{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_57522/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_57522","id":"gutenberg_57522","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/57522","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Children's literature","Children's stories"],"text":"Produced by MFR, For Emmy and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was\nproduced from images made available by the HathiTrust\nDigital Library.)\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Junior Classics, Volume 9: Stories of To-day\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration:\n\n _Junior\n Classics_\n\n THE\u00b7YOUNG\u00b7FOLKS\u2019\n SHELF\u00b7OF\u00b7BOOKS\n\n _P\u00b7F\u00b7Collier\u00b7&\u00b7Son Corporation_\n _New York_]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: THERE WAS NO GOING HOME FOR HIM, EVEN TO A PRISON\u2014page 292\n\n_From the painting by Nella F. Binckley_]\n\n\n\n\n THE\n JUNIOR CLASSICS\n\n SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY\n WILLIAM PATTEN\n MANAGING EDITOR OF THE HARVARD CLASSICS\n\n INTRODUCTION BY\n CHARLES W. ELIOT, LL.D.\n PRESIDENT EMERITUS OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY\n\n WITH A READING GUIDE BY\n WILLIAM ALLAN NEILSON, Ph. D.\n PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, HARVARD UNIVERSITY\n PRESIDENT SMITH COLLEGE, NORTHAMPTON, MASS., SINCE 1917\n\n VOLUME NINE\n\n _Stories of To-day_\n\n [Illustration]\n\n P. F. COLLIER & SON CORPORATION\n NEW YORK\n\n Copyright, 1912\n By P. F. COLLIER & SON\n\n Copyright, 1918\n By P. F. COLLIER & SON\n\n \u201cBrother Rabbit\u2019s Cradle,\u201d Joel Chandler Harris; Copyright, 1904,\n by McClure, Phillips & Co. \u201cA Story of Decoration Day for the\n Little Children of To-day,\u201d Elisabeth Harrison; Copyright, 1895,\n by Elizabeth Harrison. \u201cThe Taxes of Middlebrook,\u201d R. S. Baker;\n \u201cThe Cure of Fear,\u201d N. Duncan; \u201cA Christmas Adventure,\u201d J. E.\n Chamberlin; \u201cChased by the Trail,\u201d Jack London; \u201cBig Timber Beacon,\u201d\n J. L. Mathews; \u201cHow Hilda Got a School,\u201d Lelia Munsell; \u201cThe Second\n String,\u201d J. B. Connolly; \u201cHolding the Pipe,\u201d A. W. Tolman; \u201cThe\n Travelling Doll,\u201d Evelyn S. Barnett; \u201cThe Idea That Went Astray,\u201d\n Pauline C. Bouv\u00e9; \u201cGravity Gregg,\u201d I. O. Rankin; \u201cJonnasen,\u201d D. L.\n Sharp; \u201cIn the Oven,\u201d R. W. Child; \u201cOn a Slide-Board,\u201d R. Barnes; \u201cOn\n a Tight Rope,\u201d A. W. Tolman; \u201cThe Call of the Sea,\u201d F. Palmer; \u201cDown\n the Incline,\u201d C. N. Hood; \u201cDrasnoe Pipe-Line,\u201d A. S. Pier; \u201cManuk Del\n Monte,\u201d R. Thomas; Copyright, 1898, 1903, 1904, 1905, 1906, 1907,\n 1908, 1909, by Perry Mason Co. \u201cThe Fore-Room Rug,\u201d Kate Douglas\n Wiggin; Copyright, 1895, by Kate Douglas Riggs; used by permission of\n and by arrangement with the publishers, Houghton, Mifflin Company.\n \u201cThe Imp and the Drum,\u201d Josephine Daskam Bacon; From \u201cThe Imp and\n the Angel,\u201d Copyright, 1901, 1907, by Charles Scribner\u2019s Sons. \u201cThe\n Foreman,\u201d S. E. White; Copyright, 1903, by S. S. McClure Co.; 1904,\n by Stewart Edward White. \u201cThe Cost of Loving,\u201d F. O. Bartlett;\n Copyright, 1912, by P. F. Collier & Son. \u201cLadybird,\u201d Edith Barnard;\n Copyright, 1906, by P. F. Collier & Son. \u201cThe Gray Collie,\u201d Georgia\n W. Pangborn; by permission from \u201cInterventions\u201d; Copyright, 1911,\n by Charles Scribner\u2019s Sons. \u201cCressy\u2019s New Year\u2019s Rent,\u201d Albert Lee;\n Copyright, 1896, by Harper Bros.\n\n Acknowledgments of permissions given by authors and\n publishers for the use of copyright material\n appear in Volume 10\n\n MANUFACTURED IN U. S. A.\n\n TC\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n PAGE\n\n Brother Rabbit\u2019s Cradle _Joel Chandler Harris_ 7\n The Little Baxters Go Marketing _Tudor Jenks_ 18\n A Story of Decoration Day for the Little\n Children of To-day _Elizabeth Harrison_ 23\n The Taxes of Middlebrook _Ray Stannard Baker_ 30\n The Cure of Fear _Norman Duncan_ 43\n A Christmas Adventure _J. E. Chamberlin_ 55\n Chased by the Trail _Jack London_ 66\n Big Timber Beacon _John L. Mathews_ 79\n How Hilda Got a School _Lelia Munsell_ 90\n The Imp and the Drum _Josephine D. Bacon_ 99\n The Second String _James B. Connolly_ 116\n Holding the Pipe _Albert W. Tolman_ 128\n The Travelling Doll _Evelyn Snead Barnett_ 137\n The Doll Doctor _E. V. Lucas_ 152\n The Idea that Went Astray _Pauline C. Bouv\u00e9_ 168\n Gravity Gregg _Isaac Ogden Rankin_ 171\n Jonnasen _Dallas Lore Sharp_ 179\n In the Oven _Richard W. Child_ 186\n On a Slide-Board _Robert Barnes_ 192\n The Call of the Sea _Frederick Palmer_ 201\n On a Tight Rope _Albert W. Tolman_ 213\n Down the Incline _Charles Newton Hood_ 220\n The Cost of Loving _Frederick O. Bartlett_ 225\n Ladybird _Edith Barnard_ 241\n The Drasnoe Pipe-Line _Arthur Stanwood Pier_ 255\n Manuk Del Monte _Rowland Thomas_ 269\n The Man Without a Country _Edward Everett Hale_ 279\n The Foreman _Stewart E. White_ 315\n The Gray Collie _Georgia W. Pangborn_ 328\n The Fore-Room Rug _Kate Douglas Wiggin_ 340\n Cressy\u2019s New-Year\u2019s Rent _Albert Lee_ 359\n Mr. O\u2019Leary\u2019s Second Love _Charles Lever_ 370\n\n THE ROSE AND THE RING _William M. Thackeray_ 389\n\n I. Shows How the Royal Family Sat Down to Breakfast 393\n II. How King Valoroso Got the Crown, and Prince Giglio Went\n Without 397\n III. Tells Who the Fairy Blackstick Was, and Who Were Ever So\n Many Grand Personages Besides 402\n IV. How Blackstick Was Not Asked to the Princess Angelica\u2019s\n Christening 407\n V. How Princess Angelica Took a Little Maid 410\n VI. How Prince Giglio Behaved Himself 415\n VII. How Giglio and Angelica Had a Quarrel 423\n VIII. How Gruffanuff Picked the Fairy Ring Up, and Prince Bulbo\n Came to Court 429\n IX. How Betsinda Got the Warming-Pan 436\n X. How King Valoroso Was in a Dreadful Passion 443\n XI. What Gruffanuff Did to Giglio and Betsinda 447\n XII. How Betsinda Fled, and What Became of Her 456\n XIII. How Queen Rosalba Came to the Castle of the Bold Count\n Hogginarmo 462\n XIV. What Became of Giglio 466\n XV. We Return to Rosalba 480\n XVI. How Hedzoff Rode Back Again to King Giglio 488\n XVII. How a Tremendous Battle Took Place, and Who Won It 493\n XVIII. How They All Journeyed Back to the Capital 503\n XIX. And Now We Come to the Last Scene in the Pantomime 509\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\n THERE WAS NO GOING HOME FOR HIM, EVEN TO A PRISON\n\n The Man Without a Country\n\n _Frontispiece illustration in color from the painting by\n Nella F. Binckley_\n\n\n A GUSH OF WATER FOLLOWED, BURYING THE SLED AND WASHING THE DOGS FROM\n THEIR FEET\n\n Chased by the Trail\n\n _From the drawing by George Gigu\u00e8re_\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019M NOT YOUR DOCTOR. I\u2019M A DOLL\u2019S DOCTOR.\u201d\n\n The Doll Doctor\n\n _From the drawing by Carton Moorepark_\n\n\n \u201cTHREE OF US WERE RIDING DOWN THE SLOPE OF THE GREAT, GRASSY HILLS\u201d\n\n Manuk Del Monte\n\n _From the drawing by W. H. D. Koerner_\n\n\n \u201cDOES MR. CRESSY LIVE HERE?\u201d\n\n Cressy\u2019s New-Year\u2019s Rent\n\n _From the drawing by Edwin J. Meeker_\n\n\n BULBO WAS BROUGHT IN CHAINS, LOOKING VERY UNCOMFORTABLE\n\n The Rose and the Ring\n\n _From the drawing by Wm. Makepeace Thackeray_\n\n\n AND THE GLOOMY PROCESSION MARCHED ON\n\n The Rose and the Ring\n\n _From the drawing by J. H. Tinker_\n\n\n\n\nBROTHER RABBIT\u2019S CRADLE\n\nBy Joel Chandler Harris\n\n\n\u201cI wish you\u2019d tell me what you tote a hankcher fer,\u201d remarked Uncle\nRemus, after he had reflected over the matter a little while.\n\n\u201cWhy, to keep my mouth clean,\u201d answered the little boy. Uncle Remus\nlooked at the lad, and shook his head doubtfully. \u201cUh-uh!\u201d he exclaimed.\n\u201cYou can\u2019t fool folks when dey git ez ol\u2019 ez what I is. I been watchin\u2019\nyou now mo\u2019 days dan I kin count, an\u2019 I ain\u2019t never see yo\u2019 mouf dirty\n\u2019nuff fer ter be wiped wid a hankcher. It\u2019s allers clean\u2014too clean for\nter suit me. Dar\u2019s yo\u2019 pa, now; when he wuz a little chap like you, his\nmouf useter git dirty in de mornin\u2019 an\u2019 stay dirty plum twel night. Dey\nwa\u2019n\u2019t sca\u2019cely a day dat he didn\u2019t look like he been playin\u2019 wid de pigs\nin de stable lot. Ef he yever is tote a hankcher, he ain\u2019t never show it\nter me.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe carries one now,\u201d remarked the little boy with something like a\ntriumphant look on his face.\n\n\u201cTooby sho\u2019,\u201d said Uncle Remus; \u201ctooby sho\u2019 he do. He start ter totin\u2019\none when he tuck an\u2019 tuck a notion fer ter go a-courtin\u2019. It had his name\nin one cornder, an\u2019 he useter sprinkle it wid stuff out\u2019n a pepper-sauce\nbottle. It sho\u2019 wuz rank, dat stuff wuz; it smell so sweet it make you\nfergit whar you live at. I take notice dat you ain\u2019t got none on yone.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; mother says that cologne or any kind of perfumery on your\nhandkerchief makes you common.\u201d\n\nUncle Remus leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and permitted a\nheart-rending groan to issue from his lips. The little boy showed enough\nanxiety to ask him what the matter was. \u201cNothin\u2019 much, honey; I wuz des\ntryin\u2019 fer ter count how many diffunt kinder people dey is in dis big\nworl\u2019, an\u2019 \u2019fo\u2019 I got mo\u2019 dan half done wid my countin\u2019, a pain struck me\nin my mizry, an\u2019 I had ter break off.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know what you mean,\u201d said the child. \u201cYou think mother is queer;\ngrandmother thinks so too.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow come you to be so wise, honey?\u201d Uncle Remus inquired, opening his\neyes wide with astonishment.\n\n\u201cI know by the way you talk, and by the way grandmother looks sometimes,\u201d\nanswered the little boy.\n\nUncle Remus said nothing for some time. When he did speak, it was to\nlead the little boy to believe that he had been all the time engaged in\nthinking about something else. \u201cTalkin\u2019 er dirty folks,\u201d he said, \u201cyou\noughter seed yo\u2019 pa when he wuz a little bit er chap. Dey wuz long days\nwhen you couldn\u2019t tell ef he wuz black er white, he wuz dat dirty. He\u2019d\ncome out\u2019n de big house in de mornin\u2019 ez clean ez a new pin, an\u2019 \u2019fo\u2019 ten\ner-clock you couldn\u2019t tell what kinder clof his cloze wuz made out\u2019n.\nMany\u2019s de day when I\u2019ve seed ol\u2019 Miss\u2014dat\u2019s yo\u2019 great-gran\u2019mammy\u2014comb\n\u2019nuff trash out\u2019n his head fer ter fill a basket.\u201d\n\nThe little boy laughed at the picture that Uncle Remus drew of his\nfather. \u201cHe\u2019s very clean, now,\u201d said the lad loyally.\n\n\u201cMaybe he is an\u2019 maybe he ain\u2019t,\u201d remarked Uncle Remus, suggesting a\ndoubt. \u201cDat\u2019s needer here ner dar. Is he any better off clean dan what he\nwuz when you couldn\u2019t put yo\u2019 han\u2019s on \u2019im widout havin\u2019 ter go an\u2019 wash\num? Yo\u2019 gran\u2019mammy useter call \u2019im a pig, an\u2019 clean ez he may be now, I\ntake notice dat he makes mo\u2019 complaint er headache an\u2019 de heartburn dan\nwhat he done when he wuz runnin\u2019 roun\u2019 here half-naked an\u2019 full er mud. I\nhear tell dat some nights he can\u2019t git no sleep, but when he wuz little\nlike you\u2014no, suh, I\u2019ll not say dat, bekaze he wuz bigger dan what you\nis fum de time he kin toddle roun\u2019 widout nobody he\u2019pin\u2019 him; but when\nhe wuz ol\u2019 ez you an\u2019 twice ez big, dey ain\u2019t narry night dat he can\u2019t\nsleep\u2014an\u2019 not only all night, but half de day ef dey\u2019d \u2019a\u2019 let \u2019im. Ef\ndey\u2019d let you run roun\u2019 here like he done, an\u2019 git dirty, you\u2019d git big\nan\u2019 strong \u2019fo\u2019 you know it. Dey ain\u2019t nothin\u2019 mo\u2019 wholesomer dan a peck\ner two er clean dirt on a little chap like you.\u201d\n\nThere is no telling what comment the child would have made on this\nsincere tribute to clean dirt, for his attention was suddenly attracted\nto something that was gradually taking shape in the hands of Uncle Remus.\nAt first it seemed to be hardly worthy of notice, for it had been only a\nthin piece of board. But now the one piece had become four pieces, two\nlong and two short, and under the deft manipulations of Uncle Remus it\nsoon assumed a boxlike shape.\n\nThe old man had reached the point in his work where silence was necessary\nto enable him to do it full justice. As he fitted the thin boards\ntogether, a whistling sound issued from his lips, as though he were\nletting off steam; but the singular noise was due to the fact that he\nwas completely absorbed in his work. He continued to fit and trim, and\ntrim and fit, until finally the little boy could no longer restrain his\ncuriosity. \u201cUncle Remus, what are you making?\u201d he asked plaintively.\n\n\u201cLarroes fer ter kech meddlers,\u201d was the prompt and blunt reply.\n\n\u201cWell, what are larroes to catch meddlers?\u201d the child insisted.\n\n\u201cNothin\u2019 much an\u2019 sump\u2019n mo\u2019. Dicky, Dicky, killt a chicky, an\u2019 fried it\nquicky, in de oven, like a sloven. Den ter his daddy\u2019s Sunday hat, he\ntuck \u2019n\u2019 hitched de ol\u2019 black cat. Now what you reckon make him do dat?\nEf you can\u2019t tell me word fer word an\u2019 spellin\u2019 fer spellin\u2019 we\u2019ll go out\nan\u2019 come in an\u2019 take a walk.\u201d\n\nHe rose, grunting as he did so, thus paying an unintentional tribute to\nthe efficacy of age as the partner of rheumatic aches and stiff joints.\n\u201cYou hear me gruntin\u2019,\u201d he remarked\u2014\u201cwell, dat\u2019s bekaze I ain\u2019t de chicky\nfried by Dicky, which he e\u2019t \u2019nuff fer ter make \u2019im sicky.\u201d As he went\nout the child took his hand, and went trotting along by his side, thus\naffording an interesting study for those who concern themselves with the\nextremes of life. Hand in hand the two went out into the fields, and\nthence into the great woods, where Uncle Remus, after searching about for\nsome time, carefully deposited his oblong box, remarking: \u201cEf I don\u2019t\nmake no mistakes, dis ain\u2019t so mighty fur fum de place whar de creeturs\nhas der playgroun\u2019, an\u2019 dey ain\u2019t no tellin\u2019 but what one un um\u2019ll creep\nin dar when deyer playin\u2019 hidin\u2019, an\u2019 ef he do, he\u2019ll sho be our meat.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, it\u2019s a trap!\u201d exclaimed the little boy, his face lighting up with\nenthusiasm.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 dey wa\u2019n\u2019t nobody here fer ter tell you,\u201d Uncle Remus declared,\nastonishment in his tone. \u201cWell, ef dat don\u2019t bang my time, I ain\u2019t no\nfree nigger. Now, ef dat had \u2019a\u2019 been yo\u2019 pa at de same age, I\u2019d \u2019a\u2019 had\nter tell \u2019im forty-lev\u2019m times, an\u2019 den he wouldn\u2019t \u2019a\u2019 b\u2019lieved me twel\nhe see sump\u2019n in dar tryin\u2019 fer ter git out. Den he\u2019d say it wuz a trap,\nbut not befo\u2019. I ain\u2019t blamin\u2019 \u2019im,\u201d Uncle Remus went on, \u201ckaze \u2019tain\u2019t\neve\u2019y chap dat kin tell a trap time he see it, an\u2019 mo\u2019 dan dat, traps\ndon\u2019 allers sketch what dey er sot fer.\u201d\n\nHe paused, looked all round, and up in the sky, where fleecy clouds were\nfloating lazily along, and in the tops of the trees, where the foliage\nwas swaying gently in the breeze. Then he looked at the little boy. \u201cEf I\nain\u2019t gone an\u2019 got los\u2019,\u201d he said, \u201cwe ain\u2019t so mighty fur fum de place\nwhar Mr. Man, once \u2019pon a time\u2014not yo\u2019 time ner yit my time, but some\ntime\u2014tuck\u2019n\u2019 sot a trap fer Brer Rabbit. In dem days, dey hadn\u2019t l\u2019arnt\nhow ter be kyarpenters, an\u2019 dish yer trap what I\u2019m tellin\u2019 you \u2019bout wuz\na great contraption. Big ez Brer Rabbit wuz, it wuz lots too big fer him.\n\n\u201cNow, whiles Mr. Man wuz fixin\u2019 up dis trap, Mr. Rabbit wa\u2019n\u2019t so mighty\nfur off. He hear de saw\u2014er-rash! er-rash!\u2014an\u2019 he hear de hammer\u2014bang,\nbang, bang!\u2014an\u2019 he ax hisse\u2019f what all dis racket wuz \u2019bout. He see Mr.\nMan come out\u2019n his yard totin\u2019 sump\u2019n, an\u2019 he got furder off; he see Mr.\nMan comin\u2019 todes de bushes, an\u2019 he tuck ter de woods; he see \u2019im comin\u2019\ntodes de woods, an\u2019 he tuck ter de bushes. Mr. Man tote de trap so fur\nan\u2019 no furder. He put it down, he did, an\u2019 Brer Rabbit watch \u2019im; he put\nin de bait, an\u2019 Brer Rabbit watch \u2019im; he fix de trigger, an\u2019 still Brer\nRabbit watch \u2019im. Mr. Man look at de trap an\u2019 it satchify him. He look at\nit an\u2019 laugh, an\u2019 when he do dat Brer Rabbit wunk one eye, an\u2019 wiggle his\nmustache, an\u2019 chaw his cud.\n\n\u201cAn\u2019 dat ain\u2019t all he do, needer. He sot out in de bushes, he did, an\u2019\nstudy how ter git some game in de trap. He study so hard, an\u2019 he got so\nerrytated, dat he thumped his behime foot on de groun\u2019 twel it soun\u2019\nlike a cow dancin\u2019 out dar in de bushes, but \u2019twan\u2019t no cow, ner yit no\ncalf\u2014\u2019twus des Brer Rabbit studyin\u2019. Atter so long a time, he put out\ndown de road todes dat part er de country whar mos\u2019 er de creeturs live\nat. Eve\u2019y time he hear a fuss, he\u2019d dodge in de bushes, kaze he wanter\nsee who comin\u2019. He keep on an\u2019 he keep on, an\u2019 bimeby he hear ol\u2019 Brer\nWolf trottin\u2019 down de road.\n\n\u201cIt so happen dat Brer Wolf wuz de ve\u2019y one what Brer Rabbit wanter see.\nDey wuz perlite ter one an\u2019er, but dey wan\u2019t no frien\u2019ly feelin\u2019 \u2019twix\num. Well, here come ol\u2019 Brer Wolf, hongrier dan a chicken-hawk on a\nfrosty mornin\u2019, an\u2019 ez he come up he see Brer Rabbit set by de side er\nde road lookin\u2019 like he done lose all his fambly an\u2019 his friends terboot.\n\n\u201cDey pass de time er day, an\u2019 den Brer Wolf kinder grin an\u2019 say,\n\u2018Laws-a-massy, Brer Rabbit! what ail you? You look like you done had\na spell er fever an\u2019 ague; what de trouble?\u2019 \u2018Trouble, Brer Wolf? You\nain\u2019t never see no trouble twel you git whar I\u2019m at. Maybe you wouldn\u2019t\nmin\u2019 it like I does, kaze I ain\u2019t usen ter it. But I boun\u2019 you done seed\nme light-minded fer de las\u2019 time. I\u2019m done\u2014I\u2019m plum wo\u2019 out,\u2019 sez Brer\nRabbit, sezee. Dis make Brer Wolf open his eyes wide. He say, \u2018Dis de\nfus\u2019 time I ever is hear you talk dat-a-way, Brer Rabbit; take yo\u2019 time\nan\u2019 tell me \u2019bout it. I ain\u2019t had my brekkus yit, but dat don\u2019t make no\ndiffunce, long ez youer in trouble. I\u2019ll he\u2019p you out ef I kin, an\u2019 mo\u2019\ndan dat, I\u2019ll put some heart in de work.\u2019 When he say dis, he grin an\u2019\nshow his tushes, an\u2019 Brer Rabbit kinder edge \u2019way fum \u2019im. He say, \u2018Tell\nme de trouble, Brer Rabbit, an\u2019 I\u2019ll do my level bes\u2019 fer ter he\u2019p you\nout.\u2019\n\n\u201cWid dat, Brer Rabbit \u2019low dat Mr. Man done been had \u2019im hired fer ter\ntake keer er his truck patch, an\u2019 keep out de minks, de mush-rats an\u2019 de\nweasels. He say dat he done so well settin\u2019 up night after night, when\nhe des might ez well been in bed, dat Mr. Man prommus \u2019im sump\u2019n extry\n\u2019sides de mess er greens what he gun \u2019im eve\u2019y day. Atter so long a time,\nhe say, Mr. Man \u2019low dat he gwineter make \u2019im a present uv a cradle so\nhe kin rock de little Rabs ter sleep when dey cry. So said, so done, he\nsay. Mr. Man make de cradle an\u2019 tell Brer Rabbit he kin take it home wid\n\u2019im.\n\n\u201cHe start out wid it, he say, but it got so heavy he hatter set it down\nin de woods, an\u2019 dat\u2019s de reason why Brer Wolf seed \u2019im settin\u2019 down by\nde side er de road, lookin\u2019 like he in deep trouble. Brer Wolf sot down,\nhe did, an\u2019 study, an\u2019 bimeby he say he\u2019d like mighty well fer ter have a\ncradle fer his chillun, long ez cradles wuz de style. Brer Rabbit say dey\nbeen de style fer de longest, an\u2019 ez fer Brer Wolf wantin\u2019 one, he say he\nkin have de one what Mr. Man make fer him, kaze it\u2019s lots too big fer his\nchillun. \u2018You know how folks is,\u2019 sez Brer Rabbit, sezee. \u2018Dey try ter do\nwhat dey dunner how ter do, an\u2019 dar\u2019s der house bigger dan a barn, an\u2019\ndar\u2019s de fence wid mo\u2019 holes in it dan what dey is in a saine, an\u2019 kaze\ndey have great big chillun dey got de idee dat eve\u2019y cradle what dey make\nmus\u2019 fit der own chillun. An\u2019 dat\u2019s how come I can\u2019t tote de cradle what\nMr. Man make fer me mo\u2019 dan ten steps at a time.\u2019\n\n\u201cBrer Wolf ax Brer Rabbit what he gwineter do fer a cradle, an\u2019 Brer\nRabbit \u2019low he kin manage fer ter git \u2019long wid de ol\u2019 one twel he kin\n\u2019suade Mr. Man ter make \u2019im en\u2019er one, an\u2019 he don\u2019t speck dat\u2019ll be so\nmighty hard ter do. Brer Wolf can\u2019t he\u2019p but b\u2019lieve dey\u2019s some trick in\nit, an\u2019 he say he ain\u2019t see de ol\u2019 cradle when las\u2019 he wuz at Brer Rabbit\nhouse. Wid dat, Brer Rabbit bust out laughin\u2019. He say, \u2018Dat\u2019s been so\nlong back, Brer Wolf, dat I done fergit all \u2019bout it; \u2019sides dat, ef dey\nwuz a cradle dar, I boun\u2019 you my ol\u2019 \u2019oman got better sense dan ter set\nde cradle in der parler, whar comp\u2019ny comes\u2019; an\u2019 he laugh so loud an\u2019\nlong dat he make Brer Wolf right shame er himse\u2019f.\n\n\u201cHe \u2019low, ol\u2019 Brer Wolf did, \u2018Come on, Brer Rabbit, an\u2019 show me whar de\ncradle is. Ef it\u2019s too big fer yo\u2019 chillun, it\u2019ll des \u2019bout fit mine.\u2019\nAn\u2019 so off dey put ter whar Mr. Man done sot his trap. \u2019Twa\u2019n\u2019t so mighty\nlong fo\u2019 dey got whar dey wuz gwine, an\u2019 Brer Rabbit say, \u2018Brer Wolf, dar\nyo\u2019 cradle, an\u2019 may it do you mo\u2019 good dan it\u2019s yever done me!\u2019 Brer Wolf\nwalk all roun\u2019 de trap an\u2019 look at it like \u2019twas \u2019live. Brer Rabbit thump\none er his behime foots on de groun\u2019 an\u2019 Brer Wolf jump like some un done\nshot a gun right at \u2019im. Dis make Brer Rabbit laugh twel he can\u2019t laugh\nno mo\u2019. Brer Wolf, he say he kinder nervous \u2019bout dat time er de year,\nan\u2019 de leas\u2019 little bit er noise \u2019ll make \u2019im jump. He ax how he gwineter\ngit any purchis on de cradle, an\u2019 Brer Rabbit say he\u2019ll hatter git inside\nan\u2019 walk wid it on his back, kaze dat de way he done done.\n\n\u201cBrer Wolf ax what all dem contraptions on de inside is, an\u2019 Brer Rabbit\n\u2019spon\u2019 dat dey er de rockers, an\u2019 dey ain\u2019t no needs fer ter be skeer\u2019d\nun um, kaze dey ain\u2019t nothin\u2019 but plain wood. Brer Wolf say he ain\u2019t\n\u2019zactly skeer\u2019d, but he done got ter de p\u2019int whar he know dat you better\nlook \u2019fo\u2019 you jump. Brer Rabbit \u2019low dat ef dey\u2019s any jumpin\u2019 fer ter\nbe done, he de one ter do it, an\u2019 he talk like he done fergit what dey\ncome fer. Brer Wolf, he fool an\u2019 fumble roun\u2019, but bimeby he walk in de\ncradle, sprung de trigger, an\u2019 dar he wuz! Brer Rabbit, he holler out,\n\u2018Come on, Brer Wolf; des hump yo\u2019se\u2019f, an\u2019 I\u2019ll be wid you.\u2019 But try ez\nhe will an\u2019 grunt ez he may, Brer Wolf can\u2019t budge dat trap. Bimeby Brer\nRabbit git tired er waitin\u2019, an\u2019 he say dat ef Brer Wolf ain\u2019t gwineter\ncome on he\u2019s gwine home. He \u2019low dat a frien\u2019 what say he gwineter he\u2019p\nyou, an\u2019 den go in a cradle an\u2019 drap off ter sleep, dat\u2019s all he wanter\nknow \u2019bout um; an\u2019 wid dat he made fer de bushes, an\u2019 he wa\u2019n\u2019t a minnit\ntoo soon, kaze here come Mr. Man fer ter see ef his trap had been sprung.\nHe look, he did, an\u2019, sho\u2019 nuff, it \u2019uz sprung, an\u2019 dey wuz sump\u2019n in\ndar, too, kaze he kin hear it rustlin\u2019 roun\u2019 an\u2019 kickin\u2019 fer ter git out.\n\n\u201cMr. Man look thoo de crack, an\u2019 he see Brer Wolf, which he wuz so\nskeer\u2019d twel his eye look right green. Mr. Man say, \u2018Aha! I got you, is\nI?\u2019 Brer Wolf say, \u2018Who?\u2019 Mr. Man laugh twel he can\u2019t sca\u2019cely talk, an\u2019\nstill Brer Wolf say, \u2018Who? Who you think you got?\u2019 Mr. Man \u2019low, \u2018I don\u2019t\nthink, I knows. Youer ol\u2019 Brer Rabbit, dat\u2019s who you is.\u2019 Brer Wolf say,\n\u2018Turn me outer here, an\u2019 I\u2019ll show you who I is.\u2019 Mr. Man laugh fit ter\nkill. He \u2019low, \u2018You neenter change yo\u2019 voice; I\u2019d know you ef I met you\nin de dark. Youer Brer Rabbit, dat\u2019s who you is.\u2019 Brer Wolf say, \u2018I ain\u2019t\nnot; dat\u2019s what I\u2019m not!\u2019\n\n\u201cMr. Man look thoo de crack ag\u2019in, an\u2019 he see de short years. He \u2019low,\n\u2018You done cut off yo\u2019 long years, but still I knows you. Oh, yes! an\u2019 you\ndone sharpen you mouf an\u2019 put smut on it\u2014but you can\u2019t fool me.\u2019 Brer\nWolf say, \u2018Nobody ain\u2019t tryin\u2019 fer ter fool you. Look at my fine long\nbushy tail.\u2019 Mr. Man \u2019low, \u2018You done tied an\u2019er tail on behime you, but\nyou can\u2019t fool me. Oh, no, Brer Rabbit! You can\u2019t fool me.\u2019 Brer Wolf\nsay, \u2018Look at de ha\u2019r on my back; do dat look like Brer Rabbit? Mr. Man\n\u2019low, \u2018You done wallered in de red san\u2019, but you can\u2019t fool me.\u2019\n\n\u201cBrer Wolf say, \u2018Look at my long black legs; do dey look like Brer\nRabbit?\u2019 Mr. Man \u2019low, \u2018You kin put an\u2019er j\u2019int in yo\u2019 legs, an\u2019 you kin\nsmut um, but you can\u2019t fool me.\u2019 Brer Wolf say, \u2018Look at my tushes; does\ndey look like Brer Rabbit?\u2019 Mr. Man \u2019low, \u2018You done got new toofies, but\nyou can\u2019t fool me.\u2019 Brer Wolf say, \u2018Look at my little eyes; does dey\nlook like Brer Rabbit?\u2019 Mr. Man \u2019low, \u2018You kin squinch yo\u2019 eye-balls,\nbut you can\u2019t fool me, Brer Rabbit.\u2019 Brer Wolf squall out, \u2018I ain\u2019t not\nBrer Rabbit, an\u2019 yo\u2019 better turn me out er dis place so I kin take hide\nan\u2019 ha\u2019r off\u2019n Brer Rabbit.\u2019 Mr. Man say, \u2018Ef bofe hide an\u2019 ha\u2019r wuz off,\nI\u2019d know you, kaze \u2019tain\u2019t in you fer ter fool me.\u2019 An\u2019 it hurt Brer Wolf\nfeelin\u2019s so bad fer Mr. Man ter sput his word, dat he bust out inter a\nbig boo-boo, an\u2019 dat\u2019s \u2019bout all I know.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid the man really and truly think that Brother Wolf was Brother\nRabbit?\u201d asked the little boy.\n\n\u201cWhen you pin me down dat-a-way,\u201d responded Uncle Remus, \u201cI\u2019m bleeze ter\ntell you dat I ain\u2019t too certain an\u2019 sho\u2019 \u2019bout dat. De tale come down\nfum my great gran\u2019daddy\u2019s great gran\u2019daddy; it come on down ter my daddy,\nan\u2019 des ez he gun it ter me, des dat-a-way I done gun it ter you.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE BAXTERS GO MARKETING\n\nBy Tudor Jenks\n\n\nPaul Baxter was too small to be head of the family. He was only seven,\nwhile his sister was five, and Paul thought she had a great deal to\nlearn. Mrs. Baxter was the rest of the family, for the father had sailed\naway with the fishing fleet one foggy morning, and the fleet came back\nwithout one boat, and that boat was John Baxter\u2019s. They all thought he\nwas drowned, but they were wrong, as you will see. Meanwhile you must\npretend you don\u2019t know he is alive, or else you can\u2019t understand what\nan unhappy time Mrs. Baxter was living through, and how much rested on\nPaul\u2019s little shoulders while he considered himself the head of the\nfamily.\n\nThe worst time had not come yet, for the father had saved some money, and\nhe had not been missing more than about two weeks. Mrs. Baxter knew that\nthe money would soon be gone, so she was saving every cent she could.\n\nOn the day before Thanksgiving, she told Paul and his sister Kate that\n\u201cuntil their father came home again\u201d (for she would not speak as if he\nwere lost), they must be very careful, and so their Thanksgiving dinner\nwould have to be a very plain one.\n\n\u201cNo turkey?\u201d Kate asked.\n\n\u201cNo, dear,\u201d said their mother, \u201cunless you and Paul can catch one\nsomewhere in the street.\u201d\n\nThey knew this was a joke, for they lived in South Street, New York City,\nwhere trucks rumbled about all day.\n\nPaul felt he must get a turkey for a reason Mrs. Baxter didn\u2019t know. As\nJohn Baxter was bidding Paul good-bye the night before he sailed, Paul\nhad asked whether he would be back for Thanksgiving.\n\n\u201cI think so, my boy, but one can\u2019t be sure. If I shouldn\u2019t, you must see\nto the Thanksgiving dinner, and carve the turkey. Will you?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Paul, very proud, and now how could he, if there was none to\ncarve? Paul made up his mind that it was his business to see that the\nfamily had a turkey. Paul had some money in his own small cast-iron bank.\nAnd he knew it was right for him to do what he liked with his savings. He\nhad already offered them to his mother, and she had told him they were of\nno use to her. Kate, too, had some money in her bank; it was just like\nPaul\u2019s except that there was a \u201cK\u201d on the door, made with a red pencil.\n\nWhile their mother was clearing away the breakfast, Paul beckoned to\nKate and proposed that they should put their money together and surprise\nmother with the biggest, fattest, finest bird in the market.\n\nKate feared the bird would cost too much.\n\n\u201cNonsense, child,\u201d said Paul, grandly; \u201cwhy, I have more than\nseventy-five cents. How much have you?\u201d\n\n\u201cTwenty-eight, I think,\u201d said Kate.\n\n\u201cWell, then!\u201d Paul answered; \u201cthat\u2019s more\u2019n a dollar. You can buy \u2019most\nanything for a dollar, child.\u201d\n\nThey opened the banks, and counted the money three times, to make sure.\nIt came out different every time, but they had about one dollar and\nfifteen or eighteen cents. It was all in small pieces and looked enough\nto buy an elephant. Paul tied it all up carefully in the corner of his\nhandkerchief.\n\nThen, after they had helped their mother to tidy the rooms, they got\npermission to go to market for her. She told them what to buy, and Paul\nwas glad when his mother told them to get some cranberries for sauce, and\na plum-pudding that came in a tin can. With their turkey, what a feast\nthese would make!\n\nThe market was not far away, but it was so crowded that Paul and Kate had\nto hold hands tight. For a long time they could get no attention, but at\nlast, by pulling one of the marketmen\u2019s aprons, Paul made him listen.\nPaul bought all the things on their list, and then said, proudly:\n\n\u201cPlease show me some of the biggest turkeys.\u201d\n\nThe marketman, pointing to a long row, remarked:\n\n\u201cThere they are\u2014all weighed and marked. Pick out the one you want.\u201d\n\nPaul examined the tickets stuck on the turkeys\u2014$2.20, $3.50, $2.40, $4.00\n(he was a perfect giant of a gobbler!) and so on. Paul felt a lump in\nhis throat, he was so disappointed! Then little Kate made it worse by\npointing to the very biggest and saying, \u201cOh, Paul, buy that!\u2014it\u2019s the\nbest of all!\u201d\n\nPaul whispered to her, \u201cIt costs four dollars. Isn\u2019t that _awful_? The\ncheapest one is two dollars! What can we do?\u201d\n\nKate shook her head. Then she had a bright idea.\n\n\u201cI know!\u201d she said. \u201cIf we can\u2019t have the biggest, let\u2019s get the very\nlittlest that ever was! It will be cunning, and that will make mamma\nlaugh.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I don\u2019t see any very little ones,\u201d Paul replied.\n\n\u201cAsk the man,\u201d Kate urged.\n\nIt was some time before Paul could get the man\u2019s attention, and then the\nquestion was put.\n\n\u201cThe littlest turkey?\u201d repeated the marketman, with a grin. \u201cThat\u2019s a\nqueer order, now. Why do you want the littlest one, my boy?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Cause we\u2019re buying it for mamma,\u201d said Kate eagerly. \u201cShe can\u2019t get one\nat all, because papa\u2019s gone away, and he _may_ not come back, and we got\nthe money out of our banks, and we\u2019ve only one dollar and fifteen cents,\nand we can\u2019t have the biggest, you see.\u201d\n\n\u201cHello!\u201d said the marketman, \u201chere\u2019s a talker for a little one! Haven\u2019t I\nseen you before?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d Kate answered. \u201cI\u2019m Katie Baxter, and I used to come with\npapa.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou Jack Baxter\u2019s girl?\u201d asked the marketman, stooping down and picking\nthe child up.\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d said Kate, \u201cbut please put me down.\u201d But instead the man\ncalled to a marketman in the next stall,\n\n\u201cSee here O\u2019Neil, this is the Baxter girl. She\u2019s come with another little\nkid to buy the littlest turkey for her mother. They\u2019ve got the money out\nof their banks, and it\u2019s a dollar fifteen. Can\u2019t we fill the order?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I guess we _can_,\u201d said the other marketman heartily. \u201cWe\u2019ll send\nthem a bird\u2014with the stuffing, too!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019ll be all right,\u201d said the first marketman, putting little Kate on\nher feet again. \u201cGive me the number, and we\u2019ll send the bird around\nto-morrow.\u201d\n\nPaul gave the number, untied the money from his handkerchief, and away\nthey went through the noisy street home.\n\nPaul and Kate had hard work to keep the secret of their marketing, but\nthey did, all that day, and the next.\n\nAbout four o\u2019clock there was a knock at the door, and when the door was\nopened, there was nobody there. But there was something. A big, big\nmarket-basket, and in it was the giant turkey, and on the turkey\u2019s breast\na piece of paper, saying:\n\n\u201cFrom the friends of John Baxter to Mrs. Baxter and the little Baxters,\nhoping they\u2019ll enjoy their Thanksgiving.\u201d\n\nAnd that wasn\u2019t all, for the turkey, when Mrs. Baxter came to prepare it,\nwas stuffed with silver dollars.\n\nThen Mrs. Baxter cried; and Paul and Kate were puzzled by that. But she\nwas thankful, for she told them so.\n\nWhen the great bird was properly browned and smoking, Paul took his place\nready to carve. He had just raised the knife and fork when the door\nopened and a big, hearty sailor came in, saying:\n\n\u201cHere, here, young man, this won\u2019t do! That is _my_ place!\u201d\n\nAnd, of course, it was John Baxter; and the turkey was not nearly so\nhot by the time he had been hugged and kissed (meaning John Baxter, of\ncourse), and had told how his boat had been sunk, but he and his mates\npicked up by a steamer.\n\nThat _was_ a Thanksgiving dinner.\n\nNext day John Baxter took his boy and girl down to the market, and they\nmade another giving of thanks to the marketmen, and that is a good ending\nto the story, isn\u2019t it?\n\nThere is one more thing. The marketmen would not take back their silver,\nand so it went into the bank\u2014a real bank this time\u2014for Paul and Kate.\n\n\n\n\nA STORY OF DECORATION DAY FOR THE LITTLE CHILDREN OF TO-DAY\n\nBy Elisabeth Harrison\n\n\nI want you to listen to a sad, sweet story to-day, and yet one that ought\nto make you glad\u2014glad that such men have lived as those of whom I am\ngoing to tell you. It all happened a good many years ago, in fact so long\nago that your fathers and mothers were little boys and girls in kilts and\npinafores, some of them mere babies in long clothes.\n\nOne bright Sunday morning in April the telegraph wires could be heard\nrepeating the same things all over the land, \u201cTic, tic; tictic; t-i-c;\ntic, tictic;\u2014tic, t-i-c, tic; t-i-c; tic, t-i-c; t-i-c, t-i-c, tic,\u201d they\ncalled out, and the drowsy telegraph operators sat up in their chairs as\nif startled by the words the wires were saying.\n\n\u201cTic, t-i-c, tic; tictic; tic, tictic; tic; t-i-c, tictic;\u2014tic, tic;\nt-i-c, tic,\u201d continued the wires, and the faces of the telegraph\noperators grew pale. Any looker-on could have seen that something\ndreadful was being told by the wires.\n\n\u201cTic, t-i-c, tic; tictic; tic, tictic; tic; t-i-c, tictic;\u2014tic, tic;\nt-i-c, tic,\u201d again repeated the wires. There was no mistaking the message\nthis time. Alas, alas, it was true! The terrible news was true! Even the\nbravest among the operators trembled.\n\nThen came the rapid writing out of the fearful words that the slender\nwires had uttered, the hurrying to and fro; and messenger boys were seen\nflying to the great newspaper offices, and the homes of the mayors of the\ncities, and to the churches where already the people were beginning to\nassemble. For the deep-toned Sabbath church bells high up in the steeples\nhad been ringing out their welcome to all, even the strangers in their\nmidst\u2014\u201cBim! Baum! Bim!\u201d they sang, which everybody knew meant, \u201cCome to\nchurch, dear people! Come! Come! Come!\u201d And the people strolled leisurely\nalong toward the churches\u2014fathers and mothers and little ones, and even\ngrandfathers and grandmothers. It was such a bright, pleasant day that\nit seemed a joy to go to the house of God and thank Him for all His love\nand care. So one family after another filed into their pews while the\norganist played such soft, sweet music that everybody felt soothed and\nquieted by it.\n\nLittle did they dream of the awful words which the telegraph wires were\nat that very moment calling out with their \u201cTic, t-i-c, tic; t-i-c; tic,\nt-i-c; t-i-c, t-i-c, tic;\u2014Tic, t-i-c, tic, tictic, tic, tictic; tic;\nt-i-c; tictic.\u201d\n\nThe clergymen came in and took their places in the pulpits. In each\nchurch the organ ceased its wordless song of praise. The congregation\nbowed and silently joined with all their hearts in the petitions which\nthe clergyman was offering to the dear Lord, Father of all mankind, Ruler\nof heaven and earth. Some of them softly whispered \u201cAmen\u201d as he asked\nprotection for their homes and their beloved country. Did they know\nanything about the danger which even then hung over them? Perhaps they\ndid.\n\nIn many of the churches the prayer was over, the morning hymn had been\nsung, when a stir and bustle at the door might have been noticed, as the\nmessenger boys, excited and out of breath, handed their yellow envelopes\nto the ushers who stood near the door ready to show the late comers to\nunoccupied seats. First one and then the other ushers read the message,\nand from some one of them escaped, in a hushed whisper, the words, \u201cOh,\nGod! Has it come to this!\u201d\n\nAnd all looked white and awe-struck. The head usher hurried tremblingly\ndown the aisle, and without waiting for the clergyman to finish reading\nthe announcements of the week, laid the telegram upon the pulpit desk.\n\nThe clergyman, somewhat surprised at such an interruption, glanced at the\npaper, stopped, gasped, picked it up, and re-read the words written upon\nit, as though he could not believe his own eyes. Then he advanced a step\nforward, holding on to the desk, as if he had been struck a blow by some\nunseen hand. The congregation knew that something terrible had happened,\nand their hearts seemed to stop beating as they leaned forward to catch\nhis words.\n\n\u201cMy people,\u201d said he in a slow, deliberate tone, as if it were an effort\nto steady his voice, \u201cI hold in my hand a message from the President of\nthe United States.\u201d Then his eyes dropped to the paper which he still\nheld, and now his voice rang out clear and loud as he read, \u201c_Our Flag\nhas been fired upon! Seventy-five thousand troops wanted at once._\nAbraham Lincoln.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\nI could not make you understand all that took place the next week or\ntwo any more than the little children who heard what the telegram said,\nunderstood it. Men came home, hurried and excited, to hunt up law papers,\nor to straighten out deeds, saying in constrained tones to the pale-faced\nwomen, \u201cI will try to leave all business matters straight before I\ngo.\u201d There was solemn consultations between husbands and wives, which\nusually ended in the father\u2019s going out, stern-faced and silent, and the\nmother, dry-eyed but with quivering lips, seeking her own room, locking\nherself in for an hour, then coming out to the wondering children with a\nquiet face, but with eyes that showed she had been weeping. There were\ngatherings in the town halls and in the churches and school houses all\nover the land. The newspapers were read hurriedly and anxiously.\n\nAnd when little Robert looked up earnestly into his grandmamma\u2019s face\nand asked, \u201cWhy does mamma not eat her breakfast?\u201d grandmamma replied,\n\u201cYour papa is going away, my dear.\u201d And when little Robert persisted, by\nsaying, \u201cBut papa goes to New York every year, and mamma does not sit and\nstare out of the window, and forget to eat her breakfast,\u201d then mamma\nwould turn solemnly around and say, \u201cRobert, my boy, papa is going to the\nwar, and may never come back to us. But you and I must be brave about it,\nand help him get ready.\u201d And if Robert answered, \u201cWhy is he going to the\nwar? Why does he not stay at home with us? Doesn\u2019t he love us any more?\u201d\nthen mamma would draw her boy to her and putting her arms around him, and\nlooking into his eyes, she would say, \u201cYes, my darling, he loves us, but\nhe _must_ go. Our country needs him, and you and I must be proud that he\nis ready to do his duty.\u201d\n\nThen Robert would go away to his play, wondering what it all meant, just\nas you would have wondered if you had been there.\n\nSoon the papas and uncles, and even some of the grandfathers, put on\nsoldiers\u2019 uniforms, and drilled in the streets with guns over their\nshoulders, and bands of music played military music, and the drums beat,\nand crowds of people collected on the street corners, and there were more\nspeeches, and more flags, and banners, and stir, and excitement. And\nnothing else was talked of but the war, the war, the terrible war.\n\nThen came the marching away of the soldiers to the railway stations, and\nthen the farewells and cheers and waving of handkerchiefs and the playing\nof patriotic airs by the bands of music, and much more confusion and\nexcitement and good-bye kisses and tears than I could tell you of.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThen came the long, long days of waiting and praying in the homes to\nwhich fathers and brothers no longer came, and silent watching for\nletters, and anxious opening of the newspapers, and oftentimes the little\nchildren felt their mamma\u2019s tears drop on their faces as she kissed them\ngood-night\u2014their dear mamma who so often had sung them to sleep with her\ngay, happy songs\u2014what did it all mean? They could not tell.\n\nAnd all this time the fathers, brave men as they were, had been marching\ndown to the war. Oftentimes they slept on the hard ground with only their\narmy blankets wrapped around them, and the stars to keep watch over\nthem, and many a day they had nothing to eat but dry bread and black\ncoffee, because they had not time to cook more, and sometimes they had no\nbreakfast at all because they must be up by daybreak and march on, even\nif the rain poured down, as it sometimes did, wetting them through and\nthrough.\n\nWhat were such hardships when _their country was in danger_?\n\nThen came the terrible, terrible battles, more awful than anything you\never dreamed of. Men were shot down by the thousands, and many who did\nnot lose their lives had a leg shot off, or an arm so crushed that it had\nto be cut off. Still they bravely struggled on. It was for their beloved\ncountry they were fighting, and for it they must be willing to suffer, or\nto die.\n\nThen a hundred thousand more soldiers were called for, and then another\nhundred thousand, and still the bloody war continued. For four long years\nit lasted, and the whole world looked on, amazed at such courage and\nendurance.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThen the men who had not been killed, or who had not died of their\nsufferings came marching home again, many, alas, on crutches, and many\nwho knew that they were disabled for life. But _they had saved their\ncountry_! And that was reward enough for their heroic hearts. Though many\na widow turned her sad face away when the crowd welcomed the returning\nsoldiers, for she knew that her loved one was not with them, and many\nlittle children learned in time that their dear fathers would never\nreturn to them.\n\nWar is such a terrible thing that it makes one\u2019s heart ache to think of\nit.\n\nThen by and by the people said, \u201cOur children must grow up loving and\nhonoring the heroic men who gave their lives for their country.\u201d So in\nvillages and towns and cities monuments were built in honor of the men\nwho died fighting for their country. And one day each year was set apart\nto keep fresh and green the memory of the brave soldiers; and it has\nbeen named \u201cDECORATION DAY,\u201d because on this day all the children, all\nover the land, are permitted to go to the graves of the dead soldiers and\nplace flowers upon them.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TAXES OF MIDDLEBROOK\n\nBy Ray Stannard Baker\n\n\nUp above the pines on the edge to the east the sun was rising and the air\nsmelled of the woods, of the warm sand of the roadsides, of the perfect\nMay morning. Three men in the quaint garb of pioneer foreigners came down\nthe lane from the shoemaker\u2019s house and turned into the road. Before they\nhad gone many paces old Peter Walling stopped abruptly.\n\n\u201cThere is a warning,\u201d he said in Norwegian.\n\nThe eyes of the two others followed swiftly to his pointing. In the midst\nof the sand a twig of willow had been stuck. The top was split, and it\nheld upward a bit of soiled paper. Old Peter seemed undecided whether to\ntouch the message or not, but Halstrom, the shoemaker, plucked it from\nthe stick, and scowled as he tried to make out its meaning. Presently he\nhanded it to his son.\n\n\u201cWhat does it say, Eric?\u201d he asked.\n\nThe message was in English, printed with a lumberman\u2019s coarse pencil, and\na rude attempt had been made to draw a skull and cross-bones at the top\nof the paper. Eric read it slowly, translating into Norwegian as he went\nalong:\n\n \u201cBe Ware! All NORWEGANS and SWEEDS are hereby WARNED not to go\n to the Town Hall under PENALTY of DEATH.\u201d\n\nIt was signed in big letters, \u201cBy Order of the Committee.\u201d\n\nEric Halstrom looked up and laughed shortly. \u201cWell,\u201d he said, \u201cit means\nus,\u201d and he tucked the message away with some care in his pocket.\n\n\u201cWe may need it,\u201d he added.\n\nThe two older men were silent for a moment. Then Peter Walling spoke\nfaintly: \u201cIf there is going to be trouble\u2014if there is danger\u2014\u201d\n\nThe old shoemaker straightened his bent shoulders and his eyes flashed\nangrily. \u201cPeter Walling, will you go or will you stay? I thought we had\nsettled this question once for all.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll go, Jens\u2014yes, yes, I\u2019ll go,\u201d answered Walling, hurriedly, but his\nlips protested under his beard.\n\nHalstrom turned without a word and hobbled down the road, determination\nspeaking from every nervous hitch of his twisted frame. He was small and\ncrippled, and in all his life he had never been able to do the work of a\nstrong man. But there was that in his blue eyes which made him a leader\nin Thingvalla. He had cobbled in the old country, and he had cobbled in\nthis new Northwest among the pines, and every peg he drove had clinched\na thought. He was not educated in English; he had emigrated too late\nfor that, but he had seen to it that his son made the best of the scant\nschooling of a new land, and better still, he had taught him some of the\nwisdom that comes to a cobbler who thinks.\n\nEric stood almost six feet tall. His hair was as yellow and curly as a\nrope end, and his eyes were blue and steady. Although barely twenty years\nold, he had learned by the hard knocks of a pioneer country how to take\ncare of himself, both with his big right arm and with his tongue.\n\nOver ten miles of sand-hills and corduroy, through vast forests of pine\nas yet barely notched with the clearings of settlers, the three men came\nat last in sight of the town hall, the shoemaker and his son in front,\nand old Peter Walling behind, muttering his fears. The town hall was a\nlog shack, one story high, with a single large room.\n\nAs the three approached, they could see that the road was full of men\nand teams. The men were moving about, and talking with the boisterous\npleasantry of backwoodsmen who do not often meet. They had gathered this\nspring morning for the annual session of the board of review\u2014the board\nthat was to make the final equalization of the taxes on the property\nof the township. Eric looked anxiously to see if there were any others\npresent from the Thingvalla settlement, or, indeed, any Scandinavians,\nbut he could not see even one.\n\n\u201cThey are all afraid,\u201d the shoemaker said, bitterly. \u201cThey have come to a\nfree country, and they don\u2019t know how to be free.\u201d\n\nBut the New Antrim settlement was out in force. Eric heard the jolly\nvoices of the young Irishmen, and he knew well that they were spoiling\nfor a fight. Thingvalla was in one corner of the township, New Antrim\nwas in the other, and between the settlements stretched unbroken forests\nof pine and implacable bitterness. It was one of those settlement\ndifferences so common in the backwoods, and the more unfortunate for\nbeing unfounded. New Antrim was sure that Thingvalla was trying to\ncontrol the township, and Thingvalla was equally sure that New Antrim was\nescaping its share of taxation. And that was the condition on this bright\nMay day, when the three from Thingvalla came down with the warning in\nEric\u2019s pocket.\n\n\u201cThey are too many!\u201d muttered old Peter Walling, tremulously.\n\nThey saw Calvin Donohue and his men sporting in the sunshine. Donohue was\nthe man in the otter cap, immensely broad and brawny of shoulders, long\nof arms and square of chin. He talked in a big, jolly voice; from where\nthey stood they could hear him laugh.\n\nO\u2019Rourke, Callahan and some of the younger men were trying their strength\non a huge iron soap-kettle that stood in front of the blacksmith shop.\nThey were testing their muscles to see which could lift it from the\nground with one hand. There were few who could do it, but Calvin Donohue\nput it as high as his shoulder as if it were only a feather. Others were\npitching quoits with horseshoes, and one group was watching a pulling\ncontest between O\u2019Rourke and Davy, who were sitting, feet to feet on the\nground, tugging on a crowbar.\n\nThe shoemaker, who had been resting by the roadside, now rose, and\nwithout a word set off down the hill toward the crowd, with his chin\nthrown up and his eyes looking neither to the right nor to the left.\n\nThe moment the men of New Antrim saw them, a gleeful shout went up. Here\nwas new sport for them. A powerful man in a lumberman\u2019s red jacket seized\na heavy oak swingletree from the blacksmith\u2019s door, sprang out into the\nroad, and shouted:\n\n\u201cCome on, boys, we\u2019ve got \u2019em!\u201d\n\nEric and his father did not stop, but old Peter Walling wavered, then\nturned and ran back up the road as fast as his legs could carry him. It\nwas two against thirty, but the two stood their ground. While they were\nexchanging challenges, a man opportunely stepped from the doorway of the\ntown hall and began to rap on the logs with a stake, announcing that the\nboard had been called to order.\n\nAt once there was a rush for the benches, and Eric and his father reached\nthe door without opposition.\n\nThe shoemaker made as if to enter, but Jim O\u2019Rourke barred the door with\nhis arm.\n\n\u201cNo Swedes admitted,\u201d he said, gruffly.\n\nThe shoemaker, paying no attention to the order, again endeavored to\nenter. He was thrown back violently, and if it had not been for Eric,\nhe would have fallen. The shoemaker tried to speak, but his English\nwas hopelessly confused and broken. Eric was white to the lips, but he\ncontrolled himself.\n\n\u201cWe are citizens of this township,\u201d he said, \u201cand we have a right in this\nmeeting.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo wan!\u201d was the answer. \u201cWe won\u2019t have any foreigners here.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are as much Americans as you are!\u201d responded Eric, hotly.\n\n\u201cBe cool,\u201d cautioned the shoemaker, in his native tongue.\n\n\u201cI tell you, Jim O\u2019Rourke,\u201d continued Eric, more steadily, \u201cthere\u2019s no\nneed of our quarrelling this way, and if you\u2019d let us explain we\u2019d show\nyou why we should all be friends\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cFriends! Let me give you a friendly hint. You get out of here\ndouble-quick.\u201d\n\nBy nature the Scandinavian is peaceable. He hates fighting as much as he\nloves his home; and yet, for being slow to wrath, he is the more terrible\nwhen roused. Eric took one step forward and drove up O\u2019Rourke\u2019s arm with\na stinging blow that sent him spinning into the room. Then he and his\nfather entered. O\u2019Rourke, recovering himself, rushed upon Eric and dealt\nhim a terrific blow in the breast. The two men were just closing in a\ndesperate encounter when Caxton, the chairman, rose, ordering silence and\npreparing to enforce his decree with a stout oak stake.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the trouble here?\u201d he demanded, when quiet had been restored.\n\n\u201cWe are citizens of this township,\u201d said Eric, panting, \u201cand we have a\nright to attend this meeting. This man tried to shut us out.\u201d\n\nCaxton paused a moment.\n\n\u201cPut out the Norsks!\u201d roared a voice.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Caxton. \u201cThey have a right to be here and to be heard on the\nsubject of their taxes.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you!\u201d said Eric, eagerly. \u201cI want to explain\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will be given a chance in due time,\u201d was the answer, given so\ncoldly that it indicated the chairman\u2019s position against them beyond a\ndoubt. There were many whispered threats, but Eric and his father firmly\nstood their ground. The business of the board of review is to hear the\ncomplaints of those who think they have been unfairly taxed. Apparently\nthere were to be few complaints at this meeting. An old man who spoke\nwith the unmistakable inflection of the Irishman commended the assessment\nand praised the assessor. He thought every one in the township had been\nsatisfied. He was pleased to know that this was so. As he sat down, a\nsmall, loosely jointed man, with fiery red hair, rose from his chair.\n\nHe wore a diamond shirt-stud which, if genuine, would have purchased\nevery stitch of personal apparel in the room. He drawled pleasantly in\nhis talk. Every one knew him. His name was William P. Ketchum, or more\nfamiliarly, Billy Ketchum. Eric\u2019s eyes fastened hard upon him and watched\nhim as a catamount might watch a squirrel, and with much the same motive.\n\nBilly Ketchum was the representative of the great logging concern of\nMiller, Knees & Dye, which owned all the pine lands in the township,\nand, indeed, in nearly all the county. He complimented the assessor\nin his softest manner, he complimented the board down from Caxton to\nSevern, through Holt, and then he complimented them up again from Severn\nto Caxton. He mentioned New Antrim and brought in a deft reference to\nthe shamrock and the old sod, and then\u2014he suddenly caught the eye of\nEric Halstrom burning at him above the heads of the crowd. For a single\ninstant he seemed trying to pull himself together, and then he went on\nwith his pleasant drawl:\n\n\u201cAs representing the largest taxpayers in Middlebrook,\u201d he said, \u201cI am\ndeeply interested in its welfare. We pay our taxes gladly, knowing that\nthey have been honestly levied and that they will be honestly collected\u2014\u201d\n\nAt this Eric Halstrom came shouldering nearer, with the shoemaker close\nbehind him.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s not so!\u201d Eric gasped, excitedly. \u201cI tell you it\u2019s not so. He\u2019s the\nman who\u2019s caused all the trouble.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was not aware,\u201d put in Billy Ketchum, in his smoothest voice, \u201cthat\nyou allowed your meetings to be broken up by a brawling\u2014\u201d\n\nHis last words were drowned in shouts, and it was some moments before Mr.\nCaxton, pounding on the table, could restore peace.\n\nCalvin Donohue whispered in the chairman\u2019s ear, and Mr. Caxton said aloud\nto Eric, \u201cWe\u2019ll hear what you have to say right away.\u201d\n\nThe shoemaker pushed Eric forward eagerly. The boy stood up before the\ncrowd, blushing and stammering. His big hands fumbled in his pockets and\nhis tongue refused to stir. He had not been particularly afraid to face\nthe assembled forces of New Antrim in the road, but he was afraid to make\na speech.\n\n\u201cI\u2014I wanted to\u2014explain about the taxes,\u201d he stammered.\n\n\u201cSo I suppose,\u201d was Mr. Caxton\u2019s cool reply.\n\nEric pulled a piece of chalk out of his pocket and looked round.\n\n\u201cI\u2014I\u2019ve got to have something to write on,\u201d he said, at which the New\nAntrimites shouted with laughter.\n\nIf it had not been for the wise old shoemaker at that moment, Eric would\nhave been lost, laughed to defeat. Nothing will floor a speaker more\nquickly than the wit of an Irish audience. But the shoemaker spoke in\nNorwegian. Eric turned quickly; he was only a step from the door. There,\noutside in the sand, stood the old iron kettle. He stooped, picked it up,\nand set it on a bench, which the shoemaker had swung into place. It was\nall done so swiftly that New Antrim forgot its fun in its astonishment.\n\nAnd when Eric drew a big white square on the kettle with his chalk, a\nvoice rose hoarsely from the back of the room:\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019ll be jiggered!\u201d\n\nAt that all the Irishmen laughed, and then sat still again, out of\nrespect, being \u201cjiggered.\u201d\n\nEric divided the white square into many smaller squares. In one corner he\ndrew a number of crosses; in the opposite corner he did the same. One of\nthese groups of crosses he labeled T.\n\n\u201cThat is the Thingvalla settlement,\u201d he said, \u201cand this\u2014is New Antrim.\u201d\n\nThen he swept his hand between the two and glanced at Billy Ketchum. \u201cAnd\nall this in here is the pine owned by Miller, Knees & Dye.\u201d\n\nThe shoemaker whispered in his ear, and he turned to the chairman, and\nsaid in a sterner voice: \u201cI want to show who is to blame for all this\ntrouble between the settlements.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are not dealing with quarrels,\u201d was the response. \u201cWe are here to\nequalize taxes.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s it, that\u2019s what I want to do. I want to show that the taxes\naren\u2019t equal.\u201d\n\nThen he fumbled in his pocket and drew out a much-folded paper. With\nthis to support him, he forgot all about himself, and talked rapidly and\nearnestly.\n\nHe told how he had figured up all the land owned by the Scandinavians of\nThingvalla, and all that owned by New Antrim, and all that owned by the\nlumber company.\n\n\u201cThingvalla has two thousand two hundred and forty acres in farms; New\nAntrim has two thousand nine hundred and twenty acres,\u201d he explained,\n\u201cwhile the lumber company has more than twelve thousand acres of pine.\nThingvalla is assessed at an average of four dollars and sixty cents an\nacre; New Antrim is assessed at four dollars and fifteen cents an acre\u2014a\nlittle less, but not enough to count. But here is this lumber company\nassessed for only one dollar and ninety cents an acre\u2014\u201d\n\nHere Billy Ketchum sprang excitedly to his feet. \u201cBut this is wild\nland\u2014not a foot of it is cultivated. I tell you such a comparison is\nunfair\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, but your pine is worth more to the acre than our farms with all our\ncrops and buildings on them.\u201d\n\n\u201cI tell you\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI know!\u201d broke in Eric, excitedly. \u201cI tell you, I know! Look here\u2014\u201d\n\nHe drew from his pocket a pack of little strips of paper, each with a\nsection map at the top, upon which different \u201cforties\u201d of land were\nchecked up in red and blue pencil.\n\nHe turned again to the table and marked out a square about midway between\nthe settlements.\n\n\u201cHere\u2019s section ten, township forty, range twelve. Last fall I was hired\nto go over this land with the company\u2019s explorer, and estimate the\npine. We travelled together for two months, counted all the trees, and\nestimated the number of feet of lumber they would make. That pine as it\nstands is worth from four dollars to six dollars a thousand feet, and\nsome of the single forties have more than two hundred thousand feet of\ntimber on them. That makes a cash value of from eight hundred dollars to\ntwelve hundred dollars\u2014or twenty dollars to thirty dollars an acre\u2014and\nthat\u2019s more than the best improved farm in this county is worth\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI tell you\u2014\u201d roared little Billy Ketchum, wild with excitement.\n\n\u201cAnd you know it,\u201d added Eric. \u201cHere are these slips, which will prove\njust what I say. They are the company\u2019s own valuation of its property.\nYou can see for yourselves that our farms are assessed for more than\ntwice as much as this pine land, although it is worth five or six times\nas much. And that will show you who is dodging taxes. Billy Ketchum says\nthat he represents the biggest taxpayers in the township, and that he is\nwell contented with the assessment. Of course he is contented, but he\nis wrong about representing the largest taxpayers. As the assessments\nnow are, we represent the biggest taxpayers\u2014and we are not contented,\nfor we pay ten times the taxes that we should. All I ask is that the\nassessments be fair, and Thingvalla and New Antrim will not quarrel.\u201d\n\nBilly Ketchum, purple of face, tried in vain to make himself heard,\nbut the Irishmen of New Antrim drowned him out of the discussion. The\nexplorer\u2019s slips were passed back and forth and referred to the diagram\non the iron kettle, and for a few moments pandemonium reigned.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s more,\u201d shouted Eric, in the flush of victory, \u201cI can prove that\nBilly Ketchum is at the bottom of this quarrel!\u201d\n\nThere was silence again.\n\n\u201cIf it hadn\u2019t been for him, we\u2019d have been good friends to-day. He\u2019s kept\nus enemies so that we couldn\u2019t get together and assess the pine lands as\nthey ought to be assessed.\u201d\n\nKetchum sprang to his feet.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s not so!\u201d he shouted. \u201cWe\u2019ve been perfectly fair to every one. Why\nshould I mix up in neighborhood quarrels?\u201d\n\nHe poured out an impassioned speech, the drawl all gone, and the words\ncrowding so fast that he could hardly utter them plainly. He called the\nIrishmen \u201cBilly\u201d and \u201cCalvin\u201d and \u201cPete\u201d familiarly, and spoke of their\nwarm friendship, but somehow they did not rouse to enthusiasm as he had\nexpected. They were thinking.\n\nPresently Eric made himself heard again.\n\n\u201cWho left that warning in the Thingvalla road last night?\u201d he asked,\nfacing Ketchum.\n\n\u201cWho? How should I know?\u201d\n\nAt this, New Antrim leaned forward to a man with curiosity. Eric drew out\nthe warning and told where he had found it. Then he passed it gravely to\nMr. Caxton.\n\n\u201cBilly Ketchum left that in the road,\u201d said Eric. \u201cHe did it to keep us\naway from the meeting. He tried to make us think that the New Antrim\nsettlement was against us. He had found out that I knew the real value of\nthose pine lands.\u201d\n\nAgain Billy hopped up. \u201cI dare him to prove it, Mr. Chairman! I didn\u2019t\ncome here to be insulted. I tell you\u2014I dare him to prove it!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I will,\u201d said Eric, coolly.\n\nAt that the shoemaker stepped round behind the table and picked up a\nlong, slender, paper-covered roll and handed it to Eric. Eric held it up,\nand pointed to Ketchum\u2019s name written upon it, for it was a roll of maps.\nKetchum rushed at Eric and tried to grasp his property, but Eric brushed\nhim aside.\n\nThen he unrolled the manila covering of the maps a few inches and held it\nup. One corner was torn off. He took the warning notice from Mr. Caxton\u2019s\ndesk and held it in the place of this torn corner. It fitted perfectly.\n\n\u201cMy father happened to see this when he came in,\u201d explained Eric. \u201cWhat\nmore proof do you want?\u201d\n\nFor a moment the room was still. Then the same deep voice which had\nspoken once before burst out:\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll be jiggered!\u201d\n\nCalvin Donohue turned to Billy Ketchum and said, none too pleasantly:\n\n\u201cYou get out! We can manage our own affairs!\u201d\n\nCallahan suggested taking him out triumphantly in the iron kettle, but\nBilly disappeared with such haste they could not catch him.\n\nThen the whole assembly took up seriously the problem of assessments,\nand before the day was out, the township of Middlebrook was equalized,\nand the taxes of the settlers, New Antrim and Thingvalla alike, were cut\ndown to their just proportions, no more, no less, and the pine lands were\nassessed strictly in accordance with Eric\u2019s estimate slips.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CURE OF FEAR\n\nBy Norman Duncan\n\n\nLike many another snug little harbor on the northeast coast of\nNewfoundland, Ruddy Cove is confronted by the sea and flanked by a vast\nwilderness; so all the folk take their living from the sea, as their\nforebears have done for generations.\n\nIt takes courage and a will for work to sweeten the hard life of those\nparts, which otherwise would be filled with dread and an intolerable\nweariness; and Donald North, of Ruddy Cove, was brave enough till he was\neight years old. But after that season he was so timid that he shrank\nfrom the edge of the cliffs when the breakers were beating the rocks\nbelow, and he trembled when the punt heeled to a gust.\n\nNow he was a fisherman\u2019s son, and in the course of things must himself\nbe a paddle-punt fisherman; thus the mishap which gave him that great\nfear of the sea cast a dark shadow over him.\n\n\u201cBilly,\u201d he said to young Topsail, on the unfortunate day, \u201cleave us\ngo sail my new fore-an\u2019-after. I\u2019ve rigged her out with a grand new\nmizzens\u2019l.\u201d\n\n\u201cSure, b\u2019y!\u201d said Billy. \u201cWhere to?\u201d\n\n\u201cUncle George\u2019s wharf-head. \u2019Tis a place as good as any.\u201d\n\nOff Uncle George\u2019s wharf-head the water was deep\u2014deeper than Donald could\nfathom at low tide\u2014and it was cold, and covered a rocky bottom, upon\nwhich a multitude of starfish and prickly sea-eggs lay in clusters. It\nwas green, smooth and clear, too; sight carried straight down to where\nthe purple-shelled mussels gripped the rocks.\n\nThe tide had fallen somewhat and was still on the ebb. Donald found it\na long reach from the wharf to the water. By and by, as the water ran\nout of the harbor, the most he could do was to touch the mast tip of the\nminiature ship with his fingers. Then a little gust of wind crept round\nthe corner of the wharf, rippling the water as it came near. It caught\nthe sails of the new fore-and-after, and the little craft fell over on\nanother tack and shot away.\n\n\u201cHere, you!\u201d Donald cried. \u201cCome back, will you?\u201d\n\nHe reached for the mast. His fingers touched it, but the boat escaped\nbefore they closed. He laughed, hitched nearer to the edge of the wharf,\nand reached again. The wind had failed; the little boat was tossing in\nthe ripples, below and just beyond his grasp.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t cotch her!\u201d he called to Billy Topsail, who was back near the\nnet-horse, looking for squids.\n\nBilly looked up, and laughed to see Donald\u2019s awkward position\u2014to see him\nhanging over the water, red-faced and straining. Donald laughed, too. At\nonce he lost his balance and fell forward.\n\nThis was in the days before he could swim, so he floundered about in\nthe water, beating it wildly, to bring himself to the surface. When he\ncame up, Billy Topsail was leaning over to catch him. Donald lifted his\narm. His fingers touched Billy\u2019s, that was all\u2014just touched them. Then\nhe sank; and when he came up again, and again lifted his arm, there\nwas half a foot of space between his hand and Billy\u2019s. Some measure of\nself-possession returned. He took a long breath, and let himself sink.\nDown he went, weighted by his heavy boots.\n\nThose moments were full of the terror of which, later, he could not rid\nhimself. There seemed to be no end to the depth of the water in that\nplace. But when his feet touched bottom, he was still deliberate in all\nthat he did.\n\nFor a moment he let them rest on the rock. Then he gave himself a strong\nupward push. It needed but little to bring him within reach of Billy\nTopsail\u2019s hand. He shot out of the water and caught that hand. Soon\nafterward he was safe on the wharf.\n\n\u201cSure, mum, I thought I was drownded that time!\u201d he said to his mother,\nthat night. \u201cWhen I were goin\u2019 down the last time I thought I\u2019d never\nsee you again.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you wasn\u2019t drownded, b\u2019y,\u201d said his mother, softly.\n\n\u201cBut I might ha\u2019 been,\u201d said he.\n\nThere was the rub. He was haunted by what might have happened. Soon he\nbecame a timid, shrinking lad, utterly lacking confidence in the strength\nof his arms and his skill with an oar and a sail; and after that came to\npass, his life was hard. He was afraid to go out to the fishing-grounds,\nwhere he must go every day with his father to keep the head of the punt\nup to the wind, and he had a great fear of the wind and the fog and the\nbreakers.\n\nBut he was not a coward. On the contrary, although he was circumspect in\nall his dealings with the sea, he never failed in his duty.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn Ruddy Cove all the men put out their salmon-nets when the ice breaks\nup and drifts away southward, for the spring run of salmon then begins.\nThese nets are laid in the sea, at right angles to the rocks and\nextending out from them; they are set alongshore, it may be a mile or\ntwo, from the narrow passage to the harbor. The outer end is buoyed and\nanchored, and the other is lashed to an iron stake which is driven deep\ninto some crevice of the rock.\n\nWhen belated icebergs hang offshore a watch must be kept on the nets,\nlest they be torn away or ground to pulp by the ice.\n\n\u201cThe wind\u2019s haulin\u2019 round a bit, b\u2019y,\u201d said Donald\u2019s father, one day in\nspring, when the lad was twelve years old. \u201cI think \u2019twill freshen and\nblow inshore afore night.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey\u2019s a scattered pan of ice out there, father,\u201d said Donald, \u201cand\nthree small bergs.\u201d\n\n\u201cIss, b\u2019y, I knows,\u201d said North. \u201c\u2019Tis that I\u2019m afeared of. If the wind\nchanges a bit more, \u2019twill jam the ice agin the rocks. Does you think the\nnet is safe?\u201d\n\nIt was quite evident that the net was in danger, but since Donald had\nfirst shown signs of fearing the sea, Job North had not compelled him\nto go out upon perilous undertakings. He had fallen into the habit of\nleaving the boy to choose his own course, believing that in time he would\nmaster himself.\n\n\u201cI think, zur,\u201d said Donald, steadily, \u201cthe net should come in.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Twould be wise,\u201d said North. \u201cCome, b\u2019y, we\u2019ll go fetch it.\u201d\n\nSo they put forth in the punt. There was a fair, fresh wind, and with\nthis filling the little brown sail, they were soon driven out from the\nquiet water of the harbor to the heaving sea itself. Great swells rolled\nin from the open and broke furiously against the coast rocks.\n\nThe punt ran alongshore for two miles keeping well away from the\nbreakers. When at last she came to that point where Job North\u2019s net was\nset, Donald furled the sail and his father took up the oars.\n\n\u201c\u2019Twill be a bit hard to land,\u201d he said.\n\nTherein lay the danger. There is no beach along that coast. The rocks\nrise abruptly from the sea\u2014here, sheer and towering; there, low and\nbroken.\n\nWhen there is a sea running, the swells roll in and break against these\nrocks; and when the breakers catch a punt, they are certain to smash it\nto splinters.\n\nThe iron stake to which Job North\u2019s net was lashed was fixed in a low\nledge, upon which some hardy shrubs had taken root. The waves were\ncasting themselves against the rocks below, breaking with a great roar\nand flinging spray over the ledge.\n\n\u201c\u2019Twill be a bit hard,\u201d North said again.\n\nBut the salmon-fishers have a way of landing under such conditions. When\ntheir nets are in danger they do not hesitate. The man at the oars lets\nthe boat drift with the breakers stern foremost toward the rocks. His\nmate leaps from the stern seat to the ledge. Then the other pulls the\nboat out of danger before the wave curls and breaks. It is the only way.\n\nBut sometimes the man in the stem miscalculates\u2014leaps too soon, stumbles,\nleaps short. He falls back, and is almost inevitably drowned. Sometimes,\ntoo, the current of the wave is too strong for the man at the oars; his\npunt is swept in, pull as hard as he may, and he is overwhelmed with her.\nDonald knew all this. He had lived in dread of the time when he must\nfirst make that leap.\n\n\u201cThe ice is comin\u2019 in, b\u2019y,\u201d said North. \u201c\u2019Twill scrape these here rocks,\ncertain sure. Does you think you\u2019re strong enough to take the oars an\u2019\nlet me go ashore?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, zur,\u201d said Donald.\n\n\u201cYou never leaped afore, did you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, zur.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you try it now, b\u2019y?\u201d said North quietly.\n\n\u201cIss, zur,\u201d Donald said, faintly.\n\n\u201cGet ready, then,\u201d said North.\n\nWith a stroke or two of the oars Job swung the stem of the boat to the\nrocks. He kept her hanging in this position until the water fell back and\ngathered in a new wave; then he lifted his oars. Donald was crouched on\nthe stern seat, waiting for the moment to rise and spring.\n\nThe boat moved in, running on the crest of the wave which would a moment\nlater break against the rock. Donald stood up, and fixed his eye on\nthe ledge. He was afraid; all the strength and courage he had seemed\nto desert him. The punt was now almost on a level with the ledge. The\nwave was about to curl and fall. It was the precise moment when he must\nleap\u2014that instant, too, when the punt must be pulled out of the grip of\nthe breaker, if at all.\n\nHe felt of a sudden that he _must_ do this thing. Therefore why not do\nit courageously? He leaped; but this new courage had not come in time.\nHe made the ledge, but he fell an inch short of a firm footing. So for\na moment he tottered, between falling forward and falling back. Then he\ncaught the branch of an overhanging shrub, and with this saved himself.\nWhen he turned, Job had the punt in safety; but he was breathing hard, as\nif the strain had been great.\n\n\u201c\u2019Twas not so hard, was it, b\u2019y?\u201d said Job.\n\n\u201cNo, zur,\u201d said Donald.\n\nDonald cast the net line loose from its mooring, and saw that it was\nall clear. His father let the punt sweep in again. It is much easier to\nleap from a solid rock than from a boat, so Donald jumped in without\ndifficulty. Then they rowed out to the buoy and hauled the great,\ndripping net over the side.\n\nIt was well they went out, for before morning the ice had drifted over\nthe place where the net had been. More than that, Donald North profited\nby his experience. He perceived that if perils must be encountered, they\nare best met with a clear head and an unflinching heart.\n\nThat night, when he thought it over, he was comforted.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn the gales and high seas of the summer following, and in the blinding\nsnowstorms and bitter cold of the winter, Donald North grew in fine\nreadiness to face peril at the call of duty. All that he had gained was\nput to the test in the next spring, when the floating ice, which drifts\nout of the north in the spring break-up, was driven by the wind against\nthe coast.\n\nJob North, with Alexander Bludd and Bill Stevens, went out on the ice to\nhunt seal, and the hunt led them ten miles offshore. In the afternoon of\nthat day the wind gave some sign of changing to the west, and at dusk it\nwas blowing half a gale offshore. When the wind blows offshore it sweeps\nall this wandering ice out to sea, and disperses the whole pack.\n\n\u201cGo see if your father\u2019s comin\u2019, b\u2019y,\u201d said Donald\u2019s mother. \u201cI\u2019m\ngettin\u2019 terrible nervous about the ice.\u201d\n\nDonald took his gaff\u2014a long pole of the light, tough dogwood, two inches\nthick and shod with iron\u2014and set out. It was growing dark, and the wind,\nrising still, was blowing in strong, cold gusts. It began to snow while\nhe was yet on the ice of the harbor, half a mile away from the pans and\nclumpers which the wind of the day before had crowded against the coast.\n\nWhen he came to the \u201cstanding ice,\u201d\u2014the stationary rim of ice which is\nfrozen to the coast,\u2014the wind was thickly charged with snow. What with\ndusk and snow, he found it hard to keep to the right way. But he was\nnot afraid for himself; his only fear was that the wind would sweep the\nice-pack out to sea before his father reached the \u201cstanding edge.\u201d In\nthat event, as he knew, Job North would be doomed.\n\nDonald went out on the standing edge. Beyond lay a widening gap of water.\nThe pack had already begun to move out.\n\nThere was no sign of Job North\u2019s party. The lad ran up and down,\nhallooing as he ran; but for a time there was no answer to his call. Then\nit seemed to him he heard a despairing hail, sounding far to the right,\nwhence he had come. Night had almost fallen, and the snow added to its\ndepth; but as he ran back, Donald could still see across the gap of water\nto that great pan of ice, which, of all the pack, was nearest to the\nstanding edge. He perceived that the gap had considerably widened since\nhe had first observed it.\n\n\u201cIs that you, father?\u201d he called.\n\n\u201cIss, Donald!\u201d came an answering hail from directly opposite. \u201cIs there a\nsmall pan of ice on your side?\u201d\n\nDonald searched up and down the edge for a detached cake large enough for\nhis purpose. Near at hand he came upon a thin, small pan, not more than\nsix feet square.\n\n\u201cHaste, b\u2019y!\u201d cried his father.\n\n\u201cThey\u2019s one here,\u201d he called back, \u201cbut \u2019tis too small! Is there none\nthere?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, b\u2019y! Fetch that over!\u201d\n\nHere was a desperate need. If the lad was to meet it, he must act\ninstantly and fearlessly. He stepped out on the pan, and pushed off with\nhis gaff.\n\nUsing his gaff as a paddle\u2014as these gaffs are constantly used in ferrying\nby the Newfoundland fishermen\u2014and helped by the wind, he soon ferried\nhimself to where Job North stood waiting with his companions.\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis too small,\u201d said Stevens. \u201c\u2019Twill not hold two.\u201d\n\nNorth looked dubiously at the pan. Alexander Bludd shook his head in\ndespair.\n\n\u201cGet back while you can, b\u2019y,\u201d said North. \u201cQuick! We\u2019re driftin\u2019 fast.\nThe pan\u2019s too small.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think \u2019tis big enough for one man and me,\u201d said Donald.\n\n\u201cGet aboard and try it, Alexander,\u201d said Job.\n\nAlexander Bludd stepped on. The pan tipped fearfully, and the water\nran over it; but when the weight of the man and the boy was properly\nadjusted, it seemed capable of bearing them both across. They pushed off.\n\nWhen Alexander moved to put his gaff in the water the pan tipped again.\nDonald came near losing his footing. He moved nearer the edge, and the\npan came to a level. They paddled with all their strength, for the wind\nwas blowing against them, and there was need of haste if three passages\nwere to be made. Meanwhile the gap had grown so wide that the wind had\nturned the ripples into waves, which washed over the pan as high as\nDonald\u2019s ankles.\n\nBut they came safe across. Bludd stepped quickly ashore, and Donald\npushed off. With the wind in his favor, he was soon once more at the\nother side.\n\n\u201cNow, Bill,\u201d said North, \u201cyour turn next.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t do it, Job,\u201d said Stevens. \u201cGet aboard yourself. The lad can\u2019t\ncome back again. We\u2019re driftin\u2019 out too fast. He\u2019s your lad, an\u2019 you\u2019ve\nthe right to\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cIss, I can come back,\u201d said Donald. \u201cCome on, Bill! Quick!\u201d\n\nStevens was a lighter man than Alexander Bludd, but the passage was\nwider, and still widening, for the pack had gathered speed.\n\nWhen Stevens was safely landed, he looked back.\n\nA vast white shadow was all that he could see. Job North\u2019s figure had\nbeen merged with the night.\n\n\u201cDonald, b\u2019y,\u201d he said, \u201cyou got to go back for your father, but I\u2019m fair\nfeared you\u2019ll never\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cGive me a push, Bill,\u201d said Donald.\n\nStevens caught the end of the gaff and pushed the lad out.\n\n\u201cGood-by, Donald!\u201d he said.\n\nWhen the pan touched the other side, Job North stepped aboard without\na word. He was a heavy man. With his great body on the ice-cake, the\nproblem of return was enormously increased, as Donald had foreseen.\n\nThe pan was overweighted. Time and again it nearly shook itself free of\nits bad load and rose to the surface.\n\nNorth stood near the center, plying his gaff with difficulty, but Donald\nwas on the extreme edge. Moreover, the distance was twice as great as it\nhad been at the first, and the waves were running high, and it was dark.\n\nThey made way slowly, and the pan often wavered beneath them; but Donald\nwas intent upon the thing he was doing, and he was not afraid.\n\nThen came the time\u2014they were but ten yards off the standing edge\u2014when\nNorth struck his gaff too deep into the water. He lost his balance,\nstruggled desperately to regain it, failed\u2014and fell off. Before Donald\nwas awake to the danger, the edge of the pan sank under him, and he, too,\ntoppled off.\n\nDonald had learned to swim now. When he came to the surface, his father\nwas breast-high in the water, looking for him.\n\n\u201cAre you all right, Donald?\u201d said his father.\n\n\u201cIss, zur.\u201d\n\n\u201cCan you reach the ice alone?\u201d\n\n\u201cIss, zur,\u201d said Donald quietly.\n\nAlexander Bludd and Bill Stevens helped them up on the standing edge,\nand they were home by the kitchen fire in half an hour.\n\n\u201c\u2019Twas bravely done, b\u2019y,\u201d said Job.\n\nSo Donald North learned that perils feared are much more terrible than\nperils faced. He has a courage of the finest kind, in these days, has\nyoung Donald.\n\n\n\n\nA CHRISTMAS ADVENTURE\n\nBy J. E. Chamberlin\n\n\nHaving lived all his fourteen years in New York City, making occasional\nvisits to his grandfather\u2019s house in Connecticut, Horace Mason had often\nsighed for an adventure, and lamented because life in the eastern part of\nthe country is so tame and uninteresting. It had certainly never occurred\nto him that the chance for a pretty thrilling adventure existed in the\nquiet country neighborhood in which his grandfather lived.\n\nAbout a week before Christmas Horace\u2019s mother took him to his\ngrandfather\u2019s farm for the holidays\u2014he had seldom been there in winter.\n\nThe weather became remarkably cold and rough, but Horace found pleasure\nin walking about woods and pastures in rubber boots and ulster, and\nnoting how odd the familiar scenes looked when covered with snow and ice,\ninstead of dressed in green.\n\nA tree was to be set up on Christmas Eve in the old homestead; but\nUncle John, on the afternoon of the twenty-third, brought in for the\ncelebration a rather scraggly little red cedar, brown rather than\ngreen, which Horace deemed totally unfit for the dignity of a Christmas\ncelebration.\n\n\u201cWhy didn\u2019t you get a fir balsam, with a nice even top to it?\u201d Horace\nasked his uncle.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t grow around here.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut there are some over in the Big Swamp,\u201d said Horace.\n\n\u201cNever noticed \u2019em,\u201d said Uncle John.\n\nHorace said nothing to this, because he was aware that he had often\nnoticed things about the region, in the way of trees, plants and birds,\nwhich were apparently quite unobserved by the residents.\n\n\u201cYou won\u2019t be offended if I go after one to-morrow, will you, Uncle John?\u201d\n\n\u201cBless your heart, no!\u201d\n\nThe next morning a blizzard raged. Horace, looking out, saw nothing but\nthe whirling fine snow; the wind rattled all the shutters on the old\nhouse; it shook the building to its very foundations.\n\nHorace thought it would be great fun to go out into this storm, with\nulster, high rubber boots, and cap over his ears, looking for a Christmas\ntree in the Big Swamp. It did not occur to him that he needed to get his\nmother\u2019s permission for the expedition, and it certainly did not occur to\nher that the boy would start out in such a storm.\n\nShortly after breakfast he took an ax from the wood-shed, and was gone.\nOn the way he thought for a time that he must turn back\u2014the storm\nbuffeted him so terribly, and the cold, in spite of his warm coverings,\nwas so intense. But he fought his way along, and at last came to the\nborders of the swamp, a flat tract of perhaps a hundred acres, lying in\na hollow between hills.\n\nIn the spring this level expanse was mostly covered with water, up\nthrough which grew many low red maples, some scattered firs and cedars,\nand a jungle of alders. Horace had often wished that he might explore\nthe gloomy depths of this swamp, but in midsummer mosquitoes and pools\nforbade. Now, with the ground and the pools frozen, he had no doubt he\ncould pass through the swamp from end to end.\n\nHe left the wood road, and plowed through the deep snow along the margin\nof the swamp, looking out for firs. But he could see nothing more than\na rod or two away. The storm did not diminish, and all about him the\nsnow seemed extraordinarily deep. He sank into it up to his knees, and\nsometimes it was deeper still. He walked thus a long way on the edge of\nthe swamp woodland, not caring to plunge into the swamp until he should\nhave spied out a balsam.\n\nAt last he saw, through the cloud of snow, the tapering head of an\nunmistakable fir balsam. He struck into the swamp after it, parting the\nalder branches with the ax held with both hands before him, and sinking\ntwo or three inches deeper into the snow.\n\nThe fir proved to be too irregular for a Christmas tree. Then, through\nthe snow, he saw another farther in the swamp. He penetrated to that, and\nfound one side of it lacking. Beyond were other firs, and he fought his\nway deeper and deeper into the swamp.\n\nHe discovered now a circumstance that aided him somewhat in working his\nway through the jungle. The matted alders seemed to lean away in masses\nfrom the hummocks of earth upon which they grew, in such a way as to make\ncrooked arched-over passageways, which, Horace thought, were curiously\nlike the paths moles make under matted grass. He had often amused himself\nin summer digging out these mole-paths, and wondering why the crooked\nways were constructed.\n\nThese avenues through the alder thickets, away down in the bottom of\na swamp quite impenetrable without them, often came to an abrupt end.\nThen Horace, floundering on hands and knees in the deep snow, sometimes\nthrusting his foot down into a watery depth, had to break his way with\nhis ax through to another opening.\n\nHe found the seclusion somewhat interesting. Down here there was no\nwind, and his clothing and his laborious exercise made him warm\u2014even\nuncomfortably so. He lay a few minutes on his back, in a place where he\ncould look up through an opening in the branches, and marveled at the\nsight of the stormy maelstrom overhead.\n\nThe whirling snow looked black. For a moment the current of it seemed\nflowing like a river all one way; then it appeared to turn, to cross\nitself, and to twist about in a circle, from which it soon disentangled\nitself, to resume its swift and steady march in one direction.\n\nAll at once it occurred to Horace to ask himself, Which direction was\nthat? He thought first that he could not get lost in the swamp so long\nas he could see which way the snow was driving; but a chill ran over\nhim when he reflected that he had not noticed, in his eagerness all the\nmorning to be out in the storm, which way the wind was blowing. He tried\nnow to think which way it had come as he walked to the swamp, but all he\ncould recall was that the storm seemed to be coming from all directions\nat once.\n\nHe started up with a sudden alarm; and then, noticing the deep track he\nhad made as he floundered to the place where he lay now, he began to\nlaugh. To get out of the swamp, he had only to follow his tracks back.\n\nHe had come in here to find a nice young fir for a Christmas tree, and he\nwas bound to get one. As he sat up, preparatory to rising, he saw that\nthe snow, sifting down straight and steady from the eddying masses above\nthe tops of the alders, had covered his coat and trousers with a deposit\nhalf an inch thick. And the minute of inaction had made him feel cold and\nstiff. He must be stirring.\n\nHe plowed along farther into the swamp. Coming out on the surface of one\nof the pools, he was rejoiced to see some balsam tops that seemed not\nmore than a rod or two from the other edge of the pool. He struck through\nto them, but found here not even a mole-path; he had to cut and slash\nwith his ax to get to the trunks of the firs.\n\nAlthough the butts were five or six inches thick, the tops seemed\ntapering and even, and he set about cutting down one of the trees. Very\nsoon he had the trunk cut in two, and it settled down into the snow; but\nfall it certainly could not, so dense was the growth all about it. He\nhad to drag the butt through the bushes, still fighting his way with the\nax, until the tree lay nearly flat on the ground; and then he found that\nthe shape did not suit him at all.\n\nHe left this fir on the ground and went plowing after another.\n\nBefore long, traversing one of the tunnels under the alders, he came upon\nthe very fir he wanted\u2014a beautiful, even little tree, thick and green.\nHe cut it down eagerly; but in another moment he found that it was as\nimpracticable to drag that bushy-headed young tree through the alder\njungle as it would have been to move a house through the same wilderness.\nHorace had literally to carve a way for it. He slashed and chopped and\nworked the tree along a rod or two, and this took him at least half an\nhour.\n\nHorace sat down, quite out of breath, on the butt of the little tree to\nthink it over. How could he get the tree out? He pondered a good while,\nand began to feel very cold, and then looked up to see if the storm was\nstill raging violently. It certainly was. The space above the treetops\nwas black with clouds of snow.\n\nThen, chancing to look away in the direction from which he had come, he\nnoticed that his tracks were already filled with snow! Horace jumped up,\nquite willing to leave his Christmas tree behind, and dragging his ax,\nrushed through the tunnel toward the pool that he had crossed less than\nan hour before. The track disappeared completely before he had reached\nthis small open space. Although the alder branches were so thick, they\nheld up very little of the snow. Leafless and wiry, they afforded little\nsurface for the hard snow to cling to.\n\nNevertheless, Horace found his way to the pool, and there the storm\nstruck him full in the face. It was blinding. He could no longer see the\nfir tops that had beckoned him on an hour ago! Every track that he had\nmade in coming in was completely obliterated!\n\nPerhaps if he beat round the outskirts of the pool he could find the\ntracks where he came in, among the bushes on the other side. So he began\nto walk round and round the little open space, searching in vain for the\ntracks, and finding nothing but those by which he had just come out of\nthe alders where he had cut the tree; and even these tracks were rapidly\nbeing covered.\n\nHe began to feel decidedly queer, for he had not the slightest idea now\nwhich was the way out of the swamp. But he must be able to reach some\nplace where he could see the woods; and once out of the swamp and into\nthese, he could easily enough find his way back to the house.\n\nSo for more than an hour\u2014it seemed longer to him, but he had left his\nwatch at home, and had no way of telling the time\u2014he dragged himself\nthrough the tunnels under the alders, or slashed to right and left with\nhis ax. He struggled and grew desperate, and never once did he catch\nsight of anything that looked like the woods or the margin of the swamp.\n\nThe snow grew deeper and deeper, and made the arching tops of his\nmole-paths lower and lower, while the labor of floundering and dragging\nhimself through them became more terrible. Once he felt a thrill of\nrelief upon coming on a track which he knew must be his own. He supposed\nthat it was the track by which he had come into the jungle in the\nmorning, strangely left uncovered by some better protection than the\nthicket had provided elsewhere. So he started back on it quite joyfully.\nAnd he followed it until he came to the trunk of a little maple-tree\nwhich he knew he had cut down not fifteen minutes before to clear a path.\n\nThen he knew he was winding about and had crossed his own tracks. If he\nfollowed them farther, they would simply bring him back to where he stood\nnow.\n\nMeanwhile he had grown very faint\u2014he was almost too badly scared to be\naware that he was hungry.\n\nBut he felt that it must be afternoon; and on such a day, and at this\ntime of year, the darkness would fall by half past three. He felt himself\nhopelessly lost\u2014and abandoned, too, for why did not the people at the\nhouse miss him, and know that, having gone after a Christmas tree, he\nmust be lost in the Big Swamp? Why did they not send after him?\n\nThey _must_ come! But if he sat down and waited for them he would get\nchilled. Already, in spite of his efforts, he felt a numbness creeping\nover him. The sense of it filled him with horror. He hurled himself\nagainst the bushes; he threw himself on his hands and knees, and worked\nhis way through the narrow passages. His mind went over and over various\nfutile schemes for tracing his way.\n\nAll at once he stopped and pondered. If he was really going round in a\nring when he thought he was going straight, could it be possible that\nhe would go straight if he tried to go round in a ring? And if he found\nhis way back to his track and made a ring, why not start out anew and\ndeliberately add another ring to that? Enough circles made thus, placed\nside by side, would reach at last the edge of the swamp.\n\nHe went back on his tracks, and was pleased to find that the snow had not\nyet covered them so deeply but that he could find the place where he had\nbranched off from the ring he had made.\n\nWalking back on this a few steps, Horace went off to the left, purposely\nintending to make another circle and come back to this one. But after\nthreading and pushing his way a long time, he convinced himself that he\nwas not returning to it; no more tracks did he find. Did this mean that\nhe was now following a straighter line, or merely that he was making a\nlarger circle, and going entirely round the inner one?\n\nA terrible fear of the snow and the earth came over him, and he could not\nbear to get down on his hands and knees to follow the tunnels under the\nbushes. But he was too weak to fight his way upright through the thicket.\nHis brain reeled as he strained his eyes for the five-hundredth time for\nsome sign of the trees of the woods.\n\nIt reeled still more when it seemed to him that he saw something large\nand black and shapeless through the gloom\u2014some strange and threatening\nobject descending upon him.