Such differences in the color of the eyes often 
happen with white kittens, both long- and short- 
haired, but with a cat of no other color of which 
I have ever heard. Such cats are called by fan- 
ciers "odd-eyed," but I have never heard any 
cause given, or, rather, explanation offered, for 
the phenomenon. I have several at the cattery 
now, and they are curious-looking "little beasties." 
The mother, in both cases, is endowed with the 
most beautiful of blue eyes. The blue eye is the 
ideal color for a white cat. The orange eye 
makes it second best, all other points being equal. 
But the blue eyes in the white cat are frequently 
accompanied by deafness, while the orange- and 
odd-eyed cats never are deaf, except, of course, 
from local trouble, as sometimes happens to any 
animal or human. 

J. R. Cathcart. 

a racoon as a pet 

Nashville, Tenn. 
Dear St. Nicholas: My uncle has a pet 'coon which 
washes everything he eats; you give him a nut and he will 
wash it and wash it, and then he eats it. This 'coon is 
very mischievous, and has to be kept chained. He seems 
to know when they have ice-cream, for he hears them 
freezing the cream, and whines until they give him some. 
If you give him a pan of clear water and some soap, he 
will wash his face and hands with the soap. Then give 
him some more clear water, and he will wash the soap off 
and wipe his hands and face. He always likes to play 
with some one, but when there is no one to play with him, 
he goes to sleep. 

If he is let loose, he climbs into a little hole in the roof, 
and stays in there all day and sleeps, and comes out at 
night. I don't think it would be better to let him roam 
in a cage, for he loves to play in the grass. We feed him 
anything, mostly nuts and bread, and he likes everything 

He is kept chained in the garden in the shade in the 
summer, and under the house in the winter, and sometimes 
on the back porch. 

Your friend, 

Edward Weston Hamilton. 

The lovableness of a 'coon depends upon the 
age at which it is taken from the wild woods. 
Ernest Thompson Seton truly says, "The old 
racoon is sullen, dangerous, and untamable if 

kept captive, but the young, if taken at an early 
age— that is, before they have begun to hunt for 
themselves— make intelligent and interesting 


pets, being easily tamed and evincing consider- 
able affection for their master." 

The editor of "Nature and Science" recently 
found a very young racoon in the woods, and it 
is now attracting much attention by the eager- 
ness with which it takes milk from a bottle. 

a rainbow at night 

Elizabeth, Col. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Will you please tell me the cause 
of a rainbow in the night? Last fall, about nine o'clock 
in the evening, a rainbow appeared in the north, and no 
one knew the cause of this. I shall be very grateful if 
you will explain this for me. 

Yours respectfully, 

Marguerite Barnett. 

Nothing can make a true "rainbow" except a 
combination of sun or moon and rain or fog. At 
nine p.m. a rainbow should not be visible unless 
the sun or moon is shining. Possibly you have 
mistaken a bow of the aurora borealis, or "north- 
ern lights," for a rainbow. We have some re- 
ports of aurora on October 10 in northern New 
York. We shall be glad to get particulars as to 
the date and appearance and location of the 
"rainbow" before we can speak more definitely. 
Could it have been a meteor ?— Cleveland Abbe. 





Dear St. Nicholas: Will you please tell me why any 
metal is always cooler (if not in the sun or a hot place) 
than anything else? I am very much interested in the 
Science Department. 

Your constant reader, 

Helen Kay (age 12). 

Practically all common objects, except metals, 
with which we come in contact are non-conduc- 
tors of heat, that is, heat will not flow through 
them readily. Such objects are wood, paper, cloth, 
etc.; but metal objects, generally speaking, con- 
duct heat readily. All objects, including the two 
classes just mentioned, are, as a rule, at a lower 
temperature, or colder, than our bodies ; hence, 
when we touch an object, as wood, which will not 
conduct heat readily, no heat flows from the hand 
into the object, and it does not give us the im- 
pression of being cold; but when the warm hand 
comes in contact with an object which is a good 
conductor of heat, such as metal, heat flows from 
the hand into the object, tending to warm it to 
the same temperature as the body. This loss of 
heat on the part of the hand gives us a sensation 
of coldness. Of course, if the object has been 
placed in the sun or any hot place where it has 
acquired a temperature above that of the body, 
the phenomenon is reversed, in that the metal 
gives its heat rapidly to the hand, while the wood, 
being a poor conductor of heat, does not; conse- 
quently, the metal feels warmer than the wood 
under such conditions. — Professor F. R. Gorton, 
State Normal College, Ypsilanti, Michigan. 

It is interesting to notice that the hand, which 
is exceedingly sensitive to differences of touch, 
is not as sensitive to heat and cold as the face, 
so that when you try the cold feeling of metals, 
it is best to apply them to your cheek or nose. 

Some things besides metals feel cold, as you 
will find if you step with bare feet on a cold win- 
ter morning upon a piece of oil-cloth instead of 
upon the carpet. This also is caused by its power 
of conducting heat. 

Different metals vary in their heat conductiv- 
ity, silver and copper being the best conductors, 
and alloys, such as brass, German silver, and so 
on, being much poorer ones. If you put solid sil- 
ver spoons and plated spoons into a cup of hot 
water together, you will find that the heat goes 
much faster up the handles of the solid spoons 
than up those of the plated ones. 

An expert will distinguish between a ball of 
quartz crystal and a similar ball of glass by 
touching his tongue to both, because the tongue 
is very sensitive to cold, and the quartz, as it 
conducts heat more rapidly, feels much colder.— 
Professor H. L. Wells, Yale University. 


Detroit, Mich. 
Dear St. Nicholas : In January's "Nature and Science" 
you said that you had never seen a cat use both paws at 
once to wash her face. You asked if any of the chil- 
dren had. I have. My kitten used to amuse us very 
much doing it. She would sit up on her hind legs and 
then "scrub" her "arms," one after the other, over her 
ears and head. She looked sometimes just as if she 
folded her arms when she was through. 

Your very interested reader, 

Betty Penny (age 12). 

It is a very clever cat, indeed, that can sit on 
its hind feet and wash its face with both paws 
at once ! I do not imagine it has any significance 
beyond that. A cat can be taught to sit up and 
beg, and from that point I suppose this other feat 
would be only a step. Possibly this cat bears the 
same relation to the rest of her tribe as the man 
who must do things in double-quick time bears 
to his fellow-men.— Jane R. Cathcart. 


{From one of our older readers) 


Cazenovia, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : The inclosed photograph of a forty 
years' trained growth of a mulberry-tree in the Umbrian 
plains (Italy) may be of interest to your Nature and Science 
department. M. F. H. Ledyard. 




hen Dickey Brown was two years old, 
His cheeks were round as plums. 
He liked to sit upon your lap, 
And suck one of his thumbs. 




ut when four years had rolled around, 
Among his greatest joys 
Were riding on his rocking-horse, 
And playing with his toys. 

Vol. XL.— ii. 




hen six years old, he did not care 
For toys and nursery play, 
But wanted to stay out-of-doors 
With other boys all day. 




ut that fine day when he was eight, 
Was one of joy and pride: 
With cart and donkey all his own, 
He took his friends to ride! 





(Gold Badge) 

High o'er the pass, behold him stand, 
Austere and silent, grim and cold ; 

Keeping his watch o'er all the land, 
This mighty sentinel of old. 

He lifts his rugged brow on high. 
His granite chest is rough and torn, 

As, piercing through the clouded sky, 
He laughs the centuries to scorn. 

The subject assigned for Verse this month, "The Sen- 
tinel," called forth a great number of really admirable con- 
tributions from League members. There were tributes to 
" sentinels " of many kinds, and in many forms ; but perhaps 
the most sonorous and impressive was the four stanzas 
printed above, which are worthy to rank as a humble com- 
panion-piece to Oliver Goldsmith's famous lines: 

As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form 
Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm, — 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

What though the years beyond recall 
Have come and gone and passed away ; 

Not e'en the color of his wall 

Has changed beneath their endless sway. 

He heeds them not, nor does he care, 

But firm and sure his task fulfils ; 
His make is strong — he 's born to bear, 

Who stands — the Guardian of the Hills. 

Not all of the verse was in this lofty strain, however; 
and many of our clever young poets found in the subject, 
we are glad to say, inspiration of an altogether different 
sort. Their little poems showed a touch of humor, of 
freakish fancy, or of homy sentiment that were all equally 
deserving of praise. And as for the pictures, the League 
pages this month fairly bristle with fun and jollity — especi- 
ally in the photographs. But do not let their gaiety tempt 
you to overlook the excellent prose essays sandwiched in 
between the pictures and the rhymes. 


In making the awards, contributors' ages are considered. 

PROSE. Silver badges, Margaret M. Caskey (age 15), Morristown, N. J. ; Helen J. Barker (age 13), Melrose, 

Mass. ; Eunice Eddy (age 15), Auburn, N. Y. ; jean E. Freeman (age 14), New York City; Marion Shedd (age 12), 

Columbus, O. ; Mary Dixon-Welch (age 13), Columbia, Conn. 

VERSE. Gold badge, Stanley Bonneau Reid (age 14), Oakdale, Cal. 

Silver badges, Elizabeth Morrison Duffield (age 14), South Orange, N. J. ; Vernie Peacock (age 14), Rockford, 111. 

DRAWINGS. Silver badges, Harry Sutton, Jr. (age 15), Salem, Mass.; Lucie C. Holt (age 12), Oak Lane, Pa.; 

Frances M. E. Patten (age 12), Rockville Center, L. I. ; Jacob White (age 16), Brooklyn, N. Y. 

PHOTOGRAPHS. Gold badge, Margaret M. Benney (age 15), Sewickley, Pa. 

Silver badges, Edmund Booth (age 16), Omaha, Neb. ; Ruth Coggins (age 13), Covington, Ind. ; Ellen Tooth Lacy 

(age 9), St. Joseph, Mo. ; Alice Vernon (age 14), Portland, Me. 

PUZZLE-MAKING. Gold badges, Ernest S. Crosby (age 14), Buffalo, N. V. ; Isidore Helfand (age 14), Cleveland, O. 

Silver badge, Antoinette Mears (age 15), Portland, Ore. 

PUZZLE ANSWERS. Silver badge, Albert Reynolds Eckel (age 16), St. Joseph, Mo. 







{Honor Member) 
Upon a mighty mountain high 

The chamois feed ; 
Their haughty leader stands near by 

To guard in need. 

In yonder tow'ring, tapering tree 

Are crows at rest ; 
The feathered sentinel will see 

That none molest. 

A little child lies sound asleep 

In whisp'ring grass ; 
Her faithful collie watch doth keep 

On all who pass. 


A valiant host, at set of sun, 

Have pitched their tents ; 
The lights gleam on the picket's gun 

Who guards the regiments. 

Where'er we turn, we find the brave. 

On guard they stand, — 
On guard against the wretch and knave, 

With ready hand. 

'T is thus with bird, or beast, or man ; 

They know the call 
To help the weak, to guard their clan. 

For the Father of them all. 



{Silver Badge) 
My favorite heroine ! Shall I tell you what I see when 
I read those words ? I see a peaceful French village : 
I see a peasant girl tending her flocks in the field ; I 
hear her telling of a vision she has had, of voices she 
hears which bid her to deliver France from the yoke 
of the hated English. I see the villagers mocking and 
ridiculing, but the maiden stands firm. 

The scene changes. I see the French court. In the 
midst stands the Dauphin, and at his feet kneels the 
peasant girl. Clad in man's armor, she leads him forth 

to battle, and brings him home victorious ; she walks 
with him in his coronation procession, and then, having 
completed her heaven-directed mission, she prepares to 
return to her native village. But the king begs her to 
stay, and she consents, although she longs for peace. 

Then I see her in the power of the English, before a 
merciless tribunal. I see her trapped and snared into 
contradicting herself, and finally condemned to die by 

I see her standing on the scaffold, in the midst of a 
sea of hostile faces, alone, deserted by those for whom 
she is giving her life, yet firm and steadfast. 

O "Maid of Orleans," deliverer of France in her 
darkest hour, to you we give all homage and honor, who 
left home and kindred for what you considered your 
divine mission ; who were not disobedient unto the 
heavenly vision, even when death was sure to be the 
penalty ; and who, in the end, did not hesitate to offer 
on the altar of France your own life, that your nation 
might live. 



{Silver Badge) 
My favorite hero ? There have been so many men who 
have been deemed heroes in the eyes of the public, that 
it is hard to decide ; but I think that my favorite his- 
torical hero has always been Abraham Lincoln. And 
why? — But I will answer that later. 

There is one picture of Lincoln that I have always 
loved. It hangs in the Chandler School, and is a beau- 
tiful photograph of the life-size statue of Lincoln which 
stands in Lincoln Park, Chicago. The background of 
the picture is made up of feathery bushes and trees, 
so close to the statue that they almost touch it, ap- 
pearing to form a canopy over the chair of the great 
statesman. The sky just shows through the close shrub- 
bery and above the shoulders of Lincoln, who stands 
with head slightly bent and foot advanced, in the act of 
delivering one of his famous speeches. It is a picture 
that would make any American proud. For when can 
the picture of Lincoln appear without causing Ameri- 


cans to admire it? Not for its beauty, certainly, for 
though his eyes are beautiful, because they are so kind 
and tender, his shoulders appear drooped, and his whole 
figure awkward and ungainly. Not because he ever was 
made a hero in the eyes of his country through military 
fame, nor yet through great learning or inheritance. 




What Lincoln accomplished was done by himself and 
through himself. And no man ever faced a greater task. 
But Lincoln was admired for his perfect manhood. 
He was beloved for his great kindness, and he was 
made great through his unselfish devotion to his coun- 
try. And these things combined make Lincoln my 
favorite hero. 

the war was over at last, when the people were begin- 
ning to appreciate him, and he was looking forward to 
a well-earned rest, he was suddenly taken away, dying a 
martyr's death. The American people, yes, and the 
whole world also, were plunged into grief at their loss. 
There is but one man who answers to this descrip- 
tion — Abraham Lincoln. 




He stands in the midst of traffic's full tide, 
A tower of strength for the weak and the old ; 

His keen, watchful eye is ever alert, 

And heedless he seems of sunshine or cold. 

His uplifted hand brings all to a stop, 

And great, puffing monsters of iron and steel 

Respond to his call, as he pilots across 

The timid who tremble at hoof and at wheel. 

You may speak of the soldier who stands at his post, 
And nobly he does his duty, and well. — 

The policeman on guard for the law and the home. 
Is a much greater blessing, as many can tell. 



(Silver Badge) 
There have been many heroes in the ranks of history, 
men who have fought and died for home and country, 
men who have had great intellect and high education, 
and who have done great deeds, but, to my mind, one 
stands out as the greatest of them all. 

He is an American, a man who was born of a humble 
Kentucky family. When a boy, he had an insatiable 
desire for learning, and he also had, what was more, 
ideals which were high and noble. He became a lawyer 
and an ardent foe of the great evil which had become 
rooted in our land — slavery. He was elected to be 
President of the United States. His administration 
came at a time when our country was torn in conflict, 
when it needed a guiding hand, and that guidance was 
given by this man. Quiet and unobtrusive, he stood at 
the helm and led the nation to peace and justice. When 



(Silver Badge) 
There are so many great men in 
history that it is very hard to 
choose a favorite, but the one I 
admire most is General "Stone- 
wall" Jackson. 

He had a heart as tender as it 
was stout, faith that never failed, 
and the unspoiled simplicity of a 

He was a poor boy and an or- 
phan, and began his career as a 
worker in Cummins Jackson's 
mill. While he worked steadily 
there, he was diligently trying to 
"get an education." 

No officer in the army in Mex- 
ico was promoted so often for 
meritorious conduct, or made so 
great a stride in rank. 
He carried into every detail of daily existence the 
military law of wisdom and fidelity, but he was ag- 
gressive in nothing. His reverence for women was 
deep and unfeigned, he was gentleness itself to little 
children, and all that he had and was, belonged first to 
God, and then to his wife. 

From the first victory of Manassas, until he was 
mortally wounded by his own men, Stonewall Jackson 

was the flashing 
star that guided 
the Confederate 
army to glorious 

When his bri- 
gade halted on the 
march to Manas- 
sas, long after 
dark, an aide 
asked Jackson if a 
guard should not 
be set. Jackson 
replied, "Let the 
men sleep. I will 
do guard duty." 
All through the 
long watches of 
the night he stood, 
a solitary sentinel. 
I do not think 
there could be a 
more heroic theme 
in history to write 
on than Stonewall 
Jackson standing guard over the soldiers who were soon 
to make his name immortal. When told that he was 
dying, he received the news with perfect calmness, and 
said he preferred God's will to his own. 

Jackson's courage, determination, and faith have 
made him my favorite hero in history. 
















{Honor Member) 
When darkness comes, and in the sky 
The moon glides calmly, like a shepherdess, 
Guiding the stars, her straying sheep, 
Across the quiet meadows of the sky ; 
And far below, among the hills, 
The lights of a small village twinkle forth, 
The white church spire rises through the trees, 
In the pale light it gleams, a slender shaft ; 
And far above, like ponderous giant forms, 
The dark, grim mountains stretch mysteriously — 
Majestic sentinels who guard the sleeping town. 



(Silver Badge) 
My favorite heroine in history is Joan of Arc, and it is 
not so difficult to tell why, for the dauntless spirit of 
the maid has inspired many to reverence her. 

The theme of her bravery is an old one, but I admire 
her not only for her fearlessness, but for her absolute 
trust in God, for her perfect courage while facing the 
condemning judges, and for the spirit with which she 
even met death itself. 

Hers was always a truth-loving and upright char- 
acter, full of justice and strength, and under the mask 




of meekness and patience lay concealed courage and a 
noble spirit which would have graced any man. 

To me she is a very far-away mythological figure, this 
little maid of Domremy, and somehow I can never 


dream of her as the dauntless Joan whose name passes 
with awe from lip to lip, but always as the gray-eyed 
mistress of the flocks, dreaming and listening on the 
verdant hillsides of France. 



(Honor Member) 
No one would be quicker than he himself — tall, awk- 
ward, homely, unpolished in manner and speech — to 
object to having the name Abraham Lincoln classed as 
that of a hero. But since Lincoln's day, to Americans 
at least, the word hero does not always bring to the 
mind the picture of a man young, good to look upon, 
a leader of men ; gallant, daring, the idol of his follow- 
ers, a figure about which innumerable romances are 
woven. Many Americans have, as I have, taken for 
their favorite among heroes, Abraham Lincoln, the man 
from the poor, uneducated classes who, by strength of 
character and endurance, won for himself an education 
and pulled himself up, little by little, to the highest 
honor which the United States offers her sons. 

From a long line of heroes, brave men and true, I 
have chosen him because, with such small opportunities, 
he lived his life so well — as rail-splitter, storekeeper, 
lawyer, debater, President. 

We honor him the more because, saddened as he was 
by the war which threatened to divide the country, he 
always had a kind word, a smile, or a jest for those he 
met. Because no matter how busy, he never refused 
help where his help was needed. And though worn 
with the affairs of a nation which was torn with civil 
strife, he yet found time to see that his countrymen 
received whatever of justice and mercy he could give 

The United States is honored in having had Abraham 
Lincoln for a President. 



A mother bird sat on her nest, 

Guarding her babies, who were at rest ; 

Those baby birds will never fear, 

Under the wings of their mother dear. 

There she sat, as brave as could be, 

While the wind shook the slender tree ; 

But the mother bird sat still, her wings outspread 

To cover her babies in their warm bed. 

She nestled closer in her nest, 

And her babies drew nearer to her breast. 

How the wind whistled, the storm was hard, 

But there sat the mother bird — on guard ! 



There are many heroes in history whom I greatly ad- 
mire, but my favorite is Robert E. Lee. 

I do not love and admire him for his military genius 
alone, but for his courage, his unselfishness, his mod- 
esty, and his gentle, generous nature. 

He was always cheerful, and full of love, sympathy, 
and kindness. When a boy, he was the comfort of his 
mother, who was an invalid and a widow. An incident, 
small in itself but illustrative of his compassionate 
character, occurred during one of his fiercest battles. 
When shot and shell were falling all around, and he 
was in danger of being killed any moment, he stooped 
and picked up a young bird which had fallen to the 
ground, and, walking to a tree, put it on a limb in a 
place of safety. 

He was not ambitious. He never thought of his own 
glory, but always did what he thought best for his 
country's welfare. He always did his duty. 

After the war was over and Lee had sworn never 
again to bear arms against the United States, he did not 



cherish bitter feelings against the North, though he re- 
mained a prisoner on parole until his death. Nor did 
he try to draw himself away from the government. In- 
stead, he did all he could to help reestablish the Union. 

Lee was always fearless, hopeful, and persevering. 

He was a man of high principles, and of devout reli- 
gious faith, pure in thought and deed. 






{Silver Badge) 

Ever and always the sea gazes longingly at the shore ; 

It washes against the sandy beach and the stones, with 
a muffled roar ; 

It swishes and gurgles gleefully in the calm of a sum- 
mer's night, 

But the wind springs up, the skies grow dark, then 't is 
a thing of might. 

It hurls its walls of water 'gainst the vanguard of the 

Those cruel green walls of water naught human can 
withstand ; 

It pounds its heavy cannonade against the fickle sands, 

Which change and shift and mingle, as the tide flows 
over the lands. 


But we have an army mighty, to resist the sea's attack, 
A mighty army and sturdy, to force the wild sea back ; 
They never flinch nor waver, steady and strong are they, 
Their age-long vigil keeping from morn 'till break 

of day. 
The waves may beat upon them, the spray may o'er 

them dash, 
But still they stand, as giants, awaiting a mighty crash. 
Ever and always the sea gazes longingly at the land, 
But forever on guard the great brown rocks, like silent 

sentinels, stand. 



(Silver Badge) 
There are many heroes of war who are honored the 
world over. While many are famous because of their 
bravery in struggles against tyranny, many are great 
simply because of their wonderful military power, and 
not their motives. 

My ideal is a hero of peace — Robert Louis Steven- 
son. He was a man who had to fight against poor 
health all his life, and yet he did not become sour and 
unlovable, but made the world better, not only through 
his books, but by his life and deeds. Stevenson the 
author is no greater than Stevenson the man. 

He spent his boyhood in his native country, Scotland, 
and it is there that in childhood he beguiled the long 
hours by imagining himself in fairy-land, or hunting, 
sailing, and fighting, while in bed or by the fire. 

But the climate did not agree with his health, and for 
many years he traveled through France, America, and 
the British Isles. 

Finally, he went to the Samoan Islands. All the lat- 
ter part of his life was spent there, and there he wrote 
Vol. XL.— 12. 

his best books. He gained wide knowledge of the 
people he saw by making notes in a book which he had 
with him constantly, and from memories of his child- 

In the Samoan Islands he acted as missionary and 
friend to the ignorant savages. So much did they love 
him that they dug a road which he had wanted. 

This is the man who, with all his troubles, could say : 

The world is so full of a number of things 
I am sure we should all be as happy as kings. 

Who really did the most — Napoleon, forcing nations 
into subjection, or Stevenson, leaving something better 
than territory? 



(Honor Member) 
She was not a queen of ancient time, my favorite 
heroine in history. Her noble deeds are still fresh in 
the hearts of the whole world. The veteran, thinking 
of bloody battle-fields, sees again that quiet figure mov- 
ing from cot to cot in the field hospital, feels a soothing 
hand upon his heated brow, and murmurs, with uncov- 
ered head, her name, "Clara Barton." She was "the 
angel of the battle-field" to them. During sixteen of 
the fiercest battles in the Civil War, she stayed at the 
front, following fearlessly in the wake of smoke and 
powder, caring for the wounded, nursing the sick, and 
comforting the dying. 

Then, having spent four years, at the close of the 
war, among prisons and unidentified graves in a search 
for missing soldiers, she went to Europe, completely 
broken down in health. But scarcely had she settled 
there, when the Red Cross Society sought her aid in the 
Franco-Prussian War. Here the greatness of her na- 
ture was shown, for she consented, and again entered 



those scenes of horror — a strain which resulted in a 
long and severe illness. 

It was here that she first became interested in the 
Red Cross work, and that she promised to give the re- 
mainder of her life, if necessary, in bringing America to 
signing the Red Cross treaty. 

Hers was a life of unselfishness, spent in the service 




of others. Wherever calamity fell upon a people, there 
she took her stand. Nor did her influence cease with 
the close of her life, for the American Red Cross So- 
ciety now carries out the humane work to which she 
devoted her life, and will stand forever as a memorial 
to one of America's greatest women. 


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. 









(Silver Badge) 
He stood there like a martyr, just inside the nurs'ry 
And warned me not to make a bit of noise ; 
So I stood right where I was, never moving, not an 
Until, at last, I really found my voice. 
'But why," I asked, "can't I come in? why do you keep 
me out?" 
He grinned the biggest grin that he could do ; 
But though I asked the question 'bout a dozen times or 
This little "guard" would not tell what he knew. 

Just then I started in, yes, inside that nursery door, 

When all at once, he grabbed me by the arm ; 
"I will not let you go in there !" he cried, in tragic 
"I will not let you do my princess harm !" 
"What did you say just then?" I asked with eyes that 
twinkled bright, 
And then he told me everything and all ; 
: 'Our princess lies inside," he said, in whispered tones 
so low, 
"And must not be awakened, 'cause she 's small. 

"And so my mama put me here to watch her till she 
And she said not to let a person in ; 
And so I minded Mother dear, and watched our 
princess sweet ; 
And that is all," he ended, with a grin. 
I grabbed this little mischief up, and kissed his 
dimpled face ; 
But just then something stirred, not very hard ; * 
Then we both went in the room, and the little 
"princess sweet" 
Held out her tiny arms to her small "guard." 


Constance Pritchett 
Lulie Westfeldt 
Richard Cooch 
Eliza A. Peterson 
Margaret Briggs 
John J. Hanighen 
Virginia Gohn 
Elizabeth Macdonald 
Dorothy M. Rogers 
Winifred S. Stoner, Jr. 
Mary C. Williams 
Eleanor S. Cooper 
Selma Brenner 
Willard Purinton 
Rose Sigal 
Fredrika W. Hertel 
Lydia S. Chapin 
Mary Frost 
Eugene W. De Kalb 
Yvonne Tomes 
Margaret Pratt 
Marie H. Taylor 
Doris Rowell 
Emily L. Talbert 
Elmer H. Van Fleet 
Thyrza Weston 
Lucile Luttrell 
Jacob Feld 
Maureen G. Husband 
Tilton Singer 
Annie F. Napier 
Martha L. Clark 
Thais Plaisted 
lone Cocke 
Mary E. Van Fossen 
Eleanor Hussey 
Clara Holder 
Ellen W. Warren 
Beatrice Brown 
Elsie Terhune 
James M. Israel 
Marjorie E. Logie 
Nathaniel Dorfman 
Henry W. Hardy 
Evelyn Frost 

Rhoma Phipps 
William W. Ladd 
Vivian E. Hall 
Mary V. Farmer 
Lile E. Chew 
Susan Nevin 
Rebecca Marshall 
Julia M. Herget 
Edgar Gibbs 
Dorothy Robathan 
Elsie M. Stevens 
Dorothy M. Russell 
Mary Dawson 
Jessie M. Thompson 
James Sheean 
Edith M. Levy 
Katharine B. Nesmith 
Katherine Bull 
Alice Lee Tully 
Miriam Goodspeed 
Ruth B. Brewster 


Ruth Wineland 
Isabel Tovey 
Lillias Armour 
Fannye L. Rich 
Mary E. Taggart 
Florence Patton 
Jane Morgenthau 
Julia Sherman 
Marion Twitchell 
Elizabeth B. Bratton 
Myrtle Doppmann 
Edyth Walker 
Alma Rosenzi 
Florence Gallagher 
Elsie Daubert 
Louise S. May 
Paulyne F. May 
Jack Jackson 
Sophie H. Duvall 
Helen Gould 
Mary Flaherty 
Mary Daboll 
Eleanor C. Bates 

Eleanora M. Bell 
Clifford Furnas 
Edna Hauselt 
Nathan Willensky 
Edward W. Dann, Jr. 
Estella Johnson 
Elizabeth W. Gates 
Margaret McCusker 
Eleanore Maule 
Margaret Burkett 
Blanche Laub 
Margaret C. Packer 
Cordelia Cox 
Marion Ward 
Gertrude H. Ressmeyer 
Jeannette Fellheimer 
Eldora Ellsworth 
Helen A. Dority 
Lillian Martin 
Louise M. Bamberg 
Alison Laing 
Margaret Long 
Doris G. Tipton 
Naomi Lauchheimer 
Lucy Somerville 
Hazel K. Sawyer 
Dorothea Brammer 
George F. Milliken 
Katherine Read 
Gjems Fraser 
Elizabeth C. Walton 
Elizabeth Finley 
Gertrude Rucker 
Donald Wogaman 
Drummond Jones 
Esther Carpenter 
Frieda E. Haden 


Pauline P. Whittlesey 
Eva Albanesi 
Janet Hepburn 
Lucile E. Fitch 
Albert R. Eckel 
Marian Shaler 
Rebecca K. Merrill 


Mary Porter 
Eleanore Leete 
Sarah B. Randolph 
Daniel B. Benscoter 
Martha H. Comer 
Alexina Haring 
Louise Stuerm 
Vera Bloom 
Helen G. Rankin 
Eleanor King Newell 
Evelyn G. Pullen 
Francis C. Hanighen 
Margaret G. 

D. Grace Ziegler 
James F. Whelan 
Katharine Hall 
Anita Delafield 
James E. Macklin, 2d 
Hilda Mabley 
Louise Northrup 
Margaret Pennewell 
Lazare Chernoff 
Anna Schein 
Marjorie M. Carroll 
Alfred Valentine 
Catalina Ferrer 
Frances E. Price 

John C. Farrar 
Helen P. Loudenslager 
Bertha E. Walker 
Mildred Willard 
Helene M. Roesch 
Josephine C. Wall 
Louise K. Paine 
M iriam F. Carpenter 
Carol Marsh 
Anita L. Grannis 
Thelma Stillson 
Josephine N. Felts 
B. H. W. Cresswell 
Mattie Hibbert 




Laurencia Vradenburg 
Winifred Birkett 
Eleanor Sewall 
Eleanor Collins 
Margaret Finck 
Howard Bennett 
Ben Sleeper 
Bruce T. Simonds 
Josephine L. Livingood 
Eleanor Johnson 
Naomi E. Butler 
Claire H. Roesch 
Leslie Eagar 
Lee Stephens 
Renee Geoffrion 
Hazel Roberts 
Emanuel Farbstein 
Vera B. Hall 
Evelyn Dunham 
Josephine Richards 
Louise Cramer 
Caroline F. Ware 
Helen Tolles 
Arthur H. Nethercot 
Suzanne Bringier 
Jennie W. Burton 
Laura Hadley 


Heather F. Burbury 
Lloyd Dinkelspiel 
Dorothy Hurminus 
Ruby H. Keeney 
Alice Trimble 
Ambrose C. Duggar 
Margaret C. Bland 
Edith H. Walton 
Elinor F. Hopkins 
Byrona Larkelle 
Grace Grimes 
Julia Goetze 
Edna Friedlander 
Martha W. Stanford 
Katherine Wogaman 
Georgene Davis 
Miriam Abrams 
Evelyn Waterman 
Ruth Hanchett 
Evangeline Amsell 
Eleanor Perkins 
George Meistle 
Margaret H. Benson 
Katherine Pearse 
Ruth Andrew 
Frances S. Brown 


William Burkley 
S. Dorothy Bell 
Katharine Reynolds 
Nellie L. Leach 
Leurs Yeomans 
Frederick Agnew 
Margaret F. Foster 
Ida E. Kahan 
Margaret Ager 
Francis W. Wright 
Thompson Blackburn 
Margaret L. Ayer 
Madeline Zeisse 
Pauline Hatfield 
Evelyn B. Sloat 
Copeland Hovey 
Kenneth Davis 
Bennie Farbstein 
Ellen Johnson 
Courtenay W. Halsey 
Katharine H. Seligman 
Isabella B. Howland 
Catharine M. Clarke 
Marian Hoyt 
Margaret P. Metcalfe 
Horatio Rogers 
Jean Davis 
Jean E. Peacock 
William Keevers 
Stella Bloch 
Raymond Gleeson 
Gladys E. Mead 
Margaret Jewell 
Kelly S. Vaughan 
Marjorie Flack 
Howard R. Sherman 

Jean Dorchester 
A. Gordon Grove 
Josephine Fisher 
Chester W. Slack 
Sarah F. Marimon 
Rose G. Martin 
Ruth S. Thorp 


Lucy Hunt 
Lois C. Myers 
Albin Y. Thorp 
Mary McPheeters 
Violet Roberts 
Jennie E. Everden 
Caryl Peabody 
Hester B. Curtis 
Elizabeth M . Brand 
Margaret M. 

John Argens 
Edward Lascher 
Mildred Greenfield 
Elizabeth Harter 
Meredith Brown 
Nellie Melrose 
Malcolm E. Anderson 
Caroline L. Ingham 

Lily Madan 
Antoinette Van Liew 
Wilfoi-d E. Yost 
Caroline Lyder 
Ellen B. Hindes 
Esther Hopper 
Bertha M. Tilton 
Alice J. Longhran 
Elsie Gouldberg 
Isabella Cargill 
Douglas Sprunt 
Walter K. Frame 
Adaline Kent 
William H. Fry 
Ruth E. Thompson 
Esther Rosenthal 
Janice Dunker 
Marion B. Cook 
Helen T. Stevenson 
Aroline A. Beecher 
Venette M. Willard 
Elizabeth W. Clark, Jr. 
Charles F. Patterson 
Henrietta H. Henning 
Oscar Banhan 
Henrietta M. Archer 
Lucile Means 
Jessie E. Alison 
Gladys Meldrum 
Dorothy Curtis 
Hayworth Michener 
Helen D. Rohnert 
Clara Leitman 
Marie J. Cooke 
Ruth Putnam 
Helen Brown 
Catheleen Trask 
Ilia Williams 
Mary Younglove 
Frances Wait 
Madeleine Marshall 
Marcia E. Stewart 
Norman A. Kelly 
Cornelia Felix 
Rebecca Johnson 
Reba Goldstine 
Edith Maurer 


Edward De W. Wines 
Willard Vander Veer 
William P. Jacob 
Lois Whitney 
Ellen K. Hone 
Clyde N. Kemery 
W. Robert Reud 
Esther R. Harrington 
Princess Fanny 

Margaret G. Thomson 
Miriam Hizar 
Truin Eppstein 
Gladys Smith 

Elizabeth Phillips 
Catherine Norris 
Betty Humphreys 
Genevieve Blanchard 
Mary Everett 
Katherine L. Guy 
Hester M. Dickey 
Gordon Snow 


Frances Pogue 
Gertrude Mclnnes 
Jessica B. Noble 
Nancy Eggers 
Louis Clark 
Elizabeth K. Brown 
Marion C. Holmes 
Esther Detmer 
Elizabeth Cains 
Philbrick McCoy 
Dorothy G. Schwarz 
Catharine Tarr 
Alice D. Shaw 
Benjamin Alvord, Jr. 
Betty M. Weaver 
A. S. Weeks 
Dorothy Hall 
Alice Moore 
Eleanor O. Doremus 
Betty Comstock 
Alice G. McKernon 
Alice B. Eggleston 
Elverton Morrison 
Dorenda Maltby 
John Rosenfield 
Junior Scruton 
Louis Joseph 
Florence M. Seward 
Ruth M. Simonds 
Eliot J. Ward 
Justus Wakelee 
Helen M. MacDonald 
Jean W. Wagner 
Margaret Anderson 
Allen Gray 
Katherine Abbott 
Leslie Gray 
Judith V. Hanna 
Elsie Apel 
Eric H. Marks 
Alpheus B. Stickney 
Valerie Underwood 
Sarah D. Roudebush 
Priscilla D. Howard 
Alexander M. Greene 
Marion G. Peck 
Margaret Powers 

iulia F. Brice 
•orothy Deming 
Ruby Britts 
Elizabeth C. Carter 
Mary Barnett 
Virginia P. Bradfield 
Addie E. Smith 
W. Coburn Seward 
Frances M. Sweet 
Elizabeth La Boyteaux 


Deborah Iddings 
Edith Armstrong 
Gustav Deichmann 
Katharine K. Spencer 
Margaret P. Spaulding 
Gertrude Bendheim 
Duncan Scarborough 
Henry D. Knower 
Isabel Conklin 
Constance Griffith 
Henrietta Archer 
Elizabeth M. Brand 
Margaret D. Kittinger 
Rachel Souhami 
Elizabeth P. Robinson 
Fannie Ruley 
Pearl Miller 
Margaret P. Cooke 
Edith Lucie Weart 
Mary Fraim 
Margaret Waddell 
James Stanisewsky 
Mary Bancroft 
Margaret M. Horton 

William Waller 
Ruth Browne 
Norah Heney 
Robert Crawford 
Louise D. Patterson 
Helena A. Irvine 


Warren W. Pierson 
Marg't W. Billingham 
Charles Pearson, Jr. 

Margaret E. Herbert 
Estella V. Johnson 
Lucy E. Cooke 
Alice Heyl 
Horace Yeomans 
May H. Doolittle 
Mary H. West 
Ruth Dorchester 
Katharine Skinner 
H. A. Moffat 
Eva Garson 
William Ehrich, Jr. 

Alice Bell 
Bessie Burch 
Blanche W. Billstein 
John D. Cooper 
Helen West/all 
Adele Chapin 
Hannah Ruley 
Sarah Y. Macklin 
Mary L. Sperry 
Rosetta Gilmour 
Francis Westcott 
Jamison D. Roberts 


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. 157 will close November 10 (for 
foreign members November 15). Prize announcements 
will be made and the selected contributions published in 
St. Nicholas for March. 

Verse. To contain not more than twenty-four lines. 
Subject, " A Song of Home." 

Prose. Essay or story of not more than three hundred 
words. Subject, " Luck and Work." 

Photograph. Any size, mounted or unmounted ; no blue 
prints or negatives. Subject, "Caught." 

Drawing. India ink, very black writing-ink, or wash. 
Subject, " Ready for Winter," or a Heading for March. 

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) willnot 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 contribution 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. 





The Hunters' Moon will still be hanging yellow 
in the sky when you are reading this number of 
St. Nicholas, so it is not yet quite time to turn 
away from the adventurous life of the great 
outdoor spaces to rooms and streets and trolley- 
cars, and all the confinements of civilization. Or, 
at least, if turn we must, since school and office 
call back hunter and camper and sailor to desk 
and bench, we may yet keep a hand stretched out 
to the rough grip of nature, and a backward eye 
on her nights of stars and days of lusty winds, 
ripening orchards and reaped grain, yellow woods 
and white-laced brown brooks running under the 
dark pines. 

Wherever in this broad land you may have 
spent the summer and autumn, you have got 
there with comparative ease. Trains have rolled 
you over the vast plains or through the moun- 
tains, have brought you to the open door of the 
forest or the shores of lake or sea. If you went 
into the wilderness, you passed through sweet 
and flourishing farm districts and lively villages, 
and even though you crossed the prairies that 
roll up to the foot of the Rockies, you have seen 
the irrigated land turned green and gold with 
growing corn and hay. 

But a little time ago, even as we human beings 
count time, none of this was so. There were the 
mountains and the plains, the forest and the 
wilderness, and no way of getting across them 
except by foot or on horseback, a perilous way, 
fit only for the strongest and the most daring. 

Thinking of these things as my train whirled 
on its eastward journey, I remembered two books 
that tell in graphic style the story of the change 

— the wonderful change from the wild times of 
the path-finders and path-makers to the present 
day, with its Pullman cars flashing over the iron 
roads, going farther in a day than it was possible 
to go in a month when the wilderness was at 
home all over the continent. 

These two books are written by men who were 
among the pioneers and adventurers who rode 
the long and dangerous trails from East to West, 
and who saw the whole great drama played out, 
helping a deal in the playing— or, rather, the 
fighting, for there was a considerable amount of 
the latter and precious little of the former in the 
whole big business from beginning to end. 

These men are Colonel Henry Inman, U. S. A., 
and Colonel Cody, or "Buffalo Bill," whom you 
have probably heard of before ; and the books 
are "The Old Santa Fe Trail" and "The Old Salt 
Lake Trail." The Salt Lake book has been writ- 
ten by the two in collaboration, while the other 
book is by Inman alone, with an introduction by 
Buffalo Bill. They are big, fat books with many 
illustrations, and they tell a tale as amazing and 
exciting as it is true. Now, as you know well 
that truth is stranger than fiction, you can form 
some notion of just how stirring these volumes 

Here are told the great hardships, the high en- 
deavor, the noble endurance, and the wild en- 
chantment of that western life, a life so recently 
passed away that its memory is distinct in the 
minds of living men, and yet so utterly vanished 
that it seems to have belonged to another age 
than ours, or to be a romantic story told at twi- 
light when the fancy plays. 

Yet here are the pages written by the very 
men who tramped and rode the desperate miles 



across the continent, back and forth, meeting all 
the perils of the trail, and escaping hardly with 
more than their lives ; men who saw the vast 
hordes of the buffalo and the tepees of the Indi- 
ans disappear before the trapper, the hunter, and 
the grazer, and these again vanish before the 
farmer and the homesteader. Surely, in all the 
story of this world's adventures, so much history 
was never before packed into so short a space of 

It was in 1861 that the telegraph was finally 
stretched from ocean to ocean, putting an end to 
the famous Pony Express. And in 1880, that the 
first train of the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe 
Railroad ran over the new rails and killed the 
old trails. This was the beginning of the end, 
the beginning of To-day, and our easy hurryings 
over the routes mapped out by the pioneers. 

In "The Old Santa Fe Trail" we follow the 
tracks of Kit Carson, and many a story is told of 
him, and of Dick Wootin and other famous scouts 
and Indian fighters. There is a lot of fighting in 
these pages, for Indian and white disputed every 
step with the rifle and the scalping-knife — it was, 
first of all, a war-path, this way across the country. 

There seems to be no end to the number of 
stories told in the two books. There is the Mexi- 
can War, as it affected the scouts and trappers 
and cavalry of the army; there is the great tale 
of the first wagon expedition across the Divide 
and the Plains, a record of amazing hardship 
and grim endurance, in which the few who won 
out were compelled to finish on foot, wagons and 
baggage abandoned. 

And oh, the hundreds of anecdotes of bear- 
and beaver-trapping, deer- and buffalo-shooting ! 
It was the ruthless slaughter of the buffalo that 
first aroused the hatred of the Sioux, or Dakotas, 
which was the real name of the nation. These 
Sioux, with the Comanches, became the terror of 
the whites, and left a trail of blood behind them 
as they were slowly driven back. The Pawnees 
were troublesome too, but, on the whole, more 
friendly. There is one story Buffalo Bill tells 
of a Pawnee baby who was adopted by a Pony 
Express rider, known by the name of Whipsaw, 
which reveals the devotion of an Indian to his 
friend. Whipsaw had rescued the three-year-old 
child from a wicked-looking old Sioux warrior 
who had stolen him from his own people, and 
after that the boy would have nothing to do with 
the redskins; in fact, he hated them, and never 
lost a chance to do them harm. 

In the end, the little boy, who was called Little 
Cayuse, saved not only Whipsaw, but several 
other Express riders from murder by the Sioux. 
It is a good yarn, as you '11 find out in reading it. 

The picture Buffalo Bill gives of these riders 
is a wonderful one. The service was so danger- 
ous that few men were willing to undertake it, 
and of these scarcely one escaped quite unhurt. 
The lightning speed at which they rode, the lone- 
liness, the heat, cold, and drought they suffered, 
are thrilling to read of. At any moment, as they 
fled along, an enemy might rise up, a shot whistle 
past — not always past ! Then, after the mail- 
bags were tossed to the waiting rider at the next 
post, who immediately started at full gallop, the 
drop into a sleep of utter exhaustion, rolled in a 
blanket on the floor of the cabin. 

There are, especially in "The Old Salt Lake 



Trail," a number of Indian legends and beliefs, 
and much concerning their customs, both in their 
tribal life, and when they came into contact with 
the intruding white men. Tales, too, that were 
told at night by the old scouts and trappers as 
they sat smoking round the fire. One of the 
most famous of these men was known as "Old 
Hatcher," and we hear one of his stories as he 
sits "under the silvery pines, with the troops of 
stars overhead," one of a group of buckskin-clad 
men, speaking in his western dialect, with telling 
gestures, his pipe always in his mouth, and his 
eyes fixed, with a far-away look, on some glow- 
ing spot in the fire as though he were seeing the 
scenes and adventures he described. 

There is a good deal told of General Sherman, 
and of the great task of building the Union Pa- 



cific. With the last spike driven in that road, 
the Salt Lake Trail followed the Santa Fe out of 

Buffalo Bill tells many of his own adventures 
as a scout for the United States Army, and anec- 
dotes of the many officers he met in that capacity. 


Another wonderful story is that of the creation 
of the Overland Stage Route. The coaches were 
huge, swinging affairs, drawn by six horses or 
mules, the finest to be had, and these were usually 
driven at a gallop over the rough trails and 
breakneck descents. They went as fast as a hun- 
dred miles a day, the horses being changed every 
ten miles at the roadside houses. The drivers of 
these stages were men of character and of a 
dare-devil bravery. Adventure was the order of 
the day, and not a driver among them but had his 
score and more to relate. Hold-ups were com- 
mon, for the stages went almost as heavily loaded 
with gold as with passengers, on many of their 
trips. What rides they must have been ! The 
towering mountains, the wild canon road between 
the pine-covered slopes, the beautiful horses go- 

ing at full tilt, with the heavy coach swaying be- 
hind them, its little group of travelers on top, the 
driver swinging his long whip, the conductor, 
who was responsible for the mail, looking out, 
gun in hand— then, suddenly, two or three 
mounted desperadoes barring the route ! 

Many a rough joke these wild men played, and 
many a harrowing deed is recorded of them and 
of their enemies. Many a foolhardy risk they took, 
and many an act of gentleness and kindness is 
"chalked up" to them. They were much like chil- 
dren, simple and natural, taking things as they 
came, and loving adventure like boys. The life 
they lived has no place in our civilization, but it 
was fine and manly for all its faults. Without 
men of their caliber we should scarcely have sub- 
dued the West, turning the wilderness into the 
granary of the world, and opening the golden 
mountains for their wealth. Thanks to them, 
peace has come now, and the wild miles are sweet 
and smiling. 

If you want a true notion of how America 
grew to be what she is, and desire to see at first- 
hand the men, or some of them, who had a hand 
in this growth, you cannot do better than read 
these two books. As for interest and excitement, 
you won't fail to find plenty. But the fact that 
the stories are thrilling does not make them the 
less true, which is one of the comforts of life. 
It is history — but it is adventure too ! It is as 
valuable as it is thrilling. The settling of the 
West had many phases, but here we get the be- 
ginning of them all, "that first fine, careless rap- 
ture" we never can recapture, and which belongs 
to youth, to first times, and the beginnings of 
things, and is usually lost in what follows. 

Perhaps, while you read in the dark November 
evenings, the wind will shriek in the windows, 
rattling the blinds, until it seems to you that you 
hear the war-cry of the Sioux and the clatter of 
horses' feet. Snuggle down more closely by the 
fire, and turn the pages. It is only fancy now— 
but fifty years ago . . . ! 


Geographical Primal Acrostic. Martin Van Buren. Cross- 
words : i. Maine. 2. Aiken. 3. Rhine. 4. Tunis. 5. Indus. 6. 
Nubia. 7. Volga. 8. Andes. 9. Natal. 10. Banff. 11. Utica. 12 
Rhone. 13. Essex. 14. Negro. 

Word-Squares. I. 1. Brine. 2. Rosin. 3. Islet. 4. Niece. 5 
Enter. II. 1. Maple. 2. Again. 3. Paint. 4. Liner. 5. Entry. 

Triple Beheadings and Curtailings. Abraham Lincoln. Cross 
words: 1. Ant-arc-tic. 2. Bar-bar-ism. 3. Int-rod-uce. 4. Adv-ant 
age. 5. Arc-hit-ect. 6. Imp-art-ial. 7. Geo-met-ric. 8. Abo-lit-ion 
9. Fus-ill-ade. 10. Hyp-not-isin. n. Chi-can-ery. 12. Abs-orb-ent 
13. Col-lea-gue. 14. Mag-net-ize. 

Zigzag. Thomas Moore. Cross-words: 1. Tangle. 2. Chisel. 3 
Clover. 4. Primal. 5. Appear. 6. Famous. 7. Column. 8. Choose. 
9. Closet. 10. Prison. 11. Emerge. 

Illustrated Novel Acrostic Reynolds, Lawrence. Cross 

words : 

1. Ruler. 
7. Ducks. 


3. Yawls. 4. North. 5. Opera. 

Numerical Enigma. " How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to 
have a thankless child." 

Persian Pi. 

'An untried friend is like an uncracked nut." 


Double Diagonal. Bryant, Lowell. Cross-words : ] 
Creole. 3. Gayety. 4. Reward. 5. Iodine, 6. Linnet. 

Connected Squares and Diamonds. I. 1. M. 2. Lad. 3. 
Mania. 4. Din. 5. A. II. 1. Inane. 2. Newel. 3. Award. 4. 
Nerve. 5. Elder. III. 1. S. 2. Woe. 3. Solar. 4. Eat. 5. R. 
IV. 1. T 2. Rot. 3. Total. 4. Tax. 5. L. V. 1. Trait. 2. 
Raise. 3. Aisle. 4. Islet. 5. Teeth. VI. 1. E. 2. End. 3. En- 
voy. 4. Dot. 5. Y. 

Cross-word Enigma. Constitution. 

Syncopated Central Acrostic. Vassar College. Cross-words: 
1. Re(v)el. 2. Ch(a)in. 3. Pa(s)te. 4. Li(s)ps. 5. St(a)ir. 6. 
Fa(r)ce. 7. Vi(c)es. 8. St(o)op. 9. Co(l)on. 10. So(l)ar. 11. 
Br(e)ad. 12. Re(g)al. 13. Sp(e)ar. 

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 August Number were received before August 10 from Albert Reynolds Eckel — " Queenscourt." 

Answers to Puzzles in the August Number were received before August 10 from L. C. Holmes, 9 — George S. Cattanach, 9 — "Dixie 
Slope," 9 — Harmon B., James O., and Glen T. Vedder, 8 — Theodore H. Ames, 8 — Edith H. Heymann, 7 — Dorothy B. Goldsmith, 8 — Gertrude 
M. Van Home, 6 — Joseph B. Kelly, 6 — Phyllis Brooks, 5 — Eleanor O'Leary, 3 — Virginia Beggs, 2. 

Answers to one Puzzle were received from L. S.— E. T— R. C— R. T.— J. D.— K. K. S.— F. L. K.— C. A. H.— A. R. F.— D. R. 


(Gold Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 

00 ***** 000 























































































Upper Left-hand Diamond: i. In Telemachus. 2. 
Quick of apprehension. 3. Cognizant. 4. A variety of 
dog. 5. To quaver. 6. A snake-like fish. 7. In Tele- 

Upper Square: i. An Eastern salutation. 2. Old 
womanish. 3. Lawful. 4. To arrange in a line. 5. 

Upper Right-hand Diamond 
A fishing bob. 3. A large pill 
sandals. 5. An engraver's tool, 

Left-hand Square: i. The Mohammedan evil spirit. 
2. A newly married woman. 3. Utmost extent. 4. An 
imbecile. 5. A conflict in boxing. 

Central Diamond: i. In Telemachus. 2. A writing- 
instrument. 3. Puzzled. 4. A cube of marble used in 
mosaic work. 5. In great want. 6. Parched. 7. In 

1. In Telemachus. 2. 
4. Mercury's winged 
7. In Tele- 

6. Crime. 

Right-hand Square: i. To frighten. 2. To sing joy- 
fully. 3. Fragrance. 4. A famous people. 5. The Cape 

Lower Left-hand Diamond: i. In Telemachus. 2. 
To bore into. 3. Rum distilled from a low grade of mo- 
lasses. 4. A silken fabric. 5. A fragment. 6. Con- 
sumed. 7. In Telemachus. 

Lower Square: i. Manila hemp. 2. A household 
article. 3. A large artery. 4. Cottages. 5. To gather. 

Lower Right-hand Diamond: i. In Telemachus. 2. 
To imitate. 3. A perfume made from roses. 4. Desti- 
tute of wings. 5. In good season. 6. A beam of light. 
7. In Telemachus. ernest s. crosby (age 14). 


Adepeh ni het loshwol fo eth evrog, teh unutma saveel 

eli edad, 
Yeth ulsret ot het dyendig stug, dan ot eth tribsab dater. 


{Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 
Each of the words described contains the same number 
of letters. When rightly guessed and written one be- 
low another, the zigzag through the first and second 
columns will spell the name of a great statesman, and 
through the third and fourth columns the name of a 
famous general. 

Cross-words: i. To decrease. 2. A city famous for 
its tower. 3. Part of the face. 4. Besides. 5. An is- 
land. 6. Rescue. 7. Fasten. 8. Thin. 9. Hooks used 
on steam-engines. 10. A musical part. 11. A river in 
Italy. 12. A girl's name. 13. Weakens. 14. A famous 
volcano. 15. Used in a boat. 16. An insect. 17. Level. 






If the pictured words are written one below another, 
the diagonal, beginning at the upper left-hand letter, 
spells the name of a famous explorer. e. r. b. 


My whole consists of seventy-nine letters and forms a 
quotation from Walter Scott. 

My 29-50-12-51-42 is ground. My 5-59-70-1 1 is 
part of a fork. My 21-23-24-45-13 is a dwelling. My 
1 7-65-14-6 is a Biblical character. My 43-37-34-2-64 
is obtained from Africa. My 15-36-40-4-76 is what 
gold is. My 48-19-67-7-31 is subjected to a pecuniary 
penalty. My 63-54-61-78-25-69 is chiefly. My 1-46- 
22-72 is of the highest excellence. My 8-16-35-28 is 
by the sea. My 58-75-30-39-20-10 is the fireside. My 
74-71-26-57 is immense. My 66-73-56-9-49 is a di- 
mension. My 33-41-32 is in what condition. My 62- 
18-55-53-60 is pertaining to a country in Europe. My 
52-27-63-3 is a place we love. My 44-38-79-77-47 is 
often given as a prize. 

winthrop slade, jr. (age n), League Member. 


{One word is concealed in each couplet") 
If you can't settle where to buy, 
For umpire Stephen we will try. 

A shop in every street you '11 find 
With bargain sales just to your mind. 

A suit like yours so warm and light 
So nice and trig I 'd buy at sight. 

There goes the sun ; I tell you, friends, 
That heavy cloud a shower portends. 

For shopping I 'm no more inclined, 
Some destination we must find. 

Helen A. Sibley. 


(Gold Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 
Example : Quintuply behead and curtail prescience, and 
leave the present time. Answer, forek-now-ledge. 

In the same way behead and curtail: 1. Causing un- 
easiness, and leave a conjunction. 2. Support, and leave 
a fragment of cloth. 3. Pertaining to a crystalloid, and 
leave every one. 4. Improper administration, and leave 
a horse. 5. One of the United States, and leave a vehi- 
cle. 6. The act of sparkling, and leave sick. 7. The art 
of the actor, and leave a male child. 8. One skilled in 

arithmetic, and leave joined. 9. Belonging to Lent, and 
leave era. 10. Pertaining to type, and leave to strike. 
11. Impairments through neglect, and leave a feminine 
name. 12. That which is brought back into a country 
from which it was taken, and leave a fragment. 13. 
Concerning different nations, and leave a masculine 

When correctly guessed, and written one below an- 
other, the primals of the remaining three-letter words 
will spell the name of a famous American general. 



Example : To a beast of burden add to be the matter 
with, and make to attack. Answer : ass-ail. 

1. To an animal add to bite, and make an aromatic 
plant. 2. To strike add a pronoun, and make to this 
place. 3. To an insect add an edge, and make a song 
of praise. 4. To decay add a number, and make un- 
sound. 5. To a ballad add human beings, and make the 
laity. 6. To part of the head add a pronoun, and make 
terrestrial. 7. To the ocean add a male child, and make 
a division of the year. 8. To confine water add a period, 
and make injury. 9. To a tavern add devoured, and 
make natural. 10. To a vehicle add to caress, and make 
a floor covering. 11. To a young goat add a doze, and 
make to steal a human being. 12. To the termination 
add part of the head, and make to make beloved. 13. 
To a negative word add to freeze, and make to observe. 
14. To a luminary add to place, and make a time of day. 
When correctly guessed and written one below an- 
other, the primals of the resulting six-letter words made 
will spell the name of a famous novelist. 
edith pierpont stickney (age 13), Honor Member. 


In this puzzle the words (of unequal length) are pic- 
tured instead of described. When rightly guessed, and 
written one below another, the primals spell the name 
of a famous institution. 

charles m. alford (age 9), League Member. 






on the 


of the 


There are certain things 
which are necessary not 
only to the foundation of 
beauty but to its preservation, 
and without which beauty is 
imperfect and unenduring. 
The first of these necessaries 
is a soap that will protect the skin from the impairing 
influences of climate and atmosphere, and keep the 
complexion of a velvety softness and a sweet, peach- 
like bloom. The only soap that fully and completely 
answers these requirements is 

Pears' Soap 

which is both a skin soap and a beauty soap. 
It penetrates to the foundations of beauty, and gives that 
natural stimulative force that keeps the skin in healthy action, 
without which the color fades and the cheeks become sallow. 

The Great English Complexion Soap 

'A 11 rights secured ' ' 




Write today — 
it's worth your while 

You may be one of those who are looking for a dentifrice that is pleasant 
to use as well as efficient. If you are, send us 2 cents in stamps and we will 
mail you .a generous trial tube of Colgate's Ribbon Dental Cream — the 
dentifrice without a "druggy" taste. 

You will be as pleased with the delicious flavor as with the sense of 
wholesome cleanliness it gives your mouth. 

Ribbon Dental Cream checks decay-germs, corrects excessive acidity and 
cleans the teeth thoroughly and safely. 

Ask mother to get you a tube — or send us 2c. in stamps for a generous 
trial tube. Ask for "The Jungle Pow-Wow" too, for your little brother 
or sister — a funny animal rhyme book with colored pictures. It's free. 

COLGATE & CO. Dept. 60 199 Fulton Street, New York 



What Cora Manning Says. 

"And, oh, Jack! we're out of Jell-O again. Order a dozen and bring a package 
of Strawberry Jell-O with you. The Mannings are coming for dinner and Cora 
Manning says there 's nothing so lovely as my 

desserts. " 

The Mannings and their friends, like other sensible people who 
can afford expensive luxuries, do not deprive themselves of good things 
because they are cheap. 

The charm of the Jell-O dessert is felt in every home, and it only 
costs ten cents! 

Plain but delicious desserts and elaborate and delicious desserts 
are made of Jell-O — and most of them can be made in a minute. 

There are seven delightful Jell-O flavors : Strawberry, Raspberry, 
Lemon, Orange, Cherry, Peach, Chocolate. 

10 cents each at any grocer's. 

If you will write and ask us for it we will send 
you the splendid 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 is n't there, it is n't Jell-O. 



jfrankUn Simon & Go. 

FIFTH AVENUE, 37th and 38th Streets, NEW YORK 
Misses' and Girls' House Robes 

No. 23 — Hand embroidered, imported Jap- 
anese Quilted Silk Gown, in navy, light 
blue, red, old rose, or pink, lined with silk in 
contrasting color, fastened with silk frogs, 

cord, and tassel ; 4, 6, and 8 years 

10 and 12 years 

14, 16, and 18 years 


No. 25 — Crepon Eiderdown Wrapper m 

red, light blue, or pink, trimmed with satin to 

match ; 2 to 4 years 

6 to 10 years 

12 to 20 years 

No. 25A— Hand-made Slippers of pink or 
blue silk Dresden ribbon, lined with silk. . . 

No. 27 — Imported Japanese Silk Quilted Gown, in navy, 4 to 8 years. . 
light blue, pink, red, or old rose, lined with silk in con- 10 to 12 years 
trasting color, fastened with silk frogs, cord, and tassel; 14 to 18 years 






Every Stitch Guaranteed 

J!?T his for Six Months! 

Hosiery « 

Buy HOLEPROOF Hose. Every stitch is guaranteed, not just the 
heels and toes. Every six pairs must wear SIX MONTHS or you get 
new hose FREE. Why put up with hose that wear out in two weeks 
when there are hose like these? They cost just as much as you pay for 

"Holeproof." Thus "Holeproof" are cheaper because 

they last longer. 

We pay an average of 70 cents 
a pound for the cotton yarn in 
"Holeproof." Common yarn could 
be purchased for 30 cents. But 
"Holeproof "are soft and are made 
in the lightest weights, if you want 
them. Even these sheerest weights 
are guaranteed six months. We 
must make the best hose to guar- 
antee them. 

The genuine "Holeproof" bear- 
ing the signature ^a^S^M 
that of the originator of guaran- 
teed hose, can be had in your 

We'll tell you the dealers' names 
on request or we'll ship direct 
where there's no dealer near, 
charges prepaid on receipt of re- 


holeproof flosieru 


We even guarantee silkhosef ormen 
and women. Three pairs, guar- 
anteed three months, for 
men cost $2, for women 
bo . Anyone, there- 
fore, can now wear 
silk hose with 
economy for 
of silk wear 
longer than 

Write today for free book, 
"How to Make Your Feet 

Cotton "Holeproof" for men, 
women, children and infants cost 
25 cents to 50 cents a pair in boxes 
of six pairs guaranteed six 

It is easy to make hose last if 
you make them heavy enough. 
But to make hose light and make 
them wear you must use the 
highest-priced yarn that's sold. 




Springtime All the Time for Every 
One Who Wears Heels Like This 

O Sullivan's 


You ought to have 
them on your new 
shoes. They make 
you step quietly. 




Standard since 1848 

Your well -planned dinner calls for a 
delicious and dainty dessert. 

A Kingsford's Blanc Mange, Custard, Charlotte 
or Pudding is sure to meet with hearty approval. 
What other dessert could you serve that looks 
so palatable and tastes so good? The perfect 
purity and extreme delicacy of 
Kingfsford's gives you 
< -~7 -i^-f) results you can't get 
^miS^-^"' with inferior substitutes. 
Don't risk failure with 
them — insist on the reliable Kingsford's. 

Send your name on a post card for Cook Book "D" — 1 68 of the best recipes free. 


National Starch Co., Suc'rs Oswego, N. Y. 

On Monday tell the laundress good starch- 
ing is as necessary as good washing to have 
clothes a snowy white. See that 

is used. Cheap starch spots and stains the most carefully 
washed garment. Kingsford's may cost a little more — but it 
gives such a dainty finish to lingerie and fine undergarments 
you would not think of using any other starch once you try it. 
Kingsford's is the pure natural lump starch — the 
reliable starch with American housewives for three 
generations — for hot or cold starching. 

Insist that the dealer send it. Direct the laun- 
dress to use it. 

Sold in i lb., j lb., and 6 lb. boxes. 


National Starch Co., Suc'rs Oswego, N. Y. 

—MM -'■-- 

w\ * mi m & m&8m mmiL 


St. Nicholas League Advertising Competition No. ij/. 

Time to hand in answers is up November 10. Prize-winners awiounced in January number. 

For this competition the Judges 
ask you to write a letter to the 
St. Nicholas Magazine, tell- 
ing in 300 words or less of some 
advertisement in a magazine [any 
magazine) that has caused you or 
some member of your family to 
write a letter to the advertiser in 
regard to the thing advertised, 
and the result of the correspond- 
ence, whether you bought the 
article or not. 

The prizes will be awarded 
according to the merits of your 
letter — its form, clearness, and 
correct style. 

The object is to find out how 
well you can tell the story of the 
experience, and also what made 
you or your family write to the 

Try to make your letter sim- 
ple, and yet let it tell the facts 
clearly, so that it will show what 
caused the letter to the adver- 
tiser to be written, and what 
came of it. 

This is not a puzzle, but a 
competition in the writing of a 
good business letter telling certain 
facts in the right way. 

(See also 

Here follow the list of prizes and 
the rules: 

One First Prize, $5.00 to the one 
who submits the best letter — that is, 
the most creditable in its style, form, 
and correctness. 

Two Second Prizes, $3.00 each to 
those who submit the two next best 

Three Third Prizes, $2.00 each to 
those who submit the three next best 

Ten Fourth Prizes, $1.00 each to 
those who submit the ten next best 

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 sub- 
scribers 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 competition 


3. Submit answers by November 

10, 191 2. Use ink. Do not inclose 

4. Do not inclose request 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. 131, St. Nicholas 
League, Union Square, New York. 

page 30.) 



This is addressed to those mothers of girls and boys who are beginning to be afraid 
that "music simply isn't in" their children, it' s so hard to keep them interested in it 

She practiced and she practiced 
— but she never learned to play 

Surely, you never heard of a child who didn't 
love music. But practicing — that's another 
matter. Nothing is harder or more tiresome 
work — especially when there are other things 
going on — doll parties or ball games. 

There's only one way to make practicing 
less hard and less tiresome — that is to keep 
in the front of your boys' or girls' minds, 
the fact that some day they are going to be 
good players, musicians. 

But how ? 

Incentive ! They should know what good 
music is and what good playing is. If you 
could play and would play for them, they 
couldn't ask for a better incentive. They'd 
practice till their fingers ached to learn to 
play as well. 

But you don't play. And that is why you 
need the PIANOLA Player-piano to give 
your children the incentive you yourself can' t 
give them. Keeping up their interest will be 
the least of your worries when a PIANOLA 
Player-piano comes into your home. 

Do you think, because anyone can play 
the PIANOLA Player-piano, that they will 
lose interest or become discouraged with 
their own efforts? 

No ! They will practice as never before — 
to be able to do with their own two hands 
what the PIANOLA Player-piano does so 
perfectly. It is the greatest incentive in the 
world to make girls and boys want to be good 
players and try to be. 

And then think of your world of beautiful 
music, of finished masterly playing, to offset 
the finger exercises and scales you listen 
to while your children are still beginners. 

When you go to hear the Pianola Player-piano be sure you hear 
the genuine PIANOLA — not just a player-piano. Pianola 
does not mean any player-piano. It is our trade-mark name. 
There is a vast difference, as you will understand when you 
have heard the effects of the Metrostyle and Themodist, two 
exclusive Pianola Player-piano features. The leastexpensive 
Pianola Player-piano at $550, gives you these and other 
exclusive Pianola features that even the highest priced of 
other players cannot give you. We suggest that you read 
"The Pianolist,"a book by Gustave Kobbe, for sale at all 
book stores. We should be pleased to send you a copy with 
our compliments if you will address Department "D." 


Aeolian Hail New York 



Report on Advertising Competition No. 129 

A great pile of papers awaited the 
Judges' attention this month. Com- 
petition No. 129 goes down on the 
records as one of the most successful 
and amusing we have had in many a 
day. Of course, many of the papers 
were placed in the rejected pile be- 
cause of some omission or violation 
of the rules. Some of you, too, I sur- 
mise, failed to win prizes because your 
work was careless, or the picture you 
submitted was silly. On the whole, 
however, the Judges were much 
pleased. The first prize is a picture 
of Mennen's Talcum Powder baby 
reaching from a Pears' Soap bathtub 
for an Auto- Strop Razor. The title 
reads "Eventually — Why Not Now?" 
The work is so well done, and the idea 
is so clever, that we should probably 
all agree with the Judges' decision. 
And there is a picture marked fourth 
prize — "Fifty-seven Varieties" of 
children carefully grouped, and pre- 
sumably all St. Nicholas readers. 
And then there is a most attractive 
piece of work — a clever combination 
of fourteen different advertisements 
to form a title plate for the St. Nich- 
olas League. Another paper, marked 
"Second Prize," is a picture of the 
Peter's Chocolate man with his staff, 
on which a Borden's Eagle has 
alighted, and in his other arm a North- 
ern Pacific baby bear. He is leading 
a donkey loaded with a box of Grape - 
Nuts, and a group of happy Ivory 
Soap children are running, eagerly 
after the wonderful traveler. We can 
imagine them remembering the scene 
long afterward, which makes the title 
"The Memory Lingers" very appro- 

There are many others— so many 
good ones, in fact, that we have quite 

(See also 

a long list of those receiving Honor- 
able Mention this month. It is rather 
difficult to go over more than two 
thousand pictures, as there were this 
month, and look at each one carefully, 
and judge fairly. But it is pleasant 
work because the St. Nicholas boys 
and girls — and you are one of them, 
of course — are the brightest in the 
world. After you have sent in two 
or three contributions the Judges get 
to know your work and look upon 
you, more or less, as a friend every 
time they see your name. Don't be 
discouraged because you have not 
won a prize; just keep on trying to do 
better and better, and follow the rules 
carefully, and you will stand a good 
chance of being a prize-winner. 

W T e are very proud of the names 
given below. They stand for excel- 
lent work. 

One First Prize, $3.00: 

Louise Laurens, age 13, New York. 
7\vo Second Prizes, $3.00 each: 

DeWitt B. B. Stucke, age 12, New York. 

Anna A. Fuller, age 16, Rhode Island. 
Three Third Prizes, $2.00 each: 

Mildred Stokes, age 14, California. 

Jessie A mia Lawton, age 9, Washington. 

Marion B. Cook, age 14, New York. 
Ten Fourth Prizes, $1.00 each : 

Dorothy M. Ewing, age 14, Canada. 

Ruth Carter Grant, age 16, Massachusetts. 

Joseph C Honiz, Jr., age 10, Louisiana. 

Laura Hill, age 18, Pennsylvania. 

Alison Hastings, age 15, Connecticut. 

Vinton Liddell, age 12, North Carolina. 

Elizabeth Brownell, age 11, New York. 

Lucille Singer, age 14, Illinois. 

William Provoost, age 15, New York. 

Edith A. Laughlin, age 12, New York. 
Honorable Mention. 

Dorothy C Mason, age 14, Massachusetts. 

Elizabeth Riggs, age 10, Maryland. 

Phebe Ann Richmond, age 12, Rhode Island. 

Gertrude Harder, age 16, New York. 

Florence L. Dimm, age 9, Colorado. 

Anna E. Greenleaf, age 17, New York. 

Ruth E. Rieboldt, age 16, Wisconsin. 

Kenneth G. Loud, age — , Michigan. 

Roland Swift, age 10, Connecticut. 

Walter R. Bedell, age 12, New York. 

Mary Louisa Cobb, age 13, North Carolina. 

Constance Grenelle Wilcox, age 17, Connecticut. 

page 28.) 



"Say, but these are corking tires! 
Watch the fellows sit up and take notice!" 


ikest links in the 
h structure are the 
Strengthen these, a 
steadied, the step b 

Boys, if you 're expecting to get 
a wheel this coming Christmas, .be 
sure it has 


They 're the kind that don't skid, that 
last through plenty of rough use, and 
that cannot be affected by oil. The 
best roads and pavements are now oiled 
for motor traffic, and oil rots rubber. Ordinary 
tires don't last. 
, But Pennsylvania Tires have specially pre- 

lt, the walk confident. m t h e tread. Oil makes no difference to them, 

Loward Good Sens- [ s tough enough to resist puncturing. 
toward Extension He'ennsylvania Tires half a mile off. The tread is red. 
ply corrects, ^xrh. we tires on your wheel make it look different. 

We guarantee these tires for one whole season. They '11 last 
far longer. No others are so good. They cost $8.50 a pair, and 
are worth it. 

Ask to have them put on your wheel. If the tire dealer in your 
home town has n't got Pennsylvania Tires, write us direct. We '11 
see that you get them. 


(Reorganized February 1st, 1910) 

Pittsburg, 505 Liberty Ave. Detroit, 254 Jefferson Ave. 

Cleveland, 1837 Euclid Ave. Kansas City, 514 E. 15th St. 

Chicago, 1004 Michigan Ave. Minneapolis, 34 S. Eighth St. 


New York City, 1700 Broadway 


San Francisco, 512-14 Mission St. Los Angeles, 930 S. Main St. 

An independent company with an independent selling policy 

_R£G U.S. PA* 

3 1 



you can build working models 
of drawbridges, cranes, der- 
ricks, signal towers and many 
other structures with working 

Meccano outfits contain 
everything you need — beams, 
girders, channel irons, pulleys, 
bolts — made mostly of plated 
steel and brass. 

Write for Illustrated Catalog 

and list of principal dealers in 
your section. This catalog 
describes not merely the out- 
lit, but shows the things you 
can build. 

Meccano is sold by leading, 
toy and sporting goods stores. 
See a set. 

Look for name Meccano. 


23 Church St. Albany, N. Y. 

Manufacturers of 

"Toys that Teach" 


:o o o o o.o oio,>p-,o; 

You Can't Shoot 

straight if your gun is dirty. Clean out 
the barrel, polish the stock, lubricate the 
trigger with "3-in-One." Use "3-in-One" 
on your skates, bicycle, tools — prevents 

Can You Hunt 

rabbits, birds? Oil your gun with 
" 3-in-One " and every shot goes straight 
to the mark. Makes trigger work right 
— keeps barrel bright inside and out. 

Boys, Don't Drown 

your tools in cheap oil. A few drops of 

"3-in-One" makes brace 

and bit, plane, saws, all tools 

work perfectly — keeps them 

bright and clean, free from 


Write for generous sample bottle — FREE 

42 Q. B. Broadway, New York 

__-; rrtzes, $3.00 each: 
7 y. B. Stucke, age 12, New 
-.^.Fuller, age 16, Rhode Isl 
<ii Prizes, $2.00 each: 
■ :. >tokes, age 14, California, 
na Lawton, age 9, Washin, 
. Cook, age 14, New York. 
Prizes, $z.oo each : 
il. Ewing, age 14, Canada. 
vc Grant, age 16, Massachu 
Honiz, Jr., age 10, Louisia 



gives just the rejuvenating aid and 
assistance you need to carry on social 
and business life. Delicately blended 
— deliciously flavored. 

At All Leading Grocers 

Fifth Avenue at 35th Street 

Afternoon tea served in the Luncheon Restaurant, 
three to six 



Extension Heel 

The Right Support 

for Children's Ankles 

The weakest links in the grow- 
ing foot structure are the arch 
muscles. Strengthen these, and the 
ankle is steadied, the step becomes 
buoyant, the walk confident. 

The Coward Good Sense Shoe, 
with Coward Extension Heel, com- 
fortably corrects arch weakness, 
strengthens weak ankles, and prevents 
"flat-foot." This is the shoe that 
should be worn by every child 
whose ankles "turn in," or who 
shows any inclination to walk on 
his heels. 

Coward Arch Support Shoe and Cow- 
ard Extension Heel have been made 
by James S. Coward, in his Custom 
Department, for over thirty years. 

Mailorders Filled — Send for Catalogue 



264-274 Greenwich St., New York City 

(near warren street) 

jStnc^ 1857 




Has been the 
Leading Brand 
for Household Use 

and Nursery 



Milk Co. 

N ew York 

Send for Recipe Book 
Send for Baby Book 




Hockey Skates that 
are World Beaters 

American skates that have the proper 
balance, the "spring," the classy lines, 
and the flint-hard runners. Designed 
to meet the standard — and built in the 
world's largest skate factory. 


Over half a century's experience and 
skill are behind them. They are safe, 
strong, fast and handsome. Write for 
new catalogue No. 6, containing 
rules of leading Hockey Associations. 



Factory and Main Offices : 

Worcester, Mass., U. S. A. 

Sales Rooms : New York, 84 Chambers St. 

Pacific Coast Sales Agency : 

Phil. B. Bekeart Co., San Francisco. 

Stocks to be found at LONDON. 8 Long Lane, 
\ E. C; PAKIS, 64 Avenue de la Grande 

\ Armee; BERLIN; SYDNEY and 

TON, New Zealand. 


Makers of 



Roller Skates 


J A Winter's Fun % 






Every One! 


» ' 


"A Great Book for Children" 

Every one knows and loves Sam Loyd's "brain-twisters." 
Here at last is a collection of this wizard's cleverest — most 
interesting inventions — the greatest work for young folks 
ever published. 120 pages, beautifully colored, and illus- 
trated in Sam Loyd's irresistible style. Big pages; big 
pictures; big type. Answers in back of book. 

An entirely new holiday gift for children. 

Sam Loyd's puzzles educate children; amuse elders; 
sharpen the wits; hold youngsters spellbound for hours. 
Price $1. For Sale by all Booksellers 
or $1.20 by mail from 

$ DAVID McKAY, Publishers % 

£ Washington Sq., Phila., Pa. ^ 


Keep your boy 

Safeguard him at every turn— particu- 
larly his reading. Know what he reads. 
Keep his mind clean and free from yel- 
low-backs — from the dangerous, sug- 
gestive literature. 

m THE >a^ 


Head by 500,000 boys 

is red-blooded and thoroughly up to 
date. Fine, healthy, stirring stories and 
many clever, instructive departments 
hold the boy's continued interest. It 
keeps his mind free from treacherous 

Don't let $1.00 for a year's subscription stand be- 
tween your boy and his future. Realize what 
pure, manly reading means to him I You cannot 
refuse to act tonight— NOW! 

On all News-stands, 10c 
The Sprague Publishing Company 
■\^ 190 American BMg„ Detroit, Mich. 




Flexible Flyers 

W% £• ^^ steers' 




The ideal Christmas gift for boys and girls 

Gives an added zest to coasting because it can be 
steered at full speed around all obstacles. Light 
enough to easily pull up hill — yet so strong it 

outlasts 3 ordinary sleds 

The grooved runners insure greater speed, and absolutely 
prevent "skidding." The famous steering-bar does away 







entirely with dragging feet, wear and tear on boots and shoes, 
wet feet, colds, etc. No other steering 
sled has the exclusive features of the 
Flexible Flyer. Be sure to look for the 
grooved runners and this trade-mark. trade-mark 


Cardboard working model 
of the Flexible Flyer and 
handsome booklet. 

Just say "send model and booklet" and we'll 
gladly send them FREE. Write today! 

S. L. ALLEN & CO., 






Hose Supporter 

Will stand 
hard wear 


Child's sample pair.postpaid 
16 cents (give age). 

It gives satisfaction — doesn't tear the 
stockings — doesn't hamper the child 
— and wears longest. 
George FROST Co., Makers, Boston. 

Also makers of the famous Boston Garter for men. 







A PROVISIONAL issue of stamps, or a provisional 
stamp, is one made to supply some temporary 
need — to fill the requirements of the moment. Such 
occasions are usually created by the shortage of 
some one value in a series, and use is made of some 
other value in the series. At the present time, such 
shortages are filled by the use of surcharged stamps, 
but earlier in the history of stamps, the surcharge 
was not so prevalent. It usually happens that the 
shortage is in a stamp of low value. If a postmaster 
runs out of one-cent stamps temporarily, what is 

simpler than to cut 
a two-cent into 
halves, either ver- 
tically or diago- 
nally, and use each 
half as a one-cent 
stamp ? Stamps so 
cut in two are 
called "split pro- 
visionals." They 
are usually very 
rare, and as any 
one could cut a 
canceled stamp in 
two and call it a "split provisional," they, of course, 
have no philatelic value unless they are on the orig- 
inal cover with a postmark that covers the split side. 
So the value and interest of the stamp lies in having 
it on the entire envelop, guaranteed further by a 
postmark properly placed. These splits are usually 
cut vertically or diagonally, seldom horizontally. 

In the United States we find half of the ten-cent 
of 1847 used as a five-cent stamp, cut both ways. 
The twelve-cent of 1851 cut diagonally takes the 
place of a six-cent stamp. The two-cent black of 
1862 and the brown of 1869 are also found cut both 
ways. The three-cent of 1869 is known cut verti- 
cally, so that two thirds of a stamp could be used 
to do duty as a two-cent. These are the principal 
split provisionals of our own country. While they 
did actual postal service, they were never really 

The various British possessions to the north of us, 
however, actually authorized the splitting up of 
stamps. Therefore, their use was more common, 
especially in New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and 
Newfoundland — less frequently in Canada. In the 
first two countries mentioned, not only do we find 
stamps cut in half — vertically, horizontally", and 
diagonally, but we find the shilling stamp cut into 
four parts for use as a three-penny stamp. These 
last are exceedingly rare. 

Early Mexico was even more addicted to the use 
of the split provisional. This country not only 
divided its stamps into four parts, but went further 
and gave us eighths of stamps, the eight-real being 
so divided to give a value of one-real. Although 
other countries, like Colombian Republic and Cuba, 
have given some provisionals, none have equaled the 
record of the ones previously mentioned. Not only 
have stamps been cut into parts for provisional use, 
but a few stamps have actually been made, by certain 
governments, that they might be so used. Some have 
been perforated through the stamp to facilitate 
separation, while others were imperforate — like cer- 





RESPONDENT writes that in an old 
collection that was given to him there are 
some things which look like stamps, printed in color 
and perforated, but with no wording or value — only 
a white X upon colored ground. What are they? 
From the description given, I think that they are 
Austrian blanks. For some reason, probably to make 
the sheet total even money, some of the spaces on 
sheets of certain values were filled — not with regular 
stamps, but with the requisite number of blanks such 
as our correspondent describes. Sometimes these 
are found still attached to the stamp adjoining. 
They are very desirable in such pairs. By them- 
selves, although they are not stamps, they have a 
certain philatelic interest, and it would be well for 
our correspondent to save them. 4J For the differ- 
ence between the eight annas rose of 1865 (India) 
and the same value of 1868 study the crown and 
diadem. In the earlier type, you will observe that 
the upper part of the crown is irregular, consisting 
of a series of alternately broad and narrow projec- 
tions. In the later type, the top part is regular and 
consists of a row of diamond-shaped jewels. Also 
the upper and lower inscriptions are separated in 
the one by a group of five dots ; in the other by a 
single dot. €][ A correspondent writes asking which 
nation was guilty of foisting the surcharge upon 
helpless stamp-collectors. Alas ! the surcharge has 
been with us these many years, and we are sorry to 
say it originated in these United States, and in the 
City of New York. If you own a copy of Scott's 
Catalogue (and every collector should own one), 
you will find a list of what are called "Semi-official 
Issues." These were in use in the various cities 
mainly as "carrier" stamps. As such they had some 
official standing and recognition, and received the 
regular governmental cancelation. The stamps is- 
sued in New York bore the head of Washington, 
and were of a value of three cents. In 1846, these 
were altered in value by a surcharge consisting of a 
large figure 2 across the face of Washington, and a 
bar through the word three. This we believe to be 
the earliest surcharge. In April, 1854, the Island of 
Mauritius surcharged a green stamp with the words 
"four pence" in a curved line. Because this sur- 
charge was on a regular governmental issue, it is 
usually regarded as the first surcharged stamp. 
(| A tear detracts materially from the value of any 
stamp. It renders a common stamp valueless and 
affects a rare one in proportion to the value of the 
stamp and the extent of the tear. A small tear which 
removes a portion of the design of a stamp is re- 
garded as a more serious injury than one, more ex- 
tensive, which leaves the design intact. 

tain of the early German states, and more especially 
the Geneva stamp of Switzerland. This latter is 
popularly called the "double Geneva," to call atten- 
tion to its two parts. These latter stamps are not 
provisionals, but regularly authorized issues. 

