"We want our tea, Eee-ee! ee-ee!"

"O dear!" said the old gray rat, "if I had some one to help me! O dear!" He put his paw on the end of his nose, and then all at once gave a jump for joy in the air. "Good! good! good!" he did cry; "I have it! I can get all the eggs in the hole."

"Come here, Bet!" he said to his wife. "Come out, all of you, and help me."

Up they came with a hop, skip, and jump, all ears and eyes, and each tail gave a slap on the side of the wall, it came out with such a jerk.

"Here we are, my dear," said old Bet, the rat's wife. "Come; go to work as fast as you can. I hear the cat."

"Well, you and I must go out to the mill, to get a wisp of hay to tie my legs with."

"Tie your legs!" said his wife, "Why! what do you mean?"

But she was a good wife, and knew how to mind; so she went with the old rat, and they got a fine long wisp of hay, and ran back to the eggs and the nine rat-boys.

And now the old rat-wife and the nine rat-boys soon knew what a dear, good pa-pa they had; for, sure as you live! he made a cart of him-self. Down he went flat on his back with all four paws up in the air.

"Now, my dear," he said to his wife, "lay an egg in-side of my legs, then tie my paws up with the wisp of hay, so the egg can not fall out; then you and all the boys take hold of my tail, and drag me and the egg to the hole."

"Oh! what fun!" said all the nine rats; "let's give the egg a good ride. Now, then,

"Oh! pull, boys, pull! Eee-ee! eee-ee! We'll get our nine eggs Home for tea."

So each one took a bit of the long tail in his lips, and did try not to bite his pa-pa, and as they sung, "Pull, boys, pull," they drew the egg in high glee to the edge of the hole.

But Nip, the one who was at the end, did try so hard to pull, that, all at once, snap! he had bit off the end of his pa-pa's tail.

"Ki-i! kii!! e-e-e!!!" said the poor old gray rat, "you bad, bad boy, to bite me so! Now you can not have a bit of egg. You must go with-out your tea."

"O pa-pa! I did not mean to! O my!" Nip did say.

"Go down in the hole and stay till we come. You must not help one bit more."

So the wee rat had to go; but, O dear! what will you say, when I tell you that he ate up the end of his pa-pa's tail, and then gave a snap of his lips, as much as to say: "Dear me! that was nice! How I do wish I had some more!"

The rest did pull, till the egg was at the hole. Then old Bet, the wife, went down, and the rest took off the wisp of hay, and gave the egg a push, so that it fell in her fore-paws. Then they all went back for more, till, at last, the nine eggs were safe in the hole.

What fun it was!

Just as the last of the nine rat-boys had gone with a hop, skip, and jump, down the hole, the old cook came back in the room.

"Oh!" she said, "how nice the fire does burn! I will fry some of the eggs the hens have just laid for tea." She went to the box and saw that the lid was off, and all the eggs were gone!!!

She did look in the box, as if the eggs were out for a walk, and were to come back in half an hour, and it was time for them to come now. But no eggs did she see; and the old cook did cry out at last: "Why, who in all the land has been at my eggs? I put them in the box, I am sure."

Then she did look in all the jars and cups; in the big blue bowl, and the four tin pans, and the new red pail; but not an egg did she find.

Down in the hole the rats had a good time, I can tell you! Yes, all of them; for the old gray rat, when he got safe home, laid the end of his tail on a bit of soft wool, so that it did not hurt him much, and then he gave the rat-boy Nip, who had bit it off, a kiss, and said he did not mean to take away his tea now, as he was so sad. Then the rat-boy said: "Oh! I am so glad, I will jump up to the moon for joy." And so they all had a fine time.

The old gray rat made a hole in the big end of an egg, and gave it to his wife to suck. Not a drop came out! "Why, how is this?" she said, "it is as full as it can be!"

"Try a hole here," said the old gray rat, and he took the egg and made one on the top of it. Oh! then it came out as fast as you like, and you may be sure that Bet, the rat-wife, soon ate it all up.

Then the wise old rat made two holes in each egg, and all his nine boys gave him one suck out of each, and ate the rest, and had a real good time.

Now if you have a mind, and your mam-ma will let you, just try to suck an egg with one hole in it: you will find that none will come out; but if you make two, one at each end, you will get it all. A wise man told me this, so it must be true; but I do not like to try it, for raw egg is not good.

The old gray rat was wise too; but as for the poor old cook she does not know, from that day to this, who took all her nice eggs. If I were you, I'd go and tell her it was the old gray rat.

When you go, won't you take me with you, dear pet? We will peep in the hole, and try to see the old rat and his wife and his nine boys.

That is all this time; so, good-by.




Poor Will,

Who Was Shot In The War.


It is a fine warm day in June. Out of the town the air is soft and pure. Bird and bee flit from tree to tree, from blue-bell to rose, till at sun-set they hie away to nest and hive.

Bell and Lou were at play in a nice room in a home out of the town. They came to this dear home each year when it grew warm. Bell was hard at work with some bits of wood. "See, Lou," she said, "see my log hut; when it is done, your doll Fan can come and live in it."

"Oh! do not let it fall, Bell, for poor Fan is sick. She has got fits in her ear and all her ten toes. I have just put her in bed. Put your arm in the bed, my pet," she said to the doll in a kind tone; "you will get cold; and here, take this blue pill, dear. Do not make such a face. Poor soul! so sick! Has my pet got fits? So she has! O my!" So she gave Fan a kind pat, and then went with a soft step to look out at the door.

Soon she ran back and said: "O Bell! do come here! Come and look at the poor old man at the door. Why, I do not know how it is, but I can see but one arm. O dear! if he has but one, how sad it is! Come, look!"

Bell laid down her bits of wood, tho' her log hut was 'most done, and ran with Lou.

The out-side door had not been shut, for it was such a warm day. The soft west wind blew in, and the sun lay hot on the wide door-step.

"Come here, poor man," said Bell, "come to Lou and me; we want to talk to you."

He came with a slow, sad step. His face was thin and pale, his eyes were dim, and the long gray hair that fell on each side, made him look so sad! But it was a kind, good face, and Lou and Bell did not fear to call him to them.

"Have you been to the war?" said Lou.

"Yes, miss."

"Did you lose your arm in the war?"

"Yes, it was shot off; but, O miss! I do not mind my arm. It is my boy, my dear Will, I want back, my own dear son. Oh! why did I let him go?"

"Why did you?" said Bell, "you did not want a boy to go to the sad wars to be shot, did you? Why did you not take care of him?"

A big tear came out of the poor man's eye, as Bell said this. It fell down his thin face. He put up the back of his hand and took the tear off. Then he said: "I have been cold; I know what it is to have no food to eat; I have had no bed to lie on: I can bear all this with-out a sigh; but, oh! I can not bear the loss of my Will, my dear boy!"

"Poor man!" said Lou, "come sit down by us, and tell us how your boy came to go to the war; tell us all."

"Well, miss, if you wish to hear such a sad tale, I will tell you. When the war came I had to go and help on our side. Then Will said: 'Oh! if you go, I must go too. You know I can beat the drum, if I can not beat the bad men, who will try to do all they can to hurt us.'"

"Then I said: 'O no! Will; I can not let you go. They will kill you.'

"'Why, who can want to kill a boy like me? Come, dear pa-pa, do let me go; I want to be with you, I love you so much. If you get hurt, I can take care of you, and then I can beat the drum, or play on a fife. Do, dear pa-pa, let me go with you; I will keep out of the way of the big guns. Oh! I want to go.'

"At last I said: 'Well, Will, you may go.' He was so glad, he gave a leap of wild joy. I was glad too, for I did love him so much. I felt that I had no one to love or care for but him. My wife was dead, and my Will was my all. If I went with-out him, he was to go and live with an old aunt whom he did not know. So I said: 'Will, you can be with me in my tent, and we will not part at all.'"

"How old was he?" said Lou.

"He was ten, but tall of his age." Then the poor man gave a deep sigh and went on: "Oh! he was so glad; but it made me sigh to look at my boy. He was in a glow all the time; he was sure we would win, and come back to our home full of joy.

"They gave him a drum, and a cap, and a blue coat with a big cape like the rest of us, and in his belt they put a dirk. When Will put them on, he felt as fine as a new pin. Said he: 'I mean to pull out my dirk, and poke it at all the bad men who try to get a shot at you. Then I will get up in a tree, and beat my drum as hard as I can, to call our men out to help me kill them. See if I don't! Oh! what fun it will be!'

"My dear boy! he did not know what fear was."

Each day, as soon as he was out of bed, he came to kiss me, and tell me how glad he was that I had let him go with me; 'for I love you,' he said, 'I can love no one else as I love you. Oh! do take care of your-self; do try not to get shot or hurt: if you die, I must die too.'"

Here Bell and Lou saw a big tear roll down on each side of the poor man's face; they had hard work not to cry too. Lou said in a low, soft tone: "Poor man, we are so sad for you!"

"You are a good girl," said the old man; "and tho' it will give me so much pain, I will tell you the rest.

"We went to the war, and Will was with me in my tent. All the men did love him, he was so good, and just as full of glee as a bird. He sang all day, and beat his drum so well, that the men said he was as good as a band.

"One day we were told to load our guns, and not to say a loud word. We knew then that the time was come; that bad men were on our path to kill us. I took Will to the back of the camp. I put my arm on his neck; I gave him a kiss full of love, and I said: 'O my dear son! do not come near the guns; they will kill you if you do. You know you can beat your drum out here. Good-by, and God bless and keep you safe.' Then I gave him one more kiss, and he gave me a hug and a kiss -- the last but one I had from my dear boy, the last kiss of my Will. Oh! why did I let him come?

"All that day we did load and fire our guns, and the bad men did fire at us. The dead lay at our feet. We did not take them up; we had no time; but when the sun had set, we went out to find our men who had died, to wrap them in our flag, and lay them down in the last rest. We knew our men, for the pale, sad moon lit up each face. As we took them up, we did pray to God for each soul that had gone. We did pray that each one who had died for his dear land was in joy with Him.

"As we went on, one of the men gave a low cry, and said: 'Why here is a poor boy! O dear! he has been shot; he is dead! How did such a boy come here?' I did not dare to go up and look; but one of our own men went near; he gave one look, and then said in a low, sad tone: 'It is our Will.'

"Oh! then I ran and fell down by my boy, my dear dead boy. He lay on his face; he did not stir.

"I took his hand in mine, and did turn his dear face so that I could see it. With sobs I took him up in my arms. He was yet warm, and a hope rose in me that he was not dead. Yes, the good God did not let him die then, for he gave a low moan of pain, tho' his eyes were yet shut.

"And so I took him to my tent, and laid him down on my bed, and sat by him in the dark. All I could do was to wet his lips, and sob and pray to God for my boy.

"At last, at dawn of day, I saw that his blue eyes were open, and he said with a sigh: 'Pa-pa, is that you?' Oh! what joy I felt! but my joy was not for long, for my boy was so weak, he said but a word or two from time to time. I will tell you what he said, 'Pa-pa, I did stay back just as you told me, but a shot from a big gun flew in the air, and went in here,' and he put his hand on his left side. 'I fell down, and all at once it grew dark to me, and I knew I must die.

"'Then I did try to get to you to bid you good-by, and to give you one last good kiss. The shot fell like rain; they made a buzz, buzz in the air. I went from end to end of the line of men to find you, but I did not see you; then the guns did not fire, for the sun had set; but I was so weak I fell down. I did lift my arms up to the sky, and pray: O God! let me see my own dear pa-pa, to kiss him, and tell him that I did do as he had bid me. I can not get back to the camp; I must die here. And then I knew no more. But God did hear me; and now I can bid you good-by, and beg you not to cry for me when I am gone.'

"'O Will!' I said with a sob, "you must not die. I will not let you. Oh! do you hear? I will not let you go from me.'

"Just then the kind doc-tor came in; for it was now Will's turn. He did look at his side; he felt his brow and his cold hand; then he gave me a look, a sad, sad look -- it said: 'It is no use to try, I can not save him.'

"And now my Will's face grew pale and pale; his head sank down; his blue eyes were dim. He put his hand out to me, for now he did not see me; I took it, and laid it on my neck. He drew my face, all wet with big tears, down to his, and I could just hear him say: 'I love you, O how I love you! But God calls me; I will wait for you at His feet. Good-by.' Then he gave me his last kiss, and then -- he was dead."

The poor old man hid his face in his hand. His sobs were so sad to hear, that Bell and Lou felt as bad as the poor man, and did cry and sob with him, and wish the war had ne-ver come, to give all this woe and pain to a good man.

At last the old man got up to go. Then Bell said to Lou in a low tone: "Let us give this poor man the gold coin we have had so long. It will buy him a new coat."

"O yes, yes!" said Lou. So she ran in and got it, and then they both said: "Here, good old man, take this; it will not make you less sad for the loss of your dear boy, but it will buy you food or a coat; we beg you to take it."

With a look of love at those dear ones who were so kind, the old man took the gold. "May God bless you!" said he. "You are His own lambs. I will pray for you; and when you die and I die, may we all meet my own dear Will, who is now with Him, safe from the pain and sin of this life."

Then he bade them good-by, and went with slow and sad steps down the road.




Ann, The Good Girl;

Or,

Is It Best To Mind Or Not To Mind?


"O dear! dear!" said Ann, in a fret, "how it does rain! It is just pour, pour all the time. When will it stop? Why must it rain when I want to go out? The sky is like a big gray pan up-side down, and so low it will fall on top of the hill, if it does not mind. What is the use of rain? O my! I do wish the sun was out."

"Come here, my dear," said her mam-ma, in a soft, kind tone, "will you help me with this blue yarn? I want to wind it, and then knit it into mitts for the good men who have gone to the war."

"O dear! yes, mam-ma, I am glad to do that; to be sure I will."

You see Ann was not a bad girl; but she had no work to do, and she did not want to play just then with Miss Kate June, her new doll. Ann had been born in June, and just as sure as each new June came, she got a new doll for a gift from her mam-ma.

Miss Kate June made six dolls that she had; so you can tell by that how old she was.

And now she held the blue yarn, and mam-ma soon made a big ball of it. She had just got to the end, when down fell the ball out of her hand. A gray kit was on the rug; and when the ball fell, she was sure it was for her to play with; so she flew to get it, and Ann flew to get it too; and both had such fun, and a real good romp!

Dear me! how the ball did roll! and how the kit did jump! and how Ann did run to get it! and what a nice time they both had! Ann's blue eyes were full of glee, and let me tell you, she did not look out once at the rain.

At last she got the ball away from the kit, and gave it to her mam-ma, with a kiss.

Then mam-ma said: "Do you care for the rain now?"

"Not a bit."

"Will you do some more work for me?"

"O yes! mam-ma, I like to work for you;" and a soft look of love came into her blue eyes.

"Well, my dear, I like to have you. And now, for fear the kit will want to jump up in my lap to get at my ball, just tie this bit of tape to this cork, and hang it on that nail in the wall. Now, give it a toss to and fro, and you will see kit jump at once to bite it, and tap it with her paw."

Ann did as she was bid. She gave the cork a toss in the air, when up flew the kit like a shot. She hit it with both paws; she did jump up with all four of her legs high in the air; and you may be sure that she had no end of fun and play.

Just then, old Aunt Peg, the cook, came in. She was a good old soul, tho' her face was so dark, and her hair was made of wool. She was so fond of Ann, she did just what the wee girl told her to do. If Ann went to Aunt Peg, and put her soft hands on the neck of the old cook, and laid her head on her dark hand, and said, "O dear Aunt Peg! do make me a pie to-day, and I will love you so much," then, let me tell you, Aunt Peg set to work at once, and a fine pie was made in less than an hour.

Well, this day, Aunt Peg said: "What am I to cook, ma'am?"

"Oh!" said mam-ma, "we will have some ham and eggs, and peas, and rice, and --  -- "

"Pie!" said Ann. "O yes! you must make me a big pie, Aunt Peg, or you will get your head shot off."

"O good-y! I hope not, Miss Ann," said Aunt Peg. "If you cut my head off, I shall hop up and down like the poor hen who flew in our yard from next door with her head off; and then all the pies you will get will be the dirt pies you make your-self; and they are not as good to eat as mine, are they?"

"Oh! I was in fun, dear Aunt Peg," said Ann. "You must not have your dear old head cut off;" and she ran up to the cook, and took her hand, and gave it two soft, kind pats.

Then the good old soul went off to make the pie, and fry the ham and eggs, and boil the peas and rice.

Ann sat down to make a red silk bag for her mam-ma, to keep her ball of blue yarn in. It was not more than half done, when all at once the rain did stop, and a sun-beam came like a dart in the room, and lit on the end of Ann's nose. "Why! look at the sun!" said she with a cry of joy, and ran to the door.

The sky was blue; the sun's rays made each drop of rain look like a gem; and when a bird flew past Ann with a wild song of joy, Ann sang too, she was so glad. The bees went to work with a will, to make up for the time they had lost by the rain; and they flew home to the hive with bags full of food, you may be sure.

Then Ann came in to get her hat, and flew out once more, as gay as a lark, when her mam-ma said: "Come back, come back, my dear; it is too wet; you must wait till the sun has been out some time. If you get your feet wet, you will take cold."

O dear me! Ann did not like this a bit; but, as I have told you, she was a good girl and did as she was bid. She did not say, "What for?" or "Why must I do so?" No; she came in at once, and sat down to work at her bag.

And now you will see how good it is to mind.

Ann had not sat long, when all at once a loud cry came to her ears. She held up her head and said: "Hush! hush! what was that?" Then she ran to look out, as if she had six pair of eyes, when a howl and a bark, and a loud roar, made her jump, and then a boy ran past like the wind. His hair was on end; his face was pale with fear. As he ran he said: "O save me! O help! help! Save me from the MAD DOG!"

The dog was at the poor boy's heels, and four or five men, each with a big club, did run and try to get at the mad dog to kill him.

And now the boy ran for his life. He was in such fear, he did not see a log of wood that was in his path; so he fell down on it, and then, O sad to tell! the mad dog, with a howl of rage, made a dash at his leg and bit it.

The men got at the dog, and hit him on the head till he died. But it was too late! it was too late! the poor boy had been bit, and he must die too.

Then mam-ma took her dear girl in her arms, and gave her a kiss, and said: "Oh! how glad I am you did not go out to play! God has kept my dear pet from harm, and He has made you a good girl. If you had run out when I told you not to go, and the mad dog had bit you too -- O dear! I can not bear to think of it."

"But must the poor boy die?" said Ann, as a big tear came out of her blue eye; "Oh! must he die, mam-ma?"

"I fear he will. They will try to save his life. They will cut a big hole in his leg where the dog bit him, and put him to sad pain. But the bite of a mad dog is so hard to cure, I fear it will be of no use."

"O mam-ma! will you let me take him some of Aunt Peg's nice cake? It may do him good. Do let me!"

Her mam-ma said yes, tho' she knew it was of no use; for the poor boy was too much hurt to eat. She did not tell Ann so, for she did not wish to make her more sad.

So some cake was made, and Ann went with a good lad who knew the way.

Oh! how sad it was! The poor boy lay in bed. His face was pale, and his eyes were shut. He did not say one word, but just lay on his bed, as if he were dead.

Ann gave the cake to his mam-ma, who did cry and sob, and look so sad, that Ann had to cry too.

She went home and told her mam-ma all this bad news; and all the rest of the day she felt sad, and her kind face was pale.

When it was time to go to bed, Ann did pray to God for the poor boy. She did beg the good God to save his life, and she did beg Him to make her a good girl, and to love her and love her dear mam-ma, and take care of them both. She did pray that God would make her good and kind to poor old Aunt Peg, and to all she knew, and to let her be His lamb, to live with Him when she died.

Then her mam-ma gave her a kiss, and saw that she lay warm in her nice, soft bed, and went out of the room. She left Ann in the dark. But let me tell you she did not care for that; no, not a bit! Ann had no fear, for she knew that God took care of her; she knew that God did love a good girl.




Joe, Who Did Not Mind.


"O my! what a cold day!" said Tom; "I am sure the pond is all ice. What fun it will to run my sled on it! Come, Joe, get your sled, and I will race home and get mine, and we will have a real good time."

"O no! I can not," said Joe; "pa-pa told me not to go on the pond to-day; he said the ice was too thin."

"Stuff! the ice is two feet deep, I know. Come, it will not hurt you, and then you need not tell. Don't be such a gump. Go, get your sled, I tell you. Come; one! two! three! Why don't you run?"

"W-e-ll," said Joe in a slow way, "if the ice is as deep as you say, I will just try it; that can do no harm, I am sure."

"Yes, and you need not say a word when you come back," said Tom.

Do you not see what a bad boy this was? If a boy or girl tells you not to mind your pa-pa or mam-ma, I beg you to run away from them as if they were a bear or a wild cat, come to bite your head off; for, let me tell you, a bad boy or a bad girl will do you more harm than a wild bear or cat; they will make you bad too; and you will be sure to come to harm, just as Joe did.

For he got his sled and Tom got his, and they ran off to the pond.

It was full of boys, and for an hour or two, our two boys had fine fun. They all slid down the pond in a long line; and if one fell down and hit his nose, he did not mind it a bit, but got up and went on, with a grin on his face. Then they got each sled in a line, and with a cry of one! two!! three!!! ran a race; and were just as full of fun and glee as an egg is full of meat.

At last a fat boy, who did not like to run so fast, said: "See here, boys, I have got a big kite home; I will go and get it, and then you will see fun! for the wind and my kite will give me a ride on my sled."

"O dear, yes! won't that be nice!" said all the boys, as the fat one ran off with a hop, skip, and jump.

As he did not have far to go, he soon came back with his big kite; and then he sat down on his sled and let his kite out, and, whoo!! how he flew down the pond! He had to hold the cord as hard as he could. His face was full of joy at such a fine ride; and the rest of the boys ran and slid, first on one foot, and then on two; but they did not go half so fast as the fat boy on his sled.

He was a good, kind boy, and let them all have a ride with the kite in turn. When Joe's turn came, he was in such joy, that he did not care a snap for what his pa-pa had said to him. "Oh!" he did cry, "what fun! I want to stay here all day. I tell you what! I mean to make a big kite, and come here some time, and ride on my sled all day long."

He held the fat boy's kite then, and his sled went down the pond like the wind.

Snap! snap!! what was that? snap! snap!! snap!!!

The boys made a rush to the spot; a wild cry rose in the air of "Save me! O save me!" and down went poor Joe thro' a hole in the ice. The cord that held the kite flew out of his hand; a great lump of ice sank for a time; and then all that was seen of Joe was his cap, and his sled that came, up-side down, to the top of the pond.

All the boys grew pale with fear. They did not know what to do.

As they did look with wild, sad eyes at the dark hole in the ice, Joe's head came up, and his hand took hold of the edge of the ice. With a grasp and a cry of "Save me!" he drew him-self up till his face was out of the wa-ter; but that was all. Oh! how he did wish he had done as his pa-pa had bid him! With a wild look up at the cold blue sky, he did try to pray. He knew that God saw him. He knew how bad he had been. He held fast by the edge of the ice, with his face up, and his head back, to keep his face from the cold edge that cut him; and his cry was: "Save me! O save me!"

The boys came as near to him as it was safe to go -- all but Tom. He ran off. He did not try to help the one he had told to be so bad. Oh! do you not see that a boy like this will do you more harm than good? If you know such a boy or girl, do not play with them; give them up this day.

Well, here was poor Joe, and God did hear his cry for help; for just then it was His will that two men came by with a sled full of wood. The boys did call them: "Come here, oh! do come here! or Joe will die!"

It was time; for the poor boy had sunk down, down to his eyes. He was so cold, he had to let go of the ice.

The good men ran to the pond, and then ran back and took a long rope, that they had used to tie the load of wood. Then, with care, one of them went on the ice near the hole. Snap! snap! it did go; but it did not sink. The man threw out the rope, and told Joe to take hold of the end. He was so cold he could not hold it; but he put the end un-der his arm, and in this way the man drew him out so far that he took hold of his hand, and got him safe on the hard ice.

Then poor Joe gave one gasp, shut his eyes, and sank down as if he was dead.

No time was to be lost. "Take the wood off the sled," said one of the men. The boys flew to do it. The wood fell this side and that; and then poor Joe was laid on the sled, with his head on the good man's lap. He took off his coat, and laid it on the poor boy; and then the sled went off so fast, that they were at Joe's house in time to save him.