\n\nThe boy was so weak and tired and dazed by the long beating about and\nthe everlasting swirl of the storm above his head, that he could not\nbring his reason to bear upon the consideration of the question what\nthis thing might be. It seemed to dash forward at him, and the formless\nblack mass then divided as if it were the mouth of a crocodile, and then\nit drew back; it shook angrily from side to side; now it dashed at him\nagain, and opened its terrible mouth.\n\nHorace felt himself swooning in horror, and he knew that if he fainted\nhere it would be the last of him. Oh, why had not his mother sent for him?\n\nThen a thought of shame came over him, that he should be fainting with\nterror over something that could not be real.\n\nOut of this shame grew a resolution, and suddenly the resolution mended\nhis reason, and enabled him to see that this terrible shapeless object\nwas a great pine-tree, whose dark branches were waving and bending and\nopening in the storm, seen dimly through the thick snow.\n\nThen he was at the edge of the woods! He tore through the bushes, and\ncame out on the clear space about the tree, and rushed up to it. He\ndropped the ax and put his arms round the tree. Now he had to pull\nhimself together to save himself from swooning with joy. But in another\nminute he felt much better. He had no idea on which side of the swamp he\nwas, but that did not matter. He could find his way well enough now.\n\nAfter a little search, he found that he was exactly on the opposite side\nof the swamp from that on which he had gone in. And as he was skirting\nthe edge of it, feeling fearfully hungry as well as weak, he saw,\ngrowing quite within his reach, a fine young fir-tree.\n\nThen he remembered that he had dropped the ax at the foot of the\npine-tree, and he had to go back and get it before he could cut down the\nlittle tree. But he did cut it down, and staggered home with it, weak but\ntriumphant.\n\nHe found that it was three o\u2019clock, and his mother was very much\nagitated, and Uncle John had gone away, by the road, to the Big Swamp\nabout half an hour before. The boy had been so much accustomed to going\noff by himself that his mother had not worried until he had failed to\nreturn for the midday meal. Nor had she any idea what sort of a place the\nBig Swamp was.\n\nWhen Uncle John got it through his somewhat slow head that Horace had in\nall probability actually gone there, he, too, had become alarmed, and\nafter slow preparations, had started. Horace had missed him by coming\nhome across the pastures.\n\nBut Uncle John was brought home in an hour by the hired man, and as\nHorace felt much better after a good meal and a rest, the tree that he\nhad brought was dressed, and the Christmas festival merrily celebrated by\nits aid.\n\n\n\n\nCHASED BY THE TRAIL\n\nBy Jack London\n\n\nWalt first blinked his eyes in the light of day in a trading post on the\nYukon River. Masters, his father, was one of those world missionaries who\nare known as \u201cpioneers,\u201d and who spend the years of their life in pushing\noutward the walls of civilization and in planting the wilderness. He had\nselected Alaska as his field of labor, and his wife had gone with him to\nthat land of frost and cold.\n\nNow, to be born to the moccasin and pack-strap is indeed a hard way of\nentering the world, but far harder it is to lose one\u2019s mother while yet a\nchild. This was Walt\u2019s misfortune when he was fourteen years old.\n\nHe had, at different times, done deeds which few boys get the chance to\ndo, and he had learned to take some pride in himself and to be unafraid.\nWith most people pride goeth before a fall; but not so with Walt. His\nwas a healthy belief in his own strength and fitness, and knowing his\nlimitations, he was neither overweening nor presumptuous. He had learned\nto meet reverses with the stoicism of the Indian. Shame, to him, lay not\nin the failure to accomplish, but in the failure to strive. So, when he\nattempted to cross the Yukon between two ice-runs, and was chased by the\ntrail, he was not cast down by his defeat.\n\n[Illustration: A GUSH OF WATER FOLLOWED, BURYING THE SLED AND WASHING THE\nDOGS FROM THEIR FEET\u2014page 69\n\n_From the drawing by George Gigu\u00e8re_]\n\nThe way of it was this. After passing the winter at his father\u2019s claim\non Mazy May, he came down to an island on the Yukon and went into\ncamp. This was late in the spring, just before the breaking of the ice\non the river. It was quite warm, and the days were growing marvelously\nlong. Only the night before, when he was talking with Chilkoot Jim, the\ndaylight had not faded and sent him off to bed till after ten o\u2019clock.\nEven Chilkoot Jim, an Indian boy who was about Walt\u2019s own age, was\nsurprised at the rapidity with which summer was coming on. The snow had\nmelted from all the southern hillsides and the level surfaces of the\nflats and islands; everywhere could be heard the trickling of water and\nthe song of hidden rivulets; but somehow, under its three-foot ice-sheet,\nthe Yukon delayed to heave its great length of three thousand miles and\nshake off the frosty fetters which bound it.\n\nBut it was evident that the time was fast approaching when it would again\nrun free. Great fissures were splitting the ice in all directions, while\nthe water was beginning to flood through them and over the top. On this\nmorning a frightful rumbling brought the two boys hurriedly from their\nblankets. Standing on the bank, they soon discovered the cause. The\nStewart River had broken loose and reared a great ice barrier, where it\nentered the Yukon, barely a mile above their island. While a great deal\nof the Stewart ice had been thus piled up, the remainder was now flowing\nunder the Yukon ice, pounding and thumping at the solid surface above it\nas it passed onward toward the sea.\n\n\u201cTo-day um break um,\u201d Chilkoot Jim said, nodding his head. \u201cSure!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd then maybe two days for the ice to pass by,\u201d Walt added, \u201cand you\nand I\u2019ll be starting for Dawson. It\u2019s only seventy miles, and if the\ncurrent runs five miles an hour and we paddle three, we ought to make it\ninside of ten hours. What do you think?\u201d\n\n\u201cSure!\u201d Chilkoot Jim did not know much English, and this favorite word of\nhis was made to do duty on all occasions.\n\nAfter breakfast the boys got out the Peterborough canoe from its winter\ncache. It was an admirable sample of the boat-builder\u2019s skill, an\nimported article brought from the natural home of the canoe\u2014Canada.\nIt had been packed over the Chilkoot Pass, two years before, on a\nman\u2019s back, and had then carried the first mail in six months into the\nKlondike. Walt, who happened to be in Dawson at the time, had bought it\nfor three hundred dollars\u2019 worth of dust which he had mined on the Mazy\nMay.\n\nIt had been a revelation, both to him and to Chilkoot Jim, for up to its\nadvent they had been used to no other craft than the flimsy birch-bark\ncanoes of the Indians and the rude poling-boats of the whites. Jim, in\nfact, spent many a happy half-hour in silent admiration of its perfect\nlines.\n\n\u201cUm good. Sure!\u201d Jim lifted his gaze from the dainty craft, expressing\nhis delight in the same terms for the thousandth time. But glancing over\nWalt\u2019s shoulder, he saw something on the river which startled him. \u201cLook!\nSee!\u201d he cried.\n\nA man had been racing a dog-team across the slushy surface for the shore,\nand had been cut off by the rising flood. As Walt whirled round to see,\nthe ice behind the man burst into violent commotion, splitting and\nsmashing into fragments which bobbed up and down and turned turtle like\nso many corks.\n\nA gush of water followed, burying the sled and washing the dogs from\ntheir feet. Tangled in their harness and securely fastened to the heavy\nsled, they must drown in a few minutes unless rescued by the man. Bravely\nhis manhood answered.\n\nFloundering about with the drowning animals, nearly hip-deep in the icy\nflood, he cut and slashed with his sheath-knife at the traces. One by one\nthe dogs struck out for shore, the first reaching safety ere the last was\nreleased. Then the master, abandoning the sled, followed them. It was a\nstruggle in which little help could be given, and Walt and Chilkoot Jim\ncould only, at the last, grasp his hands and drag him, half-fainting, up\nthe bank.\n\nFirst he sat down till he had recovered his breath; next he knocked the\nwater from his ears like a boy who has just been swimming; and after that\nhe whistled his dogs together to see whether they had all escaped. These\nthings done, he turned his attention to the lads.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m Muso,\u201d he said, \u201cPete Muso, and I\u2019m looking for Charley Drake. His\npartner is dying down at Dawson, and they want him to come at once, as\nsoon as the river breaks. He\u2019s got a cabin on this island, hasn\u2019t he?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d Walt answered, \u201cbut he\u2019s over on the other side of the river, with\na couple of other men, getting out a raft of logs for a grub-stake.\u201d\n\nThe stranger\u2019s disappointment was great. Exhausted by his weary journey,\njust escaped from sudden death, overcome by all he had undergone in\ncarrying the message which was now useless, he looked dazed. The tears\nwelled into his eyes, and his voice was choked with sobs as he repeated,\naimlessly, \u201cBut his partner\u2019s dying. It\u2019s his partner, you know, and he\nwants to see him before he dies.\u201d\n\nWalt and Jim knew that nothing could be done, and as aimlessly looked out\non the hopeless river. No man could venture on it and live. On the other\nbank, and several miles up-stream, a thin column of smoke wavered to the\nsky. Charley Drake was cooking his dinner there; seventy miles below, his\npartner lay dying; yet no word of it could be sent.\n\nBut even as they looked, a change came over the river. There was a\nmuffled rending and tearing, and, as if by magic, the surface water\ndisappeared, while the great ice-sheet, reaching from shore to shore, and\nbroken into all manner and sizes of cakes, floated silently up toward\nthem. The ice which had been pounding along underneath had evidently\ngrounded at some point lower down, and was now backing up the water like\na mill-dam. This had broken the ice-sheet from the land and lifted it on\ntop of the rising water.\n\n\u201cUm break um very quick,\u201d Chilkoot Jim said.\n\n\u201cThen here goes!\u201d Muso cried, at the same time beginning to strip his wet\nclothes.\n\nThe Indian boy laughed. \u201cMebbe you get um in middle, mebbe not. All the\nsame, the trail um go down-stream, and you go, too. Sure!\u201d He glanced at\nWalt, that he might back him up in preventing this insane attempt.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re not going to try and make it across?\u201d Walt queried.\n\nMuso nodded his head, sat down, and proceeded to unlace his moccasins.\n\n\u201cBut you mustn\u2019t!\u201d Walt protested. \u201cIt\u2019s certain death. The river\u2019ll\nbreak before you get half-way, and then what good\u2019ll your message be?\u201d\n\nBut the stranger doggedly went on undressing, muttering in an undertone,\n\u201cI want Charley Drake! Don\u2019t you understand? It\u2019s his partner, dying.\u201d\n\n\u201cUm sick man. Bimeby\u2014\u201d The Indian boy put a finger to his forehead and\nwhirled his hand in quick circles, thus indicating the approach of brain\nfever. \u201cUm work too hard, and um think too much, all the time think about\nsick man at Dawson. Very quick um head go round\u2014so.\u201d And he feigned the\nbodily dizziness which is caused by a disordered brain.\n\nBy this time, undressed as if for a swim, Muso rose to his feet and\nstarted for the bank. Walt stepped in front, barring the way. He shot a\nglance at his comrade. Jim nodded that he understood and would stand by.\n\n\u201cGet out of my way, boy!\u201d Muso commanded, roughly, trying to thrust him\naside.\n\nBut Walt closed in, and with the aid of Jim succeeded in tripping him\nupon his back. He struggled weakly for a few moments, but was too wearied\nby his long journey to cope successfully with the two boys whose muscles\nwere healthy and trail-hardened.\n\n\u201cPack um into camp, roll um in plenty blanket, and I fix um good,\u201d Jim\nadvised.\n\nThis was quickly accomplished, and the sufferer made as comfortable as\npossible. After he had been attended to, and Jim had utilized the medical\nlore picked up in the camps of his own people, they fed the stranger\u2019s\ndogs and cooked dinner. They said very little to each other, but each boy\nwas thinking hard, and when they went out into the sunshine a few minutes\nlater, their minds were intent on the same project.\n\nThe river had now risen twenty feet, the ice rubbing softly against the\ntop of the bank. All noise had ceased. Countless millions of tons of ice\nand water were silently waiting the supreme moment, when all bonds would\nbe broken and the mad rush to the sea would begin. Suddenly, without the\nslightest apparent effort, everything began to move down-stream. The jam\nhad broken.\n\nSlowly at first but faster and faster the frozen sea dashed past. The\nnoise returned again, and the air trembled to a mighty churning and\ngrinding. Huge blocks of ice were shot into the air by the pressure;\nothers butted wildly into the bank; still others, swinging and pivoting,\nreached inshore and swept rows of pines away as easily as if they were so\nmany matches.\n\nIn awe-stricken silence the boys watched the magnificent spectacle, and\nit was not until the ice had slackened its speed and fallen to its old\nlevel that Walt cried, \u201cLook, Jim! Look at the trail going by!\u201d\n\nAnd in truth it was the trail going by\u2014the trail upon which they had\ncamped and traveled during all the preceding winter. Next winter they\nwould journey with dogs and sleds over the same ground, but not on the\nsame trail. That trail, the old trail, was passing away before their eyes.\n\nLooking up-stream, they saw open water. No more ice was coming down,\nalthough vast quantities of it still remained on the upper reaches,\njammed somewhere amid the maze of islands which covered the Yukon\u2019s\nbreast. As a matter of fact, there were several jams yet to break, one\nafter another, and to send down as many ice-runs. The next might come\nalong in a few minutes; it might delay for hours. Perhaps there would be\ntime to paddle across. Walt looked questioningly at his comrade.\n\n\u201cSure!\u201d Jim remarked, and without another word they carried the canoe\ndown the bank. Each knew the danger of what they were about to attempt,\nbut they wasted no speech over it. Wild life had taught them both that\nthe need of things demanded effort and action, and that the tongue found\nits fit vocation at the camp-fire when the day\u2019s work was done.\n\nWith dexterity born of long practice they launched the canoe, and were\nsoon making it spring to each stroke of the paddles as they stemmed the\nmuddy current. A steady procession of lagging ice-cakes, each thoroughly\ncapable of crushing the _Peterborough_ like an egg-shell, was drifting on\nthe surface, and it required of the boys the utmost vigilance and skill\nto thread them safely.\n\nAnxiously they watched the great bend above, down which at any moment\nmight rush another ice-run. And as anxiously they watched the ice\nstranded against the bank and towering a score of feet above them. Cake\nwas poised upon cake and piled in precarious confusion, while the boys\nhad to hug the shore closely to avoid the swifter current of mid-stream.\nNow and again great heaps of this ice tottered and fell into the river,\nrolling and rumbling like distant thunder, and lashing the water into\nfair-sized tidal waves.\n\nSeveral times they were nearly swamped, but saved themselves by quick\nwork with the paddles. And all the time Charley Drake\u2019s pillard camp\nsmoke grew nearer and clearer. But it was still on the opposite shore,\nand they knew they must get higher up before they attempted to shoot\nacross.\n\nEntering the Stewart River, they paddled up a few hundred yards, shot\nacross, and then continued up the right hank of the Yukon. Before\nlong they came to the Bald-Face Bluffs\u2014huge walls of rock which rose\nperpendicularly from the river. Here the current was swiftest inshore,\nforming the first serious obstacle encountered by the boys. Below the\nbluffs they rested from their exertions in a favorable eddy, and then,\npaddling their strongest, strove to dash past.\n\nAt first they gained, but in the swiftest place the current overpowered\nthem. For a full sixty seconds they remained stationary, neither\nadvancing nor receding, the grim cliff base within reach of their arms,\ntheir paddles dipping and lifting like clockwork, and the rough water\ndashing by in muddy haste. For a full sixty seconds, and then the canoe\nsheered in to the shore. To prevent instant destruction, they pressed\ntheir paddles against the rocks, sheered back into the stream, and\nwere swept away. Regaining the eddy, they stopped for breath. A second\ntime they attempted the passage; but just as they were almost past, a\nthreatening ice-cake whirled down upon them on the angry tide, and they\nwere forced to flee before it.\n\n\u201cUm stiff, I think yes,\u201d Chilkoot Jim said, mopping the sweat from his\nface as they again rested in the eddy. \u201cNext time um make um, sure.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ve got to. That\u2019s all there is about it,\u201d Walt answered, his teeth\nset and lips tight-drawn, for Pete Muso had set a bad example, and he was\nalmost ready to cry from exhaustion and failure. A third time they darted\nout of the head of the eddy, plunged into the swirling waters, and worked\na snail-like course ahead. Often they stood still for the space of many\nstrokes, but whatever they gained they held, and they at last drew out\ninto easier water far above. But every moment was precious. There was\nno telling when the Yukon would again become a scene of wild anarchy in\nwhich neither man nor any of his works could hope to endure. So they held\nsteadily to their course till they had passed above Charley Drake\u2019s camp\nby a quarter of a mile. The river was fully a mile wide at this point,\nand they had to reckon on being carried down by the swift current in\ncrossing it.\n\nWalt turned his head from his place in the bow. Jim nodded. Without\nfurther parley they headed the canoe out from the shore, at an angle of\nforty-five degrees against the current. They were on the last stretch\nnow; the goal was in fair sight. Indeed, as they looked up from the\ntoil to mark their progress, they could see Charley Drake and his two\ncomrades come down to the edge of the river to watch them.\n\nFive hundred yards; four hundred yards; the _Peterborough_ cut the water\nlike a blade of steel; the paddles were dipping, dipping, dipping in\nrapid rhythm\u2014and then a warning shout from the bank sent a chill to\ntheir hearts. Round the great bend just above rolled a mighty wall of\nglistening white. Behind it, urging it on to lightning speed, were a\nmillion tons of long-pent water.\n\nThe right flank of the ice-run, unable to get cleanly round the bend,\ncollided with the opposite shore, and even as they looked they saw the\nice mountains rear toward the sky, rise, collapse, and rise again in\nglittering convulsions. The advancing roar filled the air so that Walt\ncould not make himself heard; but he paused long enough to wave his\npaddle significantly in the direction of Dawson. Perhaps Charley Drake,\nseeing, might understand.\n\nWith two swift strokes they whirled the _Peterborough_ down-stream. They\nmust keep ahead of the rushing flood. It was impossible to make either\nbank at that moment. Every ounce of their strength went into the paddles,\nand the frail canoe fairly rose and leaped ahead at every stroke. They\nsaid nothing. Each knew and had faith in the other, and they were too\nwise to waste their breath. The shore-line\u2014trees, islands and the Stewart\nRiver\u2014flew by at a bewildering rate, but they barely looked at it.\n\nOccasionally Chilkoot Jim stole a glance behind him at the pursuing\ntrail, and marked the fact that they held their own. Once he shaped a\nsharper course toward the bank, but found the trail was overtaking them,\nand gave it up.\n\nGradually they worked in to land, their failing strength warning them\nthat it was soon or never. And at last, when they did draw up to the\nbank, they were confronted by the inhospitable barrier of the stranded\nshore-ice. Not a place could be found to land, and with safety virtually\nwithin arm\u2019s reach, they were forced to flee on down the stream. They\npassed a score of places, at each of which, had they had plenty of time,\nthey could have clambered out; but behind pressed on the inexorable\ntrail, and would not let them pause.\n\nHalf a mile of this work drew heavily upon their strength; and the trail\ncame upon them nearer and nearer. Its sullen grind was in their ears,\nand its collisions against the bank made one continuous succession of\nterrifying crashes. Walt felt his heart thumping against his ribs and\ncaught each breath in painful gasps. But worst of all was the constant\ndemand upon his arms.\n\nIf he could only rest for the space of one stroke, he felt that the\ntorture would be relieved; but no, it was dip and lift, dip and lift,\ntill it seemed as if at each stroke he would surely die. But he knew that\nChilkoot Jim was suffering likewise; that their lives depended each upon\nthe other; and that it would be a blot upon his manhood should he fail or\neven miss a stroke.\n\nThey were very weary, but their faith was large, and if either felt\nafraid, it was not of the other, but of himself.\n\nFlashing round a sharp point, they came upon their last chance for\nescape. An island lay close inshore, upon the nose of which the ice lay\npiled in a long slope. They drove the _Peterborough_ half out of water\nupon a shelving cake and leaped out. Then, dragging the canoe along,\nslipping and tripping and falling, but always getting nearer the top,\nthey made their last mad scramble.\n\nAs they cleared the crest and fell within the shelter of the pines, a\ntremendous crash announced the arrival of the trail. One huge cake,\nshoved to the top of the rim-ice, balanced threateningly above them and\nthen toppled forward.\n\nWith one jerk they flung themselves and the canoe from beneath, and again\nfell, breathless and panting for air. The thunder of the ice-run came\ndimly to their ears; but they did not care. It held no interest for them\nwhatsoever. All they wished was simply to lie there, just as they had\nfallen, and enjoy the inaction of repose.\n\nTwo hours later, when the river once more ran open, they carried the\n_Peterborough_ down to the water. But just before they launched it,\nCharley Drake and a comrade paddled up in another canoe.\n\n\u201cWell, you boys hardly deserve to have good folks out looking for you,\nthe way you\u2019ve behaved,\u201d was his greeting. \u201cWhat under the sun made you\nleave your tent and get chased by the trail? Eh? That\u2019s what I\u2019d like to\nknow.\u201d\n\nIt took but a minute to explain the real state of affairs, and but\nanother to see Charley Drake hurrying along on his way to his sick\npartner at Dawson.\n\n\u201cPretty close shave, that,\u201d Walt Masters said, as they prepared to get\naboard and paddle back to camp.\n\n\u201cSure!\u201d Chilkoot Jim replied, rubbing his stiffened biceps in a\nmeditative fashion.\n\n\n\n\nBIG TIMBER BEACON\n\nBy John L. Mathews\n\n\nThere were three government beacon-lights in Big Timber Bend, and the\nuppermost of them was Barney Layton\u2019s. It was nothing more than a lantern\nset in a frame against a white target on the top of a post, fifty feet\nfrom the edge of the deep bank of the Mississippi River. It was at the\nvery head of the bend, at the foot of the \u201ccrossing\u201d by which the channel\ncame from the lower end of Silverplate Bend over into Big Timber. It\nstood there so that the pilots on river steamers, coming down, could\nset the bows of their boats toward it, and run straight and true in the\nchannel between the lower end of McAlpin\u2019s Bar and the head of Nodaway\nTowhead.\n\nWhen the river was low, this channel was both shoal and narrow, and the\nwhite target by day and the bright lantern by night had been gladly\nwelcomed by pilots who had figured their way over the crossing in old\ndays by sounding-pole and luck.\n\nEvery night at sunset Barney climbed the levee in front of his mother\u2019s\ncabin, walked the half-mile down to the head of Big Timber, and out by\na path he had made through the big timber itself to his light-post,\ncarrying the lantern, which he set in place and lighted. Every morning he\ncame early to put it out and carry it home for cleaning and filling. For\nthis the government paid his mother seventy-five dollars a year, besides\nfurnishing the oil and other supplies; and seventy-five dollars a year is\na considerable amount behind a levee in lower Arkansas.\n\nThe work was not always as easy as it sounds. Some years the Mississippi\nnever rises out of its banks\u2014and some years it does. When it did, it\nfilled all the big timber in front of the levee with a rushing current,\nand Barney Layton had to use main strength as well as his wits getting\nout in his skiff to tend his light. Sometimes he would be carried by,\nand washed a mile down-stream before he could get out of the current and\nstart home again; and with the river out of its banks, he was always\nrather glad when the post, too, was submerged, and the support for his\nlight was either nailed on a tree in the front of the big timber or\nabandoned altogether for a week or two.\n\nBig Timber Bend had been stable for several years. The swift current of\nthe river sweeping by its front had apparently taken not a foot of soil\nfrom it. The light-post had been shifted hardly a rod in two seasons. The\ncrossing seemed to hold its place.\n\nBut at last came a big water out of the Ohio, which found the river\nalready full and the lower tributaries high. For weeks it stood over the\nbanks and against the levees, and when at last it went down, it left the\nearthen banks saturated with water, so that they could with difficulty\nsustain their own weight without collapsing.\n\nThen Silverplate Bend began to cave. As the pressure of the water on its\nfront was withdrawn, the bank began to topple over and settle into the\nriver in great slices, eating back farther and farther, changing the\nshape of the bend, and altering the set of the current over the crossing.\nThe deflected swift water ate up into McAlpin\u2019s Bar, and struck Big\nTimber Bend a hundred yards above the light; and one night the _Rupert\nLee_, coming up, and steering by Barney\u2019s beacon, as it turned where\nthe crossing used to be, ran hard on a new bar at the head of Nodaway\nTowhead. She got off before morning, and lay up at the light till the\ncrossing could be sounded, and Barney had a chat about it with pilot Ned\nHinckley.\n\n\u201cBetter get your light shifted,\u201d said the pilot, banteringly. \u201cIf we\u2019d\nbeen coming down and struck that bar with the current, the _Rupert_ would\nhave left her bones in it. What good\u2019s a false beacon, youngster?\u201d\n\n\u201cA false beacon?\u201d Barney took that very much to heart. He told his mother\nabout it, and she forthwith wrote to the lighthouse inspector; but the\nletter was forestalled the next day, when the tender _Lily_ herself\narrived with the inspector on board, sounded out a new channel, and moved\nBarney\u2019s light up the bank to mark it.\n\n\u201cNow, Barney,\u201d said the inspector, \u201cyou\u2019ve got to be on watch. That bank\nin Silverplate is going to make trouble below. Big Timber Bend will begin\ncaving before many days. It can\u2019t stand this. The water is seventy feet\ndeep right in front of this bank, and it must be cutting pretty steep\nnow. The snag boat will be along pretty soon and cut the timber off quite\naway back, and then we\u2019ll set the light farther inland. But till then\nyou must watch, and if the bank where the light is starts to go, get the\ntarget and nail it to the front of that big gum-tree right behind it. If\nthat goes, keep on working straight back till we get here. The crossing\nis moving up so you\u2019ll be about right.\u201d\n\nBarney promised faithfully\u2014and he kept his word. He was only a boy\nof fifteen, and it was a good deal of responsibility to have on his\nshoulders; but Barney was used to all kinds of responsibility, from\ntaking care of his mother to hauling his cotton to the gin. He would keep\nthis beacon true.\n\nThe inspector\u2019s prophecy was promptly verified. Within a week Big Timber\nBend was caving, and caving badly. When Barney came to put the light out\none morning, he heard the roar of it\u2014a roar that made him run, for it was\nmore than the noise of earthen banks going in; it was the sound of trees\ncrashing into the river.\n\nHe hurried through the woods and found his light still standing, but so\nclose to the edge that it seemed saved by a miracle. The bank before it\nhad given and slipped into the water, leaving not over a foot of earth\nbefore the post, and the ladder by which he usually mounted stuck out\nover empty air.\n\nBarney approached cautiously, knowing that the whole section on which\nhe stood might at any moment sink into the deep water. As he neared the\nedge, there was a roar, and a big section ten rods down-stream went\nunder. Barney felt chills run up and down his spine, but he stayed to get\nhis light. Foot by foot he advanced, waiting to see if anything would\nhappen after each step, and reached at last the six-foot post, \u201cshinned\u201d\ncautiously up it, grasped the lantern, and retired to safer ground.\n\nThen he thought of the target. To get it was a task, for he might shake\nthe post free and precipitate himself into the eddying water thirty feet\nbelow. But he must have the target. So cautiously he went back, and\ncautiously he tugged and wrenched until he had the white board loose.\nThen he went back to the house for nails and a hammer; and later in the\nday he came back to fix a new mounting, and brought the lantern with him.\n\nMeanwhile the river had not been idle. Barney had left the white target\nat the foot of the big gum-tree on which it was to be nailed; but the\nriver had evidently desired the piece of bank on which that gum-tree\nstood, and had undermined it. It had cracked off fifty feet back of the\ntree, and an acre at more had slumped down about four feet. There it had\nstopped, but Barney knew that the slightest jar might be enough to start\nthe whole piece settling again beneath the river. Did he dare jump down\non it, run out, get his target, and scramble back? Did he dare?\n\nBarney thought about false beacons, and scarcely hesitated. The bank on\nwhich he stood had cut away as sharply as if chiseled, and the soil that\nformed the edge was still wet and smooth. Over it slipped Barney to the\nlower part, and hastened toward the gum.\n\nHe had just reached it when he felt a peculiar trembling of the earth,\nand heard a series of loud splashes at the waterside. A quick glance\ntold him what was happening. The whole loose segment on which he stood\nhad started slipping again. It went slowly down, while Barney raced for\nthe firm bank; but when he reached the edge of the slipping piece he was\nalready confronted by a precipice at least fifteen feet in height, to\nscale which was impossible.\n\nBadly frightened, but not panic-stricken, he made two or three futile\nattempts, only to bring the earth crashing down with him; and realizing\nthat this was to invite immediate sinking of the part he stood on, he\nlooked for another plan. Up- and down-stream ran the precipice which\nbalked him. All round the other sides the land gave sharply down into the\nriver, and at its feet washed that swift current, which, within a short\ndistance of the edge, was seventy feet deep.\n\nBarney went carefully back to the big gum-tree, wondering how he would\nget off. As he stood by it the earth slipped five or six feet lower, and\nBarney realized that another six feet would put him under water. Then he\nhad an idea. There was one route to possible safety\u2014up the big gum-tree!\n\nSometimes when the bank goes in, such trees roll over and drift away,\ntheir roots free of earth. Sometimes they turn their roots up, embed\ntheir branches in the bottom, and form dangerous snags. But sometimes\nthey stand upright for days, even weeks, their tops out of water, their\nmain trunk and roots hidden deep beneath the flood. This was going down\nso straight that Barney hoped it might take that course.\n\nIt was a big tree and the nearest fork was at least twenty feet up. But\nBarney had brought his hammer and a pocketful of four-inch nails for the\ntarget. He picked the target up, and with two of them nailed it firmly\nto the tree five feet above the ground. He took a cord from his pocket\nand hung his lantern over his shoulder, drove a spike two feet from the\nground for a step, mounted on it and threw a knee over the target, and\ndrove another two feet above that.\n\nSitting on the target, he drove another still higher, and then standing,\ndrove another above that. They were not directly in line, but formed a\nsort of ladder for him, although a ladder difficult to cling to.\n\nHe was still standing on the target when the earth slipped again, and\nthis time tilted, so that the shore edge was below water-line; but the\nouter edge was a foot or two above the eddies, and the tree tilted\nshoreward slightly. That made climbing easier. He was on the upper side,\nand could lean somewhat against the tree. Nail after nail he drove,\nand climbed steadily upward until, as he reached the crotch and found\nbranches on which he could mount more easily, the land in which the tree\nwas rooted caved easily down into the turbulent water!\n\nHad a mad dog suddenly learned how to climb a tree, and scrambled up\nafter him, Barney could not have climbed faster than he now went up the\nrest of the big gum. He fairly jumped from branch to branch, warned of\nthe need of haste by the gurgle of water below.\n\nThe bank went down steadily as he went up, but at last it came to rest\nagain, leaving Barney ten feet above the water, and on the highest branch\non which he dared to risk his weight.\n\nLooking about him, he discovered himself in a dreadful plight. All round\nrushed the swift water of the channel current, bending and swaying his\ntreetop till he feared it would be torn away. Fifty feet of angry water\nlay between him and the shore, and the shore itself was a frowning cliff\nalmost perpendicular and thirty feet high. It was three miles down to the\nfoot of Big Timber Bend, and Barney could see no prospect of being able\nto swim out.\n\nHe cogitated until dusk came, and could not imagine how any one would\ncome to rescue him.\n\nHe had kept his hammer, thrust into his outside pocket, when he sprang\ninto the branches, and with his last nail he made a hook for his lantern\non the swaying tree. Then he lighted and hung the beacon.\n\n\u201cMust keep that true,\u201d he said aloud, as he did so.\n\nThen settling himself in the most nearly comfortable position he could\nfind, he prepared to wait until some solution of his difficulty was\nthrust upon him, either by the final collapse of the tree or by the\narrival of rescue. As it was a warm summer night, even the cool of the\nriver could not make his position impossible, and there was nothing for\nhim to do but wait.\n\nWhen the big steamboat _Rupert Lee_, bound down, swung into the head of\nSilverplate Bend long after midnight, pilot Ned Hinckley prepared for\ntrouble.\n\n\u201cLanding\u2019s gone,\u201d he said to his helper on the other side of the big\nwheel. \u201cI saw Jim Higgins, who came up in the _Walsh Honsell_, and he\nsays it has cut back a quarter of a mile. The whole bend has gone. The\ntwo houses at the landing\u2014the people hardly got out. That\u2019s what they\nget for living outside the levee. I wish I knew what we\u2019ll find in the\ncrossing below. Like as not, Big Timber Beacon has gone into the river\nbefore now.\u201d\n\nThe big side-wheeler coughed her way down through the Silverplate Bend\ncautiously enough, feeling it by the loom of the shore, since the lights\nat the head and middle of it were gone.\n\nOnly a solitary beacon at the foot remained, and as they swept the curve\nthe pilot reached for a lever and threw on the search-light, and with it\nlighted up the bend.\n\nAll along its front, tree trunks cluttered a ragged bank, and the water\nrustled through their tops as they lay fallen half-over. He cut the light\noff, and brought the steamboat a little farther out.\n\n\u201cHate to take chances on McAlpin\u2019s Bar,\u201d he said. \u201cBut there are some\nnasty snags there, and the bar is the lesser evil.\u201d\n\nSo they came down to the foot of the bend and to the solitary beacon.\nThen the pilot cast a glance across the river.\n\n\u201cWell, by hokey!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cBig Timber Light is still standing. I\u2019m\nglad of that. The _Lily_ reset it, and if ever I was glad to see a light\nI am glad to see that one now.\u201d\n\nHe brought the big wheel spinning over toward him, and the _Rupert Lee_\nswung its nose out from the bank, and slowly turned its huge bulk till it\nwas headed toward the Big Timber Beacon. The current swept it downward as\nit turned, so that as it finally \u201cstraightened out,\u201d the two lights bore\nalmost directly ahead and astern, the proper line for a run through the\nthread of channel below McAlpin\u2019s Bar. Hinckley thoughtfully eyed the Big\nTimber Beacon.\n\n\u201cTommy,\u201d he said, \u201cdoes that light seem to be as high up as usual?\u201d\n\n\u201cPretty low,\u201d commented Tommy, peering out into the darkness. \u201cLooks to\nme like it ain\u2019t steady, either.\u201d\n\nThe light was, indeed, swaying with the motion of the tree, but a moment\nlater it swayed much more violently. Barney had taken it from its nail,\nand was swinging it to and fro in a long arc, in the usual manner of\nhailing a passing steamboat.\n\n\u201cIt ain\u2019t the beacon at all\u2014or else some one is using it for a\nsignal-light!\u201d exclaimed the pilot.\n\nHe threw the lever, and the search-light blazed out. A turn of a little\nwheel overhead directed the beams, and out of the darkness leaped the\npicture of a caved bank, a treetop waving in the water, and the figure of\nsome one in the treetop swaying the light.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s the beacon all right,\u201d said the pilot, \u201cor it\u2019s where the beacon\nwas.\u201d\n\nHe reached for a rope, and sounded loudly three long blasts of the\nwhistle, two short and another long. On the lower deck all was activity\nat once.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the landing, Mr. Hinckley?\u201d came a deep voice from the darkness\nbelow. The pilot leaned out of the window and answered:\n\n\u201cHead of Big Timber Bend, captain. Something wrong with the beacon\u2014some\none in the water.\u201d\n\nHe signaled the engine-room and the wheels stopped, and again the _Rupert\nLee_ swung round.\n\nHinckley took a quick survey of the bank up and down the bend, then\nturned his light on the beacon tree. The figure of Barney stood out in\nbold detail.\n\n\u201cHello!\u201d said the pilot. \u201cIt\u2019s the kid that tends the light. Lower the\nstage on deck there, and brace the inner end of it. Send some one out to\npick the boy out of that tree. We will have to do it quick. Don\u2019t miss\nhim, now.\u201d\n\nThe _Rupert Lee_ was broadside to the current, and drifting swiftly\ndown-stream. The wheels were barely turning.\n\nThe port landing-stage was run out forward and lowered, a dozen negro\nhands were stationed on the inboard end of it, and a stout \u201crouster\u201d and\nthe mate ran to the outer end, where they hung out over the water. Barney\nsaw them coming and made ready to be caught.\n\nHe hung the lantern on its nail, freed himself from the branches, and as\nHinckley, with the skill of a lifelong experience, set the wheels of the\nsteamer back to clear the nest of fallen trees, Barney reached out, and\nthe two on the landing-stage caught him and dragged him on board. The\nsteamer backed away and turned down-stream, and Barney, after hearty\ncongratulations from the lower deck, was escorted to the pilot-house.\n\n\u201cHello, bub!\u201d said the pilot, as he came in. \u201cNo false light about you,\nis there? You guided us over that crossing straight as a die, and I\u2019ll\nreport the way you did it to the department.\u201d\n\nHe did report him, too, and things came of that; but the ending of this\nstory came when Barney had been put aboard the _Kate Clancy_ in the bend\nbelow, to be carried back home. And as the _Kate Clancy_ came up through\nBig Timber Bend, to drop him at the foot of McAlpin\u2019s Bar, he and her\ncaptain surveyed the scene of his adventure, and found no sign of the\nbeacon, for the big gum-tree and the lantern had gone into the river.\n\n\n\n\nHOW HILDA GOT A SCHOOL\n\nBy Lelia Munsell\n\n\n\u201cWell, Hilda, do you want to try again?\u201d\n\nMr. Kenyon had hung up his overcoat and cap and was standing with his\nback to the fire, which Hilda had quickened when she heard him coming.\nShe knew he would be chilled, for it was a cold February night.\n\n\u201cJohnston told me that there would be a change for the spring term down\nhere in Hazel Row,\u201d he went on. \u201cThe board is going to meet next Monday,\nhe said. So if you want to try again we\u2019d better get in your application\nwithin a day or two.\u201d\n\nMrs. Kenyon heard her husband\u2019s question, and came in from the kitchen to\nhear what further he might have to say, while the two younger children\ndropped their play to listen. They were all interested in Hilda\u2019s attempt\nto get a school.\n\n\u201cYou could board at home if you got that,\u201d said Mrs. Kenyon. \u201cIt\u2019s only\ntwo miles.\u201d\n\nMr. Kenyon laughed. \u201cBetter catch your hare before you cook it. Perhaps\nHilda doesn\u2019t even want to try again.\u201d\n\n\u201cPapa,\u201d cried Hilda, indignantly, \u201cyou know I want to try again! But now\nlisten, you and mamma both. And please don\u2019t think I don\u2019t appreciate\nwhat you have done to help me; but I want to go all alone this time. If\nI am ever going to make a teacher, I must learn to depend upon myself.\nI can\u2019t always have you to do things for me. And besides, I don\u2019t blame\na school board for not hiring a teacher who hasn\u2019t grit enough to apply\nalone. You know I can\u2019t say anything for myself when you are along, papa.\nI can talk before a stranger lots better than I can before you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see why you should feel that way,\u201d interposed Mrs. Kenyon. \u201cYou\nsurely are not afraid of your father.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not afraid of him in one sense, but in another sense I am. I can\u2019t\ntalk to the directors before him as I could if I were alone. I let papa\napply for me last fall, and I let him go along twice this spring, and I\nhaven\u2019t a school yet.\u201d\n\nMrs. Kenyon started to speak, but her husband shook his head at her. \u201cI\nguess we\u2019ll have to let you have your way this time,\u201d he said. \u201cWe\u2019ll\nsee if you succeed any better than I did.\u201d\n\nHilda gave him a grateful look.\n\n\u201cBut how are you going?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cCouldn\u2019t I walk? It isn\u2019t far.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, indeed. Johnston, of course, is less than two miles away, but Mr.\nAndrews lives four or five miles northeast, and Smith is as far in the\nother direction. You\u2019ll have twelve or fourteen miles to travel by the\ntime you get back home. There is too much snow for you to walk, anyway,\neven if it wasn\u2019t too far. And I can\u2019t trust you to drive the team alone\nas cold as it is.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can ride old Selim. He\u2019s safe enough.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, he\u2019s safe enough. But you will find it pretty cold, riding so far\non horseback.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019d better let your father take you in the buggy,\u201d said Mrs. Kenyon.\n\u201cYou\u2019ll freeze to death on Selim.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, mamma, please!\u201d begged Hilda, and her mother said no more.\n\nHilda had many ambitions, but the nearest and most absorbing one was\nto get a school. Beyond that lay a college course, and beyond that\u2014she\nhardly dare to think of all the good things the future might hold for her\nand hers if only she might go to college.\n\nBut she knew that the money for a college course must come from her own\nefforts.\n\nShe had been a very proud girl when her first certificate came. It was\nonly for a year, of course. According to the laws of the state, one must\nhave taught three months to receive a certificate for a longer time than\nthat. But her grades were high enough to entitle her to a second class.\n\nThe county superintendent had enclosed a kind little note with the\ncertificate, and had spoken personally to her father, commending her work\nvery highly. Hilda felt that she had a right to be proud.\n\nBut the certificate in itself was not worth much. Its chief value lay in\nthe fact that it entitled her to teach if she could get a school. And how\nshe did want a school! She dreamed of it by night and talked of it by day.\n\nHer father\u2019s announcement that there was a vacancy so near home raised\nher hopes again. If she could get the place she could save all her\nsalary, for the schoolhouse was so near that she could board at home, as\nher mother had said. She must get it, that was all. And she felt that she\nmust go alone. Mr. Kenyon made no objection this time, and Mrs. Kenyon\nconsented on the condition that Hilda would allow herself to be well\nbundled up for the long, cold ride.\n\nHilda readily consented to this, but she almost rued her bargain in the\nmorning when her mother insisted on putting a large coat of her own over\nHilda\u2019s and in tying a scarf over the warm hood, and when the girl had\nclimbed on the horse she had wrapped a warm shawl about her.\n\n\u201cHow in the world am I to get on and off again with all this stuff,\nmamma?\u201d she asked. \u201cI feel as wrapped up as a mummy. I know I\u2019ll frighten\nall the horses I meet.\u201d\n\nIt was well, perhaps, that she could not see herself, for she certainly\ncut rather a ridiculous figure. Added to all the rest, she was riding her\nfather\u2019s saddle. The right stirrup had been thrown over, and in this her\nfoot rested, while the left stirrup dangled below. She had never been\nfortunate enough to possess a side-saddle, and had often ridden in this\nway about the farm.\n\nBut she could not help feeling a little sensitive about her appearance\non this occasion, which meant so much to her, and she wished her mother\nwould not be so fussy.\n\nAs she drew near Mr. Johnston\u2019s house, she considered.\n\nIt would take her some time to disentangle herself from her many\nwrappings, and to any one watching from the house she would present\nrather a ridiculous appearance in her necessarily clumsy efforts to\ndismount.\n\nSo she halted old Selim some distance from the front gate, and here,\nhidden by the trees, she divested herself of her extra garments.\n\nHer heart was pounding away vigorously as she knocked and inquired if Mr.\nJohnston was in. She had known him ever since she could remember, but he\nseemed suddenly to have become almost a stranger. Outwardly, however, it\nwas a very dignified young lady who presented her case before him.\n\nIt seemed to her that he looked at her for fully five minutes without\nspeaking.\n\n\u201cSo you want to teach?\u201d he asked at last. \u201cPretty young, aren\u2019t you? How\nold are you? Seventeen?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d answered Hilda. \u201cI suppose that isn\u2019t very old, but I have a\ngood certificate, and I am pretty sure that I can teach a good school. At\nleast, I\u2019d try my best if you would give me a chance.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s what they all say,\u201d remarked Mr. Johnston.\n\n\u201cI know. But that is all I _can_ say till somebody gives me a chance to\nshow what I can do.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have had no experience, of course.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo. But if I am ever to make a teacher, I\u2019ll have to teach my first\nschool sometime and somewhere.\u201d\n\n\u201cI guess that\u2019s so. Got some pretty good grades here.\u201d He had been\nexamining the certificate she had handed him.\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d answered Hilda, modestly.\n\nAgain he was silent. Then he handed her back her certificate. \u201cWell, I\u2019ll\ntell you, Hilda. So far as I am concerned, I am willing to give you a\nchance. I\u2019ve known you ever since you were a baby, and I know you are a\nwide-awake, energetic little girl. But I\u2019m only one of three, and I am\nafraid you won\u2019t stand the best of chances with the other two. You don\u2019t\nknow either of them personally, do you? I thought not. Andrews wants the\nplace for a cousin of his, and Smith will think you are too young. But go\nand see both of them. Don\u2019t tell them what I\u2019ve said. Simply say that you\nspoke to me about it. Smith is president of the board.\u201d\n\nHilda thanked him and went her way, much encouraged in spite of what\nhe had said about her possible reception by the other two members.\nShe experienced some difficulty in mounting and dismounting each time,\nencumbered as she was, but that did not trouble her much now, although\nshe was careful at both places to stop far enough away from the house,\nas she had done at Mr. Johnston\u2019s, to enable her to accomplish this feat\nwithout being seen.\n\nAnd she was truly thankful that no one asked her how she came. She much\npreferred that the men whose interest she was trying to enlist should not\nsee her perched up on old Selim, like a big round bump on a log, as her\nfather had expressed it.\n\nFortunately, she found both Mr. Andrews and Mr. Smith at home, but she\ndid not receive the encouragement from them that she had done from Mr.\nJohnston.\n\nIndeed, Mr. Andrews told her that the school was as good as engaged, and\nthat it was useless for her to see Mr. Smith. Hilda, remembering what Mr.\nJohnston had told her about the cousin, made no reply, but resolved to\ncall upon Mr. Smith.\n\nMr. Smith listened to her courteously and quietly. \u201cPretty young, aren\u2019t\nyou?\u201d he asked.\n\nHilda laughed. \u201cI expected you to say that. But it isn\u2019t always age and\nexperience that make success. I have always wanted to teach, and I\u2019ve\nalways thought I could teach, and I believe I can, if I _am_ young.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know but that\u2019s the right way to talk. We\u2019ve got to believe\nin ourselves before we ever amount to much. How much would you want a\nmonth?\u201d\n\nShe was not prepared for this question. In her heart she knew that she\nwould take the school at whatever they might offer. But she reflected\nthat it would not be policy to say so, so she answered:\n\n\u201cWhatever you have been paying for your spring term.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, we\u2019ll talk over your application Monday. If we want you, we will\nlet you know. You needn\u2019t come to see us about it again.\u201d\n\nHilda was obliged to be content with this. She thanked him, and then,\nbehind the grove where she had tied her horse, she bundled herself up for\nthe ride home, where an eager audience listened to her story while she\nthawed out her fingers and toes.\n\nThe next six days seemed interminably long to her, but Monday came at\nlast. All day she listened expectantly for a step on the front porch, but\nno one came that day or the next. Wednesday morning she was helping her\nfather about the barn, when she heard some one behind her, and turned to\nface Mr. Johnston.\n\n\u201cHello!\u201d he cried. \u201cSo you concluded to try farming if you couldn\u2019t get a\nschool?\u201d\n\nHilda smiled in reply. She could not trust herself to speak. So she had\nfailed again.\n\nMr. Johnston chatted with her father for a time, while she went bravely\non with her work. It would never do to let him know how disappointed she\nwas.\n\n\u201cWell, Hilda,\u201d he said, finally, \u201cI\u2019ll expect you to do me credit this\nspring.\u201d\n\nHilda looked up, surprised.\n\n\u201cWe concluded we would try you,\u201d he continued. \u201cAndrews stuck out for his\ncousin, but Smith went with me. Smith was quite taken with you. Andrews\u2019\ncousin had let him attend to her application, and had never come to see\none of us about it. Smith didn\u2019t like that way of doing things, and I\nconfess I don\u2019t, myself. You\u2019ll get thirty-five dollars for three months.\nIf that is satisfactory, I guess we might as well go to the house and\nsign the contract now.\u201d\n\nHilda felt that she was treading on air as she followed him to the\nhouse, and when she saw her name signed to the little slip of paper,\nthe contract between herself and District No. 33, she secretly pinched\nherself to see if she were awake. She wanted to shout, but of course that\nwould not do. But the moment Mr. Johnston was gone she seized her mother\nabout the waist and whirled her round the room.\n\n\u201cJust think, mamma! Just think!\u201d she cried. \u201cI\u2019ve actually got a school.\nOne hundred and five dollars, and no board to pay. Maybe, now, I won\u2019t\nhave to wait any longer to go to college than I had expected to do in\nthe first place. And, mamma,\u201d she drew her mother close and whispered in\nher ear, \u201cwhen I get to be a professor in some big university you won\u2019t\nhave to work any more, and I can give you the things that I\u2019ve wanted and\nwanted so long to give you.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE IMP AND THE DRUM\n\nBy Josephine Dodge Daskam Bacon\n\n\nIt never would have happened but for Miss Eleanor\u2019s mission class. Once\na week through the winter she went in the cars to a town not far from\nthe city, where there were a great many mills, but few schools, and\ntalked to a crowd of the mill-hands\u2019 little children. She did not give\nthem lessons, exactly, but she told them stories and sang songs with\nthem and interested them in keeping themselves and their homes clean and\npretty. They were very fond of her and were continually bringing in other\nchildren, so that after the first year she gave up the small room she had\nrented and took them up two flights into an old dancing-hall, a little\nout of the center of the town.\n\nThe Imp had been from the beginning deeply interested in this scheme,\nand when he learned that many of the boys were just exactly eight and a\nhalf\u2014his own age\u2014and that they played all sorts of games and told stories\nand sang songs, and had good times generally, his interest and excitement\ngrew, and every Thursday found him begging his mother or big aunty, with\nwhom they spent the winter, to telephone to his dear Miss Eleanor that\nthis time he was to accompany her and see all those fascinating children:\nbig Hans, who, though fourteen, was young for his years and stupid;\nlittle Olga, who was only eleven, but who mothered all the others, and\nhad brought more children into the class than anyone else; Pierre, who\nsang like a bird, and wore a dark-blue jersey and a knitted cap pulled\nover his ears; red-headed Mike, who was all freckles and fun; and pretty,\nshy Elizabeth, with deep violet eyes and a big dimple, who was too\nfrightened to speak at first, and who ran behind the door even now if a\nstranger came.\n\nBut it was not till the Imp gave up being eight and a half and arrived at\nwhat his Uncle Stanley called quarter of nine that Miss Eleanor decided\nthat he might go if his mother would let him.\n\n\u201cI used to think,\u201d she said, \u201cthat it wouldn\u2019t be wise to take him. I\nthought they\u2019d feel awkward; for of course he\u2019s better dressed, and\nI don\u2019t want them to feel that they\u2019re being shown off or made an\nexhibition of, even to a child. But I know them so well now, and I\u2019ve\ntold them about him and how he loves to play games, and wants to come,\nand I think it may really be a good thing\u2014for both sides.\u201d\n\nSo on one delicious Thursday in early February, the Imp boarded the train\nproudly, and they steamed out of the big station. He had gone over the\nentire afternoon, in anticipation, with Harvey, his little lame friend,\nwho could not go to school, but did his lessons with a tutor, and with\nwhom the Imp studied every morning during the three or four months they\nspent in the city; and Harvey was as interested as he, and sent his best\nlove to them all.\n\nFrom the moment of the Imp\u2019s entrance, when his cheerful \u201cHullo!\u201d made\nhim any number of friends, and his delight at being there made them\nall delighted to have him, he was a great success; and when big Hans,\nwith a furtive glance at the Imp\u2019s clean hands, went quietly off to the\never-ready basin and washed his own, Miss Eleanor regretted that she had\nnot brought him sooner.\n\nWhen they had finished the story about Washington at Valley Forge\u2014for\nMiss Eleanor was quietly teaching them history\u2014she got them into a long\nline that reached quite around the room, and went out for a moment,\nreturning with a drum in her hand: not a play drum, but a real one, with\npolished black sticks and a fascinating strap to cross over the shoulder.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said she, \u201cwe\u2019re going to learn the fire-drill, and we\u2019ll take\nturns at the drum.\u201d\n\nThe children were delighted, and stood still as mice while she explained\nthe order of affairs. In the big city public schools, she had been told,\nthey practiced going out in line at a mock alarm of fire, and the boy or\ngirl who broke out of line or dashed for the door before the drum-tap\nwas disgraced for days in the eyes of the school. Everything must be\nquiet and in order; every child must have his place and take it; no one\nmust cry out, or run ahead, or push, or try to hurry matters; and what\nwas most important, all must keep step\u2014which was why the drum came to be\nthere.\n\nShe arranged them carefully: little one first, then girls, last of all\nthe boys, with big Hans at the rear, and Olga managing a crowd of the\nlittle ones.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d she said, \u201cwe won\u2019t leave the room this first time; we\u2019ll just\nmarch round and round till we can all keep step, and later we\u2019ll\npractice going through the halls and downstairs. I\u2019ll drum the first\ntime, and then the best boy shall be drummer.\u201d\n\nThe friend who had suggested the fire-drill when Miss Eleanor had begged\nher for some new game to play, had never seen one, and did not know the\nexact details, but she knew the general idea of it, and she knew, too,\nthat it was not at all easy for people to keep in step, even to a drum.\nThis had surprised Miss Eleanor greatly. She supposed that anybody could\nkeep step, and she was much inclined to doubt her friend\u2019s statement that\na large number of grown people, even, found it difficult.\n\nBut there was a still greater surprise in store for her. When she slung\nthe strap over her pretty red waist and hit the drum a resounding blow, a\nvery different sound from what she had expected was the result\u2014a muffled,\nflat noise, with nothing inspiring about it whatever. She bit her lip and\ntried again, the children watching her attentively from the sides of the\nbig room.\n\nBang!\n\nBang!\n\nBang, bang, bang!\n\nA few feet began to keep time, but the sound was not very different from\nthat produced by a stick hit against the wall, and big Hans, whose father\nplayed in a band, and who had attended many rehearsals\u2014it was from him\nthe drum had been procured\u2014shook his head solemnly.\n\n\u201cNot so! Not so!\u201d he said in his thick, gruff voice. \u201cYou no hit good!\nYou no hit hard!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, Hans, can _you_ play it?\u201d cried Miss Eleanor eagerly. \u201cHere, take\nit!\u201d And she flung the strap over his shoulder.\n\nHans shambled out to the center of the room, and struck a mighty blow.\nThe familiar deep sound of a drum filled the place, and Miss Eleanor\nsighed with relief, but alas! her joy was short-lived, for poor Hans had\nno idea of time, and could only pound away like a hammer. In vain she\nheld his hand and tried to guide his strokes. The noise was deafening,\nbut no more to be marched to than thunder.\n\nLittle Pierre tried next, but though he kept perfect time, and looked\nvery cunning in his little blue blouse, his taps were too light to cover\nthe sound of the tramping feet.\n\nMiss Eleanor\u2019s cheeks were red with vexation. Her arm ached, and the\nchildren were getting restless. She did not know what to do.\n\n\u201cOh, dear! _Who_ would have thought it was so hard?\u201d she exclaimed\npathetically. And then she noticed the Imp, who was fairly holding his\nlips in his effort to keep silence. For he had solemnly promised his\nmother not to put himself forward, nor suggest anything, nor offer to do\na single thing till he was asked, on pain of never coming again.\n\n\u201cWhat is it, Perry?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201c_I_ can\u2014_I_ can play a drum, Miss Eleanor!\u201d he burst out.\n\nShe looked doubtful: the Imp was given to thinking that he could do most\nthings.\n\n\u201cThis isn\u2019t a play drum, you know, dear; it\u2019s a real one,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cBut I can play a real one. Truly I can! Mr. Archer taught me\u2014he was a\ntruly drummer-boy in the war; he showed me how. He said I could hit it up\nlike a good \u2019un!\u201d the Imp exploded again.\n\nMiss Eleanor dimly remembered that among the Imp\u2019s amazing list of\nacquaintances, a one-legged Grand Army man, who kept a newspaper-stall,\nhad been mentioned, and decided that it could do no harm to let him try.\n\n\u201cWell, put it on,\u201d she said, and the Imp proudly assumed the drum,\ngrasped the sticks loosely between his fingers, wagged his head knowingly\nfrom side to side, and began.\n\nBrrrm!\n\nBrrrm!\n\nBrrrm! brrrm! brrrm!\n\nThe straggling line straightened, the children began to grin, and little\nPierre, at the head of the line, stamped his foot and started off. Miss\nEleanor\u2019s forehead smoothed, and she smiled encouragingly at the Imp.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s it, that\u2019s it!\u201d she cried delightedly. \u201cHow easy it looks!\u201d\n\nBut the Imp stopped suddenly, and the moving line stopped with him.\n\n\u201cWait! I forgot!\u201d he said peremptorily. \u201cYou mustn\u2019t start till I do\nthis.\u201d\n\nAnd with a few preliminary taps he gave the long roll that sends a\npleasant little thrill to the listener\u2019s heart.\n\nBrrrm!\n\nBrrrm!\n\nBrrrrr\u2014_um_ dum!\n\nThe children jumped with delight, and the line started off, the Imp\ndrumming for dear life around the inside of the big square, and Miss\nEleanor keeping the hasty ones back and hurrying the stragglers, trying\nto make big Hans feel the rhythm, and suppressing Pierre\u2019s happy little\nskips.\n\nAfter a half-hour of this they begged to try the halls and stairs, and\nthe Imp stood proudly on the landings, keeping always at about the middle\nof the line, stamping his right foot in time with his sticks, his eyes\nshining with joy, his little body straight as a dart.\n\nMiss Eleanor was delighted. The boys responded so well to her little talk\non protecting the girls and waiting till they were placed before taking\ntheir own stand in the line, the girls stood so straight, the little\nones entered so well into the spirit of the thing, that she felt that\nafternoon to have been one of the best they had had, and confided as much\nto the Imp on their journey home.\n\nAs for the Imp, he had a new interest in life, and talked of little else\nthan the fire-drill for days. There was no question as to his going the\nnext Thursday, and he and his drum formed the chief attraction of the\nday, for the drill proved the most popular game of all, and after the\nproclamation had gone forth that none but clean-handed, neatly dressed,\nrespectful boys need aspire to head the line, such boys were in a great\nand satisfying majority.\n\nFor a month they had been practicing regularly, and by the end of that\ntime every child knew his place and took it instantly at the opening\ntap. It was pretty to see little Olga shake back her yellow pigtails and\nmarshal her tiny brood into line; even the smallest of them kept step\nnicely now.\n\nOnly big Hans could not learn, and Pierre walked by his side in vain,\ntrying to make him feel the rhythm of the Imp\u2019s faithful drumsticks.\n\nThere was one feature of the drill that amused Miss Eleanor\u2019s friends\ngreatly. Of course there was no fire-alarm in the old hall, and she would\nnot let anyone cry out or even pretend for a moment that there was any\nreal danger. She merely called sharply, \u201c_Now!_\u201d when they were to form,\nand it was one of the suppressed excitements of the afternoon to wait for\nthat word. They never knew when it would come.\n\nFor Miss Eleanor\u2019s one terror was fire. Twice, as a little girl, she had\nbeen carried out of a burning house; and the flames bright against the\nnight, the hoarse shouts of the firemen, the shock of the frightened\nawakening, and the chill of the cold winter air had so shaken her nerves\nthat she could hardly bear to remember it. Burglars had little terror\nfor her; in accidents she was cool and collected; more than once, in\na quiet way, she had saved people from drowning; but a bit of flaming\npaper turned her cheeks white and made her hands tremble. So though big\nHans begged to be allowed to call out \u201cFire!\u201d she would never let him,\nand though she explained the meaning of the drill to them, it is to be\ndoubted if they attached much importance to the explanation, as she\nherself did not care to talk about it long.\n\nOne fine, windy Thursday\u2014it was the second Thursday in March, and the\nlast Thursday the Imp would be able to spend with his new friends, for\nhe was going back to the country\u2014they started out a little depressed in\nspirits: the Imp because it was his last visit, Miss Eleanor because\nshe was afraid her children were in danger of a hard week. The hands of\nthree of the largest factories were \u201con strike,\u201d and though they were\nquite in the wrong, and were demanding more than any but the ring-leaders\nthemselves felt to be just, they were excited to the pitch of rage that\nno reasoning can calm, and as the superintendents had absolutely refused\nto yield any further, affairs were at a deadlock.\n\nOne or two of Miss Eleanor\u2019s friends had grown alarmed, and urged her not\nto go there till the matter was settled, but she would not hear of this.\n\n\u201cWhy, this is the very time I want to keep the children out of the\nstreets!\u201d she said. \u201cThey all know me\u2014nobody would hurt me. They know I\nlove the children, and I have nothing to do with their quarrel. I should\nbe willing to trust myself to any of them. They have always been very\npolite and respectful to me, and they\u2019ve been getting ready for this for\ntwo weeks, for that matter.\u201d\n\nHer father agreed to this, and assured the Imp\u2019s mother that any\ndemonstration that might take place would be at the other end of the\ntown, near the mills, and that it was very unlikely that anything\nfurther than a shut-down for a few days would result, at most.\n\n\u201cThey\u2019re in the wrong, and most of them know it, I hear,\u201d he said. \u201cThey\ncan\u2019t hold out long: nobody else will hire them.\u201d\n\nThis may have been true, but it did not add to their good-humor. As the\nImp and Miss Eleanor walked up through the village, the streets were\nfilling rapidly with surly, idle men. Dark-eyed Italians, yellow-haired\nSwedes, shambling, gesticulating Irish, and dogged, angry English jostled\neach other on the narrow walks, and talked loudly. Miss Eleanor hurried\nthe Imp along, picking up a child here and there on the way, and sighing\nwith relief as she neared the old hall.\n\nSome of the excitement had reached the children, and though they had come\nin large numbers, for they knew it was the Imp\u2019s last visit for some\ntime, and there had been hints of a delightful surprise for them on this\noccasion, they were restless and looked out of the windows often. There\nwas a shout of applause when, the Imp suddenly becoming overwhelmed with\nshyness, Miss Eleanor invited them all out to his home for one day in\nthe summer; but the excitement died down, and more than one of the older\nchildren glanced slyly at the door. The men from that end of the town\nwere filing by, and most of the women were following after.\n\nMiss Eleanor racked her brains for some amusement.\n\nIt was cold in the room, for the boy who had charge of the clumsy\nold-fashioned stove was sick that day, and there was no fire. So partly\nto keep them contented, and partly to get them warm, she proposed a game\nof blindman\u2019s-buff. There was a shout of assent, and presently they were\nin the midst of a tremendous game. The stamping feet of the boys and\nthe shrill cries of the girls made a deafening noise; the dust rose in\nclouds; the empty old building echoed confusingly. The fun grew fast and\nfurious; the rules were forgotten; the boys began to scuffle and fight,\nand the little girls danced about excitedly.\n\nMiss Eleanor called once or twice to quiet them, but they were beyond\ncontrol; they paid no attention to her.\n\nWith a little grimace she stepped out of the crowd to breathe, and took\nout her watch.\n\n\u201cTwenty minutes!\u201d she said to little Olga, who followed her about like a\npuppy. \u201cI\u2019ll give them ten more, and then they _must_ stop!\u201d\n\nLittle Olga began to cough, and looked doubtfully at the old stove, which\nwas given to smoking.\n\n\u201cIt smells bad just the same, don\u2019t it?\u201d she called. They had to raise\ntheir voices to be heard above the noise.\n\n\u201cNo, child, it\u2019s the dust. Isn\u2019t it dreadful?\u201d Miss Eleanor called back,\ncoughing herself. \u201cBut it smells just like smoke. How horrid it is! And\nhow hot!\u201d she added after a moment. \u201cWith the windows open, too! We\u2019ll\nall take cold when we go out. They _must_ stop! Boys, boys! Hans, come\nhere to me!\u201d\n\nShe rang a little bell that was the signal for quiet, and raised her\nhand.\n\n\u201cNow I\u2019m going to open the door, to get a thorough draft, and then we\u2019ll\nquiet down,\u201d she said, and pushed through the crowd to the door.\n\nAs she opened it wide, a great cloud of brown, hot smoke poured into\nthe room, a loud roaring, with little snapping crackles behind it, came\nfrom below, and Miss Eleanor suddenly put her hand to her heart, turned\nperfectly white, and half fell, half leaned against the door.\n\nFor a moment the children were quite still, so still that through the\nopen door they could hear the roar and the crackle. Then suddenly, before\nshe could prevent him, little Pierre slipped through and started down the\nhall. With a cry she went after him, half the children following her, but\nin a moment they crowded back, screaming and choking. The stairs at the\nend of the long hall were half on fire!\n\nMiss Eleanor tried to call out, but though her lips moved, she could not\nspeak above a whisper. She shut the door and leaned against it, and the\nlook in her eyes frightened the children out of what little control they\nhad.\n\n\u201cCall,\u201d she said hoarsely, \u201ccall \u2018Fire!\u2019 out of the window. Quick! Call,\nall of you!\u201d\n\nBut they stumbled about, crying and gasping, some of them struggling to\nget by her out of the door. She was trembling violently, but she pushed\nthem away and held the door-knob as tightly as she could.\n\nOnly Olga ran to the open window, and sent a piercing little shriek out\ninto the quiet street:\n\n\u201c_Fire! Fire! Come along! Fire!_\u201d\n\nFor a moment there was no answer, and then a frightened woman ran out of\nher house and waved her hand.\n\n\u201cCome out! Come out, you!\u201d she called.\n\n\u201cOur stairs is burnt all up! We can\u2019t!\u201d screamed Olga.\n\nThe woman ran quickly down the empty street, calling for help as she ran,\nand the children surged about the door, a crowd of frightened little\nanimals, trying to drag Miss Eleanor away from it.\n\n\u201cWait,\u201d she begged them, \u201cwait! You can\u2019t go that way\u2014they\u2019ll bring\nladders! Oh, _please_ wait!\u201d\n\nHer knees shook beneath her, the room swam before her eyes. The smell of\nthe smoke, stronger and stronger, sickened her. With a thrill of terror,\nshe saw big Hans drag a child away from the window, and deliberately\npushing her down, prepare to climb out over her, almost stepping on her\nlittle body.\n\nSuddenly she caught sight of the Imp. He was pushing his way through the\ncrowd valiantly, but not toward her.\n\n\u201cCome here, Perry!\u201d she said weakly. But he paid no attention. He had\nbeen dazed for a moment, and like all the other children, her terror had\nterrified him quite as much as the fire. Now as he caught her eye, and\nsaw the helpless fear in her face as she watched Hans, something sent\nhim away from her to a farther corner, and as the smoke began to come up\nbetween the boards of the floor, and the same deadly stillness reigned\noutside, while the confusion grew greater in the hot, crowded room, a\nnew sound cut through the roar and the crackle.\n\nBrrrm!\n\nBrrrm!\n\nBrrrm, brrrm, brrrm!\n\nThe children turned. Big Hans, with one leg out of the window, looked\nback. There was a little rush, half checked, for the sides of the room,\nand Olga instinctively looked about for her small charges.\n\nBut they wavered undecidedly, and as the sound of steps outside and the\nclattering of horses\u2019 feet reached them, a new rush for the door began,\nand Miss Eleanor\u2019s hand slipped from the knob, and she half fell beside\nit.\n\nBrrrm!\n\nBrrrm!\n\nBrrrm\u2014_um_ dum!\n\nThat familiar long roll had never been disobeyed; the habit of sudden,\ndelighted response was strong; and with a quick recollection that he was\nto be head boy, big Hans slipped from the window-sill and jumped to the\nhead of a straggling line. Olga was behind him in a moment, and Pierre,\nproud of his position as rear-guard and time-keeper for the little boys,\npushed them, crying and coughing, into place.\n\nMiss Eleanor must have been half unconscious for a moment. When she\nstruggled to her feet, no scrambling crowd, but an orderly, tramping line\npushed by her, and above the growing tumult outside, above the sickening\nroar of the fire below, came the quick, regular beat of the faithful\ndrum.\n\nBrrrm!\n\nBrrrm!\n\nBrrrm, brrrm, brrrm!\n\nThe children marched as if hypnotized. The long line just filled the\nsides of the room, and they were squeezed in so tightly that they forced\neach other on unconsciously. The Imp in his excitement beat faster than\nusual, and his bright red cheeks, his straight little figure, as he\nwalked his inside square, his quick, nervous strokes, were an inspiration\nto the most scared laggard. Big Hans, elated at his position\u2014his for the\nfirst time\u2014never took his eyes off the black sticks, and worked his mouth\nexcitedly, keeping time to the beats, the Imp frowning at his slightest\nmisstep.\n\nMiss Eleanor, the door hot against her back, forced her trembling lips\ninto a smile, and cheered them on as they tramped round and round. Was\nnothing being done? Would no one come?\n\nSuddenly there was a thundering, a clanging, and a quick, sharp ringing\ngong came closer with every stroke; the sound of many running feet, too,\nand loud, hoarse orders. The line wavered, seemed to stop. She summoned\nall her strength, and called out aloud for the first time:\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t stop, children! Keep right on! Stand straight, Hans, and show them\nhow well you can lead!\u201d\n\nHans tossed his head, glared at a boy across the room who had broken\nthrough, and forged ahead. There was a succession of quick blows on the\nsides of the room, a rush, and in another moment three helmeted heads\nlooked through three windows. At the same moment a sharp hissing sound\ninterrupted the roaring below, and though the door was brown behind her\nnow, and a tiny red point was glowing brighter in the wall near by, Miss\nEleanor\u2019s strength returned at the sight of the firemen, and she stood by\nthe side of the Imp and encouraged the children.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t stop, Hans! Remember, little ones first! Olga\u2019s children first!\u201d\n\nAnd with a grunt of assent Hans marched on, the line following, closing\nup mechanically over the gaps the men made, who snatched out the children\nas they passed by the windows, and handed them rapidly down the long\nladders. In vain the firemen tried to get the boys. They wriggled\nobstinately out of their grasp, as they went round, till every girl was\nlifted out, Olga standing by the window till the last of her charges was\nsafe.\n\nThe door fell in with a bang, and in spite of the hose below, the smoke\nrolled up from between the cracks in the floor, thicker and thicker. As\nthe plaster dropped from the walls in great blocks, Miss Eleanor dragged\nthe line into the center of the room, and motioned one of the men to\ntake the Imp as he passed by. For so perfect was the order that the men\nnever once needed to step into the room, only leaning over the sills to\nlift out the children. The Imp felt a strong grasp on his arm, and pulled\naway; the man insisted.\n\n\u201cHurry now, hurry, let go!\u201d he commanded gruffly. The despair in the\nImp\u2019s eyes as he drummed hard with his other hand grew to rage, and he\nbrought down his free stick with a whack on the man\u2019s knuckles. With a\nsharp exclamation the man let go, and the Imp pressed on, his cheeks\nflaming, his eyes glowing. His head was high in the air, he was panting\nwith excitement. The line was small now; another round and there would\nbe but a handful. The floor near the door began to sag, and the men\ntook two at a time of the bigger boys, and left them to scramble down\nby themselves. With every new child a shout went up from below. As Hans\nslipped out by himself, and two men lifted Miss Eleanor out of one\nwindow, a third meanwhile carrying the Imp, kicking in his excitement,\nand actually beating the drum as it dangled before him, while a fourth\nman took a last look, and crying \u201cO. K.! All out!\u201d ran down his ladder\nalone, the big crowd literally shouted with thankfulness and excitement.\n\nAs for the Imp, he felt tired and shaky, now that somebody had taken away\nhis drum, and all the women were trying to kiss him; and he watched the\nblackened walls crash in without a word. His knees felt hollow and queer,\nand there was nobody to take him in her lap like the other children, for\nMiss Eleanor had quietly fainted in the firemen\u2019s arms, and they were\nsprinkling her with water from the little pools where the big hose had\nleaked.\n\nThey took them to the station in a carriage, and the Imp sat in Miss\nEleanor\u2019s lap in a drawing-room car, and she cuddled him silently all the\nway home. Her father, dreading lest she should be hurt somehow after all\nin the crowded streets, passed them in an express going in the other\ndirection, to find out that they were safe, and that the strike was off.\nThe recent danger had sobered the men, and their thankfulness at their\nchildren\u2019s safety had softened them, so that their ring-leaders\u2019 taunts\nhad no effect on their determination to go back to work quietly the next\nday.\n\nIt was at her father\u2019s request that they refrained from any more costly\ngift to Miss Eleanor than a big photographic group of the children,\nframed in plush, \u201cas an expression of their deep gratitude for her\npresence of mind in keeping the children in the room away from the deadly\nflames beneath.\u201d But to the Imp the Mill Town drum corps and military\nband formally presented \u201cto master Perry S. Stafford the drum and sticks\nthat he used on the occasion when his bravery and coolness made them\nproud to subscribe themselves his true friends and hearty well-wishers.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE SECOND STRING\n\nBy James B. Connolly\n\n\nThe Interscholastic Athletic Association was holding its annual track\nmeeting. In the athletic building a hundred lads or more were dressing or\nrubbing in preparation for the different events. The clerk of the course,\nsticking his head within the door, shouted, \u201cLast call for the hundred\nyards final! Last call! Hurry now, fellows!\u201d\n\nThe graduate coach of Webster High School cut short his instructions to\na medium-sized, heedful, earnest-looking lad. \u201cThere now, I\u2019ll have to go\nand see how Prouty runs in the hundred. But bear in mind, Haskins, what\nyou\u2019re to do when your race comes. Keswick is out to run the field off\nits feet. And if they follow him he\u2019ll do it. You are to get the inside\ntrack\u2014on the first run get the pole, mind, if you have to do forty yards\nin record time to do it. That will start a break in Keswick\u2019s plans. Then\nyou make the pace\u2014with an eye all the way to Stevenson. Perhaps you\u2019ll\ncarry Sullivan off his feet, too, at the same time. That\u2019s not likely,\nthough. Anyway, carry Stevenson along\u2014clear round to the home-stretch,\nand make it so hot for Keswick on the way that he\u2019ll be done up at that\npoint. Land Stevenson in the straight in good shape and your work will\nbe done. Drop out then if you want to, and I guess you\u2019ll want to drop.\nYou\u2019ve an hour yet. When Stevenson comes from the rubbing board, jolly\nhim along a bit. He\u2019s apt to get\u2014nervous\u2014you know. Got it all?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think so.\u201d Haskins lay back on his mat for rest and meditation.\n\nPretty soon Stevenson, a tall, rangy lad, came over from the other side\nof the room. He halted above Haskins, and looked about, as if seeking a\nplace to lie.\n\nHaskins caught his glance. \u201cThey\u2019re all in use, I guess, Stevie. Take\nthis place. You\u2019ll want all the rest you can get for your race.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re not done? You\u2019ve got to run, too.\u201d\n\n\u201cO shucks\u2014me\u2014second string\u2014I\u2019m only to make pace for you. Mr. Ludwig just\ntold me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, all right\u2014thanks. Think you can do it right?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know. It\u2019ll be hard getting the pole from Keswick. He\u2019s in for\nthe same game\u2014making way for Sullivan. We\u2019ll have a great time of it,\nKeswick and I. I wonder which will flop first? But I\u2019ll make for that\npole\u2014though Keswick\u2019s a hound for a quick start\u2014and try to hold on for\nthe straight again. That\u2019ll do, won\u2019t it? If I kill off Keswick so he\nwon\u2019t be of any use, you can give all your attention to Sullivan? He\u2019s a\ngood man, Sullivan, but you can give him yards and a licking any day in\nthe week, Stevie.\u201d\n\n\u201cThink so, Dickie?\u201d\n\n\u201cThink? I know it. He hasn\u2019t your stride, your speed, or your head, and\nyou\u2019re in great shape to-day, Mr. Ludwig says. Beat him? You\u2019ll flag him.\nOh, I wish I had your speed! I\u2019d make Sullivan and Keswick look like\nbusted automobiles. I know just how I\u2019d do it, too. But what\u2019s the use? I\nhaven\u2019t the speed. I\u2019m only second string and lucky to be that, but I\u2019ll\ngo through three hundred yards of that quarter to-day for every little\nounce in me, and I don\u2019t care if they carry me off afterward.\u201d\n\nThe little lad was cuddled up on the floor, back to a locker, knees up\nto his chin, bath-robe tucked in round him. His regard was all for his\nschool champion. In common with most of the boys of the school, he had\nthe deepest admiration for Stevenson\u2019s running power. Never before had\nsuch a quarter-miler come out of Webster\u2014no, nor out of the state! All he\nneeded was a little more growth and experience and a little more\u2014well,\nconfidence in himself, and he would beat the world! So his schoolmates\nphrased it.\n\nStevenson placidly accepted Haskin\u2019s devotion. He had been used to that\nsort of thing for some time now, and it did not fluster him. He did not\neven acknowledge the care with which his friend tucked in the wandering\nfolds of his blanket, saying, \u201cIt\u2019s drafty here, Stevie, and you want\nto keep your legs covered or you\u2019ll stiffen up. Mustn\u2019t stiffen up, you\nknow.\u201d\n\nThey waited for their time to come\u2014Stevenson on the mat, Haskins snuggled\nup against the locker. The young athletes in the room kept going and\ncoming. They would go out fresh and strong, some nervous, some confident,\na few absolutely in fear\u2014ready to draw back only that shame forced them\non. They came back tired, winded, used up, some of them jubilant, some\ndepressed, a few crying. With each returning batch some new details of\nthe progress of things were shouted round the room.\n\nAt last the coach, Ludwig, came back. \u201cYour quarter\u2019s coming soon,\nfellows. Looks like Scotia and Webster again. Sullivan\u2019s just run\nthe two-twenty; that\u2019ll take the edge off him for the quarter-mile,\nStevenson. How do you feel? And you, Dickie? It\u2019ll be up to you soon.\nFeel fit for the fastest three hundred you ever ran in your life? Of\ncourse you do.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish Dickie had the other\u2019s speed,\u201d Ludwig whispered to MacArthur,\nhigh jumper and team captain.\n\n\u201cH-m-m, Mr. Ludwig\u2014Dickie\u2019s heart and Stevenson\u2019s legs! Rather a lot for\none package, wouldn\u2019t it be?\u201d\n\nThe clerk of the course here made an entrance. \u201cQuarter-mile comes last\nof the track events. Sullivan of Scotia wants to get rested from the\ntwo-twenty, and judges agreed. All out for the long jump and hammer.\u201d\n\nStevenson made a pettish face. \u201cI suppose Sullivan and the Scotians can\nhave things cooked to their order and the rest of us take what we can\nget. I think you ought to protest, Mr. Ludwig.\u201d\n\nLudwig shook his head. \u201cI can\u2019t change the order of events, Stevenson.\nBesides, it\u2019s only fair to give a man a rest after he\u2019s been through a\nhard two-twenty. Take it easy, like Dickie, there. Go to sleep if you\ncan. Dickie, can\u2019t you find a mat to lie on? You have an hour to wait\nyet, and I don\u2019t like to have you hugging the floor like that.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, this is nice. Here\u2019s my suit case for a pillow. I could go to sleep\nhere.\u201d\n\nAll things come to an end. The busy clerk of the course rushed in for the\nlast time. \u201cQuarter-mile now! Only one call\u2014all out!\u201d\n\nStevenson and Dickie promptly rose\u2014Stevenson anxious in manner, fussy;\nDickie serious, calm. Together they walked across the field, MacArthur\nand Ludwig in attendance. Every event had been finished except the\npole-vault, always a lengthy affair. The audience was in a fine state of\nexpectancy.\n\nJust before reaching the track, Ludwig drew the boys\u2019 heads together.\n\u201cNow, Stevenson, this meet depends on you. We win it if you capture the\nfive points for first place in the quarter. We lose it if you don\u2019t.\nDickie here is to be sacrificed for you. Keep your eye on Dickie; he\u2019ll\nswing out and tell you when.\n\n\u201cAnd you, Dickie,\u201d Ludwig went on, \u201cmake a way for Stevenson and balk\nKeswick. See that you have the pole on the last turn. Now go along. O\nDickie, a moment!\u201d\n\nLudwig dropped his arm round the boy\u2019s neck. \u201cThis is in confidence,\nDickie. MacArthur and I are afraid that Stevenson isn\u2019t any too fond of\nhis job to-day\u2014that he doesn\u2019t quite fancy a tilt with Sullivan. What do\nyou think?\u201d\n\n\u201cStevenson afraid? Oh, no, Mr. Ludwig! Stevie\u2019s nervous\u2014that\u2019s natural.\nWhy, I\u2019m nervous, for all you crack up my coolness. I\u2019m nervous as I can\nbe, but I try not to show it, and Stevie lets his out. Stevie will win.\nLook at him up on his toes now! Style! He\u2019s won three-quarters of the\ncrowd already, just the gait of him. Don\u2019t worry, Mr. Ludwig, Webster\u2019ll\nwin this quarter-mile.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, all right, Dickie. I hope you\u2019re right. Hope he\u2019s only nervous.\nLook out for him, anyway. But don\u2019t try to do it too fast\u2014don\u2019t kill\nyourself. If you can, you might just as well finish; you don\u2019t know,\nsomebody might drop and you pick up a point. Not much of a chance for\nyou, but\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cBut Sullivan and Stevie and the rest of them _might_ drop\u2014used up! Ha,\nthat\u2019s good! Imagine me a quarter-mile champion! It\u2019s too strange to\nthink of.\u201d\n\n\u201cStrange things, Dickie. There, that\u2019s for you.\u201d\n\nIn the line of starters Dickie was second from the pole. Big Keswick was\ninside him, Stevenson outside, and Sullivan second outside Stevenson.\nDickie at once made himself acquainted with Keswick\u2019s tactics. One or two\nfalse starts convinced him that Keswick\u2019s right elbow was intended for\na prominent part in the contest. Dickie knew that Keswick expected to\nhave it all his own way when it came to close quarters. But there was a\nway. Dickie had no notion of letting Keswick\u2019s cruel elbow rob him of the\npole. There was always a way to deal with such tactics.\n\n\u201cStarters ready?\u201d\n\n\u201cReady!\u201d\n\n\u201cTimers ready?\u201d\n\n\u201cReady\u2014ready, all ready!\u201d\n\n\u201cGet on your marks. Set\u2014stea-a-d-d-y. Come up. Man at the pole, be\ncareful. Now\u2014on your marks. Get set\u2014\u201d\n\nBang! Dickie promptly caught the hook of Keswick\u2019s plunging right elbow\nin the angle of his own left. Keswick was spun half-round and Dickie shot\nin. \u201cThat for Kessie!\u201d muttered Dickie. The judges saw it, but it raised\nonly a smile all round and an appreciative comment from one. \u201cThat big\nfellow tried it that time, didn\u2019t he? An old trick of his, Ludwig says,\nbut the little fellow was too clever.\u201d\n\nDickie ran like mad for the turn. He got it, with Stevenson outside him,\na little back, and Keswick directly behind. All the runners turned the\ncurve in fine style. It promised to be a hot race. The audience was\nalready applauding vigorously.\n\nDickie motioned to Stevenson. \u201cI\u2019ll cut loose the whole length of the\nback-stretch. Don\u2019t try to keep up\u2014let Keswick chase me if he cares to;\nwatch Sullivan, and wait for the turn.\u201d That was not put in so many\nwords, but had it been written out, Stevenson could not have read the\nmotions more plainly.\n\nIt was a rare pace that Dickie set. The bunch tore round the lower curve\nas if they were to run only two hundred and twenty yards.\n\n\u201cThis is going to be warm,\u201d said a group of old-timers under the willows.\n\n\u201cLook at that!\u201d yelled the crowd. Dickie had shot away from the others.\nBig Keswick was at his heels. Keswick\u2019s plans had been interfered with.\nHe was there to take care of Haskins, but things had been changed. This\npace was a \u201cscorcher.\u201d What did it mean?\n\nIt was a beautiful sprint the whole length of the back-stretch. Dickie\nwas ten yards, Keswick eight yards in front. Stevenson and Sullivan were\nrunning stride for stride, the Webster man inside, a yard or two ahead of\nSullivan.\n\nSwinging into the upper curve, Dickie signaled to Stevenson, and then\nimperceptibly slowed up the pace. Keswick naturally trailed behind.\nWithout understanding how it was brought about, he felt the relief,\nand was well content to take it. Dickie knew Keswick was in no trim to\ninterfere with what was soon going to happen.\n\nDickie felt Stevenson coming easily. Again he signaled, this time\nlooking back to see that all was well. Stevenson moved up to Keswick\u2019s\nflank and nodded. The last turn was before them. Dickie, suddenly darting\nforward, opened up several yards. Keswick was too surprised and too\ntired to understand at once. Stevenson strode past him and dropped into\nDickie\u2019s tracks. Dickie, on the corner, swung wide and Stevenson slid\ninside. The pole and the lead were his.\n\nSullivan had his choice of following Stevenson or running outside Dickie.\nHe chose to follow Stevenson. To let him by, Keswick was compelled to\npull up and lose his chance for a place. Dickie, seeing how Sullivan\nhad chosen, promptly dropped back a yard to Sullivan\u2019s flank. That put\nSullivan in a close pocket.\n\nIt was all most prettily done. The grand stand got up on its toes to\ncheer it. The experts under the willows hurled big words of praise out to\nDickie.\n\nAfter that maneuver, Dickie felt that he had no more strength left. It\nwas an immense relief to him to think that the strain of his work was\npast, and that Stevie was in a good way now to win the race. But he must\ngive a final word of cheer to Stevie before he was left behind.\n\n\u201cGo in, Steve, go in now! That\u2019s the boy! All right, you\u2019ve got it\ncinched. Go on! What\u2019s the matter?\u201d\n\nDickie, looking up at his chum\u2019s face, saw an expression that made his\nheart sink. There was despair in Stevenson\u2019s eyes.\n\nOthers saw, and understood. From under the willows came encouraging\ncries to Sullivan: \u201cGo in, Scotia! You\u2019ve got him! He\u2019s all in! He\u2019s a\nquitter, anyway, and the little fellow\u2019s used up. Come out of that box,\nSully, and win!\u201d\n\nDickie heard this. Stevenson heard it, too, and it did him no good.\nSullivan heard, also, and acted on it. He worked out of the pocket to\nDickie\u2019s side. Dickie looked at Sullivan, saw only a grim resolve there,\nand in despair appealed to Stevenson.\n\n\u201cO Stevie, go in! Only half the stretch! You can do it! Go in!\u201d\n\nStevenson made no answer, but to Dickie\u2019s dismay, fell down, as if\nexhausted, on the grass.\n\nDickie, without looking again, felt the courage of the Scotian beside\nhim. There was no giving in there. The race was lost!\n\nBut was it lost? He did what had never entered his head until that\ninstant. The import of Ludwig\u2019s last words flashed on him. Had Stevenson\nreally quit? He did not seem used up. And after everything had worked so\nnicely! What a shame for Webster!\n\nIt was in the blindest kind of way that Dickie pegged on beside Sullivan.\nOnly for that work on the turn and Sullivan would have been yards ahead!\nWhat a runner this Sullivan was! Dickie was marveling that he held up\nwith him.\n\nThe audience was marveling, too. They were frantic, some for Sullivan,\nbut most for Dickie, because he was so small and had borne his previous\nshare so nobly. Their yells were deafening. But Dickie never heard them.\nHe was taken up with a different thing\u2014with the unbearable strain of\nthe race. Every nerve in his body quivered under the rack of his effort.\nEvery little molecule and atom was crying out with the torture of it\u2014but\nwould not Webster be disgraced if he did not win? He knew what they\nwould all say. Could he make it? Still behind\u2014what a hard fighter\u2014this\nSullivan! He would never underrate a Scotian again.\n\nOne foot and twenty yards to go. Now then! No use. O Dickie! Who called?\nAll Webster was calling. O Dickie! What a horrible thing! Hot, heavy iron\nin his loins\u2014great lead weights on his feet\u2014and his chest! What an awful\ncollapse in his chest! Would it hold out? And his knees\u2014if they would but\nkeep off the ground he would win yet.\n\nA foot, still a foot\u2014what an awful lot to make up! Half a foot! Was\nSullivan going, too? Ten yards\u2014even! Was it even? Was it worth this awful\nagony? Even\u2014one more, two more, another\u2014and\u2014sh-h-h!\n\nIt was the frenzied Ludwig who caught him as he fell. And it was Ludwig\nand MacArthur who bore him in a blanket across the field and laid him on\ntwo thicknesses of mats in the athletic building. It was these two, and a\ndoctor from among the officials, who worked on him until he knew where he\nwas.\n\nIt was Ludwig on one side, sponging his face, and MacArthur on the other,\ndrying him off, when he looked up with the first sign of intelligence.\n\n\u201cThere you are, you little bronco! Changed your mind and came back to\nlife, did you? Know what we\u2019ve a good mind to do to you? A little of\nthis, now\u2014there, how\u2019s that? That\u2019s witch-hazel we\u2019re rubbing on. Sniff\nit up, that\u2019s right. Fine, eh? Feel better than when you crossed the\ntape-rather! Get up? Not for a while yet\u2014not till the carriage comes.\n\n\u201cWho won? Why, you, of course!\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t know. I was almost afraid to ask\u2014afraid it was Sullivan. Last I\nremember he was ahead. Couldn\u2019t see\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cAhead? I should say he was ahead until a yard from the string, and then\na miracle happened. Of course you couldn\u2019t see. Wonder you could breathe\nafter that finish\u2014and setting the pace all the way round! Why, your\nknees weren\u2019t six inches off the ground! You crossed on your hands and\nknees\u2014crossed, no, you never crossed\u2014you fell over, and Sullivan fell\nalongside. Wait till Webster gets hold of you.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor Sullivan, wasn\u2019t he game? And we beat Scotia?\u201d\n\n\u201cBeat them, yes, and won the banner\u2014champions again.\u201d\n\n\u201cWon the banner\u2014that\u2019s good. And Richard L. Haskins won the quarter.