We illustrate the provisional Danish West Indies. 
The cut represents one half of the four cents, used 
as a two-cent stamp. Note how the cancelation 
falls upon the cut side of the stamp, insuring the 
genuineness of the provisional. 






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. 


lc. Postal Savings, 10 cts. One or two straight edges, fine. 1000 
Ideal hinges in a box to be used as a watermark detector, 15 cts. 

Commemorative Stamps of the World 

A serial now running in our monthly paper. Sample free. 


43 Washington Building, Boston, Mass. 

STAMP ALBUM with 538 genuine stamps, incl. Rhodesia, 
/^5jEB5\ Congo (tiger), China (dragon), Tasmania (landscape), 
/Kb*®^ Jamaica (waterfalls), etc., only 10c. 100 dif. Japan, 
[Ml il) India, N.Zld., etc. ,5c. Agents wanted 50%. Big Bar- 
WmWMI gain list, coupons, etc., all Free! We Buy Stamps. 
vsgEsj/ C. E. Hussman StampCo., Dept. I, St. Louis, Mo. 


send reference inclosing 3c. for our 125 variety packet and series 

of 60% approval sheets to 
Palm Stamp Co., 249 No. Carondelet St., Los Angeles, Cal. 

r ARC: AINS each set s cents. 

O/vrvva^VIl^O 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. 

Mention St. Nicholas. Quaker Stamp Co., Toledo, Ohio. 

RARE Stamps Free. 15 all different, Canadians, and 10 India, 
xgSgjv with Catalogue Free. Postage 2cents. If possible send 
/jjy"S[Bk names and addresses of two stamp collectors. Special 
[■( jl|| offers, all different, contain no two alike. 50 Spain, 
WmWMf llc.;40 |apan,5c; 100 I'. S., 20c; 10 Paraguay, 7c; 17 
\*S5S»/ .Mexico, inc.; 2d Turkey, 7c; 1" Persia, 7c; 3 Sudan, 5c; 
V *HS5 S ' 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;50Cuba, 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. 



►J 1 /-*1»I1 iJ . eig,. 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. 1 buy 
stamps. L. B. Dover, D-6, St. Louis, Mo. 


ferent Foreign Countries, including Bolivia, Crete, Gua- 
temala, Gold Coast, Hong-Kong, Mauritius, Monaco, Persia, 
Reunion, Tunis, Trinidad, Uruguay, etc., for only 15 centra 
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,0. 


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 | 
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. 

?8for$2. 500 diff. 
f.U. S. Revenues, 

1000 different stamps, no two alike, Cata. 

stamps for50c; 300diff.,25c; 100diff.,2c 5odiff. 

Cata. $5 for 80c Bolivia, 1894 lc, — 100c. complete for 10c Prussia, 

9 varieties, 10c Jos. F. Negreen, 8 E. 23d St., New York. 

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 ST) 
bargains 2c Agts., 5o%. Bullard & Co., Sta. A, Boston. Sal 

500 stamps, 17c; 25 British Colonies, 15c; 20 French Colonies, 
20c Stamps on approval at 50% discount. State size of your 
collection. B. Elmer, 345a Washington St., Boston, Mass, 


An old stamp of Peru, worth 30c. to any one sending for our 
splendid approval selections at 50% discount. 

New Chile lc, 2c, 5c, 10c, 15c 5c. 

New Mexico lc, 2c, 5c, 10c, 20c 6c. 

1911 Honduras Large picture stamps lc, 2c, 5c, 6c, 10c... 10c. 
International Stamp Co., 1 Ann Street, New York 

With trial approval sheets. F. E. Thorp, Norwich, N.Y. 

CT A IV/I DC Packet of 200, Album, Hinges, & List, all for 8c 
iJ 1 AlVlr J, 50% to agents. We buy stamps. Name Paper. 
Payn Stamp Co., 138 No. Wellington St., Los Angeles, Cal. 

For School, College or Society. 
The right kind are always a source 
of pleasure. Why not get the right 
kind? We make them. Catalog free. 
No pins less than $5.00 per dozen. 
FLOWER CITY CLASS PIN CO., 666 Central Building, Rochester, N. Y. 


/"'I».le !»nr1 Rmrc Exchange Post Cards with St. Nick's 

v^iri* ana uuys &irls and boys Send 10 cents in 

stamps or coin for list to Helen Akin, Ogdensburg, New York. 

Patronize St. Nicholas advertisers 

j=^~£»*=£ — ^ote= — £>yyc# — £»tt=r— =J=*Xottfci — axxcg- . -^^^.-^yy^ ~^re^ 

First Aid Always, 

keeps little hurts from getting big 

kfej — fe»frg — ^)0v^— g>X>H — gaofes — adores — aos — &cxc±—&>c>& — £>ra=F^ 



Sept. 1st 


Young People's Library 

Indoors and Out 







These six volumes show a boy how his leisure time may be spent with pleasure as 
well as profit to himself. They are designed to give the boy self-reliance by 
encouraging him to think and act for himself — to develop his ingenuity and 
his practical ability to do things along lines which will enable him to have fun 
in the doing — to arouse his interest in the wonders of the world around him 
and to equip him to deal efficiently with his own specific problems later on — 
to equip him for the strenuous struggle of twentieth-century living. 

The books contain about 700 illustrations and 
working diagrams, and are handsomely bound in 
two styles: 

1. Imported art crash buckram with 
full gold back and side cover. 

2. Leather binding of half-morocco 
with gold tops, head-bands, cloth 
sides, and decorative end papers. 



Please send me, free of charge, full particulars about 
the special offer you are making of Harper's Young People's 
Library— Indoors and Out. S.N 11 

Name . 

Address . 





Why Experiment? 
Use a Standard Brand of Cocoa 


is Absolutely Pure 
Requires only Q^) 
as much as of other 

makes because of its 


Always in Yellow Wrapper. 

Sample on request. 


The Best Amusement for Your Children 

Girls and boys find endless pleasure in modelling 
with Plasticine, because they can do anything they 
want with it — make houses, or animals, trees or 
flowers — anything their ingenuity suggests. 


Things modelled from Plasticine 

keep their shapes as long as you want 

them. They can be remodelled into 

something else at any time. 

Plasticine is the perfect material for home 

modelling because, unlike clay, it requires no 

water and is not mussy. Absolutely clean and 

antiseptic, it is always ready for instant use. 

Modelling with Plasticine is a fascinating 
occupation for the rainy day or idle hour, and 
a profitable enjoyment, affording opportunity 
for children to act and think for themselves, 
and encouraging the use of both hands. 

In various sized outfits with complete in- 
structions for modelling, designing and house 
building. Outfits, 25c to $2.00. 

Sold by Toy, Stationery and Art Dealers everywhere. If your dealer 
cannot supply you, write for free booklet and list of dealers near you. 

58 Liberty Street, Albany, N. Y, 

/*">-» MAKERS OF "1 




An Advertisement 

Joseph Jefferson 

who played 

Rip Van Winkle 

for thirty-seven years 
said to a rising star 


A Reply 

" My dear, you are like all young actresses 
and actors — you play to the orchestra. 
Sometimes you include the first balcony 
But there is something you must never 
forget there is a second balcony. It is 
true they have paid only a quarter to get in, 
but the boys and girls up there will in ten 
years be the men and women in the first 
balcony — many of them in the orchestra." 

TKi Ctntury Magaxini 

St. Nicholas Magazine gives its advertisers not only the second 
balcony audience — but the first balcony and the orchestra audience. 
Don 't overlook the young folks 

Advertising Manager 
Union Square, New York 

Philadelphia, Pa. 

My Dear Mr. Parker: 

Taking you at your word, and 
obeying an impulse, perhaps a fool- 
ish one, I am writing to tell you 
how much I am interested in your 
Advertising Campaign in St. 

It seems to me that you have 
grasped the key-note of the whole 
situation, in considering the chil- 
dren. After all it is they who are 
non-prejudiced — and progressive. 
They get out more; they see more 
than the grown folks. Then, too, 
they do most of the errands, and it 
is the inquisitive little girl and boy 
who are constantly suggesting innovations in the way of breakfast foods, 
brands of molasses, etc. They are naturally alert and impressionable, 
ready for something new, yet I believe that yours is the only magazine 
which recognizes in any way the "second balcony," while advertisers do 
not realize the golden opportunity they pass so rudely by. 

I was commissioned to-day to purchase a pair of garters for my younger 
brother, and being somewhat at a loss, I asked him what kind to buy, to 
which query he promptly replied, "Velvet Grip." 

The wide-awake advertiser will captivate the children — they will do the 
rest, if the articles advertised make good. 

Page twenty-eight in April's St. Nicholas was just splendid!! 
And now, having stolen quite enough of your precious time, and with 
best wishes and congratulations to St. Nicholas, I am, 

Very truly yours, 

(Signed) Ruth Plumly Thompson. 



'" : '■-'"- '■'■■■-i.:.,....;. .,-...-, ■ 




Send for 
catalogue " Y-5 . 


the first ice is best, and B & B 
Skates are best too. They save 
expense and trouble of frequent 
sharpening, are superior in every 
detail, the blades, the plating, de- 
sign, and finish. There are none 
just as good. They've been 
standard for 50 years. 

Send for Catalogue, and select 
either all clamp, lever, half-hockey, 
Canadian hockey, racer, or safety 
edge. Catalogue also contains 
hockey rules, directions for building 
an ice rink, and skating program. 

For sale by leading dealers wher- 
ever water freezes. 

143 Broad St., Springfield, Mass. 


$50.00 Prize 

IN CASH for the best title 
for a certain new picture in 

Open Free to everyone; illustrated circular on request. 

"I cannot tell you how delighted I am with the 
quality of your celebrated pictures, — so beautiful for 
gifts." This from one of our thousands of patrons. 
At art stores or sent on approval. Send 25 cents 
for Picture Catalogue, [ > illustrations (practi- 
cally a Handbook of American Art): stamps accepted. 
This cost deducted from a purchase of the Prints 

Exhibitions for schools, clubs, churches, etc. 
Family Portraits done on private order from 
daguerreotypes, tintypes, old photographs, etc. 

Co/ii/ right by 


330 Pierce Building 
Opp. Public Library 


Grown-ups — Youngsters 

Why do you think the beloved poet Whittier called ST. NICHOLAS " the best 

child's periodical in the world"? 
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Chkago and lc>s Angeles -? Winter Season 
Xxtra/ast — extra /me — extra /are 

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1 unnesifE^in^ly recoinmencL "fjhe&e 
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laeal service/ 

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you may visit the Grand Canyon <y \Arizona 

will send our tooHefs &wi£ full def aEs o/a deli^Kf 
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Good Eating! 

A food and candy combined, for old and young. 

• ... 

"High as the 
Alps in Quality' 

has a peculiarly delicious chocolate flavor, because it 
is made of the finest grade of cocoa beans with pure 
milk and a little sugar. 

Father carries it when traveling. 

Mother eats it because it is so delicious, and she 
puts it in the children's school basket for a wholesome 

College sister always chooses Peter's Chocolate. 



Ivory Soap— it keeps the nation clean 

Every minute of the day and night, Ivory Soap is being 
used somewhere, some way, to keep our nation clean. 

In city, village and on the farm, millions of people start 
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it in the nursery and for fine laundry purposes; and end the 
day with it in the warm, evening bath. 

Throughout the country, it is recognized that Ivory Soap 
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cleanses perfectly, then rinses readily — and it is pure — 
harmless to skin and fabric. 



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


Frontispiece. "Ring a ring o' Roses." Painted by Arthur Rackham. Page 

The Nursery Rhymes of Mother Goose : Ring a ring o' Roses. 

Little Tommy Tucker 97 

Illustrated by Arthur Rackham. 

The Wizard Shoemaker. Story winthrop Packard 98 

Illustrated by Herbert Paus. 

Aunt 'Phroney's Boy. Story L. Frank Baum 104 

. Illustrated by George Avison. 

Just Be Good. Verse James Rowe 112 

"I 've Something for You." Picture. Drawn by George T. Tobin 113 

Our Christmas. Verse Alice Lovett Carson 114 

Illustrated by Gertrude A. Kay. 

Beatrice of Denewood. Serial Story j ^iS^fig? and | . . • 116 

Illustrated by C.M.Relyea. ' ] Alden Arthur Knipe I, 

The Quest of the Jimblejock. Verse Ellen Manly 124 

Illustrated by Reginald Birch. 

" Birds that Fly Zigzag." Verse George 0: Butler 129 

Illustrated by the Author. 

A Small Order. Verse J. R 129 

More Than Conquerors: Through Failure to Success. Sketch Ariadne Gilbert 130 

Illustrated by Otto F. Schmidt. Decoration by Otto Rebele. 

Playing Santa Claus. Verse Pauline Frances Camp 139 

Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer. 

A Christmas Catch. Verse Cecil Cavendish 140 

Illustrated by Clara M. Burd. 

The Land of Mystery. Serial Story Cleveland Moffett 142 

Illustrated by J. Paleologue, R. Talbot Kelly, and from photographs. 

Three Guests. Verse Jessica Nelson North 151 

Illustrated by Ethel Franklin Betts. 

"I've Got a Dog." Verse Ethel M. Kelley 152 

Illustrated by O. F. Schmidt. 

Jacob and Gretchen. Story : Elizabeth Atkins 153 

Illustrated by Reginald Birch. 

Nancy's Southern Christmas. Story Harriet Prescott Spofford 161 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

The Adventures of Billy Bowline. Story Harriet L. Wedgwood 165 

Illustrated by Fanny Y. Cory. 

Nature and Science for Young Folks 174 

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

Drawings, Photographs, and Puzzles ' 179 


Books and Beading Hildegarde Hawthorne 188 

The Christmas Mousie. Verse Ida Kenniston 190 

Illustrated by Culmer Barnes. 

The Riddle-Box 191 

St. Nicholas Stamp Page Advertising page 

The Century Co, and its editors receive manuscripts and art material, submitted for publica- 
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while in their possession or in transits Copies of manuscripts should be retained by the aidhors. 

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FRANK H. SCOTT, President. —,-»,, -.~*^~~.~~-~m~ ~~ „ . _ .- ,, , •- ,. 

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DONALD SCOTT, Treasurer. 

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


= H These boys and girls have hurried up to see what is on the St. Nicholas Bulletin. Presently they will go away 
= 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? 






IT Remember that our Bulletin tells only a little of what you can count on getting in future numbers. Hosts of ^5 
clever, valuable things that you can't afford to miss will appear every month. 
IT Three dollars a year. The Century Co., Union Square, New York. 



St. Nicholas Pet Department 

Announcements of reliable advertisers only are ac- 
cepted. The Department will gladly give advice 
to all those interested in pets. Address "PET DEPARTMENT," St. Nicholas, Union Square, New York. 

Do You Know 
The Pleasure of a Good Dog's Companionship? 

HAVE you never wished that you owned a good dog, a dog distinc- 
tively worth having, as a "pal" on your summer trip, to guard your 
home, as a companion for you and your family wherever you go? 


'Kgl^^^^B^'^ dogs iii the world combine all these qualities so ideally as Airedale 

/% Terriers. Intelligent, affectionate, fearless, an Airedale is the perfect 

■ dog for protection and companionship. 

^^T^^H SPECIAL SALE at half their value 

JKf of unusually promising young dogs, 3 to 12 months old, by the greatest 

I I Airedale ever bred, " Champion Colne Rockley Oorang." These young- 

sters are beautiful terriers and a credit to their illustrious sire. They have 

IHEBRt - been raised on different farms in the " Seignory," and are therefore grand 

companions, hunters, and are reliable playmates and guards for children. 

Fort Harrison, Montana. 

Etc., etc. " The puppy reached here in fine shape about Etc., etc. " She ivas raised up ivith the baby, never leaves 

two weeks ago and has since made friends with every officer, him; no matter where he is taken, she is always there; 

soltiier, and child on this post. I will say that I have never sleeps at the foot of the crib and no stranger dare approach 

receivedfairer treatment in any transaction." the kid without immediate regrets." 

WALTER HARVEY, Captain U. S. Army. E. R. FORBES. State Veterinarian. 

Oldest and largest breeders in America. We own and have owned for years the foremost Champions of the World. 
COLNE KENNELS, c/o "Le Manoir," St. Eustache, near Montreal, Canada. 

Every pup is registered in Kennel Club of England and also American Kennel Club, and there's no duty on our dogs going into United States. 

Money mSquabs «^l 

Learn this immensely rich business I 
[■■■^.r.l we teach you; easy work at home; f 

everybody succeeds. Start with our 
Jumbo Homer Pigeons and your success is assured. 
Send for large Illustrated Book. Providence 
Squab Company, Providence, Rhode Island. 



We always have dogs to show and for pets. 
Both sexes. All colors, ages, and prices. We 
only breed from the best, so that is all we 
can offer you. Correspondence a pleasure. 


Telephone Ossining 323 

Airedale Terriers 

Most popular dog of the day 

The Airedale is the best companion, 
watch-dog, and all-round hunting-dog. 
Ideal pets for children, faithful, kind, 
and wonderful intelligence. 

Puppies fr 07ii $25 up. 

Beautiful booklet free. 

Elmhurst Airedale Kennels 

Kansas City, Mo. Sta. E. 

A Pony for Christmas 

Wouldn't that be the best of all ! A fine 
playmate all the year round. What fun 
teachinghim tricks and playing Indian and 
circus and going calling. How little he 
costs to keep and feed. Of coursehe must be 
kind and gentle. That's the sort we have. 

Write us/or/uilinformation regarding our ponies. 

724 Forest Street Medford, Massachusetts 

Old English Sheepdog Puppies 


A number of woolly bobtail puppies, ideal gifts for 
young people, now ready for shipment. Address 


Do you love dogs? 

Send stamp for 
"Dog Culture'" to 

SPRATT'S Patent Limited 

Newark, N. J. 

Dir 300 - P. ELECTRICAL f AT A I ClC, 
|5lV_» AND WIRELESS V* /* 1 /* L. V-JVi 

Mailed for 6c. stamps or coin, which you may deduct from 
first order of $i. Great cost of catalog and low prices prohibit distribution 
except to those interested. Most elaborate catalog 1 in its line. Thous- 
ands of boys are using our wireless instruments. Complete sets costbutafew 
dollars. Catalog contains ioo-pp. Wireless insts. for experimental and com- 
mercial use; 15-pp. Telegraph insts.; 30-pp. Toy and commercial Motors; 
15-pp. Flashlights and Miniature lamps; 140-pp. Launch lighting out- 
fits, Mirroscopes, Victrolas, Knives, Guns, Railways, Mechanical Tools, and 
Books, and General Electrical Supplies. SAVE MONEY ON ANY- 
The J. J. Duck Co., 444-446 St. Clair Street, Toledo, Ohio. 


What breed of dog will make the best companion 

and playfellow ? i 

What kind of a pet is the best for me to keep in 

the city ? 
Where can I get the name of a dealer whom I 

know to be reliable ? 
What shall I feed my pets ? 

Let the St. Nicholas Pet Department Answer You. 


St. Nicholas Pet Department 

to all those interested in pets. 


Announcements of reliable advertisers only are ac- 
cepted. The Department will gladly give advice 
PET DEPARTMENT," St. Nicholas, Union Square, New York. 

A Collie is a suit- 
able gift for a man 
or woman, youth 
or young lady, boy 
or girl, or even an 
infant, as we have 
Sold them to many 
who have insisted 
upon their "babies 
being brought up 
with a dog." In 
fact it is a gift to 
the whole family 
circle that gives 
greater satisfaction 
as the years go by. 
We will have some 
beauties ready to 
ship just about 
Christmas time. 


Every line of his body 
indicates beauty, 
every movement is 
grace typified. His 
deep chest is proof of 
endurance, the heavy 
coat insures hardi- 
hood. His long strong 
limbs assure speed, 
every touch of his 
cool nose is a caress; 
his raised ears denote 
alertness and intelli- 
gence, every wag of 
his tail spells sincer- 
ity, the gleam of his 
eyes means loyalty 
and love, and his 
bark may be a wel- 
come to a friend or a 
challenge to the 

A N ut Brown Maiden with a White Collie or a Tan Colored Boy with a White Collie 

is a sight to warm the heart of any lover of outdoors. Every home should have such a 
combination of color and life. Collies are brave, kind, gentle, beautiful, graceful, endur- 
ing, hardy, intelligent, and active, and are ideal for city, suburb, country, or camp. Col- 
lies are intelligent and sympathetic companions for adults; beautiful, graceful, and sensi- 
tive comrades for young ladies; tireless playmates and FEARLESS PROTECTORS 
of children, (and dauntless guards of the home or farm. Every boy and girl has an inborn 
right to be brought up with a faithful dog to attract them to outdoor play and protect 
them on any occasion. The tired man, disgusted with the shams and trickery of the world, 
has his faith renewed every time he looks into the face of his loyal Collie. Ours are 
country raised (on an island) pedigree stock and are hardy, healthy, and rugged, and 
never require artificial heat in winter. We ship anywhere in North America. A pair 
will raise $150.00 worth of puppies a year. Kipling said: "Buy a pup, and your money 
buys love unflinching that cannot lie." Address : 

H snetianfl Pony 

—is an unceasing source 

of pleasure. A safe and 

ideal playmate. Makes 

the child strong and of 

robust health. Inexpensive 

to buy and keep. Highest 

types here. Complete outfits. 

Entire satisfaction. Write 

for illustrated catalog. 

Dept. 9 a Markham, Va- 


A fine litter of strong, healthy pups, sired by 
Castle Gould Wallaby ; also a few ones by Blar- 
ney Reddmer. These little aristocrats make 
ideal companions and play-fellows for children. 

A perfect Xmas gift. 
MRS. A.D.MORGAN, Bay Shore Kennels, Shelburne, Vt. 

Persian Kittens for Sale 

Black and colors from prize 

and imported stock, $5 .00 up. 

Guaranteed. Healthy. 


Orders for Christmas kittens 

booked now. 

Blanche E.Watson 

Aurora Illinois 

Established 1875 


All kinds, and everything for them 

Send for Catalogue "R" 

William Bartels Co. 

44 Cortlandt St., N. Y. 

Breeders of 



Beautiful and intelligent little 
horses for children constantly 
on hand and for sale. Correspond- 
ence solicited. Write for hand- 
somely illustrated pony catalogue to 

617 Eighth Street Monmouth, III. 


Handsome young registered beagles — field and bench 
bred — from best imported strains. All dogs sold will 
be registered with either the American Kennel Club or 
The Field Dog Stud Book. Write us your wants. 

GEORGE STILL, White Oak Kennels, Kirksville, Mo. 





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future? Send that boy's subscription 
today— it is the best sort of a Christmas 
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Subscription Price, $1.00 a year. 

All news- stands, 10c. 
THE SPRAGUE PUBLISHING CO.. 191 America Bld6.. Detroit. Mich. 



Authorof "The Need of Change," "Ship-Bored, "etc. 

Illustrated in color by Eughiie Wireman 
yo cents net, postage 7 cents 


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Published monthly at New York, N. Y. 

Editor. — William Fayal Clarke 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

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BUSINESS Managers 1 William W.Ellsworth, Vice-President and Secretary 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

( Donald Scott, Treasurer 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

Publisher : The Century Co 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

Owners: Stockholders — 

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William W. Ellsworth 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

Donald Scott 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

Ira H. Brainerd 92 William Street, New York, N. Y. 

Robert U. Johnson 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

C. C. Buel 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

A. W. Drake 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

W. F. Clarke 33 East 17th Street. New York, N. Y. 

Josiah J. Hazen 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

George H. Hazen 381 Fourth Avenue, New York, N. Y. 

Helena de Kay Gilder '. . . .24 Gramercy Park, New York, N. Y. 

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James Mapes Dodge Germantown, Pennsylvania 

Beatrix Buel 130 East 67th Street, New York, N. Y. 

Estate of Roswell Smith 92 William Street, New York, N. Y. 

Estate of Annie G. Smith 92 William Street, New York, N. Y. 

Known bondholders, mortgagees, and other security holders holding 

1 per cent, of total amount of bonds, mortgages, or other securities None. 

Frank H. Scott, President. 
Sworn to and subscribed before me this first day of October, 1912. 

Frances W. Marshall, Notary Public, N. Y. County. 

( Seal) ( My commission expires March 30, 1913.) 


The Fourth Down By leslie w. quirk 

The great foot-ball story of the year, for boys of 14 and upwards. 
Illustrated. $1.20 net; by mail $1.30. 

Buddie at Gray Buttes Camp B y anna chapin ray 

Summer vacation experiences of Buddie and his friends, for boys 10 to 15. 


si. so. 

Donald Kirk, the Morning Record Copy Boy 


The first book of the Donald Kirk Newspaper Series, for 
boys 12 to 16. Illustrated. $1.20 net ; bv mail $1.31. 

Henley's American Captain 


Further career of an American boy at an English school, 
in the Henley Schoolboy Series, for boys 12 to 16. 
Illustrated. $1.30. 

Ned Brewster's Year in the Big Woods 


A city boy's year in New Brunswick wilds, for boys 12 
to 16. Illustrated. $1.20 net; by mail $1.31. 

Dave Morrell's Battery 


The story of a young inventor, in the Young Captain of 
Industry Series, for boys 15 and upwards. Illustrated. 


The Fir-Tree Fairy Book 


New version of favorite tales, for chil- 
dren 8 to 12. Illustrated in tint. 

The Bunnikins-Bunnies and 
the Moon King 


A new Bunnikins book, for children 4 
to 8. Illustrated in color. 30 cents net; 
by mail 36 cents. 


The Moon King 

Curiosity Kate 


An English boarding-school story, for 
girls 12 to 16. Illustrated. $1.20 net ; 
by mail $1.31. 


Wonder Workers 


Romantic life stones of famous people, 
for children 10 to 15. Illustrated. $1.00 
net ; by mail $1.10. 

Mother West Wind's Animal Friends 


The third book of jolly animal stories, for children 6 to 
11. Fully illustrated. $1.00. 

Cherry-Tree Children 


Little stories in big type, for children 6 to 9. Colored 
pictures. 60 cents. 

The Young Crusaders at Washington 


Boy soldiers' days at the Capital, for boys 10 to 16. 
Illustrated. $7 .30. 

When Christmas Came Too Early 


A Santa Claus story, for children 9 to 13. Illustrated hi 
color, ys cents net; by mail S3 cents. 

Little Women 



New edition of Miss Alcott's masterpiece. With 12 illustrations from scenes in 
the>play. $1 .30 net ; by mail $1.66. 

Donald in Scotland Josefa in Spain 

In the Little People Everywhere Series 

Two new titles in this favorite series depicting child-life in various parts of the world. 

Illustrated, 60 cents each. 

LITTLE, BROWN & CO., Publishers, BOSTON 


are such 

YOU have no idea. You can find out if you will ask 
mother to get you the December number of the Woman' s 
Home Companion. There is a whole page of Kewpie 
Kutouts with a dress for Stern Irene. There is a page of 
them in every number. Mother will like the rest of the maga- 
zine. She can get it for a year for $1. 50. But you must see 
the Kewpie Kutouts right away. So ask your mother for 
15 cents and send it to us today with this Kewpie Kewpon. 


381 Fourth Avenue, New York 






MISTAKES are oftener made in the purchase of children's books than in 
any other form of literature, for the term "Juvenile" covers the range 
from illustrated primers to certain volumes of Dickens, Stevenson, and other 
standard authors. 

For the benefit of parents and those in search of gift-books for young people, 
we list below our new juveniles with the approximate ages at which boys 
and girls are sure to enjoy the book. 

All are illustrated and many will be equally enjoyed by older persons. 

With the Indians in the Rockies. By J. W. Schultz. nius. $1.25 

net. Postage 13 cts. - - - - - - - - - 1 1 to 1 6 years 

The Camp at Sea-Duck Cove. By Ellery H. Clark, iiius. $1.25 

net. Postage 12 cts. - - - - - - - - - 12 to 16 " 

The Turkey Doll. By Josephine S. Gates, nius. $o. 75 »et. Postage 8 cts. 7 to 9 " 
Their City Christmas. By Abbie Farwell Brown, iiius. $0.75 net. 

Postage 8 cts. - - - - - - - - - - II to 14 " 

The Best Stories to Tell to Children. By Sara Cone Bryant. 

Illus. $1.50 net. Postage 14 cts. - - - - - - - i to IO " 

'Twas the Night Before Christmas. Jessie Willcox Smith edition. 

Illus. $1.00 net. Postage 9 cts. - - - - - - - 5 to any age 

Billy Popgun. By Milo Winter, nius. $2.00 net. Postage 16 cts. - 6 to 9 years 

The Castle of Zion. By George Hodges, nius. $1.50 net. Postage 16 cts. 6 to 12 " 

The Seashore Book. By E. Boyd Smith, nius. $1.50 net. Postage 13 cts. 7 to 10 " 
The Japanese Twins. By Lucy Fitch Perkins, illus. $1.00 «<* 

Postage 14 cts. - - - - - - - - - 8 tO IO " 

The Children's Own Longfellow, nius. $1.25 net. Postage 12 cts. - 9 to 12 " 

The Birds' Christmas Carol. By Kate Douglas Wiggin. New 

illustrated edition. $1.00 net. Postage 12 cts. ... - 1 o to any age 

How England Grew Up. By Jessie Pope. nius. $o. 75 net. Postage 8 cts. 12 to 15 years 

The Young Minute-Man of 1812. By Everett T. Tomlinson. 

Illus. $ 1.50 postpaid. - - - - - - - - I 2 tO 1 6 " 

Licky and his Gang. By Grace Sartwell Mason, nius. %x.oo tut. 

Postage 8 cts. - - - - - - - - -i2 to any age 

How Phoebe Found Herself. By Helen Dawes Brown. 

Illus. $i.i5«i Postage 9 cts. - - - - - - - jj " " " 

ZEEL£ , .,'£dt, £ X" Houghton Mifflin Company 

ers for prospectus giving full descriptions. 4 ParR StrCCt, BoStOIl 



T 1 ^ Century Dictionary 

A Magnificent Christmas Gift 
and One of Permanent Value 

In Twelve Volumes 

To look upon the Century merely as a dictionary, 
or merely as a cyclopedia with an atlas, is to over- 
look its essential feature. It is a dictionary — the 
most complete ever known; it is a cyclopedia — the 
most comprehensive in existence; it is an atlas — 
the most accurate, as well as the most modern. 
But the Century is much more — it -^ > r 
is a Reference Library, thirty- ^yc&J^r 
three works in one, each the ^<c£&^^ 
most authoritative of .^^E^*^ Learn to 

its particular ^u^^ lo ° k Up ° n . the 
k' m( \ ^^^^^^ Century as an active, 

u ^Tp§^^ positive help to your daily 
^^^A^^^ life. The Century works for 
fj^^ y ou — ^ does things, and does them ac- 
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name of the best maker. Everything is at your in- 
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The twelve volumes are the finest in the history of book manufacture — leather, 
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is yours for the asking. See description on opposite page. 




Cyclopedia and Atlas 

Newly Revised and Enlarged 

Every Word 

Every Fact 

Every Place 



GIVES 600,000 definitions 
— most complete dictionary 
ever compiled. 

GIVES full history and ev- 
ery use of English words. 

ing and pronunciation. 

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GIVES complete, universal 
history, with chronological 

DEFINES, illustrates, tech- 
nical, mechanical, electrical 
terms, measures, coins, 
tools, machines. 

DESCRIBES and illustrates 
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DEFINES every legal term. 
Its word is law in the U. S. 
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GIVES latest facts in commerce, 
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and the tariff from 1840 to date. It gives a complete description of the Century 
and answers clearly all your questions about that work ; it demonstrates the / 
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the questions of the day. Every page of it is interesting. . 

Send for it to-day. See coupon in margin. / 

EXPLAINS all abbrevia- 
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alphabetical order. 

EXPLAINS everything for 

SHOWS colored charts of 


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— indexes 5000 / Co. 

ancient names. New York 

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Young People's Library 

Indoors and Out 

These are some of the things that the boy is taught to make 






These six large volumes will show your boy how his leisure time may be spent with pleasure as 
well as profit to himself. They are designed to give him self-reliance by encouraging him to think 
and act for himself — to develop his ingenuity and his practical ability to do things along lines which 
will enable him to have fun in the doing — arouse his interest in the wonders of the world 
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on. Above all, the books are interesting, interesting, interesting. 

A boy should become acquainted with the development in mechanics, electricity, 
aeronautics, etc., which have already come to have a place in the sports and pas- 
times of the wide-awake youth. The entire future of your boy may depend upon 
this fundamental knowledge. It is your privilege to place it within his reach. 
The books are strongly and handsomely bound, having in mind possible 
rough usage. They are printed from a new copper-faced type, and contain 
about seven hundred illustrations and working diagrams thoroughly ex- 
plaining the text. 

With these books you will receive, at no additional cost, a year's sub- 
scription to Harper's Magazine and Harper's Bazar, or, Harper's 
Weekly and Harper's Bazar. 


Square, N. 

Gentlemen: Please send 
me, all charges prepaid, 
umes, Cloth Binding, subject to 
ten days' approval, and also enter 
my subscription to both HARPER'S 
Magazine and harper's Bazar 
for one year, for which I inclose $1.0 
and agree to send you $1.00 a month 
until the total price, $12.00, is paid, if the 
books are accepted by me. S.N. 12-12 



New Harper Juveniles 

(Ken Ward Series) 

The Rocket Book 

By Peter Newell 

A new Peter Newell book is a new joy for both 
young and old. In this new book the mischievous 
son of the janitor sets off a skyrocket in the base- 
ment of an apartment house. It pops successively 
through the floors of different flats, encountering in 
its way dinner-tables, bath-tubs, and ice-cream freez- 
ers, creating disturbance for several households. 

Illustrations and verses by Mr. Newell. Cover in 
colors. $1.25 

Ken Ward in the 

By Zane Grey 

A thrilling story of how Ken Ward and his 
brother explored the fever-infested jungles of tropi- 
cal Mexico ; of their marvelous adventures with 
crocodiles and snakes ; of the hunting of jaguars 
in the thickets ; and of their many encounters with 
strange beasts and venomous insects and hostile 
Indians. It was an adventure calling for pluck, 
forethought, daring, and perseverance ; but, as 
usual, Ken Ward made good. 

Illustrated. Post Svo, cloth, $1.25 

Robin Hood 

By Louis Rhead 

The dashing story of Robin Hood and his follow- 
ers is told in this new version by Louis Rhead, who 
was born in the same county as Robin Hood, and 
passed much of his early life roaming through the 
greenwood where the merry outlaw, jovial Friar 
Tuck, Maid Marian, and others of the band defied 
the Sheriff of Nottingham. 
Fully illustrated by Mr. Rhead. Octavo, cloth, $1.30 

Camping in the 
Winter Woods 

By Elmer Russell Gregor 

Two boys spend a winter in the Maine woods, 
hunting and trapping under the tuition of a famous 
guide. Their adventures are innumerable — midnight 
coon hunts, forest fires, abattle with wild dogs, fish- 
ing through the ice, and the discovery of a mysterious 
cave. They not only study nature, birdcraft, and 
animal lore, but learn to do things for themselves, 
and emerge self-reliant from the wilderness. 

Many illustrations. Post Svo, cloth, $1.30 

Prayers for Little 
Men and Women 

By John Martin 

Here are prayers for the little ones, written by a 
writer the children love, with an understanding 
which teaches and spiritualizes in a direct personal 
way the little mind just unfolding. Some of these 
titles are: "Usefulness," " Self- Reliance," "Fa- 
ther," "Mother," "A Journey," "Falsehood," 
"Dress," "Secret Faults," "God Is Near," "A 
Promise," "Self-Control," prayers for the days of 
the week, etc. 

Illustrated in colors. Cloth, $1.25 net; leather, 
$2.00 net 

The Green C 

By J. A. Meyer 

This is a story for the majority of American boys. 
It is a story of public-school life instead of a story 
of the minority who attend private schools. The 
author, a new writer equipped with a full knowledge 
of boy life and sport and a delightful sense of humor, 
pictures Jack at his entrance to the high school. 
There is a lesson of honor involved more than once 
throughout this wholesome book. 

Illustrated. Post 8vo, cloth, $i.2j 

The Son of Columbus 

By Molly Elliot Seawell 

A vivid, picturesque tale of the Spanish court in 
the days of Columbus. Through the boyish enthu- 
siasm of two youths, one of them the son of Colum- 
bus, the author conveys a lively impression of the 
stir and bustle, the excitement and anxiety, that pre- 
ceded the great voyage of discovery. Particularly 
suitable for younger readers. 

Illustrated. Post Svo, cloth, $/.2j 

Camping on the 
Great River 

By Raymond S. Spears 

The hero of this addition to Harper's Camp Life 
Series, a boy of sixteen, has an adventurous trip 
down the Ohio and the Mississippi in a shanty-boat, 
and many exciting experiences. He succeeds in 
making a man of himself in a way that is unusual, 
yet true to life. While keeping up a lively interest 
in the story, the author touches upon the history 
and geography of the great river. 

Illustrated. Post Svo, cloth, $1.30 




K. D. Wiggin 





Nora A. Smiih 

"The Children's Crimson 
— = classics" — — 

collection of prose and poetry for young readers which is generally 
conceded to have a quality of imaginative appeal never equalled. 
C Deeply interested as the Editors of this Series are in the first training 
of children, their whole effort has been bent to gather from every known 
source the fine things of prose and verse which will lay sure foundations 
of literary appreciation in every young reader. The fairy tales, for instance, 
were chosen after reading 20,000 fairy stories. This same painstaking labor 
has been spent on each volume, and the result is a series of marked distinction. 


A New Volume 
Now Ready 

Many Illustrations 

Net, $1.25 

(postage \ 2c.) 

C. From ^Esop and La Fon- 
taine to the almost unknown 
fables of India the authors 
have gone for some hundreds 
of the short tales in which 
birds and beasts convey pith- 
ily the wisdom of the ages. 
No child can resist the form 
of the fable — the talking; 
crow, the outwitted fox and 
all the rest; and the result is 
a volume which will delight 
thousands of youngsters. 



The Fairy Ring Net, $1.25 (postage 12c.) 

Tales of Wonder. Fairy tales from many lands Fixed Price, $1.50 (postage 15c.) 

Tales of Laughter. Amusing stories from every land $1.35 

Pinafore Palace. A collection of the best short poems and nonsense verses. Nursery Rhymes . . $1.35 

Magic Casements. A fairy book for slightly older children $1.35 

The Posy Ring. Short, simple poems for children . Net, $1.25 (postage 12c.) 

Golden Numbers. A book of verse for youth v . . . Net, $2.00 (postage 17c.) 

Garden City DOUBLED AY, PAGE & CO. New York 



We are Offering for a Short Time Only 

The Only House Manual 

The Library of Work and Play 

Complete in 1 1 volumes, 4500 pages, 2500 descriptive 
diagrams, 200 full-page half-tones, many in color, and 
this Handsome Mission Bookrack FREE. Read below. 


In it you will find described and illustrated: everything for the children young and 

old to do and play; everything for the grown-ups 
to know about the house. Most manuals are dull 
reading — this is not. There are 18,000 ques 
tions dealing with household affairs answered 
in simple language in story form. Each 
volume is written by an authority. We 
cannot do the set justice here. Clip off 
the coupon, mail it to us and you will 
see it for yourself FREE. Look over 


I. Carpentry — Foster 
II. Electricity — Woodhull 

III. Gardening — Shaw 

IV. Home Decoration — Warner 
V. Housekeeping — Gilman 

VI. Mechanics — Hodgson 
Vol. VII. Needlecraft— Archer 
Vol. VIII. Outdoor Sports— Miller 
Vol. IX. Outdoor Work— Miller 
Vol. X. Working in Metal— Sleffel 
Vol. XI. Guide and Index — Boone 

purchase price $17.50 is paid. 

with your bargain, return the set at OUR EXPENSE 

Doubleday, Page & Company 

Garden City, New York 


Page & Co., 

Garden City, 

N. Y. 

Gentlemen : Please 
the bookS at yOUr leiSUre for IO / send me the Library of 

d, 1 <+• 1 M Work and Play and mis- 

ays, then send us ipi.oo and X s.on bookrack express pre . 

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1 you are not sdtisnea / your expense . H ikee P the books 

pay $1 ten days after their receipt 
and $2 per month thereafter until $17.5° 

has been paid 







By Harry E. Maule 

Every boy is interested 
in wireless telegraphy, 
aeroplanes, photogra- 
phy, motion pictures, etc. 
This book gives every 
boy a chance to read accurate accounts of all the greatest new inventions, told in a 
way that is more fascinating than fiction. It is the adventures of a boy who went to the 
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boy to explain things. These can be used by any one interested in such inventions 
as Dr. Nikola Tesla's steam turbine engine, a model of which, the size of a derby 
hat, develops more than 1 10 horse-power. Sixty-three illustrations. Net $1 .60. 


Author of "Molly, the Drummer Boy," "Joyce of the North Woods," etc. 

This is a wonderful story about a little girl who made believe that she was a princess. She is 
sure to make friends among young readers. Illustrated in colors. Net 75 cents. 

jESOFS fables 

A volume of endless appeal for every child 
Rackham has made fascinating with his pictures 


Illustrated by Arthur Rackham 

Uniform with "Alice in Wonderland," which Mr. 

Net $1.50. De Luxe Edition, net $ 1 0. 00. 


By Ernest Thompson Seton, author of "Two Little Savages," " Rolf in the Woods," etc. 
The art of camping, scouting, woodcraft, and all good outdoor athletics. Illustrated. Net $1 .75. 


A fine story — brave, wholesome, thrilling. 
War of 1812. 

By the Same Author. 

It recounts the adventures of a Boy Scout in the 

Illustrated. Net $1.75. 


By Stewart Edward White, author of "The Blazed Trail," "The Riverman," etc. 
Being the outdoor experiences of Bobby, son of Orde, "The Riverman. " An ideal book for 
boys. Illustrated. Net $1 .20. 

Garden City 


New York 








YES, we are Little People, too, 
And we ate very fond of you. 
Of course we know you understand 
That we all live in Fairy Land. 
Now, listen to us, will you, dear ? 
For many a long and happy year 
We've known "John Martin" — some one who 
Is also very fond of you. 

" John Martin's House " is where we play ; 
We call on him 'most every day. 
John Martin lets us make a noise 
And romp like little Girls and Boys. 
He loves to have us laugh and run 
All 'round His House — he says it 's Fun. 
He thinks, perhaps, he 's selfish, too, 
Unless he lets us play with you; 
And so, he says, that you should look 
And see the Coupon in this book — 
Our Chubbies made it just for you ; 
The Coupon tells you what to do. 
If you 'II just cut the Coupon right, 
We 'II run to you with all our might. 
In your own home we '11 romp and play, 
And make you happy every day. 
John Martin thinks it 's only fair 
That we should visit everywhere. 
So, get his book and you will see 
What nice companions we can be. 
O, dear ! O, dear ! we 'most forgot 
To say that every little Tot 
Who likes the way we Chubbies look 
1 Will get us in John Martin's Book. 
We 've made a Cut-out Page for you, 
So all you children have to do „ 

Is just to cut us out, and then 
You '11 have some merry Chubbie Men. 

JOHN MARTIN, one of America's 
greatest writers for children, has 
planned a new Book-Magazine for 
little people. 

The ideal of this Book- Magazine is 
to bring together the best of modern 
writers and illustrators for children. A 
perfect Picture and Story Book for 
children who have just learned to read ; 
or to be read aloud by the parent to the 
little tots who have not yet learned to 

" John Martin's Book " automati- 
cally provides, once a month, for a need 
that has long been felt in the Home, 
Kindergarten and Library. Children 
need the better type of literature furnished 
by this book ; so do their mothers. 

This Ideal Series of Books will 
include Fairy Tales (old and new), 
Legends, Fables, Myths, the best 
Poetry for children, History in Rhyme 
and Reprinted Classics. There will 
be plenty of funny pages and stories, but 
they will be pure fun. The Book is to 
be lavishly and beautifully pictured 
(from 60 to 80 pages). The Covers are 
to be heavy and durable; the text pages 
printed on heavy, tough paper. 

There are to be charming Nature 
Stories of how things grow and live. 
Then Sunny Sunday pages and pages 
for the Rainy Days, and children's Songs 
-with Music. 

Write now for sample. 

IF you mail me the coupon in the next 
square, with ten cents in stamps to cover 
cost of mailing, I will send you free an 
EIGHTY-PAGE BOOK, printed in two 
colors, with a three-color cover. Write 
your name and address plainly. It is a 
regular twenty-five-cent book. Send for it. 




'TJ-4 f Y? 

A. J< X Am-,* — < X . 


The cover of the Christmas Century 
is reproduced in the beautiful 
colors of the original design by 
Norman Price. 

The Christmas 
Number of 


will have a unique 
and beautiful eight- 
page inset, reproduc- 
ing some wonderful 
studies done in red 
chalk by Violet Oak- 
ley, for a stained 
glass window — the 
subject Dante's Di- 
vine Comedy. 

0, Boys and Girls! 

You older boys and girls, who 
plan for yourselves! Have you 
thought what a satisfactory and 
delightful Christmas gift a year's 
subscription to The Century would 
be for mother or father, for 
Uncle John or Aunt Mary, for 
grandfather or grandmother? It 
would be a gift giving pleasure 
to all the household through 
every month in the year. 

And you older boys and girls, 
beginning to feel a little grown 
up for St. Nicholas, but wanting, 
of course, a magazine which 
keeps you in touch with live 
questions and gives you the best 
current fiction and illustrations, 
be sure that The Century during 
the year beginning with Novem- 
ber, 1912, is on the home read- 
ing table and prove for yourselves 
what a wealth of pleasure and 
information a year's companion- 
ship with The Century means. 

A year's subscription is $4.00 — 
less than the cost of your daily 
paper. Address : The Century Co. 

Your bookseller will gladly forward 
your order if that arrangement would 
be more convenient to you. 





Author of 

" The Secret Garden," 

" Little Lord Fauntle- 

roy," etc. 


will be a feature of The Century during the new year. With all the whole- 
some philosophy and simplicity, and especially with that human touch that 
so charmed the readers of "Little Lord Fauntleroy" and "The Shuttle," Mrs. Burnett, in 
her new novel, "T. Tembarom," weaves a fascinating romance about a clever young 
American who is always cheerful, and a quiet little English girl who has much good sense. 

From the Adriatic to the Bosphorus 


will be a series of travel sketches and pictures in the new volume of The 
Century not to be missed. To visit strange lands and learn their secrets; to 
mingle with strange peoples and understand them ; to wander among the ancient temples 
of Dalmatia and Greece, with two such interpreters as Robert Hichens and Jules Guerin, 
is to travel indeed. Exquisite pictures in color. 


is to be covered in the new volume of The Century in a series of "After- 
the-War " papers by some of America's best-known journalists. You can 
hardly understand epoch-making events of to-day without the information which these 
papers will present, authoritatively and entertainingly. 


will be on all the news-stands in a few days. You will be interested to read 
in its pages of a unique Christmas celebration, happy and lovely beyond 
any words, " A Novel Christmas Fete in California," by Louise Herrick Wall. Jacob Riis 
tells, with sympathetic touch, for its readers the story of what " scientific management " is 
doing for the little newsboys of New York. And, if you cannot make a trip to Panama 
and see for yourself the wonderful work drawing to completion there, you will find a pretty 
good substitute in Farnham Bishop's "The End of the Big Job," in the Christmas Century 
— a splendid picture of human achievement and human nature on the Canal Zone. 

Send many a friend a copy of this beautiful number, with its store of lovely and interesting pages, instead of a card or 
an insignificant trinket ; and you will find your thought warmly appreciated. There is always such a personal touch in 
the gift of a choice magazine — whether it be just the greeting of a single issue, or the gift of a year's subscription. 

The Christmas number, at all news-stands, 35 cents 



rlstemsis Stocking Boo 

Beautifully Illustrated and of Enduring Value 



An ideal gift-book for almost any age 

Wonder Tales 

They are the kind of magic tales which 
never lose their flavor — the dear old once- 
upon-a-time stories of adventure in which 
all kinds of delightfully impossible things 
happen — stories to give unfailing delight to 
the young in heart of all ages. Edited, 
and with an interesting foreword, by Dr. 
Post Wheeler. 

There are twelve lovely and unusual pictures in 
color, made originally for the Imperial Russian 
edition of these tales by the famous Russian artist 
Bilibin. Quaint and attractive binding. Small 
quarto, 323 pages. Price $2.50 net, postage 19 

Put this on your picked Christmas list too 

Joan of Arc 

It is a unique and striking book, both the story of the Warrior Maid of France 
and forty-three superb colored illustrations in the most delightful style of the 
famous French artist, M. Boutet de Monvel. Price $3.50 net, postage 17 cents. 

Also delightful for its unusual quality 

Jataka Tales 

A fascinating book of jungle lore and primitive folk tales, adapted from the sacred 

book of the Buddhists for young readers of to-day. Retold by Ellen C. Babbitt. 

Thirty-six pictures in silhouette by Ellsworth Young which will specially please 

little folks. Price $1.00 net, postage 8 cents. 

A well-worth-while gift-book 


s Fables 

A delightful new edition of one of the great world books, a treasury of wit and 
wisdom new to every generation. All ages will enjoy this attractive book, with 
its forty quaint drawings by E. Boyd Smith, and its page borders printed in tint. 

AnZvo of 167 pages. Price $2.00 net, postage 14 cents. 


Union Square 




istiaas StoefeJnfj Be 

Ralph Henry Barbour's Splendid Stories 

The new one is 

Crofton Chums 

Perhaps there might be a better all-around wholesome 
story of American school-boy life and sport, but you 
would search far to find it. The book form of the story 
is longer than the St. Nicholas serial; and boys — and 
girls too — who like outdoor sports, foot-ball especially, 
will delight in the gift of this wholesome, breezy, 
jolly book. 

Sixteen full-page illustrations by Rely ea, full of life. 
i2mo, 338 pages. Price $1.25 net, postage 12 cents. 

This is RALPH 

Six Other Great Books 
By this Prince of Story-tellers 


Ralph Henry Barbour's books sell and sell — there is no more popular writer for 
young people to-day. This is one of his best stories — full to overflowing of out- 
door fun. "Cal," one of the "team-mates," is a new kind of character in Mr. 
Barbour's stories. Many pictures. Price $1. 50 

Kingsford, Quarter 

Some study, plenty of fun, lots of light-hearted talk, and a great deal of foot-ball are 
happily mingled in the story of life at Riverport ; but foot-ball is the important thing 
to Riverport lads ; and Mr. Barbour tells all about many games most entertainingly. 

Many pictures. Price $1.50 

The Crimson Sweater 

"A book that will go straight to the heart of every boy and of every lover of a 
jolly, good foot-ball tale." Many pictures. Price $1.50 

Tom, Dick, and Harriet 

"Tom, Dick, and Harriet" is a book full of "ginger" — a healthful, happy book, 
which both girls and boys will enjoy. Many pictures. Price $1.50 

Captain Chub 

In "Captain Chub" the boys rent a house-boat, and with Harriet and her father for 
guests cruise up and down the Hudson, stopping on shore for all sorts of adventures. 

Many pictures. Price $1.50 

Harry's Island 

The same happy quartet found fun another summer on an island in the Hudson 
which Harry's father gave her for a birthday gift; and the days were very full 
and jolly. Many pictures. Price $1.50 


Union Square 





These Are Ideal Gifts for Any Boy or Girl 

Rudyard Kipling's Greatest Books 


Whatever else the children have, or do not have, among their 
books, be sure that the inexhaustible delights of the two 
Jungle Books are theirs. There are no books to take their 
place, no books so rich in the magic and mystery and charm 
of the great open and its life. 

Both books are illustrated, "The Second Jungle Book" 
with rare sympathy and skill by John Lockwood Kipling, 
the author's father. Price, each, $1.50. 

Another edition, specially charming for a gift, is bound in flexible red 
leather. Price $1.50 net, postage 8 cents. 

Another Great Kipling Book 


It would be hard to find a book which either a boy, or the boy's father, would like bet- 
ter than this. It is great reading — Mr. Kipling took a cruise on a Gloucester fishing 
smack to write it. Illustratio?is by Taber. Price $1.50. 


By Ernest Thompson Seton 

This is the most delightful of all Mr. Seton's delightful stories — for the young in heart 
of all ages ■ — the story, from his cubhood to his splendid prime, of that aristocrat of 
foxes, Domino Reynard, and his happy, adventurous life among the Goldur Hills. All 
the magic of the wild, free life of the open is in its pages. 

Over 100 illustrations by the author, and very beautifully made. Price $1.50. 

By the Same Author 


Just about the most delightful animal story ever written — saving and excepting always 
those masterpieces of genius, the Jungle Books. It is a true story— we have Mr. 
Seton's word for that— but it has the magic of imagination on every page. 
Its pictures make it a never-ending joy; they are the author's. 

Printed in two colors, with a very attractive binding. Price $1.50. 


By John Bennett 

Young people will get a truer idea of the life of Shakspere's day from this delightful 
story than from many a serious volume. 

The pictures by Reginald Birch are among the book's delights. Price $1.50. 

Are you Christmas-gift planning for any 
boy or girl, big or little? Our Classified 
List of Books for Young Folks is a mine of 
helpful suggestions. Let us send it to you. 
Your address on a post-card will bring it. 


Union Square 




Old and New — a List of Wide Choice 

The Knights of the Golden 

By Rupert Sargent Holland 

Noble adventure, stirringly told, with a plot 
quite out of the usual to stir and hold the in- 
terest. It is the kind of book in which boys — 
and the right kind of girls — lose themselves — a 
different kind of book, based on historic fact 
and legend, fascinatingly told. 

Delightful illustrations by Reginald Birch. 

1 2mo, 3 1 3 pages. Price $1.25 net, 

postage 1 2 cents. 

Standard Books Which Every Child Should Own 

By Theodore Roosevelt and Henry Cabot Lodge 

There can be no more stimulating companionship for any young person than that of 
the truly great men of our country ; and there is no better book of hero tales than this. 
There are twenty-six of these tales, simply told stories of Americans who showed that 
they knew how to live and how to die, who proved their truth by their endeavor. 

Illustrated. Price $1.50 


By Helen Nicolay 

An ideal gift book for every boy and girl who does not yet own this book. In choice 
of incident and event, in accuracy, in sympathy, in vivid interest, it stands, and will 
stand, as the ideal life of Lincoln for young people. 

Illustrations by J. Hambidge and others. Price $1.50 


Every mother has wished for such a book as this — a Bible within the understanding 
of young children, yet retaining the accepted text. Here it is, the text hallowed by 
generations of reading carefully adapted and arranged so as to hold the young reader 
closely, with no loss of vital and beautiful passages. 

Beautifully illustrated froin famous paintings by the Old Masters. 475 pages of 
easy-to-read text, handsome red binding. Price $1.50 net, postage 23 cents. 


By Mary Mapes Dodge, the children's friend 

Not a new book, but always new in its power to interest and delight every boy and girl 
— the story of a sister and a brother — fine, sweet, true. Pictures. Price $1.50 


By Cecile Viets Jamison 
A book of unusual freshness and charm, the story of a dear little girl whose beauty 
and sweet ways and genius for winning love brought her many experiences. 

Reginald Birch? s pictures are quaint and fascinating. Price $1.50 


Union Square 




trnaas StocRixig I 

Very Little Folk Will Love These 


By Palmer Cox 

Palmer Cox's Brownie books — there are eight of the regular 
books altogether now — are unique in their whimsical clever- 
ness and fun. His fun-making pen, his gift at jingle- turning, 
seem to gam in cleverness and wit with every year ; and 
youngsters of all ages enjoy the jolly Brownies and their man- 
ifold pranks. Pictures and verse in every volume are done 
as only Palmer Cox knows how. 

Eight books, with pictures on every page. Board covers in color. 
Quarto, 144 pages. Price $1.50 each. 


The Brownies' Latest Adventures 

One hundred and forty-four pages of condensed sun- 

The Brownies : Their Book 

The original Brownie book, the first collection of Mr. 
Cox's verse and pictures. 

Another Brownie Book 
The Brownies at Home 
The Brownies Around the World 

The Brownies Through the Union 
Brownies Abroad 
The Brownies in the Philippines 
The Brownie Primer 

Made up from all the Brownie books, for schools and 
for all little children. Price 40 cents net. 

Brownie Clown of Brownietown 

One hundred pages of Brownie quaintness and jolly 
fun and ridiculous doings, with many of the old favor- 
ites, and some new characters playing pranks. All 
in color. Price $1.00. 


By Frances Hodgson Burnett 

Of all the delightful stories for the young in heart by the 
author of " Little Lord Fauntleroy," none is quite so deli- 
ciously whimsical and fascinating as her series of " Queen 
Silver-Bell" fairy tales, dainty, quaint stories in which Queen 
Silver-Bell tells all about how she lost her temper, and, to 
prove to mortals that there are fairies, sets out to write of 
their funny, pretty, helpful pranks and doings. And these 
are her stories : 

Queen Silver-Bell 

Telling not only how the tiny queen lost her fairy tem- 
per and the dire results thereof, but of " How Winnie 
Hatched the Little Rooks." 

Racketty-Packetty House 

All about a delightful family of lovable children and 
even more lovable dolls, as dear a story as was ever 

The Cozy Lion 

A most delightful bit of nonsense — imagine a cozy 
lion — with the fantastic and tender strain in the telling 
characteristic of Mrs. Burnett. 

The Spring Cleaning 

Dear little Bunch, and the dear, dear Primrose World, 
and the beautiful Primrose Day party, all appeal to 
the heart of every child. 

Four exquisite little books, each with twenty pictures in color by 
Harrison Cady. Price 60 cents each. 


Union Square 




One of These for the Wide-awake Lad 

Across the Atlantic 

The Wireless Man 

How It Works 

Talking Across the Atlantic 

Some Stirring Wireless Rescues 

Novel Uses of Wireless 
Wireless in the Army 
Wireless in the Navy 
The Wireless Detective 
Three Heroes of the Wireless 

Thirty-two interesting illustrations from photographs. 
\imo, 250 pages. Price $1 .20 net, postage 1 1 cents. 

By the Same Author. 

The Boys' Book of Model Aeroplanes 

The ideal book for every one who has been caught in the fascination 
of model aeroplane experimenting. 

Helpfully illustrated. Price $1.20 net, postage 14 cents. 

The Second Boys' Book of Model Aeroplanes 

Covering up to date the science and sport of model aeroplane building 
and flying, both in this country and abroad. 

Over 100 illustrations. Price $1.20 net, postage II cents. 

The Battle of Base-ball 

By C. H. Claudy 

Give it to every lad who is a base-ball fan. (What lad is n't?) 
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. The author himself is " crazy about base-ball." 

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 fields. 
Price $1.50 net, postage 1 1 cents. 

For every one of the 100,000 lads operating their own wireless stations 

The Wireless Man 

By Francis Arnold Collins 

There is all the fascination of a story of imaginative 
adventure in these records of actual, every-day achievements 
in the wonderful world of wireless. It explains just what 
wireless electricity is in delightful, readable style ; recounts a 
host of true stories of wireless adventure on land and sea, 
and gives the wireless amateur much valuable information. 















For many other delightful books for boys and girls of all ages, send for The Century Co.'s 
"Classified List of Books for Young Folks" — a helpful friend in your Christmas planning. 

By the author of " The Melting of Molly 

Sue Jane 



By Maria T. Daviess 

Sue Jane is a real little girl — the author, who 
has never grown up, knew her once upon a time 
— and most of the simple, merry, breezy little 
tale of what happened when Sue Jane, with her 
country ways and clothes, invaded a fashion- 
able girls' school is true. Every school-girl will 
love it. 

Eight full-page illustrations by Furman. \2mo, 
225 pages. Price $1.25 net, postage 10 cents. 

Also by an author who has never grown up 

The Lady of the Lane 

By Frederick Orin Bartlett 

It is a clever story of how pretty, spoiled Elizabeth responds to her father's efforts to 
give her just the conditions of her happy mother's happy girlhood. Gay, natural, full 
of hearty common sense and good fun. 

Attractive illustrations by Caswell, \11no, 336 pages. Price $1.25 net, postage 12 cents. 

By the Same Author 

The Forest Castaways 

Was there ever a lad who did not dream what he would do if lost in the woods? This is the 
story of how two lads, lost in the snow of a Maine winter, met many curious and thrilling ex- 
periences. The many pictures and the handsome binding make it an attractive gift-book. 12/uo, 
392 pages. Price $1.50. 

Of unusual charm in the telling 

The Lucky Sixpence 

By Emilie Benson Knipe and Alden Arthur Knipe 

There is much actual fact in this out-of-the-ordinary tale ; and the authors make the bonny 
heroine of the story, the historic Americans she meets, and our own Revolutionary his- 
tory very real and alive with vivid interest. It is a splendid tale for all growing-up 
young folks — and grown-ups too — who like an exciting story of worth-while adventure. 
Sixteen full-page illustratiotis by Becker. \2mo, 408 pages. 
Price $1.25 net, postage 12 cents. 

"The greatest of magazines for boys and girls of all ages, 


The twelve monthly numbers in two large 8vo volumes, 
richly decorated. How children do love them ! 

One thousand pages. One thousand pictures. 

Beautifully bound in gay red covers, 



f. ■ 

J J 

( !> 





t 3 


Clhiiristansis StocKEg B©©Irl© 

For the Boy and Girl Who Are a Little Beyond "Juveniles 
The Sequel to " The Lady of the Decoration " 



A splendid 

The Lady and Sada 

By- Frances Little 

A charming gift-book with its dainty cover and its very lovely 
colored frontispiece. All the fresh humor and whimsical fas- 
cination of "The Lady of the Decoration" are in this new 
book ; an exquisite story of an adorable girl, half American 
dash, half Japanese witchery. 

Frontispiece by Berger. i6mo, 224 pages. Price $1.00 net, 
postage 6 cents. 

A Great Book of Adventure 

Smoke Bellew 

By Jack London 

The spirit of the vast frozen North is in this book, and the lure of the 
treasure. One adventure follows another — it is Jack London at his best, 
book for a boy's reading. 

Strong pictures by Monahan. \2mo, 385 pages. Price $1.30 net, postage 13 cents 

Alice Hegan Rice's New Book 

A Romance of Billy-Goat Hill 

"Lady" is the heroine, a gay little rose set with thorns at 
first. Everybody loves her, and with good reason. The 
thorns disappear; but "Lady" never grows up; and Mrs. 
Rice's telling of her romance is exquisite. The quaint humor 
of " Mrs. Wiggs" is in the book, too. 

Illustrations by Wright. \imo, 404 pages. Price $1.25 net, 
postage 12 cents. 

A Clever Story of Wireless 

"C Q" 

By Arthur Train 

It makes a voyage over seas— with the Wireless holding out hands to all the world — 
a new thing — this story of the part the Wireless played in many lives on just one voyage 
across the Atlantic. Full of humor, full of thrills. 

Clever pictures by Crosby. 121110, 301 pages. Price $1.20 net, postage 12 cents. 

And don't miss this delicious little book 


By Jean Webster 

"Daddy-Long-Legs" is Judy's nickname for the unknown friend who sends her 
— a starved little orphan — through college. Guess what happened. There 's a 
laugh on every page. The illustrations are the author's own — you must read the book 
to realize how funny they are. 16/no, 304 pages. Price $1.00 net, postage 8 cents. 


Union Square 


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From real 
letters to 
St. Nicholas: 

Dear St. Nicholas: 
I could n't get along 
without you. I count 
the days for you to 

Dear St. Nicholas: 
I have taken you for 
three years, and think 
you the best magazine 
in the world. 

St. Nicholas 

The Ideal Christmas Gift 
For Boys and Girls 

A year's subscription to St. Nicholas means 
twelve specially happy days when each new 
number comes, and twelve months of help- 
ful, happy, inspiring companionship. Make 
it your Christmas gift to the boys and girls 
you love. 

New subscriptions and renewals should be 
sent in now. Two splendid serials began in 
the November number. The subscription 
price is only $3.00 a year, and subscriptions 
may be given any newsdealer or sent direct 
to the publishers : 



From a real letter to 
St. Nicholas: 

Dear St. Nicholas: 
I almost count the 
days until you come, 
and when at last you 
do, I simply devour 


Just a Few of the Good Things 
in the New Volume of 

St. Nicholas 

Fascinating Mother Goose 

pictures in color by the great artist Arthur Rackham. 

Two serials of very exceptional interest 

"The Land of Mystery," by Cleveland Moffett, and 
"Beatrice of Denewood," by Emilie Benson Knipe 
and Alden Arthur Knipe. 

Charming animal stories, 

delightfully illustrated, by Charles G. D. Roberts. 

Pictures and rhymes 
for the very little folk 

by some of the cleverest entertainers of the wee ones, 
including new Brownie jingles and drawings by Palmer 

See follmviiig pages also 



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M\ dear St. Nicholas: 
You are a splendid 
inheritance in our fam- 
ily. First you belong- 
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and the twins are seven , 
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ested in every page. 
I sit and read to them 
untiringly, for we all 
love you dearly. 

A really, truly story, with a helpful hint 
for every person who is going to make a 
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"There was once in old Virginia a family of 
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always did just the right thing; and so she began 
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a lot more children came, and as each 
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five years St. Nicholas was a family 
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volumes of the years that are complete. 
And all through their lives, each one 
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that the greatest 
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without St. 




From a real letter to 
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I know one little boy 
who, after reading the 
Bulletin in my St. Nich- 
olas, ran and got his bank 
to count his money. 

"Oh, I'll soon have 
three dollars," he said, 
"and I'll subscribe. I 
want to hear about the 
clever dogs and aero- 

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St. Nicholas. 




Just a Few of the Good Things 
Coming in 

St. Nicholas 

"More Than Conquerors" 

A splendid series of articles, helping to intimate 
acquaintance with great men and showing how they 
have built on their handicaps and obstacles. "The 
Modern Great-heart" (do you know who he is?), in 
the January St. Nicholas, will be full of inspiration. 

With Men Who Do Things 

The inside story of some of the wonderful construc- 
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about New York. Thrilling illustrations of much 

The Fine Departments of St. Nicholas 

Books and Reading, Nature and Science, and the 
splendid St. Nicholas League will be more inspiring 
and delightful than ever during 19 13. 





From a real 

letter to 

St. Nicholas: 

Dear St. Nicholas : 
My cousin received 
the darling-est, sweet- 
est, most adorable sil- 
ver badge from you 
about a week ago I 
ever dreamed of. Her 
mother happened to be 
away at the time, and 
the poor child was just 
about wild because she 
could not describe it 
in words which could 
possibly give her moth- 
er any conception of 
how perfectly beautiful 

(The badge was a 
St. Nicholas League 
badge. ) 

The new year of that splendid department 

The St. Nicholas League 

will add a new element to its competitions that will 
make every boy and girl want to try harder than ever. 
The St. Nicholas League silver and gold badges will 
be given as usual, but, in addition, the Editor of 
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taining his or her prize effort and a handsome 
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Are you a member of the 
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TKe St. Nicholas League awards gold and silver 
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answers, and to many readers the pages containing 
the work of the League are the most interesting in 
St. Nicholas — grown-ups read them too. 

Any reader of St. 
Nicholas, whether a 
subscriber or not, is 
entitled to League mem- 

.■■~ ';.. 



From a mother's letter to 
St. Nicholas : 

My youngest son, who 
is given the St. Nicho- 
las every month by a 
friend, seeing your offer 
in the November number, 
would like to make a 
birthday present of the 
magazine to his brother 
who lives with his grand- 
mother and whose name 
is mentioned in the draw- 
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ent number. 

It ,is a great thing for 
you to make it so easy 
for children to have this 
splendid magazine in their 


To Every St. Nicholas Reader: 

Why don't you give 

St. Nicholas 

to brother or sister or friend 
for your Christmas gift? 

The subscription price of St. Nicholas is $3.00 a 
year ; but if you wish you can send $1.00 now, and 
the other $2.00 any time between November and next 

Send $1.00 to-day, ij possible, if you are giving St. 
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number a beautiful card saying you are giving St. 
Nicholas for a present. Address : 


Union Square, New York 




ihe standard /or 

Fine Quality • Delicious Flavor* 
AJjsoiuxe ruriiy 

^*— ■-,--..- — -.->■- ----- ■- -,..■■■--. ^..-£—**~M 

'N view of the fact that there are 
, on the market at the present 
time many cocoa and chocolate 
, preparations of inferior quality, 
some of them put up in imitation 
of our brands, consumers should 
be sure that they get the genu- 
ine Baker goods with our trade- 
mark on the packages. 

The high quality of Baker's 
Cocoa and Baker's Chocolate 
has been maintained for over 
132 years. 

Reg. U. S. Pat. Office 

Handsomely illustrated booklet of Choice Recipes sent free 

alterBaker & 

istablished 1760. 

Dorchester Mass, 




^@v ./Ml 




(J3) A. R. 


Vol. XL 


No. 2 

' i%1r&3 Ufflm^Mk-j^ 


Ring a ring o' roses 
A pocket full of posies! 

Hush! Hush! Hush! Hush! 
We all fall down together! 


Little Tommy Tucker 
Sings for his supper. 
What shall he eat? 
White bread and butter. 

How can he cut it 
Without e'er a knife? 
How can he marry 
Without e'er a wife? 


Copyright, 1912, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 


B^ W inthrop Packard 




There was a boy who shot an arrow at a tree. 
It flew swift and straight, but glanced from the 
tree and tore a big hole in the leather apron of a 
shoemaker who was standing near. Soon the 
boy came running up, saying, "Please excuse me 
for thus tearing your apron. I shot at a tree, but 
the arrow glanced." 

But the shoemaker was very angry, and said : 
"I am a wizard shoemaker, and unless you mend 
my apron so that it is as whole as it was before, 
I do not know what I shall do to you, but it will 
be something dreadful. There is but one kind of 
needle that will mend a wizard shoemaker's lea- 
ther apron, and neither man can give it to you, 
nor woman can give it to you. There is but one 
kind of thread that will do it, and neither man 
can give it to you, nor woman .can give it to you ; 
and there is but one kind of leather that will suf- 
fice, and neither man nor woman can give that 
to you. So, however hard you try, you will fail, 
and I shall have my revenge." 

"These things," said the boy, "I shall try to 
find, and, by good fortune, I may do it." 

So he set forth in the world, going up and 
down in it, by wood and field, seeking for 
needle, thread, and leather. He had 
passed many a pleasant field and many a 
tall forest, when, at an open space in the 
wood, he suddenly heard a cry for help. 

"Help !" it said, "I am drowning !" Nor 
could he see water in which any one could drown. 
But he followed the direction whence the call 
came, and presently he found a deep well, and 
heard a splash and the cry from the water below. 




— --Sr~ 


~— — *-W 

S. ' 

• ar 




"Be of good cheer," he called down, "I am 
coming to help you." Then he began to descend, 
putting his fingers and toes firmly in the chinks 
between the stones, and taking care lest he fall. 
In the dark water at the bottom, he found some- 
thing splashing. This he lifted carefully to his 
shoulder, and climbed out again. When he had 
set it upon the ground, he saw that it was a por- 
cupine, that shook the water from its quills, and 

"Thank you, kind boy, for taking me from the 
well. I should surely have drowned had you not 
come to my rescue. Because you helped me, 
what can I do to help you?" 

"I am glad to have aided you, but I fear there 
is nothing you can do to help me," replied the 
boy; "I am journeying far to find a certain kind 
of needle. This morning I shot my arrow at a 
tree, but it glanced, and tore a big hole in the 
wizard shoemaker's leather apron. I must mend 
this, or he will do me harm, and to do it I must 
have a certain kind of needle which neither man 
can give me, nor woman can give me ; so I do 
not see how I am to get it." 

Then the porcupine smiled. "Perhaps 
I can help you in that, little brother," he 
said. "Take hold of one of those long 
quills in my back, and shut your eyes, and 
do just as I bid you." 

This the boy did, and the porcupine 
said: "Pull, little brother; pull as hard as 
can!" The boy pulled, and felt the quill 
coming out of the porcupine's back as he pulled. 
So he stopped pulling, not wishing to injure his 




friend. But the porcupine said again : "Pull as 
hard as you can, I tell you; never mind me !" 

So again the boy pulled, and he felt the quill 
come out in his hands. Then the porcupine said : 
"Open your eyes, little brother, and let us see 
what we have here." 

So the boy opened his eyes, but, to his aston- 
ishment, instead of a porcupine's quill in his 
hands he found a long, keen, steel needle that he, 
somehow, knew was just the thing to mend the 
wizard shoemaker's leather apron. 

So he said to the porcupine : "Thank you, good 
porcupine, for giving me this splendid needle." 

But the porcupine replied : "Thanks should be 
from me, for I surely should have drowned if 
you had not come to my aid. Besides, I go up 
and down in the world quite a bit, and I have al- 
ways seen you helping some one ; and I am sure 
that a boy who helps others will find help him- 

So the boy stuck the needle carefully under the 
lapel of his coat, and went on his way. He had 
passed many a sunny hollow and many a shady 
wood, when he heard a deep "Moo-oo" of dis- 
tress, and ran in the direction whence the sound 
came. Soon, in a sunny glade, he found a big 
mother-cow, calling loudly and looking this way 
and that, while tears rolled down her cheeks. 

"Why, good mother-cow !" the boy cried,, 
"what is the matter?" 

"Alas !" said the cow, "I have lost my little 
calf. Always he waits for me in this sunny 
glade, but to-day I came back, and he is not here. 
I do not dare go to hunt for him lest he come 
while I am gone, so I can only stand here and 

"Be of good cheer," said the boy, "I will help 
you find your little calf. Wait here, and I will 
bring him back to you" ; and off he ran as fast 
as he could. 

He had passed many a flowering shrub and 
many an ancient tree, when he came to a dark 
space in a tall wood whence came a faint cry of 
"Ma-a ! Ma-a !" and he knew that he heard the 
voice of the little calf. Out of a big box-trap it 
came, one that men had set to catch a bear alive. 
Into this the little calf had wandered, and had 
sprung it. 

"Be of good cheer," called the boy, "I will soon 
let you out." And he pulled with all his might at 
the door of the trap. But it had been made 
strong enough to hold a bear, and he could not 
move it. So he said again: "Be of good cheer, I 
will find some one stronger than I am to help 
me pull, and we will let you out." And on he 
ran as fast as he could. 

As he ran, he heard a sound of laughter com- 

ing from a sunny glade, and there he saw a big 
donkey, sitting down in the grass, his hind legs 
sticking straight out in front of him, his front 
hoofs planted between them, and his head wag- 
ging up and down, and his ears flopping. Every 
time he wagged his head he laughed, "Hee ha-aw ! 
Hee ha-aw !" and, seeing him, the boy looked 
about in astonishment. 

"Why, good donkey," he said, "what is the 

"I am," replied the donkey, "and I am laughing 
at myself. Every day I draw big loads and love 
to do it, for I am quite the strongest donkey any- 
where about. But to-day I thought I would have 
a vacation and rest here in the sun, and, do you 
know, I am so homesick for a good load to pull, 
that I do not know what to do." 

"Good !" said the boy, "come with me, and I 
will find for you the hardest pull you ever had." 
Whereupon the donkey leaped to his feet, and 
ran with the boy toward the bear trap, laughing, 
"Hee ha-aw ! Hee ha-aw !" as he went, so glad 
was he that he was to find hard work once more. 

At the bear trap, the boy fastened the donkey 
securely to the door, took hold himself, and both 
pulled as hard as they could. It was a strong 
door, but nothing could withstand the joyous pull 
of that donkey, and with a crash they ripped it 
off the trap. The calf trotted out immediately, 
but neither he nor the boy had time to properly 
thank the donkey, who went right on, up the hill 
and through the wood, dragging the door after 
him, and laughing all the way in his joy at find- 
ing such hard work to do. 

But the boy and calf ran as fast as they could 
to the sunny glade where the big mother-cow was 
waiting for them. Very glad, indeed, she was to 
see the calf, and soon he was eating his dinner 
while the mother-cow cried a little still, but now 
for joy, and smoothed his ruffled fur with her 
big red tongue. 

"Thank you, kind boy," she said, "for finding 
my little calf. I do not know what I should have 
done without your help. Now tell me, what can 
I do to help you?" 

"I am glad to have aided you," replied the boy, 
"but I fear there is nothing you can do to help 
me. I am journeying far to find a certain kind 
of thread. This morning I shot my arrow at a 
tree, but it glanced, and tore a big hole yi the 
wizard shoemaker's leather apron. I must mend 
this, or he will do me harm, and to do it I must 
have a certain kind of thread which neither man 
can give me, nor woman can give me ; so I do not 
see how I am to get it." 

Then the cow smiled. "Perhaps I can help 
you in that, little brother," she said. "Take hold 





of those long hairs in my tail, shut your eyes, and do just what 
I tell you." 

This the boy did, and the cow then said: "Pull, little brother; 
pull as hard as you can." The boy pulled, and soon he felt the 
hairs coming out in his hands. 

Then the cow said : "Open your eyes, little brother, and let us 
see what we have here." 

So the boy opened his eyes, but, to his astonishment, instead 
of hairs his hands were full of just the finest kind of brown 
threads, just the thing, he was sure, to mend the wizard shoe- 
maker's leather apron. 

"Thank you, kind cow," said he, "for giving me this splendid 

But the cow replied: "Thanks should be from me. I should 
never have seen my calf again without your help. Besides, I go 
up and down in the world quite a bit, and always I have seen 
you helping some one, and I am quite sure that a boy who helps 
others deserves help himself." 

So the boy put the thread carefully in his pocket, and went on 
his way. He had passed many a sandy hillside and many a 
rocky cliff, when he again heard a cry for help. This seemed 
to come from a cave among big rocks, and when he ran into it, 
he saw there a bat that had been caught by a big snake. 

"Help !" cried the bat, and the boy replied by snatching up a 
big stone and throwing it at the snake. It hit him— tunk— and 
the snake turned an inquiring eye upon the boy, who imme- 
diately caught up another, larger stone, and hit the snake with 
a louder tunk. Thereupon the snake turned both eyes in- 
quiringly on the boy, and, seeing him pick up a third even larger 

♦ ♦ 





stone, he dropped the bat, and glided with much haste far down 
into holes among the stones at the bottom of the cave. 

"Thank you, kind boy," said the bat, "for saving me from that 
dreadful snake ; but I am bitten so deep that I fear now I shall 
die unless I can anoint my wound with some of the honey-dew 
bee-balm that is made at the hive of the fairy bees." 

"Be of good cheer," said the boy, "I will bring this balm. 
Wait for me here, and I will soon be back." And away he ran 
as fast as he could to the hive of the fairy bees. There he saw 
a big working bee, pausing a moment on the door-step with a 
load of wax. 

He was about to speak, when the busy bee said : "I know what 
you are after. I go everywhere for miles, and I see everything. 
You want balm for the injured bat up in the cave. Wait here 
for me a moment, and I will bring it out for you. But please 
keep very quiet, for within they are putting some of the baby 
bees to sleep." 

"I will keep very quiet," said the boy, and soon he saw the 
busy bee coming out. 

"Well !" said the bee, "I 'm glad to see you again. Here is an 
acorn-cup full of honey-dew bee-balm for your friend up in the 

The boy took the balm, thanked the bee, and ran as fast as he 
could to the cave, where he found the bat still alive, though 
feeling quite weak. No sooner had they rubbed the balm on his 
wound, however, than he revived, and the wound healed im- 

"Thank you, kind boy," said the bat, "for bringing me this 
balm, without which I should surely have died. You have been 

* t. # 





of great help to me ; what can I 

do to help you?" 

"I am glad to have aided 

you," said the boy, "but I fear 
I — ._* — iLJ there is nothing you can do to 

help me. I am journeying far 
to find a certain kind of leather. This morning 
I shot my arrow at a tree, but it glanced, and tore 
a big hole in the wizard shoemaker's leather 
apron. I must mend this, or he will do me harm, 
and to do it I must have a certain kind of leather 
which neither man can give me, nor woman can 
give me ; so I do not see how I am to get it." 

Then the bat smiled and said : "Perhaps I can 
help you in that, little brother. Take hold of my 
wing, shut yonr eyes, and do just what I tell 

This the boy did, and the bat then said: "Pull, 
little brother ; pull as hard as you can !" The boy 

said: "Open your eyes, little . 
brother, and let us see what we 
have here." 

To the boy's astonishment, the 
bat still had two wings, and in 
his hand, instead of one of them, 
was the softest and finest leather he had ever 
seen, just the kind, he was sure, to mend the wiz- 
ard shoemaker's leather apron. 