But, oh! what a sad time it was! How long it took! They put him in a warm bed, and they did rub and roll him for an hour; but still his eyes were shut, and his face was so pale, they all said he was dead. But his mam-ma did cry: "O do not stop! try once more! My dear boy must not die! Oh! do not give him up!" So they went on; his pa-pa with the big tears in his eyes; and the kind men they did rub and roll him, and his mam-ma sat by, with a pale, sad face, to help, and she did not give up hope; she did pray to God all the time to save her boy's life.

Hark! what was that? A low moan came from Joe's lips, then a sigh, then a gasp; then he said in a low tone: "How did I come here in bed? Oh! what pain I am in! -- oh! how I ache!"

All at once the pond and his fall thro' the ice came back to his mind, and then the pain of his mind was, oh! so hard to bear! and he said: "O my dear pa-pa! my dear mam-ma! do not be kind to me! I am a bad, bad boy. I did not do as you bid me; I went on the pond, and I fell in. Oh! you can not love me! I have been so bad! I wish you had let me die! Oh! how can you be kind to such a bad boy?"

"My dear son," said his pa-pa, "God does not wish you to die. He will give you back your life, so that you may try to be good all the rest of your days."

"But are you glad to get me back? Will you and mam-ma love me? If you can not love me, I want to die."

His mam-ma took him in her arms, and gave him a kiss, and told him she did love him, and that he must not wish to die, but try to be good. He must pray to God to help him, and he must not go with bad boys; and she did look so kind, that Joe put his arms on her neck, and felt glad.

He was ill a long time, for he took a sad cold. But he did what he was bid. He did not fret a bit, but had a kiss and a kind word for all who took care of him.

When he got well, he did not go near that bad boy, Tom, who had made him to sin, and then when he was in such a sad way, and like to die, ran off. For you know when Joe sank down thro' the hole in the ice, Tom did not help him, but, like a bad, mean boy, ran away. All bad boys and girls act so; they will get you to sin, and then when you are in pain, and want to get rid of your sin, they will not help you. Not they! So keep far away from all such, if you wish to lead a good life. Do not go with bad boys or girls, who will tell you not to mind your pa-pa and mam-ma, who are sure to know what is best for you.

Joe got well, and he grew up a good boy and good man. He is a man now, and when he is told to do what is bad, he says to him-self: "This is like Tom; this will get me into a hole, like the hole in the ice; I will not do it."

Do you do as you are bid? Oh! I hope so. If you do not -- mind what I now tell you -- take this book back to your mam-ma, and tell her, I do not wish a bad boy or girl to have it; and beg her to keep it till you are good; and when you are so, ask for the book, and then do come and give me a kiss, and it will make me sing for joy.

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Squinty The Comical Pig: His Many Adventures

By

Richard Barnum



Chapter I


Squinty And The Dog

Squinty was a little pig. You could tell he was a pig just as soon as you looked at him, because he had the cutest little curly tail, as though it wanted to tie itself into a bow, but was not quite sure whether that was the right thing to do. And Squinty had a skin that was as pink, under his white, hairy bristles, as a baby's toes.

Also Squinty had the oddest nose! It was just like a rubber ball, flattened out, and when Squinty moved his nose up and down, or sideways, as he did when he smelled the nice sour milk the farmer was bringing for the pigs' dinner, why, when Squinty did that with his nose, it just made you want to laugh right out loud.

But the funniest part of Squinty was his eyes, or, rather, one eye. And that eye squinted just as well as any eye ever squinted. Somehow or other, I don't just know why exactly, or I would tell you, the lid of one of Squinty's eyes was heavier than the other. That eye opened only half way, and when Squinty looked up at you from the pen, where he lived with his mother and father and little brothers and sisters, why there was such a comical look on Squinty's face that you wanted to laugh right out loud again.

In fact, lots of boys and girls, when they came to look at Squinty in his pen, could not help laughing when he peered up at them, with one eye widely open, and the other half shut.

"Oh, what a comical pig!" the boys and girls would cry. "What is his name?"

"Oh, I guess we'll call him Squinty," the farmer said; and so Squinty was named.

Perhaps if his mother had had her way about it she would have given Squinty another name, as she did his brothers and sisters. In fact she did name all of them except Squinty.

One of the little pigs was named Wuff-Wuff, another Curly Tail, another Squealer, another Wee-Wee, and another Puff-Ball. There were seven pigs in all, and Squinty was the last one, so you see he came from quite a large family. When his mother had named six of her little pigs she came to Squinty.

"Let me see," grunted Mrs. Pig in her own way, for you know animals have a language of their own which no one else can understand. "Let me see," said Mrs. Pig, "what shall I call you?"

She was thinking of naming him Floppy, because the lid of one of his eyes sort of flopped down. But just then a lot of boys and girls came running out to the pig pen.

The boys and girls had come on a visit to the farmer who owned the pigs, and when they looked in, and saw big Mr. and Mrs. Pig, and the little ones, one boy called out:

"Oh, what a queer little pig, with one eye partly open! And how funny he looks at you! What is his name?"

"Well, I guess we'll call him Squinty," the farmer had said. And so, just as I have told you, Squinty got his name.

"Humph! Squinty!" exclaimed Mrs. Pig, as she heard what the farmer said. "I don't know as I like that."

"Oh, it will do very well," answered Mr. Pig. "It will save you thinking up a name for him. And, after all, you know, he does squint. Not that it amounts to anything, in fact it is rather stylish, I think. Let him be called Squinty."

"All right," answered Mrs. Pig. So Squinty it was.

"Hello, Squinty!" called the boys and girls, giving the little pig his new name. "Hello, Squinty!"

"Wuff! Wuff!" grunted Squinty.

That meant, in his language, "Hello!" you see. For though Squinty, and his mother and father, and brothers and sisters, could understand man talk, and boy and girl talk, they could not speak that language themselves, but had to talk in their own way.

Nearly all animals understand our talk, even though they can not speak to us. Just look at a dog, for instance. When you call to him: "Come here!" doesn't he come? Of course he does. And when you say: "Lie down, sir!" doesn't he lie down? that is if he is a good dog, and minds? He understands, anyhow.

And see how horses understand how to go when the driver says "Gid-dap!" and how they stop when he says "Whoa!" So you need not think it strange that a little pig could understand our kind of talk, though he could not speak it himself.

Well, Squinty, the comical pig, lived with his mother and father and brothers and sisters in the farmer's pen for some time. As the days went on Squinty grew fatter and fatter, until his pink skin, under his white bristles, was swelled out like a balloon.

"Hum!" exclaimed the farmer one day, as he leaned over the top of the pen, to look down on the pigs, after he had poured their dinner into the trough. "Hum! That little pig, with the squinty eye, is getting pretty big. I thought he was going to be a little runt, but he seems to be growing as fast as the others."

Squinty was glad when he heard that, for he wanted to grow up to be a fine, large pig.

The farmer took a corn cob, from which all the yellow kernels of corn had been shelled, and with it he scratched the back of Squinty. Pigs like to have their backs scratched, just as cats like to have you rub their smooth fur, or tickle them under the ears.

"Ugh! Ugh!" grunted Squinty, looking up at the farmer with his comical eyes, one half shut and the other wide open. "Ugh! Ugh!" And with his odd eyes, and one ear cocked forward, and the other flopping over backward, Squinty looked so funny that the farmer had to laugh out loud.

"What's the matter, Rufus?" asked the farmer's wife, who was gathering the eggs.

"Oh, it's this pig," laughed the farmer. "He has such a queer look on his face!"

"Let me see!" exclaimed the farmer's wife.

She, too, looked down into the pen.

"Oh, isn't he comical!" she cried.

Then, being a very kind lady, and liking all the farm animals, the farmer's wife went out in the potato patch and pulled up some pig weed.

This is a green weed that grows in the garden, but it does no good there. Instead it does harm, and farmers like to pull it up to get rid of it. But, if pig weed is no good for the garden, it is good for pigs, and they like to chew the green leaves.

"Here, Squinty!" called the farmer's wife, tossing some of the juicy, green weed to the little pig. "Eat this!"

"Ugh! Ugh!" grunted Squinty, and he began to chew the green leaves. I suppose that was his way of saying: "Thank you!"

As soon as Squinty's brothers and sisters saw the green pig weed the farmer's wife had tossed into the pen, up they rushed to the trough, grunting and squealing, to get some too.

They pushed and scrambled, and even stepped into the trough, so eager were they to get something to eat; even though they had been fed only a little while before.

That is one strange thing about pigs. They seem to be always hungry. And Squinty's brothers and sisters were no different from other pigs.

But wait just a moment. They were a bit different, for they were much cleaner than many pigs I have seen. The farmer who owned them knew that pigs do not like to live in mud and dirt any more than do cows and horses, so this farmer had for his pigs a nice pen, with a dry board floor, and plenty of corn husks for their bed. They had clean water to drink, and a shady place in which to lie down and sleep.

Of course there was a mud bath in the pig pen, for, no matter how clean pigs are, once in a while they like to roll in the mud. And I'll tell you the reason for that.

You see flies and mosquitoes and other pests like to bite pigs. The pigs know this, and they also know that if they roll in the mud, and get covered with it, the mud will make a coating over them to keep the biting flies away.

So that is why pigs like to roll in the mud once in awhile, just as you sometimes see a circus elephant scatter dust over his back, to drive away the flies. And even such a thick-skinned animal as a rhinoceros likes to plaster himself with mud to keep away the insects.

But after Squinty and his brothers and sisters had rolled in the mud, they were always glad when the farmer came with the garden hose and washed them clean again, so their pink skins showed beneath their white, hairy bristles.

Squinty and the other pigs grew until they were a nice size. They had nothing to do but eat and sleep, and of course that will make anyone grow.

Now Squinty, though he was not the largest of the family of pig children, was by far the smartest. He learned more quickly than did his brothers and sisters, how to run to the trough to eat, when his mother called him, and he learned how to stand up against one side of the pen and rub himself back and forth to scratch his side when a mosquito had bitten him in a place he could not reach with his foot.

In fact Squinty was a little too smart. He wanted to do many things his brothers and sisters never thought of. One day when Squinty and the others had eaten their dinner, Squinty told his brother Wuff-Wuff that he thought it would be a nice thing to have some fun.

Wuff-Wuff said he thought so, too, but he didn't just know what to do. In fact there was not much one could do in a pig pen.

"If we could only get out of here!" grunted Squinty, as he looked out through a crack in the boards and saw the green garden, where pig weed was growing thickly.

"Yes, but we can't," said Wuff-Wuff.

Squinty was not so sure about this. In fact he was a very inquisitive little pig -- that is, he always wanted to find out about things, and why this and that was so, and what made the wheels go around, and all like that.

"I think I can get out through that place," said Squinty to himself, a little later. He had found another crack between two boards of the pen -- a large crack, and one edge of the board was loose. Squinty began to push with his rubbery nose.

A pig's nose is pretty strong, you know, for it is made for digging, or rooting in the earth, to turn up acorns, and other good things to eat.

Squinty pushed and pushed on the board until he had made it very loose. The crack was getting wider.

"Oh, I can surely get out!" he thought. He looked around; his mother and father and all the little pigs were asleep in the shady part of the pen.

"I'm going!" said Squinty to himself.

He gave one extra hard push, and there he was through the big crack, and outside the pen. It was the first time he had ever been out in his life. At first he was a little frightened, but when he looked over into the potato patch, and saw pig weed growing there he was happy.

"Oh, what a good meal I shall have!" grunted Squinty.

He ran toward a large bunch of the juicy, green pig weed, but before he reached it he heard a dreadful noise.

"Bow wow! Bow wow! Bow wow!" went some animal, and then came some growls, and the next moment Squinty saw, rushing toward him Don, the big black and white dog of the farmer. "Bow wow! Bow wow! Bow wow!" barked Don, and that meant, in his language: "Get back in your pen, Squinty! What do you mean by coming out? Get back! Bow wow!"

"Oh dear! Oh dear!" squealed Squinty. "I shall be bitten sure! That dog will bite me! Oh dear! Why didn't I stay in the pen?"

Squinty turned on his little short legs, as quickly as he could, and started back for the pen. But it was not easy to run in a potato field, and Squinty, not having lived in the woods and fields as do some pigs, was not a very good runner.

"Bow wow! Bow wow!" barked Don, running after Squinty.

I do not believe Don really meant to hurt the comical little pig. In fact I know he did not, for Don was very kind-hearted. But Don knew that the pigs were supposed to stay in their pen, and not come out to root up the garden. So Don barked:

"Bow wow! Bow wow! Get back where you belong, Squinty."

Squinty ran as fast as he could, but Don ran faster. Squinty caught his foot in a melon vine, and down he went. Before he could get up Don was close to him, and, the next moment Squinty felt his ear being taken between Don's strong, white teeth.

"Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!" squealed Squinty, in his own queer, pig language. "What is going to happen to me?"




Chapter II


Squinty Runs Away

Between the barking of Don, the dog, and the squealing of Squinty, the comical pig, who was being led along by his ear, there was so much noise in the farmer's potato patch, for a few moments, that, if you had been there, I think you would have wondered what was happening.

"Bow wow! Bow wow! Bow wow!" barked Don, still keeping hold of Squinty's ear, though he did not pinch very hard. "Bow wow! Get back to your pen where you belong!"

"Squee! Squee! Squee!" yelled Squinty. "Oh, please let me go! I'll be good!"

And so it went on, the dog talking in his barking language, and Squinty squealing in his pig talk; but they could easily understand one another, even if no one else could.

Back in the pen Mrs. Pig suddenly awakened from a nap. So did Mr. Pig, and all the little pigs.

"Don't you hear something making a noise?" asked Mrs. Pig of her husband.

"Why, yes, I think I do," he answered slowly, as he looked in the feed trough, to see if the farmer had left any more sour milk there for the pig family to eat. But there was none.

"I hear someone squealing," said Wuff-Wuff, the largest boy pig of them all.

"So do I," said Squeaker, a little girl pig.

Mrs. Pig sat up, and looked all over the pen. She was counting her children to see if they were all there. She did not see Squinty, and at once she became frightened.

"Squinty is gone!" cried Mrs. Pig. "Oh, where can he be?"

The squealing noise became louder. So did the barking of the dog.

"Look, there is a board off the side of the pen," said Mr. Pig.

"Yes, Squinty wanted me to come outside with him," said Wuff-Wuff. "But I wouldn't go."

"Oh, maybe my little boy pig is outside there, making all that noise!" cried Mrs. Pig to her husband.

"Well, he isn't making all that noise by himself," said the father pig. "Someone is helping him make it, I'm sure."

They all listened, and heard the barking of Don, as well as the squealing of Squinty.

"Oh, some animal has caught him!" cried Mrs. Pig. Then she pushed as hard as she could with her nose, against the loose board near the hole in the pen, through which Squinty had run a little while before. Mrs. Pig soon knocked off the board, and then she ran out into the garden, Mr. Pig and all the little pigs ran after her.

The first thing Mrs. Pig saw was her little boy pig down on the ground in the middle of a row of melon vines, with Don holding Squinty's ear.

"Bow wow!" barked Don.

"Squee! Squee!" cried Squinty.

"Oh, you poor little pig!" grunted Mrs. Pig. "What has happened to you?"

"Oh, mamma!" squealed Squinty. "I -- I ran out of the pen to see what it was like outside, and I was just eating some pig weed, when this big dog chased after me."

"Yes, I did," said Don, growling in his deep voice. "The place for pigs, little or big, is in their pen. The farmer does not want you to come out and spoil his garden. He tells me to watch you, and to drive you back if you come in it.

"This is the first time I have seen any of you pigs in the garden," went on Don, still keeping hold of Squinty's ear, "and I want you, please, to go back in your pen."

"Oh, I'll go! I'll go!" cried Squinty. "Only let loose of my ear, Mr. Dog, if you please!"

"What! Have you hold of Squinty's ear?" asked Wuff-Wuff. "Oh, do please let him go!"

"Yes, I will, now that you are here," said Don, and he took his strong, white teeth from the piggy boy's ear. "I did not bite him hard enough to hurt him," said Don. "But I had to catch hold of him somewhere, and taking him by the ear was better than taking him by the tail, I think."

"Oh, yes, indeed!" agreed Mr. Pig. "Once, when I was a little pig, a dog bit me on the tail, and I never got over it. In fact I have the marks yet," and he tried to look around at his tail, which had a kink in it. But Mr. Pig was too fat to see his own tail.

"So that's why I took hold of Squinty by the ear," went on Don. "Did I hurt you very much?" he asked the little pig who had run out of the pen.

"Oh, no; not much," Squinty said, as he rubbed his ear with his paw. Then, as he saw a bunch of pig weed close to him, he began nibbling that. And his brothers and sisters, seeing him do this, began to eat the pig weed also.

"Come! This will never do!" barked Don, the dog. "I am sorry, but all you pigs must go back in your own pen. The farmer would not like you to be out in his garden."

"Yes, I suppose we must," said Mrs. Pig, with a sigh. "Yet it is very nice out in the garden. But we must stay in our pen."

"Come, children," said Mr. Pig. "We must stay in our own place, for if we rooted up the farmer's garden, much as we would like to do it, he would have no vegetables to eat this winter. Then he might be angry at us, and would give us no more sour milk. So we will go back to our pen."

"Bow wow! Bow wow!" barked Don, running here and there. "I will show you the way back to your pen," he said, kindly.

And he capered about, here and there, driving the pigs back to the place where Squinty had run from, and where all the others had come from, to see what had happened to him.

The farmer, who was hoeing corn, heard the barking of his dog. He dropped the hoe and ran.

"Something must have happened!" he cried. "Maybe the big bull has gotten loose from his field, and is chasing someone with a red dress."

Into the garden he ran, and then he saw Don driving Squinty, and his brothers and sisters, and mother and father, back to the pen.

"Ha! So the pigs got loose!" the farmer cried. "Good dog! Chase 'em back!"

"Bow wow!" barked Don. "I will!"

But the pigs did not need much driving, for they were very good, and did not want to cause Don, or the farmer, any trouble if they could help it.

Soon Squinty and the others were safely in the pen again. The farmer looked at them carefully.

"So, you thought you'd like to get out and have a run, did you?" he asked, speaking to pigs just as if they could understand him. And they did, just as your dog understands, and minds you when you call to him to come to you.

"So you wanted a run in the garden, eh?" went on the farmer. "Well, I don't blame you, for it isn't much fun to stay cooped up in a pen all the while. But still I can't have you out. But I'll give you a nice lot of pig weed, just the same, for you must be hungry."

Then the farmer pulled up some more of the green stuff, and tossed it into the pen. He also gave them plenty of sour milk, which pigs like better than sweet milk. Besides, it is cheaper.

"Well, I guess you won't run away again," the farmer went on, as he nailed back on the pen the board which Squinty had pushed off. Perhaps the farmer thought one of the big pigs -- the papa or mamma one -- had made the hole for the others to get out. I am sure he never thought little Squinty, with his comical eye, did it. But we know Squinty did, don't we?

For some time after this Squinty was a very-good pig, indeed. Not that I mean to say he was bad when he ran out of the pen, for he did not know any better. But, after the board was nailed on tightly again, he did not try to push it off. Perhaps he knew he could not do it.

Squinty and his brothers and sisters had lots of fun in the pen, even if they could not go out. They played games in the straw, hiding away from one another, and squealing and grunting when they were found. They raced around the pen, playing a game much like our game of tag, and if they could have had someone to tie a hand-kerchief over their eyes, they might have played blind-man's buff. But of course they did not really do this.

However, they raced about, and jumped over each other's backs, and climbed upon the fat sides of their father and mother while the big pigs lay asleep in the shade.

Squinty was a pig very fond of playing tricks. Sometimes he would take a choice, tender piece of pig weed, which the farmer had tossed into the pen, and hide it in the soft dirt in one corner.

"Now see who can find it!" Squinty would call to his brothers and sisters, and they would hunt all over for it, rooting up the earth with their strong, rubbery noses.

Digging in the dirt was good practice for them, and their mother and father would watch them, saying:

"Ah, when they grow up they will be very good rooting pigs indeed. Yes, very good!"

Then Squinty, or his brothers or sisters, would root up the hidden pig weed, and the old pigs would go to sleep again, for they did not need to practice digging, having done so when they were young. About all they did was to eat and sleep, and tell the little pigs how to behave.

"Squinty, how is your ear that Don, the dog, bit?" asked Mrs. Pig of her little boy pig one day.

"Oh, it doesn't hurt me," answered Squinty. "Don did not bite very hard. He only wanted to catch me."

"Yes, Don is a good dog," said Mrs. Pig. "But you must be careful of other dogs, Squinty."

"Why, are not all dogs alike?" the little pig boy asked.

"Oh, no, indeed!" answered Mrs. Pig. "Some of them are very bad and savage. They would bite you very hard if they got the chance. So, whenever you see any dog, except Don, running toward you, run away as fast as you can."

"I will," promised Squinty. And he did not know how soon he would be glad to remember his mother's good advice.

For some days nothing much happened in the pig pen. Once or twice Squinty pushed his nose against the board the farmer had nailed on, but it was very tight, he found, and he could not push it off.

"Are you trying to get out again?" asked Wuff-Wuff.

"Oh, I don't know," Squinty would answer. "I think it would be fun if we all could; don't you?"

"No, indeed!" cried Wuff-Wuff. "Some big dog might chase us. I want to stay in the pen."

But Squinty was a brave, bold, mischievous little pig. He was not content to stay in the pen. He wanted to have some adventures. He wanted to get out in the garden, which looked so nice and green.

Squinty looked all around the other sides of the pen. He wanted to see if there was another loose board. If there was, he made up his little pig mind that he would go out again. But he said nothing of this to his brothers or sisters, or to his father or mother. He felt that they would not like him to go away again.

"But there is not much fun staying in the pen all the while," thought Squinty. "I wish I could get out."

Squinty, you see, had made up his mind to run away. Often horses run away, so I don't see why pigs can't, also. Anyhow, that was what Squinty intended to do.

But, for nearly a week after his first adventure in the garden, Squinty had no chance to slip out of the pen. All the boards seemed very tight.

Then, one day, it was very hot. The sun shone brightly.

"Dig holes for yourselves in the cool ground, and lie down in them," said Mrs. Pig. "That will cool you off."

Each little pig dug a hole for himself, just as a hen does when she wants to take a dust bath. Squinty dug his hole near the lower edge of the boards, on one side of the pen.

"I'll make a big hole," he thought to himself.

And, as Squinty dug down, he noticed that he could see under the bottom of the boards. He could look right out into the garden.

"That is very queer," thought the little pig boy. "I believe I can get out of the pen by crawling under a board, as well as by pushing one loose from the side. I'll try it." Squinty was learning things, you see.

So he dug the hole deeper and deeper, and soon it was large enough for him to slip under the bottom board.

"Now I can run away," he grunted softly to himself. He looked all around the pen. His father, mother, sisters and brothers were fast asleep in their cool holes of earth.

"I'm going!" said Squinty, and the next moment he had slipped under the side of the pen, through the hole he had dug, and once more he was out in the garden.

"Now for some adventures!" said Squinty, in a jolly whisper -- a pig's whisper, you know.




Chapter III


Squinty Is Lost

This was the second time Squinty had run out of the pen and into the farmer's garden. The first time he had been caught and brought back by Don, the dog. This time Squinty did not intend to get caught, if he could help it.

So, after crawling out through the hole under the pen, the little pig came to a stop, and looked carefully on all sides of him. His one little squinty eye was opened as wide as it would open, and the other eye was opened still wider. Squinty wanted to see all there was to be seen.

He cocked one ear up in front of him, to listen to any sounds that might come from that direction, and the other ear he drooped over toward his back, to hear any noises that might come from behind him.

What Squinty was especially listening for was the barking of Don, the dog.

"For," thought Squinty, "I don't want Don to catch me again, and make me go back, before I have had any fun. It will be time enough to go back to the pen when it is dark. Yes, that will be time enough," for of course Squinty did not think of staying out after the sun had gone down. Or, at least, he did not imagine he would.

But you just wait and see what happens.

Squinty looked carefully about him. Even if one eye did droop a little, he could still see out of it very well, and he saw no signs of Don, the big dog. Nor could Squinty hear him.

Don must be far away, the little pig thought, far away, perhaps taking a swim in the brook, where the dog often went to cool off in hot weather.

"I think I'll go and have a swim myself," thought Squinty. He knew there was a brook somewhere on the farm, for he could hear the tinkle and fall of the water even in the pig pen. But where the brook was he did not know exactly.