\nThat\u2019ll look fine in the morning paper. Won\u2019t the people at home read\nthat, though? But, Mr. Ludwig\u2014Stevie\u2014how\u2019s Stevie?\u201d\n\n\u201cStevenson\u2019s all right. No, lie down\u2014he\u2019s not here. He\u2019s gone to the\nstation to catch an early train home.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor Stevie\u2014I know\u2014you don\u2019t want to tell me,\u201d whispered Dickie.\n\n\u201cNow, now, Dickie, I\u2019ll handle the sponge.\u201d Ludwig bent lower. \u201cSh-h-h!\nThere, there, let Mac pull the hood over, and nobody will know. Go ahead,\ndon\u2019t mind me and Mac; we understand.\u201d\n\nLudwig plied the sponge and MacArthur the towel. And so deftly did they\nwork that in all that room no other knew that under the hood of the\nbath-robe they were wiping away Dickie\u2019s tears of pity for Stevenson.\n\n\n\n\nHOLDING THE PIPE\n\nBy Albert W. Tolman\n\n\nAs the father of Billy and Jack Remfry emerged from the sitting-room\ncloset with the checker-board, the two boys sidled up to him. Billy\nhugged an armful of rockets, while Jack was generously laden with\nfirecrackers and Roman candles. \u201cAren\u2019t you going with us to Steel\nBridge? You promised.\u201d\n\nTom Remfry hesitated. Fourth of July night though it was, he could not\nforego his weekly battle with Lon Penfield, his fellow fireman and\nancient checker foe. So he compromised. \u201cRun along, boys. I\u2019ll come after\njust one game. Don\u2019t point those rockets toward the city.\u201d\n\nWhooping, the boys made off. Tom and Lon sat down to the board,\nundisturbed by the noise outside. This game was unusually important, for\nLon\u2019s victory the Saturday before had tied them with seventeen apiece.\n\nWhile they whittled down each other\u2019s forces, Henry Marcot, watchman in\nBustin\u2019s lumber-yard, was uneasily watching three boys with firecrackers\njust outside the fence. So engrossed was Henry with the foe in front that\nhe did not observe a flaming rocket-stick which, after soaring far and\nhigh, dropped quietly upon a hard-pine board-pile behind him. Startled by\na sudden crackling, he looked back to see the whole pile ablaze.\n\nWhen the rocket fell, Remfry\u2019s four kings were beleaguering Penfield\u2019s\nremaining three in the latter\u2019s dodge-corner. Marcot pulled the yard\nalarm just as an incautious onslaught cost the besieger two pieces to his\nenemy\u2019s one, and left the game a draw.\n\n_Clang! Clang!_\n\nOver went the board and up leaped both call-men. Out they darted, Remfry\nsnapping his spring-lock, and ran at top speed for the house of Hose 5.\nThe cart was rattling into the street when they jumped abroad.\n\n\u201cWhere\u2019s the fire?\u201d halloed Remfry to Louville Craig, his elbow neighbor\non the swaying wagon.\n\n\u201cBustin\u2019s lumber-yard!\u201d Craig shouted. \u201cThey say a rocket from Steel\nBridge started it.\u201d\n\nRemfry caught his breath as if doused with cold water. Steel Bridge! One\nof his boys\u2019 rockets! His heart went down like lead. Oh, why had he not\ngone with them and given up his game! But it was too late now. That very\nthing had been the nightmare of the fire department ever since he joined\nit\u2014a blaze in the worst place and under the worst conditions.\n\nThe city stood west of the river on three terraces. The first contained\nlumber-yards, coal-sheds and mills; the second, thirty feet higher,\nheld the railroad-tracks and business section; while the third, thirty\nfeet higher still, was covered with residences. Unless the flames were\nchecked, the east wind would drive them against an oil-tank right above\nthe yard on the edge of the second terrace. That once afire, the whole\ncity might be wiped out.\n\nAs Hose 5 clattered across the railroad gridiron between hurrying crowds,\nRemfry sighted the yard, and felt sick. The pine was blazing fiercely,\nsending out a dense yellowish-black smoke. The second alarm began to\nclang, calling out the whole force.\n\nThe cart stopped near the engine, which was already in position. The two\ncall-men rapidly donned rubber coats and helmets, while their mates took\nthe butt of the hose off the wagon and rushed it to the hydrant.\n\n\u201cRun a line up Adams Street, you two, back of the yard!\u201d shouted Capt.\nJoe Porter. It was the post of responsibility in the very track of the\nflames, and he picked his best men for it. Penfield and Remfry again\njumped on the hose-cart.\n\n\u201cGo ahead!\u201d yelled the hydrant man to the driver. Off rattled the wagon,\ndropping a lengthening trail of hose. The instant they stopped, the\nfiremen screwed on the pipe and began to drag the line toward the yard.\n\nClose by stood the oil-tank, big and black, with the smoke eddying\nthickly round it. Thirty feet below lay the lumber piles. Dropping their\nhose over the edge of the stone wall, they slid down to the ground.\n\n\u201cPlay away, 5!\u201d shouted Remfry, pulling down more line. They were in a\nspace between high board-piles, and a strong wind was driving the fire\nand smoke toward them. The spot might easily become a dangerous trap.\n\n\u201cCome on, Tom!\u201d bellowed Penfield, tugging at the pipe. \u201cLet\u2019s get well\nin before the water comes.\u201d\n\nThe piles were twenty feet apart. Round a corner twice as far ahead red\ntongues were spurting. Already the air was hot and thick. Crouching, they\ndragged the line along several yards. Remfry was wild with impatience. He\nwas responsible for that fire. He must put it out.\n\n\u201cFar enough!\u201d he gasped at last. \u201cIsn\u2019t that water ever coming?\u201d\n\nIt was fully five hundred feet to the engine. A few lengths from it the\nthree-inch hose was \u201cSiamesed\u201d off into two smaller lines, one of which\nran to the impatient call-men. Suddenly a tremor shook the closely woven\ncotton.\n\n\u201cHere it is!\u201d exclaimed Penfield.\n\n_Psht! Psht!_ hissed the nozzle. Spasmodically at first, but in a few\nseconds foaming strongly under a two-hundred pound pressure, the water\ncame. The two rested the pipe over their knees, grasping the handles\nfirmly, interlocking fingers under the tip. A powerful white jet was soon\nbombarding the burning pine.\n\nThe hose stiffened under their hands, responsive to every impulse from\nthe engine. It was like a live thing, struggling to escape. But they knew\nits tricks, and held it hard. Three years they had been together on the\npipe, and never once had it got away from them.\n\nAt the very apex of the fire they literally held the safety of the city\nin their hands. Behind them loomed the gaunt, black oil-tank. Should the\nflames reach its ten thousand gallons nothing could save the city.\n\nRemfry groaned at the thought. He envied Penfield. Penfield had only the\nfire to think of. That was bad enough, to be sure. But it was tenfold\nworse for him, Tom Remfry, to feel that he might have prevented all this,\nhad he only gone to Steel Bridge with his boys.\n\nLow as they might stoop, they could not avoid the smoke. Their smarting\neyes could barely see to direct the jet. Both were choking. Penfield\nleaned forward and thrust his hand into the stream to spray his face.\n\nHis foot slipped; he lost his balance; his grip on the handle loosened.\n\nWith a tremendous leap the pipe wrenched out of the men\u2019s grasp, and\ndisappeared straight up in the thick smoke.\n\nA deluge burst above the firemen. The hose had changed from their best\nfriend to their worst enemy. It whipped the board-piles; it slapped full\nlength on the ground to their right; vanishing, it dropped a moment later\non their left. Fearful in plain sight, it was doubly, trebly terrible in\nthat impenetrable pitchiness. One rap from the crazy nozzle would smash a\nman\u2019s skull.\n\nRemfry grabbed Penfield\u2019s shoulder. Their first impulse was to run; but\nwhere? Straight ahead was the only way out; and the fire barred that.\nBehind rose the thirty-foot wall.\n\nInstinct told Remfry the only spot where for a brief period they might be\ncomparatively safe.\n\n\u201cBack to the corner!\u201d he whispered, hoarsely; and the two ran for their\nlives. Once the nozzle jabbed Penfield in the spine. Then Remfry ducked\nin time to lose only his helmet from a flying loop of hose. Soon they\nwere crouching in the angle between the wall and a board-pile.\n\nBut the flames would soon drive them from this refuge. Besides, the chief\ncounted on them to fight back the fire from the oil-tank. The force had\nits hands full. Every man and every line were busy. Somehow they must\nsignal the engine to shut the water off, until they could regain control\nof the pipe.\n\n\u201cHold on, 5!\u201d shrieked Remfry. And Penfield seconded him with:\n\n\u201cShut that line down!\u201d\n\nBut no answering cry came back. It was not strange. Two men under a high\nwall, throats full of smoke and cinders, could hardly make themselves\nheard above the roar of the flames and the hissing of water, capped by\nthe whirring and puffing of seven engines.\n\nDesperate as was their own situation, the firemen\u2019s first thought was\nof the ruin threatened by the fire. The destruction of the lumber-yard\nwas bad enough, but the whole city\u2014every business block, every dwelling,\ntheir own homes\u2014it was horrible! Remfry remembered he had just paid for\nhis house, and that he had no insurance.\n\nMeanwhile the fire was growing hotter; shriveling blasts swept against\nthe wall. Hot, stinging pitch-pine smoke filled their eyes and lungs. The\nnozzle was vainly cascading every spot except the one that needed it.\nIt maddened Remfry to see so much good water wasting. Every gallon was\npriceless. He could stand it no longer.\n\n\u201cNo use, Lon!\u201d he croaked, putting his mouth dose to his comrade\u2019s ear.\n\u201cWe can\u2019t make \u2019em hear. We\u2019ve got to catch that pipe.\u201d\n\nBoth knew well the peril they risked. Three months before had not a\nflying nozzle snapped Billy Bowen\u2019s leg! But they must take chances.\nRemfry slunk along the right-hand board-pile; Penfield followed the left.\nShould one get his hands on the hose, the other was to spring to his help.\n\nThe dense smoke thinned, and they glimpsed the line, slatting like a\nmaddened python. Three or four clutches at the elusive loops resulted\nonly in their being flung down and dragged in the dirt.\n\nThrough those moments of exhausting struggle, of harrowing suspense,\ndread of the fire creeping ever nearer the oil, destruction menacing the\nentire city, Remfry\u2019s brain was busy with the terrible thought that he\nand his boys were responsible for it all.\n\nThe clouds lifted. Remfry saw the coil whip toward Penfield. There came\na thud. Lon was swept off his feet, and dashed against the board-pile.\nDropping like a lump of clay, he lay motionless. Remfry thought his mate\nwas killed. He faced the hose with sudden fury.\n\nJust then it caught for an instant under the end of a board. His chance!\nHurling himself upon it, he wound both arms about the swelling tube just\nas it got away again.\n\nTwining arms and legs round the hose, he hitched slowly forward. The\nwhole thing now was on him, _him_! Lon could not help any more. Inch by\ninch he crept along the squirming tube, hugging it bearishly. It flirted\nhim from one side to the other, rolling him in the dirt. It humped itself\nlike a bucking bronco. Once it tossed him against the boards, almost\nfracturing his ribs. In spite of all he did not let go; for he knew he\ncould never get hold again.\n\nA weak cry made him look back. Under the smoke he caught sight of\nPenfield, struggling to rise. He had only been stunned. A great weight\nfell from Remfry\u2019s mind, and he clung with fresh strength.\n\n\u201cTake your time, Lon!\u201d he shouted. \u201cI\u2019ll hold it down.\u201d\n\nHuge, black, formless, fiery-eyed, spitting forky flame, the\nconflagration overshadowed him, like a gigantic Chinese dragon, the\nspirit of ruin personified. Against its searing breath he crawled, now\nprone, now tossed aloft, battered, smoke-stifled, but creeping steadily\non.\n\nThe end of the big tube was not far away. Remfry could tell that, for its\noscillations were growing shorter and more violent. The part conquered\nlay quiet behind him. But somewhere in the smoke in front the metal pipe\nwas brandishing like the snapper of a whip-lash.\n\nWith lightning suddenness down it smashed on the hose not three inches\nbefore his fingers. Had it struck his hand, it would have splintered\nevery bone. The polished brass glinted as it gyrated wildly away. The\nnext few feet would be the most perilous, for at any second the nozzle\nmight crack his skull.\n\nThe hot black smoke puffed along the ground\u00b7 Remfry butted blindly into\nit, lowering his face, till his lips brushed the dirt. Inch after inch of\nhard round tube slipped back under him and grew quiet. With eyes closed\ntight he wriggled on. When he was within a yard of the pipe, he knew it\nwould stop slatting.\n\nThe moment came sooner than he had expected. With one final flirt the\nnozzle gave up, conquered, and the jet began to furrow the chips and\ndirt. A second later Remfry\u2019s fingers touched the brass handles.\n\nSoon Penfield was beside him, his strength and consciousness fully\nrestored; and they took up once more their battle with the flames.\n\nIt was well toward morning before the fire was out, and the two started\nfor home. Remfry felt better. The city was safe. Still the thousands of\ndollars\u2019 worth of lumber that had gone up in smoke hung, a black, heavy\npall, above his conscience. He dreaded to meet Jack and Billy.\n\nAs he stumbled on, a sentence from a passer-by caught his ear:\n\n\u201cStarted by a rocket from Triangle Hill, across the river.\u201d\n\nHe gripped the man\u2019s arm.\n\n\u201cAre you sure?\u201d he almost shouted.\n\n\u201cSure,\u201d briefly rejoined the stranger, looking in surprise at his\nbegrimed, excited questioner.\n\nRemfry dropped his arm. So his boys were not responsible, after all.\nBruised, muddy, saturated with pitch-pine smoke, every muscle aching, he\nresumed his way homeward, his mind at peace.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TRAVELLING DOLL\n\nBy Evelyn Snead Barnett\n\n\nBefore the serpent came in the guise of a French doll, it was a gay\nlittle Eden of a shanty-boat. Its doors were plaid-paneled in red, green\nand blue; its tiny square window-frames were painted blue on one side of\nthe house, red on the other, and green at the back. Here, to be sure, the\npaint grew thin and failed to hold out for the walls, although gathering\nwith a mixture of its three tints it sprawled in a final effort to tell\nthat the name of the little home was _The Wing_.\n\nBut a short distance from the mainland _The Wing_ rested, anchored to\na green island. A skiff was tied to its front mast and a single plank\nconnected the shanty-boat with the great world\u2014typical of the slender\nthread that bound the floating family to their kind, for the Wings did\nnot consort with other shanty-boaters.\n\nInside, the little abode was as gay as its exterior, and far more tidy.\nThe stove and its tins were polished \u201cto the nines,\u201d the strips of rag\ncarpet were bright and clean, the table was scoured white, the bed was\nneatly made, and under it the family wardrobe was out of sight in a long,\nblack, brass-nailed box. A gaudy clock ticked noisily from a shelf; a\ntall lamp, in a rainbow-paper shade, the pride and glory of the home, sat\nby its side. The wall was covered with bright posters; everywhere were\ngay colors and shining cleanliness.\n\nAnd they were a satisfied family,\u2014before the serpent came,\u2014Father Wing\nbeing a sturdy, silent fisherman, who could always be counted upon to\nmake a living, catching it on water and spending it on land, and finding\ncomfort in his gentle wife and ten-year-old daughter.\n\nTo-day he was off fishing, and Mrs. Wing sat inside the sill of the plaid\ndoorway, sewing on a high-necked, long-sleeved gingham apron, her head\nturned in a listening attitude that was habitual. Outside on the little\ndeck piazza, in a starched mate to the apron her mother was making,\nlittle Almira sat, hugging Botsey and feeling rather lonely; for although\nher father had left the skiff and taken Wally Jim away, Sweepins had\nsurreptitiously followed.\n\nAlmira was barelegged and towheaded, but she had a fair skin that defied\nexposure, and her face had never lost its baby curves. Her eyes were as\nblue as the river on a clear day, and her mouth had a tender droop, as if\nshe were always feeling sorry for something or some one. She was tilting\nher little stool, humming a song to Botsey, when her mother said:\n\n\u201cI hear voices. Who\u2019s on shore, Almira?\u201d\n\nAlmira looked. \u201cThey\u2019s two of \u2019em, ma. They\u2019re beck\u2019ning me to come for\n\u2019em. One\u2019s Miss May, and the other\u2019s got lace on her petticoat and fuzzy\nthings round her neck.\u201d\n\n\u201cI reckon Miss May\u2019s coming about school again. I\u2019m going to show her\nthat last copy of yours. I wish I could spare you to get an education\nlike my mother gave me, but I can\u2019t. Still, it ain\u2019t every child with\neyes can read raised point.\u201d\n\nAlmira was untying the boat. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t let you spare me. You\u2019d catch\nafire or you\u2019d fall into the river. We\u2019d rather stay here, wouldn\u2019t we?\u201d\nShe was talking to Botsey now. \u201cNo, you can\u2019t go with me.\u201d Jumping nimbly\ninto the skiff, she began to cross the narrow strip of water.\n\n\u201cThat baby row us?\u201d she heard the lace lady ask. So she ran the boat in\nskilfully.\n\nMiss May stepped lightly in; the lace lady hesitated, then followed with\na laugh. Almira could hardly work the oars for looking at her soft brown\neyes and the little brown curl that fluttered on her cheek.\n\nA few strokes brought the skiff to the boat. \u201cGood morning, Mrs. Wing!\u201d\ncalled Miss May. \u201cHere\u2019s somebody you want to meet. Guess!\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it Mrs. Lenox, who sends the raised point books in the travelling\nlibrary?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re a witch!\u201d cried the girl.\n\nThe woman smiled brightly. Her blue eyes, with the white, sightless\npupils, turned toward the stranger. \u201cI\u2019m glad to see you at last. We\nheard you were coming. Almira, have you brought seats for the ladies?\u201d\n\nThe child, keeping her eyes on the beautiful stranger, brought forward\ntwo soap-boxes upholstered in gay calico. If Botsey only had something\nlike that for her neck! And she caught up the bottle in its crude skirt\nand blue crocheted shawl with an emphatic hug.\n\n\u201cIs that your doll?\u201d asked Mrs. Lenox\u00b7\n\n\u201cNo, ma\u2019am. It\u2019s Botsey.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s the bottle I\u2019ve fixed up for her. I don\u2019t know how she\u2019d pass the\ntime if it wasn\u2019t for Botsey. You see, being so helpless, I try to make\nher enjoy staying with me. You know how helpless I am without her, Miss\nMay.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know how helpful you are and what a good housekeeper,\u201d said Miss May,\nlooking about at the tidy interior.\n\nThen she told her errand. Almira was invited to the schoolhouse reception\nparty the next Wednesday. Wally Jim had offered to fish near _The Wing_,\nif Mr. Wing should have to be filling orders in town.\n\nAlmira, her eyes still fixed on the beautiful lady\u2019s face, said, \u201cI went\nonce. Miss May had an Easter just after we first come here. May I bring\nBotsey?\u201d\n\nBut Miss May said no. A new library was due, and if it reached the\nvillage in time Almira would have books to bring her mother.\n\nMrs. Wing smiled softly. \u201cHow good of you! The last one was about little\nNell. Why is it our books are so much better than books for people that\ncan see? Jack thinks so, and so does Almira. How I bless you, ma\u2019am!\u201d\n\nMrs. Lenox could say nothing. May had told her the story of the young\nmother, attacked by the scarlet fever that left her sightless ten years\nbefore.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll let her come on Wednesday,\u201d pursued Mrs. Wing, \u201cbut I\u2019ll never\nbudge from this chair till she gits back. It\u2019s not as if I\u2019d never seen\nhow dangerous things are.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\nWith the school party this tale has naught to do. The child reached home\nbetimes, carrying a package of books and a pasteboard box that seemed\nalmost as long as herself. She was trembling with excitement.\n\n\u201cThe library\u2019s come, ma! And here\u2019s two books and some cake and candy\nand\u2014O ma, just guess what\u2019s in the box?\u201d\n\nThe mother felt, smiled, and shook her head.\n\n\u201cA little girl\u2014a live little girl-baby doll!\u201d And she lifted it from its\nshell. \u201cAnd Miss May\u2014she\u2019s sometimes so funny!\u2014she said at first she\nbelieved she\u2019d rather I wouldn\u2019t have her, but the lady said she wanted\nme to.\u201d\n\nThe mother held out her arms for the doll, almost as excited as the child.\n\nAlmira expounded, \u201cIts dress is blue, with buttons and buttonholes, and\nher hair\u2019s real; put your hand here. It\u2019s brown, and these teenty brown\ncurls slant on her cheeks, and her eyes are brown, and she can shut them\nand go to sleep just like you and me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I never!\u201d said the mother, feeling. \u201cAnd what is this paper pinned\non her dress?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a letter,\u201d answered Almira, sagely. \u201cIt begins in print and ends\nin writing, but I can\u2019t make it all out. It says, \u2018Patent, unbreakable,\ncelluloid. Made in France.\u2019 I\u2019ll ask daddy the rest when he comes. And\nfeel the petticoat, ma! Lace!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd tucks,\u201d added the mother. \u201cAnd see how fine the stuff is. Are these\nslippers?\u201d\n\n\u201cWith heels, real heels!\u201d gurgled Almira. \u201cAnd stockin\u2019s! And in the box\nhere\u2019s a hat and feather and a white nightgown!\u201d Almira\u2019s emotion got the\nbetter of her, and she flung herself into her mother\u2019s arms and rocked in\necstasy.\n\nThen came a familiar bark, and Sweepins preceded the husband and fell to\nsniffing the doll immediately. \u201cIt\u2019s mine, Sweepins,\u201d cried the child.\n\u201cLook, daddy!\u201d\n\nBut the fisherman was too hungry to notice dolls, so the trio prepared\nthe supper of frizzled bacon, corn, hoe-cakes and weak coffee. Afterward\nwas bedtime, and the little feather bed was pulled from the big one to\nthe floor, and made up with clean quilts for the child. But first she\nundressed the doll, carefully plaiting its hair in two nice plaits,\nputting the front in curl-papers, and robing it in the night-dress fine\nenough for day. Mrs. Lenox had cautioned her to teach her child tidy ways\nlike its grandmother\u2019s. Poor Botsey, hitherto her constant bedfellow,\nstood motionless outside the door.\n\nWhen morning came, and she was helping, her mother asked, \u201cWhat are you\ngoing to name her?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt ought to be something pretty. I thought of Queeny.\u201d\n\n\u201cQueeny\u2019ll be fine,\u201d agreed Mrs. Wing. \u201cBut where\u2019s the paper? Maybe\nshe\u2019s already named.\u201d\n\nOutside \u201cdaddy\u201d was mending a net when Almira brought him the paper. He\nread:\n\n\u201c\u2018Patent, unbreakable, celluloid. Made in France.\u2019 That\u2019s in print,\nand here in writing is, \u2018This travelling doll goes with Travelling\nLibrary Number Ten to any child selected by persons responsible for the\ndistribution of the books. It is the reward for good behavior or special\nmerit in the place of a medal, and is to belong to the child until the\nlibrary is ready to go on, when the dolly in neat condition and clean,\nher hair combed, her clothing washed and ironed, must be put back in her\nbox and packed for the next child on the circuit.\u2019\u201d\n\nAlmira snatched at the paper and ran into the boat. She laid Queeny on\nher mother\u2019s lap and crept out to the little deck. Botsey, again on\nguard, stood by the door. Almira seized her fiercely, tore off the blue\nshawl, dragged at the soiled skirt. An old greasy bottle! How could it\never be taken back as her very own child when Queeny had to go?\n\n\u201cAlmira,\u201d called the mother, scenting tragedy, \u201cdon\u2019t you want me to play\ngrandmother with you and Queeny?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the use? She\u2019s like your books. She ain\u2019t mine, and I never had a\nreal child before. The paper says she must travel with the books.\u201d\n\nBut the placid cheeriness of the blind woman smoothed matters: \u201cBut she\u2019s\nyours now, and sometimes the books stay for weeks and weeks.\u201d\n\nHere was some comfort. One week was a long time; a month so long that\nAlmira could hardly remember it. And Queeny was beautiful. Why not love\nher and be happy?\n\nAnd she was, for weeks and weeks that went by like a dream. She quite\nforgot what had to happen until one day Wally Jim stopped with a note\nfrom Miss May\u2014in printing writing that Almira could read. It said:\n\n \u201cWill you let Queeny go on to-morrow? There\u2019s a dear little\n girl just your age up in the mountains who may have to walk on\n crutches all her life. She is expecting the doll every day now,\n so have it looking clean and pretty.\u201d\n\n\u201cAlmira?\u201d questioned the mother. But the child did not answer.\nFortunately no one was near but Wally Jim to see her screwed-up face as\nshe gulped once or twice. She handed him the paper to read, making a sign\nof silence. Whatever her emotions, she always instinctively spared her\nsympathetic mother.\n\n\u201cI wouldn\u2019t let her go!\u201d blurted Wally Jim, kicking one cowhide boot so\nhard against the tying-post that he rocked the house.\n\nAlmira\u2019s head shook in mournful dissent. \u201cWhen I took her I knew I had to\nlet her travel with the books,\u201d she said, with wonderful logic.\n\nWally Jim would not look at her. \u201cYou take my advice\u2014kick about it.\n\u2019Twon\u2019t do any harm.\u201d He got into his skiff, with head turned from\nAlmira\u2019s drawn face. \u201cBut if you\u2019re bound to send her, I\u2019ll be round\nto-morrow for her and the books.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that he said about the books?\u201d called the mother. \u201cAre some more\ncoming?\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose so. These have to go back.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the doll? O baby!\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course,\u201d answered Almira, shortly. \u201cWe\u2019ll wash her clothes to-day,\nfor it says, \u2018Returned clean and neat.\u2019\u201d\n\nIt was all right while the work went on. Queeny was washed, combed,\nbraided and dressed. Almira touched her as little as possible.\n\nWhen Queeny was laid in her box, wearing a blue hood knitted by the\nmother, and tied with the tapes that had held her still on her former\njourney, Almira thought she looked as if she were in her coffin. Then\nAlmira caught sight of Botsey, as usual on guard outside the door. Before\nQueeny came Botsey was ever so much sweeter. If she had never seen\nQueeny! Why could not the little girl in the mountains on crutches have a\nBotsey? They do all right until you\u2019ve seen the other kind.\n\nAlmira\u2019s character was one of quick decision. With a furtive look at her\nmother, she took Queeny from her nest and removed her hood, dress, shoes,\nstockings. Then she stripped Botsey of her old skirt and blue shawl,\nputting Queeny\u2019s clothes on Botsey after a painful fashion, put the blue\nwoolen hood over Botsey\u2019s green glass countenance, and folded Queeny\u2019s\nfreshly starched nightgown on Botsey\u2019s chest. She viewed her work\ncritically, and with an access of turpitude, stuffed empty sleeves and\nstockings with paper, putting on the slippers so that they stuck quite\nnaturally from beneath the blue frock: and right over the place where\nQueeny\u2019s face should have looked from the hood, she pinned the paper.\nThen she tied the tapes, tied them with a vicious screw of her mouth in\nhard, hard knots, put the lid on the box, and brought all to her mother,\nsaying, in the evenest of tones:\n\n\u201cI want you to help me wrap her up.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor baby!\u201d said the mother. \u201cMaybe some day Mrs. Lenox will send\nanother.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever want another!\u201d said the child, sullenly.\n\nGoing out to her stool in front, she dressed Queeny in the old skirt, put\nthe shawl over her head, and tried to stand her on guard, Botsey fashion.\nBut Queeny doubled up, and refused. So she held her in her arms with a\nsavage satisfaction, thinking, \u201cQueeny isn\u2019t any bottle doll.\u201d\n\nOnce the mother brushed the wool of the little shawl as the child passed\nher on some household task.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ve done gone back to Botsey? That\u2019s right. You\u2019ve the sense of a\ngrown-up.\u201d\n\nThe afternoon brought a scare. Miss May herself came for the packages.\nSuppose! Oh, suppose! Almira barely had time to plump Queeny between the\nfeather beds before Miss May landed in Wally Jim\u2019s skiff. Almira was glad\nthat she had been prompt, and that the string was tied in hard knots.\nMiss May praised her for being a good little girl, and made her wince by\ndepicting the gladness of that lame child in the mountains when Queeny\nshould arrive.\n\nBut Almira did not repent for a minute. She even said, \u201cPoor little\ngirl!\u201d with a hard-hearted irony. Miss May puckered her forehead, as she\nalways did when she was thinking.\n\nThat night Almira tossed and tumbled, unable to sleep. Then the moon\nrose and sent a straight shaft of light through one of the little square\nwindows on the doll\u2019s face. Almira smothered a scream. One of Queeny\u2019s\neyes was asleep, the other wide open, staring at her. She shook her hard,\nbut that eye would not sleep. She held her up, but although the shut eye\nopened, the open eye shut, giving the effect of a wicked wink.\n\nHow she longed for dear, blind Botsey! Where was Botsey now? Could she\nfeel, and did she know what had been done? No, Botsey was only a bottle.\n\nBut _Queeny knew_! And Queeny was watching her with one eye to see\nwhat other wicked things were going to happen; and there was Miss May\npraising her and trusting her, and that little lame girl in the mountains\nexpecting a doll, and getting\u2014\n\nAlmira could not have called this a protest of conscience, but she knew\nshe was utterly miserable. Furthermore, she realized that Queeny\u2019s\nability to bring pride and happiness was gone, and that she herself would\nalways have this something gnawing her inside.\n\nBut must she? Perhaps it was not too late. Jim would help her. To-morrow\nshe would get him to stay near her mother while she went ashore with\nQueeny, the glaring Queeny, to Miss May, telling her how bad she had\nbeen. Perhaps Number Ten had not gone on, and Botsey could be stopped on\nher deceitful way.\n\nThis resolve so comforted Almira that as the moon went down and darkness\nhid the staring eye, she fell asleep.\n\nShe was awakened by voices and a motion she knew well. The daylight came\nbroadly through the windows. She heard a clanging and creaking.\n\nA sick realization overwhelmed her. They had left the island, they were\nin the broad bed of the river, skimming away who knew where?\u2014away from\nMiss May and the chance of making things all right.\n\nShe dressed herself, asking no questions; but her mother, holding to the\narms of her chair, explained:\n\n\u201cYour pa thinks he\u2019ll do better off a larger town, so he came in before\nday and raised sail to get into the current while this good wind\u2019s\nblowing.\u201d\n\nAlmira sat limply on her little stool. Queeny could not go back to Miss\nMay, but she should not glare at her with her one eye for the rest of her\nlife. Botsey could swim, but Queeny\u2014Queeny could drown! And this time\nthere was no deliberation. She snatched at the doll, and going to the\nback of the boat, hurled it as far as she could into the river!\n\nThen she fell to helping her mother assiduously, being extra loving and\nattentive, giving little pats and squeezes as she passed her in her\nmorning tasks, even running to hug her whenever the boat rocked in the\nwaves made by passing craft. Mrs. Wing did the washing, Almira hung the\nclothes to dry in the bright, breezy sunshine. She scoured the already\nbright tins, she shook up the beds, hung the quilts to air, washed\nthe floor, the deck. It was work she wanted, hard work. She made the\ndiscovery that work brought forgetfulness. She would have liked to scrub\nthe floor of the world.\n\nDay was all right, but for all her bodily fatigue she slept but fitfully\nthat night. She wished people could work at night.\n\nAlthough they soon reached a place that her father called the Point, and\nanchored a little way up a creek, where things stopped shaking and were\nquiet, her eyes would not close.\n\nThis Point place was not like the green island. There were smells. They\nwere far enough inland to see a street with people walking; indeed, they\nwere almost under a bridge that let the street-cars go by. \u201cDaddy\u201d left\nearly. After putting the cabbage on to boil, her mother sat down to her\nseams and hems in the checked blue gingham. Almira, empty-handed, moped\non her little three-legged stool at the door. Sweepins, wringing wet,\nsnored on the sunny deck.\n\nA skiff came up the stream; in it Wally Jim. \u201cI\u2019ve brought you\nsomething!\u201d he called. \u201cMiss May got to thinking after she got home, and\nshe says she\u2019ll get another doll for that mountain kid, and you can have\nQueeny back.\u201d He reached under the seat, and with dramatic effect drew\nout the long box.\n\nAt the sight of it Almira\u2019s self-control gave way. Here was punishment,\nindeed! To her mother\u2019s arms she rushed, blurting out the truth with\nsobs.\n\n\u201cWally Jim,\u201d asked Mrs. Wing, \u201chow far is Miss May\u2019s from here?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so very far, and she\u2019s down in town to-day\u2014said she was coming.\u201d\n\n\u201cTake the box back to her, Wally Jim!\u201d sobbed Almira. \u201cLet her see it\njust as it is, because she hasn\u2019t opened it, and she thinks she\u2019s sending\nme Queeny. And I\u2019ll write a letter besides.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll take all the letters you want, but I won\u2019t take the box, because\nwhatever\u2019s in it, it\u2019s yours.\u201d There was something different and set\nabout Wally Jim this morning. Almira sighed resignedly, and with\npainstaking labor proceeded to print her letter of repentance.\n\n\u201cYou have got back Botsey, dear,\u201d said the mother, \u201cso try to forget.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll never play with Botsey again. I\u2019ll give her away first.\u201d\n\nIn an incredibly short time they heard Jim\u2019s oars again, and Miss May\nstepped on deck. She was holding out her arms to Almira, and there were\ntears in her eyes.\n\n\u201cDear child, I didn\u2019t like the idea from the very first, but Mrs. Lenox\ndoes so much for us. You\u2019ll be all the better for the sharp experience,\nand you have really shown your repentance. Now let\u2019s open the box and see\nexactly what you did.\u201d\n\nQuite cheerfully, all the miserable feeling gone, Almira brought\nscissors, cut strings, pointing out the while the iniquities of hard\nknots and covered features.\n\nWhat! Queeny! From the bottom of the river, dry, clothed, and with her\ntwo eyes shut! Almira looked at Miss May and at Wally Jim, grinning over\nMiss May\u2019s shoulder.\n\n\u201cWhat has happened now?\u201d asked Mrs. Wing.\n\n\u201cTell your story, Jim,\u201d said Miss May.\n\n\u201cI was drifting some way off behind you all,\u201d said Jim, \u201cand maybe\nsleeping some, when who should swim up to the skiff with something in\nhis mouth but Sweepins. It was Queeny, but as she\u2019s cellyloid, only her\nclothes were wet. I puzzled out that somehow she hadn\u2019t gone back to Miss\nMay, and that she ought to. So I took her, and Miss May says, \u2018If this is\nQueeny, what\u2019s in Almira\u2019s box?\u2019 And we looked, and there was Botsey.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd oh, I was so sorry,\u201d said Miss May, taking up the tale, \u201cthough I\u2019d\nknown all along that a travelling doll would cause heartache\u2014and this\nproved it would do worse. I sent Queeny back, after having her doctored,\nknowing that my little Almira was good before temptation came, and\nwishing to know what it had made of her. I\u2019m satisfied,\u201d and Miss May\nhugged the child once more.\n\nThe blind mother was smiling. \u201cMiss May, she\u2019s only a child, you know,\nbut she suffered like a grown-up, and with it all, helped me just the\nsame as ever.\u201d\n\nAlmira dug her bare toes into the rag carpet. \u201cWhere\u2019d Botsey go to?\u201d she\nasked, without looking up.\n\n\u201cIf I were you, I\u2019d look under the seat of my boat,\u201d said Wally Jim.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DOLL DOCTOR\n\nBy E. V. Lucas\n\n\nChristina\u2019s father was as good as his word\u2014the doll came, by post, in a\nlong wooden box, only three days after he had left for Paris. All the\nbest dolls come from Paris, but you have to call them \u201cpoup\u00e9es\u201d there\nwhen you ask the young ladies in the shops for them.\n\nChristina had been in the garden ever since she got up, waiting for\nthe postman\u2014there was a little gap in the trees where you could see\nhim coming up the road\u2014and she and Roy had run to meet him across the\nhay-field directly they spied him in the distance. Running across the\nhay-field was forbidden until after hay-making; but when a doll is\nexpected from Paris!\u2026\n\nChristina\u2019s father was better than his word, for it was the most\nbeautiful doll ever made, with a whole wardrobe of clothes, too.\n\nAlso a tiny tortoiseshell comb and a powder puff. Also an extra pair of\nbronzed boots. Her eyes opened and shut, and her eyebrows were real hair.\nThis is very unusual in a doll. \u201cShe shall be called Joan Shoesmith,\u201d\nsaid Christina, who had always loved the name, it had been her first\nnurse\u2019s.\n\nChristina took Joan to her mother at once, Roy running behind her with\nthe box and the brown paper and the string and the wardrobe, and Chrissie\ncalling back every minute, \u201cDon\u2019t drop the powder puff whatever you do!\u201d\n\u201cHold tight to the hand-glass!\u201d and things like that.\n\n\u201cBut it\u2019s splendid!\u201d Mrs. Tiverton said. \u201cThere isn\u2019t a better doll in\nthe world; only, Chrissie dear, be very careful with it. I don\u2019t know but\nthat father would have done better to have got something stronger\u2014this is\nso very fragile. I think, perhaps you had better have it only indoors.\nYes, that\u2019s the best way; after to-day you must play with it only\nindoors.\u201d\n\nThus Joan Shoesmith came to Mapleton.\n\nHow Christina loved her doll that first day! She carried it everywhere\nand showed it everything\u2014all over the house, right into the attics;\nall over the garden, right into the little black stove place under the\ngreenhouse; into the village, to introduce her to the postmistress, who\nlived behind a brass railing in the grocer\u2019s shop; into the stables, to\nkiss General Gordon, the old white horse. Jim, who groomed the General,\nwas the only person who did not admire the doll properly, but how could\nyou expect a nice feeling from a boy who sets dogs on rats?\n\nIt was two or three days after this that Roy went down to the river to\nfish. He had to go alone, because Christina wanted to play with Joan\nShoesmith in the nursery; but not more than half an hour had passed when\nhe heard footsteps in the long grass behind him, and, looking up, there\nwas Christina. Now, as Christina had refused so bluntly to have anything\nto do with his fishing, Roy was surprised to see her, but more surprised\nstill to see that Joan Shoesmith had come too.\n\n\u201cWhy, did mother say you might bring Joan?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Christina, rather sulkily, \u201cbut I didn\u2019t think she\u2019d mind.\u201d\n\nRoy looked troubled: his mother did not often make rules to interfere\nwith their play, and when she did she liked to be obeyed. She had\ncertainly forbidden Christina to take Joan Shoesmith out of the house.\nHe did not say anything. Christina sat down and began to play. She was\nnot really at all happy, because she knew it was wrong of her to have\ndisobeyed, and she was really a very good girl. Roy went on fishing.\n\n\u201cOh, do do something else,\u201d Christina cried pettishly, after a few\nminutes. \u201cIt\u2019s so cold sitting here waiting for you to catch stupid fish\nthat never come. Let\u2019s go to the cave.\u201d The cave was an old disused\nlime-kiln, where robbers might easily have lived.\n\n\u201cAll right,\u201d Roy said.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll get there first,\u201d Christina called out, beginning to run.\n\n\u201cBah!\u201d said Roy and ran after. They had raced for a hundred yards, when,\nwith a cry, Christina fell. Roy, who was still some distance behind,\nhaving had to pack up his rod, hastened to Christina\u2019s side. He found\nthat she had scrambled to her knees, and was looking anxiously into Joan\nShoesmith\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cOh, Roy,\u201d she wailed, \u201cher eyes have gone!\u201d\n\nIt was too true. Joan Shoesmith, lately so radiantly observant, now\nturned to the world the blankest of empty sockets. Roy took her poor head\nin his hand and shook it. A melancholy rattle told that a pair of once\nserviceable blue eyes were now at large. Christina sank on the grass in\nan agony of grief\u2014due partly, also, to the knowledge that if she had not\nbeen naughty this would never have happened. Roy stood by, feeling hardly\nless unhappy. After a while he took her arm. \u201cCome along,\u201d he said,\n\u201clet\u2019s see if Jim can mend her.\u201d\n\n\u201cJim!\u201d Christina cried in a fury, shaking off his hand.\n\n\u201cBut come along, anyway,\u201d Roy said.\n\nChristina continued sobbing. After a while she moved to rise, but\nsuddenly fell back again. Her sobbing as suddenly ceased. \u201cRoy!\u201d she\nexclaimed fearfully, \u201cI can\u2019t walk.\u201d\n\nChristina had sprained her ankle.\n\nRoy ran to the house as fast as he could to find help, and very soon old\nStedder, the gardener, and Jim were carrying Christina between them, with\nmother and nurse walking by her side. Christina was put to bed at once\nand her foot wrapped in bandages, but she cried almost incessantly, no\nmatter how often she was assured that she was forgiven. \u201cHer sobs,\u201d the\ncook said, coming downstairs after her twentieth visit to the nursery,\n\u201cher sobs are that heart-rending I couldn\u2019t stand it; and all the while\nshe asks for that blessed doll, which its eyes is rattling in its head\nlike marbles through falling on the ground, and Master Roy and Jim\u2019s\ntrying to catch them with a skewer.\u201d\n\nCook was quite right. Roy and Jim, with Joan Shoesmith between them, were\nseated in the harness-room, probing tenderly the depths of that luckless\ncreature\u2019s skull. A housemaid was looking on without enthusiasm. \u201cYou\nwon\u2019t do it,\u201d she said every now and then; \u201cyou can\u2019t mend dolls\u2019 eyes\nwith skewers. No one can. It\u2019s impossible. The king himself couldn\u2019t. You\nought to take it to the Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother at Dormstaple. He\u2019d mend\nit in a jiffy\u2014there\u2019s nothing he can\u2019t do in that way.\u201d\n\nRoy at last gave up in despair. \u201cI\u2019ll take it to the Miss Bannisters\u2019\nbrother,\u201d he said, rising with Joan Shoesmith in his arms; \u201cit\u2019s only six\nmiles.\u201d But a sudden swoop from a figure in the doorway interrupted his\nbold plan.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll do nothing of the kind,\u201d cried nurse, seizing the doll, \u201cwith\nthat angel upstairs crying for it every minute, and the doctor saying\nshe\u2019s in a high fever with lying on the wet grass\u201d; and with a swirl of\nwhite skirts and apron, nurse and Joan Shoesmith were gone.\n\nRoy put his hands in his pockets and wandered moodily into the garden.\nThe world seemed to have no sun in it any more.\n\nThe next day Christina was really ill. It was not only the ankle, but\nshe had caught a chill, the doctor said, and they must be very careful\nwith her. Roy went about with a sad and sadder face, for Christina was\nhis only playmate, and he loved her more than anything else; and, also,\nit seemed so silly not to be able to mend a doll\u2019s eyes. He moped in and\nout of the house all the morning, and was continually being sent away\nfrom Christina\u2019s door, because she was too ill to bear anyone in the room\nexcept nurse. She was wandering in her mind, nurse said, and kept on\nsaying that she had blinded her doll, and crying to have its eyes made\nright again; but she would not let a hand be laid upon her, so that to\nhave Joan Shoesmith mended seemed impossible. Nurse cried too as she said\nit, and Roy joined with her. He could not remember ever having been so\nmiserable.\n\nThe doctor looked very grave when he was going away. \u201cThat doll ought to\nbe put right,\u201d he said to Mrs. Tiverton. \u201cShe\u2019s a sensitive little thing,\nevidently, and this feeling of disobeying you and treating her father\u2019s\npresent lightly is doing her a lot of harm, apart altogether from the\nchill and the sprain. If we could get those eyes in again she\u2019d be better\nin no time, I believe.\u201d\n\nRoy and his mother heard this with a sinking heart, for they knew that\nChristina\u2019s arms locked Joan Shoesmith to her side almost as if they were\nbars of iron.\n\n\u201cAnyway,\u201d the doctor said, \u201cI\u2019ve left some medicine that ought to give\nher some sleep, and I shall come again this afternoon.\u201d So saying, the\ndoctor touched up his horse, and Mrs. Tiverton walked into the house\nagain.\n\nRoy stood still pondering.\n\nSuddenly his mind was made up, and he set off for the high road at a good\nswinging pace. At the gate he passed Jim. \u201cIf they want to know where I\nam,\u201d he called, \u201csay I\u2019ve gone to the Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother.\u201d\n\nMiss Sarah Bannister and Miss Selina Bannister had lived in Dormstaple\nas long almost as anyone could remember, although they were by no means\nold. They had the red house with white windows, the kind of house which\none can see only in old English market towns. There was a gravel drive\nbefore it, in the shape of a banana, the carriages going in at one end\nand out at the other, stopping at the front door steps in the middle.\nThe blinds were of that kind through which no one who is outside can see\nanything, and all who are inside can see everything. The door knocker was\nof the brightest brass. Behind the house was a very large garden, with\na cedar in the midst; and a very soft lawn on which hundreds of birds\nused to settle every morning in winter for the breakfast that the Miss\nBannisters provided. The cedar and the other trees had cigar boxes nailed\nto them, for tits or wrens to build in, and half cocoa-nuts and lumps of\nfat were always hung just outside the windows. At one side of the house\nwas the stable and coach-house, on the other side a billiard-room, now\nused as a workshop. And his workshop brings us to the Miss Bannisters\u2019\nbrother.\n\nThe Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother was an invalid, and he was also what is\ncalled an eccentric. \u201cEccentric, that\u2019s what he is,\u201d Mr. Stallabrass, who\nkept the King\u2019s Arms, had said, and there could be no doubt of it after\nthat. This meant that he wore rather shabby clothes, and took no interest\nin the town, and was rarely seen outside the house or the garden.\n\nRumor said, however, that he was very clever with his hands, and could\nmake anything. What was the matter with the Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother no\none seemed to know, but it gradually kept him more and more indoors.\n\nNo one ever spoke of him as Mr. Bannister, they always said the Miss\nBannisters\u2019 brother. If you could see the Miss Bannisters, especially\nMiss Selina, you would understand this; but although they had deep, gruff\nvoices they were really very kind.\n\nAs time went on, and the Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother did not seem to grow\nany better, or to be likely to take up his gardening again, the Miss\nBannisters had racked their brains to think of some employment for him\nother than reading, which is not good for anyone all day long. One\nevening, some years before this story, while the three were at tea, Miss\nSelina cried suddenly, \u201cI have it!\u201d\u2014so suddenly, indeed, that Miss Sarah\nspilt her cup, and her brother took three lumps of sugar instead of two.\n\n\u201cHave what?\u201d they both exclaimed.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d she said, \u201cI was talking to-day with Mrs. Boniface, and she was\nsaying how nice it would be if there were someone in the town who could\nmend toys\u2014poor Miss Piper at the Bazaar being so useless, and all the\ncarpenters understanding nothing but making book-shelves and cucumber\nframes, and London being so far away, and I said \u2018Yes,\u2019 never thinking of\nTheodore here. And, of course, it\u2019s the very thing for him.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course,\u201d said Miss Sarah. \u201cHe could take the old billiard-room.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd have a stove put in it,\u201d said Miss Selina.\n\n\u201cAnd put up a bench,\u201d said Miss Sarah.\n\n\u201cAnd some cocoa-nut matting on the floor,\u201d said Miss Selina.\n\n\u201cLinoleum,\u201d said Miss Sarah.\n\n\u201cCocoa-nut matting,\u201d said Miss Selina.\n\n\u201cAnd we could call it the Dolls\u2019 Hospital,\u201d said Miss Sarah.\n\n\u201cInfirmary,\u201d said Miss Selina.\n\n\u201cI prefer Hospital,\u201d said Miss Sarah.\n\n\u201cInfirmary,\u201d said Miss Selina. \u201cDr. Bannister, house surgeon, attends\ndaily from ten till one.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt would be the prettiest and kindliest occupation,\u201d said Miss Sarah,\n\u201cas well as a useful one.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s the whole point of it,\u201d said Miss Selina.\n\nAnd that is how\u2014five or six years ago\u2014the Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother came\nto open the Dolls\u2019 Infirmary. But he did not stop short at mending dolls.\nHe mended all kinds of other things too; he advised on the length of\ntails for kites; he built ships; he had even made fireworks.\n\nRoy walked into Dormstaple at about one o\u2019clock, very tired and hot and\ndusty and hungry; and a little later, after asking his way more than\nonce, he stood on the doorstep of the Miss Bannisters\u2019 house. The door\nwas opened by old Mary, and as the flavor of roast fowl rushed out, Roy\nknew how hungry he was. \u201cI want to see the Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother,\u201d he\nsaid, \u201cplease.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re too late,\u201d was the answer. \u201cCome to-morrow morning. Mr. Theodore\nnever sees children in the afternoon.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but I must,\u201d Roy almost sobbed.\n\n\u201cChut, chut!\u201d said old Mary, \u201clittle boys shouldn\u2019t say must.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut when they must, what else is there for them to say?\u201d Roy asked.\n\n\u201cChut, chut!\u201d said old Mary again. \u201cThat\u2019s imperent! Now run away, and\ncome to-morrow morning.\u201d\n\nThis was too much for Roy. He covered his face with his hands, and really\nand truly cried\u2014a thing he would scorn to do on his own account.\n\nWhile he stood there in this distress a hand was placed on his arm, and\nhe was drawn gently into the house. He heard the door shut behind him.\nThe hand then guided him along passages into a great room, and there he\nwas liberated. Roy looked round; it was the most fascinating room he\nhad ever seen. There was a long bench at the window with a comfortable\nchair before it, and on the bench were hammers and chisels and all kinds\nof tools. A ship nearly finished lay in one place, a clockwork steamer\nin another, a pair of rails wound about the floor on the cocoa-nut\nmatting\u2014in and out like a snake\u2014on which a toy train probably ran, and\nhere and there were signals. On the shelves were colored papers, bottles,\nboxes, and wire. In one corner was a huge kite, as high as a man, with a\ngreat face painted on it. Several dolls, more or less broken, lay on the\ntable.\n\nAll this he saw in a moment. Then he looked at the owner of the hand,\nwho had been standing beside him all the while with an amused expression\non his delicate, kind face. Roy knew in an instant it was the Miss\nBannisters\u2019 brother.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother, \u201cso when one must, one must?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d Roy said, half timidly.\n\n\u201cQuite right too,\u201d said the Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother. \u201c\u2018Must\u2019 is a very\ngood word, if one has the character to back it up. And now tell me,\nquickly, what is the trouble. Something very small, I should think, or\nyou wouldn\u2019t be able to carry it in your pocket.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s not in my pocket,\u201d Roy said, \u201cit\u2019s not here at all. I want\u2014I want a\nlesson.\u201d\n\n\u201cA lesson?\u201d Mr. Theodore asked in surprise.\n\n\u201cYes, in eye mending. When eyes fall inside and rattle, you know.\u201d\n\nThe Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother sat down and took Roy between his knees.\nThere was something about this little dusty, nervous boy that his clients\n(often tearful enough) had never displayed before, and he wished to\nunderstand it. \u201cNow tell me all about it,\u201d he said.\n\nRoy told him everything, right from the first.\n\n\u201cAnd what is your father\u2019s name?\u201d was the only question that had to be\nasked. When he heard this, the Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother rose. \u201cYou must\nstay here a minute,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cBut\u2014but the lesson?\u201d Roy exclaimed. \u201cYou know I ought to be getting back\nagain. Christina\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right, just a minute,\u201d Mr. Theodore replied.\n\nWhen the Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother came back, Miss Selina came with him.\n\u201cCome and get tidy for dinner,\u201d she said, \u201cand afterwards we\u2019ll drive\nhome.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but I can\u2019t stop for dinner!\u201d Roy cried. \u201cIt\u2019s much too important to\nstop for dinner; I\u2019m not really hungry either.\u201d\n\n[Illustration: \u201cI\u2019M NOT YOUR DOCTOR. I\u2019M A DOLL\u2019S DOCTOR.\u201d\u2014page 165\n\n_From the drawing by Carton Moorepark_]\n\n\u201cDinner will only take a little while,\u201d said Miss Selina, \u201cand the horse\ncan be getting ready at the same time; and if you were to walk you\nwouldn\u2019t be home nearly so soon as you will if you drive, dinner time\nincluded.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut the lesson\u2014?\u201d Roy gasped again.\n\n\u201cOh, we\u2019ve thought of a better way than the lesson,\u201d Miss Selina said.\n\u201cMr. Bannister is going with you.\u201d\n\nIt took a moment for Roy to appreciate this, but when he did he was the\nhappiest boy in Dormstaple.\n\nHe never tasted a nicer chicken, he said afterwards.\n\nCertainly not more than three-quarters of an hour had passed before the\ncarriage was on its way to Mapleton\u2014with the Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother\npropped up with cushions (for he could not bear the jolting of carriages)\non the back seat, and Miss Selina and Miss Sarah, who had come to look\nafter their brother, on the other. Roy was on the box. You never saw such\npuzzled faces as the Dormstaple people had when the party went by, for\nMr. Theodore had not driven out these twenty years; but their surprise\nwas nothing to that of old Mary, who wandered about the rooms all the\nrest of the day muttering, \u201cLittle imperent boy!\u201d\n\nAt the Mapleton gates Roy jumped down and rushed up to the house. His\nmother came to the door as he reached it. \u201cOh, mother, mother,\u201d he cried,\n\u201che\u2019s come himself!\u201d\n\n\u201cWho has come?\u201d she asked, forgetting to say anything about Roy\u2019s long\nabsence. \u201cI hoped it was the doctor. Christina is worse, I\u2019m afraid; she\nwon\u2019t sleep.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s all right,\u201d Roy assured her. \u201cI\u2019ve brought the Miss Bannisters\u2019\nbrother, who mends dolls and everything, and he\u2019ll put the eyes right in\nno time, and then Chrissie\u2019ll be well again. Here they are!\u201d\n\nAt this moment the carriage reached the door; but Mrs. Tiverton\u2019s\nperplexities were not removed by it. On the contrary, they were\nincreased, for she saw before her three total strangers. Miss Selina,\nhowever, hastily stepped out and took Mrs. Tiverton\u2019s hand and explained\nthe whole story, adding, \u201cWe are not coming in; my sister and I have a\ncall to pay a little further on. We shall come back in less than an hour\nfor our brother, carry him off, and be no trouble at all. I know how\nlittle you must want even people that you know just now.\u201d In spite of\nMrs. Tiverton\u2019s protest, Miss Selina had her way, and the sisters drove\noff.\n\nWhile this conversation had been in progress, Roy had been speaking to\nthe Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother. He had been preparing the speech ever since\nthey had started, for it was very important. \u201cPlease,\u201d he said, \u201cplease\nhow much will this visit be, because I want to pay for it myself?\u201d\n\nThe Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother smiled. \u201cBut suppose you haven\u2019t enough,\u201d he\nsaid.\n\n\u201cOh, but I think I have,\u201d Roy told him. \u201cI\u2019ve got seven-and-six, and when\nthe vet. came to see General Gordon it was only five shillings.\u201d\n\nThe Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother smiled again. \u201cOur infirmary is rather\npeculiar,\u201d he said. \u201cWe don\u2019t take money at all; we take promises;\ndifferent kinds of promises from different people, according to their\nmeans. We ask rich parents\u2019 friends to promise to give away old toys\nor story-books, or scrap-books, or something of that kind, to real\nhospitals\u2014children\u2019s hospitals. We find that much better than money.\nMoney\u2019s such a nuisance. One is always losing the key to the money-box.\u201d\n\nRoy was a little disappointed. \u201cOh, yes,\u201d he said, however, \u201cI\u2019ll do\nthat. Won\u2019t I just? But, you know,\u201d he added, \u201cyou can always break open\na money-box if it comes to the worst. Pokers aren\u2019t bad.\u201d\n\nIt was just then that the Miss Bannisters drove off, and Mrs. Tiverton\nasked their brother to come to Christina\u2019s room with her. Roy would have\ngiven anything to have been allowed upstairs; but as it was forbidden he\nwent to see Jim and tell him the news.\n\nChristina was moaning in the bed with Joan Shoesmith in her arms as the\nMiss Bannisters\u2019 brother sat down beside her. \u201cCome,\u201d he said gently,\n\u201clet me feel your pulse.\u201d\n\nChristina pushed her wrist towards him wearily\u00b7\n\n\u201cOh, no, not yours,\u201d he said, with a little laugh. \u201cI mean your little\nlady\u2019s. I\u2019m not your doctor. I\u2019m a doll\u2019s doctor.\u201d\n\nChristina turned her poor flushed face towards him for the first time. A\ndoll\u2019s doctor\u2014it was a new idea. And he really seemed to be all right\u2014not\nanyone dressed up to make her feel foolish or coax her into taking horrid\nmedicine. \u201cWas it your carriage I heard?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d he said. \u201cI have come on purpose. But so many dolls are ill just\nnow that I must be getting away soon. It\u2019s quite a bad time for dolls,\nespecially\u2014oddly enough\u2014French ones.\u201d\n\n\u201cMine is French,\u201d Christina said, growing really interested.\n\n\u201cAh, how very curious!\u201d he answered. \u201cAnd now for the pulse,\u201d and he drew\nout a large gold watch.\n\nMrs. Tiverton was looking on with tears in her eyes. Christina had not\ntaken this quiet interest in anything or kept so still in bed for many\nhours. Not even the sleeping draught had had any effect.\n\nThe Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother held Joan Shoesmith\u2019s tiny wrist and looked\nvery grave. \u201cDear, dear!\u201d he said, \u201cI ought to have been sent for before,\nand then I could have cured her here in your arms. As it is, I must take\nher to the light. Won\u2019t you have that nice jelly while I am treating Miss\n\u2014\u2014? Let me see, what was the name?\u201d\n\n\u201cJoan,\u201d Christina said: \u201cJoan Shoesmith.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, yes\u2014Miss Shoesmith. By the time you have finished the jelly I\nought to have finished my visit.\u201d So saying he rose and carried Joan\nShoesmith to the window seat behind the curtains, while Mrs. Tiverton\ngave Christina the jelly. Christina took it, nurse said afterwards, like\na lamb\u2014though I never saw a lamb take jelly.\n\nMeanwhile, the Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother had taken some tools and a tube\nof seccotine from his pocket, and he had lifted up Joan Shoesmith\u2019s hair,\ncut a hole in her head, and was busily readjusting the machinery of her\neyes. It was all done in five minutes, just as Christina was eating the\nlast mouthful. \u201cThere,\u201d he said, returning to the bedside, \u201cthat\u2019s all\nright. I think our patient can see now as well as ever.\u201d\n\nChristina peered into Joan Shoesmith\u2019s face with a cry of joy, and sank\nback on the pillow in an ecstasy of content.\n\nNeither Mrs. Tiverton nor the Miss Bannisters\u2019 brother dared to move for\nsome minutes. While they sat there the doctor tiptoed in. He crossed to\nthe bed and looked at Christina. \u201cShe\u2019s asleep,\u201d he said. \u201cSplendid!\nShe\u2019s all right now. It was sleep she wanted more than anything. Don\u2019t\nlet her hear a sound, nurse, for hours.\u201d\n\nThey found Roy waiting for the news. When he heard it he jumped for joy.\nHis mother caught him up and hugged him. \u201cYou thoughtful little imp,\u201d\nshe cried\u2014and, turning to the doctor, told him the story. He went off,\nlaughing. \u201cI shall take my door-plate down when I get home,\u201d he called\nout as he drove off, \u201cand send it round to you, Bannister. You\u2019re the\nreal doctor.\u201d\n\nWhen the Miss Bannisters drove back they found tea all ready, and Mrs.\nTiverton would not hear of their leaving without it. And when they did\nleave, an hour later, they were all fast friends.\n\nRoy and Christina never think of going to Dormstaple now without calling\nat the red house.\n\n\n\n\nTHE IDEA THAT WENT ASTRAY\n\nBy Pauline Carrington Bouv\u00e9\n\n\nIt was Danny\u2019s idea. Danny always had a great many ideas, and sometimes\nthey were good, sometimes they were not, as is apt to be the case with\npeople who have a great many of anything\u2014especially ideas.\n\n\u201cIt will be such fun!\u201d said Amy.\n\n\u201cAnd something new,\u201d agreed Janie.\n\n\u201cWho\u2019ll cut the face?\u201d asked Fred, who always wanted to know how things\nwere going to be done.\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t you, Milly?\u201d asked all the children at once. \u201cCan\u2019t you?\u201d and they\nall gathered round a little girl who was dressing a doll in an automobile\nsuit.\n\n\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d she asked. \u201cWhat kind of a face, and what\nfor?\u201d She was fastening the odd lenses from two pairs of Aunt Mildred\u2019s\nspectacles into a wire frame for goggles for the doll.\n\n\u201cWhy, a pumpkin face, to scare Uncle Ned! He always laughs at us if we\nare afraid of anything.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you will get the pumpkin\u2014a nice large one\u2014and will lend me your new\njack-knife, why, I\u2019ll see what I can do,\u201d she said.\n\nFred promised, and the rest of that day and the next the children spent\nin preparation for Hallowe\u2019en. Uncle Ned was a young lawyer in Boston,\nbut he came home Saturday nights to spend Sundays with Aunt Mildred, and\nHallowe\u2019en happened to come on Saturday, which just suited.\n\nMilly succeeded in making a very ugly face making enormous eyes and a\nmonstrous mouth, in which she managed to fasten two rows of corn grains\nfor teeth. Then, when the rest of the children were out playing, she\ntook her pumpkin head up into the attic, and hunted for other things to\ncomplete its make-up. In an old trunk she found a heavy wig, and this she\nfastened firmly on the head with some glue. When at last she showed it,\nwith its great shock of black hair, everybody agreed that it was ugly\nenough to frighten anybody.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019ll think it\u2019s a goblin,\u201d said Milly, who had read a great many\nfairy-stories.\n\n\u201cThere aren\u2019t any goblins,\u201d said Fred, who was always practical.\n\nIn the evening, soon after supper, they all went out and stuck it up on\nthe end of a stray bean-pole, which they leaned up against the post of\nthe garden gate. Dave Peters gave them a candle, which they lighted and\nthrust inside of the hollow head.\n\n\u201cUgh, how ugly!\u201d they said, and then went in the house to wait.\n\nAfter a while Fred proposed going out to see how it looked again, and\nevery one of the children followed him. What if the candle should have\nburned out or been blown out?\n\nFred gave a low whistle and stopped before he reached the gate, and all\nthe children called, \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d\n\nThere the ugly thing hung, the light shining through the big empty eyes\nand grinning corn teeth, and just behind there was certainly a great\nwhite something that looked like wings!\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that white thing?\u201d said Milly, in a frightened whisper, as she\nclutched Fred\u2019s arm.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s go back!\u201d begged Amy and Janie.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s nothing to be afraid of,\u201d said Fred, boldly; but he did not move\na step nearer to the gate. \u201cYou are always so \u2019fraid of things!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, go see what it is! I\u2019m scared, scared!\u201d wailed Milly, who scarcely\nrecognized her own handiwork in the darkness, so strange it looked.\n\nIn the excitement they did not hear the car whistle nor the sound of\nfootsteps on the gravel walk.\n\nJust then a breeze sprang up, flaring the candle, which sent out a long\ntongue of flame from the pumpkin head\u2019s mouth, and the white something\nbehind began to wave. Like a flock of frightened birds the children,\nFred, Amy, Janie and Milly, turned and ran as fast as they could,\nstumbling over each other in their flight.\n\nA man\u2019s figure darkened the doorway. \u201cHello!\u201d said Uncle Ned. \u201cWhat\u2019s\nhappened?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, the pumpkin\u2014there\u2019s something there behind it\u2014we thought we\u2019d scare\nyou!\u201d\n\nThey were all talking together, so Uncle Ned did not understand at first.\n\n\u201cAnd you scared yourselves?\u201d he said, at last. \u201cCome, let us see what the\n\u2018something white\u2019 is,\u201d and he went straight up to the garden fence and\npulled down Aunt Mildred\u2019s white crocheted shawl.\n\n\u201cMilly forgot to take it in, as I asked her,\u201d remarked Aunt Mildred, \u201cand\nit\u2019s lucky you found it.\u201d\n\nUncle Ned laughed so loud that everybody else laughed, too.\n\nThen he put his hand down into his overcoat pocket and brought forth two\nbig brown parcels of nuts and candy, and Aunt Mildred brought in a basket\nof big red apples, and after all, it was a jolly Hallowe\u2019en, although, as\nMilly remarked, the \u201cgetting scared part got mixed up.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nGRAVITY GREGG\n\nBy Isaac Ogden Rankin\n\n\nJohn Paul Gregg had a hobby. Nobody could doubt it who was with him, even\nthough he did not happen to hear one of the other boys call him \u201cSpecific\nGravity,\u201d or \u201cFic,\u201d for short. Gravity Gregg it was and continued to be\nuntil it got into the newspapers, and now it is probably settled upon him\nfor life.\n\nWhen he was a baby he was always investigating the why and the wherefore\nand more particularly the how of everything he could get his chubby hands\non. If he saw anything moving, especially, he always wanted to know why\nit moved\u2014a curiosity which cost him a finger before he was ten years old.\n\nHe was a pretty good all-round student, but it was in the natural\nphilosophy class that he shone. He had picked up somewhere an old copy\nof a standard book on physics, and his use of the information he had\ngathered from it caused terror to the good lady who had charge of the\ndepartment in the village school.\n\nHe was apt, for instance, to complicate her mild and innocent experiments\nby suggesting new applications of the principle involved; and the amount\nof broken apparatus which went down to his account in the laboratory\nwhere the boys were sometimes allowed to work made his mother sigh.\n\nHis devotion to physics seemed very unpractical to quiet Mrs. Gregg, who\nhad set her heart on making a minister of her eldest son. She had named\nhim John Paul, by way of having the names of two apostles ready for the\nfuture, and she had day-dreams of sitting in the front pew in church to\nhear him preach, while she looked up to him with wondering delight.\n\nIt was a trial to be thinking of the Rev. John Paul Gregg, a tall,\ndignified and grave man, who was respected by everybody and had, perhaps,\npublished a book of sermons, and then to have a freckled lad, round-faced\nand brown as a berry, with a scar across his forehead where an exploding\ncrucible had just missed the eye, burst in upon her to beg her best\npreserving-kettle for an experiment. And to hear the future clergyman\ncalled \u201cFic\u201d Gregg all over her end of the town made her shudder.\n\nMost of the people of Lavenham who knew him thought Specific Gravity\nmildly insane, but they all liked him. He was so simple and sincere and\nkind that they could not help it; but they never knew what he would be up\nto next in the line of dangerous experiment. He was as inventive as a\nfox, as spry as a cat, and as steady-headed as a monkey.\n\nOld Deacon Podgers looked out at his window one morning when it was\nblowing half a gale, and on the top of the unfinished steeple of the new\nBaptist Church saw a strange black object. The deacon, who had been a\nsea-captain all his active days, turned to the wall for his spy glass,\nand recognized Gravity Gregg, who had climbed up there to study the\nvibration of materials, as he told the deacon when he asked him why he\nrisked his life so recklessly.\n\nJohn Paul acquired his name of Specific Gravity from an early answer in\nthe philosophy class, but it did not become publicly his until one day\nafter an anxious night in the big railroad freight-yards just outside the\ntown.\n\nThe Gregg house was on the brow of the hill overlooking the river and the\nflats where the railroad runs, and Fic knew every landmark visible from\nhis window.\n\nIt was a holiday. He had been fishing all day and went to bed early, but\nwoke up about midnight with a start to see a flickering light reflected\non the wall. He was at the window in a moment, and after taking an\nobservation said to himself, \u201cThat\u2019s in the freight-yards! It must be a\ncar on fire!\u201d\n\nIt was not a big blaze, like a burning house, but a flickering little\nblaze, like that of the lamps on the fruit-peddlers\u2019 stands at night.\n\nThe desire to investigate was strong upon John Paul. His mother had\nnever objected to his going to fires, but would she let him go so late\nat night? He would not wake her up to ask, and with a sigh went back to\nbed again and dropped off to sleep\u2014only to be wakened up by the distant\nsound of a fire-engine rattling through the streets and to see the same\nflickering light at the same spot on the wall.\n\nHe went to the window again and took the field-glass, which was one of\nhis most cherished possessions.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a car, sure enough, and they\u2019ve got the engines out,\u201d he said. \u201cI\nwish I could go and see.\u201d\n\nHe went back to bed, but tossed and tossed, while the light still\nflickered on the wall.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s strange they don\u2019t put it out,\u201d he thought. \u201cThey must have been at\nwork at it two or three hours.\u201d\n\nHe rose again and went to the window, but the air was so cold that he\ndressed himself, his curiosity all the while growing stronger. Taking\nhis shoes in his hand he went softly down to the door, took the spare\nlatch-key from its hook, let himself quietly out, put on his shoes, and\nslipped down to the front gate.\n\nIt was a windy night, with the moon eating up the clouds, and the streets\nwere very quiet. The first sign of excitement was at the gate of the\nyards, where another fire-engine was just going in.\n\nFic slipped in beside it and took a short cut across the tracks, between\nand under the cars, to the other side next the big freight-house, where a\nfire-engine was pumping water through long lines of black hose on a big\ntank-car that was all in a blaze on the under side.\n\nThe tracks were flooded. Fic balanced himself on a rail and watched the\nblazing car with a puzzled look. Every time the stream of water fairly\nstruck the center of the flame it flew in every direction in sheets and\nthreads of fire, but always settled back at the bottom of the car.\n\nThe division superintendent of the road drove up. Fic knew him by sight,\nfor he lived in Lavenham and went to his church.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d the superintendent said, in a high-keyed voice. \u201cWhy\ndon\u2019t you put out the fire?\u201d\n\nThree men drew out of the group around the fire-engine and came to the\nside of the buggy. One was the yardmaster, another the conductor in\ncharge of the train, and the third the fire-chief.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s naphtha,\u201d said the chief. \u201cThere\u2019s a leak somewhere in the pipes\nthat lets it down to the fire a little at a time. We can\u2019t get at it for\nthe heat, and the water only scatters it.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe stuff must be pretty well out by this time,\u201d said the conductor;\n\u201cand when it gets low and the fire works up into the tank there will be\nan explosion. It\u2019s awful stuff for fire.\u201d\n\nFic was standing by the front wheel of the buggy and saw the\nsuperintendent\u2019s face grow pale by the flickering light.\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t you move the car?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe can\u2019t get near enough to couple, and the truck is about burned\nthrough. We moved the other cars, but we can\u2019t move the buildings.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not bring up the gravel-train from the lower switch and fill up from\nbelow until the fire is buried.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere won\u2019t be time. The tank\u2019s nearly empty now. It\u2019s been burning all\nnight.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not so sure about that,\u201d answered the chief. \u201cThose tanks hold a\nlot, and it doesn\u2019t take much naphtha to make a big blaze. What I\u2019m\nafraid of is that it will explode while it is half full, and scatter the\nburning stuff all over the yard. Or else it will burn a week, and stop\nall the work in the yards while we are waiting for it to burst! That will\nnever do.\u201d\n\nFic had been doing a lot of thinking while this hasty consultation went\non. He had not studied his physics for nothing, and he was sure he had\nthe key to the problem.\n\n\u201cPlease, Mr. Sanderson, may I speak?\u201d\n\nThe four men looked down and saw a boy in a short jacket, with eyes that\nwere burning with excitement, and Mr. Sanderson said, in amazement:\n\u201cHello! Who are you, and what are you doing here?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you please,\u201d said Fic, drawing himself up to the dashboard in his\nexcitement, \u201cI know how to put out the fire!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou do, do you! Well, speak up quick! It\u2019ll be worth a good many\nthousand dollars and perhaps a few lives, if you do.\u201d\n\n\u201cTake off the lid of the tank on top and pour water into the tank. The\nwind blows the fire to one side, and if you can once get a hose in you\nwill do it.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow will that put the fire out?\u201d cried the superintendent.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s the specific gravity. Water is denser than naphtha and will\nsink to the bottom. If it doesn\u2019t explode when you open it, it won\u2019t\nafterward. The water will sink to the bottom and get into the leaky\npipes.\u201d\n\n\u201cI believe the lad\u2019s right,\u201d said the fire-chief. \u201cAt all events, we\u2019ll\ntry it. Who\u2019ll help?\u201d\n\nTwo or three volunteers came forward and lifted a ladder on the windward\nside of the car. The chief mounted and pried up the lid. No explosion\nfollowed, and on thrusting in his hand he found that the naphtha was\nstill very near the top. If the fire should reach and scatter it there\nwould be no hope of saving the buildings, he knew, and even the vapor was\ndangerous. He called for a hose, thrust it in at the vent, and pulled\ndown the lid to keep the vapor in. Then he climbed down to watch the\nresult.\n\nAlready, as he reached the ground and turned to look, the flame had\ndiminished. In five minutes the fire was out, and water was dripping from\nthe cooled end of the leaky pipe, which was soon tied up and made safe.\nNot only was the danger over, but almost the whole contents of the tank\nwere saved.\n\nNo sooner was the work of repair over by the gleam of hastily lighted\nlanterns than the superintendent, like a man relieved by miracle,\nsuddenly pulled himself up from the side of the disabled car and looked\nabout him.\n\nThen he shouted, \u201cWhere\u2019s that boy?\u201d\n\nNobody knew. For the moment they had forgotten all about the boy in\nthinking of the escape from peril; and as for John Paul, so soon as he\nsaw that the fire was out and his faith in the principle of specific\ngravity vindicated, his interest had ceased, and he had turned across the\nflooded tracks toward home.\n\nHe slipped quietly in, got to bed by half past four without disturbing\nanybody, and was up as usual when his mother called him to help her with\nthe morning work. He never troubled her with his experiments, and it did\nnot occur to him to speak of the night\u2019s adventure.\n\nEven the reporter of the _Daily Flashlight_ was too much interested in\nthe success of the experiment to interview the boy, although he made\nthe best of him in his story in the morning paper. He was a stranger in\nLavenham, and had never heard of the uncanny doings of Gravity Gregg. It\nwas not until the next day that the whole story got out, and Fic found it\nnecessary to go to school by the back streets to avoid public notice.\n\nWhen the division superintendent reached home in the early morning, he\nfound his wife waiting for him with a cup of hot coffee, and as he drank\nit he told her the story.\n\n\u201cI suppose I shall have to advertise for the boy,\u201d he said. \u201cI can\u2019t let\nhim go. He saved the car and the buildings, and perhaps the lives of some\nof us.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou needn\u2019t do that,\u201d answered Mrs. Sanderson, who knew nothing about\nphysics but had caught two words in the story. \u201cHe lives right around the\ncorner in the little brown house. He\u2019s the oldest son of the Widow Gregg,\nand nearly blew our Ralph\u2019s head off one day last week with one of his\nexperiments. All the boys call him Gravity Gregg.\u201d\n\nWhile Mrs. Gregg was at breakfast the door-bell rang, and Mr. Sanderson\ninvited himself in. It took a long while to tell the story, for Mrs.\nGregg couldn\u2019t understand that John Paul had been anywhere but safe in\nbed all night, and John Paul couldn\u2019t see that there was anything to make\na fuss about in so simple an expedient in practical physics.\n\nPeople said that the railroad ought to make the boy a handsome present,\nbut it did not. What it did do was to see that he got the best kind of an\neducation and then to put him where he could climb high in their employ.\n\nHe carries a watch which Mr. Sanderson and the fire-chief gave him as\nsoon as he was considered by them old enough to take care of it, on the\ncase of which is engraved a name and a date. His mother is proud of him,\nand, luckily for her pet ambition, she is quite as proud of another son\nwho is just such a minister as she hoped to make of John Paul Gregg.\n\n\n\n\nJONNASEN\n\nBy Dallas Lore Sharp\n\n\nIt was a half-holiday at the quarries; the schools, the stores and shops\nall closed at noon. The whole quarry town had turned out to see the great\ngranite shaft hauled to the station.\n\nTo avoid the risk and cost of two loadings, the forty-ton stone had been\nderricked to the road at the edge of the quarry, and there, under a\ntemporary shed, had been cut, polished and crated. It now lay blocked\nupon a low, powerful dray, ready to be moved to the freight siding in the\nvillage, over a mile distant.\n\nThe stone was the largest single block of granite ever quarried at the\nLaston ledges. It had been an expensive job from the start, and a very\ntroublesome one. It had led to a strike, a riot, and almost to murder.\n\nThere had been no man among the two hundred in the quarries capable\nof properly dressing the stone. So the company had brought in Gunar\nGustavesen to do the work. And the men were angry at the intrusion of the\noutsider.\n\nThe company was warned. So was Gustavesen. But the work on the shaft\nwent on\u2014until the strike. Jonnasen, the leader of the men, was as sure\nhe was right and as stubborn as Hendricks, president of the firm. Then\nthe men grew ugly, there was a riot, Gustavesen\u2019s furniture was burned in\nthe street, and he himself so brutally attacked that he still lay slowly\nmending in one of the company\u2019s houses.\n\nIt was a bitter victory, and Jonnasen was too honest a man to like it.\nWhen it was reported to him that Havelok Gustavesen, the sixteen-year-old\nson of the non-union man, had found some menial work in the company\u2019s\nstables, he made it clear to the men that the boy was to be let alone.\nThat is how it happened that young Gustavesen appeared among the men who\nwere busy with the twenty-four-horse team attached to the heavy dray.\n\nThe road from the quarry to the station was down grade except for two\nsteep hills, where the ledges cropped out, and where every ounce of the\npulling power of the great team would be required. At the top of the\nsecond rise the downward slope stretched away for about half a mile with\na sharp curve round the edge of the old quarry. The curve was guarded by\nheavy stone posts and a wooden rail.\n\nThe possibilities of all this had been reckoned with, and in order to\nkeep the forty tons of granite from pushing the horses before it, a pair\nof heavy steel shoes had been fitted to a brake that might have held a\nfreight-train.\n\nJonnasen settled himself upon the seat of the dray, gathered up the reins\nof the pole-team, and, with his foot upon the brake, gave the word to\nstart. The drivers of the forward spans echoed the command, and the dray\nrolled out upon the road.\n\nThere is something inspiring in the work of willing horses. It is a noble\nenthusiasm, little less than inspiration, that takes possession of the\nhorses themselves. The crowd along the road felt it and cheered, as the\ntwelve pairs, pulling like one, took the great polished shaft to the top\nof the first hill.\n\nIt was a short and gentle descent to the second and steepest ridge.\nJonnasen put on the brake, and caught the weight so easily that the\nhorses of the pole moved free in their traces, yet kept them fairly taut.\n\nNear the bottom of the slope he started them forward on the trot, loosed\nthe brake, and sent the long line at a good pace to take the second ridge.\n\nIt was a pretty piece of work. So beautifully did the immense stone mount\nthe rise that even the members of the firm in attendance cheered with\nthe rest.\n\nThen a silence fell. No one spoke of danger, but as the great, shining\nshaft pointed down the slope, its forty tons of dead weight seemed\nsuddenly to have changed into active power. It seemed to poise at the top\nof the hill. It was a thing alive.\n\nThe ridge was a narrow ledge of granite, hardly wide enough to stop the\ndray upon. Jonnasen had intended to breathe his team here, but by the\ntime the dray was up, the lead horses were already going down, and the\nload, without a pause, began to descend.\n\nJonnasen bore down on the brake, drew in his horses, and looked off down\nthe long grade to the turn about the precipitous edge of the old quarry.\n\nHe drew a short, hard breath. No cooler man than this tall Swede ever\nheld a rein. He could handle horses as he could handle men.\n\nBut he had made a mistake, and he knew it instantly. He should have\nstopped on the ridge, as he intended. He should have unhooked all the\nhorses ahead of the pole-team here. They were in the way. The horses at\nthe pole could guide the load down. The others were a menace, if anything\nshould happen.\n\n\u201cBut nothing should happen!\u201d he muttered to himself, and a half-smile\nbroke over his rugged face as he heard the grind of the brake and saw the\nslack in the traces taken up. The load was under his foot.\n\nJust then the lead horses broke into a trot. Immediately the whole line\nstarted. Jonnasen bore down on the brake, and drew his own team hard\nback to check the pull, when there was a sharp crack, like the report of\na pistol, and one of the steel shoes fell broken to the road.\n\nInstantly a dozen warning voices told him what he too well knew had\nhappened. The big horses knew, too, and settled back to stop the push\nfrom behind. Jonnasen put all his weight into the single steel shoe that\nbit at the back wheel. A stream of sparks flew from the tire, and a wild,\nshrill scream told that the brake still worked. But the horses were\nsliding.\n\nThen the pole ran into the team ahead, the horses plunged, and there was\nconfusion.\n\n\u201cUnhook them from the pole!\u201d Jonnasen called to the nearest driver. The\nman dropped his lines, caught the jangling traces and tried to run in\nbetween the teams, but was struck by a hoof and rolled out of the road.\n\nPanic seized the whole line of frightened horses. Some of the drivers\nstill held their teams back, but they were being dragged helplessly.\n\n\u201cUnhook them!\u201d Jonnasen shouted to the crowd shrinking back against the\nfence. Were he free to let his own team go, they might keep ahead of the\nload, and take the turn with a possible chance of rounding the edge of\nthe deep quarry.\n\n\u201cUnhook them!\u201d he shouted again, powerless to quit his place and do the\nthing himself. But no one was able to move.\n\nThen a lithe young figure came bounding down from the ridge. It was young\nGustavesen. He sprang upon the dray, ran forward, seized the whip in\nJonnasen\u2019s hand, and in a cool, deliberate voice, said:\n\n\u201cWhen I get hold, let \u2019em jump quick.\u201d He dropped between the horses to\nthe pole, and clutching the harness, got quickly out to the end. He was\nbending to catch the evener when a forward wheel struck a rut, and the\nlong tongue snapped him viciously into the air.\n\nHe caught the hames of the nigh horse, and saved himself. Hanging to the\nhames, he swung back, lay out along the tongue, and reached again for the\nevener.\n\nJonnasen was watching, and as the boy laid his hand upon the big hook, he\nloosed the reins, the horses lunged, and the long, heavy bar was unhooked\nalmost of itself.\n\nLike a flash the boy straightened and swung the lash about the horses\nahead, throwing himself an instant later upon the back of the horse he\nwas holding.\n\nThe loosened teams were barely dragged to the side as the pole-team went\nby on the gallop, with its forty-ton stone.\n\nJonnasen had the horses under perfect control. He could guide them\nstraight ahead. But the mighty stone was gathering momentum with every\nleap of the team, and powerful as they were Jonnasen began to realize\nthat they would never be able to check or turn the downward plunge at the\ncurve on the edge of the quarry.\n\nThen he saw that young Gustavesen was making no attempt to fling himself\nfrom the galloping horse.\n\n\u201cJump!\u201d he shouted. \u201cJump, quick!\u201d\n\nHavelok turned. \u201cI can\u2019t jump!\u201d he called back. \u201cMy leg! Tend your team!\nI\u2019m safe here!\u201d\n\nThe absolute confidence of the boy sent a strange thrill through the big\nSwede. It steadied him.\n\nThey were near to the turn, with the horses running close to the inner\nside, and still well in hand.\n\nJonnasen thought quickly. It was a chance\u2014the only chance. One of\nthem\u2014both of them\u2014might escape if he could hit with the long iron hub of\nthe rear wheel the tough young white oak that stood out on the very round\nof the sharp curve.\n\nJonnasen drew the horses in a little, spoke to them quietly, then sent\nthe front wheel past the tree with a bite at the bark, pulled the team\nhard in, and leaped.\n\nThere was a dull crash, a ripping of harness, and a grinding crunch as\nthe forty-ton stone slued over the crushed wheel across the broken top of\nthe tree.\n\nJonnasen was picked up in the road, unconscious, but not seriously hurt.\nThe escape of Gustavesen was more than luck. It was a miracle, but a\nmiracle worked by his own presence of mind, and the coolness, quickness\nand good judgment of Jonnasen.\n\nAs the wheel struck, the traces parted, the pole-chains snapped, and the\nhorses shot ahead free, with the boy clinging to the harness.\n\nWhen he was helped down, his right leg was found to be broken; but that\nhad happened back along the road, when he was snapped from the pole while\ntrying to unhook the forward teams. And it was this that prevented his\ntrying to fling himself off to the road as his perilous ride began.\n\nNo harm had come to the shaft. The dray was a wreck, but the great stone\nlay unbroken, and almost unscratched, among the d\u00e9bris.\n\nIt was a week later, as both Gustavesens, father and son, were\nconvalescing, that they received a letter, concluding as follows:\n\n Henceforth a man shall be a man here. Some things have been\n done that the men in this quarry are ashamed of. They believe\n now that every man has a right to work and live under the law\n according to the dictates of his own conscience.\n\n For the men,\n\n (Signed) Jonnasen.\n\n\n\n\nIN THE OVEN\n\nBy Richard Washburn Child\n\n\n\u201cI am inclined to think that a girl\u2019s wit is quicker than a man\u2019s in a\ntight place, if the place is tight enough.\u201d\n\nMr. Colchester had spoken after we had been silently sitting for several\nminutes watching the mist that was creeping over the moonlit water and\nlistening to the chirp of the crickets in the grass.\n\nHe always began a story by stating the moral. His way was to present some\nconclusion and then prove it by a personal experience.\n\n\u201cI was thinking of my sister,\u201d he explained. \u201cShe once saved us both from\na fearful death. If it had not been for her ready wit I should have been\na biscuit!\u201d\n\nAt this every one straightened up perceptibly. Mr. Colchester\u2019s stories\nwere always interesting.\n\n\u201cPerhaps all of you do not know that my father was a cracker\nmanufacturer,\u201d he continued, \u201cand that he had a shop with machinery and\nthree ovens in it. Of course that would be considered nothing to-day,\nwhen there are bakeries that supply thousands of people in every part of\nthe country, but when I was a boy I remember I used to wonder that there\nwere enough mouths to consume all that my father\u2019s workmen made.\n\n\u201cI often went down to the shop, for it was really fascinating to watch\nthe mixers turning the great rolls of dough over and over, and see the\ncutting-machines chopping a long strap of it into little sticky lumps.\nThen old Carberry, the baker, would toss the pieces which had been patted\nand molded by hand on the tiled floor of the oven. Sometimes my sister\nMargaret used to go with me, for we were great chums, and it was on one\nof those occasions that we got into trouble.\n\n\u201cThe day, I remember, had been rainy, and after a discouraging attempt to\namuse ourselves in the house, Margaret said, \u2018Let\u2019s take umbrellas and go\ndown to the bakery.\u2019\n\n\u201cI was so glad of the suggestion that I forgot it was the noon hour, when\nthe men would be gone and the machinery shut down. It wasn\u2019t until we saw\nthe deserted room that we remembered it.\n\n\u201c\u2018Well,\u2019 said I, \u2018we are bright, aren\u2019t we? But let\u2019s look round\u2014I\u2019ll\ntell you, let\u2019s look at the cool oven.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Cool oven!\u2019 exclaimed Margaret, in surprise.\n\n\u201cI explained to her that in the ordinary course of business only two\novens were used, and that unless there were extra orders there was always\none oven which was out of commission, being shut off from the furnaces\nbelow by the big sheet-iron dampers.\n\n\u201cI raised the latch of the heavy door and bent down to look across the\nflat, tiled surface inside.\n\n\u201c\u2018It\u2019s just like a cave, isn\u2019t it, Bob?\u2019 cried my sister; and I laughed\nat the idea and asked her whether she expected to see a bear or a robber\nwalk out.\n\n\u201c\u2018Of course I don\u2019t!\u2019 she said, for she always was on her guard against\nmy making fun of her. \u2018Let\u2019s crawl in.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018All right,\u2019 said I, touching the brick walls to make sure I hadn\u2019t made\na mistake; and then I followed her inside through the gloomy opening.\n\n\u201c\u2018Will it get my dress dirty?\u2019 Margaret asked, out of the darkness.\n\n\u201c\u2018No, indeed,\u2019 said I. \u2018They have to keep these ovens clean as can be.\nThey\u2019re fussy about every speck of dust.\u2019\n\n\u201cI had hardly finished when the iron door behind us shut with a\nresounding clang. One of the workmen who had come back to work had closed\nit!\n\n\u201c\u2018O Bob,\u2019 cried my sister, with a little scream of fright, \u2018we\u2019re shut\nin!\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Like two biscuits,\u2019 I laughed. \u2018Don\u2019t you mind. All we have to do is\nto shout and some one will come.\u2019\n\n\u201cBut Margaret was really scared, and groped her way near me to put her\nhand on my shoulder. I confess the darkness and the close, stuffy air\nwere far from cheerful.\n\n\u201cI began to call as loud as I could, and not getting any answer, I crept\nover to the solid iron door and began kicking it with my heels. After\na moment I stopped, breathing hard from my exercise, and then I heard\nMargaret\u2019s voice behind me, saying:\n\n\u201c\u2018Wait a minute, Bob! Listen!\u2019\n\n\u201cI strained my ears, and from the outside I could hear a rumbling that\nseemed to come from far, far away.\n\n\u201c\u2018It\u2019s the machinery!\u2019 I cried. \u2018It\u2019s after one o\u2019clock, and they have\nbegun work again. No wonder they couldn\u2019t hear us!\u2019\n\n\u201cBy that time I had become really frightened, and I suppose I must have\ntemporarily lost my head. I shouted wildly until my throat was sore,\nbut it seemed only to fill our oven trap with noise. There was no hope\nwhatever that it would penetrate the thick brick walls. Suddenly I\nwas startled into silence by a sound of scraping iron underneath us\u2014a\nfamiliar noise to my ears. Some one had pulled open the great damper that\nshut us off from the fires in the cellar below! They were going to heat\nour oven!\n\n\u201c\u2018What was that?\u2019 exclaimed my sister, touching my hand with her cold\nfingers. \u2018What did that noise mean, Bob?\u2019 She seemed to know our danger\nby instinct. I did not answer, for with a sinking heart I felt on my face\nthe first breath of warm air!\n\n\u201c\u2018Tell me, Bob!\u2019 demanded Margaret. \u2018They are heating this oven, aren\u2019t\nthey?\u2019 She had caught my wrist and pressed it as hard as a girl could\nsqueeze.\n\n\u201c\u2018Yes!\u2019 I gasped, trying to speak bravely. I remember I felt that if I\nwere alone I should not care nearly so much, but the idea that my little\nsister would have to die, too, put me into another panic.\n\n\u201cA second breath of air a good deal hotter than the first fanned my\ncheek. I jumped up with a scream, and beat and kicked upon the rough\nbrick walls and on the iron door in blind terror. Then, exhausted, I\ncrawled along the floor to the place where Margaret sat. She was crying\nquietly\u2014I could tell because when I put my arm about her I could feel\nthat she was shaking.