"Thank you, good bat," he said, "for giving 
me this splendid leather." 

But the bat replied : "Thanks should be from 
me. I should have died without your help, and 
besides, I go up and down in the world quite a 
bit, and I have always seen you helping some 
one ; and I am very sure that a boy who helps 
others deserves help himself." 

So the boy put the leather carefully in his 
other pocket, and started for the village where 


did, but when he felt the bat's wing coming off 
in his hands, he stopped, for he did not wish to 
injure his friend. But the bat said again: "Pull 
as hard as you can, I tell you; do not mind me !" 
So again the boy pulled, and soon he felt the 
bat's wine come off in his hands. Then the bat 

he knew the wizard shoemaker was waiting to 
see him come back unsuccessful. But, running 
as fast as he could, he paused at a pond where he 
saw three dragon-flies, one silver, one gold, and 
one blue in color. Driven by a sudden gust of 
wind into the water, they were about to drown. 




"Great as is my haste," said the boy, "I cannot 
leave these gentle creatures to drown." So he 
ran to a boat that was near by, paddled to the 
dragon-flies, lifted them to the gunwale of the 
boat with his paddle, then paddled ashore and 
started again, leaving the dragon-flies drying 
their wings in the sun. But before he was gone, 
they called to him. 

"Thank you, kind boy," they said. "We fly 
everywhere, and we shall surely know when you 
are in trouble, and come to your aid." 

"So !" said the wizard shoemaker when he saw 
the boy, "you have come back unsuccessful. 
Neither man nor woman could give you that 
needle, so how could you expect to get it, I should 
like to know !" 

"But I have the needle !" said the boy. "My 
friend the porcupine gave it to me." 

The wizard was so enraged at this that he 
sprang high in air and came down on the floor 
with a bang that made the windows rattle. "The 
thread !" he said, "you never could get the thread ! 
Neither man nor woman could give it to you, so 
how could you expect to get it?" 

"But I have the thread !" said the boy. "My 
good friend the mother-cow gave it to me." 

Thereupon the wizard sprang again in air, 
coming down with two bangs on the floor, mak- 
ing the windows rattle twice. "But the leather !" 
he cried, "you never could get the leather ! Of 
that I am sure !" 

"I have the leather," replied the boy. "My 
good friend the bat gave it to me." 

This time the wizard jumped higher yet, and 
the bang with which he came down made the 
windows rattle three times. Then he smiled a 
cunning smile. "Oh, well !" he said, "you never 
can mend it, for all that." 

But the boy took the apron and tried, for all 
that. Strange to say, he could do little. The 
needle unthreaded itself as fast as threaded, and 
the leather persistently curled out of place. He 
was almost in despair, and the wizard shoemaker 

was fairly dancing for joy at his ill success, 
when the three dragon-flies came sailing up. The 
silver one and the gold one took the wizard shoe- 
maker by each ear and held his head back against 
the wall. He was in great fear of them, and was 
trembling like a leaf. 

Then the blue one said gently : "Let me show 
you, little brother. See," he said, "the needle 
has two ends ; let us try the other end. The 
thread has two ends as well; let us try the other 
end of that." 

The boy did so, and the thread fairly leaped 
into the eye of the needle and remained there. 

"Now," said the dragon-fly, "observe that a 
piece of leather has two sides; let us try the 
other side." 

The boy did so, whereupon the leather fairly 
cuddled into place, and the needle seemed to fly 
back and forth through it of itself, the thread 
making so fine a stitch that, when the work was 
done, which it soon was, the apron showed no 
patch, nor any sign of one, but was as whole as 
it had ever been. 

When the dragon-flies released the wizard 
shoemaker, and he saw this, he was so enraged 
that he sprang clear to the ceiling, banging his 
head against it, and had no sooner alighted on 
the floor than he rushed with bowed head through 
the door, butting it open in his haste ; rushed 
through his front fence in the same way, and 
went on across a field and through the neighbor- 
ing wood, where he soon was out of sight ; but 
he could be heard for long after, bang-butting 
his way along among the trees. 

No one has ever seen him come back, but the 
people of that town, to this day, when they hear 
a sudden wind crashing through the forest, smile 
and say, "There goes the wizard shoemaker!" 

As for the boy, he did not wait even a minute 
to .see whether the wizard shoemaker came back 
or not, but ran home to tell his mother all about 
it ; and I think that he ran faster then than at 
any other time during the day. 





The boy realized he had made a mistake before fluid they could absorb. Slowly, with staggering 

he had driven the big touring car a half-mile 
along this dreadful lane. The map had shown 
the road to Fennport clearly enough, but it was 
such a roundabout way that, when the boy came 
to this crossing, he decided to chance it, hoping 
it would get him to Fennport much quicker. The 
landscape was barren of interest, the farm-houses 
few and far between, and the cross-road seemed 
as promising as the main way. Meanwhile, at 
Fennport, the county fair was progressing, and 
there was no use wasting time on the road. 

The promise faded after a short stretch ; ruts 
and ditches appeared ; rotten culverts and sandy 
hollows threatened the safety of the car. The 
boy frowned, but doggedly kept going. He must 
be fully half-way to another road by this time, 
and, if he could manage to keep on without break- 
ing a spring or ripping a tire, it would be as well 
to continue as to turn back. 

Suddenly the engines began muttering and 
hesitated in doing their duty. The boy caught 
the warning sound, and instantly divined the 
reason : he had forgotten to replenish the gaso- 
lene before starting, and the tank was about 
empty. Casting a quick, inquiring glance around, 
he saw the roof of a farm-house showing through 
the trees just ahead. That was a joyful sight, 
for he had scarcely dared hope to find a building 
upon this unused, seemingly abandoned lane. 
He adjusted the carbureter, and urged the en- 
gines to feed upon the last drops of the precious 

gait, the automobile pushed forward until just 
opposite the farm-house, when, with a final 
moan, the engines gave up the struggle, and the 
car stopped dead. 

Then the boy turned and looked at the lonely 
dwelling. It was a small, primitive sort of build- 
ing, ancient and weather-stained. There was a 
simple garden at the front, which faced the grove 
and not the lane, and farther along, stood a rick- 
ety, rambling barn that was considerably larger 
than the house. 

Upon a tiny side porch of the dwelling, directly 
facing the road, sat an old woman with a battered 
tin pan full of rosy-cheeked apples in her lap. 
She was holding a knife in one hand and a half- 
pared apple in the other. Her mouth was wide 
open in amazement, her spectacled eyes staring 
fixedly at the automobile— as if it had been a 
magical apparition and the boy a weird necro- 
mancer who had conjured it up. 

He laughed a little at the amusing expression 
of the old woman, for he was a good-humored 
boy in spite of his present vexations. Then, spring- 
ing to the ground, he walked toward the porch 
and removed his cap, to make a graceful bow. 
She did not alter her pose, and, with eyes still 
fixed upon the car, she gasped : 

"Laws-a-me ! ef it ain't one o' them no-hoss 

"Nothing wonderful about that, is there?" 
asked the boy, smiling, as he reached the porch. 



"Why not?" said she; "ain't they the mos' 
wunnerful things in all the world? Mart'n 
Luther 's seen 'em in town, an' told me about 
'em, but I never thought as I 'd see one with my 
own eyes." 

Her awe and interest were so intense that, as 
yet, she had not glanced once at the boy's face. 
He laughed, in his quiet way, as he leaned over 
the porch rail, but it occurred to him that there 
was something pathetic in the fact that the lonely 
old woman had never seen an automobile before. 

"Don't you ever go to town yourself?" he 
asked curiously. 

She shook her head. "Not often, though some- 
times I do," she replied. "Went to Fennport 
a year ago las' June, an' put in a whole day 
there. But it tired me, the waggin jolts so. I 'm 
too old now fer sech doin's, an' Mart'n Luther 
'lows it ain't wuth payin' toll-gate both ways for. 
He has to go sometimes, you know, to sell truck 
an' buy groceries ; he 's there to-day, 'tendin' the 
county fair; but I 've stayed home an' minded 
my own business 'til I hain't got much hankerin' 
fer travel any more." 

During this speech, she reluctantly withdrew 
her eyes from the automobile and turned them 
upon the boy's face. He was regarding her placid 
features with a wonder almost equal to her own. 
It seemed so strange to find one so isolated and 
secluded from the world, and so resigned to such 
a fate. 

"No near neighbors?" he said. 

"The Bascomes live two miles north, but Mis' 
Bascome an' I don't git on well. She ain't never 
had religion." 

"But you go to church ?" 

"Certain sure, boy ! But our church ain't town 
way, you know ; it 's over to Hobbs' Corners. 
Ev'ry Sunday fer the las' year, I 've been lookin' 
out fer them no-hoss waggins, thinkin' one might 
pass the Corners. But none ever did." 

"This is a queer, forsaken corner of the 
world," the boy said reflectively, "and yet it 's 
in the heart of one of the most populous and 
progressive States in the Union." 

"You 're right 'bout that," she agreed. "Silas 
Herrin 's bought the lates' style thrash'n' -ma- 
chine— all painted red— an' I guess the county 
fair at Fennport makes the rest o' the world 
open its eyes some. We 're ahead of 'em all on 
progressing as Mart'n Luther 's said more 'n 

"Who is Martin Luther?" asked the boy. 

"He 's my man. His name 's Mart'n Luther 
Sager, an' I 'm Aunt 'Phroney Sager— the which 
my baptism name is 5"ophroney. Mart'n Luther 
were named fer the great Meth'dis' leader. He 

had a hankerin' to be a Baptis' in his young days, 
but he das n't with such a name. So he j'ined 
the Meth'dists to make things harmoni'us, an' 
he 's never regretted it." 

The boy smiled in an amused way, but he did 
not laugh at her. There was something in her 
simple, homely speech, as well as in the expres- 
sion of her face, that commanded respect. Her 
eyes were keen, yet gentle ; her lips firm, yet smil- 
ing; her aged, wrinkled features complacent and 
confident, yet radiating a childlike innocence. 

"Ain't ye 'fraid to run the thing?" she asked, 
reverting to the automobile. 

"No, indeed. It 's as simple as a sewing- 
machine— when you know how." 

"I 'd like to see it go. It come so sudden-like 
past the grove that when I looked up, you 'd 
stopped short." 

"I 'd like to see it go myself, Aunt 'Phroney," 
the boy answered; "but it won't move a step 
unless you help it. Just think, ma'am, you 've 
never seen a motor-car before, and yet the big 
machine can't move without your assistance !" 

She knew he was joking, and returned his 
merry smile; but the speech puzzled her. 

"As how, boy?" she inquired. 

"The 'no-hoss keeridge' is a hungry monster, 
and has to be fed before he '11 work. I hope you 
will feed him, Aunt 'Phroney." 

"On what?" 

"Gasolene. I forgot to fill up the tank before 
I started, and now the last drop is gone." 

"Gasolene !" she exclaimed, with a startled 
look; "why, we don't keep gasolene, child. How 
on earth did you expec' to find sech a thing in a 

"Don't you cook with gasolene ?" he asked. 

"My, no ! We use good chopped wood— splin- 
ters an' knots. Mis' Bascome had a gas'lene stove 
once, but it bu'sted an' set fire to the baby; so 
they buried it in the back yard." 

"The baby?" 

"No, boy; the stove. They managed to put 
the baby out." 

The statement puzzled him, but his mind was 
more on the gasolene. 

"Does n't your husband use gasolene around 
the farm?" he inquired. 

"No, 'ndeed." 

"And you have n't any naphtha or benzine- 
just a little?" 

"Not a drop." 

"Nor alcohol?" 

"Mercy, no !" 

The boy's face fell. "Where is the nearest 
place I might get some gasolene?" he asked. 

"Lemme see. Harpers' might have it— that 's 




six mile' west— or Clark's store might have some, 
at Everdale. That 's seven mile' off, but I ain't 
sure they keep it. The only place they 're sure 
to have it is over to Fennport, which is 'leven 
mile' from here by the turnpike." 

The boy considered all this seriously. "Can I 
borrow a horse from you — and a buggy?" he 

"Mart'n Luther 's gone to town with the only 
team we own. We ain't had a buggy fer twenty- 
two years." 

He sighed, and sat down on the steps, looking 
disconsolately toward the big touring car that 
was now so helpless. Aunt 'Phroney resumed 
her task of paring the apples, but now and then 
she also would glance admiringly at the auto- 

"Come far?" she presently inquired. 

"From Durham." 

"To-day? Why, Durham 's thirty mile' from 

"I know; that 's only an hour's run, with good 

"Mercy me !" 

"But the roads are not good in this neighbor- 
hood. I wanted to run over to Fennport to see 
the fair. I thought there might be some fun 
there, and I 'd jog over this morning and run 
back home to-night. That would n't have been 
any trick at all, if I had n't forgotten the gaso- 

"Live in Durham?" she asked. 

"Yes ; Father has the bank there." 

"Pretty big town, I 've heard." 

"Why, it 's only a village. And a stupid, tire- 
some village at that. Lonely, too. That 's why 
Father got this touring car; he said it would help 
to amuse me. May I have an apple?" 

Aunt 'Phroney smiled indulgently, and handed 
him an apple from the pan. The idea of one who 
lived in the thriving, busy town of Durham be- 
coming lonely filled her with amusement. For 
her part, she had n't left the old farm-house, 
except to go to church, for nearly two years, 
and days at a time she never saw a human being 
other than her silent, morose husband. Yet she 
was not lonely — not really lonely— only at times 
did her isolation weigh upon her spirits. 

"Got a mother, child?" she softly inquired. 

He nodded, biting the apple. 

"Mother 's an invalid. She does n't leave her 
own rooms, and keeps two trained nurses and a 
special cook, and she studies social science— and . 
such things." 

"What does that mean ?" 

"I don't know ; it 's only a name to Father and 
me. But Father has the bank to interest him, 

and as I 'm not ready for the bank yet, he lets 
me run the automobile." 

Aunt 'Phroney gave him a pitying look. 

"Guess I un'erstan' your hist'ry now," she said 
gently. "You need n't say no more 'bout it. 
Hev another apple?" 

"I will, thank you. They 're fine. Grow 'em 

"Yes. Mart'n Luther 's entered a peck at the 
county fair, an' hopes to git the premium. It 's 
two dollars, in cash. He 's put up our Plymouth 
Rock rooster an' some pertaters fer prizes, too, 
an' seein' he 's entered 'em, it don't cost him 
anything to get into the fair grounds— only the 
ten cents fer toll-gate." 

"Why did n't you go with him?" asked the boy. 

Aunt 'Phroney flushed a little. "That 's some 
more hist'ry— the kind that 's better not studied," 
she remarked quietly. "Mart'n Luther took it 
from his pa, I guess. His pa once cried like a 
baby when he lost four cents through a hole in 
his pocket. After that, ev'ry penny was kep' 
strapped up in his leather pocket-book, which 
were never unstrapped without a groan. Yes, 
Mart'n Luther 's a' honest man, an' God-fearin' ; 
but I guess he takes after his pa." 

The boy finished his apple. 

"Come out and see our touring car," he said. 
"I r d like to show it to you, although I' can't take 
you to ride in it." 

"Thank you," she eagerly replied. "I '11 come 
in a minute. Let me git this apple-sass started 
cookin' first." 

She went into the kitchen with the apples, but 
soon came back, and with a brisk air followed 
the boy across the patch of rank grass to the 

"I can't walk six miles or more, you know," he 
remarked, "and lug a can of gasolene back with 
me ; so I '11 have to wait until your husband 
comes back to-night with the team. You don't 
mind my staying with you, do you ?" 

"Of course not," she answered. "I like boys 
—boys like you, that is. We — we never had no 
children of our own." 

He showed her all the parts of the automobile, 
and explained how they worked and what they 
were for, all in a simple way that enabled her 
readily to understand. She was in a flutter of 
excitement at her close proximity to the wonder- 
ful invention, and the luxury of the seats and 
interior fittings filled her with awe. At first, he 
could not induce Aunt 'Phroney to enter the car 
and sit down upon the soft cushions, but, after 
much urging, she finally yielded, and was frankly 
delighted at the experience. 

"It must 'a' cost a lot o' money," she observed. 




"I guess your pa is pretty good to you. Like 
enough he did n't take after any one with a 
strapped pocket-book." 

"No," laughed the boy; "Father is always kind 
to me. But I wish — I wish — " 

"What, child?" 

"I wish we lived together on a farm like this, 

we shall need in 
what he needs, I 

good deal more here than 
heaven. Does any one get 
wonder ?" 

"Some may, but not many," 
fully. "Some of us don't get even gasolene, you 
know. Funny, ain't it, how such a little thing '11 
spoil a great big creation like this? Why, in 

she rejoined cheer- 


where we could enjoy each other. All day he 's 
at the bank, you know." 

"If he worked the farm," said the woman, "you 
would n't see much of him then, either, 'cept at 
meal-time. Mart'n Luther gits up at daylight, 
works in the fields all day, an' goes to bed after 
supper. In heaven we may find time to enjoy 
the sassiety of our friends, but p'r'aps there '11 
be so much company there, it won't matter." 

"I think," said the boy, solemnly, "we need a 

some ways, it beats Silas Herrin's new thrash'n'- 
machine ; but it ain't so useful, 'cause the 
thrash'n'-machine runs along the road without 
horses to where it wants to go, an' then its in- 
jynes do the thrashin' better 'n hands can do it." 

"I 've never really examined one," he replied 
thoughtfully; "it must be very interesting." 

"Come into the barn," she said, "an' I '11 show 
you Silas Herrin's new one. He brought it here 
yest'day, but he an' all his crew are at the fair 




to-day, an' they won't begin thrashin' our crop 
till nex' Monday." 

He followed her to the barn, willing to while 
away the time examining the big thresher. It 
filled nearly all the clear space on the barn floor, 
and towered half as high as the haymow. With 
its bright red body and diverse mechanical parts, 
the machine certainly presented an imposing ap- 
pearance. The boy examined it with much curi- 

"There are two distinct engines," he said mus- 
ingly ; "one a motor, I suppose, and one to do the 
work. The big one runs by steam, but this smaller 
one seems a gasolene engine." 

"Perhaps it is," said the woman ; "I never had 
it explained to me like you did your own ma- 

"If it is," he suddenly exclaimed, "there must 
be some gasolene among Mr. Herrin's traps to 
run it with! If I can only find it, I '11 borrow 
enough to get me to Fennport." 

Eagerly, now, he began the search, the woman 
looking on with interest. In a short time, he 
drew out from the interior of the thresher a ten- 
gallon can, which proved to be filled with the 
fluid he sought. 

"Hooray !" he cried joyfully. "We '11 have our 
ride, after all, Aunt 'Phroney." 

"It — it ain't stealin', is it?" she asked doubt- 
fully. "This all b'longs to Silas Herrin, you 

"It 's a law of the road, ma'am, that any one 
needing gasolene has the right to help himself — 
if he pays for what he takes. I '11 pay Silas Her- 
rin a good price, and he '11 have plenty left to run 
his engine with." 

He got a bucket, measured out about three gal- 
lons, and placed a silver dollar on top of the can 
for payment. Then, when he had "fed" his auto- 
mobile, an operation watched carefully by the 
old woman, the boy turned and said : 

"Aunt 'Phroney, I 've a proposition to make. 
Get on your things, and I '11 take you to the fair 
at Fennport and give you a good time." 

"Land sakes, boy!" she cried, holding up both 
hands ; "I could n't think of it." 

"Why not?" 

"There 's the work to do." 

"Cut it out for to-day. Martin Luther 's hav- 
ing a holiday, and I 'm sure you 're entitled to 
one, too." 

"He— he might be mad." 

"I don't see why. It won't cost him a cent, you 
know, and perhaps we won't see him at all. We '11 
have a good dinner somewhere, see all the sights, 
have a fine auto ride, and I '11 fetch you home in 
plenty of time to get supper for your husband." 

The temptation was too strong to be resisted. • 
Aunt 'Phroney's face broke into a beaming smile, 
and she hurried into the house to get on her "bes' 
bib an' tucker." 

Her reappearance caused the boy's eyes to 
twinkle. She wore a plain, black gown, baggy 
and ill made, an old-fashioned "Peasley" shaw 1 , 
wrapped around her shoulders, and a wonderful 
hat that no milliner would have recognized as 
modern head-gear. But the boy did not mind. 
He helped her to the seat beside him, saw that 
she was comfortable, and started the engines 
slowly, so as not to alarm her. 

The lane from the farm-house to the Fennport 
turnpike was in much better condition than the 
other end, which Aunt 'Phroney said was seldom 
used by any one. They traversed it with merely 
a few bumps, and on reaching the turnpike glided 
along so smoothly, that the old woman was in 
an ecstasy of delight. 

"I almos' hope Mart'n Luther will see us," she 
remarked. "Would n't he be s'prised, though, 
to see me in this stylish no-hoss keeridge ?" 

"I think he would," said the boy. 

"An' jealous, too. Mart'n Luther says I take 
life easier ner he does, 'though my work 's jus' 
as hard fer me as his is fer him. Only diff'rence 
is, I don't complain." 

"Is— is your husband a poor man?" the boy 

"Goodness, no ! Mart'n Luther 's pretty well 
off, I 'm told. Not by him, mind you. He only tells 
me what he can't afford. But our minister once 
said he would n't be s'prised if Mart'n Luther 
had a thousan' dollars laid up ! It 's a pretty 
good farm, an' he works it himself. An' he 's so 
keerful o' spendin'." 

"Does n't he give you money for— for clothes 
and — and things?" 

"Oh, yes ; he 's good 'bout that. We made an 
agreement, once, an' he 's stuck to it like a man. 
Ev'ry New-Year's, he gives me five dollars for 
dresses an' hats, an' ev'ry Fourth o' July I git 
fifty cents an' no questions asked." 

The boy's eyes grew big at this. 

"Does n't he spend anything on himself, 
either?" he inquired. 

"A little, of course. He gits his clo's second- 
hand from the drug-store keeper, who 's about 
the same size as Mart'n Luther, but some fatter, 
an' he puts five cents in the contribution box 
ev'ry Sunday, an' — an' — well, there 's the toll- 
gate he has to pay for ev'ry time he goes to 
town. That toll-gate makes him orful mad. 
We 're comin' to it pretty soon. You don't mind, 
do you ?" 

"Not at all," he cried, laughing merrily. 




'"Mart'n Luther 's savin', an' no mistake," she 
continued musingly. "He would n't let me put 
him up no lunch to-day, 'cause he said Tom 
Dwyer would be sure to ask him to eat with him, 
an' if he did n't, he could easy get hold o' some 


fruit on exhibition. He said to save the food fer 
his supper to-night, an' he 'd git along somehow." 
'"He ought to be worth several thousand dol- 
lars, at that rate," observed the boy, not without 
indignation. "But what good is his money to him, 
or to you, if he does n't enjoy it? You ought to 
have a better allowance than you do, for you 've 
certainly helped him to accumulate the money." 

She heaved a little sigh. 

"He says he can't afford any more," she re- 
plied, "an' I 'm satisfied, as things be. I used to 
long to buy pretty things an' go 'round, once in a 
while, but I 've got all over that now. I 'm 
happy, an' the Lord takes 
keer o' me. Did n't He 
send you here to-day with 
the — this— orto — orto — ma- 
chine o' yours?" 

"I wonder if He did?" 
returned the boy, gravely. 
"Oh, here 's the dreadful 
toll-gate, Aunt 'Phroney." 

It was nearly eleven 
o'clock when they entered 
the big gate of the fair 
grounds. The automobile 
attracted considerable at- 
tention, although there 
were two or three others 
in Fennport. As the boy 
assisted Aunt 'Phroney 
from the car, she was rec- 
ognized by several acquain- 
tances who frequented her 
church, and it was good to 
witness the old woman's 
pride and satisfaction at 
the looks of bewilderment 
that greeted her. She took 
the boy's arm and passed 
through the crowd with her 
chin well up, and presently 
they were in the main pa- 
vilion, where the largest 
part of the display was 

"Let 's look at the fruits 
an' veg'tibles," she eagerly 
exclaimed. "I want to see 
if Mart'n Luther 's won 
any prizes. Do you know, 
boy, he promised me all the 
money he won that come to 
over four dollars?" 
"Did he really?" 
"Yes, he were feelin' 
quite chirky this mornin', 
'fore he left, so he promised it. But if he won 
first prize on ev'rything, it 'd be only five dollars 
altogether, so I guess he did n't risk much." 

They found the fruits, but Martin Luther's red 

apples had no ribbon on them, either blue or red. 

"They don't look as good here, 'longside the 

others, as they did to home," sighed Aunt 

'Phroney; "so I guess the jedge was correc' in 




lett'n' 'em pass by. Let 's see how the pertaters 
turned out." 

Martin Luther's potatoes had failed to win. 
They lay just between the lots which had drawn 
the first and second prizes, and even the boy's 
inexperienced eyes could see they were inferior 
to the others. 

"They bake well," murmured Aunt 'Phroney, 
"an' they bile jus' fine ; but they ain't so pretty as 
them others, thet 's a fact. I guess Mart'n Luther 
won't hev to give me any of his prize-money this 
year— 'specially as he don't git any." 

''Did n't you say you had a chicken in the 
show ?" asked the boy. 

"Yes, an' a mighty fine rooster he is, if I do 
say it. I 've looked after him myself, ever since 
he were an egg, an' he 's that high an' mighty, 
I named him 'The Bishop.' Seems to me he '11 
be hard to beat, but p'r'aps when he 's compared 
to others, the Bishop '11 be like the apples an' 

"Where is he?" 

"The poultry show '11 be in a tent somewheres." 

"Let 's find him," said the boy, almost as inter- 
ested as his companion. 

They inquired the way, and, in passing through 
the grounds to the poultry tent, they passed a 
crowd surrounding one of those fakers so promi- 
nent at every country fair. Aunt 'Phroney 
wanted to see what was going on, so the boy 
drew her dexterously through the circle of spec- 
tators. As soon as they reached a place of ob- 
servation, the old woman gave a violent start and 
grabbed her escort's arm. A lean, round-shoul- 
dered man with chin whiskers was tossing rings 
at a board filled with jack-knives of all sizes and 
shapes, in a vain endeavor to "ring" one of them. 
He failed, and the crowd jeered. Then he drew 
a leather wallet from his pocket, unstrapped it, 
and withdrew a coin with which he purchased 
more delusive rings. The boy felt Aunt 'Phroney 
trembling beside him. 

"See that ol' feller yonder?" she asked. 

"Yes," said he. 

"That 's Mart'n Luther !" 

They watched him with breathless interest, but 
not one of the rings he threw managed to cap- 
ture a knife. Others tried them, undeterred by 
the failure of the old farmer, and, after watching 
them a short time, out came Martin Luther's 
leather pocket-book again. 

"Come !" whispered the woman, in deep dis- 
tress ; "let 's go afore I faint dead away ! Who 'd 
believe Mart'n Luther could be sech a spen'thrift 
an' prodigal? I did n't b'lieve 't was in him." 

The boy said nothing, but led her out of the 
crowd. To solace his companion's grief, he 

"treated" Aunt 'Phroney to pink lemonade, which 
had the effect of decidedly cheering her up. They 
found the poultry tent almost deserted, and, after 
a brief search, the woman recognized the Bishop. 
A man down the row of cages was even now 
judging the fowls and attaching ribbons to the 
winning birds as he went along. 

"He '11 come to the Plymouth Rocks in a min- 
ute," whispered Aunt 'Phroney ; "let 's wait an' 
see what happens." 

It did n't take the judge very long to decide. 
Quite promptly he pinned a blue ribbon to the 
Bishop's cage, and Aunt 'Phroney exclaimed : 
"There ! we 've got a prize at last, boy!" 

The judge looked up, saw the boy, and held out 
his hand with a smile of recognition. 

"Why, how are you, Mr. Carroll?" he ex- 
claimed cordially; "I thought I was the only 
Durham man on the grounds. Did you drive 
your new car over?" 

The boy nodded. 

"They sent for me to judge this poultry show," 
continued the man, "but it 's the poorest lot of 
alleged thoroughbreds I ever saw together. Not 
a really good bird in the show." 

"That ought to make your task easier," said 
the boy. 

"No, it makes it harder. For instance, there 's 
the Sweepstakes Prize for the best bird of any 
sort on exhibition. Tell me, how am I to make 
such an award, where all are undeserving?" 

"Very well, I '11 tell you," returned the boy, 
audaciously. "If I were judging, I 'd give this 
fellow"— pointing to the Bishop— "the Sweep- 

"Eh? This fellow?" muttered the judge, eying 
Aunt 'Phroney's pet critically. "Why, I don't 
know but you 're right, Mr. Carroll. I had it in 
mind to give the Sweepstakes to that White 
Leghorn yonder, but this Plymouth Rock seems 
well set up and has good style." 

The Bishop had recognized his mistress, and 
was strutting proudly and showing to excellent 
advantage. While the judge considered him, he 
flapped his wings and gave a lusty crow. 

"I '11 take back my statement," said the man. 
"Here is a really good bird. Guess I '11 follow 
your advice, Mr. Carroll" ; and he pinned a bright 
yellow ribbon marked "Sweepstakes" next to the 
blue one on the Bishop's cage. 

Aunt 'Phroney drew a long breath. Her eyes 
were sparkling. 

"How much is the Sweepstakes, jedge?" she 

"It 's the largest money prize offered— twenty- 
five dollars— and there 's a silver water-pitcher 
besides. I 'm sorry such a liberal premium did 





not bring out a better display. But I must hurry 
and make my report, for I want to catch the two 
o'clock train home. Good day, Mr. Carroll." 

As he bowed and left the tent, Aunt 'Phroney 
was staring proudly at the Bishop. 

"Twenty-five dollars !" she gasped, "an' two 
dollars first prize for Plymouth Rocks ! Twenty- 
seven dollars an' a silver pitcher ! Boy, do you 
know what this means ? It means I '11 git twenty- 
three dollars— an' Mart'n Luther '11 git jus' four." 

"Will he keep his promise ?" the boy asked. 

"Yes. Mart'n Luther 's a' honest man, an' 
God-fearin' — but he ain't got much jedgment 
'bout ringin' jack-knives. Dear me, who 'd ever 
think he 'd turn out a squanderer?" 

The boy took her away to the big dining-hall. 
It was divided into two sections by a rail. On 
one side was a sign reading: "Square Meal, 25c." 
On the other side was the legend: "Regular Din- 
ner, with Oysters and Ice-Cream, 50c." 

Disregarding his companion's protests, the boy 
led her into the latter section, which had few 

patrons compared with the cheaper one. No 
sooner had Aunt 'Phroney tucked her napkin 
under her chin than she grew pale and stared 
amazed across the rail. The boy's eyes followed 
hers and recognized Martin Luther seated at a 
table facing them, and eating with ravenous 

"Twenty-five cents gone — an' he might 'a' took 
the lunch I offered him !" wailed the old woman. 
Perhaps the magnetism of their combined gaze 
affected Martin Luther, for he raised his eyes 
and encountered his wife's horrified stare. The 
man was justified in being equally astonished. 
Motionless, with a piece of beef poised half-way 
to his mouth, he glared alternately at the strange 
boy and at Aunt 'Phroney. His face betokened 
bewilderment, shame at being discovered, and, 
at the last,, an unreasoning panic. He slowly rose 
to his feet, turned his back, and ignominiously 
fled from the hall. 

"Never mind," said the woman, her lips firmly 
set, "he '11 know he 's got somethin' to explain 



when he gits home ; an' if Mart'n Luther ever 
hears the last o' them jack-knives an' his prodigal 
'square meal,' my name ain't Sophroney Sager !" 

After the dinner, with its accompanying luxu- 
ries of oysters and ice-cream, was oyer, they saw 
the balloon ascension and the races ; and then, 
early in the afternoon, the boy put Aunt 'Phroney 
into the touring car and they drove to Fenn- 
port, where the tank was filled with gasolene. 
During this operation, the boy noticed that the 
old woman shivered slightly in the cool autumn 
weather, and drew her thin shawl more closely 
around her as she sat waiting" in the car. 

"You ought to have brought a 
heavy coat," he said. ^y 

"Why I have n't got any," she 
returned, smiling at him cheer- 

"No coat ! What do you wear 
in winter, when you go to church ?" 
the boy asked. 

"When it 's real cold, I wrap a 
comforter 'round me on the way, 
an' then wear this shawl into 
church. Aunt Sally left it to me 
when she died. It 's real Peasley." 

"Get out of the car, please, Aunt 
'Phroney," the boy said quietly. 

"Why cert'nly, if you say so; but what for?" 

"I had a birthday last week, and Father gave 
me a check. I want to buy a present for my best 
girl at this store, and I wish you to help me pick 
it out." 

She went in, then, full of interest, and the boy 
whispered to the clerk, who began to display a 
collection of thick, warm coats in sober colors. 

"Try this one on, Aunt 'Phroney," urged the boy. 
Suddenly she became suspicious, and flushed 
like a school-girl. 

"Boy," she began, "if you dare—" 
"Hush, please !" he pleaded. "Do you want to 
shame me before all these strangers? And spoil 
my birthday? And prove that I have n't any 
best girl ?" 

The appeal was effective. The old woman 
meekly submitted to the "try-on," and presently 
he said to the clerk : "This one will do. Mrs. 
Sager will take it with her and wear it home, as 
the air is a bit chilly." 

Before she could recover from 
her dazed condition, they were 
once more in the automobile and 
speeding down the turnpike toward 
the farm. 

"Feel warm enough, Aunt 'Phro- 
ney?" asked the boy, turning a 
merry face toward her. Then he 
saw that her eyes were full of tears. 
She nestled closer to him and murmured 
softly: "You know, boy, we — we never 
had a chick or a child of our own !" 

That evening father and son were 
seated in the banker's library. 

"I spent twenty dollars of my birthday money, 
to-day," said the boy. 

"Indeed. In what way?" 

"Trying to make an old country woman happy." 

"Really, my son?" 

"Really, Father; and I think — I 'm quite sure 
— that I succeeded." 

And then he told him the whole story. 



If you need a lot of things 
Such as dear old Santa brings— 
Trumpets, bats, and things with springs- 
Just be good. 
He won't come within a mile 
Of the boy who has no smile 
And is grumbling all the while.— 
Just be good. 

If you need some whips or drums, 
Or a top that "sleeps" and hums, 
Every day, till Santa comes, 
Just be good. 

Santa never tries to see 
Any bad boy's Christmas tree. 
'I 've no use for him," says he. 
Just be good. 

He would never wish a boy 
To be missing fun and joy 
Just to get some little toy. 

No. He 's fair. 
Keep a manly, smiling chap 
Underneath your little cap ! 
Then you need not care a rap. 

He '11 be there! 



i ki\\]A^i 


- '// 


- . . 

Vol. XL. — 15. 


WHAT does Christmas mean to me? 
Splendid, dazzling Christmas tree, 
Stockings dangling in a row, 
Stuffed by Santa, top to toe; 
Heaps of gifts for Jack and me 
And for all the family, 
Dinner-table piled up high, 
Christmas goose, and hot mince-pie! 

Then, when dusk begins to fall, 
That 's the bestest time of all: 
Mother tells about the star 
And the wise men from afar; 
How the shepherds of the plain, 
Wakened by the angel's strain, 
Hurried through the night to greet 
Just a sleepy baby sweet. & 

r v 

,4 ; % 






Though we know the story old, 
Yet we love to hear it told. 
And I shut my eyes ti^ht — so, 
Till I see the star a^low; 
Hold my breath, and, listening, 
Hear the an^el chorus sins*, 
And the mother, crooning deep 
O'er the baby fast asleep. 

While we sit so quiet there, 
Daddy tiptoes from his chair, 
Lifts the curtain, and we spy 
One bright star shine in the sky, 
Just as if it came to say, 
"This is happy Christmas Day; 
And to every ^irl and boy, 
Love and peace and Christmas joy !" 

Alice Lovett Carson. 

IS.'"' 1 '""..,,.,,. 



(A sequel to " The Lucky Si-rfience") 


Chapter III 


A week passed before Bart's plan for the trea- 
sure hunt was matured, and in the meantime, 
Brother John was detailed for special duty under 
General Arnold in Philadelphia. And although 
I was disappointed, because I had hoped he 
would be home for good, it was a comfort to 
know that he would be stationed so near to us 
and in no danger. His own company, under Cap- 
tain McLane, was with Washington, and had 
John been there, I should have been constantly 
anxious, for that troop was ever on the outlook 
for danger, waiting not for it to come to them, 
but rather going forth to find it with a right 

Brother John and I had long talks about Dene- 
wood and how we were to manage ; for although 
under ordinary circumstances there was more 
than enough money, and John was a rich man, 
owning many ships, trade was at a standstill, and 
what hard money he could find was given to 
Washington and the cause, which came before 
all in his heart. So we were forced to plan and 
contrive in many ways to feed the household and 
the slaves on the place. While, of course, Mrs. 
Mummer was first in these matters, certain re- 
sponsibilities were given to me, and, in John's 
absence, mine was the final word, though I took 
no advantage of that, and looked to Mrs. Mum- 
mer to guide me in all things. 

Therefore I had, in a measure, lost sight of 
Bart's treasure hunt, and one morning, when he 
tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, " 'T is 
to-night," I did not take his meaning. 

"I 've arranged it all with old Schmuck, the 
Magus," he added, and then I knew what he was 
talking about. 

"What did he say?" I asked eagerly. 

"He was n't much for it at first," Bart replied; 
"said he was engaged, but he soon came round. 
All he wanted was a larger fee." 

"You did n't tell him of the blazed tree?" I 

"Nay, not a word," Bart answered. "We leave 
the house at eleven o'clock. That will give us 
time to reach the creek before midnight, for I 
will have the horses ready in the lane back of the 

I thought a good deal of our adventure 

throughout the rest of the day, and questioned 
more than once whether it had been wise for me 
to agree to Bart's schemes ; but I could not have 
played the informer and gone to Brother John 
with it, and I knew Bart well enough to be sure 
he would go alone, as he said he might, unless 
I accompanied him. In this way I salved my 
conscience, and looked forward eagerly to the 

Since the British had left Philadelphia and 
we had no one quartered upon us, we had re- 
arranged our sleeping quarters, and I was back 
alone in my own chamber, while little Peg slept 
in a small room beside mine. We had n't 
breathed a word to her of our plans, and I was 
somewhat worried for fear she would insist, as 
she often did, on sharing my bed. But this night 
she brought a kitten up with her from the 
kitchen, and said naught of sleeping with me. 

"Why have you brought the kitten?" I asked 
her, as she prepared for bed. 

"To w-w-watch the m-m-mouse's h-h-hole," 
she answered readily. "Mrs. M-M-Mummer says 
't is good to begin training them y-y-young," she 
went on gravely ; "and b-b-besides I g-grow tired 
of d-d-doing all the w-w-work myself." 

"Go to bed, goosie," I said; "some day you '11 
really see a mouse in that hole of yours, and 
you '11 be frightened out of your wits." 

"Not if it 's a m-m-mouse with t-t-two legs," 
she laughed back at me, and a few minutes later 
was in bed, and I had blown out the candle. 

In my own room I saw to it that my prepara- 
tions for the adventure were complete, and put 
out riding-hat and boots, a cloak that came well 
down below my knees, and, most important of all, 
a pistol, which Bart had given me. Then I tied 
up my hair in a queue and I was ready. 

But when these arrangements were completed, 
there was still a good two hours of waiting, and 
I dared not lie down for fear of dropping off to 
sleep and so missing my engagement. I had not 
thought to bring a novel with me, so I had re- 
course to my little book of Maxims, in which 
had been set down all my doings and sayings 
since I was a small maid of six years. This book 
was one of my most cherished possessions, and a 
close link between me and my old home in Eng- 
land. The covers were of silk, embroidered by 
dear old Granny herself, and many of the writ- 
ings put down in it were in her neat hand. 




As I turned the pages idly, I could n't help Dower-House together. 'T was not her fault 
wondering how she liked living with her daugh- that we were forced to leave the only home we 
ter, Madam Van der Heist, in Amsterdam, a had known, and seek shelter among strangers till 
town which she despised. Poor old Granny ! I Horrie should come into his inheritance, upon 
loved her truly, and wished she were in America the death of our cousin, Sir Horace Travers, of 
with me, but she would have been quite as out Frobisham in Kent. 'T was not her fault that 

Mr. Van der Heist, her 
son-in-law, insisted that I 
be sent to the Americas, 
though it did seem as 
though my fate was to be 
a sad one. But, oh ! how 
different it had turned out 
from my expectations, and 
how truly welcome Cousin 
John had made me ! I had 
indeed found my fortune 
across great waters, as a 
Gipsy woman had foretold 
when I was but a babe, and 
— and — 

I came to my senses 
with a guilty start, for I 
had been napping, and, 
jumping to my feet, turned 
to the clock, fearing I had 
missed my meeting with 
Bart, at eleven ; but 't was 
only ten. 

I closed my book of 
Maxims with a snap. 
Clearly this thinking back 
over the past was no good 
way to keep awake. I must 
find another means to prop 
my eyes open. 

I picked up a copy of 
the Pennsylvania "Evening 
Post" and glanced at the 
news it contained. 

A party of the American Light- 
Horse pursued them very close 
[which meant the British], and 
took a great number of prisoners, 
some of whom were refugees. 
Soon after the evacuation, Hon- 
orable Major-General Arnold 
took possession of Philadelphia 
with Colonel Jackson's Massa- 
chusetts regiment. 


of place with the "barbarians," as she styled 
those who dwelt in the colonies, as in Amster- 

But though Granny loved her dish of gossip as 
well as another, she loved her orphaned grand- 
children more, and my brothers, Hal and Horrie, 
had shared with me all the luxuries her small 
means could afford so long as we lived in the old 

A few weeks before, that news had been most 
exciting, because Brother John was with the 
light-horse, but now it was stale, though I clipped 
it out, and have kept it because it was about 

Then, for want of better employment, I started to 
read the advertisements, in the hope of finding suffi- 
cient entertainment to keep me from dozing again. 



John Fisher, Brush-maker near the Gaol in Lancaster, 
has powder, shot, and raisins for sale. 

' 'T would be a heavy cake if he should mis- 
take and sell shot for raisins," I said to myself, 
smiling at such a funny combination of commodi- 
ties. Then I read: 

Francis Gurney and Company offer green and Bohea 
tea, shalloons, lanthorn-horns, ruffled shirts, and best snuff 
and tobacco in hogsheads. 

Shalloons and ruffled shirts in hogsheads 
seemed monstrous comical things, and I laughed 
aloud, but 't was a sleepy laugh, and had I been 
broader awake, I think I should not have been 
so amused. 

A little way down the page, I found another 
advertisement that interested me, which read as 
follows : 

Ran away, on the night of August third last, from the 
subscriber, living in Coombes's alley, a servant-lad named 
Mark Powell, about fourteen years of age, of American 
birth, who has between four and five years to serve. Had 
on, when last seen, a whole suit of homespun, yarn 
stockings, and heeled leathern shoes with large brass 
buckles. He is marked by a great scar over his left eye, 
is very active, can run almost as fast as a horse, and is a 
good hand with narrow or broad ax, whipsavv, and most 
carpenter tools. Whosoever takes him up and secures 
him in the Philadelphia jail shall have TWO POUNDS 
reward and reasonable charges. Jonathan Willis. 

/fCSr 3 His wrist is so large that he cannot be secured with 
**^ common handcuffs. 

I know not quite why it was so, but I felt a 
great sympathy, not for Mr. Jonathan Willis, 
who had lost a bond-servant, but for the run- 
away boy, who was just about my age. Surely 
his lot must have been a hard one for him to 
have risked a public whipping at the Town Hall 
if he was captured. While the British and Hes- 
sians were about, many slaves and servants had 
run away from fright, who were glad enough to 
return to good homes when their fears were 
allayed. But this boy evidently meant to stay 
away, and I doubted not he had been badly 
treated. Then, too, I was impressed by the item 
about the unusual size of his wrists and his 
fleetness — that he could run nearly as fast as a 
horse seemed to me wonderful, if it were true. 
Altogether I thought no little of this poor boy, 
Mark Powell, and read the advertisement through 
several times. 

But by this time, the hands of the clock showed 
that the moment for meeting Bart had arrived, 
and all other thoughts flew out of my head as I 
prepared to go down to him. 

Now that the hour had come, I had misgivings, 
but it was too late to back out. My fingers trem- 
bled from excitement as I drew on my boots, 
threw the long cape over my shoulder, and ad- 

justed my hat. I took a last look at myself, and, 
putting out the light, tiptoed to the door. 

The house was still as I moved along the hall 
toward the nursery, and in another moment, I 
was groping in the fireplace for the entrance to 
the secret passage that little Peg called the 
"mouse's hole." I found it without trouble, for I 
had been that way before, and breathed easier as 
I took my first step down. 

But it was exceeding dark, and I wished I had 
had the forethought to fetch a lanthorn with me. 
However, it was out of the question to go back, 
and I groped my way as well as I could in the 
blackness that was but ill-relieved by the faint, 
gray light that showed through the pigskin cov- 
ering the chinks in the masonry. 

At the bottom, the passage turned toward the 
spring-house, and I was startled by the sound of 
splashing water. I halted, my heart doubling its 
beat, but there was no further sound, and, think- 
ing I had been mistaken, I went on, until, at 
length, I was at the end of the passage beside 
the spring-house door. 

As I stepped out I met Bart. 

"Is it you, Bee?" he asked in a whisper, which, 
though low in tone, showed his excitement. 

"Who else could it be?" I questioned back, with 
a little shiver of nervousness. 

"It could be no one else, I suppose," he an- 
swered, "but I just . came up, and, before I 
reached here, I fancied I saw something move 
out of the house, and was afraid I 'd missed you. 
Come along. Charley is with the horses, and we 
must not delay, or we will be too late." 

In the darkness we stumbled badly as we 
picked our way toward the road. 

"We '11 need a light, Bart," I said; "I should 
have thought of it." 

"Charley has one and a spade, too," he an- 
swered. "You can trust me to be prepared, no 
matter what may come," and, though I could n't 
see him, I was sure he had thrown back his head 
confidently, which was a trick he had acquired 
since he had become a soldier. 

He led me by a short cut through the orchard, 
and so out into the road a few hundred yards 
from the house ; and here we came upon the 

"Hurry now !" said Bart, stepping up to set me 
upon my beast, "we have n't any time to lose" ; 
and he reached out his hand. 

Then, to our surprise and consternation, a little 
figure sidled up beside us. 

"You may h-h-help me too, an it p-p-please 
you," said Peggy, for it was she, looking, in the 
darkness, with her peaked hood and brown cloak, 
like a gnome sprung from the underworld. 




For a moment neither Bart nor I could say a 
word, so chagrined were we; but at last he found 
his tongue. 

"What 's the meaning of this?" he burst out 
angrily; "you have no business here, and now 
you 've spoiled it all !" 

"How could you, Peggy !" I almost sobbed with 
vexation. "You should n't have come." 

"Nay," she answered, "I was in the s-s-secret 
too, and I meant to c-c-come all the time, only I 
did n't say so, knowing it might d-d-delay you." 

"But how did you know we were going?" de- 
manded Bart. "Did you tell her, Bee?" 

"Not a word !" I answered. "I thought she 
was sound asleep." 

"I was n't," she chuckled. "But you w-were 
once, 'c-c-cause I p-peeped in. You had y-y-your 
eyes sh-sh-shut. I thought I sh-sh-should have 
to w-w-wake you." 

"What are we to do with her?" Bart asked 

"T-t-to t-t-take me w-with you," said Peg. 
" 'A w-w-wilful w-w-woman w-w-will have her 
w-w-way,' as M-M-Mummer says." 

"You can't ride bareback !" I snapped, a little 
crossly, for there might be danger to be met, and 
I liked not that Peggy should run risks. 

"There '11 be a p-p-pillion on one of the s-s-sad- 
dles," she answered calmly. "I told Ch-Ch-Char- 
ley to p-p-put one on, and he s-s-said he would, 
b-b-but he looked queer about it." 

I was inclined to laugh, but Bart was angry 
and perplexed, for we had scant time to argue 
if we were to meet the Magus at the appointed 

"You must go back at once!" he ordered; but 
Peg shook her head with equal positiveness. 

"Please, Peg," I began, but she cut me short. 

' 'T is no use to s-s-say p-p-please, B-B-Bee, 
so let 's be going or we shall be late." 

It was plain that if we were to go at all, she 
must make one of the party. Though I called 
her a naughty child, and Bart threatened her 
with all sorts of violence, she never budged, and 
all the while the minutes were flying. 

"Then I suppose you must go !" he flung out 
at last. " 'A wilful woman must e'en have her 
way,' so up with you ; but I like it not, and if 
you come to harm, you have none to blame but 

A moment later we were off, Bart leading the 
way with the lanthorn, little Peg mounted on the 
pillion behind me, while Charley brought up the 
rear with the spade. "We meet the Magus at 
the Rittenhouse Mill Road," Bart said, still angry, 
and for a while we rode on in silence, though the 
impish little maid behind me chuckled slyly. 

It was a black and cloudy night, for the moon 
that we had counted on was overcast ; but when 
our eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, 
we could see well enough, and the horses seemed 
to have no difficulty in picking their way. 

As we neared the Rittenhouse Mill Road, I, for 
one, had a fast beating heart, for the real be- 
ginning of our adventures was at hand. 

We first saw the Magus atop the rise, a dark, 
weird figure silhouetted against the sky, sitting 
motionless upon a small mule which our horses 
liked not at all to go in company with. 

He was dressed entirely in a tight-fitting suit 
of black satin, which served to enhance the thin- 
ness of hirm and on his head he wore a wide, 
flapping hat, also black, but relieved by one 
blood-red plume, which, standing straight up, 
seemed to add a foot to his already extravagant 
height. He was indeed monstrous tall, though 
no thicker than a sapling, and his legs hung down 
on each side of his steed till I thought they must 
touch the ground. 

He greeted us civilly enough, but with many 
long and uncouth words, and I was surprised 
when he made it plain that he thought me a boy. 
At first he did n't see Peggy, but when at last 
he discovered her, he remarked that he had not 
counted upon a female child being one of the 
party, and he misdoubted how the spirits would 
like it. 

" 'T is not likely I will fright them," Peg an- 
swered for herself, for she feared the Magus 
no more than she feared anything else on earth ; 
after which Schmuck said naught further on 
that subject. 

We turned our horses toward the Wissahickon 
Creek, and it was evident from the very begin- 
ning that old Schmuck was bent upon frighten- 
ing us. 

Such tales of ghosts and flibbertigibbets as he 
related were enough to chill the blood, and one in 
particular, of a spectral coach driven through the 
streets of Philadelphia by a fiendish spirit, was 
most uncanny. But whether he overdrew his 
tales, or whether we were too well instructed to 
be befooled, I know not; 't is certain that we 
maids were not unduly terrified, though I was 
soon to learn that one of our party had been 

"Touching the driver of that ghostly coach," 
said Bart, coolly, "his beasts must have been 
spirits too, seeing that he could guide them. 
Faith, I knew not before that horses had souls. 
But 't is not the ghosts I so much depend on as 
good Hans Kalbfleisch," he added carelessly. 

"Hans Kalbfleisch !" exclaimed the Magus, the 
tone of his voice showing extreme astonishment. 




At the same time, he spurred his beast so that it 
jumped about the road, disturbing our calvacade 
greatly. 'T was some time before we could bring 
our horses down to order again, and then Bart 
questioned the man pointedly. 

"You repeated Hans Kalbfleisch as if the name 
was not unfamiliar to you. Tell me, do you know 

"I said the name !" retorted the Magus, and 
his manner was almost rough. "Nay, you must 
have misunderstood. I am but a poor horseman, 
and the shying of my animal nigh unseated me." 

"Yet I, too, heard you say the name," I put in. 

"Then it must have been that I repeated it be- 
cause it struck my ear with a certain quaintness," 
the Magus answered, "but come, we must hurry 
on" ; and as an example to us, he spurred his little 
donkey forward. 

From the moment Bart unwittingly men- 
tioned \he name of Hans Kalbfleisch, the manner 
of the Magus underwent a complete change. 
Heretofore he acted as one who played a role, 
with his stories of ghosts and spirits intended to 
fright the ignorant, intent only upon earning his 
fees and maintaining his reputation as a wizard. 
Now, however, he became eager and rather silent, 
answering shortly what questions were put to 
him. I noted that he muttered to himself, yet 
seemed to be making an effort to control some 
strong excitement he felt. 

Thus, for a time, there was silence, until, a 
half-mile farther on, we stopped and dismounted. 
We took the horses along a narrow path to a 
small clearing, where we tethered them, and were 
about to proceed, when a queer, rattling noise 
attracted my attention. I turned to see Charley 
trembling beside me. 

"Please, Miss Bee," he mumbled between his 
chattering teeth, "you all don't want these here 
horses stayin' alone in the dark like this, does 
you ?" 

It was plain that our black boy was in abject 
fear and ready to run off at any moment, if we 
insisted upon his accompanying us, so I called 
to Bart, who was a little ahead with the Magus, 
and he came back to where I stood. 

I explained the situation, whereupon he scolded 
Charley roundly in an undertone, for we had no 
wish to inform the Magus that his stories had 
been taken seriously by one of our party. 

Bart pondered the matter for a moment. 

"We '11 have to do our own digging, Bee," he 
whispered, then, raising his voice, "Charley, you 
stay here with the horses, but come at once when 
I call. We '11 be within hail." 

"Yes, sir," answered the boy, immensely re- 
lieved, and we turned to rejoin the Magus. 
Vol. XL. — i6. 

I had felt a little uneasy at Schmuck's man- 
ner, and as we came up with him, I was far from 

"Come ! lead on !" he ordered gruffly. "Think 
you I can wait all night while you pick your way 
so daintily ? Come on, come on !" 

"Nay, there 's no hurry," I said. "Light the 
lanthorn, Bart, and we '11 look to the priming of 
our pistols." 

I spoke in as deep a voice as I could muster, 
but I was far from feeling courageous, nor was 
I reassured when the light Bart kindled showed 
me the face of the Magus, for he was an evil- 
appearing man, and in that dim glow his eyes 
glittered ominously and had a look of avarice, as 
if something for which he had long sought was 
about to come within his grasp. 

He scowled at the sight of the pistols, but at 
the same time, his manner changed again, and 
he became once more the servile, cringing char- 
latan we had first known. 

"Which way, young master?" he asked, and his 
tones were very humble. 

"Lead on, Bart," I said. "I '11 follow 
Schmuck" ; and I balanced the pistol in my hand 

Chapter IV 


As we picked our way in single file through the 
dark woods bordering the stream, the Magus 
tried again to terrify us with tales of ghosts and 
such-like supernatural creatures. How they im- 
pressed Bart I could not tell, but I found myself 
glancing about nervously, and beginning to be 
afraid of— I knew not what. 

On the road with a sturdy horse under me, this 
talk of evil spirits scarce had any effect, but in 
the damp forest with croaking frogs and the 
plaintive call of a whippoorwill to accent the 
silence, I confess I was ill at ease. Before me 
the Magus strode along, the blood-red plume 
touching the lower branches of the trees, a queer, 
gaunt figure against the swaying light of the 

Little Peg was the least concerned of any of 
us, I think. She was close beside me, and at 
each stumble over root or stone, she would 
chuckle or give vent to some stuttering utterance 
that on another occasion would have made us all 
laugh ; but I never felt less like laughing, and 
wished with all my heart that we had never come 
upon this quest, and, most of all, that Peg was 
safe in bed. But such wishes were vain. I 
picked my way behind old Schmuck, holding my 
pistol in a trembling hand, and fearful lest I 
might have to use it before the night was over. 




Presently Bart turned sharply to the right, and 
after a few paces stopped. 

" 'T is here," he said, in an undertone, as we 
all drew up beside him ; "take your wand, Magus, 
and begin the search." 

Schmuck drew forth a long, lithe wand which 
seemed to wave of itself in the uncertain light 
of the lanthorn. His excitement was apparent, 
though he strove to appear indifferent, or, at 
least, to preserve his character of seer or diviner. 
But, although I was near beside myself with 
anxiety and eagerness to have done with the 
matter, I could not help seeing the intentness 
with which the man peered about him in the 
darkness, as if in search of something. 

Evidently he found it not, for, after a moment, 
he asked Bart to let him have the lanthorn. 

"Nay, your wand needs no light nor your 
spirits neither," answered Bart. "I '11 keep the 

"But where shall I begin?" whined the Magus, 
taking on again his most humble mien. " 'T is 
needful that I find a suitable place. You have n't 
told me all you know, young master," he ended. 

"If I knew the exact spot," answered Bart, 
"there would be small use in taking a Magus at 
some expense." 

'T was plain that Schmuck was perplexed, for 
he hesitated a moment, as if undecided how to 

"How near to the white stone is the place?" 
he demanded, so suddenly that I was taken by 

"The white stone !" cried Bart, suspiciously. 
"What know you of a white stone?" 

"Naught, naught," answered the Magus, eva- 
sively ; "I saw such in a vision, perhaps." 

"Humph ! more dreams !" muttered Bart to 
himself; and I was sure that he realized, as I 
did, that old Schmuck knew more of the matter 
than he was willing to divulge. To me, indeed, 
it seemed that each had some special knowledge 
that he neither dared nor cared to trust to the 
other, so that there was like to be a deadlock. 

'T was now Bart's turn to hesitate, but, after 
a moment, he evidently reached a decision. 

"Come on," he ordered, and led us to a spot a 
few paces nearer the creek, where he took his 
stand with his back against a big tree. 

" 'T is here or hereabouts. Now let us see what 
good your magic is." 

With a curious, sidelong glance at us, the 
Magus took his peeled wand and set it between 
the palms of his hands. The clouds had parted 
a little, and a pale light seemed to come from 
both the water and the sky, so that the diviner 
in his black suit was plainly visible. 

Slowly he began to move across the open 
space, then back and forth in circles, seemingly 
led by the rod he carried extended in front of 
him, so slight and willowy was his form. At 
length he stopped. 

"There is naught here," he said despondently; 
but, even as he spoke, the clouds parted still 
further, and a pale trickle of light spilled upon 
a great white stone that had previously been 

"The white stone !" we all gasped together, 
and for a full minute, we stood staring at it in 

Bart was the first to recover himself. 

"Try over this way !" he cried, leaping away 
from the tree against which he had been stand- 
ing, and running toward the stone. But, for an 
instant, a flash from the lanthorn had lighted up 
the trunk of the tree, and there, rudely carved 
in the bark, I caught a glimpse of a skull and 
cross-bones. 'T was the blazed tree of which 
Hans Kalbfleisch had spoken, and I knew we 
must be near the pirates' hoard ! 

I followed Bart, and so did the Magus, and, as 
he ran, I saw the wand in his hand drawn down- 
ward to the earth till it bent like a fishing-rod 
when one has hooked too heavy a fish. 

' 'T is here !" he gasped, like one in heavy pain. 
" 'T is here. I feel it !" 

"Then let 's begin to dig," said Bart, quite 
valiantly, I thought, for his voice sounded indif- 
ferent enough, and he made a movement toward 
the spade. 

"Not yet," cried the Magus, with a gesture of 
horror. "Wouldst have the spirits that guard the 
spot destroy us?" 

"Nay," answered Bart, a little anxiously, " 't is 
to guard against those gentry I brought you 

"Then come nigh while I draw the magic 
circle," the Magus commanded. 

For a moment, Bart hesitated, then stepped 
toward him. 

"Come," he said to me, "we '11 get out of reach 
of the spirits," and he tried to laugh as if he 
cared not, but made a failure of his attempt. 

"I '11 s-s-stay h-h-here," said little Peg, seating 
herself on a boulder; "I think it 's s-s-s-safer." 

I confess I would like to have remained with 
Peggy, but that would be to desert Bart, so I 
went forward with him. 

When we had taken our places, Schmuck leaned 
down as if he meant to draw the magic circle of 
which he had spoken, but, ere he began, he 
straightened up again. 

"Lay aside all cold metal, for if you have aught 
of that upon your persons, we are lost," he said. 




"I have naught but a lucky sixpence about my 
throat," I hastened to tell him, for his tone was 
most ominous. 

"Nay, good silver will not matter. 'T is cold 
iron that is fatal," he answered in a hard voice. 
And then I saw that he meant our pistols, and I 
became doubly suspicious. 

"Come," I said to Bart, and he walked with me 
to where little Peg was seated. 

" 'T is the pistols," I murmured, so that none 
save he could hear me. 

"Aye, I guessed that," he returned; "but I 
mean we shall keep them all the same." 

"How will you manage it?" I asked. 

"Do as I do," he whispered, "but first hide the 
pistol under your cape." 

When we reached Peg, Bart stooped as if to 
lay his pistol down. 

"We '11 put them here on the ground," he said 
aloud, so that the Magus could n't fail to hear 
him, and then, as I bent to do the same, he whis- 
pered in my ear, "Find a billet of wood about the 
size of a pistol, if you can." 

I searched the ground with my hand, and found 
a dead branch of about the right length. 

"I have it," I answered. 

"Good," muttered Bart, under his breath. 
Then aloud he went on : "No, we had better lay 
them on the rock ; the grass is damp" ; and with 
that we rose, and Bart placed a piece of wood 
beside Peg. I did the same with my stick, and, 
at a little distance, in that dim light, they looked 
enough like pistols, and I thought Bart's trick 
was rather clever. 

Back we walked to the Magus, who began again 
to make his circle. 

He chanted some strange words, and we 
watched him slowly move his wand in a wide 
ring about us. As he neared the end, he stopped 
his chant and spoke again to us. 

"Spirits dire and dread are all around. We 
stand above a pirate treasure. The treasure is 
here," the Magus went on, "but the evil spirit 
that watches over it is strong. Utter no word 
nor step without the magic circle, or all is lost. 
It boots not what you hear or see, utter no 
sound. Dost understand?" 

"Aye," answered Bart. 

With that the man, chanting as before, drew 
the last line, and the circle was complete. Then 
he raised himself up and, holding aloft his hands, 
stood for a while as if offering a silent invoca- 
tion. He made a weird and curious figure 
stretched to his full height, his long, bony arms 
seeming to tower above his head, and between 
them the waving plume. I shuddered a little, 

wishing with all my heart that the matter was 
finished, but I caught a half-smile on Bart's face 
which showed me that he, at least, still had his 
wits about him. 

I had supposed that the end of the ceremony 
had come, when the Magus dropped his long 
arms, but in this I was mistaken. First he bowed 
three times to the north, to the east, to the south, 
and to the west. Then, again taking the wand, 
he held it out before him, and the stick seemed 
like a thing alive. Lithe and agile as the man 
was, the writhing thing in his hands was quicker, 
for suddenly it leaped from between his palms 
and stood bolt upright, as if rooted in the ground. 
Of all that happened that night, this was to me 
the strangest, for in truth the rod seemed a 
quickened thing, shaking and shivering at our feet. 

The Magus, with a nod to Bart, pointed to the 
spade. Without a word he took it up, and in a 
moment was hard at work. 

He had made a fair-sized hole before he tired 
of his task, but found nothing; and, at length, 
stepping out of the space he had digged, he 
handed the spade to the Magus. 

That individual took it and went to work for 
ten minutes or so without result, though we 
looked eagerly into the rapidly widening hole. 
At length he passed the spade to me, and, seeing 
that Bart was about to interpose, I forestalled 
him, sticking my pistol into my belt so that I 
might have both hands free, and took up the task, 
meaning to do as much as, or more than, any boy. 

I was surprised to find how light the soil was, 
and, proud of the ease with which I increased 
the depth of the excavation, labored with a right 

Suddenly the spade ceased to cut through the 
sand, and, thinking I had struck a root, I pressed 
with all my force. But though the object yielded 
somewhat, I could not dig it up, and when I 
attempted to withdraw the spade, it seemed as if 
something grasped and held it. For a moment, 
I knew not what to think, and then, with a lively 
shriek, I was out of the hole. 

"Bart ! Bart !" I screamed. 

"Run ! Run !" shouted the Magus, as he jumped 
toward the spot where he supposed our pistols 
to be lying. " 'T is the pirate's ghost. Naught 
can save you now. The spell is broken !" 

The terror the Magus managed to put into his 
tones was very infectious, and I seized Bart by 
the wrist, intent upon dragging him away. 

"Come, Bart !" I cried in desperation ; but he 
would not move. 

"Nonsense !" he exclaimed, "I don't see any 
ghost, and I won't run until I do." 

{To be continued.) 

"Whoever hath heard of so strange a thing !" 
Quoth the mystified monarch of Chingoling. 

"She hath silver, and gold, and jewels rare; 
More gowns than ever a queen could wear, 
With furbelows, feathers, and frills to spare ; 
And now, instead of some fine new frock, 
She insists on this tinkety Jimblejock! 
Pray what in the world is a Jimblejock? 
And how can I find it by seven o'clock ! 

"Is it little or big? is it wood, or glass, 

Cotton, or silk, or gold, or brass? 

Something to eat, or something to wear — 

I only know it is painfully rare ! 

I have n't the least idea," quoth he, 
"Whatever a Jimblejock may be!" 



Now, Christmas eve, as we know too well, 
Is never the easiest time to shop; 
And His Worthy Majesty, sad to tell, 
Was soon so tired, he was like to drop. 
But when came seven, then eight o'clock, 
He 'd found no trace of the Jimblejock ! 






'Pray what may it be?" they each inquired; 
'Did we know the article so desired 
To please Your Grace, you may well depend, 
We would search our shelves from end to end. 
But we doubt if we ever have had in stock 
Any such thing as a Jimblejock; 
And, should we find it, it might not be 
The tinkety one you wish to see !" 

Then the King was ready to tear his hair, 
(Had he just a bit on his head to spare,) 
For the hours flew by at a shocking rate, 
And he knew full well it was growing late. 

'T was nine, then ten, then eleven o'clock, 
And he had n't discovered the Jimblejock! 






So the Queen she waited, much at a loss, 
Till at length to the palace, tired and cross, 
His Majesty came, at twelve o'clock, 
With never a sign of a Jimblejock ! 



But merrily still the bells they rang, 

Till at length, from his throne the monarch 

And cried to the weeping Queen: "My dear, 
I forbid your shedding another tear ! 
I beg you, Madam, my wish attend, 
For 't is time this state of affairs should end, 
And after this, you may well believe, 
I shop no more on a Christmas eve ! 
It suits me ill that you frown and pout — 
Content yourself, if you please, without 
This singular gift you have asked of me, 
And take your part in the festal glee. 
I have come to the end of my patience, quite, 
And a stern decree goes forth, to-night, 
That nobody dare, whoever he be, 
To mention a Jimblejock to me !" 

Then the Queen took note of the kingly frown, 
And the fact that the royal foot was down; 
And she dried her tears, as a queen should do, 
On her best lace handkerchief, fine and new, 
And, hand in hand, round the Christmas tree, 
They danced with the court in greatest glee. 
And never since then has ever a word 
Of the tinkety Jimblejock been heard; 
And anything Santa Claus cares to bring, 
Gives joy to the Queen of Chingoling! 

^Jfee birds that p z\£za& ,saj>s/\rdiibalcl wig, 
v\re the peskiest critters to ba£ ; 

^or just v\)hen I'm takin a^ood aim atz v<3 
*TIiey are sure to be oVer at e %* 




This is all that I expect 

Santa Claus to bring to me : 
One large boat — my old one 's wrecked ; 

One large, lovely Christmas tree ; 
Then I need a larger drum, 
That says "boom" instead of "turn" ; 
And I want a nice long whip 
That will make our tom-cat skip ; 
Then I hope to get a ball 
That will dent the hardest wall, 
And a bat that will not split 
Ev'ry time that it is hit ; 
Next I 'd choose a pair of skates 
Just as nice as Sister Kate's, 
And a bright large monoplane 
That will carry rag-doll Jane ; 
Then I 'd like a lot of things 
That are run by hidden springs — 
Rats and spiders, and the like ; 
And I need a brand-new "bike" 
With a coaster-brake that will 
Make work easy down a hill. 

There ! that 's all I asked him for. 

Still, I 'm hoping (since he 's Dutch) 
That he '11 bring a few things more, — 

As I have not asked for much! 

Vol. XL. -i 7. 


Two compositions lay on the dark-haired boy's 
desk. They were his last and hardest school 
efforts ; they had both been written for prizes ; 
and they had both failed. One was on "Mathe- 
matical Pursuits," — a prose composition of 5000 
words ; the other was a poem on "The Ship- 
wreck." On the back of the long envelop the 
boy had written in his half-formed handwriting, 
"Given in for prize at the Public Latin School. 
Both unfortunately failed. Ah me miser um I" 

He was only fifteen, this boy, and yet his 
school-days were behind him and he was a Har- 
vard freshman. Though so young, he was already 
six feet three inches tall. Perhaps his rapid 
growth had robbed him of his strength for a time, 
for he did not care for athletics or even long 
walks ; and though he entered naturally into all 
the college interests, this sudden manhood made 
him feel awkward and shy. 

Longfellow was teaching modern languages at 
Harvard; Louis Agassiz, biology; Asa Gray, bot- 
any; Professor Child, Early English; and many 
other great teachers and great men stood ready 
to pour their glad wisdom into every open mind. 
And the dark-haired fellow, Phillips Brooks, 
knew there was a wealth better than gold in these 
men's brains, and he did not scorn it. Poetry he 
read for mere pleasure, wandering, as in all his 
reading, with no guide but his fancy. He loved 
literature and the languages ; he loved history for 
the sake of the men who made it. But he hated 
mathematics because he could not work the prob- 
lems; and he hated elocution because it seemed a 
sham. Long years after, however, his training in 
elocution proved very useful, though it never 
made him conquer his rapid speech. 

More than any lessons, however, Brooks loved 
the college life. Jolly, cordial, true, he won his 

place naturally in all hearts. During his four 
years, he was made a member of six different 
societies, and he was one of the commencement 


speakers. Without knowing why, some of his 
friends almost worshiped him. There was an in- 



tangible charm about him, — a winning playful- 
ness,— that made them want him with them; and 
yet a reserve that kept them from drawing him 
out. In college, by gaining prizes for English 
essays, he half canceled the memory of the Latin 
School disappointment. No success or popularity 
could spoil him, though, for he was too uncon- 
scious of self to know that he was either brilliant 
or lovable. When he was a senior, he had a way 
of encouraging timid freshmen, who might even 
have gone hungry through shyness. Looking at 
them with his great, kind eyes, he would push 

each founded a Phillips Academy, one at An- 
dover, the other at Exeter. Ever since he was 
a child, he had heard of these great schools. And 
during his college life, the idea had dimly grown 
that he, too, might be a teacher. For the sake of 
experience, he thought, he might take almost any 
position, later study abroad, and, finally, be a 
professor. Accordingly, when the chance came 
to teach in the Boston Latin School, he seized it 

No chapter in Phillips Brooks's so sad as 
this teacher chapter. None is so hopeless. And 

O /-" Uhmatr- 


things their way at the table. Sometimes, when 
he met them alone, he would say, "The college is 
more for freshmen like you than seniors like me." 
When Phillips Brooks graduated, he was only 
nineteen, and, like many other young fellows, he 
had not decided on a profession. Alive in him, 
however, was the strong desire of most graduates 
— to do something at once ; and this desire was 
strengthened by the fact that he was one of six 
boys, four of whom, younger than himself, were 
still to be educated. From his mother's side of 
the family Phillips inherited a love of teaching, 
—his grandfather and his great-uncle having 

yet lie began his work with hearty enthusiasm, 
and the first few months were happy ones. He 
had "splendid little boys," as he said, and he 
worked with interest. Late in the fall, however, 
he was given an older class, fellows only three or 
four years younger than himself. In letters to 
his friend "Top Sawyer" he wrote : "They are the 
most disagreeable set of creatures, without ex- 
ception, that I ever met with." . . . "I am teach- 
ing them French which they don't, Greek which 
they won't, and Vergil which they can't, under- 
stand or appreciate." In his own belief, he was 
not only unpopular at school, but was even hated, 




and he said that if he met any one of his pupils 
socially, he would need a suit of chain armor 
for protection. "I feel a little blue to-night, . . . 
and I come now to you and wish you with all my 
heart a very Happy New Year." 

The truth is, his discipline was weak. Loving 
the subjects he taught, he 
took it for granted that his 
pupils loved them. These 
boys were mischievous and 
rowdyish. They had already 
vanquished three teachers, 
and, like Indians, were eager 
for another scalp. Besides, 
their boyish teacher wore 
glasses, — much less common 
then than now, — and they 
were not at all sure how 
much he could see. After 
plugging the thermometer 
with snow, they shivered and 
chattered, and then built an 
"insufferable fire." One boy 
threw a handful of shot in 
Brooks's face, and then, when 
the teacher looked, was sit- 
ting most innocently, per- 
fectly still, his hand meekly 
raised to ask a question. An- 
other scattered the heads of 
snapping matches all over 
the room, and there was no 
way to trace the explosions. 
Brooks could not manage the 
boys himself, and he had no 
help from Principal Gardner, 
a fine athlete, who ruled by 
his strong right arm. Ac- 
cording to Gardner, discipline 
was the first mark of a good 
teacher, and any one who 
failed in that was hopeless. 

When at last, weak in 
heart and worn in courage, the boy-teacher re- 
signed, the unseeing principal met his resignation 
with, "The man who fails at teaching will fail at 
everything." It was a sharp and cruel shot. 
Brooks long remembered those words. It is beau- 
tiful to know, however, that the boy never har- 
bored a grudge against the man who hurt him 
most, and, years later, he even praised him in a 
public speech. It is still more beautiful to re- 
member that this very defeat was the highroad to 
victory. Principal Gardner lived long enough to 
find his own quick judgment false and the boy- 
failure a mighty success. 

And yet, from the day of his resignation, there 

were hours, days, and months that spelled utter 
failure to Phillips Brooks. Inactive, empty- 
handed, the poor fellow went back home,— the 
only one in his big family with nothing to do. 
Though he secured a little private teaching to fill 
a few hours, the rest of the time he had to think, 



to know he was a disappointment to his parents, 
to his five brothers, to every one who loved him 
best. Bitterest of all, he was a cruel disappoint- 
ment to himself. Could it be that the life which 
lay before him, full of ambition, and once full of 
hope, was to be a failure ? On his long walks he 
met different classmates ; but they all seemed to 
be doing something, and knew what they meant 
to do. When the summer came, bringing vaca- 
tion, their holidays were earned ; his were the 
continued indolence of an idle man. 

And yet, through all this despondency, some- 
thing told Phillips Brooks to hope. He seemed 
to realize that no one really knew him, that he 




even did not know himself, — boyish and common- 
place conclusions enough, but alive with a sense 
of discovery. Loving biography as he did, every 
"life" he read brought him to the same conclu- 
sion: millions of hearts were lonely; millions of 
others would love to sympathize ; but it seemed 
impossible. Then from the young man's soul 
went up a kind of prayer that he might "know the 
strange language in which his neighbors' lives 
were written"; and, finally, with this self-forget- 
fulness, there was given, slowly, strangely, a won- 
derful gift — the conviction that God could under- 
stand him fully, and that God knew he need not 
be a failure. 

Up to this time, Phillips Brooks had shown no 
interest in religion. Sunday after Sunday, he 
had sat, half-bowed, at the end of the family 
pew, but neither preacher nor parents nor his 
best friends knew anything of his inmost thoughts. 
They were closed to all the world. But we know 
that he passed through a troubled time of doubt. 

Dr. Walker, the president of Harvard, must 
have had some influence over him. Phillips had 
heard him preach in Chapel Sunday evenings, 
and, like other college boys, had been won by his 
character and power. He was a man in whom it 
was easy to confide, and to whom many students 
had bared their souls. And now one day, late in 
the summer, Phillips Brooks entered his study for 
advice. What was said behind that closed door 
no one knows ; but the young man who came 
away was white and trembling— Dr. Walker had 
advised him to preach. 

We can no more guess the throbbings in a soul 
with this solemn thought of life before it than we 
can guess the mysteries of the ocean. Let these 
things be as they are made — deep, silent, and hid- 
den. After much thinking, Phillips Brooks went 
to his rector, Dr. Vinton, to ask what steps he 
should take to enter the ministry. 

Phillips Brooks did not veil from Dr. Vinton, 
or his family, or himself that it was only a trial. 
The dismalness of failure had cut itself so deep 
into the young man's heart that he took up the 
new work at the Theological Seminary in Alex- 
andria, Virginia, with a very wavering confi- 
dence. Because he entered a little late, he had 
to choose his room from the left-overs. It was 
a cold, dark, cheerless place in the attic, with a 
ceiling too low for him to stand straight, and a 
bed too short for him to stretch out. The stu- 
dents dined in a large, low room, down cellar, on 
such things as tomato-pies and boiled rice. When 
"potatoes were limited," Hebrew and moral phi- 
losophy were supposed to satisfy hunger. Popu- 
lar as Brooks had been at Harvard, here he made 
few friends, — only two in the first year; and, of 

all the professors, Dr. Sparrow was his only 
inspiration. Many nights the young man would 
lie awake, doubled up in his short bed, knowing 


F. Seh 


well that if he were not "twenty-one, he should 
call himself homesick." 

And yet those years in Alexandria proved one 
thing : that handicaps are benefits. In spite of 
bleak surroundings, friendlessness, and starva- 
tion-instruction, the Phillips Brooks who had 
wrung from his failure at teaching a new im- 
petus for life, now wrung from his very leisure 
a new power for work. No inadequate teaching 
could shut from him the world of books, or the 
world of nature, or the world of men. His open 
mind could feed itself. He plunged into what- 
ever tempted him : Greek and Latin classics, 
biography, history, poetry, theology, the vast 




beauty of the outdoor world, if only caught from 
a car window, and always the exhaustless wonder 
of the human heart. Though he was sometimes 
impatient with the seminary and with what it 
did not give, he wrote in his note-book and in his 
soul, "We must despair of growing great unless 
we can feel that we are given to the cause to 
work for it, and not it to work for us"; and, "It 
must be, not what the world can do for me, but 
what I can do for the world." Self-forgetfulness 
had saved him in the Latin School failure, and it 
saved him now in the Virginia desert. By earnest 
searching, he found an oasis of blessing in a 
strong and joyous belief— the "new-found confi- 
dence of Christian faith." 

There is nothing sweeter in a strong man than 
uncloaked boyishness, and this was eternal in 
Phillips Brooks. Home was a temple in his heart. 
Never in his long life did he resent the close 
guard of his mother nor the frank advice of his 
father. In his turn, he helped his younger broth- 
ers, but with no sense of aloofness, and no desire 
to pry into their souls. When he came home for 
vacations, he loved to go to the menagerie with 
"the boys," and begged to be excused from 
preaching and to sit "alongside of Mother" in the 
pew. From now on, the years had three burning 
interests for Phillips Brooks: his work, his home, 
and the war. 

Like the others at the seminary, as part of the 
prescribed work, he practised preaching in the 
small pulpit at Sharon Mission, and was nick- 
named "practiser" or "parsonet." At first, he did 
not succeed particularly well. During his senior 
year, however, he had the chance to teach in the 
Preparatory Department at a salary of $300 and 
board, and, by this means, he gained money and 
training, while completing his studies. Then he 
went on a three-months' trial to the Church of 
the Advent in Philadelphia; but he fell so far 
short of his own aims that, before the term was 
ended, he suggested to one of the vestrymen that 
perhaps he had better leave at once. His parish- 
ioners, however, were more than satisfied. 
Though their young preacher was reserved with 
individuals, he offered his whole self to his con- 
gregation. His words were alive. As his fame 
spread, calls to other and larger churches poured 
in. "Don't let it make you proud, Philly," came 
from the watchful mother. Proud? He did not 
know what that meant. Gravely he answered the 
invitations, — happy to be wanted; happy to be 
used. But he thought too much of others to have 
room for himself, and just now he was stirred to 
the depths over the slavery problem. 

In 1862, he moved to Holy Trinity Church, in 
Philadelphia, where his influence would bo 

greater, but where, as before, his position as 
rector still hindered him from speaking his whole 
heart on what he felt to be the sin of slavery. 
When news came that his younger brother 
George, his particular chum, had enlisted as a 
soldier, and his Aunt Susan had volunteered as a 
nurse, the young minister yearned for the good- 
bys and the drum-beat. Still he kept his post, 
hard as it was to "buckle down" to preaching in 
war time. Before long, however, when Lee 
threatened Philadelphia, Phillips Brooks and 
other clergymen bought spades and marched out 
to dig trenches. Then came the news of Gettys- 
burg—one quarter of the army slain, wounded, 
or taken prisoners. At that, the great man was 
off to the hospital, distributing clothing, writing 
letters, and sleeping in a tar shop when he could 
find no better place. Now his heart had its double 
sorrow, for, just before the great battle, his 
brave young brother George had died in camp of 
typhoid pneumonia. 

But, somehow, Phillips gave him up, locked 
away the brother-love as a sacred, lasting thing, 
and turned to the great, needy world. There 
was a day when the hand of Phillips Brooks 
grasped the hand of Abraham Lincoln, and it 
was a day for each to remember. Long before, 
these great men had joined hands in purpose. 
When, at last, the slaves were free, Phillips 
Brooks pleaded for the colored man. He felt 
the slave's weight of ignorance and our responsi- 
bility for his education. His speech on the life 
and death of Lincoln, and his prayer at the Har- 
vard Commemoration for the soldiers, were two 
of the greatest utterances of his soul. Of the 
first we have a few beautiful fragments; but of 
the second we have only the memory of those 
who heard it. 

Like all other great lives, his was so full that 
it cannot be told in a few pages; it can only be 
suggested. He was continually sought by differ- 
ent churches as their rector, and by colleges and 
divinity schools as president or professor. Of 
all the calls that he resisted, the chance to be 
head of the Cambridge Theological Seminary 
was the strongest temptation. Something tugged 
at his heart, — the old longing for that intimate 
association that is given to teachers; and, like 
Emerson, he had to go alone among the hills for 
his decision, for he never made a great decision 
lightly. Of the thronging calls to churches, he 
accepted only three ; two in succession in Phila- 
delphia and one in Boston. And the changes that 
he made were never made for money. 