"But it will be an adventure to hunt for it," Squinty thought. "I guess I can easily find it. Here I go!" and with that he started to walk between the rows of potatoes.

Squinty made up his little mind that he was going to be very careful. Now that he was safely out of the pen again he did not want to be caught the second time. He did not want Don, or the farmer, to see him, so he crawled along, keeping as much out of sight as he could.

"I wish my brothers, Wuff-Wuff or Squealer were with me," said Squinty softly to himself, in pig language. "But if I had awakened them, and asked them to run away with me, mamma or papa might have heard, and stopped us."

Squinty did not feel at all sorry about running away and leaving his father and mother, and brothers and sisters. You see he thought he would be back with them again in a few hours, for he did not intend to stay away from the pen longer than that. But many things can happen in a few hours, as you shall see.

"I won't eat any pig weed just yet," thought Squinty, as he went softly on between the rows of potato vines. "To pull up any of it, and eat it now, would make it wiggle. Then Don or the farmer might see it wiggling, and run over to find out what it was all about. Then I'd be caught. I'll wait a bit."

So, though he was very hungry, he would not eat a bit of the pig weed that grew near the pen. And he never so much as dreamed of taking any of the farmer's potatoes. He did not yet know the taste of them. But, let me tell you, pigs who have eaten potatoes, even the little ones the farmer cannot sell, are very fond of them. But, so far, Squinty had never eaten even a little potato.

On and on went the little pig, looking back now and then toward the pen to see if any of the other pigs were coming after him. But none were.

And there was no sign of Don, the barking dog, nor the farmer, either. There was nothing to stop Squinty from running away. Soon he was some distance from the pen, and then he thought it would be safe to nibble at a bit of pig weed. He took a large mouthful from a tall, green plant.

"Oh, how good that tastes!" thought Squinty. "It is much better and fresher than the kind the farmer throws into the pen to us."

Perhaps this was true, but I imagine the reason the pig weed tasted so much better was because Squinty was running away.

Perhaps you know how it is yourself. Did you ever go out the back way, when mamma was washing the dishes, and run over to your aunt's or your grandma's house, and get a piece of bread and jam? If you ever did, you probably thought that bread and jam was much nicer than the kind you could get at home, though really there isn't any better bread and jam than mother makes. But, somehow or other, the kind you get away from home tastes differently, doesn't it?

It was that way with Squinty, the comical pig. He ate and ate the pig weed, until he had eaten about as much as was good for him. And then, as he saw one little potato on the ground, where it had rolled out of the hill in which it grew with the others, Squinty ate that. He did not think the farmer would care.

"Oh, how good it is!" he thought. "I wish I had not eaten so much pig weed, then I could eat more of those funny, round things the farmer calls potatoes. Now I will have to wait until I am hungry again."

Squinty knew that would not be very long, for pigs get hungry many times a day. That is what makes them grow fat so fast -- they eat so often. But eating often is not good for boys and girls.

Squinty had now come some distance away from the pen, where he lived with his mother, father, sisters and brothers. He wondered if they had awakened yet, or had seen the hole out of which he had crawled, and if they were puzzled as to where he had gone.

"But they can't find me!" said Squinty, with something that sounded like a laugh. I suppose pigs can laugh -- in their own way, at any rate.

"No, they can't find me," thought Squinty, looking all around. All he saw were the rows of potato vines, and, farther off, a field of tall, green corn.

"Well, I have the whole day to myself!" thought Squinty. "I can do as I please, and not go back until night. Let me see, what shall I do first? I guess I will go to sleep in the shade."

So he stretched out in the shade of a big potato vine, and, curling up in a little pink ball, he closed his eyes, the squinty one as well as the good one. But first Squinty looked all around to make sure Don, the dog, was not in sight. He saw nothing of him.

When Squinty awakened he felt hungry, as he always did after a sleep.

"Now for some more of those nice potatoes!" he said to himself. He liked them, right after his first taste. He did not look around for the little ones that might have fallen out of the hills themselves. No, instead, Squinty began rooting them out of the earth with his strong, rubbery nose, made just for digging.

I am not saying Squinty did right in this. In fact he did wrong, but then he was a little pig, and he knew no better. In fact it was the first time he had really run away so far, and he was quite hungry. And potatoes were better than pig weed.

Squinty ate as many potatoes as he wanted, and then he said to himself, in a way pigs have:

"Well, I guess I'll go on to the brook, and cool off in the water. That will do me good. After that I'll look around and see what will happen next."

Squinty had a good nose for smelling, as most animals have, and, tilting it up in the air, Squinty sniffed and snuffed. He wanted to smell the water, so as to take the shortest path to the brook.

"Ha! It's right over there!" exclaimed Squinty to himself. "I can easily find the water to take a bath."

Across the potato field he went, taking care to keep well down between the rows of green vines, for he did not want to be seen by the dog, or the farmer.

Once, as Squinty was walking along, he saw what he thought was another potato on the ground in front of him. He put his nose out toward it, intending to eat it, but the thing gave a big jump, and hopped out of the way.

"Ha! That must be one of the hop toads I heard my mother tell about," thought Squinty. "I must not hurt them, for they are good to catch the flies that tickle me when I try to sleep. Hop on," he said to the toad. "I won't bother you."

The toad did not stop to say anything. She just hopped on, and hid under a big stone. Maybe she was afraid of Squinty, but he would not have hurt her.

Soon the little pig came to the brook of cool water, and after looking about, to see that there was no danger near, Squinty waded in, and took a long drink. Then he rolled over and over again in it, washing off all the mud and dirt, and coming out as clean and as pink as a little baby. Squinty was a real nice pig, even if he had run away.

"Let me see," he said to himself, after his bath. "What shall I do now? Which way shall I go?"

Well, he happened to be hungry after his swim. In fact Squinty was very often hungry, so he thought he would see if he could find anything more to eat.

"I have had potatoes and pig weed," he thought, "and now I would like some apples. I wonder if there are any apple trees around here?"

He looked and, across the field of corn, he thought he saw an apple tree. He made up his mind to go there.

And that is where Squinty made another mistake. He made one when he ran away from the pen, and another one when he started to go through the corn field.

Corn, you know, grows quite high, and pigs, even the largest of them, are not very tall. At least not until they stand on their hind legs. That was a trick Squinty had not yet learned. So he had to go along on four legs, and this made him low down.

Now he had been able to look over the tops of the potato vines, as they were not very high, but Squinty could not look over the top of the corn stalks. No sooner had he gotten into the field, and started to walk along the corn rows, than he could not see where he was going. He could not even see the apple tree in the middle of the field.

"Well, this is queer," thought Squinty. "I guess I had better go back. No, I will keep on. I may come to the apple tree soon."

He hurried on between the corn rows. But, though he went a long distance, he did not come to the apple tree.

"I guess I will go back to the brook, where I had my bath, and start over again from there," thought Squinty. "I will not try to get any apples to-day. I will eat only potatoes and pig weed. Yes, I will go back."

But that was not so easy to do as he had thought. Squinty went this way and that, through the rows of corn, but he could not find the brook. He could not find his way back, nor could he find the apple tree. On all sides of him was the tall corn. That was all poor Squinty could see.

Finally, all tired out, and dusty, the little pig stopped, and sighed:

"Oh dear! I guess I am lost!"




Chapter IV


Squinty Gets Home

The rows of corn, in the field where Squinty the comical pig was lost, were like the streets of a city. They were very straight and even, just like the street where your house is, and, if you liked, you could pretend that each hill of corn was a house.

Perhaps Squinty pretended this, if pigs ever do pretend. At any rate the little lost pig wandered up and down in the rows of corn, peering this way and that, to see which way to go so he could get home again. He began to think that running away was not so much fun as he had at first thought.

"Oh dear!" Squinty grunted, in his funny, squealing voice. "I wonder if I'll ever see my mamma and papa again?"

Squinty ran this way and that up and down the rows of corn, and you can easily imagine what happened. He soon became very tired. "I think I will take a rest," thought Squinty, talking to himself, because there was no one else to whom he could speak. I think the little pig would have been very glad, just then, to speak even to Don, the dog. But Don was not there.

Squinty, wondering what happened to little pigs when they were lost, and if they ever got home again, stretched out on the dirt between two rows of corn. It was shady there, but over-head the hot sun was shining. Squinty's breath came very fast, just as when a dog runs far on a warm day.

But the earth was rather cool, and Squinty liked it. He would much rather have been down by the cool brook, but he knew he could not have a swim in it until he found it. And, just now, he seemed a good way off from it.

Poor Squinty! It was bad enough to be tired and warm, but to be lost was worse, and to be hungry was worse than all -- especially to a little pig. And, more than this, there was nothing to eat.

Squinty had tried to nibble at some of the green corn stalks, but he did not like the taste of them. Perhaps he had not yet learned to like them, for I have seen older pigs eat corn stalks. And pigs are very fond of the yellow corn itself. They love to gnaw it off the cob, and chew it, just as you chew popcorn.

But the corn was not yet ripe, and Squinty was too little to have eaten it, if it had been ripe. Later on he would learn to do this. Just now he cared more about finding his way home, and also finding something that he could eat.

For some time the little lost pig rested on the cool earth, in the shade of the rows of corn. Then he got up with a grunt and a squeal, and began rooting in the ground.

"Perhaps I may find some potatoes, or some pig weed, here," thought Squinty. "Who knows?"

But all he could root up, with his queer, rubbery nose, was some round stones. Some of these were brown, and looked so much like the little potatoes, that Squinty tried to chew one. But when he felt the hard stone on his little white teeth he cried out in pain.

"Ouch!" squealed Squinty. "That hurt! Those are funny potatoes! I never knew they could be so hard."

Later on he learned that what he supposed were potatoes were only stones. You see it takes a little pig some time to learn all the things he needs to know.

Squinty let the stone roll out of his mouth, and he looked at it with such an odd look on his face, peering at it with his squinty eye, and with one ear cocked up sort of sideways, that, if you had seen him, you could not have helped laughing. No one could, if they had seen Squinty then, but there was no one in the field to watch him.

"Well," thought Squinty, after a bit, "this will never do. I can't stay here. I must try to find my way back home. Let me see; what had I better do? I guess the first thing is to find that field of real potatoes, and not the make-believe ones like this," and he pushed the stone away with his nose.

"When I find the potato field," he went on, still talking to himself, "I am sure I can find the brook where I had a swim. And when I find the brook I will know my way home, for there is a straight path from there to our pen."

So Squinty started off once more to walk through the rows of corn. As he walked along on his little short legs he grunted, and rooted in the earth with his nose. Sometimes he stumbled over a big stone, or a clod of dirt, and fell down.

"Oh dear!" exclaimed poor Squinty, when he got up after falling down about six times, "Oh dear! This is no fun. I wish I had stayed in the pen with my brothers and sisters. I wonder what they are doing now?"

Just then Squinty felt more hungry than ever, and he thought it must be feeding-time back in the pen.

"Oh, they must be having some nice sour milk just now!" thought Squinty. "How I wish I were back with them!"

And then, as he fancied he could smell the nice sour milk, which the farmer or his wife was pouring into the eating trough of the pen, Squinty just howled and squealed with hunger. Oh, what a noise he made!

Then this gave him an idea.

"Ha!" he exclaimed to himself, in a way pigs have, "why didn't I think of that before? I must squeal for help. My mamma, or papa, may hear me and come for me."

Then Squinty happened to think that the hole, by which he had gotten out of the pen, was not large enough for his fat papa or mamma to crawl through.

"No, they can't get out to come for me," Squinty thought. "They'll have to send Wuff-Wuff, or Squealer. And maybe they'll get lost, the same as I did. Oh dear, I guess I won't squeal any more. It's bad enough for me to be lost, without any of my brothers or sisters getting lost, too."

So Squinty stopped squealing, and walked on and on between the rows of corn, trying to find his way home to the pen all by himself. Squinty was really quite a brave pig, wasn't he?

By this time, as you can well believe, Mr. and Mrs. Pig, in the pen, had awakened from their afternoon sleep. And all the little pigs had awakened too, for they were beginning to feel hungry again.

"Isn't it about time the farmer came with some sour milk for us?" asked Mr. Pig of Mrs. Pig.

"I think it is," she said, looking up at the sun, for the sun is the only clock that pigs, and other animals, have. When they see the sun in the east, low down, they know it is morning. When it shines directly over their heads, high in the sky, they know it is noon. And when the sun sinks down in the west the pigs know it is getting toward night, and supper time.

The sun was low down in the west now, and Mr. and Mrs. Pig knew it must be nearly time for their evening meal.

"Come, Wuff-Wuff. Come, Squealer. Come, Squinty, and all the rest of you!" called Mrs. Pig in her grunting voice. "Come, get ready for supper. I think I hear the farmer coming with the nice sour milk!"

"Squee! Squee! Squee!" squealed all the little pigs, for they were very hungry indeed. "Squee! Squee! Squee!"

They all made a rush to see who would get to the eating trough first. Some of them even put their feet in, they were so anxious. Pigs are always that way. They know no better, so we must excuse them. If they had been taught not to do that, and then did it, we would not excuse them.

"Here comes the farmer with the sour milk," grunted Mr. Pig. "Oh, how good it smells!"

Just then Squealer cried:

"Why, where's Squinty?"

His brothers and sisters looked around.

Squinty, the comical pig, was not to be seen. But we know where he was, even if his mamma and papa and brothers and sisters did not. Squinty was in the cornfield, trying to find his way back to the pen.

"Why, where can Squinty be?" asked Mrs. Pig. "Squinty! Squinty!" she called, grunting and squealing as she always did. "Come to the trough!" she went on. "Supper is ready!"

But Squinty did not come. The farmer poured the sour milk down the slide, where it ran into the trough, and the little pigs began to eat. But Mr. and Mrs. Pig began looking for Squinty. They turned up the straw, thinking he might be asleep under it. No Squinty was to be seen. Then Mr. Pig saw the hole under the side boards of the pen.

"Ha!" exclaimed Mr. Pig, speaking to Mrs. Pig, "I think perhaps Squinty went out there."

"Oh, so he did!" said Mrs. Pig. "What shall we do?"

Just then the farmer looked over in the pen to see how fat the pigs were getting. He counted the little pigs. Then a queer look came over his face.

"Hello!" he exclaimed. "Only six here! One of those pigs has gotten out. I must look into this!"

Quickly he glanced all about the pen. He saw the hole out of which Squinty had run away.

"I thought so!" exclaimed the farmer. "One of the pigs has rooted his way out. I'll have to go after him. Here, Don!" he called to his dog. "A pig is loose! We must catch him!" and he whistled for the big black and white dog, who ran up, barking and leaping about.

At first Squinty's brothers and sisters were paying so much attention to drinking their sour milk, that they did not notice what the farmer said, even though they missed Squinty at the trough. But when they heard the dog barking, they wondered what had happened. Then they saw their mamma and papa looking anxious, and talking together in their grunting language, and Wuff-Wuff asked:

"Has anything happened?"

"Squinty is lost!" said Mrs. Pig, rubbing her nose up against that of Curly Tail, the littlest girl pig of them all. "He must have run out of the pen when we were asleep."

"Oh dear!" cried all the little pigs, and they felt very badly.

"Never mind," said Mr. Pig, "I heard the farmer call Don, the dog, to go off and find Squinty. I think he'll bring him back."

"Oh, but maybe Don will bite Squinty," said Wuff-Wuff.

"I guess not," answered Mr. Pig. "Don is a gentle dog. But, anyhow, we want Squinty back, and the only way we can get him is to have the farmer and his dog go after him."

The other little pigs finished their supper of sour milk, with some small potatoes which the farmer's wife threw in to them. Mr. and Mrs. Pig ate a little, and then the farmer, after stopping up the hole where Squinty got out, so no more of the pigs could run away, started off over the fields, calling to his dog.

"Bow wow! Bow wow! Bow wow!" barked Don. That meant, in dog language, "I'll find Squinty and bring him back."

Meanwhile Squinty had tried his best to find a way out of the cornfield. But all he did was to walk up one row, and down another. If he had been tall enough to stand up and look over the tops of the corn stalks, he might have seen which way to go, but he was not yet large enough for that.

Pretty soon Squinty looked up, and he saw that the sun was not as bright as it had been. Squinty knew what this meant. The sun was going down, and it would soon be night.

"Oh dear! I wonder if I shall have to stay out all alone in the dark night," thought poor Squinty. "Oh, I'll never run away again; never!"

Just then he heard, off through the rows of corn, a dog barking.

"Bow wow! Bow wow! Bow wow!" went the dog.

"Oh, what shall I do? Where shall I hide?" thought Squinty. "A bad dog is after me."

He ran this way and that, stumbling and falling down. The barking of the dog sounded nearer. Then Squinty heard a man's voice saying:

"Get after him, Don! Find him! Find that pig!"

"Bow wow!" was the barking answer.

"Ha!" thought Squinty. "Don! That's the name of the good dog on our farm! I wonder if he is coming after me?"

Just then the farmer, who had been following the tracks left in the soft ground by Squinty's feet, came to the cornfield. The farmer saw where the pig had been walking between the green rows of corn.

"He's here, somewhere, Don," the farmer said. "Find him!"

"Bow wow!" barked Don. "I will!"

Just then Squinty stumbled over a big stone, and he could not help grunting. He also gave a little squeal.

"Here he is, Don!" called the farmer. "Take him by the ear, and lead him back to the pen. Easy, now!"

Squinty stood still. He did not want to run away from Don. Squinty was only too anxious to be found, and taken home.

The next minute, through the rows of corn, came bounding Don, the dog. He was followed by the farmer.

"Ah, there he is! The little runaway!" cried the farmer man as he saw the pig. "After him, Don! But don't hurt him!"

Don raced up beside Squinty, and took him gently by the ear.

"Bow wow!" barked the dog, and that meant: "Come along with me, if you please. You have been away from your pen quite long enough."

Squinty gave a loud squeal when Don took him by the ear, but when the little pig found that the dog did not mean to hurt him, he grew quiet, and went along willingly enough.

"I must make that pig pen a great deal tighter, if they are going to get out and run away every day," said the farmer to himself, as he walked along behind Don and Squinty.

Soon they were at the pig pen, and Oh! how glad Squinty was to see it again. The farmer picked the little pink fellow, now all tired out and covered with dirt, up in his arms and dropped him down inside the pen with the other pigs.

"There!" cried the farmer. "I guess you'll stay in after this."

"Bow wow!" barked Don, jumping about, for he thought it was fun to chase runaway pigs.

And so Squinty got safely back home. But very soon he was to have some more adventures.




Chapter V.


Squinty And The Boy.

Did you ever have a little brother or sister who ran away from home, and was very glad to run back, or be brought back again, by a policeman, perhaps? Of course your little brother or sister may not have intended to run away, it may have been that they only wandered off, around the corner, toward the candy store, and could not find their way back again. But, when he or she did get home -- how glad you were to see them! Weren't you?

It was just like that at the pen where Squinty, the comical pig, lived. When the farmer picked him up, and dropped him down among his brothers and sisters, in the clean straw, Wuff-Wuff, Squealer, and Curly Tail, and the others, were so glad to see Squinty that they grunted, and squealed and walked all over one another, to be the first to get close to him.

"Oh, Squinty, where were you?"

"Where did you go?"

"What did you do?"

"Weren't you awfully scared?"

"Where did the dog find you?"

"Did he bite you very hard?"

These were some of the questions Squinty's brothers and sisters asked of the little runaway pig. They pressed close up to him, rubbing their funny, wiggling, rubber-like noses against him, and snuggling up against him, for they liked Squinty very much indeed.

Then, after the young pigs had had their turn, Mr. Pig and Mrs. Pig began asking questions.

"What made you run away?" asked Squinty's papa.

"Oh, I wanted to have an adventure," said Squinty.

"Well, did you have one?" asked his mamma.

"Oh, yes, lots of them," answered the little pig. "But I didn't find very much to eat." Squinty was very hungry now.

"Oh dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Pig. "You are just too late for supper. It is all eaten up. We did not see that you were not here until too late. It's too bad!"

Squinty thought so himself, for the smell of the sour milk that had been in the feeding trough made him more hungry than ever.

Squinty walked over and tried to find a few drops in the bottom of the wooden trough. These he licked up with his red tongue. But there was not nearly enough.

"Ha! I guess that little pig must be hungry," said the farmer looking down in the pen, after he had put some more stones and a board over the hole where Squinty had gotten out. "I guess I'll have to feed him, for the others have had their supper."

And how glad Squinty was when the farmer went over to the barrel, where the pigs' feed was kept, and mixed a nice pailful of sour milk with some corn meal, and poured it into the trough.

"Squee! Squee!" cried Squinty as he made a rush over to get his supper.

"Squee! Squee!" cried all the other little pigs, as they, too, made a rush to get more to eat.

"Here! Hold on! Come back!" cried Mr. Pig. "That is Squinty's supper. You must not touch it. You have had yours!" and he and Mrs. Pig would not let Squinty's brothers and sisters shove him away from the trough. For sometimes pigs are so hungry that they do this, you know. Being pigs they know no better.

So Squinty had his supper, after all, though he did run away. Perhaps he should have been punished by being sent to bed without having had anything to eat, but you see the farmer wanted his pigs to be fat and healthy, so he fed them well. Squinty was very glad of that.

"Now all of you go to sleep," said Mrs. Pig, when it grew darker and darker in the pen. So she made them all cuddle down in the straw, pulling it over them with her nose and paws, like a blanket, to keep them warm. For only part of the pen had a roof over it, and though it was summer, still it was cool at night.

But Squinty's brothers and sisters had no notion of going to sleep so soon. They wanted to hear all about what had happened to him when he had run away, and they wanted him to tell them of his adventures. So they grunted and whispered among themselves.

"What happened to you, Squinty?" asked Wuff-Wuff.

"Oh, I had a fine swim in a brook," said Squinty.

"I wish that had happened to me," said Wuff-Wuff. "What else?"

"I found a nice field of corn," went on Squinty, "but I did not like the taste of it. I got lost in the cornfield."

"That's too bad," said Wuff-Wuff. "Did anything else happen?"

"Yes, I found some pig weed, and ate that, and some little potatoes."

"Oh, how nice!" exclaimed Twisty Tail. "I wish that had happened to me. Did you do anything else, Squinty?"

"Yes," said the comical little pig. "I saw something I thought was a potato, and it jumped away from me. It was a hoptoad."

"That was funny," said Squealer. "I wish I had seen it. Did anything else happen?"

"Yes," said Squinty. "I thought I saw another potato, but when I bit on it I found it was only a stone, and it hurt my teeth."

"That's too bad," said Wuff-Wuff. "I am glad that did not happen to me. Tell us what else you saw."

But just then Mrs. Pig grunted out:

"Come, now! All you little pigs must keep quiet and go to sleep. Go to sleep at once!"

So Squinty and the others cuddled closer together, snuggled down in the soft straw, and soon were fast asleep. Now and then they stirred, or grunted during the night, but they did not wake up until morning. They were running around the pen before breakfast, squealing as loudly as they could, for the farmer to come and feed them. But the farmer had his cows and horses and chickens to feed, as well as the pigs, and he did not get to the pen until last. And when he did, all the pigs were so hungry, even Mr. and Mrs. Pig, that they were squealing as hard as they could.

"Yes, yes!" cried the farmer, as though he were talking to the pigs. "I'm coming as fast as I can."

Soon the farmer poured some sour milk and corn meal down into the trough, and how eagerly Squinty and the others did eat it! Some of the smaller pigs even put two feet in the trough, they were so anxious to get their share. Squinty had an especially good appetite, from having run away, so perhaps he got a little more than the others.

But finally the breakfast was all gone, and the pigs had nothing more to do until dinner time -- that is, all they had to do was to lie down and rest, or get up now and then to scratch a mosquito, or a fly bite.

"Well, I guess none of you will get out again," said the farmer, after a while, as he nailed a bigger board over the hole by which Squinty had gotten out. "Don, watch these pigs," the farmer went on. "If they get out, grab them by the ear, and bring them back."

"Bow wow!" barked Don, and that meant he would do as his master had told him.

For several days after this nothing happened in the pigs' pen except that they were washed off with the hose now and then, to clean them of mud and make them cool. Once in a while the farmer would take a corn cob and scratch the back of Mr. or Mrs. Pig, and they liked this very much. The other pigs were almost too little for the farmer to reach over the top of the pen.