\n\n\u201c\u2018They will never, never hear us!\u2019 she sobbed.\n\n\u201c\u2018Don\u2019t cry, Margy,\u2019 said I, patting her wet cheek while I tried to\narouse my own courage. \u2018Perhaps there is another way.\u2019\n\n\u201cI tried to think, but the heat had then become almost unbearable; it\nstung my nose and seemed to suffocate me. Once when I touched a place on\none of the tiles I drew my hand back in real pain. There was no hope of\nbreaking the latch of the iron door, and no one could hear us, though we\nput our mouths to a little crack at the top of the door and screamed. I\nwas sure we would be baked. My arm was still round my sister, and her\nhand was still in mine, as if she were seeking the comfort of the touch.\n\n\u201cIt was becoming hotter and hotter, but neither of us spoke for several\nseconds. Then suddenly Margaret started up and cried out, eagerly, \u2018Tell\nme, Bob, quick! Have you got a piece of paper?\u2019\n\n\u201cI felt in my pockets. \u2018Yes, I have an old postal card!\u2019 I exclaimed.\n\u2018What are you going to do with it?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018They can\u2019t hear us, but we can make them see!\u2019 she cried. \u2018Hurry! Give\nit to me\u2014and your jack-knife!\u2019\n\n\u201cI handed them to her, and she began to pick at the hem of her skirt with\nthe point of the knife.\n\n\u201c\u2018We need thread,\u2019 she explained, excitedly, \u2018and if this is a\nchain-stitch on this hem we can get it!\u2019 I lighted a match. \u2018And it is,\nBob, it is!\u2019 she cried. I realized that she had caught an end of thread\nand was carefully ripping it out.\n\n\u201c\u2018Now, Bob,\u2019 she commanded, handing me the card, \u2018punch a hole in the\ncard and tie it through.\u2019 Her voice was weak. From my own struggle to\nkeep my senses in the awful heat, I knew that she was nearly at the\ncollapsing point.\n\n\u201c\u2018What are you going to do with it?\u2019 I gasped.\n\n\u201c\u2018The door!\u2019 she answered, faintly. \u2018Dangle the card through the crack\nin the door!\u2019 Then I understood her plan at last, and crawling painfully\nover on my knees, I thrust the postal card down the little crack between\nthe door and the iron jamb.\n\n\u201c\u2018Pull it up and let it down!\u2019 cried Margaret, with a final effort, and\nI jiggled the string so that the paper would dance upon the wall outside.\nMy head swam with the effect of the terrible heat, and it seemed ages\nbefore any one came.\n\n\u201cThen suddenly the latch was lifted, the door swung open, and in spite of\nthe blinding daylight which poured in I could see the astonished face of\nold Carberry, the baker, peering in at us!\n\n\u201cI caught my sister\u2019s dress, pulling her toward the opening with all the\nstrength that was left in me, and fell out after her into the old man\u2019s\narms.\n\n\u201cThat is why I say,\u201d concluded Mr. Colchester, as he looked round upon\nus with a smile, \u201cthat it was a girl\u2019s wit that kept me from being baked\nlike a biscuit. And that is the reason why I say that a girl\u2019s wit is the\nbest in a tight place\u2014providing the place is tight enough.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nON A SLIDE-BOARD\n\nBy Robert Barnes\n\n\nAt three o\u2019clock on an August morning the press in the little\nprinting-office on the summit ceased its clatter, and Corey Green brought\nout a bundle of _Stars_, wrapped in enameled cloth, to Bart Collamore.\n\n\u201cHere\u2019s your five hundred,\u201d said Corey, \u201chot from the types.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right,\u201d replied Bart \u201cThey\u2019ll be on the hotel counters twenty miles\naway by six.\u201d\n\nThey walked down the platform before the Summit House. A dim light\nillumined the office, but the rest of the long building was dark. Only\ntwo other persons were awake\u2014Frank Simmons, busy over the printing-press,\nand Luke Martin, the hotel watchman.\n\nOverhead an occasional star glimmered through the driving wrack, and the\nlow east disclosed the first faint tokens of a cloudy dawn; but in the\nwest frowned a vaporous battlement, black and threatening, from which\na strong wind was tearing detached masses and rolling them against the\nmountainside. Now and then a few flakes of snow flew by on the raw gale.\n\nLifting his slide-board from the platform, Bart set it on the cog-rail\nmidway of the track.\n\nThis rail was bolted to a wooden centerpiece on the ties, and consisted\nof two parallel strips of wrought angle-iron, connected by steel pins\nthree inches apart, on which the cogs of the engine worked. He turned the\nnut on the brake-rod until the iron plates by means of which the speed of\nthe board was retarded were in position under the flanges of the rail.\nThen he pulled on his gloves, jammed his cap down hard, and buttoned his\nreefer up to his neck.\n\nCorey glanced at the black western sky. \u201cYou\u2019re liable to hit the storm\ngoing down,\u201d said he.\n\n\u201cGuess I can beat it out,\u201d returned Bart. Seating himself on the\nslide-board, with the bundle of papers between his knees, he gripped the\nbrake-handles. Almost of itself the board began moving.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll be at the Base House in ten minutes!\u201d he called back, as he sped\naway down the slope toward the north, while behind him the drone of the\nwind almost drowned Corey\u2019s shout.\n\n\u201cGood luck!\u201d\n\nThe slide-board was the conveyance used by employ\u00e9s and trackmen in\ndescending the mountain railroad. Although perilous for a novice, it was\neasy of management for an experienced hand. It was of seven-eighths-inch\nspruce, ten inches wide, and something over a yard long. Three cleats\nscrewed across its top kept it from splitting. Underneath were two sets\nof \u201cshoes,\u201d the forward of wood, the rear of iron, parallel strips half\nan inch thick and four inches apart, just far enough for the top of the\ncog-rail to slide between them.\n\nAs Bart slipped downward, the black buildings on the summit were blotted\nout by driving clouds. Little by little he swerved westward, turning his\nback to the dawn, hearing only the hoarse murmur of the rising gale and\nthe rattle of his board.\n\nGuide-books say that the three and one-third miles from summit to base\nmay be covered by slide-board in twenty minutes. Actually, the record\nis two minutes and forty-seven seconds. This can be appreciated when\none remembers that there is a drop of four thousand feet, and that the\naverage grade approximates one in four. Bart had made the trip some\nhundreds of times in his fourteen years on the road. Every morning that\nsummer he had gone down before daybreak, in order that the little paper\nprinted on the peak might have early distribution among the various\nhotels.\n\nFaster and faster sped the board. The top of the rack was abundantly\nlubricated with oil from the cogs of the engine, and the grade was\ngrowing steeper. On the left a dim shaft flitted by, memorial of a life\nlost by exposure on the mountain years before.\n\nBart put a little more pressure on his brakes. The stout birch handles,\nsomewhat smaller than baseball bats and about as long as the board\nitself, were connected forward with the brake-rod running across the\nfront in a hollow wooden bar, and with an iron plate under each flange\nof the rail. To retard his course, the rider simply pulled up on the\nhandles, which were directly under his arms, thus lifting the plates\nagainst the flanges and pressing the board down harder on the top of the\nrack.\n\nThe track curved northwest for the next fifteen hundred feet to the Gulf\nTank, a water cistern on the left. The grade varied from one in four to\none in eight. The wind, keen, strong, and shot with hurrying snowflakes,\nstung even Bart\u2019s seasoned face.\n\nHe had worked on the mountain long enough to know what was coming out of\nthat inky bank ahead.\n\nGulf Tank swept past, a square gray shadow, and the track gradually swung\nwest. And now he caught it in good earnest. The moan of the blast had\nrisen to a furious howling. Bullets of sleet pelted his cheeks. Right\nbefore him rose a black wall, the edge of the real storm. It looked\nalmost as if it were solid. Catching his breath, he ducked his head, and\nbolted straight into the heart of the tempest.\n\nIn a second it enveloped him, rain, snow, sleet and hail. His board\nwhizzed faster over the wet, slippery rail.\n\nThe grade increased, and he knew he had reached Long Trestle. Beyond lay\nJacob\u2019s Ladder, the steepest place on the line, pitched considerably over\none in three. He must not go too fast there. It was more than a mile and\na half still to the bottom. If the board once got away from him\u2014\n\nBart stiffened himself against the fierce blast, gripped the\nbrake-handles hard, and pulled up on them. A stream of sparks trailed out\non each side, as the plates bit at the flanges.\n\nHe was leaning well forward now, boring head foremost into the yelling\ngale. His eyes were closed; he could not keep them open.\n\nNow the Trestle was past, and the Ladder lay just ahead. He could tell\nwhere he was by the feel of the track. His head was clear, his nerves\nsteady. All he needed to do was to keep a good hold on those handles, and\nthe board would soon carry him safely to the base.\n\nSuddenly his speed increased. He had struck the Ladder. The grade at its\nhead was not far from one in two. Down he shot, lifting hard on the birch\nbars.\n\nWhat was that? It could not be that left brake-handle was buckling! Yes!\nSomething had given way. Up came his hand, higher, higher, higher, yet\nthere was no response of iron grinding against iron.\n\nFor just a second Bart felt sick.\n\nThe flange was only three-fourths of an inch wide. If that left plate\nonce got out from under it, he knew very well what would happen.\n\nA single brake could never hold the board on the rail. On the next curve,\nif not before, it would bound from the track with tremendous velocity,\nand its rider would land somewhere on the rugged mountainside with a\nbroken neck. Somehow, if he cared to live, that plate must never lose its\ngrip on the flange.\n\nThe Ladder was four hundred feet long and thirty feet above the rocks at\nits highest point. Bart was travelling forty miles an hour, so crossing\nthe trestle took less than ten seconds. Before he left it, he saw what he\nmust do.\n\nInstinctively easing up on his right bar, so as to bring an even pressure\non both sides, he ran his left hand quickly forward down the birch stick,\nto locate the break. Not many inches from the socket his fingers found\nit, where a knurl, imperceptibly weakened by long use, had evidently\nyielded at last.\n\nSitting where he did, he could just reach beyond the break by extending\nhis arm full length, and he could exert only a slight upward pull. If\nhe hoped to keep the board on the rail, he must immediately shift his\nposition, so that he might put out his full strength. Several short\ncurves were just ahead.\n\nTo change one\u2019s place on a narrow board flying down a mountainside at\nforty miles an hour through a pitch-black hurricane is no fool\u2019s task.\nVery carefully Bart hitched straight forward, until his knees were\nupright, and he was able to lift strongly on the unbroken portion of the\nbar. His speed was now simply terrific.\n\nRound a curve he whisked, leaning far inward in the fear that he might\nride the rail. Then, as his board settled down on a straightaway, he\npulled up with all his might.\n\nTo his horror, he found that with so short a leverage he could not press\nthe plate against the flange hard enough to check his speed.\n\nThe board was running away with him!\n\nBart knew every yard of that track, every pitch and curve, from the\nengine-house at the summit to the Marshfield turntable; and he realized\nthat this was the most critical minute in all his years of railroading.\nTwo courses were open to him\u2014he might stick to the board, or he might\nroll off.\n\nWhich was the less dangerous?\n\nIf he rolled off at that speed, the best he could hope for would be a\nfearful bruising, broken bones and insensibility. It would be hours\nbefore rescuers could find him; and hours in that storm meant death.\n\nIf he stayed on, he took the chance of being hurled from the rail at some\ncurve; besides, what would happen when he reached the bottom, if he ever\ndid reach it?\n\nHe decided to stay on.\n\nThe slide-board took the curves at express speed. Time and again Bart\nthought it was flying off. He wondered to find himself still sitting\nhunched on the spruce, when Waumbek Tank slipped by. He knew it had\npassed, although he did not see it.\n\nBut little more than a mile due west, and almost thirteen hundred feet\nlower, lay the terminus. Was this to be his last ride on the line? In a\ncouple of minutes at the most the thing would be decided. Bart manned\nhimself for the finish.\n\nOn he shot, straining at the bars, head down through the pitch darkness.\nHe was dashing against a forty-mile gale at an equal speed; that was\nequivalent to standing still in a hurricane blowing eighty miles. It\nshrieked round him with indescribable fury, striving to hurl him backward\nfrom his seat. His cap was torn away, and the sleet pattered like a\nsand-blast on his bare skull.\n\nCold Spring Tank flitted past, and the last steep pitch was near,\nseventeen hundred to the mile. In a moment Bart was rushing madly down\nthe descent. His head swam with the hideous speed. His board vibrated and\ntrembled as it hurtled along the track. All seemed unreal, uncanny. But\nalthough dazed and buffeted, he never for an instant loosed his grip of\nthe bars. A \u201cgreen\u201d man might have lost his head, and that could have had\nbut one result.\n\nAlmost sooner than he could think, he was at the bottom of the pitch,\ndarting over the Ammonoosuc bridge. Only a few hundred feet more. The\ntrack, he knew, was clear to its end, for cars and engines were housed\nfor the night. Now for one last, long, hard pull!\n\nDeaf, blind, numb, exhausted, bent almost double, he drained his strength\nto the dregs for a clutch on the handles; then he lifted, as if he would\ntear the flange from the centerpiece.\n\nThere was a terrific shrieking as the iron surfaces ground together. Fire\nfollowed each brake.\n\nA building rushed by on the right\u2014the carpenter-shop. Bart did not\nactually see it, but he knew it was gone.\n\nThen came the car-barn, the turntable, the engine-house and repair-shop,\nand the long wood-shed. Less than thirty yards more! His speed was\nslackening on the level grade, but it was still tremendous.\n\nAnd now the laundry was past\u2014the last building. Twenty-five feet beyond\nit the cog-rail ended. Bart threw all that was left of himself into one\nfinal, mighty wrench.\n\nA second later he found himself rolling blindly along the ties, head\nover heels and heels over head, cuffed, punched, battered, as if a dozen\nflails were beating him at once on every part of his body. At last he\ncame to a stop, a bruised, dizzy heap.\n\nAfter a little Bart sat up, tried his arms and legs, and found he could\nget on his feet. He felt himself all over. Luckily his bones were well\npadded with muscle, so none of them were broken.\n\nThe storm was still blowing forty miles an hour, but by contrast it\nseemed to him to be almost over. He hunted until he found his bundle of\npapers; it had been tied tightly, and had not burst open. Then he limped\nup to the Base House.\n\n\u201cHere are your \u2018_Stars_,\u2019\u201d said he to the driver of the team, shivering\noutside. \u201cI\u2019ve done my part; now see if you can get \u2019em to Bethlehem\nbefore six o\u2019clock.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE CALL OF THE SEA\n\nBy Frederick Palmer\n\n\nThe only memory of his father that Franklin Thompson had was the\nphotograph of a young naval officer in uniform which his mother, with\ntears in her eyes, often showed him. She died when Franklin was six,\nleaving him, her only cause for living longer, to the care of his\nfather\u2019s brother. When he realized how unwelcome he was in his new home,\nthe only solace he had in the world was the photograph. He would look at\nit for an hour at a time, and read again and again the inscription on the\nback.\n\nBefore he was quite alone in the world he had heard the sea a-calling. On\nhis holidays he would walk to the shore, and watch the ships go and come.\nEach was a speaking individuality, which he would recognize should he\nsee it again. The salt breath was ever in his nostrils, the tang of salt\nspray in his veins.\n\nWhen he was eleven, his cousin Edward, five years his senior, received\nthe appointment to Annapolis. If Franklin felt any envy he stifled it.\nThe inscription on the photograph in his father\u2019s own hand forbade that.\n\n\u201cBe honest; envy nobody; strive hard,\u201d it ran.\n\nTwo years later Franklin knew that his school-days were at an end.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll look for a place for you to learn some business,\u201d said his uncle,\nas if the boy\u2019s preferences for an occupation did not count.\n\nEarly the next morning Franklin went to the great bay near his home, as\nhe always did when he was heavy of heart. Three men-of-war, one a new\nbattle-ship, their white sides gleaming, rested their enormous weights\non the water as gently as swans. On the battle-ship it was visiting day.\nFrom her side the monster reached down her big gangway, with holystoned\nsteps and immaculate rope, as a gallant officer offers his hand to a lady.\n\nAt the threshold of the deck Franklin paused, as one who suddenly\nsees his dreams materialize in broad daylight. No one of the knots\nof sightseers, going here and there with the spectators\u2019 \u201cAhs!\u201d and\noccasional questions, noticed the boy, who stood immovable, noting every\ndetail of the leviathan. Each gun seemed to him a living thing.\n\nHe saw some jackies going about their appointed duties, and others under\nthe shade of the awnings aft, mending their clothes. The officer of the\ndeck must be the happiest man in the world, Franklin thought. He imagined\nhow his father must have looked, pacing back and forth in the same way.\nOh, if his father were only alive, then perhaps he, too, might go to\nAnnapolis! He looked up at the bridge and imagined himself in a great\nstorm, with the spray stinging his face and blinding his eyes, and the\nmountain of steel as obedient to his commands as a bicycle to the turn of\nthe handle-bar.\n\n\u201cWouldn\u2019t you like to look around a bit?\u201d asked a voice at his elbow.\n\nIts owner, Franklin saw, was a boy of about his own age, dressed like the\njackies in summer white.\n\n\u201cWould I? Would I?\u201d The way Franklin asked the question was answer\nenough from any one boy to another.\n\n\u201cI guess you\u2019ll do,\u201d said his new friend, laughing. \u201cMy name\u2019s Harry\nGrimm. I\u2019m a \u2019prentice.\u201d\n\nHarry showed how the ammunition was hoisted for the thirteen-inch gun by\ntouching a button; he slipped a dummy shell into the breech of one of\nthe three-inch rapid fires; but he was quite unable to answer all of his\nguest\u2019s questions.\n\nFranklin did not leave the man-of-war until the last boat was going\nashore. That night he told his uncle of his desire to join the navy as an\napprentice.\n\nUncle William was in unusually bad temper. He thought a moment and then\nsaid:\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe you\u2019ll ever be any use in business. Probably you\u2019d\nrun away to sea if I got you a place. I\u2019ll take you to the navy-yard\nto-morrow.\u201d\n\nAt any rate, Uncle William thought, he would be free from any further\nresponsibility or care for the boy. Nevertheless, he knew what Franklin\u2019s\nproud father or his proud mother, were either of them alive, would say.\nThat thought stung him a little.\n\nWhile his cousin was at the school where officers are made, Franklin was\nto be trained for a seaman. Edward would begin his career with rank and\nposition just beyond the highest grade that Franklin could ever attain.\nFranklin must be ever on the forecastle side of the dividing line between\nofficer and man. He might rise to be a chief gunner, while Edward might\nbe an admiral.\n\nBut Franklin did not understand this. He was in the period of\nlight-hearted youth when the responsibility for his future rested on his\nguardian\u2019s shoulders. He was entirely under the spell of the call of the\nsea.\n\nA year later found him bound for South America on a small cruiser,\nwhich continued around the Horn and on to Hongkong to join the Asiatic\nsquadron, which was even then preparing for the conflict with Spain. In\nall that long voyage he had never once been seasick, and he had grown to\nlove the sea from familiarity as much as he had loved it in anticipation.\n\nOn that great morning when the American men-of-war ran into Manila Bay,\nthe executive officer set him to look for torpedo-boats. The story of how\nhe reported, with his hand to his cap in salute, \u201cTorpedo-boat on our\nstarboard bow, sir; she\u2019s sinking by the bow, sir; she\u2019s sunk,\u201d went the\nround of the messes. After the battle came that long period of waiting\nuntil the army took the city. When the sun was not as hot as an oven, the\nclouds poured torrents that rose from the hot awnings in steam.\n\nBy this time Franklin had come to comprehend the separation of officer\nand man as only actual service can reveal it. Sometimes, with cap in\nhand, he had to pass through the ward-room and the officers\u2019 quarters.\nThese, which had been his father\u2019s portion, would be his cousin\u2019s, but\ncould never be his.\n\nHis fellow apprentices were quite content with the forecastle. They felt\nmore at home aft than they would forward. There was Charley, for example.\nCharley studied as little as he might; he was always getting into\nmischief, but was withal a bright, good-hearted fellow, with the makings\nof a first-class seaman in him.\n\nThe boatswain, known as \u201cPete\u201d in the forecastle and \u201cDeering\u201d\nforward\u2014and there you have his two names\u2014used to fend off intrusion when\nFranklin was busy with his books. All his studies had the requirements\nfor admission to Annapolis in view. Not that he expected ever to have his\nlearning put to the test. He knew no one, he had no hope of knowing any\none, who could secure for him the coveted appointment. It pleased him to\nbe ready.\n\nOne day, as he was bending over the little box which is at once a\nseaman\u2019s work-basket and wardrobe, the captain, who had strolled aft,\nstopped by his side, and looking over his shoulder, saw a photograph.\n\n\u201cWhy, that\u2019s Thompson!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cIs he any relation of yours?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy father, sir,\u201d Franklin replied, as he sprang to his feet and saluted.\n\n\u201cI did not know that,\u201d the captain repeated, thoughtfully.\n\nHe picked up the photograph, and scanned the face of his old messmate.\nAfterward he never passed Franklin without a smiling glance. But that\nglance, meant so kindly, had a sting. It seemed to say that he was in a\nposition unworthy of his father\u2019s name.\n\nWhen a visiting congressman of the United States came aboard the cruiser\nas a guest, Pete instantly sought out Franklin, and taking him to one\nside where he would not be overheard, said:\n\n\u201cNow\u2019s your chance, my bully boy. A congressman can do \u2019most anything,\nso they say. You go right up to this one and knock your cap smart as\nyou can, and tell him who your father was and that you want to go to\nAnnapolis.\u201d\n\nFranklin had not the courage or the presumption, whichever you call it;\nPete called it \u201cgall.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you won\u2019t, sonny, I will.\u201d\n\nAnd when he saw the congressman sitting on the deck after general\nquarters, he approached him with a eulogy as earnest as it was\npicturesque. The congressman smiled, and asked to see Franklin.\n\n\u201cNow, sonny,\u201d said Pete, \u201cI\u2019ve cleared the channel; go forward and do\nyour evolutions.\u201d\n\nAs Franklin stood before the elderly, dignified man sitting beside the\ncaptain on the captain\u2019s deck, he felt himself to be quite the most\ninsignificant apprentice in the world. The congressman looked him over\nkeenly from head to foot, as if he were examining the texture of the\ncloth on the back of his jacket.\n\n\u201cDo you want to go to Annapolis?\u201d\n\nDid he want to? Does the tender shoot of spring want the sunlight?\nFranklin\u2019s voice trembled with hope:\n\n\u201cYes, sir. More than anything else in the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not making any promises,\u201d the congressman said, finally.\n\u201cCongressmen haven\u2019t a pocketful of blanks to fill out whenever they see\na bright boy. I\u2019ll see what I can do.\u201d\n\nWhen, by the rules of the navy, Franklin was supposed to be sound asleep\nthat night, he was wide awake, building air-castles. How long would he\nhave to wait before he heard from the congressman? Would he ever hear?\n\nThe statesman did not appear again aboard the cruiser for many days. In\nthe meantime, a new cadet, with his stripe fresh on his arm, came to the\ncruiser. It was none other than Franklin\u2019s own cousin, Edward. When they\nmet at drill there was no look of recognition in Edward\u2019s face. Later, in\none of the intervals of the day which the forecastle may call its own,\nthe officer came aft and in a patronizing manner asked the apprentice how\nhe was getting on. When Franklin told him very well, Edward said it was\nawkward for an officer to have a cousin in the forecastle, and walked\naway. Franklin flushed at the remark, and repeated under his breath his\nfather\u2019s advice, as the soldier of the old, superstitious days repeated\nhis talisman.\n\nThe next day Franklin had shore leave. On his way back to the quay he\nsaw his fellow apprentice, Charley, in bad company. He forgot all else\nexcept his friend\u2019s plight and his horror over it. When, finally, he had\nseparated Charley from the lounger who wanted to show the sailor boy\nthe town, the cruiser\u2019s launch had gone. They had to hire a native to\nrow them out in a banka, which crept at a snail\u2019s pace in the gathering\ndarkness.\n\nFor the first time in his life Franklin was among the accused who stood\nat the mast the next morning to hear their sentences from the captain,\nwho acts as judge, and with the captain was the congressman. Franklin\nsaw his look of surprise as their eyes met. The captain spoke of his own\ngrief in delivering sentence of suspension from leave privilege for six\nmonths.\n\nFranklin\u2019s head swam, and his cheeks were aflame. He could only reply\nwith a hoarse \u201cYes, sir.\u201d\n\nAs he turned to go he heard the congressman say sarcastically that he did\nnot think \u201cthat boy was so very anxious to go to Annapolis.\u201d\n\nFranklin was the only one of the ship\u2019s company who did not brighten when\nthey received the electric thrill of an order, which broke their weary\nvigil in the famous bay by sending the cruiser to patrol duty among the\nsouthern islands. But when they were under way Franklin found that the\ncongressman was still aboard, and his hopes revived a little. For a week\nof coasting from port to port he looked in vain for some event which\nwould set him right.\n\nThen came an order transferring him. He was assigned to the _Marietta_, a\ntiny gunboat no bigger than a harbor tugboat and with but half the draft.\nHe had only time to get his belongings together, which does not take a\nsailor long. He found that his cousin had also been transferred, and was\nto be commander of the cockle-shell.\n\nThe _Marietta\u2019s_ first assignment was to take none other than the\ncongressman up a river to the capital of a province where he had a son,\nan officer of the army, in command of the garrison. There Franklin would\ndefinitely see the last of him. They had no thought of meeting with any\ndelay on their run of the five miles of winding stream, but it is when\nthey are least expected that guerrillas appear.\n\nThe congressman was sitting in the bow admiring the scenery, the little\nengine was \u201cchugging\u201d earnestly, the screw was whirling vigorously\nthrough the muddy water, when out of the soft green foliage of the right\nbank cracked a volley. The congressman, a veteran himself, dropped on the\ndeck and looked about him for a rifle, his old eyes flashing.\n\nThe cadet had never been under fire before. He dodged and fell on the\ndeck with the others. Franklin was at the wheel and remained erect,\nfrightened but not forgetting his duty. There had not been a tremor of\nthe rudder.\n\n\u201cSteer for that bank, sharp, sharp!\u201d Edward called, and Franklin obeyed.\n\u201cI don\u2019t want to\u2014to endanger your life,\u201d he panted to the congressman,\nhis sentence broken by the ring of a bullet against the hull, and whistle\nof other bullets over their heads.\n\n\u201cSeems to me I\u2019d put a few shots back at \u2019em in the meanwhile,\u201d said the\ncongressman. \u201cWhat\u2019s that for?\u201d He nodded toward a rapid-fire gun in the\nbow. \u201cAnd that?\u201d toward a one-pounder in the stern.\n\nEdward could not fail to take the hint. He sprang up with trembling limbs\nand ran to the rapid-fire gun, calling for the other to be manned. A\nbullet struck its support before he could put it in action. That made him\nforget all his training. He aimed wildly, and jammed the delicate machine\nalmost instantly. Then, in his desperation, he ran toward the wheel.\n\n\u201cSteer in closer, closer!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s too shallow, sir,\u201d Franklin replied.\n\n\u201cNo, it\u2019s not.\u201d The ensign could hear the triumphant shouts of the\ninsurgents, who increased their fire. He was wild with exasperation.\n\u201cIt\u2019s not!\u201d he repeated, and seized the wheel in his own hands and turned\nit hard alee. The bow veered sharply. For an instant the boat flew\nforward, then grounded.\n\nAs if they had been waiting on this for a signal, a fire broke out from\nsome bushes which rose above the level of the grassy bank on the left\nside.\n\n\u201cBoth sides!\u201d gasped the ensign. He sprang overboard, as much to avoid\nthe fire as anything. \u201cPush her off!\u201d\n\nEverybody leaped into the water. When the insurgents on the left bank saw\nthe predicament of the Americans, they broke out of their cover with a\nyell, and came running toward them. Meanwhile, the _Marietta_ was still\nin range of the fire from the other side. It was a question only of\nminutes, yes, of seconds, before they would be prisoners.\n\nThe current swung the _Marietta_ partially round and drove her fast into\nthe soft mud, and the misdirected efforts of her crew to free her were as\nunavailing as if she were a battle-ship.\n\n\u201cCan\u2019t somebody fire that gun? Can\u2019t somebody fire?\u201d the congressman\ncalled, putting the strength of his sixty years against the hull, and\nfeeling his shoes sinking in the soft ooze beneath them.\n\nAt this juncture, in face of the fire, Franklin sprang on deck, and\nran aft to the jammed instrument of their hope. He felt as cool as his\nfather\u2019s son ought to feel under such circumstances. The parts of the\nmechanism were not a jumble to him as they were to the excited cadet, and\nhe saw the difficulty and how simple it was. His study, his questions,\nhad not been in vain.\n\n\u201cMan the one-pounder! Get the rifles, everybody!\u201d he called, with the\ninstinct of command.\n\nAs they tumbled aboard the crew heard the rat-tat-tat of the gun under\nFranklin\u2019s hand, sweeping the field of white-shirted figures pressing\nforward, and soon a little shell from the one-pounder threw up dirt at\ntheir feet. The insurgents were too near their prize to be stopped yet.\n\n\u201cKeep cool, everybody, keep cool!\u201d said the congressman, himself firing\nwith the nice calculation of a man at a range.\n\nThe Americans did not realize that shots were still coming from the rear.\nThey knew that the insurgents on the other side of the stream could not\ncross it, and that was enough. If the gun should jam again, all would be\nlost.\n\nBut it did not jam; and soon the insurgents, no longer able to stand the\npersistent accuracy of the machine, began to fall back, and finally ran\nin pell-mell flight, leaving their wounded behind.\n\nPromptly Franklin whirled his gun round and began firing upon the first\nattacking party, which withdrew when it saw that it was unsupported by\nthe other side.\n\nWhen excitement no longer made their efforts futile, and one was not\npushing against another, and with the screw properly directed to their\nassistance, the crew was very soon able to force the stranded _Marietta_\nback into the stream.\n\nAfter the congressman had emptied the water out of his shoes and was once\nmore seated, with nothing to do but to enjoy the scenery, he said to\nFranklin, in beaming gratitude:\n\n\u201cWell, young man, you\u2019re quite a general!\u201d\n\nFranklin blushed. The remark did not make him think of his ambition. It\ngave him speech for another cause.\n\n\u201cO sir, I want you not to believe that those charges were true. They\nweren\u2019t. I wouldn\u2019t have overstayed leave if it hadn\u2019t been\u2014but\u2014but you\nask Charley the rest.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t believe them. To prove it, all you\u2019ve got to do is to pass the\nexamination to Annapolis. I\u2019ll see that you get the appointment.\u201d\n\nFranklin\u2019s manner and his eyes spoke his gratitude better than his\ntongue. Edward, who had overheard, looked proudly at his cousin, and then\nsaid to the congressman:\n\n\u201cI thank you, too, sir! I sha\u2019n\u2019t be happy till he wears the uniform his\nfather wore. He saved us all to-day.\u201d\n\nHis little speech saved Edward from a court of inquiry. He became\nFranklin\u2019s best friend, and if ever he goes into action again there is no\ndoubt that he will behave like a veteran.\n\n\n\n\nON A TIGHT ROPE\n\nBy Albert W. Tolman\n\n\n\u201cMy highest ambition at seventeen,\u201d said the linotype operator, \u201cwas\nto become a professional acrobat. I then lived with my parents on a\nfarm near the manufacturing town of N. All my spare time was spent in\nvaulting, jumping, turning handsprings, and practising other feats of\nstrength and agility.\n\n\u201cOn the Fourth of July a travelling tight-rope performer, Signor Lupini\nof Verona, as the posters called him, was to display his skill on a\nrope above the river that flowed through the town. He arrived with two\nassistants on the afternoon of July 3d, and a crowd of boys, myself among\nthem, met him at the railroad station. We saw a spare, wiry man, above\nthe ordinary height, light-complexioned, with steely-blue eyes. He looked\nus over inquiringly.\n\n\u201c\u2018Boys,\u2019 said he, \u2018I need some young fellow to help me to-morrow. Who\nwants to be wheeled across the rope in a barrow?\u2019\n\n\u201cThe others hung back; but I jumped at the chance. \u2018I do!\u2019 I exclaimed,\nquickly. He seemed pleased as he ran his eyes over me. I was of medium\nheight, with good muscles.\n\n\u201c\u2018All right,\u2019 he said. \u2018Come to the hotel at seven, and I\u2019ll tell you\nwhat\u2019s wanted.\u2019\n\n\u201cAt the stroke of the hour I was on hand, and he explained my duties.\nThen he pulled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket.\n\n\u201c\u2018That\u2019s yours at nine to-morrow night if you do your work well,\u2019 he\nsaid. \u2018Now go home and sleep soundly.\u2019\n\n\u201cMy parents were spending the Fourth with cousins in a neighboring town,\nso I was alone in the house. I went to bed early, but until long after\nmidnight excitement kept me from getting a single wink.\n\n\u201cThe next day I was on hand bright and early. I helped stretch the rope\nbetween two mill roofs, ran errands, and made myself generally useful.\nWhen not busy I hung about, watching my employer. He certainly was an\nartist in his line, a man without bravado, either all nerves or none at\nall. I could not help thinking, too, that for an Italian he spoke English\nremarkably well.\n\n\u201cAt half past two a carriage took us from the hotel to the western mill.\nWe dressed in the loft. The signor donned his tinsel-spangled tights. I\nfigured as clown in an old stovepipe hat and white cotton suit, liberally\nbesprinkled with stars of red and green. The same colors streaked my\nface. As we clambered through the scuttle, the crowds lining the bridges\nand banks set up a shout, and the town band on the other mill began\nplaying \u2018The Star-Spangled Banner.\u2019\n\n\u201cSharp at three o\u2019clock the music stopped. The assistant on our roof\nadvanced to the edge, fired six blank cartridges from a self-cocking\nrevolver, and shouted this magniloquent announcement through a megaphone:\n\n\u201c\u2018Ladies and gentlemen, the celebrated Signor Lupini will now illustrate\nhis art, assisted by Rinaldo Nobisco, the famous clown, recently secured\nfrom the London hippodrome, ladies and gentlemen, at great trouble and\nexpense.\u2019\n\n\u201cWhistles and catcalls from the boys below greeted this absurd reference\nto me, and I felt rather foolish. Signor Lupini stepped briskly forward,\nbowed to his audience and was soon promenading along the spidery line\nbetween the two cornices. Aided by a long balancing-pole, he stood on one\nfoot, knelt, lay down, walked across blindfold, and performed many other\nmarvelous feats. His perfect control of nerve and muscle fascinated me. I\ndid not realize that his facility came from years of toilsome practice.\n\n\u201cHere was the calling for me. I resolved to stretch a rope the very next\nday between the beams over the haymow.\n\n\u201cDuring the signor\u2019s exhibition the crowd was very quiet, and the band\ndid not play. It was only when he was once more safe upon the roof that\ntheir long-restrained applause broke forth, and the band struck up \u2018Hail\nto the Chief.\u2019 He rested a few minutes, and then motioned to me to make\nready.\n\n\u201cAmong our paraphernalia was a strong, light wheelbarrow with a tire\ngrooved to fit the rope. I began to feel a little shaky; but there was no\ntime to indulge this emotion, for my employer exclaimed: \u2018All aboard, my\nboy, and remember, a stiff upper lip!\u2019\n\n\u201cI seated myself, facing forward, my feet dangling on each side of the\nwheel. Signor Lupini, stooping, gripped the handles.\n\n\u201c\u2018Sit steady,\u2019 he said. \u2018Don\u2019t wink one eye unless you wink the other at\nthe same time.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe ran me a few turns round the graveled surface, then flicked the wheel\ndexterously up on the rope and headed straight for the edge.\n\n\u201c\u2018Keep perfectly still,\u2019 he adjured me, \u2018and you\u2019re as safe as you\u2019d be\non the street.\u2019\n\n\u201cFor all my assumption of coolness, I was frightened half out of my wits.\nI shut my eyes for a moment, and when I opened them we were fairly out on\nthe tremulous hemp.\n\n\u201c\u2018Don\u2019t look down,\u2019 cautioned the signor. \u2018Face straight forward. Sit\ntight.\u2019\n\n\u201cHardly daring to breathe, I stiffened myself as if I were in a plaster\ncast. I could see the narrow line just ahead buckle slightly at the\napproach of the wheel. How long that two hundred feet seemed!\n\n\u201cSlowly, surely, we drew near the roof. The tire jolted against the\ncornice. In two or three seconds we were safely on the gravel. Then the\nband blared out and the crowds set off explosives. My fright was over,\nand I felt proud as a peacock.\n\n\u201cOn the trip back my employer made me sit facing him, and I had a good\nchance to admire the easy, effortless play of his wiry muscles. He was a\nthorough gymnast, a man of steel and india-rubber. After several other\ntrips, during which I occupied different positions on the barrow, we went\nback to the hotel.\n\n\u201cPromptly at eight we emerged again through the scuttle. A crowd bigger\nthan that of the afternoon had gathered, and a roar of applause greeted\nus. I say \u2018us,\u2019 for by this time I felt myself to be almost as important\nas Signor Lupini. My head was completely turned.\n\n\u201cThe evening performance possessed certain novel features. Tin pans of\nred fire stood on each cornice, and along the bridge-rails had been\nstationed a half-dozen boys liberally supplied with rockets and Roman\ncandles.\n\n\u201cThe master of ceremonies fired an introductory volley with his revolver.\n\n\u201c\u2018Light up, Jimmy!\u2019 he shouted to his associate across the river, at\nthe same time touching a match to the pan beside him. Jimmy obeyed. A\ndeep red glow illuminated the scene, flashing from the mill windows, and\nrevealing the human clusters on bridges and banks.\n\n\u201cAs in the afternoon, Signor Lupini began with a few feats performed\nalone, the blaze of fireworks making his spangled tights glitter. I\nwaited impatiently for our dual performance, thirsting for some of the\napplause. Finally my turn came, and the signor wheeled me back and forth\nseveral times. So great was my confidence in him that I had forgotten my\nnervousness.\n\n\u201cAt last nine o\u2019clock was near.\n\n\u201c\u2018Now, my boy,\u2019 said my employer, \u2018we\u2019ll wind up with something I don\u2019t\ntry very often. I see you have good grit.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe screwed to the barrow sides a light, strong chair of steel, its seat\na yard in air. After helping me into this, he passed me a long-handled\npan of red fire. We were to close in a blaze of glory. \u2018Keep cool,\u2019 said\nhe, \u2018and we\u2019ll give \u2019em something to look at.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe trundled me up to the cornice, his assistant dropped a lighted\nlucifer into the pan, and we moved out on the rope amid the crimson\nglare and the whizzing of rockets. The crowd yelled, and one of the boys\nsetting off fireworks from the lower bridge lost his head.\n\n\u201c_Whi-s-s-sh!_ A badly aimed rocket shot not five feet over our heads,\nshowering us with sparks. A little lower, and it would have dashed us\nfrom the rope. Signor Lupini drew a quick breath. I cringed in my steel\nchair, but still kept tight hold of the pan handle. The sudden fright set\nmy teeth chattering. My employer noticed my trepidation.\n\n\u201c\u2018Keep quiet, my boy, and we\u2019ll get over all right,\u2019 said he,\nreassuringly, cool as a cucumber.\n\n\u201cOn we rolled, smoothly and steadily. We were about half-way across when\nthe unlucky rocketeer on the lower bridge outdid his previous blunder. A\nwarning shriek blended with the swish of a projectile. I dared not turn\nmy head, but a sidelong glance revealed a fiery comet heading straight\ntoward us. Signor Lupini saw it, too, and could not repress a cry of\nalarm. The next second it was upon us. I shut my eyes, convinced that we\nwere lost. A whir, a rushing of flame, a slight shock! The apparition had\npassed, and we were still on the rope.\n\n\u201cI was hardly daring to congratulate myself when my heart was chilled\nby a low groan behind me. The barrow wabbled. The signor was trembling\nviolently, swaying, reeling like a drunken man; every throb of his body\ncame to me through the tight-clutched handles. Something fearful must\nhave happened. I clung to the chair arms in sheer paralysis of horror.\nAn accident would hurl us down seventy-five feet into the river, where\ndrowning or maiming worse than death awaited us.\n\n\u201cWe moved a few feet farther, then stopped. The barrow swayed, as if\nabout to overturn. Another groan from the signor. I would have questioned\nhim, but the words died in my throat. Perhaps he had been pierced by the\nrocket, and might at any instant fall unconscious.\n\n\u201cCries of horror rose from the spectators. The rockets and Roman candles\nceased. The entertainment threatened to become a tragedy.\n\n\u201cAgain we started, moving intermittently. Now a few quick steps would\nfill me with the dread of being flung off; now we almost stopped, and I\nfeared we should never go on. Before and behind us fizzed the red fire.\nSignor Lupini\u2019s feet shuffled on the rope, his breath came hard. Not a\nword in explanation, but always those terrible groans. My hair bristled.\n\n\u201cWith straining eyes I stared ahead into the red glare on the approaching\nmill. How slowly the distance lessened! On the roof stood Jimmy, gazing\nat us, pale and open-mouthed. The speechless horror on his face reflected\nour peril.\n\n\u201cThe cornice was only ten feet off. Signor Lupini thrust the barrow\nsuddenly forward. A second later the wheel grated on the gravel; it was\nnone too soon. As a long sigh of relief rose from the spellbound crowds,\nthe gymnast collapsed into a writhing heap. It took three men to get him\ndown through the scuttle and into the carriage that conveyed him to his\nhotel.\n\n\u201cThe rocket had struck his right calf a glancing blow. His skill had\nenabled him to withstand a shock that would have overthrown a clumsier\nman; but his muscles, steeled to resist, had cramped violently, and we\nhad been in deadly peril all the way across. Two lives had hung on his\nability to resist the agonizing pains and preserve his poise.\n\n\u201cThat last hundred feet decided me that I didn\u2019t care to be a\nprofessional acrobat. The tight rope was never stretched between the\nbeams of the haymow.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nDOWN THE INCLINE\n\nBy Charles Newton Hood\n\n\n\u201cAll that I had to do to earn my one hundred and twenty-five dollars a\nweek salary was, four times each week-day, to climb to the top of a high\ntower, mount a bicycle, ride it down a long, narrow incline, pitched at\nan angle of about forty-five degrees, then up a few feet and out through\nthe air, across a gap of thirty feet to another platform, and so to the\nground.\u201d\n\nIt was John Manser who was speaking, formerly one of the most daring\nperformers in what is called the carnival business.\n\n\u201cNo, I am not doing that sort of an act now.\n\n\u201cMy mother had been writing to me, begging me to stop, but I was looking\nforward to getting married, and that one hundred and twenty-five dollars\na week was making the nest-egg grow.\n\n\u201cI was one of the \u2018feature\u2019 acts furnished by the Ferari Brothers to\nstreet fairs, carnivals and the like, and had stepped from construction\nboss to performer one day by taking the place of an indisposed athlete at\nan hour\u2019s notice, and leaping the gap successfully on his bicycle without\nany previous rehearsal. I was at once put on as a regular performer with\nthe company.\n\n\u201cMy work did not seem so very terrible to me. With the bands playing and\nwith the thousands of happy spectators looking on, it was rather pleasant\nthan otherwise to climb to the top of the high platform, dressed in my\ngay costume, and at the word, come hurtling down the steep run, and then\nup and out through the air like a bird.\n\n\u201cAll that seemed to be required was to be absolutely sure that the\napparatus was put up strong and perfectly true, and that the gap was of\nexactly the correct width. Mine was precisely twenty-eight feet and four\ninches. I always superintended the erection of everything myself, and\ntrued every part up with the utmost care.\n\n\u201cIn the act itself, it required only strong hands and arms to keep the\nbicycle steady and straight down the run, and to lean back a little and\ngive a strong up pull on the handle-bar when we \u2018took off\u2019 for the jump,\nso that the machine would surely strike on the rear wheel on the other\nside, to prevent the shock which would throw me headlong if the front\nwheel should strike first, or even at the same instant.\n\n\u201cAll summer long I had enjoyed the work, and I often wondered that they\nshould pay me so much for such a simple thing. Even when the performer\nwho \u2018looped-the-loop\u2019 on a bicycle in another part of the grounds fell\nand was crippled for life, I ascribed it to the fact that his health was\nnot very good, and that he sometimes resorted to stimulants to help him\nthrough his act; and his misfortune did not render me at all nervous\nregarding my own work.\n\n\u201cIt was the last day of the carnival at Grand Creek. We had had a most\nsuccessful week, and on the closing night it was estimated that not less\nthan fifteen thousand people crowded the grounds. The last of my four\nrides for the day was scheduled for eleven o\u2019clock at night, and was to\nbe the closing feature.\n\n\u201cPromptly at five minutes of eleven I climbed to the platform, and my\nbicycle was sent up to me by rope and pulley. It was a heavy, dark night,\nbut the thousands of electric lights made the grounds almost as light as\nday. Little lamps were strung thickly all down the run, and the skeleton\nframework of my tower and trestles was outlined with them.\n\n\u201cA fitful, eddying wind had come up, which roared dismally through the\ntimbers. It swayed the big framework somewhat, but not enough to trouble\nme.\n\n\u201cThe people had come crowding to my portion of the grounds, and as I\ngazed down at their upturned faces, massed so thickly together below me,\nthe sight was a weird one under the electric lights.\n\n\u201cStraight ahead of me lay the narrow run, with its broad stripe of white\ndown the center, to aid me in steering, then the \u2018saucer,\u2019 as it was\ncalled, at the bottom, where the run turned up toward the \u2018take-off,\u2019\nthen the wide gap and the farther platform, with its even wider guiding\nstripe of white.\n\n\u201cI gave the bicycle a quick examination, stood up straight and made\nthe little posing flourish which is expected of all athletes, fixed my\nbicycle on the run, and seated myself firmly. The official announcer\nbelow raised his hand. The band stopped playing, and there was that\nbreathless hush of apprehension and expectation which is so carefully\nworked up for sensational acts.\n\n\u201c\u2018All ready?\u2019 shouted the announcer.\n\n\u201c\u2018Right!\u2019 I responded.\n\n\u201c\u2018Go!\u2019\n\n\u201cThe snare-drummer of the band struck into the long roll with which he\nalways accompanied my flights. Instantly I removed the restraining foot\nwhich I had kept upon the platform, placed it upon the locked pedal, and\nshot rapidly down the incline.\n\n\u201cAt that instant every electric light in the city of Grand Creek went out!\n\n\u201cIt was a darkness doubly dense and awful after the brilliancy of the\nmoment before. Perfectly helpless, I was plunging down a steep, narrow\nincline toward probable death. If the wheel swerved but a little to the\nright or left, I should sweep over the edge and be dashed to pieces on\nthe ground below.\n\n\u201cMy bicycle, rushing down the incline, travelled at the rate of fifty\nmiles an hour. Sometimes now I awake at night with a gasp of horror from\nhaving lived over those awful moments, but at the time my thoughts were\ncool and collected.\n\n\u201c\u2018It all depends on you, Jack, my boy,\u2019 I told myself. \u2018You can\u2019t be\nsmashed any harder for keeping your head.\u2019\n\n\u201cI knew that the wheel was absolutely straight for the jump when I\nstarted, and grasping the handles, I bent every effort toward keeping the\nwheel perfectly rigid. Down I rushed through the darkness, and so strange\nwas the sensation that it almost seemed as if the wheel had left the run,\nand was sailing through the air. The speed seemed doubly terrific. Even\nif I kept the run, could I hold the wheel for the jump and what then?\n\n\u201cThe saucer came almost before I expected it. In spite of myself I must\nhave given a spasmodic twist to the handles, for the wheel twisted in\nmy hands and swerved. I threw myself frantically to one side and lost\nconsciousness!\n\n\u201cYes, I\u2019m alive yet. Entirely uninjured except for the thump which put me\nto sleep when I struck the platform.\n\n\u201cThe great momentum swept both the wheel and myself from the edge of the\ntake-off and hurled us against the yielding bodies of those in the front\nrow of the crowd, backed by the thousands of other spectators, as against\na carefully prepared and cushioned buffer. It was learned that not less\nthan eighteen persons received the impact of the wheel and myself at the\nsame instant, and so scattered was the blow that nobody was injured in\nthe slightest.\n\n\u201cOne very fat man, who had been standing with his handsome top-hat\nheld behind him, told me that he sat down with fearful suddenness after\nreceiving my head in his stomach, and he showed me his hat; but he wasn\u2019t\nhurt.\n\n\u201cThe next day the Ferari Brothers Carnival Company went to Battle Rapids,\nbut my ticket read East Putney, Vermont.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE COST OF LOVING\n\nBy Frederick Orin Bartlett\n\n\nWith a slight lift of his heavy shoulders, Dr. Schriftman brought to a\nclose his final lecture of the year to the senior medical class. For\na moment he faced these young men aggressively. With his shaggy white\nbeard, his wiry gray hair, his bulky body, he looked more like some\ngood-natured Santa Claus than a surgeon who was famous on two continents\nfor his stoicism as well as his skill. It was tradition that he should\nsay what he was about to say to each graduating class.\n\n\u201cShentlemen,\u201d he began in his rough guttural, which still retained the\ntrace of an accent. \u201cShentlemen, you are about to enter a brofession\nwhich will be very jealous of you. It demands all\u2014everything. You will be\ntempted by many false gods\u2014by women, by gold. Peware! Let your work be\nyour religion, your wife, and your reward. So you will be goot surgeons.\nShentlemen, I wish you success.\u201d\n\nAs he turned to leave the platform, he was greeted with noisy and hearty\ncheering.\n\n\u201cRaus mit der ladies!\u201d shouted some one.\n\nThe cry was taken up with a will, but when another voice broke through\nwith: \u201cHoch Schriftman!\u201d the one hundred throats strained themselves\nto the utmost in a final effort to give expression to their genuine\nappreciation of the man.\n\nBut Schriftman, indifferent alike to their jests and plaudits, had\nalready jammed his silk hat on the back of his head and was hurrying down\nstairs to where his machine waited to whisk him to the hospital.\n\nHe timed his day as by a stop watch. He rose at seven, gave himself\nuntil eight to finish his solitary breakfast, and, hurrying off to the\nmedical school, remained there until eleven. He was at the hospital from\neleven-thirty until three. From three-ten until five he kept his office\nhours. He generally dined alone in his apartments after this and gave\nup his evenings to consultations, to the preparation of papers, and to\nstudy. It was a long evening, for he seldom retired until two. More\noften than not he was called to the hospital after this and finished\nhis sleep there. The doctors\u2019 quarters were as much home to him as the\nthree book-cluttered rooms which led from his office. And yet there were\nmen\u2014young men, too\u2014who envied Schriftman, and when tempted by bright eyes\nand warm cheeks quoted to themselves his famous epigram:\n\n\u201cIt costs too much to love.\u201d\n\nAs his machine drew up before the big gray building, a young interne\nhurried out, opened the door, and then fell back respectfully to give\nto his senior the place of honor by Schriftman\u2019s side. In answer to\nquestions which went to their mark like arrows, Burrell covered the\nprogress of every case since the day before and turned to the new patient\nin Ward 27.\n\n\u201cFemale, age eight. Mother an actress, died of pneumonia; father a\nbicycle rider, killed in an accident. Family history negative.\u201d\n\nAnd so with a dozen other medical details Burrell led up to the result\nof his preliminary examination and to the laboratory report. He made no\ndiagnosis except in connection with her weak heart. But to Schriftman\nit was not the faulty heart but the chronic pain in the back which was\nsignificant. As he removed his hat and gloves before going to the ward,\nhe pressed his cross-examination deeper. It was evident to Dr. Burrell\nthat it was to be the rare good fortune of this female, age eight, to\nprove an interesting case to Schriftman.\n\nIn the meanwhile the lass in question lay stretched out on her back,\nwatching with hectic interest the hurried movements of the head nurse.\nThere wasn\u2019t very much of Gretzel left; just a shriveled body, a thin\nmouth, a straight, sensitive nose, a pair of blue eyes, and a wealth of\nlight hair. But the eyes were quite perfect. So deep and clear, so timid\nand yet so wise were these that as they peered out of the haggardness\nof their surroundings they gave the effect of a maid within a maid. It\nwas as though some other soul, unrelated to this pain-racked body, were\npeering through the mask of her gaunt features. The eyes were younger\nand fresher and stronger than the rest of her. At present they were\nunusually alert.\n\nIn contrast to the isolated boarding-house room from which they had\nbrought her, life here fairly buzzed. The plaints and groanings of her\nfellow patients, the shadow-like movements of the nurses, the constant\ncoming and going of the young doctors on their unknown errands, the\ncatlike tread of life through the night, the undercurrent of suspense,\nand her own helplessness in the midst of it kept her on guard. The\nnurses, drawn to her at once, tried to reassure her, but to little\npurpose, because Gretzel believed nothing of what they whispered. People\nhad lied to her all her life. When her father had told her she would soon\nbe well and that then he would take her far out into the country, he had\nlied. When her father was killed, her mother had lied to her, saying that\ndaddy had only gone away for a little while to prepare a home for them\nboth. Then her mother had died and every one had lied about that. They\nsaid that she had gone to join daddy and that some day she would send for\nGretzel. Finally the landlady had lied when she had been hurried off into\nthe ambulance. This woman had assured Gretzel that she might possibly\nfind her mother at the hospital. She hadn\u2019t found her mother\u2014the nurses\nhad never heard of her mother. So now, with her thin lips tight together,\nshe listened, believing nothing, but kept her eyes wide open ready for\nwhat might happen next.\n\nNearer and nearer to her came Fate in the person of\nSchriftman\u2014Schriftman the silent, who could skirt with his knife the\nfringe of the soul itself. His progress through the ward was accompanied\nwith more awe than that of a sovereign through his court. To the huddled\ngroup of internes at his back he stood for the highest goal in their\nprofession; to those patients who knew him he stood as the literal\narbiter of life and death. When those clear eyes\u2014as brilliantly hard as\nglacial ice\u2014were upon them, when those quick, mobile fingers fluttered\nover their bruised bodies, they breathed slowly and prayed. For they knew\nit was given to him to do things possible to no other man. But though\nmany an eye warmed at sight of him, though many an arm pleaded toward\nhim, though many lips trembled gratitude at his approach, he rigidly\npreserved his impersonality. He had neither smile nor jest. His eyes\nnever warmed; they only lighted.\n\nGretzel saw him as he entered the ward opposite her. She shrank beneath\nthe clothes with only her eyes showing and studied the man. She liked his\nsize first of all. She had a weakling\u2019s reverence for physical strength.\nThe broad shoulders, the long, heavy arms appealed to her at once. Then\nshe liked his whiskers. They reminded her of pictures of Santa Claus.\nFinally, she liked his deep bass voice. It seemed to her that a man with\na voice like that must tell the truth. She wasn\u2019t sure of this, but the\nlonger she listened to it and the nearer it came, the less afraid she\ngrew. She ventured the tip of her nose above the bedclothes, then her\nmouth, and finally her chin. By the time the group reached her side she\nwas facing them all, in the open.\n\nFor a moment Schriftman stood over her and met her gaze. He had never\nfelt his soul so searched as it was during the next few seconds. And yet\nthe silent questions asked of him were simple. Gretzel sought only to\nknow if he were a man to tell the truth and if she could trust him with\nher tender, sensitive body. She had fought the boarding-house doctor\ntooth and nail from the beginning. Not only had he lied to her but he had\nhurt her brutally. Now she wished to know if she must be on her guard\nwith this other. So for a moment her excited big eyes rested on his,\nwhich were like candles burning in a frosty room. Then quite simply and\nunafraid she shoved down the bedclothes and, turning over on her face,\nexposed her throbbing back.\n\nDr. Burrell caught the nurse\u2019s eye. The latter gave a gulpy sort of smile\nand turned away. With a grunt Schriftman bent over the thin frame. His\nfingers, which at times seemed endowed with five senses, played up and\ndown her spine, to the right, to the left, then back again up and down.\nThough at times he stopped to probe deep, he did not hurt her much. It\nseemed to her that some of the strength of his broad back ran out of his\nfinger tips and for a moment checked the biting ache which had gnawed at\nher for a twelvemonth. Once, at a certain spot, he made her cringe, but\nshe understood that this was not done intentionally.\n\nSchriftman, his brow knitted, called for Burrell\u2019s stethoscope. He placed\nit over Gretzel\u2019s wobbly heart and listened. One of his big hands lay on\nthe coverlet. Suddenly he felt his thumb in the clutch of a warm, tight\ngrip. He found it difficult to listen after this, for the sturdy pound of\nhis own heart became curiously intermingled with this other jerky beat.\nExtricating his thumb, he glared at Burrell.\n\n\u201cTransfer this patient to a private ward,\u201d he ordered.\n\nIn the luxurious seclusion of a room to herself, with everything to eat\nthat her fickle palate craved, with bright-colored German picture books\nto look at, with a nurse whose sole duty it was to attend to her alone,\nGretzel felt like an invalid princess. But all these things were as\nnothing compared with the joy of the frequent visits of the big doctor\nhimself. Had it not been for him Gretzel would have looked with suspicion\non the whole arrangement; she would have lain awake all night worrying\nabout what might grow out of this. She had learned that every sweet was\nonly a mask of something bitter\u2014like her pills. Whenever anyone had been\nespecially nice to her at home, it was sure to be followed by something\nterrible. When her father died, her mother had brought her a doll, and\nwhen her mother died the landlady had brought her an apple.\n\nBut this was different. When she felt Schriftman\u2019s hand close over hers\nshe knew that now no more harm could come to her. He was big enough\nto take quick revenge on anyone who should hurt her. The consequent\nrelaxation of her tense nerves brought even some surcease of pain, so\nthat at night she frequently slept two or three hours at a time. But\nthe best thing about these naps was the excitement of waking up and\nfinding this shaggy-bearded Santa Claus by the side of her bed. It might\nbe eleven at night or two in the morning or four in the morning that\nhe came, but always he came between the dusk and the dawn. Always his\ngreeting was the same:\n\n\u201cHow it goes, kleine m\u00e4dchen?\u201d\n\nAlways she answered:\n\n\u201cI\u2019m partickly comfy, Mister Santy.\u201d\n\nThen he would seat himself by the bed, she would take a tight grip on his\nthumb, and they were off in a jiffy to some glorious German fairyland.\n\nThe wonder was where the Herr Doctor found these stories. They certainly\nwere not in any of his scientific treatises and he had read nothing else\nfor forty years.\n\nIf he made them up as he went along, then he must have had more\nimagination than anyone ever suspected. It was to be noted, however,\nthat in these stories the heroine could trace her beauty, her charm, as\nwell as the success of all her adventures, to the fact that she was very\nparticular to eat as much as possible of whatever was brought to her.\n\n\u201cUnd so,\u201d as he informed her one night, \u201cif you would be a princess, you\nmust eat und you must sleep. Ach\u2014so you will become gr-ross und r-rosy\nund peautiful.\u201d\n\n\u201cMe?\u201d Gretzel questioned doubtfully.\n\nShe had never been ambitious in that direction.\n\n\u201cYou are peautiful already inside,\u201d answered Schriftman. \u201cIt does not\nneed much after that to be peautiful outside\u2014choost some fat und some\nproteids.\u201d\n\n\u201cSum fat an\u2019 sum protydids,\u201d murmured Gretzel, as though committing it to\nmemory.\n\nThis was a new idea to her\u2014this possibility of being beautiful. For\nherself she didn\u2019t care, but if Santy wished it, then it was worth trying\nfor. She became a little bit jealous of these German princesses. But a\nnew thought disturbed her.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s so hard to be beau-ti-ful when your back aches you,\u201d she sighed.\n\n\u201cAch,\u201d replied the doctor with a frown, \u201cdot iss true. But when we are\ngr-ross und are r-rosy\u2014so perhaps the ache will go.\u201d\n\nGretzel quickly searched his eyes. She had been told before that this\nache might go. It had always been a lie. Now Santy himself had told her.\nOn the whole, she was sorry he had told her this. With all her confidence\nin him she could not believe that such a thing was possible. And if it\nwere not possible, then\u2014he must be like the others.\n\nHe had risen to go, and was bending over her as tenderly as a mother.\nShe reached up a thin hand and drew down his shaggy head until her lips\nrested against his ear.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m partickly comfy,\u201d she assured him anxiously. \u201cLet the ache be.\u201d\n\nHe kissed her lips.\n\n\u201cMein kleine m\u00e4dchen,\u201d he trembled. \u201cAch, mein kleine m\u00e4dchen.\u201d\n\nIt was three o\u2019clock in the morning when he left her, but he routed\nBurrell out of bed and made him sit up until half-past four, while\nhe discussed everything under the face of the sun except that which\nwas disturbing him. Burrell, dog-tired, listened patiently, but when\nSchriftman finally explained himself, he gave a start.\n\n\u201cDot case in Ward A,\u201d Schriftman blurted out, dropping into a broad\ndialect, as he always did when deeply moved. \u201cI t\u2019ink Richards iss der\nman to do dot\u2014hein?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo do Gretzel?\u201d exclaimed Burrell.\n\nSchriftman nodded, looking up at Burrell from beneath his wiry eyebrows.\n\n\u201cWhy, doctor,\u201d cried Burrell, \u201cthere\u2019s just one man in the world to do\nthat operation\u2014and that\u2019s you!\u201d\n\nSchriftman\u2019s head sank.\n\n\u201cRichards is a great operator,\u201d admitted Burrell, \u201cbut he hasn\u2019t your\nnerve. And, good Lord, it\u2019s going to take a man of iron to do that\noperation without ether.\u201d\n\nSchriftman winced. Burrell ran on excitedly.\n\n\u201cWhy, you yourself said she didn\u2019t have a chance in ten, but without\nyou\u2014why, it wouldn\u2019t be a chance in a hundred.\u201d\n\nBurrell was pleading. He was pleading with his heart in the plea, for\nhe was pleading for Gretzel\u2019s life. The operation had been the talk of\nthe hospital for three weeks. The girl\u2019s heart was too weak to stand an\nanesthetic, and even with the local application of cocaine the operation\nwas bound to be brutal. Everyone knew there was just one Schriftman\u2014just\none man with the brains, the hand, and the nerve to do it. This wasn\u2019t\na task for an ordinary surgeon; it was a task for a surgical machine.\nBurrell had been waking up lately in a cold sweat trying to find out how\nhe could avoid assisting. Without ether\u2014good heavens! there was only one\nSchriftman; only one man who could keep his hand steady with Gretzel\u2019s\npoor body quivering beneath it.\n\nMoreover, there wasn\u2019t another man who had the skill to give the lass\neven a show for her suffering. Speed is what would count, and there was\nno such nimble fingers in the world as Schriftman\u2019s.\n\nBurrell was on his feet.\n\n\u201cGretzel\u2019s life is literally in your hands, doctor,\u201d he exclaimed\nimpulsively. \u201cGod give her strength to bear the ordeal.\u201d\n\n\u201cAmen,\u201d muttered Schriftman.\n\nDuring the next few weeks Gretzel seemed actually to grow slightly plump\nand rosy, but almost in the same proportion Schriftman grew wan and pale.\n\nHe realized that Burrell had told the truth; if the child was to have\na fighting chance for life, then he must do the operation. But was it\npossible to make the kleine m\u00e4dchen understand that what he did he did\nfor her own dear sake? Could he make her realize that the hand she\ngrasped so confidently would not willingly cause her brutal pain? Ach\u2014the\nhonest trust of those blue eyes!\n\nThere came a morning when Gretzel was given no breakfast. She protested\nto the head nurse.\n\n\u201cSanty will be very mad on me if I don\u2019t eat my egg,\u201d she declared.\n\n\u201cI think he will forgive you this time, dear,\u201d answered the nurse.\n\n\u201cWhy?\u201d Gretzel asked pointedly.\n\n\u201cBecause\u2014because\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t beau-ti-ful yet,\u201d Gretzel interrupted with a glance at her thin\narm.\n\nThe nurse threw herself on her knees by the side of the girl. She kissed\nthat thin arm again and again.\n\n\u201cYes, you are beautiful and wonderful,\u201d she half sobbed. \u201cDon\u2019t ask me\nquestions, Gretzel. _Please_ don\u2019t ask me questions.\u201d\n\nGretzel placed her hand on the nurse\u2019s head. She didn\u2019t like to see\nanyone worried. And because, here, she herself seemed always to be the\ncause of worry she answered reassuringly the only comforting thing she\ncould think of:\n\n\u201cI\u2019m partickly comfy.\u201d\n\nWhereupon the nurse rose swiftly and hurried out of the room.\n\nSanty favored Gretzel with an unexpected visit this same morning. He came\nin shortly after the nurse had left, and Gretzel explained to him at once\nthat she had not had her egg.\n\n\u201cSo?\u201d Schriftman answered nervously.\n\nHe seated himself on the edge of the bed. He placed his hand firmly on\nher shoulder.\n\n\u201cKleine m\u00e4dchen,\u201d he faltered, \u201cif you were mein own kleine m\u00e4dchen I\ncould not loff you more.\u201d\n\nShe put her arms around his neck.\n\n\u201cDear, dear Santy,\u201d she cooed.\n\n\u201cSo,\u201d he said, \u201cso you must neffer forget dot.\u201d\n\nHe drew a little away from her. What he had to say he said looking fair\ninto her blue eyes.\n\n\u201cTo-day,\u201d he said, \u201cwe must make der ache go\u2014poof\u2014foreffer!\u201d\n\nHe snapped his fingers.\n\n\u201cThe ache,\u201d she questioned anxiously.\n\n\u201cForeffer,\u201d he assured her. \u201cUnd if it hurts you when it iss going\u2014\u201d\n\nShe smiled up into his face. She grasped his thumb.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t skeered of bein\u2019 hurted with you, I guess.\u201d\n\nHe held his breath a moment. He couldn\u2019t say any more after that.\n\nSo it was Burrell who was forced to prepare the maid for what was to be\ndone. He did it as well as he knew how, but he made a bungling job of it.\nHe left her gasping for breath with all the old fear in her eyes. The\nthing she could not understand was what had become of Santy. She called\nfor him again and again.\n\nThe best Burrell could think of to tell her was that the Herr Doctor had\ngone to save a little girl from death and that he would come back as soon\nas he could.\n\nSchriftman was depending upon the disguise of his operating robes to\nprevent Gretzel from recognizing him. But he had forgotten to reckon\nwith the fact that she might wonder at his apparent desertion of her\nat this the gravest crisis in her life. Burrell\u2019s explanation did not\nhelp very much. When they lifted her gently to the stretcher and carried\nher through the corridors to the high-vaulted amphitheatre, Santy was\nnowhere to be seen. Pale, dumb, dazed, Gretzel looked everywhere for him\nin vain.\n\nBurrell in an ante-room assisted Schriftman into his sterilized surplice.\nHe adjusted the mask over the surgeon\u2019s beard and the white cap over his\nhair, leaving only his eyes exposed. Then he helped him into his rubber\ngloves. He himself was white and loose in all his joints, but Schriftman,\nthough white, was like a marble statue. He was rigid and inhumanly cold.\nHe moved about with the quick certainty of motion of an automaton. He\ngave his orders in a voice that clicked like an instrument. Burrell could\nnot help admiring such self-control, but at the same time it made him\nshudder.\n\nWhen all was ready Schriftman walked noiselessly in to the amphitheatre.\nGretzel was lying face down with an interne stationed at either side of\nher head. A nurse stood ready near the glittering array of instruments.\nSchriftman scarcely breathed as he approached, but he had no sooner\nreached the girl\u2019s side than she forced up her head. For a heartbeat she\nstared wildly at the sheeted figure. Then she gave a glad, confident cry:\n\n\u201cSanty! Santy!\u201d\n\nSchriftman without replying nodded a signal, and the internes gently\nforced Gretzel back again. But Burrell slumped to the floor like an empty\ngrain sack and was of no more use to anyone.\n\nFor twenty-four hours after the operation Schriftman sat outside\nGretzel\u2019s door and received five-minute reports on her condition. Then\nwhen he realized that she bade fair to tide over the first terrible\nshock, he returned to his lonely room and slept. He was exhausted as\nhe had never before been, and when he woke up he was still exhausted.\nSomething seemed to have gone from him. He made his morning hospital\nvisit to everyone except Gretzel, but his mind was loose and vague. So a\nweek passed, and they told him that while the maid was free from pain and\nwas making a good recovery, she shrank from everyone who approached her.\n\n\u201cUnd she neffer asks for Santy\u2014hein?\u201d he questioned the nurse.\n\nThe nurse lowered her eyes.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d she admitted gently.\n\nHe waited another week with the success of his wonderful operation his\nonly consolation. There was no doubt now but that in time Gretzel would\nreally be as gross and rosy as any of the princesses he had pictured to\nher. For a long time yet he must watch that weak heart, to be sure, but\nwith care and patience much might be done even with that. If only she\nwould let him, he would make that his life work. He wanted to make her\nhis legal daughter; he wanted to buy a little house in the country and\ntake her there; he wanted to make her a real fairyland princess.\n\n\u201cUnd she neffer asks yet for Santy\u2014hein?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d answered the nurse.\n\n\u201cSo,\u201d he murmured, turning away his head. He waited a moment. Then he\nasked:\n\n\u201cYou speak somedimes off me?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d answered the nurse.\n\nHe did not press her further, and so she was saved from telling him that\nat the mere mention of his name the maid shrank away in terror.\n\nSchriftman waited until Gretzel\u2019s temperature was normal\u2014until for the\nfirst time in her life she slept soundly through the night. He himself\nhad been sleeping less than one hour in the twenty-four. His clothes hung\npitifully loose about his once firm body. As Burrell said, he was proving\nthe truth of his own epigram: his love was costing him much\u2014too much.\n\nThere came a day when Schriftman could stand it no longer; when he could\nfight himself no longer. He stole to the door of Gretzel\u2019s room while she\nwas at breakfast. The nurse had seen him coming and was running down the\ncorridor as fast as she could run. She heard the maid\u2019s shriek of terror\nand forced both hands over her ears.\n\nSchriftman clutched at his heart. He grew ten years older in a minute as\nhe saw the girl shrink away. She did not cry out again, but she kept her\nhead hidden beneath the bedclothes.\n\n\u201cKleine m\u00e4dchen,\u201d he trembled. \u201cDon\u2019t do dot. See, I vill go! I vill go\nund neffer again vill I scare you!\u201d\n\nShe did not move.\n\n\u201cGoot-pye, kleine m\u00e4dchen!\u201d He trembled\u00b7 \u201cGoot-pye, leedle brincess.\u201d\n\nAs he backed toward the door there was something in his voice that\nmade Gretzel peek out over the bedclothes. The detail that riveted her\nattention was his wasted form. He looked to her as though he had been\nsick. It recalled to her all the misery of her own long sickness\u2014all the\nache of those long nights now gone forever. She saw pain written in his\neyes, and she who knew so well the horror of pain suddenly forgot in her\nwider sympathy all her personal fears of the man. Her little mother\u2019s\nheart grew big with pity. With her own ache gone and the ache in him\nso manifest, she felt the stronger of the two. There was no longer any\nreason why she should be afraid of him. It was he who looked afraid.\n\nShe sat up in bed and studied him a moment as he cowed away from her.\nThen she reached for her egg.\n\n\u201cSanty,\u201d she said, \u201ccome here.\u201d\n\nLike a blind man, he obeyed.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d she said firmly, \u201cyou mus\u2019 eat an egg. So you will be gross an\u2019\nrosy.\u201d\n\nSchriftman does not operate any more; he is too busy obeying his\ndaughter\u2019s orders for one thing. But he does lecture, and last year he\nconcluded his speech to the senior medical class with these words: \u201cIt\ncosts much to love, ach, yet, but\u2014not too much.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nLADYBIRD\n\nBy Edith Barnard\n\n\nIt began on a very beautiful morning in early June. The roses in the\nrectory garden were all a-bloom, great white clouds were floating as near\nto earth as they dared, songbirds were busy with nests and nestlings, and\nthe very young rector came out of his house to enjoy it all. It had been\nhis house for only a few weeks; he was so young as a rector that this\nwas his first charge, and so young as a man that he longed to lay aside\nhis clerical suit and go swimming or fishing. He was both old enough and\nyoung enough, however, to enjoy every cloud and blossom and song; he was\nfar from those monotonous years of middle life when one day is much like\nanother.\n\nHis rectory garden was, indeed, a charming one. His parishioners had\nseen to that. The rectory was new and looked old, the garden was new and\nlooked old; even the hedge that surrounded the garden and churchyard was\ntall of growth, but had been planted only a year or so. The church was\nthe fashionable house of worship for the fashionable new village\u2014the\nvillage just far enough out of town to make a convenient between-season\nresting place for those favored townsfolk who could spend their time as\nthey spent their money\u2014pretty much as they willed. They wanted their\nchurch and rectory to be as beautiful and Old-World like as possible, and\nthey had made them so.\n\nThe rector was not one for whose idle hands his arch-enemy might find\nmischief; he had come out to his piazza whistling, his hands in his\npockets; but he saw at a glance that the roses bordering his front walk\nwould look the better for a little trimming, and straightway he set to\nwork. Still whistling, busy with knife and twine, happy as a school-boy\nwhittling a man-o\u2019-war, he did not notice that some one came through the\nlittle gate, and stood quite near, behind him.\n\nA small voice said: \u201cGood-morning!\u201d\n\nThe young rector turned quickly, and beheld an amazingly red little\nfigure. Her frock was red, her shoes and stockings were red, and her\nover-large hat was red. She wore white kid gloves and carried a small\nred cardcase. But her little face was not red; it was white, very white,\nand framed in a mass of flying black hair; her eyes were black, too, and\nlarge and wide opened. The rector stared at the brilliant little figure;\nshe might have been the picture of an elf-child, were it not for the\namusing imitations of grown-up conventionalities, the gloves and cardcase.\n\n\u201cGood-morning!\u201d she said again, in just the same tone.\n\n\u201cOh! I beg your pardon! Good-morning!\u201d said the rector.\n\n\u201cYou are the new rector, I know,\u201d said the child. \u201cI am Miss Torrington,\nand I\u2019ve come to call on your wife and daughters.\u201d\n\nThe rector\u2019s stare turned into a look of frank amazement, even\nbewilderment. \u201cMy\u2014I beg your pardon; I\u2019m afraid I don\u2019t quite understand!\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve come to call on your wife and daughters,\u201d repeated the little girl.\n\u201cI\u2019m Miss Virginia Witherspoon Torrington,\u201d she declared convincingly,\n\u201cand I live next door to you\u2014over there, in the big house.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes, I see,\u201d replied the rector. He was as punctiliously polite as\nthe occasion demanded, but his mouth twitched just a little. \u201cI\u2019m sure I\nbeg your pardon. I must be very stupid. But I regret to say that I have\nno wife or daughters.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you sure you haven\u2019t\u201d asked Miss Torrington.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid I am,\u201d said the rector, humbly and apologetically. \u201cWon\u2019t you\ncome in and call on me instead?\u201d\n\nMiss Torrington pondered for a moment. \u201cI think a gentleman ought to pay\nthe _first_ call on a lady, don\u2019t you?\u201d\n\nThe rector bit his lip, but the child went on: \u201cMaggie O\u2019Brien certainly\ntold me there were three ladies in the family here!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d exclaimed the young rector, as if he had found something. \u201cWhy, of\ncourse, there are! I didn\u2019t think of that! There _are_ three ladies, and\nit\u2019s very good of you to call on them. They\u2019ll be delighted. You see, it\nwas your speaking of my wife and daughters that made me forget.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat are they, then?\u201d asked the child.\n\n\u201cOne is my grandmother, and the others are my aunts.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, really? I should think you\u2019d like the grandmother one. You know if\nyou don\u2019t have a grandmother already you can\u2019t ever get one, and you can\nget a wife and daughters.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s very true,\u201d acknowledged the rector. \u201cI suppose you haven\u2019t a\ngrandmother yourself?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, but I have a father\u2014an only father. You know what _that_ is, I\nsuppose; only fathers are a great deal of care. Mine needs a lot of\nlooking after.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019ll tell you,\u201d suggested the rector. \u201cI\u2019ll lend you my\ngrandmother once in a while! That is, if you will come over and help me\noccasionally, I will. I hope you\u2019ll have the time to come. You don\u2019t\nhave to look after your father every minute, do you?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, no,\u201d she replied. \u201cHe\u2019s away a good deal. But I think I ought to see\nher before I borrow her, don\u2019t you?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I beg your pardon,\u201d said the rector again. \u201cIf you\u2019ll come into the\nhouse I\u2019ll call her, and my aunts, too. I\u2019m so glad you don\u2019t mind their\nnot being my wife and daughters.\u201d\n\nHe held open for her the door of the little parlor, and was starting\ntoward the stairs when Miss Torrington called: \u201cOh\u2014er\u2014!\u201d\n\nWhen the rector turned toward her she said: \u201cI\u2019d like to send up my\ncards, please. I don\u2019t often get a chance to use them, you know, and\u2014\u201d\n\nThe rector said, gravely: \u201cI quite understand. I ought to have thought\nof it. I never send my own cards up to them, and I suppose that\u2019s why I\nforgot.\u201d He was about to take them in his hand, but Miss Torrington drew\nthem back.\n\n\u201cMaggie O\u2019Brien always takes them on a silver tray. I\u2019m very partic\u2019lar\nabout it at my house.\u201d\n\nThe rectory owned no silver tray, but there was a silver butter-dish, a\nvalued family heirloom, much too large and fine for every-day use. It was\nkept on the sideboard in the tiny dining-room. The rector gravely brought\nit; Miss Torrington seemed quite satisfied, even a little awed at its\nelegance, and deposited her cards upon it.\n\nThat was the way her first visit began; it ended in ginger cookies,\nand hugs and kisses from the grandmother, and tremulous tears, mixed\nwith laughter, from the aunts. On the second visit she went all over\nthe little place with the rector; together they hunted for eggs\u2014the\nyounger aunt owned four hens and a rooster. They plucked delicious red\nstrawberries, and gathered a bunch of red roses. There were two acres of\ngreenhouses on the grounds of the big house\u2014but these were really, truly\nroses, roses meant to be gathered.\n\nOn her third visit she made herself at home, and from that day she owned\nthe rectory, the grandmother, the aunts, and the rector. In everything\nbut years he was as young as she, and sometimes she was as old as he. All\nthrough the summer they played together, for the child blossomed into\nrosiness, and her father came to rely more and more on the advice of the\naunts and the borrowed grandmother concerning her. She flitted between\nthe two houses, and that was the way she won her name. The young rector\nwould say:\n\n\u201cCome, little Ladybird, fly away home\u201d\u2014and home was on either side of\nthe hedge. The name stayed with her always, for it suited her well\u2014the\nblack-eyed little elf-child in her red frocks.\n\nThe second summer brought her back early, flying through the gate into\nthe arms of the borrowed grandmother, hugging the aunts while they\nlaughed and exclaimed over her growth, and dancing up and down before\nthe young rector, who was far more glad to get her back than he himself\nknew. They taught each other many things that summer\u2014to fish and to climb\ntrees, to say rimes which some day might catch fairies, to throw stones\nstraight, and to make dolls into Indians and early Christian martyrs.\n\nOne day the rector, while writing a sermon, saw through his study window\nan unusual movement in the hedge just opposite. His window opened to the\nfloor, so he went out of it, on tiptoe, to investigate. Ladybird was on\nthe ground, trying to manage a very large saw, and scraping away with all\nher might at the trunk of one of the hedge plants. When the rector stood\nover her she looked up and laughed.\n\n\u201cI wanted to surprise you, old parson,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019m going to cut a\nhole in the hedge; it takes too long to go around by the gates!\u201d\n\nThe rector remonstrated, but she had her way, and before long there was a\nplainly marked path from the gap in the hedge to the study window. It was\neven more plainly marked during the third summer, for they began to read\ntogether, and the study held a new world for her. There were no books at\nthe big house, and the rectory held more of books than of anything else,\nexcept peace and gentleness. The next year the borrowed grandmother was\nnot there to welcome her, but the play and the study went on.\n\nWhen she was twelve she asked him the first question concerning himself.\nShe was sitting on the sill of the long window, her thin little elbows on\nher knees, her chin in her little claw-like hands; she was looking at the\nclouds and the sunset, without seeing either. The rector could no longer\nsee to write, and had come to the window to watch the glowing west.\n\nWhenever she scolded him, or was very serious, she would use his name.\nAfter a while she asked \u201cMark, why do you stay in the country?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a good place to stay in, isn\u2019t it?\u201d he answered.\n\n\u201cYes, of course. But father said that you had been asked to go to St.\nJohn\u2019s in town. He said you were\u2014you\u2014Why do you stay here, Mark?\u201d\n\nThe young rector stood looking over her head at the sunset and made no\nreply. Ladybird looked up at him, then out toward the west again.\n\n\u201cI know why, Mark! _They_ wouldn\u2019t like the town.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey\u2019ve always had the country, you know,\u201d he said simply. \u201cThey were so\nhappy to come here, and they love it.\u201d\n\nPresently he lifted her up. \u201cGood-night, Ladybird,\u201d he said gaily. \u201cFly\naway home!\u201d But she walked slowly that night, and the rector went back to\nhis sermon, which was on the simple life; his parishioners loved theories.\n\nWhen Ladybird was fourteen, the rector found her one day weeping over a\nnovel. That night he talked for hours with her father and when she came\nthe next day she told him, delightedly and proudly, but just a little\ntearfully, that she was going to boarding-school. For two summers she\ndid not come back, but at sixteen she took him again for her confidant,\ntelling him all about the boys, the flowers and notes they sent, what\nshe said in return, how this one had mournful eyes and that one did\ndance like a dream. He enjoyed it all, and teased her, and after that\nthere were no further breaks in their friendship. She wrote him from\ntime to time, and he knew all her love affairs by heart, and laughed\nimmoderately over them. When she was eighteen she came back for a few\nweeks, and they were weeks of delight at the rectory; she made them love\nher all over again, and after she had left for Europe the rector kept the\nshade of the long window pulled down, until the grass had grown up again\non the little path through the hedge.\n\nA year or two after that her father became governor of his State, and\nLadybird became Miss Torrington indeed. She wrote long, infrequent\nletters to the rector, and to the one old aunt; they heard of her\nthrough every one, and when she came back to open the big house for a\ngreat house-party they saw for themselves how beautiful and charming and\ngracious she was, and they guessed how many people beside themselves\nloved her. Even then, with all the house full, she would sometimes steal\noff, toward sunset time, and flit through the gap in the hedge to the\nrectory.\n\nThen, after a year or two more, she came back to stay longer, not in red\nnow, but in black. The elderly cousin who lived with her took the care of\nthe house, and Ladybird, in her first loneliness, sought out her oldest\nfriend. She made him drive with her, walk with her, read with her, and he\nobeyed her will by day and lay wakeful at night, with aching heart and\nstricken conscience. They read over the old books together, and almost\nall of their talks began with: \u201cOh, do you remember?\u201d They went together\nvery often to the grave of the dear borrowed grandmother; Ladybird tried\nto make some ginger cookies by the old recipe, but they were not very\ngood. They got up at dawn one day, and went fishing again, and as in the\nold days Ladybird caught all the fish, and wouldn\u2019t take them off the\nhook. Their favorite walk was along the crest of the hill; there they\ncould look down on the church and the big house, and all the other houses\nand their beautiful parks. From there they could watch the sunset best,\nand there it was even cooler and quieter than in the rectory garden.\n\nOne day they sat on the rock ledge until the red glow of the setting\nsun had nearly faded. Their talk had ceased. The man was sitting below\nthe girl, and she looked down at his head; there were gray hairs here\nand there. Her lips trembled a little, and she leaned over farther. The\nrector looked up; he found her face close to his.\n\n\u201cMark,\u201d she began, but he sprang up quickly and held out his hands:\n\n\u201cCome, little Ladybird, fly away home!\u201d The girl did not move.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d she said. \u201cSit down. I want to say something to you.\u201d\n\nHe said again imperatively: \u201cNo. Come, Ladybird! It is damp here. It is\ntoo near the clouds!\u201d She saw how white his face had grown, and her own\nflushed; they went down without speaking.\n\nAfter that day the rector became very busy with parish work, and\nresolutely refused to take any more walks or drives. Guests came to the\nbig house, and after that more guests and more. There was one who came\nmore often than the others, and at the end of the summer the rector\nwatched him drive away with Ladybird. She had come to bid him good-by,\nbut he had basely hidden himself upstairs!\n\nDuring the winter that followed the rectory heard from her but seldom.\nRumors came of her engagement; the rumors were denied, then re-affirmed.\nThe old aunt declared that the child would have written at once if they\nwere true; the rector made no comment. In the spring he made some changes\nin his garden, and when the roses bloomed he busied himself there more\nthan he had ever done before. One warm June day, while he way tying up\nthe swaying branches that bordered his front walk, and thinking of the\nquaint little red-frocked elf-child who had come to him there years\nbefore, she came through the gate and up the walk toward him, her hands\noutstretched, her face all gladness and youth and beauty. \u201cI\u2019ve come here\nfirst,\u201d she cried. \u201cI\u2019ve come to call!\u201d\n\nThey both laughed, and went in to see the old aunt, the lapse of all the\nyears bridged over between them. She begged to be allowed to stay to\ntea, and declared the biscuits the most delicious that even the rectory\noven had ever baked, and the gooseberry jam as good as ever. After tea\nshe went, uninvited, to the rector\u2019s study. She stood for an instant in\nthe doorway, looking around the familiar room; then she looked up at the\nman standing beside her, and moved toward the long window. \u201cCome with me\nto the hedge, old parson,\u201d she called, and before he could answer she\nflitted through the window and toward the familiar gap.\n\nWhen he reached her side he found her standing with tightly clasped\nhands. She heard him come, and cried: \u201cOh, Mark, Mark, what is it? Who\nput it there?\u201d\n\nThe rector had no voice to answer her, and after a moment of waiting she\nturned to him. \u201cDid you put that there? Did you, did you put that there?\u201d\nStill he made no answer, and with a sob she moved off toward the gate.\nThen he spoke.\n\n\u201cOh, Ladybird, Ladybird, I _had_ to! Don\u2019t go away like that!\nLadybird\u2014see\u2014it is a rosebush, a red rose, Ladybird. I tell you I had to!\nVirginia!\u201d\n\nBut she had run through the rectory gate, and was already on her way\nto the big house. For weeks after that he did not see her. She came to\nthe rectory only when he was away, and again there were guests at the\nbig house, and again one guest who came more frequently than all the\nothers. The rector came upon this young man one day, down by the river.\nHe was looking very unhappy indeed, so evidently unhappy that the rector,\naccustomed as he was to respond to all appeals for pity and mercy,\ninvoluntarily stopped. The young man held out his hand.\n\n\u201cThank you, sir,\u201d he said, and laughed a little. \u201cI see you know what\u2019s\nup with me. I didn\u2019t know I was such a fool as to show it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI ought not to have stopped,\u201d said the rector. \u201cI beg your pardon.\u201d He\nwould have gone on, but the boy touched his arm.\n\n\u201cPlease don\u2019t say that, sir. I\u2019d rather have seen you than any one else\nI know. In fact, I was coming to the rectory\u2014later. I thought perhaps I\ncould get you to help me out, sir.\u201d\n\nThe rector winced a little at the boy\u2019s deference, but asked: \u201cWhat is\nit?\u201d\n\nAgain the other laughed, somewhat ruefully. \u201cOh, I\u2019m sure you know,\u201d\nhe said. \u201cI\u2019ve loved her ever since my freshman year, when she was at\nboarding-school. She\u2019s never done anything else but turn me down, but\nshe says this has got to be the last time. I thought if you could be\npersuaded to say a word to her, sir, she might look at it differently.\nShe cares more for you than for any one else, and you\u2019ve always been like\na father to her, sir!\u201d\n\nThe rector looked at the honest, boyish face, and said: \u201cI\u2019ll do as you\nask.\u201d\n\nTherefore, an hour later, Ladybird was standing before him, in her own\ndrawing-room, her cheeks flaming with anger. \u201cDid he ask you to come\nhere, or did you come of your own accord?\u201d she demanded.\n\n\u201cBoth, Virginia,\u201d answered the truthful rector meekly.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you dare to call me Virginia,\u201d she commanded. \u201cYou know I hate it!\nIf you came of your own accord you are an interfering person, and if you\ncame because he told you to, you\u2019re a\u2014you\u2019re a\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cThe boy loves you very much, Virginia, and I think he\u2019d make you a good\nhusband.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you want me to marry him? Are you tired of looking at me?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think he would make you a good husband.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you want to see me married?\u201d\n\nThe rector got up, and started for the door, but she stood in front of\nhim. \u201cWas that why you planted the rosebush in the hedge?\u201d she asked.\nHe bowed before her, and she watched him grow pale. Then she laughed, a\nlittle low, tender laugh, and\u2014kissed him. The rector was dimly aware of\nher swift rush from the room, and of his own going home blindly.