In Trinity Church, Boston, he preached for 
twenty-two years, until he was made Bishop of 
Massachusetts. This gave him a chance, by tak- 




ing the service at Appleton Chapel, to keep up 
the dear associations with Harvard College. No 
words can tell his power — his influence was far too 
sacred to be called "popularity." Yet, excusing 
that shallow word, he was so "popular" that his 
own father was afraid the congregation would 
applaud him, — a thing that Brooks could not 
have borne. 

While he was happy to be loved, he hated lion- 
izing and had no patience with conventional flat- 
tery. He laughed at the handkerchiefs of his 
first Christmas as a pastor, "enough to last a life- 
time" ; the slippers, accumulating till they filled 
barrels, and were shipped by him to the mission- 
aries; and the daily flowers, which he re-sent to 
hospitals. Too simple and too unconscious to be 
vain, he never seemed to know why people loved 
him or to dream that he was great. Crowded as 
his own church was. he exclaimed to a friend, 
"Grey, what a splendid congregation you have !" 
On one of his ocean trips he wrote : "The only 
celebrity on board was Mr. Froude" ; and from 
England, "To-morrow I go to Oxford, where I 
spend three days . . . looking at all the great 
men." (The mirror could have shown him one.) 
Meeting Huxley and Tennyson, being entertained 
by Browning and Gladstone, or preaching before 
the Queen— none of these things could spoil him. 
When he was asked to furnish facts for his col- 
lege class-record, he wrote: "I have had no wife, 
no children, no particular honors, no serious mis- 
fortune, and no adventures worth speaking of. 
It is shameful at such times as these not to have 
a history, but I have not got one, and must come 
without." And when his photograph was sent 
home, he wrote : 

And is this, then, the way lie looks — 

This tiresome creature, Phillips Brooks? 

No wonder, if 't is thus he looks, 

The church has doubts of Phillips Brooks. 

Well, if he knows himself, he '11 try 

To give these doubtful looks the lie. 

He dares not promise, but will seek 

E'en as a bishop to be meek ; 

To walk the way he shall be shown, 

To trust a strength that 's not his own, 

To fill the years with honest work, 

To serve his day and not to shirk, 

To quite forget what folks have said, 

To keep his heart and keep his head, 

Until men, laying him to rest 

Shall say, " At least he did his best." 

What gave Brooks his great power? "Love of 
truth and his love of souls" — his humbleness 
made all men his equals, and his tolerance drew 
them to his heart. People remember him leaving 
an ocean steamer, and, as he stepped aboard the 
tug for the cabin passengers, lifting his hat to 

the steerage in good-by. And they remember 
that he sturdily voted against compulsory prayers 
at Harvard because, to him, no prayer could be 

To doubters and believers, alike, he seems to 
say, "I know just how you feel" ; and to the dis- 
couraged his tested hardihood still shouts, "There 
is no man here who has not failed; but is there 
any man here in all this multitude who has given 

His influence gripped men of all creeds. When 
people were in trouble, he had a way of going 
to sit with them and letting them talk, sometimes 
hardly speaking at all himself. "Men like to be 
talked to better than to be preached at," he said. 
"They prefer the easy-chair to the pulpit." Thus 
he stood : never on a height, but shoulder to shoul- 
der on a common ground. Except for church, he 
wore the dress of a simple citizen. Instead of 
driving, he took a car. "On long canoe journeys, 
the guides were three weeks before they found 
out that he was a clergyman. On walking trips 
abroad, he looked a little like a gamekeeper." 

Forms, titles, and robings sank into insignifi- 
cance beside the high calling of truth. "I won't 
be called Dr. Brooks," he wrote to a friend, "and 
you may stop that for me when and where you 
can." Just before he was made bishop, he went 
to New York, and ordered "a set of the prepos- 
terous garments that bishops wear." 

First a man and then a clergyman, that is 
what he was, though he loved his life as a 
preacher with a deep, abiding love. "I would n't 
be anything but a parson for the world !" he ex- 
claimed; and "The pulpit of Trinity is the dearest 
spot of earth to me,— in other words, is home." 

To know this great man more perfectly, we 
should see him with children, go with him on his 
travels, read his open letters, hear him in the 
pulpit, and talk with him alone. Even then we 
can hardly catch the spirit of fun that danced 
over the surface of his seriousness, as phosphorus 
sparkles in the sea. 

Children were Phillips Brooks's special delight. 
Welcome as he was in hundreds of homes, the 
grown folks took back places when the children 
were around. He sometimes told the little ones 
who seemed shy, that it was "great fun to be a 
minister." Once he played Goliath so that a tiny 
boy might "shoot him with a sling." When, at 
the death of his parents, the old North Andover 
home became his, he made it a rallying-place for 
other people's children. A stove was put up in the 
old corn barn so that his nieces, Agnes, Gertie, 
and "little Tood," could play at cooking, and he 
used to take tea with them there— big, jolly, and 
at home. For the little children he kept always 




a big doll, and there were older sports for the 
others. "I never see a lot of boys," he said, 
"without wanting to be among them, and wishing 
they would let me into their company. I hate 
to think that boys of sixteen think of me as I 
used to think of men of thirty-seven when I was 
their age ! Most of the wisdom of old age is 

It always seems as if he should have had a wife 


and children of his own instead of that house of 
empty rooms, kept for him by his faithful ser- 
vant Katie ; and, though the great preacher 
sought companionship in books, he was too warm 
and vital to be satisfied by print. '"I cannot beg, 
borrow, or steal a wife and children," he said, 
"so this poor working-man's heart will never leap 
with joy, or at least only half-way." Yet, like 
the Great Master, his tender arms cradled the 
babies, and all the children circled round his 
knees. The deaf, dumb, and blind child, Helen 

Keller, to whom his loving touch was most fa- 
miliar, gives her glad witness with the rest. 

It is a great task for any one to be, at once, 
a fine preacher and a faithful visiting pastor. 
Phillips Brooks was both. Sometimes, for five 
months together, he would not have an evening 
free. While he was giving playtime to children 
and work-time to their parents, he was using up 
his own vitality, so that rest became indispensable. 
As we all know, change is the 
happiest rest. His journeys 
included the West in our 
own country and eleven trips 
abroad. He saw the palms 
and bamboos and bungalows 
of India, and the "second 
highest mountain in the 
world, blazing with snow in 
the sunshine" ; the Swiss val- 
leys "overrunning with wa- 
ter" ; the "sweet green hills" 
on the other side of Como, 
"sound asleep in the sunlight 
which they like" ; "the world 
of vines and oranges" near 
Los Angeles; the -Yosemite 
Valley, "ringing with cata- 
racts" ; Italy, the Holy Land, 
and merry Japan,— besides 
many other places common 
to the tourist. The little peo- 
ple of Japan thought he was 
a strange kind of giant, and 
wanted to measure his hands 
and feet. They did not 
"quarrel with his bulk," how- 
ever, but dragged him around 
in their jinrikishas as if he 
were a "jolly joke." Never- 
theless, Phillips Brooks in- 
sisted that the coolie who 
carried him across a torrent 
on his back would "never 
forget it any more than I 
shall !" 

In the Holy Land, with 
deepest reverence he walked on the hills of Pal- 
estine and all the sacred places where Jesus must 
have been. It was on the Christmas spent in 
Christ's birthplace that his beautiful carol, "Oh 
little town of Bethlehem !" began to sing itself 
into his soul. Yet the man was so closely 
wrapped in the minister, that even from Beth- 
lehem he ended a letter with, "I wish I were 
going to bed in that back room at home." 

His letters, better than anything else, give his 
boyish, homesick, playful, human side. Let us 




look into some of them just as they come to our 
hands. For one thing, the great man with the 
boy heart never lost his school-boy homesickness. 
He was homesick for "Trip's bark," and 
"Bridget's flapjacks," and even for his "mother's 
stocking-bag." On Christmas in the Holy Land, 
he was homesick for men nailing up spruce 
boughs and men "carrying home turkeys by the 
legs." "Who beats now on the base-ball ground?" 
he writes from Athens to his brother Arthur ; and 
another time sends the combined news from 
America to Europe : "They have chosen Bishop 
Talbot to be Bishop of Georgia. Harvard beat 
Yale in the boat-race." His letters are full of 
"God bless you alls" and "Lots of love to all," 
and of the superlatives of a beauty-loving nature. 

More than one place he called "the most beau- 
tiful in the world," and he "enjoyed everything 
hugely." No boy could have been more rollick- 
ing with fun or have panted more eagerly for the 
holidays, when he was to swim and paddle, tramp 
and ride horseback. "Glory, glory, gloriation ! 
ten more weeks before vacation !" is one of his 
jovial cries. 

The nieces, who had their full share of his 
letters, must have been used to his jokes. From 
India he wrote, "I think I met Isaac and Jacob 
on two skinny camels, just outside the gates of 
Aden. I asked them how Esau was, but Jacob 
looked mad, and would n't answer— but I feel 
quite sure it was they, for they looked just like 
the pictures in the Bible." And to Gertie from 
Jeypore : "All the little girls, when they get to 
be about your age, hang jewels in their noses. 
I have got a nose jewel for you, which I shall 
put in when I get home, and also a little button 
for the side of Susie's nose, such as the smaller 
children wear. Think how the girls at school 
will admire you!" In one of his letters he said 
that a policeman in California came running to- 
ward him shouting, "A letter from Tood ! A 
letter from Tood !" And in Berlin : "Only two 
houses up the street lives the Emperor ! He and 
his wife are out of town now, or, no doubt, they 
would send some word to Toody." 

This is his picture of Venetian bathing: "When 
the little children in Venice want to take a bath, 
they just go down to the front steps of the house 
and jump off and swim about in the streets. Yes- 
terday I saw a nurse standing on the front steps, 
holding one end of a string, and the other end 
was tied to a little fellow who was swimming up 
the street. When he went too far, the nurse 
pulled in the string, and got her baby home 

No letters are sweeter or more characteristic 
than the ones which speak of presents for the 
Vol. XL.— 18. 

children, his great generous heart delighting in 
the toy-shops: 

Dear Gertie, 

I bought the prettiest thing you ever saw for you the 
other day. If you were to guess for three weeks, making 
two guesses every minute, you could not guess what it is. 
. . . When you see it, you will jump the rheumatism right 
out of you. 

And one more. Over a month before Christmas 
he sent a letter headed: 

Dear Gertie, 

This letter is an awful secret between you and me! If 
you tell anybody about it I will not speak to you all this 

Then he went on to say that she was to get the 
Christmas presents for him that year for all the 
children, finding out what they wanted in the 
"most secret way," and that she could spend five 
dollars apiece. • 

You must ask yourself what you want, but without letting 
yourself know about it, and get it, too, and put it in your 
own stocking, and be very much surprised when you find 
it there! . . . Perhaps you will get this on Thanksgiving 
Day. If you do, you must shake the turkey's paw for me. 

It is no wonder that a man like that won all 
natures, old and young, grave and gay. While 
many stories of his personal kindness have been 
printed, many more lie buried in remembering 
hearts. Perhaps there are alive to-day two Har- 
vard men who remember a call from Phillips 
Brooks one morning in their college room. They 
had been drinking the night before, and the great 
preacher must have known it, although he showed 
no signs. Instead, he sat down chummily to talk 
over the college interests,— the crew, the base- 
ball team, the coming vacation. Finally, just as 
he was going, he stood up, and, putting a big hand 
on the shoulder of each, looked down lovingly 
with a, "Well, is it worth it?" and was gone 
without an answer. Yet how that heart of his 
must have ached, for he was the same man who, 
at Lincoln's death, burst out : "I go about our city 
and shudder (when I think of such a man as he) 
at the frivolous, weak, and inefficient lives our 
young men lead ! I see them mere dawdlers in 
society. I see them spending their time like mere 
babies when there is a man's work to be done." 

His wonderful tact, however, often kept him 
silent and gave his silence greater power than 
speech : those young Harvard men were touched 
more deeply by being treated as his comrades 
than they would have been by many sermons. 

One day a poor woman came to him to ask for 
Trinity Chapel for her daughter's marriage. 



"Why not take the church ?" he answered. 

"But that is not for the likes of me." 

"Oh, yes it is," warmly, "for the likes of you, 
and the likes of me, and the likes of every one !" 

And so the daughter was married in Trinity 
Church, with all its sacred majesty, and the great 
organ played her march of joy. 

We are not surprised that the man who had 
carried a spade in war time gave material help 
as well as spiritual. At the time of the great 
Boston fire, in which old Trinity was burned, 
Phillips Brooks, after saving a few things from 
the church, rushed across the street to offer his 
services to a great jewelry store which was in 
danger. One of the partners filled two large bags 
with costly gems, and, through the dark streets, Dr. 
Brooks carried the treasure to a place of safety. 

So much we have said of his life and so much 
of his helpfulness ; let us go now to hear him 
preach. In imagination we join the vast throng 
that crowds its way into Trinity, filling the vesti- 
bule and the aisles and the camp-chairs in the 
aisles, and even pushing toward a place on the 
pulpit steps. One listener has come all the way 
from Canada to hear this man. Many will stand 
through the whole service ; many more cannot 
even get standing room, for there are twice as 
many as the church can hold. 

Presently the white-robed choir sings its way 
into the church ; the great congregation rises ; and 
the service begins. At last the sermon. Six feet 
four and broadly filling his large surplice, Phil- 
lips Brooks mounts the steps and, almost before 
he has reached the pulpit, announces his text and 
has begun to preach. You have to listen very 
closely, for the words pour out in torrents that 
cannot be stayed. Whatever the Bible text, as 
Phillips Brooks has told us, he has "but one 
sermon,"— "I am come that ye might have life, 
and that ye might have it more abundantly." And 
now, as he goes on with his plea, you have for- 
gotten yourself; you have forgotten Phillips 
Brooks; you are remembering God. The whole 
congregation is looking up into that strong, open 
face and those wonderful dark eyes, and young 
and old, rich and poor, wise and ignorant, are 
held as one man. The preacher stands away from 
the desk. Now he spreads his arms wide in 
"loving invitation" meant for all the world; and 
now, with one broad hand over his heart, throws 
back his head and looks up, up into the dome. 
You know he has his power straight from above. 
There is not a particle of posing; not a thought 
of dramatic effect. He is telling you that you are 
a child of God by nature. "God has come to live 
in each separate soul in the congregation, and to 

allow Him to live in you is the first and only 
thing to be thought of." He touches with tender 
understanding on all sincerity. "Waiting for the 
Lord is having," he says gently. You find your- 
self made strong— filled with his courage for life. 
"It does not take great men to do great things," 
he says; "it takes consecrated men. Be abso- 
lutely simple. Be absolutely genuine. Never 
say to any one what you do not feel and believe 
with your whole heart." People of "all beliefs 
and of no belief" are listening hungrily. 

Can this be the boy-failure? The man who, 
failing at teaching, was to "fail at everything"? 

So he brought men to the Divine Companion 
who had understood and comforted him through 
all his own hard experience. He had had the 
training of failure when he tried to teach ; he had 
had the training of doubt before he found his 
faith ; and he had had the training of many sor- 
rows. First came George's early death, and then 
his brother Fred's — the bright young clergyman 
who, walking home one dark night from a sick 
friend's, fell through an open drawbridge and 
was drowned. A few years later, both father and 
mother had been taken home, and the loving boy, 
who was none the less a loving boy because he 
was a great man, found himself lonely for the 
ones he used to go to as a child. 

But his reunion with those dear ones was 
nearer than he thought. On January 17, 1893, 
he took a cold which developed quickly into a bad 
sore throat, and then into diphtheria. And early 
in the morning of Monday, January 23, Phillips 
Brooks entered the larger life. His books and 
his faithful house-servant were his only compan- 
ions at the last; but a man with his faith was 
never really lonely. 

There was a beautiful service in Trinity 
Church while between ten and twenty thousand 
stood outside in Copley Square. When the pro- 
cession reached Harvard University, eight of the 
tallest college seniors, walking all the way, bore 
the precious body on their shoulders across the 
grounds. And, as they entered, the bell tolled 
solemnly, for Phillips Brooks had been.a Harvard 
boy, and a Harvard preacher to other boys and 

His own two younger brothers— Arthur and 
John C. Brooks— both ministers — read the service 
at Mount Auburn, and there the lovable boy and 
conquering man was laid to rest close to his fa- 
ther and mother and Fred and George. A faded 
flag flutters over the soldier's grave, and over 
Phillips Brooks's is cut in stone : 

"Him that overcometh will I make a pillar in 
the temple of our God." 

Mmma clause 























Author of "Careers of Danger and Daring," "Through the Wall," "The Battle," etc. 

Chapter IV 


Days passed, and nothing more was heard of 
Mrs. Wicklow Evans. Her disappearance was as 
complete and unaccountable as that of her hus- 
band the year before. It was evident that an- 
other crime had been committed, but whether 
there was any connection between the two, the 
authorities were at a loss to say. The American 
consul at Cairo, and various English and Egyp- 
tian officials, did what they could in the way of 
an investigation. Then liberal rewards were of- 
fered, and a search was made in Cairo and vari- 
ous Egyptian villages, but all to no avail. 

"It 's incredible !" declared the American con- 
sul. "We have no clue to the criminal, no motive 
for the crime, and not the slightest indication as 
to what really happened. All we know is that on 
a certain afternoon, Mrs. Evans strolled casually 
out of the Mena House, leaving all her things, 
clothing, money, jewelry, and never came back. 
At one moment she was there by the pyramid, and 
the next moment she was gone." 

During the first sad days that followed his 
mother's disappearance, Harold found much com- 
fort in the companionship of John McGreggor, 
or Jack, as he soon learned to call him, who 
proved himself, in this emergency, a loyal and 
sympathetic friend. 

"You stuck to me that day in the pyramid," 
said Jack, "and now I '11 stick to you." 

Together the two boys went over every circum- 
stance of this mysterious case, weighing scraps 
of evidence, searching for motives, questioning 
the men, and arguing, like two detectives, over 
various theories of the crime. Harold confided 
fully in his companion, telling him of his mother's 
extraordinary vision, if vision it was, and of her 
firm conviction that Dr. Evans was still alive; 
he also showed Jack the unfinished message that 
he had found in the third chamber of the pyra- 

"Talk about mystery stories !" exclaimed Mc- 
Greggor. "This beats anything I ever read !" 

Then, for the twentieth time, they speculated 
as to what could have happened to make Dr. 
Evans break off his message in the middle of a 

"What gets me," reflected Jack, "is how your 
father imagined that you would ever find his mes- 

sage in such a freak place. He might as well 
have written it on top of the north pole." 

"Perhaps he wrote messages in different places 
—where they took him— just on the chance," sug- 
gested Harold. 

"Perhaps your mother is writing messages 
now — somewhere. Excuse me, old boy, I did n't 
mean to make you feel bad." 

"It 's all right, Jack. We 've got to talk this 
over," said Evans, bravely. "I guess I 'd go 
crazy if I did n't have you to talk to." 

After much discussion, the boys decided that it 
was best to say nothing to the authorities about 
the message that Harold had found. 

"Here 's the point, Sandy," argued Jack. 
"Your father and mother have been carried off 
by the same party— that 's certain. He must be a 
rich and powerful old mogul who has some rea- 
son that we don't know about. Am I right?" 

"Why do you think he 's rich?" questioned 

"He must have money to get away with such a 
thing— money and power. We 're up against a 
crafty one, Sandy, and we don't want to let him 
know the cards we hold. I say cards; as a mat- 
ter of fact, we 've only got one card up to date — 
your father's message. We want to get to that 
Greek monk just as quick as we can, and we must 
n't let the rich old mogul know we 're after him." 

"You mean after Basil?" 

"Sure ! The thing for us to do, after we 've 
done all we can here to find your mother — I 'm 
afraid we 've done that already — " 

"I 'm afraid we have." 

"The thing for us to do, Sandy, is to hurry 
across to Jerusalem just as fast as we can without 
letting any one know we 're on the track of any- 
thing. I would n't even tell that big Turk of 

"Deeny? Oh, he 's all right." 

"Don't I know that? Just the same, he might 
not hit it off so well with our Greek carpenter. 
And we don't want Brother Basil dropped into a 
well until we 've got his secret out of him. Do 

Harold smiled. 

"I see. I '11 be careful." Then he was silent a 
moment. "Say, Jack," he went oh awkwardly, 
"it 's mighty good of you to take this interest 
in my troubles, but— tell me, are you— are you 
thinking of going to Jerusalem with me?" 



"Am I thinking of it? Does a man leave a ball 
game in the seventh inning— with the score tied 
and three men on bases ? I 'm going to see that 
Greek carpenter, if it 's the last thing I do. You 
can't drive me away with a club— that is," he 
added, with a keen glance, "unless you 'd rather 
not have me." 

"Oh, no !" answered Harold, quickly. "There 's 
nothing I 'd like so much as to have you come 
along, Jack, and — and see what we can do — only 
— I was afraid you might have other plans and 

"Other plans ?" laughed McGreggor. "I 've got 
the smoothest collection of other plans you ever 
heard of. I s'pose you 've been wondering what 
I 'm doing over here anyway, knocking around 
Egypt looking for trouble instead of being back 
where I belong, grinding out Latin verses and 
proving that the square of the hypothenuse is 
equal to— to some other foolish thing." 

"This is vacation," suggested Harold. 

"Yes, but I 'm not going back to boarding- 
school after vacation. I 'm a bird of the air. 
I 'm free. No more hypothenuses in mine. I 'm 
on my way around the world." 

"That 's great !" 

"Maybe not. Maybe I 'm a dunce, as my distin- 
guished father has insinuated. Sit down, Sandy, 
and I '11 tell you the sad story of John McGreg- 

Then Jack explained how a serious disagree- 
ment between himself and the elder McGreggor 
had grown out of the double question of Jack's 
going to college and Jack's yearly allowance. 

"You see I don't want to go to college, Sandy. 
The governor never went, and why should I ?" 

"Does he want you to go?" 

"He 's crazy about it— says he 'd be a bigger 
man if he 'd gone. But I don't want to be a rah- 
rah boy with a pretty ribbon on my hat. I want 
to go into business with Father." 

"I 've always wanted to go to college," said 
Harold, thoughtfully. "Could n't you go into 
business afterward?" 

"And waste four years ? And get all out of the 
business idea? I 've told him this, but he won't 
listen. No— college is the thing, according to 
Father. So I finally compromised. I said, 'All 
right, I '11 go, but I 've got to have a big, big, big 
allowance ! Take me into business, and I '11 get 
along on fifty dollars a month pocket-money,' I 
said, 'but if it 's college, then I want a lot of 
money, please.' I put the figure high to discour- 
age my dear old dad, but it did n't work. Dad 's 
awfully stubborn. He hung fast to his original 
proposition, and at last we compromised on — 
say, that was a great idea— took me a whole 

night to land it. Listen ! I make this trip 
around the world— with three thousand dollars 
that the governor advances. And if I come home 
after the trip, with the three thousand still to 
the good, then he admits that I 've got business 
ability, and takes me in with him, and forgets 
about the college. But, if I just have the trip 
and blow in the three thousand, then I admit 
I 'm not as smart as I thought I was, and I 
stop kicking, and go to college— with a ribbon 
on my hat. Savvy, Sandy?" 

Young Evans listened to this explanation with 
growing wonder. 

"Oh, yes— I understand, but — say, you 've got 
your nerve all right !" 

"How so?" 

"I 've heard of fellows working their way 
through college, but when it comes to working 
your way around the world, and— stopping at 
first-class hotels— how will you ever do it?" 

"Tell you how, Sandy. My father 's in the 
show business." 

"Oh!" said Harold, blankly. 

"Moving-picture houses— five and ten cents — 
you know. He 's got a string of 'em all over the 
country. Packed all the time. Everybody goes 
—everybody. Barrels of money in it, but it 's 
hard to get good films— a new idea— a snappy 
story— something different. See?" 

"What 's this got to do with your round-the- 
world scheme?" 

"A whole lot. Good films with a novelty are 
worth money, and I 'm out to get good films. 
I 've got the finest moving-picture outfit there is. 
I '11 show it to you— up in my room. That 's 
what I was looking the old pyramid over for— 
thought I might strike something— was going to 
have Arabs race up and down and do stunts, but 
—there 's not enough story in that. You 've got 
to have a story." 

Harold was becoming interested. 

"I wish I could help you, Jack, to think up a 
story," he said. 

"Help me ? Why, you have helped me ! This 
is the first big idea I 've had— this— excuse nve, 
Sandy, you know I 'm sorry, but— just as a story 
—this family adventure of yours is a regular 
headliner— you know that!" 

"You mean you could— you could make some 
money out of it?" hesitated Harold. 

"Make some money? I '11 bet it 's worth a 
thousand dollars before we get through with it— 
that means five hundred for you, Sandy." 

Harold gasped in amazement. "Five hundred 
dollars for— for what?" 

"Well, you talk Turkish, don't you?" 





"And Deeny talks Arabic?" 


"There 's ten dollars a day saved right at the 
start. Would n't T have to pay an interpreter to 
drill the company— you know— in the moving- 
picture story? Besides, Deeny can pose as a 
Turkish pasha, or a Circassian bandit, or an Ar- 
menian prisoner. It 's a case of hire a costume 
and dress him up. He '11 make a great bandit- 
great !" 

"Yes, yes, but — " the boy hesitated a moment, 
reflecting that ten dollars a day would come in 
wonderfully well to help out the small store of 
money he had found among his mother's things. 
Still it did not seem right or— or delicate to allow 
his father's misfortunes to be used in a moving- 
picture story. 

"Can't you see this thing opening out?" rattled 
on Jack. "The Circassian bandits with their 
prisoner are fleeing over the desert on their 
camels— say, there 's a moving picture for you !" 

"Circassians live in the mountains, and they 
ride horses," objected Harold. 

"All right, they 're fleeing over the mountains 
—on horseback. Mountains are better anyway— 
you can have 'em fall over precipices. And along 
comes Brother Basil — on a mule — " 

"Hold on !" broke in Sandy, suddenly. "I — I 
don't want that Greek monk put in the story." 

Jack looked at his companion in surprise. 

"You don't?" 

"No, and I don't want anything that has to do 
with my father's message put in, either." 

McGreggor took out his gold watch and studied 
it with irritating deliberation. 

"I see. I did n't know you had bought up all 
Egypt and Palestine, Mr. Evans. You ought to 
have told me." 

Harold's face grew white at this sarcastic fling, 
and, for a few moments, the two boys eyed each 
other steadily, without speaking. The thing had 
come so suddenly that neither Jack nor Sandy 
knew exactly what had happened, but both real- 
ized, by that strange subconscious understanding 
possessed by boys, that something had shifted, 
and — it was the first warning of the gathering 

Chapter V 


Nothing happened, however, at the moment. The 
boys separated good-naturedly enough, and when 
they met the next day, there was no trace of 
resentment in either of them. On the contrary, 
they were more than ever friendly, as if they 
wished to forget this little tiff over a trifle. 

More than two weeks had now passed since 

Mrs. . Evans's startling disappearance, and the 
boys agreed that they could gain nothing by stay- 
ing any longer at the Mena House, where they 
were spending about eight dollars a day. 

"We 'd better get a move on," said Jack. 
"We 've got to follow up this trail. If you like, 
Sandy, I '11 get the tickets." 

And now, to his dismay, Harold discovered, 
after he had paid the price of his ticket and 
settled his hotel bill, that he had only a little over 
a hundred dollars left. 

Jack noticed his friend's anxious look and 
broached the subject of money as delicately as he 

"See here, old boy, we 're going into this thing 
together, a sort of partnership — share and share 
alike— am I right? We 'd better see how we 
stand. What 's mine is yours, and — " 

"That 's the trouble," smiled Sandy, ruefully. 
"What 's mine is yours, too, but— there is n't 
enough of it. There !" He drew out a handful 
of English sovereigns from his pocket and spread 
them on the table. 

"That 's enough for pocket-money," said Mc- 

"It is n't pocket-money." 

"But— you have a letter of credit?" 


"You have circular notes— or something?" 

Harold shook his head wearily. 

"No. That 's all I have in the world— every 
cent I have in the world, so when you talk about 
divvying up on your three thousand dollars—" 

Jack coughed apologetically. 

"I said I had three thousand dollars when I 
left Chicago. That was two months ago. It costs 
five dollars a day to live." 

"Sixty days at five dollars a day," calculated 
Sandy, "that 's three hundred dollars." 

"And my traveling expenses— that 's three 
hundred more." 

"Six hundred." 

"And two hundred and fifty for my moving- 
picture outfit." 

"Eight hundred and fifty." 

Jack pulled reflectively at his under lip. 

"You have n't counted incidentals," he said 
finally. "You must add about— er— five hundred 
dollars for incidentals." 

Harold stared at him. 

"Five hundred dollars for incidentals — in sixty 

"Tell you the truth, old boy, I went pretty fast 
on incidentals. I spent a week in London. It 's 
a dingy old town, but they have a great line of 
tailors, and — er — I rather blew myself on clothes 
—about seventy pounds, there or thereabout." 




"Whew ! Three hundred and fifty dollars !" 

"And then I met a man in Paris, an American 
dentist named T. Beverly Hickman from Chicago. 
I guess I '11 remember T. Beverly Hickman." 

"Why, what did he do?" 

Jack shut his lips tight and nodded grimly. 

"Do? He did me ! Gave me a fairy tale about 
how he 'd lost all his money, and could n't get 
home, and his wife and children were starving. 

Anyhow, he got two hundred dollars out of me, 
and then I found out that he 'd made up the 
whole story. I may meet T. Beverly some day, 
and if I do — " There was a world of significance 
in the flash of McGreggor's keen, gray eyes. 

"Too bad !"'" sympathized Sandy. "Anyhow, 
you 've spent— let 's see — eight hundred and fifty 
and five hundred and fifty — that 's fourteen hun- 
dred dollars of your three thousand?'' 

"Right ! I 've got sixteen hundred left. And 
your hundred makes seventeen hundred. We have 
seventeen hundred dollars between us, Sandy, to 
— well, to find your father and mother and get 
the— er— the moving-picture stuff. 
Vol. XL. -19. 

"Can we do it?" 

Jack smiled in a superior way. "Can we do 
it ? With the chances we 've got ? And Deeny 
to help us? And that pointer from the third 
chamber of the pyramid? Sure we can do it!" 

McGreggor's confidence reassured Harold 
against his own misgivings, and, with a business- 
like hand-shake, the boys agreed to pull together 
loyally in this strange partnership. 

Two days before their steamer 
was to sail for Jaffa (the port of 
Jerusalem), the boys moved to the 
Grand Hotel in Cairo, and here, on 
the very evening of their arrival, 
Jack McGreggor got himself into an 
adventure that nearly spoiled their 
friendship and almost wrecked the 
entire expedition. 

They had dined comfortably, and, 
about nine o'clock, Jack proposed a 
stroll through the languorous Esbe- 
kieh gardens. Sandy would have 
loved this, but his sense of duty bade 
him go to his room and answer a 
letter that had just arrived from the 
American Missionary Board in Con- 
stantinople in regard to Mrs. Evans. 
So Jack went off for his stroll alone. 
About two hours later, as Sandy 
was preparing for bed and wonder- 
ing what had become of his restless 
companion, he heard an angry mut- 
tering on the stairs, and presently 
McGreggor burst into the room in a 
lamentable state, his clothes torn 
and his face cut. He was panting 
with rage. 

"The scoundrels ! The rascals !" 
he cried. "Look at me, Sandy !" 
Young Evans sprang to his feet. 
"Who did it? Who did it?" 
"A gang of robbers— thieves. I 
was walking in the gardens when a 
little chap came along selling flowers — double 
geraniums and gardenias, and — anyhow, I bought 
a shilling's worth, and— I guess I let him see that 
I had plenty of money. Well, he went away, I 
thought, but about three minutes later, as I was 
looking down one of those queer narrow streets 
with carved balconies — you know — " 
"Yes, yes." 

"Up comes this same little chap again, calling, 
'Murican gent'man ! Murican gent'man !' and he 
grabs my hand and points down the street. Just 
then one of those heavy iron-barred doors in the 
wall swung open and three men ran out, a white 
man in European dress and two Arabs. The 




white man was trying to get away from the other 
two, but they held him. He kept calling, 'Help,' 
and I thought he was an American. 

"I was feeling pretty fit, and I figured we 'd be 
all right two to two. Besides, you can't turn your 
back on an American in trouble— you did n't, 

"Go on." 

"So I jumped ahead and stood by the white 

"'one! two! three!' counted mcgreggor, slowly." 

man, and as soon as I came up, the two Arabs 
stepped back. 

' 'What 's the matter?' I asked. 

"The white man mumbled something, and, be- 
fore I knew it, the Arabs had caught me from 
behind so I could n't move or yell or anything, 
and then the fellow I thought was an American 
— a fine kind of an American he was— he went 
through my clothes. Made a good haul, too, my 
pearl scarf-pin set with diamonds, and my gold 
watch, and five hundred dollars." 

"Great Scott !" exclaimed Sandy. 

"I drew out the money to-day, Bank of England 

notes, so we 'd have enough for our trip. Oh, if 
I could only have used my. fists! But they held 
me tight, and, when they 'd cleaned me out, they 
chucked me down in the gutter and skipped 
through the big gate back into the house." 

Jack sank weakly into a chair. He was almost 
crying with anger and humiliation. 

"Brutes !" muttered Sandy. "We '11 make some- 
body pay for this !" 

"That 's what ! We '11 go to the police station. 
Come on, Sandy!" McGreggor started for the 

"Wait ! I 've got an idea that— I guess it beats 
the police station." Harold thought a moment. 
"It does ! It beats it ! We '11 be our own police 
and our own detectives," went on Sandy. "And 
it might make a moving-picture story, too. It 
would !" 

Jack shook his head disapprovingly. 

"See here, this is n't a dime novel. It was real 
money I lost, and a real watch, and— and— " 

"But you say they went into the house. I take 
it their business is robbing lonely wayfarers, 
is n't it?" 

"Surest thing you know !" 

"All right. What 's the matter with letting 'em 
play the game with me ?" 

"With you? You mean — " 

"Yes,— and you and Deeny trailing after? Eh?" 

"Deeny !" repeated Jack, and a grin spread over 
his battered countenance as he began to get the 
idea. He saw visions of what the huge Turk 
would do to these prowling scamps 'if he ever laid 
hands on them. 

"By Jove ! Right you are, my boy ! And it 
docs make a picture story, — a dandy !" 

"I '11 get Nasr-ed-Din and give him his line of 
work," said Harold. "We have n't any time to 
lose. It 's nearly midnight." 

Fifteen minutes later, a well-dressed young 
American might have been seen wandering 
through the now almost deserted Esbekieh gar- 
dens. On his waistcoat flashed a gold watch- 
chain which ended in a Waterbury watch, but no 
one knew this. The youth wandered on, leaving 
his coat carelessly open, and presently there began 
an Egyptian version of that always interesting 
farce, "The Biter Bit." The little flower-seller 
came forward pleadingly, as before, the three 
robbers appeared in the narrow street, tumultu- 
ously, as before, the youth answered the call for 
help chivalrously, as before, but, at this point, 
the sequence of events changed abruptly with 
the emerging of two crouching figures from the 
shadows. And one of them came armed with the 
terrible strength that nature had given him. 





"Now, Deeny !" shouted Harold, suddenly. 

"One ! two ! three !" counted McGreggor, 
slowly, as three times the Turk smote from the 
shoulder, and three men fell groaning. 

Jack came forward and knelt over his pros- 
trate adversary and quickly opened his coat. 

"Now, my friend," he remarked, pleasantly, 
"you see the boot is on the other foot. I '11 just 
take back my property— this pocket, I remember. 
No, no ! Don't use little hands. Now then ! Ah! 
Scarf-pin — watch — and the pocket-book ! Every 
thing just as it was." 

He rose to his feet and motioned to Harold, 
who was standing guard over the two Arabs. 

"All right, Sandy." Then to the white man, 
cringing at his feet, "You hound ! Now go !" 

With a swift gesture, Harold gave the same 
order to the two terror-stricken Arabs, and, a 
moment later, the discomfited trio were scurrying 
away into the night. 

"Well, we pulled it off, old boy !" rejoiced 
McGreggor as they returned through the gardens. 

"We certainly did." 

"Say, was n't Deeny magnificent ! I believe he 
could have picked those fellows up and pitched 
'em clean over the wall. You 're all right, 
Deeny !" Jack turned to the big Turk with a 
gesture of high commendation, at which Nasr- 

ed-Din's usually impassive face lighted up with 
pleasure, and he salaamed and saluted with all 
his soul. 

So exultant were the boys over this success, 
that they talked of their dangerous coup long 
after they had returned to their rooms ; they even 
acted out the scenes of it over and over again. 

"We must remember every bit of it ; we must 
write it down," urged Jack. "If we can work this 
up in a big way, it '11 be a top-liner in the moving- 
picture houses. Take my word for it. Two 
American boys held up by bandits ! Won't they 
thrill when the Turk gets his fine work in and the 
boy finds his purse?" 

Here, with a grand flourish, Jack produced the 
stolen purse. "And when he finds the nice, crisp 
bank-notes just as he left 'em !" 

He opened the purse and drew out a bundle of 
bank-notes. But, suddenly, his whole expression 

"Great Scott !" he cried, counting the notes 
with feverish haste. 

"What 's the matter? What is it?" 

For several moments Jack eyed his friend in 
solemn silence. Then he said slowly: "Sandy, / 
know I had five hundred dollars — that 's a hun- 
dred pounds — in this purse. A hundred pounds, 
no more, and no less. I know just what I had." 






"Well, it 's my purse, all right, but — Sandy, 
there arc two hundred and sixty pounds in it 
now !" 

Chapter VI 


"Two hundred and sixty pounds !" repeated Har- 
old, in amazement. 

"That 's what I make it," said Jack. "You 
count 'em." He pushed over to his friend the pile 
of notes, fives and tens, printed on clean white 
paper with very black ink, as is the custom of the 
Bank of England. 

"Two hundred and sixty," verified young- 
Evans. "There 's no mistake — that is to say, 
there 's a big mistake; there 's a mistake of— of 
one hundred and sixty pounds. Jack, are you sure 
you only had a hundred pounds ?" 

"Of course I 'm sure ! That 's all I drew out 
of the bank." 

"Then we 've got a hundred and sixty pounds, 
eight hundred dollars, that belongs to — those 

"Not if they stole it." 

"Well, it belongs to some one. It does n't be- 
long to us." 

"You 're right there, it does n't belong to us," 
nodded McGreggor. "Say, this helps the picture 
story a whole lot." 

"But we can't keep it, Jack— we can't keep it!" 

"N-no, we can't keep it. And we can't give it 
back to those scoundrels either. In the first place, 
it is n't likely we can find 'em, and in the second 
place, they must have stolen it." 

"I suppose they did," agreed Sandy. "Why 
not turn it over to the police?" 

"But could you trust them? I have n't any too 
much confidence in the natives." 

"That 's so," said Sandy, nodding. "Oh, well, 
let 's settle it to-morrow ! It 's late, and we 're 
both too dead tired to think it out now." 

The next morning the discussion continued. 
Harold suggested giving the money to the Ameri- 
can consul and letting him do what he thought 
best with it. 

But Jack objected. 

"The American consul won't know what to do 
with that eight hundred dollars any more than 
we do." 

"He may find the owner." 

"And he may not. Cairo 's a big place." 

"If he does n't find the owner, he can — well, 
he can give it to Americans who are in trouble. 
Lots of 'em get stranded over here." 

"Great idea, Sandy ! A fund for Americans in 
trouble. We 're in trouble, so— there you are !" 

Harold looked indignantly at his friend. 

"I did n't mean that," he declared. 

"Mean what?" 

"Why, you say we ought to keep this money." 

"I did n't say any such thing," retorted Jack. 




"You said it could be given to stranded Amer- 
icans in trouble." 

"But it was your idea that we might keep the 
money," Harold insisted. "You know very well 
that 's what you meant." 

"See here, my young friend, suppose you let me 
be the judge of what I mean." 

In McGreggor's tone there was a note of sud- 
den defiance that angered 
Sandy. In boys' quarrels it 
is not so much what is said 
as the way it is said that 
counts. Here was a deliber- 
ate challenge, and young 
Evans knew it. They were 
right at the danger point 
again, but this time neither 
boy drew back, and neither 
used conciliation. 

"Very well," answered 
Harold, angrily, "you can be 
the judge of what / mean, 
too ; and what I mean, Jack 
McGreggor, is this" — his 
voice was steady enough, but 
his face was white — "what I 
mean is that you can take 
your airs and your money 
and your moving-picture out- 
fit and go — " 

Even now one little 
friendly word from Jack, or a 
friendly look, might have end- 
ed the trouble, but Jack's heart 
was hardened, and his answer 
only threw oil on the fire. 

"Well, where can I go, 
Brother Basil?" he asked 

"Straight to Jericho, for 
all I care," flashed Harold. 

"I don't take that talk from 
anybody !" 

"You know what you can 

McGreggor stepped nearer 
with eyes flashing and arm 
drawn back threateningly, as he growled out : 

"If that 's what you want — " 

"Not here in the hotel," warned Harold. "I '11 
fight you this afternoon — anywhere you like." 

"All right— out where we were — by 

"Pyramid suits me. What time?" 

"Five o'clock." 

"Five o'clock." 

"I '11 meet you there— five o'clock sharp." 

It was shortly after four when Harold Evans 
stepped off a Gizeh trolley-car and found himself 
once more under the vast shadow of Cheops. He 
had come out early on purpose, so as to be alone. 
He wanted to get through with this thing, and 
then never see Jack McGreggor again. The idea 
of suggesting that they should keep that eight 
hundred dollars ! 


Sandy walked slowly in the direction of the 
pyramid, but turned away toward the palm-trees, 
and then turned away again. Both places made 
him think of his mother, and a boy with a fight 
on his hands does not like to think of his mother. 

The shadows lengthened. Some drums in a 
neighboring village announced marriage festivi- 
ties. A company of yelling riders circled the 
plain at amazing speed. They were jereed play- 
ers, part of the two days' wedding celebration. 




Young Evans sat down near the temple of the 
Sphinx. He wondered how he would come out 
with McGreggor. Jack had the longer reach, but 
Harold was quick on his feet, and — he did n't care 
anyway, he was armed with the strength of a 
righteous cause. McGreggor had insulted him, 

Just then the harsh cough of a kneeling camel, 
by some odd association of ideas, brought back 
the memory of that last meal with his mother, 
there under the palm-trees. He could see her 
face, and her hands, and the wonderful light in 
her eyes. He remembered how her voice had 
quivered as she asked a blessing on their simple 

Sandy stood up and stretched himself. This 
was a silly place for a fight. He ought to have 
known better than to come here. Of course he 
would think of his mother, and — if he did n't 
look out, he 'd be getting foolish, and — hello, here 
was Jack — climbing off the trolley. 

Harold walked across the sand toward his ad- 
versary — his friend — the boy who had offered to 
divide all that he had with him and help him in 
his trouble and loneliness. This fight was a rot- 
ten thing, after all. He did n't believe McGreggor 
had meant to keep that money. He 'd like to tell 
him so, but — 

The boys nodded coolly, and Jack put down a 
bundle he was carrying. Then they stripped off 
their coats and collars, while an Arab looked 
on indifferently. 

The first round was fairly even. At the end of 
the second, Harold came in cleverly under Mc- 
Greggor's guard, and knocked him down. At the 
end of the third, he knocked him down again. 

Jack staggered to his feet, still game. 

"Wait a minute," said Sandy. "I want to tell 
you something. I think I 'm in the wrong, Jack. 
I wanted to say so sooner, but— I could n't very 
well. You might have— you might have mis- 
understood. I don't believe you ever meant to 
keep money you were n't entitled to." 

"I did n't, Sandy. I never meant to keep it. I 
give you my word I did n't," declared Jack. 

"Then — then I apologize for what I said. I 'm 
sorry. There 's my hand or — if you want to 
punch me some more, why— go ahead." 

He held out his hand and stood waiting. 

McGreggor answered awkwardly: "That 's very 
decent of you, and— I accept it — the way you 
mean it, and — there !" He caught young Evans's 
hand in a strong clasp. 

"I 've got a vile temper," mourned Harold. 

Then they sat down under the palm-trees and 
ate sandwiches and cakes that Jack had brought 
along in his little bundle. 

And now a strange thing happened. The sun 
sank behind a mass of livid clouds, and suddenly 
the light changed to an uncanny olive hue, as if 
some great magic-lantern operator had slipped a 
piece of greenish glass before the sun. A low 
sighing wind came up from the desert. Both boys 
turned uneasily, and at this moment three distinct 
taps sounded on the ridge of rock beneath them. 

"What was that?" cried Harold. 

"Sounded like somebody knocking on this 
stone," said McGreggor. "Listen ! There it is 
again !" 

"You 're not doing that, Jack— with your foot 
or anything — are you?" 

Jack shook his head solemnly. "It 's prob'ly 
a bat, or a ghost, or something. Come on ! Let 's 
get out of this." 

"Wait !" 

Sandy's face was pale. He rose slowly and 
stood with hands clenched and nostrils dilating, 
looking down at a long line of gray rock that 
stretched away toward the pyramid. 

"What 's the matter?" 

"Now ! Do you hear that? Do you hear that?" 
he whispered. "It 's the Morse code, one short 
and two long. That 's W. Somebody 's calling 
W. There ! There ! There !" Harold moved his 
hands up and down each time as the taps sounded 
— one short and two long. 

McGreggor turned wearily. 

"What 's this got to do with us? I wish you 'd 
come along. It 's prob'ly some Arab telegraphing 
his camel to take a bath." 

Harold flashed a look at his companion that 
brought him to immediate seriousness. 

"John McGreggor, four years ago, when I was 
in Adana — I was a little shaver, but I remem- 
ber the Armenian massacre, and— sometimes we 
could n't get from the compound where the mis- 
sionaries lived to Father's dispensary ; it was n't 
safe. So Father rigged up a telegraph line about 
half a mile long, and we all learned to click off 
messages. We had different calls for different 
people, and Mother had her own call for Father, 
and Mother's call was W !" 

"Great Scott, Sandy ! You don't mean— you 
don't think—" Jack stammered in excitement and 
stopped short. 

"I think my mother is calling to me from some- 
where through this rock, and / 'm going to answer 
her. Now listen!" 

( To be continued. ) 



I had a little tea-party, 
This afternoon at three. 

'T was very small, 

Three guests in all, 

Just I, Myself, and Me. 

Myself ate up the sandwiches, 
While I drank up the tea; 

'T was also I 

Who ate the pie, 

And passed the cake to Me. 

Gretchen was in the kitchen-garden, weeding 
among the vegetables. "And you really want to 
marry me, Jacob?" she said. 

"Yes, Gretchen," said Jacob. 

"And for why, Jacob ?" 

"Well," said Jacob, "we are neighbors, and our 
joint property would make a farm larger than 
any in the country." 

"No other reason, Jacob?" 

"Well," said Jacob, "I think you are very beau- 
tiful, Gretchen." 

"You are not the first, Jacob, to make that dis- 
covery," said Gretchen, laughing. "I count them 
on the fingers of my hand— Hans, the goldsmith, 
Fritz, the miller's son, Farmer Albrecht, Jan, the 
bailiff, Carl, the schoolmaster, Heinrich, the 
tailor, Max, the greengrocer, Parson Ludwig, 
and Burgomaster Wilhelm." 

"Is it so?" said Jacob, and he pulled a longer 
face than usual, thinking of his nine rivals. 

Vol. XL.— 20 ' 

"Do you love me, Jacob?" said Gretchen. 

"Humph !" said Jacob, "there are maids who 
would be quite content to love me, without asking 
that !" 

"Let it be, then, Jacob," said Gretchen. "In 
spite of everything, I admire you greatly, and I 
will marry you on one condition : that you will 
come back again in seven days with at least five 
friends ; old or young, rich or poor, wise or sim- 
ple, it matters not, only that their affection for 
you will be such that they will not be content 
when separated from you, even for a moment." 

"Humph !" said Jacob, crossly. 

"And listen, Jacob!" said Gretchen; "leave 
your purse at home— promise me that ! And now 
good-by, Jacob." 

"Good-by, Gretchen," said Jacob. And he 
added to himself, "There are many as fair and 
none so impudent ! Marry her indeed ! She '11 
wait for me, that she will— I '11 none of her!" 




So he strode along at a great pace until he 
reached his own door, where he sat down under 
the grape-vine and smoked his pipe to soothe his 
feelings, which were somewhat ruffled. 

Now I must tell you about Jacob. He was a 
worthy soul and a prosperous farmer, but one 
would never meet with a sourer face in a day's 
journey. Why, he looked at least as if he lived 
on pickles and sauerkraut and cider-vinegar, and 
a glass of sour lemonade now and then ! He 
would have been handsome had his expression 
been more amiable. It was unfortunate that he 
had become so crabbed, for he had very little to 
be unhappy about. He was well-to-do, and had 
the finest farm in the neighborhood ; he was 
strong and clever— in fact, he should have been 
quite contented. But he had become so used to 
flying into a temper and letting little mishaps get 
the better of his feelings, that he had come to be 
known as the sourest man in the country, and the 
children poked fun at him, and called him "Crab 
Jacob." And you may guess that that did not im- 
prove his disposition ! He had scarcely a friend 
for miles around ; in fact Gretchen seemed the 
only person who cared at all about him. So, 
you see, that condition of Gretchen's, that he 
should bring her five friends who loved him, 
rankled exceedingly. 

"Gretchen indeed !" he exclaimed to himself. 
"I '11 not be marrying her. I 'm rid of a bad bar- 
gain, that I am, and easily." But he sat there in 
the sunshine under the grape-vine and felt a lit- 
tle uneasy. 

Whether he would or no, he could not put her 
out of his mind— that bright figure in the butter- 
cup-colored gown, and the eyes of corn-flower 
blue under the big garden hat. And the smile — 
he could n't forget Gretchen's smile, any more 
than could you or I, or the ten suitors she counted 
on her little fingers. 

"She has fine eyes, Gretchen," said Jacob, 
watching the smoke wreaths. Puff ! puff ! "She 
has hair like the shine on a dove's wing," he 
added. He knocked the ashes out of his pipe. 
"She smiles like the angels, for all her imperti- 
nence," he said meditatively. 

Then he got up and started down the path to- 
ward the gate. When he reached the gate, he 
stopped, felt in his pocket, and took out his purse, 
heavy with gold and silver coins. He went back 
to the farm-house and laid the purse on the deal 
table. Then he strode off again, staff in hand, 
and out of the gate he went, closing it carefully 
behind him, and kicked up the dust of the king's 
highway. "I 'm not marrying her," said Jacob. 
"She is the soul of impertinence !" 

He plodded along, with never a glance at her 

farm, with its verdant acres stretching far and 
wide, its windmill and white barns and dove- 
cotes, its comfortable farm-house and garden 
gay with summer bloom. It was nearly noon and 
the sun high in the heavens, so he had hardly 
passed the hedge which bordered Gretchen's farm, 
before he sat down beneath a roadside tree to 
rest and meditate, for the heat tried his temper. 

For a long while, he thought and thought, and 
at last he said : "There is something about 
Gretchen !" He thought of Fritz, the miller's 
son, and Parson Ludwig and the rest, and his 
heart swelled within him, for all one would have 
thought it of clay or stone. 

"How can I go about gaining five faithful 
friends?" he groaned. For he had never in his 
memory had a friend except Gretchen, and he 
believed that magic itself could scarce entice 
five mortals to follow him for love. He was all 

As he sat there, tortured with his thoughts, an 
old woman appeared, seemingly from nowhere, 
and sat down beside him in the shadow of the 

"Why such a long face, lad?" she said. 

Jacob, according to his usual fashion, was 
about to rudely reply, "Mind your own affairs, 
old woman !" But he checked the speech on his 
lips, and said : "I would marry a girl I know, but 
she has set a condition which I cannot meet." 

"What is that condition, Jacob?" said the old 

"How do you know my name?" asked Jacob, 

"That is neither here nor there," said the old 
woman. "Call me Mother Grethel, if you like, 
to square the bargain. But tell me what condi- 
tion Gretchen sets." 

"You are, indeed, a fairy!" exclaimed Jacob; 
"and the first, at that, that I have ever met." 

"They only make themselves known to agreea- 
ble folk," said the old woman. 

"Oh," said Jacob, half inclined to be angry. 
But he reflected, after all, that he had at last 
met a fairy, even though they had avoided him 
for more than twenty years. "If you 're a fairy, 
Mother Grethel," he said, "you know it all with- 
out my telling you." 

"That I do," said the old woman, "and if you 
will give me that scarlet feather in your cap, I 
will help you to gain all the friends you like." 

"That 's poor exchange, indeed, for such ser- 
vice," said Jacob, politely, taking the feather 
from his cap as he spoke. He found himself 
rather pleased with his own civil speeches, and 
the more polite he became, the more easily such 
speech flowed from his lips. 




"Have you ever been really kind to any one, 
Jacob?" said the old woman. 

Jacob looked up at the sky and then down at 
his boots. 

"Well," he said, "I once gave a beggar a silver 


"With a heart as cold as the silver, Jacob, I '11 
wager. But I '11 not catechize you, Jacob. This 
is the secret: Be as kind as you know how to be 
to everybody you meet, and smile as much as you 
can. It 's a magic talisman toward gaining af- 
fection. Whether you will or no, they '11 all be 
fond of you." 

"That sounds like wisdom, good Mother," said 
Jacob, and he smiled most amiably. 

"You have planted the right foot forward al- 

ready, Jacob," said the old woman, "and you 
look as handsome as the best when you smile, 

"And you promise me, good Mother," said Ja- 
cob, "if I follow your advice, that many will love 
me— as many as five, so that Gretchen will be 

"That I promise," said 
Mother Grethel, "and I bid you 
good day and good luck. And 
for the scarlet feather many 
thanks." Then she went on 
her way. 

So Jacob brushed the grass 
off his clothes, and, adjusting 
his featherless cap at the 
-J briskest angle, he set out at a 
& smart pace down the highway. 
He murmured to himself, con- 
tentedly, "Fairies only make 
" themselves known to agreea- 
ble folk !" He was eager to 
begin his collection of affec- 
tionate friends as speedily as 
possible, for it seemed to him 
that it would be a most desir- 
able novelty. And then to be 
marrying Gretchen as well ! 
No wonder that Jacob hummed 
and whistled ! 

As he gaily went along the 
road, kicking up the dust, he 
heard some one call behind 
him, and, looking around, saw 
an old dame with a basket of 
"Hi there, young Master !" 
c said she, "you fill a body's old 
eyes with dust at every step 
you take !" 

Jacob almost forgot himself 
for a moment, and an imperti- 
nent speech rose to his lips. 
But whist ! in the twinkling of 
an eyelash he remembered, 
and, lifting his cap in his best 
manner, exclaimed : "A thou- 
sand pardons, Madam !" And he implored her 
to allow him the great pleasure of carrying 
her basket of lettuces on one arm, and offered 
the other that he might assist her over the 
rough places. So they walked, arm in arm, 
into the town, as gay as you please, chatting 
away, and the old dame thought she had never 
in the world met with so delightful a person as 
this handsome young man. Yes, he was, indeed, 
growing handsome, was Jacob, as fast as the time 




was flying, having left his long face behind him, 
together with his bad temper. 

Now Jacob's cap was not much to boast of, 
especially since he had traded the scarlet feather 
for the old fairy's secret. As they neared the 
town, a crowd of small urchins eyed it mischiev- 
ously. "Who .would wear a cap without a fea- 
ther?" cried one of them. And he picked up a 
clod and flung it at Jacob's cap, and knocked it 
off in the dust. You can imagine Jacob's old self 
leaped up at that! — that is, until he remembered 
Gretchen. Swallowing his rage, he picked up the 
cap, all begrimed as it was by the dust of the 
road, and he stuck it on one ear, and made such 
funny grimaces that the small urchins held their 
sides for laughter; and the one who had flung 
the clod ran up to Jacob and said : "Take me with 
you, sir, and I 'll run your errands for as long as 
ever you '11 have me !" 

"Well," mused Jacob, "that 's two already." 
And he whistled softly to himself, and took the 
urchin by the hand. 

They soon reached the market-place of the 
town, where there was a great crowd jostling 
and pushing. All of a sudden, Jacob saw twenty 
pies and half a gross of frosted cakes go rolling 
in the gutter, where the dogs snatched them up. 

"Alack-a-day !" cried the pastry-cook, a fat 
little man with one eye, "some one jostled my 
tray, and there 's ruin for you !" 

"Ho ! ho !" said a rival, "none but dogs would 
eat your pies and cakes, One Eye !" 

And everybody laughed and poked fun at the 
unfortunate seller of pastries — that is, everybody 
but Jacob. Up he strode, elbowing his way 
through the crowd, and said to the pastry-cook, 
"Could'st make a bride cake three stories high, 
with silver leaves, and a chim^ of bells, and pink 
Cupids, and a gross of sugar roses? For I would 
be married to Gretchen." 

"That I can, Master," said the pastry-cook. 

As for the rival pastry-cook, and all the other 
scoffers, they fairly gasped, for they knew that 
a bride cake such as Jacob described would put 
a pretty lot of silver coins in a pastry-cook's 

"Well, then, come along," said Jacob to the 

But as soon as they were out of the marketing 
crowd, he said: "Good fellow, I would be honest 
with you." And he turned his pockets inside 
out, so that the pastry-cook could see that he had 
not even a copper penny. 

"Is there no Gretchen, Master?" said the pas- 

"Oh, yes," said Jacob ; "she has eyes the color 
of corn-flowers." 

"Gretchen is a lucky lass !" said the pastry-cook. 

"Why so?" said Jacob. 

"Why, to be marrying such a kind, honest, 
jolly fellow as you are, Master, to be sure!" 

"Will you come and tell her so?" said Jacob. 

"That willingly," said the pastry-cook, "and 
I '11 make her a bride cake for a wedding gift." 
And he trotted along after Jacob, and the old 
dame, and the ragged urchin. 

"That 's three already," said Jacob, and he 
whistled a little tune all to himself. 

So they walked on through the town until they 
reached an inn, and there Jacob, and the old 
dame, and the urchin, and the pastry-cook sat 
down in the shade of the trees to rest ; and the 
old dame, taking a lettuce from her market-bas- 
ket, divided it among the four of them, and the 
pastry-cook cut up into equal shares the only 
cake he had left. Strange to relate, this meal, 
spiced and salted, you might say, with compan- 
ionship, tasted to Jacob like a meal fit for a king. 
And after all the lettuce was eaten and every 
crumb of cake had vanished, Jacob was moved to 
sing a comic song which went something like this : 

"Oh around and around again go, 
With a ha! ha! ha! and a ho! 

I could dance all my life 

To the whistle and fife, 
With a ha! ha! ha! and a ho!" 

"Sing it again, dear Jacob," said the old dame. 
So as soon as Jacob had got his breath again, he 
sang it once more. The landlord of the inn, 
hearing the song, came to his door. He was 
looking as gloomy as a thunder-cloud, for custom 
was poor and his purse was thin ; but he found 
the song so irresistible, that he needs must join 
in, with the others. And the end of it all was 
that they clasped hands and danced about on the 
turf, and were as merry as you please. 

"Well, well," said the landlord, gasping for 
breath, "I 've not had such a frolic since I was 
that high ! It does a man good to limber up a " 
bit. What care I if times are bad, Jacob, my 
boy !" And then he urged them to accept his 
hospitality for the night. 

"I '11 tell thee now, landlord," said Jacob, "we 
've not a penny between us !" 

"What of that, Jacob, my boy?" said the land- 
lord, clapping him on the shoulder. 

" I could dance all my life 

To the whistle and fife, 

With a ha! ha! ha! and a ho!" 

And he danced along the corridors of the inn, 
and gave the old dame the very room in which 
the king had slept when he visited that town. 




Now when Jacob and the others were about to 
leave the next morning, the landlord locked up 
the inn and threw the key down the well. 

"Wherefore, landlord?" said Jacob. 

"If these other folk throw in their luck with 
you, I 'm going along, too, that I am, to dance 
at Gretchen's wedding, 'With a ha ! ha ! ha ! and 
a ho !' " said the landlord. And he executed a 
few fancy steps. 

Jacob whistled. "Four already," he said to 

So they marched along the main street of the 
town, Jacob, and the old dame, and the urchin, 
and the pastry-cook, and the landlord. As they 
trudged along, they came upon a crowd gathered 
about a vender of gold pins and rings and ban- 
gles. Jacob needs must stop and admire. 

"How well this would look on Gretchen's little 
finger ! How fine that on Gretchen's slender 
wrist !" and he felt reflectively in his pocket for 
the coins that were not there. 

Now there was a man standing by looking at 
the fine array, and while the vender's eyes were 
directed at something else, he deftly extracted 
two rings from the tray, and no one was the 
wiser — except Jacob. He had sharp eyes with the 
best, I can tell you ! He seized the thief by the 
ear and shouted : "Give up those rings, rascal, or 
I '11 lead you off to gaol myself !" So the man, 
seeing with whom he had to deal, wasted no time 
in returning what he had stolen, and was off be- 
fore you could turn around twice. 

"You have done me a good turn, Master," said 
the vender ; "and you shall have one of my finest 
gold rings, that you shall !" 

At that Jacob's face lighted up. "I would be 
marrying Gretchen," he said; "but I have no 
money wherewith to purchase the wedding-ring." 

"How large is your Gretchen's finger?" said 
the peddler. 

"Why," said Jacob, "it is very small and pretty, 
but I cannot tell you exactly." 

"Well," said the peddler, "I would fain be 
walking along with you for the sake of your 
pleasant company. We will measure Gretchen's 
finger for the ring, and mayhap I would like to 
give her a gold bangle on my own account." 

So Jacob whistled again as they went along, 
and said to himself, "Five good friends have I !" 
At the thought he could not forbear laughing, 
and he laughed and laughed until the merry tears 
ran down his cheeks. His amusement became so 
contagious that the landlord guffawed as if he 
would never stop, and the urchin turned a hand- 
spring or two for merriment, and the old dame 
cackled. They were standing in front of a linen- 
draper's shop, and he came to his door just then. 

"What 's all the fun about?" he cried, and 
forthwith joined in the laughter, without stop- 
ping for a reply. 

At last Jacob could speak. "I have five good 
friends," he said. And then, for no reason at 
all, they all laughed harder than ever ! 

"You have six, Master," said the linen-draper, 
"for you do the eyes good, that you do, with 
your merry face !" And he asked Jacob to come 
into the shop and have a chair and a chat, before 
he went on his way. 

Now when Jacob saw the linen materials in the 
draper's shop, he admired them exceedingly, and 
in his mind's eye fancied Gretchen clad in a dress 
of the finest, and looking her prettiest. The 
linen-draper read Jacob's admiration, and said : 
"You have an eye for my fine materials, Master, 
that I see easily." 

"Well," said Jacob, "I would be marrying 
Gretchen, and cannot help thinking how fair she 
would look dressed in this and that !" But he 
turned his pockets inside out, and showed the 
draper that they were quite empty. 

"Look here, Master," said the draper, "I would 
be taking a little holiday, and will walk along 
with you and your merry company. So I can at- 
tend the wedding and make Gretchen a present 
of whatever cloth you choose." 

"You are, indeed, generous !" said Jacob. And 
he chose a white linen cloth embroidered over 
with fleur-de-lis. Then the draper locked up his 
shop, hiding the key on top of the lintel, and 
marched along with Jacob, and the old dame, and 
the urchin, and the pastry-cook, and the landlord, 
and the peddler. 

Now Jacob had a whole five days before 
Gretchen expected him to return, so he bethought 
himself that he would put in the time seeing the 
sights of the town, since he need have no un- 
easiness about fulfilling her condition. For, you 
see, he had five faithful friends and one to spare. 
He was quite blossoming under his popularity, 
moreover, and was not averse to gathering in a 
few more merry companions as he went along. 
In fact, he thought it would be quite a joke to 
take back with him to the farm as many as he 
could, just by way of a little surprise for 
Gretchen ! So he marched along as gaily as pos- 
sible, and, would you believe it? the next day he 
had added to his train a gaoler and a doctor, two 
lawyers and a parson, a carpenter and a shoe- 
maker—and the shoemaker was possessed with a 
desire to measure Gretchen's foot for the neat- 
est, prettiest little slipper in the world, and all for 
love of Jacob. 

And on Friday, they all set out for Jacob's 
farm. And there were a whole hundred of them ! 




For by this time, Jacob had become the admira- 
tion of a joiner and a conjurer, a schoolmaster, 
two dressmakers, and a tailor, a clock-maker and 
a chemist, a farmer, two huntsmen, and a scul- 
lion, a gardener and a cowherd, a hairdresser 
and a butcher's boy, a scissors-grinder and a ma- 
son, a goosegirl and a soldier, a washerwoman 

ing down the road after them as fast as his legs 
would carry him, his ermine-bordered gown fly- 
ing out in the wind, and his wig all askew. 

"Hi there !" said the Lord Mayor, as soon as 
he could gain his breath, "what do you mean, sir, 
by running away with half the population of my 


and a stone-cutter, two musicians and a town 
crier, and ever so many more ! 

They started down the road, as merry a party 
as you 'd see in a day's journey, and Jacob the 
merriest of them all ! The town crier was ring- 
ing his bell, and the musicians were tooting on 
their instruments, and the landlord was singing, 

" I could dance all my life 

To the whistle and fife, 

With a ha! ha! ha! and a ho! " 

But they had scarcely gone twenty yards be- 
yond the town, when Jacob heard a great halloo, 
and, turning round, beheld the Lord Mayor corn- 

Jacob looked at him without speaking, and 
then, taking a step forward, he smote the Lord 
Mayor on the forehead with the palm of his 
hand ! At that the lawyer fainted away in the 
gaoler's arms, and there was general consterna- 
tion ! 

"What does this mean ?" said the Lord Mayor, 
growing very red. 

"Do not be hasty," said Jacob. "I stunned him." 

"Stunned who?" said the Lord Mayor. 

"As big a wasp as I ever saw, old chap !" said 

At that the Lord Mayor fairly fell upon Ja- 
cob's neck and embraced him. "You 're the first 




man who ever dared to treat me as a human be- 
ing," said the Lord Mayor. "I 'm going along with 
you, that I am ! I '11 send in my resignation." 

"Well," said Jacob, "come along." And he 
took the Lord Mayor by the arm, and they all 
started off once more down the road. 

It was evening when they reached Jacob's farm. 

"Well, I '11 settle the matter," said the lawyer. 
And he produced a paper and wrote on it, "I 
hereby promise to return in half an hour." So 
Jacob, with a patient air, affixed his signature to 
the document, and then off he went to see 

Gretchen was sitting in her kitchen, industri- 


The moon was rising, and the white buildings of 
Gretchen's farm showed beyond Jacob's hedge. 

"Friends," said Jacob, "I '11 be going on to 
Gretchen's now, and would you kindly wait here 
until I return?" 

"Leave us, dear Jacob !" exclaimed the pastry- 
cook. And his one eye filled with tears. 

"Only for a half-hour," said Jacob. 

"Oh, no, Jacob !" said the Lord Mayor, ap- 

At that Jacob let his feelings get the better of 
him, for once. 

"Am I to go a-courting with a whole hundred 
of you at my heels!" he exclaimed. 

ously spinning by candle-light. Jacob knocked. 
Gretchen took up a candle and opened the door. 

"I have come back, Gretchen," said Jacob. 

"So I see," said Gretchen, and she lifted the 
candle high and looked at Jacob's face. She 
could hardly believe her eyes, he was so good- 
looking ! His sour looks and long face had given 
place to merriment and kindliness. She placed 
the candle on the table, and then she kissed him. 
And you may be sure Jacob was perfectly satis- 

"The moon is risen, Gretchen," said Jacob. 
"Let us take a walk, for the air is so sweet and 
fresh, and I smell the brier-rose in the garden." 



So he led Gretchen round to his own farm, and 
all of a sudden, they came upon Jacob's hundred 
friends behind the barn. 

Gretchen screamed, "Who are all these peo- 
ple !" for in her satisfaction at the change in 
Jacob's disposition, she had quite forgotten the 
condition she had set. 

"Why, you told me I had to have five good 
friends before you 'd marry me, Gretchen," said 

"Five !" exclaimed Gretchen ; "there are twenty 
times five here !" 

"Yes," said Jacob, "and they don't like me out 
of their sight, poor dears." 

After the curiosity of Jacob's friends had been 
satisfied (and they all thought Gretchen charm- 
ing), the two strolled off. 

"Gretchen," said Jacob. 

"Yes," said Gretchen. 

"Could we be married to-morrow, do you 

"But I have no frock, Jacob." 

"Oh, there 's a linen-draper here who has 
whole yards of white linen embroidered in fleur- 
de-lis, which he has brought you for a gift." 

"But, dear Jacob, there is no one to make the 
dress !" 

"Oh, yes, two dressmakers and a tailor over 
yonder behind the barn !" 

"What about a bride cake, Jacob?" 

"Oh, there 's a pastry-cook who desires no 
greater happiness than to bake one three stories 
high, with silver leaves, and a chime of bells, and 
pink Cupids, and a gross of sugar roses." 

"But then, Jacob, a ring ; we can't get married 
without a ring !" 

"Oh, there 's a man yonder would measure 
your finger for a ring, my dear." 

"But a parson, Jacob ; we can't get married 
without a parson !" 

"Oh, there 's one behind the barn, Gretchen!" 

"Well then, Jacob," said Gretchen, "we may as 
well get married to-morrow." 

So the very next day there was a fine wedding. 
The Lord Mayor himself gave the bride away, 
and she wore a white linen dress embroidered in 

fleur-de-lis, and little white slippers with real 
gold buckles ; and Jacob put the most beautiful 
gold ring upon her finger. The musicians played 
"Tweedle-dum-te-dee," and everybody danced on 
the turf in front of the farm-house. Then Gret- 
chen cut the bride cake, which was the largest 
and most wonderful confection they had ever be- 

While all the company was still making merry, 
Gretchen and Jacob sat down under the grape- 
vine for a little chat. 

"It is wonderful," said Jacob, with a contented 
sigh, "to have so many friends !" 

"Indeed it is, Jacob," said Gretchen, "and you 
never told me yet how you charmed so many to 
follow you. Didst have a magic whistle or a 
fairy bell?" 

"Oh, no," said Jacob, "but I met an old fairy 
woman who told me a secret." 

"And what is the secret, Jacob?" 

"Oh, just to smile at every one and do a good 
deed whenever you get the opportunity." 

"A great deed— like slaying a dragon, Jacob?" 

"Oh, no, Gretchen, just a kind word or look as 
you pass along, and a helping of people over the 
rough places." 

Gretchen smiled. "Jacob," she said. 

"Yes, Gretchen ?" 

"I have a confession to make, Jacob." 

"Yes, Gretchen?" 

"That old fairy woman was myself, Jacob, in 
Mother's old black quilted cloak !" 

You can well imagine Jacob's astonishment at 
that piece of news ! 

"You, Gretchen !" was all he could say. 

"Yes, Jacob," said Gretchen, and taking up 
Jacob's old cap where it was lying on the garden 
seat beside them, she stuck the scarlet feather 
back in its place. 

"It looks better," she said, twirling the cap 
round on her finger. 

Jacob drew a long breath. Then he kissed 
Gretchen on both cheeks, and laughed and 
laughed as if he would never stop. 

"I have married a clever wife, that I have !" 
said Jacob. 

They had always kept Christmas at home, even 
if in no very expensive way. On the very last 
one, Johnny had had his skates, tied to his stock- 
ing, and, inside it, an orange and nuts and raisins, 
and some little trick-joke, and a stick of candy; 
and Robby had had his sled, and Marnie her 
book, and Bessie her tea-set; and Mr. Murtrie, 
the father, had a pair of wristers that Nancy had 
crocheted, and a muffler that his wife had knit ; 
and the mother had a needle-book that Marnie 
had made, and a bread-plate that Johnny had 
whittled out, and a piece of jig-saw work from 
Robby, and a muff from the father. And Marnie 
had written a poem to Father and Mother, which 
all the others criticized violently and ruthlessly, 
but which was privately regarded as a great 
achievement by every one of them. 

But what was there to do here with sleds and 
skates ! Great use for a muff out in the middle 
of the Texas prairie, to which they had come 
from the North. Why, yesterday the thermom- 
eter was just at summer heat, and roses were 
blossoming ! 

At home how gay it was with every one com- 
ing and going, with purchases and parcels and 
merry secrets, with the hanging of the green, 
with big snow-drifts, and coasting down Long 
Hill by starlight, with going to church in the 
forenoon, and coming home to turkey and cran- 
Vol. XL. — 21-22. 1 

berry sauce, and a pudding in blue flames ! Here 
there was nothing, there was nobody. There 
was n't a shop within a hundred miles, and if 
there were, there was no money with which to 
buy anything. For Mr. Murtrie had come to grief 
in his business, losing, when all debts were paid, 
everything but this ranch, to which he had 
brought his family, and where it seemed like a 
new world. 

At first, it had been so novel, no one thought of 
homesickness. Nancy herself had enjoyed as 
much as any one the singing of the mocking-birds 
at night, the flashing of the cardinal's red wings 
in the radiant mornings and the bubbling of his 
song, the fragrance of the jasmines, the beauty 
of the innumerable flowers, the charm of the 
wide landscape, the giant trees draped in their 
veils of gray moss; she had enjoyed hearing the 
boys tell about the bat-caves, with their streams 
of unnumbered wings going out by dark and 
coming in by dawn in myriads ; she had en- 
joyed lying awake at night to hear the water 
gently pouring through the irrigation ditches 
from the madre ditch, and drowning all the land 
in its fertilizing flood to the sound of slow music ; 
she had enjoyed watching the long flights of wild 
ducks ; seeing a spot apparently covered with 
yellow flowers that suddenly turned into a flock 
of birds that rose and flew away. She had 




enjoyed the strange cactus growths that seemed 
to her like things enchanted in their weird shapes 
by old magicians; she had enjoyed the thickets 
of prickly pear, the green and feathery foliage 
of the mesquit bushes, many of them no higher 
than her head, but with mighty roots stretching 
far and wide underground, the Indians having 
burned the tops in their wild raids, year after 
year, long ago. But now Nancy was longing for 
the bare branches of her old apple-tree weaving 
their broidery on the sky, for the young oak by 
the brook which held its brown leaves till spring, 
for the wide snow-fields, the shadows of whose 
drifts were blue as sapphire. She was longing 
to hear the bells ring out their gladness on 
Christmas eve and Christmas morning, for the 
spicy green gloom of the church, for all the 
happy cheer of Christmas as she had known it. 
Bells? There was n't a bell within hearing; there 
was n't a church, except the ruins of an old 
Spanish mission three or four miles distant. 
How could there be Christmas green where there 
was n't a spruce or a fir ! There was only this 
long, dreary prairie of the cattle-range under its 
burning blue sky. It was the very kingdom of 
loneliness. Christmas without snow, without an 
icicle, without whistling winds, — oh, it was n't 
Christmas at all ! 

And then suddenly, as the angry words re- 
sounded and echoed in her mind, she asked her- 
self what made Christmas, anyway? Certainly it 
was n't the things people did. In some places 
they kept it with blowing of horns and burning 
of fire-crackers, as they did Fourth of July. Per- 
haps in that way they expressed as much gladness 
as others did with the pealing from belfries and 
the rolling of organ tones. For Christmas was a 
time to be glad that Christ came to make all 
Christendom good, and blessed, and happy. 

And, just as suddenly, Nancy could not help 
asking herself what she was doing to express 
gladness or to make Christmas happy. North 
pole or south pole, Christmas was Christmas, and 
it was n't all in pleasures or all in gifts; and she 
got out of bed, and knelt down and said a prayer, 
and went to sleep in a better frame of mind. 

But if it was n't all in pleasures or all in gifts, 
there must be some gifts; and next day, Nancy 
set herself to thinking out the problem. It was 
still some time before the great holiday, and every 
hour must be improved. 

For the first thing, she betook herself to one of 
the men on the range who often came about the 
buildings ; and he found for her several huge 
horns, and, with his help, and taking Johnny into 
her confidence, they took grease and brick-dust, 
and scraped and polished these horns till they 

shone almost like silver. Then the three dug for 
a big mesquit root and secured one, at last, that 
grew from a great stock; and they scraped and 
polished that into a very handsome piece of 
wood ; and, having a little knack of carpentry, 
they fitted the enormous horns into the mesquit 
root, and there was a chair for any palace. It 
was to be their father's, and was to stand on the 
gallery, where, some night, the night-blooming 
cereus that laced the whole front would open its 
slow, delicious flowers, and shed the balm of 
heaven about him. 

They found it a little difficult to keep this se- 
cret, because they began work upon it before 
Mr. Murtrie went off on his hunting-trip with 
some friends ; but after he had gone, things were 
easier, as the mother was not inclined to prowl 
about and look into everything, as the head of a 
house sometimes thinks necessary. 

And for the mother, — they knew where some 
tall flat grasses grew, near a stream that was 
brimming at this season, and Johnny waded in 
and got them. Nancy plaited them into a low 
work-basket, and lined it with a bit of silk that 
had been her doll's skirt in her day of dolls. The 
doll, that had been religiously put away, was 
taken from her slumbers and furbished for 
Bessie's Christmas. "Why, really, it 's going to 
be a Christmas, after all," she said. 

"Only it 's so queer to have it so warm," grum- 
bled Johnny. "Winter without snowballing is n't 
winter !" 

"Oh, I don't know," said Nancy, beginning to 
defend the thing she had adopted. 

The man who had found the horns for her 
found also a little baby fox, and that was kept in 
great seclusion to become, on Christmas morning, 
a pet for Johnny ; and Marnie and Nancy had 
great times together feeding it. He had the fun- 
niest little bark already. "Oh, we are coming 
along !" cried Nancy. 

But there was more to be done. She remem- 
bered that once, when her father had taken her to 
see the ruins of the old mission, she had observed 
a number of Mexican "shacks," or huts, near by. 
She saw the dinner of one family, which con- 
sisted of half a sweet-potato and a red pepper. 
But she had also seen a big cage full of canarios. 
And so Nancy and Johnny set out to walk over 
to the mission, losing their way several times, but 
finding it again all at once. There an Indian 
woman, who was about thirty years old and 
looked a hundred, flung her baby, which was the 
loveliest little harmony of brown and rose you 
ever saw, into her husband's arms, and, after a 
great deal of pantomime and dumb show, sold, 
for the price of the last piece of silver in Nancy's 




purse, a pair of the canarios in a cage made of 
reeds, each one an exquisite pinch of feathers, a 
lot of living gems, of all colors of the rainbow, 
blue, and yellow, and green, and purple, and red, 
and brown — iridescent little things, with a song 
like the faintest, prettiest echo of a Hartz ca- 
nary's song. And there was Mamie's Christmas 
present settled. 

But for Robby? Oh, there was the horned 
toad she had heard about. Robby had seen one 
in some show or other at home, and had longed 
for it. Here it was to his hand, — if she could 
find it. And with the help of the man who had 
helped her before, and who could not fancy what 
she wanted it for, find it she did. Robby would 
be delighted. 

If Nancy had been born in the region, or was 
living in any town there, she would have found 
no difficulty in making Christmas presents like 
those she had hitherto given; but these gifts that 
she found possible were unique and 
unlike anything she could have ob- 
tained at her old home. 

And now for sweetmeats. Well, 
they had dried some of the luscious 
grapes, and there were the raisins in 
the pantry, just oozing and crusted 
with sugar ; and there was the barrel 
of molasses from the sugar-mill down 
on the Brazos ; no one could make 
more delicate candy than Nancy could 
and did ; and there had been a great 
harvest of pecan-nuts ; and thus, so 
far as the stockings were concerned, 
Christmas had no more to ask. 

The expected day was close at hand, and 
Nancy pictured to herself how it would, all go 
off— how the stockings would be hung up, how 
Johnny would help with the chair and then be in 
bed before his own gift appeared, and how she 
would be up at the peep of dawn to go out and 
bring in that baby fox— the delicate, delicious, 
dewy dawn — and make his bed under Johnny's 
stocking, tying his leash to the toe, after fasten- 
ing it securely to a hook in the chimney ; and how 
she would untwist and unbind and unlace a great 
branch of the roses outside that were having a 
late blossoming on their luxuriant growth, and 
bring it into the window and train it all around 
the room under the ceiling. It would be — well, as 
beautiful as the Christmas green; it could n't be 
more beautiful, she said in her thoughts. 

It was at this time that Mrs. Murtrie began to 
be a little anxious about her husband. He should 
have returned from his hunting-trip some days 
before, and he was still absent, no one could say 
where. And, of course, she was conjuring up all 

sorts of frightful possibilities in the way of acci- 
dents, and Marnie was helping her ; and Nancy 
herself, although ordinarily holding her father to 
be invulnerable, felt a degree of alarm as she 
thought what if he had fallen into some gulch, or 
lost his way, or drowned in one of the rivers that 


rose, after a rain in the hills, so swiftly that, in a 
town below, a man had been overtaken before he 
could get off the bridge. As for Johnny, he was 
for going out to find his father, if he only knew 
which way to go. As night fell, and it was 
Christmas eve, the house was full of a sort of 
electric tension; no one said just what every one 
was thinking, till suddenly Bessie broke out with 
a great sob, and cried : "I want my papa !" Then 
every one fell to comforting her, and all were 
furtively wiping away tears, when steps rang on 



the gallery, the door burst open, and the father, 
with his blue eyes shining out of his browned 
skin, and. his great voice resonant, stood before 
them, holding an immense bird with wide-spread- 
ing wings. 

"It 's a wild turkey," he said, after the up- 


roarious greetings, and as soon as they loosened 
their embraces. "I was resolved not to come 
back without a turkey for Christmas. And it 's 
a great deal richer and sweeter than any home- 
made bird, as you '11 see when it 's roasted." 