One day the pigs heard merry shouts and laughter up at the farmhouse. There were the sounds of boys' and girls' voices. Then came the patter of many feet.

"Oh, look at the pigs!" someone cried, and Squinty, and his brothers and sisters, looking up, saw, over the edge of the pen, some boys and girls looking down on them.

"Oh, aren't they cute!" exclaimed a girl.

"Just lovely!" said another girl. "Pigs are so nice!"

"I wonder if any of them can do any tricks?" asked a boy who stood looking down into the pen.

"These aren't trained circus pigs," spoke one of the girls. "They can't do tricks."

The boy and the girls stayed for a little while, watching the pigs. Then the boy said:

"Let's pull some weeds and feed them."

"Oh, yes, let's!" cried the girls. The pigs were glad when they heard this, and they were more glad when the boy and the girls threw pig weed, and other green things from the garden, into the pen. The pigs ate them all up, and wanted more.

After that, for several days, Squinty and his brothers and sisters could hear the boy and the girls running about the garden, but they could not see them because the boards around the pig pen were too high. The boy and the girls seemed to be having a fine time.

Squinty could hear them talking about hunting the hens' eggs, and feeding the little calves and sheep, and riding on the backs of horses.

Then, one day Squinty looked up out of the pen, and, leaning over the top board he saw the farmer, the boy and another man.

"Oh, Father!" exclaimed the boy, "do let me have just one little pig. They are so nice!"

"A pig!" cried Father. "What would you do with a pig in our town? We are not in the country. Where would you keep a pig?"

"Oh, I could build a little pen for him in our yard. Look, let me have that one, he is so pink and pretty and clean."

"Ha! So you want that pig, do you?" asked the farmer. The boy and his father and sisters were paying a visit to the farm.

"Yes, I want a pig very much!" the boy said. "And I think I'd like that one," and he pointed straight at Squinty. Poor Squinty ran and tried to hide under the straw, for he knew the boy was talking about him.

"Oh, see him run!" cried the boy. "Yes, I think he is the nicest pig in the lot. I want him. Has he any name?"

"Well, we call him Squinty," the farmer said. "He has a funny, squinting eye."

"Then I'll call him Squinty, too," the boy went on. "Please, Father, may I have that little pig?"

"Well, I don't know," said his father slowly, scratching his head. "A pig is a queer pet. I suppose you might have him, though. You could keep him in the back yard. Yes, I guess you could have him, if Mr. Jones will sell him, and if the pig will behave. Do you think that little pig will be good, Mr. Jones?" asked the father of the farmer man.

"Well, yes, I guess so," answered the farmer. "He has run away out of the pen a couple of times, but if you board up a place good and tight, I guess he won't get out."

"Oh, I do hope he'll be good!" exclaimed the boy. "I do so want a little pet pig, and I'll be so kind to him!"

When Squinty heard that, he made up his mind, if the boy took him, that he would be as good as he knew how.

"When can I have my little pig?" asked the boy, of his father.

"Oh, as soon as Mr. Jones can put him in a box, so we can carry him," was the answer. "We can't very well take him in our arms; he would slip out and run away."

"I guess so, too," laughed the boy.




Chapter VI


Squinty On A Journey

"Mamma, did you hear what they were saying about Squinty?" asked Wuff-Wuff, as the boy and the two men walked away from the pig pen.

"Oh, yes, I heard," said Mrs. Pig. "I shall be sorry to lose Squinty, but then we pigs have to go out and take our places in this world. We cannot always stay at home in the pen."

"Yes, that is so," spoke Mr. Pig. "But Squinty is rather young and small to start out. However, it may all be for the best. Now, Squinty, you had better keep yourself nice and clean, so as to be ready to go on a journey."

"What's a journey?" asked the comical little pig, squinting his eye up at the papa pig.

"A journey is going away from home," answered Mr. Pig.

"And does it mean having adventures?" asked Squinty, flopping his ears backward and forward.

"Yes, you may have some adventures," replied his mother. "Oh dear, Squinty! I wish you didn't have to go and leave us. But still, it may be all for your good."

"We might hide him under the straw," suggested Wuff-Wuff. "Then that boy could not find him when he comes to put him in a box, and take him away."

"No, that would never do," said Mr. Pig. "The farmer is stronger and smarter than we are. He would find Squinty, no matter where we hid him. It is better to let him do as he pleases, and take Squinty away, though we shall all miss him."

"Oh dear!" cried Curly Tail, for she liked her little brother very much, and she loved to see him look at her with his funny, squinting eye. "Do you want to go, Squinty?"

"Well, I don't want to leave you all," answered the comical little pig, "but I shall be glad to go on a journey, and have adventures. I hope I don't get lost again, though."

"I guess the boy won't let you get lost," spoke Mr. Pig. "He looks as though he would be kind and good to you."

The pig family did not know when Squinty would be taken away from them, and all they could do was to wait. While they were doing this they ate and slept as they always did. Squinty, several times, looked at the hole under the pen, by which he had once gotten out. He felt sure he could again push his way through, and run away. But he did not do it.

"No, I will wait and let the boy take me away," thought Squinty.

Several times after this the boy and his sisters came to look down into the pig pen. The pigs could tell, by the talk of the children, that they were brother and sisters. And they had come to the farm to spend their summer vacation, when there was no school.

"That's the pig I am going to take home with me," the boy would say to his sisters, pointing to Squinty.

"How can you tell which one is yours?" asked one of the little girls.

"I can tell by his funny squint," the boy would answer. "He always makes me want to laugh."

"Well, I am glad I am of some use in this world," thought Squinty, who could understand nearly all that the boy and his sisters said. "It is something just to be jolly."

"I wouldn't want a pig," said the other girl. "They grunt and squeal and are not clean. I'd rather have a rabbit."

"Pigs are so clean!" cried the boy. "Squinty is as clean as a rabbit!"

Only that day Squinty had rolled over and over in the mud, but he had had a bath from the hose, so he was clean now. And he made up his mind that if the boy took him he would never again get in the mud and become covered with dirt.

"I will keep myself clean and jolly," thought Squinty.

A few days after this Squinty heard the noise of hammering and sawing wood outside the pig pen.

"The farmer must be building another barn," said Mr. Pig, for he and his family could not see outside the pen. "Yes, he must be building another barn, for once before we heard the sounds of hammering and sawing, and then a new barn was built."

But that was not what it was this time.

Soon the sounds stopped, and the farmer and the boy came and looked down into the pig pen.

"Now you are sure you want that squinty one?" the farmer asked the boy. "Some of the others are bigger and better."

"No, I want the squinty one," the boy said. "He is so comical, he makes me laugh."

"All right," answered the farmer. "I'll get him for you, now that you have the crate all made to carry him home in on the cars."

Over into the pig pen jumped the farmer. He made a grab for Squinty and caught him.

"Squee! Squee! Squee!" squealed Squinty, for he had never been squeezed so tightly before.

"Oh, I'm not going to hurt you," said the farmer, kindly.

"Squinty, be quiet," ordered his papa, in the pig language. "Behave yourself. You are going on a journey, and will be all right."

Then Squinty stopped squealing, as the farmer climbed out of the pen with him.

"At last I am going on a journey, and I may have many adventures," thought the little pig. "Good-by!" he called to his papa and mamma and brothers and sisters, left behind in the pen. "Good-by!"

"Good-by!" they all grunted and squealed. "Be a good pig," said his mamma.

"Be a brave pig," said his papa.

"And -- and come back and see us, sometime," sniffled little Curly Tail, for she loved Squinty very much indeed.

"I'll come back!" said the comical little pig. But he did not know how much was to happen before he saw his pen again.

"There you go -- into the box with you!" cried the farmer, as he dropped Squinty into a wooden box the boy had made for his pet, with a hammer, saw and nails.

Squinty found himself dropped down on a bed of clean straw. In front of him, behind him, and on either side of him were wooden slats -- the sides of the box. Squinty could look out, but the slats were as close together as those in a chicken coop, and the little pig could not get out.

He did not want to, however, for he had made up his mind that he was going to be a good pig, and go with the boy who had bought him for a pet from the farmer.

Over the top of the box was nailed a cover with a handle to it, and by this handle the pig in the little cage could be easily carried.

"There you are!" exclaimed the farmer. "Now he'll be all right until you get him home."

"And, when I do, I'll put him in a nice big pen, and feed him well," said the boy. Squinty smacked his lips at that, for he was hungry even now.

"Oh, have you caged him up? Isn't he cute!" exclaimed one of the boy's sisters. "I'll give him the core of my apple," and she thrust it in through the slats of the box. Squinty was very glad, indeed, to get the apple core, and he soon ate it up.

"Come on!" cried the boy's father. "Is the pig nailed up? We must go for the train!"

"I wonder what the train is," thought Squinty. He was soon to know. The boy lifted him up, cage and all, and put him into the wagon that was to go to the depot. Squinty knew what a wagon was and horses, for he had seen them many times.

Then away they started. Squinty gave a loud squeal, which was his last good-by to the other pigs in the pen, and then the wagon rattled away along the road.

Squinty had started on his journey.




Chapter VII


Squinty Learns A Trick

Squinty, the comical pig, tried to look out through the slats of the box, in which he was being taken away, to see in which direction he was going. He also wanted to watch the different sights along the road. But the sides of the farm wagon were so high that the little pig could see nothing. He stretched his fat neck as far as it would go, but that did no good either. Squinty wished he were as big as his papa or his mamma.

"Then I could see what is going on," he thought.

But just wishing never made anyone larger or taller, not even a pig, and Squinty stayed the same size.

He could hear the farmer and the children talking. Now and then the boy who had bought Squinty, and who was taking him home, would look around at his pet in the slatted box.

"Is he all right?" one of the girls would ask.

"He seems to be," the boy would say. "I am glad I got him."

"Well, he acts real cute," said another girl, who was called Sallie, "but I never heard of having a pig for a pet before."

"You just wait until I teach him some tricks," said the boy, whose name was Bob. "Then you'll think he's fine!"

"Ha! So I am to learn tricks," thought Squinty in his box. "I wonder what tricks are, anyhow? Does it mean I am to have good things to eat? I hope so."

You see Squinty, like most little pigs, thought more of something to eat than of anything else. But we must not blame him for that, since he could not help it.

Pretty soon the wagon rattled over some stones, and then came to a stop.

"Here we are!" called the children's father. "Bring along your little pig, Bob. Here comes the train."

"Ha! It seems I am to go on a train," thought Squinty. "I wonder what a train is?"

Squinty had many things to learn, didn't he?

The little pig in the box felt himself being lifted out of the wagon. Then he could look about him. He saw a large building, in front of which were long, slender strips of shining steel. These were the railroad tracks, but Squinty did not know that. Then all at once, Squinty heard a loud noise, which went like this:

"Whee! Whee! Whee-whee!"

"Oh my! what a loud squeal that pig has!" exclaimed Squinty. "He can squeal much louder than I can, I think. Let me try."

So Squinty went:

"Squee! Squee! Squee!"

And then the big noise sounded again, louder than before:

"Whee! Whee! Toot! Toot!"

"Oh my!" said Squinty to himself, snuggling down in the straw of his box. "I never can squeal as loud as that. Never!"

He looked out and saw a big black thing rushing toward him, with smoke coming out of the top, and then the big black thing cried out again:

"Whee! Whee! Toot! Toot!"

"Oh, what a terrible, big black pig!" thought Squinty. And he was a bit frightened. But it was not a big black pig at all. It was only the engine drawing the train of cars up to the station to take the passengers away. And it was going to take Squinty, also.

Squinty thought the engine whistle was a pig's squeal, but it wasn't, of course.

Pretty soon the train stopped. The passengers made a rush to get in the cars. Bob, the boy, caught up the handle of Squinty's box, and, after some bumping and tilting sideways, the little pig found himself set down in a rather dark place, for the boy had put the box on the floor of the car by his seat, near his feet.

And there Squinty rode, seeing nothing, but hearing many strange noises, until, after many stops, he was lifted up again.

"Here we are!" the little pig heard the children's papa say. "Have you everything? Don't forget your pig, Bob."

"I won't," answered the boy, with a jolly laugh.

"Well, I wonder what will happen next?" thought Squinty, as he felt himself being carried along again. He could see nothing but a crowd of persons all about the boy who carried the box.

"I don't know whether I am going to like this or not -- this coming to live in town," thought the little pig. "Still, I cannot help myself, I suppose. But I do wish I had something to eat."

I guess the boy must have known Squinty was hungry, for, when he next set down the box, this time in a carriage, the boy gave the little pig a whole apple to eat. And how good it did taste to Squinty!

"Are you going to make a pen for him?" asked one of the boy's sisters, as the carriage drove off.

"Yes, as soon as we get to the house," said the boy.

By this time Squinty was thirsty. There was no water in his cage, but, a little later, when he saw through the slats, that he was being carried toward a large, white house, he was given a tin of water to drink.

"I'll just leave him in that box until I can fix a larger one for him," the boy said, and then, for a while, Squinty was left all to himself. But he was still in the box, though the box was set in a shady place on the back porch.

All this while Mr. Pig and Mrs. Pig, as well as the brother and sister pigs, in the pen at home, were wondering what had happened to Squinty.

"Where do you think he is now, Mamma?" Wuff-Wuff would ask.

"Oh, I don't know," Mrs. Pig answered.

"And will he ever come back to us?" asked Twisty Tail.

"Perhaps, some day. I hope so," said Mrs. Pig, sort of sighing.

"Oh, yes, I think he will," said Mr. Pig. "When he gets quite large the boy will get tired of having him for a pet, and perhaps bring him back."

"Were you ever carried off that way, Papa?" asked Grunter, as he rubbed his back, where a mosquito had bitten him, against the side of the pen.

"Oh, yes, once," answered Mr. Pig. "I was taken away from my pen, when I was pretty large, and given to a little girl for a pet. But she did not keep me long. I guess she would rather have had her dolls, so I was soon brought back to my pen. And I was glad of it."

"Well, I hope they will soon bring Squinty back," Wuff-Wuff said. "It is lonesome without him."

But, after a while, the other pigs found so many things to do, and they were kept so busy, eating sour milk, and getting fat, that they nearly forgot about Squinty.

But, all this time, something was happening to the comical little pig.

Toward evening of the first day that Squinty had been put in the new little cage, the boy, who had not been near him in some time, came back to look at his pet.

"Now I have a larger place for you," the boy said, speaking just as though Squinty could understand him. And, in fact, Squinty did know much of what was said to him, though he could not talk back in boy language, being able to speak only his own pig talk.

"And I guess you are hungry, too, and want something to eat," the boy went on. "I will feed you!"

"Squee! Squee! Squee!" squealed Squinty. If there was one word in man-talk that he understood very well, it was "feed." He had often heard the farmer say:

"Well, now I must feed the pigs."

And right after that, some nice sour milk would come splashing down into the trough of the pen. So when Squinty heard the word "feed" again, he guessed what was going to happen.

And he guessed right, too.

The boy picked Squinty up, box and all, and carried him to the back yard.

"Now I'll give you more room to run about, and then I'll have a nice supper for you," the boy said, talking to his little pig just as you would to your dog, or kittie.

With a hammer the boy knocked off some of the slats of the small box in which Squinty had made his journey. Then the boy lifted out the comical little pig, and Squinty found himself inside a large box, very much like the pen at home. It had clean straw in it, and a little trough, just like the one at his "home," where he could eat. But there was nothing in the trough to eat, as yet, and the box seemed quite lonesome, for Squinty was all alone.

"Here you are now! Some nice sour milk, and boiled potatoes!" cried the boy, and then Squinty smelled the most delicious smell -- to him at least. Down into the trough came the sour milk and potatoes.

"Squee! Squee!" yelled Squinty in delight. And how fast he ate! That was because he was hungry, you see, but pigs nearly always eat fast, as though they were continually in a hurry.

"Oh, isn't it cute!" exclaimed a voice over Squinty's head. He looked up, half shutting his one funny eye, and cocking one ear up, and letting the other droop down. But he did not stop eating.

"Oh, isn't he funny!" cried another voice. And Squinty saw the boy and his sisters looking at him.

"Yes, he surely is a nice pig," the boy said, "In a few days, when he gets over being strange, I'm going to teach him some tricks."

"Ha! There's that word tricks again!" thought Squinty. "I wonder what tricks are? But I shall very soon find out."

For a few days Squinty was rather lonesome in his new pen, all by himself. He missed his papa and mamma and brothers and sisters. But the boy came to see Squinty every day, bringing him nice things to eat, and, after a bit, Squinty came to look for his new friend.

"I guess you are getting to know me, aren't you, old fellow?" the boy said one day, after feeding Squinty, and he scratched the little pig on the back with a stick.

"Uff! Uff!" grunted Squinty. That, I suppose, was his way of saying:

"Of course I know you, and I like you, boy."

One day, about a week after he had come to his new home, Squinty heard the boy say:

"Now I think you are tame enough to be let out. I don't believe you will run away, will you? But, anyhow, I'll tie a string to your leg, and then you can't."

Squinty wished he could speak boy language, and tell his friend that he would not run away as long as he was kindly treated, but of course Squinty could not do this. Instead, he could only grunt and squeal.

The boy tied a string to Squinty's leg, and let him out of the pen. The comical little pig was glad to have more room in which to move about. He walked first to one side, and then the other, rooting in the dirt with his funny, rubbery nose. The boy laughed to see him.

"I guess you are looking for something to eat," the boy said. "Well, let's see if you can find these acorns."

The boy hid them under a pile of dirt, and watched. Squinty smelled about, and sniffed. He could easily tell where the acorns had been hidden, and, a moment later, he had rooted them up and was eating them.

"Oh, you funny little pig!" cried the boy. "You are real smart! You know how to find acorns. That is one trick."

"Ha! If that is a trick, it is a very easy one -- just rooting up acorns," thought Squinty to himself.

Squinty walked around, as far as the rope tied to his leg would let him. The other end of the rope was held by the boy. Once the rope got tangled around Squinty's foot, and he jumped over it to get free. The boy saw him and cried:

"Oh, I wonder if I could teach you to jump the rope? That would be a fine trick. Let me see."

The boy thought a moment, and then lifted Squinty up, and set him down on one side of the rope, which he raised a little way from the ground, just as girls do when they are playing a skipping game.

On the other side of the rope the boy put an apple.

"Now, Squinty," said Bob, "if you want that apple you must jump the rope to get it. Come on."

At first Squinty did not understand what was wanted of him. He saw nothing but the apple, and thought how much he wanted it. He started for it, but, before he could get it the boy pulled up the rope in front of him. The rope stopped Squinty.

"Jump over the rope if you want the apple," said the boy. Of course Squinty could not exactly understand this talk. He tried once more to get the apple, but, every time he did, he found the rope in front of him, in the way.

"Well!" exclaimed Squinty to himself, "I am going to get that apple, rope or no rope. I guess I'll have to get over the rope somehow."

So the next time he started for the juicy apple, and the rope was pulled up in front of him, Squinty gave a little spring, and over the rope he went, jumping with all four legs, coming down on the other side, like a circus man jumping over the elephant's back.

"Oh, fine! Good!" cried the boy, clapping his hands. "Squinty has learned to do another trick!"

"Uff! Uff!" grunted Squinty, as he chewed the apple. "So that's another trick, is it?"




Chapter VIII


Squinty In The Woods

Bob, the boy who had bought Squinty, the comical pig, laughed and clapped his hands. His two sisters, who were playing with their dolls in the shade of an evergreen tree, heard their brother, and one of them called out:

"What is it, Bob? What is it?"

"Oh, come and see my pig do a trick!" answered the boy. "He is too funny for anything!"

"Can he really do a trick?" asked the smaller sister, whose name was Mollie.

"Indeed he can," the boy said. "He can do two tricks -- find hidden acorns, and jump a rope."

"Oh, no, not really jump a rope!" cried Sallie.

"You just come and see!" the boy called.

All this while Squinty was chewing on the apple which he had picked up from the ground after he had jumped over the rope. He heard what the boy said, and Squinty made up his mind.

"Well," said the little pig to himself, "if it is any fun for that boy and his sisters to watch me jump over a rope, and dig up acorns, I don't mind doing it for them. They call them tricks, but I call it getting something to eat."

And they were both right, you see.

Sallie and Mollie, the two sisters, laid down their dolls in the shade, and ran over toward their brother, who still held one end of the rope, that was fast to Squinty's leg.

"Make him do some tricks for us," begged Mollie.

"Show us how he jumps the rope," said Sallie.

"First, I'll have him dig up the acorns, as that's easier," spoke Bob. "Here, Squinty!" he called. "Find the acorns! Find 'em!"

While Squinty had been munching on the apple, the boy had dug a hole, put some sweet acorn nuts into it, and covered them up with dirt. Squinty had not seen him do this, but Squinty thought he could find the nuts just the same.

There were two ways of doing this. Squinty had a very sharp-smelling nose. He could smell things afar off, that neither you nor I could smell even close by. And Squinty could also tell, by digging in the ground with his queer, rubbery nose, just where the ground was soft and where it was hard. And he knew it would be soft at the place where the boy had dug a hole in which to hide the acorns.

So, when Bob called for Squinty to come and find the acorn nuts, even though the little pig had not seen just where they were hidden, Squinty felt sure he could dig them up.

"He'll never find them!" said Sallie.

"Just you watch!" exclaimed the boy.

He pulled on the rope around Squinty's leg. At first the little pig was not quite sure what was wanted of him. He thought perhaps he was to jump over the rope after another apple. But he saw no fruit waiting for him. Then he looked carefully about and smelled the air. The boy was very gentle with him, and waited patiently.

And I might say, right here, that if you ever try to teach your pets any tricks, you must be both kind and gentle with them, for you know they are not as smart as you are, and cannot think as quickly.

"Ha! I smell acorns!" thought Squinty to himself. "I guess the boy must want me to do the first trick, as he calls it, and dig up the acorns. I'll do it!"

Carefully Squinty sniffed the air. When he turned one way he could smell the acorns quite plainly. When he turned the other way he could not smell them quite so well. So he started off in the direction where he could most plainly smell the nuts he loved so well.

Next he began rooting in the ground. At first it was very hard for his nose, but soon it became soft. Then he could smell the acorns more plainly than before.

"See, he is going right toward them!" cried the boy.

"There, he has them!" exclaimed Sallie.

"Oh, so he has!" spoke Mollie. "I wouldn't have thought he could!"

And, by that time, Squinty had found the hole where the boy had covered the acorns with dirt, and Squinty was chewing the sweet nuts.

"Now make him jump the rope," said Mollie.

"I will, as soon as he eats the acorns," replied the boy.

"Ha! I am going to have another apple, just for jumping a rope," thought Squinty, in delight.

You see the little pig imagined the trick was done just to get him to eat the apple. He did not count the rope-jumping part of it at all, though that, really, was what the boy wanted.

Once more Bob placed the apple on the ground, on the far side of the rope. One end of the rope the boy held in his hand, and the other was around Squinty's leg, but a loop of it was made fast to a stick stuck in the ground, so the boy could pull on the rope and raise or lower it, just as you girls do when you play.

"Come on, now, Squinty! Jump over it!" called the boy.

The little pig saw the apple, and smelled it. He wanted very much to get it. But, when he ran toward it, he found the rope raised up in front of him. He forgot, for a moment, his second trick, and stood still.

"Oh, I thought you said he would jump the rope!" said Mollie, rather disappointed.

"He will -- just wait a minute," spoke the boy. "Come on, Squinty!" he called.

Once more Squinty started for the apple. This time he remembered that, before, he had to jump the rope to get it. So he did it again. Over the rope he went, with a little jump, coming down on the side where the apple was, and, in a second he was chewing the juicy fruit.

"There!" cried the boy. "Didn't he jump the rope?"

"Oh, well, but he didn't jump it fast, back and forth, like we girls do," said Mollie.

"But it was pretty good -- for a little pig," said Sallie.

"I think so, too," spoke the boy. "And I am going to teach him to jump real fast, and without going for an apple each time. I'm going to teach him other tricks, too."

"Oh dear!" thought Squinty, when he heard this. "So I am to learn more tricks, it seems. Well, I hope they will all be eating ones."

"Make him do it again," suggested Mollie, after a bit.

"No, I haven't any more apples," the boy answered. "And at first I'll have to make him jump for an apple each time. After a bit I'll not give him an apple until he has done all his tricks. Come on now, Squinty, back to your pen."

The boy lifted up his pet, and put him back in the pen that had been especially built for the little pig. As soon as he was in it Squinty ran over to the trough, hoping there would be some sour milk in it. But there was none.