\n\nThe next day he left his house early, to walk over the hills to the home\nof a distant poor parishioner; coming home late in the afternoon he came\nupon her, seated on the ledge of rock upon the hillcrest. She walked\ncalmly to meet him, and standing bravely before him she asked him the\nquestion. It was then that the rector discovered that the Angel with\nwhich he had been struggling was not, as he had believed, the Angel of\nTemptation, but, indeed, the Angel of Life. As they walked down later, in\nthe red glow, hand in hand, he asked:\n\n\u201cDo you remember, Ladybird, the cards on the silver butter-dish?\u201d\n\nShe laughed and said: \u201cAnd those first ginger cookies?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you remember the day you were up in the apple tree, Ladybird, and hit\nme with an apple?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd that was before I learned to \u2018throw straight,\u2019 too!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou were very repentant, so we went fishing the next day. You leaned\nover the brook to see yourself, and your hair fell into the water.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt wasn\u2019t very long,\u201d she laughed.\n\n\u201cHow long is it now, Ladybird?\u201d he asked.\n\nShe pursed up her lips. \u201cOh, longer,\u201d she said.\n\nAt the edge of the woods they stood for a last look at the churchyard\nbelow. \u201cCan you give up the other life, Ladybird?\u201d he asked seriously.\n\n\u201cThere is no other,\u201d she replied softly.\n\n\u201cOh, Ladybird, Ladybird, when will you come home?\u201d he cried.\n\nShe shook her head at him, laughing. \u201cOh, parson, old parson, you\ncouldn\u2019t ask one great, important question, but you\u2019re a genius at asking\nsilly ones!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE DRASNOE PIPE-LINE\n\nBy Arthur Stanwood Pier\n\n\nOn a windy and sullen morning in May, 1864, a caravan of fifty wagons,\neach piled high with barrels, crawled down the muddy road from the\nDrasnoe oil-field. Beside the leading team of the procession walked a\none-armed man and a fifteen-year-old boy. The faces of the two were not\ncheerful. That of the man was sad; the boy\u2019s was anxious.\n\nBehind trooped the other teamsters, shouting, cracking their long\nblacksnake whips, swearing at the horses, the mud, the threatening sky.\nThey were always boisterous and blasphemous during the long daily haul.\n\nThe one-armed man and the boy walked together silently by preference.\n\n\u201cDo you suppose General Grant is done fighting by this time?\u201d the boy\nasked, at last.\n\nHis companion smiled sadly.\n\n\u201cI guess he won\u2019t be done fighting for a good many months yet. But I\nshouldn\u2019t wonder if he was out of the Wilderness by now.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt must be a big battle,\u201d said the boy. \u201cMost as big as Gettysburg,\ndon\u2019t you think, John?\u201d\n\n\u201cPretty nigh.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow long do you suppose before we hear about father\u2014whether he\u2019s all\nright?\u201d\n\n\u201cDepends on how long the battle lasts. I guess in a week.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s an awful time to wait. Your folks didn\u2019t hear about you till ten\ndays after it happened, did they?\u201d He glanced at the empty sleeve.\n\n\u201cI believe not. But there was a good deal to \u2019tend to after Gettysburg.\nMaybe there won\u2019t be so much in this battle.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish I was down there instead of hauling oil every day,\u201d said the boy.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re making more money hauling oil,\u201d replied the teamster. The boy\nglanced at him, hurt and scornful. \u201cYes,\u201d continued the man, in his quiet\nvoice, \u201cyou\u2019re making quite a heap of money. And as long as you\u2019re doing\nthat, what\u2019s the good of running off to fight? That\u2019s what all that\ngang behind us would tell you\u2014and there\u2019s mighty few of them that are\nstaying away from the war to support their mothers.\u201d In his quiet voice\nthere brimmed suddenly the full bitterness of contempt: \u201cFloaters\u2014and\nstay-at-homes!\u201d\n\nThe boy thought that perhaps John Denny was hard on the men. At least\nit was not cowardice that kept them hauling oil when they might be\nshouldering rifles. The boy had seen too many evidences of their\ncourage and recklessness to believe that; he had seen also too many\nrough-and-tumble fights among them to believe that a distaste for\nfighting kept them in the paths of peace. Nor was it altogether greed for\nthe dollars that were being so lavishly squandered in the oil country in\nthose days that detained them; among them all there was hardly one who\nwas laying money by.\n\nThe boy himself, with his small farm wagon, had earned as much as seventy\ndollars in a week. But what the men earned so rapidly they spent as\nroyally; it was the excitement of a sudden prosperity, greater than any\nthey had ever expected or foreseen and the joy of indulging it had made\nthem heedless of the call to arms.\n\nThe boy was aware that whether they liked John Denny or not\u2014and in view\nof his ill-concealed contempt it was hard for them to like him\u2014they\nyielded him position and respect.\n\nThe summer before, while the armies of North and South were battling in\none corner of Pennsylvania, in another there had sprung up excitement\nover oil. John Denny had returned from Gettysburg with his right arm shot\noff at the shoulder, and had found this excitement at its height.\n\nHe could make a living, one-armed as he was, on the farm. But instead,\nhe mortgaged the place and drilled for oil. The hole was a dry one; and\nDenny faced the world in debt as well as crippled.\n\nFortunately, the great Drasnoe wells began to flow at about that time,\nand teamsters were needed to transport the oil to the railroad eight\nmiles away. The prices of oil and labor were high; and after six months\nof hard teaming, Denny had paid off his debt. And his fellow teamsters,\nwho had mostly drifted in from \u201coutside,\u201d yielded him grudgingly a\ncertain admiration. It was not diminished by the fact that he held them\nall at a distance\u2014all but the boy, Elmer Todd, who was the youngest of\nthe teamsters, and whom he took under his protection.\n\nAt a turn in the road they saw a wagon backed up into a field. Two men\nwere unloading sections of pipe. A third, a young man in high boots, such\nas the teamsters wore, stood by, giving directions. He looked up at Denny\nand the boy, and his face brightened pleasantly.\n\n\u201cMorning!\u201d he said. \u201cWe\u2019ll get the last of our pipe laid to-day.\u201d\n\nDenny stopped his team. \u201cThat so?\u201d he said, grimly. \u201cYou expect when it\u2019s\nlaid it will stay, Mr. Ross?\u201d\n\nThe young man\u2019s eyes narrowed together into a frown; his clean-cut face\nassumed a more determined expression. \u201cThat\u2019s what I expect,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s some talk to indicate it won\u2019t,\u201d said Denny. He was in a black\nmood, and this young superintendent, who was making his fortune instead\nof hearing arms, came in for a share of his contempt.\n\n\u201cWhen you hear any such talk, Mr. Denny, discourage it,\u201d said Ross. \u201cThe\nmen won\u2019t gain by fighting with us over this matter.\u201d\n\n\u201cI guess,\u201d observed Denny, brutally, \u201cthat if you were any good for\nfighting you would be elsewhere, Mr. Ross. Get up, boys!\u201d He cracked his\nwhip and walked on beside his horses.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cTHREE OF US WERE RIDING DOWN THE SLOPE OF THE GREAT,\nGRASSY HILLS\u201d\u2014page 269\n\n_From the drawing by W. H. D. Koerner_]\n\n\u201cThat brought the blood to his face, didn\u2019t it?\u201d he said to the boy, with\na laugh.\n\nBeside the road and up over the rising meadows ran a ridge of freshly\nturned earth. \u201cIt looks,\u201d said the boy, after a silence, \u201cas if we\nwouldn\u2019t make many more trips.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes. Once they begin pumping oil through that pipe-line, it\u2019s back to\nthe farm for you and me. Well\u2014teaming has been a lift for me, anyway,\nthis winter.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve got three hundred dollars all my own,\u201d said the boy, proudly. \u201cIt\nwill start me in at college some time\u2014when father comes home.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s more, I guess, than a good many have saved up.\u201d Denny glanced back\nalong the line of wagons. \u201cAnd when they\u2019re cut off from their day\u2019s\nwork\u2014I expect there will be trouble.\u201d\n\nThe teamsters observed no great secrecy in expressing their emotions\nand in making threats. In consequence of specific declarations which he\nhad heard, at nine o\u2019clock that night Denny was crossing the Drasnoe\noil-field, following the ridge that denoted the pipe-line.\n\nAs he walked, he kept his eyes on the ridge, intent for any sign that it\nhad been tampered with. After he had gone a mile he came to a strip of\nwoods, through which the pipe-line was laid, although at this point the\nroad diverged and made a circuit.\n\nThe woods were not more than half a mile in area, and except for another\nclump of forest six miles distant, near the railway station, made the\nonly secluded spot through which the pipe-line passed.\n\nThe teamsters all lived in the vicinity of the Drasnoe field.\n\n\u201cThey won\u2019t go six miles to cut pipe,\u201d Denny thought. \u201cRight here\u2019s the\nplace to catch \u2019em.\u201d\n\nThe sky had cleared during the afternoon; it was a mild, clear night,\nwith a moon that showed the road from the edge of the woods for some\ndistance.\n\nDenny sat down on a log, lighted the lantern he had brought, and taking a\nbook from his pocket, began to read.\n\nPresently he looked up, and made out a figure approaching across the\nfields, following the pipe-line. He shielded the lantern and waited. When\nthe approaching man entered the woods he stepped out to meet him.\n\n\u201cMr. Ross!\u201d Denny ejaculated, contemptuously.\n\n\u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d The superintendent\u2019s voice was menacing.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m constable of this borough, Mr. Ross, and I\u2019m here to prevent\nmischief.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen we\u2019re on the same errand.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre we?\u201d Denny asked. \u201cYou\u2019d better go home to bed, Mr. Ross. You don\u2019t\nwant to get mixed up in this. You wouldn\u2019t be any good\u2014and it mightn\u2019t be\ngood for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cLook here, John Denny!\u201d Ross stepped up close; his eyes flashed in the\nlight of the lantern that Denny held aloft. \u201cYou the same as called me\na coward to-day, and because you\u2019ve got only one arm I can\u2019t resent it!\nYou told me that if I was any good for fighting I\u2019d be somewhere else\nthan here. Now I want you to know one thing\u2014my plans were laid last week\nto leave for the front next Monday. You think I haven\u2019t wanted to go! I\ndon\u2019t tell my private affairs to you or any other man, but I\u2019ll say this\nmuch: over in Oil City I\u2019m leaving a family provided for if anything\nhappens to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf that\u2019s the case,\u201d Denny said, slowly, \u201cI take it back, Mr. Ross. I\ntake everything back.\u201d\n\nThey sat down together on the log and talked amicably. Denny\u2019s thoughts\nwere turned back to his war experience. He told the new recruit stories\nof campaigning and battle. Ross listened with a respect of which his\nmaimed subordinate became somehow conscious. That tribute of respect\nfrom one whom he had both envied and despised, and whom he had come so\nsuddenly to like, swept the bitterness from Denny\u2019s soul.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re giving up a good bit to go,\u201d he said, at last. \u201cOld man Drasnoe\nlikes you; you\u2019ve got a start toward being a millionaire. You throw it\nall up and go off to the war\u2014and you can\u2019t tell what you may come back\nto.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll have to run my chance,\u201d Ross answered.\n\n\u201cMr. Drasnoe satisfied to have you leave?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d replied Mr. Ross, quietly, \u201cMr. Drasnoe is quite satisfied. He\nlikes the man I\u2019ve picked to take my place.\u201d Denny\u2019s interest was at once\nawakened.\n\n\u201cAnd who might that be?\u201d\n\nRoss hesitated. \u201cIt\u2019s hardly time to talk about it yet.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, all right. I wasn\u2019t meaning to pry.\u201d\n\nThey arranged to divide the night into watches Denny was to sleep until\ntwelve, then Ross would rouse him and sleep till four.\n\nAt about one o\u2019clock, while Ross, lying at the foot of a tree, was\nsleeping, the marauders came. Denny saw them as they climbed over the\nfence by the roadside. He awakened Ross, and said:\n\n\u201cThey\u2019re coming. You\u2019d better leave this to me\u2014as constable. If they see\nyou, they\u2019ll get ugly. You go in behind that thicket and wait.\u201d\n\nRoss protested. \u201cYou can come out if you\u2019re needed,\u201d Denny said; and\nthe superintendent reluctantly withdrew. Denny put out his lantern, and\nstepping behind a great oak, awaited the approach.\n\nThere were a dozen men, carrying lanterns, mattocks and spades; they\npassed close by where Denny stood.\n\n\u201cSpread out, now\u2014and rip it up all along!\u201d cried one; and he lifted his\nmattock and brought it down upon the earth.\n\nDenny stepped forward.\n\n\u201cBoys,\u201d he said, \u201chold on!\u201d\n\nThey faced him, startled. The one who had spoken caught up a lantern and\nturned it on him.\n\n\u201cDenny!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cSpyin\u2019 on us!\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m borough constable,\u201d said Denny. \u201cDestroying property has a penalty\nattached.\u201d The men crowded round him, disturbed, angry, threatening.\n\n\u201cWell, here we are!\u201d said the leader, scornfully. \u201cArrest us.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere won\u2019t be any arrests if there\u2019s no damage done, O\u2019Brien,\u201d Denny\nanswered.\n\nO\u2019Brien turned and struck his mattock into the earth. \u201cShow him a little\ndamage, boys,\u201d he urged. \u201cYank up the pipe.\u201d\n\nThe others set to work, cursing at Denny meanwhile. The dirt flew; they\nflung it jeeringly at him.\n\n\u201cAll right,\u201d said Denny. \u201cYou are twelve men against one. Maybe I can\u2019t\narrest you to-night, but I\u2019ve got your names.\u201d\n\nIn a few moments they had exposed the pipe, which was not buried deep.\nThen O\u2019Brien knelt and sawed it through in two places, and cast the\nsection at Denny\u2019s feet.\n\n\u201cThere!\u201d he said. \u201cHow d\u2019ye like the looks of that, Mr. Constable? And\nnow, so\u2019s you won\u2019t follow us and see where else we operate, we\u2019ll just\ntie you up for a while.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou fellows will be piling up trouble for yourselves,\u201d Denny warned\nthem. \u201cMurphy and Conway, there\u2014you ought to have more sense.\u201d\n\nOne of these two men, Murphy, spoke in a low voice, unwillingly:\n\n\u201cI guess maybe we\u2019d better quit. If he reports us\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cHe ain\u2019t going to report us!\u201d interrupted O\u2019Brien. \u201cHe don\u2019t dare. Come,\nboys, get a-hold of him, and we\u2019ll tie him up\u2014\u201d\n\nHe advanced a step toward Denny, and in the same instant Denny drew a\nrevolver and leveled it at O\u2019Brien\u2019s head.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t lay a hand on me,\u201d he said, quietly.\n\n\u201cGet behind him and grab him, somebody!\u201d shouted O\u2019Brien. \u201cSpread out and\nget round him.\u201d\n\nBut the men hesitated. \u201cI said we\u2019d ought to have wore masks!\u201d muttered\none. \u201cHe\u2019s seen us all now.\u201d\n\nO\u2019Brien made a quick dash, trying to circle Denny, who whirled and held\nthe revolver pointed at O\u2019Brien\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cJump on him now!\u201d shouted O\u2019Brien; and then one, bolder than the others,\nsprang upon Denny\u2019s shoulders and bore him to the ground. O\u2019Brien was\ninstantly upon him also, got possession of his revolver, and then with\nbreathless imprecations began winding a rope about his ankles.\n\n\u201cAll right!\u201d muttered Denny. \u201cYou\u2019ve got me\u2014but you fellows will pay for\nthis.\u201d\n\nThen Ross walked into the midst of the group. The leader of the gang\nlooked up from where he knelt. \u201cIt\u2019s you, is it?\u201d he said, defiantly.\n\nRoss turned from him to the others.\n\n\u201cWill you give me five minutes?\u201d he asked. \u201cI\u2019m in your power; I\u2019m all\nalone. Will you let me have five minutes to talk?\u201d\n\n\u201cGo on,\u201d said one of the men.\n\n\u201cJust five minutes, mind,\u201d said O\u2019Brien, truculently. He tightened the\nrope that bound Denny\u2019s arm behind his back and stood up.\n\n\u201cWhen I came here to-night,\u201d Ross began, persuasively, \u201cit was with the\nidea that there might be some trouble over this pipe-line. But though\nI was expecting trouble, there was only one man that I looked on as my\npersonal enemy, and that was John Denny. He called me a coward to my face\nthis morning; and when I came here a couple of hours ago, and found him\non duty as constable, I felt I\u2019d found more trouble than I was looking\nfor. Well, we talked the whole matter out\u2014and came to an understanding.\nAnd maybe, after talking this other matter out, you and I can come to an\nunderstanding.\n\n\u201cHere\u2019s the situation. A pump and a pipe together are going to do for\nalmost nothing more than all you men have been in the habit of doing for\na good deal of money. They\u2019re going to put you out of business. So you\nget together and decide to put the pipe out of business. And you mean to\nkeep putting it out of business just as often as it resumes. Isn\u2019t that\nstating the case.\u201d\n\nTwo or three of the men laughed uneasily; there was no dissent.\n\n\u201cNow you can do that to-night; you can keep on doing it for a while. But\nyou must see\u2014your common sense must tell you\u2014that when an economical\nway of doing a thing is discovered, the expensive way has got to be\nabandoned. They are to have a pipe-line over in the Deepwater valley,\nand the teamsters will have to quit; they are to have another up at\nAnderson, and the teamsters will have to quit; they\u2019re putting pipe-lines\nin everywhere. It\u2019s a fact you\u2019ve got to face; the day of the teamster in\nthe oil regions is over.\n\n\u201cJust to make it practical\u2014to demonstrate it, not to make threats\u2014listen.\nYou cut this pipe to-night. What happens? There are two witnesses against\nyou\u2014John Denny and myself. All that the law requires is two witnesses.\nIt\u2019s true you have us in your power to-night\u2014but I hardly think any of\nyou mean to do murder in cold blood. You may think of keeping us out of\nthe way for a while\u2014maybe using force on us to make us hold our tongues.\nBut some time you\u2019ll have to let us go free\u2014and I expect we will go free\nwithout making any promises.\u201d\n\nHe spoke these words with slow distinctness and emphasis; there was an\nuneasy stirring in the crowd.\n\n\u201cMoreover,\u201d Ross continued, \u201cbefore I started out to-night I left a note\nat home, saying where I was going and why. If I should mysteriously\ndisappear, that note will afford a clue. You may all feel that you\u2019re\nstrong enough to defy the law and destroy property and commit violence.\nBut even supposing this is true\u2014what can you gain by it? Do you think\nthe company whose pipe you cut will ever again employ you to drive its\nwagons? Drasnoe would rather let his oil forever run to waste than be\ncoerced into letting you handle it. And you can\u2019t so easily carry matters\nwith a high hand\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cYou begin to threaten us!\u201d cried O\u2019Brien. \u201cWe\u2019ve had enough\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t mean to threaten,\u201d Ross replied. \u201cI\u2019m just trying to make a\ncomplete statement of the case. In a moment I\u2019ll talk in a way that\nyou can\u2019t regard as threatening. But as to your being able to override\nthe law\u2014you know, of course, what will happen. The company will spend\nits last cent fighting for its rights. It will hire men to protect its\nproperty. The community will be roused against you. You\u2019ll have to fight\nwith the company\u2019s watchmen; you can\u2019t go on cutting its pipe with\nimpunity. And meanwhile you\u2019ll be blacklisted by the company, whereas, if\nyou accept this overturn in a peaceful spirit, the company will try to\ngive work of some kind to as many of you as want it. Now I\u2019ve come to the\nend of everything that may sound threatening. Are you willing I should go\non for a few moments longer?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d shouted O\u2019Brien. But \u201cYes!\u201d cried the others; and some of them\nturned to O\u2019Brien and bade him be still.\n\n\u201cI want you to know that last week I tendered my resignation as\nsuperintendent, to take effect next Monday. Next Monday I start for\nVirginia, to join Grant\u2019s army. It\u2019s just occurred to me that that would\nbe a pretty good thing for those of you to do who are out of a job and so\nhave a hankering to fight somebody.\u201d He spoke the words with a smile; by\nthe lantern-light he could see the smile reflected on the face of some of\nthe men. \u201cI hope you\u2019ll think better of fighting the company\u2014for if you\ndon\u2019t, I\u2019ll have to stay here and deprive General Grant of my services.\u201d\nThis time the smile on his face was echoed by a murmur of laughter. \u201cI\u2019d\nbe mighty glad if those of you who feel bound to fight somebody would\njoin me next Monday and start for the Wilderness. I don\u2019t know that it\nwould be any more of a fight than you\u2019d get by staying here and tackling\nthe company\u2014but I guess it would be enough. That\u2019s all I have to say; and\nnow if you think the only thing is to string me up on one of those trees,\nI can\u2019t help myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cI guess there won\u2019t be any lynching!\u201d muttered one of the men; from the\nothers there issued only sheepish, uncomfortable laughter. O\u2019Brien was\nsilent.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d remarked Murphy, at last. \u201cI don\u2019t know but I may join your\nsoldier squad on Monday, captain. Looks like things will be kind of quiet\nround here for a full-grown fightin\u2019 man.\u201d\n\nAt this there was loud laughter, and Ross knew that he had won.\n\n\u201cYou think, Mr. Ross,\u201d said a man, hesitatingly, \u201cif a fellow was to\nstay, the company might find him a job?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think so. That will be one of the problems for my successor\u2014who, by\nthe way, is lying there with his feet tied.\u201d\n\nThe men gazed at one another; Denny lay speechless and amazed. Then one\nof the men turned to O\u2019Brien.\n\n\u201cO\u2019Brien,\u201d he said, gravely, \u201cif you and me are looking for jobs, suppose\nwe untie his feet.\u201d\n\nAt eight o\u2019clock on Monday morning there waited at the railway station\na group of ten men, who were starting South to join Grant\u2019s army. Among\nthem was one whom the others half jestingly, yet half-seriously also,\ncalled \u201cCaptain.\u201d He stepped apart from the rest to speak to a one-armed\nman and a boy who had just driven up to the platform. The sound of the\napproaching train made itself heard.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019ll be sure to see father for me, won\u2019t you, Mr. Ross?\u201d said the boy.\n\n\u201cSure. I\u2019m glad you had word he was all right. I\u2019ll send you a letter as\nsoon as I see him\u2014and I\u2019ll tell him all about you. Good-by, Elmer!\u201d\n\nHe turned to the one-armed man.\n\n\u201cGood-by, Denny!\u201d\n\nThe train rushed along the platform as Denny gripped Ross\u2019s hand.\n\n\u201cGood-by, Mr. Ross\u2014thank you\u2014\u201d His voice broke, but he regained it. \u201cCome\nback to us\u2014and come back\u2014_whole_!\u201d\n\nThen, amid the cheers of the few who had gathered to see the departure,\nthe recruits boarded the train, and the train pulled away.\n\n\u201cHe _will_ come back!\u201d said Denny to Elmer, with conviction. \u201cEven if the\nwhole of Lee\u2019s army lays a trap for him, he\u2019ll come back.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nMANUK DEL MONTE\n\nBy Rowland Thomas\n\n\nEarly one morning, just before the dawn, three of us were riding wearily\ndown the slope of one of the great grassy hills\u2014some people call them\nmountains\u2014which lie between the provinces of Isabella and Nueva Vizcaya.\n\nWe had been travelling all night by moonlight, and now as the east was\ngrowing rosy we were winding down to a little wood in the valley, where\nwe hoped to find a mountain stream to give us water for our breakfast,\nand a thing of far more importance, grazing for the horses, for it was\nthe dry season, and the grass on the hills was parched and dead. The\nbreakfast swung with mocking lightness behind Justin\u2019s saddle, merely\na few handfuls of cold rice rolled in the butt of a banana leaf. It\nwas also tiffin and dinner, for we were travelling light and fast, and\ncarried not even chocolate, nothing but the rice.\n\nI was watching the gyrations of the breakfast moodily, for I was sleepy\nand hungry and sore, when suddenly from the wood below us the crow of a\ncock rang out, shrill and triumphant. I was surprised, for few people\nlive along a trail used mostly by bandits and head-hunters.\n\nSuddenly from the slope of a farther hill the call rang out again, and\nthen the whole wood echoed with the sounds of the farmyard.\n\n\u201cWhat town is this?\u201d I asked the boys, although we were at least a day\u2019s\njourney from any settlement which I knew.\n\nJustin laughed, and even Tranquid smiled stiffly.\n\n\u201cIt is no town, se\u00f1or,\u201d said Justin. \u201cIt is the _manuk del monte_\u2014the\nwild chicken\u2014which you hear.\u201d\n\nAfter saddles were off and the horses\u2019 backs were washed, the animals\nrolled and grazed luxuriously by the swift, clear stream, and Tranquid,\nprince of servants, dexterously unrolled the breakfast.\n\nHe laid stones on the corners of the leaf, and patted the snowy mass of\nrice out smoothly, and filled a bamboo drinking-cup from the brook, while\nI pretended not to see. At meal-times Tranquid has a solemn and important\nair worthy of the most autocratic of London butlers, and I am a babe in\nhis hands.\n\n\u201cBreakfast is served, se\u00f1or,\u201d said Tranquid, gravely.\n\n\u201cI come,\u201d I replied, with equal gravity, and rolled over twice and came\nup on my knees, Japanese fashion, beside my lowly table.\n\nJust as I was going to plunge my fingers into the rice, a cock crowed\nloud and clear among the trees close at hand. A great ferocity of meat\nhunger swept over me.\n\n\u201cGive me the boom-boom, Justin!\u201d I commanded. \u201cWe will have manuk del\nmonte for breakfast.\u201d\n\nThe cock crowed often while I stole through the undergrowth, as softly as\nthe ferns and bristly creepers would let me.\n\nAs I drew near, the crowing ceased, and I was peering about the brush and\nshrub for a sight of the cock when\u2014_whir_! From the lower branches of a\ntree, fifty feet above my head, a splendid bird shot out with a boom like\na partridge and sailed away between the tree trunks, a dazzling vision of\nwhite and green and gold.\n\nI was too startled to shoot, for I had never before seen chickens that\nroost like eagles and flew like pheasants and were as brilliant as\nhumming-birds.\n\nIn a moment I heard his strong wings beating on the other side of the\nvalley, and I went back and ate my rice quietly.\n\nThat incident began my acquaintance with the wild chickens, and they\nsoon grew to be a very dear part of the forest life, bringing me an odd\nmixture of pleasant memory and homesickness as I listened to them.\n\nWe heard them always when we made and left our one-night homes along\nthe trail. The cocks proved to be just as exacting husbands as their\ndomesticated cousins, crowing their families home and abroad with fussy\npunctuality.\n\nIf a gay young cockerel or a giddy pullet lingered too long afield, the\nlord of the flock grew noisy with anxiety as the sunset faded. With the\ndawn he woke, brisk and important, and woe betide the sleepyhead of the\nfamily.\n\nThere was no \u201cRouse up, sweet slugabed\u201d for him, but an ear-splitting\ncall, and we often chuckled at thought of the sheepish haste of the\nlaggard when that sound penetrated to his sleepy brain.\n\nA tropical forest is a thing of awe and mystery, with its eternal dim\ntwilight and tangled creepers, and innumerable dark vistas which hide\ninhabitants one seldom hears and never sees. Most of the creatures seem\nto feel the silent immensity and vagueness as a man does, and seek safety\nin unobtrusiveness.\n\nThese brave, cheery birds alone were unaffected by it, and they crowed\nand cackled and clucked about their business of living as carelessly as\nif there were no such thing as fear in the world.\n\nYet with all their independence they showed a baffling shyness, and many\nweeks went by before I caught more than a distant glimpse of one.\n\nTranquid hunted them with painful devotion. But he was a child of the\ncities, lost in the mountains as a puppy would have been. When a cock\ncrowed near a camping-place, his face would brighten hopefully, and he\nwould go creeping off with the noiselessness of a young elephant. Back\nand forth he crashed in the brush, pulling branches aside with excessive\ncaution and peeping behind them.\n\nAt last the bird would flush from a tree and shoot away in a blur of\ncolored light. Then Tranquid would straighten up with a nervous jerk, and\ncry triumphantly:\n\n\u201cThere, se\u00f1or, I have found him! There he goes. Look! Look!\u201d pointing up\nto the tree where he had been.\n\nOn these occasions Justin always lay on the grass and laughed.\n\nJustin was a woodland philosopher, and had discovered that town-bred folk\nand wild chickens had been sent into the world for his amusement. He\nnever deigned to take any further part in the pursuit.\n\nWhen it came to stalking a deer or running down a pig he was all\neagerness and skill, and would lead me for hours without a thought of\nrest, but chickens were beneath him. Occasionally, however, as we rode\nalong, a crow would caw somewhere above us. Then Justin was full of\nexcitement.\n\n\u201cLook, se\u00f1or!\u201d he would shout, pointing up to the empty sky. \u201cI have\nfound him. There! There!\u201d\n\nIn spite of Justin\u2019s jesting, my desire to see a wild cock face to face\nonly increased with repeated failure.\n\nI never tried to shoot one after that first experience. I would as soon\nhave thought of shooting at a monkey. But I wanted to have one for my\nown, to look at, and draw pictures of, and show to my poor friends\nwho lived down in the plains through the hot season, and complained\nof prickly heat. I even dreamed of presenting one to my friend, the\ncaptain, and letting him create a new and lusty race of fowls, a breed\nwhich would meet the hawk in his own element, and laugh at woven-wire\nfences.\n\nAt last, up in a little mountain village, my opportunity came. Tranquid\nannounced, with the respectful elation he sometimes permitted himself,\nthat a man had a wild rooster. Would the se\u00f1or like to come to see it?\n\nThe se\u00f1or was willing, so we went down the narrow grass-grown street\ntogether, stepping carefully over the babies and pigs that were basking\nin the sun.\n\nIn the yard of a little tumble-down shack we found a rusty brown bird\ntied to a post by a bit of twine about his leg. The old man, his owner,\nscattered a few kernels of corn, and the poor dingy thing pecked at them\nin a half-hearted way. A hen came bustling up and he pecked peevishly at\nher once or twice, and then hopped back to his post and stood there, dull\nand round-shouldered, like a sulky boy who had decided that the corn was\nnot of much importance, anyway, and had put his hands in his pockets.\n\nI was slow to believe that this could be a brother of the swift, bright\nbird which had boomed out of a treetop that first morning, but I\npresently discovered that it was. The long, slender body, the powerful\nwings, the sharp, heavy bill, were the product of generations of wild\nlife. And under the dust and rustiness of the feathers there were still\ntraces of the green and gold of the forest. The changes were due only to\na changed mode of life.\n\n\u201cThe man says,\u201d explained Tranquid, \u201cthat he has had this rooster for\na long time, and it is dirty. He says he will catch a clean one for the\nse\u00f1or, if he pleases.\u201d\n\nOf course the se\u00f1or pleased; and one bright morning we set out. The old\nman, our guide, marched in front, most importantly, for it is not every\nday that one has a chance to show a se\u00f1or what a clever man one is at\ncatching wild chickens, and the old man knew that his grandchildren would\ntell their children about this expedition.\n\nUnder his arm he carried a red fighting cock. It struck me as a bit odd\nto carry such an animal on a hunting trip, but I asked no questions. One\nfeels no surprise in the Philippines in meeting people with roosters\nunder their arms; it is quite the usual thing. Tranquid followed the old\nman, respectfully hopeful. Then came Justin, smiling, and I brought up\nthe rear.\n\nA mile or so from the village the wall of the forest rose, dark and\nimpenetrable. But at one point a stream came down from the hills, and\nthere the field extended into the woods for a little way, making a sort\nof room, cool and shadowy, and carpeted with short, thick turf.\n\nHere the old man halted, and waited till we all stood about him. Then\nhe drew from the pocket of his blouse a bundle of twine, wound on four\npointed sticks. Justin stopped smiling. Anything in the nature of a\ntrap, anything which matched man\u2019s wits against the instinct of the wild\ncreatures, interested Justin.\n\nThe old man chose a spot of level ground and set to work. He drove one of\nthe little stakes into the ground, uncoiled the twine, drove another,\nand so on, until he had marked out a square, about a yard on a side. On\nthree sides the twine was carried on the stakes a few inches above the\nground, and from this fence, every hand\u2019s breadth or so, hung a little\nnoose of fiber.\n\nThe fourth side of the square was a wall of brush, and at the center of\nthis the old man now drove a fifth stake, and tied his fighting cock\nto it by a very short tether. Then he opened all the little nooses and\nspread them carefully on the ground within the square. Justin inspected\nthe work.\n\n\u201cIt is very good,\u201d he announced at last. \u201cOne would not believe that this\nold man could be so wise. The wild rooster hears this one. He wishes\nto fight. All roosters wish to fight always. He comes from the wood,\ndancing, so! This one crows and fluffs out his feathers, so! The wild\nrooster comes to the little fence and they look at each other, so!\u201d said\nJustin, using Tranquid for illustration. \u201cHe cannot pass under the little\nfence; it is too low. He cannot step over it; it is too high. He hops,\nso! His foot falls in the noose, and\u2014so!\u201d said Justin, dancing on one\nfoot and cackling shrilly. \u201c_Ab\u00e1a._ It is very good. The old man is much\nwiser than one would think to look at him.\u201d\n\nThe old man listened to this monologue with disgust.\n\n\u201cNow we shall go and be very quiet. The manuk del monte does not like\nnoisy ones,\u201d he said, glancing at Justin.\n\nSo we went and sat down where some bushes screened us and yet left us a\nview of the trap. After half an hour Justin curled up and went to sleep.\nThe breeze was cool and the grass was soft, and soon I followed his\nexample.\n\nI was awakened by a bell-like call from the forest. The captive rooster\nwas dancing at his stake. Presently he flapped his wings and stood on\ntiptoe and answered scornfully. They challenged back and forth till\nat last, with a boom of wings, the wild cock, the very one I had been\ndreaming of, dropped on the grass.\n\nAs he caught sight of the traitor he spread all his splendid plumage and\ncrowed again. And the red bird answered bravely. After all, it was not\nhis fault that he was a traitor.\n\nThe wild bird ran forward with a swift, steady gait very unlike the\nawkward stride of his tame cousins, and lowered his head, and spread his\nruff. Then he stood up straight and scratched sticks and grass into the\nair with a sturdy leg and crowed. The traitor kicked furiously at his\ntether, but it held, and the wild cock advanced to the fence.\n\nFor a moment the two looked at each other with lowered heads, and then\nthey sprang. The traitor, of course, collapsed in an ignominious heap.\nAs the wild cock landed inside the fence, his foot barely touched the\nground. But the touch was enough. One of the little nooses tightened\nabout his legs, and as he sprang again he, too, came down with a jerk.\n\nThe birds were rising to face each other when we ran forward, and he\nturned toward us at the noise. I expected to see him struggle madly to\nescape. But the brave little fellow faced us, and flapped his wings and\nstretched his neck, challenging us fearlessly. In a moment the old man\nhad tossed a handkerchief over his head and loosened the noose, and I\nheld him between my hands.\n\nI could feel the little muscles taut as steel wires beneath my fingers,\nand the heart beating furiously, but he made no sound and did not\nstruggle. I looked at the lustrous markings of his back and wings, and\nthe long, drooping tail-feathers, and then all at once came a picture of\nthe draggled, spiritless captive back in the old man\u2019s yard. I plucked\naway the handkerchief and tossed him into the air.\n\nHis wings beat very loud in the stillness, and we all started. Then I\nlooked round sheepishly. Tranquid was staring up stupidly, with his mouth\nin a big, round O. Justin was laughing, but suddenly he pointed excitedly\nto Tranquid\u2019s mouth and shouted:\n\n\u201cLook, se\u00f1or! I have found him. There he goes. Look! Look!\u201d And it would\nbe hard to say whether the old man gazed at Justin or at me with the\ndeeper disgust.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY\n\nBy Edward Everett Hale\n\n\nI suppose that very few casual readers of the _New York Herald_ of August\n18th observed in an obscure corner among the \u201cDeaths,\u201d the announcement\u2014\n\n \u201cNOLAN. Died, on board U. S. Corvette Levant, Lat. 2\u00b0 11\u00b4 S.,\n Long. 131\u00b0 W., on the 11th of May, PHILIP NOLAN.\u201d\n\nI happened to observe it, because I was stranded at the old Mission-House\nin Makinaw, waiting for a Lake Superior steamer which did not choose to\ncome, and I was devouring to the very stubble all the current literature\nI could get hold of, even down to the deaths and marriages in the\n_Herald_. My memory for names and people is good, and the reader will\nsee, as he goes on, that I had reason enough to remember Philip Nolan.\nThere are hundreds of readers who would have paused at that announcement,\nif the officer of the _Levant_ who reported it had chosen to make it\nthus:\u2014\u201cDied, May 11th, THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY.\u201d For it was as \u201cThe Man\nwithout a Country\u201d that poor Philip Nolan had generally been known by\nthe officers who had him in charge during some fifty years, as, indeed,\nby all men who sailed under them. I dare say there is many a man who has\ntaken wine with him once a fortnight, in a three years\u2019 cruise, who never\nknew that his name was \u201cNolan,\u201d or whether the poor wretch had any name\nat all.\n\nThere can now be no possible harm in telling this poor creature\u2019s\nstory. Reason enough there has been till now, ever since Madison\u2019s\nadministration went out in 1817, for very strict secrecy, the secrecy\nof honor itself, among the gentlemen of the navy who have had Nolan\nin successive charge. And certainly it speaks well for the _esprit de\ncorps_ of the profession, and the personal honor of its members, that to\nthe press this man\u2019s story has been wholly unknown\u2014and, I think, to the\ncountry at large also. I have reason to think, from some investigations\nI made in the Naval Archives when I was attached to the Bureau of\nConstruction, that every official report relating to him was burned when\nRoss burned the public buildings at Washington. One of the Tuckers, or\npossibly one of the Watsons, had Nolan in charge at the end of the war;\nand when, on returning from his cruise, he reported at Washington to one\nof the Crowninshields\u2014who was in the Navy Department when he came home\u2014he\nfound that the Department ignored the whole business. Whether they really\nknew nothing about it or whether it was a \u201c_Non mi ricordo_\u201d determined\non as a piece of policy, I do not know.\n\nBut this I do know, that since 1817, and possibly before, no naval\nofficer has mentioned Nolan in his report of a cruise.\n\nBut, as I say, there is no need for secrecy any longer. And now the poor\ncreature is dead, it seems to me worth while to tell a little of his\nstory, by way of showing young Americans of to-day what it is to be A MAN\nWITHOUT A COUNTRY.\n\nPhilip Nolan was as fine a young officer as there was in the \u201cLegion of\nthe West,\u201d as the Western division of our army was then called. When\nAaron Burr made his first dashing expedition down to New Orleans in\n1805, at Fort Massac, or somewhere above on the river, he met, as the\nDevil would have it, this gay, dashing, bright young fellow, at some\ndinner-party, I think. Burr marked him, talked to him, walked with\nhim, took him a day or two\u2019s voyage in his flat-boat, and, in short,\nfascinated him. For the next year, barrack-life was very tame to poor\nNolan. He occasionally availed himself of the permission the great man\nhad given him to write to him. Long, high-worded, stilted letters the\npoor boy wrote and rewrote and copied. But never a line did he have in\nreply from the gay deceiver. The other boys in the garrison sneered at\nhim, because he sacrificed in this unrequited affection for a politician\nthe time which they devoted to Monongahela, hazard, and high-low-jack.\nBourbon, euchre, and poker were still unknown. But one day Nolan had his\nrevenge. This time Burr came down the river not as an attorney seeking\na place for his office, but as a disguised conqueror. He had defeated\nI know not how many district-attorneys; he had dined at I know not how\nmany public dinners; he had been heralded in I know not how many _Weekly\nArguses_, and it was rumored that he had an army behind him and an\nempire before him. It was a great day\u2014his arrival\u2014to poor Nolan. Burr\nhad not been at the fort an hour before he sent for him. That evening he\nasked Nolan to take him out in his skiff, to show him a canebrake or a\ncottonwood tree, as he said,\u2014really to seduce him; and by the time the\nsail was over, Nolan was enlisted body and soul. From that time, though\nhe did not yet know it, he lived as A MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY.\n\nWhat Burr meant to do I know no more than you, dear reader. It is none\nof our business just now. Only, when the grand catastrophe came, and\nJefferson and the House of Virginia of that day undertook to break on\nthe wheel all the possible Clarences of the then House of York, by the\ngreat treason-trial at Richmond, some of the lesser fry in that distant\nMississippi Valley, which was farther from us than Puget\u2019s Sound is\nto-day, introduced the like novelty on their provincial stage, and,\nto while away the monotony of the summer at Fort Adams, got up, for\n_spectacles_, a string of court-martials on the officers there. One and\nanother of the colonels and majors were tried, and, to fill out the list,\nlittle Nolan, against whom, Heaven knows, there was evidence enough,\u2014that\nhe was sick of the service, had been willing to be false to it, and would\nhave obeyed any order to march any-whither with any one who would follow\nhim had the order been signed, \u201cBy command of His Exc. A. Burr.\u201d The\ncourts dragged on. The big flies escaped,\u2014rightly for all I know. Nolan\nwas proved guilty enough, as I say; yet you and I would never have heard\nof him, reader, but that, when the president of the court asked him at\nthe close, whether he wished to say anything to show that he had always\nbeen faithful to the United States, he cried out, in, a fit of frenzy,\u2014\n\n\u201cD\u2014n the United States! I wish I may never hear of the United States\nagain!\u201d\n\nI suppose he did not know how the words shocked old Colonel Morgan,\nwho was holding the court. Half the officers who sat in it had served\nthrough the Revolution, and their lives, not to say their necks, had been\nrisked for the very idea which he so cavalierly cursed in his madness.\nHe, on his part, had grown up in the West of those days, in the midst of\n\u201cSpanish plot,\u201d \u201cOrleans plot,\u201d and all the rest. He had been educated on\na plantation where the finest company was a Spanish officer or a French\nmerchant from Orleans. His education, such as it was, had been perfected\nin commercial expeditions to Vera Cruz, and I think he told me his father\nonce hired an Englishman to be a private tutor for a winter on the\nplantation. He had spent half his youth with an older brother, hunting\nhorses in Texas; and, in a word, to him \u201cUnited States\u201d was scarcely a\nreality. Yet he had been fed by \u201cUnited States\u201d for all the years since\nhe had been in the army. He had sworn on his faith as a Christian to\nbe true to \u201cUnited States.\u201d It was \u201cUnited States\u201d which gave him the\nuniform he wore, and the sword by his side. Nay, my poor Nolan, it was\nonly because \u201cUnited States\u201d had picked you out first as one of her own\nconfidential men of honor that \u201cA. Burr\u201d cared for you a straw more than\nfor the flat-boat men who sailed his ark for him. I do not excuse Nolan;\nI only explain to the reader why he damned his country, and wished he\nmight never hear her name again.\n\nHe never did hear her name but once again. From that moment, September\n23, 1807, till the day he died, May 11, 1863, he never heard the name\nagain. For that half century and more he was a man without a country.\n\nOld Morgan, as I said, was terribly shocked. If Nolan had compared George\nWashington to Benedict Arnold, or had cried, \u201cGod save King George,\u201d\nMorgan would not have felt worse.\n\nHe called the court into his private room, and returned in fifteen\nminutes, with a face like a sheet, to say,\u2014\n\n\u201cPrisoner, hear the sentence of the court! The court decides, subject to\nthe approval of the President, that you never hear the name of the United\nStates again.\u201d\n\nNolan laughed. But nobody else laughed. Old Morgan was too solemn, and\nthe whole room was hushed dead as night for a minute. Even Nolan lost his\nswagger in a moment. Then Morgan added,\u2014\n\n\u201cMr. Marshal, take the prisoner to Orleans in an armed boat, and deliver\nhim to the naval commander there.\u201d\n\nThe marshal gave his orders and the prisoner was taken out of court.\n\n\u201cMr. Marshal,\u201d continued old Morgan, \u201csee that no one mentions the United\nStates to the prisoner. Mr. Marshal, make my respects to Lieutenant\nMitchell at Orleans, and request him to order that no one shall mention\nthe United States to the prisoner while he is on board ship. You will\nreceive your written orders from the officer on duty here this evening.\nThe court is adjourned without day.\u201d\n\nI have always supposed that Colonel Morgan himself took the proceedings\nof the court to Washington City, and explained them to Mr. Jefferson.\nCertain it is that the President approved them\u2014certain, that is, if I\nmay believe the men who say they have seen his signature. Before the\n_Nautilus_ got round from New Orleans to the Northern Atlantic coast with\nthe prisoner on board the sentence had been approved, and he was a man\nwithout a country.\n\nThe plan then adopted was substantially the same which was necessarily\nfollowed ever after. Perhaps it was suggested by the necessity of sending\nhim by water from Fort Adams and Orleans. The Secretary of the Navy\u2014it\nmust have been the first Crowninshield, though he is a man I do not\nremember\u2014was requested to put Nolan on board a government vessel bound on\na long cruise, and to direct that he should be only so far confined there\nas to make it certain that he never saw or heard of the country. We had\nfew long cruises then, and the navy was very much out of favor; and as\nalmost all of this story is traditional, as I have explained, I do not\nknow certainly what his first cruise was. But the commander to whom he\nwas intrusted\u2014perhaps it was Tingey or Shaw, though I think it was one of\nthe younger men\u2014we are all old enough now\u2014regulated the etiquette and the\nprecautions of the affair, and according to his scheme they were carried\nout, I suppose, till Nolan died.\n\nWhen I was second officer of the _Intrepid_, some thirty years after, I\nsaw the original paper of instructions. I have been sorry ever since that\nI did not copy the whole of it. It ran, however, much in this way:\u2014\n\n \u201cWASHINGTON (with a date, which\n must have been late in 1807).\n\n \u201cSIR\u2014You will receive from Lieutenant Neale the person of\n Philip Nolan, late a Lieutenant in the United States Army.\n\n \u201cThis person on his trial by court-martial \u2018expressed with an\n oath the wish that he might never hear of the United States\n again.\u2019\n\n \u201cThe court sentenced him to have his wish fulfilled.\n\n \u201cFor the present, the execution of the order is intrusted by\n the President to this Department.\n\n \u201cYou will take the prisoner on board your ship and keep him\n there with such precautions as shall prevent his escape.\n\n \u201cYou will provide him with such quarters, rations, and clothing\n as would be proper for an officer of his late rank, if he were\n a passenger on your vessel on the business of his government.\n\n \u201cThe gentlemen on board will make any arrangements agreeable\n to themselves regarding his society. He is to be exposed to\n no indignity of any kind, nor is he ever unnecessarily to be\n reminded that he is a prisoner.\n\n \u201cBut under no circumstances is he ever to hear of his country\n or to see any information regarding it; and you will specially\n caution all the officers under your command to take care, that,\n in the various indulgences which may be granted, this rule, in\n which his punishment is involved, shall not be broken.\n\n \u201cIt is the intention of the government that he shall never\n again see the country which he has disowned. Before the end of\n your cruise you will receive orders which will give effect to\n this intention.\n\n \u201cRespectfully yours,\n\n \u201cW. SOUTHWARD,\n \u201cFor the Secretary of the Navy.\u201d\n\nIf I had only preserved the whole of this paper, there would be no break\nin the beginning of my sketch of this story. For Captain Shaw, if it\nwere he, handed it to his successor in the charge, and he to his, and I\nsuppose the commander of the _Levant_ has it to-day as his authority for\nkeeping this man in this mild custody.\n\nThe rule adopted on board the ships on which I have met \u201cthe man without\na country\u201d was, I think, transmitted from the beginning. No mess liked\nto have him permanently, because his presence cut off all talk of home\nor of the prospect of return, of politics or letters, of peace or of\nwar,\u2014cut off more than half the talk men liked to have at sea. But it\nwas always thought too hard that he should never meet the rest of us,\nexcept to touch hats, and we finally sank into one system. He was not\npermitted to talk with the men, unless an officer was by. With officers\nhe had unrestrained intercourse, as far as they and he chose. But he\ngrew shy, though he had favorites: I was one. Then the captain always\nasked him to dinner on Monday. Every mess in succession took up the\ninvitation in its turn. According to the size of the ship, you had him\nat your mess more or less often at dinner. His breakfast he ate in his\nown state-room\u2014he always had a state-room,\u2014which was where a sentinel\nor somebody on the watch could see the door. And whatever else he ate\nor drank, he ate or drank alone. Sometimes, when the marines or sailors\nhad any special jollification, they were permitted to invite \u201cPlain\nButtons,\u201d as they called him. Then Nolan was sent with some officer, and\nthe men were forbidden to speak of home while he was there. I believe the\ntheory was that the sight of his punishment did them good. They called\nhim \u201cPlain Buttons,\u201d because while he always chose to wear a regulation\narmy-uniform, he was not permitted to wear the army-button, for the\nreason that it bore either the initials or the insignia of the country he\nhad disowned.\n\nI remember, soon after I joined the navy, I was on shore with some of\nthe older officers from our ship and from the _Brandywine_, which we\nhad met at Alexandria. We had leave to make a party and go up to Cairo\nand the Pyramids. As we jogged along (you went on donkeys then), some\nof the gentlemen (we boys called them \u201cDons,\u201d but the phrase was long\nsince changed) fell to talking about Nolan, and some one told the system\nwhich was adopted from the first about his books and other reading. As\nhe was almost never permitted to go on shore, even though the vessel lay\nin port for months, his time at the best hung heavy; and everybody was\npermitted to lend him books, if they were not published in America and\nmade no allusion to it. These were common enough in the old days, when\npeople in the other hemisphere talked of the United States as little as\nwe do of Paraguay. He had almost all the foreign papers that came into\nthe ship, sooner or later; only somebody must go over them first, and cut\nout any advertisement or stray paragraph that alluded to America. This\nwas a little cruel sometimes, when the back of what was cut out might be\nas innocent as Hesiod. Right in the midst of one of Napoleon\u2019s battles,\nor one of Canning\u2019s speeches, poor Nolan would find a great hole, because\non the back of the page of that paper there had been an advertisement of\na packet for New York, or a scrap from the President\u2019s message. I say\nthis was the first time I ever heard of this plan, which afterwards I\nhad enough and more than enough to do with. I remember it, because poor\nPhillips, who was of the party, as soon as the allusion to reading was\nmade, told a story of something which happened at the Cape of Good Hope\non Nolan\u2019s first voyage; and it is the only thing I ever knew of that\nvoyage. They had touched at the Cape, and had done the civil thing with\nthe English Admiral and the fleet, and then, leaving for a long cruise up\nthe Indian Ocean, Phillips had borrowed a lot of English books from an\nofficer, which, in those days, as indeed in these, was quite a windfall.\nAmong them, as the Devil would order, was the \u201cLay of the Last Minstrel,\u201d\nwhich they had all of them heard of, but which most of them had never\nseen. I think it could not have been published long. Well, nobody thought\nthere could be any risk of anything national in that, though Phillips\nswore old Shaw had cut out the \u201cTempest\u201d from Shakespeare before he let\nNolan have it, because he said \u201cthe Bermudas ought to be ours, and, by\nJove, should be one day.\u201d So Nolan was permitted to join the circle\none afternoon when a lot of them sat on deck smoking and reading aloud.\nPeople do not do such things so often now; but when I was young we got\nrid of a great deal of time so. Well, so it happened that in his turn\nNolan took the book and read to the others; and he read very well, as I\nknow. Nobody in the circle knew a line of the poem, only it was all magic\nand Border chivalry, and was ten thousand years ago. Poor Nolan read\nsteadily through the fifth canto, stopped a minute and drank something,\nand then began, without a thought of what was coming,\u2014\n\n \u201cBreathes there the man, with soul so dead,\n Who never to himself hath said,\u201d\u2014\n\nIt seems impossible to us that anybody ever heard this for the first\ntime; but all these fellows did then, and poor Nolan himself went on,\nstill unconsciously or mechanically,\u2014\n\n \u201cThis is my own, my native land!\u201d\u2014\n\nThen they all saw something was to pay; but he expected to get through, I\nsuppose, turned a little pale, but plunged on,\u2014\n\n \u201cWhose heart hath ne\u2019er within him burned,\n As home his footsteps he hath turned\n From wandering on a foreign strand?\u2014\n If such there breathe, go, mark him well,\u201d\u2014\n\nBy this time the men were all beside themselves, wishing there was any\nway to make him turn over two pages; but he had not quite presence of\nmind for that; he gagged a little, colored crimson, and staggered on,\u2014\n\n \u201cFor him no minstrel raptures swell;\n High though his titles, proud his name,\n Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,\n Despite these titles, power, and pelf,\n The wretch, concentred all in self,\u201d\u2014\n\nand here the poor fellow choked, could not go on, but started up, swung\nthe book into the sea, vanished into his state-room, \u201cAnd by Jove,\u201d said\nPhillips, \u201cwe did not see him for two months again. And I had to make\nup some beggarly story to that English surgeon why I did not return his\nWalter Scott to him.\u201d\n\nThat story shows about the time when Nolan\u2019s braggadocio must have broken\ndown. At first, they said he took a very high tone, considered his\nimprisonment a mere farce, affected to enjoy the voyage, and all that;\nbut Phillips said that after he came out of his state-room he never was\nthe same man again. He never read aloud again, unless it was the Bible or\nShakespeare or something else he was sure of. But it was not that merely.\nHe never entered in with the other young men exactly as a companion\nagain. He was always shy afterwards, when I knew him\u2014very seldom spoke,\nunless he was spoken to, except to a very few friends. He lighted up\noccasionally\u2014I remember late in his life hearing him fairly eloquent\non something which had been suggested to him by one of Fl\u00e9chier\u2019s\nsermons\u2014but generally he had the nervous, tired look of a heart-wounded\nman.\n\nWhen Captain Shaw was coming home\u2014if as I say, it was Shaw\u2014rather to the\nsurprise of everybody, they made one of the Windward Islands, and lay\noff and on for nearly a week. The boys said the officers were sick of\nsalt-junk, and meant to have turtle-soup before they came home. But after\nseveral days the _Warren_ came to the same rendezvous; they exchanged\nsignals; she sent to Phillips and these homeward bound men, letters and\npapers and told them she was outward-bound, perhaps to the Mediterranean,\nand took poor Nolan and his traps on the boat back to try his second\ncruise. He looked very blank when he was told to get ready to join her.\nHe had known enough of the signs of the sky to know that till that moment\nhe was going \u201chome.\u201d But this was a distinct evidence of something he\nhad not thought of, perhaps\u2014that there was no going home for him, even\nto a prison. And this was the first of some twenty such transfers, which\nbrought him sooner or later into half our best vessels, but which kept\nhim all his life at least some hundred miles from the country he had\nhoped he might never hear of again.\n\nIt may have been on that second cruise\u2014it was once when he was up the\nMediterranean\u2014that Mrs. Graff, the celebrated Southern beauty of those\ndays, danced with him. They had been lying a long time in the Bay of\nNaples, and the officers were very intimate in the English fleet, and\nthere had been great festivities, and our men thought they must give a\ngreat ball on board the ship. How they ever did it on board the _Warren_\nI am sure I do not know. Perhaps it was not the _Warren_, or perhaps\nladies did not take up so much room as they do now. They wanted to use\nNolan\u2019s state-room for something, and they hated to do it without asking\nhim to the ball; so the captain said they might ask him, if they would be\nresponsible that he did not talk with the wrong people, \u201cwho would give\nhim intelligence.\u201d So the dance went on, the finest party that had ever\nbeen known, I dare say; for I never heard of a man-of-war ball that was\nnot. For ladies they had the family of the American consul, one or two\ntravellers, who had adventured so far, and a nice bevy of English girls\nand matrons, perhaps Lady Hamilton herself.\n\nWell, different officers relieved each other in standing and talking\nwith Nolan in a friendly way, so as to be sure that nobody else spoke to\nhim. The dancing went on with spirit, and after a while even the fellows\nwho took this honorary guard of Nolan ceased to fear any _contretemps_.\nOnly when some English lady\u2014Lady Hamilton, as I said, perhaps\u2014called\nfor a set of \u201cAmerican dances,\u201d an odd thing happened. Everybody then\ndanced contra-dances. The black band, nothing loath, conferred as to what\n\u201cAmerican dances\u201d were, and started off with \u201cVirginia Reel,\u201d which they\nfollowed with \u201cMoney Musk,\u201d which, in its turn in those days, should\nhave been followed by \u201cThe Old Thirteen.\u201d But just as Dick, the leader,\ntapped for his fiddles to begin, and bent forward, about to say, in true\nnegro state, \u201c\u2018The Old Thirteen,\u2019 gentlemen and ladies!\u201d as he had said\n\u201c\u2018Virginny Reel,\u2019 if you please!\u201d and \u201c\u2018Money-Musk,\u2019 if you please!\u201d the\ncaptain\u2019s boy tapped him on the shoulder, whispered to him, and he did\nnot announce the name of the dance; he merely bowed, began on the air,\nand they all fell to\u2014the officers teaching the English girls the figure,\nbut not telling them why it had no name.\n\nBut that is not the story I started to tell. As the dancing went on,\nNolan and our fellows all got at ease, as I said\u2014so much so, that it\nseemed quite natural for him to bow to that splendid Mrs. Graff, and say\u2014\n\n\u201cI hope you have not forgotten me, Miss Rutledge. Shall I have the honor\nof dancing?\u201d\n\nHe did it so quickly, that Fellows, who was by him, could not hinder him.\nShe laughed and said\u2014\n\n\u201cI am not Miss Rutledge any longer, Mr. Nolan; but I will dance all the\nsame,\u201d just nodded to Fellows, as if to say he must leave Mr. Nolan to\nher, and led him off to the place where the dance was forming.\n\nNolan thought he had got his chance. He had known her at Philadelphia,\nand at other places had met her, and this was a Godsend. You could not\ntalk in contra-dances as you do in cotillions, or even in the pauses of\nwaltzing; but there were chances for tongues and sounds, as well as for\neyes and blushes. He began with her travels, and Europe, and Vesuvius,\nand the French; and then, when they had worked down, and had that long\ntalking-time at the bottom of the set, he said, boldly\u2014a little pale, she\nsaid, as she told me the story, years after\u2014\n\n\u201cAnd what do you hear from home, Mrs. Graff?\u201d\n\nAnd that splendid creature looked through him. Jove! how she must have\nlooked through him!\n\n\u201cHome!! Mr. Nolan!!! I thought you were the man who never wanted to hear\nof home again!\u201d\u2014and she walked directly up the deck to her husband, and\nleft poor Nolan alone, as he always was. He did not dance again.\n\nI cannot give any history of him in order; nobody can now; and, indeed,\nI am not trying to. These are the traditions, which I sort out, as I\nbelieve them, from the myths which have been told about this man for\nforty years. The lies that have been told about him are legion. The\nfellows used to say he was the \u201cIron Mask\u201d; and poor George Pons went to\nhis grave in the belief that this was the author of \u201cJunius,\u201d who was\nbeing punished for his celebrated libel on Thomas Jefferson. Pons was not\nvery strong in the historical line. A happier story than either of these\nI have told is of the war. That came along soon after. I have heard this\naffair told in three or four ways\u2014and, indeed, it may have happened more\nthan once. But which ship it was on I cannot tell. However, in one, at\nleast, of the great frigate-duels with the English, in which the navy was\nreally baptized, it happened that a round-shot from the enemy entered one\nof our ports square, and took right down the officer of the gun himself,\nand almost every man of the gun\u2019s crew. Now you may say what you choose\nabout courage, but that is not a nice thing to see. But, as the men who\nwere not killed picked themselves up, and as they and the surgeon\u2019s\npeople were carrying off the bodies, there appeared Nolan, in his shirt\nsleeves, with the rammer in his hand, and, just as if he had been an\nofficer, told them off with authority\u2014who should go to the cock-pit with\nthe wounded men, who should stay with him\u2014perfectly cheery, and with\nthat way which makes men feel sure all is right and is going to be right.\nAnd he finished loading his gun with his own hands, aimed it, and bade\nthe men fire. And there he stayed, captain of that gun, keeping those\nfellows in spirits, till the enemy struck\u2014sitting on the carriage while\nthe gun was cooling, though he was exposed all the time\u2014showing them\neasier ways to handle heavy shot\u2014making the raw hands laugh at their own\nblunders\u2014and when the gun cooled again, getting it loaded and fired twice\nas often as any other gun on the ship. The captain walked forward by way\nof encouraging the men, and Nolan touched his hat, and said\u2014\n\n\u201cI am showing them how we do this in the artillery, sir.\u201d\n\nAnd this is the part of the story where all the legends agree; and the\ncommodore said\u2014\n\n\u201cI see you do, and I thank you, sir; and I shall never forget this day,\nsir; and you never shall, sir.\u201d\n\nAnd after the whole thing was over, and he had the Englishman\u2019s sword, in\nthe midst of the state and ceremony of the quarter-deck, he said\u2014\n\n\u201cWhere is Mr. Nolan? Ask Mr. Nolan to come here.\u201d\n\nAnd when Nolan came, the captain said\u2014\n\n\u201cMr. Nolan, we are all very grateful to you to-day; you are one of us\nto-day; you will be named in the despatches.\u201d\n\nAnd then the old man took off his own sword of ceremony, and gave it to\nNolan, and made him put it on. The man told me this who saw it. Nolan\ncried like a baby, and well he might. He had not worn a sword since\nthat infernal day at Fort Adams. But always afterwards, on occasions of\nceremony, he wore that quaint old French sword of the commodore\u2019s.\n\nThe captain did mention him in the despatches. It was always said he\nasked that he might be pardoned. He wrote a special letter to the\nSecretary of War. But nothing ever came of it. As I said, that was about\nthe time when they began to ignore the whole transaction at Washington,\nand when Nolan\u2019s imprisonment began to carry itself on because there was\nnobody to stop it without any new orders from home.\n\nI have heard it said that he was with Porter when he took possession of\nthe Nukahiwa Islands. Not this Porter, you know, but old Porter, his\nfather, Essex Porter\u2014that is, the old Essex Porter, not this Essex. As\nan artillery officer, who had seen service in the west, Nolan knew more\nabout fortifications, embrasures, ravelins, stockades, and all that, than\nany of them did; and he worked with a right good-will in fixing that\nbattery all right. I have always thought it was a pity Porter did not\nleave him in command there with Gamble. That would have settled all the\nquestion about his punishment. We should have kept the islands, and at\nthis moment we should have one station in the Pacific Ocean. Our French\nfriends, too, when they wanted this little watering-place, would have\nfound it was preoccupied. But Madison and the Virginians, of course flung\nall that away.\n\nAll that was near fifty years go. If Nolan was thirty then, he must\nhave been near eighty when he died. He looked sixty when he was forty.\nBut he never seemed to me to change a hair afterwards. As I imagine his\nlife, from what I have seen and heard of it, he must have been in every\nsea, and yet almost never on land. He must have known, in a formal way,\nmore officers in our service than any man living knows. He told me once,\nwith a grave smile, that no man in the world lived so methodical a life\nas he. \u201cYou know the boys say I am the Iron Mask, and you know how busy\nhe was.\u201d He said it did not do for any one to try to read all the time,\nmore than to do anything else all the time; but that he read just five\nhours a day. \u201cThen,\u201d he said, \u201cI keep up my note-books, writing in them\nat such and such hours from what I have been reading; and I include in\nthese my scrap-books.\u201d These were very curious indeed. He had six or\neight, of different subjects. There was one of History, one of Natural\nScience, one which he called \u201cOdds and Ends.\u201d But they were not merely\nbooks of extracts from newspapers. They had bits of plants and ribbons,\nshells tied on, and carved scraps of bone and wood which he had taught\nthe men to cut for him, and they were beautifully illustrated. He drew\nadmirably. He had some of the funniest drawings there, and some of the\nmost pathetic, that I have ever seen in my life. I wonder who will have\nNolan\u2019s scrap-books.\n\nWell, he said his reading and his notes were his profession, and that\nthey took five hours and two hours respectively of each day. \u201cThen,\u201d\nsaid he, \u201cevery man should have a diversion as well as a profession. My\nNatural History is my diversion.\u201d That took two hours a day more. The\nmen used to bring him birds and fish, but on a long cruise he had to\nsatisfy himself with centipedes and cockroaches and such small game. He\nwas the only naturalist I ever met who knew anything about the habits of\nthe house-fly and the mosquito. All those people can tell you whether\nthey are _Lepidoptera_ or _Steptopotera_; but as for telling how you can\nget rid of them, or how they get away from you when you strike them\u2014why\nLinn\u00e6us knew as little of that as John Fox the idiot did. These nine\nhours made Nolan\u2019s regular daily \u201coccupation.\u201d The rest of the time he\ntalked or walked. Till he grew very old, he went aloft a great deal. He\nalways kept up his exercise; and I never heard that he was ill. If any\nother man was ill, he was the kindest nurse in the world; and he knew\nmore than half the surgeons do. Then if anybody was sick or died, or if\nthe captain wanted him to, on any other occasion, he was always ready to\nread prayers. I have said that he read beautifully.\n\nMy own acquaintance with Philip Nolan began six or eight years after the\nwar, on my first voyage after I was appointed a midshipman. It was in\nthe first days after our Slave Trade treaty, while the Reigning House,\nwhich was still the House of Virginia, had still a sort of sentimentalism\nabout the suppression of the horrors of the Middle Passage, and something\nwas sometimes done that way. We were in the South Atlantic on that\nbusiness. From the time I joined, I believe I thought Nolan was a sort\nof lay chaplain\u2014a chaplain with a blue coat. I never asked about him.\nEverything in the ship was strange to me. I knew it was green to ask\nquestions, and I suppose I thought there was a \u201cPlain-Buttons\u201d on every\nship. We had him to dine in our mess once a week, and the caution was\ngiven that on that day nothing was to be said about home. But if they\nhad told us not to say anything about the planet Mars or the Book of\nDeuteronomy, I should not have asked why; there were a great many things\nwhich seemed to me to have as little reason. I first came to understand\nanything about \u201cthe man without a country\u201d one day when we overhauled a\ndirty little schooner which had slaves on board. An officer was sent to\ntake charge of her, and, after a few minutes, he sent back his boat to\nask that some one might be sent him who could speak Portuguese. We were\nall looking over the rail when the message came, and we all wished we\ncould interpret, when the captain asked who spoke Portuguese. But none\nof the officers did; and just as the captain was sending forward to ask\nif any of the people could, Nolan stepped out and said he should be glad\nto interpret, if the captain wished, as he understood the language. The\ncaptain thanked him, fitted out another boat with him, and in this boat\nit was my luck to go.\n\nWhen we got there, it was such a scene as you seldom see, and never want\nto. Nastiness beyond account, and chaos run loose in the midst of the\nnastiness. There were not a great many of the negroes; but by way of\nmaking what there were understand that they were free, Vaughan had had\ntheir hand-cuffs and ankle-cuffs knocked off, and, for convenience sake,\nwas putting them upon the rascals of the schooner\u2019s crew. The negroes\nwere, most of them, out of the hold, and swarming all round the dirty\ndeck, with a central throng surrounding Vaughan and addressing him in\nevery dialect, and _patois_ of a dialect, from the Zulu click up to the\nParisian of Beledeljereed.\n\nAs we came on deck, Vaughan looked down from a hogshead, on which he had\nmounted in desperation, and said:\n\n\u201cFor God\u2019s love, is there anybody who can make these wretches understand\nsomething? The men gave them rum, and that did not quiet them. I knocked\nthat big fellow down twice, and that did not soothe him. And then I\ntalked Choctaw to all of them together; and I\u2019ll be hanged if they\nunderstand that as well as they understand the English.\u201d\n\nNolan said he could speak Portuguese, and one or two fine-looking Kroomen\nwere dragged out, who, as it had been found already, had worked for the\nPortuguese on the coast at Fernando Po.\n\n\u201cTell them they are free,\u201d said Vaughan; \u201cand tell them that these\nrascals are to be hanged as soon as we can get rope enough.\u201d\n\nNolan \u201cput them into Spanish\u201d\u2014that is, he explained it in such Portuguese\nas the Kroomen could understand, and they in turn to such of the negroes\nas could understand them. Then there was such a yell of delight,\nclinching of fists, leaping and dancing, kissing of Nolan\u2019s feet, and\na general rush made to the hogshead by way of spontaneous worship of\nVaughan, as the _deus ex machina_ of the occasion.\n\n\u201cTell them,\u201d said Vaughan, well pleased, \u201cthat I will take them all to\nCape Palmas.\u201d\n\nThis did not answer so well. Cape Palmas was practically as far from the\nhomes of most of them as New Orleans or Rio Janeiro was; that is, they\nwould be eternally separated from home there. And their interpreters, as\nwe could understand, instantly said: \u201c_Ah, non Palmas_,\u201d and began to\npropose infinite other expedients in most voluble language. Vaughan was\nrather disappointed at this result of his liberality, and asked Nolan\neagerly what they said. The drops stood on poor Nolan\u2019s white forehead,\nas he hushed the men down, and said:\n\n\u201cHe says, \u2018Not Palmas.\u2019 He says, \u2018Take us home, take us to our own\ncountry, take us to our own house, take us to our own pickaninnies and\nour own women.\u2019 He says he has an old father and mother who will die if\nthey do not see him. And this one says he left his people all sick, and\npaddled down to Fernando to beg the white doctor to come and help them,\nand that these devils caught him in the bay just in sight of home, and\nthat he had never seen anybody from home since then. And this one says,\u201d\nchoked out Nolan, \u201cthat he has not heard a word from his home in six\nmonths, while he has been locked up in an infernal barracoon.\u201d\n\nVaughan always said he grew gray himself while Nolan struggled through\nthis interpretation. I, who did not understand anything of the passion\ninvolved in it, saw that the very elements were melting with fervent\nheat, and that something was to pay somewhere. Even the negroes\nthemselves stopped howling, as they saw Nolan\u2019s agony, and Vaughan\u2019s\nalmost equal agony of sympathy. As quick as he could get words, he said:\n\n\u201cTell them yes, yes, yes; tell them they shall go to the Mountains of the\nMoon if they will. If I sail the schooner through the Great White Desert\nthey shall go home!\u201d\n\nAnd after some fashion Nolan said so. And then they all fell to kissing\nhim again, and wanted to rub his nose with theirs.\n\nBut he could not stand it long; and getting Vaughan to say he might\ngo back, he beckoned me down into our boat. As we lay back in the\nstern-sheets and the men gave way, he said to me: \u201cYoungster, let that\nshow you what it is to be without a family, without a home, and without\na country. And if you are ever tempted to say a word or to do a thing\nthat shall put a bar between you and your family, your home, and your\ncountry, pray God in His mercy to take you that instant home to His own\nheaven. Stick by your family, boy; forget you have a self, while you do\neverything for them. Think of your home, boy; write and send, and talk\nabout it. Let it be nearer and nearer to your thought, the farther you\nhave to travel from it; and rush back to it, when you are free, as that\npoor black slave is doing now. And for your country, boy,\u201d and the words\nrattled in his throat, \u201cand for that flag,\u201d and he pointed to the ship,\n\u201cnever dream a dream but of serving her as she bids you, though the\nservice carry you through a thousand hells. No matter what happens to\nyou, no matter who flatters you or who abuses you, never look at another\nflag, never let a night pass but you pray God to bless that flag.\nRemember, boy, that behind all these men you have to do with, behind\nofficers, and government, and people even, there is the Country Herself,\nyour Country, and that you belong to Her as you belong to your own\nmother. Stand by Her, boy, as you would stand by your mother, if those\ndevils there had got hold of her to-day!\u201d\n\nI was frightened to death by his calm, hard passion; but I blundered\nout, that I would, by all that was holy, and that I had never thought of\ndoing anything else. He hardly seemed to hear me; but he did, almost in a\nwhisper, say: \u201cO, if anybody had said so to me when I was of your age!\u201d\n\nI think it was this half-confidence of his, which I never abused, for I\nnever told this story till now, which afterward made us great friends. He\nwas very kind to me. Often he sat up, or even got up, at night, to walk\nthe deck with me, when it was my watch. He explained to me a great deal\nof my mathematics, and I owe to him my taste for mathematics. He lent\nme books, and helped me about my reading. He never alluded so directly\nto his story again; but from one and another officer I have learned, in\nthirty years, what I am telling. When we parted from him in St. Thomas\nharbor, at the end of our cruise, I was more sorry than I can tell. I was\nvery glad to meet him again in 1830; and later in life, when I thought I\nhad some influence in Washington, I moved heaven and earth to have him\ndischarged. But it was like getting a ghost out of prison. They pretended\nthere was no such man, and never was such a man. They will say so at the\nDepartment now! Perhaps they do not know. It will not be the first thing\nin the service of which the Department appears to know nothing!\n\nThere is a story that Nolan met Burr once on one of our vessels, when\na party of Americans came on board in the Mediterranean. But this I\nbelieve to be a lie; or, rather it is a myth, _ben trovato_, involving a\ntremendous blowing-up with which he sunk Burr\u2014asking him how he liked to\nbe \u201cwithout a country.\u201d But it is clear from Burr\u2019s life that nothing of\nthe sort could have happened; and I mention this only as an illustration\nof the stories which get a-going where there is the least mystery at the\nbottom.\n\nSo poor Philip Nolan had his wish fulfilled. I know but one fate more\ndreadful; it is the fate reserved for those men who shall have one day\nto exile themselves from their country because they have attempted her\nruin, and shall have at the same time to see the prosperity and honor to\nwhich she rises when she has rid herself of them and their iniquities.\nThe wish of poor Nolan, as we all learned to call him, not because his\npunishment was too great, but because his repentance was so clear, was\nprecisely the wish of every Bragg and Beauregard who broke a soldier\u2019s\noath two years ago, and of every Maury and Barron who broke a sailor\u2019s. I\ndo not know how often they have repented. I do know that they have done\nall that in them lay that they might have no country\u2014that all the honors,\nassociations, memories, and hopes which belong to \u201ccountry\u201d might be\nbroken up into little shreds and distributed to the winds. I know, too,\nthat their punishment, as they vegetate through what is left of life to\nthem in wretched Boulognes and Leicester Squares, where they are destined\nto upbraid each other till they die, will have all the agony of Nolan\u2019s,\nwith the added pang that every one who sees them will see them to despise\nand to execrate them. They will have their wish, like him.\n\nFor him, poor fellow, he repented of his folly, and then, like a man,\nsubmitted to the fate he had asked for. He never intentionally added\nto the difficulty or delicacy of the charge of those who had him in\nhold. Accidents would happen; but they never happened from his fault.\nLieutenant Truxton told me, that, when Texas was annexed, there was a\ncareful discussion among the officers, whether they should get hold of\nNolan\u2019s handsome set of maps, and cut Texas out of it\u2014from the map of\nthe world and the map of Mexico. The United States had been cut out when\nthe atlas was bought for him. But it was voted, rightly enough, that to\ndo this would be virtually to reveal to him what had happened, or, as\nHarry Cole said, to make him think Old Burr had succeeded. So it was from\nno fault of Nolan\u2019s that a great botch happened at my own table, when,\nfor a short time, I was in command of the _George Washington_ corvette,\non the South American station. We were lying in the La Plata, and some\nof the officers, who had been on shore, and had just joined again, were\nentertaining us with accounts of their misadventures in riding the\nhalf-wild horses of Buenos Ayres. Nolan was at table, and was in an\nunusually bright and talkative mood. Some story of a tumble reminded him\nof an adventure of his own, when he was catching wild horses in Texas\nwith his adventurous cousin at a time when he must have been quite a boy.\nHe told the story with a good deal of spirit\u2014so much so, that the silence\nwhich often follows a good story hung over the table for an instant, to\nbe broken by Nolan himself. For he asked perfectly unconsciously:\n\n\u201cPray, what has become of Texas? After the Mexicans got their\nindependence, I thought that province of Texas would come forward very\nfast. It is really one of the finest regions on earth; it is the Italy\nof this continent. But I have not seen or heard a word of Texas for near\ntwenty years.\u201d\n\nThere were two Texan officers at the table. The reason he had never heard\nof Texas was that Texas and her affairs had been painfully cut out of his\nnewspapers since Austin began his settlements; so that, while he read\nof Honduras and Tamaulipas, and, till quite lately, of California\u2014this\nvirgin province, in which his brother had travelled so far, and, I\nbelieve, had died, had ceased to be to him. Waters and Williams, the two\nTexas men, looked grimly at each other, and tried not to laugh. Edward\nMorris had his attention attracted by the third link in the chain of the\nchaplain\u2019s chandelier. Waters was seized with a convulsion of sneezing.\nNolan himself saw that something was to pay, he did not know what. And I,\nas master of the feast, had to say\u2014\n\n\u201cTexas is out of the map, Mr. Nolan. Have you seen Captain Back\u2019s\ncurious account of Sir Thomas Roe\u2019s Welcome?\u201d\n\nAfter that cruise I never saw Nolan again. I wrote to him at least twice\na year, for in that voyage we became even confidentially intimate; but he\nnever wrote to me. The other men tell me that in those fifteen years he\n_aged_ very fast, as well he might indeed, but that he was still the same\ngentle, uncomplaining, silent sufferer that he ever was, bearing as best\nhe could his self-appointed punishment\u2014rather less social, perhaps, with\nnew men whom he did not know, but more anxious, apparently, than ever\nto serve and befriend and teach the boys, some of whom fairly seemed to\nworship him. And now it seems the dear old fellow is dead. He has found a\nhome at last, and a country.\n\n * * * * *\n\nSince writing this, and while considering whether or no I would print it,\nas a warning to the young Nolans and Vallandighams and Tatnalls of to-day\nof what it is to throw away a country, I have received from Danforth, who\nis on board the _Levant_, a letter which gives an account of Nolan\u2019s last\nhours. It removes all my doubts about telling this story.\n\nTo understand the first words of the letter, the non-professional reader\nshould remember that after 1817, the position of every officer who had\nNolan in charge was one of the greatest delicacy. The government had\nfailed to renew the order of 1807 regarding him. What was a man to do?\nShould he let him go? What, then, if he were called to account by the\nDepartment for violating the order of 1807? Should he keep him? What,\nthen, if Nolan should be liberated some day, and should bring an action\nfor false imprisonment or kidnapping against every man who had had him\nin charge? I urged and pressed this upon Southward, and I have reason to\nthink that other officers did the same thing. But the Secretary always\nsaid, as they so often do at Washington, that there were no special\norders to give, and that we must act on our own judgment. That means, \u201cIf\nyou succeed, you will be sustained; if you fail, you will be disavowed.\u201d\nWell, as Danforth says, all that is over now, though I do not know but\nI expose myself to a criminal prosecution on the evidence of the very\nrevelation I am making.\n\nHere is the letter:\u2014\n\n \u201c_Levant_, 2\u00b0 2\u00b4 S. at 131\u00b0 W.\n\n \u201cDEAR FRED:\u2014I try to find heart and life to tell you that it\n is all over with dear old Nolan. I have been with him on this\n voyage more than I ever was, and I can understand wholly now\n the way in which you used to speak of the dear old fellow. I\n could see that he was not strong, but I had no idea the end\n was so near. The doctor has been watching him very carefully,\n and yesterday morning came to me and told me that Nolan was\n not so well, and had not left his state-room\u2014a thing I never\n remember before. He had let the doctor come and see him\n as he lay there\u2014the first time the doctor had been in the\n state-room\u2014and he said he should like to see me. O dear! do you\n remember the mysteries we boys used to invent about his room,\n in the old _Intrepid_ days? Well, I went in, and there, to be\n sure, the poor fellow lay in his berth, smiling pleasantly as\n he gave me his hand, but looking very frail. I could not help\n a glance round, which showed me what a little shrine he had\n made of the box he was lying in. The stars and stripes were\n triced up above and around a picture of Washington, and he had\n painted a majestic eagle, with lightnings blazing from his beak\n and his foot just clasping the whole globe, which his wings\n overshadowed. The dear old boy saw my glance, and said, with\n a sad smile, \u2018Here, you see, I have a country!\u2019 And then he\n pointed to the foot of his bed, where I had not seen before a\n great map of the United States, as he had drawn it from memory,\n and which he had there to look upon as he lay. Quaint, queer\n old names were on it, in large letters: \u2018Indiana Territory,\u2019\n \u2018Mississippi Territory,\u2019 and \u2018Louisiana Territory,\u2019 as I\n suppose our fathers learned such things; but the old fellow\n had patched in Texas, too; he had carried his western boundary\n all the way to the Pacific, but on that shore he had defined\n nothing.\n\n \u201c\u2018O Danforth,\u2019 he said, \u2018I know I am dying. I cannot get home.\n Surely you will tell me something now?\u2014Stop! stop! Do not speak\n till I say what I am sure you know, that there is not in this\n ship, that there is not in America\u2014God bless her!\u2014A more loyal\n man than I. There cannot be a man who loves the old flag as I\n do, or prays for it as I do, or hopes for it as I do. There\n are thirty-four stars in it now, Danforth. I thank God for\n that, though I do not know what their names are. There has\n never been one taken away: I thank God for that. I know by\n that that there has never been any successful Burr. O Danforth,\n Danforth,\u2019 he sighed out, \u2018how like a wretched night\u2019s dream a\n boy\u2019s idea of personal fame or of separate sovereignty seems,\n when one looks back on it after such a life as mine! But tell\n me\u2014tell me something\u2014tell me everything, Danforth, before I\n die!\u2019\n\n \u201cIngham, I swear to you that I felt like a monster that I had\n not told him everything before. Danger or no danger, delicacy\n or no delicacy, who was I, that I should have been acting the\n tyrant all this time over this dear, sainted old man, who had\n years ago expiated, in his whole manhood\u2019s life, the madness\n of a boy\u2019s treason? \u2018Mr. Nolan,\u2019 said I, \u2018I will tell you\n everything you ask about. Only, where shall I begin?\u2019\n\n \u201cO the blessed smile that crept over his white face! and he\n pressed my hand and said, \u2018God bless you!\u2019 \u2018Tell me their\n names,\u2019 he said, and he pointed to the stars on the flag. The\n last I know is Ohio. My father lived in Kentucky. But I have\n guessed Michigan and Indiana and Mississippi\u2014that was where\n Fort Adams is\u2014they make twenty. But where are your other\n fourteen? You have not cut up any of the old ones, I hope?\u2019\n\n \u201cWell, that was not a bad text, and I told him the names in as\n good order as I could, and he bade me take down his beautiful\n map and draw them in as best I could with my pencil. He was\n wild with delight about Texas, told me how his cousin died\n there; he had marked a gold cross near where he supposed\n his grave was; and he had guessed at Texas. Then he was\n delighted as he saw California and Oregon;\u2014that, he said, he\n had suspected partly, because he had never been permitted to\n land on that shore, though the ships were there so much. \u2018And\n the men,\u2019 said he, laughing, \u2018brought off a good deal besides\n furs.\u2019 Then he went back\u2014heavens, how far!\u2014to ask about the\n _Chesapeake_, and what was done to Barron for surrendering\n her to the _Leopard_, and whether Burr ever tried again\u2014and\n he ground his teeth with the only passion he showed. But in\n a moment that was over, and he said, \u2018God forgive me, for I\n am sure I forgive him.\u2019 Then he asked about the old war\u2014told\n me the true story of his serving the gun the day we took the\n _Java_\u2014asked about dear old David Porter, as he called him.\n Then he settled down more quietly, and very happily, to hear me\n tell in an hour the history of fifty years.\n\n \u201cHow I wished it had been somebody who knew something! But I\n did as well as I could. I told him of the English war. I told\n him about Fulton and the steamboat beginning. I told him about\n old Scott, and Jackson; told him all I could think of about\n the Mississippi, and New Orleans, and Texas, and his own old\n Kentucky. And do you think, he asked who was in command of\n the \u2018Legion of the West.\u2019 I told him it was a very gallant\n officer named Grant, and that, by our last news, he was about\n to establish his headquarters at Vicksburg. Then, \u2018Where is\n Vicksburg?\u2019 I worked that out on the map; it was about a\n hundred miles, more or less, above his old Fort Adams; and I\n thought Fort Adams must be a ruin now. \u2018It must be at old\n Vick\u2019s plantation, at Walnut Hills,\u2019 said he: \u2018well, that is a\n change!\u2019\n\n \u201cI tell you, Ingham, it was a hard thing to condense the\n history of half a century into that talk with a sick man. And I\n do not now know what I told him\u2014of emigration, and the means of\n it\u2014of steamboats, and railroads, and telegraphs\u2014of inventions,\n and books, and literature\u2014of the colleges, and West Point,\n and the Naval School\u2014but with the queerest interruptions that\n ever you heard. You see it was Robinson Crusoe asking all the\n accumulated questions of fifty-six years!\n\n \u201cI remember he asked, all of a sudden, who was President now;\n and when I told him, he asked if Old Abe was General Benjamin\n Lincoln\u2019s son. He said he met old General Lincoln, when he was\n quite a boy himself, at some Indian treaty. I said no, that Old\n Abe was a Kentuckian like himself, but I could not tell him of\n what family; he had worked up from the ranks. \u2018Good for him!\u2019\n cried Nolan; \u2018I\u2019m glad of that. As I have brooded and wondered,\n I have thought our danger was in keeping up those regular\n successions in the first families.\u2019\n\n \u201cThen I got talking about my visit to Washington. I told him\n of meeting the Oregon congressman, Harding; I told him about\n the Smithsonian, and the Exploring Expedition; I told him about\n the Capitol, and the statues for the pediment, and Crawford\u2019s\n Liberty, and Greenough\u2019s Washington: Ingham, I told him\n everything I could think of that would show the grandeur of his\n country and its prosperity; but I could not make up my mouth\n to tell him a word about this infernal Rebellion!\n\n \u201cAnd he drank it in, and enjoyed it as I cannot tell you. He\n grew more and more silent, yet I never thought he was tired\n or faint. I gave him a glass of water, but he just wet his\n lips, and told me not to go away. Then he asked me to bring\n the Presbyterian \u2018Book of Public Prayer,\u2019 which lay there, and\n said, with a smile that it would open at the right place\u2014and so\n it did.\n\n \u201cThere was his double red mark down the page; and I knelt down\n and read, and he repeated with me, \u2018For ourselves and our\n country, O gracious God, we thank Thee, that, notwithstanding\n our manifold transgressions for Thy holy laws, Thou hast\n continued to us Thy marvellous kindness,\u2019\u2014and so to the end of\n that thanksgiving.\n\n \u201cThen he turned to the end of the same book, and I read the\n words more familiar to me: \u2018Most heartily we beseech Thee with\n Thy favor to behold and bless Thy servant, the President of the\n United States, and all others in authority,\u2019\u2014and the rest of\n the Episcopal collect. \u2018Danforth,\u2019 said he, \u2018I have repeated\n those prayers night and morning, it is now fifty-five years.\u2019\n And then he said he would go to sleep.\n\n \u201cHe bent me down over him and kissed me; and he said, \u2018Look in\n my Bible, Danforth, when I am gone.\u2019 And I went away.\n\n \u201cBut I had no thought it was the end. I thought he was tired\n and would sleep. I knew he was happy and I wanted him to be\n alone.\n\n \u201cBut in an hour, when the doctor went in gently, he found\n Nolan had breathed his life away with a smile. He had something\n pressed close to his lips. It was his father\u2019s badge of the\n Order of the Cincinnati.\n\n \u201cWe looked in his Bible, and there was a slip of paper at the\n place where he had marked the text:\u2014\n\n \u201c\u2018They desire a country, even a heavenly: wherefore God is not\n ashamed to be called their God: for he hath prepared for them a\n city.\u2019\n\n \u201cOn this slip of paper he had written:\u2014\n\n \u201c\u2018Bury me in the sea; it has been my home, and I love it. But\n will not some one set up a stone for my memory at Fort Adams or\n at Orleans, that my disgrace may not be more than I ought to\n bear? Say on it:\u2014\n\n \u201c\u2018_In Memory of_\n\n \u201c\u2018PHILIP NOLAN,\n\n \u201c\u2018_Lieutenant in the Army of the United States_.\n\n \u201c\u2018He loved his country as no other man has loved her, but no\n man deserved less at her hands.\u2019\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE FOREMAN\n\nBy Stewart Edward White\n\n\nA man is one thing; a man _plus_ his work is another, entirely different.\nYou can learn this anywhere, but in the lumber woods best of all.\n\nEspecially is it true of the camp boss, the foreman. A firm that knows\nits business knows this and so never considers merely what sort of a\ncharacter a candidate may bear in town. He may drink or abstain, may\nexhibit bravery or cowardice, strength or weakness\u2014it is all one to the\nlumbermen who employ him. In the woods his quality must appear. So often\nthe man most efficient and trusted in the especial environment of his\nwork is the most disreputable outside it. The mere dignifying quality\nof labor raises his value to the _n_th power. In it he discovers the\nself-respect which, in one form or another, is absolutely necessary\nto the man who counts. His resolution to succeed has back of it this\nnecessity of self-respect, and so is invincible. A good boss gives back\nbefore nothing which will further his job.