A turkey! And Nancy had but lately been 
bemoaning herself that the dinner would be with- 
out a turkey ! She had gone to bed, and so she 
did not see her mother seize the wings of that 
wild trophy, and trim them, and run out to the 
kitchen in the adjacent building and dry them 
well in a hot oven, and later 
trim them again, and bind 
them at the base with the 
palms of an old kid glove, 
and so finish, for Nancy's 
Christmas, as fine a feather 
fan as one could wish to 
wave on a hot summer after- 

But at last, when the house 
was quite still, Nancy crept 
out of her room and sum- 
moned Johnny to help her 
with the chair. Johnny was 
too sleepy not to be glad to 
be dismissed after that, and 
then she disposed of the 
presents exactly as she had 
planned, and wondered what 
the large parcel was, swing- 
ing by a string from her own 
stocking, and went to sleep 
to the tune of the song a 
mocking-bird sang, sweet, 
and strong, and joyous, in 
the pecan-tree outside, till a 
rising wind swept it away. ' 
And if you could have 
looked into the living-room 
of that bungalow next morn- 
ing, you would have seen 
Johnny hugging his baby 
fox, and Bessie hugging her 
doll, and Marnie chirping to 
her birds, and their mother 
putting spools, and needles, 
and scissors into her work- 
basket, and the father taking 
his ease in his big chair with 
its shining supports, and 
Nancy leisurely fanning her- 
self, as if there were not 
a norther blowing outside, 
which, had the casements 
been open, would have blown 
the rain quite across the 
room. Rain ? No, oh, no ! For, see ! look ! 
For a wonder, the loveliest, silveriest, soft snow 
was falling, which, even if it melted to-morrow, 
made Nancy's northern heart feel, in her south- 
ern home, the spirit of Christmas everywhere. 

Jp Harriet L.Wedg^ood 

lllvwira ted hrp 

^ Fanny Y. Cory 
i \ ^ ^ 

Once upon a time, there lived a lady who had 
one son whose name was Billy. One day Billy 
said to his mother: "Mother, I wish for to set out 
on my adventures." 

"Very well, my son," replied his mother ; "how 
long shall you be gone ?" 

"A year, I guess, or more or less,"' answered 
Billy, "depending on the time it takes. What will 
you give me for my journey?" 

"This gold chain," she said, "which may be of 
use to you ; and ten pieces of gold for your purse." 

"Thank you, Mother," said Billy. 

Then he put the chain about his neck, the ten 
gold pieces in his purse, kissed his mother, and 
began to make ready for his journey. 

First he went to the Old Woman of the Wood, 
and rapped three times on the door. 

"Who 's there?" asked the Old Woman of the 

"It 's I, Billy Bowline, going for to set out on 
my adventures." 

"How long shall you be gone?" asked the Old 

"A year, I guess, or more or less," replied 
Billy, "depending on the time it takes. What 
will you give me for my journey?" 

"This stick," said the Old Woman. "Strike it 
on the ground to give yourself the strength and 
stature of a giant ; wave it in the air when you 
wish to grow small." 

"Thank you, Old Woman of the Wood," said 
Billy. And he stuck the stick in his belt and went 
on his way. 

Presently he came to the house of Chanticleer, 
the White Cock, and he rapped three times on the 

"Who 's there?" cried the White Cock, crowing 

"It 's I, Billy Bowline, going for to set out on 
my adventures." 

"How long shall you be gone?" asked the White 

"A year, I guess, or more or less," replied 
Billy, "depending on the time it takes. What will 
you give me for my journey?" 

"Spurs," said the White Cock. 

"Spurs !" exclaimed Billy. "For what shall I 
need spurs on a voyage ?" 

"Do you expect to sail on forever," asked the 
White Cock, "and never come to land? A fine 
adventure that would be !" 

Then Chanticleer, the White Cock, stooped 




down and took off his spurs, and fastened them 
to Billy Bowline's heels. 

"With these," said the White Cock, "you can 
ride anything that runs on four legs." 

"Thank you, hold Chanticleer," said Billy, and 
went on his way. 


Next he came to the house of the Silversmith, 
and rapped three times at the door. 

"Who 's there ?" asked the Silversmith, in a 
thin voice. 

"It 's I, Billy Bowline, going for to set out on 
my adventures." 

"When shall you return ?" asked the Silver- 

"In a year, I guess, or more or less, depending 
on the time it takes/' said Billy. "And what can 
you give me for my journey?" 

"This ring," said the Silversmith. "It will give 
you three wishes. Turn it three times on your 
finger and say your wish aloud, and whatever you 
wish for shall come to pass." 

"May I wish anything I choose?" asked Billy. 

"Anything you choose," answered the Silver- 

"Then I wish," said Billy, turning the ring on 
his finger, "I wish that I may have six wishes 
instead of three." 

The old Silversmith looked angry and stamped 
his foot ; but soon he began to chuckle and grin. 

"Six wishes it is then," he cackled; "six wishes 

it is. But no more, Billy, no more. And you 
have wished one wish already." 

"I shall do very well with the five I have left," 
said Billy. "Thank you, Old Man," and he went 
on his way. 

By and by he came to the house of Linda, the 
Bakeshop Maid, and he rapped three times on the 

"Who 's there?" asked the Bakeshop Maid. 

"It 's I, Billy Bowline, going for to set out on 
my adventures." 

"When shall I see you again, Billy Bowline?" 
asked the Maid. 

"In a year, I guess, or more or less," said 
Billy, "depending on the time it takes. And what 
will you give me for my journey?" 

"This bag," answered Linda, and she handed 
him a small leather bag drawn together at the top 
with a leather string. "Hang this on your arm, 
Billy, and you need never go hungry or thirsty. 
In it you will find all manner of good eating and 

"Thank you, Linda," said Billy, with a sweep- 
ing bow, and he hung the bag on his arm. 

Then Billy went on until he came to the Very 
Wet Sea; and when he was come to this sea, he 
saw that the water was blue as sapphire, the foam 
was white as snow, and the sunshine over all was 
yellow as' gold. 

"It is a fine day," thought Billy, "for to set out 
on an adventure. But first I must find a ship." 

So he went to the house of Hans, the Ship- 
builder, who lives at the edge of the Very W r et 


Sea, and who makes ships for the King. Billy 
rapped three times at the door. 

"Who 's there?" asked Hans, the Shipbuilder. 

"It 's I, Billy Bowline, going for to &et out on 
my adventures." 




"How long shall you be gone?" asked Hans. 

"Oh, a year, I guess, or more or less," answered 
Billy, "depending on the time it takes. What kind 
of ship can you give me for my voyage?" 

"What kind of ship do you wish?" asked Hans. 

"Oh, anything at all," replied Billy ; "anything 
at all that will carry me over the sea." 

"Mercy on us," cried Hans, "what a hurry you 
are in ! But I think you will have to wait, for I 
have nothing at all for you now." 

"Nevertheless," said Billy, "I must have a boat 
now. I will take one of these models." 

"I cannot part with any of them," said Hans ; 
"they are my patterns, and I cannot spare them." 





"Then no doubt I can please you," said Hans ; 
"I make ships for the King." 

"Let me see them," said Billy. 

"Now?" asked Hans, in surprise. "I cannot 
show you any now, — I build ships for people, and 
they take them away. I have none here now. 
But I can build a fine ship for you. See, here are 
my models." And he showed Billy many models 
of ships, long and short, wide and narrow, brigs, 
schooners, and men-of-war, with masts and spars 
and ropes and sails complete in every part. 

"These are all very fine," said Billy, "but I can- 
not wait for you to build a ship, — I want a ship 
now, as I have set out on my adventures." 

"No doubt you can make others," said Billy, 
"and I will pay you well"; and he laid three 
pieces of gold in the Shipbuilder's hand. 

Then Billy took his pick of all the models, and 
chose one with a very large sail and a small 
wooden sailor standing in the bow. Then he took 
the boat in his arms and went down and launched 
it in the Very Wet Sea. 

"It is plain," said Billy to himself, "that my 
boat must be larger or I must be smaller, — and I 
have a mind to leave the boat as it is." 

Then he took the stick from his belt and waved 
it above his head. He felt himself slowly shrink- 
ing. The more he waved the smaller he got, and 




he did not stop until he had grown as small as the 
wooden sailor. 

"And now," said Billy, turning the ring three 
times on his finger, and speaking aloud, "I wish 
that the wooden sailor may come alive." 

No sooner said than done. The wooden sailor 
began to move his legs and arms, and presently he 
took off his cap and made Billy a bow. 

"Very good," said Billy; "you are a proper 
sailor. I shall call you Peter. I am Captain Billy 
Bowline, and this is my ship. You will be my 
mate and fellow-adventurer." 

"Aye, aye, sir," said Peter ; "will you come 
aboard ?" 

So Billy went aboard, and he and Peter set sail 
on their voyage over the Very Wet Sea. And 


they sailed for sixty days and sixty nights, over 
blue water and green, through hurricanes and 
fair weather, till they came to a tropical island. 

When they reached the island, Billy said to his 
mate : 

"This, no doubt, is the place of our adventures. 
Let us go ashore and explore the island." 

"Very well," said Peter ; "but first let us eat 
and drink." 

So they took out of the bag all manner of good 
things, and they ate and drank their fill. 

Then they set out to explore the island. 

The first live creature they met was a Mouse. 

"Good day. Mistress Mouse," said Billy, with 
a bow, while the Mouse regarded them kindly. 

"Good day," said the Mouse; "and who might 
you be ?" 

"Two sailors are we in search of adventure." 
"In search of adventure \" said the Mouse. 
"Then you can do no better than to follow your 
noses till you come to the place where the Rat 
lives. He is himself a bold adventurer, but I ad- 
vise you to keep clear of him. He is big and 
fierce and terrible, and will surely do you harm." 
"I am not afraid," said Billy; "an adventurer 
is never afraid. I have a mind to meet him." 

"Pray do nothing so rash," urged the Mouse; 
"he will surely eat you." 

"I am determined to meet him," said Billy; "I 
am not afraid." 

So Billy and Peter went on their way till they 
came to the place where the Rat lived. And the 
Rat stood in his doorway, pulling his long 

"Good day, Mister Rat," said Billy. 
"Good day," said the Rat ; "and who might you 

"Two sailors in search of adventure." 
"Adventure?" said the Rat, with a little smile;* 
"Pirates or Lost Princesses?" 

"Pirates," said Billy. "Are there any 

"A few," said the Rat. "I am some- 
what of a Pirate myself." 

"I have no doubt of it," said Billy. 
"But are there men about who search 
for gold and hidden treasure ?" 

"There are a few of those also," said 
the Rat. "They do not greatly interest 
me, — I have adventures in plenty of my 

"But I should like to see these men," 
said Billy. "Will you not carry us 

"I think my ears deceive me," said 
the Rat ; "for I almost thought I heard 
you ask me to carry you, — and that, of 
course, could not be." 

"Yes, but I did," said Billy; "and I will pay 
you well. I will give you this long gold chain 
which I wear on my neck." And Billy unwound 
the chain and held it up before the Rat. 

"You are a bold lad," said the Rat ; "but I had 
rather carry you in my stomach than on my 
back." And he threw back his head, opened his 
mouth, and laughed a wicked laugh. 

But Billy did not flinch; he only stood holding 
up the gold chain in both hands. 

Then the Rat looked down at Billy, and saw 
with surprise that Billy showed no fear. 

"Ho, ho," said the Rat, "are you not afraid? 
Then I will make you afraid." 




He leaned down toward Billy, opened his 
mouth very wide, and showed all his sharp teeth. 
But now, as he opened his 
mouth, he felt the gold 
chain thrust into it like a 
bit. He shut his jaws with 
a snap, and dropped down 
on all four feet, and then 
tried to shake the chain 
from his mouth ; but be- 
fore he could do this, 
Billy had jumped on his 
back, seized the free 
length of chain for a 
bridle-rein, and dug the 
spurs into his sides. 

"Perhaps," said Billy, 
"you will carry me, after 

The Rat gnashed his 
teeth, but could not shake 
off his rider because of 
the magic spurs. 

"Get up behind me, 
Peter," said Billy; "we 
will see whether the Rat \ 
will carry double." 

Peter climbed up be- 
hind Billy on the Rat's 
back, nor could the Rat 
prevent it, though he 
fought hard. 

"Now," said Billy, "take me to the Pirates." 

In a moment, they were off and away, over hills 
and bogs, fens and waterways, the Rat fighting 
all the way, but Billy able to manage him because 

minutes, till, at last, they came to the Red Cliffs 

and the Cave of the Pirates. 

"This," said the Rat, in a strange voice, 
because of the bit in his mouth, "is the 
Cave of the Pirates, and yonder are the 

Billy could not, at first, see anything at 
all, because of the darkness, but when his 
eyes had become accustomed to it, he saw ten 
men whom he knew to be Pirates. They 
were walking to and fro, loading heavy sacks 
upon each other's shoulders. Billy knew 
these were sacks of gold. Presently the 
Pirates, of whom there were twenty, went 


of the spurs, riding fast and riding slow, jumping 
high and jumping low, for five hours and twenty 


out of the cave one by one, carrying the sacks of 
gold on their shoulders. 

Now when they had gone, 
Billy heard what sounded like 
a man's groan ; and looking 
around, he saw a man lying 
on the ground, bound hand and 
foot. Billy rode up to him 
and spoke to him. 

But the man, seeing the 
Rat, was frightened, and ex- 
claimed : "What, Whiskers, 
are you come to trouble me, 
now that I am bound hand and 
foot? For shame!" 

But Billy took hold of the 
man's hair and tweaked it, and 
the man turned and looked at 
Billy and Peter. 

"What are you," asked the 
man, "gnomes or fairies?" 

"Neither," said Billy, "but 
only two sailors in search of 
At this the man laughed with a great noise that 
echoed through the cave. But Billy only said: 




"Who are you, Man?" 

"I am a Mining Mariner," said the man. "I 
came hither in my good ship for gold. And gold 
I found in plenty. But the Pirates found me. 


They have stolen my gold, and even now are 
loading their ship and mine with the gold ; and 
when that is done, they will sail away and leave 
me here to die." 

"Not so," said Billy. "We will take a look at 
these Pirates." 

The man laughed again with a noise like thun- 

Then Billy commanded the Rat to gnaw off the 
rope that bound the man ; and the Rat, who now 
feared Billy, began to gnaw. 

"Gnaw faster," commanded Billy. And the Rat 
gnawed with might and main till the man was 

Then Billy dismounted, leaving Peter still on 
the Rat's back. 

"Go back to the ship, Peter," said Billy, "and 
wait for me. Here are my spurs. With these 
you can ride anything that runs on four legs." 

So Peter, riding the Rat, started back to the 
ship, and soon was lost to sight. 

When Peter and the Rat had gone, Billy took 
the stick from his belt and struck the ground to 
give himself the strength and stature of a giant. 
At each stroke he gained six feet in height, and 
after a dozen strokes, he was a giant more than 

seventy feet tall, with the strength of a hundred 

When the Mining Mariner saw this marvel, he 
turned as if to run away. 

"This island," said he, "is no place for a civil- 
ized man." 

"Nonsense," said Billy ; "you are not afraid of 
me, are you ? This is only a part of my adven- 
ture. I am now ready to take a look at the 

So Billy and the Mining Mariner went down to 
the edge of the cliff and peered over at the Pi- 
rates. Some were walking along the narrow path 
that runs down over the face of the cliff to the 
sea ; some were on the sandy beach, farther on, 
loading the sacks of gold into the boats. 

"See me catch one," said Billy. 

Then Billy lay flat on his stomach and reached 
down over the edge of the cliff with his great 
arm and hand ; and with his thumb and finger, he 
caught one of the Pirates under the arms, and 
lifted him, as- you would a beetle; and he raised 
him high over the edge of the cliff and gave him 
to the Mining Mariner to bind hand and foot. 

When the other Pirates saw their companion 
lifted high in air over their heads by a great hand 
and arm that reached down from the top of the 
cliff, they were much afraid; and they ran this 
way and that, trying to escape or to hide them- 
selves. And when they found that they could 
neither escape nor hide themselves, but that the 
great hand would overtake them and catch them, 
they banded themselves together and drew their 
swords and cutlasses to fight the great hand ; and 
they stabbed and slashed most furiously. 

"What wasps we have here!" said Billy; "if 
wishing could tip their blades with poison, I 
should feel something as bad as wasps' stings." 

Nevertheless, he caught them, one by one. And 
the Mining Mariner bound them hand and foot, 
and laid them beside their fellows on the cliff. 

"Now," said Billy, when all were caught and 
bound, "what fit punishment shall I devise for 




.'. I ■'■ ■■' •-'.-.■:. vV.;-:-'>-/..-,; : . ■■ 

these men? If I drop them into the sea, you will 
have nobody to man your two ships. If I release 
them as they are, they will kill you and escape 
with the gold." 

"That is very true," said the Mining Mariner. 
"But I had rather try my luck alone than with 
these men." 

"Perhaps," said Billy ; "but I have a mind to 
make these men serve you." 

At this the Pirates raged, and one of them 
said : "We have never served any man, and we 
will not serve this Mining Mariner. You may do 
many things, Big Man, but you cannot make us 
do this." 

"I have a plan at this moment," said Billy. "I 
have four wishes left; I can use one for this 
thing. You all shall become apes, each for as 
many years as he stole bags of gold. If you serve 
this man well, when you have served your time, 
you shall be men again ; and this Mining Mariner 
shall give you each one bag of gold, and you shall 
go whither you will." 

Then the bags of gold were counted, all that 
were in the ship or in the boats at the foot of the 
cliff; and there were a hundred and twenty bags. 

"Then," said Billy to the Mining Mariner, 
"there were six bags for each man. Therefore 
each man shall serve you six years." 

So he turned the ring three times on his finger, 
and said aloud: "I wish that these twenty men 
may become apes for a space of six years ; and all 
that time they shall serve the Mining Mariner ; 
and at the end of that time, if they have served 
him well, they shall become men again, and go 
whither they will." 

No sooner said than done. The twenty Pirates 

changed into twenty apes. They could 
not talk, but only grin and chatter ; and 
hair covered their hands and faces. 

"Now," said Billy, "you have crews 
to man your two ships. Unbind your 
prisoners and take them home. You 
shall have great glory when you return 
home laden with gold and with this 
troop of apes to do your bidding." 

"But what," said the Mining Mari- 
ner, "shall I do to reward you?" 

"Nothing at all," said Billy; "nothing 
at all. This is my adventure." 

"But I wish to reward you," said the 
Mining Mariner. "Will you not take 
the half of my gold?" 

"I could not," said Billy, "it would 
• .' sink my ship. But if your heart is set 

upon a reward, send a bag with a thou- 
sand pieces of gold to my mother. She 
gave me ten pieces when I set out on 
my adventures ; it will be a fine thing to return 
her so much more." 

"A fine thing, indeed," said the Mining Ma- 


riner, "and I will surely send her the gold." So 
he wrote down in a book the name of Billy's 
mother and her address, so that he could find her. 




Then the Mining Mariner and his twenty apes 
lqaded the gojd into the two ships and sailed 

When the two ships were quite out of sight, 
Billy stood up and stretched himself. 

"I have had a fine adventure," said he to him- 

"It is a good thing," said Billy, "that my ship 
is on the other side of this island. Otherwise the 
waves I made would have swamped my boat and 
drowned poor Peter." 

Then Billy started back to find his ship. He 
was so tall and his legs so long, that before he 


self. "I have wished three wishes. I have ridden 
the Rat and changed twenty Pirates into apes. 
I have been small, and now I am a giant; and be- 
fore I grow small again, I should like to feel my 
strength. I will pull up a tree by the roots and 
heave a boulder into the sea." 

So Billy pulled up a tree and planted it upside 
down. And he carried a great rock to the edge 
of the Red Cliff's and threw it over into the sea. 

knew it, he was within sight of his ship where it 
lay at anchor. ''It is high time," said he to him- 
self, "that I grew small. Peter will not know me 
if I look like this." 

So he took the stick from his belt and waved it 
above his head. Before he knew it, he was no 
taller than a toadstool. 

"This will not do, either," said Billy, "I am too 
small. I could not help Peter work the ship." 




Then he tapped on the ground, and he grew up 
six feet at the first tap. Then he waved the stick 
above his head, very carefully, till he was of 


proper size. After this he found his ship and 
went aboard. 

"Shall we sail for home now?" said Billy to 

"Aye, aye, sir," said Peter; "but first let us eat 
and drink." 

So they took out of the bag all manner of good 
things, and ate and drank their fill. 

Then they set sail over the Very Wet Sea, 
and sailed for sixty clays and sixty nights, over 
blue water and preen, over rough seas and 

smooth, through hurricanes and fair weather, till 
they came to their native land. 

Then Billy went ashore. He turned the ring 
three times on his finger and said 
aloud : "I wish that all things may 
be as they were before I set out on 
my adventure." 

No sooner said than done. Billy 
found himself a boy of proper size. 
Peter dropped his arms to his side 
and became a wooden sailor. The 
bag and spurs and the stick disap- 
peared ; only the wishing ring re- 
mained of all the magic presents he 
had received. 

Then Billy picked up the ship and 
stuck it under his arm, and went 
home to his mother. When he 
found her, she was counting the gold 
pieces the Mining Mariner had sent 

"Did you have a fine adventure ?" 
asked his mother. 
"Fine," said Billy. 
"How long have you been away?" 
asked his mother. 

"Not a year," said Billy; "there is 
still time for more adventure before 
the year is out." 
"What have you under your arm?" 
"My ship," said Billy, "and Peter, a very good 

"That is good," said his mother. "Where is the 
chain I gave you ?" 

"It paid for a fine adventure," said Billy. "I 
will tell you of it some day.". 

"I hope you will," said his mother ; "and what 
is that on your finger?" 

"A wishing ring," said Billy, "and I have 
two wishes yet to be wished." 

Nature and \cience 

J edited rv ^X edwapd f nrr.ri 



As with the coming of the cold weather, we begin 
to think of the comfort of the fireside, it will be 
interesting' to let our minds p'o back to the fire- 


making methods that were used by the Indians 
and the early settlers of our country. 


The North American Indian was inured to the 
cold, and used fire mostly for cooking; but he 
often had a little in his "tepee," or tent, to warm 
it up a bit. The draft was regulated by opening 
flaps at the top of the tepee. It was so much work 
to make a fire that it was usually kept going all 
the time. 

Our heading this month shows some Sioux In- 
dians who have just settled in a camp; one is 
starting a fire to use under the big copper kettle 
near by. These copper kettles were obtained from 
the early traders, and nearly every tribe had one. 

This Indian produces fire by revolving a ver- 
tical stick, called a drill, in one of the holes of his 
fire-stick, which rests upon the ground. About 
this hole is a small quantity of '"tinder" made 
of bark fibers and dried pith, or rotten wood, 
which ignites readily, and is then used to set the 
camp-fire alight. 

The northern Indians, or Eskimos, produced 
fire in much the same manner, except that they 
used a mouthpiece to hold the upper part of the 
stick. A little inset of bone was placed in the 
mouthpiece where the stick came in contact with 
it, to prevent wear, and also to keep the drill 
from making fire at both ends. The drill was 
revolved by a thong wound about it and attached 
to a short bow. This was a great improvement. 




After the Indians became acquainted with the 
early settlers, they gave up their old fire-sticks 
for the "strike-a-light" of the traders, which con- 
sisted of a piece of flint, a piece of coarse file 
or other rough iron, and some tinder. The 
"strike-a-light" set shown in one of the illustra- 
tions was taken from the Cheyenne Indians of 
Arkansas. It consists of a tinder pouch of buck- 
skin, containing dried bark fibers, a bit of flint, 
a piece of coarse file, and the small end of a 
horn which is filled with "punk" made from dried 
pith. This horn was held in the fist, and the 
spark was struck into it from the flint. This 
outfit was very compact, and could be carried 
about on the person. Another illustration shows 
one of the early New England "tinder-boxes" 
and outfit. Sparks were directed into this box 
by striking the iron "flourish" against the flint, 

used as a candlestick. We may imagine that the 
big fires kindled by the settlers in the great 
stone fireplaces of their one-room log-cabins, 
were a great improvement on those made by the 
Indians in their tents or lodges. 

In later times, the back of an old kitchen knife 
was often used against the flint to produce the 
sparks, and another and more unusual method 
was to fire a rifle into the stone fireplace, where 
some tinder was gathered, the bullet striking 
sparks that set up a fire. An emery-wheel re- 
volving against a steel would produce many more 
sparks than any of the above contrivances, but 
the mechanical fixture needed to set it up was 
more cumbersome and not readily carried about. 

In those days, when it was so difficult to pro- 
duce fire, it was the general custom to keep a 
fire burning continuously. At night and other 


and when the partly burned rags within became 
ignited, the candle was lighted and the snuffer 
used to put out the fire remaining in the box. 
The candle was set on the box, which was then 

times when the fire was not so much needed, it 
was "banked" with a covering of ashes and cinders. 
In this smoldering condition it would usually 
remain for many hours ; but sometimes by neg- 




lect or accident it would go out. In such a case, 
it was a common custom among" the early set- 
tlers to send some of the children with a pail to 


A, a piece of coarse file which struck against the flint, B, and pro- 
duced a spark which was directed into the "punk" in the small hol- 
low horn, C. D, buckskin pouch, about eight inches long, for holding 
the supply of tinder. (The button on this pouch, and the iron file, 
must have been acquired from the traders.) 

A, iron flourish, or striker; B, flint; C, box containing the tinder; 
D, cover with candle in position; E, snuffer. 

"borrow" some live coals from a neighbor. Just 
imagine taking a pail and going sometimes for a 

mile or more to a neighbor's with the request, 
"Please give me some fire." 

All this disappeared, of course, when matches 
came into use, and now even these little fire- 
makers are no longer indispensable, for we may 
ignite our gas-jets with an electric attachment, 
or, if our houses are lighted by electricity, the 
pressing of a button illuminates the room. So 
we see that our forefathers spent much time in 
doing some things which can now be done in an 
instant ! Harry B. Bradford. 

In the clays of the old flint-lock, tinder was 
lighted by snapping the lock of the rifle, while a 
little powder was put in the pan so that the flash 
might readily ignite the tinder. 

The placing of tinder around the hole in the 
fire drill is not essential. What really ignites is 
the wood dust ground off by the friction, and 
from this the tinder is ignited. It is true that 
tinder is sometimes placed beneath the hearth of 
the fire drill so that the wood dust, as it is ground 
off, accumulates on it in a little heap, but it is 
the wood dust that first takes fire. Any boy or 
girl can try the experiment with a simple bow- 
drill, because fire can be made by any one with 
three pieces of dry pine wood and a simple bow. 

Many primitive people used some fungus for 
tinder. In this locality, the variety known as the 
puffball, gathered and dried, makes most excel- 
lent tinder. 

Primitive people had a method of making a 
long slow "match" by twisting up a rope of cedar 
bark or other material that would burn slowly. 
In this way, fire might be carried for hours. The 
American Indian frequently used a buffalo horn, 
which was filled with tinder, lighted, and then 
very tightly closed. Fire would keep in such a 
horn for many hours. 

In the days when the Sioux Indians had cop- 
per kettles, they were also supplied with flint and 
steel, the latter being one of the first things 
traded to them, and one which they especially 
prized. The making of fire by wood friction is 
so much more laborious that no people would 
ever use it if flint and steel were at hand. — 
Clark Wissler, Ph.D., American Museum of 
Natural History, New York City. 


The illustration on the next page shows some 
boys from Greenwich visiting the Arcadia (Sound 
Beach, Connecticut) apiary. These boys are on 
a nature-study outing, and are taking their first 
lesson in handling honey-bees. The picture shows 
that they did this without the aid of protecting 
gloves or veil. The ten frames of a hive were 







passed around, and the action of the bees care- 
fully observed. This does not prove that bees 
will not sting, nor that the boys were unusually 
skilful in handling the bees. In certain condi- 
tions, and at certain times that can be ascer- 
tained only by an experienced beekeeper, bees 
may be thus taken from the hive with but little 
danger. At other times, to have attempted this 
with the same hive would have been extremely 

It hardly seems necessary to add that young 
people should never attempt to handle bees in 
this way except by the consent and under the 
supervision of an expert. 


A remarkable fish, previously unknown, was 
obtained on the Philippine expedition by the 
United States Fisheries steamer Albatross, which 
cruised around the island of Celebes, and made 
dredgings at various places off the coast and in 

It is only a little more than two inches in length, 
but is of wonderful structure, especially in its 
head, which is nearly as long as the remainder of 
its body, while the length of the mouth is more 
than half that of the head. The mouth is de- 
scribed as cavernous and elastic, with "a trap 
into which food is lured and despatched." In the 
roof of the mouth is a bulb which shines through 
a toothless space in the front of the upper jaw, 
and attracts prey, which, having entered the 
mouth, is prevented from escaping by two pairs 
of large, hinged, hooked teeth. 

Hugh M. Smith and Lewis Radcliffe, of the 
United States Fisheries, have published a scien- 
tific description of this wonderful fish with the 
snare mouth, and have named it Thaumatichthys 
(from thanma, a wonder, and ichtlms, a fish) 
pagidostomus (from pagis, a 
trap or snare, and stoma, a 

Therefore, this unusually 
long scientific name for a very 
small fish simply means, "a 
wonder fish with a trap mouth." 


the bays of that island. The fish is so unlike all 
others that it has been assigned to a new family. 
Vol. XL. -23. 






Barrington, III. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Will you please tell me what 
" fire " is ? Lucile G. Robertson. 

Fire, as we usually see it, is the action of air 
upon hot substances that can burn. It is only 
one ingredient or part of the air which does this, 
the oxygen. Usually when things burn, there 
are hot gases and vapors formed which make the 
flame. Fire is not a substance, therefore, but an 
action, or its appearance. Most things that can 
burn in the air can do so only when heated very 
hot, but since the burning of a part of the thing 
produces much heat, a fire will often increase 
and spread enormously. Three things are needed, 
then, to make a fire : sufficient heat to start it, a 
supply of the thing that will burn, and a supply 
of air. Water puts out fire because it cools the 
thing that is burning, or covers it up, and keeps 
the air away. — Professor H. L. Wells, New 
Haven, Connecticut. 

the speed of birds in flight 

Broadrun, Va. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Will you please tell me which can 
fly swiftest, the wild duck, the hawk, or the pigeon ? And 
which bird can fly swifter than any other in the world ? 
Yours very truly, 

Cassius C. Dulany (age 12^). 

Two observations with scientific instruments 
give to migrating ducks a speed of forty-seven 
and eight tenths, and to migrating geese a speed 
of forty-four and three tenths, miles per hour. 
Homing pigeons do not exceed forty to forty- 
five miles an hour. Doubtless all three birds can 
fly much more rapidly, but I know of no exact 
observations which would tell us of the utmost 
speed they have attained or might reach. — F. M. 
Chapman, Curator of Birds, American Museum 
of Natural History. 


Villa Fontanelle, P. Ovile, Siena, Italy. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Will you please tell me why, put- 
ting a nasturtium leaf under the water, it looks as if it was 
of silver ? Egi.E Bossi. 

The nasturtium leaf is covered with a finely 
distributed, waxy substance which will not per- 
mit water to wet the leaf. Hence, when im- 
mersed, the water cannot touch the leaf and drive 
off the air surrounding it, and a thin layer of air 
remains between the leaf and the water. It is 

the reflection and refraction of light from this 
layer of air that give the silvery appearance. 
It has been supposed by some authorities that the 
presence of this non-wettable layer has the ad- 
vantage of preventing the raindrops which fall 
on the leaf from remaining there, and thus block- 
ing up the stomata, or breathing-pores. — W. F. G. 

{From one of our adult readers) 

Chicago, III. 
Dear St. Nicholas : While tramping in the woods in 
northern New York State, I found the accompanying beech 
twig, or sucker, with a single fruit on its tip. It was 
growing about eight feet from the main trunk on the root 
of a large tree, somewhat as shown in my rough sketch. 

The root was exposed where the sucker grew. While 
this may not be an unusual occurrence, I had never seen 
such a growth on any other tree. The parent tree bore a 
heavy crop of nuts, but the nut on the sucker was smaller 
and less perfectly developed than those on the parent tree. 

In order to make a perfect proof I should have cut a 


small piece from the surface of the root to which the twig 
was attached, but I did not think of doing so until too late. 

This unusual growth may possibly be of interest to the 
nature lovers who read the " Nature and Science " depart- 
ment of St. Nicholas. 

I have been a reader of St. Nicholas since its first 
issue, in 1873, I believe, and to-day, when it comes to our 
home, I read the nature department first. I am, 
Very sincerely, 

Orpheus M. Schantz. 

This is, indeed, a remarkable example of a 
small tree bearing fruit. It makes one think of 
Luther Burbank's experiments with very small 
chestnut-trees producing a large crop of full- 
sized burs and nuts. — E. F. B. 




The heart of good St. Nicholas is warmed with cheer and gratitude, this Christmas- 
tide, in contemplating the work of the League members, as shown not only in this final 
month of the year, but throughout the whole of 1912. Never, we think, have they 
maintained quite so high an average of merit; and it is, as usual, a source of keen re- 
gret to us that the space at our command forbids anything more than that general 
commendation which has long since become a familiar story to all St. Nicholas read- 
ers. The highwater mark, however, seems to have been reached in these December 
offerings, both in text and picture; and therefore we should be lacking indeed in ap- 
preciation, if we did not, at this beautiful close of a wonderful year, once more assure 
the League girls and boys of our boundless pride in their efforts, and our earnest grat- 
itude for their loyal interest and truly remarkable achievement. With the abiding and 
ever-growing enthusiasm evinced by each and all, the coming year cannot fail to eclipse 
even the record just completed. 

In the January number, we expect to make a special announcement of a plan whereby 
we can show further appreciation of the work of the League young folk — to all of 
whom, meanwhile, we wish a Very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! 




In making the awards, contributors' ages are considered. 

PROSE. Gold badges, Gwynne A. Abbott (age 12), Groton, Mass. ; Dorothy M. Hoogs (age 15), Honolulu, H. I. 

Silver badges, Editha Lee (age 12), New York City; Audrey Smith (age 13), Milan, Italy; Helenka Adamowska 

(age 11), Cambridge, Mass.; Sarah Malcolm Klebs (age 13), Lausanne, Switzerland. 

VERSE. Gold badges, Frances Camp Duggar (age 17), Auburn, Ala. ; Janet Hepburn (age 16), Bloomington, Ind. 

Silver badges, Lucile E. Fitch (age 16), New Orleans, La. ; Frances Swan Brown (age 14), York Harbor, Me. ; 

Jean Dickinson (age 16), Brooklyn, N. Y. ; Elsie L. Richter (age 16), Fort Lee, N. J. ; Marjorie M. Carroll (age 15), 

Brooklyn, N. Y. 

DRAWINGS. Gold badge, Margaret Brate (age 15), Albany, N. Y. 

Silver badges, Zelina Comegys (age 15), Rock Island, 111.; Helen F. Drain (age 15), Tacoma, Wash.; Louise 

Graham (age 14), Seattle, Wash. 

PHOTOGRAPHS. Gold badge, Louise A. Wiggenhorn (age 15), Ashland, Neb. 

Silver badges, G. A. Lintner (age 16), London, England; Gymaina Hudson (age 15), Denver, Col. 

PUZZLE-MAKING. Gold badge, Phoebe Schreiber Lambe (age 17), Ottawa, Can. 

Silver badges, Gladys Naramore (age 17), Everett, Mass. ; Louis Ruckgaber (age 11), Belmar, N. J. 

PUZZLE ANSWERS. Gold badges, Emma Katherine Anderson (age 14), Marietta, Ga. ; Alpheus W. Smith 

(age 14), Ithaca, N. Y. 

Silver badges, Ruth Browne (age 12), St. Louis, Mo. ; Dorothy Talbot (age 13), Urbana, O. ; Helen A. Cohen (age 

14), New York City; Catherine Gordon Ames (age 14), New York City. 










(Silver Badge) 
Give me the rush of the winter world 

In the teeming, slushy streets ! 
The throb of ceaseless activity, 

Like a giant's great heart-beats. 



The frosty nights when the buildings stand, 

Black ghosts, aloof and high, 
With a hundred eyes of gleaming light — 

Pin-points against the sky. 

The rush of the wind that patrols the streets 

Like some wild thing in its cage, 
And the noise as it tears at the flying snow 

Of the mighty war they wage. 

And the winter months are the best of all, 

For their motto is, "All cheer!" 
And the heart of the city of steel and stone 

Leaps up at the glad New-year ! 



(Silver Badge) 
In Poland, the greatest holiday of the year is Christmas 
eve, and it is a joyous day to all the children. 

About a week before, we gather in the sitting-room, 
and, seated before a merry fire, make different pretty 

That night, Father comes home with 
packages full of colored paper, nuts, ap- 
ples, and oranges. 

In a second, we surround him, and each 
takes some of these materials to make 
baskets, chains, or to gild the nuts. 

All this time, the parlor is closed, and, 
as the days are Hearing, great excitement 
reigns among us, while parents decorate 
the tree and lay the presents around. 

At last the great day arrives ; then 
everybody is in a bustle : Mother directs ' 
the setting of the table, children fly around 
to get ready, and the family gathers at twi- 
I light. 

We wait for the appearance of the first 
5 star, and then walk into the dining-room. 

The table is richly laid with candles and 
I silver, looking unusually pretty. 

Under the table-cloth we lay some hay, 
in memory of Jesus being born in a 

ge 15. & 

After having partaken of a wafer blessed 

in church, we begin supper, which consists 

of soup, various fish courses, and dessert. 

Finally, Father goes to light the candles on the tree, 
the music starts a carol, and we march in. 

We circle around the tree, singing the carol, after 
which we unfold our presents. 

Suddenly the door opens and some peasants enter, 
bringing a little theater, like Punch and Judy, and make 
the dolls, dressed in national costumes, act pretty 
scenes, and sing national songs. 

Before we know it it is ten o'clock, and our parents 
send us off to bed. 

We say good night, and, rather tired out by this ex- 
citing day, we go to dreamland, to dream of the day and 
to live over its pleasant scenes. 






191 2-1 










{Gold Badge) 
I once heard a story about a little boy who wished that 
Christmas was on every day in the year, so he could get 
Christmas presents. Perhaps he thought that was the 
only thing meant by Christmas, and perhaps children 
and even grown-ups nowadays think so too. But are 
presents the only Christmas things, and is it only be- 
cause of them that it is honored as the happiest day in 
the year? No. It is because Jesus was born that day. 

How often that memory slips from our minds as we 
open the precious parcels and look at their contents. 
Children, even when you go to church, are you not 
thinking more of your presents than of the hymns you 
sing and of the lesson being read ? Yes, of course you 
are. So the thought of the little thing which soon will 
be forgotten stamps out the thought of the big thing 
which always should be remembered. 

Of course there is some of the true Christmas spirit in 
the presents. This is shown by the love of those who 
gave the gifts, and by the fact that St. Nicholas, the 
Christmas saint, is a saint of gift-giving and generosity. 
Children, let us remember this when we open our 
parcels on Christmas morning. Let us be full of the 
true Christmas spirit, love, peace, and contentment, on 

that day, and on every day in the year. Let us carry it 
like a lamp to dark places, and fill them with the light 
of love. 

Then indeed we shall prove the story of the little boy 
in another way — by showing that love can be carried 
r.bout every day in the year ; that is the true Christmas ! 



{Honor Member) 
Life played before me, all in changing train : 

New, sudden thoughts that set men wondering — 

The budding of some little, living thing ; 
The swift, glad throb of pleasure wrought with pain- 
Gold-spotted sunbeams melting into rain ; 

The over-birth of worlds at perfect spring, 

All unattained, but ever promising — 
Ideals that, fleeting, kindle but to wane. 

All brightness growing beautiful to fade, 
All purity that lights to be obscured, 
All newness coming but to pass away — 

Is surer beauty, but a while delayed, 
* Is truer goodness for the stain endured, 
Is resurrection — is an April day ! 








(Silver Badge) 
"Natale" is the Italian for Christmas, and means 
"birthday." Most children who are born on Christmas 
in Italy are called Natalino, if a boy, or Natalina, if a 
girl. This name certainly would not suit an American 
child. You would laugh to hear some one called 
"Christmas Jones." Christmas eve is here known as 
the "vigilia," which means vigil (to keep watch). The 
Italians celebrate Christmas in a very different way 
from us, and, as we would think, a very poor way. No 
holly and evergreens about the house, and no Christmas 
trees. The churches, too, have no such decorations, but 
are draped in heavy red and gold silk. Plum-puddings 
and mince-pies are not known, and the only famous 
sweet is the "panettone," which is sent by thousands 
from Milan (where it is a specialty) to the Argentine 
Republic and North America, so that the Italian fam- 
ilies there may enjoy some of their home Christmas 
cheer. The torrone is a candy filled with hazel-nuts, 
and is known and liked all over Italy. It is made at 
Cremona, in Lombardy, and is n't it good ! It may sur- 
prise you the way turkey is bought and sold, so that the 
poorer people may have some on their table for Christ- 
mas dinner. A turkey is cut into pieces, and sold by 
weight, like meat. Italian children do not receive many 
presents at Christmas ; they are given them on their 
name-day, or saint-day, and their birthdays are scarcely 
noticed. By this account you will understand that 

Christmas is- much more merry for children in England 
and America than in sunny Italy. 



(Gold Badge) 
How happy is the world when Springtime's sky 

Is arched above, while softly budding trees 
Uplift their precious promises on high, 

And wave their priceless burdens in the breeze ! 

How beautiful the world when Summer's song 
Is echoed back by rivers, lakes, and rills ! 

When nodding daisies grow 'mid grasses long, 
And purple haze lies on the distant hills ! 

How glorious the world when scarlet leaves 

Dance down at Autumn's touch to clothe the ground ! 

When goldenrod the summer's death retrieves, 

And purple-clustered grapes the vines have crowned ! 

How wonderful the world when shining ice 
And violet-shadowed snow enwrap the earth ! 

When blazing fires the weary heart entice, 

And holly wreaths bespeak the Christmas mirth ! 

Each month, each season, has its jeweled days, 

Each Winter, Springtide, Summer, and each Fall ; 

I know not which deserves the highest praise, 
For each one in its turn seems best of all. 












{Silver Badge) 
The season I love is the summer-time, 

Vanishing far too soon. 
And the best month of all in that summer-time, 
Is one that has often been sung in rhyme, 
That blooms every year in my southern clime — 

The beautiful month of June. 

The glories of Nature are flaming there, 

In my land of the tropic moon, 
Where a fragrance enticing, seductive, rare, 
Pervading the soft, enchanted air, 
Ascends from a kingdom of flowers fair, 

That bloom in the month of June. 

The shadows that flit o'er the shimmering stream, 

That sleep in the long lagoon, 
Are swept by the glint of a red sunbeam, 
And fringed with fires that resplendent gleam 
O'er the earth, enfolded in one fleet dream 

Of the languid month of June. 

And though there are many and beautiful things 

That open from noon to noon, 
As the year escapes on its changing wings, 
And leaves a remembrance which each month brings, 
There is none so sweet as the dream that clings 

To the magic month of June. 



{Gold Badge) 
Several years ago, a number of tourists who were 
spending the winter months in Honolulu wanted to 
celebrate Christmas in some way. They could hardly 
realize that it was the wintry season, as the trees and 
grass were green, and crowds of people were on the 
beaches and swimming in the ocean every day ; and so 
they thought of a novel idea : they would have a Christ- 
mas tree out-of-doors, and invite all the children of the 
city ! They procured a very large tree, and after having 
set it up in a park in the center of the town, they deco- 
rated it lavishly with pop-corn, tinsel, and all the other 
ornaments that are used for the purpose. Cotton was 
strewn freely over the branches to imitate snow, which 
has never been seen by the little folks in Hawaii. The 
' decorations complete, and everything in readiness, 
the 'children were all notified of this wonderful tree 
through the newspapers, and on Christmas morning, 
thousands of little ones of all nationalities represented 
in these islands made a picturesque sight, dressed in the 
costumes of their parents' home country. They eagerly 
watched Santa Claus as he untied the dolls and the 
jump-ropes and jack-knives from the heavily laden 
branches, and distributed them freely to every one. It 
was evident by the happy little faces that the day was a 
huge success, and ever since then this idea has been 
carried out by the community, and is called the "Mali- 
hini," or strangers' Christmas tree. 






(Gold Badge) 
In April conic the April showers, 

And April breezes blow ; 
The woods with April songs are gay, 

And April flowers grow. 

The may-pop with its fringe of blue, 

The meadow daisies small, 
The sweet shrub, and the violet, 

All come at April's call. 


The great, wild pansies lift their heads, 

The honeysuckles bloom ; 
The yellow jasmine fills the air 

With misty, sweet perfume. 

The little phloxes nod their heads 

In every passing breeze ; 
The mountain-laurel bends and sways, 

To the rustling of the trees. 

The woods, the breeze, the April flowers, 
The raindrops, and the rippling streams, 

All fill our throats with April songs, 
Our hearts with April dreams. 

And underneath the April skies, 

The birds all sing for joy. 
Oh, April is a happy month 

For Southern girl and boy ! 



(Honor Member) 
This is a story which can never grow old. It 
possesses, and ever will possess, the spirit of 
youth, the joy of Christmas time, the beauty of 
charity and love. It is a story one can never — 
weary of ; each time one reads it, one finds it as 
fresh and charming as the first time. It is a story 
one should read at Yule-tide ; then its Christ- 
mas spirit will flood the heart, and fill it with good-will. 
How many hearts this story must have softened ; how 
many souls it must have filled with warm, generous im- 
pulses ! How many Christmases it must have made 

happier ! Its atmosphere of love and joy is too real to 
be resisted ; it draws the reader, heart, soul, and mind, 
into it during the reading, and leaves a lasting memory 
of sweetness afterward. 

(Told by a puppy) 


(Silver Badge) 
I awoke one morning to find myself in a basket with 
the lid shut down securely. It was stuffy ; my body 
ached for want of stretching ; a sensation of fear came 
over me as I listened to the odd noises around me. 
What could this all mean ? 

Soon the lid of my basket was cautiously opened. I 
heard a voice cry, "Oh, goody, goody, it 's a puppy" ; 
then a little hand reached down, picked me up, and 
placed me on a table. 

Being by nature curious, the first thing I did was to 
gaze around me. The table on which I stood was in a 
big room, and, strange enough, in one corner stood a 
lovely tree, the like of which I had seen before outside 
but not in a house. Five girls were watching me with 
eager eyes, — why, I could not say. 

After I had taken some milk which they very con- 
siderately offered me, I underwent the trying ordeal of 
having a red ribbon tied around my neck. I did not 
like this a bit, and tried to interfere by pushing it away 
with my paw. I was rebuked by a few exclamations : 
"You naughty puppy ! What a rascal he is !" 

The rest of the day I was spoiled and petted by my 
young mistresses. When night came, I was laid in a 
soft-cushioned basket, and told, "Go right to sleep, you 
spoiled Christmas puppy." I lay awake trying to puzzle 
out what they meant by calling me a "Christmas puppy." 




My conclusion was that probably there was a day 
when puppies could be spoiled in every possible way, 
and that it was this day that was called Christmas ; and 
the next thing I knew it was morning. 

I 9 I2.] 





(Silver Badge) 
The crisp, cold winds, the snowbound world, 

The ring of skates, the sleigh-bells' chime, 
The group around the cozy fire — 

What months like those of Winter time ! 

The dull brown branch is veiled in green, 
The sun is bright, and warm the rain ; 

Now all the world receives new life — 
The Spring — the Spring is here again ! 



The swimming-pool, the fish-rilled stream, 
The varied craft on waterways ; 

The tennis, golf, and motoring — 
Oh, happy, carefree Summer days ! 

The bright-hued flowers, the flaming trees, 
The southbound birds' sweet parting call, 

The going back to work again — 

These are the pleasures of the Fall! 

White Winter and the wakening Spring, 
Both Fall and Summer flower-dressed, 

The whole year full of happiness, 
So, as it comes, each month is best ! 



(Silver Badge) 
Can you picture Christmas celebrated like a midsummer 

In Connecticut, Christmas meant crisp, cold air, the 
jingle of sleigh-bells, snow-drifts, holly, mistletoe, gen- 
eral excitement, and shouting "Merry Christmas" out 
of the fullness of our hearts. In contrast, here was I, in 
Emali, only a tiny village on the Kongo, in Africa. 
My father was hunting, and my mother and I, in this 
hot, humid country, practically cut off from the rest of 
our world, had planned to be cheerful and celebrate the 
holiday as best we could. With this end in view, we 
decided to have a picnic on the Kongo, and asked a 
little Russian girl and her mother — for months the only 
other whites in Emali — to go along. Considering that 
neither of us knew much of the other's language, we got 
on better than one would think. We would have had 
quite an enjoyable float up the river, the guide telling 
many things in Pigeon-English, were it not for the heat 
and mosquitos. Dear ! If you consider the Long Island 
or New Jersey mosquitos mosquitos, why simply row 
up the Kongo ! 

About five miles up, we saw a beautiful spot, just 
ideal for picnickers. There we disembarked and had 
our luncheon, after which all almost simultaneously pro- 
duced books and, resting comfortably, began to read. 
Vol. XL. — 24. 

But we were not to have peace long. Soon we heard 
an awful rustling in near-by bushes, and on jumping up, 
beheld, not forty feet away, a wild elephant ! 

How we scrambled for the boats, nearly throwing one 
another into the water, and how we made off, can never 
be told! 

But we did,' and — well, was n't that a queer Christ- 



(Silver Badge) 
Once more the reign of Northern cold is here. 

To-day, from lowering, leaden skies, the snow 
Is slowly drifting downward. Far and near 
The landscape yields a shimmering silver glow, 
Till daylight dies. 

Soft shadows creep ; the gray of heav'n is rent, 

And through the rifts the stars smile, while the moon, 

From her high way, keeps watch till night is spent, 
Till, in the east, a light breaks all too soon, 
And darkness flies. 

To-morrow dawns. A glistening waste of white 
That 's blinding in its brilliance, greets the sun ; 

The trees are crystalled in its dazzling light, 
And shed a glory till the day is done. 

Yet — 't is not Nature, though her splendor glows, 

That places high December's cold and snow ; 

'T is the great gift that from God's mercy rose- — 

The Saviour, at whose coming, long ago, 

The choir of angels made the heavens ring, 

And bade the shepherds worship Christ, their king. 

Hark, down the years their music rings again, 
Soft telling, "Peace on earth, good-will to men." 





How nice it is to live in • 

The month that gives us snow, 

The month that we send presents 
To every one we know. 

December is the nicest month, 

Especially for boys ; 
They skate, and slide, and run around, 

And make a lot of noise. 






(Honor Member) 
Sing carols, Christmas carols, 

Of quaint old melody, 
And let the days be filled with praise, 

With mirth and jollity; 
For we have passed from 'neath the pall 

Of gloomy, black November, 
Now rules the month that 's best of all, 

The bluff old king, December ! 

So bring ye in the boar's head, 

With bays and garlands crowned ; 
The peacock vain, with gorgeous train ; 

And send the wassail round. 
With festive holly deck the wall, 

The Christmas games remember; 
And hail the month that 's best of all, 

The bluff old king, December ! 



Then reign, thou Lord of Misrule, 

With all thy merry band ; 
And kiss below the mistletoe 

The fairest in the land. 
Till on the hearth the ashes fall, 

The Yule log's dying ember, 
Come, hail the month that 's best of all, 

The bluff old king, December ! 



July means Independence Day, 

With its fireworks, flags, and fun ; 
November means Thanksgiving, 

Turkeys, pumpkin-pies well done ; 
But better yet than summer's joys, 

Or longed-for feasts of fall, 
Is jolly old December, 

The best month of all. 

The Day of Independence 

Celebrates a nation's birth ; 
Thanksgiving teaches gratitude ; 

We learn the Pilgrim's worth. 
But Christmas, Jesus' birthday, 

With its heartfelt, sacred call, 
Comes amidst the storms of winter, 

In the best month of all. 

Human nature, worn by summer, 

With its heated, jealous strife, 
Cooled by autumn, thanks outpouring 

For abundance, joy, and life, 
Finds its highest aim in winter, 

'Mid the snow-drifts wide and tall, 
In the white peace of December, — 

The best month of all. 



(Silver Badge) 
Poets may sing of the beautiful spring, 

Of June, and her glorious days. 
When making a rhyme, my favorite time 

Is Christmas ; I '11 tell why it pays. 

Now first there is "holly," that rhymes well with "jolly." 

For poets it really is fine ! 
There 's "ember," "December," and also "remember," 

Of appropriate words there 's a mine ! 

There 's "boys," and there 's "toys," and "Christmas- 
tide joys," 

All pertaining to Christmas, you see. 
I was glad when I saw the League subject this month, 

It made it so easy for me. 

I 've given the reason why poets are glad 

When dear old December is here. \ 

For League rhymesters, with me, you will surely agree, 

It 's the very best month of the year ! 


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. 


Ruth Gilbert 
Beulah E. Amidon 
Elizabeth H. 
Sophie E. Woods 
Janet G. Banks 
Inis Hubbard 
Susan B. Sturgis 
Courtenay W. Halsey 
D. Q. Palmer 
Anna L. Lilienfeld 
Elsie L. Lustig 
Florence L. Smith 
Florence M. Young 
Mary D aboil 
Camilla L. Schiavone 
Nathaniel Dorfman 
Marv Smith 
Ethel T. Boas 
Ethel W. Kidder 
Dora Peters 
Edith H. Walton 
Fredrika W. Hertel 
Norma Stebbins 
Dorothy M. Rogers 
Margaret M. Cloyd 
Mary Eliz. Seager 
Evelyn G. Pullen 
Mary Nathan 
Lillias Armour 
Ruth E. Flinn 
Eunice Graham 
Dorothy Duggar 
Elizabeth Doane 
Gertrude Davis 
Mary A. White 
Miriam Devereux 
Ruth Heiman 
Vernie Peacock 
Eleanor W. Bowker 
Myrtle Doppmann 
Gretchen von Phul 
Ruth K„ Gaylord 
Edith L. Weart 
Grace D. Elder 
Mary K. Fagan 
Miriam F. Carpenter 
Martha Latham 
Kathleen Spooner 


Andre P. Chambellan 
Eleanor Birmingham 

Irving J. Weiss 
Susan Nevin 
Lorna von P. Schrader 
Elizabeth Walton 
Rebecca H. Wilder 
Margaret C. Bland 
Elmer H. Van Fleet 
Charles Samolar 
Mary S. Rupert 
Alison C. Laing 
Mildred E. Roberts 

Louis Schwartz 
Edith L. Crounse 
Ruth B. Brewster 
Leonore Lemmler 
Eugenia Rothrock 
Eleanor W. Haasis 
Edith Townsend 
Marjorie Flanagan 
Grace S. Pope 
Katherine Newcombe 
Betty Smith 

St • IM icWLa £, LEAgue 

-*JECf M liev iqir 



Esther Wilson 
Margaret A. Halstead 
Margaret E. Beakes 
Anna C. Johnson 
Doris Rowell 
Harriet Arn 
S. Virginia Donaldson 

F. Marie Brown 
Rosalie Louis 
Roberta E. Taylor 
Annie Bainbridge 
Ralph B. Cooney 
Hedwig Zorb 
Estella Johnson 




Mary G. Boyd 
Clara Loitman 
Mary Valentine 
Sarah H. Williams 
Albin Y. Thorp 


Helen B. Rivkin 
{Catherine Allport 
Miriam Abrams 
Lucile Phillips 
Helen Hunt Andrew 
Joyce A. Cook 
Marjorie G. Acker 
Eleanor Johnson 
John C. Farrar 
Ada L. Mahool 
Mary A. Porter 
George M. Enos 
Margaret Duggar 
Elinor L. Gittelson 
Emily Campbell 
Marion Cleaveland 
Arthur H. Nethercot 
Josephine L. Livingood 
Mary J. Smith 
Constance Bowles 
Mary C. Barnett 
Bertha E. Walker 
Winifred S. Stoner, Jr. 
Anne Gordon 
Alice Q. Rood 
York Sampson 
Elinor Everitt 
Pauline P. Whittlesey 
Edward Schulhof 
Frances Struller 
Mildred G. Wheeler 
A. L. Packard 
Renee Geoffrion 
Ruth Morris 
Muriel Morris 
Georgene W. Davis 
Jean P. Mumford 
Lucy Mackay 
Annette Meyer 
Helen Varelman 
Katharine W. Ball 
Lloyd Dinkelspiel 
Jean E. Freeman 
Mattie Hibbert 
Katharine V. Higley 
Helen Palmer 
Thomas H. Joyce 
Irma A. Hill 
Margaret Tildsley 
Elizabeth Hendee 
Betty Humphreys 


Vera Mikol 
Burford Johnson 
Jeannette Johnson 
Laura Keevil 
Alan A. West 
Vera Hastings 
Kenneth Allen 
Mildred E. Woodside 
Sam Stein 
Albertine Hopkins 
Harry J. Sieghert 
Hazel M. Chapman 
John Perez 
Casilda Clark 
Lois M. Weill 


Ethel F. Frank 
Roberta Townsend 
Dorothy E. Handsaker 
Ethel Cargill 
Margaret Elliott 
Mary I. Farley 
Birger Stenvall 
Leslie Walthen 
Clarence Lemm 
Raymond T. Gleeson 
Howard W. Schwarz 
Jean E. Peacock 
Eleanor Powell 
Francis Bradford, Jr. 
Mayabby Brenan 

Emma W. Hansen 
Edith Kahan 
Ethel du P. 

Barksdale, Jr. 
S. Dorothy Bell 
Genevieve Farner 
Olive Miller 
Robert Riggs 
Lucile I. Means 
Constance Wilcox 
Tadjio Adamowski 
Katharine C. Smith 
Theodore Haupt 
Mildred Holmes 
Lillian Sternberg 
Charlotte MacDougall 

Lily Madan 
Walter K. Frame 
Arthur F. Lincoln 
Clara S. Hefiey 
Bozarte De Kalb 
Frances B. Gardiner 
Dorothy Hughes 
Rodney B. Birch 


Jeannette Foster 
Frances Mackenzie 
Aileen Mackenzie 
Adelaide Lovett 
Nora Mohle 
Elizabeth Martindale 
Isabella B. Howland 
Eleanor Gottheil 
Harry R. McLenegan 
Rita Jarvis 
Irma L. McMahon 
Dolores H. Ingres 
Margaret M. Horn 
Wilma Varelmann 
Cynthia V. Starr 
Harold C. Lewis 
Ferris B. Briggs 
Jessie E. Alison 
Genevieve K. Hamlin 
Marion Van Zandt 
Margaret J. Schmidt 
Hester Bedinger 
Mary P. Reeves 
Katharine H. Seligman 
Mabel Patterson 
Lilly Ruperti 
John J. Governale 
Jennie E. Everden 
Julia E. Seldomridge 
Marjorie T. Mackenzie 
Pauline Brackett 
Lois C. Myers 
Evelyn Frost 
Grace Griffin 
Marion Cummings 
Elizabeth C. Sypher 
Helen Van W. Battle 
Evangeline Clark 
Caryl Peabody 
Alice Schering 
Doris Hunter 
Dorothy L. Boardman 
Nettie Leach 
Ruth Browne 
Juliet M. Bartlett 
Welthea B. Thoday 
Parker McAllister 
Vida Grimble 
Elizabeth A. Lay 
Elizabeth Mahony 
Betty Bradbury 
Sheila Byrne 
Ray Miterstein 
Pauline Kerkow 
Louis Halpern 
Delma V. George 
Virginia Gault 
Harry Sutton, Jr. 


Martha L. Clark 
Carolyn Archbold 
Matthew T. Mellon 
Beatrice Quackenbush 
Louise Down 

Dorothy Tyson 
Margaret Macdonald 
Helen Prescott 
Dorothy von Olker 
Kenneth D. Smith 
Patrina M. Colis 
Andrew N. Adams 
Frank Bennett 
Dorothy G. Schwartz 
Jane Coolidge 
Amy F. Smith 
Tom Wetmore 
John S. O'Conor 
Winthrop Case 
Willard Vander Veer 
James G. Simmons 
Thomas E. Fry 
Margaret E. Hoffman 
Nancy Ambler 
Harriet E. Arnold 
Theodora Eldredge 
Meredyth Neal 
Alexander Scott 
Ruth W. Brooks 
Alexander Gcott 
Mildred H. Graham 
A. D. Harvey 
Gladys E. Livermore 
Eleanor Robertson 
Henderson Barton 
Helen E. Hayden 
Priscilla Fraker 
Beatrice G. Tarver 
Marie Border 
Marian Saunders 
Helene M. Roesch 
Esther Harrington 


Irene Derickson 
Mary F. Packard 
Catherine H. Stickney 
Ruth Coggins 
Dorothy Peters 
Elsie Stuart 
Anna C. Crane 
Charlotte M. Turk 
Elizabeth L. Merz 
Dorris Miller 
Isabel D. Shelpman 
Henry B. Ritcher 
Beatrix B. Newport 
Ruth V. A. Spicer 
Elizabeth Phillips 
Carroll B. Barbour 
Vivian E. Hall 
Ellis Moreau 
Katharine Southmayd 
Paul M. Segal 
Eric H. McCall 
Mary R. Stark 
Charles Bartow 
Elberta Esty 
Marion Bird 
Eva Goldbech 
Jessiejo Eckford 
Dorothy E. Bayles 
Hester B. Curtis ■ 
Laura Hales 
Helen M. Lancaster 
Marion Harbord 
Elizabeth Russell 
Edith Bachman 
Cornelia V. B. Kimball 
William S. Biddle 
Dorothy Peabody 
Margaret Shoemaker 
Edwin H. Thomas 
Carol E. Truax 
Howard Sherman 
Millicent H. Lewis 
Willard Vander Veer 
Ruth Pennybacker 
Augusta Hoehmann 
Margaret E. Langdon 
Catherine Lloyd 
Margaret Benney 
Theodore Dunham, Jr. 


James Stanisewsky 
Juliet W. Thompson 
Helen A. Ross 

Edith P. Stickney 
Paul Buttenweiser 
Marjorie K. Gibbons 
Eleanor Hussey 
Katharine K. 

Margaret Warburton 
Eleanor K. Newell 
Virginia Bliss 
Gertrude Lachman 

Louise Cramer 
William Waller 
Ruth Hays 
Dorothy Colville 
Lulu Columbin 
Margaret Billingham 
Hannah M. Ruley 
Helen L. Bolles 
Frederick M. 
Davenport, Jr. 

Henry Greenbaum 
Philip Franklin 
Warren W. Pierson 
Elbert L. Marvin 
Joanna Connelly 
Eben J. White 
Josephine J. 

Mildred Turner 
Henry J. Brown 


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. 158 will close December 10 (for for- 
eign members December 15). Prize announcements will be 
made and the selected contributions published in St. 
Nicholas for April. 

Verse. To contain not more than twenty-four lines. 
Subject, "Daybreak," or, "The Dawn." 

Prose. Essay or -story of not more than three hundred 
words. Subject, " The Story of the Gate." 

Photograph. Any size, mounted or unmounted ; no blue 
prints or negatives. Subject, "My Rest Photograph." 

Drawing. India ink, very black writing-ink, or wash. 
Subject, " A Bit of Life," or a Heading for April. 

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 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 contribution 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. 


John and Rose were sitting before the fire look- 
ing very disconsolate indeed ; and this was surely 
a pity, for it was Christmas eve, when every child 
should be particularly happy and excited. A 
fine, snowy eve, too, with the clouds just breaking 
in the west, to show a large, red sun through the 
branches of the trees— in summer, their leaves 
were so thick, he used to disappear when he got 
behind them, but now he sent a ruddy path across 
the new-fallen snow, right through the window 
and into the room. 

The fire leaped and played over the big logs in 
the fireplace in the j oiliest way imaginable, chuck- 
ling and whispering to itself, while the wood 
snapped cheerily in reply. Everything indoors 
and out was clearly in the best of spirits and 
ready for holiday fun. 

But little Rose's blue eyes had been slowly fill- 
ing with tears, and suddenly she let her head fall 
on her brother's shoulder, and burst right out 
crying. They were snuggled up together in the 
big, red arm-chair that was just big enough for 
them both. 

John patted her back encouragingly. "There, 
there, Sis," he whispered; "this is n't the only 
Christmas we '11 ever have." But the whisper 
was a little shaky. 

"It 's this Christmas," wailed the little girl. 
"Other Christmases don't seem to matter. They 
are n't real yet !" 

"I know," returned John, cuddling her to him. 
She stopped crying, except for an occasional 
sniff, and both children watched the fire at its 
busy playing. 

"I suppose the fire does n't know we can't have 
any Christmas," Rose said presently. "See how 
it jumps and laughs. Mama said it had been such 
a hard year, we ought to be thankful we had a 
fire and a roof and enough to eat. She said lots 
and lots of little children did n't have; but I 
thought every one had Christmas. Did n't you?" 
"No, I knew that they did n't. But then we 
were kinder used to Christmas.' 


"Yes," agreed Rose, sadly. "But Papa said 
everything went wrong this year, an' that 's why 
we can't have any Christmas." 

The sun had gone while the children were talk- 
ing, and except for the fitful light of the fire, the 
room was dark. Many, many shadows were 
crowding into it, getting ready for all the work 
of the night. 

Suddenly Rose pointed to the mantelpiece. 
"Why— what 's that?" she exclaimed. 

"What?" said her brother, looking where she 
pointed. And then they both said "Oh I" very 
softly and slowly. 

For there, sitting on the edge of the mantel- 
piece, right beside the clock, was an unmistakable 

"Don't be frightened, children," she said, in a 
silvery voice like the tinkle of a breaking icicle, 
as soon as she saw they had discovered her. 
"I 've been wondering when you 'd notice me." 

And here the little figure, not one bit bigger 
than Rose's tiny kitten, Snowflake, jumped off the 
mantelpiece straight to the arm of the big chair. 
And "Oh !" said John and Rose again, at the very 
same instant. 

The fairy smiled at them. She was dressed in 
white fur that shone and twinkled like the snow 
when the sun shines on it. And on her floating, 
golden curls was set what looked like a tiny 
crown of icicles. Her cheeks were a lovely pink, 
and her face the sweetest and merriest conceiv- 
able. And when she spoke, her voice was like 
the clear ringing of skates on ice, except for a 
ripple of laughter that ran through it all the 

"I 'm the Christmas fairy," she said, smiling. 
"When Santa Claus cannot come, I take his place 
as well as I can ; so I 've come to you this year." 
"We never heard of you," said John, gravely, 
looking at her with the deepest admiration. 
"What do you do ?" 

"I don't take things to children, like my big 
friend and his reindeer; but I take children to 
things— to other places, and times, and people. 



I bring them to Christmas, you see, instead of 
bringing Christmas to them." 

"Can you bring us to Christmas?" asked both 
the children. 

"That 's what I 'm here for ! And the sooner 
we 're off, the more we '11 have. We will find 
some of your old friends, and see what sort of a 
time they are having." 

She took hold of Rose's right hand as she 
spoke, and of John's left one. "Shut your eyes," 
she said. 

They shut them tight. Instantly they were 
conscious of a sort of breathless feeling, as 
though they had been running uphill very fast. 
Then they felt a little shake, and the fairy loosed 
their hands. 

"Here we are !" she exclaimed. 

They opened their eyes, and gazed around in 

Before them stretched a vast blue sea, spread 
beneath a sky as blue as itself. A warm, per- 
fumed air surrounded them, and the wind rustled 
through the leaves of a big palm under which 
they stood. At one side a cave opened into a 
cliff; and seated before this cave, at a roughly 
made table, were two men. One of them, though 
tanned very dark, was a white man, for he had a 
blond beard and curling, long hair. He was curi- 
ously dressed in skins that had been made into a 
coat and trousers. The other man was very 
black, with white, flashing teeth and shiny eyes. 
Between them, on the ground, lay a dog, and a 
parrot climbed about a pole that stood near. 
Tethered in a patch of grass was a nanny-goat. 
On the table was a fine dinner, with smoking 
dishes and heaps of lovely fruit. 

"It 's Robinson Crusoe and man Friday," cried 
John, with a gasp. 

Robinson Crusoe looked up when John spoke, and 
immediately beckoned the children to come near. 

"This is a great treat," he said. "These are 
two little friends of mine," he went on, turning 
to Friday. "I think we met last Christmas in a 
big blue book, did n't we ?" he asked John. "Well, 
sit right down — you, too, dear Christmas fairy. 
Many a jolly little party you 've brought me, and 
it does make such a pleasant break in the mon- 

He had a deep, gruff voice, but the kindest 
manner. The children felt thoroughly at home 
at once, and sat down to the feast. Presently 
every one was laughing and chattering, and eat- 
ing away at a great rate. Friday played tricks 
with the parrot and the dog, and Crusoe showed 
them his clock, and all the clever arrangements 
in his cave, one after another, and seemed to have 
as pleasant a time as the three visitors. 

"This makes a real Christmas of it for me," 
he kept saying. "You know, I 'm often mighty 
glad Santa Claus does n't get round to all you 
children— it 's such a treat to have some of you 
run in on me this way." 

"Well, you are going to be rescued pretty 
soon, you know," said Rose, eagerly, feeling sorry 
for poor Robinson Crusoe in his loneliness. 

But just then the fairy caught the children's 
hands again : 

"Must n't tell the end of the story," she whis- 
pered. "Shut your eyes; we must be off." 

Instantly the breathless feeling returned. And 
in a moment the little shock. When John and 
Rose opened their eyes this time, however, it was 
upon a very different scene. 

They were in a square, comfortable room, 
which was charmingly decorated with wreaths 
and festoons of evergreen and holly. In the cen- 
ter was a Christmas tree, brilliantly lighted with 
candles and all hung over with shining orna- 
ments, glowing fruit, and packages done up in 
colored paper. Several smiling grown-up people 
in quaint, old-fashioned clothes" stood near the 
tree, and round it danced a circle of laughing 
children. As soon as they saw John and Rose 
and the fairy, they seized their hands too, and off 
every one went, laughing and shouting, round 
and round. 

At length they stopped, quite tired out. And 
then the packages and the fruit were taken from 
the tree, and divided among the children, Rose 
and John getting theirs with the rest. Such ex- 
citement ! They had gilded gingerbread figures, 
and red apples, and Rose had a doll, and John a 
shining pair of skates. 

Suddenly Rose whispered to her brother : "Oh, 
Johnnie, listen ! the tree is talking !" 

So it was. Its branches were moving a little, 
and rustling, and the rustling made words. 

"I suppose now it will begin all over again," 
the tree murmured happily. 'They will put on 
lovely fresh candles and new packages and glit- 
tering stars. What a wonderful life, and what a 
happy little fir-tree I am !" 

"Why," Rose whispered once more, "it is the 
little fir-tree in the Hans Andersen book for 
which we always felt so sorry." 

And so it was ! 

"What a pity it must be disappointed !" ex- 
claimed John. And there was the fairy at once. 

" 'Sh ! 'sh !" she said. "Come, give me your 

And at once they grew breathless again, and 
felt once more the little shock. 

This time they opened their eyes to find them- 
selves in another room, small and rather dark. 



But there was a big window at one end, before 
which stood two children, a boy and girl about as 
old as John and Rose. And through the window 
you could see clear into another house, where 
there was another tree, as fine as the one they 
had just left. Many children played around it, 
and ate cakes and laughed. 

"Oh, come and look !" cried the two children 
at the window, as soon as they saw Rose and 
John. "Is n't it wonderful ! is n't it beautiful !" 
And then they, too, began to dance. 

Just then, the door opened, and in came a 
queer, little, old lady, looking rather like a funny 
old witch. 

"It 's the Bluebird," whispered John and Rose, 
greatly excited. "Oh, see, see !" 

For, sure enough, the little old woman, who 
had been talking all this while, suddenly waved 
her stick — and then all sorts of wonderful things 
began to happen. 

Out of the clock came the wonderful Hours, 
misty and radiant, and began their lovely dance. 
And there were the Dog and the Cat, talking 
away, and Bread, and Milk, and Light, most won- 
derful of all. John and Rose were so delighted 
they could n't even speak. But they clutched 
tight hold of each other and of the fairy, who 
was twinkling and smiling at a great rate. 

Wilder got the dance, till every one was at it, 
round and round, and in and out. The Dog 

barked as well as talked, and the Cat got quite 
angry, and complained to Rose, who stroked him. 
Bread and Milk chased each other, and every one 
laughed — my, what a noise ! 

Suddenly it all began to grow dim ; but the 
laughter and the talk grew louder than ever, and 
so did the barking— so loud that— 

There were John and Rose, sitting close to- 
gether in the big arm-chair ! 

And the door into the hall was being opened, 
and outside a prodigious racket was going on ! 
Towzer was barking his head off, and Papa and 
Mama were laughing and exclaiming. 

"Children, children, wake up ! Here is your 
Uncle Jack, straight from fairyland, I do believe," 
their mother was saying. "And Santa Claus 
never brought any more Christmas than he has 
with him." 

Through the door came Papa, and Mama, and 
Towzer, and a big man in a fur coat with quan- 
tities of parcels. John and Rose gave one loud 
shout of joy, and jumped straight at him. It 
really was their Uncle Jack, who had gone away 
to the West, and whom they had n't seen for ages ! 

"Why, Rose, it 's just as though we were in a 
story ourselves," said Jack, when things had 
quieted down a bit ; "but where 's the Christmas 

Somehow, she had slipped away, and, so far, 
they have never seen her again. 



Do you know what the Christmas Mousie said, 
Before he went to his trundle-bed? 

He said : "Mr. Santa Claus, if you please, 
Put in my stocking some Christmas cheese !" 



Squares Connected by Diamonds. I. i. S. 2. Apt. 3. Aware 

4. Spaniel. 5. Trill. 6. Eel. 7. L. II. 1. Salam. 2. Anile. 3 
Licit. 4. Aline. 5. Metes. III. 1. T. 2. Bab. 3. Bolus. 4. Talaria 

5. Burin. 6. Sin. 7. A. IV. 1. Eblis. 2. Bride. 3. Limit. 4. 

Idiot. 5. Set-to 
Needy. 6. Dry. 
Roman. 5. Eland. 
5. Piece. 6. Ate 

4. Cotes. 5. Amass. 

5. Early. 6. Ray. 7 

V. 1. 

7. A. 


7. A. 

1. T. 

1. A. 

Pen. 3. 

Scare. 2 
. Tap. 
. Ape. 

Posed. 4. Tessera, 
. Carol. 3. Aroma 

3. Tafia. 
2. Broom 

3. Attar. 




3. Aorta 
4. Apteral 

Thanksgiving Pi. 

Heaped in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead, 
They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbits' tread. 

Illustrated Diagonal. La Salle. 
2. Padlock. 3. Mastiff. 4. Parasol. 

Illustrated Primal Acrostic. Princeton. Cross-words: 
2. Racket. 3. Ink. 4. Nail. 5. Cane. 6. Eye. 7. Toad. 
9. Nest. 

Cross-words : 1. Lobster. 
5. Scallop. 6. Corolla. 7. 

1. Pen. 
8. Oar. 

Double Zigzag. William E. Gladstone. Napoleon Bonaparte. 
Cross-words: 1. Wane. 2. Pisa. 3. Lips. 4. Also. 5. Isle. 6. 
Save. 7. Moor. 8. Lean. 9. Gabs. 10. Alto. n. Arno. 12. Edna. 
13. Saps. 14. Etna. 15. Oars. 16. Gnat. 17. Even. 

Numerical Enigma. 

Breathes there a man with soul so dead 
Who never to himself hath said, 
" This is my own, my native land " ? 

Quintuple Beheadings and Curtailings. Francis Marion. 
Cross-words: 1. Uncom-for-table. 2. Encou-rag-ement. 3. Cryst- 
all-oidal. 4. Misma-nag-ement. 5. North-Car-olina. 6. Scint-ill- 
ation. 7. Imper-son-ation. 8. Arith-met-ician. 9. Quadr-age-simal. 
10. Typog-rap-hical. 11. Dilap-ida-tions. 

Additions. Charles Dickens. Cross-words: 
her. 3. Ant-hem. 4. Rot-ten. 5. Lay-men. 
son. 8. Drain-age. 9. Inn-ate. 10. Car-pet. 
End-ear. 13. Not-ice. 14. Sun-set. 

Concealed Square Word. i. Forum. 2. Opine. 3. Rigid. 
Unite. 5. Medes. 

Reimp-ort-ation. 13. 

Cat-nip. 2. Hit- 
6. Ear-thy. 7. Sea- 
Kid-nap. 12. 

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 City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the September Number were received before September 10 from Catherine Gordon Ames — 
" Queenscourt " — Katharine C. Barnett — Ruth Kathxyn Gaylord — Louise Cramer — Frank Black — Dorothy Talbot — Alice Chase McCurdy — 
Emma Katherine Anderson — Helen A. Cohen — Margaret Warburton — Alpheus W. Smith — Julia F. Brice — Ruth Browne. 

Answers to Puzzles in the September Number were received before September 10 from Constance M. Pritchett, 9 — Harmon B., James 
O., and Glen T. Vedder, q — Harold Kirby, Jr., 9 — R. Kenneth Everson, 9 — Barbara Kimball, 9 — Albert Gerry Blodgett, 9 — Mitchell V. 
Charnley, Jr., 9 — Angeline H. Loveland, 9 — Waldemar Rieck, 9 — Flora Hottes, 9 — Guyton S. Eddy, 9 — Zulime Summers, 9 — Henry Seligsohn, 9 
— Mary O'Connor, 9 — Helen G. Robb, 9 — Sidney Carleton, 9 — Jessie L. Colville, 9 — Helen A. Moulton, 9 — Eva Garson, 9 — Lachlan M. 
Cattanach, 9 — Marion L. Hussey, 9 — Alfred Hand, 3d, 9 — Lothrop Bartlett, 9 — George L. Howe, 9 — George S. Cattanach, 9 — George L. 
Yeakel, 9— Judith Ames Marsland, 9 — Elizabeth A. Lay, 9 — Dorothy Berrall, 8 — Janet Fine, 8 — Jean O. Coulter, 8 — Katharine H. Pease, 8 — 
Gertrude Van Home, 8 — "Dixie Slope," 8 — Mildred Gutwillig, 8 — Katherine Howk, 8 — Eleanor Manning, 8 — Nettie Piper, 8 — Leona M. 
Fassett, 8 — Donis Davidson and Dorothy Dorsett, 8 — Emily Abbott, 8 — Courtenay W. Halsey, 8 — Katharine Drury, 8 — Emily L. Loman, 7 — 
Elizabeth G. Moulton, 7 — Jeannette Hecht, 7 — Katherine Molter, 7 — Pierie W. Laurens, 7 — Constance G. Cameron, 7 — Janet Brouse, 7 — 
Ruth Tiffany, 7 — Eleanor W. Parker, 7 — Daniel B. Benscoter, 7 — Daniel G. Wood, Jr., 7— Edward C. Heymann, 6 — Catharine M. Weaver, 6 — 
Dorothy Hubbell, 6 -Ruth Champion, 6 — Myrtle O. Volkhardt, 6— George C. Lewis, 6— Harrison W. Gill, 5 — Margaret L. Bull, 5— Abby C. 
Gallup, 5 — Harold Moneypenny, 5 — Harry R. Swanson, 5 — Adele Mowton, 4 — Florence Lowden, 4 — William A. Randall, 4 — Arthur R. Titus, 3 — 
Helen M. Rice, 3 — Madeleine Marshall, 3 — Ruth Dorchester, 3 — Charles H. Smith, Jr., 3 — Beatrice Whyte, 2 — Margaret P. Rice, 2 — Ruth D. 
Chase, 2 — Helen Marshall, 2. 

Answers to one Puzzle were received from E. V. S.— H. B.— D. N. P.— M. S.— S. R. R — B. H. P.— I. B. 
V. M. T.— F. A. F.— R. H.— M. G— A. N.— H. B— R. B.— B. W.— M. W. R.— C. O.— D. H. 

-M. B.— M. B. H.— V. H. 


(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 

My whole consists of forty-three letters, and forms a 
quotation from Robert Louis Stevenson. 

My 42-29.- 1 0-16-2 2-3 2 is a flower. My 21-14-27-36- 
7-39 is a dairy product. My 24-2-3-20-1 5-8-1 7 is com- 
pletely. My 26-1 8-35-3 1-1 9 are articles of jewelry. 
My 9-5-4-1 is an animal. My 33-43-38-23-28 is open, 
uncultivated land. My 40-25-34-1 1 is to gather. My 
6-41-30-12 is a trailing plant. My 37-13 is a preposi- 



(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 

All the places described have the same number of let- 
ters. When rightly guessed and written one below an- 

other, the zigzag, beginning at the upper left-hand 
corner, will spell the name of a State. 

Cross-words: i. A city of Washington. 2. A city of 
British East Africa. 3. A country of South America. 
4. A noted peak of the Sierra Nevadas. 5. The largest 
city of Kansu, China. 6. A country of Africa. 7. A city 
of Sicily. 8. A city of northern Africa. 9. An island 
off the coast of China. 10. A Danish colony. 11. A 
western State. 12. A Canadian province. 13. The 
capital of a southern State. 



Across a clock face draw two straight lines from side 
to side that shall divide it into three parts, so that the 
numbers contained in each of the parts shall, when added 
together, amount to twenty-six. 

Abraham shapiro (age 12), League Member. 





When the pictured words are correctly guessed and 
written one below another, two of the rows of letters, 
reading downward, will spell the names of two char- 
acters in a story that is often read at this season. 



* * 



* * 

* * 


* * 




O • • -0000 

• o • • • • 

I. Upper Square (six letters) : I. To value. 2. The- 

4. Whole, s. A ridge of 

i. In rend. 2. Aye. 3. At 

5. In rend. Right-hand 
Angry. 3. Swift. 4. To 

atrical. 3. A kind of dog. 
mountains. 6. Shriek. 