"You've had enough to eat for a while," said the boy with a laugh. "Later on I'll give you your milk."

"Uff! Uff!" grunted Squinty, and I suppose he meant he would be glad to have the milk now. But he got none, so he curled himself up in the clean straw and went to sleep.

When he awakened, he thought at first he was back in the pen at home, and he cried out:

"Oh, Wuff-Wuff! Oh, Twisty Tail. I had the queerest dream! I thought a boy had me, and that I could jump a rope, and hunt acorns, and do lots of tricks. But I -- !" And then Squinty stopped. He looked around and found himself all alone in the new pen. None of his brothers or sisters was near him, and he could not hear his mamma or papa grunting near the feed trough.

"Ha! It wasn't a dream, after all," thought Squinty, a bit sorrowfully. "It's all real -- I can do tricks, and a boy has me."

Every few days after that the boy took Squinty out of his pen, and let him do the rope-jumping and the acorn-hunting tricks. And it did not take Squinty long to learn to jump the rope when there was no apple on the other side. The boy would say:

"Jump over the rope, Squinty!"

And over it the little pig would go. But if he did not get the apple as soon as he jumped, he did get it afterward, which was just as good. It was sort of a reward for his tricks, you see.

"Now you must learn a new trick," said the boy one day. "I want you to learn how to walk on your hind legs, Squinty. It is not going to be easy, either. But I guess you can do it. And I am going to take the rope off your leg, for I do not believe you will run away from me now."

So the rope was taken off Squinty's leg. And he liked the boy so much, and liked his new home, and the nuts and apples he got to eat were so good, that Squinty did not try to run away.

"Up on your hind legs!" cried the boy, and, by taking hold of Squinty's front feet, Bob raised his pet up on the hind legs.

"Now stand there!" the boy cried, but when he took away his hands of course Squinty came down on all four legs. He did not know what the boy meant to have him do.

"I guess I'll have to stand you in a corner to start with," the boy said. "That will brace you up."

Then, kindly and gently, the boy took Squinty over to the place where the corn crib was built on to the barn. This made a corner and the little pig was stood up on his hind legs in that. Then, with something to lean his back against, he did not feel like falling over, and he remained standing up on two legs, with his front feet stuck out in front of him.

"That's the way to do it!" cried Bob. "Soon you will be able to stand up without anything to lean against. And, a little later, you will be able to walk on your hind legs. Now here's an apple for you, Squinty!"

So you see Squinty received his reward for starting to learn a new trick.

In a few days, just as the boy had said, the little pig found that he could sit up on his hind legs all alone, without anything to lean back against.

But learning to walk on his hind legs was a little harder.

The boy, however, was patient and kind to him. At first Bob held Squinty's front feet, and walked along with him so the little pig would get used to the new trick. Then one day Bob said:

"Now, Squinty, I want you to walk to me all by yourself. Stand up!"

Squinty stood up on his hind legs. The boy backed away from him, and stood a little distance off, holding out a nice, juicy potato this time.

"Come and get the potato," called the boy.

"Squee! Squee!" grunted Squinty. "I can't!" I suppose he meant to say.

"Come on!" cried the boy. "Don't be afraid. You can do it!"

Squinty wanted that potato very much. And the only way to get it was to walk to it on his hind legs. If he let himself down on all four legs he knew the boy would not give him the potato. So Squinty made up his little pig mind that he would do this new trick.

Off he started, walking by himself on his hind legs, just like a trained bear.

"Fine! That's the way to do it! I knew you could!" the boy cried when Squinty reached him, and took the potato out of his hand. "Good little pig!" and he scratched Squinty's back with a stick.

"Uff! Uff!" squealed Squinty, very much pleased.

And from then on the comical little pig learned many tricks.

He could stand up a long time, on his hind legs, with an apple on his nose. And he would not eat it until the boy called:

"Now, Squinty!"

Then Squinty would toss the apple up in the air, off his nose, and catch it as it came down. Oh, how good it tasted!

Squinty also learned to march around with a stick for a gun, and play soldier. He liked this trick best of all, for he always had two apples to eat after that.

Many of Bob's boy friends came to see his trained pig. They all thought he was very funny and cute, and they laughed very hard when Squinty looked at them with his queer, drooping eye. They would feed him apples, potatoes and sometimes bits of cake that Bob's mother gave them. Squinty grew very fond of cake.

Then one day something happened. Bob always used to lock the door of the new pig pen every night, for, though he knew his pet was quite tame now, he thought, if the door were left open, Squinty might wander away. And that is exactly what Squinty did. He did not mean to do wrong, but he knew no better. One evening, after he had done many tricks that day, when Squinty found the door of his pen part way open, he just pushed it the rest of the way with his strong nose, and out he walked! No one saw him.

"Uff! Uff!" grunted Squinty, looking about, "I guess I'll go take a walk by myself. I may find something good to eat."

Out of the pen he went. There was no garden here, such as the farmer had at Squinty's first home. But, not far from the pig pen was the big, green wood.

"I'll go over in there and see what happens," thought Squinty. "Perhaps I may find some acorns."

And so Squinty ran away to the woods.




Chapter IX

Squinty's Balloon Ride


This was the third time Squinty had run away. But not once did he intend to do any wrong; you see he knew no better. He just found his pen door open and walked out -- that was all there was to it.

"I wonder what will happen to me this time?" thought the comical little pig, as he hurried along over the ground, toward the woods. "I don't believe Don, the dog, will find me here, for he must be back on the farm. But some other dog might. I had better be careful, I guess."

When Squinty thought this he stopped and looked carefully around for any signs of a barking dog. But he saw none. It was very still and quiet, for it was nearly supper time in the big house where Bob lived, and he and his sisters were waiting for the bell to ring to call them to the table.

But Squinty had had his supper, and, for the time, he was not hungry.

"And if I do get hungry again, I may find something in the woods," he said to himself. "Acorn nuts grow in the woods, and they are very good. I'll root up some of them."

Once or twice Squinty looked back toward the pen he had run away from, to see if Bob, his master, were coming after him. But Bob had no idea his little pet had run away. In fact, just then, Bob was wondering what new trick he could teach Squinty the next day.

On and on ran the comical pig. Once he found something round and yellow on the ground.

"Ha! That looks like a yellow apple," thought Squinty, and he bit it hard with his white teeth. Then his mouth all puckered up, he felt a sour taste, and he cried out:

"Wow! I don't like that. Oh, that isn't an apple at all!"

And it wasn't -- it was a lemon the grocery boy had dropped.

"Oh! How sour!" grunted Squinty. "I'd like a drink of water to take the taste of that out of my mouth."

Squinty lifted his nose up in the air, and sniffed and snuffed. He wanted to try to smell a spring of water, and he did, just on the edge of the big wood. Over to the spring he ran on his little short legs, and soon he was having a fine drink.

"Now I feel better," Squinty said. "What will happen next?"

Nothing did for some time, and, when it did it was so strange that Squinty never forgot it as long as he lived. I'll tell you all about it.

He walked on through the woods, Squinty did, and, before very long, he found some acorns. He ate as many as he wanted and then, as he always felt sleepy after he had eaten, he thought he would lie down and have a nap.

He found a place, near a big stump, where there was a soft bed of dried leaves, nearly as nice as his straw bed in the pen at home. On this he stretched out, and soon he was fast asleep.

When Squinty awoke it was real dark. He jumped up with a little grunt, and said to himself:

"Well, I did not mean to stay away from my pen so long. I guess I had better go back."

Squinty started to go back the way he had come, but I guess you can imagine what happened. It was so dark he could not find the path. He walked about, stumbling over sticks and stones and stumps, sometimes falling down on soft moss, and again on the hard ground. Finally Squinty thought:

"Well, it is of no use. I can't get back tonight, that is sure. I shall have to stay here. Oh dear! I hope there are no dogs to bite me!"

Squinty listened carefully. He could hear no barks. He hunted around in the dark until he found another soft bed of leaves, and on that he cuddled himself up to go to sleep for the night. He was a little afraid, but, after all, he was used to sleeping alone, and, even though he was outside of his pen now, he did not worry much.

"In the morning I shall go back to the boy who taught me tricks," thought Squinty.

But something else happened in the morning.

Squinty was awake when the sun first peeped up from behind the clouds. The little pig scratched his ear, where a mosquito had bitten him during the night. Then he stretched first one leg and then the others, and said:

"Ha! Ho! Hum! Uff! Uff! I guess I'll have some acorns for my breakfast."

It was a very easy matter for Squinty to get his breakfast. He did not have to wash, or comb his hair, or even dress. Just as he was he got up out of his leaf-bed, and began rooting around in the ground for acorns. He soon found all he wanted, and ate them. Then he felt thirsty, so he looked around until he had found another spring of cool water, where he drank as much as he needed.

"And now to go back home, to the boy who taught me tricks," said Squinty to himself. "I guess he is wondering where I am."

And indeed that boy, Bob, and his sisters Mollie and Sallie, were wondering where Squinty was. They saw the open door of the pen, and the boy recalled that he had forgotten to lock it.

"Oh, Squinty is gone!" he cried, and he felt very badly indeed. But I have no time to tell you more of that boy now. I must relate for you the wonderful adventures of Squinty.

Squinty went this way and that through the woods, but he could not find the path that led to his pen. He tried and tried again, but it was of no use.

"Well," said Squinty, at last, sitting down beside a hollow log, "I guess I am lost. That is all there is to it I am lost in the big woods! Oh dear! I almost wish Don, the dog, or the farmer would come and find me now."

He waited, but no one came. He listened but he heard nothing.

"Well, I might as well eat and go to sleep again," said Squinty, "Maybe something will happen then."

Soon he was asleep again. But he was suddenly awakened. He heard a great crashing in the trees over his head.

"Gracious! I hope that isn't a dog after me!" cried the little pig.

He looked up, Squinty did. He saw coming down from the sky, through the branches of the trees, a big round thing, like more than ten thousand rubber balls, made into one. Below the round thing hung a square basket, with many ropes, and other things, fast to it. And in the basket were two men. They looked over the edge of the basket. One of them pulled on a rope, and the big thing, which was a balloon, though Squinty did not know it, came to the ground with a bang.

"Well, at last we have made a landing," said one of the men.

"Yes," said the other. "And we shall have to throw out some bags of sand to go up again."

Squinty did not know what this meant. But I'll explain to you that a "landing" is when a balloon comes down to the ground. And when the men in it want to go up again, they have to toss out some of the bags of sand, or ballast, they carry to make the balloon so light that the gas in it will take it up again.

The men began tossing out the bags of sand. Squinty saw them, but he was not afraid. Why should he be? for no men or boys had ever been cruel to him.

"Uff! Uff!" grunted Squinty, getting up and going over to one of the bags of sand. "Maybe that is good to eat!" he thought. "If it is I will take a bite. I am hungry."

"Oh, look at that pig!" suddenly called one of the men in the balloon basket.

"Sure enough, it is a pig!" exclaimed the other. "And what a comical little chap he is!" he went on. "See the funny way he looks at you."

At that moment Squinty looked up, as he often did, with one eye partly closed, the other open, and with one ear cocked frontwards, and the other backwards.

"Say, he's a cute one all right," said the first man. "Let's take him along."

"What for?" asked his friend. "We'd only have to toss out as much sand as he weighs so we could go up."

"Oh, let's take him along, anyhow," insisted the other. "Maybe he'll be a mascot for us."

"Well, if he's a mascot, all right. Then we'll take him. We need some good luck on this trip."

Squinty did not know what a mascot was. Perhaps he thought it was something good to eat. But I might say that a mascot is something which some persons think brings them good luck. Often baseball nines, or football elevens, will have a small boy, or a goat, or a dog whom they call their mascot. They take him along whenever they play games, thinking the mascot helps them to win. Of course it really does not, but there is no harm in a mascot, anyhow.

"Yes, we'll take him along in the balloon with us," said the taller of the two men. "See, he doesn't seem to be a bit afraid."

"No, and look! He must be a trick pig! Maybe he got away from some circus!" cried the other man. For, at that moment Squinty stood up on his hind legs, as the boy had taught him, and walked over toward the big balloon basket. What he really wanted was something to eat, but the men did not know that.

"He surely is a cute little pig!" cried the tall man. "I'll lift him in. You toss out another bag of sand, and we'll go up."

The next moment, before he could get out of the man's grasp if he had wanted to, Squinty felt himself lifted off the ground. He was put down in the bottom of the basket, which held many things, and, a second later, Squinty, the comical pig, felt himself flying upward through the air.

Squinty was off on a trip in a balloon.




Chapter X


Squinty And The Squirrel

Up, up, and up some more went Squinty, the comical pig. At first the fast motion in the balloon made him a little dizzy, just as it might make you feel queer the first time you went on a merry-go-'round.

"Uff! Uff!" grunted Squinty. He was so surprised at this sudden adventure that, really, he did not know what to say.

"I wonder if he's afraid?" said one of the men.

"He acts so," the other answered. "But he'll get used to it. How high up are you going?"

"Oh, about a mile, I guess."

Squinty cuddled down in the basket of the balloon, between two bags full of something, and shivered.

"My goodness me!" thought poor Squinty. "A mile up in the air! That's awfully high."

He knew about how far a mile was on land, for it was about the distance from the farmhouse, near where his pen used to be, to the village church. He had often heard the farmer man say so.

"And if it was a mile from my pen to the church, and that mile of road was stood straight up in the air," thought Squinty, "it would be a terrible long way to fall. I hope I don't fall."

And it did not seem as if he would -- at least not right away. The basket in which he was riding looked good and strong. Squinty had shut his eyes when he heard the men speak about going a mile up in the air, but now, as the balloon seemed to have stopped rising, the little pig opened his eyes again, and peered all about him.

"Look!" exclaimed one of the men with a laugh. "Hasn't that pig the most comical face you ever saw?"

"That's what he has," answered the other. "He makes me want to laugh every time I look at him, with that funny half-shut eye of his."

"Well," thought Squinty, "I'm glad somebody is happy and jolly, and wants to laugh, for I'm sure I don't. I wish I hadn't run away from the nice boy who taught me the tricks."

Then, as Squinty remembered how he had been taught to stand up on his hind legs, he thought he would do that trick now. He was hungry, and he imagined, perhaps, if he did that trick, the men would give him something to eat.

"Look at the little chap!" cried one of the men. "He's showing off all right."

"Yes, he's a smart pig," said the other. "He must be a trick pig, and I guess whoever owns him will be sorry he is lost."

"Hu! I'm sorry myself!" thought Squinty to himself, as he walked around on his hind legs.

"I wonder if these men are ever going to give me anything to eat," he went on. He looked at them from his queer, squinting eye, but the men did not seem to know that the little pig was hungry.

On and on sailed the balloon, being blown by the wind like a sailboat. Squinty dropped down on his four legs, since he found that walking on his hind ones brought him no food. Then, as he made his way about the basket, he saw some more of those queer bags filled with something. There were a great many of them in the balloon, and Squinty thought they must have something good in them.

Squinty squatted down beside one, and, with his strong teeth, he soon had bitten a hole in the cloth. Then he took a big bite, but oh dear!

All at once he found his mouth filled with coarse sand, that gritted on his teeth, and made the cold shivers run down his back.

"Oh, wow!" thought poor Squinty. "That's no good! Sand! I wonder if those men eat sand?"

Of course they didn't. The sand in the bags was "ballast." The balloon men carried it with them, and when they found the balloon coming down, because some of the gas had leaked out of the round ball above the basket, they would let some of the sand run out of the bags to the ground below. This would make the balloon lighter, and it would rise again.

"Squee! Squee! Uff! Uff!" grunted Squinty, as he wiped the sand off his tongue on one of his legs. "I don't like that. I'm hungry."

"Why, what's the matter with the little pig?" asked one of the men, turning around and looking at Squinty.

"He must be hungry," said the other. "See, he has bitten a hole in one of our sand bags. Let's feed him."

"All right. Give him something to eat, but we didn't bring any pig food along with us."

"I'll give him some bread and milk," the other man said. "We won't want much more ourselves, for we are nearly at our last landing place."

"Squee! Squee!" squealed Squinty, when he heard this. He watched the man put some bread and milk in a tin pan, and set it down on the floor of the basket. Then Squinty put his nose in the dish and began to eat.

And Oh! how good it tasted! Of course the milk was sweet, instead of sour, for men do not usually like sour milk. Squinty had a good meal, and then he went to sleep.

What happened while Squinty slept, the little pig did not know. But when he woke up it was all dark, and he knew it must be night, so he went to sleep again. And the next time he awakened the sun was shining, so he felt sure it was morning.

And then, all of a sudden, something happened. One of the men called out:

"There is a good place to land!"

"Yes, we'll go down there," agreed the other. Then he pulled a string. Squinty did not know what it was for, but I'll tell you. It was to open a hole in the balloon so the gas would rush out. Then the balloon would begin to fall.

And that is what happened. Down, down went the balloon. It went very fast, and Squinty felt dizzy. Faster and faster fell the balloon, until, at last it gave such a bump down on the ground that Squinty was bounced right over the side of the basket.

Right out of the basket the comical little pig was bounced, but he came down in a soft bed of leaves, so he was not hurt in the least. He landed on his feet, just like a cat, and gave a loud squeal, he was so surprised.

And then Squinty ran away. Almost anybody would have run, too, I guess, after falling down in a balloon, and being bounced out that way. Squinty had had enough of balloon riding.

"I don't know where I'm going, nor what will happen to me now," thought Squinty, "but I am going to run and hide."

And run he did. He found himself in the woods; just the same kind of woods as where he had first met the two balloon men, only, of course, it was much farther off, for he had traveled a long way through the air.

On and on ran Squinty. All at once, in a tree over his head, he heard a funny chattering noise.

"Chipper, chipper, chipper! Chat! Chat! Whir-r-r-r-r-!" went the noise.

Squinty looked up in the tree, and there he saw a lovely little girl squirrel, frisking about on the branches. Then Squinty was no longer afraid. Out of the leaves he jumped, giving a squeal and a grunt which meant:

"Oh, how do you do? I am glad to see you. My name is Squinty. What is your name?"

"My name is Slicko," answered the lively little girl squirrel, as she jumped about. "Come on and play!"

Squinty felt very happy then.




Chapter XI


Squinty And The Merry Monkey

"Where do you live, Squinty?" asked Slicko, the jumping squirrel, as she skipped from one tree branch to another, and so reached the ground near the comical little pig.

"Oh, I live in a pen," answered Squinty, "but I'm not there now."

"No, I see you are not," spoke Slicko, with a laugh, which showed her sharp, white teeth. "But what are you doing so far away from your pen? Or, perhaps it is close by, though I never saw you in these woods before," she went on, looking around as if she might see the pig pen under one of the trees.

"No, I have never been here before," Squinty answered. "My pen is far from here. My master is a boy who taught me to do tricks, such as jumping rope, but I ran away and had a balloon ride."

"What's a balloon?" asked Slicko, as she combed out her tail with a chestnut burr. Squirrels always use chestnut burrs for combs.

"A balloon is something that goes up in the air," answered Squinty, "and it has bags of sand in it."

"Well, I can go up in the air, when I climb a tree," went on Slicko, with a jolly laugh. "Am I a balloon?"

"No, you are not," said Squinty. "A balloon is very different."

"Well, I know where there is some sand," spoke Slicko. "I could get some of that and put it in leaf-bags. Would that make me a balloon?"

"Oh, no, of course not," Squinty answered. "You could never be a balloon. But if you know where there is some sand perhaps you know where there is some sour milk. I am very hungry."

"I never heard of sour milk," replied the girl squirrel. "But I know where to find some nuts. Do you like hickory nuts?"

"I -- I guess so," answered Squinty, thinking, perhaps, they were like acorns. "Please show me where there are some."

"Come on!" chattered Slicko. She led the way through the woods, leaping from one tree branch to another over Squinty's head. The little pig ran along on the ground, through the dry leaves. Sometimes he went on four feet and sometimes he stood up straight on his hind feet.

"Can you do that?" he asked the squirrel. "It is a trick the boy taught me."

"Oh, yes, I can sit up on my hind legs, and eat a nut," the squirrel girl said. "But nobody taught me. I could always do it. I don't call that a trick."

"Well, it is a trick for me," said Squinty. "But where are the hickory nuts you spoke of?"

"Right here," answered Slicko, the jumping squirrel, hopping about as lively as a cricket, and she pointed to a pile of nuts in a hollow stump. Squinty tried to chew some, but, as soon as he took them in his mouth he cried out:

"Oh my! How hard the shells are! This is worse than the sand! I can't chew hickory nuts! Have you no other kind?"

"Oh, yes, I know where there are some acorns," answered Slicko, "but I do not care for them as well as for hickory nuts."

"Oh, please show me the acorns," begged Squinty.

"Here they are," spoke Slicko, jumping a little farther, and she pointed to a pile of acorns in another hollow stump.

"Oh, these are fine! Thank you!" grunted Squinty, and he began to eat them. All at once there sounded through the woods a noise like:

"Chat! Chat! Chatter! Whir-r-r-r-r-r!" "My, what's that?" cried Squinty, turning quickly around.

"That is my mamma calling me," said Slicko, the jumping squirrel. "I shall have to go home to my nest now. Good-by, Squinty. I like you very much, and I hope I shall soon see you again."

"I hope so, too," spoke Squinty, and while he went on eating the acorns, Slicko ran along the tree branches to her nest. And in another book I shall tell you some more stories about "Slicko, the Jumping Squirrel," but in this book I have room to write only about Squinty.

The little comical pig was rather lonesome after Slicko had left him, but he was no longer hungry, thanks to the acorns.

So he walked on and on, and pretty soon he came to a road. And down the road he saw coming the strangest sight.

There were a lot of big wagons, all painted red and green and gold. Many horses drew each wagon, the big wheels of which rattled like thunder, and beside the wagons there were many strange animals walking along -- animals which Squinty had never seen before.

"Oh my!" cried Squinty. "This is worse than the balloon! I must run away!"

But, just as he turned to run, he saw a little animal jump out of one of the big wagons, and come toward him. This animal was something like a little boy, only, instead of clothes, he was covered with hairy fur. And the animal had a long tail, which Squinty knew no boy ever had.

Squinty was so surprised at seeing the strange animal that the little pig stood still. The hairy animal, with the long tail, came straight for the bush behind which Squinty was hiding, and crawled through. Then the two stood looking at one another, while the big wagons rumbled past on the road.

"Hello!" Squinty finally exclaimed. "Who are you?"

"Why, I am Mappo, the merry monkey," was the answer, as he curled his long tail around a stick of wood. "But I don't need to ask who you are. You are a pig, I can see that, for we have one in our circus, and the clown rides him around the ring, and it is too funny for anything."

"Ha, so you are a monkey?" asked Squinty. "But what do you mean by a circus?"

"That's a circus," answered Mappo, pointing with one paw through a hole in the bush, at the queer animals, and the red, gold and green wagons. "That is, it will be a circus when they put up the big tent, and all the people come. Didn't you ever see a circus?"

"Never," answered Squinty. "Did you ever ride in a balloon?"

"Never," answered Mappo.

"Well, then we are even," said Squinty. "Now you tell me about a circus, and I'll tell you about the balloon."

"Well," said the monkey, "a circus is a big show in a tent, to make people laugh. There are clowns, and animals to look at. I am one of the animals, but I ran out of my cage when the door flew open."

"Why did you run away?" asked Squinty.

"Oh, I got tired of staying in a cage. And I was afraid the big tiger might bite me. I'll run back again pretty soon, before they miss me. Now you tell me about your balloon ride."

So Squinty told the merry monkey all about running away, and learning tricks, and having a ride in the queer basket.

"I can do tricks, too," said Mappo. "But just now I am hungry. I wonder if any cocoanut trees are in these woods?"

"I don't know what a cocoanut is," answered Squinty, "but I'll give you some of my acorns."

The comical little pig and the merry monkey hid under the bush and ate acorns as they watched the circus procession go past. It was not a regular parade, as the show was going only from one town to-another. Squinty looked at the beautiful wagons, and at the strange animals, some with big humps on their backs. At last he saw some very big creatures, and he cried out:

"Oh, Mappo! What are those animals? They have a tail at each end!"

"Those are elephants," said Mappo, "and they do not have two tails. One is a tail, and the other is their trunk, or long nose, by which they pick up peanuts, and other things to eat, and they can drink water through it, too."