\n\nMost people in the North Country understand this double standard; but\noccasionally someone, either stupid or inexperienced or unobservant,\nmakes the mistake of concluding that the town-character and the\nwoods-character are necessarily the same. If he acts in accordance with\nthat erroneous idea, he gets into trouble. Take the case of Silver\nJack and the walking boss of Morrison & Daly, for instance. Silver\nJack imagined his first encounter with Richard Darrell in Bay City\nindicated the certainty of like results to his second encounter with that\nindividual in Camp Thirty. His mistake was costly; but almost anybody\ncould have told him better. To understand the case, you must first meet\nRichard Darrell.\n\nThe latter was a man about five feet six inches in height, slenderly\nbuilt, yet with broad, hanging shoulders. His face was an exact triangle,\nbeginning with a mop of red-brown hair, and ending with a pointed chin.\nTwo level quadrilaterals served him as eyebrows, beneath which a strong\nhooked nose separated his round, brown, chipmunk\u2019s eyes. When he walked,\nhe threw his heavy shoulders slightly forward. This, in turn, projected\nhis eager, nervous countenance. The fact that he was accustomed to\nhold his hands half open, with the palms square to the rear, lent him\na peculiarly ready and truculent air. His name, as has been said, was\nRichard Darrell; but men called him Roaring Dick.\n\nFor upward of fifteen years he had been woods foreman for Morrison &\nDaly, the great lumber firm of the Beeson Lake district. That would make\nhim about thirty-eight years old. He did not look it. His firm thought\neverything of him in spite of the fact that his reputation made it\nexceedingly difficult to hire men for his camps. He had the name of a\n\u201cdriver.\u201d But this little man, in some mysterious way of his own, could\nget in the logs. There was none like him. About once in three months he\nwould suddenly appear, worn and haggard, at Beeson Lake, where he would\ndrop into an iron bed, which the Company maintained for that especial\npurpose. Tim Brady, the care-taker, would bring him food at stated\nintervals. After four days of this, he would as suddenly disappear into\nthe forest, again charged with the vital, restless energy which kept\nhim on his feet fourteen hours a day until the next break down. When he\nlooked directly at you, this nerve-force seemed to communicate itself to\nyou with the physical shock of an impact.\n\nRichard Darrell usually finished banking his season\u2019s cut a month earlier\nthan anybody else. Then he drew his pay at Beeson Lake, took the train\nfor Bay City, and set out to have a good time. Whiskey was its main\nelement. On his intensely nervous organization it acted like poison. He\nwould do the wildest things. After his money was all spent, he started up\nriver for the log-drive, hollow-eyed, shaking. In twenty-four hours he\nwas himself again, dominant, truculent, fixing his brown chipmunk eyes on\nthe delinquents with the physical shock of an impact, coolly balancing\nbeneath the imminent ruin of a jam.\n\nSilver Jack, on the other hand, was not nervous at all, but very tall\nand strong, with bronze-red skin, and flaxen white hair, mustache and\neyebrows. The latter peculiarity earned him his nickname. He was at\nall times absolutely fearless and self-reliant in regard to material\nconditions, but singularly unobservant and stupid when it was a question\nof psychology. He had been a sawyer in his early experience, but later\nbecame a bartender in Muskegon.\n\nHe was in general a good-humored animal enough, but fond of a swagger,\ngiven to showing off, and exceedingly ugly when his passions were aroused.\n\nHis first hard work, after arriving in Bay City, was, of course, to\nvisit the saloons. In one of these he came upon Richard Darrell. The\nlatter was enjoying himself noisily by throwing wine-glasses at a beer\nadvertisement. As he always paid liberally for the glasses, no one\nthought of objecting.\n\n\u201cWho\u2019s th\u2019 bucko?\u201d inquired Silver Jack of a man near the stove.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s Roaring Dick Darrell, walkin\u2019 boss for M. & D.,\u201d replied the\nother.\n\nSilver Jack drew his flax-white eyebrows together.\n\n\u201cRoaring Dick, eh? Roaring Dick? Fine name fer a bad man. I s\u2019pose he\nthinks he\u2019s perticular reckless, don\u2019t he?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do\u2019no. Guess he is. He\u2019s got th\u2019 name fer it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Silver Jack, drawing his powerful back into a bow, \u201cI ain\u2019t\nmuch; but I don\u2019t like noise\u2014\u2019specially roaring.\u201d\n\nWith the words he walked directly across the saloon to the foreman.\n\n\u201cMy name is Silver Jack,\u201d said he, \u201cI come from Muskegon way. I don\u2019t\nlike noise. Quit it.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right,\u201d replied Dick.\n\nThe other was astonished. Then he recovered his swagger and went on:\n\n\u201cThey tell me you\u2019re the old he-coon of this neck of th\u2019 woods. P\u2019r\u2019aps\nyou _were_. But I\u2019m here now. Ketch on? I\u2019m th\u2019 boss of this shebang now.\u201d\n\nDick smiled amiably. \u201cAll right,\u201d he repeated.\n\nThis second acquiescence nonplussed the newcomer. But he insisted on his\nfight.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019re a bluff,\u201d said he, insultingly.\n\n\u201cAh! get out!\u201d replied Dick with disgust.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d shouted the stranger, towering with threatening bulk over\nthe smaller man.\n\nAnd then to his surprise Dick Darrell began to beg.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you hit me!\u201d he cried, \u201cI ain\u2019t done nothing to you. You let\nme alone! Don\u2019t you let him touch me!\u201d he called beseechingly to the\nbarkeeper. \u201cI don\u2019t want to get hurt. Stop it! Let me be!\u201d\n\nSilver Jack took Richard Darrell by the collar and propelled him rapidly\nto the door. The foreman hung back like a small boy in the grasp of a\nschoolmaster, whining, beseeching, squirming, appealing for help to the\nbarkeeper and the bystanders. When finally he was energetically kicked\ninto the gutter, he wept a little with nervous rage.\n\n\u201cRoaring Dick! Rats!\u201d said Silver Jack. \u201cAnybody can do him proper. If\nthat\u2019s your \u2018knocker,\u2019 you\u2019re a gang of high bankers.\u201d\n\nThe other men merely smiled in the manner of those who know. Incidentally\nSilver Jack was desperately pounded by Big Dan, later in the evening, on\naccount of that \u201chigh-banker\u201d remark.\n\nRichard Darrell, soon after, went into the woods with his crew, and began\nthe tremendous struggle against the wilderness. Silver Jack and Big\nDan took up the saloon business at Beeson Lake, and set themselves to\ngathering a client\u00e8le which should do them credit.\n\nThe winter was a bad one for everybody. Deep snows put the job behind;\nfrequent storms undid the work of an infinitely slow patience. When the\nlogging roads were cut through, the ground failed to freeze because of\nthe thick white covering that overlaid it. Darrell in his mysterious\ncompelling fashion managed somehow. Everywhere his thin eager triangle\nof a face with the brown chipmunk eyes was seen, bullying the men into\ntitanic exertions by the mere shock of his nervous force. Over the\nthin crust of ice cautious loads of a few thousand feet were drawn to\nthe banks of the river. The road-bed held. Gradually it hardened and\nthickened. The size of the loads increased. Finally Billy O\u2019Brien drew up\ntriumphantly at the rollway.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s a rim-racker!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cGive her all she\u2019ll stand, Jimmy.\u201d\n\nJimmy Hall, the scaler, laid his flexible rule over the face of each log.\nThe men gathered, interested in this record load.\n\n\u201cThirteen thousand two hundred and forty,\u201d announced the scaler at last.\n\n\u201cWhoopee!\u201d crowed Billy O\u2019Brien, \u201cthat\u2019ll lay out Rollway Charley by two\nthousand feet!\u201d\n\nThe men congratulated him on his victory over the other teamster, Rollway\nCharley. Suddenly Darrell was among them, eager, menacing, thrusting his\nnervous face and heavy shoulders here and there in the crowd, bullying\nthem back to the work which they were neglecting. When his back was\nturned they grumbled at him savagely, threatening to disobey, resolving\nto quit. Some of them did quit: but none of them disobeyed.\n\nNow the big loads were coming in regularly, and the rollways became\nchoked with the logs dumped down on them from the sleighs. There were\nnot enough men to roll them down to the river, nor to \u201cdeck\u201d them there\nin piles. Work accumulated. The cant-hook men became discouraged. What\nwas the use of trying? They might as well take it easy. They did take it\neasy. As a consequence the teamsters had often to wait two, three hours\nto be unloaded. They were out until long after dark, feeling their way\nhomeward through hunger and cold.\n\nDick Darrell, walking boss of all the camps, did the best he could. He\nsent message after message to Beeson Lake demanding more men. If the\nrollways could be definitely cleared once, the work would lighten all\nalong the line. Then the men would regain their content. More help was\npromised, but it was slow in coming. The balance hung trembling. At any\nmoment the foreman expected the crisis, when the men, discouraged by the\naccumulation of work, would begin to \u201cjump,\u201d would ask for their \u201ctime\u201d\nand quit, leaving the job half finished in the woods. This catastrophe\nmust not happen. Darrell himself worked like a demon until dark, and\nthen, ten to one, while the other men rested, would strike feverishly\nacross to Camp Twenty-eight or Camp Forty, where he would consult with\nMorgan or Scotty Parsons until far into the night. His pale, triangular\nface showed the white lines of exhaustion, but his chipmunk eyes and his\neager movements told of a determination stronger than any protest of a\nmere nature.\n\nNow fate ordained that Silver Jack for the purposes of his enlightenment\nshould select just this moment to drum up trade. He was, in his way, as\nanxious to induce the men to come out of the woods as Richard Darrell was\nto keep them in. Beeson Lake at this time of year was very dull. Only a\nfew chronic loafers, without money, ornamented the saloon walls. On the\nother hand, at the four camps of Morrison & Daly were three hundred\nmen each with four months\u2019 pay coming to him. In the ordinary course of\nevents these men would not be out for sixty days yet, but Silver Jack\nand Big Dan perfectly well knew that it only needed the suggestion, the\ntemptation, to arouse the spirit of restlessness. That a taste or so of\nwhiskey will shiver the patience of men oppressed by long monotony is as\nA B C to the North Country saloon-keeper. Silver Jack resolved to make\nthe rounds of the camps sure that the investment of a few jugs of whiskey\nwould bring down to Beeson Lake at least thirty or forty woods-wearied\nmen.\n\nAccordingly he donned many clothes, and drove out into the wilderness a\ncutter containing three jugs and some cigars in boxes. He anticipated\ntrouble. Perhaps he would even have to lurk in the woods, awaiting his\nopportunity to smuggle his liquor to the men.\n\nHowever, luck favored him. At Camp Twenty-eight he was able to dodge\nunseen into the men\u2019s camp. When Morgan, the camp foreman, finally\ndiscovered his presence, the mischief had been done. Everybody was\nsmoking cigars, everybody was happily conscious of a warm glow at the pit\nof the stomach, everybody was firmly convinced that Silver Jack was the\nbest fellow on earth. Morgan could do nothing. An attempt to eject Silver\nJack, an expostulation even, would, he knew, lose him his entire crew.\nThe men, their heads whirling with the anticipated delights of a spree,\nwould indignantly champion their new friend. Morgan retired grimly to the\n\u201coffice.\u201d There, the next morning, he silently made out the \u201ctime\u201d of\nsix men, who had decided to quit. He wondered what would become of the\nrollways.\n\nSilver Jack, for the sake of companionship, took one of the \u201cjumpers\u201d in\nthe cutter with him. He was pleased over his success, and intended now\nto try Camp Thirty, Darrell\u2019s headquarters. In regard to Morgan he had\nbeen somewhat uneasy, for he had never encountered that individual; but\nDarrell he thought he knew. The trouble at Bay City had inspired him with\na great contempt for the walking boss. That is where his mistake came in.\n\nIt was very cold. The snow was up to the horses\u2019 bellies, so Silver Jack\nhad to drive at a plunging walk. Occasionally one or the other of the\ntwo stood up and thrashed his arms about. At noon they ate sandwiches of\ncold fried bacon, which the frost rendered brittle as soon as it left\nthe warmth of their inside pockets. Underfoot the runners of the cutter\nshrieked loudly. They saw the tracks of deer and wolves and partridge,\nand encountered a few jays, chickadees, and woodpeckers. Otherwise the\nforest seemed quite empty. By half-past two they had made nine miles, and\nthe sun, in this high latitude, was swinging lower. Silver Jack spoke\nangrily to his struggling animals. The other had fallen into silence of\nnumbness.\n\nThey did not know that across the reaches of the forest a man was\nhurrying to intercept them, a man who hastened to cope with this new\ncomplication as readily as he would have coped with the emergency of a\nlack of flour or the sickness of horses. They drove confidently.\n\nSuddenly from nowhere a figure appeared in the trail before them. It\nstood, silent and impassive, with forward-drooping, heavy shoulders,\nwatching the approaching cutter through inscrutable chipmunk eyes. When\nthe strangers had approached to within a few feet of this man, the horses\nstopped of their own accord.\n\n\u201cHello, Darrell,\u201d greeted Silver Jack, tugging at one of the stone jugs\nbeneath the seat, \u201cyou\u2019re just the man I wanted to see.\u201d\n\nThe figure made no reply.\n\n\u201cHave a drink,\u201d offered the big man, finally extricating the whiskey.\n\n\u201cYou can\u2019t take that whiskey into camp,\u201d said Darrell.\n\n\u201cOh, I guess so,\u201d replied Silver Jack, easily, hoping for the peaceful\nsolution. \u201cThere ain\u2019t enough to get anybody full. Have a taster,\nDarrell; it\u2019s pretty good stuff.\u201d\n\n\u201cI mean it,\u201d repeated Darrell. \u201cYou got to go back.\u201d He seized the\nhorses\u2019 bits and began to lead them in the reversing circle.\n\n\u201cHold on there!\u201d cried Silver Jack. \u201cYou let them horses alone! You old\nlittle runt! Let them alone I say!\u201d The robe was kicked aside, and Silver\nJack prepared to descend.\n\nRichard Darrell twisted his feet out of his snow-shoe straps. \u201cYou can\u2019t\ntake that whiskey into camp,\u201d he repeated simply.\n\n\u201cNow look here, Darrell,\u201d said the other in even tones, \u201cdon\u2019t you make\nno mistake. I ain\u2019t selling this whiskey; I\u2019m _giving_ it away. The law\ncan\u2019t touch me. You ain\u2019t any right to say where I\u2019ll go, and I\u2019m going\nwhere I please!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou got to go back with that whiskey,\u201d replied Darrell.\n\nSilver Jack threw aside his coat, and advanced. \u201cYou get out of my way,\nor I\u2019ll kick you out, like I done at Bay City.\u201d\n\nIn an instant two blows were exchanged. The first marked Silver Jack\u2019s\nbronze-red face just to the left of his white eyebrow. The second sent\nRichard Darrell gasping and sobbing into the snow-bank ten feet away.\nHe arose with the blood streaming from beneath his mustache. His eager,\nnervous face was white; his chipmunk eyes narrowed; his great hands, held\npalm backward, clutched spasmodically. With the stealthy motion of a cat\nhe approached his antagonist, and sprang. Silver Jack stood straight and\nconfident, awaiting him. Three times the aggressor was knocked entirely\noff his feet. The fourth he hit against the cutter body, and his fingers\nclosed on the axe which all voyagers through the forest carry as a matter\nof course.\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s gettin\u2019 ugly. Come on, Hank!\u201d cried Silver Jack.\n\nThe other man, with a long score to pay the walking boss, seized the iron\nstarting-bar, and descended. Out from the inscrutable white forest murder\nbreathed like a pestilential air. The two men talked about it easily,\nconfidently.\n\n\u201cYou ketch him on one side, and I\u2019ll come in on the other,\u201d said the man\nnamed Hank, gripping his short, heavy bar.\n\nThe forest lay behind; the forest, easily penetrable to a man in\nmoccasins. Richard Darrell could at any moment have fled beyond the\npossibility of pursuit. This had become no mere question of a bar-room\nfisticuff, but of life and death. He had begged abjectly from the pain\nof a cuff on the ear; now he merely glanced over his shoulder toward\nthe safety that lay beyond. Then, with a cry, he whirled the axe about\nhis head and threw it directly at the second of his antagonists. The\nflat of the implement struck heavily, full on the man\u2019s forehead. He\nfell, stunned. Immediately the other two precipitated themselves on the\nweapons. This time Silver Jack secured the axe, while Darrell had to\ncontent himself with the short, heavy bar. The strange duel recommenced,\nwhile the horses, mildly curious, gazed through the steam of their\nnostrils at their warring masters.\n\nOverhead the ravens of the far north idled to and fro. When the three men\nlay still on the trampled snow, they stooped, nearer and nearer. Then\nthey towered. One of the men had stirred.\n\nRichard Darrell painfully cleared his eyes and dragged himself to a\nsitting position, sweeping the blood of his shallow wound from his\nforehead. He searched out the axe. With it he first smashed in the\nwhiskey jugs. Then he wrecked the cutter, chopping it savagely until it\nwas reduced to splinters and twisted iron. By the time this was done, his\nantagonists were in the throes of returning consciousness. He stood over\nthem, dominant, menacing.\n\n\u201cYou hit th\u2019 back trail,\u201d said he, \u201cvery quick! Don\u2019t you let me see you\n\u2019round these diggings again.\u201d\n\nSilver Jack, bewildered, half stunned, not understanding this little\ncowardly man who had permitted himself to be kicked from the saloon, rose\nslowly.\n\n\u201cYou stand there!\u201d commanded Darrell. He opened a pocket-knife, and cut\nthe harness to bits, leaving only the necessary head-stalls intact.\n\n\u201cNow git!\u201d said he. \u201cPike out!\u2014fer Beeson Lake. Don\u2019t you stop at no Camp\nTwenty-eight!\u201d\n\nAppalled at the prospect of the long journey through the frozen forest,\nSilver Jack and his companion silently led the horses away. As they\nreached the bend in the trail, they looked back. The sun was just setting\nthrough the trees, throwing the illusion of them gigantic across the\neye. And he stood there huge, menacing, against the light\u2014the dominant\nspirit, Roaring Dick of the woods, the incarnation of Necessity, the Man\ndefending his Work, the Foreman!\n\n\n\n\nTHE GRAY COLLIE\n\nBy Georgia Wood Pangborn\n\n\nThe steam had retired, clanking, from the radiator, withdrawing to the\ncellar like the dragging chain of Marley\u2019s ghost. The blue flame of a\nBunsen burner was the only light and heat left. Now and then the wind\nflung handfuls of spiteful sleet at the window.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know anything about ghosts,\u201d said Henrietta, plaintively. \u201cI\u2019m\nas bad in psychology as mathematics. I might tell about the gray collie,\nbut he was real. Don\u2019t let that chocolate boil over, Isabel.\u201d\n\nIsabel poured out three steaming cups, thick and sweet, for in the young\ntwenties and late teens the appetite is still bizarre.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll tell it as it happened,\u201d sighed Henrietta. \u201cI don\u2019t believe I could\nmake anything up to save my neck.\u201d\n\nShe was small and sad-eyed, with a timid manner, and sat on a wolf-skin,\nleaning one elbow on its head, which had green eyes of sinister slant,\nand bristling ears.\n\n\u201cYou know who Artaxerxes was?\u201d\n\n\u201cArtaxerxes,\u201d they recited, \u201cwas your old wolf-hound who was really\nbenevolent, but everybody was afraid of him, and when he wagged his\ntail it waved like a cat\u2019s, sinuously, instead of swinging in a clubby,\ncareless way, as a dog\u2019s should.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe was white with gray spots,\u201d mused Henrietta; \u201cI suppose his family in\nSiberia looked like that to match the snow when they went out hunting,\nand he was shaggy and soft.\n\n\u201cWe chained him the night the circus came to town. He heard a lion roar\nas the train went by at three o\u2019clock, and, at first, I thought we had\nanother lion in the barn. Gracious! If he hadn\u2019t been chained he would\nhave been over the wall and chased that lion to the station.\n\n\u201cI went down to soothe him and see if his chain had given in any of\nits links. I never saw him so out of temper. Finally he consented to\nlie down, though he grumbled about it, and the tip of his tail kept\ntwitching, not wagging. He hardly ever wagged it.\n\n\u201cHe worried all that day. \u2018Don\u2019t you know there are bears and lions and\ntigers and wolves out there?\u2019 he\u2019d say\u2014\u2018Isn\u2019t it my business to protect\nyou from such things? Do let me go and kill a few. I\u2019ll come right back!\u2019\n\n\u201cWe supposed he would stop worrying when the circus went, but instead,\nhe got worse. He explained how it was his business to find out what\nhad become of all those animals. In the evenings, as soon as he was\nunchained, he would march up and down inside the wall, holding his nose\nto the wind and every now and then making a low impatient sound in his\nthroat, as if he were worried about something and making plans.\n\n\u201cOne morning Farmer Grosman came to our house, very fierce: \u2018Your dog\u2019s\nbeen killing my sheep.\u2019 We explained that he never got over the six-foot\nwall, but nothing would do. If he hadn\u2019t done it, who had? If we did not\nshoot him, he would, and so on.\n\n\u201cPapa was very polite. He said he regretted that he could allow no\nshooting on the place except what he did himself. \u2018You are certainly\nentitled to shoot any dog or dogs which you may discover molesting your\nsheep, and I shall exercise the same prerogative in protecting my dog.\u2019\n\n\u201cHe said it with that deprecating smile of his\u2014I believe he smiled\ndeprecatingly when he got cut off from his men at Antietam, and fought\nhis way out of a lot of rebels who tried to make him prisoner. He hated\nGrosman, who was the meanest man in town and starved his horses.\n\n\u201cThe man went off growling, and said he\u2019d see the Mayor. We chained Artie\nup that night. In the morning we found his cat, dead, with a half-eaten\npiece of poisoned meat beside it. Artie thought everything of that cat.\nHe had carried it around in his mouth ever since it was a little kitten.\nHe always had to have his cat, the way a child has to have a doll. Any\nother cat he\u2019d have sighted half a mile away and chased. But that one was\nhis own, and anything it did was all right. It\u2019s all in being acquainted.\nPapa sat up all the next night with a shotgun. We heard that the people\nfrom the French quarter of the village insisted that Artie got over the\nwall at night and roamed around and got into mischief. They said they\nheard him howling up on Mount Phelim, and talked a great deal about what\nthey were going to do to him and us. Those Canucks would have it that he\nwas a man-wolf, and could change about from one thing to another. You\ncan\u2019t argue with them, when they get a notion like that.\n\n\u201cOne morning Pete Lancto, who mows the lawn, said he had seen the devil,\nand that he was like a shaggy dog.\n\n\u201c\u2018Probably it _was_ a dog!\u2019 I said. But he told a lot of lies about\nsmelling brimstone and flames coming out of its eyes.\n\n\u201cI said: \u2018I guess you were _tenet_\u2019 (that\u2019s their word for \u2018tight\u2019).\n\n\u201cBut he hadn\u2019t touched a drop, and had only been to get a new salt\ncodfish at the store.\n\n\u201c\u2018Well, anyway, if it smelt of brimstone, it wasn\u2019t Artie.\u2019\n\n\u201cBut that idiot said: \u2018The devil, he can smell brimstone when he wants\nto\u2014_je pense que oui_!\u2019\n\n\u201cSo I let him alone. You can\u2019t argue with a man who hasn\u2019t any premises\nto argue from.\n\n\u201cIt was my work to go to the village for the mail. I went after supper,\nabout sunset, or a little later.\n\n\u201cThe road curves along the side of Mount Phelim, which is not much of a\nmountain, but rather too big for a hill. When you look south it is as if\nthe trees stood on each others\u2019 heads, and there are wide, open spaces,\nlike a park, so that you can see between the trunks, only by the road the\nunderbrush is thick like a hedge. But on the north side of the road you\ndon\u2019t want to tumble off, for the Powasket runs below, hidden under the\ntops of trees, so that you only know it\u2019s there from the sound. When I\nwas little, I used to be afraid of that road, because a Canuck nurse-girl\nhad scared me with stories of bears and catamounts and Indians.\n\n\u201cThat was why papa had me go for the mail. He never could stand cowards.\nAt first he used to sneak along behind me, and when I got hysterical\nwould saunter up as if he were just out for a walk, and show me how\npretty the sunset was over toward Canada, or cluck for squirrels to come\nout and see what we wanted, or take me up into the woods a little to find\nIndian pipes like caryatides holding up dead leaves. So it wasn\u2019t very\nlong before I grew to love the walk, and the sound of the wind in the\ntrees, even when it was dark. I got quite friendly with the squirrels,\nand used to leave little piles of nuts as I went to the village, and when\nI came back they would be all gone. There aren\u2019t many squirrels up there\nthat can afford pecans and Brazil-nuts. I suppose they wondered till\ntheir heads ached why I left them around so carelessly.\n\n\u201cBut when I grew to like it at night, papa began to object. A good many\ntimes when I\u2019ve been sitting on the edge of the road swinging my feet\nover the Powasket, watching the last color going out beyond Canada, and\nlistening to the owls and frogs and things, he has come to meet me and\ngrumbled about \u2018going to extremes.\u2019 But I had him, you see, and only\nlaughed. Hadn\u2019t he trained me to do it?\n\n\u201cSo about that time he got me Artaxerxes for a chaperone, and he was\na good deal of a nuisance, for the village folk disliked him from the\nfirst. When they whistled to their own dogs to get them out of his way,\nhow could he tell they weren\u2019t calling to him? And when he\u2019d turn to see\nwhat they wanted, they\u2019d think he was coming after them and run, which\nwas nonsense.\n\n\u201cWe were keeping Artie chained that week of the sheep-killing fuss.\nHow he hated it! When I stepped upon the horse-block to mount Pixie\u2014I\nrode most of that week, and he knew I never took him when I took Pixie,\nbecause he had a nasty way of snapping at her nose, not meaning anything,\nbut it got on her nerves dreadfully\u2014and when I mounted Pixie and shook\nmy crop at him, he would stand up at the end of his chain, his fore\npaws beating the air and his tongue hanging out, because he was choking\nhimself so hard; and I\u2019ve often thought he looked more unattractive that\nway with his one head than any picture of Cerberus with three.\n\n\u201cIt was particularly hard on him now that his cat was dead. We had got\nhim a new kitten, but it wasn\u2019t broken in yet, and couldn\u2019t understand\nthat he didn\u2019t mean anything when he carried it around in his mouth.\n\n\u201cIt was that evening that I saw the gray collie the first time. There\nwere long streaks of late sunlight reaching up into the mountain and he\nwas so mixed up in the light and shadow that it was only by chance I saw\nhim at all, he was so like the tree trunks and bowlders; but he happened\nto be in a place that I knew all about, because it was where papa and I\nhad often sat, and I knew no gray patch of anything belonged just there.\nIt was like finding an animal in one of those old puzzle-pictures, where\nthey\u2019re all mixed up in the branches.\n\n\u201cI reined up and whistled, and called him every name I could think of,\nbut he did not stir, so that I almost thought my eyes were wrong after\nall; but there was no mistaking those pointed ears cocked toward me. I\nthought he might be the sheep-killer, though he was such an aristocratic\ncreature, for what can you expect of a dog that\u2019s lost and hungry and\nunhappy? I\u2019d probably steal something myself if I felt that way. I knew\nthat nobody in our part of the country owned such a dog as that, and I\nwondered if his master were dead up there on the mountain. There are so\nmany queer accidents\u2014but it was the closed season. The more I wondered,\nthe queerer it seemed.\n\n\u201cAll of a sudden, Pixie snorted and plunged so that I was almost thrown,\nfor I wasn\u2019t expecting it, and was leaning over with a loose rein and my\narm out toward the collie. I had trusted that mare like my own sister,\nand had believed her a sensible soul, but she never stopped until she\nreached the barn, sweating and trembling like anything.\n\n\u201cI was so out of patience that I left her at home with Artie the next\ntime I went for the mail. I planned as I went through the woods how I\nwould make the collie\u2019s acquaintance and bring him home, and how he and\nArtie would strike up a friendship. They were both such splendid fellows\nand so lonely. I thought a good deal about it, how I\u2019d manage, for I\nknew that if I wasn\u2019t careful they\u2019d be more likely to kill each other\nfirst\u2014like Balin and Balan, you know\u2014and make up afterward.\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t meet the collie until I was coming back. It was twilight, and\nthe moon was rather narrow to see by. There was a rustle and snapping in\nthe bushes at the side of the road.\n\n\u201c\u2018Nice fellow!\u2019 I said, and stopped. I could make out the silhouette of\nhis ears cocked toward me, and a little glimmer where his eyes were.\n\u2018Poor old chap,\u2019 I said, \u2018did you lose your folks?\u2019 But he wouldn\u2019t say a\nword, and backed off when I went toward him, so finally I went on, hoping\nhe would follow, and he did, but slyly, so I could hardly be sure it was\nhe, keeping beside me in the underbrush.\n\n\u201cWhen I reached the open, and looked back, he was standing in a faint\npatch of moonlight, in the middle of the road, looking after me with his\nhead down a little, something the way people look at you under their\neyebrows when they\u2019re trying to understand.\n\n\u201cI whistled and called, but it was no use. He stood there as long as I\ndid, and I finally went on without him. But I couldn\u2019t get him off my\nmind. It seemed such a wild, lonesome life for a dog that must have been\nbrought up in a pleasant home, with regular meals and a fireplace to\nlie in front of, and probably a girl like me to take him walking. And\nit seemed as if it must be something queer and tragic to send him off\nthat way by himself. I thought more and more how some young fellow might\nbe lying dead up there on the mountain. I made up a whole story about\nit that evening. And that night I dreamed I had the collie and found a\ncollar hidden in his ruff, and was trying to read his name on it\u2014but you\nknow how hard it is to read anything in a dream; you look at a letter and\nit changes to something else, or dances off to one side. Then he seemed\nto be telling me a long story, the way animals do in dreams, but when I\nwoke up it turned into nonsense.\n\n\u201cI knew he would meet me the next evening, and so I took some of Artie\u2019s\ndog-biscuit with me, and while the collie padded along the other side of\nthe bushes, tried to reach some through to him, but he wouldn\u2019t touch\nit, though once he sniffed a little very daintily, and then blew out his\nbreath, as dogs do when they\u2019ve found out all they want to know about a\nsmell. He kept right beside me. As we neared the opening he grew bolder,\nfrisked across the road in front and came up from the other side. As I\npretended to pay no attention, he came close behind and touched my elbow,\nhardly enough to say so, but I felt his breath warm through my sleeve.\n\n\u201cWhen I came out into the open moonlight he stood as he had before at the\nedge of the woods, and watched me out of sight. I couldn\u2019t believe that\nhe was the sheep-killer, he seemed so gentle and timid, but I didn\u2019t dare\nspeak of him to any one\u2014it would have seemed like betraying a trust\u2014for I\nknew that in other people\u2019s minds, if they found out that he was there,\nit would lie between him and Artie, and as Artie was out of the question,\nthey would take it out in killing the collie anyhow. I felt something the\nway Southern girls do in novels, when they\u2019re hiding a handsome Union\nsoldier.\n\n\u201cThe next evening I started as usual, but just as I got to the woods,\nArtie came tearing after me, dragging a yard of chain and pretending he\nthought I wanted him! I could have slapped him, but took it out in being\nsarcastic, with words he couldn\u2019t understand, and hitched his chain to my\nbelt, so that if he started to be impolite to the other fellow, I could\nhave something to say about it.\n\n\u201cWe reached the post-office safely enough, but I was glad he was tight\nto my belt, for some rough men looked at us in that ugly, suspicious way\nand said \u2018sheep-killer\u2019 once or twice, and \u2018loup-garou.\u2019 So I really felt\nsafer when we reached the woods, in spite of dreading the meeting between\nArtie and the collie.\n\n\u201cBut I didn\u2019t hear or see anything of him until we were half-way through,\nand then, so far off it might have been on top of the mountain, I heard\nhim howl\u2014not exactly a howl, but a queer cry, as if he were calling to\nsomething at a distance, kind of sorrowful, but fierce, too. It went down\nmy back like a chip of ice\u2014but I\u2019d hardly heard it when Artie roared in\nanswer, and I was being carried up that mountain at the end of his chain\nlike a cart after a runaway horse.\n\n\u201cAnd I had thought I could hold him! Gracious! I tried to catch at the\nbranches, but they broke. We went through a patch of blackberries, and\nthere was a mucky little spring, where I fell in the mud and scared the\nfrogs, and I think it must have been half-way up Phelim, where I finally\ncaught tight hold of a tree trunk and my belt broke and Artie went on as\nif he didn\u2019t know the difference. I don\u2019t know how long it was before I\ngot my breath and began to think. Then I heard them\u2014away off at the top,\nthe frogs singing between as peaceful as could be\u2014but I heard that wicked\nsnarling and knew they were at it\u2014Balin and Balan\u2014and that they were so\nwell matched it was likely to be the death of both, unless I could stop\nit. I followed the sound and climbed after, though I was all weak and\ntrembling. You can see on my hands now how the thorns had scratched, and\nmy clothes were heavy and sticky with mud. It seemed ages before I got\nthere. I think I was crying.\n\n\u201cI knew I couldn\u2019t do anything, but I picked up the heaviest stick I\ncould find, though all the sticks you can pick up in the woods are as\nrotten and light as powder. They didn\u2019t seem to know I was there. They\nwere in a little open space, and the moonlight lit up their eyes now and\nthen. I could see that the collie was a more tremendous fellow than I had\nthought\u2014and then\u2014all of a sudden\u2014I knew!\n\n\u201cAnd because I knew I didn\u2019t even try to pull Artie away when he got the\nother fellow by the throat, and held him down, while he got weaker and\nweaker. I looked at him there in the moonlight, and cried, and wondered\nhow I\u2019d been so stupid.\n\n\u201cWhile I sat there wringing my hands and waiting for Artie to let go,\nsome men came up and turned a bull\u2019s-eye lantern on me, and seemed so\nastonished they couldn\u2019t do anything but swear, though each would try to\nshut the other up, now and then, saying there \u2018was a lady present.\u2019\n\n\u201cOne of them seemed to think it was funny, and explained what they had\nsaid to each other, the way people always do for animals or babies.\n\u2018Siberian wolf and Siberian wolf-hound! Must \u2019a seemed kin\u2019 o\u2019 natural\nfor them fellers to meet up. \u2018Beg pardon,\u2019 says the wolf, \u2018ain\u2019t I seen\nyou before?\u2019\u2014and says the pup, \u2018I don\u2019t know, but you\u2019re certainly the\nchap my mammy told me to lick if ever I come acrost you, and, by thunder,\nI\u2019ll do it!\u2019 Which he did. \u2018Will you be so kind, Miss, when your little\nterrier there has quite finished, to call him off? It\u2019d be rayther\nindelicate for a stranger to interfere.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe other man seemed sorry. \u2018Nothing left but his pelt, which is some\nchewed, but could be mended up into a real elegant rug, which the young\nlady might be pleased to accept.\u2019\u201d\n\nHenrietta thoughtfully scratched the ears of the rug, and ran her fingers\nover the rows of beautiful teeth. \u201cThis is the collie.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut sometimes I wonder just what he had in mind when I felt his breath\non my elbow. Most people would say that he was thinking how convenient I\nwould be some evening when no sheep was handy, but I\u2019m not sure. At the\ntime I supposed he was sad and lonesome, and glad of my company. A wolf,\nafter all, is a good deal of a person. He was so frightfully solitary,\nyou see\u2014nobody to answer his gathering cry\u2014half a world away from his own\npeople.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE FORE-ROOM RUG\n\nBy Kate Douglas Wiggin\n\n\nDiadema, wife of Jot Bascom, was sitting at the window of the village\nwatch-tower, so called because it commanded a view of nearly everything\nthat happened in Pleasant River; those details escaping the physical eye\nbeing supplied by faith and imagination working in the light of past\nexperience. She sat in the chair of honor, the chair of choice, the\nhigh-backed rocker by the southern window, in which her husband\u2019s mother,\nold Mrs. Bascom, had sat for thirty years, applying a still more powerful\nintellectual telescope to the doings of her neighbors. Diadema\u2019s seat\nhad formerly been on the less desirable side of the little light-stand,\nwhere Priscilla Hollis was now installed.\n\nMrs. Bascom was at work on a new fore-room rug, the former one having\nbeen transferred to Miss Hollis\u2019s chamber; for, as the teacher at the\nbrick schoolhouse, a graduate of a Massachusetts normal school and\nthe daughter of a deceased judge, she was a boarder of considerable\nconsequence. It was a rainy Saturday afternoon, and the two women were\nalone. It was a pleasant, peaceful sitting-room, as neat as wax in every\npart. The floor was covered by a cheerful patriotic rag carpet woven\nentirely of red, white, and blue rags, and protected in various exposed\nlocalities by button rugs\u2014red, white, and blue disks superimposed one on\nthe other.\n\nDiadema Bascom was a person of some sentiment. When her old father,\nCaptain Dennett, was dying, he drew a wallet from under his pillow, and\nhanded her a twenty-dollar bill to get something to remember him by.\nThis unwonted occurrence burned itself into the daughter\u2019s imagination,\nand when she came as a bride to the Bascom house she refurnished the\nsitting-room as a kind of monument to the departed soldier, whose sword\nand musket were now tied to the wall with neatly hemmed bows of bright\nred cotton.\n\nThe chair cushions were of red-and-white glazed patch, the turkey wings\nthat served as hearth brushes were hung against the white-painted\nchimney-piece with blue skirt braid, and the white shades were finished\nwith home-made scarlet \u201ctossels.\u201d A little whatnot in one corner was\nladen with the trophies of battle. The warrior\u2019s brass buttons were\nstrung on a red picture cord and hung over his daguerreotype on the upper\nshelf; there was a tarnished shoulder strap, and a flattened bullet that\nthe captain\u2019s jealous contemporaries swore _he_ never stopped, unless\nhe got it in the rear when he was flying from the foe. There was also\na little tin canister in which a charge of powder had been sacredly\npreserved. The scoffers, again, said that \u201cthe cap\u2019n put it in his musket\nwhen he went into the war, and kep\u2019 it there till he come out.\u201d These\nobjects were tastefully decorated with the national colors. In fact, no\nmodern \u00e6sthete could have arranged a symbolic symphony of grief and glory\nwith any more fidelity to an ideal than Diadema Bascom, in working out\nher scheme of red, white, and blue.\n\nRows of ripening tomatoes lay along the ledges of the windows, and a\ntortoiseshell cat snoozed on one of the broad sills. The tall clock in\nthe corner ticked peacefully. Priscilla Hollis never tired of looking at\nthe jolly red-cheeked moon, the group of stars on a blue ground, the trig\nlittle ship, the old house, and the jolly moon again, creeping one after\nanother across the open space at the top.\n\nJot Bascom was out, as usual, gathering statistics of the last horse\ntrade; little Jot was building \u201cstickin\u2019\u201d houses in the barn; Priscilla\nwas sewing long strips for braiding; while Diadema sat at the drawing-in\nframe, hook in hand, and a large basket of cut rags by her side.\n\nNot many weeks before she had paid one of her periodical visits to the\nattic. No housekeeper in Pleasant River save Mrs. Jonathan Bascom would\nhave thought of dusting a garret, washing the window and sweeping down\nthe cobwebs once a month, and renewing the camphor bags in the chests\ntwice a year; but notwithstanding this zealous care the moths had made\ntheir way into one of her treasure-houses, the most precious of all\u2014the\nold hair trunk that had belonged to her sister Lovice. Once ensconced\nthere, they had eaten through its hoarded relics, and reduced the faded\nfinery to a state best described by Diadema as \u201creg\u2019lar riddlin\u2019 sieves.\u201d\nShe had brought the tattered pile down into the kitchen, and had spent\na tearful afternoon in cutting the good pieces from the perforated\ngarments. Three heaped-up baskets and a full dish-pan were the result;\nand as she had snipped and cut and sorted, one of her sentimental\nprojects had entered her mind and taken complete possession there.\n\n\u201cI declare,\u201d she said, as she drew her hooking-needle in and out, \u201cI\nwouldn\u2019t set in the room with some folks and work on these pieces; for\nevery time I draw in a scrap of cloth Lovice comes up to me for all the\nworld as if she was settin\u2019 on the sofy there. I ain\u2019t told you my plan,\nMiss Hollis, and there ain\u2019t many I shall tell; but this rug is going to\nbe a kind of a hist\u2019ry of my life and Lovey\u2019s wrought in together, just\nas we was bound up in one another when she was alive. Her things and\nmine was laid in one trunk, and the moths sha\u2019n\u2019t cheat me out of \u2019em\naltogether. If I can\u2019t look at \u2019em wet Sundays, and shake \u2019em out, and\nhave a good cry over \u2019em, I\u2019ll make \u2019em up into a kind of dumb show that\nwill mean something to me, if it don\u2019t to anybody else.\n\n\u201cWe was the youngest of thirteen, Lovey and I, and we was twins. There\u2019s\nnever been more\u2019n half o\u2019 me left sence she died. We was born together,\nplayed and went to school together, got engaged and married together, and\nwe all but died together, yet we wa\u2019n\u2019t a mite alike. There was an old\nlady come to our house once that used to say, \u2018There\u2019s sister Nabby, now:\nshe\u2019n\u2019 I ain\u2019t no more alike \u2019n if we wa\u2019n\u2019t two; she\u2019s jest as dif\u2019rent\nas I am t\u2019other way.\u2019 Well, I know what I want to put into my rag story,\nMiss Hollis, but I don\u2019t hardly know how to begin.\u201d\n\nPriscilla dropped her needle, and bent over the frame with interest.\n\n\u201cA spray of two roses in the center\u2014there\u2019s the beginning; why, don\u2019t you\nsee, dear Mrs. Bascom?\u201d\n\n\u201cCourse I do,\u201d said Diadema, diving to the bottom of the dish-pan. \u201cI\u2019ve\ngot my start now, and don\u2019t you say a word for a minute. The two roses\ngrow out of one stalk; they\u2019ll be Lovey and me, though I\u2019m consid\u2019able\nmore like a potato blossom. The stalk\u2019s got to be green, and here is the\nvery green silk mother walked bride in, and Lovey and I had roundabouts\nof it afterwards. She had the chicken-pox when we was about four years\nold, and one of the first things I can remember is climbing up and\nlooking over mother\u2019s footboard at Lovey, all speckled. Mother had let\nher slip on her new green roundabout over her nightgown, just to pacify\nher, and there she set playing with the kitten Reuben Granger had brought\nher. He was only ten years old then, but he\u2019d begun courting Lovice.\nThe Grangers\u2019 farm joined ours. They had eleven children, and mother and\nfather had thirteen, and we was always playing together. Mother used to\ntell a funny story about that. We were all little young ones and looked\npretty much alike, so she didn\u2019t take much notice of us in the daytime\nwhen we was running out \u2019n\u2019 in; but at night, when the turn-up bedstead\nin the kitchen was taken down and the trundle-beds were full, she used to\ncount us over, to see if we were all there. One night, when she\u2019d counted\nthirteen and set down to her sewing, father come in and asked if Moses\nwas all right, for one of the neighbors had seen him playing side of the\nriver about supper-time. Mother knew she\u2019d counted us straight, but she\nwent round with a candle to make sure. Now, Mr. Granger had a head as\nred as a sumac bush; and when she carried the candle close to the beds\nto take another tally, there was thirteen children, sure enough, but\nif there wa\u2019n\u2019t a red-headed Granger right in amongst our boys in the\nturn-up bedstead! While father set out on a hunt for our Moses, mother\nyanked the sleepy little red-headed Granger out o\u2019 the middle and took\nhim home, and father found Moses asleep on a pile of shavings under the\njoiner\u2019s bench.\n\n\u201cThey don\u2019t have such families nowadays. One time when measles went all\nover the village, they never came to us, and Jabe Slocum said there\nwa\u2019n\u2019t enough measles to go through the Dennett family, so they didn\u2019t\nstart in on \u2019em. There, I ain\u2019t going to finish the stalk; I\u2019m going\nto draw in a little here and there all over the rug, while I\u2019m in the\nsperit of plannin\u2019 it, and then it will be plain work of matching colors\nand filling out.\n\n\u201cYou see the stalk is mother\u2019s dress, and the outside green of the moss\nroses is the same goods, only it\u2019s our roundabouts. I meant to make \u2019em\nred, when I marked the pattern, and then fill out round \u2019em with a light\ncolor; but now I ain\u2019t satisfied with anything but white, for nothing\nwill do in the middle of the rug but our white wedding dresses. I shall\nhave to fill in dark, then, or mixed. Well, that won\u2019t be out of the\nway, if it\u2019s going to be a true rag story; for Lovey\u2019s life went out\naltogether, and mine hasn\u2019t been any too gay.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll begin Lovey\u2019s rose first. She was the prettiest and the liveliest\ngirl in the village, and she had more beaux than you could shake a stick\nat. I generally had to take what she left over. Reuben Granger was crazy\nabout her from the time she was knee-high; but when he went away to\nBangor to study for the ministry, the others had it all their own way.\nShe was only seventeen; she hadn\u2019t ever experienced religion, and she was\nmischievous as a kitten.\n\n\u201cYou remember you laughed, this morning, when Mr. Bascom told about\nHogshead Jowett? Well, he used to want to keep company with Lovey; but\nshe couldn\u2019t abide him, and whenever he come to court her she clim\u2019 into\na hogshead, and hid till after he\u2019d gone. The boys found it out, and used\nto call him \u2018Hogshead Jowett.\u2019 He was the biggest fool in Foxboro\u2019 Four\nCorners; and that\u2019s saying consid\u2019able, for Foxboro\u2019 is famous for its\nfools, and always has been. There was thirteen of \u2019em there one year.\nThey say a man come out from Portland, and when he got as fur as Foxboro\u2019\nhe kep\u2019 inquiring the way to Dunstan; and I declare if he didn\u2019t meet\nthem thirteen fools, one after another, standing in their front dooryards\nready to answer questions. When he got to Dunstan, says he, \u2018For the\nLord\u2019s sake, what kind of a village is it that I\u2019ve just went through? Be\nthey _all_ fools there?\u2019\n\n\u201cHogshead was scairt to death whenever he come to see Lovice. One night,\nwhen he\u2019d been there once, and she\u2019d hid, as she always done, he come\nback a second time, and she went to the door, not mistrusting it was\nhim. \u2018Did you forget anything?\u2019 says she, sparkling out at him through a\nlittle crack. He was all taken aback by seeing her, and he stammered out,\n\u2018Yes, I forgot my han\u2019k\u2019chief; but it don\u2019t make no odds, for I didn\u2019t\npay out but fifteen cents for it two year ago, and I don\u2019t make no use\nof it \u2019ceptins to wipe my nose on.\u2019 How we did laugh over that! Well, he\nhad a conviction of sin pretty soon afterwards, and p\u2019r\u2019aps it helped his\nhead some; at any rate, he quit farming, and become a Bullockite preacher.\n\n\u201cIt seems odd, when Lovice wa\u2019n\u2019t a perfessor herself, she should have\ndrawed the most pious young men in the village, but she did; she had good\nOrthodox beaux, Free and Close Baptists, Millerites and Adventists, all\non her string together; she even had one Cochranite, though the sect had\nmostly died out. But when Reuben Granger come home, a full-feathered-out\nminister, he seemed to strike her fancy as he never had before, though\nthey were always good friends from children. He had light hair and blue\neyes and fair skin (his business being under cover kep\u2019 him bleached\nout), and he and Lovey made the prettiest couple you ever see; for she\nwas dark complexioned, and her cheeks no otherways than scarlit the whole\ndurin\u2019 time. She had a change of heart that winter; in fact, she had two\nof \u2019em, for she changed hers for Reuben\u2019s, and found a hope at the same\ntime. \u2019Twas a good, honest conversion, too, though she did say to me she\nwas afraid that if Reuben hadn\u2019t taught her what love was or might be,\nshe\u2019d never have found out enough about it to love God as she\u2019d ought to.\n\n\u201cThere, I\u2019ve begun both roses, and hers is \u2019bout finished. I sha\u2019n\u2019t have\nmore\u2019n enough white alapaca. It\u2019s lucky the moths spared one breadth\nof the wedding dresses; we was married on the same day, you know, and\ndressed just alike. Jot wa\u2019n\u2019t quite ready to be married, for he wa\u2019n\u2019t\nany more forehanded \u2019bout that than he was \u2019bout other things; but I told\nhim Lovey and I had kept up with each other from the start, and he\u2019d got\nto fall into line or drop out of the percession. Now what next?\u201d\n\n\u201cWasn\u2019t there anybody at the wedding but you and Lovice?\u201d asked\nPriscilla, with an amused smile.\n\n\u201cLand, yes! The meeting-house was cram jam full. Oh, to be sure! I know\nwhat you\u2019re driving at! Well, I have to laugh to think I should have\nforgot the husbands! They\u2019ll have to be worked into the story, certain;\nbut it\u2019ll be consid\u2019able of a chore, for I can\u2019t make flowers out of\ncoat and pants stuff, and there ain\u2019t any more flowers on this branch,\nanyway.\u201d\n\nDiadema sat for a few minutes in rapt thought, and then made a sudden\ninspired dash upstairs, where Miss Hollis presently heard her rummaging\nin an old chest. She soon came down, triumphant.\n\n\u201cWa\u2019n\u2019t it a providence I saved Jot\u2019s and Reuben\u2019s wedding ties! And here\nthey are\u2014one yellow and green mixed, and one brown. Do you know what I\u2019m\ngoing to do? I\u2019m going to draw in a butterfly hovering over them two\nroses, and make it out of the neckties\u2014green with brown spots. That\u2019ll\nbring in the husbands; and land! I wouldn\u2019t have either of \u2019em know it\nfor the world. I\u2019ll take a pattern of that lunar moth you pinned on the\ncurtain yesterday.\u201d\n\nMiss Hollis smiled in spite of herself. \u201cYou have some very ingenious\nideas and some very pretty thoughts, Mrs. Bascom, do you know it?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s the first time I ever heard tell of it,\u201d said Diadema cheerfully.\n\u201cLovey was the pretty-spoken, pretty-appearing one; I was always plain\nand practical. While I think of it, I\u2019ll draw in a little mite of this\nred into my carnation pink. It was a red scarf Reuben brought Lovey from\nPortland. It was the first thing he ever give her, and aunt Hitty said\nif one of the Abel Grangers give away anything that cost money, it meant\nbusiness. That was all fol-de-rol, for there never was a more liberal\nhusband, though he was a poor minister; but then they always _are_ poor,\nwithout they\u2019re rich; there don\u2019t seem to be any half-way in ministers.\n\n\u201cWe was both lucky that way. There ain\u2019t a stingy bone in Jot Bascom\u2019s\nbody. He don\u2019t make much money, but what he does make goes into the\nbureau drawer, and the one that needs it most takes it out. He never asks\nme what I done with the last five cents he give me. You\u2019ve never been\nmarried, Miss Hollis, and you ain\u2019t engaged, so you don\u2019t know much about\nit; but I tell you there\u2019s a heap o\u2019 foolishness talked about husbands.\nIf you get the one you like yourself, I don\u2019t know as it matters if all\nthe other women folks in town don\u2019t happen to like him as well as you do;\nthey ain\u2019t called on to do that. They see the face he turns to them, not\nthe one he turns to you. Jot ain\u2019t a very good provider, nor he ain\u2019t a\nman that\u2019s much use round a farm, but he\u2019s such a fav\u2019rite I can\u2019t blame\nhim. There\u2019s one thing: when he does come home he\u2019s got something to say,\nand he\u2019s always as lively as a cricket, and smiling as a basket of chips.\nI like a man that\u2019s good comp\u2019ny, even if he ain\u2019t so forehanded. There\nain\u2019t anything specially lovable about forehandedness, when you come to\nthat. I shouldn\u2019t ever feel drawed to a man because he was on time with\nhis work. He\u2019s got such pleasant ways, Jot has! The other afternoon he\ndidn\u2019t get home early enough to milk; and after I done the two cows, I\nsplit the kindling and brought in the wood, for I knew he\u2019d want to go\nto the tavern and tell the boys \u2019bout the robbery up to Boylston. There\nain\u2019t anybody but Jot in this village that has wit enough to find out\nwhat\u2019s going on, and tell it in an int\u2019resting way round the tavern fire.\nAnd he can do it without being full of cider, too; he don\u2019t need any\napple juice to limber _his_ tongue!\n\n\u201cWell, when he come in, he sees the pails of milk, and the full wood-box,\nand the supper laid out under the screen cloth on the kitchen table, and\nhe come up to me at the sink, and says he, \u2018Diademy, you\u2019re the best wife\nin this county, and the brightest jewel in my crown\u2014that\u2019s what _you_\nare!\u2019 (He got that idee out of a duet he sings with Almiry Berry.) Now\nI\u2019d like to know whether that ain\u2019t pleasanter than \u2019tis to have a man do\nall the shed \u2019n\u2019 barn work up smart, and then set round the stove looking\nas doleful as a last year\u2019s bird\u2019s-nest? Take my advice, Miss Hollis:\nget a good provider if you can, but anyhow try to find you a husband\nthat\u2019ll keep on courting a little now and then, when he ain\u2019t too busy;\nit smooths things consid\u2019able round the house.\n\n\u201cThere, I got so int\u2019rested in what I was saying, I\u2019ve went on and\nfinished the carnation, and some of the stem, too. Now what comes next?\nWhy, the thing that happened next, of course, and that was little Jot.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll work in a bud on my rose and one on Lovey\u2019s, and my bud\u2019ll be made\nof Jot\u2019s first trousers. The goods ain\u2019t very appropriate for a rosebud,\nbut it\u2019ll be mostly covered with green on the outside, and it\u2019ll have to\ndo, for the idee is the most important thing in this rug. When I put him\ninto pants, I hadn\u2019t any cloth in the house, and it was such bad going\nJot couldn\u2019t get to Wareham to buy me anything; so I made \u2019em out of an\nold gray cashmere skirt, and lined \u2019em with flannel.\u201d\n\n\u201cBuds are generally the same color as the roses, aren\u2019t they?\u201d ventured\nPriscilla.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t care if they be,\u201d said Diadema obstinately. \u201cWhat\u2019s to hender\nthis bud\u2019s bein\u2019 grafted on? Mrs. Granger was as black as an Injun, but\nthe little Granger children were all red-headed, for they took after\ntheir father. But I don\u2019t know; you\u2019ve kind o\u2019 got me out o\u2019 conceit with\nit. I s\u2019pose I could have taken a piece of his baby blanket; but the\nmoths never et a mite o\u2019 that, and it\u2019s too good to cut up. There\u2019s one\nthing I can do: I can make the bud with a long stem, and have it growing\nright up alongside of mine\u2014would you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, it must be stalk of your stalk, bone of your bone, flesh of your\nflesh, so to speak. I agree with you, the idea is the first thing.\nBesides, the gray is a very light shade, and I dare say it will look like\na bluish white.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll try it and see; but I wish to the land the moths _had_ eat the\npinning-blanket, and then I could have used it. Lovey worked the scallops\non the aidge for me. My grief! what int\u2019rest she took in my baby clothes!\nLittle Jot was born at Thanksgiving time, and she come over from\nSkowhegan, where Reuben was settled pastor of his first church. I shall\nnever forget them two weeks to the last day of my life. There was deep\nsnow on the ground. I had that chamber there, with the door opening into\nthis setting-room. Mother and father Bascom kep\u2019 out in the dining-room\nand kitchen, where the work was going on, and Lovey and the baby and\nme had the front part of the house to ourselves, with Jot coming in on\ntiptoe, heaping up wood in the fireplaces so \u2019t he \u2019most roasted us out.\nHe don\u2019t forget his chores in time o\u2019 sickness.\n\n\u201cI never took so much comfort in all my days. Jot got one of the Billings\ngirls to come over and help in the housework so \u2019t I could lay easy \u2019s\nlong as I wanted to; and I never had such a rest before nor since. There\nain\u2019t any heaven in the book o\u2019 Revelations that\u2019s any better than them\ntwo weeks was. I used to lay quiet in my good feather bed, fingering the\npattern of my best crochet quilt, and looking at the fire-light shining\non Lovey and the baby. She\u2019d hardly leave him in the cradle a minute.\nWhen I didn\u2019t want him in bed with me, she\u2019d have him in her lap. Babies\nare common enough to most folks, but Lovey was diff\u2019rent. She\u2019d never\nhad any experience with children, either, for we was the youngest in our\nfamily; and it wa\u2019n\u2019t long before we come near being the oldest, too, for\nmother buried seven of us before she went herself. Anyway, I never saw\nnobody else look as she done when she held my baby. I don\u2019t mean nothing\nblasphemious when I say \u2019twas for all the world like your photograph of\nMary, the mother of Jesus.\n\n\u201cThe nights come in early, so it was \u2019most dark at four o\u2019clock. The\nlittle chamber was so peaceful! I could hear Jot rattling the milk-pails,\nbut I\u2019d draw a deep breath o\u2019 comfort, for I knew the milk would be\nstrained and set away without my stepping foot to the floor. Lovey used\nto set by the fire, with a tall candle on the light-stand behind her, and\na little white knit cape over her shoulders. She had the pinkest cheeks,\nand the longest eyelashes, and a mouth like a little red buttonhole;\nand when she bent over the baby, and sung to him\u2014though his ears wa\u2019n\u2019t\nopen, I guess, for his eyes wa\u2019n\u2019t\u2014the tears o\u2019 joy used to rain down\nmy cheeks. It was pennyrial hymns she used to sing mostly, and the one I\nremember best was:\n\n \u201c\u2018Daniel\u2019s wisdom may I know,\n Stephen\u2019s faith and spirit show;\n John\u2019s divine communion feel,\n Moses\u2019 meekness, Joshua\u2019s zeal,\n Run like the unwearied Paul,\n Win the day and conquer all.\n\n \u201c\u2018Mary\u2019s love may I possess,\n Lydia\u2019s tender-heartedness,\n Peter\u2019s fervent spirit feel,\n James\u2019s faith by works reveal,\n Like young Timothy may I\n Every sinful passion fly.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Oh, Diademy,\u2019 she\u2019d say, \u2018you was always the best, and it\u2019s nothing\nmore\u2019n right the baby should have come to you. P\u2019r\u2019aps God will think I\u2019m\ngood enough some time; and if he does, Diademy, I\u2019ll offer up a sacrifice\nevery morning and every evening. But I\u2019m afraid,\u2019 says she, \u2018He thinks I\ncan\u2019t stand any more happiness, and be a faithful follower of the cross.\nThe Bible says we\u2019ve got to wade through fiery floods before we can enter\nthe kingdom. I don\u2019t hardly know how Reuben and I are going to find any\nto wade through; we\u2019re both so happy, they\u2019d have to be consid\u2019able hot\nbefore we took notice, says she, with the dimples all breaking out in her\ncheek.\n\n[Illustration: \u201cDOES MR. CRESSY LIVE HERE?\u201d\u2014page 361\n\n_From the drawing by Edwin J. Meeker_]\n\n\u201cAnd that was true as gospel. She thought everything Reuben done was just\nright, and he thought everything she done was just right. There wa\u2019n\u2019t\nnobody else; the world was all Reuben \u2019n\u2019 all Lovey to them. If you\ncould have seen her when she was looking for him to come from Skowhegan!\nShe used to watch at the attic window; and when she seen him at the foot\nof the hill, she\u2019d up like a squirrel, and run down the road without\nstopping for anything but to throw a shawl over her head. And Reuben\nwould ketch her up as if she was a child, and scold her for not putting a\nhat on, and take her under his coat coming up the hill. They was a sight\nfor the neighbors, I must confess, but it wa\u2019n\u2019t one you could hardly\ndisapprove of neither. Aunt Hitty said it was tempting Providence and\ncouldn\u2019t last, and God would visit his wrath on \u2019em for making idols of\nsinful human flesh.\n\n\u201cShe was right one way\u2014it didn\u2019t last; but nobody can tell me God was\npunishing of \u2019em for being too happy. I guess he ain\u2019t got no objection\nto folks being happy here below, if they don\u2019t forget it ain\u2019t the whole\nstory.\n\n\u201cWell, I must mark in a bud on Lovey\u2019s stalk now, and I\u2019m going to make\nit of her baby\u2019s long white cloak. I earned the money for it myself,\nmaking coats, and put four yards of the finest cashmere into it; for\nthree years after little Jot was born I went over to Skowhegan to help\nLovey through her time o\u2019 trial. Time o\u2019 trial! I thought I was happy,\nbut I didn\u2019t know how to be as happy as Lovey did; I wa\u2019n\u2019t made on that\npattern.\n\n\u201cWhen I first showed her the baby (it was a boy, same as mine), her eyes\nshone like two evening stars. She held up her weak arms, and gathered\nthe little bundle o\u2019 warm flannel into \u2019em; and when she got it close\nshe shut her eyes and moved her lips, and I knew she was taking her lamb\nto the altar and off\u2019ring it up as a sacrifice. Then Reuben come in. I\nseen him give one look at the two dark heads laying close together on\nthe white piller, and then go down on his knees by the side of the bed.\n\u2019Twa\u2019n\u2019t no place for me; I went off, and left \u2019em together. We didn\u2019t\nmistrust it then, but they only had three days more of happiness, and I\u2019m\nglad I give \u2019em every minute.\u201d\n\nThe room grew dusky as twilight stole gently over the hills of Pleasant\nRiver. Priscilla\u2019s lip trembled; Diadema\u2019s tears fell thick and fast on\nthe white rosebud, and she had to keep wiping her eyes as she followed\nthe pattern.\n\n\u201cI ain\u2019t said as much as this about it for five years,\u201d she went on, with\na tell-tale quiver in her voice, \u201cbut now I\u2019ve got going, I can\u2019t stop.\nI\u2019ll have to get the weight out o\u2019 my heart somehow.\n\n\u201cThree days after I put Lovey\u2019s baby into her arms the Lord called her\nhome. \u2018When I prayed so hard for this little new life, Reuben,\u2019 says she,\nholding the baby as if she could never let it go, \u2018I didn\u2019t think I\u2019d got\nto give up my own in place of it; but it\u2019s the first fiery flood we\u2019ve\nhad, dear, and though it burns to my feet I\u2019ll tread it as brave as I\nknow how.\u2019\n\n\u201cShe didn\u2019t speak a word after that; she just faded away like a snowdrop,\nhour by hour. And Reuben and I stared one another in the face as if we\nwas dead instead of her, and we went about that house o\u2019 mourning like\nsleep-walkers for days and days, not knowing whether we et or slept, or\nwhat we done.\n\n\u201cAs for the baby, the poor little mite didn\u2019t live many hours after its\nmother, and we buried \u2019em together. Reuben and I knew what Lovey would\nhave liked. She gave her life for the baby\u2019s, and it was a useless\nsacrifice, after all. No, it wa\u2019n\u2019t neither; it _couldn\u2019t_ have been! You\nneedn\u2019t tell me God\u2019ll let such sacrifices as that come out useless! But\nanyhow, we had one coffin for \u2019em both, and I opened Lovey\u2019s arms and\nlaid the baby in \u2019em. When Reuben and I took our last look, we thought\nshe seemed more\u2019n ever like Mary, the mother of Jesus. There never was\nanother like her, and there never will be. \u2018Nonesuch,\u2019 Reuben used to\ncall her.\u201d\n\nThere was silence in the room, broken only by the ticking of the old\nclock and the tinkle of a distant cowbell. Priscilla made an impetuous\nmovement, flung herself down by the basket of rags, and buried her head\nin Diadema\u2019s gingham apron.\n\n\u201cDear Mrs. Bascom, don\u2019t cry. I\u2019m sorry, as the children say.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I won\u2019t more\u2019n a minute. Jot can\u2019t stand it to see me give way.\nYou go and touch a match to the kitchen fire, so \u2019t the kettle will\nbe boiling, and I\u2019ll have a minute to myself. I don\u2019t know what the\nneighbors would think to ketch me crying over my drawing-in frame; but\nthe spell\u2019s over now, or \u2019bout over, and when I can muster up courage\nI\u2019ll take the rest of the baby\u2019s cloak and put a border of white\neverlastings round the outside of the rug. It\u2019ll always mean the baby\u2019s\nbirth and Lovey\u2019s death to me; but the flowers will remind me it\u2019s life\neverlasting for both of \u2019em, and so it\u2019s the most comforting end I can\nthink of.\u201d\n\nIt was indeed a beautiful rug when it was finished and laid in front of\nthe sofa in the fore-room. Diadema was very choice of it. When company\nwas expected, she removed it from its accustomed place, and spread it in\na corner of the room where no profane foot could possibly tread on it.\nUnexpected callers were managed by a different method. If they seated\nthemselves on the sofa, she would fear they did not \u201cset easy\u201d or \u201crest\ncomfortable\u201d there, and suggest their moving to the stuffed chair by the\nwindow. The neighbors thought this solicitude merely another sign of\nDiadema\u2019s \u201cp\u2019ison neatness,\u201d excusable in this case, as there was so much\nwhite in the new rug.\n\nThe fore-room blinds were ordinarily closed, and the chillness of death\npervaded the sacred apartment; but on great occasions, when the sun was\nallowed to penetrate the thirty-two tiny panes of glass in each window,\nand a blaze was lighted in the fireplace, Miss Hollis would look in as\nshe went upstairs, and muse a moment over the pathetic little romance\nof rags, the story of two lives worked into a bouquet of old-fashioned\nposies, whose gay tints were brought out by a setting of somber threads.\nExistence had gone so quietly in this remote corner of the world that\nall its important events, babyhood, childhood, betrothal, marriage,\nmotherhood, with all their mysteries of love and life and death, were\nchronicled in this narrow space not two yards square.\n\nDiadema came in behind the little school-teacher one afternoon.\n\n\u201cI cal\u2019late,\u201d she said, \u201cthat being kep\u2019 in a dark room, and never being\ntread on, it will last longer \u2019n I do. If it does, Priscilla, you know\nthat white crape shawl of mine I wear to meetings hot Sundays: that would\nmake a second row of everlastings round the border. You could piece out\nthe linings good and smooth on the under side, draw in the white flowers,\nand fill \u2019em round with black to set \u2019em off. The rug would be han\u2019somer\nthan ever then, and the story\u2014would be finished.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCRESSY\u2019S NEW-YEAR\u2019S RENT\n\nBy Albert Lee\n\n\nFred Hallowell was sitting at his desk in the _Gazette_ office, looking\nlistlessly out into the City Hall Park, where the biting wind was\nmaking the snowflakes dance madly around the leafless trees and in the\nempty fountain, and he was almost wishing that there would be so few\nassignments to cover as to allow him an afternoon indoors to write\n\u201cspecials.\u201d The storm was the worst of the season, and as this was the\nlast day of December, it looked as if the old year were going out with a\ntumultuous train of sleet and snow. But if he had seriously entertained\nany hopes of enjoying a quiet day, these were dispelled by an office-boy\nwho summoned him to the city desk.\n\n\u201cGood-morning, Mr. Hallowell,\u201d said the city editor, cheerfully. \u201cHere\nis a clipping from an afternoon paper which says that a French family in\nHouston Street has been dispossessed and is in want. Mr. Wilson called\nmy attention to it because he thinks, from the number given, the house\nbelongs to old Q. C. Baggold. We don\u2019t like Baggold, you know, and if\nyou find he is treating his tenants unfairly we can let you have all the\nspace you want to show him up. At any rate, go over there and see what\nthe trouble is; there is not much going on to-day.\u201d\n\nFred took the clipping and read it as he walked back to his desk. It was\nvery short\u2014five or six lines only\u2014and the facts stated were about as the\ncity editor had said. The young man got into his overcoat and wrapped\nhimself up warmly, and in a few moments was himself battling against the\nlittle blizzard with the other pedestrians whom he had been watching in\nthe City Hall Park from the office windows.\n\nWhen he reached Houston Street he travelled westward for several\nblocks, until he came into a very poor district crowded with dingy\ntenement-houses that leaned against one another in an uneven sort of way,\nas if they were tired of the sad kind of life they had been witnessing\nfor so many years. The snow that had piled up on the window-sills and\nover the copings seemed to brighten up the general aspect of the quarter,\nbecause it filled in the cracks and chinks of material misery, and made\nthe buildings look at least temporarily picturesque, just as paint and\npowder for a time may hide the traces of old age and sorrow. Fred found\nthe number 179 painted on a piece of tin that had become bent and rusty\nfrom long service over a narrow doorway, and as he stood there comparing\nit with the number given in his clipping, a little girl with a shawl\ndrawn tightly over her head and around her thin little shoulders came\nout of the dark entrance and stopped on the door-sill for a moment,\nsurprised, no doubt, at the sight of the tall rosy-cheeked young man so\nwarmly clad in a big woollen overcoat that you could have wrapped her up\nin several times, with goods left over to spare.\n\n\u201cHello! little girl,\u201d said Fred, quickly. \u201cDoes Mr. Cressy live here?\u201d\n\nThe child stared for a few seconds at the stranger, and then she\nanswered, bashfully: \u201cYes, sir. But he has got to go away.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut he hasn\u2019t gone yet?\u201d continued Fred; and then noticing that the\nchild, in her short calico skirt, was shivering from the cold, and that\nher feet were getting wet with the snow, he added, \u201cCome inside a minute\nand tell me where I can find Mr. Cressy.\u201d\n\nThe two stepped into the dark narrow hallway that ran through the house\nto the stairway in the rear, where a narrow window with a broken pane\nlet in just enough light to prove there was day outside. The little\ngirl leaned against the wall, and looked up at the reporter as if she\nsuspected him of having no good intentions toward the man for whom he was\ninquiring. Very few strangers ever came into that house to do good, she\nknew. Most of them came for money\u2014rent money\u2014and sometimes they came, as\na man had come for Mr. Cressy, to tell him he must go.\n\n\u201cWhat floor does he live on?\u201d asked Fred.\n\n\u201cOn the fifth floor, sir,\u201d answered the child. \u201cIn the back, sir. But I\nthink he is really going away, sir.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, no matter about that,\u201d said Fred, smiling. \u201cI will go up and see\nhim. I hope he won\u2019t have to go out in the storm. It is not good for\nlittle girls to go out in the storm, either,\u201d he added. \u201cDoes your mamma\nknow you are going out?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes, sir! She has sent me to the Sisters to try to get some\nmedicine.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs she sick?\u201d asked Fred, quickly.\n\n\u201cYes, sir,\u201d continued the child.\n\n\u201cWhat floor does she live on? I will stop in and see her.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you\u2019ll see her! She\u2019s in the room, too.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you are Mr. Cressy\u2019s little girl?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir.\u201d\n\nSo Fred patted her on the head and told her to hurry over to the Sisters\nin Eleventh Street, and gave her ten cents to ride in the horse-cars; and\nthen he opened the door for her, and as soon as she had left he felt his\nway back to the staircase and climbed to the fifth floor.\n\nThere he knocked upon a door, which was soon opened by a man apparently\nforty years of age, a man of slightly foreign appearance, with a careworn\nlook, but with as honest a face as you could find anywhere.\n\n\u201cIs this Mr. Cressy?\u201d asked Fred.\n\n\u201cYes, my name\u2019s Cressy,\u201d replied the man. He spoke with so slight an\naccent that it was hardly noticeable.\n\n\u201cI am a reporter from the _Gazette_,\u201d continued Fred.\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d said the man. \u201cCome in,\u201d and as he spoke he looked somewhat\nembarrassed and anxious, for this was doubtless the first time he had\nhad any dealings with a newspaper. Lying on a bed in an alcove was a\nwoman who looked very ill, and piled in a corner near the door were a\ncouple of boxes and a few pieces of furniture. The stove had not yet been\ntaken down, and some pale embers in it only just kept the chill off the\natmosphere. Fred took off his hat, and led the man across the room toward\nthe window.\n\n\u201cHave you been dispossessed?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the man; \u201cwe must leave to-night.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy?\u201d asked the reporter.\n\nCressy smiled in a ghastly sort of way.\n\n\u201cBecause,\u201d he replied\u2014\u201cbecause I have not a cent to my name, sir, and the\nlandlord has got it in for me\u2014and I must go.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is your landlord?\u201d asked the reporter.\n\n\u201cBaggold\u2014Q. C. Baggold, the shoe-man.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow much do you owe?\u201d\n\n\u201cTwenty dollars\u2014two months\u2019 rent.\u201d\n\n\u201cWere you ever in arrears before?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the trouble? Out of work?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir, I have been. But I\u2019ve got a job now, and I\u2019ll have money on\nthe tenth of the month. But that is not it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is \u2018it,\u2019 then?\u201d continued Fred.\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019ll tell you. I don\u2019t want this in the paper, but I\u2019ll tell you.\nBaggold hates me. He knows the woman\u2019s sick, and he takes advantage of my\nowing him to drive me out. Do you want to know why? Well, I\u2019ll tell you.\nI worked for him for five years, sir, in his shoe-factory. He brought me\nover from France to do the fine work. He had a lawsuit about six months\nago, and he offered me $500 to lie for him on the stand. I would not do\nit, sir, and when they called me as a witness I told the truth, and that\nsettled the case, and Baggold had to pay $10,000, sir, for a sly game on\na contract. Then he sent me off, and I\u2019ve been looking for a job, and\nI\u2019ve got behind, and I\u2019m just getting up again, and here he is sending\nme out into the snow! To-morrow is what we call at home, in France, the\n_jour de l\u2019an_\u2014the day of the New Year, sir, and it is a f\u00eate. And the\nlittle one, here, always looked forward to that day, sir, for a doll or\na few sweetmeats; but this time\u2014I don\u2019t think she\u2019ll have a roof for her\nlittle head! I have not a place in the world to go to, sir, but to the\npolice station, and there\u2019s the woman on her back!\u201d\n\nTwo big tears rolled down the man\u2019s cheeks. Fred felt a lump rising in\nhis throat, and he knew that if he had had twenty dollars in his pocket\nhe would have given it to Cressy. But he did not have twenty dollars, so\nhe coughed vigorously, and put on his hat quickly, and said:\n\n\u201cWell, this is hard, Mr. Cressy. I\u2019ll see what we can do. I must go up\ntown for a while, and then I\u2019ll come back and see you. Don\u2019t move out in\nthis storm till the last minute.\u201d\n\nAs he rushed down the stairs he met the little girl coming back with a\nbig blue bottle of something with a yellow label on it. He stopped and\npulled a quarter out of his pocket, thrust it into the child\u2019s hand, and\nleaped on down the stairs, leaving the little girl more frightened than\nsurprised, as he dashed out into the snow.\n\nHe entered the first drug-store he came to and looked up Q. C. Baggold\u2019s\naddress in the directory. It was nearly four o\u2019clock, and he argued the\nrich shoe-manufacturer would be at his home. The address given in the\ndirectory was in a broad street in the fashionable quarter of the city.\nHalf an hour later Fred was pulling at Mr. Baggold\u2019s door-bell. The\nbutler who answered the summons thought Mr. Baggold was in, and took\nFred\u2019s card after showing the young man into the parlor. This was a large\nelegantly furnished room filled with costly ornaments, almost any one of\nwhich, if offered for sale, would have brought the amount of Cressy\u2019s\ndebt, or much more.\n\nPresently Mr. Baggold came into the room. He was a short man with a bald\nhead and a sharp nose, and his small eyes were fixed very close to one\nanother under a not very high forehead.\n\n\u201cI am a reporter from the _Gazette_,\u201d began Fred at once. \u201cI have called\nto see you, Mr. Baggold, about this man Cressy whom you have ordered to\nbe dispossessed.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, yes,\u201d said Mr. Baggold, smiling. \u201cMy agent has told me something\nabout this matter, but I hardly think it is of sufficient importance to\nbe of interest to the readers of the _Gazette_.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe readers of the _Gazette_,\u201d continued Fred \u201care always interested in\ngood deeds, Mr. Baggold, and especially when these are performed by rich\nmen. I came here hoping you would disavow the action of your agent, and\nsay that the Cressy\u2019s might remain in the room.\u201d\n\n\u201cNonsense!\u201d replied Mr. Baggold. \u201cI cannot interfere with my agent. I pay\nhim to take care of my rents, and I can\u2019t be looking after fellows who\nwon\u2019t pay. This man Cressy is in arrears, and he must get out.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut his wife is sick,\u201d argued Fred.\n\n\u201cBah!\u201d retorted the other. \u201cThat is an old excuse. These scoundrels try\nall sorts of dodges to cheat a man whom they think has money.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis woman is actually sick, Mr. Baggold,\u201d said Fred, severely, \u201cand to\ndrive her out in a storm like this is positive cruelty.\u201d\n\n\u201cCressy has had two weeks to find other quarters, and to-morrow is the\nfirst of the month. I can\u2019t keep him any longer.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, to-morrow is the great French f\u00eate-day, and you put Cressy in the\nstreet.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear sir,\u201d returned the rich man, \u201cI cannot allow sentiment to\ninterfere with my business. If I did I should never collect rents in\nHouston Street. And, as I told you before, I do not see that this\nquestion is one to interest the public. It is purely a matter of my\nprivate business.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery true,\u201d replied Fred; \u201cbut I don\u2019t think it would look well in\nprint.\u201d\n\nThis statement seemed to startle Mr. Baggold a little, and Fred thought\nit made him feel uncomfortable. There was a brief silence, after which\nthe rich man said:\n\n\u201cIt would depend entirely upon how you put it in print. To tell you the\ntruth, I am not at all in favor of these sensational articles that so\nmany newspapers publish nowadays. Reporters often jump at conclusions\nbefore they are familiar with the facts of a case, and it makes things\ndisagreeable for all concerned. Now, if you will only listen to me, sir,\nI think we can come to an understanding about this Cressy matter. I don\u2019t\nwant anything about it to get into the papers\u2014especially now. I have many\nreasons, but I cannot give them to you. Yet I think we can come to an\nunderstanding,\u201d he repeated, as he looked at Fred and smiled.\n\n\u201cHow?\u201d asked the reporter.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d drawled Mr. Baggold, \u201cthere are some points that I may be able\nto explain to you. Of course I don\u2019t want to put you to any trouble for\nnothing. If it is worth something to me not to have notoriety thrust upon\nme, of course, on the other hand, it might be worth something to you to\ncause the notoriety. But just excuse me a moment.\u201d\n\nMr. Baggold arose hastily and stepped into a rear room, apparently his\nlibrary or study.\n\n\u201cH\u2019m,\u201d thought Fred to himself. \u201cThis old chap talks as though he were\ngoing to offer me money. I\u2019d just like to see him try! I\u2019d give him\nsuch a roasting as he has never had before! Some of these crooked old\nmillionaires think that sort of thing works with reporters, but I\u2019ll show\nhim that it does not. I have never known a newspaper man yet that would\naccept a bribe.\u201d\n\nAnd as Fred mused in this fashion, Mr. Baggold returned. He bore a long\nyellow envelope in his hand.\n\n\u201cHere,\u201d he said, \u201care some papers and other things that I should like\nto have you look over before you write the article. I think they will\ninfluence you in your opinion of the matter. I am sorry I cannot tell\nyou any more just now, but I have an appointment which I must keep.\nTake these papers and look them over at your leisure, and if you find\nlater this evening that they are not satisfactory, I will talk with you\nfurther. Good-afternoon, sir. I hope you will excuse me for the present.\u201d\n\nAnd so saying he handed the envelope to Fred, bowed pleasantly, and\nleft the room. Fred had been standing near the door, and so he put the\nenvelope in his pocket and went out. He walked a few blocks down the\nstreet, and went into the large hotel on the corner in order to get out\nof the storm and to find some quiet place where he might look over Mr.\nBaggold\u2019s documents. He was very curious to see what they could be. He\nfound a seat in a secluded corner of the office, and there tore open the\nenvelope. To his disgust, it contained three ten-dollar bills, and a\nbrief note, unsigned, which read,\n\n \u201cThe accompanying papers will show you that the matter we spoke\n of is not of sufficient importance to be published.\u201d\n\nFred Hallowell was furious. This was the first time in his brief career\nas a newspaper man that anything like this had happened to him. He grew\nred in the face, his fingers twitched, and he felt as if he had never\nbefore been so grossly insulted. As he sat in his chair, fuming and\nwondering what he should do, Griggs, the fat and jolly political reporter\nof the _Gazette_, came up to him and said, laughing,\n\n\u201cWell, you look as if you were plotting murder!\u201d\n\n\u201cI am\u2014almost!\u201d exclaimed Fred, and then he told Griggs all about what had\nhappened.\n\nGriggs listened patiently, and at the end he chuckled to himself, and\nsaid: \u201cWell, Hallowell, don\u2019t waste any righteous wrath on any such stuff\nas that Baggold. I\u2019ll tell you how to get even with him.\u201d And then he\ntalked for twenty minutes to the younger man.\n\nAt the end of the conference Fred smiled and buttoned his coat, and\nhastened back to Cressy\u2019s room in Houston Street. He found a Sister of\nCharity there nursing the sick woman. Cressy came to the door, pale and\neager.\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d he said nervously.\n\n\u201cOh, it\u2019s all right,\u201d returned Fred, laughing. \u201cI have just seen\nMr. Baggold. He said his agent was perfectly right in having you\ndispossessed, because that was business; but when he heard what I had to\nsay, he gave me this money.\u201d And here Fred handed out the thirty dollars.\n\u201cIt is for you to pay the agent with, and then you can keep your room,\nand you will have ten dollars besides.\u201d\n\nCressy was speechless. The sick woman wept softly. The Sister said\nsomething in Latin, and the little girl just looked; she did not\nunderstand what it was all about.\n\n\u201cYou see,\u201d said Fred to Cressy, \u201cI suppose Mr. Baggold does not want\nhis business to be interfered with by his sentiment.\u201d And before Cressy\ncould reply the reporter had slipped out of the door, and in a moment was\nhurrying down town to his office.\n\nThe next morning\u2014New-Year\u2019s morning\u2014the _Gazette_ contained a pretty\nlittle story of how a rich man, who had heard of the distress of a\ntenant, put his hand in his own pocket and paid his tenant\u2019s rent to\nhimself, so that the new year would begin well for him by having rents\ncoming in at the very opening of the twelvemonth.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll bet Baggold was surprised this morning when he read that,\u201d gurgled\nthe genial Griggs; \u201cbut it will do him more good than ten columns of\nabuse and exposure. So here\u2019s a Happy New Year to him!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nMR. O\u2019LEARY\u2019S SECOND LOVE\n\nBy Charles Lever\n\n\nThe play over, O\u2019Leary charged himself with the protection of madam,\nwhile I enveloped Emily in her cashmere, and drew her arm within my\nown. What my hand had to do with hers I know not; it remains one of the\nunexplained difficulties of that eventful evening. I have, it is true,\na hazy recollection of pressing some very taper and delicately formed\nfingers; and remember, too, the pain I felt next morning on awaking, by\nthe pressure of a too tight ring, which had, by some strange accident,\nfound its way to my finger, for which its size was but ill adapted.\n\n\u201cYou will join us at supper, I hope,\u201d said Mrs. Bingham, as Trevanion\nhanded her to her carriage. \u201cMr. Lorrequer, Mr. O\u2019Leary, we shall expect\nyou.\u201d\n\nI was about to promise to do so, when Trevanion suddenly interrupted\nme, saying that he had already accepted an invitation, which would,\nunfortunately, prevent us; and having hastily wished the ladies\ngood-night, hurried me away so abruptly, that I had not a moment given\nfor even one parting look at the fair Emily.\n\n\u201cWhy, Trevanion,\u201d said I, \u201cwhat invitation are you dreaming of? I, for\none, should have been delighted to have gone home with the Binghams.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo I perceive,\u201d said Trevanion, gravely; \u201cand it was for that precise\nreason I so firmly refused what, individually, I should have been most\nhappy to accept.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen pray have the goodness to explain.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is easily done. You have already, in recounting your manifold\nembarrassments, told me enough of these people, to let me see that they\nintend you should marry among them; and, indeed, you have gone quite far\nenough to encourage such an expectation. Your present excited state has\nled you sufficiently far this evening, and I could not answer for your\nnot proposing in all form before the supper was over; therefore, I had\nno other course open to me than positively to refuse Mrs. Bingham\u2019s\ninvitation. But here we are now at the \u2018Cadran rouge;\u2019 we shall have our\nlobster and a glass of Moselle, and then to bed, for we must not forget\nthat we are to be at St. Cloud by seven.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! that is a good thought of yours about the lobsters,\u201d said O\u2019Leary;\n\u201cand now, as you understand these matters, just order supper, and let us\nenjoy ourselves.\u201d\n\nWith all the accustomed dispatch of a _restaurant_, a most appetizing\n_petit souper_ made its speedy appearance; and although now perfectly\ndivested of the high excitement which had hitherto possessed me, my\nspirits were excellent, and I never more relished our good fare and good\nfellowship.\n\nAfter a toast to the health of the fair Emily had been proposed and\ndrained by all three, Trevanion again explained how much more serious\ndifficulty would result from any false step in that quarter than from all\nmy other scrapes collectively.\n\nThis he represented so strongly, that for the first time I began to\nperceive the train of ill consequences that must inevitably result,\nand promised most faithfully to be guided by any counsel he might feel\ndisposed to give me.\n\n\u201cAh! what a pity,\u201d said O\u2019Leary, \u201cit is not my case. It\u2019s very little\ntrouble it would cost any one to break off a match for me. I had always a\nmost peculiar talent for those things.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed!\u201d said Trevanion. \u201cPray, may we know your secret? for perhaps,\nere long, we may have occasion for its employment.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell it, by all means,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cIf I do,\u201d said O\u2019Leary, \u201cit will cost you a patient hearing; for my\nexperiences are connected with an episode in my early life, which,\nalthough not very amusing, is certainly instructive.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! by all means, let us hear it,\u201d said Trevanion.\n\n\u201cWell, agreed,\u201d said O\u2019Leary; \u201conly once for all, as what I am about to\nconfide is strictly confidential, you must promise never even to allude\nto it hereafter in even the most remote manner, much less indulge in any\nunseemly mirth at what I shall relate.\u201d\n\nHaving pledged ourselves to secrecy and a becoming seriousness, O\u2019Leary\nbegan his story as follows:\n\n\u201cYou may easily suppose,\u201d began Mr. O\u2019Leary, \u201cthat the unhappy\ntermination of my first passion served as a shield to me for a long time\nagainst my unfortunate tendencies toward the fair, and such was really\nthe case. I never spoke to a young lady for three years after, without a\nreeling in my head, so associated in my mind was love and sea-sickness.\nHowever, at last, what will not time do? It was about four years from the\ndate of this adventure, when I became so oblivious of my former failure,\nas again to tempt my fortune. My present choice, in every way unlike the\nlast, was a gay, lively girl, of great animal spirits, and a considerable\nturn for raillery, that spared no one; the members of her own family\nwere not even sacred in her eyes; and her father, a reverend dean, as\nfrequently figured among the ludicrous as his neighbors.\n\n\u201cThe Evershams had been very old friends of a rich aunt of mine, who\nnever, by the by, had condescended to notice me till I made their\nacquaintance; but no sooner had I done so, than she sent for me, and gave\nme to understand that in the event of my succeeding to the hand of Fanny\nEversham, I should be her heir and the possessor of about sixty thousand\npounds. She did not stop here; but by canvassing the dean in my favor,\nspeedily put the matter on a most favorable footing, and in less than two\nmonths I was received as the accepted suitor of the fair Fanny, then one\nof the reigning belles of Dublin.\n\n\u201cThey lived at this time, about three miles from town, in a very pretty\ncountry, where I used to pass all my mornings, and many of my evenings,\ntoo, in a state of happiness that I should have considered perfect,\nif it were not for two unhappy blots\u2014one, the taste of my betrothed\nfor laughing at her friends; another, the diabolical propensity of my\nintended father-in-law to talk politics; to the former I could submit;\nbut with the latter submission only made bad worse; for he invariably\ndrew up as I receded, dryly observing that with men who had no avowed\nopinions, it was ill-agreeing; or that, with persons who kept their\npolitics as a school-boy does his pocket-money, never to spend, and\nalways ready to change, it was unpleasant to dispute. Such taunts as\nthese I submitted to, as well I might; secretly resolving, that as I now\nknew the meaning of Whig and Tory, I\u2019d contrive to spend my life, after\nmarriage, out of the worthy dean\u2019s diocese.\n\n\u201cTime wore on, and at length, to my most pressing solicitations it was\nconceded that a day for our marriage should be appointed. Not even the\nunlucky termination of this my second love affair can deprive me of\nthe happy souvenir of the few weeks which were to intervene before our\ndestined union.\n\n\u201cThe mornings were passed in ransacking all the shops where wedding\nfinery could be procured\u2014laces, blondes, velvets, and satins, littered\nevery corner of the deanery\u2014and there was scarcely a carriage in a\ncoach-maker\u2019s yard in the city that I had not sat and jumped in, to try\nthe springs, by the special direction of Mrs. Eversham, who never ceased\nto impress me with the awful responsibility I was about to take upon\nme, in marrying so great a prize as her daughter\u2014a feeling I found very\ngeneral among many of my friends at the Kildare Street club.\n\n\u201cAmong the many indispensable purchases which I was to make, and\nabout which Fanny expressed herself more than commonly anxious, was a\nsaddle-horse for me. She was a great horse-woman, and hated riding with\nonly a servant; and had given me to understand as much about half-a-dozen\ntimes each day for the last five weeks. How shall I acknowledge\nit\u2014equestrianism was never my forte. I had all my life considerable\nrespect for the horse as an animal, pretty much as I dreaded a lion or\na tiger; but as to any intention of mounting upon the back of one, and\ntaking a ride, I should as soon have dreamed of taking an airing upon a\ngiraffe; and as to the thought of buying, feeding, and maintaining such\na beast at my own proper cost, I should just as soon have determined to\npurchase a pillory or a ducking-stool, by way of amusing my leisure\nhours.\n\n\u201cHowever, Fanny was obstinate\u2014whether she suspected anything or not I\ncannot say\u2014but nothing seemed to turn her from her purpose; and although\nI pleaded a thousand things in delay, yet she grew each day more\nimpatient, and at last I saw there was nothing for it but to submit.\n\n\u201cWhen I arrived at this last bold resolve, I could not help feeling that\nto possess a horse, and not be able to mount him, was only deferring\nthe ridicule; and as I had so often expressed the difficulty I felt in\nsuiting myself as a cause of my delay, I could not possibly come forward\nwith anything very objectionable, or I should be only the more laughed\nat. There was, then, but one course to take; a fortnight still intervened\nbefore the day which was to make me happy, and I accordingly resolved to\ntake lessons in riding during the interval, and by every endeavor in my\npower become, if possible, able to pass muster on the saddle before my\nbride.