II. Left-hand Diamond 
no time. 4. To* call upon. 
Diamond: i. In rend. 2. 
perish. 5. In rend. 

III. Four-letter Squares: Left-hand: i. So be it. 
2. A little animal. 3. A feminine name. 4. Not distant. 
Middle: i. The part behind. 2. A masculine name. 3. 
A body of armed men. 4. Lines of light. Right-hand: 

1. To let fall. 2. Fury. 3. A side glance. 4. To peep. 

IV. Lower Squares (from left to right) : I. 1. An 
Asiatic country. 2. Another place. 3. A pin on which 
anything turns. 4. Higher. 5. Used in gunpowder. 
II. 1. To allude. 2. To eat away. 3. Central point. 4. 
To extract. 5. To set again. III. 1. Wet, low ground. 

2. A necessary fluid. 3. To expiate. 4. Repairs. 5. To 
squeeze. IV. 1. A kind of riddle. 2. That which hap- 
pens. 3. To speak of falsely. 4. To join. 5. Precipitous. 

Isidore helfand (age 14), Honor Member. 


One bird is concealed in each couplet. When rightly 
guessed and written one below another, the zigzag 
through the first and second columns will spell the name 
of another bird. 

Within a flower Roy thought he heard a buzz ; 
Ardently then he wondered what it was. 

If he had not been sent to fetch the cow, 
Bird-hunting he 'd have started, I '11 allow. 

But fast upon him came an angry bull : 
Battle or flight — he sees his hands are full. 

Just then he spies young Farmer William's wall ; 
O what if he can reach that refuge tall ! 

Ho ! at zinc-colored wall behold him fly ! 

And soon the high stone goal he stood close by. 

Before the frightened lad could reach the top, 
In tail-raised chase the bull came with a pop ! 

Then high into the air poor Roy was sent: 
An age rolled round ere to the earth he went. 

Down with a thump he tumbled from his bed ; 
Fred, Polly, both had buzzed the bell, they said. 
Margaret e. whittemore (age 14), Honor Member. 


(Gold Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 



■Jfi % ^; + % 


I. Central Square: i. To lay out. 2. A kind of bear. 
3. A girl's name. 4. Parts of the hand. 5. To clothe. 

II. Upper, Right-hand Rhombus: Across: i. Se- 
rious. 2. Rescued. 3. A light cavalry soldier. 4. Gen- 
eral. 5. To lay out. Down (beginning at the left) : 
1. In shadow. 2. Aloft. 3. Utility. 4. To avoid. 5. 
Often served at dinner. 6. Egg-shaped. 7. A moun- 
tain peak (Scotch). 8. A boy's nickname. 9. In certain. 

III. Lower, Right-hand Rhombus: Across: i. In 
shadow. 2. Two letters from wrath. 3. Nightfall. 4. De- 
mand. 5. A pagan prophetess. 6. Learning. 7. To gain. 

8. A boy's nickname. 9. In shadow. Down : 1. To 
clothe. 2. To profit. 3. Part of the arm. 4. The nest 
of a bird of prey. 5. Loans. 

IV. Upper, Left-hand Rhombus: Across: i. In 
certain. 2. An exclamation. 3. Skill. 4. A slave. 5. 
Begins a voyage. 6. To hinder. 7. Before. 8. One. 

9. In shadow. Down: i. Rank. 2. Surfaces. 3. Hack- 
neyed. 4. The goddess of flowers. 5. To lay out. 

V. Lower, Left-hand Rhombus: Across: i. To 
clothe. 2. A pile of stones. 3. Taste. 4. Custom. 5. 
An appointed meeting. Down : 1. In certain. 2. Two 
letters from wrath. 3. To speak. 4. Hackney car- 
riages. 5. A projecting arm on a ship used for hoisting. 
6. Tumult. 7. To mistake. 8. Two letters from sand. 
9. In shadow. 




Oh, goodie ! It 's Peter's and I can eat all I want of it 

Peter's slips into Christmas stockings as if made for them. Its 
delicious flavor, its absolute purity and wholesomeness make 
Peter's the ideal Christmas candy. 





what joy to 
get skates like these! 

Strong, bright, sharp, handsome! You can 

get just the model you want — for hockey, 

racing, sailing, figure work or plain skating — 

lever, clamp, strap or screw-on styles. All 

made in the world's greatest skate factory — 

standard for over 50 years. 

Christmas will soon be here! Write for our new cata- 
logue No. 6, containing rules of leading Hockey Asso- 
ciations. Winslow's Skates are sold everywhere. 


Factory and Main Offices : Worcester, Mass., U. S. A. 
Sales Rooms : New York, 84 Chambers St. 
Pacific Coast Sales Agency: Phil. B. Bekeart Co., San Francisco. 

Stocks to be found at LONDON, 8 Long 
Lane E C : FAEIS, 64 Avenue de la 
Grande Armee; BERLIN; SYDNEY and 
LAND and WELLINGTON, New Zealand. 



Makers of 
IVinslow 's 
Roller Skates 






"I'm Not Much of a Cook, Hubby," 

" but here's what I did with Jell-O. Could any coo\ make anything finer than that, and 
won't that hit the spot?" 

Of course no cook could make anything finer. The "beauty of it" is that women 
who cannot cook can make as good desserts as the besl cook, for 

doesn't have to be cooked. The young housekeeper who must 
prepare the meals herself and uses Jell-O, is saved much experiment- 
ing at the expense of her husband's digestion and good nature. 

She is always sure of a good dessert for him anyway. 

In purity and wholesomeness Jell-O is as near perfection as 
science and skill can make it, and nothing else so surely hits the spot 
in the appetite that is pleading to be hit. 

There are seven Jell-O flavors: Strawberry, Raspberry, 
Lemon, Orange, Cherry, Peach, Chocolate. 

1 cents each at any grocer's. 

If you will write and ask us for it we will send 
you the splendid 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. 



jfranklin Simon a Go, 

FIFTH AVENUE, 37th and 38th Streets, NEW YORK 
Useful Holiday Gifts at Special Prices 

No. 50 — Boys' Raincoats of best black rubber 
(guaranteed waterproof); 4 to 16 years 1.95 

No. 50B — Boys' Rubber Sou'wester Hats in tan or black. . 95 

No. 52 — Boys' All- Wool Sweaters of hand-finished 
worsted, in navy, oxford, tan, cardinal, or white; 
sizes, 26 to 36 chest 2.85 

No. 54 — Girls' and Boys' 
Angora Wool Sets, gray, 
white, tan, or red; 2 to 10 
years : 

Sweater 2.85 

Leggins 2.85 

Toque 95 

Mittens 45 


No. 56 — Rubber Boots, "Good- 
year's " best quality, black rubber. 

Sizes 8 to io>£ 2.50 

Sizes u to 2 2.95 

No. 56A — Same style with heels; 
sizes 3 to 6. . .' 3.95 



As small as your note book and 
tells the story better. 


Vest Pocket 


A miniature Kodak, so capable that it will convince the experienced 
amateur, so simple that it will appeal to the novice. So flat and smooth 
and small that it will go readily into a vest pocket, yes, and dainty enough 
for milady's hand bag. 

And the Vest Pocket Kodak is efficient. It is small, almost tiny, but the carefully selected 
meniscus achromatic lens insures good work ; the Kodak Ball Bearing shutter with iris diaphragm 
stops and Auto-time Scale give it a scope and range not found except in the highest grade cam- 
eras. Loads in daylight with Kodak film cartridges for eight exposures. Having a fixed focus it 
is always ready for quick work. Has reversible brilliant finder. Made of metal with lustrous black 
finish. Right in every detail of design and construction. Pictures, \% x 2^ inches. Price $6.00. 

An important feature is that the quality of the work is so fine, the definition of the lens so 
perfect that enlargements may be easily made to any reasonable size, and at small cost — to post 
card size (3^ x 5^) for instance, at 15 cents. 





The ditiind-cars are tinder- 
management of Fred Harve y. 

En route you cart. visif flie 
Grand Canyon of Arizona . 

On request will send our booklets giving 
full details of a delightful journey through 
the Southwest Land of Enchantment 
to winterless California.where you can 
motor and play golf under sunny skies. 
1072 Railway Exchange , Chicago. 

Exclusively for first-class travel -Hie year 'round 




A Christmas Suggestion y : . 

Give Your Boy a Rifle this Christmas 

You'll give him a big lift toward 
manhood when you hand him this 
wonderful modern repeater. It 
will take him out to Nature — to 
grow alert, clear-eyed, self-reliant. 

The / ?e/n//ig to/>.-l/A/C 22 Repeater 

is the boys' ideal rifle — one that will give him years 
of use — one that he will be always proud to own. 
The Remington-UMC 22 Repeater is rifled, sighted 
and tested by the most expert gunsmiths in 
the world . 

Breech block, firing pin and extractor come out 
in one piece — permitting the barrel to be 
cleaned from the breech. It is hammer- 
less and its improved safety-device 
makes accidental discharge impossible. 
It is as desirable a gift to any live 
man, too, as it is to any live boy. 

Ask your dealer to show it to you. 
The price is very moderate. 

To The Boy Himself 

Show this advertisement to your 
father. Ask him to read every 
word of it. Tell him the Remington- 
UMC 22 Repeater is the gift YOU 
want for Christmas. 


299 Broadway . New York City 

The Remington Cubs 
decorate for Xmas 

Special at Xmas time — a repro- 
duction pigskin gun case like 
the illustration with every Rifle. 




6an6g 6oate6 
Sftctouia 0um 

in flavor, but 


not offensive. 
A delicate morsel, re- 
freshing the mouth 
and throat and allay- 
ing after-dinner or 
after-smoking dis- 
tress. The refinement 
of chewing gum for 
people of refinement. It's 
the peppermint — the true 

Look for the Bird Cards in the 
packages. You can secure a 
beautiful 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 



Florida $ 
Water '* 

With those who know, Murray 
& Lanman's Florida Water finds 
a hearty welcome. Its use is al- 
ways a source of extreme person- 
al satisfaction. For the bath, a 
rub down, or after shaving, it has 
been a favonte for over a hundred 

Leading Druggists sell it. 
Accept no Substitute ! 

Sample sent on receipt 
of six cenb in stamps 


135 Water Street, New York 

Christmas Favors 

Christmas Stockings filled with Toys, 5c. , 10c. , 25c. , 50c. , $ 1. 00 each. 
Crepe Paper Holly Basket, 10c, Midget size for Salted Nuts, 90c. dozen. 
Santa Claus Figures, 5c, 10c, 25c, 50c each. Holly Sprays, 10c, 25c., 50c dozen. 
Holly Vines, 36 inches, 10c. each. Mistletoe Sprays, 5c 

Tinsel Garlands, 12 yards for 25c. Tree Candle holders, 15c. dozen. 

Christmas Snow, 5c box. Patent Wax Tree Candles, 25c. per box. 

Silver Rain, 5c, package. Cotton Snowball Box, 10c. Table Trees, 5c, 10c, 

25c each. Red Paper Folding Bell, 5c Paper Folding Christmas 

Garlands, 10c 
Red Flannel Stockings, Holly Trimmed, to put presents in, 10 inches, 25c 
Paper Poinsettia on stem, 5c. Red Sled Box with Holly, 10c. 

Red Christmas Bell (box), Holly Trimming, 25c Snowman Case, 25c 

Holly Flapjacks, containingfavor,l5c Santa Claus Ice-Cream Cases, 60c dozen. 
Miniature Crepe Paper Stockings or Bells, containing favor, 5c each. 
Christmas Snapping Mottoe, 25c, 50c, $1.00 per box of one dozen. 
Christmas Paper Napkins, 35c package. Holly Jack Horner Pie, 12 

Ribbons, $4.00. 
Christmas Seals, 5c package. Christmas Tags, 10c. package. 

Christmas Tally or Dinner Cards, 25c dozen. 

Unbreakable Tinsel Flowers, 30c box. Assorted Tinsel Ornaments, 50c dozen. 
Assorted Celluloid Swinging Bird Card-holders, including Card, 10c. each. 

We make up $2.00, $5.00, and $10.00 Assort- 
ments of Christmas Tree or Table Favors. 

We positively do not pay mail charges 

Favors for Parties, Dinners, Cotillions, Weddings, Engagements, andfor every 
conceivable occasion. We make a specialty of this business and are the 
largest house in the world devoted exclusively to Favors. 

A 200-page illustrated catalog has just been issued and 
on request will be sent to you free of all charges. 

B. Shackxnan & Co., Dept. 14, 812 Broadway, New York 




ROOK is the best and most absorbing game 
for boys and girls. Get it for Christmas. 

You can't imagine the charm and interest of ROOK 
until you play it, — 'til you get a taste of its excite- 
ment, amusement, cleverness, luck, skill! ROOK 
is played with beautifully made, enameled cards, 
the sets being distinguished by COLOR from each 

The new game NEWPORT 
played with ROOK Cards is ab- 
solutely fascinating. Besides 
ROOK and NEWPORT are also 
rules for Tuxedo, Panjandrum, 
and other games. 

Price SO cents at STORES, 
or by mail direct from us. 

PARKER BROTHERS, Box A, Salem, Mass. 

Sole makers of the famous Parker Games, including ROOK, 
PIT, PLAZA, Ping Pong, Pillow Dex, and Pastime Pic- 
ture Puzzles, etc. Catalogue for 2c. stamp. 


The ideal morning beverage for young 
people — will build up body and brain tis- 
sues to their permanent benefit and the 
exuberance of youth is ever manifested. 

At All Leading Grocers 

Fifth Avenue at 35th Street 

Afternoon tea served in the 
Luncheon Restaurant, three to six 


The Charm of 
Colonial Silverware 

The quaintness and simplic- 
ity of olden times find expres- 
sion in our " Old Colony " 
pattern. Added to these 
qualities is the finish that 
results from present day skill 
and methods. The design 
possesses individuality in a 
marked degree without re- 
sorting to over-ornamentation 
or sacrificing its purity of 
outline. Like all 


, "Silver Plate that Wears" 

it is made in the heaviest 
grade of silver plate and is 
backed by the largest makers 
with an unqualified guaran- 
tee which an actual test of 
65 years makes possible. 

Most Popular for Gifts 
The unvarying quality and 
richness of design make 
1847 ROGERS BROS, silver- 
ware especially favored for 
gifts. Buy early while 
yourdealerhasafull line. 

Sold by leading dealers. 
Send for illustrated cata- 
logue "Z - 5 ." 


" Successor to Meridcn 
Britannia Co. 


New York Chicago 

San Francisco Hamilton, Canada"- 




St. Nicholas League Advertising Competition No. 132. 

Time to hand in answers is up December 10. Prize-winners announced in February number. 

\ ymzitD smkx 

For some time the Judges have been quite 
pleased with themselves. They have suc- 
ceeded in keeping that troublesome boy, 

Alexander the Little, from getting any of 
his work into the magazine. 

But now he has made up a puzzle of a 

(See also pages 48 and 56.) 



One way — a good way — to make little folks practice 

Addressed particularly to mothers who find 
it hard to make their boys and girls practice 

YOU want your children to learn to play. 
That was one reason you bought your 
piano. It will be worth a great deal to them 
later to learn to play now. 

But to learn, they must practice hours and 
hours. Practicing is hard work. And yours 
is the hardest part — getting them to practice. 

Does your boy hate to practice when the 
other boys are going fishing or skating or any- 
thing' more interesting than finger exercises? 

Does your little girl have to be coaxed all 
the way to the piano stool? or scolded? Does 
she watch the clock and stop on the dot? 

We know of one small boy who found a 
way to make the piano stool squeak — and he 
squeaked it regularly to relieve his pent-up 

feelings. That shows how much music was in 
his soul — those days. He's sorry now. 

Have you ever made music so attractive to 
your children that they wanted to learn ? 

They don't know what music is — they 
only know what practicing is. 

What your boys and girls need is music. 
Music so good that they want to learn to play. 
Just such music as the Pianola-Piano would 
bring into your home 

You need a genuine PIANOLA Player- 
piano to fill your home with such good music 
that the boys and girls will learn to love music 
and to want it. Yes, you all need a Pianola- 
Piano — bat especially your children who are 
learning to play. 

Be sure it is a genuine PIANOLA Player- 
piano — not just a player-piano. "Pianola" 
does not mean player-piano. It is the name 
of one particular player-piano. 

There is a vast difference as you will readily 
understand when you hear the genuine 
PIANOLA Player-piano. 

The Metrostyle and the Themodist are two 
exclusive features of the genuine PIANOLA 
Player-piano. Since it is these which make 
the real music, you can see how important 
they are if you want the little folks to hear 
the right Mud of music and to learn the right 
way to play. 

Even an inexpensive genuine PIANOLA 

Player-piano — some cost as little as $550 — 

gives you these things that the very highest 

priced among other player-pianos cannot. 

We suggest that you read " The Pianolist" by 
Gustave Kobbe — on sale at all book stores — or if 
you will write us we will send it with our compli- 
ments. Address Department "D" 


Aeolian Hall New York 



new kind, and he says that you will all like 
it. So we have put it in this number to 
see whether it is good for anything. 

Alexander explains that on the board 
near Santa Claus there are the names of 
sixteen advertised articles that you all will 
know about, all advertised in November 
St. Nicholas. But you will see that 
these names are only partly there. All 
the vowels are left out and are hung 
below, where you can use them whenever 
needed to spell out the names. 

"But how," we asked him, "do you 
spell out the names ? Give us an exam- 

"Like this," he said. "They all begin 
in the top row. You must take a letter 
in that row, and then can move to any 
square that touches on the square you be- 
gin with and is in the second row ; then 
to a touching square in the third row 
down, and so on." 

"Spell one out for us," we suggested. 

"Well," said Alexander, "take 'Ivory 
Soap.' Without the vowels, it is VRY 
SP. Begin at the V near the end of the 
top line, move to R in the next line, then 
to Y in the third line, then to S and P, 
and you have it." 

"Well, mark those letters in the draw- 
ing, and we think our puzzlers will get the 
idea. But it seems hardly fair to begin 
with a vowel. That is very puzzling." 

"All the rest begin with consonants," 
Alexander explained, " and I will mark 
the Ivory Soap letters." So he did, as 
you will see by looking at the diagram. 
Remember that you are to find fifteen 
names without counting Ivory Soap. 

When found, put the fifteen in alpha- 
betical order, number them, and you will 
have the answer to the puzzle. Alexan- 
der said he called the picture the " Puzzled 

(See also page 

Saint" because he meant to write a little 
story telling how a boy left this list for 
Santa Claus to read. 

" And why did n't you ? " we asked him. 

" Too lazy ! " said Alexander the Little, 
and then he lounged away. . 

That's what makes him so provoking !! 

So, instead, we are going to ask you to 
write a letter to St. NICHOLAS, mention- 
ing one or two articles you would like for 
Christmas that ought to be advertised in 
this magazine, giving a good reason why 
they should be advertised here. In case 
lists are equally meritorious, the letter will 
determine the rank of the paper. 

Here is the list of prizes, and the con- 
ditions : 

One First Prize, $5.00 to the sender of the 
correct list of articles and the most convincing 

Two Second Prizes, $3.00 each to the next 
two in merit. 

Three Third Prizes, $2.00 each to the next 

Ten Fourth Prizes, $1.00 each to the next 

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 sub- 
scribers for St. Nicholas in order to com- 
pete for the prizes offered. 

2. In the upper left-hand corner of your list 
give name, age, address, and the number of this 
competition (132). 

3. Submit answers by December 10, 191 2. 
Do not use a pencil. 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 

5. Be sure to comply with these conditions 
if you wish to win prizes. 

6. Address answers : Advertising Competi- 
tion No. 132, St. Nicholas League, Union 
Square, New York. 

s 46 and 56.) 



Every Boy Should Have a Bicycle 

No Christmas gift could be more fitting than a Racycle, built to last a 
lifetime. Racycles preeminently are the world's best bicycles. Give 
your children 365 days of unalloyed joy and exercise in the open, and 
they will grow to be useful men and women in the world's affairs. 
Dr. Eliot, [Secretary Adee, King George, Consul-General Thackera, 
and many other famous men find the bicycle indispensable to their well- 
being. A Racycle is the cheapest gift you can buy, because every 
Racycle is guaranteed for five years. Ordinary bicycles are guaranteed 
for one year only, or not at all. Write to-day for 1913 catalogue. 

36 Grand Ave. Middletown, Ohio, U.S.A. 



Dutch Cocoas are the finest in the world. 


is the Best of 


Sample on 

Use (' A 

only VJ$/ much 

makes because 
of its 


Always in Yellow Wrapper 


Ask Santa Claus to bring you 
one of our attractive novelties 


CThis miniature theatre is some- 
thing new. Size 20x30 inches. 
Has four scenes, back-drops, wings.drop- 
curtain, etc. There are characters also. 
This toy is simply delightful for the 
young folks. Very compactly put up. 
Price $2.50 at all dealers, or for sale by 

Pittsburg, Pa. 


Gift for Xmas Stockings 

Every Boy or Girl who eats 


(and most of you do, for it is as staple as the 
Hard, Plump and Sweet Winter Wheat from which 
it is made) will want one of the 

Attractive Hand-made 25 cent Colored 
Jig-saw Puzzles of Wheatenaville 
The Wheatena Company has arranged with the famous Brother 
Cushman of 15 Corners, Montelair, IV. J., who makes these 
and other good things, to furnish them to users of Wheatena. 

In every package of Wheatena will be found a slip 
which explains fully how they may be obtained. 

Buy a package to-day at any good grocer's. If you can't, write us. 
The Wheatena Company, Wheatenaville, Rahway, N. J. 

EGYPT ITALY THE mediterranean 


via San Francisco, Australia, Ceylon, etc. 

O W STOP OVERS ^» <* ■ ** 


The pleasant and comfortable route Summer or Winter. 19DAYS, 
San Francisco to Sydney, via HONOLULU and SAMOA. Splendid twin- 
screw (10,000 ton) steamers "SIERRA," '• SONOMA" and "VENTURA.'' 

$110 HONOLULU (??b u b m t d cI5£) SYDNEY $300 

Sailings every two weeks: Dec. 3, 17, 31, Jan. 14, 28, etc. 

Write or wire NOW for berths. Send for folder. 

OCEANIC STEAMSHIP CO., 673 Market St, San Francitco 


spite --v, ;; :^iii 


BOYS AND GIRLS love to model 
with Harbutt's Plasticine. Every 
child likes to make things. The 
mud pie days are followed by others 
of the same kind, but more fruitful. 
Plasticine affords endless delight to 
boys and girls of all ages as it allows 
opportunity to use their own ingenuity. 
Plasticine modelling develops their ar- 
tistic sense and accuracy of observa- 
tion. It encourages the use of both 
hands and trains the fingers in dex- 
terous movements. 




solves the problem of home modelling. It requires no water and is not 
mussy, like clay. It always remains plastic and ready for instant use. It is 
inexpensive, as it can be used over and over again. Various sized outfits 
with complete instructions for modelling, designing, house building. 

Sold by Toy, Stationery and Art Dealers every* 

where. If yonr dealer cannot »opply yon, write S"f ■» MAKERS OF "t 

for free booklet and list of dealers near yon. I ' -,' m m «\ y^>VV 


58 Liberty Street, Albany, N. Y. 





keeps my skin in healthy condition 

Sample Box for 4c stamp 
For ISc in stamps we will mail yoa 
prepaid our beautiful 1913 calendar 


Newark, N. J. 

Trade Mark 


Hose Supporter 

Will stand 
hard wear 


Child's sample pair, postpaid, 

16 cents (give age). 

It gives satisfaction — doesn't tear the 
stockings — doesn't hamper the child 
— and wears longest. 
GEORGE FROST Co., Makers, Boston 

Also makers of the famous Boston Garter for men. 




\Camphoi^ Ice 

Soothes and Protects 
the Skin 

Relieves Windburn 
and Sunburn 

Insist on VASELINE Camphor 
Ice "whenever you want to relieve 
chapped hands and lips, fever 
blisters, or any similar irritation 
of the skin. 

The "Vaseline" has soothing, 
emollient properties peculiar to 

" Outdoor" men and women in 
particular find Vaseline Camphor 
Ice a comfort. It saves the skin 
from the unpleasant effects of 
wind and cold. 

Put up in metal boxes and tin tubes; 
druggists and department stores every- 
where. Remember that the only gen- 
uine Vaseline Camphor Ice is made by 

Chesebrough Mfg. Co. 


16 'j State Street 
New York 

Branch Offices : 
London - Montreal 

Booklet all about 
" Vaseline " on re- 



Growing Feet 

need support 
and protection 

Shoes for boys and girls should be 
more than foot coverings. Growing 
feet should be trained, supported, and 
protected. Preventing foot troubles is 
safer than risking them. 

The Coward Good Sense Shoe 
with Coward Extension Heel is made 
to help growing feet. A thoroughly 
comfortable shoe, scientifically con- 
structed to support ankle muscles 
and arch ligaments without employ- 
ing rigid metal plates or clumsy 
braces. Children like to wear this 
Coward Shoe. It makes them sure- 

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) 

o o ooo6ooq6oo 4#| 

To Watch 

O c 

• ~~-*-i o 

of shining 
steel reach out 
from braced and 
bolted towers until they" 
meet and you put the 
last bolt in place and 
look upon the finished 
bridge — 

Boys, that 's a 
pleasure even men 

With an outfit of 


mostly of plated steel and 
brass, you can build many 
working models of wonder- 
ful gigantic structures. 

Send for Illustrated Catalog 

andlist of principal dealers in your 
section. You can build steel towers, 
derricks, cranes, and other ma- 
chines. LooA: for name Meccano. 
Meccano is sold by leading toy 
and sporting goods stores. Ask 
your storekeeperto show you a set. 

The Embossing Co., fi2£ft% 

Makers of 


Toys that Teach" 

o 'O o o o 

o o o- . 





IN July, 1909, the Siamese government transferred 
to Great Britain five provinces. Of these five 
provinces, two — Kelantan and Trengganu — have al- 
ready sent us a set of postage-stamps. We now have 
a third set from the province of Kedah. The set, as 
is usual with smaller countries, comprises a full list 


1 h^-jSShskv 




of values. They are bi-col- 
ored, and present a very at- 
tractive appearance. They 
will certainly prove an orna- 
ment to one's collection. All 
values from one cent to eight 
cents show a shack of unripe 
rice, in black, with a border 
of various colors. The values 
from ten to fifty cents are larger, and represent a 
native plowing with a pair of oxen, the central de- 
sign being either blue or black, with a colored 
frame. The higher (dollar) values have a picture of 
the Council Chamber where the treaty regulating the 
transfer to Great Britain was signed. 

The third cut represents the new type of British 
Colonials now appearing, the distinctive feature 
being the profile of King George V. 


PERHAPS no series of stamps is more popular 
with the young collector than the large-sized, 
brightly colored, postal-packet series of Belgium. 
Now the United States is to follow suit. Under 
Act of Congress, there will become operative on 
January 1, 1913, a parcel-post system here at home. 
And we are to have an entirely new series of stamps 
for use in prepaying packages sent by this method. 
The new law provides for a parcel service both in 
city and country. The minimum charge is to be five 
cents for all packages of one pound or less. Heavier 
packages are charged one cent for each additional 
pound (or fraction) up to eleven pounds, which is 
the limit of weight. This rate is for only a limited 
(or local) distance. For greater distances higher 
rates are charged. There are to be six zones of dis- 
tances running from fifty miles to two thousand 
miles, the rates being from six cents to twelve cents 
for the first pound. 

The new stamps are being rapidly prepared by the 
Post-office Department. There will probably be 
twelve values in the series : one cent, two cents, 
three cents, four cents, five cents, ten cents, fifteen 
cents, twenty cents, twenty-five cents, fifty cents, and 
one dollar. The rates charged for various weights 
will make very interesting combinations of stamps 

C-^/>vv^vvx/vx/y>yvv^'^>^c<^c/>5C/^v>i<>oc<sc/ic>: ^yyyyyrsysK^oyco^: 

upon the various packets. Rumor says that these 
new stamps will be entirely distinct, both as to size 
and color, from the series now in use on letters. 
There will probably be at least three types or series, 
one showing various methods of transportation, an- 
other showing postal officials at work, and a third 
showing agriculture, manufacture, and other sources 
from which parcels are received for transport. 

The stamps are to be distributed among the va- 
rious post-offices in December, and put on sale Janu- 
ary 1. 


THE arrival of the long-expected stamps with the 
head of King George again brings to the front 
that never-to-be-decided question, what to collect. 
This crops up continually. The controversy between 
used and unused occasionally gives way to its brother 
question of nineteenth- or twentieth-century stamps, 
with now and then a few blows exchanged between 
those who favor general or specialized collecting. 
The only real answer is to beg the question and say, 
"Collect those stamps from which you get the great- 
est pleasure." But now and then we come across a 
reader — mayhap with a bit of canny Scotch blood — 
who wants to know what kind of a collection pays 
best. To such the answer is : a collection of new 
issues, as complete as your purse can make it. 

On the appearance of the head of Edward upon 
the stamps of Britain and her colonies, not a few 
collectors specialized in these, getting them unused 
and as complete as possible. These wise ones now 
point to the high prices of their treasures with joy 
and conviction, and they one and all are starting the 
same plan with the George head. The new issues 
can be bought for only a small percentage over face. 
Experience has taught us that many of them soon 
rise enormously in value. Savings-bank interest is 
as nothing to the profits to be had in these new 
issues. But there is no royal road to this ; one must 
watch the chronicle of new issues, and keep after 
each stamp until he gets a specimen. Only by trying 
to keep his collection complete can he be sure of 
securing those stamps which may eventually become 

A collection of British Colonies to and including 
a shilling value would not require much outlay, 
would almost always prove profitable if consistently 
followed for a period of a few years, and would 
afford a lot of pleasure from the chase as well. 


tf]T"\T7'E do not know who receives the largest 
Jt VV personal mail ; it is, however, generally 
presumed that it is the Pope. The Emperor of Ger- 
many is said to average over 7000 letters daily, and 
the President of the United States about 5000. 
<][ The writer once saw a package of bonds about to 
be shipped from New York to some banking house 
in Germany on which there were postage-stamps 
totaling over $37. It is said that a package was 
once sent from Russia to Austria on which the 
postage totaled over $900. This, if true, is prob- 
ably the record price. But it seems as if the pack- 
age could have been sent more cheaply by messenger. 







(NEW) contains spaces for all stamps issued since 
January 1, 1901. Prices from $2.25 up — post free. 

NEW DIME SETS — Price 10c. per set : 
25 Austria 25 France 20 India 30 Sweden 
10 Bulgaria 20 Japan 25 Spain 10 Turkey 

139 different dime sets, also Packets, Sets, Albums, and Supplies 

in our 84-page Illustrated Price-list. Send for it to-day — free — 

and get sample copy of Monthly Stamp Paper. 
Finest approval selections at 50% commission. Agents ivanted. 

Scott Stamp & Coin Co., 127 Madison Avenue, New York 

The New England Stamp Monthly 


Commemorative Stamps of the World 

Illustrated, 12c. per year. Vol. II begins Nov. 20th. 
Subscribe now. 
New Series approval sheets 50%. Apply now and get first pick. 
Stamp Tongs, 35c. a pair. 

43 Washington Building Boston, Mass. 

STAMP ALBUM with 538 genuine stamps, incl. Rhodesia, 

O Congo (tiger), China (dragon), Tasmania (landscape), 
Jamaica (waterfalls), etc., only 10c. 100 dif. Japan, 
India, N. Zld., etc., 5c. Agents wanted 50%. Big Bar- 
gain list, coupons, etc., all Free! We Buy Stamps. 
C. E. Hussman StampCo., Dept. I, St. Louis, Mo. 


send reference inclosing 3c. for our 125 variety packet and series 

of 60% approval sheets to 
Palm StampCo., 249 No. Carondelet St., Los Angeles, Cal. 


t»/AIVVJAVllliJ 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. 

Mention St. Nicholas. Quaker Stamp Co., Toledo, Ohio 

RARE Stamps Free. 15 all different, Canadians, and 10 India, 
^SSjs. with Catalogue Free. Postage 2 cents. If possible send 
ySjj^Kjft names and addresses of two stamp collectors. Special 
[■( Jm] offers, all different, contain no two alike. 50 Spain, 
WkJffll llc -'. 40 Japan, 5c; 100 ('. S.,20c.; 10 Paraguay, 7c; 17 
WrS?/ Mexico, 10c.;20 Turkey, 7c; 10 Persia, 7c; 3 Sudan, 5c; 
^-^S^ 10 Chile, 3c; 50 Italy, 19c;200 Foreign, 10c; lOEgypt, 
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.;50Cuba, 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 


|J * "•»"» •"» • 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. / buy 
stamps. L. B. Dover, D-6, St. Louis, Mo. 

1000 Different, $30 for $1 80 

500 diff. $ AS Haiti, 1904 Complete 6 Var. $ .15 

300 " .20 Abyssinia, '95 7 .45 

200 " .09 Mozambique, '92 " 9 " .50 

20" Colombia .07 N. F'ndl'd, 1890 & '98 " 15 " .30 
10 " Bosnia .05 Nyassa Giraffes, '01 " 13 " .25 

9 " Prussia .10 Rumania Jubilee, '06 " 11 " .55 

Gold California %\, each 35c; $i, each 65c; 25 diff. Foreign 
Coins, 25c; Roman (Caesar) silver, 45c Big List Free. 

J. F. Negreen, 8 East 23d Street, New York City. 


01l/\rO for only 10c 65 All Dif. U. S., including old issues 
of 1853-1861, etc. ; revenue stamps, $1.00 and $2.00 values, etc., for 
only 10c With each order we send our 6-page pamphlet, which 
tells all about "How to make a collection of stamps properly." 
Queen City Stamp & Coin Co., 7 SintonBldg., Cincinnati, O. 


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 1 
Agents wanted, 50 per cent. List Free. I buy stamps. 

C. Stegman, 5941 Cote Brilliante Av., St. Louis, Mo. 

DANDY PACKET STAMPS free for name, address 2 collec- 
tors, 2c. postage. Send to-day. U.T.K. Stamp Co., Utica, N. Y. 

STA MPS 105 China, Egypt,etc,stamp dictionary and list 3000 faa 
bargains 2c. Agts., 50%. Bullard & Co., Sta. A, Boston. Ss 


An old stamp of Peru, worth 30c to any one sending for our 
splendid approval selections at 50% discount. 

New Chile lc, 2c, 5c, 10c, 15c 5c. 

New Mexico lc, 2c, 5c, 10c, 20c 6c. 

1911 Honduras Large picture stamps lc, 2c, 5c, 6c, 10c. ..10c. 
International Stamp Co., 1 Ann Street, New York 

With trial approval sheets. F. E. Thorp, Norwich, N.Y. 

QTAIV/IPC. Packet of 200, Album, Hinges, and List, all 
»-» * fliyirj. for 8c 1000 mixed stamps, 15c. 50% to agents. 
Payn Stamp Co., 138 No. Wellington St., Los Angeles, Cal. 

STAMPS. 100 Foreign, 3c; 33 U. S., 5c. 

E. E. Moody Stamp Co., Forest Ave., Cranford, N. J. 

Austria Jubilee Set, Catalog, 38c. A fine set, rpcr 

1 heller to 2 kr., 15 values r 1X1111 

Packet of all different foreign stamps. These stamps rp p|7 

from all parts of world r IyHH 

Packet of 50 all different U. S. stamps, including CDUC 

revenues, but no post-cards * IVEjEj 

A leaflet describing and illustrating those United CDC" 17 

States envelops, 1853-1900 riVCC 

Your Choice of the above premiums if you 
send 10c for 10 weeks' trial subscription to 
Mykeel s Stamp Weekly, Kast Building, Boston, Mass. 
You cannot afford to collect stamps without a stamp paper and 
Mykeel's is the oldest, largest, and best in the world. Full of 
news, pictures, and bargains. Special department for beginners. 


For School, College or Society. 
The right kind are always a source 
of pleasure. Why not get the right 
kind? We make them. Catalog free. 
No pins less than $5.00 per dozen. 
FLOWER CITY CLASS PIN CO., 666 Central Building, Rochester, N. Y. 


Wonderfully interesting to all. Unfold at once in water. 

3 packages 10 cents. 3 attractive boxes (24 to box) 25c. Very fine, new style, 
3 boxes (12 to box) 25c. Very extra flowers, about 7 inches high, 12 in Japanese 
box 25c. All sent prepaid. Well worth sending for. 

Send for New Suggestions for 

Little Gifts for Xmas Stockings 



You can build this 
"IDEAL" 3-foot RACER 
in ONE hour and FLY 
it 1000 FEET 
Complete materials, includ- 
ing INSTRUCTIVE plan and 
FINISHED PROPELLERS. $2 prepaid, with Pat. Friction Winder. $2.50. 


Complete parts, including carved out 
propeller, with concise plan and build- 
ing instructions, $4 prepaid. 

"IDEAL" AERO PORTFOLIO (5 drawings), $1 postpaid. 
40 pp. ill. Model Aeroplane Supply Catalog, 5 cents. 

IDEAL AEROPLANE & SUPPLY CO., 84-86 West Broadway, New York 



Report on Advertising Competition No. 130 

The Judges were somewhat disap- 
pointed this month at the small number 
of replies received. They thought there 
would be at least a thousand good ad- 
vertisements of schools because we 
know from the letters you have written 
us that a great many of you are 
interested in this subject, and would 
regard highly any schools St. Nicho- 
las recommended. 

We also know from what you have 
told us that nearly all your fathers 
and mothers read St. Nicholas and 
love it almost as much as you, so we 
thought you would enjoy preparing an 
advertisement of your favorite school, 
as you would wish them to see it. 
Would you like us to start a "School 
Department" in St. Nicholas? 

The following prize-winners did 
excellent work and submitted fine ad- 

One First Prize, $5.00 : 

Adelyn Joseph, age 17, Illinois. 
Two Second Prizes, $3.00 each: 

Charlotte E. Wilder, age 14, California. 

Margie Fennere Jennison, age 16, Michigan. 
Tfwee Third Prizes, $2.00 each: 

Mary McNally, age 8, New York. 

Anna Harkin, age 14, Pennsylvania. 

Edith I. Turner, age 12, Pennsylvania. 
Ten Fourth Prizes, $1.00 each : 

Bessie Weisenfeld, age 13, Maryland. 

Arthur Schwarz, age 14, New York. 

May Wishart, age 14, Massachusetts. 

Ralph A. Monroe, age 14, Massachusetts. 

Elsket Bejach, age 16, Massachusetts. 

Charlotte Alice Phillips, age 14, New York. 

Katrina Schermerhorn, age 1 2, Michigan. 

William Lewis, age 10, Indiana. 

Doris Berry, age 13, New Jersey. 

Lenore Andrews, age 1 2, New York. 

(See also pages 46 and 48.) 

If you want to see a smile of joy on your 
boy's face Christmas morning, give him a 



"Daisy Special," 1000-shot . . . 
Other Daisy Models, 50 cents to 


Daisy Manufacturing Company, Plymouth, Mich. 


^Ps^mj & Bern 


, ":iilH l " lll iliiiniiiillp 

Let 's Go Skating c 



and Get the Choice Designs 

A shining present that will last a lifetime. 

Every boy and girl knows when they see 
the name Barney & Berry on skates that 
they are the best obtainable. 

Select the style you desire from our Catalog, 
sent free upon request. It also contains Hockey Rules, Skating Program, and directions for building 
an ice-rink. Your dealer will supply you with just the style you desire. Otherwise, write us. 

BARNEY & BERRY, 142 Broad Street, Springfield, Mass. 


An Ideal Xmas Gift 



Sending and Receiving 

$15.00 Value 

Special i 


EVERY wide-awake young man in America should 
own and operate a wireless set. Clean, whole- 
some, educational sport. Parents should encour- 
age their boys along electrical lines. This set consists 
of our highest grade i-in. coil giving a full i^-in. fat 
spark, primary condenser, secondary condenser, con- 
denser switch, %-in. zinc spark gap, sending helix, key, 
large capacity tuner, fixed condenser D. P. D. T. aerial 
switch, exceptionally sensitive iooo Ohm receiver and 
cord, 120 feet aerial wire and insulators, codes, di- 

Completely mounted on oak base, size 8^x 16 inches. 
Weighs 9 lbs. packed. Will send messages 8 to 15 
miles. Receives from 600 to 800 miles. 

Special price, $8.95. With 2000 Ohm receivers and 
headband, $12.25. Send your order today. 
Complete receiving sets, $1.95 and upwards. 
Complete sending and receiving sets, $3.90 and up- 

Send for circular O at once, also Morse, Navy, 
Continental and International codes. It's FREE. 

HUNT & McCREE "jgjpifflh?- 

Be the Best Skater 
in Your Town 

by keeping your skates bright as 
new — no rust on runners, screws, 
clamps — good for guns too. 

Old Skates Made New 

and bright by wiping before and 
after using with woolen cloth 
moistened with "3-in-One." Pre- 
vents rust and tarnish on the 
runners, keeps clamps 
and screws in fine 
working order. Good 
sample bottle and book 
absolutely free. Write 


42 Q. M. Broadway New York 


Essays of authority on engravers 
old and modern. Edited by 
FitzRoy Carrington. Illustra- 
tions from 197 original etchings 
and engravings of rare interest 
and value. Beautifully made. 

Royal 8vo, 2J5 pages of text. 
Price $3. jo net, postage 21 cents. 

A specially satisfying 

Why Go To 

By Clayton Sedgwick Cooper 

This broad survey of academic 
life and influence has a message 
for every man and woman in- 
terested in the equipping of the 
young men of our nation -for 
efficient citizenship. 

Attractive illustrations from 
etchings and drawings by 
Thomas Wood Stevens and 

8vo, 212 pages. Price $1.30 net, 
postage 1 j cents. 

For the thinking citizen 

The New 
Industrial Day 

By William C. Redfield 

A fresh and vital discussion of 
pressing problems by an author- 
ity, dealing with fundamental, 
economic and sociological laws. 
A book of live interest. 

i2mo, 275 pages. Price $s.2j 
net, postage 12 cents. 

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A delightful guide for both the experienced and 
amateur collector in the quest of rare and unique 

old china, furni- 
ture, brass, etc. 

A charmingly- 
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Frontispiece in rich 
color. Eighty in- 
teresting insets from 

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8vo, 600 pages. Price $2.40 net, postage 16 cents. 

Everybody's St. Francis 

By Maurice Francis Egan 

United States Minister to Denmark 

A biography of rare sympathy and charm, the 

story of the life and work of perhaps the most 

widely known and loved saint of all history. 

Eight exquisite full-page illustrations in the 
colors of the originals, and twelve in black and 
white, by the noted French artist, M. Boutet de 
Monvel. Royal 8vo, ipj pages. Price $2.50 net, 
postage 12 cents. 

For every Lincoln lover 

Personal Traits of 
Abraham Lincoln 

By Helen Nicolay 

A delightful and illuminating record, based largely 
upon material gathered by the late John G. Nico- 
lay, one of Lincoln's private secretaries. An 
intimate and sympathetic revelation of many un- 
familiar phases of the great American' s private life. 
Reproductions of handbills, invitations, letters, 
and documents in Lincoln's own writing. 
Tall i2mo, 387 pages. Price $1. 80 net, 
postage 14 cents. 


Union Square 











4; :■( 

" ■.'.•. I' ;-,. (,;-.;. -J." -' .- .- -;'-- -,• ';■■■ 




Put them on your 
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irij tip darkness ever fjrowinq,! 

%id rtjetijooijbdjhjd Vr!l^' 

Witcl] tfWfafy aqWStdf?.. Git 

Copyright, The Century Co. 
A page from the November number of St. Nicholas. 

Don't judge the value 
of St. Nicholas in the 
dark. Throw on it the 
search-lights of fact and 

St. Nicholas 

means more than a magazine to its readers. It is an educational 
institution — mentally, morally, and physically. It is a comrade that 
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St. Nicholas is a living, breathing, progressive bit of our Ameri- 
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" Work with me, for my work is right." 

In the words of Thomas Huxley, it believes that young Americans 
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Yale Juvenile Bicycles 

THE RIGHT KIND of a bicycle will do more to keep a youngster healthy and happy 
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to-day for booklets and other literature giving full description. 






LL of us, grown-ups as well as youngsters, can enjoy the winter 
thoroughly without having our hands and faces become rough and 
chapped. The only thing we need do is to use a little care in washing. 

Washing with soap containing free alkali and careless drying are the causes 
of most irritations of the skin during cold weather. Use instead a mild, pure 
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There is no soap milder or purer than Ivory — not even pure Castile. It 
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If the skin has become chapped, Ivory Soap — because of this same purity 
and mildness — is the best soap to use. With it the sensitive face and hands 
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smooth again. 



6 4 

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


Frontispiece. "The Man in the Wilderness." Painted by Arthur Page 

Rackham. . 

The Nursery Rhymes of Mother Goose: "The Man in the Wilder- 
ness." " Humpty Dumpty." "A carrion-crow sat on an oak." 
' ' Little Miss Muffett. " 193 

Illustrated by Arthur Rackham. 

"Just Anna." Story Marlon mil 195 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

The Day After Christmas. Picture. Drawn by Leighton Budd 201 

Christmas Secrets. Verse LHlie Gimiand McDowell 202 

Illustrated by Edna F. Hart. 

Runty, the Boy-Giant. Story Wallace Dunbar Vincent 203 

Illustrated by Herbert Paus. 

A Merry Christmas. Verse a. l. sykes 208 

Illustrated by Ruth S. Clements. 
More Than Conquerors: A Modern Greatheart. Biographical Sketch . .Ariadne Gilbert 209 

Illustrated by Oscar F. Schmidt, and from photographs. 

December Days. Verse Edward N. Teaii 218 

Illustrated by Otto Rebele. 

Beatrice of Denewood. Serial Story j SSSSSTST " d i 219 

Illustrated by CM. Relyea. ' | Alden Arthur Knlpe \ 

iJohn Grier Hlbben^ 
Hugh Birckhead 
F. E. Cbadwlck \ 227 
Gilford Plncbot 
Henry G. Prout 
A Stray Letter. Verse Mrs. John T. Van Sant 230 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

Teddy Bear's Bee-Tree. ("Babes of the Wild "—I.) Charles G. D. Roberts 231 

Illustrated by Paul Bransom. 

The Land Of Mystery. Serial Story Cleveland Moffett 237 

Illustrated by Jay Hambidge, and from photographs. 

An Unlucky Look. Verse James Rowe 244 

The Christmas Tree. ("Ballads of the Be-Ba-Boes.") D. K. Stevens 245 

Illustrated by Katharine M. Daland. 
Old Fables Brought Up to Date : The Shepherd Boy and the Wolf . . C. J. Budd 249 

Illustrated by the Author. 
Junior-Man. Verse Ruth McEnery Stuart 250 

Illustrated by Clara M. Burd. 

The Brownies and the Stalled Train. Verse Palmer cox 252 

Illustrated by the Author. 

Curious Clocks. Sketch Charles A. Brassier 257 

Illustrated from photographs. 

Kane and Pard. Story Addison Howard Gibson 264 

Illustrated by Bruce Horsfall. 

Nature and Science for Young Folks 269 

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

Drawings, Photographs, and Puzzles 276 


For Very Little Folk: 

What Santa Claus Brought. Verse Ida Kennlston 284 

Illustrated by Fanny Y. Cory. 

The Riddle-Box 287 

St. Nicholas Stamp Page Advertising page 28 

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[ IT These boys and girls have hurried up to see what is on the St. Nicholas Bulletin. Presently they will go awe 
■ 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? 

l Remen 
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A Christmas gift that will enrich the home life all the year 

THE CENTURY in 1913 

A year's subscription to The Century is a splen- 
did gift for the thoughtful boy or girl to give 
any one of the older members of the family. 
It is a gift to give special pleasure to the 
father of the family — a gift whose value is many 
times increased because every member of the 
household shares in the pleasure of his gift. 

The Century in 1913 

will continue to supply its readers with the wholesome intellectual food 
that makes healthy-minded men and women ; its aim will still be to take 
them out of their cares, through absorbing pictures of imagination and 
through the rarest of qualities — that of charm. 

The Century in 1913 

will have unusual interest for the boys and girls graduating out of ST. NICHO- 
LAS into grown-up reading. The "After-the-War " series will present recent 
American history vividly and appealingly. Robert Hichens and Jules 
Guerin will picture with rare color and charm the Balkan War Zone. 
There will be a further discussion of the problems of fraternities in girls' 
colleges by eminent college presidents. There will be an opportunity to 
become familiar with the best in modern illustration. There will be every 
month short stories by the leading fiction writers of the day. 

There will be a serial by 

Frances Hodgson Burnett 


Every boy and girl who reads St. Nicholas will want to read 

Frances Hodgson Burnetts 

4 T. Tembarom 


Take a New York street urchin who has risen from newsboy to 
Harlem Society Reporter," and announce to him in all truthful- 
ness that he is the Lord of the Manor of Temple 
Barholm in Lancashire, with an annual income 
of three hundred and fifty thousand dollars — 
and something is bound to happen. 

With all the wholesome philosophy and sim- 
plicity, and especially with that human touch 
that so charmed the readers of "Little Lord 
Fauntleroy " and " The Shuttle," Mrs. Burnett, 
in her new novel, "T. Tembarom," weaves a 
fascinating romance about a normal young Amer- 
ican who is always cheerful, and a quiet little English girl who has 
much good sense. 

The spirit of youth and hope is in this de- 
lightful story — it is Frances Hodgson Burnett 
at her very best. 

The January Century chapters will introduce " T. Tembarom" 
and the interesting folk — unusual but very human — who make 
up the circle of " T. Tembarom's " little world, till his changed 
fortunes call him to England. It will be hard to wait for what 
happens in the next chapters. 

A year's subscription commences well with the January number, out just before Christmas 
and beginning Mrs. Burnett's serial. Better yet, let the new subscription begin with 
November, with the first of the "After-the-War " series. The November, December, and 
January numbers will make an attractive Christmas package. A beautiful Christmas card 
will carry your Christmas greeting if you wish. 

The year, $4.00. Address the publishers: 

THE CENTURY CO., Union Square, New York 

Or your newsdealer will take and forward subscriptions 


Put it on your Christmas list 

Famous Pictures 

By Charles L. Barstow 

A stimulating and delightful book 
for all young folks, and for older 
people who are unfamiliar with the 
great paintings of the world. 

The great canvases which have 
touched the hearts and interested 
the minds of all classes and condi- 
tions of men are the subject of the 
little volume's readable text, and 
illustrations — centering the reader's 
attention emphatically upon the 
painting itself, its qualities, some- 
thing of its painter's art. 

Many carefully chosen illustrations. Helpful appendix, glossary and 
index. An attractive gift-book. Price 60 cents net. 



Novels are sweets. All people with healthy literary appetites love them. 

— Thackeray. 

... .. 

A gift-book which carries a wealth of good cheer with it 

The New 
Book by the 
Author of 


"Rich in the minor characters, 
the gemlike incidents, and the 
convulsing dialogue that the 
public now expects of Mrs. 


A dramatic picture, rich in coloring, drawn on the broad canvas of 
Kentucky — America's romance land. Quaint humor of the Mrs. 
Wiggs type is woven into a love story of unusual charm and 
much power. 

Many clever and attractive pictures by Wright. 
127110, 404 pages. Price $1.25 net, postage 12 cents. 

A delightful gift for many a friend would be this new book of this most popular 
of American story-tellers, and these three earlier books in a Christmas package — 

Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch 

A homely tale of a brave-hearted woman who was also a delicious character. Smiles and tears 

Lovey Mary 

on every page. Price $1.00. 

Mr. Opp 

How Mrs. Wiggs mothered two waifs besides her The story of a man who failed as the world counts 
own brood, her hopeful spirit her only asset. failure — fascinating, sunny, laughter-compelling. 
Deliciously told. Price $1.00. Pictures by Guipon. Price $1.00. 


Union Square 



Beautifully Illustrated and of Enduring Value 

An ideal gift-book for almost any age 

Wonder Tales 

They are the kind of magic tales which 
never lose their flavor — the dear old once- 
upon-a-time stories of adventure in which 
all kinds of delightfully impossible things 
happen — stories to give unfailing delight to 
the young in heart of all ages. Edited, 
and with an interesting foreword, by Dr. 
Post Wheeler. 

There are twelve lovely and unusual pictures in 
color, made originally for the Imperial Russian 
edition of these tales by the famous Russian artist 
Bilibin. Quaint and attractive binding. Small 
quarto, 323 pages. Price $2.50 net, postage 19 

Put this on your picked Christmas list too 

Joan of Arc 

It is a unique and striking book, both the story of the Warrior Maid of France 
and forty-three superb colored illustrations in the most delightful style of the 
famous French artist, M. Boutet de Monvel. Price $3.50 net, postage 17 cents. 

Also delightful for its unusual quality 

Jataka Tales 

A fascinating book of jungle lore and primitive folk tales, adapted from the sacred 

book of the Buddhists for young readers of to-day. Retold by Ellen C. Babbitt. 

Thirty-six pictures in silhouette by Ellsworth Young which will specially please 

little folks. Price $1.00 net, postage 8 cents. 

A well-worth-while gift-book 

iEsop's Fables 

A delightful new edition of one of the great world books, a treasury of wit and 
wisdom new to every generation. All ages will enjoy this attractive book, with 
its forty quaint drawings by E. Boyd Smith, and its page borders printed in tint. 

An Zvo 0/167 pages. Price $2.00 net, postage 14 cents. 


Union Square 




Crofton Chums 

Perhaps there might be a better all-around wholesome 
story of American school-boy life and sport, but you 
would search far to find it. The book form of the story 
is longer than the St. Nicholas serial; and boys — and 
girls too — who like outdoor sports, foot-ball especially, 
will delight in the gift of this wholesome, breezy, 
jolly book. 

Sixteen full-page illustrations by Relyea, full of life. 
1 2mo r 338 pages. Price $1.25 net, postage 1 2 cents. 

This is RALPH 

Six Other Great Books 
By this Prince of Story-tellers 


Ralph Henry Barbour's books sell and sell — there is no more popular writer for 
young people to-day. This is one of his best stories — full to overflowing of out- 
door fun. "Cal," one of the "team-mates," is a new kind of character in Mr. 
Barbour's stories. Many pictures. Price $1.50 

Kingsford, Quarter 

Some study, plenty of fun, lots of light-hearted talk, and a great deal of foot-ball are 
happily mingled in the story of life at Riverport ; but foot-ball is the important thing 
to Riverport lads ; and Mr. Barbour tells all about many games most entertainingly. 

Many pictures. Price $1.50 

The Crimson Sweater 

"A book that will go straight to the heart of every boy and of every lover of a 
jolly, good foot-ball tale." Many pictures. Price $1.50 

Tom, Dick, and Harriet 

"Tom, Dick, and Harriet" is a book full of "ginger" — a healthful, happy book, 
which both girls and boys will enjoy. Many pictures. Price $1.50 

Captain Chub 

In "Captain Chub" the boys rent a house-boat, and with Harriet and her father for 
guests cruise up and down the Hudson, stopping on shore for all sorts of adventures. 

Many pictures. Price $1.50 

Harry's Island 

The same happy quartet found fun another summer on an island in the Hudson 
which Harry's father gave her for a birthday gift; and the days were very full 
and j oily. Many pictures. Price $1.50 


Union Square 




Whatever else the children have, or do not have, among their 
books, be sure that the inexhaustible delights of the two 
Jungle Books are theirs. There are no books to take their 
place, no books so rich in the magic and mystery and charm 
of the great open and its life. 

Both books are illustrated, "The Second Jungle Book" 
with rare sympathy and skill by John Lockwood Kipling, 
the author's father. Price, each, $1.50. 

Another edition, specially charming for a gift, is bound in flexible red 
leather. Price $1.50 net, postage 8 cents. 

Another Great Kipling Book 


It would be hard to find a book which either a boy, or the boy's father, would like bet- 
ter than this. It is great reading — Mr. Kipling took a cruise on a Gloucester fishing 
smack to write it. Illustrations by Taber. Price $1.50. 


By Ernest Thompson Seton 

This is the most delightful of all Mr. Seton's delightful stories- — for the young in heart 
of all ages — the story, from his cubhood to his splendid prime, of that aristocrat of 
foxes, Domino Reynard, and his happy, adventurous life among the Goldur Hills. All 
the magic of the wild, free life of the open is in its pages. 

Over joo illustrations by the author, and very beautifully made. Price $1. 50. 

By the Same Author 


Just about the most delightful animal story ever written — saving and excepting always 
those masterpieces of genius, the Jungle Books. It is a true story— we have Mr. 
Seton's word for that — but it has the magic of imagination on every page. 
Its pictures make it a never-ending joy; they are the author's. 

Printed in two colors, with a very attractive binding. Price $1.50. 


By John Bennett 

Young people will get a truer idea of the life of Shakspere's day from this delightful 
story than from many a serious volume. 

The pictures by Reginald Birch are among the book's delights. Price $1.50. 

. - . 

Are you Christmas-gift planning for any 
boy or girl, big or little? Our Classified 
List of Books for Young Folks is a mine of 
helpful suggestions. Let us send it to you. 
Your address on a post-card will bring it. 


Union Square 



siittas Stoclliftfl B< 

Old and New — a List of Wide Choice 

: - 

■ : 

The Knights of the Golden Spur 

By Rupert Sargent Holland 

Noble adventure, stirringly told, with a plot 
quite out of the usual to stir and hold the in- 
terest. It is the kind of book in which boys — 
and the right kind of girls — lose themselves — a 
different kind of book, based on historic fact 
and legend, fascinatingly told. 

Delightful illustrations by Reginald Birch. 

l2mo, 31 3 pages. Price $1.25 net, 

postage 1 2 cents. 

Standard Books Which Every Child Should Own 

By Theodore Roosevelt and Henry Cabot Lodge 

There can be no more stimulating companionship for any young person than that of 
the truly great men of our country ; and there is no better book of hero tales than this. 
There are twenty-six of these tales, simply told stories of Americans who showed that 
they knew how to live and how to die, who proved their truth by their endeavor. 

Illustrated. Price $1.50 


By Helen Nicolay 

An ideal gift book for every boy and girl who does not yet own this book. In choice 
of incident and event, in accuracy, in sympathy, in vivid interest, it stands, and will 
stand, as the ideal life of Lincoln for young people. 

Illustrations by J. Hambidge and others. Price $1.50 


Every mother has wished for such a book as this — a Bible within the understanding 
of young children, yet retaining the accepted text. Here it is, the text hallowed by 
generations of reading carefully adapted and arranged so as to hold the young reader 
closely, with no loss of vital and beautiful passages. 

Beautifully illustrated from famous paintings by the Old Masters. 475 pages of 
easy-to-read text, handsome red binding. Price $1.50 net, postage 23 cents. 


By Mary Mapes Dodge, the children's friend 

Not a new book, but always new in its power to interest and delight every boy and girl 
— the story of a sister and a brother — fine, sweet, true. Pictures. Price $1.50 


By Cecile Viets Jamison 
A book of unusual freshness and charm, the story of a dear little girl whose beauty 
and sweet ways and genius for winning love brought her many experiences. 

Reginald Birch's pictures are quaint and fascinating. Price $1 . 50 


Union Square 





By Palmer Cox 

Palmer Cox's Brownie books — there are eight of the regular 
books altogether now — are unique in their whimsical clever- 
ness and fun. His fun-making pen, his gift at jingle-turning, 
seem to gain in cleverness and wit with every year ; and 
youngsters of all ages enjoy the jolly Brownies and their man- 
ifold pranks. Pictures and verse in every volume are done 
as only Palmer Cox knows how. 

Eight books, with pictures on every page. Board covers in color. 
Quarto, 144 pages. Price $1.50 each. 


The Brownies' Latest Adventures 

One hundred and forty-four pages of condensed sun- 

The Brownies : Their Book 

The original Brownie book, the first collection of Mr. 
Cox's verse and pictures. 

Another Brownie Book 
The Brownies at Home 
The Brownies Around the World 

The Brownies Through the Union 
Brownies Abroad 
The Brownies in the Philippines 
The Brownie Primer 

Made up from all the Brownie books, for schools and 
for all little children. Price 40 cents net. 

Brownie Clown of Brownietown 

One hundred pages of Brownie quaintness and jolly 
fun and ridiculous doings, with many of the old favor- 
ites, and some new characters playing pranks. All 
in color. Price $1.00. 


By Frances Hodgson Burnett 

Of all the delightful stories for the young in heart by the 
author of " Little Lord Fauntleroy," none is quite so deli- 
ciously whimsical and fascinating as her series of " Queen 
Silver-Bell" fairy tales, dainty, quaint stories in which Queen 
Silver-Bell tells all about how she lost her temper, and, to 
prove to mortals that there are fairies, sets out to write of 
their funny, pretty, helpful pranks and doings. And these 
are her stories : 

Queen Silver-Bell 

Telling not only how the tiny queen lost her fairy tem- 
per and the dire results thereof, but of "How Winnie 
Hatched the Little Rooks." 

Racketty-Packetty House 

All about a delightful family of lovable children and 
even more lovable dolls, as dear a story as was ever 

The Cozy Lion 

A most delightful bit of nonsense — imagine a cozy 
lion— with the fantastic and tender strain in the telling 
characteristic of Mrs. Burnett. 

The Spring Cleaning 

Dear little Bunch, and the dear, dear Primrose World, 
and the beautiful Primrose Day party, all appeal to 
the heart of every child. 

Four exquisite little books, each with twenty pictures in color by 
Harrison Cady. Price 60 cents each. 


Union Square 





The Wireless Man 

By Francis Arnold Collins 

There is all the fascination of a story of imaginative 
adventure in these records of actual, every-day achievements 
in the wonderful world of wireless. It explains just what 
wireless electricity is in delightful, readable style ; recounts a 
host of true stories of wireless adventure on land and sea, 
and gives the wireless amateur much valuable information. 

Across the Atlantic 

The Wireless Man 

How It Works 

Talking Across the Atlantic 

Some Stirring Wireless Rescues 

Novel Uses of Wireless 
Wireless in the Army 
Wireless in the Navy 
The Wireless Detective 
Three Heroes of the Wireless 

Thirty-two interesting illustrations from photographs. 
\2mo, 250 pages. Price $1.20 net, postage 1 1 cents. 

Ry the Same Author. 

The Boys' Book of Model Aeroplanes 

The ideal book for every one who has been caught in the fascination 
of model aeroplane experimenting. 

Helpfully illustrated. Price $1.20 net, postage 14 cents. 

The Second Boys' Book of Model Aeroplanes 

Covering up to date the science and sport of model aeroplane building 
and flying, both in this country and abroad. 

Over 100 illustrations. Price $1.20 net, postage 11 cents. 

The Battle of Base-ball 

By C. H. Claudy 

Give it to every lad who is a base-ball fan. (What lad is n't?) 
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. The author himself is " crazy about base-ball." 

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 fields. 
Price $1.50 net, postage 1 1 cents. 











Let us Bend you our attractive new holiday Catalogue. It 
contains, among many other helpful suggestions for your 
holiday planning, a "Classified List of Books for Young 
Folks," which will give you wide choice of delightful books 
for children of all ages. 

A book is always a splendid gift. 


Union Square 




For many other delightful books for boys and girls of all ages, send for The Century Co.'s 
"Classified List of Books for Young Folks" — a helpful friend in your Christmas planning. 




By the author of " The Melting of Molly " 

Sue Jane 

By Maria T. Daviess 

Sue Jane is a real little girl — the author, who 
has never grown up, knew her once upon a time 
— and most of the simple, merry, breezy little 
tale of what happened when Sue Jane, with her 
country ways and clothes, invaded a fashion- 
able girls' school is true. Every school-girl will 
love it. 

Eight full-page illustrations by Furtnan. \2tno, 
225 pages. Price $1.25 net, postage 10 cents. 

Also hy an author who has never grown up 

The Lady of the Lane 

By Frederick Orin Bartlett 

It is a clever story of how pretty, spoiled Elizabeth responds to her father's efforts to 
give her just the conditions of her happy mother's happy girlhood. Gay, natural, full 
of hearty common sense and good fun. 

Attractive illustrations by Caswell. \imo, 3$6pages. Price $1.25 net, postage 12 cents. 

By the Same Author 

The Forest Castaways 

Was there ever a lad who did not dream what he would do if lost in the woods? This is the 
story of how two lads, lost in the snow of a Maine winter, met many curious and thrilling ex- 
periences. The many pictures and the handsome binding make it an attractive gift-book. l2mo, 
392 pages. Price $1.50. 

Of unusual charm in the telling 

The Lucky Sixpence 

By Emilie Benson Knipe and Alden Arthur Knipe 

There is much actual fact in this out-of-the-ordinary tale ; and the authors make the bonny 
heroine of the story, the historic Americans she meets, and our own Revolutionary his- 
tory very real and alive with vivid interest. It is a splendid tale for all growing-up 
young folks — and grown-ups too— who like an exciting story of worth-while adventure. 
Sixteen full-page illustrations by Becker, \11no, 408 pages. 
Price $1.25 net, postage 12 cents. 

"The greatest of magazines for boys and girls of all ages." 


The twelve monthly numbers in two large 8vo volumes, 
richly decorated. How children do love them ! 

One thousand pages. One thousand picttires. 

Beautifully bound in gay red covers, 

The two volumes, $4.00. 


Union Square 




The Lady and Sada San 

By Frances Little 

A charming gift-book with its dainty cover and its very lovely 
colored frontispiece. All the fresh humor and whimsical fas- 
cination of "The Lady of the Decoration" are in this new 
book ; an exquisite story of an adorable girl, half American 
dash, half Japanese witchery. 

Frontispiece by Berger. i6mo, 224 pages. Price $1.00 net, 
postage 6 cents. 

A Great Book o£ Adventure 

Smoke Bellew 

By Jack London 

The spirit of the vast frozen North is in this book, and the lure of the Klondike's 
treasure. One adventure follows another — it is Jack London at his best. A splendid 
book for a boy's reading. 

Strong pictui-es by Monahan. l2?no, 385 pages. Price $1.30 net, postage 13 cents. 

Alice Hegan Rice's New Book 

A Romance of Billy- Goat Hill 

"Lady" is the heroine, a gay little rose set with thorns at 
first. Everybody loves her, and with good reason. The 
thorns disappear; but "Lady" never grows up; and Mrs. 
Rice's telling of her romance is exquisite. The quaint humor 
of " Mrs. Wiggs" is in the book, too. 

Illustrations by Wright. \imo, 404 pages. Price $1.25 net, 
postage 12 cents. 

A Clever Story of Wireless 

"C Q" 

By Arthur Train 

It makes a voyage over seas — with the Wireless holding out hands to all the world — 
a new thing— this story of the part the Wireless played in many lives on just one voyage 
across the Atlantic. Full of humor, full of thrills. 

Clever pictures by Crosby, \2n10, 301 pages. Price $1.20 net, postage 12 cents. 

And don't miss this delicious little book 


By Jean Webster 

"Daddy-Long-Legs" is Judy's nickname for the unknown friend who sends her 
— a starved little orphan — through college. Guess what happened. There 's a 
laugh on every page. The illustrations are the author's own— you must read the book 
to realize how funny they are. i6mo, 304 pages. Price $1.00 net, postage 8 cents. 


Union Square 




To you , and to each and every St Nich- 
olas reader, the Editor of St. Nicholas 
sends best wishes for a Merry Christ- 
mas and a Glad New Year — a New 
Year filled with health and growth 
and sunny days — and St. Nicholas. 

For St. Nicholas means — and during the new year coming more 
than ever before— live, worth-while information, and acquaintance 
with good pictures, and stories cf the kind that stimulate not only 
delightfully but helpfully, and hours of happy, wholesome enter- 
tainment for every 'boy and girl who makes St. Nicholas a friend. 

If you are not among the many thousands — scattered 
through every land under the sun — to whom St. Nicholas 
is just as fixed a part of the family life as Christmas, start 
getting acquainted to-day. 

First, send for the St. Nicholas Calendar. A post-card request will bring it. 
Address : 


Union Square New York 

Then read the' next page 



A real letter to St. Nicholas which has a 
splendid suggestion for every one who 
is thinking Christmas: 

Dear St. Nicholas: 

Why do I think the poet Whittier said you are " the best 
child's periodical in the world"? What an easy question to 
answer: because every reader of you loves and enjoys every 
page. You awake ambition having such a lovely League with 
its gold and silver badges and honor members. When your 
pages are opened, the reader is in another land, now a land of 
mystery, now a land of fairies, and now a land where dreams 
come true. 

I have taken you about four years, and never once have I lost 
interest when reading your pages, but I have become more and 
more interested. I count the days to the fifteenth of the 
month ; the postman never comes so slowly as on this particular 

I have read the serial stories to my grandmother, and 
she has been as interested and anxious for the next 
number as I. 

My sister and I love the League with its poems, 
stories, pictures, and photographs. 

I read you over and over from cover to cover and 
never tire. 

I know I could not get along without you, and, furthermore, do 
not intend to try. Now dare to ask again why I love you and 
if I or any other reader agree with Whittier. 

Marjorie C. Moran, 

Brooklyn, N. Y. 

How many of the Christmas gifts you gave last 
year carried as much pleasure as St. Nicholas is 
giving in Marjorie's home? 

Five minutes at your desk right now will make the Christmas thought a beautiful fact on 
Christmas Day. Write your order now, inclose the subscription price, $3.00, in check, money- 
order, or stamps ; give name and address plainly, and ask for the beautiful Christmas card of 
greeting, which will be mailed to reach its destination on Christmas Day if you wish, if your 
order is received in time. Address the publishers : 


Union Square .,_.,,...„,. New York 

T/ie above letter is one of five prize-winning, letters. See next page 



More Real Letters to ST. NICHOLAS 

The letter on the preceding page, and the four below, are the prize- 
winning letters, condensed because of limitations of space, received in 
answer to the questions asked in the November St. Nicholas: 

Why do you think the beloved poet Whittier called St. Nicholas " the best child's periodical in 
the world"? 

Why do you love St. Nicholas to-daj — the thousands of you who watch for it every month and 
make it a family institution f 

Does n't this girl's delight in St. Nicholas 
give you a hint for your Christmas list? 

Dear Editor of St. Nicholas : 

I think the poet Whittier spoke truly when he 
called SI. Nicholas the " greatest child's periodi- 
cal." As a regular subscriber for five years and 
as an Honor Member of the League, I think I 
have found wherein lies the greatness. 

Aside from the stories (which of course are of 
the best), the League, Nature and Science, The 
Letter-Box, " Because We Want to Know," and 
the advertising competitions give the young 
reader ample opportunity for the display and de- 
velopment of his talents, as well as a knowledge 
of things which otherwise might remain unknown 
to him. 

Why should n't I love St. Nicholas when I have 
reaped nothing but enjoyment from its stories 
and profitable bits of knowledge from the articles 
and the departments? 

Why should I not look ahead to the fifteenth 
of each month with pleasant anticipation when 
each new number brings another instalment of 
an interesting serial story, new short stories, and 
some added honor from the League? 

Why should n't I love the magazine which 
through months of illness has never failed to give 
me an added interest to help me along the road 
to health ? 

Take it all in all, why should n't I love the 
St. Nicholas ? Sincerely yours, 

Dorothy M. Rogers, Gloucester, Mass. 

Are you puzzled about a gift for 
" that boy " ? Read this : 

Dear St. Nicholas : 

I cannot express a certain emotion which exists 
between St. Nicholas and me. I understand that 
such a spell has been called ' ' love. ' ' Whatever 
it is, the grip is like a vise which 1 could n't break 
if I wanted to. Sometimes when I try to think 
of what I 'd like if I could get three wishes, out- 
side of health and happiness, the first is — that I 
may never miss a St. Nicholas ; the second, that 
I may win a prize in the League's competitions. 

There are, perhaps, many others who believe 
as Whittier did, but of all the St. Nicholas lovers, 
there cannot be any with a love greater than 
mine. I have forcibly defended ' 'St. Nick " twice, 
with a black eye result once. 

Arthur Schwarz, Brooklvn, N. Y. 

St. Nicholas has a personal quality which 
makes it a specially welcome gift 

To the Unseen Powers Behind St. Nich- 
olas : 
The underlying reason why St. Nicholas is the 
best loved book of childhood is because it ap- 
peals directly to them. 

When a child reads it he feels that this or that 
story is not for some other fellow, — but for him ! 
The whole magazine seems to breathe, " I am 

How this wonderful result is accomplished I 
cannot say, but there is a personal atmosphere 
about St. Nicholas that exists in no other publi- 
cation. Young folks read it from cover to cover, 
afraid to miss a single page ; they know from 
past experience that a wonderful surprise may 
be lurking in some unsuspected corner. 

And when the child becomes a man and must 
put by his childish treasures, St. Nicholas, to- 
gether with all of his youthful joys and dreams, 
is placed on the shelf of memory, and when he 
has boys and girls of his own, he passes to them 
this companion of his own childhood — the price- 
less heritage of youth. 

That is why the older folks steal away in a 
silent corner to read St. Nicholas ; that is why we 
all love it, for we are all children at heart. 
A Friend who will never outgrow 
St. Nicholas, Philadelphia, Pa. 

A year's subscription to St. Nicholas 
brings Christmas every month 

Dear St. Nicholas: 

One may as well ask a child why he loves 
Christmas as to ask him why he loves St. 
Nicholas. Why are little children at this time 
asking and thinking about Santa Claus ? For 
the very same reason that thousands of boys and 
girls eagerly await the arrival of St. Nicholas 
month after month. 

It means a good time, something to get excited 
over, to talk about, to think about, and, best of 
all, to know it is coming again with all its stories, 
puzzles, pictures, poems, etc. 

The only thing I have against St. Nicholas is : 
it stops in the most interesting part of the story, 
putting a " to be continued " underneath. 
Your most interested reader, 

Charlotte Mary Collins, 
Slingerlands, N. Y. 

A year's subscription to St. Nicholas will be sent to the writer of each of the above let- 
ters. A list of " honorable mention " crowded out of this number will be published in 
the February St. Nicholas, and to each of those whose letter entitles them to honorable 
mention, will be sent a copy of the beautiful January number of St. Nicholas, with the 
greetings of the Editor. 


See next page for some of the good things coming in St. Nicholas during JpiJ 


St. Nicholas 

and its rich feast during 1913 

The great English artist 

Arthur Ragkham 

is famous for the wonderful imagination and 
skill with which he pictures the characters 
dear to the young in heart of every age. 
He is making for St. Nicholas the most 
delightful pictures of Mother Goose — 
Mother Goose pictures unequaled in whim- 
sical humor and appeal. 

These pictures, some in color, and some 
in black and white, will be a great feature 
of St. Nicholas during the coming year. 

Arthur Rackham 

Another fine feature of St. Nicholas 

during the new year will be a valuable and informingly interesting 
series of articles dealing with the history of architecture, under 
such chapter-headings as Egyptian corner-stones, Greek beauty, 
Roman palisades, how the great cathedrals began, medieval 
cities, and many other phases of the subject. Every wide-awake 
boy and girl will find these articles of unusual interest. 

Friendship with St. Nicholas 

means acquaintance with the best modern magazine illustration, 
an acquaintance which is showing results in the wonderfully clever 
work being submitted by members of the St. Nicholas League, 
first in the St. Nicholas League contests, later in competitions 
with other artists in the field of magazine illustration. 

For a few of the other good things coming in St. Nicholas during sp/J see next page 


Every number of St. Nicholas is a com- 
plete, beautiful, fascinating book in it- 
self, with just enough "to-be-continueds" 
to keep interest at the top-notch from 
month to month. 

During 1913 there will be run two-of the very 
best serials St. Nicholas has ever printed: 

" Beatrice of Denewood," by Emilie Ben- 
son Knipe and Alden Arthur Knipe, is 
alive with unusual adventure, to which 
the little heroine's telling constantly im- 
parts a delightful humor. 

In "The Land of Mystery," Cleveland 
Moffett is telling one of the most stirring 
and remarkable stories of adventure ever 
written for young folks. The February 
chapters just crackle with excitement. 

French's statue at Lincoln, Neb. 

The young folks who are fortunate enough to have St. Nicholas 
their comrade during 191 3 will become familiar with some of the 
world's greatest men and greatest achievements. There will be 
more of the stimulating "talks with boys" begun in this number 
— in February, some rich gems of advice and suggestion by John 
Bigelow and Jean Jules Jusserand. Miss Ariadne Gilbert's fine 
series of biographical sketches, " More Than Conquerors," will 
be continued. The February St. Nicholas will present "that 
craggy peak among men," Lincoln, acquaintance with whom is 
ennobling for every American. 

Another series, rich in information and interest, will be A. 
Russell Bond's stories of the wonderful details of certain of the 
great constructive engineering enterprises under way in and 

around New York. 

What gift at a cost of $3.00 can begin to bring to the boy or 
girl of your heart's interest such a mine of profit and delight 
as a year's subscription to St. Nicholas? 



A year's subscription to St. Nicholas means 
twelve gifts in one, the twelve specially 
happy days of each number's arrival, twelve 
months of entertainment and growth. 

Send subscription, $3.00, to-day, if you wish a Christmas card of greet- 
ing and the first numbers to arrive on Christmas Day. A few quiet, com- 
fortable minutes at your desk, and a household of boys and girls is made 
happy for a year, or a lonely child is given a companion for twelve months. 

Why not send a year's subscription to St. Nicholas to every child on 

your Christmas list? Address the publishers: 


Or your own newsdealer will take subscriptions 

A Postscript to All Boys and Girls: 

A year's subscription to St. Nicholas is a splendid 
gift for you to give to one of your brothers or 
sisters, or your best friend. Father will help 
you send the amount of your subscription safely. 

2 3 


FoFB'avelSrslo and fiota v.aiitomic 

The oiinmg-cars are tinder management f 
of Fred Harvey . 

En ronfe yon can visif ike 
Grand Canyon of Arizona 

On request "will send our booklets felling about 
a delightful journey fo winferless California, 
through the Southwest Land of Enchantment- 

W. J.Bladk.Pass.Trafnc Mgr. AT-%Sf-Ry System. 
1072 Railway Exchange, Chicago. 


Exclusively for firsf-class travel -The year, 'round 






Vol. XL 

JANUARY, 1913 

No. 3 


The Man in the Wilderness asked me 
How many strawberries grew in the sea? 
I answered him, as I thought good, 
As many as red-herrings grew in the wood. 

7 " 

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, 

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall; 

All the King's horses, and all the King's men 

Cannot put Humpty" Dumpty together again. 


Copyright, 1912, by The Century Co. All rights reserved 
J 93 


A carrion-crow sat on an oak, 

Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi-ding do, 

Watching a tailor mend his cloak ; 
Sing heigh, sing ho, the carrion-crow, 
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi-ding do ! 

Wife, bring me my old ben' bow, 

Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi-ding do, 
That I may shoot yon carrion-crow ; 
Sing heigh, sing ho, the carrion-crow, 
Fol de riddle, lol de 

riddle, hi-ding do ! jP 

The tailor shot, but he missed his mark, 
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi-ding do, 

And he shot the old sow right through the heart; 
Sing heigh, sing ho, the carrion-crow, 
Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi-ding do ! 



Little Miss Muffett 
Sat on a tuffet, 

Eating of curds and whey ; 


There came a great spider 
And sat down beside her, 

And frightened Miss Muffett away. 






"How do I look?" begged 
Olive, wrenching her eyes 
from the hall mirror to 
bestow them coaxingly 
upon that most indifferent 
of admirers, a brother. 
"How do I look, Dan?" 

"Neat— very neat, Sis !" 

he replied enthusiastically. 

He was very fond of 

Olive, and willing to go to extravagant lengths 

of praise. 

Her radiant face clouded. 

"Is that all?" came from her, inadvertently. 
She was no girl to angle for compliments, but if 
ever that hall mirror had reflected a pleasing face 
in its life, in its long, patient, family life, it had 
done so this last minute ; and Olive fairly ached 
for Dan to discover it. 

"Yes, that 's all," he said calmly. "You 're all 
right. Stop worrying !" 

Olive swallowed a sigh and slipped into her 
coat, fortunately unaided. When Dan helped a 
girl on with her coat, he waited till she had her 
arms in the sleeves, then made a derrick of him- 
self, and hoisted the coat by the collar high in 
air. The girl then fell into place of her own 
weight, her cuffs up to her shoulders, her collar 
up to her eyes, her hair anywhere and every- 

Those whom Dan "assisted" in this fashion 
were always too complimented by his attention to 
criticize the manner of it, for Dan was as comely 
for a boy as Olive was for a girl, and the damsels 
of his acquaintance all owned to the oddity of 
preferring to be "yanked" into their coats by 
Dan rather than to be insinuated into them ele- 
gantly by anybody else. 

"How small your feet seem, Dan, in those new 
tan shoes," said Olive, pensively according him 
some of the balm she needed herself. 

"Don't they, though?" agreed Dan, pridefully 
spreading his hands in his pockets and gazing 
with pleasure at his bright yellow extremities. 
"Hate to waste these shoes on a picnic." 

"Nothing is 'wasted' that helps us to look- 
neat— very neat," gulped Olive, heroically, en- 

deavoring to defend the 
wearing of her own new 
shoes also. "And as for a 
picnic, I 'd sooner look — at 
least neat— at a picnic than 
anywhere else. That is why 
I have dressed in all my 
pretty things." 

The day was all that it 
should be for a picnic, as 
everybody had known it would be, even weeks 
before; for, in this part of California, rain falls 
not when it wants to, as elsewhere, but only when 
it is allowed to by the calendar. A lovely place 
for picnics, California. 