"Oh, elephants, eh!" exclaimed Squinty. "But who is that big, fierce-looking one, with two long teeth sticking out. I would be afraid of him."

"Ha! Ha! You wouldn't need to be," said Mappo, with a merry laugh. "That is Tum-Tum, the jolliest elephant in the whole circus. Why, he is so kind he wouldn't hurt a fly, and he is so happy that every one loves him. He is always playing jokes."

"Well, I'm glad he is so jolly," spoke Squinty, as he watched Tum-Tum and the other elephants march slowly along the road on their big feet, like wash tubs, swinging their long trunks.

Then Mappo the monkey, and Squinty, the comical pig, started off through the woods.




Chapter XII


Squinty Gets Home Again

"Squinty, I don't believe we're going to find any cocoanut trees in this woods," said Mappo, the monkey, after he and the little pig had wandered on for some time.

"It doesn't seem so, does it?" spoke Squinty, looking all around, first with his wide-open eye, and then with his queer, droopy one.

The monkey ran along, now on the ground, and now and then swinging himself up in the branches of trees, by his long legs, each one of which had a sort of hand on the end. Sometimes he hung by his tail, for monkeys are made to do that.

"My, I wish I could get up in the trees the way you do," said Squinty. "Do you think I could hang by my tail, Mappo?"

"I don't know," answered the monkey, scratching his head. "Your tail has a nice little curl in it, almost like mine. Did you ever try to hang by your tail?"

"No, I never did."

"Well, you don't know what you can do until you try," said Mappo.

The two animal friends soon came to where some of the acorn nuts had fallen off a tree, and they ate as many as they wanted. Mappo said they were not as good as cocoanuts, but he liked them pretty well, because he was hungry. And Squinty thought acorns were just the best things he had ever tasted, except apples, and potatoes or perhaps sour milk.

By this time it was getting dark, and Squinty said:

"Oh dear, I wonder where we can sleep tonight?"

"Oh, do not let that worry you," said Mappo. "I am used to living in the woods. When I was little, before I was caught and put in the circus, I lived in the woods all the while. See, here is a nice hollow stump, filled with leaves, for you to sleep in, and I will climb a tree, and sleep in that."

"Couldn't you sleep down in the stump with me?" asked Squinty. "It's sort of lonesome, all by yourself in the dark."

"Yes, I'll sleep with you," said Mappo. "Now we'll make up a nice bed."

But, just as they were piling some more leaves in the hollow stump, they heard many voices of men shouting in the woods.

"Here he is! Here is that runaway monkey! I see him! Come and catch him!" cried the men.

"Oh, they're from the circus! They're after me!" cried Mappo. "I must run and hide. Good-by, Squinty. I'll see you again sometime, maybe. You had better run, also, or the circus men may catch you."

Squinty looked through the trees, and saw a number of men coming toward him and the monkey. Then Mappo climbed up in a tall tree, and Squinty ran away as fast as his little short legs would take him.

"Never mind the pig! Get the monkey!" Squinty heard one man cry, and then the comical little pig dodged under a bush, and kept on running.

When Squinty stopped running it was quite dark. He could hardly see, and he had run into several trees, and bumped his nose a number of times. It hurt him very much.

"Well, I guess I'm lost again," thought Squinty. "And I am all alone. Oh, what a lot of things has happened to me since I was in the pen with my mamma and papa and sisters and brothers! I wish I were back with them again."

Squinty felt very sad and lonesome. He wondered if the circus men had caught Mappo. Then he felt that he had better find a place where he could cover himself up with the dry leaves, and go to sleep.

He walked about in the dark until, all of a sudden, he stumbled into a hole that was filled with dried grass.

"I guess I had better stay here," thought Squinty. So he pulled some of the grass over him, and went to sleep.

When he awoke the sun was shining.

"I must get my breakfast," thought Squinty. He hunted about until he had found some acorns, and then, coming to a little brook of water he took a long drink. Something about the brook made Squinty look at it carefully.

"Why -- why!" he exclaimed to himself: "It seems to me I have been here before! Yes, I am sure I have. This is the place where I first came to get a drink, when first I ran away. It is near the pen where I used to live! Oh, I wonder if I can find that?"

The heart of Squinty was beating fast as he looked around at the scenes he had seen when he was a very little pig, some weeks before. Yes, it was the same brook. He was sure of it. And there was the garden of potatoes, and the cornfield where he had first lost his way.

Hark! What was that?

Off in the rows of corn he heard a dog barking. Somehow he knew that dog's bark.

"If that could be Don!" thought Squinty, hopefully.

The barking sounded nearer. Squinty turned around, standing on the edge of the little brook, and waited, his heart beating faster and faster.

All at once there came running through the potato field a black and white dog. Squinty knew him at once.

It was Don!

"Bow wow! Bow wow!" barked Don. "Well, if there isn't that comical little pig, Squinty! Where in the world did you come from? You've been running away, I'll be bound! Now I'm going to take you back to the pen!"

"Oh, Don! I am so glad to see you!" squealed Squinty. "I -- I did run away, but I never will any more. I am lost. Oh, Don, don't take me by the ear. I'll go with you."

"All right," barked Don, kindly. "Come along. Your pen isn't far off," and he ran along beside the little pig, who, after many adventures had wandered back home. Squinty and Don came to the edge of the potato field.

"Well, I never!" exclaimed the farmer man, who was there hoeing the potatoes. "If there isn't that comical little pig I sold to that boy Bob. I wonder where he came from?"

"Bow wow! Bow wow! I found him," barked Don, but of course the farmer did not understand.

"Well, I'll put you back in the pen again until that boy sends for you," said the farmer, as he lifted Squinty over into the pen where his mamma and papa and brothers and sisters were.

"Why -- why, it's Squinty!" cried Mrs. Pig.

"He's come back!" grunted Mr. Pig.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" said Wuff-Wuff.

"And so am I," added Twisty Tail, as she rubbed her nose against Squinty's. "Where have you been, and what happened to you?" she asked her brother.

"Oh, many things," he said. "I have learned some tricks, I have been up in a balloon, I met Slicko the jumping squirrel, Mappo, the merry monkey, and I saw Tum-Tum, the jolly circus elephant. Now I am home again."

"And which did you like best of all?" asked Mrs. Pig, when they had finished asking him questions.

"Getting back home," answered Squinty, as he took a big drink of sour milk.

And that is the story of Squinty, the comical pig. The farmer sent word to the boy that his pet was back in the pen, but the boy said he thought he did not want a pet pig any more, so Squinty, for the time being, stayed with his family.

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Snubby Nose And Tippy Toes

By

Laura Rountree Smith



Chapter I


Bunny and Susan Cotton-Tail sat by the fire one winter evening warming their paws.

"What's that?" asked Bunny.

"What's that?" asked Susan.

They went to the window and saw a very little Bunny stuck fast in a snowdrift.

"Help, help," cried Bunny, "I will get the snow-shovel."

"Help, help," cried Susan, "I will get the wheelbarrow."

Bunny and Susan went out to shovel the little Bunny out of the snowdrift. Bunny said, "You dear little fellow, how did you get stuck fast in the snowdrift?"

Susan looked hard over her spectacles and said, "Why, it is our own dear grandchild, Snubby Nose."

Then Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled! Bunny Cotton-Tail shoveled as fast as he could, and in sixteen minutes he had Snubby Nose out of the snowdrift. Susan put him in the wheelbarrow and wheeled him to the house. All the time Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled!

Susan said, "Go and get the big tub and we will give Snubby Nose a hot bath."

Bunny got the tub and some warm water and he and Susan gave Snubby Nose a hot bath. They rubbed him dry with a soft towel, and all the time Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled!

Just at this very minute Grandpa Grumbles came in shaking the snow off his fur and whiskers. He shook his green cotton umbrella. He came in grumbling,

"It's noisy here, I do declare, I just came out to take the air."

Snubby Nose stopped his noise and stared at Grandpa Grumbles. Bunny and Susan said, "Sit down by the fire, Grandpa, and warm your paws." Grandpa Grumbles sat down.

Snubby Nose cried, "Grandpa Grumbles, tell us a story, please tell us a story."

Bunny Cotton-Tail said, in a whisper, "Please don't mention noses."

Susan Cotton-Tail said, "Please don't mention snowdrifts."

Grandpa Grumbles was wet and cold, so he grumbled right out loud, "I will tell about as many noses and snowdrifts as I please in this story!" Then Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled!

Susan took him up in her arms. She carried him to bed and sang him a nonsense song. By and by Snubby Nose fell asleep. Susan went back downstairs and found Grandpa Grumbles asleep by the fire.

Bunny said, "I wonder what makes him grumble so much?"

Susan said, "T wonder what happened to Snubby Nose. He has such a funny little nose!"

Then the most surprising thing happened!

As they sat talking, "thump, bump" was heard, and Snubby Nose fell down stairs! He fell right on his ugly little nose and broke it!

"Get the camphor! Get the smelling salts! Help, help!" cried Bunny and Susan.

Grandpa Grumbles woke, up and cried,

"Someone has a sad mishap, Just when I try to take a nap."

I do not know what in the world they would have done if Doctor Cotton-Tail had not come in that very minute. He came in to dry his fur and whiskers!

He set Snubby Nose's little ugly nose and said, "It will not look very pretty, but perhaps it did not look pretty before. You must wear a pink wrapper, and drink tea out of a pink cup, and eat pink wintergreen candy!"

Snubby Nose liked the idea of wintergreen candy. He hugged Doctor Cotton-Tail and stopped crying at once.

Susan got a pink wrapper and got a pink china cup for his tea. Grandpa Grumbles felt in his overcoat pocket and took out sixteen pieces of Wintergreen candy. It was pink wintergreen candy of course!

Susan said to Doctor Cotton-Tail, "How did you happen to come out in this big snowstorm?"

Doctor Cotton-Tail said, "I had a call to make, I was going to visit -- "

Just then Susan began to sneeze. She sneezed so hard she nearly sneezed her head off!

Doctor Cotton-Tail said,

"Susan that is quite absurd, Such sneezing I have never heard."

Susan said by and by, "I beg your pardon, what were you saying when I started to sneeze?"

Doctor Cotton-Tail said, "I had a call, I was going to visit -- "

At this very minute Snubby Nose set up a shout, for dear Bunny Cotton-Tail leaned too near the candle and burned one of his whiskers!

Then Grandpa Grumbles shook his green cotton umbrella fiercely and said,

"Such a noise I never heard, I cannot hear a single word."

Grandpa Grumbles had been sitting very still in a corner and Doctor Cotton-Tail had not seen him up to this minute. He got up and shook hands with him and said, "How do you do, sir, How do you do, sir!"

Grandpa Grumbles was pleased as pleased could be. He had not seen Doctor Cotton-Tail for two hundred and six years! He cried out, "How do you do, sir! How do you do, sir!"

All this time Snubby Nose sat up in his pink wrapper drinking tea out of a pink cup and eating pink wintergreen candy. By and by Susan said, "Doctor Cotton-Tail you were going to tell us where you were going to call when you came here!"

Doctor Cotton-Tail said, "I was on my way to call on little Tippy Toes!"

"My fur and whiskers," said Bunny, "I never had a grandchild named Tippy Toes!"

"Bless my buttons," said Susan, "What a cute little name."

Then Grandpa Grumbles got up waving his green cotton umbrella and shouted,

"Though the stormy north wind blows, I'll go with you to Tippy Toes."

Then he and Doctor Cotton-Tail made a low bow and went out into the snowstorm.

Doctor Cotton-Tail called back, "Don't forget to eat wintergreen candy."

By this time Bunny and Susan and Snubby Nose were tired and sleepy, and they all went to bed. Bunny began to snore and Susan began to snore, but Snubby Nose was still wide awake.

What do you suppose Snubby Nose did? You can give three guesses and you will not guess what he did!

He got out of bed and lit a candle. He said, "I believe I am the ugliest little Bunny with the ugliest little nose of any Bunny alive."

He began to dance before the mirror. He danced this way and that way before the mirror. He danced very prettily on the tips of his toes. Then he made a low bow and said,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answered, "Tippy Toes."


Then Snubby Nose went back to bed. He said, "To-morrow I will go and find Tippy Toes."



Chapter II


Where do you suppose Tippy Toes was, and what do you suppose he was doing? He woke up in his warm little bed at home and said, "Oh, Ma! Oh, Pa! I want to go and visit Bunny and Susan Cotton-Tail."

Mother Cotton-Tail laughed and said, "You have read about Bunny Cotton-Tail burning his paw by candle-light."

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "You have read about Susan's cookies!"

Tippy Toes said, "Please, may I go and visit Bunny and Susan?"

Tippy Toes was a homely little Bunny. He had a very ugly little nose, but he was polite. He always said, "Thank you," and, "If you please."

Mother Cotton-Tail said, "You may go and pay a visit to Bunny and Susan. Go and pack your traveling bag at once."

Tippy Toes was so pleased he hugged Mother Cotton-Tail and said, "Thank you, Mother Cotton-Tail, I will go and pack my traveling bag."

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "I will go with you to the turn of the road."

Soon they started merrily down the road and Mother Cotton-Tail called, "Good-bye, good-bye."

They had only gone a few steps when Mother Cotton-Tail called, "Come back, come back, you have forgotten your umbrella. What if it should rain?"

Tippy Toes went dancing merrily back and Papa Cotton-Tail waited for him. They started on again and this time Mother Cotton-Tail called, "Come back, come back, you have forgotten your overshoes. What if there should be a thunder storm?"

So Tippy Toes went dancing merrily back and Papa Cotton-Tail waited for him again. When they started the third time Tippy Toes said, "We have nothing to go back for this time," but the wind whistled in his ears.

Mother Cotton-Tail called again, "Come back, come back, Tippy Toes, you have forgotten your red silk pocket handkerchief."

This time Papa Cotton-Tail went back with Tippy Toes and he said, "Dear Mother Cotton-Tail, do put on your thinking-cap and see if we have forgotten anything else, or we shall never get off."

Then they looked high and low, but they could not find Mother Cotton-Tail's thinking-cap!

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "Never mind, I will put on my thinking-cap instead." So he put on his red silk thinking-cap and said, "Oh, I know what we have forgotten; we have forgotten to send Bunny and Susan a present!"

"To be sure," said Mother Cotton-Tail, "Now what shall the present be?"

Little Tippy Toes did not get started on his journey that day, for it took four days and fourteen hours for them to decide what to send Bunny and Susan. All this time Tippy Toes was as merry as you please. He danced about on the tips of his toes and sang,

"A present, a present, if all things go well, What shall be the present? No one can tell."

Suddenly, at breakfast next morning Mother Cotton-Tail said, "I will go to town and buy Bunny and Susan a big parlor lamp."

"A lamp with a pink shade," said Tippy Toes.

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "A lamp with a tall chimney."

Mother Cotton-Tail said, "I will buy a lamp with a pink shade and a tall chimney for Bunny, because he burns his paw in the candle."

Then Tippy Toes danced this way, and he danced that way, and said, "Oh, Ma, may I go with you to town to help buy the lamp?"

Mother Cotton-Tail said, "Papa Cotton-Tail has to go to work. If I go to town and you go, too, who will tend the fire? Who will wash the dishes?"

Tippy Toes wanted to go to town, but he was a good little Bunny, so he said,

"Who will tend the fire? Whom do you suppose? Who will wash the dishes? Little Tippy Toes."

So Mother Cotton-Tail put on her best sunbonnet and took her purse and shopping basket with her, and went off with Papa Cotton-Tail calling, "Good-bye, I will be home to supper at five o'clock sharp."

Then Tippy Toes danced a little fairylike dance before the mirror and sang,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answered, "Snubby Nose."

Tippy Toes said, "I have danced that dance before, and I sing that song very often, but the mirror always gives me the same answer. Who is Snubby Nose? I wonder if he has a real ugly little nose like I have?"

Then Tippy Toes made up the fire and washed the dishes and began to get things ready to cook for supper. He said, "I do wish I could go and find Snubby Nose; I wonder if Bunny and Susan can tell me about him."

Tippy Toes sat down in front of the clock and began to count the hours until Mother Cotton-Tail would come home. He fell asleep and dreamed that he saw a little Bunny exactly like himself stuck fast in a snowdrift. When he woke up it was five o'clock and Papa Cotton-Tail had just come home.

They got supper and waited, and waited, for Mother Cotton-Tail. At exactly six o'clock she came in. She was an hour late.

She came on the stroke of the clock. She said, "I have been shopping all day."

Mother Cotton-Tail took a wonderful lamp from her basket. It had a pink shade and a tall chimney.

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "If you send the lamp to Bunny I must send something to Susan. I will go to town to-morrow and get Susan a pair of spectacles."

Tippy Toes said, "Oh Pa, may I go with you to town to-morrow?"

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "Who will roll out the cookies for Mother Cotton-Tail? Who will run her little errands all day?"

Then Tippy Toes danced this way, and he danced that way, and sang,

"Who will do errands? Whom do you suppose? Who will roll cookies? Little Tippy Toes."

So, they had a merry time at supper that evening and lighted the new lamp, and Papa Cotton-Tail read fairy tales.

Tippy Toes did not tell what the mirror had answered him. He kept that as a secret. He said to himself, "I do wonder who Snubby Nose is!"



Chapter III


Next day Tippy Toes woke up early and cried out, "Oh, Mother Cotton-Tail, it is time to wake up! Oh, Papa Cotton-Tail, it is time to wake up!"

Sure enough it was time for Bunnies to wake up because it was sunrise.

Tippy Toes helped to get breakfast. He went to the well to draw water. He began to sing a little fairy song,

"Ding, dong bell, Pussy's in the well."

"Poor Pussy, I wonder if she is still in the well," he said. He peeped down to look into the well.

Papa Cotton-Tail called, "Hurry, hurry, it is time for breakfast."

Then Tippy Toes drew a bucket full of water and said, "Is poor Pussy still in the well?"

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "If you ever read your Mother Goose you would know she is not in the well."

"Who pulled her out?" asked Tippy Toes.

Mother Cotton-Tail said, "Hush, be still, you ask too many questions!"

Tippy Toes wondered all day who pulled poor Pussy out. He danced this way, and he danced that way, and he set the table for breakfast.

He said, "If you are home by dinner time Papa Cotton-Tail, may I go and visit Bunny and Susan?"

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "If I get home in time with Susan's spectacles you may go to-day."

Papa Cotton-Tail put on his big fur coat and went merrily down the road. Mother Cotton-Tail began to make cookies and Tippy Toes rolled them out for her. Now, will you believe it? before they had a single pan of cookies baked, Papa Cotton-Tail was back home again.

Mother Cotton-Tail said, "Why are you back so soon?"

Tippy Toes said, "Did you get the spectacles already?"

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "I met a peddler and he had a pair of black spectacles in his pack."

Papa Cotton-Tail put on the black spectacles and he looked so funny that Mother Cotton-Tail said, "Let me try them on," and Tippy Toes cried, "Please let me try them on!"

Mother Cotton-Tail said, "I will pack Bunny's lamp and Susan's spectacles and you may start on your long journey at once."

Tippy Toes put on his best coat and cap and kissed his mother good-bye. Papa Cotton-Tail went with him again to the bend of the road. Suddenly Tippy Toes stopped still. He stopped stock-still in the road. He said, "Oh, Pa, I must go back, I forgot something!"

What do you suppose Tippy Toes forgot?

He always danced up and down before the mirror before he went out. So, he went back home, hoppity, skippity, hop; and Papa Cotton-Tail waited for him at the bend of the road.

Tippy Toes stood before the mirror and he danced this way and he danced that way and said,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answered, "Snubby Nose."

Then Tippy Toes laughed and laughed.

"I will go and find Snubby Nose," he said, "for he must be as ugly as I am with my little turned-up nose."

He went running down the road and was soon off and away. The wind whistled in his ears.

At that very minute he heard Papa Cotton-Tail crying, "Hello, hello! Come back to the bend in the road, Tippy Toes."

Tippy Toes said to himself, "What can Papa Cotton-Tail want? Shall I never get started?"

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "How will you know the house when you come to it?"

Tippy Toes said, "I will ask any one I meet."

Papa Cotton-Tail said, "That is right, and be sure to bow when you meet Grandpa Grumbles."

Then they said "Good-bye" again, and Tippy Toes went merrily along. He met Bushy-Tail, the sly old Fox. Bushy-Tail asked, "Where are you going in such a hurry, Snubby Nose?"

Then Tippy Toes danced this way and he danced that way, and he said,

"That is a matter I do not disclose, But, sir, my name is not Snubby Nose."

Bushy-Tail was surprised you may be sure. He said, "Well, you and Snubby Nose are as much alike as two peas."

Tippy Toes bowed and said, "Will you please tell me how I may know when I have passed by the house Bunny and Susan Cotton-Tail live in?"

Tippy Toes did not say he was going to stop and see Bunny and Susan.

Bushy-Tail looked cross-eyed. He said, "If you will tell me your name little fellow, I will take you straight to Bunny Cotton-Tail's house in the woods."

I do not know what would have happened next if Grandpa Grumbles and Doctor Cotton-Tail had not come along.

Grandpa Grumbles thought it was Snubby Nose, of course, and he shouted,

"You're a careless Bunny, it is not funny, The Doctor costs us a lot of money."

Then whisk! Before Tippy Toes or Doctor Cotton-Tail could say a word, Grandpa Grumbles opened his green cotton umbrella and set Tippy Toes inside and carried him through the woods. The wind whistled in their ears as they went. Grandpa Grumbles kept saying over and over to himself,

"You were ill, and it is not funny, To call the Doctor and pay out money."

Tippy Toes shouted at last so loud he could be heard,

"Grandpa, I have a funny nose, But my real name is Tippy Toes."

Grandpa Grumbles answered him,

"Snubby Nose, you can't fool me, Though I'm foolish as can be."

Then Tippy Toes stuffed his furry little paw into his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

"I wonder if Bunny and Susan will think I am Snubby Nose, too," he said. "What fun that will be. I will visit them until Snubby Nose comes home."

By and by they came to Bunny Cotton-Tail's house. Grandpa Grumbles set Tippy Toes down on the doorstep and shouted,

"The house is dark, as you can see, You'll have to come and visit me."

So, they went on through the woods to Grandpa Grumble's house; for, sure enough, Bunny and Susan had gone to bed and turned out all the lights.

When they got to Grandpa Grumble's house a fire was burning merrily on the hearth, and they went up and warmed their paws. Tippy Toes danced up and down before the mirror and cried,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answered, "Snubby Nose."

Grandpa Grumbles looked at Tippy Toes over his spectacles and said, "I have not heard you cry or scream or howl for thirty minutes."

Tippy Toes did not know what this meant, for he had never cried or screamed or howled in all his life.

He went up to Grandpa Grumbles and made a low bow and said, "Dear Grandpa Grumbles, I want to thank you for the ride in your green cotton umbrella."

Grandpa Grumbles could hardly believe his ears. He grumbled,

"You might be fooling me I suppose, Except for your ugly little nose."



Chapter IV


What do you suppose Snubby Nose was doing all this time? He woke early one morning and danced before the mirror and asked,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answered, "Tippy Toes."

Snubby Nose cried, "That settles it, broken nose, or no broken nose, I will go out and find Tippy Toes to-day. Perhaps he will be a fine playmate for me."

Snubby Nose crept down stairs. He ran down the road and was soon out of sight.

Bunny and Susan woke up and they looked in Snubby Nose's little bed, but he was not there. They expected to hear him cry and scream and howl any minute. They looked in the big chair. There was the pink flannel wrapper but Snubby Nose was gone.

Bunny cried, "My fur and whiskers, he has gone out with his broken nose."

Susan cried, "Bless my buttons, I expect to see him back any minute."

At that very minute Tippy Toes came tripping along, swinging his basket to and fro and singing a nonsense song.

"My fur and whiskers, here he comes," cried Bunny, "and he is not crying, but he is singing a song."

"Bless my buttons," said Susan, "he is not crying this time."

Tippy Toes came in and said, "Good morning Bunny and Susan, I have brought you a present this fine winter morning."

Bunny and Susan could scarcely believe their ears, but Tippy Toes opened his basket and took out the lamp and spectacles, and Bunny and Susan were pleased, you may be sure.

Bunny lighted the lamp, saying, "How can I ever thank you, Snubby Nose? Now I shall not burn my paw, as I read by candle-light."

Tippy Toes tried not to laugh when he was called "Snubby Nose." He said, "Please tell me how you burned your paw, I am never tired hearing about it."