\n\n\u201cPoor old Lalouette understood but little of the urgency of the case,\nwhen I requested his leave to take my lessons each morning at six\no\u2019clock, for I dared not absent myself during the day without exciting\nsuspicion; and never, I will venture to assert, did knight-errant of\nold strive harder for the hand of his lady-love than did I during that\nweary fortnight; if a hippogriff had been the animal I bestrode, instead\nof being, as it was, an old wall-eyed gray, I could not have felt more\nmisgivings at my temerity, or more proud of my achievement. In the first\nthree days the unaccustomed exercise proved so severe, that when I\nreached the deanery I could hardly move, and crossed the floor pretty\nmuch as a pair of compasses might be supposed to do if performing that\nexploit. Nothing, however, could equal the kindness of my poor dear\nmother-in-law in embryo, and even the dean too. Fanny indeed, said\nnothing; but I rather think she was disposed to giggle a little; but\nmy rheumatism, as it was called, was daily inquired after, and I was\ncompelled to take some infernal stuff in my port wine, at dinner, that\nnearly made me sick at table.\n\n\u201c\u2018I am sure you walk too much,\u2019 said Fanny, with one of her knowing\nlooks. \u2018Papa, don\u2019t you think he ought to ride? it would be much better\nfor him.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018I do, my dear,\u2019 said the dean. \u2018But then you see he is so hard to be\npleased in a horse. Your old hunting days have spoiled you; but you must\nforget Melton and Grantham, and condescend to keep a hack.\u2019\n\n\u201cI must have looked confoundedly foolish here, for Fanny never took her\neyes off me, and continued to laugh in her own wicked way.\n\n\u201cIt was now about the ninth or tenth day of my purgatorial performances;\nand certainly, if there be any merit in fleshly mortifications, these\nreligious exercises of mine should stand my part hereafter. A review had\nbeen announced in the Ph\u0153nix park, which Fanny had expressed herself most\ndesirous to witness; and as the dean would not permit her to go without a\nchaperon, I had no means of escape, and promised to escort her. No sooner\nhad I made this rash pledge than I hastened to my confidential friend,\nLalouette, and having imparted to him my entire secret, asked him in a\nsolemn and imposing manner, \u2018Can I do it?\u2019 The old man shook his head\ndubiously, looked grave, and muttered at length, \u2018Mosch depend on de\nhorse.\u2019 \u2018I know it\u2014I know it\u2014I feel it,\u2019 said I, eagerly\u2014\u2018then where are\nwe to find an animal that will carry me peaceably through this awful day?\nI care not for his price.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Votre affaire ne sera pas trop ch\u00e8re,\u2019 said he.\n\n\u201c\u2018Why, how do you mean?\u2019 said I.\n\n\u201cHe then proceeded to inform me that, by a singularly fortunate chance,\nthere took place that day an auction of \u2018cast horses,\u2019 as they are\ntermed, which had been used in the horse police force; and that from long\nriding and training to stand fire, nothing could be more suitable than\none of these, being both easy to ride and not given to start at noise.\n\n\u201cI could have almost hugged the old fellow for his happy suggestion,\nand waited with impatience for three o\u2019clock to come, when we repaired\ntogether to Essexbridge, at that time the place selected for these sales.\n\n\u201cI was at first a little shocked at the look of the animals drawn up;\nthey were most miserably thin, most of them swelled in the legs, few\nwithout sore backs, and not one eye on an average in every three; but\nstill they were all high-steppers, and carried a great tail. \u2018There\u2019s\nyour affaire,\u2019 said the old Frenchman, as a long-legged, fiddle-headed\nbeast was led out; turning out his forelegs so as to endanger the man who\nwalked beside him.\n\n\u201c\u2018Yes, there\u2019s blood for you,\u2019 said Charley Dycer, seeing my eye fixed\non the wretched beast; \u2018equal to fifteen stone with any fox-hounds; safe\nin all his paces, and warranted sound; except,\u2019 added he, in a whisper,\n\u2018a slight spavin in both hind legs, ring-bone, and a little touch in\nthe wind.\u2019 Here the animal gave an approving cough. \u2018Will any gentleman\nsay fifty pounds to begin?\u2019 But no gentleman did. A hackney-coachman,\nhowever, said five, and the sale was opened; the beast trotting up and\ndown nearly over the bidders at every moment, and plunging on so that it\nwas impossible to know what was doing.\n\n\u201c\u2018Five ten\u2014fifteen\u2014six pounds\u2014thank you, sir\u2014guineas\u2014seven pounds,\u2019 said\nI, bidding against myself, not perceiving that I had spoken last. \u2018Thank\nyou, Mr. Moriarty,\u2019 said Dycer, turning toward an invisible purchaser\nsupposed to be in the crowd. \u2018Thank you, sir, you\u2019ll not let a good\none go that way.\u2019 Every one here turned to find out the very knowing\ngentleman; but he could nowhere be seen.\n\n\u201cDycer resumed, \u2018Seven ten, for Mr. Moriarty. Going for seven ten\u2014a cruel\nsacrifice\u2014there\u2019s action for you\u2014playful beast.\u2019 Here the devil had\nstumbled and nearly killed a basket-woman with two children.\n\n\u201c\u2018Eight,\u2019 said I, with a loud voice.\n\n\u201c\u2018Eight pounds, quite absurd,\u2019 said Dycer, almost rudely; \u2018a charger\nlike that for eight pounds\u2014going for eight pounds\u2014going\u2014nothing above\neight pounds\u2014no reserve, gentlemen, you are aware of that. They are all,\nas it were, his Majesty\u2019s stud\u2014no reserve whatever\u2014last time, eight\npounds\u2014gone.\u2019\n\n\u201cAmid a very hearty cheer from the mob, God knows why, but a Dublin mob\nalways cheers\u2014I returned accompanied by a ragged fellow, leading my new\npurchase after me with a hay halter.\n\n\u201c\u2018What is the meaning of those letters?\u2019 said I, pointing to a very\nconspicuous G. R., with sundry other enigmatical signs, burned upon the\nanimal\u2019s hind quarter.\n\n\u201c\u2018That\u2019s to show he was a po-lis,\u2019 said the fellow with a grin; \u2018and when\nye ride with ladies, ye must turn the decoy side.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe auspicious morning at last arrived; and, strange to say, that the\nfirst waking thought was of the unlucky day that ushered in my yachting\nexcursion, four years before. Why this was so I cannot pretend to guess:\nthere was but little analogy in the circumstances, at least so far as\nanything had then gone. \u2018How is Marius?\u2019 said I to my servant, as he\nopened my shutters. Here let me mention that a friend of the Kildare\nStreet club had suggested this name from the remarkably classic character\nof my steed\u2019s countenance; his nose, he assured me, was perfectly Roman.\n\n\u201c\u2018Marius is doing finely, sir, barring his cough, and the trifle that\nails his hind legs.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018He\u2019ll carry me quietly, Simon; eh?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Quietly! I\u2019ll warrant he\u2019ll carry you quietly, if that\u2019s all.\u2019\n\n\u201cHere was comfort, certainly. Simon had lived forty years as pantry\nboy with my mother, and knew a great deal about horses. I dressed\nmyself, therefore, in high spirits; and if my pilot jacket and oil-skin\ncap in former days had half persuaded me that I was born for marine\nachievements, certainly my cords and tops, that morning, went far to\nconvince me that I must have once been a very keen sportsman somewhere,\nwithout knowing it. It was a delightful July day that I set out to join\nmy friends, who, having recruited a large party, were to rendezvous at\nthe corner of Stephen\u2019s Green; thither I proceeded in a certain rambling\ntrot, which I have often observed is a very favorite pace with timid\nhorsemen and gentlemen of the medical profession. I was hailed with a\nmost hearty welcome by a large party as I turned out of Grafton Street,\namong whom I perceived several friends of Miss Eversham, and some young\ndragoon officers, not of my acquaintance, but who appeared to know Fanny\nintimately, and were laughing heartily with her as I rode up.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know if other men have experienced what I am about to mention or\nnot; but certainly to me there is no more painful sensation than to find\nyourself among a number of well-mounted, well-equipped people, while the\nanimal you yourself bestride seems only fit for the kennel. Every look\nthat is cast at your unlucky steed\u2014every whispered observation about you\nare so many thorns in your flesh, till at last you begin to feel that\nyour appearance is for very little else than the amusement and mirth of\nthe assembly; and every time you rise in your stirrups you excite a laugh.\n\n\u201c\u2018Where, for mercy\u2019s sake, did you find that creature?\u2019 said Fanny,\nsurveying Marius through her glass.\n\n\u201c\u2018Oh, him, eh? Why, he is a handsome horse, if in condition\u2014a charger,\nyou know\u2014that\u2019s his style.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Indeed,\u2019 lisped a young lancer, \u2018I should be devilish sorry to charge,\nor be charged with him.\u2019 And here they all chuckled at this puppy\u2019s silly\njoke, and I drew up to repress further liberties.\n\n\u201c\u2018Is he anything of a fencer?\u2019 said a young country gentleman.\n\n\u201c\u2018To judge from his near eye, I should say much more of a boxer,\u2019 said\nanother.\n\n\u201cHere commenced a running fire of pleasantry at the expense of my poor\nsteed; which, not content with attacking his physical, extended to his\nmoral qualities. An old gentleman near me observing, \u2018that I ought not\nto have mounted him at all, seeing he was so deuced groggy;\u2019 to which\nI replied, by insinuating, that if others present were as free from\nthe influence of ardent spirits, society would not be a sufferer; an\nobservation that, I flatter myself, turned the mirth against the old\nfellow, for they all laughed for a quarter of an hour after.\n\n\u201cWell, at last we set out in a brisk trot, and, placed near Fanny,\nI speedily forgot all my annoyances in the prospect of figuring to\nadvantage before her. When we reached the College Green the leaders of\nthe cort\u00e8ge suddenly drew up, and we soon found that the entire street\nopposite the Bank was filled with a dense mob of people, who appeared to\nbe swayed hither and thither, like some mighty beast, as the individuals\ncomposing it were engaged in close conflict. It was nothing more nor\nless than one of those almost weekly rows which then took place between\nthe students of the University and the town\u2019s-people, and which rarely\nended without serious consequences. The numbers of people pressing on to\nthe scene of action soon blocked up our retreat, and we found ourselves\nmost unwilling spectators of the conflict. Political watch-words were\nloudly shouted by each party; and at last the students, who appeared to\nbe yielding to superior numbers, called out for the intervention of the\npolice. The aid was nearer than they expected; for at the same instant a\nbody of mounted policemen, whose high helmets rendered them sufficiently\nconspicuous, were seen trotting at sharp pace down Dame Street. On they\ncame with drawn sabres, led by a well-looking, gentleman-like personage\nin plain clothes, who dashed at once into the middle of the fray, issuing\nhis orders, and pointing out to his followers to secure the ring-leaders.\nUp to this moment I had been a most patient and rather amused spectator\nof what was doing. Now, however, my part was to commence, for at the word\n\u2018Charge,\u2019 given in a harsh, deep voice by the sergeant of the party,\nMarius, remembering his ancient instinct, pricked up his ears, cocked his\ntail, flung up both his hind legs till they nearly broke the Provost\u2019s\nwindows, and plunged into the thickest of the fray like a devil incarnate.\n\n\u201cSelf-preservation must be a strong instinct, for I well remember how\nlittle pain it cost me to see the people tumbling and rolling beneath\nme, while I continued to keep my seat. It was only a moment before, and\nthat immense mass were a man-to-man encounter, now all the indignation\nof both parties seemed turned upon me; brick-bats were loudly implored\nand paving-stones begged to throw at my devoted head; the Wild Huntsman\nof the German romance never created half the terror nor one-tenth of the\nmischief that I did in less than fifteen minutes, for the ill-starred\nbeast continued twining and twisting like a serpent, plunging and kicking\nthe entire time, and occasionally biting too; all which accomplishments,\nI afterwards learned, however little in request in civil life, are highly\nprized in the horse police.\n\n\u201cEvery new order of the sergeant was followed in his own fashion by\nMarius, who very soon contrived to concentrate in my unhappy person all\nthe interest of about fifteen hundred people.\n\n\u201c\u2018Secure that scoundrel,\u2019 said the magistrate, pointing with his finger\ntowards me, as I rode over a respectable-looking old lady with a gray\nmuff. \u2018Secure him. Cut him down.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Ah, devil\u2019s luck to him, if ye do,\u2019 said a newsmonger with a broken\nshin.\n\n\u201cOn I went, however; and now, as the Fates would have it, instead of\nbearing me out of further danger, the confounded brute dashed onward to\nwhere the magistrate was standing, surrounded by policemen. I thought\nI saw him change color as I came on. I suppose my own looks were none\nof the pleasantest, for the worthy man evidently liked them not. Into\nthe midst of them we plunged, upsetting a corporal, horse and all, and\nappearing as if bent upon reaching the alderman.\n\n\u201c\u2018Cut him down, for Heaven\u2019s sake. Will nobody shoot him?\u2019 said he, with\na voice trembling with fear and anger.\n\n\u201cAt these words a wretch lifted up his sabre, and made a cut at my head.\nI stooped suddenly, and throwing myself from the saddle, seized the poor\nalderman round the neck, and both came rolling to the ground together. So\ncompletely was he possessed with the notion that I meant to assassinate\nhim, that while I was endeavoring to extricate myself from his grasp, he\ncontinued to beg his life in the most heart-rending manner.\n\n\u201cMy story is now soon told. So effectually did they rescue the alderman\nfrom his danger that they left me insensible, and I only came to myself\nsome days after by finding myself in the dock in Green Street, charged\nwith an indictment of nineteen counts; the only word of truth is what lay\nin the preamble, for the \u2018devil inciting\u2019 me only would ever have made\nme the owner of that infernal beast, the cause of all my misfortunes. I\nwas so stupefied from my beating that I know little of the course of the\nproceedings. My friends told me afterward that I had a narrow escape from\ntransportation; but for the greatest influence exerted in my behalf, I\nshould certainly have passed the autumn in the agreeable recreation of\npounding oyster-shells or carding wool; and it certainly must have gone\nhard with me, for, stupefied as I was, I remember the sensation in court\nwhen the alderman made his appearance with a patch over his eye. The\naffecting admonition of the little judge\u2014who, when passing sentence upon\nme, adverted to the former respectability of my life and the rank of my\nrelatives\u2014actually made the galleries weep.\n\n\u201cFour months in Newgate and a fine to the king, then, rewarded my taste\nfor horse exercise; and it\u2019s no wonder if I prefer going on foot.\n\n\u201cAs to Miss Eversham, the following short note from the dean concluded my\nhopes in that quarter:\n\n \u201c\u2018Deanery, Wednesday morning.\n\n \u201c\u2018Sir\u2014After the very distressing publicity to which your\n late conduct has exposed you\u2014the so open avowal of political\n opinions, at variance with those (I will say) of every\n gentleman\u2014and the recorded sentence of a judge on the verdict\n of twelve of your countrymen\u2014I should hope that you will not\n feel my present admonition necessary to inform you that your\n visits to my house shall cease.\n\n \u201c\u2018The presents you made my daughter, when under our unfortunate\n ignorance of your real character, have been addressed to your\n hotel, and I am your most obedient, humble servant,\n\n \u201c\u2018Oliver Eversham.\u2019\n\n\u201cHere ended my second affair \u2018par amour;\u2019 and I freely confess to you\nthat if I can only obtain a wife in a sea voyage, or a steeple-chase, I\nam likely to fulfil one great condition in modern advertising\u2014\u2018as having\nno incumbrance, nor any objection to travel.\u2019\u201d\n\n\n\n\nNOTE\n\n\n_Thackeray\u2019s only book for children, \u201cThe Rose and the Ring,\u201d has\ngiven him a place among writers for children that is the equal of that\nwhich he enjoys as one of the world\u2019s greatest novelists. His fondness\nfor children was proverbial and it appears over and over again in his\nwritings._\n\n_This story was written of Christmas time in the year 1854 while the\nauthor was living at Rome. Thackeray wrote it to entertain a little young\nfriend, a girl who had been ill. As he finished a chapter to read to her\nhe would illustrate it with these droll pictures hastily sketched with\nhis pen._\n\n\n\n\nTHE ROSE AND THE RING OR THE HISTORY OF PRINCE GIGLIO AND PRINCE BULBO\n\nA FIRESIDE PANTOMIME FOR GREAT AND SMALL CHILDREN\n\nBY MR. M. A. TITMARSH\n\n\nIt happened that the undersigned spent the last Christmas season in a\nforeign city where there were many English children.\n\nIn that city, if you wanted to give a child\u2019s party, you could not\neven get a magic-lantern or buy Twelfth-Night characters\u2014those funny\npainted pictures of the King, the Queen, the Lover, the Lady, the Dandy,\nthe Captain, and so on\u2014with which our young ones are wont to recreate\nthemselves at this festive time.\n\nMy friend Miss Bunch, who was governess of a large family that lived in\nthe _Piano Nobile_ of the house inhabited by myself and my young charges\n(it was the Palazzo Poniatowski at Rome, and Messrs. Spillmann, two\nof the best pastrycooks in Christendom, have their shop on the ground\nfloor): Miss Bunch, I say, begged me to draw a set of Twelfth-Night\ncharacters for the amusement of our young people.\n\nShe is a lady of great fancy and droll imagination, and having looked\nat the characters, she and I composed a history about them, which\nwas recited to the little folks at night, and served as our fireside\npantomime.\n\nOur juvenile audience was amused by the adventures of Giglio and Bulbo,\nRosalba and Angelica. I am bound to say the fate of the Hall Porter\ncreated a considerable sensation; and the wrath of Countess Gruffanuff\nwas received with extreme pleasure.\n\nIf these children are pleased, thought I, why should not others be\namused also? In a few days Dr. Birch\u2019s young friends will be expected to\nre-assemble at Rodwell Regis, where they will learn everything that is\nuseful, and under the eyes of careful ushers continue the business of\ntheir little lives.\n\nBut, in the meanwhile, and for a brief holiday, let us laugh and be as\npleasant as we can. And you elder folk\u2014a little joking, and dancing,\nand fooling will do even you no harm. The author wishes you a merry\nChristmas, and welcomes you to the Fireside Pantomime.\n\n M. A. TITMARSH.\n\n_December, 1854._\n\n\n\n\nTHE ROSE AND THE RING\n\nBy William Makepeace Thackeray\n\n_With illustrations by the Author_\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nI\n\nSHOWS HOW THE ROYAL FAMILY SATE DOWN TO BREAKFAST\n\nThis is Valoroso XXIV., King of Paflagonia, seated with his Queen and\nonly child at their royal breakfast-table, and receiving the letter\nwhich announces to His Majesty a proposed visit from Prince Bulbo, heir\nof Padella, reigning King of Crim Tartary. Remark the delight upon the\nmonarch\u2019s royal features. He is so absorbed in the perusal of the King\nof Crim Tartary\u2019s letter that he allows his eggs to get cold, and leaves\nhis august muffins untasted.\n\n\u201cWhat! that wicked, brave, delightful Prince Bulbo!\u201d cries Princess\nAngelica; \u201cso handsome, so accomplished, so witty\u2014the conqueror of\nRimbombamento, where he slew ten thousand giants!\u201d\n\n\u201cWho told you of him, my dear?\u201d asks His Majesty.\n\n\u201cA little bird,\u201d says Angelica.\n\n\u201cPoor Giglio!\u201d says mamma, pouring out the tea.\n\n\u201cBother Giglio!\u201d cries Angelica, tossing up her head, which rustled with\na thousand curl-papers.\n\n\u201cI wish,\u201d growls the King\u2014\u201cI wish Giglio was.\u2026\u201d\n\n\u201cWas better? Yes, dear, he is better,\u201d says the Queen. \u201cAngelica\u2019s little\nmaid, Betsinda, told me so when she came to my room this morning with my\nearly tea.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are always drinking tea,\u201d said the monarch, with a scowl.\n\n\u201cIt is better than drinking port or brandy and water,\u201d replies Her\nMajesty.\n\n\u201cWell, well, my dear, I only said you were fond of drinking tea,\u201d said\nthe King of Paflagonia, with an effort as if to command his temper.\n\u201cAngelica! I hope you have plenty of new dresses; your milliner\u2019s bills\nare long enough. My dear Queen, you must see and have some parties. I\nprefer dinners, but of course you will be for balls. Your everlasting\nblue velvet quite tires me: and, my love, I should like you to have a\nnew necklace. Order one. Not more than a hundred or a hundred and fifty\nthousand pounds.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd Giglio, dear?\u201d says the Queen.\n\n\u201cGIGLIO MAY GO TO THE\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, sir,\u201d screams Her Majesty. \u201cYour own nephew! our late King\u2019s only\nson.\u201d\n\n\u201cGiglio may go to the tailor\u2019s, and order the bills to be sent in to\nGlumboso to pay. Confound him! I mean bless his dear heart. He need want\nfor nothing; give him a couple of guineas for pocket-money, my dear;\nand you may as well order yourself bracelets while you are about the\nnecklace, Mrs. V.\u201d\n\nHer Majesty, or _Mrs. V._, as the monarch facetiously called her (for\neven royalty will have its sport, and this august family were very\nmuch attached), embraced her husband, and, twining her arm round her\ndaughter\u2019s waist, they quitted the breakfast-room in order to make all\nthings ready for the princely stranger.\n\nWhen they were gone, the smile that had lighted up the eyes of the\n_husband_ and _father_ fled\u2014the pride of the _King_ fled\u2014the MAN\nwas alone. Had I the pen of a G. P. R. James, I would describe\nValoroso\u2019s torments in the choicest language; in which I would also\ndepict his flashing eye, his distended nostril\u2014his dressing-gown,\npocket-handkerchief, and boots. But I need not say I have _not_ the pen\nof that novelist; suffice it to say, Valoroso was alone.\n\nHe rushed to the cupboard, seizing from the table one of the many\negg-cups with which his princely board was served for the matin meal,\ndrew out a bottle of right Nantz or Cognac, filled and emptied the cup\nseveral times, and laid it down with a hoarse \u201cHa, ha, ha! now Valoroso\nis a man again!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut oh!\u201d he went on (still sipping, I am sorry to say), \u201cere I was a\nking, I needed not this intoxicating draught; once I detested the hot\nbrandy wine, and quaffed no other fount but nature\u2019s rill. It dashes not\nmore quickly o\u2019er the rocks than I did, as, with blunderbuss in hand, I\nbrushed away the early morning dew, and shot the partridge, snipe, or\nantlered deer! Ah! well may England\u2019s dramatist remark, \u2018Uneasy lies\nthe head that wears a crown!\u2019 Why did I steal my nephew\u2019s, my young\nGiglio\u2019s\u2014? Steal! said I? no, no, no, not steal, not steal. Let me\nwithdraw that odious expression. I took, and on my manly head I set, the\nroyal crown of Paflagonia; I took, and with my royal arm I wield, the\nsceptral rod of Paflagonia; I took, and in my outstretched hand I hold,\nthe royal orb of Paflagonia! Could a poor boy, a snivelling, drivelling\nboy\u2014was in his nurse\u2019s arms but yesterday, and cried for sugar-plums and\npuled for pap\u2014bear up the awful weight of crown, orb, scepter? gird on\nthe sword my royal fathers wore, and meet in fight the tough Crimean foe?\u201d\n\nAnd then the monarch went on to argue in his own mind (though we need\nnot say that blank verse is not argument) that what he had got it was\nhis duty to keep, and that, if at one time he had entertained ideas of a\ncertain restitution, which shall be nameless, the prospect by a _certain\nmarriage_ of uniting two crowns and two nations which had been engaged\nin bloody and expensive wars, as the Paflagonians and the Crimeans\nhad been, put the idea of Giglio\u2019s restoration to the throne out of\nthe question: nay, were his own brother, King Savio, alive, he would\ncertainly will away the crown from his own son in order to bring about\nsuch a desirable union.\n\nThus easily do we deceive ourselves! Thus do we fancy what we wish is\nright! The King took courage, read the papers, finished his muffins and\neggs, and rang the bell for his Prime Minister. The Queen, after thinking\nwhether she should go up and see Giglio, who had been sick, thought, \u201cNot\nnow. Business first; pleasure afterwards. I will go and see dear Giglio\nthis afternoon; and now I will drive to the jeweller\u2019s, to look for the\nnecklace and bracelets.\u201d The Princess went up into her own room, and\nmade Betsinda, her maid, bring out all her dresses; and as for Giglio,\nthey forgot him as much as I forget what I had for dinner last Tuesday\ntwelvemonth.\n\n\nII\n\nHOW KING VALOROSO GOT THE CROWN, AND PRINCE GIGLIO WENT WITHOUT\n\n[Illustration]\n\nPaflagonia, ten or twenty thousand years ago, appears to have been one\nof those kingdoms where the laws of succession were not settled; for\nwhen King Savio died, leaving his brother Regent of the kingdom, and\nguardian of Savio\u2019s orphan infant, this unfaithful regent took no sort\nof regard of the late monarch\u2019s will; had himself proclaimed sovereign of\nPaflagonia under the title of King Valoroso XXIV., had a most splendid\ncoronation, and ordered all the nobles of the kingdom to pay him homage.\nSo long as Valoroso gave them plenty of balls at Court, plenty of money\nand lucrative places, the Paflagonian nobility did not care who was\nking; and as for the people, in those early times, they were equally\nindifferent. The Prince Giglio, by reason of his tender age at his royal\nfather\u2019s death, did not feel the loss of his crown and empire. As long\nas he had plenty of toys and sweetmeats, a holiday five times a week,\nand a horse and gun to go out shooting when he grew a little older, and,\nabove all, the company of his darling cousin, the King\u2019s only child,\npoor Giglio was perfectly contented; nor did he envy his uncle the royal\nrobes and scepter, the great hot uncomfortable throne of state, and the\nenormous cumbersome crown in which that monarch appeared from morning\ntill night. King Valoroso\u2019s portrait has been left to us; and I think\nyou will agree with me that he must have been sometimes _rather tired_\nof his velvet, and his diamonds, and his ermine, and his grandeur. I\nshouldn\u2019t like to sit in that stifling robe with such a thing as that on\nmy head.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nNo doubt, the Queen must have been lovely in her youth, for though she\ngrew rather stout in after life, yet her features, as shown in her\nportrait, are certainly _pleasing_. If she was fond of flattery, scandal,\ncards, and fine clothes, let us deal gently with her infirmities, which,\nafter all, may be no greater than our own. She was kind to her nephew;\nand if she had any scruples of conscience about her husband\u2019s taking the\nyoung Prince\u2019s crown, consoled herself by thinking that the King, though\na usurper, was a most respectable man, and that at his death Prince\nGiglio would be restored to his throne, and share it with his cousin,\nwhom he loved so fondly.\n\nThe Prime Minister was Glumboso, an old statesman, who most cheerfully\nswore fidelity to King Valoroso, and in whose hands the monarch left all\nthe affairs of his kingdom. All Valoroso wanted was plenty of money,\nplenty of hunting, plenty of flattery, and as little trouble as possible.\nAs long as he had his sport, this monarch cared little how his people\npaid for it: he engaged in some wars, and of course the Paflagonian\nnewspapers announced that he gained prodigious victories: he had statues\nerected to himself in every city of the empire; and of course his\npictures placed everywhere, and in all the print-shops: he was Valoroso\nthe Magnanimous, Valoroso the Victorious, Valoroso the Great, and so\nforth\u2014for even in these early times courtiers and people knew how to\nflatter.\n\nThis royal pair had one only child, the Princess Angelica, who, you may\nbe sure, was a paragon in the courtiers\u2019 eyes, in her parents\u2019, and in\nher own. It was said she had the longest hair, the largest eyes, the\nslimmest waist, the smallest foot, and the most lovely complexion of\nany young lady in the Paflagonian dominions. Her accomplishments were\nannounced to be even superior to her beauty; and governesses used to\nshame their idle pupils by telling them what Princess Angelica could\ndo. She could play the most difficult pieces of music at sight. She\ncould answer any one of \u201cMangnall\u2019s Questions.\u201d She knew every date in\nthe history of Paflagonia, and every other country. She knew French,\nEnglish, Italian, German, Spanish, Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Cappadocian,\nSamothracian, \u00c6gean and Crim Tartar. In a word, she was a most\naccomplished young creature; and her governess and lady-in-waiting was\nthe severe Countess Gruffanuff.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWould you not fancy, from this picture, that Gruffanuff must have been\na person of the highest birth? She looks so haughty that I should have\nthought her a Princess at the very least, with a pedigree reaching as\nfar back as the Deluge. But this lady was no better born than many other\nladies who give themselves airs; and all sensible people laughed at\nher absurd pretensions. The fact is, she had been maid-servant to the\nQueen when Her Majesty was only Princess and her husband had been head\nfootman; but after his death or _disappearance_, of which you shall hear\npresently, this Mrs. Gruffanuff, by flattering, toadying, and wheedling\nher royal mistress, became a favorite with the Queen (who was rather\na weak woman), and Her Majesty gave her a title, and made her nursery\ngoverness to the Princess.\n\nAnd now I must tell you about the Princess\u2019s learning and\naccomplishments, for which she had such a wonderful character. Clever\nAngelica certainly was, but as _idle as possible_. Play at sight, indeed!\nshe could play one or two pieces, and pretend that she had never seen\nthem before; she could answer half a dozen \u201cMangnall\u2019s Questions\u201d; but\nthen you must take care to ask the _right_ ones. As for her languages,\nshe had masters in plenty, but I doubt whether she knew more than a few\nphrases in each, for all her pretence; and as for her embroidery and her\ndrawing, she showed beautiful specimens, it is true, but _who did them_?\n\nThis obliges me to tell the truth, and to do so I must go back ever so\nfar, and tell you about the Fairy Blackstick.\n\n\nIII\n\nTELLS WHO THE FAIRY BLACKSTICK WAS, AND WHO WERE EVER SO MANY GRAND\nPERSONAGES BESIDES\n\nBetween the kingdoms of Paflagonia and Crim Tartary, there lived a\nmysterious personage, who was known in those countries as the Fairy\nBlackstick, from the ebony wand or crutch which she carried; on which\nshe rode to the moon sometimes, or upon other excursions of business or\npleasure, and with which she performed her wonders.\n\nWhen she was young, and had been first taught the art of conjuring\nby the necromancer, her father, she was always practising her skill,\nwhizzing about from one kingdom to another upon her black stick, and\nconferring her fairy favors upon this Prince or that. She had scores of\nroyal godchildren; turned numberless wicked people into beasts, birds,\nmillstones, clocks, pumps, bootjacks, umbrellas, or other absurd shapes;\nand, in a word, was one of the most active and officious of the whole\nCollege of fairies.\n\nBut after two or three thousand years of this sport, I suppose Blackstick\ngrew tired of it. Or perhaps she thought, \u201cWhat good am I doing by\nsending this Princess to sleep for a hundred years? by fixing a black\npudding on to that booby\u2019s nose? by causing diamonds and pearls to drop\nfrom one little girl\u2019s mouth, and vipers and toads from another\u2019s? I\nbegin to think I do as much harm as good by my performances. I might as\nwell shut my incantations up, and allow things to take their natural\ncourse.\n\n\u201cThere were my two young goddaughters, King Savio\u2019s wife, and Duke\nPadella\u2019s wife, I gave them each a present, which was to render them\ncharming in the eyes of their husbands, and secure the affection of those\ngentlemen as long as they lived. What good did my Rose and my Ring do\nthese two women? None on earth. From having all their whims indulged by\ntheir husbands, they became capricious, lazy, ill-humored, absurdly vain,\nand leered and languished, and fancied themselves irresistibly beautiful,\nwhen they were really quite old and hideous, the ridiculous creatures!\nThey used actually to patronise me when I went to pay them a visit\u2014_me_,\nthe Fairy Blackstick, who knows all the wisdom of the necromancers,\nand who could have turned them into baboons, and all their diamonds\ninto strings of onions, by a single wave of my rod!\u201d So she locked up\nher books in her cupboard, declined further magical performances, and\nscarcely used her wand at all except as a cane to walk about with.\n\nSo when Duke Padella\u2019s lady had a little son (the Duke was at that\ntime only one of the principal noblemen in Crim Tartary), Blackstick,\nalthough invited to the christening, would not so much as attend;\nbut merely sent her compliments and a silver papboat for the baby,\nwhich was really not worth a couple of guineas. About the same time\nthe Queen of Paflagonia presented His Majesty with a son and heir; and\nguns were fired, the capital illuminated, and no end of feasts ordained\nto celebrate the young Prince\u2019s birth. It was thought the Fairy, who\nwas asked to be his godmother, would at least have presented him with\nan invisible jacket, a flying horse, a Fortunatus\u2019s purse, or some\nother valuable token of her favor; but instead, Blackstick went up to\nthe cradle of the child Giglio, when everybody was admiring him and\ncomplimenting his royal papa and mamma, and said, \u201cMy poor child, the\nbest thing I can send you is a little _misfortune_\u201d; and this was all\nshe would utter, to the disgust of Giglio\u2019s parents, who died very soon\nafter, when Giglio\u2019s uncle took the throne, as we read in Chapter I.\n\nIn like manner, when Cavolfiore, King of Crim Tartary, had a christening\nof his only child, Rosalba, the Fairy Blackstick, who had been invited,\nwas not more gracious than in Prince Giglio\u2019s case. Whilst everybody was\nexpatiating over the beauty of the darling child, and congratulating\nits parents, the Fairy Blackstick looked very sadly at the baby and its\nmother, and said, \u201cMy good woman (for the Fairy was very familiar, and no\nmore minded a Queen than a washerwoman)\u2014my good woman, these people who\nare following you will be the first to turn against you; and as for this\nlittle lady, the best thing I can wish her is a _little misfortune_.\u201d\nSo she touched Rosalba with her black wand, looked severely at the\ncourtiers, motioned the Queen an adieu with her hand, and sailed slowly\nup into the air out of the window.\n\nWhen she was gone, the Court people, who had been awed and silent\nin her presence, began to speak. \u201cWhat an odious Fairy she is (they\nsaid)\u2014a pretty Fairy, indeed! Why, she went to the King of Paflagonia\u2019s\nchristening, and pretended to do all sorts of things for that family; and\nwhat has happened\u2014the Prince, her godson, has been turned off his throne\nby his uncle. Would we allow our sweet Princess to be deprived of her\nrights by any enemy? Never, never, never, never!\u201d\n\nAnd they all shouted in a chorus, \u201cNever, never, never, never!\u201d\n\nNow, I should like to know, and how did these fine courtiers show\ntheir fidelity? One of King Cavolfiore\u2019s vassals, the Duke Padella\njust mentioned, rebelled against the King, who went out to chastise\nhis rebellious subject. \u201cAny one rebel against our beloved and august\nMonarch!\u201d cried the courtiers; \u201cany one resist _him_? Pooh! He is\ninvincible, irresistible. He will bring home Padella a prisoner, and tie\nhim to a donkey\u2019s tail, and drive him round the town, saying, \u2018This is\nthe way the Great Cavolfiore treats rebels.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe King went forth to vanquish Padella; and the poor Queen, who was a\nvery timid, anxious creature, grew so frightened and ill, that I am sorry\nto say she died; leaving injunctions with her ladies to take care of the\ndear little Rosalba. Of course they said they would. Of course they vowed\nthey would die rather than any harm should happen to the Princess. At\nfirst the _Crim Tartar Court Journal_ stated that the King was obtaining\ngreat victories over the audacious rebel: then it was announced that the\ntroops of the infamous Padella were in flight: then it was said that the\nroyal army would soon come up with the enemy, and then\u2014then the news\ncame that King Cavolfiore was vanquished and slain by His Majesty, King\nPadella the First!\n\nAt this news, half the courtiers ran off to pay their duty to the\nconquering chief, and the other half ran away, laying hands on all the\nbest articles in the palace; and poor little Rosalba was left there quite\nalone\u2014quite alone; and she toddled from one room to another, crying,\n\u201cCountess! Duchess!\u201d (only she said \u201cTountess, Duttess,\u201d not being\nable to speak plain) \u201cbring me my mutton sop; my Royal Highness hungy!\nTountess! Duttess!\u201d And she went from the private apartments into the\nthrone room and nobody was there\u2014and thence into the ball-room and nobody\nwas there\u2014and thence into the pages\u2019 room and nobody was there\u2014and she\ntoddled down the great staircase into the hall and nobody was there\u2014and\nthe door was open, and she went into the court, and into the garden, and\nthence into the wilderness, and thence into the forest where the wild\nbeasts live and was never heard of any more!\n\n * * * * *\n\nA piece of her torn mantle and one of her shoes were found in the wood in\nthe mouths of two lionesses\u2019 cubs, whom King Padella and a royal hunting\nparty shot\u2014for he was King now, and reigned over Crim Tartary. \u201cSo the\npoor little Princess is done for,\u201d said he; \u201cwell, what\u2019s done can\u2019t be\nhelped. Gentlemen, let us go to luncheon!\u201d And one of the courtiers took\nup the shoe and put it in his pocket. And there was an end of Rosalba!\n\n\nIV\n\nHOW BLACKSTICK WAS NOT ASKED TO THE PRINCESS ANGELICA\u2019S CHRISTENING\n\nWhen the Princess Angelica was born, her parents not only did not ask\nthe Fairy Blackstick to the christening party, but gave orders to their\nporter absolutely to refuse her if she called. This porter\u2019s name\nwas Gruffanuff, and he had been selected for the post by their Royal\nHighnesses because he was a very tall fierce man, who could say \u201cNot\nat home\u201d to a tradesman or an unwelcome visitor with a rudeness which\nfrightened most such persons away. He was the husband of that Countess\nwhose picture we have just seen, and as long as they were together they\nquarrelled from morning till night. Now this fellow tried his rudeness\nonce too often, as you shall hear. For the Fairy Blackstick coming to\ncall upon the Prince and Princess, who were actually sitting at the open\ndrawing-room window, Gruffanuff not only denied them, but made the most\n_odious vulgar sign_ as he was going to slam the door in the Fairy\u2019s\nface! \u201cGit away, hold Blackstick!\u201d said he. \u201cI tell you, Master and\nMissis ain\u2019t at home to you;\u201d and he was, as we have said, _going_ to\nslam the door.\n\nBut the Fairy, with her wand, prevented the door being shut; and\nGruffanuff came out again in a fury, swearing in the most abominable way,\nand asking the Fairy \u201cwhether she thought he was a going to stay at that\nthere door hall day?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou _are_ going to stay at that door all day and all night, and for many\na long year,\u201d the Fairy said, very majestically; and Gruffanuff, coming\nout of the door, straddling before it with his great calves, burst out\nlaughing, and cried \u201cHa, ha, ha! this _is_ a good un! Ha\u2014ah\u2014what\u2019s this?\nLet me down\u2014O\u2014o\u2014H\u2019m!\u201d and then he was dumb!\n\nFor, as the Fairy waved her wand over him, he felt himself rising off\nthe ground, and fluttering up against the door, and then, as if a screw\nran into his stomach, he felt a dreadful pain there, and was pinned\nto the door; and then his arms flew up over his head; and his legs,\nafter writhing about wildly, twisted under his body; and he felt cold,\ncold, growing over him, as if he was turning into metal; and he said,\n\u201cO\u2014o\u2014H\u2019m!\u201d and could say no more, because he was dumb.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nHe _was_ turned into metal! He was, from being _brazen_, _brass_! He was\nneither more nor less than a knocker! And there he was, nailed to the\ndoor in the blazing summer day, till he burned almost red-hot; and there\nhe was, nailed to the door all the bitter winter nights, till his brass\nnose was dropping with icicles. And the postman came and rapped at him,\nand the vulgarest boy with a letter came and hit him up against the door.\nAnd the King and Queen (Princess and Prince they were then) coming home\nfrom a walk that evening, the King said, \u201cHullo, my dear! you have had\na new knocker put on the door. Why, it\u2019s rather like our porter in the\nface! What has become of that boozy vagabond?\u201d And the housemaid came and\nscrubbed his nose with sand-paper; and once, when the Princess Angelica\u2019s\nlittle sister was born, he was tied up in an old kid glove; and, another\nnight, some _larking_ young men tried to wrench him off, and put him to\nthe most excruciating agony with a turnscrew. And then the Queen had a\nfancy to have the color of the door altered; and the painters dabbed\nhim over the mouth and eyes, and nearly choked him, as they painted him\npea-green. I warrant he had leisure to repent of having been rude to the\nFairy Blackstick!\n\n * * * * *\n\nAs for his wife, she did not miss him; and as he was always guzzling beer\nat the public-house, and notoriously quarrelling with his wife, and in\ndebt to the tradesmen, it was supposed he had run away from all these\nevils, and emigrated to Australia or America. And when the Prince and\nPrincess chose to become King and Queen, they left their old house, and\nnobody thought of the porter any more.\n\n\nV\n\nHOW PRINCESS ANGELICA TOOK A LITTLE MAID\n\nOne day, when the Princess Angelica was quite a little girl, she was\nwalking in the garden of the palace, with Mrs. Gruffanuff, the governess,\nholding a parasol over her head, to keep her sweet complexion from the\nfreckles, and Angelica was carrying a bun, to feed the swans and ducks in\nthe royal pond.\n\nThey had not reached the duck-pond, when there came toddling up to them\nsuch a funny little girl! She had a great quantity of hair blowing about\nher chubby little cheeks, and looked as if she had not been washed or\ncombed for ever so long. She wore a ragged bit of a cloak, and had only\none shoe on.\n\n\u201cYou little wretch, who let you in here?\u201d asked Gruffanuff.\n\n\u201cDiv me dat bun,\u201d said the little girl, \u201cme vely hungy.\u201d\n\n\u201cHungry! what is that?\u201d asked Princess Angelica, and gave the child the\nbun.\n\n\u201cOh, Princess!\u201d says Gruffanuff, \u201chow good, how kind, how truly angelical\nyou are! See, your Majesties,\u201d she said to the King and Queen, who now\ncame up, along with their nephew, Prince Giglio, \u201chow kind the Princess\nis! She met this little dirty wretch in the garden\u2014I can\u2019t tell how she\ncame in here, or why the guards did not shoot her dead at the gate!\u2014and\nthe dear darling of a Princess has given her the whole of her bun!\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t want it,\u201d said Angelica.\n\n\u201cBut you are a darling little angel all the same,\u201d says the governess.\n\n\u201cYes; I know I am,\u201d said Angelica. \u201cDirty little girl, don\u2019t you think\nI am very pretty?\u201d Indeed, she had on the finest of little dresses and\nhats; and, as her hair was carefully curled, she really looked very well.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\u201cOh, pooty, pooty!\u201d says the little girl, capering about, laughing, and\ndancing, and munching her bun; and as she ate it she began to sing, \u201cOh,\nwhat fun to have a plum bun! how I wis it never was done!\u201d At which, and\nher funny accent, Angelica, Giglio, and the King and Queen began to laugh\nvery merrily.\n\n\u201cI can dance as well as sing,\u201d says the little girl. \u201cI can dance, and I\ncan sing, and I can do all sorts of ting.\u201d\n\nAnd she ran to a flower-bed, and pulling a few polyanthuses,\nrhododendrons, and other flowers, made herself a little wreath, and\ndanced before the King and Queen so drolly and prettily, that everybody\nwas delighted.\n\n\u201cWho was your mother\u2014who were your relations, little girl?\u201d said the\nQueen.\n\nThe little girl said, \u201cLittle lion was my brudder; great big lioness my\nmudder; neber heard of any udder.\u201d And she capered away on her one shoe,\nand everybody was exceedingly diverted.\n\nSo Angelica said to the Queen, \u201cMamma, my parrot flew away yesterday out\nof its cage, and I don\u2019t care any more for any of my toys; and I think\nthis funny little dirty child will amuse me. I will take her home, and\ngive her some of my old frocks.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, the generous darling!\u201d says Gruffanuff.\n\n\u201cWhich I have worn ever so many times, and am quite tired of,\u201d Angelica\nwent on; \u201cand she shall be my little maid. Will you come home with me,\nlittle dirty girl?\u201d The child clapped her hands, and said, \u201cGo home with\nyou\u2014yes! You pooty Princess!\u2014Have a nice dinner, and wear a new dress!\u201d\nAnd they all laughed again, and took home the child to the palace,\nwhere, when she was washed and combed, and had one of the Princess\u2019s\nfrocks given to her, she looked as handsome as Angelica, almost. Not\nthat Angelica ever thought so; for this little lady never imagined\nthat anybody in the world could be as pretty, as good, or as clever as\nherself. In order that the little girl should not become too proud and\nconceited, Mrs. Gruffanuff took her old ragged mantle and one shoe, and\nput them into a glass box, with a card laid upon them, upon which was\nwritten, \u201cThese were the old clothes in which little Betsinda was found\nwhen the great goodness and admirable kindness of her Royal Highness the\nPrincess Angelica received this little outcast.\u201d And the date was added,\nand the box locked up.\n\nFor a while little Betsinda was a great favorite with the Princess,\nand she danced, and sang, and made her little rhymes, to amuse her\nmistress. But then the Princess got a monkey, and afterwards a little\ndog, and afterwards a doll, and did not care for Betsinda any more, who\nbecame very melancholy and quiet, and sang no more funny songs, because\nnobody cared to hear her. And then, as she grew older, she was made a\nlittle lady\u2019s-maid to the Princess; and though she had no wages, she\nworked and mended, and put Angelica\u2019s hair in papers, and was never\ncross when scolded, and was always eager to please her mistress, and was\nalways up early and to bed late, and at hand when wanted, and in fact\nbecame a perfect little maid. So the two girls grew up, and, when the\nPrincess came out, Betsinda was never tired of waiting on her; and made\nher dresses better than the best milliner, and was useful in a hundred\nways. Whilst the Princess was having her masters, Betsinda would sit and\nwatch them; and in this way she picked up a great deal of learning; for\nshe was always awake, though her mistress was not, and listened to the\nwise professors when Angelica was yawning or thinking of the next ball.\nAnd when the dancing-master came, Betsinda learned along with Angelica;\nand when the music-master came, she watched him, and practised the\nPrincess\u2019s pieces when Angelica was away at balls and parties; and when\nthe drawing-master came, she took note of all he said and did; and the\nsame with French, Italian, and all other languages\u2014she learned them from\nthe teacher who came to Angelica. When the Princess was going out of an\nevening she would say, \u201cMy good Betsinda, you may as well finish what I\nhave begun.\u201d \u201cYes, miss,\u201d Betsinda would say, and sit down very cheerful,\nnot to _finish_ what Angelica begun, but to _do_ it. For instance, the\nPrincess would begin a head of a warrior, let us say, and when it was\nbegun it was something like this\u2014\n\n[Illustration]\n\nBut when it was done, the warrior was like this\u2014\n\n[Illustration]\n\n(only handsomer still if possible), and the Princess put her name to\nthe drawing; and the Court and King and Queen, and above all poor\nGiglio, admired the picture of all things, and said, \u201cWas there ever a\ngenius like Angelica?\u201d So, I am sorry to say, was it with the Princess\u2019s\nembroidery and other accomplishments; and Angelica actually believed\nthat she did these things herself, and received all the flattery of the\nCourt as if every word of it was true. Thus she began to think that\nthere was no young woman in all the world equal to herself, and that no\nyoung man was good enough for her. As for Betsinda, as she heard none of\nthese praises, she was not puffed up by them, and being a most grateful,\ngood-natured girl, she was only too anxious to do everything which might\ngive her mistress pleasure. Now you begin to perceive that Angelica had\nfaults of her own, and was by no means such a wonder of wonders as people\nrepresented Her Royal Highness to be.\n\n\nVI\n\nHOW PRINCE GIGLIO BEHAVED HIMSELF\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAnd now let us speak about Prince Giglio, the nephew of the reigning\nmonarch of Paflagonia. It has already been stated, in page 398, that as\nlong as he had a smart coat to wear, a good horse to ride, and money\nin his pocket, or rather to take out of his pocket, for he was very\ngood-natured, my young Prince did not care for the loss of his crown\nand scepter, being a thoughtless youth, not much inclined to politics\nor any kind of learning. So his tutor had a sinecure. Giglio would not\nlearn classics or mathematics, and the Lord Chancellor of Paflagonia,\nSquaretoso, pulled a very long face because the Prince could not be\ngot to study the Paflagonian laws and constitution; but, on the other\nhand, the King\u2019s gamekeepers and huntsmen found the Prince an apt pupil;\nthe dancing-master pronounced that he was a most elegant and assiduous\nscholar; the First Lord of the Billiard Table gave the most flattering\nreports of the Prince\u2019s skill; so did the Groom of the Tennis Court; and\nas for the Captain of the Guard and Fencing Master, the _valiant_ and\n_veteran_ Count Kutasoff Hedzoff, he avowed that since he ran the General\nof Crim Tartary, the dreadful Grumbuskin, through the body, he never had\nencountered so expert a swordsman as Prince Giglio.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nI hope you do not imagine that there was any impropriety in the Prince\nand Princess walking together in the palace garden, and because Giglio\nkissed Angelica\u2019s hand in a polite manner. In the first place they are\ncousins; next, the Queen is walking in the garden too (you cannot see\nher, for she happens to be behind that tree), and Her Majesty always\nwished that Angelica and Giglio should marry; so did Giglio: so did\nAngelica sometimes, for she thought her cousin very handsome, brave,\nand good-natured: but then you know she was so clever and knew so many\nthings, and poor Giglio knew nothing, and had no conversation. When they\nlooked at the stars, what did Giglio know of the heavenly bodies? Once,\nwhen on a sweet night in a balcony where they were standing, Angelica\nsaid, \u201cThere is the Bear.\u201d \u201cWhere?\u201d says Giglio. \u201cDon\u2019t be afraid,\nAngelica! if a dozen bears come, I will kill them rather than they shall\nhurt you.\u201d \u201cOh, you silly creature!\u201d says she; \u201cyou are very good, but\nyou are not very wise.\u201d When they looked at the flowers, Giglio was\nutterly unacquainted with botany, and had never heard of Linn\u00e6us. When\nthe butterflies passed, Giglio knew nothing about them, being as ignorant\nof entomology as I am of algebra. So you see, Angelica, though she liked\nGiglio pretty well, despised him on account of his ignorance. I think she\nprobably valued _her own learning_ rather too much; but to think too well\nof one\u2019s self is the fault of people of all ages and both sexes. Finally,\nwhen nobody else was there, Angelica liked her cousin well enough.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nKing Valoroso was very delicate in health, and withal so fond of good\ndinners (which were prepared for him by his French cook Marmitonio),\nthat is was supposed he could not live long. Now the idea of anything\nhappening to the King struck the artful Prime Minister and the designing\nold lady-in-waiting with terror. For, thought Glumboso and the Countess,\n\u201cwhen Prince Giglio marries his cousin and comes to the throne, what a\npretty position we shall be in, whom he dislikes, and who have always\nbeen unkind to him. We shall lose our places in a trice; Gruffanuff\nwill have to give up all the jewels, laces, snuffboxes, rings, and\nwatches which belonged to the Queen, Giglio\u2019s mother, and Glumboso will\nbe forced to refund two hundred and seventeen thousand millions nine\nhundred and eighty-seven thousand four hundred and thirty-nine pounds,\nthirteen shillings, and sixpence halfpenny, money left to Prince Giglio\nby his poor dear father.\u201d So the Lady of Honor and the Prime Minister\nhated Giglio because they had done him a wrong; and these unprincipled\npeople invented a hundred cruel stories about poor Giglio, in order\nto influence the King, Queen, and Princess against him; how he was so\nignorant that he could not spell the commonest words, and actually wrote\nValoroso Valloroso, and spelt Angelica with two I\u2019s; how he drank a\ngreat deal too much wine at dinner, and was always idling in the stables\nwith the grooms; how he owed ever so much money at the pastrycook\u2019s and\nhaberdasher\u2019s; how he used to go to sleep at church; how he was fond of\nplaying cards with the pages. So did the Queen like playing cards; so\ndid the King go to sleep at church, and eat and drink too much; and, if\nGiglio owed a trifle for tarts, who owed him two hundred and seventeen\nthousand millions nine hundred and eighty-seven thousand four hundred and\nthirty-nine pounds, thirteen shillings, and sixpence halfpenny, I should\nlike to know? Detractors and tale-bearers (in my humble opinion) had much\nbetter look at home. All this backbiting and slandering had effect upon\nPrincess Angelica, who began to look coldly on her cousin, then to laugh\nat him and scorn him for being so stupid, then to sneer at him for having\nvulgar associates; and at Court balls, dinners, and so forth, to treat\nhim so unkindly that poor Giglio became quite ill, took to his bed, and\nsent for the doctor.\n\nHis Majesty King Valoroso, as we have seen, had his own reasons for\ndisliking his nephew; and as for those innocent readers who ask why?\u2014I\nbeg (with the permission of their dear parents) to refer them to\nShakespeare\u2019s pages, where they will read why King John disliked Prince\nArthur. With the Queen, his royal but weak-minded aunt, when Giglio was\nout of sight he was out of mind. While she had her whist and her evening\nparties, she cared for little else.\n\nI dare say _two villains_, who shall be nameless, wished Doctor\nPildrafto, the Court Physician, had killed Giglio right out, but he only\nbled and physicked him so severely that the Prince was kept to his room\nfor several months, and grew as thin as a post.\n\nWhilst he was lying sick in this way, there came to the Court of\nPaflagonia a famous painter, whose name was Tomaso Lorenzo, and who was\nPainter in Ordinary to the King of Crim Tartary, Paflagonia\u2019s neighbor.\nTomaso Lorenzo painted all the Court, who were delighted with his works;\nfor even Countess Gruffanuff looked young and Glumboso good-humored in\nhis pictures. \u201cHe flatters very much,\u201d some people said. \u201cNay!\u201d says\nPrincess Angelica, \u201cI am above flattery, and I think he did not make my\npicture handsome enough. I can\u2019t bear to hear a man of genius unjustly\ncried down, and I hope my dear papa will make Lorenzo a knight of his\nOrder of the Cucumber.\u201d\n\nThe Princess Angelica, although the courtiers vowed Her Royal Highness\ncould draw so _beautifully_ that the idea of her taking lessons was\nabsurd, yet chose to have Lorenzo for a teacher, and it was wonderful,\n_as long as she painted in his studio_, what beautiful pictures she\nmade! Some of the performances were engraved for the Book of Beauty;\nothers were sold for enormous sums at Charity Bazaars. She wrote the\n_signatures_ under the drawings, no doubt, but I think I know who did\nthe pictures\u2014this artful painter, who had come with other designs on\nAngelica than merely to teach her to draw.\n\nOne day, Lorenzo showed the Princess a portrait of a young man in armor,\nwith fair hair and the loveliest blue eyes, and an expression at once\nmelancholy and interesting.\n\n\u201cDear Signor Lorenzo, who is this?\u201d asked the Princess.\n\n\u201cI never saw any one so handsome,\u201d says Countess Gruffanuff (the old\nhumbug).\n\n\u201cThat,\u201d said the painter, \u201cthat, madam, is the portrait of my august\nyoung master, His Royal Highness Bulbo, Crown Prince of Crim Tartary,\nDuke of Acroceraunia, Marquis of Poluphloisboio, and Knight Grand Cross\nof the Order of the Pumpkin. That is the Order of the Pumpkin glittering\non his manly breast, and received by His Royal Highness from his august\nfather, His Majesty King Padella I., for his gallantry at the battle\nof Rimbombamento, when he slew with his own princely hand the King of\nOgraria and two hundred and eleven giants of the two hundred and eighteen\nwho formed the King\u2019s bodyguard. The remainder were destroyed by the\nbrave Crim Tartar army after an obstinate combat, in which the Crim\nTartars suffered severely.\u201d\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWhat a Prince! thought Angelica: so brave\u2014so calm-looking\u2014so young\u2014what a\nhero!\n\n\u201cHe is as accomplished as he is brave,\u201d continued the Court Painter.\n\u201cHe knows all languages perfectly: sings deliciously: plays every\ninstrument: composes operas which have been acted a thousand nights\nrunning at the Imperial Theatre of Crim Tartary, and danced in a ballet\nthere before the King and Queen; in which he looked so beautiful, that\nhis cousin, the lovely daughter of the King of Circassia, died for love\nof him.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy did he not marry the poor Princess?\u201d asked Angelica, with a sigh.\n\n\u201cBecause they were _first cousins_, madam, and the clergy forbid these\nunions,\u201d said the Painter.\n\n\u201cAnd, besides, the young Prince had given his royal heart _elsewhere_.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd to whom?\u201d asked Her Royal Highness.\n\n\u201cI am not at liberty to mention the Princess\u2019s name,\u201d answered the\nPainter.\n\n\u201cBut you may tell me the first letter of it,\u201d gasped out the Princess.\n\n\u201cThat your Royal Highness is at liberty to guess,\u201d says Lorenzo.\n\n\u201cDoes it begin with a Z?\u201d asked Angelica.\n\nThe Painter said it wasn\u2019t a Z; then she tried a Y; then an X; then a W,\nand went so backwards through almost the whole alphabet.\n\nWhen she came to D, and it wasn\u2019t D, she grew very much excited; when she\ncame to C, and it wasn\u2019t C, she was still more nervous; when she came\nto B, _and it wasn\u2019t B_, \u201cO dearest Gruffanuff,\u201d she said, \u201clend me your\nsmelling-bottle!\u201d and, hiding her head in the Countess\u2019s shoulder, she\nfaintly whispered, \u201cAh, Signor, can it be A?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was A; and though I may not, by my Royal Master\u2019s orders, tell your\nRoyal Highness the Princess\u2019s name, whom he fondly, madly, devotedly,\nrapturously loves, I may show you her portrait,\u201d says this slyboots: and\nleading the Princess up to a gilt frame, he drew a curtain which was\nbefore it.\n\nO goodness! the frame contained a LOOKING-GLASS! and Angelica saw her own\nface!\n\n\nVII\n\nHOW GIGLIO AND ANGELICA HAD A QUARREL\n\nThe Court Painter of His Majesty the King of Crim Tartary returned to\nthat monarch\u2019s dominions, carrying away a number of sketches which he had\nmade in the Paflagonian capital (you know, of course, my dears, that the\nname of that capital is Blombodinga); but the most charming of all his\npieces was a portrait of the Princess Angelica, which all the Crim Tartar\nnobles came to see. With this work the King was so delighted, that he\ndecorated the Painter with his Order of the Pumpkin (sixth class), and\nthe artist became Sir Tomaso Lorenzo, K. P., thenceforth.\n\nKing Valoroso also sent Sir Tomaso his Order of the Cucumber, besides a\nhandsome order for money, for he painted the King, Queen, and principal\nnobility while at Blombodinga, and became all the fashion, to the perfect\nrage of all the artists in Paflagonia, where the King used to point to\nthe portrait of Prince Bulbo, which Sir Tomaso had left behind him, and\nsay, \u201cWhich among you can paint a picture like that?\u201d\n\nIt hung in the royal parlor over the royal sideboard, and Princess\nAngelica could always look at it as she sat making the tea. Each day it\nseemed to grow handsomer and handsomer, and the Princess grew so fond\nof looking at it, that she would often spill the tea over the cloth, at\nwhich her father and mother would wink and wag their heads, and say to\neach other, \u201cAha! we see how things are going.\u201d\n\nIn the meanwhile poor Giglio lay upstairs very sick in his chamber,\nthough he took all the doctor\u2019s horrible medicines like a good young\nlad; as I hope _you_ do, my dears, when you are ill and mamma sends\nfor the medical man. And the only person who visited Giglio (besides\nhis friend the captain of the guard, who was almost always busy or on\nparade), was little Betsinda the housemaid, who used to do his bedroom\nand sitting-room out, bring him his gruel, and warm his bed.\n\nWhen the little housemaid came to him in the morning and evening, Prince\nGiglio used to say, \u201cBetsinda, Betsinda, how is the Princess Angelica?\u201d\n\nAnd Betsinda used to answer, \u201cThe Princess is very well, thank you, my\nLord.\u201d And Giglio would heave a sigh, and think, if Angelica were sick,\nI am sure _I_ should not be very well.\n\nThen Giglio would say, \u201cBetsinda, has the Princess Angelica asked for me\nto-day?\u201d And Betsinda would answer, \u201cNo, my Lord, not to-day\u201d; or, \u201cShe\nwas very busy practising the piano when I saw her\u201d; or, \u201cShe was writing\ninvitations for an evening party, and did not speak to me\u201d; or make some\nexcuse or other, not strictly consonant with truth; for Betsinda was such\na good-natured creature, that she strove to do everything to prevent\nannoyance to Prince Giglio, and even brought him up roast chicken and\njellies from the kitchen (when the Doctor allowed them, and Giglio was\ngetting better), saying, \u201cthat the Princess had made the jelly, or the\nbread-sauce, with her own hands, on purpose for Giglio.\u201d\n\nWhen Giglio heard this he took heart and began to mend immediately; and\ngobbled up the jelly, and picked the last bone of the chicken-drumsticks,\nmerry-thought, sides\u2019-bones, back, pope\u2019s nose, and all\u2014thanking his\ndear Angelica; and he felt so much better the next day, that he dressed\nand went downstairs, where, whom should he meet but Angelica going into\nthe drawing-room! All the covers were off the chairs, the chandeliers\ntaken out of the bags, the damask curtains uncovered, the work and things\ncarried away, and the handsomest albums on the table. Angelica had her\nhair in papers: in a word, it was evident there was going to be a party.\n\n\u201cHeavens, Giglio!\u201d cries Angelica: \u201c_you_ here in such a dress! What a\nfigure you are!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, dear Angelica, I am come downstairs, and feel so well to-day,\nthanks to the _fowl_ and the _jelly_.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do I know about fowls and jellies, that you allude to them in that\nrude way?\u201d says Angelica.\n\n\u201cWhy, didn\u2019t\u2014didn\u2019t you send them, Angelica dear?\u201d says Giglio.\n\n\u201cI send them indeed! Angelica dear! No, Giglio dear,\u201d says she, mocking\nhim, \u201c_I_ was engaged in getting the rooms ready for His Royal Highness\nthe Prince of Crim Tartary, who is coming to pay my papa\u2019s Court a visit.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe\u2014Prince\u2014of\u2014Crim\u2014Tartary!\u201d Giglio said, aghast.\n\n\u201cYes, the Prince of Crim Tartary,\u201d says Angelica, mocking him. \u201cI dare\nsay you never heard of such a country. What _did_ you ever hear of? You\ndon\u2019t know whether Crim Tartary is on the Red Sea or on the Black Sea, I\ndare say.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I do, it\u2019s on the Red Sea,\u201d says Giglio, at which the Princess\nburst out laughing at him, and said, \u201cOh, you ninny! You are so ignorant,\nyou are really not fit for society! You know nothing but about horses\nand dogs, and are only fit to dine in a mess-room with my Royal father\u2019s\nheaviest dragoons. Don\u2019t look so surprised at me, sir: go and put your\nbest clothes on to receive the Prince, and let me get the drawing-room\nready.\u201d\n\nGiglio said, \u201cOh, Angelica, I didn\u2019t think this of you. _This_ wasn\u2019t\nyour language to me when you gave me this ring, and I gave you mine in\nthe garden, and you gave me that k\u2014\u201d\n\nBut what k was we never shall know, for Angelica, in a rage, cried,\n\u201cGet out, you saucy, rude creature! How dare you to remind me of your\nrudeness? As for your little trumpery twopenny ring, there, sir, there!\u201d\nAnd she flung it out of the window.\n\n\u201cIt was my mother\u2019s marriage-ring,\u201d cried Giglio.\n\n\u201c_I_ don\u2019t care whose marriage-ring it was,\u201d cries Angelica. \u201cMarry the\nperson who picks it up if she\u2019s a woman; you shan\u2019t marry _me_. And give\nme back _my_ ring. I\u2019ve no patience with people who boast about the\nthings they give away. _I_ know who\u2019ll give me much finer things than you\never gave me. A beggarly ring indeed, not worth five shillings!\u201d\n\nNow Angelica little knew that the ring which Giglio had given her was a\nfairy ring: if a man wore it, it made all the women in love with him;\nif a woman, all the gentlemen. The Queen, Giglio\u2019s mother, quite an\nordinary-looking person, was admired immensely whilst she wore this ring,\nand her husband was frantic when she was ill. But when she called her\nlittle Giglio to her, and put the ring on his finger, King Savio did not\nseem to care for his wife so much any more, but transferred all his love\nto little Giglio.\n\nSo did everybody love him as long as he had the ring; but when, as quite\na child, he gave it to Angelica people began to love and admire _her_;\nand Giglio, as the saying is, played only second fiddle.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says Angelica, going on in her foolish ungrateful way. \u201c_I_\nknow who\u2019ll give me much finer things than your beggarly little pearl\nnonsense.\u201d \u201cVery good, miss! You may take back your ring too!\u201d says\nGiglio, his eyes flashing fire at her and then, as if his eyes had been\nsuddenly opened, he cried out, \u201cHa! what does this mean? Is _this_ the\nwoman I have been in love with all my life? Have I been such a ninny as\nto throw away my regard upon _you_? Why\u2014actually\u2014yes\u2014you are a little\ncrooked!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you wretch!\u201d cries Angelica.\n\n\u201cAnd, upon my conscience, you\u2014you squint a little.\u201d\n\n\u201cEh!\u201d cries Angelica.\n\n\u201cAnd your hair is red\u2014and you are marked with the smallpox\u2014and what? you\nhave three false teeth\u2014and one leg shorter than the other!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou brute, you brute, you!\u201d Angelica screamed out; and as she seized the\nring with one hand, she dealt Giglio one, two, three smacks on the face,\nand would have pulled the hair off his head had he not started laughing,\nand crying\u2014\n\n\u201cOh dear me, Angelica, don\u2019t pull out _my_ hair, it hurts! You might\nremove a great deal of _your own_, as I perceive, without scissors or\npulling at all. Oh, ho, ho! ha, ha, ha! he, he, he!\u201d\n\nAnd he nearly choked himself with laughing, and she with rage; when, with\na low bow, and dressed in his Court habit, Count Gambabella, the first\nlord-in-waiting, entered and said, \u201cRoyal Highnesses! Their Majesties\nexpect you in the Pink Throne-room, where they await the arrival of the\nPrince of Crim Tartary.\u201d\n\n\nVIII\n\nHOW GRUFFANUFF PICKED THE FAIRY RING UP, AND PRINCE BULBO CAME TO COURT\n\nPrince Bulbo\u2019s arrival had set all the Court in a flutter: everybody\nwas ordered to put his or her best clothes on: the footmen had their\ngala liveries; the Lord Chancellor his new wig; the Guards their last\nnew tunics; and Countess Gruffanuff, you may be sure, was glad of an\nopportunity of decorating _her_ old person with her finest things. She\nwas walking through the court of the Palace on her way to wait upon their\nMajesties, when she spied something glittering on the pavement, and bade\nthe boy in buttons who was holding up her train, to go and pick up the\narticle shining yonder. He was an ugly little wretch, in some of the late\ngroom-porter\u2019s old clothes cut down, and much too tight for him; and yet,\nwhen he had taken up the ring (as it turned out to be), and was carrying\nit to his mistress, she thought he looked like a little Cupid. He gave\nthe ring to her; it was a trumpery little thing enough, but too small for\nany of her old knuckles, so she put it into her pocket.\n\n\u201cOh, mum!\u201d says the boy, looking at her, \u201chow\u2014how beyoutiful you do look,\nmum, to-day, mum!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you, too, Jacky,\u201d she was going to say; but, looking down at him\u2014no,\nhe was no longer good-looking at all\u2014but only the carroty-haired little\nJacky of the morning. However, praise is welcome from the ugliest of men\nor boys, and Gruffanuff, bidding the boy hold up her train, walked on in\nhigh good-humor. The guards saluted her with peculiar respect. Captain\nHedzoff, in the ante-room, said, \u201cMy dear madam, you look like an angel\nto-day.\u201d And so, bowing and smirking, Gruffanuff went in and took her\nplace behind her Royal Master and Mistress, who were in the throne-room,\nawaiting the Prince of Crim Tartary. Princess Angelica sat at their feet,\nand behind the King\u2019s chair stood Prince Giglio, looking very savage.\n\nThe Prince of Crim Tartary made his appearance, attended by Baron\nSleibootz, his chamberlain, and followed by a black page carrying the\nmost beautiful crown you ever saw! He was dressed in his travelling\ncostume, and his hair, as you see, was a little in disorder. \u201cI have\nridden three hundred miles since breakfast,\u201d said he, \u201cso eager was I to\nbehold the Prin\u2014the Court and august family of Paflagonia, and I could\nnot wait one minute before appearing in your Majesties\u2019 presences.\u201d\n\nGiglio, from behind the throne, burst out into a roar of contemptuous\nlaughter; but all the Royal party, in fact, were so flurried, that they\ndid not hear this little outbreak. \u201cYour R. H. is welcome in any dress,\u201d\nsays the King. \u201cGlumboso, a chair for His Royal Highness.\u201d\n\n\u201cAny dress His Royal Highness wears _is_ a Court dress,\u201d says Princess\nAngelica, smiling graciously.\n\n\u201cAh! but you should see my other clothes,\u201d said the Prince. \u201cI should\nhave had them on, but that stupid carrier has not brought them. Who\u2019s\nthat laughing?\u201d\n\nIt was Giglio laughing. \u201cI was laughing,\u201d he said, \u201cbecause you said\njust now that you were in such a hurry to see the Princess, that you\ncould not wait to change your dress; and now you say you come in those\nclothes because you have no others.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who are you?\u201d says Prince Bulbo, very fiercely.\n\n\u201cMy father was King of this country, and I am his only son, Prince!\u201d\nreplies Giglio, with equal haughtiness.\n\n\u201cHa!\u201d said the King and Glumboso, looking very flurried; but the former,\ncollecting himself, said, \u201cDear Prince Bulbo, I forgot to introduce to\nyour Royal Highness my dear nephew, His Royal Highness Prince Giglio!\nKnow each other! Embrace each other! Giglio, give His Royal Highness your\nhand!\u201d and Giglio, giving his hand, squeezed poor Bulbo\u2019s until the tears\nran out of his eyes. Glumboso now brought a chair for the royal visitor,\nand placed it on the platform on which the King, Queen, and Prince were\nseated; but the chair was on the edge of the platform, and as Bulbo\nsat down, it toppled over, and he with it, rolling over and over, and\nbellowing like a bull. Giglio roared still louder at this disaster, but\nit was with laughter; so did all the Court when Prince Bulbo got up; for\nthough when he entered the room he appeared not very ridiculous, as he\nstood up from his fall for a moment he looked so exceedingly plain and\nfoolish, that nobody could help laughing at him. When he had entered the\nroom, he was observed to carry a rose in his hand, which fell out of it\nas he tumbled.\n\n\u201cMy rose! my rose!\u201d cried Bulbo; and his chamberlain dashed forwards and\npicked it up; and gave it to the Prince, who put it in his waistcoat.\nThen people wondered why they had laughed; there was nothing particularly\nridiculous in him. He was rather short, rather stout, rather red-haired,\nbut, in fine, for a Prince, not so bad.\n\nSo they sat and talked, the royal personages together, the Crim Tartar\nofficers with those of Paflagonia\u2014Giglio very comfortable with Gruffanuff\nbehind the throne. He looked at her with such tender eyes, that her heart\nwas all in a flutter. \u201cOh, dear Prince,\u201d she said, \u201chow could you speak\nso haughtily in presence of their Majesties? I protest I thought I should\nhave fainted.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should have caught you in my arms,\u201d said Giglio, looking raptures.\n\n\u201cWhy were you so cruel to Prince Bulbo, dear Prince?\u201d says Gruff.\n\n\u201cBecause I hate him,\u201d says Gil.\n\n\u201cYou are jealous of him, and still love poor Angelica,\u201d cries Gruffanuff,\nputting her handkerchief to her eyes.\n\n\u201cI did, but I love her no more!\u201d Giglio cried. \u201cI despise her! Were she\nheiress to twenty thousand thrones I would despise her and scorn her. But\nwhy speak of thrones? I have lost mine. I am too weak to recover it\u2014I am\nalone, and have no friend.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, say not so, dear Prince!\u201d says Gruffanuff.\n\n\u201cBesides,\u201d says he, \u201cI am so happy here _behind the throne_ that I would\nnot change my place, no, not for the throne of the world!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat are you two people chattering about there?\u201d says the Queen, who\nwas rather good-natured, though not overburthened with wisdom. \u201cIt is\ntime to dress for dinner. Giglio, show Prince Bulbo to his room. Prince,\nif your clothes have not come, we shall be very happy to see you as\nyou are.\u201d But when Prince Bulbo got to his bedroom, his luggage was\nthere and unpacked; and the hairdresser coming in, cut and curled him\nentirely to his own satisfaction; and when the dinner-bell rang, the\nroyal company had not to wait above five-and-twenty minutes until Bulbo\nappeared, during which time the King, who could not bear to wait, grew\nas sulky as possible. As for Giglio, he never left Madam Gruffanuff all\nthis time, but stood with her in the embrasure of a window, paying her\ncompliments. At length the Groom of the Chambers announced His Royal\nHighness the Prince of Crim Tartary! and the noble company went into the\nroyal dining-room. It was quite a small party; only the King and Queen,\nthe Princess, whom Bulbo took out, the two Princes, Countess Gruffanuff,\nGlumboso the Prime Minister, and Prince Bulbo\u2019s chamberlain. You may be\nsure they had a very good dinner\u2014let every boy and girl think of what he\nor she likes best, and fancy it on the table.\n\nThe Princess talked incessantly all dinner-time to the Prince of Crimea,\nwho ate an immense deal too much, and never took his eyes off his plate,\nexcept when Giglio, who was carving a goose, sent a quantity of stuffing\nand onion sauce into one of them. Giglio only burst out a-laughing as\nthe Crimean Prince wiped his shirt-front and face with his scented\npocket-handkerchief. He did not make Prince Bulbo any apology. When\nthe Prince looked at him, Giglio would not look that way. When Prince\nBulbo said, \u201cPrince Giglio, may I have the honor of taking a glass of\nwine with you?\u201d Giglio _wouldn\u2019t_ answer. All his talk and his eyes were\nfor Countess Gruffanuff, who you may be sure was pleased with Giglio\u2019s\nattentions\u2014the vain old creature! When he was not complimenting her,\nhe was making fun of Prince Bulbo, so loud that Gruffanuff was always\ntapping him with her fan, and saying\u2014\u201cOh, you satirical Prince! Oh, fie,\nthe Prince will hear!\u201d \u201cWell, I don\u2019t mind,\u201d says Giglio, louder still.\nThe King and Queen luckily did not hear; for Her Majesty was a little\ndeaf, and the King thought so much about his own dinner, and, besides,\nmade such a dreadful noise, hobgobbling in eating it, that he heard\nnothing else. After dinner, His Majesty and the Queen went to sleep in\ntheir arm-chairs.\n\nThis was the time when Giglio began his tricks with Prince Bulbo, plying\nthat young gentleman with port, sherry, madeira, champagne, marsala,\ncherry-brandy, and pale ale, of all of which Master Bulbo drank without\nstint. But in plying his guest, Giglio was obliged to drink himself, and,\nI am sorry to say, took more than was good for him, so that the young\nmen were very noisy, rude, and foolish when they joined the ladies after\ndinner; and dearly did they pay for that imprudence, as now, my darlings,\nyou shall hear!\n\nBulbo went and sat by the piano, where Angelica was playing and singing,\nand he sang out of tune, and he upset the coffee when the footman\nbrought it, and he laughed out of place, and talked absurdly, and fell\nasleep and snored horridly. Booh, the nasty pig! But as he lay there\nstretched on the pink satin sofa, Angelica still persisted in thinking\nhim the most beautiful of human beings. No doubt the magic rose which\nBulbo wore caused this infatuation on Angelica\u2019s part; but is she the\nfirst young woman who has thought a silly fellow charming?\n\nGiglio must go and sit by Gruffanuff, whose old face he too every moment\nbegan to find more lovely. He paid the most outrageous compliments to\nher:\u2014There never was such a darling\u2014Older than he was?\u2014Fiddle-de-dee! He\nwould marry her\u2014he would have nothing but her!\n\nTo marry the heir to the throne! Here was a chance! The artful hussy\nactually got a sheet of paper, and wrote upon it, \u201cThis is to give notice\nthat I, Giglio, only son of Savio, King of Paflagonia, hereby promise to\nmarry the charming and virtuous Barbara Griselda, Countess Gruffanuff,\nand widow of the late Jenkins Gruffanuff, Esq.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is it you are writing, you charming Gruffy?\u201d says Giglio, who was\nlolling on the sofa, by the writing-table.\n\n\u201cOnly an order for you to sign, dear Prince, for giving coals and\nblankets to the poor, this cold weather. Look! the King and Queen are\nboth asleep, and your Royal Highness\u2019s order will do.\u201d\n\nSo Giglio, who was very good-natured, as Gruffy well knew, signed the\norder immediately; and, when she had it in her pocket, you may fancy what\nairs she gave herself. She was ready to flounce out of the room before\nthe Queen herself, as now she was the wife of the _rightful_ King of\nPaflagonia! She would not speak to Glumboso, whom she thought a brute,\nfor depriving her _dear husband_ of the crown! And when candles came, and\nshe had helped to undress the Queen and Princess, she went into her own\nroom, and actually practised on a sheet of paper, \u201cGriselda Paflagonia,\u201d\n\u201cBarbara Regina,\u201d \u201cGriselda Barbara, Paf. Reg.,\u201d and I don\u2019t know what\nsignatures besides, against the day when she should be Queen, forsooth!\n\n\nIX\n\nHOW BETSINDA GOT THE WARMING-PAN\n\nLittle Betsinda came in to put Gruffanuff\u2019s hair in papers; and the\nCountess was so pleased, that, for a wonder, she complimented Betsinda.\n\u201cBetsinda!\u201d she said, \u201cyou dressed my hair very nicely to-day; I promised\nyou a little present. Here are five sh\u2014no, here is a pretty little ring,\nthat I picked\u2014that I have had some time.\u201d And she gave Betsinda the ring\nshe had picked up in the court. It fitted Betsinda exactly.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s like the ring the Princess used to wear,\u201d says the maid.\n\n\u201cNo such thing,\u201d says Gruffanuff, \u201cI have had it this ever so long.\nThere, tuck me up quite comfortable; and now, as it\u2019s a very cold night\n(the snow was beating in at the window), you may go and warm dear Prince\nGiglio\u2019s bed, like a good girl, and then you may unrip my green silk,\nand then you can just do me up a little cap for the morning, and then\nyou can mend that hole in my silk stocking, and then you can go to bed,\nBetsinda. Mind I shall want my cup of tea at five o\u2019clock in the morning.\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose I had best warm both the young gentlemen\u2019s beds, ma\u2019am,\u201d says\nBetsinda.\n\nGruffanuff, for reply, said, \u201cHau-au-ho!\u2014Grau-haw-hoo!-Hong-hrho!\u201d In\nfact, she was snoring sound asleep.\n\nHer room, you know, is next to the King and Queen, and the Princess is\nnext to them. So pretty Betsinda went away for the coals to the kitchen,\nand filled the royal warming-pan.\n\nNow, she was a very kind, merry, civil, pretty girl; but there must have\nbeen something very captivating about her this evening, for all the women\nin the servants\u2019 hall began to scold and abuse her. The housekeeper said\nshe was a pert, stuck-up thing: the upper-housemaid asked how dare she\nwear such ringlets and ribbons, it was quite improper! The cook (for\nthere was a woman-cook as well as a man-cook) said to the kitchen-maid\nthat _she_ never could see anything in that creetur: but as for the men,\nevery one of them, Coachman, John, Buttons the page, and Monsieur, the\nPrince of Crim Tartary\u2019s valet, started up, and said:\n\n \u201cMy eyes!\u201d }\n \u201cO mussey!\u201d } What a pretty girl Betsinda is!\u201d\n \u201cO jemmany!\u201d }\n \u201cO ciel!\u201d }\n\n\u201cHands off; none of your impertinence, you vulgar, low people!\u201d says\nBetsinda, walking off with her pan of coals. She heard the young\ngentlemen playing at billiards as she went upstairs: first to Prince\nGiglio\u2019s bed, which she warmed, and then to Prince Bulbo\u2019s room.\n\nHe came in just as she had done; and as soon as he saw her, \u201cO! O! O! O!\nO! O! what a beyou\u2014oo\u2014ootiful creature you are! You angel\u2014you peri\u2014you\nrosebud, let me be thy bulbul\u2014thy Bulbo, too! Fly to the desert, fly with\nme! I never saw a young gazelle to glad me with its dark blue eye that\nhad eyes like thine. Thou nymph of beauty, take, take this young heart.\nA truer never did itself sustain within a soldier\u2019s waistcoat. Be mine!\nBe mine! Be Princess of Crim Tartary! My Royal father will approve our\nunion; and, as for that little carroty-haired Angelica, I do not care a\nfig for her any more.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo away, your Royal Highness, and go to bed, please,\u201d said Betsinda,\nwith the warming-pan.\n\nBut Bulbo said, \u201cNo, never, till thou swearest to be mine, thou lovely,\nblushing, chambermaid divine! Here, at thy feet, the Royal Bulbo lies,\nthe trembling captive of Betsinda\u2019s eyes.\u201d\n\nAnd he went on, making himself so _absurd and ridiculous_, that Betsinda,\nwho was full of fun, gave him a touch with the warming-pan, which, I\npromise you, made him cry \u201cO-o-o-o!\u201d in a very different manner.\n\nPrince Bulbo made such a noise that Prince Giglio, who heard him from the\nnext room, came in to see what was the matter. As soon as he saw what\nwas taking place, Giglio, in a fury, rushed on Bulbo, kicked him in the\nrudest manner up to the ceiling, and went on kicking him till his hair\nwas quite out of curl.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nPoor Betsinda did not know whether to laugh or to cry; and kicking\ncertainly must hurt the Prince, but then he looked so droll! When Giglio\nhad done knocking him up and down to the ground, and whilst he went into\na corner rubbing himself, what do you think Giglio does? He goes down on\nhis own knees to Betsinda, takes her hand, begs her to accept his heart,\nand offers to marry her that moment.\n\nFancy Betsinda\u2019s condition, who had been in love with the Prince ever\nsince she first saw him in the palace garden, when she was quite a little\nchild.\n\n\u201cOh, divine Betsinda!\u201d says the Prince, \u201chow have I lived fifteen\nyears in thy company without seeing thy perfections? What woman in all\nEurope, Asia, Africa, and America, nay, in Australia, only it is not yet\ndiscovered, can presume to be thy equal? Angelica? Pish! Gruffanuff?\nPhoo! The Queen? Ha, ha! Thou art my Queen. Thou art the real Angelica,\nbecause thou art really angelic.\u201d\n\n\u201cO, Prince! I am but a poor chambermaid,\u201d says Betsinda, looking,\nhowever, very much pleased.\n\n\u201cDidst thou not tend me in my sickness, when all forsook me?\u201d continues\nGiglio. \u201cDid not thy gentle hand smooth my pillow, and bring me jelly and\nroast chicken?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, dear Prince, I did,\u201d says Betsinda, \u201cand I sewed your Royal\nHighness\u2019s shirt-buttons on too, if you please, your Royal Highness,\u201d\ncries this artless maiden.\n\nWhen poor Prince Bulbo, who was now madly in love with Betsinda, heard\nthis declaration, when he saw the unmistakable glances which she flung\nupon Giglio, Bulbo began to cry bitterly, and tore quantities of hair out\nof his head, till it all covered the room like so much tow.\n\nBetsinda had left the warming-pan on the floor while the Princes were\ngoing on with their conversation, and as they began now to quarrel and be\nvery fierce with one another, she thought proper to run away.\n\n\u201cYou great big blubbering booby, tearing your hair in the corner there;\nof course you will give me satisfaction for insulting Betsinda. You dare\nto kneel down at Princess Giglio\u2019s knees and kiss her hand!\u201d\n\n\u201cShe\u2019s not Princess Giglio!\u201d roars out Bulbo. \u201cShe shall be Princess\nBulbo, no other shall be Princess Bulbo.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are engaged to my cousin!\u201d bellows out Giglio.\n\n\u201cI hate your cousin,\u201d says Bulbo.\n\n\u201cYou shall give me satisfaction for insulting her!\u201d cries Giglio in a\nfury.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll have your life.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll run you through.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll cut your throat.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll blow your brains out.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll knock your head off.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll send a friend to you in the morning.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll send a bullet into you in the afternoon.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll meet again,\u201d says Giglio, shaking his fist in Bulbo\u2019s face; and\nseizing up the warming-pan, he kissed it, because, forsooth, Betsinda\nhad carried it, and rushed downstairs. What should he see on the landing\nbut His Majesty talking to Betsinda, whom he called by all sorts of fond\nnames. His Majesty had heard a row in the building, so he stated, and\nsmelling something burning, had come out to see what the matter was.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s the young gentlemen smoking, perhaps, sir,\u201d says Betsinda.\n\n\u201cCharming chambermaid,\u201d says the King (like all the rest of them), \u201cnever\nmind the young men! Turn thy eyes on a middle-aged autocrat, who has\nbeen considered not ill-looking in his time.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, sir! what will Her Majesty say?\u201d cries Betsinda.\n\n\u201cHer Majesty!\u201d laughs the monarch. \u201cHer Majesty be hanged. Am I not\nAutocrat of Paflagonia? Have I not blocks, ropes, axes, hangmen\u2014ha? Runs\nnot a river by my palace wall? Have I not sacks to sew up wives withal?\nSay but the word, that thou wilt be mine own\u2014your mistress straightway in\na sack is sewn, and thou the sharer of my heart and throne.\u201d\n\nWhen Giglio heard these atrocious sentiments, he forgot the respect\nusually paid to Royalty, lifted up the warming-pan, and knocked down the\nKing as flat as a pancake; after which, Master Giglio took to his heels\nand ran away, and Betsinda went off screaming, and the Queen, Gruffanuff,\nand the Princess, all came out of their rooms. Fancy their feelings on\nbeholding their husband, father, sovereign, in this posture!\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\nX\n\nHOW KING VALOROSO WAS IN A DREADFUL PASSION\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAs soon as the coals began to burn him, the King came to himself and\nstood up. \u201cHo! my captain of the guards!\u201d His Majesty exclaimed, stamping\nhis royal feet with rage. O piteous spectacle! the King\u2019s nose was bent\nquite crooked by the blow of Prince Giglio! His Majesty ground his\nteeth with rage. \u201cHedzoff,\u201d he said, taking a death-warrant out of his\ndressing-gown pocket, \u201cHedzoff, good Hedzoff, seize upon the Prince.\nThou\u2019lt find him in his chamber two pair up. But now he dared, with\nsacrilegious hand, to strike the sacred night-cap of a king\u2014Hedzoff,\nand floor me with a warming-pan! Away, no more demur, the villain dies!\nSee it be done, or else\u2014h\u2019m\u2014ha!\u2014h\u2019m! mind thine own eyes!\u201d and followed\nby the ladies, and lifting up the tails of his dressing-gown, the King\nentered his own apartment.\n\nCaptain Hedzoff was very much affected, having a sincere love for Giglio.\n\u201cPoor, poor Giglio!\u201d he said, the tears rolling over his manly face, and\ndripping down his moustachios; \u201cmy noble young Prince, is it my hand must\nlead thee to death?\u201d\n\n\u201cLead him to fiddlestick, Hedzoff,\u201d said a female voice. It was\nGruffanuff, who had come out in her dressing-gown when she heard the\nnoise. \u201cThe King said you were to hang the Prince. Well, hang the Prince.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t understand you,\u201d says Hedzoff, who was not a very clever man.\n\n\u201cYou Gaby! he didn\u2019t say _which_ Prince,\u201d says Gruffanuff.\n\n\u201cNo; he didn\u2019t say which, certainly,\u201d said Hedzoff.\n\n\u201cWell, then, take Bulbo, and hang _him_!\u201d\n\nWhen Captain Hedzoff heard this, he began to dance about for joy.\n\u201cObedience is a soldier\u2019s honor,\u201d says he. \u201cPrince Bulbo\u2019s head will do\ncapitally,\u201d and he went to arrest the Prince the very first thing next\nmorning.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nHe knocked at the door. \u201cWho\u2019s there?\u201d says Bulbo. \u201cCaptain Hedzoff?\nStep in, pray, my good Captain; I\u2019m delighted to see you; I have been\nexpecting you.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you?\u201d says Hedzoff.\n\n\u201cSleibootz, my Chamberlain, will act for me,\u201d says the Prince.\n\n\u201cI beg your Royal Highness\u2019s pardon, but you will have to act for\nyourself, and it\u2019s a pity to wake Baron Sleibootz.\u201d\n\nThe Prince Bulbo still seemed to take the matter very coolly. \u201cOf course,\nCaptain,\u201d says he, \u201cyou are come about that affair with Prince Giglio?\u201d\n\n\u201cPrecisely,\u201d says Hedzoff, \u201cthat affair of Prince Giglio.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it to be pistols, or swords, Captain?\u201d asks Bulbo. \u201cI\u2019m a mighty good\nhand with both, and I\u2019ll do for Prince Giglio as sure as my name is my\nRoyal Highness Prince Bulbo.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s some mistake, my Lord,\u201d says the Captain. \u201cThe business is done\nwith _axes_ among us.\u201d\n\n\u201cAxes? That\u2019s sharp work,\u201d says Bulbo. \u201cCall my Chamberlain, he\u2019ll he my\nsecond, and in ten minutes, I flatter myself, you\u2019ll see Master Giglio\u2019s\nhead off his impertinent shoulders. I\u2019m hungry for his blood. Hoo-oo,\naw!\u201d and he looked as savage as an ogre.\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon, sir, but by this warrant I am to take you prisoner,\nand hand you over to\u2014to the executioner.\u201d\n\n\u201cPooh, pooh, my good man!\u2014Stop, I say\u2014ho!\u2014hulloa!\u201d was all that this\nluckless Prince was enabled to say, for Hedzoff\u2019s guards seizing him,\ntied a handkerchief over his mouth and face, and carried him to the place\nof execution.\n\nThe King, who happened to be talking to Glumboso, saw him pass, and\ntook a pinch of snuff and said, \u201cSo much for Giglio. Now let\u2019s go to\nbreakfast.\u201d\n\nThe Captain of the Guard handed over his prisoner to the Sheriff, with\nthe fatal order,\n\n \u201cAT SIGHT CUT OFF THE BEARER\u2019S HEAD.\n\n \u201cVALOROSO XXIV.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s a mistake,\u201d says Bulbo, who did not seem to understand the business\nin the least.\n\n\u201cPoo\u2014poo\u2014pooh,\u201d says the Sheriff. \u201cFetch Jack Ketch instantly. Jack\nKetch!\u201d\n\nAnd poor Bulbo was led to the scaffold, where an executioner with a block\nand a tremendous axe was always ready in case he should be wanted.\n\nBut we must now revert to Giglio and Betsinda.\n\n\nXI\n\nWHAT GRUFFANUFF DID TO GIGLIO AND BETSINDA\n\nGruffanuff, who had seen what had happened with the King, and knew that\nGiglio must come to grief, got up very early the next morning, and went\nto devise some plans for rescuing her darling husband, as the silly old\nthing insisted on calling him. She found him walking up and down the\ngarden, thinking of a rhyme for Betsinda (_tinder_ and _winda_ were all\nhe could find), and indeed having forgotten all about the past evening,\nexcept that Betsinda was the most lovely of beings.\n\n\u201cWell, dear Giglio,\u201d says Gruff.\n\n\u201cWell, dear Gruffy,\u201d says Giglio, only _he_ was quite satirical.\n\n\u201cI have been thinking, darling, what you must do in this scrape. You must\nfly the country for a while.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat scrape?\u2014fly the country? Never without her I love, Countess,\u201d says\nGiglio.\n\n\u201cNo, she will accompany you, dear Prince,\u201d she says, in her most coaxing\naccents. \u201cFirst, we must get the jewels belonging to our royal parents,\nand those of her and his present Majesty. Here is the key, duck; they\nare all yours, you know, by right, for you are the rightful King of\nPaflagonia, and your wife will be the rightful Queen.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill she?\u201d says Giglio.\n\n\u201cYes; and having got the jewels, go to Glumboso\u2019s apartment, where,\nunder his bed, you will find sacks containing money to the amount of\n\u00a3217,000,000,987,439 13s. 6\u00bdd., all belonging to you, for he took it out\nof your royal father\u2019s room on the day of his death. With this we will\nfly.\u201d\n\n\u201c_We_ will fly?\u201d says Giglio.\n\n\u201cYes, you and your bride\u2014your affianced love\u2014your Gruffy!\u201d says the\nCountess, with a languishing leer.\n\n\u201c_You_ my bride!\u201d says Giglio. \u201cYou, you hideous old woman!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you\u2014you wretch! didn\u2019t you give me this paper promising marriage?\u201d\ncries Gruff.\n\n\u201cGet away, you old goose! I love Betsinda, and Betsinda only!\u201d And in a\nfit of terror he ran from her as quickly as he could.\n\n\u201cHe! he! he!