Dan and Olive caught the right trolley, filled 
with chattering comrades, and after a brief ride 
along the edge of the sunny Santa Clara Valley, 
dismounted among the foot-hills which stand like 
a line of pawns before the majestic mountains 
beyond. The picnickers had chosen the spot on 
account of its romantic wildness, for it was quite 
cut off from every sign of civilization, and wild- 
cats and coyotes were known to abound in the 
chaparral, while a thrilling tale of rattlesnakes 
was attached to the bare summit of every lonely 
mountain. Also, the marvel of flowers was every- 
where. What more could 'the heart of youth 

Well, one thing. And as the morning wore on, 
Dan and Olive both found out that, for their 
parts, the picnic lacked its anticipated attraction. 
In plain words, each had gone with the hope of 
spending the whole lovely day with a certain per- 
son who turned out not to be available. Dan had 
counted upon his charming and pretty chum, 
Maisie Doyle. And as she was kept at home by 
the illness of her mother, no wonder Dan thought 
picnics foolish. Moreover, his tight shoes were 
growing tighter— it 's a way shoes have of doing 
when they are least desired to do it. 

And if anybody had told Olive that Larry Ladd 
was away that day, with his signal corps, on a 
brief surveying trip, Olive would probably have 
decided not to go to the picnic at all. Nor were 
Olive's shoes particularly comfortable either. She 
felt a conviction growing upon her that she was 




too old for picnics. She, therefore, joined the 
matrons who were setting out the lunch board. 

"Let me help you, Mrs. Grey," she said heroic- 
ally, to that indefatigable slicer of cake. 

"Shoo, child !" vetoed Mrs. Grey, brandishing 
her knife dismissively. "Go off with the others 
and have a good time !" 

So Olive went off, but not to the others ; the 
others were mostly out of sight, though their gay 
shouts kept ringing through the bushes. Older 
girls than she were not too old for picnics, so it 

"Is n't this rather a bore?" asked Dan. 

He strolled up, hands disdainfully in pockets, 
head aristocratically high ; and he surveyed his 
sister gloomily. 

"Why, it 's perfectly beautiful !" she said 
glibly. "The sky 's so blue, and the woods are so 
wild, and the mountains are so tall and grand, 
and the forest trails are so lost-looking and 
tempting. We might almost be pioneers. It 's 
beautiful !" Let any one think on his peril that 
she had come for aught but scenery ! 

Dan frowningly gazed at the indicated trail, 
and a belated love of scenery awoke in his heart 

"Come on, Olive," he invited, his face clearing, 
"let 's explore that path. We 've a good half- 
hour before lunch. What do you say?" 

Say? She said "Yes!" with haste and delight. 
To think that Dan was willing to while away the 
picnic hours with his own sister ! Olive's affec- 
tionate heart swelled with contentment. 

But then it unswelled. For, "Hunt up another 
girl to bring along with us, please," ordered Dan. 
"She '11 make it less poky." 

Right here it must be insisted upon that Olive 
was good-natured, frank, and loyal. That this 
story concerns itself with a time when she was 
not one of the three, is something which can't be 
helped. For, at Dan's uncomplimentary fiat 
("'poky,' indeed!"), she made up her mind to 
"bring along" the very plainest, most durable 
girl she could think of. Perhaps that would 
waken Dan up to the fact of having worth and 
good looks right in his own family ; no need to 
"hunt up another girl" ! 

With the word "durable," a person invariably 
thought of Anna Ladd. Olive looked around for 
her. Nor was Anna far off, but was leaning 
against a near-by tree, examining a bit of its bark. 

Olive, her hair in curls, her feet in lace stock- 
ings and low shoes, a bead necklace around her 
open throat, her best blue challie on, wondered 
much why Anna never tried to improve her ap- 
pearance by wearing pretty clothes. Anna had 
straight hair, no special complexion, a plain face, 

and large hands and feet. And, whether wisely 
or unwisely, she never tried to disguise these 
things. At this moment, her hair was twisted 
into two rfeat knobs, one on each side of her 
head; her boots were of the high, stout, button 
variety ; she wore a short, brown skirt and a long, 
brown sweater; and her neck was trimly finished 
off with a white collar and a brown bow, like a 
man's. The bow might have been her brother 
Larry's ; it probably was. 

This was the sturdy maiden whom Olive in- 
vited. "It 's just Anna," said Olive to Dan. "She 
was having such a lonely time by herself," she 
added hypocritically. 

By now poor Olive had given her own self up 
as a bad job, and no longer felt surprised at the 
ill speeches which fell from her tongue. 

"It was good of you to ask me with you," said 
Anna, as they tramped along the winding, 
wooded trail. "I 've been wanting to try this 
trail all morning, but was afraid." 

"What of?" demanded Dan, who knew that 
coyotes were very peaceful beasts, and who had 
large doubts of the wildcats, and complete doubts 
of the rattlesnakes. 

"Losing my way," said Anna, promptly. 

"In a spot where a trolley-car whizzes past 
every half-hour?" was Dan's dry question. Plain 
girls were queer, and needed drastic treatment. 
They often have to be jolted back to common 
sense, which is their one valuable asset. 

But Anna showed that she and common sense 
were still on good terms. 

"Dan," she observed, "every step we take is a 
curve, and at this moment, we must have a whole 
hillside between us and the trolley-line. We can 
no more hear it than see it." 

Whistling cheerily to show that stern thoughts 
were far from him, Dan strode on, and finally 
stopped at a sudden clearing of the underbrush. 
The disclosed view of mountains and vales was 

"And what do you think of that field?" asked 
Dan, casually, the concealed pride of a proprietor 
in his tones. The first person to come upon a 
grand sight always feels like the owner of it. 

The field, lying far below them, was one golden 
mass of poppies, California poppies, the sunniest, 
most charming flowers in the world. Yellow does 
not describe them ; and orange does not describe 
them. They glitter like pure gold, and yet are 
satiny and soft as baby fingers. One, alone, is a 
treasure ; and here was a field of them. 

"Let us get armfuls for the lunch table," cried 

And without hesitation, all three plunged down 
the hillside, and were soon wading knee-deep in 




blossoms. By the time they had gathered flow- 
ers enough and were ready to go back to the 
picnic ground, they found they had wandered 
completely around the poppy field. The hill they 
had descended, whichever it was, had become 
merged into a dozen others, all alike. 

They shouted loudly, hoping to get response 
from their comrades, but dead silence was their 
only answer. So they had to choose a hill at 
random. The sun was no guide, for it was prac- 
tically overhead. 

"They 're all having lunch," mentioned Dan, 

Hunger and fear made the ascent anxious. 
And the anxiety proved well founded, for, when 
the top of the hill was reached, it merely disclosed 
a series of other tops, each a little higher and 
more remote. Everything was bleakly unfa- 
miliar. They had climbed the wrong one. 

"We had better go back -to the poppy field and 
try again," advised Anna. She was as hungry, 
tired, and worried as the other two, but her 
practical calmness never left her. It gifted her 
with leadership. Dan, generally guide, found 
himself taking her counsel, and glad to get it. 

But the poppy field was not to be reached a 
second time. There is nothing more bewildering 
than a range of uniform hills. The three wan- 
derers, instead of retracing their steps, only went 
farther and farther out of their way. So thick 
was the chaparral, and so winding was the trail, 
that they never could see more than a few yards 
either before them or behind them. Progress 
was sheer guesswork. And hunger soon became 
more than a trifle. 

When, instead of reaching the poppies, they 
stumbled into a new valley through which raced 
a little brook, Olive broke down and cried ; for 
California, in the dry season, is not a land of 
many brooks, and the strange sight of this one 
accented the fact that they were lost indeed. 

Quite as aware of this, Anna Ladd neverthe- 
less took comfort where she could. 

"Maybe there are fish in the brook, and we can 
get something to eat," she hopefully extended. 

Which inclined to make Dan angry. He ad- 
mired bravery, but he liked it joined to sense. 
Given hook, line, bait, rod, sinker, and reel, Dan 
would have commended Anna's grit. But how 
catch fish with the bare hands? For fish were 
there, big, fat, lazy suckers, sulking in the pools. 

"Going to charm them out?" asked Dan. 

"Yes," said Anna, laughing. She had n't been 
a tramper and a camper with Larry for nothing. 
"That is, if I can get a strong, invisible string." 
She looked carefully over her own person, but 
was not repaid by the search. Then she eyed 

Olive, gaining hope from a fancy bag which 
swung from Olive's belt. "Is that a work-bag?" 
she asked. "Is there a spool of silk in it?" 

"No," confessed Olive, answering both ques- 
tions at once, and answering them with a blush. 


The bag was a vanity bag, holding powder, a 
powder-puff, and a hand-mirror. These melan- 
choly details she kept to herself, contenting her- 
self with the mere "No." 

"Then may I destroy part of your necktie?" 
asked Anna, politely, of Dan. 

The tie, a knitted silk one, in tint of pale green, 
was a gift from Maisie. Precious it was indeed, 
but food was more precious still. Dan handed 
it over without a qualm. Anna swiftly unraveled 
it till she had several yards of line. 



"Want a bent pin for a hook?" demanded Dan, 

Anna laughed again. She was an expert with 
the snare, and had no misgivings of success. And 
she was nice enough not to keep the honors to 
herself, but shared her knowledge with the 
others. She gave them each a length of line with 
the proper loop and slip-knot at its end, and she 
posted them at clever places on the bank, school- 
ing them in the process whereby an unsuspecting 
fish has a belt fitted to him, and gets jerked high 
and dry by it. 

But it is slow work, and a full hour more went 
past before the whole catch numbered five. But 
five were enough. 

"And now for a fire," said Anna, throwing off 
her sweater, and preparing to be cook. 

Dan frantically searched his pockets. 

"I have n't a match," he said tragically. 

"Larry never lets me go in the woods without 
matches," said Anna, producing a box. 

Dan helpfully began to pile logs for a fire. 

"Now, don't be idiotic," begged Anna, gently. 

Idiotic was a new word for Dan to hear from 
a girl. 

"Where 's the idiocy?" he asked crisply. 

"Right there!" replied Anna, poking away the 
logs with her foot. "You can't cook over a big 
fire — not without scorching yourself. A little, 
tiny fire 's the thing." 

"How did you ever learn all this?" asked Olive, 
watching wistfully. What were good looks in a 
crisis? Worse than nothing. 

"Reading boys' books and listening to Larry," 
explained Anna, sharpening some sticks on which 
to roast the fish. 

"Anna Ladd, put me to work," said Dan, pull- 
ing his hands from his pockets, where he had 
moodily rammed them. "You are the man of this 
expedition, not I. It has made me angry to see 
it ; angry with myself, I mean. But I can at least 
follow orders." 

"There are no orders to follow," said Anna, 
gravely. "We are all in a bad box." Her eyes 
scanned the lonely hills, the sunny, uncaring hills, 
among whose silences men had been known to 
wander about, lost, for days at a time. "Well," 
resolutely, "we '11 feel better after we 've eaten. 
So help cook this fish, Dan." 

To "toast" a fish takes skill and absorbs atten- 
tion. The three exiles enjoyed those underdone, 
unsalted fish better than any meal of their re- 
membrance; and the warm, sandy water of the 
brook tasted like iced ambrosia. 

"Now, I 'm ready for anything ; on with the 
march," said Dan. 

But he rose with a limp and wincing. 

"And so am I !" declared Olive, standing first 
on one foot and then on the other, her face pale 
with pain. 

"Am I to believe your words or your looks?" 
asked Anna. 

"I was vain and foolish enough to put on new, 
tight shoes," confessed Olive, "and my heels are 
rubbed sore." 

"Same here," admitted Dan, laconically. 

Anna ransacked her wise young head for rem- 
edy, and magically dug one up. She made the 
sufferers first bathe their inflamed heels in the 
brook, and then showed them how to make pro- 
tecting cases of paper, supplied by Dan's note- 

"And now we 'd better hurry," she advised, her 
glance on the sun. "It must be four o'clock." As 
she started to put on her sweater, Dan flew to 
help her, hoisting her into the air. "But I '11 
teach you how to put on a girl's coat, if it 's the 
last act of my life," she said firmly, after the 
first speechless moment of surprise. 

Olive leaned against a tree and laughed hys- 
terically, while Dan carefully followed Anna's 
directions in etiquette. 

"When a thing has to be done, I hate to put it 
off," explained Anna, apologizing for her instruc- 
tions. "Put-offs pile up so that they frighten a 
person into forgetting." 

Soon they were on their worried way again, 
but at every step gained nothing but an added 
sense of bewilderment and dread. Myriads of 
low hills circling around myriads of little valleys 
like cauldrons,— it seemed as if the whole world 
held nothing more. And at last the sun began to 
dip down. 

"Let us climb to the top of the highest hill we 
see," counseled Anna, as a final resource. "It 
sounds like a waste of time, but we '11 get a far 
view, and may be able to locate ourselves." 

For want of a better plan, this one was carried 
out, though the ascent taxed their weary muscles 
to the utmost ; and the rattlesnake question had 
now but the one answer : these massed boulders, 
seamed and cracked and overgrown here and 
there with tough shrubs, were a snake paradise. 
Olive commenced to shrink every time she 
stepped through a thicket. 

"And I don't know but your fears are sensible," 
said Anna, bethinking herself of something 
Larry had told her. "So take up handfuls of 
sand and throw it ahead of you into any clump 
that looks suspicious. A rattler can't stand it, 
and rattles immediately." 

Olive took what comfort she could out of this 
device, and they reached the top of the hill. 

But the view it furnished was but the prospect 




of vaster silences, of lonelier distances. They 
and the sinking sun had the big, quiet world to 

Olive dropped down into an abject little heap 
and again wept. 

"I can't help it," she sobbed. 

"Dan," said Anna, intensely, her eyes straining 
at the farthest hill opposite, a whole wild valley 
between, "can't you see an occasional flash of 
light over there, almost as if the sun was shining 
on a bit of glass?" 

"Yes !" cried Dan, at length, as the flash was 
repeated. "But what can it be ? We could n't see 
the glint from a piece of glass at this distance." 

"It 's Larry !" cried Anna. "I 'm sure of it. 
But, oh, if I only had a mirror!" 

"A mirror?" asked Olive, jumping up, yet not 
sufficiently believing her ears to dive into her 
vanity bag. "A mirror? A hand-glass?" 

"Yes," mourned Anna. "The last thing we 'd 
be likely to have !" 

"No, indeed !" cried Olive. "Here 's one." 
And she produced it from her bag as a wizard 
might take a gold watch out of an egg omelet. 
"But what 's the use of it?" 

With a cry of joy, Anna caught it and began 
sending heliograph signals across the valley to 
the distant hill opposite. Down its sloping, 
wooded side, the tiny flash came occasionally, yet 
not in response, merely by accident. 

Anna worked faithfully but rather desperately. 

"I don't understand much about it," she said 
between whiles, as she tried now this angle, now 
that. "And it 's almost impossible to work when 
the sun 's so low ; but if it 's Larry, and if he sees 
me, and if he answers, then we 're all right." 

"Try it from here," said Dan, indicating a 
change of angle. 

The dancing speck of light on the opposite hill 
suddenly went out. 

"Whoever it is sees me," said Anna, breath- 
lessly. "I '11 send my initials, and watch what 
happens !" 

With trembling care, she flashed her signal 
several times across the valley. 

The moment of waiting was a tense one. Then 
came the answer, two long flashes — L. L. Larry 

"Here," said Anna, handing back the glass. 
"Thank you. It 's Larry." 

"Did you tell him we are lost?" asked Olive, 
too hopeful by far. 

"No," said Anna, half laughing. "I don't know 
the signal code. All I can do is just to telegraph 
my initials, and recognize Larry's when they 
come back." 

"Then how are we helped?" besought Olive. 

"Because I know where Larry's corps is to- 
day. It 's on Loma Galena. That mountain op- 
posite is Loma Galena." 

"Loma Galena?" asked Dan, incredulously. 
"Right back of our house?" 

"Right back of all our houses," answered Anna, 
comprehensively. "And what we have to do is to 
keep our eyes upon it, and make a bee-line down 
into the valley and across." 

This they did. But the feat was harder to per- 
form than to describe. Now stumbling down 
inclines, now struggling up hillsides, always 
bruised by the stones and torn by the brambles, 
they finally worked themselves into a valley which 
owned the blessing of the commonplace. The 
first trolley-pole they saw looked as lovely as a 
long-lost brother. 

Next came the beatific vision of a trolley-car. 

They boarded it, and their adventure was over. 

"And it 's good it 's dark, we look such sights," 
said Anna. 

"We look such sights," amended Olive. She 
and Dan had been obliged to cut the heels from 
their new shoes. As for fine raiment, that was 
torn to shreds. And whatever had come within 
reach of the tar-weed was blackened beyond 
renovation. Olive's hair was in wisps, her lace in 
rags. Half of her beads were on the trail, the 
other half were down her back. 

Anna's stout shoes looked as well as when she 
had started ; her short, clean skirt was still fresh 
and clean ; her hair was still in two tidy knobs ; 
her collar was trim, and her tie was taut. 

Dan thought she was the goodliest sight he had 
ever looked upon. 

"Why have n't you joined any of our card and 
dance clubs ?" he asked her, suddenly. 

"Because I 've never been asked," said Anna, 
promptly and frankly. 

"Consider yourself not only asked but begged," 
said Dan. As president of the societies men- 
tioned, his word had weight. 

"Consider me a member," accepted Anna, 

Later, in his own home, on his way to his room 
for repairs, Dan leaned for a moment against 
Olive's door and gazed interestedly at her tatters, 
which she was surveying in the glass. 

"That Anna Ladd is just about the finest girl I 
know !" he contributed heartily. "When I sized 
up my wits against hers, in the thick of the scrim- 
mage, I felt like a noddling noodle. A noddling 
noodle ! How did you feel ?" 

Olive, scoring herself in the mirror, answered 
without hesitation. 

"Like nineteen of them," was her verdict. 

And it meant more than Dan guessed. 



*TM& A. X • ^WK 

I tell mine all to Grandma, 

And she tells hers to me ; 
And we have just the mostest fun 

That ever you did see ! 

Each time I get a new one, 

I whisper in her ear, 
And Grandma whispers back again, 

And laughs, and says, "Dear ! dear 

But I 've one now I have to keep, 

I can't tell her, you see. 
I wonder — do you s'pose she might 

Be keeping one from me? 



Bobby sat down on the Hermit's door-step to get 
his breath. It was a warm afternoon, and the climb 
had been long and steep. Noiselessly the door 
behind him opened, and a tall, thin, gray man 
looked down at the little boy. 

"Well," said he, in anything but a friendly tone, 
"what do you want?" 

Bobby jumped a little, but only from surprise. 
"How do you do?" he replied, politely removing 
his cap. "I 'm Bobby Wentworth, and we 're at 
the hotel down below, and I 've come to call." 

"I never have callers," said the man, more 

"I know," replied Bobby, "that 's why I came. 
They said you 'd been up here alone years and 
years and years; so I thought you might like to 
see me a little while." 

For an instant, the man's stern features re- 
laxed, as though he would smile but had forgotten 

"I 've heard that they call me the 'Hermit' 
down there, — the 'Hermit of Hemlock Hill.' 
Are n't you afraid of me?" 

"No," said Bobby, contemptuously. "You don't 
look bad— you just look tired." 

The Hermit sighed as he swung the door wide 
open and sat down beside Bobby. "That 's all," 
he agreed; "I 'm just tired. Tired in my heart. 
Now, as you 've had a stiff climb, and as I was 
just about to take a late luncheon, suppose we 
have it out here together, in the shade of the 
porch, where it 's cool ?" 

So saying, the Hermit brought out a blue plate 

piled high with slices of just-baked bread, a squat 
silver pitcher of molasses, and a stone jug of icy 

"Now, when I get two plates, two knives and 
forks, two china mugs, and the butter," said he, 
"we '11 be all ready." 

Ten minutes later, Bobby looked up from 
spreading his fourth slice of bread, and said : 
"This is awfully good bread for you to make all 
by yourself. But I s'pose you 've had centuries 
and centuries to learn in." 

"At least it seems so to me/' replied the Her- 
mit, gravely. 

"Were you here in the days of the giants?" 
asked Bobby, eagerly. 

"Well," said the Hermit, reflectively, "I might 
tell you about a boy-giant I once knew, — unless 
you don't care for stories." 

"Oh," cried the boy, his eyes dancing in delight- 
ful anticipation, "there 's nothing I care for as 
much !" 

So this is what the Hermit told Bobby, as they 
sat in the shade, on the top of Hemlock Hill, eat- 
ing just-baked bread with molasses, and sipping 
mugs of icy milk : 

"Early one spring morning, ages ago, I was 
awakened by a violent knocking — not on the door, 
but on the roof. Getting into my clothes with 
some difficulty— for I 'd been sick a long time— 
I came outside, and found a giant bending over 
the house, and about to knock again. He was 
nearly as tall as that old pine there. I remem- 



ber that as one of his feet nearly covered this 
little front yard, the other spread over the road. 

" 'What are you trying to do,' I called, 'smash 
my roof in?' 

" 'Oh, there you be!' he exclaimed, after peer- 
ing all over this part of the township for me. 
'No, indeed ! I 've been tryin' not to. I came to 
see if you did n't need a boy to help on the farm.' 

" 'Well, suppose I do,' said I, rather nettled at 
being roused up in this manner. 'You have n't 
happened to bring one in your pocket, have you?' 

cover. As for rations, I '11 feed myself. There 's 
deer, and such small fry, for the pickin', a couple 
of hundred miles above here, and I can step over 
there and get a bite any time.' 

"The outcome of it was that I took the boy on 
trial for a month. He said his name was Runty. 
They called him that because he was the only 
short member of his family. You see, he was a 
hundred and fifty years old— in sixty years more 
he 'd be of age— and, though he 'd been growing 
such a long time, he only came to his father's belt. 


" 'I 'm wantin' to hire out myself,' he explained, 
good-naturedly smiling at my temper. 'I 'm only 
a boy, I know, but I 've helped Dad with the 
chores since I was no higher 'n your barn. And 
I '11 come for my board and keep.' 

" 'Your board and keep,' I repeated sarcas- 
tically. 'The house and barn together would n't 
hold much more than those feet of yours; and all 
I raise in a year would make you about three 
good meals !' 

" 'That 's all right, mister,' replied the giant, 
complacently, sitting down on that hill opposite, 
in order to see me better; 'by openin' both doors, 
I can get my head in the barn, and that pasture 
next will make a fine bed. I never take cold 
sleepin' outdoors, so long as my head 's under 

"The next day, I told him to plow that two-acre 
corn-field. I stayed in the house to finish some 
writing I wished to get off. In a moment he 
called me. I found him standing in the road, 
with the plow under one arm, the work harness 
under the other, and a frantically struggling horse 
in either hand. 

" 'I can't get this outfit together,' he said, mildly 
bewildered. 'I laid the hosses on their backs on 
my lap, and tried to harness 'em; but the buckles 
are too small for my fingers. I can't do nothin' 
with 'em !' 

"Of course he could n't. I had no right to 
blame him, but it meant leaving my desk and 
harnessing and hitching up, myself. 'Now go 
on,' said I, 'and don't call me if you can help it' 






"Just as I lost myself in my work again, there 
came another call. I went out in a bad temper. 
'Now what 's the matter?' I called. 

"Runty was down on his knees beside the field, 
holding the plow-handles between one thumb and 
finger, and urging on the team with the other 
hand. He looked overheated and exasperated. 

" 'See here, boss,' he cried, 'this is breakin' my 
back and nothin' but foolin'. I can't scratch up 
this little plot with these crazy little hosses and 
this toy plow in a year ! Why, if I 'd only 
brought my spadin'-fork and rake, I could get 
this little spot ready for plantin' in ten minutes.' 

"I saw how it was. It was plainly a case of a 
man being too big for his job. I had to leave my 
writing and do the plowing myself. I sent Runty 
into the woods for fuel. 

"Before I 'd worked fifteen minutes, Runty 
came back with about forty big sugar-maples un- 
der his arm that he 'd pulled up by the roots. 

" 'What made you go and ruin my sugar-bush ?' 
I shouted. 'There are plenty of other trees, and 
those are the best I had !' 

" 'Why, the rest of 'em was n't no bigger 'n 
toadstools are where I come from,' he explained. 
T '11 just break these up in little pieces, and 
leave 'em in a nice pile behind the woodshed.' 

"I tell you, Bobby, I was almost ready to dis- 
charge that boy ! But he was so willing and 
cheerful that I hated to send him away so soon. 
'Maybe he '11 do something except cause me work 
and loss, after a while,' I thought. 

"Worn out with the plowing, I put up the 
horses and told Runty to feed and bed them. A 
ripping and tearing sound brought me to the door 
the next minute, and there was the boy leaning 
over the unroofed barn, dropping a pinch of oats 
into Dobbin's manger. 

" 'It was so hard gettin' my hand around to the 
pesky little stalls,' he calmly explained, 'that I 
just pulled off the roof so 's I can see 'em and get 
to 'em. I '11 fix it on for to-night with a bit of 
wire, and to-morrow I '11 put on some hinges, 
so 's I can lift it up and down all right.' 

"For some minutes, I was too exasperated to 
speak, and just stood there and watched him 
fasten on the barn roof with two hundred feet or 
so of barbed wire. When I could speak, I dis- 
charged him with the sharpest kind of words. 
And do you know, Bobby, he was so sorry to lose 
his first place, that he sat on the ridge of that 
mountain and cried till that low field was all 
awash. In fact, you can see, over beyond that 
clump of trees, there 's a fair-sized pond there yet. 




"I called out to him to be a man and make the 
best of it, and came into the house. Having 
Runty help me farm had tired me out so that I 
lay down on the old couch there, and fell asleep. 

"I dreamed that, instead of being a lone hermit 
on Hemlock Hill, I was the captain of the Nancy 
Ann; and that I was stretched out upon a locker 
in my little cabin, lazily listening to the water 
lapping against the sides of the boat. Then there 
came the sound of hurried oars, and something 
bumped against the Nancy Ann— no, against the 
hermitage ; for I woke to see a punt floating in 
that doorway ! In it were the Widow Small and 
her two boys, Rather and Very, who had come 
to warn me that before long the water would 
reach my second story. As it was, the couch was 
a foot from the ceiling when I floated out of the 

"We scrambled to the roof of the barn, and sat 
there in a row, waiting for Runty to stop crying. 
While I felt sorry for the boy's disappointment, 
and remembered that old folk tell young ones 
that a good cry will do them good, nevertheless I 
did wish his tears would stop flowing down the 
mountain before my stock was all drowned. 

"The sun kept going down, until it began to 
disappear right behind Runty's knees. The water' 
kept creeping up, until it almost touched the soles 
of my carpet-slippers. If I drew up my feet, I 
was liable to go over backward ; so I sat watch- 

ing the ripples that spread outward from the 
mountain with each sob the boy gave. Just as I 
was wondering if boy-giants ever cried all night. 
Runty gave one big, loud sob that sent a tidal 
wave over my ankles— and stopped crying. While 
we were anxiously yelling all sorts of cheery 
words at him, he sat still with his face in his 
hands, too downcast to move. 

"At last he braced up, and dried his eyes on a 
bandana not quite as large as the big top at the 
circus, and said good-by. 

" 'I '11 hurry right home,' he said, 'for Dad and 
Mom are prob'bly worried about me now; and, if 
it gets any darker, the first thing I know I '11 be 
steppin' on some of them little villages and 
crushin' 'em all to bits.' " 

"And you never saw Runty again?" asked Bobby, 
who had scarcely taken a long breath throughout 
the telling. 

"Never again," said the man. "I 've had no 
one worse than gnomes and pigwidgeons to help 
me since then. They 've told me many a tale of 
the boy's adventures — for he was an ambitious 
lad, and never gave up trying to make himself 
useful. But, as Runty observed, it 's getting 
dark. So, give me your hand, Bobby, and I '11 
go with you as far as the hotel grounds." 

And down Hemlock Hill went the Hermit and 
the boy, in the glow of the sinking sun. 




Bright and early to Grandma's house, 

We went to spend the day ; 
But snow came down, still as a mouse, 

And so we had to stay. 

And when the Christmas morning came, 

It found us waiting there. 
The shining snow was white and high, 

And drifts were everywhere. 

We feared that Santa could not come; 

We had no Christmas tree, 
And so we did the dearest thing 

That ever you did see : 

We hung a tree out by the porch 

With corn and bread— red apples, too; 
And called the birds, and said to them : 
"We 've made this Christmas tree for you. 

They came in flocks — they came in crowds, 

And stayed to sing, and eat, and play. 
It seemed to me that they all said : 
"Thank you; we like our Christmas Day!' 


A curly-headed youngster of six stood on the 
deck of the big ship. Across the blue water had 
faded from sight the land of India, where he 
had left his young, widowed mother, and all that 
was dear to babyhood and life. Before him 
loomed a strange English school and a strange 
aunt. When the little boy knelt down at night 
to pray, he would ask God to make him dream of 
his mother, and let him see again, if only in his 
sleep, those gray eyes full of light. The thoughts 
that struggled in his child-heart, however, were 
not trusted to the black servant beside him, or 
even to the other little boy, Richmond Shakspear, 
who, like him, was leaving his India home. No- 
body would understand those puzzling thoughts. 
Locked away very deep in William Makepeace 
Thackeray's young heart lay the memory of part- 
ing, — the old ghaut, or river stair, which led 
down to the boat ; the quaver in his mother's 
voice ; the blur in his sight and the choke in his 
throat ; and of those strange good-bys. Perhaps 
there floated, too, in his tender memory, a vision 
of his own portrait painted some years before 
in far-away Calcutta : a white-dressed, round- 
eyed boy of three perched on a pile of big books, 
with his arms clasped round his mother's neck. 
Such a beautiful, tall mother for a little boy to 
sail away from to find that queer thing called 
"education." But he was sailing farther and far- 
ther every minute, under the long reach of sky. 
At last, one morning, after many days, they 
came in sight of the rock-bound island of St. 
Helena, rising out of the sea like a great gray 
cone ; and, harbored there, the black servant took 
the two boys ashore to see a famous French 
soldier. After they had gone a long way over 
rocks and hills, they came to a garden where a 
Vol. XL.— 27. 

man with folded arms and bowed head was walk- 
ing among the flowers. "There he is," said the 
black man; "that is Bonaparte. He eats three 



sheep every day, and all the little children he can 
lay his hands on." The cherry-cheeked William 




did not know what a plump, tempting morsel of 
a child he was; but it seemed wise, just then, to 
let this ogre of a Frenchman have the island to 
himself, and for him and Richmond and their 
black guardian to continue their voyage. And 
so there were more long days of blue water and 
sky, and of sailing on and on, till, finally, they 
reached England. This did not seem at all a 
cheerful place to the two boys : flags were flying 
at half-mast, and there was black on everything, 
for the whole country was in mourning for Prin- 
cess Charlotte, who had died November 6, 1817. 

William's aunt, however, took him immediately 
into her large love, and watched over him with a 
mother's tenderness. How frightened she was 
when she found out that the child's head was big 
enough for his uncle's hat ! A good doctor told 
her, though, not to worry over that head, for 
it had "a great deal in it." Part of the time, 
Thackeray lived with this aunt, Mrs. Ritchie, at 
Chiswick, and part with a great-uncle at Hadley. 
In the meantime, his young mother had not for- 
gotten her only child. She had married again, a 
Colonel Smythe of India, and now she and her 
husband, whom Thackeray, later, loved deeply, 
returned to England, and the little boy was so 
glad to see them that he could not speak. This 
was in 1822, when Thackeray was eleven years 
old, the same year that he entered the famous 
Charterhouse school. 

From Thackeray's own account and his "Doc- 
tor" in "Pendennis," we can imagine his first 
impressions of Charterhouse, and his feelings to- 
ward the principal, whose name he has grace- 
fully changed. As the child entered with his 
shining, fresh face and his shining, white collar, 
Dr. Crushall thundered out in a "big, brassy 
voice," "Take that boy and his box to Mrs. Jones, 
and make my compliments to Mr. Smiler, and tell 
him the boy knows nothing, and will just do for 
the lowest form." As far as lessons went, the 
boy never knew a great deal ; but "he read any- 
thing he could lay his hands on ; he acted when 
he had the chance; he debated." His friends 
thought of him as a broad-set, lazy child, with 
rosy cheeks, dark hair, and blue eyes, all- a-twin- 
kle. When he should have been working sums, 
he was generally covering his books and papers 
with comical drawings, which he "chucked about" 
among his schoolmates. His power of mimicry 
and sense of fun were so tremendous that no 
teacher was safe from his perfect imitation, his 
unmistakable caricatures, or his ridicule in verse. 
There were some verses on "Violets, dark blue 
violets" which young Thackeray cleverly paro- 
died in "Cabbages, bright green cabbages," re- 
citing the lines in tenderly sentimental tones. 

Like many others, Thackeray was a home- 
longing boy, who, except for the fun he made out 
of work and the friends he made through his fun, 
found the holidays the best things at Charter- 
house. "There are 370 in the school," he wrote 
to his mother. "I wish there were only 369 !" 
And another time, wistfully, "Valentine's Day, 
but I have had no valentines. Dr. Russell has 
been fierce to-day." Once the doctor went so far 
as to storm, "You are a disgrace to the school 
and to your family, and I have no doubt will 
prove so in after life to your country !" 

Yet here at the Charterhouse, Thackeray made 
some lifelong friends: his cousin Richmond 
Shakspear, Alfred Gatty, George Venables, and 
John Leech, who, when he grew up, became the 
humorous artist of "Punch." How well he re- 
membered "small John Leech, coming first to 
school and being put up upon a table, in a little 
blue jacket and high buttoned trousers, and made 
to sing to the other boys, as they stood round- 
about." Still better he remembered George 
Venables. One wet half-holiday, a boy named 
Glossip went to the monitor to ask leave for 
Thackeray and Venables to fight. That was an 
unlucky day for William, whose middle name 
was Makepeace. Into the battle he went with all 
zeal, and out of it he came with a broken nose. 
Far from treasuring ill feeling against his van- 
quisher, however, he and George Venables were 
friends forever more. 

Drawing, acting, studying, Thackeray spent six 
years in the Charterhouse. After that, he lived 
with his parents near Ottery St. Mary, in Devon- 
shire, reading such books as the vicar could lend 
him. The next year he entered Trinity College, 
Cambridge, the same fitful student, hating mathe- 
matics and adorning the pages of his note-book 
"with pen-and-ink drawings." In his one attempt 
at writing, a poem in competition for the Chan- 
cellor's medal, he was beaten by his friend Al- 
fred Tennyson. With the feeling that he was 
wasting time on studies useless in life, Thack- 
eray left the university in the spring of 1830. 
The best that he got from the college were his 
friends : Brookfield, Fitz Gerald, Monckton Milnes, 
and Alfred Tennyson; the worst was a taste for 
gambling, which shortly led to sad misfortune. 

Since Thackeray was now amply supplied with 
money, he decided to complete his education by 
travel, beginning his foreign studies at Weimar, 
Germany, where he seems to have lain on the 
sofa, read novels, and dreamed. Enough has 
been said to show that, like many other artists, 
he had not the temperament for steady, hard 
work. Nevertheless, in November, 1831, urged 
by his parents to study law, he returned to Eng- 






land, and entered the Middle Temple for that 
purpose. At first he seemed to look forward 
happily to practising at the bar ; but soon he 
found dry law-books very hard reading. So it 
happened that as soon as he became of age, July 
18, 1832 (the day for which he had "panted so 
long," and the day on which he inherited his 
father's fortune), the first thing he did was to 
give up the study of law. "I can draw better 
than I can do anything else," he said to himself, 
and took his way to Paris, to "make believe to be 
a painter." Here, while he was out-of-doors, he 
lived the free life that he afterward described in 
writing of Clive Newcome; but, at other times, 
he might have been seen, day after day, copying 
pictures in the Louvre, honestly trying to excel 
in the art he loved. As a side interest, he corre- 
sponded for the Paris papers. 

His history now led to a combination of fail- 
ures, which, while they were a loss in money, 
were a gain in common sense and application. In 
the false hope of good luck, Thackeray had gam- 
bled with his newly acquired wealth, at an im- 
mense loss, and, generally, "made a gaby" of 
himself. Before long the bank in India failed. 
Then the paper failed in which he and his step- 
father had mutual interests. This last failure 
came when Thackeray was twenty-five, just six 
months after his marriage. As he said, it made 
him "work for bread"— the best thing that could 
have happened. Now he attempted to illustrate 
"Pickwick Papers," but his drawings were re- 
fused; and again the would-be-artist faced fail- 
ure, and wondered what other line of work he 
might try. It seems good to the book-reading 
world that, even in Thackeray's extremity, his 
drawings were refused, and that marriage and 
poverty and failure forced him to be an author. 
Before we turn, however, from his artist to his 
author life, let us mark that he was "the only 
great author who illustrated his own books." As 
he once said, when he was sick, "The artist who 
usually illustrates my works fell ill with myself." 

In his earliest writings, Thackeray so lacked 
confidence that he published his work anony- 
mously. He masked as "Titmarsh," "Theophile 
Wagstafr," "Fitz-Boodle," "Yellowplush," "Spec," 
"Major Gahagan," and many others, shyly hiding 
his own face. And yet, no matter how much 
he doubted his ability— and he did doubt it— in 
favor of success were his robust health, his strong 
brain, and his powerful love. With the high 
motive of caring for a dear wife, any real man 
could rally from a money defeat, and Thackeray 
was not the one to be depressed by little things. 
From now on, constitutionally idle though he 
was, he worked night and day for those he loved, 

beating out his rhymes "titumtidy, titumtidy" ; 
toiling at the stale old desk; writing "The New- 
comes," not for fame, but for that other entirely 
worthy object, money; and, slowly and with great 
difficulty, grinding out "Barry Lyndon." 

Two years after he and his wife had faced the 
hardships of poverty together, he wrote: "Here 
have we been two years married, and not a single 
unhappy day. ... I feel in my heart a kind of 
overflowing thanksgiving which is quite too great 
to describe in writing." 

It is good he saw the sunlight through the 
showers, for there was real darkness ahead for 
both. Only the next year, their second child, 
their precious baby, died. Long after, in a kind 
of broken cry, Thackeray spoke of "that bitter, 
bitter grief." 

And yet this sorrow, great as it was, could be 
shared. A year later fell a greater sorrow which 
he had to bear alone — his wife's sickness, which 
was more than sickness, for she was slowly losing 
her mind. Only Thackeray's best friends knew 
how he clung to her companionship, and how he 
fought for her cure. He tried to nurse her him- 
self. As he said, he "used to walk out three 
miles to a little bowling-green and write there 
in an arbor, coming home and wondering what 
was the melancholy oppressing the poor little 
woman" ; and, looking back on life, "What a deal 
of cares and pleasures and struggles and happi- 
ness I have had since that day in the little sun- 
shiny arbor." In a vain hope to save her, he 
took her home to Ireland and her people, and 
then went from one watering-place to another, 
until, finally, there was nothing to do but place 
her in a private asylum in Paris. 

At the beginning of the trouble, the little 
London home on Great Coram Street had been 
broken up, and the two children, Annie, a "fat 
lump of pure gold," and Baby Minnie, had been 
sent to live with their Grandmother Butler in 
Paris. They stayed there for some time after 
Thackeray had lost in the battle for his wife's 
reason ; while the lonely father lodged near the 
asylum, first in one place, then in another, once 
more a bachelor except for his burden of love. 
Yet, again, only his closest friends began to know 
how deeply the sorrow had hewn itself into his 
life ; he wore a smile for the outer world, and 
still sent playful letters to his children, though 
they were sometimes written in a trembling hand. 

One of his truest friends, Fitz Gerald, was 
constant with long, cheerful letters, and, thinking 
that drawing might distract the poor man more 
than writing, recommended him widely as an 
illustrator ; and begged his friends to buy copies 
of " 'The Second Funeral of Napoleon,' as each 




copy puts sevenpence halfpenny into Thackeray's 
pocket, which is not very heavy just now." 

Fitz Gerald was right. For a while, even 
sevenpence halfpenny counted with his home- 
loving, homeless friend. Visions of empty mugs 



must have haunted the dear man ; he drove him- 
self through his tasks "for beef and mutton," and 
was very busy, writing" hard every day, and very 
poor, nevertheless. 

Just as soon as he was able to do so, late in the 
autumn of 1846, he moved to 13 Young Street, 
in London, and brought his babies there to live. 

We can imagine him, a sort of giant of a man, 
"six feet two, and largely built," standing once 
more before his own fire, his feet spread wide, 
his hands crammed deep into his pockets, a smile 
on that pleasant face, and a twinkle shining be- 
hind the glasses; or, perhaps, 
as holding Annie on his broad 
lap and teaching her to read 
from the funny alphabet- 
pictures he had made. For 
both children he used to tear 
out processions of paper pigs 
with curly tails. The com- 
panionship of his little girls 
was the dearest thing he had 
left now. As they grew 
older, he stole many happy 
holidays to take them to 
plays or to children's parties, 
which were often held at the 
Dickens's. He loved to see 
"the little ones dancing in a 
ring," especially his own, one 
with her "hair plaited in two 
tails," and the other with 
curls and the "most fascinat- 
ing bows of blue ribbon." 
Still better, he loved to take 
them driving in the country 
or to the Zoo. It put him in 
"such chirping spirits to get 
out of London." As for the 
Zoo, they used to "amuse 
themselves in finding like- 
nesses to their friends in many 
of the animals." "Thank 
'E'v'ns !" Thackeray once ex- 
claimed, "both of the girls 
have plenty of fun and hu- 

While we are thinking of 
Thackeray with his own chil- 
dren, let us remember him, 
too, with the children of 
others, for he had a "mar- 
velous affection" for all little 
boys and girls. Perhaps it 
was just this all-fathering 
.man. nature of his, or perhaps it 

was the memory of the dar- 
ling who slept beneath the grass and stars, that 
led him, in 1853, to adopt a third daughter, Amy 
Crowe, the child of one of his friends. At any rate, 
he did adopt her, and made her his own forever. 
During his student days at Weimar, when he 
was hardly more than a boy, one of his chief 
delights had been to make caricatures for chil- 




dren, and, years later, he ~gan the drawings for 
"The Rose and the Ring, because his little girls 
had wanted pictures of the king and queen in 
"Twelfth Night." It was while they were travel- 
ing in Naples, when an attack of scarlatina kept 
the children indoors and away from their friends, 
that the story grew to fit the pictures. It was writ- 
ten with the famous gold pen. In referring to this 
time, Thackeray said that he wrote "nonsensical 
fairy tale" instead of collecting material for "The 
Newcomes." All his life, though, his chief desire 
had been to write "something good for children." 
As soon as he had "made a competence" for his 
own "young ones," he had determined to do 
something "for the pleasure of young ones in 

Our minds are full of pictures of the kind old 
"giant" happy with little children. Now he bends 
over a small, yellow head; now he simply stands 
still to watch a child nibble the gingerbread-man 
he has tucked into her hand, his spectacles grow- 
ing misty at her rapture of surprise. But he is 
gone without thanks ! Once, while he was in 
America, a little girl who was too small to see 
a procession, found herself suddenly lifted by 
strong arms, and placed on a high, broad shoul- 
der. Some days after, when that child was out 
walking with her mother, she stopped still as she 
saw Thackeray coming, and, pointing an eager 
finger, exclaimed: "There he is; there 's my big 
Englishman !" That same Englishman wrote, 
from New Orleans, that the colored children 
"ruined him in five-cent pieces." On the train 
for Heidelberg, he made friends with the "two 
children in black" described in "The Roundabout 
Papers"— the real account of a real holiday taken 
with his "little girls." How often he sat among 
his friends' children asking by name for all their 
dolls ! Once he stopped a procession of school- 
girls, saying, "Four and twenty little girls! 
They must have four and twenty bright little 
sixpences." And, going over the names at 
Charterhouse on Founder's Day, he would ex- 
claim, "Here 's the son of dear old So-and-So ; 
let 's go and tip him." As he told Dickens, he 
could "never see a boy without wanting to give 
him a sovereign." "Ah ! my dear sir," he wrote 
in a Roundabout Paper, "if you have any little 
friends at school, go and see them, and do the 
natural thing by them. You won't miss the sov- 
ereign. Don't fancy they are too old— try 'em." 
And again, "It is all very well to say that boys 
contract habits of expecting tips. Fudge ! Boys 
contract habits of tart and toffee-eating which 
they do not carry into after life. On the con- 
trary, I wish I did like tarts and toffee." 

A pretty story is told of him when he was once 

invited, by a family of children, to stay to dinner. 
"There is nothing, my dears, you can give me," 
he argued, "for I could only eat a chop of a 
rhinoceros or a slice from an elephant." 

"Yes, I tan," answered a little girl of three, 
and off she trotted, coming back in a few mo- 
ments with a wooden rhinoceros and a wooden 
elephant from her Noah's ark. 

"Ah, little rogue," exclaimed the great man, 
"you already know the value of a kiss." Then, 
taking her in his arms, "he asked for a knife and 
fork, smacked his lips," and "pretended" to eat 
the dinner she had brought. 

With children he was always playful, like this, 
but when he just stood by to see children, espe- 
cially when they sang, — for he was passionately 
fond of music, — their young quaverings filled his 
old heart, and choked his voice, and flooded his 
eyes with tears. "Children's voices charm me 
so," he said, "that they set all my sensibilities 
in a quiver." Once he entered a school-room just 
as the children were singing, in sweetly tuneless 
notes, "O Paradise, O Paradise." "I cannot 
stand this any longer," he mumbled to the teacher, 
turning away his head and moving toward the 
door. "My spectacles are getting very dim." 

"There is one day in the year," he wrote, 
"when I think St. Paul's presents the noblest sight 
in the whole world : when five thousand charity 
children, with cheeks like nosegays, and sweet, 
fresh voices, sing the hymn which makes every 
heart thrill with praise and happiness. I have 
seen a hundred grand sights in the world— coro- 
nations, Parisian splendors, Crystal Palace open- 
ings—but think in all Christendom there is no 
such sight as Children's Day." 

It is strange beyond believing that so many 
have called this tender-hearted man a sneering 
faultfinder and a harsh critic of his fellow-men. 
The glad tips to round-cheeked school-boys, the 
sovereigns hidden in books or laid on white pil- 
lows, seem all forgotten. "Make us laugh," cried 
the people, "or you and your children starve !" 
That was Thackeray's own feeling. "What funny 
things I 've written when fit to hang myself !" 
he said, for very sadness losing "sight of the 
text" under his eyes; and this is the testimony 
of the famous gold pen : 

I 've helped him to pen many a line for bread, 

To joke, with sorrow aching in his head, 

And make your laughter when my own heart bled. 

To be sure, Thackeray, himself, laughed at all 
falsity, and laughed heartily; he could not endure 
an affected person or a person who posed ; he had 
to have a man all-honest like himself. And be- 
cause he laughed at life's shams, some of the 




people who heard him laugh forgot his wonderful 

Thackeray said that his characters made them- 
selves, and that they acted without his interfer- 
ence. "I don't control my characters. I am in 


their hands," he repeatedly declared. When a 
friend asked him why he made Esmond marry 
Lady Castleivood, he answered, perfectly serious, 
"I did n't make him do it ; they did it them- 
selves." Yet "Henry Esmond" was the one novel 
for which he drew up a plot. Favorite that it 
was, he said, "I stand by this book, and am will- 
ing to leave it where I go, as my card." For the 
most part, however, he doubted his own ability, 
and believed that his books were failures, com- 
menting with such impersonal frankness as, ''I 
have just read such a stupid part of 'Pendennis.' 
But how well written it is !" 

His characters' ho^ s were as real to him as 
his own, and their troubles almost as real. The 
tax-collector, coming in one day, found him cry- 
ing over the death of Helen Pendennis. "She 
had to die," he said, though his little daughter 
Minnie had begged him to "make 
her well again." 

His sympathy for flesh-and- 
blood people was, of course, even 
greater than his sympathy for 
book-people. When he was edi- 
tor of "The Cornhill Magazine," 
he really suffered over the sad 
letters of many who dreamed that 
they could write. "Here is a case 
put with true female logic. T am 
poor ; I am good ; I am ill ; I 
work hard ; I have a sick mother 
and hungry brothers and sisters 
dependent on me. You can help 
us if you will.' " Such letters 
wrung the kind editor's heart, and 
no one knows how often he an- 
swered by his own personal 
check. No one knows, either, 
how much valuable time he spent 
in trying to frame replies at once 
honest and tender. Some of the 
contributors asked for criticisms ; 
others even asked him to rewrite, 
if he could not understand, their 
nonsense. In fact, the editorship 
of the "Cornhill" wore Thackeray 
out. With great relief, in 1862, 
he resigned. 

And if you would know Thack- 
eray's generosity, read any of the 
warm praises he heaped on his 
great rival Charles Dickens. 
When "Pendennis" was coming 
out, Thackeray advised his friends 
to get "David Copperfield." "By 
Jingo ! it 's beautiful — and the 
reading of the book has done 
another author a great deal of good." " 'Pick- 
wick' is a capital book," he said ungrudg- 
ingly. "It is like a glass of good English ale." 
And again, " 'Boz' is capital this month, some 
very neat, pretty, natural writing indeed, better 
than somebody else's again." . . . "Long mayest 
thou, O 'Boz,' reign over thy comic kingdom !" 
"All children ought to love Dickens," he wrote 
most heartily of all. "I know two that do, and 
read his books ten times for once they peruse 
the dismal preachments of their father. I know 
one who, when she is happy, reads 'Nicholas 
Nickleby' ; when she is unhappy, reads 'Nickleby' ; 




when she is tired, reads 'Nicholas Nickleby' ; 
when she is in bed, reads 'Nicholas Nickleby' ; 
when she has nothing to do, reads 'Nicholas 
Nickleby' ; and when she has finished the book, 
reads 'Nicholas Nickleby' again. This candid 
young critic, at ten years of age, said : 'I like 
Mr. Dickens's books better than your books, 
Papa,' and frequently expressed her desire that 

taken the trip to America, hating the miles of 
ocean between himself and home; hating still 
more the horror of speaking before an audience. 
Like Irving, he had an inborn timidity ; he had 
often broken down in trying to make a public 
speech. An hour before one of these lectures, 
he besought a friend, "Don't leave me— I 'm sick 
at my stomach with fright." To strengthen his 


the latter author should write a book like one 
of Mr. Dickens's books. Who can ?" Failing as 
Thackeray did as illustrator, he wrote of a volume 
of Leech's drawings, "This book is better than 
plum-cake at Christmas" ; and so we could quote 
for many pages. Magnanimous, "mighty of heart 
and mighty of mind," Thackeray lived his belief 
that there was room in the world for many great 
men. "What, after all, does it matter," he asks, 
"who is first or third in such a twopenny race?" 

This was his spirit toward all his rivals. In 
Anne's diary we read of his failure in the elec- 
tion to the House of Commons: "Papa came 
home beaten, in capital spirits." And we know 
that he shook his opponent's hand, with all his 
big heartiness. When he found that his "very 
two nights" for lecturing in Baltimore had been 
chosen by a large opera company, he exclaimed : 
"They are a hundred wanting bread, — shall we 
grudge them a little of the butter off ours ?" 

Yet Thackeray bitterly needed the money from 
those lectures, that is, he needed it for his wife 
and children. For them and them alone, he had 

voice, he had recited the multiplication table to 
a waiter in a restaurant ; but how could he 
strengthen his courage ? Night after night, that 
attack of fear -returned ; and night after night, 
the beloved giant went through his painful task, 
for money for the children. When at last he 
sailed for England, he went off in a rush, the 
very morning he saw the ship advertised. It was 
easier to scribble, "Good-by, Fields ; good-by, 
Mrs. Fields; God bless everybody, says W. M. T.," 
than to utter that hard farewell. Thackeray 
reached the Europa at the cry, "Hurry up, she 's 
starting!" Let us sail on with him. 

From his own "White Squall" we get a peep into 
his home-seeking heart, on days of storm at sea : 

I thought, as day was breaking, 
My little girls were waking, 
And smiling, and making 
A prayer at home for me. 

His daughter Anne lets us welcome him with the 
family : "My sister and I sat on the red sofa in 
the little study, and shortly before the time we 




had calculated he might arrive, came a little ring 
at the front door-bell. My grandmother broke 
down; my sister and I rushed to the front door, 
only we were so afraid that it might not be he 
that we did not dare to open it, and there we 
stood, until a second and much louder ring 
brought us to our senses. 'Why did n't you open 
the door?' said my father, stepping in, looking 
well, broad, and upright, laughing. In a moment 
he had never been away at all." 

His greeting at another time, from the .dog, 
Gumbo, is hardly less picturesque. When the 
little black-and-tan saw the cab driving up the 
street with Thackeray inside, "with one wild 
leap from the curbstone, he sprang" into the 
carriage and landed safe on his master's knees, 
"knocking off his spectacles, and licking his face 
all over." 

Through the eyes of other folks we see him in 
all these ways — the beneficent, tender-hearted 
man "whose business was to 'joke and jeer.' " 
And we like to thumb his old letters, filled as they 
are with comic pictures and with purposely mis- 
spelled words (to be pronounced lispingly or 
Englishly or through the nose, for Thackeray was 
as whimsical as Charles Lamb). "Did you 2 have 
a nice T?" is characteristic, and such signatures 
as "Bishop of Mealy Potatoes," "Yours Distract- 
edly, Makepeace," "G. B. Y.l" (for God bless 
you ! ) , or any of a hundred others. 

Since this "big Cornish giant" loved his meals, 
of course we would rather dine with him than 
read his letters; but we must take our chances 
with all his other friends of his missing his ap- 
pointment. He once neglected a dinner with a 
"very eminent person" because he saw beans 
and bacon on the menu of the Reform Club, — 
his grounds for declining the dinner being "he 
had just met a very old friend whom he had not 
seen for years, and from whom he could not tear 
himself." Another time he was late to a dinner 
when he, himself, was host. The guests waited 
and waited ; no Thackeray. At last, when the 
dinner was half-spoiled, he bounded in, clapping 
his still inky hands, and shouting, "Thank 
Heaven, the last sheet of 'The Virginians' has 
just gone to the printer !" 

With J. T. Fields, we see him lunching on 
American oysters, rejecting a large one because 
"it resembled the High Priest's servant's ear that 
Peter cut off," and then opening his mouth very 

wide for another. After that had slipped down, 
and Fields asked him how he felt, "Profoundly 
grateful," Thackeray gulped, "and as if I had 
swallowed a baby." 

It was in just such convivial spirits that Thack- 
eray was dearest to his friends, and his Christ- 
mas-nature was the last they expected to lose on 
the day before Christmas, 1863, when all England 
was gay with holly. Thackeray, himself, must 
have had warnings ; but he never hinted them to 
any one. He was a little weary and a good deal 
shrunken, but, on the whole, his old happy self. 
A few days before he died, he sent a hand-painted 
sketch of a singing robin to Milnes (a farewell 
full of joy). But he said no good-bys to his fam- 
ily, and when he left them on the last night, it was 
in just the old, tender way. Alone, early in the 
morning, his great soul was carried to a greater 

That evening the mournful news was brought 
to the meeting of Thackeray's fellow-workers on 
the English comic journal "Punch." "I '11 tell you 
what we '11 do,"one said, "we '11 sing the dear old 
boy's 'Mahogany Tree' ; he 'd like it." And so 
they all stood up, their choking voices missing 
the brave, sweet tenor of their friend, and their 
hearts needing his warmth; but they all stood up 
and sang, as best they could, Thackeray's own 
well-known words : 

Christmas is here: 
Winds whistle shrill, 
Icy and chill,— 
Little care we ; 

Here let us sport, 
Boys, as we sit ; 
Laughter and wit 
Flashing so free. 

Life is but short ; 
When we are gone, 
Let them sing on 
Round the old tree! 

In Kensal Green cemetery, a few steps from 
Leech, co-worker and fun-maker on "Punch," 
Thackeray lies asleep. The English ivy grows 
thick over his grave, clothing his place of rest 
with a summer mantle, and keeping his memory 
alive beneath the snow. His friend Lord Hough- 
ton was very angry because no room was made 
for Thackeray in Westminster Abbey. Happily 
our greatness is not measured by our graves, but 
by our monuments in human hearts. 

Vol. XL.— 28. 

I used to like the June days best, but that was back in June ; 

And then it seemed that August was the best of all the year; 
Along came crisp October, and I sang another tune ; 

December 's now my favorite — oh, just because it 's here! 
jH The June days are joy days, 

That bring the end of school, 
And August days are boy days, 
HE For swimming in the pool; 
October days are sport days, 

When down the ripe nuts fall- 
December days are short days, 
But jolliest of all ! 

With skimming o'er the frozen lake and coasting down the hill, 
There 's not a dreary moment in the day for girls and boys; 
The snowman by the captured fort with battle joy must thrill — 
But he can't read beside the fire, and dream of Christmas joys ! 
Oh, May days are gay days, 
In southland or in north ; 
July days are high days, 
Especially the Fourth ! 
Then fall days, foot-ball days— 
I 'm quarter-back, you know ; 
But December, please remember, 
Brings Christmas and the snow ! 



(A sequel to " The Lucky Sixpence") 


Chapter V 


Bart's courage reassured me for an instant and 
checked my flight ; but, even as he spoke, a 
strange and awesome voice rose above the clamor 
of the shouts about me. I turned toward the 
woods whence this mysterious sound came, and 
there, emerging from behind a tree, was a tall, 
swaying figure of a man without a head. One 
hand was upraised and waved to and fro, while 
the other held out toward us a riven skull with 
glowing eyes that waxed and waned like a candle 
flame fanned by a gentle breeze. 

With a cry of terror, I sank to my knees and hid 
my face in my hands, too frightened now to run. Just 
then there came an agonizing cry from the Magus. 

"Oh, do not shoot!" he called; "I pray you do 
not shoot, or we are all lost !" And I looked up 
to see Bart facing the headless ghost with a lev- 
eled pistol, which he was aiming with much de- 
liberation. Schmuck was near the rock where we 
had pretended to lay our weapons, and was in the 
act of throwing down angrily one of the billets 
of wood we had left to deceive him. 

"Do not shoot !" he cried again ; "I will try to 
drive this ghost away." And he raised his long 
arms and began to repeat his rigmarole, step- 
ping out toward the ghastly figure that undulated 
in the moonlight. 

"An you go too close you 're like to get the bul- 
let," shouted Bart, his pistol still pointed toward 
the apparition ; " 't is in my mind to find out how 
much good lead a ghost can carry." 

He was about to fire, when little Peg flew to- 
ward us. 

"D-d-do not s-s-shoot," she exclaimed at the 
top of her voice. At this Bart hesitated. 

"Why not?" he demanded, as Peg came up. 

"There is a-a-another t-t-there who is n-n-no 
g-g-ghost," she stammered; and even as she said 
the words, the weird figure seemed to crumple 
up, the ghastly head rolled on the ground, where 
its eyes still glittered among the ferns, and in the 
pale light we saw another form grappling with 
the ghost. 

' 'T is a bony spirit," came the cry of a 
strange voice from the midst of the struggle. "I 
warrant he will lay quiet now for a while," 
he ended with a laugh that sounded very out of 
place to our overwrought nerves. 

Bart at once made for the spot, his pistol still 
in his hand, and I, feeling safer with him, seized 
Peg and followed. 

"I s-s-saw him," chattered Peg, as we went 
along; "he c-c-came out of the w-w-woods just 
after the f-f-funny b-bogy !" 

We came up to the scene of the struggle, but it 
had ceased. The spook lay upon its back, and a 
stout lad of about fourteen was sitting upon it, 
grinning joyfully as we approached him. 

' 'T is not worth wasting good powder on this," 
said the stranger. "He 's limp enough, and so 
bundled up with his ghost clothes that 't was 
scarce fair to fight him." 

"Let 's see what he looks like," suggested Bart, 
for there was no face visible, a long garment of 
some sort being tied atop of his crown and sur- 
mounted by a collar, giving him the appearance 
of having no head; but that he had one was plain 
to see, for we could make out the shape of it be- 
neath the flimsy cloth. 

"Now keep still," cried Bart to the ghost, "or 
I '11 make a real wraith of you." 

"Aye, master," came a muffled and trembling 
voice from beneath the stuff, "I '11 lay like a lamb, 
an you promise not to shoot." 

At that the strange boy got up, and he and 
Bart stripped off the garment, displaying a long, 
thin fellow not much older than any of us, whose 
lean and lanky appearance made it plain he was 
the Magus's son. 

"And here 's his other head," said the ^stranger, 
picking it up. "Had I not seen him putting the 
shiny stuff in his eyes, I might have been frighted 
myself, though I take no great stock in old wives' 
tales." He held out the skull for us to look at. 

"How did you see it, and where have you come 
from?" asked Bart; for now his curiosity about 
this boy came uppermost in his mind. 

"I was in the woods," answered the other, a 
little embarrassed, I thought, "and I saw you tie 
up the horses. I wondered what you were going 
to do with your lanthorn and spade, and so made 
up my mind to follow. I had given you. time to 
get a start and was about to go on myself, when 
this fellow came up on another mule, and I 
waited to see what he was about. He did n't 
keep me waiting long. After he had tied his 
beast a little way from the others, he took out 
this ghost dress and the skull, and I saw him put 
the shiny stuff in its eyes and rub it on his 




clothes. Then he followed your light, which was 
plain to be seen, and I took after him. He hid 
behind one tree, waiting, I doubt not, for his 
signal, and I behind another." 

"I s-s-saw y-you all the t-t-time," Peg broke in, 
"but the g-g-ghost was f-f-farther off." 

" 'T was as good as a play," the lad went on, 
"and though I might have stopped him sooner, I 
was curious to see what the outcome of the mat- 
ter would be. 'T was good as a play !" he repeated 
at the end of his story, and laughed heartily. 

"Well," said Bart, " 't is lucky you came along, 
or we should have 'settled this ghost right 

" 'T was my father made me do it," said our 
panting play-actor, and that reminded us of the 
fact that we had wholly forgotten the Magus. 
With one accord we turned to see what he was 
about, and why he had n't joined us. 

At first we saw nothing of him, all of us hav- 
ing looked in the direction of the stone where he 
had last been ; but little Peg spied him. 

"T-t-there h-h-he is," she cried, pointing; 
"he 's d-d-digging up the t-t-treasure." 

And sure enough, there in the hole we had 
been digging was the Magus, shoveling out the 
dirt for dear life, his thin back rising and falling 
rapidly as he delved into the earth. 

"Hi there ! Get out of that, Schmuck," shouted 
Bart ; but the Magus paid no heed, and Bart 
started toward him. 

"You keep this fellow here," he said to the 
stranger. " 'T will be worth your while. I '11 
attend to the Magus." 

He went on quickly, and I followed, dragging 
out my pistol from under my cloak, for Schmuck 
was no boy, but a man grown, and likely to take 
more than words to frighten. 

When we reached the hole, he was working 
furiously, tossing out spadeful after spadeful of 
earth, and paid no heed to Bart's order to cease. 
Indeed it was not till Bart held his pistol threat- 
eningly toward him that he seemed to consider 
our presence. 

"I am but earning my fee," he snarled then. 

"Your fee !" cried Bart, "when you intended to 
scare us from our treasure and take it all your- 

"I?" ejaculated the Magus, affecting indigna- 
tion ; "sure here 's ingratitude ! To try to ruin a 
poor man's reputation when he 's found you a 

"Then why did you have your servant dressed 
like a spook if 't were not your intention to in- 
timidate us?" demanded Bart, giving me a mean- 
ing glance. 

"You call that fool my servant," Schmuck 

burst out angrily. "More like you have employed 
him to give you an excuse not to pay me." 

"Now I know you are false to us, Schmuck, for 
the boy acknowledged he was your son," said 
Bart, triumphantly. 

"Did he so?" muttered the Magus, savagely. 
"T is a good beating he '11 get if I 'm his father." 

"That is a family affair," Bart laughed; "but 
now, come you out of that." And again he aimed 
the pistol threateningly. 

Schmuck hesitated for a moment, then, winc- 
ing at the pistol held so close to him, he thought 
better of his decision, and stepped out of the hole. 

"As you please," he grumbled, with a shrug of 
his narrow shoulders; "but we may as well go 
home. You would not heed my warning, and all 
my spells are undone. You will find naught in 
the hole now but dirt." 

"But there is something there, Bart," I de- 
clared. "Do you suppose I screamed like that 
for nothing?" 

For a moment, Bart seemed undecided, for he 
had no liking to leave the Magus unguarded 
while he went after the treasure himself. 

"We '11 have Schmuck heave it out," he said 
at last, in his masterful way. "Into the hole 
again, Magus," he went on, and although he 
showed much reluctance, the man of magic com- 
plied. He worked a little, and then, "There is 
something here," he admitted. 

With considerable effort he lifted a bundle out 
of the hole and placed it at our feet. This was 
■ evidently the yielding object that my spade had 
struck, for it was a huge patchwork quilt, much 
stained with earth and water. The four corners 
were gathered together and tied in a bunch with 
cord. I leaned down and felt of it, and finding 
that it contained many hard and oddly shaped 
forms, I at once jumped to the conclusion that 
they were silver vessels of some sort. 

' 'T is a pirate hoard, without doubt," I told 

"Good !" he cried, becoming near as excited as 
I. "Is there aught else in the hole, Magus?" he 

"There's a small coffer here," was the surly reply. 

"Up with it," Bart commanded; and a moment 
later a brass-bound coffer stood beside us. 

"There 's naught else," said Schmuck at last, 
stepping out and making a motion to put himself 
at Bart's back and so avoid the pistol ; but Bart 
turned and faced him, still aiming resolutely. 

"Nay, you said there was naught there once 
before," he remarked; "we '11 see ourselves 
whether you are telling the truth this time. Go 
down, Bee, and take a look while I keep this fel- 
low in order." 




So down into the hole I went, taking the lan- 
thorn with me, while Bart guarded the Magus. 

I took up the spade and tested the ground be- 
neath my feet. On one side was a ledge of rock, 
but when I tried to dig in the earth I found it all 
nearly as hard, and came to the conclusion that 
what I had first handled was so much softer be- 
cause it had been dug away once before. From 
this I argued that we had in reality come to the 
bottom of the pit, and that this time, at least, 
Schmuck was telling the truth. 

Satisfied at last that there was nothing further 
to be found, I set my foot into a crevice in the 
rock, preparing to come out, but it slipped and 
dislodged a stone, which, in turn, loosened an- 
other object, which rolled to my feet. 

I stooped and picked it up, wondering what it 
could be, and found that it was naught but a 
common tea-caddy of tin such as we have in the 
kitchen, and, upon further examination, discov- 
ered, much to my disappointment, for my imag- 
ination had at once filled it with great wealth, 
that it was empty. 

I stood there for a moment with it in my hands, 
a little perplexed as to why pirates should have 
taken the trouble to hide a thing so valueless as 
a tin tea-caddy. Had it been full of jewels or 
Spanish gold pieces, I could have understood it, 
but it was empty, and I dropped it back into the 
hole, little thinking what I did, for my mind was 
intent upon the problem as to why it was there 
at all. 

Meanwhile Bart and the Magus stood in si- 
lence awaiting my verdict. 

"There is naught else of worth here, Bart," I 
said, climbing up to level ground. 

"Then we may think of going back," said Bart. 
"What puzzles me is how we are to manage the 
treasure and this Magus as well, for it 's in my 
mind to take him to Philadelphia and give him 
up to the authorities for a thief." 

At this the Magus fell to his knees with a cry 
of supplication. 

"Nay, young master, do not do that. 'T will 
be my ruin. Take the treasure, and let me go. 
'T is all I ask." 

"Aye, after you find that you could n't frighten 
us with your ghosts and make way with it all !" 

"Truly the treasure was in some measure mine 
also," answered the Magus, with a whine. 
"Though I knew not when we started what it 
was we went to seek." 

"How do you make that out?" demanded Bart. 
" 'T was plain enough you knew Hans Kalb- 
fleisch, but that gave you no right to the trea- 

"I will confess, young master, if you will let 

me go my way," pleaded the diviner. "I ask for 
no part of the treasure." 

"Nay, I make no promises," answered Bart ; 
"but say on, and, if I find you are telling truth, 
we will see." 

" 'T was a Brunswicker found it," the Magus 
began, "but ere he could remove it, the British, 
fearing that his regiment would all desert, 
shipped them off to New York by sea. On leav- 
ing, he took me and Hans Kalbfleisch into his 
confidence, though to neither of us did he tell the 
whole of the secret, thinking to make each honest 
by setting the other as a guard to watch his in- 
terests. To me he said the spot was between the 
white stone and the place Hans knew of; but, ere 
Hans and I could come together, the British evac- 
uated Philadelphia, and, though I have searched 
diligently along the creek for the place, there are 
so many white stones scattered here and there 
that the quest was hopeless. 'T was only when 
you brought word of the other mark that success 
was possible. So you see, young master, in a 
way I had some right to it, though that I give up 
if you will but grant me my liberty." 

Somehow he made the matter of his interest 
plausible to us, and his words, of course, ex- 
plained what had been so mysterious in his be- 
havior all that night. Now, apparently, his only 
desire was to be away, and he seemed to care 
naught for the treasure since Bart had threat- 
ened to jail him as a thief. 

After some further parleying, Bart consented 
to give the Magus his liberty on one condition. 

"You must help carry the treasure to our 
horses," he insisted, to which the Magus, glad to 
have freedom at any price, readily consented. 

I ran and told the others that we had found 
something in the hole, and that we were ready to 
proceed. At this the stranger proposed that he 
help too, and all three of us went back to where 
Bart was preparing for the return trip. 

It was arranged that the Magus should shoul- 
der the coffer, that his son and the strange boy 
should manage the bundle between them, while 
Bart and I walked behind with pistols ready in 
case there was any sign of treachery on 
Schmuck's part. 

Peggy brought up in the rear, dancing along 
in the best of spirits, and vowing every few min- 
utes that she had never had so much fun. 

Charley was still there when we reached the 
horses, but we scarce thought of him, for 
Schmuck, setting down his burden, asked per- 
mission to depart at once. 'T was plain he was 
in a fever to be off, and it struck me even then as 
strange that he showed no regret at leaving the 
treasure he had been so eager to find. 




The gray light of early dawn showed the man 
more clearly than I had seen him under the fitful 
glow of the lanthorn, and I looked him over curi- 

He was not near so awe-inspiring as he had 
been in the darkness, for his suit of satin was 
frayed here and there, and showed signs of much 
patching; but it was a smear of mud upon his 
waistcoat, a straight smear of dirt that passed 
under his ruffle as if a soiled hand had thrust 
something within his bosom, that caught my at- 
tention. I looked at the spot intently, scarce 
knowing why I did so, and suddenly there popped 
into my head the meaning of it. 

"Please, master, let me go," begged Schmuck, 
once more. 

"Shall I give him some money?" Bart whis- 
pered to me. "I '11 be glad to see the last of 

"Aye," was my loudly spoken answer, "we '11 
let him go after he 's given us what he took from 
the tea-caddy he found in the hole." 

Chapter VI 


The change in the face of the Magus as I pointed 
to the smear of mud upon his breast was so sud- 
den and threatening that I was frightened. His 
thin lips curled back from his teeth, and he 
snarled like an angry dog, showing plainly that 
what I had but suspected was true. It was clear 
that he was so taken by surprise as to betray 

This he evidently realized as soon as we, for, 
without a word of denial, he turned in his tracks 
and started off toward his mule. 

So quickly did it all happen, that he had al- 
most gained his beast before any of us came to 
our senses. Then Bart, calling upon him to stop, 
aimed his pistol. ' But the Magus neither turned 
nor slackened his speed, and again Bart shouted 
to him to halt. 

But the diviner continued his flight, and, with 
a final bound, threw one leg over his donkey. He 
would have been off had he not forgotten, in his 
excitement and haste, that his animal was teth- 
ered, and failed to loose it. 

The poor beast tugged at its halter as the 
Magus urged it on, but the strap held, and we 
hurried forward, shouting. 

Now, however, we had a new man to deal with. 
Whatever it was he had hidden, he meant to keep 
it at any cost, and, dropping to the far side of his 
animal, he slipped into the woods. 

Bart snapped his pistol at him, but it missed 
fire, and, with a growl of disappointment, he 

dropped it and started in pursuit. In the mean- 
time the strange boy, with great speed, had run 
to head the Magus off, and, though Schmuck's 
long legs covered the ground rapidly, he was no 
match for the stranger, who soon overhauled 
him, and, shouting to Bart to come on, threw 
himself upon the man, tripping him. Together 
they fell to the ground, struggling violently, and, 
a moment later, Bart reached them and flung 
himself into the fray. 

I hoped to see the struggle quickly finished, but 
the end of the matter was not yet. The Magus 
was wiry, and, more than that, he was desperate, 
and fought bitterly. But Charley, recovering his 
courage with the daylight, joined in, and soon 
they had him trussed up with a halter. 

"Now let us see what you have concealed 
there," Bart exclaimed, panting from his exer- 
tions. "I warrant 't is the most valuable part of 
the treasure, if one may judge from the fight 
you made to keep it." 

He plunged his hand inside the man's shirt, 
and, fumbling about, brought forth a small pack- 
age, which, after a scant look, he handed to me. 

" 'T is not worth the trouble, I vow," he re- 
marked, getting up from the ground; "but take 
care of it, Bee, and we '11 look it over anon." 

I took it in my hand, and found it a small 
packet neatly wrapped in coarse brown paper 
and tied about a number of times with twine. To 
the feel, and, being anxious, I squeezed it more 
than once, it was soft, and yet stiff, too, like 
starched linen. I confess it was disappointing, 
but I consoled myself with the thought that 
Schmuck would not have taken all that trouble 
for nothing. I would have liked to open it then 
and there, but Bart wisely told me to curb my 
impatience till a more fitting time. 

"And now, Schmuck," he went on, regarding 
the prostrate man at our feet ; "get yourself up, 
and march with me to the jail." 

The man got to his feet sullenly, but made no 
protest. Indeed, he seemed scarce to care what 
we did with him now. His face was flushed 
with his exertion, and twitched nervously, as if 
he were under some great strain. I did not like 
the look of him, and preferred that he be al- 
lowed to go his way, for I felt sure he was such 
an one as would remember an injury. 

"Let him go, Bart," I said, "he has made 
naught by his tricks, and," I lowered my voice 
so that none other could hear, " 't would make 
the matter of our search public did we hand him 
over to the authorities, which I am sure you do 
not want." 

"Now that 's well thought of," he answered 
back in a whisper, and then went on loudly, to 




the Magus, "We 're going to let you off, 
Schmuck; but have a care what you do, or we 
will clap you into jail." 

Bart took my pistol, and, telling the strange 
boy to loose the bonds of the Magus, he bade the 
latter take his donkey and go. 

I expected that Schmuck would be overjoyed 
at the prospect of keeping his liberty, and would 
hurry away at all speed ; but in this I was mis- 
taken. He stood sulkily, his head dropped to his 
breast, eying us venomously from under his 
brows, and muttering to himself the while. Once 
or twice he started toward his tethered animal, 
and as - often turned back, and made as if to 
speak. Seeming to think better of it, he held his 
tongue. At last, because of an impatient word 
from Bart, he shook his head and strode over to 
his mule. Loosening it with an angry jerk, he 
bestrode the patient little animal and prepared 
to ride away, shaking his fist angrily at us. 

He looked so funny there in the daylight with 
his shabby suit of black silk and the silly plume 
in his hat, that, being but youngsters, we could n't 
help laughing at the queer figure he cut and the 
dumb threat he hurled at us. At last, amid our 
merriment, he rode away. 

"Where 's the ghost?" exclaimed Bart, when 
we were beginning to come to our senses, and 
we looked around, expecting to see the thin youth 
somewhere in sight, but he, too, had disappeared, 
and we guessed he had taken advantage of the 
excitement to steal off. 

There was naught left now but to mount and 
take our treasure back to Denewood, where, in 
safety and seclusion, we could overhaul it at our 

But my eyes strayed to the strange boy who 
had done so much to help us. I now looked at 
him closely for the first time that morning, and, 
though I liked his face at once, the thing that 
attracted my attention was a great scar over his 
left eye, and I remembered the advertisement for 
the runaway bond boy. I could recollect much 
of what I had read just before coming out on 
this expedition, and all fitted with the lad before 
me. He was dressed in a suit of homespun, wore 
yarn stockings, and on his feet were heeled 
leathern shoes with brass buckles. There could 
be no doubt about it, and here also was the ex- 
planation of why he was in the woods at night. 
He was in hiding. 

"You have aided us so greatly," I said to him, 
"is there aught we can do to help you?" 

Then, as I saw Bart looked surprised at my 
taking the matter on my shoulders, I explained, 
"I know who he is." 

Whereat the lad interrupted me, with a pleased 

face : "I did n't think you 'd remember me, miss, 
but I knew you at once." 

It was my turn to be surprised, and I looked at 
him closely as he went on. 

"Not to say at once, either, because I followed 
you for ten minutes before I caught up with you ; 
but as soon as you came back in this road here, 
and there was light enough to see, I knew you. 
You 've not changed, although it is two years." 

Still I had no recollection of the boy. I racked 
my brains to place him, as I said, "At any rate 
you must let us help you." 

But he shook his head. 

"I 'm on my way to Philadelphia," he told me. 
"I mean to be a soldier." 

"You can't go in to Philadelphia," I cried, 
clasping my hands. "Don't you know you are 
advertised for in the news sheets? There 's a 
reward out for you." 

"Is that so? But how did you guess it was 
for me?" The boy asked curiously. "I .never 
told you my name,— though 't is Mark Powell," 
he added. 

"I knew by the scar," I answered, puzzled. 

"But I did n't have it then," said the boy, put- 
ting his hand to his head. 

' 'T is in the newspapers, of course," I ex- 
plained impatiently, "and you '11 be taken if you 
go into town." 

"I wonder," said the lad, "would Mr. Travers 
think I was old enough now to make a soldier? 
Germantown 's not far from here, and, if I could 
win to him, he might help me for the sake of 
that day at the Green Tree Inn." 

Then, at last, I knew him for a boy who had 
led Brother John and me to our horses when they 
had been hid from us by a pack of Tories who 
wanted to seize me for the sake of the reward 
that had been put upon my head, even as now 
there was a reward upon his. In a moment my 
resolve was taken. 

"Bart," I said, "this boy saved John's life and 
mine when first I landed in this country, and who 
knows what he has saved us from to-night? He 
is a bound boy who has left his master, I know 
not why, but I think I owe it to him to get him 
to John." 

"I 'm not ashamed of leaving my master," an- 
nounced the lad. "I would have stayed, but he 
wanted to make a Tory spy of me. I mean to buy 
my freedom as soon as I can earn the money." 

"We '11 take you to Denewood with us," said 
Bart, "till we see what John advises." 

'T was high time for us to be on the road if we 
were not to have our secret known at home. The 
two boys quickly loaded our treasure-trove on 
the horses, and we all mounted and were off. 




Then a thought came to plague me. 

"Bart," I said, "if we take Mark with us, the 
Mummers will give him up. They think it a duty 
to return escaped bond-servants to their mas- 

"Then we '11 hide him," cried Bart, impatiently. 
"Denewood is big enough to conceal a regiment, 
and men have been hid there before" ; which was 
true, indeed. 

Arriving at Denewood, we found many of the 
servants already stirring, so, with a warning to 
Charley not to gossip, Peg and I slipped into the 
house by the secret way, leaving it to Bart to 
stow the treasure in one of the great barns and 
to hide Mark in a smoke-house that was unused 
at that time of the year. 

I think the hours never passed so slowly as 
they did that morning. Mrs. Mummer, in one of 
her busy humors, was preparing to put up con- 
serves, and that meant plenty of work for me. 
There were, beside, my regular duties of dusting 
and the like, that had to be gone through every 
morning, and little Peg and I could hardly re- 
strain our impatience. But we dared not show 
how anxious we were to be gone or neglect any- 
thing, for fear we should betray our secret. 

At length we were free, for the time at least, 
and ran to the barn as fast as our legs could 
carry us, all the while a little uncertain what 
Bart had been doing, for he, of course, as a man, 
had no household duties. 

"W-w-will he o-o-open them before we g-g-get 
there?" asked Peg, in a distressed voice. 

"I don't know," I answered, "but we '11 soon 

We found Bart walking up and down the floor 
of the barn, guarding his treasures. 

"At last !" he cried, when he saw us ; "I thought 
you were never coming. What in the world has 
kept you?" 

"We had to dust, and to lay out linen, and — 
and, oh, a score of things, which all take time," 
I explained; "but what was in the bundle and the 
coffer? I am dying to know." 

"Think you I would be so mean as to open 
them before you came?" asked Bart. "They are 
as you left them, and we will look at what they 
contain together." 

"Now it was good of you to wait !" I ex- 
claimed, for I knew he was, if anything, more 
impatient than we. 

" 'T was all I could do to keep from looking," 
he answered, "and I have been feeling. I 'm sure 
the bundle contains gold vessels of some kind. 
Probably stolen from Spanish churches. But 
come, I can wait no longer !" 

So impatient that we could hardly restrain our- 

selves, we cut the cords binding the four corners 
of the quilt, and, as we opened it, all three of us 
bent forward to see the contents. A gray mass 
of pitchers, cups, bowls, platters, and such-like 
things fell out, and Bart, touching it with his 
foot, gave a grunt of dissatisfaction. 

' 'T is only silver after all !" he murmured, and 
began to rummage through the objects to dis- 
cover the gold and jewels he had hoped for. I 
picked up a small pitcher and went with it to the 
light. My heart had sunk with the suspicion 
that we might expect a still further disappoint- 
ment, and, indeed, upon examination, I discov- 
ered that our find was not even silver. 

" 'T is but pewter, Bart," I told him ; "we have 
been fooled. 'T is worth naught." 

"It can't be !" he cried in distress ; but, though 
he searched through the pile of utensils, there 
was naught but pewter to reward him. 

"Now this is too bad !" he exclaimed ; "but 
mayhap the chest is what we 're looking for." 
And at once he started prying open the small 

Again we were doomed to disappointment. All 
we found was a quantity of little phials and 

I picked up one and read "Ipecacuanha," on 
another "Jesuit's bark," then, "Quicksilver," 
"Tartar emetic," "Calomel," and "Cantharides," 
in quick succession. 'T was needless to go fur- 
ther. It was plain enough that we had found a 
medicine-chest with naught else of value in it. 