Bunny Cotton-Tail began, "Once when I was young -- "

"Rap-a-tap" was heard on the door, and Tippy Toes was so polite he went to the door and brought the milk in.

Tippy Toes curled up then at Bunny Cotton-Tail's feet and begged, "Do tell me now why you liked to read by candlelight."

Bunny Cotton-Tail began again, "Once when I was young -- "

"Rap-a-tap" sounded on the door.

Tippy Toes went and let in the Grocer boy. He curled up again at Bunny Cotton-Tail's feet and said, "Now Bunny, please tell me the story."

Bunny Cotton-Tail began again, "Once, when I was young -- "

Then the most surprising thing happened!

Soot began to pour down the chimney. It flew all over the room. It covered the carpet and furniture and pictures.

Bunny shouted, "My fur and whiskers, what can be the matter?"

Susan said, "Bless my buttons, there is soot all over the room." Tippy Toes danced on this foot, and danced on that foot, and said,

"Let me go up the chimney because, I think it may be Santa Claus."

Then Bunny and Susan laughed, but soon Bunny Cotton-Tail coughed, and Susan sneezed, so Tippy Toes knew something must be done at once. He ran outdoors and looked up at the chimney.

There was Bushy-Tail, the sly old Fox acting as a chimney-sweep. He was sweeping the chimney with his long, beautiful tail.

Tippy Toes cried, "Please come down and I will show you how to dance." Bushy-Tail was surprised you may be sure. He thought it was Snubby Nose, and Snubby Nose never said, "Please."

He jumped off the roof with a bound and howled, "Oh, ho! So you will show me how to dance, will you?"

Then Bushy-Tail chased Tippy Toes away and away and away in the woods.

Tippy Toes said to himself,

"I'm in a corner without a doubt, But if I keep cheerful I will get out."

At that very minute they met old Grandpa Grumbles. He said,

"It is getting cold I've heard it said, Bushy-Tail where are your mittens, red?"

Then the most surprising thing happened!

Bushy-Tail gave a howl and ran away as fast as his legs could carry him.

"What does it all mean?" asked Tippy Toes.

Grandpa Grumbles replied, "Why, Snubby Nose, you have a poor memory if you have forgotten about the red mittens. Don't you remember that Santa Claus gave Bushy-Tail a pair of magic mittens?"

Tippy Toes said, politely, "Please tell me about it."

Grandpa Grumbles said, "Bushy-Tail put on the red magic mittens and they pinched his paws."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Tippy Toes, "How long did he have to wear those mittens?" Grandpa Grumbles answered,

"Really, now, I cannot say, But I guess it was a year and a day."

Then Tippy Toes laughed so hard that he doubled right up in a little ball and rolled over and over.

"Come, come," said Grandpa Grumbles, "You had better go back to see Bunny and Susan, they may think Bushy-Tail has eaten you up."

So they traveled back together to see Bunny and Susan. When they came to the house there was soot on everything. There was soot on the carpet and furniture and pictures. There was soot on the new lamp, and on Susan's spectacles.

Grandpa Grumbles shouted,

"You are careless folks, I do declare, To let the soot blow everywhere."

Bunny Cotton-Tail coughed, and Susan sneezed, and Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Into the kitchen, one, seven, three, You are as careless as can be."

He made Bunny and Susan go into the kitchen; then he said to Tippy Toes,

"Come, get a broom and an apron or two, We'll clean this room, that's what we'll do."

Soon Grandpa Grumbles and Tippy Toes had everything out of the room. It did not take long to make it as clean as a pin.

Grandpa Grumbles looked hard at Tippy Toes.

"How does your nose feel?" he asked. "Come, sir, why don't you cry any more?"

Tippy Toes danced this way, and danced that way, and sang to the big mirror that hung on the wall,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answered, "Snubby Nose."



Chapter V


"My fur and whiskers, the room is all clean!" Bunny Cotton-Tail cried.

Susan Cotton-Tail cried, "Bless my buttons, everything is in order."

Grandpa Grumbles said,

"There is a mystery in the air, There is something strange, I do declare."

Tippy Toes cried, "Good night Bunny and Susan, good night dear Grandpa Grumbles," and he danced this way, and danced that way, and he danced himself right up to bed.

"How polite he is," said Bunny Cotton-Tail. Susan said, "He does not seem to mind when we speak of noses!"

Grandpa Grumbles said, "He does not cry any more."

They all sat by the fire warming their paws. Grandpa Grumbles was thinking. At last he said to Bunny and Susan, "One day I heard Snubby Nose talking as he stood before a mirror, and he said,"

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answered, "Tippy Toes."

Now this Little Cotton-Tail dances before the mirror, and he says,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answers, "Snubby Nose."

"Snubby Nose, Tippy Toes," repeated Bunny and Susan over and over as they warmed their paws by the fire.

By and by Grandpa Grumbles said, talking very fast, "Suppose there were two little Cotton-Tails, one named Snubby Nose, and one named Tippy Toes, suppose -- just suppose they looked as much alike as two peas."

Bunny Cotton-Tail said, "My fur and whiskers, it seems like a fairy tale, but Snubby Nose always cried, and this little Cotton-Tail is so polite."

Susan cried, "Hark! I hear a rap-a-tap, who can be coming at this hour of the night?"

The door opened; in fell Snubby Nose in a heap, and he cried and he screamed and he howled!

Bunny and Susan and Grandpa Grumbles cried, "Hush, be still, stop crying, and tell us what is the matter."

Grandpa Grumbles asked, "Did you hurt your ugly little nose?"

Then Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled louder than ever.

Bunny asked, "Did you get stuck fast in another snowdrift?"

Snubby Nose cried so loudly that they did not hear the "patter, patter, patter" of little feet. They did not know that Tippy Toes was coming down the staircase. Tippy Toes came dancing into the room, singing at the top of his lungs,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows." The mirror answers, "Snubby Nose?"

Then for one single minute Snubby Nose was still. He looked at Tippy Toes. He looked him up and down.

Tippy Toes kissed him on both cheeks and nearly hugged the life out of him.

Bunny and Susan and Grandpa Grumbles said, "They are as much alike as two peas. They both have ugly noses!"

When Snubby Nose heard them speak of noses he cried and he screamed and he howled!

Tippy Toes said, "Don't care about your nose. People know you wherever you go."

Snubby Nose pricked up his ears and asked, "Don't you mind about your ugly nose at all."

Tippy Toes danced this way and he danced that way and answered,

"I don't mind noses, for you see, I am polite as I can be."

Then Snubby Nose stopped crying and hugged Tippy Toes and said, "I am so glad to find you, Tippy Toes. How do you make up those funny little rhymes. They tickle my eardrums."

All this time Grandpa Grumbles was thumping on the floor with his umbrella. He made such a noise that Bunny said, "Hush, listen, Grandpa Grumbles has something to say."

Susan said, "Hush, be still, Grandpa Grumbles wants to speak."

At last Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes stopped talking and dancing, and they all listened to Grandpa Grumbles. He said,

"I want you both to come and stay, With Grandpa Grumbles a year and a day."

Tippy Toes answered, "Thank you, Grandpa Grumbles, I will come and visit you for a year and a day," but Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled.

I don't know what would have happened next, but Grandpa Grumbles went outside, and opened wide his green cotton umbrella, and invited Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes to step inside.

They did so, and in less time than it takes to tell it they were sailing away with Grandpa Grumbles in his green cotton umbrella!

Bunny and Susan said, "How will he ever get along with Snubby Nose for a year and a day? We wish Tippy Toes was back. He was such a good little fellow."

Susan picked up the pink wrapper and Bunny picked up the pink cup and saucer. Bunny Cotton-Tail said, "We will have a long quiet evening alone."

"Don't be too sure of that," sang the wind as it whistled down the chimney.

Susan said, "I will put on my new spectacles and we will read by the new lamp."

Then the most surprising thing happened!

The Seventeen Little Bears came tumbling in the doors and windows! They came in laughing and shouting,

"The Circus Cotton-Tails you see Are just as funny as can be."

They got out their seventeen little stools and sat by the fire.

Bunny and Susan said, "What do you know about the Circus Cotton-Tails?"

The Seventeen Little Bears said,

"You only see them now at Fairs, But we've become the Circus Bears."

"Have you got a Circus tent? Have you got a merry-go-round?" asked Bunny and Susan. "Do tell us how long you have been Circus Bears."

The Seventeen Little Bears got on top of their seventeen little stools and shouted, "We have just become Circus Bears today, that is the reason we came tumbling in the door and windows."



Chapter VI


The Seventeen Little Bears woke up early next morning. They all whispered together so they would not wake Bunny and Susan.

The Seventeen Little Bears tiptoed very softly out of bed, and "pitter-patter, pitter-patter" went their little feet down the stairs.

"We can stew, we can bake, If we make no mistake."

They made the fire and began to stew and bake. They made coffee and fried sausages and cakes. By and by Bunny and Susan woke up.

"My fur and whiskers, I smell something cooking," said Bunny.

Susan said, "Bless my buttons, I smell something cooking, too."

The Seventeen Little Bears said, "Ha, ha, ha! Bunny is talking about his fur and whiskers. Ha, ha, ha! Susan is talking about her buttons. We will give old Bunny and Susan something new to talk about!"

The Seventeen Little Bears shouted at the top of their lungs,

"We are Circus Bears, as all can see, The merry-go-round waits you and me."

Susan called, "Hurry, hurry, hurry! Bunny do get dressed! Let us see what the Seventeen Little Bears mean. How I do love to ride in a merry-go-round!"

When Bunny and Susan got downstairs they were surprised to see a fine breakfast ready for them all on the table. They all sat down and had a very merry time.

After breakfast the Seventeen Little Bears began to practice their tricks. They slid on the banister and came downstairs head first.

Soon they were all crying, "Oh," and "Ah, how I hurt my head;" and "Oh," and "Ah, how I hurt my toes!"

Bunny cried, "Bring the camphor! Bring the smelling salts, while they are practicing their tricks!"

Susan Cotton-Tail sat down in the corner. She wiped her eyes.

Bunny said, "Have you lost your spectacles?"

Susan Cotton-Tail said, "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!"

The Seventeen Little Bears all came crowding around Susan to see what was the matter.

Susan still rocked to and fro and said, "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!"

Bunny said, "Will you never tell us what is the matter?" Susan said finally,

"I have some pride, but thought to ride, In the merry-go-round, above the ground."

Then the Seventeen Little Bears all turned somersaults at once, and Susan cried, "Stop them, stop them, or they will break their little bones."

Then the most surprising thing happened!

The Seventeen Little Bears made a low bow and said,

"In the merry-go-round we'll go, Laughing gayly, ha, ha, ho, ho!"

They ran out the back door and Bunny and Susan went after them. There stood a neat little merry-go-round, as fine as you please.

"Where?" and "How?" and "Why?" and "Please tell us about it," said Bunny and Susan.

The Seventeen Little Bears replied,

"Get inside, and have a ride, Bunny and Susan, side by side."

They all jumped into the merry-go-round and rode in seats side by side. Round and round and round they went.

Bunny waved his hat and Susan waved her red sunbonnet! The Seventeen Little Bears shouted, "Hurrah, hurrah!"

They went faster and faster. Bunny said, "I am afraid the wind will blow off my fur and whiskers."

Susan said, "The wind will blow off my spectacles."

Faster, faster, faster they went! Would they never stop?

The Seventeen Little Bears said,

"This is a very funny business, It gives us all a little dizziness."

Faster, faster, faster they went! It began to rain. First the rain fell with a few drops, then it came down in sheets. My! how wet they were!

Faster, faster, faster went the merry-go-round.

Suddenly Bushy-Tail ran and jumped right into the merry-go-round and said, "What will you give me if I stop the merry-go-round?"

Bunny said, "I will give you a warm seat by the fire, sir."

Susan said, "I will give you a basket of cookies."

The Seventeen Little Bears said, "We will give you seventeen pieces of peppermint candy."

"Help, help, help!" they all cried, "Do stop the merry-go-round!"

Bushy-Tail looked as saucy as you please.

"I can ride faster than this," he said, "I was brought up in a merry-go-round. I want Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes to come and pay me a visit."

Bushy-Tail said no more, and Bunny saw there was no use to mince matters, and the rain was coming down harder and harder.

Bunny said, "If Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes want to pay you a visit I have no objection."

Then the merry-go-round went slower and slower, and slower, and finally stopped.

Bushy-Tail said, "Go get Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes for me or I will eat you all up!"

They all went into the house. They pretended to look for Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes, though they knew they had gone away. They looked in every nook and corner, but knew well enough that Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes had gone sailing away with Grandpa Grumbles.

Bushy-Tail was angry. He went down the road calling, "Woo, woo, woo!" He would not even stop for his basket of cookies.

Bushy-Tail called back,

"Where they have gone to nobody knows, I'll find Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes."

Bunny and Susan said, "We are glad to get out of the merry-go-round, but we must send word to Grandpa Grumbles not to let Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes out. Who will carry the message?"

The First Little Bear said, "It is so far to go."

The Second Little Bear said, "I am all out of breath."

The Third Little Bear said, "Oh wait 'till to-morrow."

Now, will you believe it? The Seventeen Little Bears sat on their seventeen little stools as though, nothing had happened!

Bunny and Susan got ready to go out in the rain. They took their raincoats and caps and umbrellas. They went to Grandpa Grumbles' house.

The Seventeen Little Bears said in a sing-song way,

"We really are not quite polite, We're selfish as can be, We sit on stools around the fire, Just singing merrily!"



Chapter VII


When Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes rode home with Grandpa Grumbles in his green cotton umbrella they sang a merry song,

"Oh, ho! It is fun to go riding along, Singing and whistling a right merry song."

The umbrella came to the chimney of Grandpa Grumbles' house. It began to close up a little.

"Help, help!" cried Snubby Nose, "we shall be squeezed to death!"

Tippy Toes sat very still. He made himself as small as possible.

Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Down my chimney every one goes, How we shall travel the umbrella knows!"

Then whisk! Before they could wink an eyelash they were safely down the chimney.

Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled!

Tippy Toes danced this way, and he danced that way, and said, "Oh, Grandpa Grumbles, how I enjoyed the ride!"

Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Off to bed when the merry winds blow, So back up the chimney old Grandpa can go."

Snubby Nose said, "You are not going to leave us alone in this house are you?" Then he cried and he screamed and he howled!

Tippy Toes danced this way, and danced that way, and before they could say another word, whisk! up the chimney old Grandpa Grumbles was off and away. He went off to ride in his green cotton umbrella.

Tippy Toes kissed Snubby Nose and led him before the mirror, singing,

"Who will visit us to-day?"

The mirror answered,

"Bushy-Tail is on his way."

Snubby Nose said, "What fun it is to have the mirror talk. Come, let us bolt the doors and windows. We will not let Bushy-Tail in."

They danced again before the mirror and sang,

"We're locked in safely, that we know,"

The mirror said,

"Down the chimney he can go."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes said, "Oh" and "Ah," and "Oh" and "Ah." "We never thought of the chimney! What shall we do with the chimney?"

They built a roaring fire, and none too soon, for they could hear the "patter, patter, patter" of feet upon the roof.

Bushy-Tail climbed down from the roof. He looked in at the window and said, "Please let me in, please let me in."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes sat as still as they could in their little chairs by the fire and never winked an eyelash.

Bushy-Tail said, "Let me in or I will come down the chimney, fire or no fire."

Then Snubby Nose coughed and Tippy Toes sneezed.

Bushy-Tail climbed the roof once more. Out came the smoke in great puffs. He gave it up and then went away down the path growling every step of the way.

All this time Bunny and Susan were coming nearer every minute. They said, "What if we should meet Bushy-Tail?"

In less time than it takes to tell it, Bushy-Tail came down the bend of the road scolding and waving his beautiful tail to and fro.

He howled, "Bring out Snubby Nose, bring out Tippy Toes or I will eat you up."

I do not know what in the world would have happened if Grandpa Grumbles had not come sailing along just then. He came sailing down in his green cotton umbrella and said, looking hard at Bushy-Tail,

"Jump inside and have a ride, There's room for you and me beside."

Bushy-Tail jumped into the umbrella. He was pleased you may be sure. They rode away, and away, and away, over houses, over tree-tops, and over a big blue lake. Then they began to sail slowly down, down, down.

Bushy-Tail said, "Oh, Grandpa Grumbles, don't land us in the lake! Oh, Grandpa Grumbles, look out what you are doing!"

Grandpa Grumbles then said loudly,

"Speak into my better ear, I am so deaf I cannot hear."

Bushy-Tail cried out as loud as he could, "Oh, Grandpa Grumbles, we are going down into the lake! Look out, look out! We shall be drowned!"

Grandpa Grumbles shouted,

"Speak a little louder, please, Shall we sail above the trees?"

Bushy-Tail got so excited he did not know what he was doing. He got right out of the umbrella and went splash, dash, into the lake.

Grandpa Grumbles, as he sailed homeward, said,

"Sink or swim, just as you please, For I have no desire to tease."

He left poor Bushy-Tail to swim to shore.

When Grandpa Grumbles got home he saw smoke coming out of his chimney. He grumbled,

"It seems to me quite like a bore, To have to enter by the door."

He was so used to sailing down the chimney!

The door opened for him and there stood Bunny and Susan. Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced up to him and told him how Bushy-Tail had tried to get in.

Grandpa Grumbles shook his green umbrella fiercely and said,

"He will not come this way again, Either in sunshine or in rain."

Then Bunny and Susan and Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes begged Grandpa Grumbles to tell what had become of Bushy-Tail, but Grandpa Grumbles would only say,

"I am so deaf 'tis hard to hear, Come, speak a little louder, dear."

Then Bunny spoke into his right ear, and Susan spoke into his left ear, and asked him to tell where he had left Bushy-Tail.

Grandpa Grumbles shook his head and said,

"Bunny and Susan, what do you say? I am so old and deaf to-day."

Then Snubby Nose cried into his right ear, and Tippy Toes cried into his left ear, but Grandpa Grumbles only said,

"I can't hear, my deafness grows; Ask the umbrella, for it knows."

Then the Cotton-Tails asked the umbrella what had become of Bushy-Tail and the umbrella said,

"Bushy-Tail went swimming away, But he'll come back in a year and a day."

"Oh" and "Ah" and "Oh" and "Ah," cried all the little Cotton-Tails, "Bushy-Tail is swimming away is he?"

They all went merrily to bed.



Chapter VIII


The next morning Grandpa Grumbles called out,

"The Cotton-Tails are all in bed, Every one is a sleepy-head."

"My fur and whiskers, we have overslept," said Bunny Cotton-Tail. "It is nine o'clock by my little silver watch."

"Bless my buttons," cried Susan, "I meant to get up and get breakfast."

Tippy Toes was the first down stairs after Grandpa Grumbles. He danced this way and he danced that way, and set the table for breakfast.

Grandpa Grumbles had a fine breakfast ready. They all sat down except Snubby Nose. Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Where is Snubby Nose? 'tis plain, He must have gone to sleep again."

Now, what do you suppose happened next? Grandpa Grumbles went upstairs and took Snubby Nose by the feet and dragged him out of bed. He made him dress in a hurry and come down to breakfast! All the time Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled!

Bunny and Susan and Grandpa Grumbles soon finished their breakfast. They went for a walk but Tippy Toes sat at the table and said, "Oh, Snubby Nose, why do you cry so much? I have just as ugly a nose as you have."

Then Snubby Nose stopped crying. He stared at Tippy Toes. Sure enough, Tippy Toes had a very ugly nose.

Snubby Nose shouted, "Pass me the cream! Pass me the butter! Pass me the bread! Can't you see I am starving?"

The mirror spoke up suddenly,

"Snubby Nose it's no use to tease, You might say, 'Thank you,' and 'if you please.'"

Tippy Toes slipped down from his chair and ran out after Bunny and Susan.

Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled! He reached for the sugar bowl and it sailed away in the air! He reached for the bread and butter but they went farther out of his reach. He was very hungry and he cried and he screamed and he howled, but there was no one to answer him. By and by he danced before the mirror and said,

"Mirror, mirror, I'll be good, And speak politely as I should."

The mirror said,

"If you say, 'Thank you' I suppose, You'll be loved like Tippy Toes."

Then the most surprising thing happened!

Snubby Nose said, "Thank you for a bowl of milk." The milk stood at his plate. Then he said, "Thank you for cookies and sugar and pie." The cookies and sugar and pie stood by his plate. He had never had so much fun before in all his life. He kept on ordering things and they came before him.

By and by Snubby Nose cleared off the table and washed the dishes, saying over and over,

"I must forget to try to tease, I will say, 'Thank you' and 'If you Please.'"

At this very minute in came the Seventeen Little Bears. They cried,

"Hurrah, hurrah, old Snubby Nose! What has happened, do you suppose?"

Snubby Nose made a low bow and said, "If you please I should like to know what has happened."

The Seventeen Little Bears stared at Snubby Nose. They had never seen him so polite before.

They said, "We met Bunny and Susan and Grandpa Grumbles and they said we could go up in the garret and get skates and go skating."

No sooner said than done. Up to the garret danced the Seventeen Little Bears. They found seventeen pairs of skates and danced out again.

Snubby Nose was left alone in the house. He forgot to be polite. He cried and he screamed and he howled!

The mirror said,

"If you're polite, as you should be, Perhaps a pair of skates you'll see."

Snubby Nose looked about the house. He looked high and low, but he could not find any skates. He rubbed his eyes and he rubbed his little red nose. He put on his cap and mittens and went to the pond. Tippy Toes came to meet him. He had two pairs of skates and cried,

"Where were you so long, goodness knows, Here are your skates. Come Snubby Nose."

He kissed Snubby Nose on both cheeks.

The Seventeen Little Bears sat on the bank trying to fasten their skates. Their little paws got colder and colder every minute. Snubby Nose helped them fasten their skates and Tippy Toes helped them too. Then they put on their own skates and went skating away, and away, and away.

By and by Bunny and Susan said,

"'Tis rather sad now to relate, We are too old and stiff to skate.'"

Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Chilly business this sport I think, Let's go roller-skating in a rink."

Bunny and Susan said they must really go home and Grandpa Grumbles said he, too, would go to his own home.

He shouted to the Seventeen Little Bears,

"Don't skate where the ice is thin, You'll make a hole and tumble in."

The Seventeen Little Bears skated on and on, the wind whistling in their ears.

Snubby Nose said to Tippy Toes, "What if the Seventeen Little Bears should fall into the water, what would we do?"

Tippy Toes said, "The wind blows so hard they cannot hear. I hope they know where the ice is thin."

The Seventeen Little Bears formed a circle and skated round. Suddenly the ice gave way. Splash, dash, they all fell into the water!

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced this way, and they danced that way, and shouted, "Help, help, help! The Seventeen Little Bears have fallen into the water!"

Doctor Cotton-Tail was riding by in his sleigh. He said, "Come, we will pull them out of the water." So they all helped pull the Seventeen Little Bears out of the water.

Doctor Cotton-Tail said, "I will tuck them in my sleigh and take them to Bunny and Susan. They will tuck them up warm in bed."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes hung on to the back of the sleigh and they went whizzing merrily homeward, the wind whistling in their ears. The Seventeen Little Bears sneezed all the way.

Did Bunny and Susan tuck them up warm in bed? Well, I guess they did, and Doctor Cotton-Tail gave them hoarhound candy.

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes smacked their lips and said, "If we had fallen in the water we could have had candy too."

Doctor Cotton-Tail said, "You cunning little things, you look as much alike as two peas. You shall each have a stick of lemon candy."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced this way, and danced that way, and said,

"Lemon candy is good to eat, We always think it quite a treat."

Susan said, "Hush; be still. Don't wake the Seventeen Little Bears; they are all asleep."



Chapter IX


The Seventeen Little Bears took cold when they fell through the ice into the water, so they had to stay in bed all day. They cried, "Tell us a story, please tell us a story."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced this way, and that way, before the mirror and cried out together,

"Who is so ugly? Nobody knows."

The mirror answered,

"Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes."

The Seventeen Little Bears clapped their little paws and cried, "Tell it again, tell it again!"

Then Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced this way, and that way, before the mirror and asked,

"Who took cold when they fell through the ice?"

The mirror would not answer this time.

The Seventeen Little Bears wept and wailed. Bunny and Susan came upstairs to see what was the matter.

Bunny said, "Never mind, I will tell you a story about my reading by candle-light."

Then the Seventeen Little Bears cried, "Oh, Bunny, tell us a new story, please."