\u201d shrieks out Gruff; \u201ca promise is a promise if there are\nlaws in Paflagonia! And as for that monster, that wretch, that fiend,\nthat ugly little vixen\u2014as for that upstart, that ingrate, that beast,\nBetsinda, Master Giglio will have no little difficulty in discovering her\nwhereabouts. He may look very long before finding _her_, I warrant. He\nlittle knows that Miss Betsinda is\u2014\u201d\n\nIs\u2014what? Now, you shall hear. Poor Betsinda got up at five in winter\u2019s\nmorning to bring her cruel mistress her tea; and instead of finding her\nin a good humor, found Gruffy as cross as two sticks. The Countess boxed\nBetsinda\u2019s ears half a dozen times whilst she was dressing; but as poor\nlittle Betsinda was used to this kind of treatment, she did not feel any\nspecial alarm. \u201cAnd now,\u201d says she, \u201cwhen Her Majesty rings her bell\ntwice, I\u2019ll trouble you, miss, to attend.\u201d\n\nSo when the Queen\u2019s bell rang twice, Betsinda came to Her Majesty and\nmade a pretty little curtsey. The Queen, the Princess, and Gruffanuff\nwere all three in the room. As soon as they saw her they began.\n\n\u201cYou wretch!\u201d says the Queen.\n\n\u201cYou little vulgar thing!\u201d says the Princess.\n\n\u201cYou beast!\u201d says Gruffanuff.\n\n\u201cGet out of my sight!\u201d says the Queen.\n\n\u201cGo away with you, do!\u201d says the Princess.\n\n\u201cQuit the premises!\u201d says Gruffanuff.\n\nAlas! and woe is me! very lamentable events had occurred to Betsinda that\nmorning, and all in consequence of that fatal warming-pan business of the\nprevious night. The King had offered to marry her; of course Her Majesty\nthe Queen was jealous; Bulbo had fallen in love with her; of course\nAngelica was furious: Giglio was in love with her, and oh, what a fury\nGruffy was in!\n\n { cap }\n \u201cTake off that { petticoat } I gave you,\u201d they\n { gown } said, all at once,\n\nand began tearing the clothes off poor Betsinda.\n\n \u201cHow dare { the King?\u201d } cried the Queen,\n you flirt { Prince Bulbo?\u201d } the Princess,\n with { Prince Giglio?\u201d } and Countess.\n\n\u201cGive her the rags she wore when she came into the house and turn her\nout of it!\u201d cries the Queen. \u201cMind she does not go with _my_ shoes on,\nwhich I lent her so kindly,\u201d says the Princess; and indeed the Princess\u2019s\nshoes were a great deal too big for Betsinda.\n\n\u201cCome with me, you filthy hussy!\u201d and taking up the Queen\u2019s poker, the\ncruel Gruffanuff drove Betsinda into her room.\n\nThe Countess went to the glass box in which she had kept Betsinda\u2019s old\ncloak and shoe this ever so long, and said, \u201cTake those rags, you little\nbeggar creature, and strip off everything belonging to honest people,\nand go about your business\u201d; and she actually tore off the poor little\ndelicate thing\u2019s back almost all her things, and told her to be off out\nof the house.\n\nPoor Betsinda huddled the cloak round her back, on which were embroidered\nthe letters PRIN\u2026 ROSAL\u2026 and then came a great rent.\n\nAs for the shoe, what was she to do with one poor little tootsey sandal?\nthe string was still to it, so she hung it round her neck.\n\n\u201cWon\u2019t you give me a pair of shoes to go out in the snow, mum, if you\nplease, mum?\u201d cried the poor child.\n\n\u201cNo, you wicked beast!\u201d says Gruffanuff, driving her along with the\npoker\u2014driving her down the cold stairs\u2014driving her through the cold\nhall\u2014flinging her out into the cold street, so that the knocker itself\nshed tears to see her!\n\nBut a kind fairy made the soft snow warm for her little feet, and she\nwrapped herself up in the ermine of her mantle, and was gone!\n\n\u201cAnd now let us think about breakfast,\u201d says the greedy Queen.\n\n\u201cWhat dress shall I put on, mamma? the pink or the pea-green?\u201d says\nAngelica. \u201cWhich do you think the dear Prince will like best?\u201d\n\n\u201cMrs. V.!\u201d sings out the King from his dressing-room, \u201clet us have\nsausages for breakfast! Remember we have Prince Bulbo staying with us!\u201d\n\nAnd they all went to get ready.\n\nNine o\u2019clock came, and they were all in the breakfast-room, and no\nPrince Bulbo as yet. The urn was hissing and humming: the muffins were\nsmoking\u2014such a heap of muffins! the eggs were done, there was a pot of\nraspberry jam, and coffee, and a beautiful chicken and tongue on the\nside-table. Marmitonio the cook brought in the sausages. Oh, how nice\nthey smelt!\n\n\u201cWhere is Bulbo?\u201d said the King. \u201cJohn, where is His Royal Highness?\u201d\n\nJohn said he had a took hup His Roilighnessesses shaving-water, and\nhis clothes and things, and he wasn\u2019t in his room, which he sposed His\nRoyliness was just stepped hout.\n\n\u201cStepped out before breakfast in the snow! Impossible!\u201d says the King,\nsticking his fork into a sausage. \u201cMy dear, take one. Angelica, won\u2019t you\nhave a saveloy?\u201d\n\nThe Princess took one, being very fond of them; and at this moment\nGlumboso entered with Captain Hedzoff, both looking very much disturbed.\n\n\u201cI am afraid your Majesty\u2014\u201d cries Glumboso.\n\n\u201cNo business before breakfast, Glum!\u201d says the King. \u201cBreakfast first,\nbusiness next. Mrs. V., some more sugar!\u201d\n\n\u201cSire, I am afraid if we wait till after breakfast it will be too late,\u201d\nsays Glumboso. \u201cHe\u2014he\u2014he\u2019ll be hanged at half-past nine.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t talk about hanging and spoil my breakfast, you unkind vulgar man\nyou,\u201d cries the Princess. \u201cJohn, some mustard. Pray who is to be hanged?\u201d\n\n\u201cSire, it is the Prince,\u201d whispers Glumboso to the King.\n\n\u201cTalk about business after breakfast, I tell you!\u201d says His Majesty,\nquite sulky.\n\n\u201cWe shall have a war, Sire, depend on it,\u201d says the Minister. \u201cHis\nfather, King Padella.\u2026\u201d\n\n\u201cHis father, King _who_?\u201d says the King. \u201cKing Padella is not Giglio\u2019s\nfather. My brother, King Savio, was Giglio\u2019s father.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s Prince Bulbo they are hanging, Sire, not Prince Giglio,\u201d says the\nPrime Minister.\n\n\u201cYou told me to hang the Prince, and I took the ugly one,\u201d says Hedzoff.\n\u201cI didn\u2019t, of course, think Your Majesty intended to murder your own\nflesh and blood!\u201d\n\nThe King for all reply flung the plate of sausages at Hedzoff\u2019s head. The\nPrincess cried out \u201cHee-karee-karee!\u201d and fell down in a fainting fit.\n\n\u201cTurn the cock of the urn upon Her Royal Highness,\u201d said the King, and\nthe boiling water gradually revived her. His Majesty looked at his watch,\ncompared it by the clock in the parlor, and by that of the church in the\nsquare opposite; then he wound it up; then he looked at it again. \u201cThe\ngreat question is,\u201d says he, \u201cam I fast or am I slow? If I\u2019m slow, we\nmay as well go on with breakfast. If I\u2019m fast, why, there is just the\npossibility of saving Prince Bulbo. It\u2019s a doosid awkward mistake, and\nupon my word, Hedzoff, I have the greatest mind to have you hanged too.\u201d\n\n\u201cSire, I did but my duty; a soldier has but his orders. I didn\u2019t expect\nafter forty-seven years of faithful service that my sovereign would think\nof putting me to a felon\u2019s death!\u201d\n\n\u201cA hundred thousand plagues upon you! Can\u2019t you see that while you are\ntalking my Bulbo is being hung?\u201d screamed the Princess.\n\n\u201cBy Jove! she\u2019s always right, that girl, and I\u2019m so absent,\u201d says the\nKing, looking at his watch again. \u201cHa! there go the drums! What a doosid\nawkward thing though!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, papa, you goose! Write the reprieve, and let me run with it,\u201d cries\nthe Princess\u2014and she got a sheet of paper, and pen and ink, and laid them\nbefore the King.\n\n\u201cConfound it! where are my spectacles?\u201d the Monarch exclaimed. \u201cAngelica!\ngo up into my bedroom, look under my pillow, not your mamma\u2019s; there\nyou\u2019ll see my keys. Bring them down to me, and\u2014Well, well! what impetuous\nthings these girls are!\u201d Angelica was gone, and had run up panting to\nthe bedroom, and found the keys, and was back again before the King had\nfinished a muffin. \u201cNow, love,\u201d says he, \u201cyou must go all the way back\nfor my desk, in which my spectacles are. If you would but have heard me\nout.\u2026 Be hanged to her! There she is off again. Angelica! ANGELICA!\u201d\nWhen His Majesty called in his _loud_ voice, she knew she must obey, and\ncame back.\n\n\u201cMy dear, when you go out of a room, how often have I told you, _shut\nthe door_. That\u2019s a darling. That\u2019s all.\u201d At last the keys and the desk\nand the spectacles were got, and the King mended his pen, and signed his\nname to a reprieve, and Angelica ran with it as swift as the wind. \u201cYou\u2019d\nbetter stay, my love, and finish the muffins. There\u2019s no use going. Be\nsure it\u2019s too late. Hand me over that raspberry jam, please,\u201d said the\nMonarch. \u201cBong! Bawong! There goes the half-hour. I knew it was.\u201d\n\nAngelica ran, and ran, and ran, and ran. She ran up Fore Street, and\ndown High Street, and through the Market-place, and down to the left,\nand over the bridge, and up the blind alley, and back again, and round\nby the Castle, and so along by the Haberdasher\u2019s on the right, opposite\nthe lamppost, and round the square, and she came\u2014she came to the\n_Execution place_, where she saw Bulbo laying his head on the block!!!\nThe executioner raised his axe, but at that moment the Princess came\npanting up and cried \u201cReprieve!\u201d \u201cReprieve!\u201d screamed the Princess.\n\u201cReprieve!\u201d shouted all the people. Up the scaffold stairs she sprang,\nwith the agility of a lighter of lamps; and flinging herself in Bulbo\u2019s\narms, regardless of all ceremony, she cried out, \u201cOh, my Prince! my lord!\nmy love! my Bulbo! Thine Angelica has been in time to save thy precious\nexistence, sweet rosebud; to prevent thy being nipped in thy young bloom!\nHad aught befallen thee, Angelica too had died, and welcomed death that\njoined her to her Bulbo.\u201d\n\n\u201cH\u2019m! there\u2019s no accounting for tastes,\u201d said Bulbo, looking so very\nmuch puzzled and uncomfortable that the Princess, in tones of tenderest\nstrain, asked the cause of his disquiet.\n\n\u201cI tell you what it is, Angelica,\u201d said he, \u201csince I came here yesterday,\nthere has been such a row, and disturbance, and quarrelling, and\nfighting, and chopping of heads off, and the deuce to pay, that I am\ninclined to go back to Crim Tartary.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut with me as thy bride, my Bulbo! Though wherever thou art is Crim\nTartary to me, my bold, my beautiful, my Bulbo!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, well, I suppose we must be married,\u201d says Bulbo. \u201cDoctor, you came\nto read the Funeral Service\u2014read the Marriage Service, will you? What\nmust be, must. That will satisfy Angelica, and then, in the name of peace\nand quietness, do let us go back to breakfast.\u201d\n\nBulbo had carried a rose in his mouth all the time of the dismal\nceremony. It was a fairy rose, and he was told by his mother that he\nought never to part with it. So he had kept it between his teeth, even\nwhen he laid his poor head upon the block, hoping vaguely that some\nchance would turn up in his favor. As he began to speak to Angelica, he\nforgot about the rose, and of course it dropped out of his mouth. The\nromantic Princess instantly stooped and seized it. \u201cSweet rose!\u201d she\nexclaimed, \u201cthat bloomed upon my Bulbo\u2019s lip, never, never will I part\nfrom thee!\u201d and she placed it in her bosom. And you know Bulbo _couldn\u2019t_\nask her to give the rose back again. And they went to breakfast; and as\nthey walked, it appeared to Bulbo that Angelica became more exquisitely\nlovely every moment.\n\nHe was frantic until they were married; and now, strange to say, it was\nAngelica who didn\u2019t care about him! He knelt down, he kissed her hand, he\nprayed and begged; he cried with admiration; while she for her part said\nshe really thought they might wait; it seemed to her he was not handsome\nany more\u2014no, not at all, quite the reverse; and not clever, no, very\nstupid; and not well bred, like Giglio; no, on the contrary, dreadfully\nvul\u2014\n\nWhat, I cannot say, for King Valoroso roared out \u201c_Pooh_, stuff!\u201d in a\nterrible voice. \u201cWe will have no more of this shilly-shallying! Call the\nArchbishop, and let the Prince and Princess be married offhand!\u201d\n\nSo, married they were, and I am sure for my part I trust they will be\nhappy.\n\n\nXII\n\nHOW BETSINDA FLED, AND WHAT BECAME OF HER\n\nBetsinda wandered on and on, till she passed through the town gates,\nand so on the great Crim Tartary road, the very way on which Giglio too\nwas going. \u201cAh!\u201d thought she, as the diligence passed her, of which the\nconductor was blowing a delightful tune on his horn, \u201chow I should like\nto be on that coach!\u201d But the coach and the jingling horses were very\nsoon gone. She little knew who was in it, though very likely she was\nthinking of him all the time. Then came an empty cart, returning from\nmarket; and the driver being a kind man, and seeing such a very pretty\ngirl trudging along the road with bare feet, most good-naturedly gave her\na seat. He said he lived on the confines of the forest, where his old\nfather was a woodman, and, if she liked, he would take her so far on her\nroad. All roads were the same to little Betsinda, so she very thankfully\ntook this one.\n\nAnd the carter put a cloth round her bare feet, and gave her some bread\nand cold bacon, and was very kind to her. For all that she was very\ncold and melancholy. When after travelling on and on, evening came, and\nall the black pines were bending with snow, and there, at last, was\nthe comfortable light beaming in the woodman\u2019s windows; and so they\narrived, and went into his cottage. He was an old man, and had a number\nof children, who were just at supper, with nice hot bread-and-milk, when\ntheir elder brother arrived with the cart. And they jumped and clapped\ntheir hands; for they were good children; and he had brought them toys\nfrom the town. And when they saw the pretty stranger, they ran to her,\nand brought her to the fire, and rubbed her poor little feet, and brought\nher bread-and-milk.\n\n\u201cLook, father!\u201d they said to the old woodman, \u201clook at this poor girl,\nand see what pretty cold feet she has. They are as white as our milk!\nAnd look and see what an odd cloak she has, just like the bit of velvet\nthat hangs up in our cupboard, and which you found that day the little\ncubs were killed by King Padella, in the forest! And look, why, bless us\nall! she has got round her neck just such another little shoe as that you\nbrought home, and have shown us so often\u2014a little blue velvet shoe!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat,\u201d said the old woodman, \u201cwhat is all this about a shoe and a cloak?\u201d\n\nAnd Betsinda explained that she had been left, when quite a little child,\nat the town with this cloak and this shoe. And the persons who had taken\ncare of her had\u2014had been angry with her, for no fault, she hoped, of her\nown. And they sent her away with her old clothes\u2014and here, in fact, she\nwas. She remembered having been in a forest\u2014and perhaps it was a dream\u2014it\nwas so very odd and strange\u2014having lived in a cave with lions there; and,\nbefore that, having lived in a very, very fine house, as fine as the\nKing\u2019s, in the town.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWhen the woodman heard this, he was so astonished, it was quite curious\nto see how astonished he was. He went to his cupboard, and took out of\na stocking a five-shilling piece of King Cavolfiore, and vowed it was\nexactly like the young woman. And then he produced the shoe and piece of\nvelvet which he had kept so long, and compared them with the things which\nBetsinda wore. In Betsinda\u2019s little shoe was written, \u201cHopkins, maker\nto the Royal Family\u201d; so in the other shoe was written, \u201cHopkins, maker\nto the Royal Family.\u201d In the inside of Betsinda\u2019s piece of cloak was\nembroidered, \u201cPrin Rosal\u201d; in the other piece of cloak was embroidered\n\u201ccess Ba. No. 246.\u201d So that when put together you read, \u201cPrincess\nRosalba. No. 246.\u201d\n\nOn seeing this, the dear old woodman fell down on his knee, saying,\n\u201cO my Princess, O my gracious royal lady, O my rightful Queen of Crim\nTartary,\u2014I hail thee\u2014I acknowledge thee\u2014I do thee homage!\u201d And in token\nof his fealty, he rubbed his venerable nose three times on the ground,\nand put the Princess\u2019s foot on his head.\n\n\u201cWhy,\u201d said she, \u201cmy good woodman, you must be a nobleman of my royal\nfather\u2019s Court!\u201d For in her lowly retreat, and under the name of\nBetsinda, Her Majesty, Rosalba, Queen of Crim Tartary, had read of the\ncustoms of all foreign courts and nations.\n\n\u201cMarry, indeed, am I, my gracious liege\u2014the poor Lord Spinachi once\u2014the\nhumble woodman these fifteen years syne. Ever since the tyrant Padella\n(may ruin overtake the treacherous knave!) dismissed me from my post of\nFirst Lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cFirst Lord of the Toothpick and Joint Keeper of the Snuffbox? I mind\nme! Thou heldest these posts under our royal Sire. They are restored to\nthee, Lord Spinachi! I make thee knight of the second class of our Order\nof the Pumpkin (the first class being reserved for crowned heads alone).\nRise, Marquis of Spinachi!\u201d And with indescribable majesty, the Queen,\nwho had no sword handy, waved the pewter spoon with which she had been\ntaking her bread-and-milk, over the bald head of the old nobleman, whose\ntears absolutely made a puddle on the ground, and whose dear children\nwent to bed that night Lords and Ladies Bartolomeo, Ubaldo, Catarina,\nand Ottavia degli Spinachi!\n\nThe acquaintance Her Majesty showed with the history, and _noble\nfamilies_ of her empire, was wonderful. \u201cThe House of Broccoli should\nremain faithful to us,\u201d she said; \u201cthey were ever welcome at our Court.\nHave the Articiocchi, as was their wont, turned to the Rising Sun? The\nfamily of Sauerkraut must sure be with us\u2014they were ever welcome in the\nhalls of King Cavolfiore.\u201d And so she went on enumerating quite a list\nof the nobility and gentry of Crim Tartary, so admirably had Her Majesty\nprofited by her studies while in exile.\n\nThe old Marquis of Spinachi said he could answer for them all; that the\nwhole country groaned under Padella\u2019s tyranny, and longed to return\nto its rightful sovereign; and late as it was, he sent his children,\nwho knew the forest well, to summon this nobleman and that; and when\nhis eldest son, who had been rubbing the horse down and giving him his\nsupper, came into the house for his own, the Marquis told him to put his\nboots on, and a saddle on the mare, and ride hither and thither to such\nand such people.\n\nWhen the young man heard who his companion in the cart had been, he too\nknelt down and put her royal foot on his head; he too bedewed the ground\nwith his tears; he was frantically in love with her, as everybody now\nwas who saw her; so were the young Lords Bartolomeo and Ubaldo, who\npunched each other\u2019s little heads out of jealousy; and so, when they\ncame from east and west at the summons of the Marquis degli Spinachi,\nwere the Crim Tartar Lords who still remained faithful to the House of\nCavolfiore. They were such very old gentlemen for the most part that Her\nMajesty never suspected their absurd passion, and went among them quite\nunaware of the havoc her beauty was causing, until an old blind Lord\nwho had joined her party told her what the truth was; after which, for\nfear of making the people too much in love with her, she always wore a\nveil. She went about privately, from one nobleman\u2019s castle to another;\nand they visited among themselves again, and had meetings, and composed\nproclamations and counter-proclamations, and distributed all the best\nplaces of the kingdom amongst one another, and selected who of the\nopposition party should be executed when the Queen came to her own. And\nso in about a year they were ready to move.\n\nThe party of Fidelity was in truth composed of very feeble old fogies for\nthe most part; they went about the country waving their old swords and\nflags, and calling \u201cGod save the Queen!\u201d and King Padella happening to\nbe absent upon an invasion, they had their own way for a little, and to\nbe sure the people were very enthusiastic whenever they saw the Queen;\notherwise the vulgar took matters very quietly, for they said, as far as\nthey could recollect, they were pretty well as much taxed in Cavolfiore\u2019s\ntime, as now in Padella\u2019s.\n\n\nXIII\n\nHOW QUEEN ROSALBA CAME TO THE CASTLE OF THE BOLD COUNT HOGGINARMO\n\nHer Majesty, having indeed nothing else to give, made all her followers\nKnights of the Pumpkin, and Marquises, Earls, and Baronets; and they had\na little court for her, and made her a little crown of gilt paper, and a\nrobe of cotton velvet; and they quarrelled about the places to be given\naway in her court, and about rank and precedence and dignities\u2014you can\u2019t\nthink how they quarrelled! The poor Queen was very tired of her honors\nbefore she had had them a month, and I dare say sighed sometimes even to\nbe a lady\u2019s-maid again. But we must all do our duty in our respective\nstations, so the Queen resigned herself to perform hers.\n\nWe have said how it happened that none of the Usurper\u2019s troops came out\nto oppose this Army of Fidelity; it pottered along as nimbly as the\ngout of the principal commanders allowed: it consisted of twice as many\nofficers as soldiers: and at length passed near the estates of one of\nthe most powerful noblemen of the country, who had not declared for the\nQueen, but of whom her party had hopes, as he was always quarrelling with\nKing Padella.\n\nWhen they came close to his park gates, this nobleman sent to say he\nwould wait upon Her Majesty: he was a most powerful warrior, and his name\nwas Count Hogginarmo, whose helmet it took two strong negroes to carry.\nHe knelt down before her and said, \u201cMadam and liege lady! it becomes the\ngreat nobles of the Crimean realm to show every outward sign of respect\nto the wearer of the Crown, whoever that may be. We testify to our own\nnobility in acknowledging yours. The bold Hogginarmo bends the knee to\nthe first of the aristocracy of his country.\u201d\n\nRosalba said, \u201cThe bold Count of Hogginarmo was uncommonly kind.\u201d But she\nfelt afraid of him, even while he was kneeling, and his eyes scowled at\nher from between his whiskers, which grew up to them.\n\n\u201cThe first Count of the Empire, madam,\u201d he went on, \u201csalutes the\nSovereign. The Prince addresses himself to the not more noble lady!\nMadam, my hand is free, and I offer it, and my heart and my sword to\nyour service! My three wives lie buried in my ancestral vaults. The\nthird perished but a year since; and this heart pines for a consort!\nDeign to be mine, and I swear to bring to your bridal table the head of\nKing Padella, the eyes and nose of his son Prince Bulbo, the right hand\nand ears of the usurping Sovereign of Paflagonia, which country shall\nthenceforth be an appanage to your\u2014to _our_ Crown! Say yes; Hogginarmo is\nnot accustomed to be denied. Indeed I cannot contemplate the possibility\nof a refusal: for frightful will be the result; dreadful the murders;\nfurious the devastations; horrible the tyranny; tremendous the tortures,\nmisery, taxation, which the people of this realm will endure, if\nHogginarmo\u2019s wrath be aroused! I see consent in your Majesty\u2019s lovely\neyes\u2014their glances fill my soul with rapture!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, sir!\u201d Rosalba said, withdrawing her hand in great fright. \u201cYour\nLordship is exceedingly kind; but I am sorry to tell you that I have a\nprior attachment to a young gentleman by the name of\u2014Prince\u2014Giglio\u2014and\nnever\u2014never can marry any one but him.\u201d\n\nWho can describe Hogginarmo\u2019s wrath at this remark? Rising up from the\nground, he ground his teeth so that fire flashed out of his mouth,\nfrom which at the same time issued remarks and language, so _loud,\nviolent, and improper_, that this pen shall never repeat them!\n\u201cR-r-r-r-r-r\u2014Rejected! Fiends and perdition! The bold Hogginarmo\nrejected! All the world shall hear of my rage; and you, madam, you above\nall shall rue it!\u201d And kicking the two negroes before him, he rushed\naway, his whiskers streaming in the wind.\n\nHer Majesty\u2019s Privy Council was in a dreadful panic when they saw\nHogginarmo issue from the royal presence in such a towering rage, making\nfootballs of the poor negroes\u2014a panic which the events justified. They\nmarched off from Hogginarmo\u2019s park very crestfallen; and in another\nhalf-hour they were met by that rapacious chieftain with a few of his\nfollowers, who cut, slashed, charged, whacked, banged, and pommelled\namongst them, took the Queen prisoner, and drove the Army of Fidelity to\nI don\u2019t know where.\n\nPoor Queen! Hogginarmo, her conqueror, would not condescend to see her.\n\u201cGet a horse-van!\u201d he said to his grooms, \u201cclap the hussy into it, and\nsend her, with my compliments, to His Majesty King Padella.\u201d\n\n[Illustration]\n\nAlong with his lovely prisoner, Hogginarmo sent a letter full of servile\ncompliments and loathsome flatteries to King Padella, for whose life, and\nthat of his royal family, the _hypocritical humbug_ pretended to offer\nthe most fulsome prayers. And Hogginarmo promised speedily to pay his\nhumble homage at his august master\u2019s throne, of which he begged leave to\nbe counted the most loyal and constant defender. Such a _wary_ old _bird_\nas King Padella was not to be caught by Master Hogginarmo\u2019s _chaff_, and\nwe shall hear presently how the tyrant treated his upstart vassal. No,\nno; depend on\u2019t, two such rogues do not trust one another.\n\nSo this poor Queen was laid in the straw like Margery Daw, and driven\nalong in the dark ever so many miles to the Court, where King Padella had\nnow arrived, having vanquished all his enemies, murdered most of them,\nand brought some of the richest into captivity with him for the purpose\nof torturing them and finding out where they had hidden their money.\n\nRosalba heard their shrieks and groans in the dungeon in which she was\nthrust; a most awful black hole, full of bats, rats, mice, toads, frogs,\nmosquitoes, bugs, fleas, serpents, and every kind of horror. No light was\nlet into it, otherwise the gaolers might have seen her and fallen in love\nwith her, as an owl that lived up in the roof of the tower did, and a\ncat, you know, who can see in the dark, and having set its green eyes on\nRosalba, never would be got to go back to the turnkey\u2019s wife to whom it\nbelonged. And the toads in the dungeon came and kissed her feet, and the\nvipers wound round her neck and arms, and never hurt her, so charming was\nthis poor Princess in the midst of her misfortunes.\n\nAt last, after she had been kept in this place _ever so long_, the door\nof the dungeon opened, and the terrible King Padella came in.\n\nBut what he said and did must be reserved for another chapter, as we must\nnow go back to Prince Giglio.\n\n\nXIV\n\nWHAT BECAME OF GIGLIO\n\nThe idea of marrying such an old creature as Gruffanuff frightened Prince\nGiglio so, that he ran up to his room, packed his trunks, fetched in a\ncouple of porters, and was off to the diligence office in a twinkling.\n\nIt was well that he was so quick in his operations, did not dawdle over\nhis luggage, and took the early coach, for as soon as the mistake about\nPrince Bulbo was found out, that cruel Glumboso sent up a couple of\npolicemen to Prince Giglio\u2019s room, with orders that he should be carried\nto Newgate, and his head taken off before twelve o\u2019clock. But the coach\nwas out of the Paflagonian dominions before two o\u2019clock; and I dare say\nthe express that was sent after Prince Giglio did not ride very quick,\nfor many people in Paflagonia had a regard for Giglio, as the son of\ntheir old sovereign; a Prince who, with all his weaknesses, was very\nmuch better than his brother, the usurping, lazy, careless, passionate,\ntyrannical, reigning monarch. That Prince busied himself with the balls,\nf\u00eates, masquerades, hunting-parties, and so forth, which he thought\nproper to give on the occasion of his daughter\u2019s marriage to Prince\nBulbo; and let us trust was not sorry in his own heart that his brother\u2019s\nson had escaped the scaffold.\n\nIt was very cold weather, and the snow was on the ground, and Giglio, who\ngave his name as simple Mr. Giles, was very glad to get a comfortable\nplace in the coup\u00e9 of the diligence, where he sat with the conductor\nand another gentleman. At the first stage from Blombodinga, as they\nstopped to change horses, there came up to the diligence a very ordinary,\nvulgar-looking woman, with a bag under her arm, who asked for a place.\nAll the inside places were taken, and the young woman was informed that\nif she wished to travel, she must go upon the roof; and the passenger\ninside with Giglio (a rude person, I should think), put his head out\nof the window, and said, \u201cNice weather for travelling outside! I wish\nyou a pleasant journey, my dear.\u201d The poor woman coughed very much, and\nGiglio pitied her. \u201cI will give up my place to her,\u201d says he, \u201crather\nthan she should travel in the cold air with that horrid cough.\u201d On which\nthe vulgar traveller said, \u201c_You\u2019d_ keep her warm, I am sure, if it\u2019s a\n_muff_ she wants.\u201d On which Giglio pulled his nose, boxed his ears, hit\nhim in the eye, and gave this vulgar person a warning never to call him\n_muff_ again.\n\nThen he sprang up gaily on to the roof of the diligence, and made himself\nvery comfortable in the straw. The vulgar traveller got down only at the\nnext station, and Giglio took his place again, and talked to the person\nnext to him. She appeared to be a most agreeable, well-informed, and\nentertaining female. They travelled together till night, and she gave\nGiglio all sorts of things out of the bag which she carried, and which\nindeed seemed to contain the most wonderful collection of articles. He\nwas thirsty\u2014out there came a pint bottle of Bass\u2019s pale ale, and a silver\nmug! Hungry\u2014she took out a cold fowl, some slices of ham, bread, salt,\nand a most delicious piece of cold plum-pudding, and a little glass of\nbrandy afterwards.\n\nAs they travelled, this plain-looking, queer woman talked to Giglio on\na variety of subjects, in which the poor Prince showed his ignorance as\nmuch as she did her capacity. He owned, with many blushes, how ignorant\nhe was; on which the lady said, \u201cMy dear Gigl\u2014my good Mr. Giles, you are\na young man, and have plenty of time before you. You have nothing to do\nbut to improve yourself. Who knows but that you may find use for your\nknowledge some day? When\u2014when you may be wanted at home, as some people\nmay be.\u201d \u201cGood heavens, madam!\u201d says he, \u201cdo you know me?\u201d\n\n\u201cI know a number of funny things,\u201d says the lady, \u201cI have been at some\npeople\u2019s christenings, and turned away from other folks\u2019 doors. I have\nseen some people spoilt by good fortune, and others, as I hope, improved\nby hardship. I advise you to stay at the town where the coach stops for\nthe night. Stay there and study, and remember your old friend to whom you\nwere kind.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who is my old friend?\u201d asked Giglio. \u201cWhen you want anything,\u201d says\nthe lady, \u201clook in this bag, which I leave to you as a present, and be\ngrateful to\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cTo whom, madam?\u201d says he.\n\n\u201cTo the Fairy Blackstick,\u201d says the lady, flying out of the window. And\nwhen Giglio asked the conductor if he knew where the lady was?\n\n\u201cWhat lady?\u201d says the man; \u201cthere has been no lady in this coach, except\nthe old woman, who got out at the last stage.\u201d And Giglio thought he had\nbeen dreaming. But there was the bag which Blackstick had given him lying\non his lap; and when he came to the town he took it in his hand and went\ninto the inn.\n\nThey gave him a very bad bedroom, and Giglio, when he woke in the\nmorning, fancying himself in the Royal Palace at home, called, \u201cJohn,\nCharles, Thomas! My chocolate\u2014my dressing-gown\u2014my slippers\u201d; but nobody\ncame. There was no bell, so he went and bawled out for waiter on the top\nof the stairs.\n\nThe landlady came up, looking\u2014looking like this\u2014\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\u201cWhat are you a hollaring and a bellaring for here, young man?\u201d says she.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s no warm water\u2014no servants; my boots are not even cleaned.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe, he! Clean \u2019em yourself,\u201d says the landlady. \u201cYou young students give\nyourselves pretty airs. I never heard such impudence.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ll quit the house this instant,\u201d says Giglio.\n\n\u201cThe sooner the better, young man. Pay your bill and be off. All my rooms\nis wanted for gentlefolks, and not for such as you.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou may well keep the Bear Inn,\u201d said Giglio. \u201cYou should have yourself\npainted as the sign.\u201d\n\nThe landlady of the Bear went away _growling_. And Giglio returned to\nhis room, where the first thing he saw was the fairy bag lying on the\ntable, which seemed to give a little hop as he came in. \u201cI hope it\nhas some breakfast in it,\u201d says Giglio, \u201cfor I have only a very little\nmoney left.\u201d But on opening the bag, what do you think was there? A\nblacking-brush and a pot of Warren\u2019s jet, and on the pot was written\u2014\n\n Poor young men their boots must black:\n Use me and cork me and put me back.\n\nSo Giglio laughed and blacked his boots, and put back the brush and the\nbottle into the bag.\n\nWhen he had done dressing himself, the bag gave another little hop, and\nhe went to it and took out\u2014\n\n1. A tablecloth and a napkin.\n\n2. A sugar-basin full of the best loaf-sugar.\n\n4, 6, 8, 10. Two forks, two teaspoons, two knives, and a pair of\nsugar-tongs, and a butter-knife, all marked G.\n\n11, 12, 13. A teacup, saucer, and slop-basin.\n\n14. A jug full of delicious cream.\n\n15. A canister with black tea and green.\n\n16. A large tea-urn and boiling water.\n\n17. A saucepan, containing three eggs nicely done.\n\n18. A quarter of a pound of best Epping butter.\n\n19. A brown loaf.\n\nAnd if he hadn\u2019t enough now for a good breakfast, I should like to know\nwho ever had one?\n\nGiglio, having had his breakfast, popped all the things back into the\nbag, and went out looking for lodgings. I forgot to say that this\ncelebrated university town was called Bosforo.\n\nHe took a modest lodging opposite the Schools, paid his bill at the inn,\nand went to his apartment with his trunk, carpet-bag, and not forgetting,\nwe may be sure, his _other_ bag.\n\nWhen he opened his trunk, which the day before he had filled with his\nbest clothes, he found it contained only books. And in the first of them\nwhich he opened there was written\u2014\n\n Clothes for the back, books for the head:\n Read and remember them when they are read.\n\nAnd in his bag, when Giglio looked in it, he found a student\u2019s cap and\ngown, a writing-book full of paper, an inkstand, pens, and a Johnson\u2019s\ndictionary, which was very useful to him, as his spelling had been sadly\nneglected.\n\nSo he sat down and worked away, very, very hard for a whole year, during\nwhich \u201cMr. Giles\u201d was quite an example to all the students in the\nUniversity of Bosforo. He never got into any riots or disturbances. The\nProfessors all spoke well of him, and the students liked him too; so\nthat, when at examination, he took all the prizes, viz.\u2014\n\n The Spelling Prize\n The Writing Prize\n The History Prize\n The Catechism Prize\n The French Prize\n The Arithmetic Prize\n The Latin Prize\n The Good Conduct Prize,\n\nall his fellow-students said, \u201cHurray! Hurray for Giles! Giles is the\nboy\u2014the student\u2019s joy! Hurray for Giles!\u201d And he brought quite a quantity\nof medals, crowns, books, and tokens of distinction home to his lodgings.\n\nOne day after the Examinations, as he was diverting himself at a\ncoffee-house with two friends\u2014(Did I tell you that in his bag, every\nSaturday night, he found just enough to pay his bills, with a guinea\nover, for pocket-money? Didn\u2019t I tell you? Well, he did, as sure as twice\ntwenty makes forty-five)\u2014he chanced to look in the _Bosforo Chronicle_,\nand read off, quite easily (for he could spell, read, and write the\nlongest words now), the following;\u2014\n\n \u201cROMANTIC CIRCUMSTANCE.\u2014One of the most extraordinary\n adventures that we have ever heard has set the neighboring\n country of Crim Tartary in a state of great excitement.\n\n \u201cIt will be remembered that when the present revered sovereign\n of Crim Tartary, His Majesty King _Padella_, took possession\n of the throne, after having vanquished, in the terrific battle\n of Blunderbusco, the late King _Cavolfiore_, that Prince\u2019s\n only child, the Princess Rosalba, was not found in the royal\n palace, of which King Padella took possession, and, it was\n said, had strayed into the forest (being abandoned by all her\n attendants), where she had been eaten up by those ferocious\n lions, the last pair of which were captured some time since,\n and brought to the Tower, after killing several hundred persons.\n\n \u201cHis Majesty King Padella, who has the kindest heart in\n the world, was grieved at the accident which had occurred\n to the harmless little Princess, for whom His Majesty\u2019s\n known benevolence would certainly have provided a fitting\n establishment. But her death seemed to be certain. The mangled\n remains of a cloak, and a little shoe, were found in the\n forest, during a hunting-party, in which the intrepid sovereign\n of Crim Tartary slew two of the lion\u2019s cubs with his own spear.\n And these interesting relics of an innocent little creature\n were carried home and kept by their finder, the Baron Spinachi,\n formerly an officer in Cavolfiore\u2019s household. The Baron was\n disgraced in consequence of his known legitimist opinions, and\n has lived for some time in the humble capacity of a woodcutter,\n in a forest on the outskirts of the Kingdom of Crim Tartary.\n\n \u201cLast Tuesday week Baron Spinachi and a number of gentlemen,\n attached to the former dynasty, appeared in arms, crying, \u2018God\n save Rosalba, the first Queen of Crim Tartary!\u2019 and surrounding\n a lady whom report describes as \u2018_beautiful exceedingly_.\u2019 Her\n history _may_ be authentic, is certainly most romantic.\n\n \u201cThe personage calling herself Rosalba states that she was\n brought out of the forest, fifteen years since, by a lady in a\n car drawn by dragons (this account is certainly _improbable_),\n that she was left in the Palace Garden of Blombodinga, where\n Her Royal Highness the Princess Angelica, now married to His\n Royal Highness Bulbo, Crown Prince of Crim Tartary, found the\n child, and, with _that elegant benevolence_ which has always\n distinguished the heiress of the throne of Paflagonia, gave the\n little outcast a _shelter and a home_! Her parentage not being\n known, and her garb very humble, the foundling was educated in\n the Palace in a menial capacity, under the name of _Betsinda_.\n\n \u201cShe did not give satisfaction, and was dismissed carrying\n with her, certainly, part of a mantle and a shoe, which she had\n on when first found. According to her statement she quitted\n Blombodinga about a year ago, since which time she has been\n with the Spinachi family. On the very same morning the Prince\n Giglio, nephew to the King of Paflagonia, a young Prince whose\n character for _talent_ and _order_ were, to say truth, _none of\n the highest_, also quitted Blombodinga, and has not been since\n heard of!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat an extraordinary story!\u201d said Smith and Jones, two young students,\nGiglio\u2019s especial friends.\n\n\u201cHa! what is this?\u201d Giglio went on, reading\u2014\n\n \u201cSECOND EDITION, EXPRESS.\u2014We hear that the troop under Baron\n Spinachi has been surrounded, and utterly routed, by General\n Hogginarmo, and the _soi-disant_ Princess is sent a prisoner to\n the capital.\n\n \u201cUNIVERSITY NEWS.\u2014Yesterday, at the Schools, the distinguished\n young student, Mr. Giles, read a Latin oration, and was\n complimented by the Chancellor of Bosforo, Dr. Prugnaro, with\n the highest University honor\u2014the wooden spoon.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind that stuff,\u201d says Giles, greatly disturbed. \u201cCome home\nwith me, my friends. Gallant Smith! intrepid Jones! friends of my\nstudies\u2014partakers of my academic toils\u2014I have that to tell shall astonish\nyour honest minds.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo it, old boy!\u201d cried the impetuous Smith.\n\n\u201cTalk away, my buck!\u201d says Jones, a lively fellow.\n\nWith an air of indescribable dignity, Giglio checked their natural, but\nno more seemly, familiarity. \u201cJones, Smith, my good friends,\u201d said the\nPrince, \u201cdisguise is henceforth useless; I am no more the humble student\nGiles, I am the descendant of a royal line.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Atavis edite regibus_, I know, old co\u2014,\u201d cried Jones. He was going to\nsay old cock, but a flash from THE ROYAL EYE again awed him.\n\n\u201cFriends,\u201d continued the Prince, \u201cI am that Giglio, I am, in fact,\nPaflagonia. Rise, Smith, and kneel not in the public street. Jones,\nthou true heart! My faithless uncle, when I was a baby filched from me\nthat brave crown my father left me, bred me, all young and careless of\nmy rights, like unto hapless Hamlet, Prince of Denmark; and had I any\nthoughts about my wrongs, soothed me with promises of near redress. I\nshould espouse his daughter, young Angelica; we two indeed should reign\nin Paflagonia. His words were false\u2014false as Angelica\u2019s heart!\u2014false as\nAngelica\u2019s hair, color, front teeth! She looked with her skew eyes upon\nyoung Bulbo, Crim Tartary\u2019s stupid heir, and she preferred him. \u2019Twas\nthen I turned my eyes upon Betsinda\u2014Rosalba, as she now is. And I saw in\nher the blushing sum of all perfection; the pink of maiden modesty; the\nnymph that my fond heart had ever woo\u2019d in dreams,\u201d etc., etc.\n\n(I don\u2019t give this speech, which was very fine, but very long; and though\nSmith and Jones knew nothing about the circumstances, my dear reader\ndoes, so I go on.)\n\nThe Prince and his young friends hastened home to his apartment, highly\nexcited by the intelligence, as no doubt by the _royal narrator\u2019s_\nadmirable manner of recounting it, and they ran up to his room where he\nhad worked so hard at his books.\n\nOn his writing-table was his bag, grown so long that the Prince could not\nhelp remarking it. He went to it, opened it, and what do you think he\nfound in it?\n\nA splendid long, gold-handled, red-velvet-scabbarded, cut-and-thrust\nsword, and on the sheath was embroidered \u201cROSALBA FOR EVER!\u201d\n\nHe drew out the sword, which flashed and illuminated the whole room, and\ncalled out \u201cRosalba for ever!\u201d Smith and Jones following him, but quite\nrespectfully this time, and taking the time from His Royal Highness.\n\nAnd now his trunk opened with a sudden pong, and out there came three\nostrich feathers in a gold crown, surrounding a beautiful shining steel\nhelmet, a cuirass, a pair of spurs, finally a complete suit of armor.\n\nThe books on Giglio\u2019s shelves were all gone. Where there had been some\ngreat dictionaries, Giglio\u2019s friends found two pairs of jack-boots\nlabelled, \u201cLieutenant Smith,\u201d \u201c\u2014Jones, Esq.,\u201d which fitted them to a\nnicety. Besides, there were helmets, back and breast plates, swords,\netc., just like in Mr. G. P. R. James\u2019s novels; and that evening three\ncavaliers might have been seen issuing from the gates of Bosforo, in\nwhom the porters, proctors, etc., never thought of recognizing the young\nPrince and his friends.\n\nThey got horses at a livery stable-keeper\u2019s, and never drew bridle until\nthey reached the last town on the frontier before you come to Crim\nTartary. Here, as their animals were tired, and the cavaliers hungry,\nthey stopped and refreshed at an hostel. I could make a chapter of this\nif I were like some writers, but I like to cram my measure tight down,\nyou see, and give you a great deal for your money, and, in a word, they\nhad some bread and cheese and ale upstairs on the balcony of the inn. As\nthey were drinking, drums and trumpets sounded nearer and nearer, the\nmarket-place was filled with soldiers, and His Royal Highness looking\nforth, recognized the Paflagonian banners, and the Paflagonian national\nair which the bands were playing.\n\nThe troops all made for the tavern at once, and as they came up Giglio\nexclaimed, on beholding their leader, \u201cWhom do I see? Yes! No! It is,\nit is! Phoo! No, it can\u2019t be! Yes! It is my friend, my gallant faithful\nveteran, Captain Hedzoff! Ho! Hedzoff! Knowest thou not thy Prince, thy\nGiglio? Good Corporal, methinks we once were friends. Ha, Sergeant, an my\nmemory serves me right, we have had many a bout at singlestick.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019 faith, we have a many, good my Lord,\u201d says the Sergeant.\n\n\u201cTell me, what means this mighty armament,\u201d continued His Royal Highness\nfrom the balcony, \u201cand whither march my Paflagonians?\u201d\n\nHedzoff\u2019s head fell. \u201cMy Lord,\u201d he said, \u201cwe march as the allies of\ngreat Padella, Crim Tartary\u2019s monarch.\u201d\n\n\u201cCrim Tartary\u2019s usurper, gallant Hedzoff? Crim Tartary\u2019s grim tyrant,\nhonest Hedzoff!\u201d said the Prince, on the balcony, quite sarcastically.\n\n\u201cA soldier, Prince, must needs obey his orders: mine are to help His\nMajesty Padella. And also (though alack that I should say it!) to seize\nwherever I should light upon him\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cFirst catch your hare! ha, Hedzoff!\u201d exclaimed His Royal Highness.\n\n\u201c\u2014On the body of _Giglio_, whilome Prince of Paflagonia,\u201d Hedzoff went\non, with indescribable emotion. \u201cMy Prince, give up your sword without\nado. Look! we are thirty thousand men to one!\u201d\n\n\u201cGive up my sword! Giglio give up his sword!\u201d cried the Prince; and\nstepping well forward on to the balcony, the royal youth, _without\npreparation_, delivered a speech so magnificent that no report can do\njustice to it. It was all in blank verse (in which, from this time, he\ninvariably spoke, as more becoming his majestic station). It lasted for\nthree days and three nights, during which not a single person who heard\nhim was tired, or remarked the difference between daylight and dark. The\nsoldiers only cheering tremendously, when occasionally, once in nine\nhours, the Prince paused to suck an orange, which Jones took out of the\nbag. He explained, in terms which we say we shall not attempt to convey,\nthe whole history of the previous transaction, and his determination not\nonly not to give up his sword, but to assume his rightful crown; and at\nthe end of this extraordinary, this truly _gigantic_ effort, Captain\nHedzoff flung up his helmet, and cried, \u201cHurray! Hurray! Long live King\nGiglio!\u201d\n\nSuch were the consequences of having employed his time well at College.\n\nWhen the excitement had ceased, beer was ordered out for the army, and\ntheir Sovereign himself did not disdain a little! And now it was with\nsome alarm that Captain Hedzoff told him his division was only the\nadvanced guard of the Paflagonian contingent, hastening to King Padella\u2019s\naid; the main force being a day\u2019s march in the rear under His Royal\nHighness Prince Bulbo.\n\n\u201cWe will wait here, good friend, to beat the Prince,\u201d His Majesty said,\n\u201cand _then_ will make his royal father wince.\u201d\n\n\nXV\n\nWE RETURN TO ROSALBA\n\nKing Padella made very similar proposals to Rosalba to those which she\nhad received from the various princes who, as we have seen, had fallen in\nlove with her. His Majesty was a widower, and offered to marry his fair\ncaptive that instant, but she declined his invitation in her usual polite\ngentle manner, stating that Prince Giglio was her love, and that any\nother union was out of the question. Having tried tears and supplications\nin vain, this violent-tempered monarch menaced her with threats and\ntortures; but she declared she would rather suffer all these than accept\nthe hand of her father\u2019s murderer, who left her finally, uttering\nthe most awful imprecations, and bidding her prepare for death on the\nfollowing morning.\n\nAll night long the King spent in advising how he should get rid of this\nobdurate young creature. Cutting off her head was much too easy a death\nfor her; hanging was so common in His Majesty\u2019s dominions that it no\nlonger afforded him any sport; finally, he bethought himself of a pair\nof fierce lions which had lately been sent to him as presents, and he\ndetermined, with these ferocious brutes, to hunt poor Rosalba down.\nAdjoining his castle was an amphitheatre where the Prince indulged in\nbull-baiting, rat-hunting, and other ferocious sports. The two lions\nwere kept in a cage under this place; their roaring might be heard over\nthe whole city, the inhabitants of which, I am sorry to say, thronged in\nnumbers to see a poor young lady gobbled up by two wild beasts.\n\nThe King took his place in the royal box, having the officers of his\nCourt around and the Count Hogginarmo by his side, upon whom His Majesty\nwas observed to look very fiercely; the fact is, royal spies had told the\nmonarch of Hogginarmo\u2019s behavior, his proposals to Rosalba, and his offer\nto fight for the crown. Black as thunder looked King Padella at this\nproud noble, as they sat in the front seats of the theatre waiting to see\nthe tragedy whereof poor Rosalba was to be the heroine.\n\nAt length that Princess was brought out in her nightgown, with all her\nbeautiful hair falling down her back, and looking so pretty that even the\nbeef-eaters and keepers of the wild animals wept plentifully at seeing\nher. And she walked with her poor little feet (only luckily the arena was\ncovered with sawdust), and went and leaned up against a great stone in\nthe center of the amphitheatre, round which the Court and the people were\nseated in boxes, with bars before them, for fear of the great, fierce,\nred-maned, black-throated, long-tailed, roaring, bellowing, rushing\nlions. And now the gates were opened, and with a wurrawarrurawarar two\ngreat lean, hungry, roaring lions rushed out of their den, where they had\nbeen kept for three weeks on nothing but a little toast-and-water and\ndashed straight up to the stone where poor Rosalba was waiting. Commend\nher to your patron saints, all you kind people, for she is in a dreadful\nstate!\n\n[Illustration]\n\nThere was a hum and a buzz all through the circus, and the fierce King\nPadella even felt a little compassion. But Count Hogginarmo, seated by\nHis Majesty, roared out \u201cHurray! Now for it! Soo-soo-soo!\u201d that nobleman\nbeing uncommonly angry still at Rosalba\u2019s refusal of him.\n\n[Illustration: BULBO WAS BROUGHT IN CHAINS, LOOKING VERY\nUNCOMFORTABLE\u2014page 489\n\n_From the drawing by Wm. Makepeace Thackeray_]\n\nBut O strange event! O remarkable circumstance! O extraordinary\ncoincidence, which I am sure none of you could _by any possibility_ have\ndivined! When the lions came to Rosalba, instead of devouring her with\ntheir great teeth, it was with kisses they gobbled her up! They licked\nher pretty feet, they nuzzled their noses in her lap, they moo\u2019d, they\nseemed to say, \u201cDear, dear sister, don\u2019t you recollect your brothers in\nthe forest?\u201d And she put her pretty white arms round their tawny necks,\nand kissed them.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nKing Padella was immensely astonished. The Count Hogginarmo was extremely\ndisgusted. \u201cPooh!\u201d the Count cried. \u201cGammon!\u201d exclaimed his Lordship.\n\u201cThese lions are tame beasts come from Wombwell\u2019s or Astley\u2019s. It is\na shame to put people off in this way. I believe they are little boys\ndressed up in doormats. They are no lions at all.\u201d\n\n\u201cHa!\u201d said the King, \u201cyou dare to say \u2018gammon\u2019 to your Sovereign, do you?\nThese lions are no lions at all, aren\u2019t they? Ho! my beef-eaters! Ho! my\nbodyguard! Take this Count Hogginarmo and fling him into the circus! Give\nhim a sword and buckler, let him keep his armor on, and his weather-eye\nout and fight these lions.\u201d\n\nThe haughty Hogginarmo laid down his opera-glass, and looked scowling\nround at the King and his attendants. \u201cTouch me not, dogs!\u201d he said,\n\u201cor by St. Nicholas the Elder, I will gore you! Your Majesty thinks\nHogginarmo is afraid? No, not of a hundred thousand lions! Follow me\ndown into the circus, King Padella, and match thyself against one of yon\nbrutes. Thou darest not. Let them both come on, then!\u201d And opening a\ngrating of the box, he jumped lightly down into the circus.\n\n _Wurra wurra wurra wur-aw-aw-aw!!!_\n In about two minutes\n The Count Hogginarmo was\n GOBBLED UP\n by\n those lions,\n bones, boots, and all,\n and\n There was an\n End of him\n\nAt this, the King said, \u201cServe him right, the rebellious ruffian! And\nnow, as those lions won\u2019t eat that young woman\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cLet her off!\u2014let her off!\u201d cried the crowd.\n\n\u201cNO!\u201d roared the King. \u201cLet the beef-eaters go down and chop her into\nsmall pieces. If the lions defend her, let the archers shoot them to\ndeath. That hussy shall die in tortures!\u201d\n\n\u201cA-a-ah!\u201d cried the crowd. \u201cShame! shame!\u201d\n\n\u201cWho dares cry out shame?\u201d cried the furious potentate (so little can\ntyrants command their passions). \u201cFling any scoundrel who says a word\ndown among the lions!\u201d\n\nI warrant you there was a dead silence then, which was broken by a Pang\narang pang pangkarangpang, and a Knight and a Herald rode in at the\nfurther end of the circus: the Knight, in full armor, with his vizor up,\nand bearing a letter on the point of his lance.\n\n\u201cHa!\u201d exclaimed the King, \u201cby my fay, \u2019tis Elephant and Castle,\npursuivant of my brother of Paflagonia; and the Knight, an my memory\nserves me, is the gallant Captain Hedzoff! What news from Paflagonia,\ngallant Hedzoff? Elephant and Castle, beshrew me, thy trumpeting must\nhave made thee thirsty. What will my trusty herald like to drink?\u201d\n\n\u201cBespeaking first safe conduct from your Lordship,\u201d said Captain Hedzoff,\n\u201cbefore we take a drink of anything, permit us to deliver our King\u2019s\nmessage.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy Lordship, ha!\u201d said Crim Tartary, frowning terrifically. \u201cThat title\nsoundeth strange in the anointed ears of a crowned King. Straightway\nspeak out your message, Knight and Herald!\u201d\n\nReining up his charger in a most elegant manner close under the King\u2019s\nbalcony, Hedzoff turned to the Herald, and bade him begin.\n\nElephant and Castle, dropping his trumpet over his shoulder, took a large\nsheet of paper out of his hat, and began to read:\n\n\u201cO Yes! O Yes! O Yes! Know all men by these presents, that we, Giglio,\nKing of Paflagonia, Grand Duke of Cappadocia, Sovereign Prince of Turkey\nand the Sausage Islands, having assumed our rightful throne and title,\nlong time falsely borne by our usurping Uncle, styling himself King of\nPaflagonia\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cHa!\u201d growled Padella.\n\n\u201cHereby summon the false traitor, Padella, calling himself King of Crim\nTartary\u2014\u201d\n\nThe King\u2019s curses were dreadful. \u201cGo on, Elephant and Castle!\u201d said the\nintrepid Hedzoff.\n\n\u201c\u2014To release from cowardly imprisonment his liege lady and rightful\nSovereign, Rosalba, Queen of Crim Tartary, and restore her to her royal\nthrone: in default of which I, Giglio, proclaim the said Padella sneak,\ntraitor, humbug, usurper, and coward. I challenge him to meet me, with\nfists or with pistols, with battle-axe or sword, with blunderbuss or\nsinglestick, alone or at the head of his army, on foot or on horseback;\nand will prove my words upon his wicked ugly body!\u201d\n\n\u201cGod save the King!\u201d said Captain Hedzoff, executing a demivolte, two\nsemilunes, and three caracols.\n\n\u201cIs that all?\u201d said Padella, with the terrific calm of concentrated fury.\n\n\u201cThat, sir, is all my royal master\u2019s message. Here is His Majesty\u2019s\nletter in autograph, and here is his glove, and if any gentleman of Crim\nTartary chooses to find fault with His Majesty\u2019s expressions, I, Tuffskin\nHedzoff, Captain of the Guard, am very much at his service,\u201d and he waved\nhis lance, and looked at the assembly all round.\n\n\u201cAnd what says my good brother of Paflagonia, my dear son\u2019s\nfather-in-law, to this rubbish?\u201d asked the King.\n\n\u201cThe King\u2019s uncle hath been deprived of the crown he unjustly wore,\u201d said\nHedzoff gravely. \u201cHe and his ex-minister, Glumboso, are now in prison\nwaiting the sentence of my royal master. After the battle of Bombardaro\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cOf what?\u201d asked the surprised Padella.\n\n\u201cOf Bombardaro, where my liege, his present Majesty, would have performed\nprodigies of valor, but that the whole of his uncle\u2019s army came over to\nour side, with the exception of Prince Bulbo.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! my boy, my boy, my Bulbo was no traitor!\u201d cried Padella.\n\n\u201cPrince Bulbo, far from coming over to us, ran away, sir; but I caught\nhim. The Prince is a prisoner in our army, and the most terrific tortures\nawait him if a hair of the Princess Rosalba\u2019s head is injured.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo they?\u201d exclaimed the furious Padella, who was now perfectly _livid_\nwith rage. \u201cDo they indeed? So much the worse for Bulbo. I\u2019ve twenty\nsons as lovely each as Bulbo. Not one but is as fit to reign as Bulbo.\nWhip, whack, flog, starve, rack, punish, torture Bulbo\u2014break all his\nbones\u2014roast him or flay him alive\u2014pull all his pretty teeth out one by\none! But justly dear as Bulbo is to me\u2014joy of my eyes, fond treasure of\nmy soul!\u2014Ha, ha, ha, ha! revenge is dearer still. Ho! torturers, rackmen,\nexecutioners\u2014light up the fires and make the pincers hot! get lots of\nboiling lead!\u2014Bring out Rosalba!\u201d\n\n\nXVI\n\nHOW HEDZOFF RODE BACK AGAIN TO KING GIGLIO\n\nCaptain Hedzoff rode away when King Padella uttered this cruel command,\nhaving done his duty in delivering the message with which his royal\nmaster had entrusted him. Of course he was very sorry for Rosalba, but\nwhat could he do?\n\nSo he returned to King Giglio\u2019s camp, and found the young monarch\nin a disturbed state of mind, smoking cigars in the royal tent. His\nMajesty\u2019s agitation was not appeased by the news that was brought by his\nambassador. \u201cThe brutal ruthless ruffian royal wretch!\u201d Giglio exclaimed.\n\u201cAs England\u2019s poesy has well remarked, \u2018The man that lays his hand upon a\nwoman, save in the way of kindness, is a villain.\u2019 Ha, Hedzoff!\u201d\n\n\u201cThat he is, your Majesty,\u201d said the attendant.\n\n\u201cAnd didst thou see her flung into the oil? and didn\u2019t the soothing\noil\u2014the emollient oil, refuse to boil, good Hedzoff\u2014and to spoil the\nfairest lady ever eyes did look on?\u201d\n\n\u201cFaith, good my liege, I had no heart to look and see a beauteous lady\nboiling down; I took your royal message to Padella, and bore his back to\nyou. I told him you would hold Prince Bulbo answerable. He only said\nthat he had twenty sons as good as Bulbo, and forthwith he bade the\nruthless executioners proceed.\u201d\n\n\u201cO cruel father\u2014O unhappy son!\u201d cried the King. \u201cGo, some of you, and\nbring Prince Bulbo hither.\u201d\n\nBulbo was brought in chains, looking very uncomfortable. Though a\nprisoner, he had been tolerably happy, perhaps because his mind was at\nrest, and all the fighting was over, and he was playing at marbles with\nhis guards when the King sent for him.\n\n\u201cOh, my poor Bulbo,\u201d said His Majesty, with looks of infinite compassion,\n\u201chast thou heard the news?\u201d (for you see Giglio wanted to break the thing\ngently to the Prince), \u201cthy brutal father has condemned Rosalba-p-p-p-ut\nher to death, P-p-p-prince Bulbo!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, killed Betsinda! Boo-hoo-hoo,\u201d cried out Bulbo. \u201cBetsinda! pretty\nBetsinda! dear Betsinda! She was the dearest little girl in the world. I\nlove her better twenty thousand times even than Angelica,\u201d and he went on\nexpressing his grief in so hearty and unaffected a manner that the King\nwas quite touched by it, and said, shaking Bulbo\u2019s hand, that he wished\nhe had known Bulbo sooner.\n\nBulbo, quite unconsciously, and meaning for the best, offered to come\nand sit with his Majesty, and smoke a cigar with him, and console him.\nThe _royal kindness_ supplied Bulbo with a cigar; he had not had one, he\nsaid, since he was taken prisoner.\n\nAnd now think what must have been the feelings of the most _merciful of\nmonarchs_, when he informed his prisoner that, in consequence of King\nPadella\u2019s _cruel and dastardly behavior_ to Rosalba, Prince Bulbo must\ninstantly be executed! The noble Giglio could not restrain his tears, nor\ncould the Grenadiers, nor the officers, nor could Bulbo himself, when the\nmatter was explained to him, and he was brought to understand that His\nMajesty\u2019s promise, of course, was _above every_ thing, and Bulbo must\nsubmit. So poor Bulbo was led out, Hedzoff trying to console him, by\npointing out that if he had won the battle of Bombardaro, he might have\nhanged Prince Giglio. \u201cYes! But that is no comfort to me now!\u201d said poor\nBulbo; nor indeed was it, poor fellow!\n\nHe was told the business would be done the next morning at eight, and\nwas taken back to his dungeon, where every attention was paid to him.\nThe gaoler\u2019s wife sent him tea, and the turnkey\u2019s daughter begged him\nto write his name in her album, where a many gentlemen had wrote it on\nlike occasions! \u201cBother your album!\u201d says Bulbo. The Undertaker came and\nmeasured him for the handsomest coffin which money could buy\u2014even this\ndidn\u2019t console Bulbo. The Cook brought him dishes which he once used to\nlike; but he wouldn\u2019t touch them: he sat down and began writing an adieu\nto Angelica, as the clock kept always ticking, and the hands drawing\nnearer to next morning. The Barber came in at night, and offered to shave\nhim for the next day. Prince Bulbo kicked him away, and went on writing a\nfew words to Princess Angelica, as the clock kept always ticking, and the\nhands hopping nearer and nearer to next morning. He got up on the top of\na hat-box, on the top of a chair, on the top of his bed, on the top of\nhis table, and looked out to see whether he might escape, as the clock\nkept always ticking and the hands drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer.\n\nBut looking out of the window was one thing, and jumping another: and the\ntown clock struck seven. So he got into bed for a little sleep, but the\ngaoler came and woke him, and said, \u201cGit up, your Royal Ighness, if you\nplease, it\u2019s _ten minutes to eight_!\u201d\n\nSo poor Bulbo got up: he had gone to bed in his clothes (the lazy boy),\nand he shook himself, and said he didn\u2019t mind about dressing, or having\nany breakfast, thank you; and he saw the soldiers who had come for him.\n\u201cLead on!\u201d he said; and they led the way, deeply affected; and they came\ninto the courtyard, and out into the square, and there was King Giglio\ncome to take leave of him, and His Majesty most kindly shook hands with\nhim, and the _gloomy procession_ marched on\u2014when hark!\n\nHaw\u2014wurraw\u2014wurraw\u2014aworr!\n\nA roar of wild beasts was heard. And who should come riding into the\ntown, frightening away the boys, and even the beadle and policeman, but\nRosalba!\n\nThe fact is, that when Captain Hedzoff entered into the court of\nSnapdragon Castle, and was discoursing with King Padella, the lions made\na dash at the open gate, gobbled up the six beef-eaters in a jiffy, and\naway they went with Rosalba on the back of one of them, and they carried\nher, turn and turn about, till they came to the city where Prince\nGiglio\u2019s army was encamped.\n\nWhen the King heard of the Queen\u2019s arrival, you may think how he rushed\nout of his breakfast-room to hand Her Majesty off her lion! The lions\nwere grown as fat as pigs now, having had Hogginarmo and all those\nbeef-eaters, and were so tame anybody might pat them.\n\nWhile Giglio knelt (most gracefully) and helped the Princess, Bulbo,\nfor his part, rushed up and kissed the lion. He flung his arms round\nthe forest monarch; he hugged him, and laughed and cried for joy. \u201cOh,\nyou darling old beast, oh, how glad I am to see you, and the dear, dear\nBets\u2014that is, Rosalba.\u201d\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\u201cWhat, is it you? poor Bulbo!\u201d said the Queen. \u201cOh, how glad I am to see\nyou,\u201d and she gave him her hand to kiss. King Giglio slapped him most\nkindly on the back, and said, \u201cBulbo, my boy, I am delighted, for your\nsake, that Her Majesty has arrived.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo am I,\u201d said Bulbo; \u201cand _you know why_.\u201d Captain Hedzoff here came\nup. \u201cSire, it is half-past eight: shall we proceed with the execution?\u201d\n\n\u201cExecution! what for?\u201d asked Bulbo.\n\n\u201cAn officer only knows his orders,\u201d replied Captain Hedzoff, showing his\nwarrant, on which His Majesty King Giglio smilingly said, \u201cPrince Bulbo\nwas reprieved this time,\u201d and most graciously invited him to breakfast.\n\n\nXVII\n\nHOW A TREMENDOUS BATTLE TOOK PLACE, AND WHO WON IT\n\nAs soon as King Padella heard, what we know already, that his victim,\nthe lovely Rosalba, had escaped him, His Majesty\u2019s fury knew no bounds,\nand he pitched the Lord Chancellor, Lord Chamberlain, and every officer\nof the Crown whom he could set eyes on, into the cauldron of boiling oil\nprepared for the Princess.\n\nThen he ordered out his whole army, horse, foot, and artillery; and set\nforth at the head of an innumerable host, and I should think twenty\nthousand drummers, trumpeters, and fifers.\n\nKing Giglio\u2019s advanced guard, you may be sure, kept that monarch\nacquainted with the enemy\u2019s dealings, and he was in no wise disconcerted.\nHe was much too polite to alarm the Princess, his lovely guest, with\nany unnecessary rumors of battles impending; on the contrary, he did\neverything to amuse and divert her; gave her a most elegant breakfast,\ndinner, lunch, and got up a ball for her that evening, when he danced\nwith her every single dance.\n\nPoor Bulbo was taken into favor again, and allowed to go quite free now.\nHe had new clothes given him, was called \u201cMy good cousin\u201d by His Majesty,\nand was treated with the greatest distinction by everybody. But it was\neasy to see he was very melancholy. The fact is, the sight of Betsinda,\nwho looked perfectly lovely in an elegant new dress, set poor Bulbo\nfrantic in love with her again. And he never thought about Angelica, now\nPrincess Bulbo, whom he had left at home, and who, as we know, did not\ncare much about him.\n\nThe King, dancing the twenty-fifth polka with Rosalba, remarked with\nwonder the ring she wore; and then Rosalba told him how she had got it\nfrom Gruffanuff, who no doubt had picked it up when Angelica flung it\naway.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d says the Fairy Blackstick, who had come to see the young people,\nand who had very likely certain plans regarding them. \u201cThat ring I gave\nthe Queen, Giglio\u2019s mother, who was not, saving your presence, a very\nwise woman; it is enchanted, and whoever wears it looks beautiful in the\neyes of the world. I made poor Prince Bulbo, when he was christened, the\npresent of a rose which made him look handsome while he had it; but he\ngave it to Angelica, who instantly looked beautiful again, whilst Bulbo\nrelapsed into his natural plainness.\u201d\n\n\u201cRosalba needs no ring, I am sure,\u201d says Giglio, with a low bow. \u201cShe is\nbeautiful enough, in my eyes, without any enchanted aid.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, sir!\u201d said Rosalba.\n\n\u201cTake off the ring and try,\u201d said the King, and resolutely drew the ring\noff her finger. In _his_ eyes she looked just as handsome as before!\n\nThe King was thinking of throwing the ring away, as it was so dangerous\nand made all the people so mad about Rosalba; but being a Prince of great\nhumor, and good humor too, he cast eyes upon a poor youth who happened to\nbe looking on very disconsolately, and said\u2014\n\n\u201cBulbo, my poor lad! come and try on this ring. The Princess Rosalba\nmakes it a present to you.\u201d\n\nThe magic properties of this ring were uncommonly strong, for no sooner\nhad Bulbo put it on, but lo and behold, he appeared a personable,\nagreeable young Prince enough\u2014with a fine complexion, fair hair, rather\nstout, and with bandy legs; but these were encased in such a beautiful\npair of yellow morocco boots that nobody remarked them. And Bulbo\u2019s\nspirits rose up almost immediately after he had looked in the glass, and\nhe talked to their Majesties in the most lively, agreeable manner, and\ndanced opposite the Queen with one of the prettiest maids of honor, and\nafter looking at Her Majesty, could not help saying\u2014\n\n\u201cHow very odd! she is very pretty, but not so _extraordinarily_ handsome.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh no, by no means!\u201d says the Maid of Honor.\n\n\u201cBut what care I, dear sir,\u201d says the Queen, who overheard them, \u201cif\n_you_ think I am good-looking enough?\u201d\n\nHis Majesty\u2019s glance in reply to this affectionate speech was such that\nno painter could draw it. And the Fairy Blackstick said, \u201cBless you,\nmy darling children! Now you are united and happy; and now you see what\nI said from the first, that a little misfortune has done you both good.\n_You_, Giglio, had you been bred in prosperity, would scarcely have\nlearned to read or write\u2014you would have been idle and extravagant, and\ncould not have been a good King as now you will be. You, Rosalba, would\nhave been so flattered, that your little head might have been turned like\nAngelica\u2019s, who thought herself too good for Giglio.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs if anybody could be good enough for _him_,\u201d cried Rosalba.\n\n\u201cOh, you, you darling!\u201d says Giglio. And so she was! and he was just\nholding out his arms in order to give her a hug before the whole company,\nwhen a messenger came rushing in, and said, \u201cMy Lord, the enemy!\u201d\n\n\u201cTo arms!\u201d cries Giglio.\n\n\u201cOh, mercy!\u201d says Rosalba, and fainted of course.\n\nHe snatched one kiss from her lips, and rushed _forth to the field_ of\nbattle!\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe Fairy had provided King Giglio with a suit of armor, which was not\nonly embroidered all over with jewels, and blinding to your eyes to look\nat, but was water-proof, gun-proof, and sword-proof; so that in the midst\nof the very hottest battles His Majesty rode about as calmly as if he\nhad been a British Grenadier at Alma. Were I engaged in fighting for my\ncountry, _I_ should like such a suit of armor as Prince Giglio wore; but,\nyou know, he was a Prince of a fairy tale, and they always have these\nwonderful things.\n\nBesides the fairy armor, the Prince had a fairy horse, which would\ngallop at any pace you please; and a fairy sword, which would lengthen\nand run through a whole regiment of enemies at once. With such a weapon\nat command, I wonder, for my part, he thought of ordering his army out;\nbut forth they all came, in magnificent new uniforms, Hedzoff and the\nPrince\u2019s two college friends each commanding a division, and His Majesty\nprancing in person at the head of them all.\n\nAh! if I had the pen of a Sir Archibald Alison, my dear friends, would\nI not now entertain you with the account of a most tremendous shindy?\nShould not fine blows be struck? dreadful wounds be delivered? arrows\ndarken the air? cannon balls crash through the battalions? cavalry charge\ninfantry? infantry pitch into cavalry? bugles blow; drums beat; horses\nneigh; fifes sing; soldiers roar, swear, hurray; officers shout out\n\u201cForward, my men!\u201d \u201cThis way, lads!\u201d \u201cGive it \u2019em, boys!\u201d \u201cFight for King\nGiglio, and the cause of right!\u201d \u201cKing Padella for ever!\u201d Would I not\ndescribe all this, I say, and in the very finest language too? But this\nhumble pen does not possess the skill necessary for the description of\ncombats. In a word, the overthrow of King Padella\u2019s army was so complete,\nthat if they had been Russians you could not have wished them to be more\nutterly smashed and confounded.\n\nAs for that usurping monarch, having performed acts of valor much more\nconsiderable than could be expected of a royal ruffian and usurper, who\nhad such a bad cause, and who was so cruel to women\u2014as for King Padella,\nI say, when his army ran away, the King ran away too, kicking his first\ngeneral, Prince Punchikoff, from his saddle, and galloping away on the\nPrince\u2019s horse, having, indeed, had twenty-five or twenty-six of his own\nshot under him. Hedzoff coming up, and finding Punchikoff down, as you\nmay imagine, very speedily disposed of _him_. Meanwhile King Padella\nwas scampering off as hard as his horse could lay legs to ground. Fast\nas he scampered, I promise you somebody else galloped faster; and that\nindividual, as no doubt you are aware, was the Royal Giglio, who kept\nbawling out, \u201cStay, traitor! Turn, miscreant, and defend thyself! Stand,\ntyrant, coward, ruffian, royal wretch, till I cut thy ugly head from thy\nusurping shoulders!\u201d And, with his fairy sword, which elongated itself\nat will, His Majesty kept poking and prodding Padella in the back, until\nthat wicked monarch roared with anguish.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nWhen he was fairly brought to bay, Padella turned and dealt Prince Giglio\na prodigious crack over the sconce with his battle-axe, a most enormous\nweapon, which had cut down I don\u2019t know how many regiments in the course\nof the afternoon. But, Law bless you! though the blow fell right down\non His Majesty\u2019s helmet, it made no more impression than if Padella had\nstruck him with a pat of butter: his battle-axe crumpled up in Padella\u2019s\nhand, and the Royal Giglio laughed for very scorn at the impotent efforts\nof that atrocious usurper.\n\n[Illustration: AND THE GLOOMY PROCESSION MARCHED ON\u2014page 491\n\n_From the drawing by J. H. Tinker_]\n\nAt the ill success of his blow the Crim Tartar monarch was justly\nirritated. \u201cIf,\u201d says he to Giglio, \u201cyou ride a fairy horse, and wear\nfairy armor, what on earth is the use of my hitting you? I may as well\ngive myself up a prisoner at once. Your Majesty won\u2019t, I suppose, be so\nmean as to strike a poor fellow who can\u2019t strike again?\u201d\n\nThe justice of Padella\u2019s remark struck the magnanimous Giglio. \u201cDo you\nyield yourself a prisoner, Padella?\u201d says he.\n\n\u201cOf course I do,\u201d says Padella.\n\n\u201cDo you acknowledge Rosalba as your rightful Queen, and give up the crown\nand all your treasures to your rightful mistress?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I must, I must,\u201d says Padella, who was naturally very sulky.\n\nBy this time King Giglio\u2019s aides-de-camp had come up, whom His Majesty\nordered to bind the prisoner. And they tied his hands behind him, and\nbound his legs tight under his horse, having set him with his face to the\ntail; and in this fashion he was led back to King Giglio\u2019s quarters, and\nthrust into the very dungeon where young Bulbo had been confined.\n\nPadella (who was a very different person in the depth of his distress\nto Padella the proud wearer of the Crim Tartary crown), now most\naffectionately and earnestly asked to see his son\u2014his dear eldest boy\u2014his\ndarling Bulbo; and that good-natured young man never once reproached his\nhaughty parent for his unkind conduct the day before, when he would have\nleft Bulbo to be shot without any pity, but came to see his father, and\nspoke to him through the grating of the door, beyond which he was not\nallowed to go; and brought him some sandwiches from the grand supper\nwhich His Majesty was giving above stairs, in honor of the brilliant\nvictory which had just been achieved.\n\n\u201cI cannot stay with you long, sir,\u201d says Bulbo, who was in his best ball\ndress, as he handled his father in the prog, \u201cI am engaged to dance the\nnext quadrille with Her Majesty Queen Rosalba, and I hear the fiddles\nplaying at this very moment.\u201d\n\nSo Bulbo went back to the ball-room, and the wretched Padella ate his\nsolitary supper in silence and tears.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAll was now joy in King Giglio\u2019s circle. Dancing, feasting, fun,\nilluminations, and jollifications of all sorts ensued. The people\nthrough whose villages they passed were ordered to illuminate their\ncottages at night, and scatter flowers on the roads during the day.\nThey were requested, and I promise you they did not like to refuse, to\nserve the troops liberally with eatables and wine; besides, the army\nwas enriched by the immense quantity of plunder which was found in King\nPadella\u2019s camp, and taken from his soldiers; who (after they had given\nup everything) were allowed to fraternise with the conquerors; and the\nunited forces marched back by easy stages towards King Giglio\u2019s capital,\nhis royal banner and that of Queen Rosalba being carried in front of the\ntroops. Hedzoff was made a Duke and a Field-Marshal. Smith and Jones\nwere promoted to be Earls; the Crim Tartar Order of the Pumpkin and the\nPaflagonian decoration of the Cucumber were freely distributed by their\nMajesties to the army. Queen Rosalba wore the Paflagonian Ribbon of the\nCucumber across her riding-habit, whilst King Giglio never appeared\nwithout the grand Cordon of the Pumpkin. How the people cheered them as\nthey rode along side by side! They were pronounced to be the handsomest\ncouple ever seen: that was a matter of course; but they really _were_\nvery handsome, and, had they been otherwise, would have looked so, they\nwere so happy! Their Majesties were never separated during the whole day,\nbut breakfasted, dined and supped together always, and rode side by side,\ninterchanging elegant compliments, and indulging in the most delightful\nconversation. At night, Her Majesty\u2019s ladies of honor (who had all\nrallied round her the day after King Padella\u2019s defeat) came and conducted\nher to the apartments prepared for her; whilst King Giglio, surrounded\nby his gentlemen, withdrew to his own royal quarters. It was agreed they\nshould be married as soon as they reached the capital, and orders were\ndespatched to the Archbishop of Blombodinga, to hold himself in readiness\nto perform the interesting ceremony. Duke Hedzoff carried the message,\nand gave instructions to have the Royal Castle splendidly refurnished and\npainted afresh. The Duke seized Glumboso, the Ex-Prime Minister, and made\nhim refund that considerable sum of money which the old scoundrel had\nsecreted out of the late King\u2019s treasure. He also clapped Valoroso into\nprison (who, by the way, had been dethroned for some considerable period\npast), and when the Ex-Monarch weakly remonstrated, Hedzoff said, \u201cA\nsoldier, sir, knows but his duty; my orders are to lock you up along with\nthe Ex-King Padella, whom I have brought hither a prisoner under guard.\u201d\nSo these two Ex-Royal personages were sent for a year to the House of\nCorrection, and thereafter were obliged to become monks of the severest\nOrder of Flagellants, in which state, by fasting, by vigils, by flogging\n(which they administered to one another, humbly but resolutely), no doubt\nthey exhibited a repentance for their past misdeeds, usurpations, and\nprivate and public crimes.\n\nAs for Glumboso, that rogue was sent to the galleys, and never had an\nopportunity to steal any more.\n\n\nXVIII\n\nHOW THEY ALL JOURNEYED BACK TO THE CAPITAL\n\nThe Fairy Blackstick, by whose means this young King and Queen had\ncertainly won their respective crowns back, would come not unfrequently,\nto pay them a little visit\u2014as they were riding in their triumphal\nprogress towards Giglio\u2019s capital\u2014change her wand into a pony, and travel\nby their Majesties\u2019 side, giving them the very best advice. I am not sure\nthat King Giglio did not think the Fairy and her advice rather a bore,\nfancying it was his own valor and merits which had put him on his throne,\nand conquered Padella: and, in fine, I fear he rather gave himself airs\ntowards his best friend and patroness. She exhorted him to deal justly\nby his subjects, to draw mildly on the taxes, never to break his promise\nwhen he had once given it\u2014and in all respects to be a good King.\n\n\u201cA good King, my dear Fairy!\u201d cries Rosalba. \u201cOf course he will. Break\nhis promise! can you fancy my Giglio would ever do anything so improper,\nso unlike him? No! never!\u201d And she looked fondly towards Giglio, whom she\nthought a pattern of perfection.\n\n\u201cWhy is Fairy Blackstick always advising me, and telling me how to manage\nmy government, and warning me to keep my word? Does she suppose that I am\nnot a man of sense, and a man of honor?\u201d asks Giglio testily. \u201cMethinks\nshe rather presumes upon her position.\u201d\n\n\u201cHush! dear Giglio,\u201d says Rosalba. \u201cYou know Blackstick has been very\nkind to us, and we must not offend her.\u201d But the Fairy was not listening\nto Giglio\u2019s testy observations, she had fallen back, and was trotting\non her pony now, by Master Bulbo\u2019s side, who rode a donkey, and made\nhimself generally beloved in the army by his cheerfulness, kindness, and\ngood-humor to everybody. He was eager to see his darling Angelica. He\nthought there never was such a charming being. Blackstick did not tell\nhim it was the possession of the magic rose that made Angelica so lovely\nin his eyes. She brought him the very best accounts of his little wife,\nwhose misfortunes and humiliations had indeed very greatly improved\nher; and, you see, she could whisk off on her wand a hundred miles in a\nminute, and be back in no time, and so carry polite messages from Bulbo\nto Angelica, and from Angelica to Bulbo, and comfort that young man upon\nhis journey.\n\nWhen the Royal party arrived at the last stage before you reach\nBlombodinga, who should be in waiting, in her carriage there with her\nlady of honor by her side, but the Princess Angelica! She rushed into her\nhusband\u2019s arms, scarcely stopping to make a passing curtsey to the King\nand Queen. She had no eyes but for Bulbo, who appeared perfectly lovely,\nto her on account of the fairy ring which he wore; whilst she herself,\nwearing the magic rose in her bonnet, seemed entirely beautiful to the\nenraptured Bulbo.\n\nA splendid luncheon was served to the Royal party, of which the\nArchbishop, the Chancellor, Duke Hedzoff, Countess Gruffanuff, and\nall our friends partook, the Fairy Blackstick being seated on the left\nof King Giglio, with Bulbo and Angelica beside her. You could hear the\njoy-bells ringing in the capital, and the guns which the citizens were\nfiring off in honor of their Majesties.\n\n\u201cWhat can have induced that hideous old Gruffanuff to dress herself up in\nsuch an absurd way? Did you ask her to be your bridesmaid, my dear?\u201d says\nGiglio to Rosalba. \u201cWhat a figure of fun Gruffy is!\u201d\n\nGruffy was seated opposite their Majesties, between the Archbishop and\nthe Lord Chancellor, and a figure of fun she certainly was, for she was\ndressed in a low white silk dress, with lace over, a wreath of white\nroses on her wig, a splendid lace veil, and her yellow old neck was\ncovered with diamonds. She ogled the King in such a manner that His\nMajesty burst out laughing.\n\n\u201cEleven o\u2019clock!\u201d cries Giglio, as the great Cathedral bell of\nBlombodinga tolled that hour. \u201cGentlemen and ladies, we must be starting.\nArchbishop, you must be at church, I think, before twelve?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe must be at church before twelve,\u201d sighs out Gruffanuff in a\nlanguishing voice, hiding her old face behind her fan.\n\n\u201cAnd then I shall be the happiest man in my dominions,\u201d cries Giglio,\nwith an elegant bow to the blushing Rosalba.\n\n\u201cOh, my Giglio! Oh, my dear Majesty!\u201d exclaims Gruffanuff; \u201cand can it be\nthat this happy moment at length has arrived\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course it has arrived,\u201d says the King.\n\n\u201c\u2014And that I am about to become the enraptured bride of my adored\nGiglio!\u201d continues Gruffanuff. \u201cLend me a smelling-bottle, somebody. I\ncertainly shall faint with joy.\u201d\n\n\u201c_You_ my bride?\u201d roars out Giglio.\n\n\u201c_You_ marry my Prince?\u201d cried poor little Rosalba.\n\n\u201cPooh! Nonsense! The woman\u2019s mad!\u201d exclaims the King. And all the\ncourtiers exhibited by their countenances and expressions, marks of\nsurprise, or ridicule, or incredulity, or wonder.\n\n\u201cI should like to know who else is going to be married if I am not?\u201d\nshrieks out Gruffanuff. \u201cI should like to know if King Giglio is a\ngentleman, and if there is such a thing as justice in Paflagonia? Lord\nChancellor! my Lord Archbishop! will your Lordships sit by and see a\npoor, fond, confiding, tender creature put upon? Has not Prince Giglio\npromised to marry his Barbara? Is not this Giglio\u2019s signature? Does not\nthis paper declare that he is mine, and only mine?\u201d And she handed to his\nGrace the Archbishop the document which the Prince signed that evening\nwhen she wore the magic ring, and Giglio drank so much champagne. And the\nold Archbishop, taking out his eyeglasses, read\u2014\u201cThis is to give notice,\nthat I, Giglio, only son of Savio, King of Paflagonia, hereby promise to\nmarry the charming Barbara Griselda, Countess Gruffanuff, and widow of\nthe late Jenkins Gruffanuff, Esq.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cH\u2019m,\u201d says the Archbishop, \u201cthe document is certainly a\u2014a document.\u201d\n\n\u201cPhoo!\u201d says the Lord Chancellor, \u201cthe signature is not in His Majesty\u2019s\nhandwriting.\u201d Indeed, since his studies at Bosforo, Giglio had made an\nimmense improvement in caligraphy.\n\n\u201cIs it your handwriting, Giglio?\u201d cries the Fairy Blackstick, with an\nawful severity of countenance.\n\n\u201cY\u2014y\u2014y\u2014es,\u201d poor Giglio gasps out, \u201cI had quite forgotten the confounded\npaper: she can\u2019t mean to hold me by it. You old wretch, what will you\ntake to let me off? Help the Queen, some one\u2014Her Majesty has fainted.\u201d\n\n \u201cChop her head off!\u201d } exclaim the impetuous Hedzoff,\n \u201cSmother the old witch!\u201d } the ardent Smith, and the\n \u201cPitch her into the river!\u201d } faithful Jones.\n\nBut Gruffanuff flung her arms round the Archbishop\u2019s neck, and bellowed\nout, \u201cJustice, justice, my Lord Chancellor!\u201d so loudly, that her piercing\nshrieks caused everybody to pause. As for Rosalba, she was borne away\nlifeless by her ladies; and you may imagine the look of agony which\nGiglio cast towards that lovely being, as his hope, his joy, his darling,\nhis all in all, was thus removed, and in her place the horrid old\nGruffanuff rushed up to his side, and once more shrieked out, \u201cJustice,\njustice!\u201d\n\n\u201cWon\u2019t you take that sum of money which Glumboso hid?\u201d says Giglio; \u201ctwo\nhundred and eighteen thousand millions, or thereabouts. It\u2019s a handsome\nsum.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will have that and you too!\u201d says Gruffanuff.\n\n\u201cLet us throw the crown jewels into the bargain,\u201d gasps out Giglio.\n\n\u201cI will wear them by my Giglio\u2019s side!\u201d says Gruffanuff.\n\n\u201cWill half, three-quarters, five-sixths, nineteen-twentieths, of my\nkingdom do, Countess?\u201d asks the trembling monarch.\n\n\u201cWhat were all Europe to me without _you_, my Giglio?\u201d cries Gruff,\nkissing his hand.\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t, I can\u2019t, I shan\u2019t\u2014I\u2019ll resign the crown first,\u201d shouts Giglio,\ntearing away his hand; but Gruff clung to it.\n\n\u201cI have a competency, my love,\u201d she says, \u201cand with thee and a cottage\nthy Barbara will be happy.\u201d\n\nGiglio was half mad with rage by this time. \u201cI will not marry her,\u201d says\nhe. \u201cOh, Fairy, Fairy, give me counsel?\u201d And as he spoke he looked wildly\nround at the severe face of the Fairy Blackstick.\n\n\u201c\u2018Why is Fairy Blackstick always advising me, and warning me to keep my\nword? Does she suppose that I am not a man of honor?\u2019\u201d said the Fairy,\nquoting Giglio\u2019s own haughty words. He quailed under the brightness\nof her eyes; he felt that there was no escape for him from that awful\ninquisition.\n\n\u201cWell, Archbishop,\u201d said he in a dreadful voice, that made his Grace\nstart, \u201csince this Fairy has led me to the height of happiness but to\ndash me down into the depths of despair, since I am to lose Rosalba, let\nme at least keep my honor. Get up, Countess, and let us be married; I can\nkeep my word, but I can die afterwards.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, dear Giglio,\u201d cries Gruffanuff, skipping up, \u201cI knew, I knew I could\ntrust thee\u2014I knew that my Prince was the soul of honor. Jump into your\ncarriages, ladies and gentlemen, and let us go to church at once; and\nas for dying, dear Giglio, no, no:\u2014thou wilt forget that insignificant\nlittle chambermaid of a Queen\u2014thou wilt live to be consoled by thy\nBarbara! She wishes to be a Queen, and not a Queen Dowager, my gracious\nLord!\u201d And hanging upon poor Giglio\u2019s arm, and leering and grinning in\nhis face in the most disgusting manner, this old wretch tripped off in\nher white satin shoes, and jumped into the very carriage which had been\ngot ready to convey Giglio and Rosalba to church.\n\nThe cannons roared again, the bells pealed triple-bobmajors, the\npeople came out flinging flowers upon the path of the royal bride and\nbridegroom, and Gruff looked out of the gilt coach window and bowed and\ngrinned to them. Phoo! the horrid old wretch!\n\n\nXIX\n\nAND NOW WE COME TO THE LAST SCENE IN THE PANTOMIME\n\nThe many ups and downs of her life had given the Princess Rosalba\nprodigious strength of mind, and that highly principled young woman\npresently recovered from her fainting-fit, out of which Fairy Blackstick,\nby a precious essence which the Fairy always carried in her pocket,\nawakened her. Instead of tearing her hair, crying, and bemoaning\nherself, and fainting again, as many young women would have done, Rosalba\nremembered that she owed an example of firmness to her subjects; and\nthough she loved Giglio more than her life, was determined, as she told\nthe Fairy, not to interfere between him and justice, or to cause him to\nbreak his royal word.\n\n\u201cI cannot marry him, but I shall love him always,\u201d says she to\nBlackstick; \u201cI will go and be present at his marriage with the Countess,\nand sign the book, and wish them happy with all my heart. I will see,\nwhen I get home, whether I cannot make the new Queen some handsome\npresents. The Crim Tartary crown diamonds are uncommonly fine, and I\nshall never have any use for them. I will live and die unmarried like\nQueen Elizabeth, and, of course, I shall leave my crown to Giglio when I\nquit this world. Let us go and see them married, my dear Fairy, let me\nsay one last farewell to him; and then, if you please, I will return to\nmy own dominions.\u201d\n\nSo the Fairy kissed Rosalba with peculiar tenderness, and at once changed\nher wand into a very comfortable coach-and-four, with a steady coachman,\nand two respectable footmen behind, and the Fairy and Rosalba got into\nthe coach, which Angelica and Bulbo entered after them. As for honest\nBulbo, he was blubbering in the most pathetic manner, quite overcome by\nRosalba\u2019s misfortune.\n\nShe was touched by the honest fellow\u2019s sympathy, promised to restore to\nhim the confiscated estates of Duke Padella his father, and created him,\nas he sat there in the coach, Prince, Highness, and First Grandee of the\nCrim Tartar Empire. The coach moved on, and, being a fairy coach, soon\ncame up with the bridal procession.\n\nBefore the ceremony at the church it was the custom in Paflagonia, as it\nis in other countries, for the bride and bridegroom to sign the Contract\nof Marriage, which was to be witnessed by the Chancellor, Minister, Lord\nMayor, and principal officers of state. Now, as the royal palace was\nbeing painted and furnished anew, it was not ready for the reception of\nthe King and his bride, who proposed at first to take up their residence\nat the Prince\u2019s palace, that one which Valoroso occupied when Angelica\nwas born, and before he usurped the throne.\n\n[Illustration]\n\nSo the marriage party drove up to the palace: the dignitaries got out of\ntheir carriages and stood aside: poor Rosalba stepped out of her coach,\nsupported by Bulbo, and stood almost fainting up against the railings so\nas to have a last look of her dear Giglio.\n\nAs for Blackstick, she, according to her custom, had flown out of the\ncoach window in some inscrutable manner, and was now standing at the\npalace door.\n\nGiglio came up the steps with his horrible bride on his arm, looking\nas pale as if he was going to execution. He only frowned at the Fairy\nBlackstick\u2014he was angry with her, and thought she came to insult his\nmisery.\n\n\u201cGet out of the way, pray,\u201d says Gruffanuff haughtily. \u201cI wonder why you\nare always poking your nose into other people\u2019s affairs?\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you determined to make this poor young man unhappy?\u201d says Blackstick.\n\n\u201cTo marry him, yes? What business is it of yours? Pray, madam, don\u2019t say\n\u2018you\u2019 to a Queen,\u201d cried Gruffanuff.\n\n\u201cYou won\u2019t take the money he offered you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou won\u2019t let him off his bargain, though you know you cheated him when\nyou made him sign the paper?\u201d\n\n\u201cImpudence! Policemen, remove this woman!\u201d cries Gruffanuff. And the\npolicemen were rushing forward, but with a wave of her wand the Fairy\nstruck them all like so many statues in their places.\n\n\u201cYou won\u2019t take anything in exchange for your bond, Mrs. Gruffanuff,\u201d\ncries the Fairy, with awful severity. \u201cI speak for the last time.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo!\u201d shrieks Gruffanuff, stamping with her foot. \u201cI\u2019ll have my husband,\nmy husband, my husband!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou SHALL HAVE YOUR HUSBAND!\u201d the Fairy Blackstick cried; and advancing\na step, laid her hand upon the nose of the Knocker.\n\n * * * * *\n\nAs she touched it, the brass nose seemed to elongate, the open mouth\nopened still wider, and uttered a roar which made everybody start. The\neyes rolled wildly; the arms and legs uncurled themselves, writhed about,\nand seemed to lengthen with each twist; the Knocker expanded into a\nfigure in yellow livery, six feet high; the screws by which it was fixed\nto the door unloosed themselves, and Jenkins Gruffanuff once more trod\nthe threshold off which he had been lifted more than twenty years ago!\n\n\u201cMaster\u2019s not at home,\u201d says Jenkins, just in his old voice; and Mrs.\nJenkins, giving a dreadful _youp_, fell down in a fit, in which nobody\nminded her.\n\nFor everybody was shouting, \u201cHuzzay! Huzzay!\u201d \u201cHip, hip, hurray!\u201d \u201cLong\nlive the King and Queen!\u201d\n\n\u201cWere such things ever seen?\u201d \u201cNo, never, never, never!\u201d \u201cThe Fairy\nBlackstick for ever!\u201d\n\nThe bells were ringing double peals, the guns roaring and banging most\nprodigiously. Bulbo was embracing everybody; the Lord Chancellor was\nflinging up his wig and shouting like a madman; Hedzoff had got the\nArchbishop round the waist, and they were dancing a jig for joy; and as\nfor Giglio, I leave you to imagine what _he_ was doing, and if he kissed\nRosalba once, twice\u2014twenty thousand times, I\u2019m sure I don\u2019t think he was\nwrong.\n\nSo Gruffanuff opened the hall door with a low bow, just as he had been\naccustomed to do, and they all went in and signed the book, and then they\nwent to church and were married, and the Fairy Blackstick sailed away on\nher cane, and was never more heard of in Paflagonia.\n\n\nAND HERE ENDS THE FIRESIDE PANTOMIME.","title":"The Junior Classics, Volume 9: Stories of To-day","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":132127}