Bart's disappointment was keener than ours. 
He had wanted to win a commission, and now he 
saw no hope of it. 

"It must have been a poor party of pirates that 
buried that stuff !" he exclaimed, as he paced the 
floor of the barn once or twice, in anger and 
chagrin. "The whole of it is not worth a pound 
of good, hard money." 

"I do not think that pirates had aught to do 
with it," I answered. " 'T is more like some 
Hessian loot, picked up as they went along and 
buried until a more convenient time came to dis- 
pose of it. Those fellows will take anything, 
you know, and the ground was too soft to have 
been dug up very long ago." 

"Aye, that 's it," he agreed; "but," he went on, 
after a moment's thought, "why should old 
Schmuck have been so keen for it? He would 
n't have been so anxious after a lot of paltry 

"Perchance he was befooled too, or else 't was 
the package !" I cried, clapping my hands to 
where it still lay beneath my kerchief. I had 
forgotten it, and in another moment, I had it out, 
and we examined it critically. 




"Nay, you may have it," said Bart, who had 
fingered it carelessly when I handed it to him. 
"There are no jewels nor gold in it. Whatever 
it is, you may keep it as a remembrance, for I am 
sure 't is of little worth" ; and he shrugged his 
shoulders indifferently, for he was sore disap- 
pointed, and wished, manlike, to hide it. 

The packet was quite clean save for a trace 
here and there of the Magus's muddy fingers. It 
was wrapped so carefully that, as I looked at it, 
it flashed over me that this was a great deal of 

"A good, fat lock it must be," I laughed dis- 

"Well, miss, since you are so wise, what is it?" 
demanded Bart, good-naturedly. 

"You would never guess," I answered; "but 
know you not that a gipsy told me I should 
find fortune across great waters? Now I 've 
crossed the ocean, and this is the fortune, of 

"Nay, now," Bart put in, "when I heard that 
tale before 't was happiness you were to find 


trouble to take for a thing of little worth. Yet 
what could it be ? I turned it in my fingers medi- 

"Let 's a-a-all g-g-guess," suggested Peggy, 
ever ready for a game. 

"And whoever guesses right shall keep it," 
cried Bart. 

"Nay," I said gaily, "you cannot dispose of my 
property, sir. You have already given it to me." 

"W-w-what do you think it is, B-B-Bee?" 
asked Peggy, pinching the package. "I t-t-think 
't is a s-s-set of r-ruffles." 

"That 's your guess, is it, Peg?" said Bart. 
"Very well. I think it is a lock of a lady's hair." 
Vol. XL.— 29. 

across the waters. Think you happiness comes 
packed in such small parcels?" 

"Oh, q-q-quit your q-q-quarreling !" said Peg, 
"and do let us s-s-see what it is !" 

So with care I began to untie the string, and 
this took some little time. At length it was free, 
and off came the paper. Inside this we found 
another covering of parchment to keep it dry, 
and, beneath this again, a leaf of silvered paper. 
So carefully was the little bundle wrapped that, 
in spite of all our disappointments, our interest 
revived, and we put our heads together, intent 
upon what we should discover. 

"This grows exciting," said Bart, "my heart 




misgives me that I did wrong to give it away so 
lightly. Mayhap there 's a portrait of the lovely 
lady as well as the lock of her hair." 

' 'T is mine now, at any rate," I made answer, 
and, carefully taking off the silvered paper, I 
held up the contents of the parcel for all to see. 

A fortune indeed, for 
't was money I had in 
my hand ! 

"Continental shinplais- 
ters," scoffed Bart, "that 
even Hessians would n't 
bother to carry away." 

"Bart !" I cried, as I 
examined them. "They 
are Bank of England 
notes !" 

With a shout of joy, 
he took them from me. 

"Aye, you 're right. 
Bee !" he exclaimed, as 
he fingered them ; "they 
're as good as any hard 
money ever coined. We 
've come across the trea- 
sure at last, and now let 's 
count it." 

It must have made a 
strange picture, I often 
think as I recall it — 
two little maids and one 
great boy sitting to- 
gether on the floor of the 
barn. Before them, a 
patchwork quilt covered 
with all sorts of pewter 
utensils, and in their 
careless fingers a for- 
tune. Through the open 
door a streak of sunshine 
streamed, in which two 
hens and a pigeon pecked, 
hesitatingly turning their 
heads from side to side 
to eye the three chil- 

Something, I know not 
what, caused me to look 
up, and at the same mo- 
ment Peg cried out : 

"Who was that look- 
ing in at the d-d-door?" 

All three of us turned. 
A shadow seemed to 
stir in the sunshine, and 
a hand, that had been 
slyly pushing the door wider, was suddenly with- 
drawn. At least I thought I saw a hand with- 
drawn, but after we had run out to see who spied 
upon us and found no one, I could not be sure, 
though Peg still vowed she had seen something 

{To be continued) 



raph by Brown Bros. 
Princeton University. 

Note: — The following brief "Talks with Boys" 
originally formed part of a series obtained by Ham- 
ilton Fish Armstrong, a boy of seventeen, for " The 
Blue and the Gray," a paper published by the boys of 
the Oilman School at Baltimore. It was at once ap- 
parent, however, that these gems of advice and sugges- 
tion by eminent men deserved to be given to a far wider 
audience than that of the school paper. Therefore St. 
Nicholas has arranged to publish most of them. 

In presenting the first instalment this month, we 
are sure that our readers and their parents will join 
the young editor of "The Blue and the Gray" in 
renewed and grateful acknowledgment to these dis- 
tinguished men who generously took time from their 
busy lives to give such nuggets of admonition, cheer, 
and inspiration to American school-boys. And the 
thanks of this magazine are also tendered for their 
friendly courtesy in heartily according their sanction 
to the reprinting of their contributions here. — 
Editor St. Nicholas. 

Photograph by B 
Former Rector St 

11 Bros. 

Church, New York. 



Every boy wishes to be a man, but the measure 
of a man is not that of age, nor strength, nor 
stature, nor possessions, nor position. That 
which makes a man is a quality of spirit ; it is 
courage, honor, integrity of character, and the 
resolute purpose to know what is true, and to do 
what is right. The central quality of manliness, 
around which all others must be built up, is that 
of a sense of honor. It is an incalculable advan- 
tage to a school to have a spirit of honor pre- 
vailing through all the activities of its life. A 
practical illustration of it is the conduct of 
examinations upon an honor basis. Such an 
honor system, I am glad to say, we have had now 
for twenty years at Princeton, and it has estab- 
lished a standard of honor that is recognized in 
all the customs and traditions of our campus life. 
I do not see why a school should not have an 
honor system of this kind. It is always a crit- 
icism of a person's manliness if, on any occasion 
whatsoever, he must be watched. It has an uncon- 
scious influence upon him to feel that he is not 
wholly trusted. To put a person upon his honor 
is to appeal to the man in him. 

Another essential element of manliness is the 
ability to play an uphill game, and not to lose 
one's head when facing an adverse turn of af- 
fairs. This applies not only to the sports of the 
school, but also to its more serious work, and to 
the obligations and responsibilities of after life. 
He who can remain cheerful and still hopeful 
when all things turn against him, has a courage 
that must conquer in the end. The spirit that 
will not give up nor relax effort until the end of 

the ninth inning, or until the whistle blows, is 
the spirit that gives assurance of success. Again, 
there is another feature of manliness that is 
sometimes overlooked, or, at least, not duly em- 
phasized, namely, that the true man never takes 
himself too seriously. He, however, takes his 
zvork seriously. And the more seriously he takes 
his work the less conscious is he apt to be of 
himself, and the less concerned as to what others 
may think of him. He is thus able to see things 
in life in their true proportions. The magnitude 
of life's interests and the perplexing problems 
which center about life's mysteries compel him to 
recognize his true position within the larger 
world about him, and lead him not to think of 
himself more highly than he ought to think. The 
true man, moreover, must have some fellow feel- 
ing for his own kind, particularly some sympa- 
thetic interest and concern for the men about him 
who have not had the chances in life which have 
come to him, and who have not enjoyed those 
privileges which have made up a large part of his 
daily life. That man lives in a small world if it 
is bounded by his own selfish desires and influ- 
ences. To live in a larger world, he must become 
a part of its life and take a share of its burdens 
and obligations. It is well to remember, how- 
ever, that one does not have to wait until he is of 
age in order to become a man. There may be a 
manly boy as well as a manly man, and only a 
manly boy is capable of becoming a true man. 



The other day, I was asked to go to see a new 
invention which has just been discovered— a way 




to draw electricity from the sun. I went down- 
town in New York, and was lifted in an express 
elevator to the top of one o»f the highest buildings 
in the city. Finally, on the roof, far above the 
city's noise, I found a group of men looking at a 
large frame in which blocks of metal were fixed. 
This frame was connected by electric wires with 
the room below, and in two days of sunlight it 
collected enough electricity to light an ordinary 
house for a week. No more dynamos or waste of 
energy-producing power — simply the frame upon 
the roof absorbing the brightness of the sun, and 
turning it into light for the dark hours. It is a 
wonderful invention, and when it is perfected, 
you will find it upon the roof of every house, 
upon the upper deck of every steamer, quietly at 
work storing away the silent power of the sun, 
that we may use it when we please to make the 
darkness light. 

Now all of you boys who have the privilege of 
going to a good school are in the brightest kind 
of sunshine that you will ever know. All the 
stored-up goodness, and cleverness, and beauty 
of the years that have been are being radiated 
upon you. The ideals, and visions, and splendid 
deeds of heroism of all time are being brought in 
touch with you, and you are at the receptive time 
of your lives, when you are most capable of mak- 
ing all these splendid influences a part of your- 
selves. As the sunlight is so quiet in its force, 
we do not realize how great that force is ; and 
just because it beats upon the world day after 
day, all life is made possible — not only the trees, 
and flowers, and the grass ; not only the butter- 
flies and the birds ; not only everything that 
creeps upon the surface of the earth or lifts itself 
into the air, but the life of man, your life and 

In this same way the influence of God, through 
human life, and thought, and achievement, beats 
down upon your minds and hearts. Later on, you 
will go out into some of the dark places of the 
world, among the men and women who have not 
known the beauty and truth which have been so 
freely shown to you, and the kindness and love 
which you have accepted as a part of your right 
from the start ; and it will be your privilege and 
your duty to lighten up those dark corners of the 
world with the stored-up energy of school-boy 

Let me urge you to open wide the doors of 
your mind, your heart, and your soul to the sun- 
light now while it is still yours, for, if your 
task is worthy of a son of God in the years 
to come, you will need all the beauty, and the 
belief, and hope that can possibly be stored away 
in these few years while the sun shines. For 

there are men and women all over the' world 
waiting for your brightness to illuminate their 
lives, looking to you for the. way, for the truth, 
for the life. 

When you feel that studying is tiresome, and 
that the restrictions of school life are irksome, 
just think o-f the metal frame upon the roof, 
quietly putting away for future use the bright- 
ness in the sky, and turn again" to your task, 
determined to absorb all the light you can ; 
not for your own happiness or success merely, 
but that you may be part of the light of the 
world, and men may turn to you to see the 
way and be glad. 



If I were to start out to give advice to boys, my 
first would be, to live for- what -you would like to 
be at sixty. 

Of course sixty looks to you a long way off; 
twenty-five, or even 
twenty, is "getting 
on," from your point 
of view, and forty is 
extremely old. But 
you will wonder, some 
day, how quickly sixty 
comes ; and what you 
would be at that age 
(when, some of you 
will still have a con- 
siderable time to live) 
will mean much. For 
if you aim to be a fine 
man at sixty, you will 
photograph b. y Pach Bros. have to be a fine man 

admiral f. e. chadwick, through life. And let 
me say that you can- 
not trifle with such an aspiration. Every evil act, 
every evil thought, will count heavily against you, 
and you will remember to your deep regret every 
one of such things when you come to sit down: 
and think over life at sixty. 

Boys hate being too much preached to, but I 
do not mean this as a sermon. I am thinking of 
life as an educational question. The word educa- 
tion is one of the most meaningful of words. Its 
aim is to draw out of you the best that is in you. 
It cannot draw out anything which is not in you. 
But it can do its best. And you yourself must 
do this. The teacher can only help you a bit. 
The mere acquirement of information is a small 
thing. The gist of the matter is in the manner 
of acquirement and the use you make of the 




acquirement. If the manner and use do not pro- 
duce character in the large, broad sense, your 
effort at education is a failure. For the only 
really valuable thing in this world is character. 
Every organization of any kind, bank, corpora- 
tion, manufactory, church, government, or so- 
ciety, is on the lookout for character. If you 
have it, you need not fear that you will be over- 
looked, for the search is too sharp for character 
to conceal itself. 

Thus, if you happen to lie awake at night, it is 
a good idea to think, "Am I producing the best 
character that is in me to produce ? Am I doing 
my level best to keep in the right way my soul, 
that intangible something for which my body 
exists ?" Every one can soar ; every one can 
grovel. In the long race of life, when you slow 
up at sixty and begin to think over things, you 
will wish that you had always tried, at least, to 



I have never believed that the difference in 
brains between individuals, whether men or boys, 
is what determines success or failure. There are 
few men and few boys who lack intelligence 
enough to do their work well if they choose. 

The essential things 

which distinguish one 
individual from an- 
other, which give one 
man a higher place 
among his fellows 
and another a lower, 
are just two : 

First of all, per- 
severance — the ability 
to keep everlastingly 
at it ; and, secondly, 
imagination or vision 
— the ability to see 
beyond the present 
moment, and to un- 
derstand that the work 
at hand reaches be- 
yond the present moment, and so is worth while. 
There is nothing on earth, except actual dis- 
honesty, which is so fatal to success in life as the 
spirit of "What 's the use?" 



The fathers- of the republic stated it as a self- 
evident truth that men are endowed by the 
Creator with the inalienable right of life, lib- 

Photograph by Pach Bros. 


Former Chief of Bureau of Forestry. 

Photograph by Brown Brcs. 
Editor "Railroad Gazette"; former 
Governor of the Provinces of the 

erty, and the pursuit of happiness. Observe, 
they do not say the pursuit of wealth, or power, 
or glory, but the pursuit of happiness. This is 
the one undisputed aim which they assume may 
be set before every 
man. I think that 
you will find this 
idea running through 
the philosophies and 
the theologies of 
mankind ever since 
man began to record 
his thoughts. Happi- 
ness on earth, happi- 
ness in heaven, has al- 
ways been recognized 
as the aim of the mass 
of mortals. To secure 
happiness, then, is 
to be successful. But 
happiness, deliberately 
sought for its own 
self, will never be at- 
tained ; for, in the nature of things, happiness 
cannot be the fruit of selfishness. If we are to 
get happiness, it must be incidentally in the pur- 
suit of some other aim. It must be by sacrifice— 
"He that loseth his life for My sake shall find it." 

So, let us try to find some other end than hap- 
piness, which may be worthy of our pursuit and 
through which happiness may, perhaps, come as 
our reward. Possibly we may agree as to what 
that end shall be. 

In every generation there are a few men who 
impress their fellow-men by beauty and nobility 
of character, quite apart from those qualities 
which we may think of as purely intellectual. 
They have a distinction which wealth, or power, 
or achievement cannot bestow. In the deepest 
recesses of our minds, we recognize these men as 
being the real nobility, the flower of humanity, 
the really successful men — Colonel Newcome, 
for example, may stand as a type of this class. 
Colonel Newcome died in poverty, a pensioner in 
the Crey Friars, where he had been a boy at 
school. But any right-minded man must feel that 
Colonel Newcome achieved a higher success than 
if he had merely commanded an army or ruled 
an empire. Ignoble men, men whom we rightly 
despise, have done both of these things with con- 
siderable success. 

I should say that the only real and abiding suc- 
cess that a man may achieve in this life is to 
attain to that nobility and beauty of character 
which command the admiration and affection of 
his fellow-beings, and which enable him to face 
any change of fortune with dignity and serenity. 



I did n't want a story-book ; I did n't want a doll ; 
I did n't want a thimble or a satin parasol. 
I did n't want a bonnet 
With a curly feather on it, 
And everything that Santa brought I did n't want at all ! 

I put a letter in the mail, and told him what to bring; 
I told him not to worry 'bout a bracelet or a ring. 

I thought I would n't bother 

My mother or my father, 
So wrote direct to Santa Claus, and asked for just one thing. 

I said : "Dear Santa^ all I need is one small pussy-cat, 
A little furry puss that I can love and pet and pat." 

I wanted just a kitty, 

And I think it is a pity 
He brought me all these other things and did n't think of that. 

And Father said it was a shame, and he would write the gent 
A line or two or three or four, and ask him what he meant. 

He said that Santa ought to 

Have a lesson, and be taught to 
Pay a little more attention to the orders that are sent. 

And so, to-night I got a note from Mr. Santa Claus 
Explaining how it happened ; and he said it was because 

He never got the letter, 

And that little girls had better 

Have all their mail at Christmas posted by their 
Pa's and Ma's. 





Uncle Andy and The Boy, familiarly known as 
"The Babe," were exploring the high slopes of 
the farther shore of Silverwater. It had been an 
unusually long trip for the Babe's short legs, and 
Uncle Andy had considerately called a halt, on 
the pretext that it was time for a smoke. He 
knew that the Babe would trudge on till he 
dropped in his tracks before acknowledging that 
he was tired. A mossy boulder under the ethereal 
green shade of a silver birch offered the kind of 
resting-place, comfortable yet unkempt, which 
appealed to Uncle Andy's taste ; and there below, 
over a succession of three low, wooded ridges, lay 
outspread the enchanting mirror of the lake. 
The Babe, squatting cross-legged on the turf, had 
detected a pair of brown rabbits peering out at 
him from the fringes of a thicket of young firs. 

"Perhaps," he thought to himself, "if we keep 
very still indeed, they '11 come out and play." 

He was about to whisper this suggestion, cau- 
tiously, to Uncle Andy, when, from somewhere in 
the trees behind him, came a loud sound of 
scrambling, of claws scratching on bark, followed 
by a thud, a grunt, and a whining, and then the 
crash of some heavy creature careering through 
the underbrush. 

The rabbits vanished. The Babe, startled, 
shrank closer to his uncle's knees, and stared up 
at him with round eyes of inquiry. 

"He 's in a hurry, all right, and does n't care 
who knows it !" chuckled Uncle Andy. But his 
shaggy brows were knit in some perplexity. 

"Who 's he?" demanded the Babe. 

"Well, now," protested Uncle Andy, as much 


AND PULLED WITH ALL HIS MIGHT.'" (see page 235.) 



as to say that the Babe ought to have known that 
without asking, "you know there 's nothing in 
these woods big enough to make such a noise as 
that except a bear or a moose. And a moose 
can't go up a tree. You heard that fellow fall 
down out of a tree, did n't you?" 

"Why did he fall down out of the tree?" asked 
the Babe, in a tone of great surprise. 

"That 's just what I—" began Uncle Andy. But 
he was interrupted. 

"Oh ! Oh ! It 's stung me !" cried the Babe, 
shrilly, jumping to his feet and slapping at his 
ear. His eyes filled with injured tears. 

Uncle Andy stared at him for a moment in 
grave reproof. Then he, too, sprang up as if the 
boulder had suddenly grown red-hot, and pawed 
at his hair with both hands, dropping his pipe. 

"Glory ! I see why he fell down !" he cried. 
The Babe gave another cry, clapped his hand to 
his leg where the stocking did not quite join the 
short breeches, and began hopping up and down 
on one foot. A heavy, pervasive hum was begin- 
ning to make itself heard. 

"Come !" yelled Uncle Andy, striking at his 
cheek angrily and ducking his head as if he were 
going to butt something. He grabbed the Babe 
by one arm, and rushed him to the fir-thicket. 

"Duck !" he ordered. "Down with you, flat !" 
And together they crawled into the low-growing, 
dense-foliaged thicket, where they lay side by 
side, face downward. 

"They won't follow us in here," murmured 
Uncle Andy. "They don't like thick bushes." 

"But I 'm afraid— we 've brought some in with 
us, Uncle Andy," replied the Babe, trying very 
hard to keep the tears out of his voice. "I think 
I hear one squealing and buzzing in my hair. 
Oh!" and he clutched wildly at his leg. 

"You 're right !" said Uncle Andy, his voice 
suddenly growing very stern as a bee crawled 
over his collar and jabbed him with great earnest- 
ness in the neck. He sat up. Several other bees 
were creeping over him, seeking an effective spot 
to administer their fiery admonitions. But he 
paid them no heed. They stung him where they 
would, while he was quickly looking over the 
Babe's hair, jacket, sleeves, stockings, and loose 
little trousers. He killed half a dozen of the 
angry crawlers before they found a chance to do 
the Babe more damage. Then he pulled out 
three stings, and applied moist earth from under 
the moss to each red and anguished spot. 

The Babe looked up at him with a resolute 
little laugh, and shook obstinately from the tip 
of his nose the tears which he would not acknow- 
ledge by the attentions of his handkerchief or his 

Vol. XL.— 30. 

"Thank you awfully," he began politely. "But 
oh, Uncle Andy, your poor eye is just dreadful. 
Oh-h-h !" 

"Yes, they have been getting after me a bit," 
agreed Uncle Andy, dealing firmly with his own 
assailants now that the Babe was all right. "But 
this jab under the eye is the only one that mat- 
ters. Here, see if you can get hold of the sting." 

The Babe's keen eyes and nimble little fingers 
captured it at once. Then Uncle Andy plastered 
the spot with a daub of wet, black earth, and 
peered over it solemnly at the Babe's swollen ear. 
He straightened his grizzled hair, and tried to 
look as if nothing out of the way had happened. 

"I wish I 'd brought my pipe along," he mut- 
tered. "It 's over there by the rock. But I 
reckon it would n't be healthy for me to go and 
get it just yet !" 

"What 's made them so awful mad, do you sup- 
pose ?" inquired the Babe, nursing his wounds, 
and listening uneasily to the vicious hum which 
filled the air outside the thicket. 

"It 's that fool bear !" replied Uncle Andy. 
"He 's struck a bee-tree too tough for him to 
tear open, and he fooled at it just long enough to 
get the bees good and savage. Then he quit in a 
hurry. And we '11 just have to stay here till the 
bees get cooled down." 

"How long '11 that be?" inquired the Babe, dis- 
mally. It was hard to sit still in the hot fir- 
thicket, with that burning, throbbing smart in his 
ear, and two little points of fierce ache in his leg. 
Uncle Andy was far from happy himself; but he 
felt that the Babe, who had behaved very well, 
must have his mind diverted. He fished out a 
letter from his pocket, rolled himself a cigarette 
as thick as his finger with his heavy pipe tobacco, 
and fell to puffing such huge clouds as would 
discourage other bees from prying into the thicket. 
Then he remarked consolingly : 

"It is n't always, by any means, that the bees 
get the best of it this way. Mostly it 's the other 
way about. This bear was a fool. But there was 
Teddy Bear, now, a cub over in the foot-hills of 
Sugar Loaf Mountain, and he was not a fool. 
When he tackled his first bee-tree— and he was 
nothing but a cub, mind you — he pulled off the 
affair in good shape. I wish it had been these 
bees that he cleaned out." 

The Babe was so surprised that he let go of his 
leg for a moment. 

"Why," he exclaimed, "how could a cub do 
what a big, strong, grown-up bear could n't man- 
age?" He thought with a shudder how unequal 
he would be to such an undertaking. 

"You just wait and see !" admonished Uncle 
Andy, blowing furious clouds from his monstrous 




cigarette. "It was about the end of the blueberry 
season when Teddy Bear lost his big, rusty-coated 
mother and small, glossy black sister, and found 
himself completely alone in the world. They had 
all three come down together from the high blue- 
berry patches to the dark swamps, to hunt for 
roots and fungi as a variation to their fruit diet. 
The mother and sister had got caught together in 
a dreadful trap. Teddy Bear, some ten feet out 
of danger, had stared for two seconds in frozen 
horror, and then raced away like mad, with his 
mother's warning screech hoarse in his ears. He 
knew by instinct that he would never see the 
victims any more ; and he was very unhappy and 
lonely. For a whole day he moped, roaming 
restlessly about the high slopes and refusing to 
eat; till, at last, he got so hungry that he just had 
to eat. Then he began to forget his grief a little, 
and devote himself to the business of finding a 
living. But from being the most sunny-tempered 
of cubs, he became, all at once, as peppery as 
tabasco sauce." 

The Babe wagged his head feelingly. He had 
once tried tabasco sauce without having been 
warned of its sprightliness. 

"As I have told you," continued Uncle Andy, 
peering at him with strange solemnity over the 
mud patch beneath his swollen eye, "the blueber- 
ries were just about done. And as Teddy would 
not go down to the lower lands again to hunt for 
other kinds of rations, he had to do a lot of hus- 
tling to find enough blueberries for his healthy 
young appetite. Thus it came about that when, 
one day, on an out-of-the-way corner of the 
mountain, he stumbled upon a patch of belated 
berries, he fairly forgot himself in his greedy 
excitement. He whimpered; he grunted. He 
had no time to look where he was going. So, all 
of a sudden, he fell straight through a thick 
fringe of blueberry bushes, and went sprawling 
and clawing down the face of an almost per- 
pendicular steep. 

"The distance of his fall was not far short of 
thirty feet, and he brought up with a bump which 
left him not breath enough to squeal. The ground 
was soft, however, with undergrowth and debris, 
and he had no bones broken. In a couple of min- 
utes, he was busy licking himself all over to make 
sure he was undamaged. Reassured on this point, 
he went prowling in exploration of the place he 
had dropped into. 

"It was a sort of deep bowl, not more than 
forty feet across at the bottom, and with its 
rocky sides so steep that Teddy Bear did not feel 
at all encouraged to climb them. He went sniff- 
ing and peering around the edges in the hope of 
finding some easier way of escape. Disappointed 

in this, he lifted his black, alert little nose, and 
stared longingly upward, as if contemplating an 
effort to fly. 

"He saw no help in that direction ; but his nos- 
trils caught a savor which, for the moment, put 
all thought of escape out of his head. It was the 
warm, delectable smell of honey. Teddy Bear 
had never tasted honey; but he needed no one to 
tell him it was good. Instantly he knew that he 
was very hungry. And instead of wanting to find 
a way out of the hole, all he wanted was to find 
out where that wonderful, delicious scent came 

"From the deep soil at the bottom of the hole, 
grew three big trees, together with a certain 
amount of underbrush. Two of those were fir- 
trees, green and flourishing. The third was an 
old maple, with several of its branches broken 
away. It was quite dead all down one side, 
while on the other only a couple of branches put 
forth leaves. About a small hole near the top of 
this dilapidated old tree, Teddy Bear caught sight 
of a lot of bees, coming and going. Then he 
knew where that adorable odor came from. For 
though, as I think I have said, his experience was 
extremely limited, his mother had managed to 
convey to him an astonishing lot of useful and 
varied information. 

"Teddy Bear had an idea that bees, in spite of 
their altogether diminutive size, were capable of 
making themselves unpleasant, and also that they 
had a temper which was liable to go off at half- 
cock. Nevertheless, being a bear of great de- 
cision, he lost no time in wondering what he had 
better do. The moment he had convinced himself 
that the honey was up that tree, up that tree he 
went to get it." 

"Oh!" cried the Babe, in tones of shuddering 
sympathy, as he felt at his leg and his ear ; "oh ! 
why did n't he stop and think?" 

Uncle Andy did not seem to consider that this 
remark called for any reply. 

"That tree must have been hollow a long way 
down, for almost as soon as Teddy Bear's claws 
began to rattle on the bark, the bees suspected 
trouble, and began to get excited. When he was 
not yet much more than half-way up, and hanging 
to the rough bark with all his claws,— biff! some- 
thing sharp and very hot struck him in the nose. 
He grunted, and almost let go in his surprise. 
Naturally, he wanted to paw his nose, — for you 
know how it smarted !" 

"I guess so!" murmured the Babe, in deepest 
sympathy, stroking the patch of mud on his ear. 

"But that cub had just naturally a level head. 
He knew that if he let go with even one paw, he 
would fall to the ground, because the trunk of 




the tree, at that point, was so big he could not 
get a good hold upon it. So he just dug his 
smarting nose into the bark, and clawed himself 
around to the other side of the tree, where the 
branches that were still green sheltered him a bit. 

"Luckily, here the bees did n't seem to notice 
him. He kept very still, listening to their angry 
buzz till it had somewhat quieted down. Then, 
instead of going about it with a noisy dash, as he 
had done before, he worked his way up stealthily 
and slowly, till he could crawl into the crotch of 
the first branch. You see, that bear could learn 
a lesson. 

"Presently he stuck his nose around to see how 
near he was to the bees' hole. He had just time 
to locate it — about seven or eight feet above him 
—when, again— biff ! and he was stung on the lip. 
He drew in his head again quick, I can tell you, 
quick enough to catch that bee and smash it. He 
ate it, indignantly. And then he lay curled up in 
the crotch for some minutes, gently pawing his 
sore little snout, and whimpering angrily. 

"The warm, sweet smell of the honey was very 
strong up there. And, moreover, Teddy Bear's 
temper was now thoroughly aroused. Most cubs, 
and some older bears, would have relinquished the 
adventure at this point; for, as a rule, it takes a 
wise old bear to handle a bee-tree successfully. 
But Teddy Bear was no ordinary cub, let me tell 
you, — or we would never have called him 'Teddy.' 
He lay nursing his anger and his nose till he had 
made up his mind what to do. And then he set 
out to do it. 

"Hauling himself up softly from branch to 
branch, he made no more noise than a shadow. 
As soon as he was right behind the bees' hole, he 
reached around, dug his claws into the edge of it, 
and pulled with all his might. The edges were 
rotten, and a pawful of old wood came. So did 
the bees ! 

"They were onto him in a second. He grunted 
furiously, screwed his eyes up tight, tucked his 
muzzle down under his left arm— which was busy 
holding on— and reached around blindly for an- 
other pull. This time he got a good grip, and he 
could feel something give. But the fiery torture 
was too much for him. He drew in his paw, 
crouched back into the crotch, and cuffed wildly 
at his own ears and face, as well as at the air, 
now thick with his assailants. The terrific hum 
they made somewhat daunted him. For a few 
seconds, he stood his ground, battling frantically. 
Then, with an agility that you would never have 
dreamed his chubby form to be capable* of, he 
went swinging down from branch to branch, 
whining, and coughing, and spluttering, and 
squealing all the way. From the lowest branch 

he slid down the trunk, his claws tearing the 
bark and just clinging enough to break his fall. 

"Reaching the ground, he began to roll himself 
over and over in the dry leaves and twigs, till he 
had crushed out all the bees that clung in his 

"But why did n't the rest of the bees follow 
him? They followed this other bear, to-day!" 
protested the Babe, feelingly. 

"Well, they did n't !" returned Uncle Andy, 
quite shortly, with his customary objection to 
being interrupted. Then he thought better of it, 
and added amiably: "That 's a sensible question, 
a very natural question, and I '11 give you the 
answer to it in half a minute. I 've got to tell 
you my yarn in my own way, you know, — you 
ought to know that by this time,— but you '11 see 
presently just why the bees acted so differently 
in the two cases. 

"Well, as soon as Teddy Bear had got rid of 
his assailants, he clawed down through the leaves 
and twigs and moss — as / did just now, you re- 
member — till he came to the damp, cool earth. 
Ah, how he dug his smarting muzzle into it, and 
rooted in it, and rubbed it into his ears and on his 
eyelids; till, pretty soon,— for the bee-stings do 
not poison a bear's blood as strongly as they 
poison ours,— he began to feel much easier. As 
for the rest of his body,— well, those stings 
did n't amount to much, you know, because his 
fur and his hide were both so thick. 

"At last he sat up on his haunches and looked 
around. You should have seen him !" 

"I 'm glad I was n't there, Uncle Andy !" said 
the Babe, earnestly shaking his head. But Uncle 
Andy paid no attention to the remark. 

"His muddy paws drooped over his breast, and 
his face was all stuck over with leaves and moss 
and mud—" 

"We must look funny, too," suggested the 
Babe, staring hard at the black mud-poultice un- 
der his uncle's swollen eye. But his uncle refused 
to be diverted. 

"—And his glossy fur was in a state of which 
his mother would have strongly disapproved. But 
his twinkling little eyes burned with wrath and 
determination. He sniffed again that honey 
smell. He stared up at the bee-tree, and noted 
that the opening was much larger than it had 
been before his visit. A big crack extended from 
it for nearly two feet down the trunk. Moreover, 
there did not seem to be so many bees buzzing 
about the hole." 

The Babe's eyes grew so round with inquiry at 
this point that Uncle Andy felt bound to explain. 

"You see, as soon as the bees got it into their 
cunning heads that their enemy was going to 



succeed in breaking into their storehouse, they 
decided that it was more important to save their 
treasures than to fight the enemy. It was just as 
it is when one's house is on fire. At first one 
fights to put the fire out. When that 's no use, 
then one thinks only of saving the things. That 's 
the principle the bees generally go upon. At first 
they attack the enemy, in the hope of driving him 
off. But if they find that he is going to succeed 
in breaking in and burglarizing the place, then 
they fling themselves on the precious honey which 
they have taken so much pains to store, and begin 
to stuff their honey-sacks as full as possible. All 
they think of, then, is to carry away enough to 
keep them going while they are getting estab- 
lished in new quarters. The trouble with the fool 
bear who has got us into this mess to-day was 
that he tackled a bee-tree where the outside 
wood was too strong for him to rip open. The 
bees knew he could n't get in at them, so they all 
turned out after him, to give him a good lesson. 
When he got away through the underbrush so 
quickly, they just turned on us, because they felt 
they must give a lesson to somebody !" 

"We did n't want to steal their old honey !" 
muttered the Babe, in an injured voice. 

"Oh, I 'm not so sure !" said Uncle Andy. "I 
should n't wonder if Bill and I 'd come over here 
some night and smoke the rascals out. But we can 
wait. That 's the difference between us and 
Teddy Bear. He would n't even wait to clean 
the leaves off his face, he was so anxious for that 
honey— and his revenge. 

"This time he went up the tree slowly and 
quietly, keeping out of sight all the way. When 
he was exactly on a level with the entrance, he 
braced himself solidly, reached his right paw 
around the trunk, got a fine hold on the edge of 
the new crack, and wrenched with all his might. 

"A big strip of half-rotten wood came away so 
suddenly, that Teddy Bear nearly fell off the tree. 

"A lot of bees came with it; and once more, 
Teddy Bear's head was in a swarm of little, dart- 
ing, piercing flames. But his blood was up. He 
held on to that chunk of bee-tree. A big piece of 
comb, dripping with honey and crawling with 
bees, was sticking to it. Whimpering, and paw- 
ing at his face, he crunched a great mouthful of 
the comb, bees and all. 

"Never had he tasted, never had he dreamed 
of, anything so delicious ! What was the pain of 
his smarting muzzle to that ecstatic mouthful ? 
He snatched another, which took all the rest of 
the comb. Then he flung the piece of wood to 
the ground. 

"The bees, meanwhile, — except those which 
had stung him and were now crawling, stingless 

and soon to die, in his fur,— had suddenly left 
him. The whole interior of their hive was ex- 
posed to the glare of daylight, and their one 
thought now was to save all they could. Teddy 
Bear's one thought was to seize all he could. He 
clawed himself around boldly to the front of the 
tree, plunged one greedy paw straight into the 
heart of the hive, snatched forth a big, dripping, 
crawling comb, and fell to munching it up as fast 
as he could,— honey, bees, brood-comb, bee-bread, 
all together indiscriminately. The distracted 
bees paid him no more attention. They were too 
busy filling their honey-sacks." 

The Babe smacked his lips. He was beginning 
to get pretty hungry himself. 

"Well," continued Uncle Andy, "Teddy Bear 
chewed and chewed, finally plunging his whole 
head into the sticky mess,— getting a few stings, 
of course, but never thinking of them, — till he 
was just so gorged that he could n't hold another 
morsel. Then, very slowly and heavily, grunting 
all the time, he climbed down the bee-tree. He 
felt that he wanted to go to sleep. When he 
reached the bottom, he sat up on his haunches to 
look around for some sort of a snug corner. His 
eyelids were swollen with stings, but his little 
round stomach was swollen with honey, so he 
did n't care a penny. His face was all daubed 
with honey and dead bees. And his claws were 
so stuck up with honey and rotten wood and bark 
that he kept opening and shutting them like a 
baby who has got a feather stuck to its fingers 
and does n't know what to do with it. But he was 
too sleepy to bother about his appearance. He 
just waddled over to a nook between the roots of 
the next tree, curled up with his sticky nose be- 
tween his sticky paws, and was soon snoring." 

"And did he ever get out of that deep hole?" 
inquired the Babe, always impatient of the way in 
which Uncle Andy was wont to end his stories. 

"Of course he got out. He climbed out," an- 
swered Uncle Andy. "Do you suppose a bear like 
that could be kept shut up long? And now I 
think we might be getting out too ! I don't hear 
any more humming ; I guess the coast 's clear." 

He peered forth cautiously. 

"It 's all right. Come along," he said. "And 
there 's my pipe at the foot of the rock, just 
where I dropped it," he added, in a tone of great 
satisfaction. Then, with mud-patched, swollen 
faces, and crooked, but cheerful, smiles, the two 
refugees emerged into the golden light of the 
afternoon, and stretched themselves. But as 
Uncle Andy surveyed, first the Babe and then 
himself, in the unobstructed light, his smile faded. 

"I 'm afraid Bill 's going to have the laugh on 
us when we get home !" said he. 



Author of " Careers of Danger and Daring," " Through the Wall," " The Battle," etc. 

Chapter VII 


Harold drew out a combination pocket-knife (it 
contained a screw-driver, a button-hook, a pair 
of tweezers, and various other things) and, seat- 
ing himself, proceeded to strike its brass head 
against the rock beneath, using a regular tele- 
graphic movement. 

"Father's call for Mother was M— two dashes," 
he explained ; "I 'm calling M's." 

He tapped steadily on the rock. M— M— M — 

The boy paused and listened. There was a 
moment's silence, and then came the answering 
letter, sharply sounding through the silence of 
the desert. W-W-W-W-W-W- 

"Hooray!" he cried. "There 's no mistake. 
She 's here— somewhere ! My mother is here! 
Wait !" 

Eagerly he clicked off a message, while Jack 
sat near, open-mouthed, like a boy at a melo- 

"Sandy, what are you sending? What are you 
asking? Tell me, Sandy." 

"I 'm asking where she is. I 'm telling her it 's 
I. Keep still." 

Now an answering message came that made 
young Evans frown. 

"What is it? What are you getting?" queried 

"She says I must n't ask where she is. Hold 
on !" He translated. "Do— not— try— to— res- 
cue — me — did— you — get — word — from — your — 

With quick fingers Harold repeated his fa- 
ther's message written on the wall. 

"Thank— God," came the reply. "You— must 
—go— to— Jerusalem— at— once— answer." 

The boy hesitated, and a little gulp came in his 
throat. How could his mother ask such a thing ! 
He turned to his companion with a flash of de- 
cision. "I can't do it, Jack. I can't leave my 
mother, and I won't." 

"That 's the talk," approved the other. "We '11 
stay here until the Nile freezes over. Tell her so." 

And Harold tapped out the words: "Dear- 
brave— mother— I— cannot— leave — you." 

He paused, waiting for a reply ; but none came. 

"Jack, she does n't answer," cried Evans, in 
sudden alarm. 

"Not so loud !" cautioned McGreggor. "They 
may be nearer than you think." 

"They? Who do you mean?" 

"Why— er— I s'pose somebody is with your 
mother. There must be." 

Harold cast his eyes uneasily along the floor of 
the desert toward a cluster of rock-hewn tombs 
that lie at the base of Cheops. 

At this moment, the tapping sounded again, 
but less distinctly, as if from a greater distance. 
"Will — send — word — be — at — Virgin's — tree- 
Virgin's— fountain — " 

The message stopped, abruptly. 

"Got that, Jack? Virgin's tree, Virgin's foun- 
tain?" Sandy whispered. 

"Yes, but when? She does n't say when to be 

"Wait !" 

The clicking came so faintly now that Harold 
had to lay his ear close against the rock to make 
out the words: "To-morrow— afternoon— three- 
o'clock— put— on— hat— chilly— evenings — love." 

Then the tapping ceased. 

"I guess that 's all, Jack," sighed Evans, after 
they had waited a long time. "We 'd better start 
back. Is n't that like a fellow's mother, forget- 
ting her trouble, to worry about his hat being 
off? It is chilly, too. Ugh! These purple shad- 
ows may be artistic, but they look creepy to me. 
Let 's hustle." 

They strode rapidly toward the trolley-car, hands 
in their pockets, each absorbed in his thoughts. 

"Say, here 's a point !" broke in McGreggor. 
"How did she know your hat was off?" 

The boys stopped short and faced each other. 

"By George !" exclaimed Sandy. "I never 
thought of that. How did she know it?" 

"She must have seen us. Must have been some- 
where where she could see us." 

"That 's so, but— where?" 

On the ride back to Cairo they discussed the 
matter in low tones. 

"I wonder where the Virgin's tree is," reflected 
Jack. "Ever hear of it, Sandy?" 

Harold shook his head. 

"She said Virgin's tree— Virgin's fountain. 
There must be a tree near a fountain. We '11 
have to ask at the hotel, but — " 


"My mother can't possibly be coming there 






"Going to send somebody?" 
"Or a letter?" 

"It strikes me as a queer situation, Jack." 
"Me, too, Sandy." 

And in this frame of mind they fell asleep that 

Chapter VIII 


The boys were up early the next morning, and, 
having nothing better to do until three o'clock, 
they decided to see some of the sights of Cairo 
under the escort of a hotel dragoman named Mus- 
tapha, who wore a very red fez, and a pair of 
ivory-handled pistols in his belt, and who assured 
them, in incredibly bad English, that he would 
show them the Virgin's fountain, the Virgin's 
tree, and other marvelous things. 

First the boys visited the beautiful island of 
Roda in the Nile, where Mustapha assured them, 
with reproachful eyes against their smiles, that 
little Moses was discovered by Pharaoh's daugh- 
ter. To this island they drifted on a heavy, wide- 
nosed scow that plies across an arm of the river. 
A bare-legged boatman took his toll of two cents 
each with kingly dignity, then caught the long oar 
astern, and bent to his work. "Look at those 
women," said Jack, aiming his kodak at a dozen 
silent, black-clad figures huddled together at one 
end of the craft. 

"Get onto their brass nose-pieces !" whispered 
Sandy. "Careful ! They 're looking !" 

"Got 'em !" triumphed the young photographer 
as the scow grounded and the Egyptian ladies 
hurried off toward the fragrant rose gardens that 
stretched beyond. 

"I must get a picture of that, too!" exclaimed 
McGreggor, and he pointed to a line of stately 
barges floating by with brown-skinned men swish- 
ing their bare feet in the current, while others 
hauled at the long, sharp-slanting yards poised 
over stubby masts. 

A little later they had luncheon on the balcony 
of a charming, shaded inn overlooking the river, 
and here Harold discovered that he had lost his 
valued pocket-knife. 

Finally they set out for the Virgin's tree and 
the Virgin's fountain, which two objects of tour- 
ist interest were at Heliopolis, they discovered, 
just outside of Cairo, and located in the beauti- 
fully kept grounds of no less a person than the 
Khedive himself. As they drove along the white 
road, barefooted urchins raced beside their car- 
riage, offering baskets of strawberries. 

"Berrees, Me Lord? Berrees, Preence?" called 
the little fellows, and finally Jack bought two 
baskets for eight cents. 

"I '11 blow you off, Prince," he laughed. "Here ! 
Great country, eh, Sandy?" 

They stopped to inspect the oldest obelisk in 
the world, then to admire flocks of the white ibis 
grazing along the roadside, and presently they 
came to a wide-spreading sycamore-tree with 
thick, gnarled trunk that threw out its grateful 
shade near a clear, gushing spring. These, Mus- 
tapha smilingly declared, were the Virgin's tree 
and the Virgin's fountain, the latter being used 
to water the Khedive's gardens, the former fur- 
nishing an income to the Khedive's gardener, who 
collected regular fees from tourists eager to see 
the spot where the Virgin Mary rested in her 
historic flight from the wicked Herod. 

Jack looked thoughtfully at the beautiful gar- 
dens, the banks of flowers, the vine-covered trel- 
lises, the towering palms, and deep-shaded ba- 
nana-trees. Everywhere were tropical plants in 
profusion, and roses so abundant that a turbaned 
gardener came forward offering an armful, while 
near by a group of boys prepared future pocket- 
money by distilling attar of roses over burning 

"It 's a great setting," he declared. "Say, 
Musty ! You climb up the sycamore-tree— there, 
on the first big branch. I '11 take your picture." 

Nothing could have made Mustapha happier 
than this offer, not even unexpected bakshish. 
He first removed his European outer garment (a 
sort of light overcoat), so as to show the richly 
embroidered jacket underneath and his for- 
midable pistols. Then he settled himself on the 
branch in plain view, and, looking heavenward 
with as much lamblike ecstasy as his Oriental and 
swarthy features could command, he sat per- 
fectly still. 

"Look at him, Sandy ! Take him all in," 
grinned Jack. "Is he a choice product? Is he? 
I tell you when a Cairo dragoman takes to posing 
as an archangel on a sycamore-tree— well, it 's 
worth recording. There !" 

As McGreggor pressed the button, Harold's 
eyes fell on what looked like a wasp's nest, a 
grayish bundle hanging from the branch where 
Mustapha was seated. But, as he looked closer, 
he discovered black lines running through the 
gray mass, and presently he saw that it was not a 
wasp's nest at all, but a lady's veil tied around 
the branch. 

"By George !" he started. 

"What 's the matter? What is it?" 

Sandy consulted his Waterbury. "Ten minutes 
past three? What do you make it ?" 




"Twelve minutes past," said Jack. "Give your 
mother time." 

Sandy shook his head. "She 's had all the time 
she wants. The message is here— there!" He 
pointed to the tree. 

"I see a wasp's nest." 

"It is n't a wasp's nest. That 's my mother's 
veil— gray, with black lines in it. She wore it the 
last time I saw her." 

He sprang into the tree, and quickly climbed 
out along the branch. 

"Well, what do you know about that?" mar- 
veled Jack, as he watched his friend untie the 
flimsy tissue and carefully descend to the ground. 

"Now we '11 see what 's in it— if I can get these 
knots untied. I feel the crinkle of a letter. Hello ! 
Here 's something hard ! Great Scott !" 

With a look of absolute amazement, Harold 
drew forth the pocket-knife that he had lost that 
very morning. Folded around the knife was a 
small blue envelop. 

"Jack, it 's my knife ! The one I lost ! Look !" 

McGreggor gave a long, low whistle. 

"Say, these people have been trailing us." He 
glanced about him suspiciously, and added under 
his breath, "They 're probably somewhere around 
here right now." 

With pounding heart Harold tore open the en- 
velop and drew out several sheets covered with 
his mother's handwriting. 

My precious son : 

I am writing in haste, and cannot say all that I would 
like to. The important thing is that you must trust me. 
I am the only one who knows the circumstances, and can 
decide what is best to do ; and I tell you, dear Harold, you 
must not stay here, or try to find me. If I were in danger, 
I would urge you to call at once upon the American consul 
in Cairo for assistance. But I am in no danger, although, 
of course, I am a prisoner ; and I beg you to make no 
appeal in my behalf to any of the American or English 
authorities. You must make no effort of any sort toward 
rescuing me or communicating with me for the present. 
It would mean more danger for your father. 

Harold, I want you to go to your father at once. I am 
so happy that you found his message. God is protecting 
us, and will protect us, but you must go to your father. He 
needs you, and the only way to save me is to save him 
first. Be brave, my son. Trust to your mother's love and 
to her knowledge of conditions that you cannot understand, 
and do this that she bids you. Do it at once. 

And remember one thing : you -will be watched from the 
time you leave Cairo. You must not let any one know that 
you are looking for your father. Call yourself a tourist. 
Say you are likely to return shortly to America, as we 
hope we all may. And do not keep this letter! Fix it in 
your memory, and burn it. 

There is much more to say, but — I must hurry. Be on 
your guard against a smooth-talking man with a close-cut 
dark beard. I think he 's an Armenian, but he speaks per- 
fect English. I noticed a fine, white scar across his cheek, 
but the beard almost hides it. The scar runs to the lower 
part of his ear, which is rather twisted. This man is em- 
ployed by our enemy. It is he who told me that you had 

sprained your ankle in the Great Gallery, and made me go 
inside the pyramid, where they seized me. He is a dan- 
gerous and unscrupulous man — be careful. 

My poor boy, it makes my heart ache to put this respon- 
sibility on you. I 'm afraid you are short of money, and I 
inclose forty pounds, which I have been able to borrow 
from a kind person, the one who has promised to deliver 
this letter. I shall try to send more money later. Go to 
Jerusalem and see the Greek monk. Then follow your 
best judgment, but promise me, my boy, that you will 
never, never stop until you have found your father ! Tie 
my veil around the branch where you found it, as a sign 
that you give me this sacred promise to respect my wish 
that you do not try to find me, as yet, and that you will 
start at once for Jerusalem. God bless you and guide you! 
Your loving mother, 

Mary Evans. 

Harold read the letter slowly and carefully. 
Then he turned to his friend : 

"Oh, Jack !" 


"I want you to see this letter— from my mother. 
We have n't known each other so very long, old 
boy, but— we 've come pretty close together, and 
—there ! Read it !" 

Jack read the letter in his turn— carefully and 

"Well?" he said. 

"It looks to me as if I 've got to do what 
Mother says." 

McGreggor nodded. 

"I guess she knows what she 's talking about, 
Sandy. Sounds like a pretty fine woman, your 

"Well, I should say she is a— a fine woman," 
Harold choked. "It breaks me all up to leave her, 
Jack, but— what she says about Father settles it. 
How about that boat we were going to take for 
Jaffa— it sails to-morrow, does n't it?" 

"Yep. Train starts for Alexandria in the morn- 
ing. Go on board in the afternoon and wake up 
at Jaffa." 

"Did you get the tickets?" 

McGreggor nodded. 

"Tickets and passports, too. And Deeny 's 
got the trunks ready." 

"I guess we 'd better go." 

"Guess we had." 

"And say, Jack ! I want you to bear witness that 
I promise— under this tree— by this spring— it 's 
a kind of sacred spot—" the boy bared his head 
and lifted his fine, earnest face— "I promise never 
to stop or give up until I have found my father 
and my mother. You hear me, Jack?" 

"I hear you, Sandy, and here 's my hand to 
help you. I don't care whether I get around the 
world or not. I '11 stick by you." 

Once more the boys clasped hands. And, after 
studying Mrs. Evans's letter so as to forget noth- 
ing, they burned it solemnly at the fire where the 




young Egyptians were distilling, drop by drop, 
the subtle perfume of roses. Then Sandy took 
his mother's veil, as she had bidden him, and tied 
it to the spreading branch of the ancient syca- 
more that grows by the Virgin's spring. 

Chapter IX 


Twenty-four hours later, the two friends were 
aboard a Mediterranean steamer bound for the 
Holy Land. They had received valuable help 
from the American consul, who saw that their 
passports were properly drawn, and gave them 
some letters to friends in Jerusalem. He also 
took charge of Mrs. Evans's trunks until these 
should be sent for, and allowed the boys to leave 
with him, sealed in an official envelop, the one 
hundred and sixty pounds that had caused so 
much trouble. 

"I don't see what we 're going to do with it," 
the consul declared, "unless some one turns up 
who can prove title." 

"I '11 never touch a penny of it," insisted Jack. 

"Neither will I," said Harold. 

The consul smiled. 

"All right, boys. I '11 hold it here, awaiting 
your order." 

The first evening after they went aboard, Jack's 
zeal for picture material brought him to the for- 
ward part of the vessel, where the deck-passen- 
gers sleep, stretched on the bare boards under 
stained and tattered blankets, or lie awake, chat- 
tering and smoking. 

Meantime Harold Evans sat alone at the stern 
while the boat throbbed on through the still, warm 
night. The boy was in a serious mood. He felt 
that this was a critical time in his life. He 
thought of his father and mother, and of the task 
before him— of the dangers before him. 

He looked down at the white path the ship was 
cutting in the sea, and wondered what made the 
fire spots come and go in the rushing foam, now 
little ones like globules of burning oil, now broad, 
round ones like moons. He knew they called it 
phosphorescence, but forgot the explanation of 
it. Then he watched the serious, silent stars and 
their changing colors, and presently noticed a 
light that flamed up low over the water, and then 
went out. A lighthouse on the coast of Africa ! 
Or had they come to Asia ? 

Presently Jack came up, eager to tell of his ex- 
periences forward. He had discovered an inter- 
esting Syrian who had been all over America — 
New York City, and Lynchburg, Virginia, and 
Yazoo, Mississippi. He spoke perfect English— 
a clever fellow, and— he wanted to be a guide. 

"The fact is, old boy, he wants to be our guide," 
added McGreggor. 

"We don't need a guide," said Harold. "We 've 
got Deeny." 

"I know we have, but— he saw me fussing with 
my camera and— it seems he knows a lot about 
pictures. Says he ran an art gallery in Minne- 
apolis, but he went broke." 

"We can't 'afford an extra man." 

"Ah, that 's the point ! That 's the queer thing 
about this chap. He says he '11 work for any- 
thing we want to give, or for nothing at all. He 
wants to get into the moving-picture game and— 
well, he '11 take chances on the future. I told him 
I 'd talk to you about it, and we 'd see him in 
the morning." 

"There is n't any harm in seeing him," said 
Harold, quietly. 

"I s'pose you 're feeling sort of— sort of broken 
up, old boy?" ventured Jack, as he drew up a 
steamer chair beside his friend. 

"Oh, I— I 've been thinking about things, and — 
er— " 

"I know. It 's tough, but— I tell you what 
pleases me, Sandy, it 's the way your mother was 
able to get that letter delivered. She must have 
a good friend in the enemies' camp and — that 's 
a whole lot." 

"Yes, it is." 

"And she was able to borrow money, that 's 
another good thing. I b'lieve she could get away 
if any big trouble came up; I 'm sure she could.' 
She does n't want to get away now on account of 
injuring your father. Am I right?" 

"It looks so, but— what gets me is how any 
man can be fiend enough to treat a woman so who 
—who 's never done anything but good to 

"Don't you worry," soothed McGreggor. "He 
'11 get his later on, Mr. Fiend will, and I '11 take a 
picture of it. If we can't do anything else, I '11 
cable Dad, and he '11 come over. He 'd just love 
to get into this game, Dad would. He 'd have 
your father and mother back with you mighty 
quick, or there 'd be a war-ship lying off Alex- 
andria with the stars and stripes over her— now 
take that from me !" 

"No, no!" objected Sandy. "We must n't do 
anything like that. You know what Mother said. 
And I 've given my promise. I tied that veil 
around the tree, Jack. Besides, I can see her 
point. The people who have done this have got 
themselves in so deep now that they would n't 
stop at anything. We might spoil our only chance 
by kicking up a row. We 've got to lay low and 
let them think everything 's going their way, and 
then, when we see our chance, we '11 land on 'em." 




"We '11 land on 'em hard !" 
"But we must find Father first, I can see that. 
Can't you? And, Jack, we 've got to be foxy. 
We must n't let any one 
know what we 're after. 
Mother says we '11 be 
watched. Remember? 
Remember that chap 
she said to look out 

"Do I? Close-cut 
dark beard. Scar across 
his cheek." 
"A fine scar, Jack." 
"Yes, and a twisted 
ear. I '11 know him, 
all right." 

Sandy's face dark- 
ened. "And now what 
shall we say about our- 
selves if any one asks 

"We '11 say we 're in the moving-picture busi- 
ness, and we are ! We 've got our outfit to prove 
it, the dandiest outfit in Jerusalem." 

"That 's so !" agreed Harold. "We 're in the 
moving-picture business. And — say, Jack, no- 
body must know I 'm the son of Wicklow Evans. 
You 'd better introduce me to people as — er — Mr. 



Harold. That sounds all right. When you call 
me Harold they '11 think it 's my last name. See ?" 

A little later, the boys retired to their state- 

When they came up on deck the next morn- 
ing, they found the steamer anchored off as 
pretty a fringe of murderous reefs as one would 
wish to see. And beyond these, laughing in a 
blaze of sunshine, lay the ancient city of Jaffa. 

Crowding around the vessel were little boats, 
tossing uneasily on the swells, and manned by 
Vol. XL.— 31. 



clamoring Arabs whose business, it appeared, was 
to take the passengers ashore. 

"Is n't there any harbor here ?" asked McGreg- 


"Does n't look like it !" said Sandy. "By 
George, see that boat ! They '11 be smashed to bits !" 


As he spoke, one of the little boats with passen- 
gers huddled in the stern shot toward the dan- 
gerous reef where the sea was breaking fiercely 
over black rocks that stood up like ragged teeth. 
One tooth was missing, leaving an opening in 




the hungry jaw, and the boat was headed straight 
for this opening, as they watched it intently. 

ing the reef with an opera-glass. "It 's a nasty 
sea. Ah ! there goes another boat ! Would you 
like to look, sir?" 

He offered his glass to 
Harold, who' now, through 
the powerful lenses, saw the 
passage of the rocks with 
thrilling distinctness. 

"Talk about shooting the 
chutes ! Say, Jack, there 's 
a moving picture worth tak- 
ing !" 

"It would be effective," 
agreed the stranger. "The 
surf, and the rocks, and the 
skill of these Arabs— very 

"Hello !" said McGreggor, 
"you 're the man I saw last 
night— you know, Sandy, the 
one I told you about from 
Lynchburg, and Yazoo, 
and — " 

"And New York City, and 
many other places," smiled 
the new-comer. "Allow me to 
give you young gentlemen 
my card." 

He drew out his pocket- 
book and handed to each of 
the boys a card on which was 
printed : 




"They 're dandy boatmen if they get through 
there. Great Scott! They 've done it!" cried 
Jack, his eyes bulging. 

With the splash and lift of a great wave, the 
sure-handed Arabs had steered the frail craft 
through, and now they were floating safely in the 
smooth waters beyond. 

"I'll wager those people got soaked," said Sandy. 

"They are lucky not to be drowned," remarked 
a passenger, standing near them, who was study- 


"Thanks," said Jack. "My 
name is John McGreggor, 
and my friend is Mr. — er — 

The coin collector bowed 

"You 've been here be- 
fore?" asked Harold. 

"Many times. This is my 
was born in the Lebanon 

country — Syria. 

"You speak mighty good English." 

"I have spent years in America— some happy 
years; but— I had money reverses, and— the fact 
is I am looking for work." 

"So my friend told me." 

"We have n't had time to talk that over," ex- 
plained McGreggor, "but if you 're going up to 
Jerusalem, Mr.—" He frowned at the card. 




"Say, this name is a bird. Ar-shag H. Tel-ec- 
jian. What 's the 'H' for?" 

"The 'H' is a misprint. It should be 'M.' My 
middle name is Mesrop." 

"Mesrop? Sounds like an anagram— you know, 
where you change the letters around and make a 
new word. Give us the whole thing— I want to 
learn that name. Go on," laughed the boy. 

"It 's very simple— Arshag Mesrop Telecjian." 

"Arshag Mesrop Telecjian," repeated Jack, 
with a swagger. "Bet you 
can't say it, Sandy." 

At this moment, Nasr-ed- 
Din came up to warn them 
that their boat was waiting, 
whereupon the boys invited 
the coin collector to join them, 
and presently the three were 
safe on shore, having passed 
the reef unharmed, except for 
a ducking of salt spray. 

And at the custom-house 
Arshag Telecjian befriended 
them in a most extraordinary 
way, for, while other and 
richer tourists were subjected 
to endless annoyance and de- 
lay, the American boys, with 
their trunks, bags, and pic- 
ture apparatus, were waved 
promptly through the barriers 
by smiling and salaaming in- 
spectors, all, apparently, be- 
cause of a whispered word 
from Arshag Mesrop Telec- 

"Say, you managed that- 
pretty well, Brother Ashrag," 
said McGreggor. 

"Arshag," corrected Sandy. 

"I am glad to serve you, 
young gentlemen," answered 
the Syrian. "It 's better to 
avoid opening trunks. If they 
had found revolvers, for in- 
stance—" he looked at the 
boys keenly. 

"We have revolvers," ad- 
mitted Jack. 

"They would have been con- 
fiscated. And many other 
things— books — magazines — it 
's quite annoying. They would 
certainly have confiscated your picture apparatus. 
You know the Turks call it a sin to photograph 
the human face." 

"I know that," said Harold. 

"Great Scott ! Our whole trip would have 
been spoiled !" exclaimed Jack. "It looks to me 
as if we need you in our business, Brother Res- 

"Mesrop," corrected Sandy. 

"I believe I can be of great service to you, 
young gentlemen," said the coin collector, gravely. 
"If you are to take pictures successfully in the 
Holy Land, you ought to be fully acquainted 
with the history and customs of the country." 


"We have a man with us," said Harold. 

"Ah, yes, a Turk. An excellent servant, no 
doubt, but does he know the history, the Christian 



"Are you a Christian ?" asked Jack. 

"Of course. I was educated at Robert College, 
Constantinople. Suppose you young gentlemen 
take me on trial for a few days. Let me show 
you around Jaffa — we have two hours before 
the train starts. And let me show you around 
Jerusalem. Then you can judge." 

"What 's the lay-out in Jaffa? I 'd like some- 
thing to eat," said McGreggor. "I 've got an 
awful appetite. I want a steak, and fried pota- 
toes, and chocolate with whipped cream, and hot 
waffles with maple-syrup, and a lot of butter." 

The Syrian smiled. "I 'm afraid they have n't 
all those dishes, but, if you young gentlemen will 
come with me, I '11 take you to the cleanest inn in 
Palestine, kept by a man named Hardegg." 

"Good business !" approved Jack. "Lead us 
to Hardegg, Arshag." 

They took a rickety carriage with a thin horse, 
and drove through a noisy market-place swarm- 
ing with Orientals, then through a stretch of 
orange groves bursting with luscious fruit, and 
finally came to Hardegg's establishment, set 
down among gardens of brilliant geraniums. 

"If the land of Syria is all like this, I 'm cer- 
tainly for it," declared Sandy, as they settled 
themselves at a table among the blooms. 

"It is n't," answered Telecjian. "It 's very 
different from this. It 's very dry and bare, most 
of it. Jaffa is the most famous place in Syria for 
fruits and flowers. It is also a place of strange 
traditions. It was from Jaffa that Jonah sailed 
just before the whale swallowed him. It was in 
Jaffa that Perseus rescued the fair Andromeda ; 
you remember she was chained to the rocks?" 

"Yes, yes; but how about Hardegg's eggs?" 
interrupted McGreggor. 

"I want my Hardeggs soft," chuckled Evans. 

A tempting meal with delicious honey was pres- 
ently provided, and, while the boys ate, the coin 
collector told them about the house of Simon the 
tanner, one of the show places of Jaffa, where 
"Peter tarried many days with one Simon, a tan- 
ner, and went upon his housetop to pray about 

the sixth hour." Telecjian quoted the Scriptures 

Then came the journey to Jerusalem, four 
hours up a little mountain railway (for the holy 
city lies half a mile above the sea level), and, all 
the way, the Syrian poured forth a steady stream 
of information. He showed them the places 
where Samson pulled down the temple, where 
Joshua stopped the sun, where David killed Go- 
liath, where St. George slew the dragon, where 
Richard the Lion-Hearted fought his crusades, 
and where Napoleon marched his armies. 

"Say, he knows everything !" exclaimed Jack, 
as Telecjian left the train a moment at Ramleh 
(home of Joseph of Arimathea) to speak to a 
Russian pilgrim. "He 's a wonder. But I '11 bet 
you can't remember his name, Sandy. Go on ! 
Bet you can't say it while I count ten. One—" 

Harold stopped him with a sharp glance. 

"You think yourself very smart, John McGreg- 
gor, but if you 'd stop trying to be so funny and 
keep your eyes open, you might see a few things 
that are right under your nose." 

"What things?" 

"This man that you 've been chumming with, 
where do you think he 's gone ?" 

"To talk to ' that Russian pilgrim. Bet you 
Ashcar knows six languages,— or even ten." 

Harold shook his head. "You 're easy, Jack ; 
you 're the easiest boy I ever saw." 

"How d' ye mean?" 

"He has n't gone to speak to any Russian pil- 
grim ; he 's gone to send a telegram." 


"Yes, and he 's not a coin collector; he 's not a 
guide. He 's been sent here by—" the boy's face 
contracted in sudden anger— "by the scoundrels 
who stole away my mother. I 've been sitting at 
this window with the light full on him, and — has 
it occurred to you that Mr. Arshag Mesrop Tel- 
ecjian wears a close-cut dark beard?" 

"Great Scott !" cried Jack. 

"Furthermore, there 's a fine, white scar run- 
ning across his cheek, and he 's got a twisted ear!" 

(To be conthtued.) 



Ma says that she will give to me 

A very lovely present, 
If through this year I try to be 

Obedient, neat, and pleasant. 
And so I wear a sunny smile 

At breakfast, lunch, and dinner ; 

I "m like an angel all the while, 

And hope to be a winner. 
And— I '11 just read that "Self-Help" book 

Each night before I slumber; 
But nineteen thirteen has the look 

Of an unlucky number ! 


Mi torJVR St evens J#^ 

On Christmas night, there is great delight 

In the land of the Be-Ba-Bo. 
Each house has a window shining bright 

With the Bayberry candle glow ; 
And it 's really quite a remarkable sight 

To see such a luminous show. 

Of course the space by the chimney-place 

On a Christmas eve is bare, 
And of stockings there is never a trace — 

But the Be-Ba-Boes don't care. 
(Tho' that 's the case, it is no disgrace, 

For they have no stockings there.) 







Tho' it 's plain to see that he has to be 

Of a rather limited size, 
Bold Captain Roundy claimed that he 

Could manage the enterprise. 
(I think with me you will all agree 

It was certainly most unwise.) 

But he soon withdrew from the public view 

And assumed his masquerade, 
For his was a heart that never knew 

What it was to be afraid. 
But alas ! 't is true that the chimney flue 

For the Captain never was made. 





^kg^fr ^'** 

The accounts all say that he stuck half-way 

And emitted a nautical shout : 
'Avast ! Heave-ho ! Hard-a-port ! Belay ! 

Stand by for to haul me out !" 
(For it does n't pay in a flue to stay 

If you happen to be quite stout.) 

And his resolute crew, who were all true-blue, 

Advanced at his wild command. 
They saw at a glance that the thing to do 

Was to haul him right out by hand. 
It-was hard work, too, for he stuck like glue, 

As you '11 readily understand. 

So they persevered, and they engineered, 
And pulled with might and main, 

And as the chimney-top was neared, 
They sang a chanty strain. 

The people cheered when his head appeared, 
And the band played "Home Again !" 




But don't suppose that the Be-Ba-Boes 

Gave up their annual tree; 
They have it still— but the Captain goes 

Straight out to the open sea. 
For he says he knows, tho' the wild wind blows, 

It 's the safest place to be. 

This is the end; and I '11 tell you why: 

The year draws to its close; 
The time has come to say good-by 

To all the Be-Ba-Boes. 
But if you 're passing, by the way, 

Shop-windows where they show them, 
I hope you '11 stop a bit to say, 
"I 'm rather glad I know them." 


(Just for fun, and with apologies to s£soJ) 




A shepherd boy who watched a flock of sheep 
near a village brought out the villagers three or 
four times by crying out, "Wolf ! Wolf !" and, 
when his neighbors came to help him, laughed at 
them for their pains. The wolf, however, did 
truly come at last. The shepherd boy, now really 
alarmed, shouted in an agony of terror : "Oh, good 
people, come and help me ! Pray come and help 
me; the wolf is killing the sheep!" but, though 
they heard him, no one paid any heed to his cries. 
Moral: There is no believing a falsifier, even 
when he speaks the truth. 

Vol. XL.— 32. 249 

the fable brought up to date 

A shepherd boy had a flock of sheep to watch 
some distance from the nearest village. He cried 
"Wolf ! Wolf !" but the villagers could not hear 
him. His master, being informed of this fact, had 
a "telephone service" installed, with a direct wire 
to his house. The wolf came ! The boy tele- 
phoned. The master answered the call, armed 
himself with a repeating rifle, got into his 40 
H. P. motor-car, raced to the pasture, killed the 
wolf, and thus saved his flock ! 

Moral : The " 'Phone" is mightier than the Yell. 

C. J. Budd. 




Junior-man is Mammy's boy, 
Don't keer ef he do destroy 
Boughten kites an' 'spensive clo'es, 
Dat 's de way de juniors grows! 
But he plays so swif, some days, 
I jes' holds my bref an' prays. 
Lamed hisself las' week, po' dunce, 
Tryin' to ride two dogs at once, 
An', betwix' de two, dey flung 
Man so hard he bit his tongue ! 

Junior 's on'y gwine on seven, 
Tall enough to be eleven ; 
Grows so fas' befo' my eyes, 
I can't keep up wid 'is size. 
Got to rise up tall an' straight 
An' take on a noble gait 
Fit to tote dat Randolph grace, 
'Gin' he takes his papa's place ! 

Little toes is bruised wid knocks, 
Caze he hides his shoes an' socks; 
Den, when Jack Fros' sniffs aroun', 
On de white-hot crackly groun', 
Nothin' does but red-top boots 
On his little freckled foots ; 
Plegged his mama an' his aunts 
Tel dey put 'im in dem pants, 
So we laid his kilts away 
Tel mo' company comes to stay. 

One thing sho, his mammy-nurse 
She gwine teach 'im to converse 
Jes' de way she hears his pa 
Set down talkin' wid 'is ma ! 
Co'se, I has to do it slow, 
Caze he 's alius runnin' so ! 




Alius ketchin' doodle-bugs, 
'R pullin' out de bung-hole plugs— 
Lettin' good molasses was'e, 
Jes' to track it roun' de place. 
Now he 's swallerin' o'ange-seeds, 
D'rec'ly tastin' cuyus weeds, 
Smokin' corn-silk, chewin' spruce, 
Laws-a-mussy ! what 's de use 
Gittin' flustered up an' vexed, 
Dreadin' what he gwine do next. 
Wonder is, to me, I say, 
Man ain't pizened every day ! 
Tripped, dis mornin', crost de rugs, 
Tryin' to smother me wid hugs 
Whilst he hid my tukky-fan— 
Sly, mischievous Junior-man ! 

Man kin squeeze hisself, he say, 
Any place a hen kin lay ! 
Bruised 'is little arms an' legs 
Crawlin' 'neath de barn for eggs ; 
Got wedged in, one day, so tight, 
Nuver got 'im out tel night, 
But he hugged 'is little hat, 
Filled wid eggs, all whole, at dat ! 
Man ain't nuver yit give in 
Over what he 'd once-t begin ! 
"Spare my life, Lord, tel he 's riz !" 
All my prayer to heaven is. 
Would n't want no other han' 
Leadin' up our Junior-man ! 

But I nuver feels jes' right 
Tel Man 's in his bed at night. 
Time he got los', here las' week, 
All I thought of was de creek, 
An' befo' dey rung de bell, 
I had snook an' searched de well ; 
Co'se I know dat 's lack o' faith, 
Jes' de way de Scripture saith, 
But sometimes Man acts so sweet, 
Like a cherubim, complete, 
An' dem innocent blue eyes 
Seems like pieces o' de skies, 
Whilst he questions me so queer 
Like he sca'cely b'longs down here. 
Dat 's howcome my heart 's so light 
When he 's safe-t in bed at night. 

Alius begs to set up late, 
But at bedtime, 'long 'bout eight, 
I don't sca'cely smoofe my lap 
'Fo' he starts to blink an' gap ; 
An' I totes him up de stairs, 
Too far gone to say his prayers; 
So, I prays his soul to keep, 
When I lays him down to sleep. 




' if/if \ /jig 




I Enii 


N V 






The train was stalled a mile or more 

From where it should have brought its store 

Of goods, to meet the great demand 

With holidays so close at hand. 

The engine scarcely could be found 

'Mid drifting snow that piled around; 

The engineer had quit his lever 

Until the men made some endeavor 

To give the iron horse a show 

Upon the track beneath the snow. 

By chance the Brownies reached the scene 

At evening, as the moon serene 

Was struggling through the snowy cloud 

That wrapped the mountain like a shroud. 

Said one, "We '11 lay aside our play, 

And turn to work without delay, 

PALt1C\ Co* 



For here 's a case will try our powers 
And all the skill we count as ours. 
The minutes let us now improve. 
This engine with its train must move, 
Or, failing this, express and freight 
And baggage must no longer wait, 
Though every Brownie, on his back, 
Shall carry to the town a pack." 
Some tried to dig the engine out 
From drifts that lay in heaps about, 
Though small the promise that the scheme 
Would end in furnace-fire or steam. 
But who can gage or understand 
The power of a mystic hand 
That is not bound by mortal line 
Or limit that its acts confine? 




A shovel little wonder brings 
When in the human hand it swings, 
But in a Brownie hand— ah me ! 
A different touch and go we see, 
And snow-plows, rotary or straight, 
Surpass it only in their weight. 
But all were not with drifts content, 
For some to freight and baggage bent, 
Determined, if no wheel would start, 
The goods at least to move in part ; 
They gathered from the cars with speed 
What every town is apt to need, 

Especially that time of year 
When feasts and presents should appear,— 
Supplies to fill the pantry shelf, 
And toys to make one hug himself, 
The pussy-cat, the horse and cart, 
The jumping-jack, that makes one start, 
The evergreens in bundles all 
Tied up with care for home and hall, 
Some towering tall, some small in size, 
But all to give a glad surprise, 
And bring the clap of childish hand 
And wonder at the scene so grand ; 
The pig, presented as a gift, 
To give some farmer friend a lift, 
And proving, by his plaintive squeals, 
'T was rather long between his meals. 
" 'T is strange," said one, "what things you find 
In cars filled by the human kind; 
Potatoes from Bermuda brought, 
And fish around Newfoundland caught, 




The broken tackle showing plain 
Their elders' lessons were in vain." 

It looked as though whatever grew 

In Africa, and India, too, 

In way of reptile, beast, or fowl, 

Was there to hiss, and scream, and howl, 

Some things came loose when boxes tipped 
That for menageries were shipped, 
And, for a moment, it seemed plain 
That panic would a foothold gain; 
And it took courage of the best 
To shove things back into the nest. 
For some have daring that will rise 
Superior to the shock that tries, 
And, as a tonic, give a brace 
To others threatened with disgrace. 
Said one, "We sometimes reach a scene 
Where horrors stare, with naught between, 
As if to test the spirit strong 
That to a Brownie should belong; 
And though some stagger, in the main 
We 're equal to the greatest strain." 



To nothing say of freaks at hand 
That prosper in our native land. 
Brought from a tropic clime, a few 
Were to the zero weather new, 
And, sluggish from the wintry air, 
Made little stir or trouble there, 
While others, roused and stuffed with ire, 
Seemed full of action as of fire. 
Fine fruit was there brought many miles 
In vessels from far distant isles, 
And it went hard, in all their haste, 
To pass it on without a taste, 
Though ere the task was done, in truth, 
Or things beyond the reach of tooth, 
Some had a better knowledge won 
Of fruit that felt the tropic sun. 
' 'T is well," said one, "the night is long 
Till sounds the cheerful breakfast gong, 
And Brownie hands have much to do 
Before our heavy job is through. 

The work, as old traditions tell, 
We undertake, we finish well ; 
The time seems fitted to the task, 
And nothing more could Brownies ask." 
So box and bundle, crate and can, 
Were moved according to their plan, 
While in the drifts the engine stood 
Without an action bad or good, 
No bell in front, no "toot" behind, 
Gave warning of a change of mind, 
But at their task the Brownies kept, 
And moved the goods while people slept, 
Till in the station, safely piled, 
With creatures of the wood and wild, 
The merchandise of every name 
Was ready for the owners' claim. 




Many of the German cities of the Middle Ages 
enjoyed great prosperity, which they liked to ex- 
hibit in the form of splendid churches and other 
public buildings ; and each one tried to excel the 
others. When, therefore, in the year 1352, 
Strassburg was the first to erect a great cathe- 
dral clock, which not only showed the hour to 
hundreds of observers, but whose strokes pro- 
claimed it far and near, there was a rivalry 
among the rich cities as to which should set up 
within its walls the most beautiful specimen of 
this kind. 

The citizens of Nuremberg, who were re- 
nowned all over the European world for their 
skill, were particularly jealous of Strassburg's 
precedence over them. 

In 1356, when the Imperial Council, or Reichs- 
Vol. XL.— 33-34. = 

tag, held in Nuremberg, issued the Golden Bull, 
an edict or so-called "imperial constitution" 
which promised to be of greatest importance to 
the welfare of the kingdom, a locksmith, whose 
name is unfortunately not recorded, took this as 
his idea for the decoration of a clock which 
was set up in the Frauenkirche in the year 1361. 
The emperor, Charles IV, was represented, seated 
upon a throne ; at the s'trcke of twelve, the seven 
Electors, large moving figures, passed and bowed 
before him to the sound of trumpets. 

This work of art made a great sensation. 

Other European cities, naturally, desired to 
have similar sights, and large public clocks were 
therefore erected in Breslau in 1368, in Rouen 
in 1389, in Metz in 1391, in Speyer in 1395, in 
Augsburg in 1398, in Liibeck in 1405, in Magde- 




burg in 1425, in Padua in 1430, in Dantzic in 
1470, in Prague in 1490, in Venice in 1495, and in 
Lyons in 1598. 

Not all, of course, were as artistic as that of 
Nuremberg ; but no town now contented itself 
with a simple clockwork to tell the hours. Some 
had a stroke for the hours, and some had chimes ; 
the one showed single characteristic moving fig- 
ures, while others were provided with great as- 
tronomical works, showing the day of the week, 
month, and year, the phases of the moon, the 
course of the planets, and the signs of the zodiac. 



On the town clock of Compiegne, which was 
built in 1405, three figures of soldiers, or "jaque- 
marts," so-called (in England they are called 
"Jacks"), struck the hour upon three bells under 
their feet ; and they are doing it still. The great 
clock of Dijon has a man and a woman sitting 
upon an iron framework which supports the bell 
upon which they strike the hours. In 1714 the 
figure of a child was added, to strike the quarters. 
The most popular of the mechanical figures was 
the cock, flapping his wings and crowing. 

The clock on the Aschersleben Rathaus shows, 
besides the phases of the moon, two pugnacious 
goats, which butt each other at each stroke of 
the hour ; also the wretched Tantalus, who at 
each stroke opens his mouth and tries to seize a 
golden apple which floats down ; but in the same 
moment it is carried away again. On the Rath- 
aus clock in Jena is also a representation of 
Tantalus, opening his mouth as in Aschersleben ; 
but here the apple is not present, and the convul- 
sive efforts of the figure to open the jaws wide 
become ludicrous. 

One of the first clocks with which important 
astronomical works were connected is that of 




the Marienkirche in Liibeck, now restored. Be- 
low, at the height of a man's head, is the plate 
which shows the day of the week, month, etc. ; 
these calculations are so reliable that the extra 
day of leap-year is pushed in automatically every 
four years. The plate is more than three meters 
in diameter. Above it is the dial, almost as large. 
The numbers from i to 12 are repeated, so that 
the hour-hand goes around the dial only once in 
twenty-four hours. In the wide space between 

clock was repaired, some years ago, a very com- 
plicated system of wheels had to be devised to 
reproduce accurately the great difference in the 
movement of the planets. The work consumed 
two years. There are a great number of moving 
figures on the Liibeck clock, but they are not of 
the most conspicuous interest. In spite of this, 
however, they excite more wonder among the 
crowds of tourists who are always present when 
the clock strikes twelve than the really remarka- 


the axis which carries the hand and the band 
where the hours are marked, the fixed stars and 
the course of the planets are represented. The 
heavens are here shown as they appear to an ob- 
server in Liibeck. In the old works the move- 
ment of the planets was given incorrectly, for 
they all were shown as completing a revolution 
around the sun in 360 days. Of course this is 
absurd. Mercury, for example, revolves once 
around the sun in eighty-eight days, while Sat- 
urn requires twenty-nine years and 166 days 
for one revolution. When this astronomical 

ble and admirable astronomical and calendar 

The Strassburg clock has, more than all others, 
an actually world-wide fame ; and no traveler 
who visits the beautiful old city fails to see the 
curious and interesting spectacle which it offers 
daily at noontime. To quote from one such visi- 
tor : "Long before the clock strikes twelve, a crowd 
has assembled in the high-arched portico of the 
stately cathedral, to be sure of not missing the 
right moment. Men and women of both high 
and low degree, strangers and townspeople alike, 




await in suspense the arrival of the twelfth hour. 
The moment approaches, and there is breathless 
silence. An angel lifts a scepter and strikes four 
times upon a bell; another turns over an hour- 
glass which he holds in the hand. A story 
higher, an old man is seen to issue from a space 
decorated in Gothic style ; he strikes four times 
with his crutch upon a bell, and disappears at the 
other side, while the figure of Death lets the bone 

in its hand fall slowly and solemnly, twelve times, 
upon the hour-bell. In still another story of the 
clock, the Saviour sits enthroned, bearing in the 
left hand a banner of victory, the right hand 
raised in benediction. As soon as the last stroke 
of the hour has died away, the apostles appear 
from an opening at the right hand of the Master. 
One by one they turn and bow before Him, de- 
parting at the other side. Christ lifts His hand 
in blessing to each apostle in turn, and when the 
last has disappeared, He blesses the assembled 
multitude. A cock on a side tower flaps his 
wings and crows three times. A murmur passes 
through the crowd, and it disperses, filled with