Now, Bunny could not think of a new story to tell to save his life, so Susan said, "I will tell you about the Circus cookies that came alive."

Then, the Seventeen Little Bears shouted, "We know that story by heart, we know every word of it."

They took out their seventeen little red pocket handkerchiefs and cried and cried.

All this time Grandpa Grumbles was sitting in an easy chair by the fire. He grumbled,

"'Tis silly to make such a dreadful noise, You are worse than seventeen girls and boys."

Then he took his green cotton umbrella and went upstairs.

As soon as the Seventeen Little Bears caught sight of Grandpa Grumbles they set up a shout, "A story, a story, do tell us a story."

Grandpa Grumbles shook his green cotton umbrella fiercely and shouted,

"Every one must keep as still as a mouse, So you can hear a pin drop in the house."

Then, will you believe it? The Seventeen Little Bears were so still you could hear a pin drop.

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes were so still they did not wink an eyelash. They sat on two little stools in the corner.

Grandpa Grumbles said, "You can guess all day and you can guess all night, but you cannot one of you guess what kind of a shop I am going to open."

Then the Seventeen Little Bears begged for Bunny Cotton-Tail's thinking-cap. They put it on in turn and guessed and guessed what kind of a shop Grandpa Grumbles would open.

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes said, "Will it be a candy-shop?"

Grandpa Grumbles shook his green cotton umbrella fiercely and grumbled, "I told you, you could not guess. I am going to open a Toy Shop!"

"A Toy Shop!" shouted the Seventeen Little Bears at the top of their lungs. "A Toy Shop!"

"Who is telling this story?" asked Grandpa Grumbles. He began to tell the story in real earnest. He said, "I am going to open a Toy Shop in the woods."

"Not a real Toy Shop," said Snubby Nose. "You don't mean a real Toy Shop," said Tippy Toes.

Grandpa Grumbles shook his green cotton umbrella and grumbled, "Now, I shall have to start all over again."

So he began once more, "I am going to open a Toy Shop in the woods."

"Will you make a rocking-horse?" asked the First Little Bear.

"Will you make drums?" asked the Second Little Bear.

"Will you make horns? Toot, toot, toot!" said the Third Little Bear.

Now, will you believe it? All the Seventeen Little Bears put their paws to their mouths as though they had horns and cried, "Toot, toot, toot!"

Grandpa Grumbles shook his umbrella fiercely and shouted,

"I will not tell the story to-day, I will take my umbrella and go away."

Then the most surprising thing happened!

Grandpa Grumbles held fast to the handle of the umbrella and sailed out through the open window!

"Oh," and "Ah," said Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes, "that was rather sudden!"

"Oh," and "Ah," said the Seventeen Little Bears, "how fast he went!"

Then they were as merry as you please. Whenever any one would cough or sneeze the other ones would say, "Let us talk about Grandpa Grumbles' Toy Shop! Can you hear him hammer away? Can you hear him saw?"

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes put on their hats and coats and danced this way, and that way, and said, "We will go and, visit Grandpa Grumbles' Toy Shop."

At this very minute, to the surprise of all, Grandpa Grumbles came sailing in through the window. He said,

"If I were little and young and gay, I'd sail away for a year and a day."

The Seventeen Little Bears shouted, "Please tell us about the Toy Shop!"

Grandpa Grumbles shook his umbrella. Out fell a little rocking horse. He shook it again. Out fell a horn. He shook it again. Out fell a drum.

The Seventeen Little Bears shouted, "Hurrah, hurrah! It is really true, Grandpa Grumbles, you are going to open a Toy Shop."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes and the Seventeen Little Bears did not know whether Grandpa Grumbles was teasing or not. They did not know if he meant to open a real Toy Shop.

The Seventeen Little Bears said, "Will you tell us the whole story to-morrow?"



Chapter X


The Seventeen Little Bears still had to stay in bed next day. Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced about the room and cried, "Grandpa Grumbles, do tell us the story of the Toy Shop!"

Grandpa Grumbles came upstairs leaning on his green cotton umbrella. He coughed six times and then he sat down in the rocking-chair by the Window. He said, "The story of the Toy Shop begins with a question."

The Seventeen Little Bears clapped their paws and shouted, "Hear, hear, the story is going to begin!"

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced this way, and danced that way, and cried, "Hear, hear, the story is going to begin!"

Then the most surprising thing happened!

Grandpa Grumbles pointed his green cotton umbrella at Snubby Nose and asked, "Which of your toys did you break first at Christmas?"

Snubby Nose could not remember, so he cried and he screamed and he howled!

Grandpa Grumbles said, "I cannot begin this story until I have nineteen questions answered."

Tippy Toes said, "Grandpa Grumbles, I can tell you which toy I broke first, I broke my little rocking-horse."

Then Snubby Nose shouted, "I broke my rocking-horse too."

Grandpa Grumbles pointed to the First Little Bear and said, "Which toy did you break first?"

The First Little Bear said, "I broke my little red drum."

Then the Seventeen Little Bears all held up their paws and said, "Let me tell, let me tell next which toy I broke at Christmas!"

Now, will you believe it? They all made such a noise that Grandpa Grumbles could not sit still another minute. He went downstairs shaking his green cotton umbrella, fiercely, and grumbling to himself as he went.

The Seventeen Little Bears cried, "Oh, come back and tell the story! We will be good."

Then Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced downstairs and said. "We will, be good, indeed we will be good."

Grandpa Grumbles still looked very cross. He grumbled,

"Speak into my other ear, 'Tis very hard indeed to hear."

Then Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes shouted into his other ear, "Please come back upstairs and tell us about the Toy Shop. We will be good, indeed we will."

Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Speak a little louder, please, If you do not want to tease."

Bunny and Susan saw that something must be done to make Grandpa Grumbles happy again, so Susan made a bowl of fine soup for him, and Grandpa Grumbles drew up to the table. He said,

"In cooking you can never fail, Thank you, dear Susan Cotton-Tail."

Then Bunny went upstairs and said to the Seventeen Little Bears, "You may get up and put on your little red wrappers and sit by the fire downstairs."

So the Seventeen Little Bears got up and put on their little red wrappers and crept downstairs. They crept down so softly that Grandpa Grumbles never heard a sound.

By and by when Grandpa Grumbles went back into the sitting-room there sat the Seventeen Little Bears on their seventeen little stools by the fire. Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes sat on the arm of Grandpa Grumbles' chair. He was surprised you may be sure.

He began to tell his story quite as if nothing had happened. He said, "Last Christmas I went about and picked up all the broken toys I could find and I said I would open a Toy Shop and mend them so you could not tell them from new toys!"

"Hear, hear!" cried the Seventeen Little Bears softly.

"Hush, hush!" said Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes, "Grandpa Grumbles is talking."

Grandpa Grumbles went on, "On long winter evenings I sat and mended and glued and pasted the toys and soon they looked as good as new."

"Rap-a-tap," sounded on the door, "Rap-a-tap."

Bunny took the candle and went to the door. There stood Doctor Cotton-Tail.

He said, "Good evening, how are the Seventeen Little Bears? I heard they fell in the water!"

The Seventeen Little Bears stuffed their little paws into their mouths to keep from laughing, for they felt as well as ever, sitting before the fire in their little red wrappers.

Doctor Cotton-Tail took a seat by the fire and began to warm his paws, first one paw and then the other.

"Chilly spring weather, but most time to make garden," he said.

"Chilly weather," said Bunny Cotton-Tail.

"Chilly weather," said Susan.

Then the most surprising thing happened!

Grandpa Grumbles shook his green cotton umbrella and out came flower seeds falling everywhere. The Seventeen Little Bears scrambled to pick them up.

"Who will make your garden?" asked Doctor Cotton-Tail, looking at Bunny and Susan.

Bunny and Susan said, "We do not know, we are too old and stiff to make a garden."

"You will miss the turnips and cabbages," said Doctor Cotton-Tail. Then he added,

"I came in a wagon, and as the Seventeen Little Bears are quite well, I can take them home."

Then the Seventeen Little Bears began to weep loud and long. They wept into their seventeen little pocket handkerchiefs.

Bunny and Susan said, "Never mind, dears, you can come to visit us again."

Soon the Seventeen Little Bears were tucked safely into the wagon and Doctor Cotton-Tail took them home.

"Bless my buttons," said Susan, "you did not finish your story Grandpa Grumbles."

"My fur and whiskers," said Bunny, "I should like to visit your Toy Shop!"

Grandpa Grumbles said,

"At night I always shake my head, 'Tis time for all to go to bed."

The Cotton-Tail family knew that it was no use to tease, so they went merrily to bed.

Snubby Nose set his little alarm clock. He set it at four o'clock in the morning. He said, kissing Tippy Toes good night, "We must get up early in the morning and make a garden for Bunny and Susan."



Chapter XI


"Tinkle, tinkle" went the alarm clock next morning. Snubby Nose put his paw on it so it would not ring too loudly. He whispered to Tippy Toes, "Get up, it is time to make the garden."

They took the seeds Grandpa Grumbles had thrown from his umbrella. They planted the seeds in even rows. They worked so fast, they had the garden planted and were back in bed by eight o'clock.

Grandpa Grumbles woke up next. He went downstairs and out of doors. He saw a little garden all planted in even rows. He shook his green cotton umbrella and said,

"Radishes it is time to grow, For spring has come again you know."

Then the most surprising thing happened!

The radishes began to peep up and show their little green heads.

Grandpa Grumbles shook his green cotton umbrella again and said,

"Young cabbage heads, all in a row, Wake up, wake up, it's time to grow."

The cabbages came up as big and round as you please. Then Grandpa Grumbles shook his green cotton umbrella again and said,

"Turnips come, wake up, 'tis clear Merry, merry spring is here."

The turnips came up nodding in the sunshine, and Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Open green umbrella and sail away, They were magic seeds, good day, good day."

He opened the green cotton umbrella and sailed away, and away, and away.

Bunny Cotton-Tail woke up and looked out of the window. "My fur and whiskers, look at the garden," he shouted.

Susan woke and looked out the window and said, "Bless my buttons there is a real little garden."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes woke up again and said, "Hurrah, hurrah, how fast the seeds grow! We must ask Grandpa Grumbles if they were magic seeds that he gave us."

But Grandpa Grumbles had sailed away, and away, and away!

At that very minute the Postman brought two letters. The letters were for Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes. They were from their Mothers asking them to come home.

When Snubby Nose read his letter he cried and he screamed and he howled!

When Tippy Toes read his letter he said, "Never mind, Snubby Nose, we can go together to the bend of the road."

Before they had breakfast, Susan got out her rolling-pin and flour and sugar and said, "I will make you some cookies to take with you."

Bunny said, "My fur and whiskers, I have two neat little baskets. I will pack them with your lunch."

So Susan made cookies and Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes packed their little traveling bags and Bunny packed their lunches in the little baskets.

Bunny said, "I will take you in my wheelbarrow to the bend in the road, then Snubby Nose goes east and Tippy Toes goes west."

Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled! He did not want to go home. Tippy Toes did not want to go home either, but he said, "Thank you Bunny for the ride."

Soon Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes were ready to go. They stood before the mirror and danced this way and that way and sang,

"Tell us, good mirror, whom shall we meet?"

The mirror answered,

"Circus Cotton-Tails in the street."

Then Snubby Nose held his breath and Tippy Toes held his breath.

Snubby Nose said, "I was one of the Circus Cotton-Tails once myself."

They went downstairs and kissed Susan good-bye.

Then they jumped into the wheelbarrow and Bunny wheeled them to the turn in the road. He kissed them good-bye and Snubby Nose cried and he screamed and he howled! Tippy Toes said, "Never mind, we shall meet again some day and my nose is as ugly as yours is!"

Snubby Nose said, "I beg you not to talk about noses," and he cried and he screamed and he howled, louder than ever.

Tippy Toes saw something must be done, so he said, "Oh, never mind, I will go home with you. It will be a long walk around then to my house."

They both went east.

Snubby Nose said, "Listen, what is that? It sounds like a band!"

Tippy Toes said, "What is that? It sounds like the roar of a Lion."

They did not know whether to go east any longer or not. They hid behind some bushes by the roadside, and all the while the sound of the band came nearer and nearer. All the while the lion roared louder and louder. They peeped through the branches. Soon the Circus Cotton-Tails came in view.

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced out of their hiding places and cried, "Hurrah for the Circus Cotton-Tails! They have formed a real little Circus!"

There was the band wagon. There were the elephants and camels. There were the animals in cages.

The Circus Cotton-Tails cried, "Hurrah, hurrah! Here are Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes. Come and join the Big Parade."

Bunny Bright Eyes said, "Can you walk a tight rope?"

Tippy Toes said he did not know, but Snubby Nose said he had walked a tight rope off and on all his life!

Tippy Toes drew a little mirror out of his pocket and said,

"Who will walk the tight rope? Whom do you suppose?"

The mirror answered,

"Two cunning little Bunnies, Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes!"



Chapter XII


Bunny and Susan sat quietly by the cheerful fire warming their paws.

Bunny said, "My fur and whiskers, I hope Snubby Nose got home safely."

Susan said, "Bless my buttons, I was thinking of Tippy Toes this very minute. Those two cunning little Bunnies are as much alike as two peas! We could not tell them apart if Snubby Nose did not cry so much."

Bunny said, "I suppose we shall have no visitors for some time now."

"Don't be too sure of that," said a gruff old voice, "Here I am standing now." There stood Grandpa Grumbles in the doorway. He had never looked so happy in all his life. He struck the floor fiercely with his green cotton umbrella and said,

"The Circus Cotton-Tails will come, A-rat-a-tat, just hear the drum."

Bunny and Susan listened. Sure enough, they heard the "rat-a-tat," of a drum. Soon they heard the Lion roar in his cage. They all went out as fast as they could.

There came the Circus Cotton-Tails on parade!

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes danced in front beating a drum.

Bunny and Susan and Grandpa Grumbles cried, "Hurrah, hurrah, for the Big Parade!"

Grandpa Grumbles waved his green cotton umbrella and shouted, "Have you a merry-go-round?"

The Circus Cotton-Tails stood still. They cried "Hurrah, Bunny! Hurrah, Susan! Of course we have a merry-go-round."

Then the real little Circus Parade stopped. The Circus Cotton-Tails cried, "Hurry, hurry! Help us unpack."

They went to one of the wagons and began to unpack the merry-go-round. Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes helped and Bunny and Susan helped too. Grandpa Grumbles cried,

"One for the money, ten for the show, Put up the tent, and away we go."

He forgot to grumble. He had never been so happy before in all big life.

It took the Circus Cotton-Tails and Bunny and Susan just exactly one hour and sixteen minutes to put up the merry-go-round, and Grandpa Grumbles bossed the job.

"Will it go?" asked Bunny and Susan under their breath.

Grandpa Grumbles was the first to get in. He cried,

"I'm the first to get inside, Come one and all and have a ride."

Susan said, "Oh, dear! I have lost my spectacles."

It took the Circus Cotton-Tails one hour and sixteen minutes to find Susan's spectacles. There they were safe and sound upon her forehead all the time! Then Bunny went in-doors and burned his paw again by candle-light and it took one hour and sixteen minutes to get his paw well.

Grandpa Grumbles did not grumble a bit. He only sat patiently in the merry-go-round and said to Susan,

"Now, the spectacles are found, All jump in the merry-go-round."

Then he called good-naturedly to Bunny,

"If you'll use a lamp dear Bunny, It will save you time and money."

Bunny and Susan got into the merry-go-round, and the Circus Cotton-Tails got in too.

They were all ready for a ride when Grandpa Grumbles said,

"Some are absent, whom do you suppose?"

The Circus Cotton-Tails shouted in one breath,

"Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes!"

Snubby Nose was so little he could not climb up into the merry-go-round without help. He cried and he screamed and he howled! Tippy Toes was so little he could not climb in either but he waited patiently below.

Grandpa Grumbles saw what was the matter. He lowered his green cotton umbrella and helped Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes up into the merry-go-round. Now they were ready to start. They all cried,

"Give three cheers, away we go, The Circus Cotton-Tails, ho, ho!"

The merry-go-round would not start. They all got out to see what was the matter.

Then the most surprising thing happened!

Doctor Cotton-Tail jumped out from under the merry-go-round and said,

"A-riding, too, I'd like to go, Though I may take a nap or so."

Grandpa Grumbles said cheerfully,

"You'll take no nap when with us you go, We may ride too fast, but never slow!"

Doctor Cotton-Tail took a seat in the merry-go-round.

The music began to play and they went round, and round, and round, faster and faster. Bunny began to talk about his fur and whiskers. Susan began to talk about her buttons. Grandpa Grumbles shouted,

"I'm just as happy as I can be, The Circus life is the life for me."

Snubby Nose and Tippy Toes jumped down from the merry-go-round and danced this way and danced that way, and for all I know they are dancing yet!





More Cotton Tail Stories



Chapter I


Bunny Cotton-Tail and Susan were sitting by the fire, warming their paws.

"The evenings are growing cold," said Bunny Cotton-Tail. "It feels like snow to-night."

"Oh, joy!" cried Bunny Boy, "how I do love snow!" Then he began to jump around the room so fast that Susan was afraid he would upset the table.

"I am going to play that the sofa is a hill, and slide down!" he cried.

Then Susan said if Bunny Boy did not sit down in his little red rocking chair and be good, she would put him in a bag!

So Bunny Boy sat down, but he began to cry. There is no telling what would have happened just then if a soft "tap, tap," had not been heard on the window.

Susan looked out. There stood Bushy Tail with his traveling bag in his hand!

Susan was a little afraid to let him in, but there was nothing else to do, so she opened the door, and whisk! bound! Bushy Tail was in, hugging Bunny Cotton-Tail!

"Who is the youngster!" asked Bushy Tail, pointing to Bunny Boy.

Then Bunny Boy made himself as small as possible. He did not care for Bushy Tail.

Bushy Tail said he must tell about his trip. Besides, he had something for Bunny and Susan in his bag.

It had begun to snow, and Bushy Tail was very wet. He stood by the fire and warmed his paws. Susan whispered to Bunny that she had never seen so handsome a fox in her life.

All the time Bushy Tail had a cunning look in his eyes. After his fur was dry, and he had had a bowl of soup, he opened his bag, and my! what fine things he took out!

There was dried fruit for Susan. There was fresh cabbage for Bunny. And there were oranges, and peaches, and pears! They had a fine feast, but the greatest fun of all was just before they went to bed, when Bushy Tail took from his bag a little telephone. He hung it on the wall and fooled the rabbits with it for nearly an hour.

It had a little bell and a receiver, and one could call "hello" into it.

Perhaps Bunny and Susan would never have known the joke about the telephone if it had not been for Bunny Boy. Bunny Boy crept out from under the sofa, where he had been hiding, and climbed up in a chair and pulled the receiver hard. Then, bang! the top of the telephone came off, and showed that it was only a candy box!

Bushy Tail did not like this, but Bunny Cotton-Tail said he would rather have it a candy-box, after all, as he was a little afraid of telephones!

Then they shook one another's paws, and went to bed.

Bushy Tail slept on a sofa in the parlor. About eleven o'clock he got up and began, to stir around. There was the same cunning look in his eyes.

First he went and looked at Susan Cotton-Tail, and thought, "I have half a mind to eat you up." Then he went and looked at Bunny Cotton-Tail and thought, "I have half a mind to eat you up." Then he saw Bunny Boy out in the kitchen, wide awake, eating mince pie! Bushy said, "I have you, and I will eat you up!"

But Bunny Boy was too quick for him. He ran down the stairs, into the cellar, and had hopped through the cellar window in less than no time.

Then Bushy Tail took a mince pie and put it in his right-hand coat pocket. He took a currant pie and put it in his left-hand coat pocket. He hid an apple pie in his hat, and he went slyly out of the door with a piece of blueberry pie in his mouth!

Next morning, when Bunny and Susan awoke, they saw that their pies were gone, and they saw that Bushy Tail and Bunny Boy were gone too!

Susan Cotton-Tail cried, and Bunny Cotton-Tail whistled.



Chapter II


Why do you suppose Susan Cotton-Tail had made so many pies? There was going to be a fair, and Susan had been asked to make pies for it. All the animals were going to the fair.

"We cannot go when we have no pies to sell," said Susan.

"All the animals will come to find out why we are not there," said Bunny.

Now Bunny Cotton-Tail was a very clever rabbit, even though he was getting old. He put on his overcoat and took a card and a hammer, and went out.

He was out a long time, tacking something up on the front door.

When he had finished, he asked Susan to come out and get a breath of air.

They walked up and down in front of the house. Then Susan began to laugh, and then she began to sneeze, and then she laughed and sneezed together, and what do you suppose was the matter?

Bunny Cotton-Tail had put up this sign on the house,

Scarlet Fever Here

"Well," said Bunny, "if you don't want to go anywhere or have any one come to see you, just put up a sign like that, and see how well it will work!"

Bunny and Susan went back into the house and peeped out their front window to see how the animals would act when they saw the sign.

First came Bushy Tail, big as life, trotting along. When he saw the sign he waved his beautiful tail in the air and ran down the road as fast as his legs could carry him!

Next came Mr. Owl. He read the sign aloud, and flew away.

So all day long, animals came to ask why Bunny and Susan did not come to the fair, and all were frightened and ran away.

Early in the evening old Grizzly came. He had followed Bushy Tail from California.

"What a beautiful bear!" said Susan.

"He looks kind," said Bunny.

Old Grizzly read the sign. He did not pass by as the other animals had done. He went straight up to the front door and knocked.

"Perhaps he can't read," said Bunny, so he shouted, "Scarlet Fever here!"

Old Grizzly nodded his head. He said he had had scarlet fever three times, and he was not afraid to have it again.

So they opened the door and let old Grizzly in. Then they all had a jolly time, and Bunny told why he put up the sign on the house.

"You may have a new kind of scarlet fever," said Old Grizzly, "maybe I shall catch it!" and they all laughed.

Old Grizzly had been in a circus, and had traveled in the East and in the West. He could tell lovely stories, so he stayed a long time and told stories, and Susan Cotton-Tail went out in the kitchen and came back with a mince pie in each hand. (These pies had been hidden away in a tin.)

They all enjoyed the pies, and then Bunny asked old Grizzly to spend the night with them. Old Grizzly said, "No, thank you." The house next door was vacant and he was going to live there.

Susan held the candle at the door and old Grizzly went to his new home.

"I like him, but I am glad he went out for the night," said Bunny. "Just think!" Susan said, "he has promised to come in every night and tell us a story!"



Chapter III


When old Grizzly came next evening he had a book tucked under his arm.

"What have you there?" asked Bunny and Susan together.

It was some time before old Grizzly would tell. Then he coughed and said he had one story that every one liked so well that he had written it down, and drawn pictures for it.

The two rabbits begged so hard to see the pictures that old Grizzly opened the book and showed them all the pictures before he began to read. And this is the story he read:

Once there was a gentleman who wrote stories. He had a fine large cat called Whiskers.

One day Whiskers thought he would see the man write his story, so he sat up on the desk beside him.

The man started to write a story about an elephant. It was to be a long story with big words in it.

Whiskers wanted to be petted just then, and as the man did not notice him, he gave the pen a little slap, and it made a funny mark down the page.

"Never mind," said the man, "that will do for the path along which the elephant walked."

The man's pen was a lovely thing to play with, but Whiskers had a nicer plaything himself. He began to go round and round after his own tail. Round and round he went, until he upset the ink. Then he was so scared that he ran and hid.

The man only laughed, and said he would draw funny little figures where the blots of ink were.

He called Whiskers back and went on with his story. He was just wondering how he would draw the seats inside the circus tent, when Whiskers put his paw down on the wet page, and the man said:

"Why, Whiskers, you certainly are an artist."

Then he began to wonder how he could show what a big space the elephant covered when he walked, and just then the cat walked over the paper, to show him!

The man was so pleased then, that he laid down his pen and gave Whiskers a big hug.

"Pooh!" said Whiskers, "that was nothing. I could write a better story than you can, any day!"

You see, Whiskers was not a polite cat.

"Did Whiskers write the story?" asked Bunny.

Susan winked at Bunny and said:

"Old Grizzly, that is the best story of all, and I believe you made it up yourself!"

Then old Grizzly blushed under the fur on his cheeks, and Bunny ran and got a big bouquet and stuck it in his paw!

Old Grizzly went home feeling very happy indeed.



Chapter IV


The next evening Susan begged old Grizzly to tell her another story about Whiskers. Grizzly said he knew one, but he kept it in the back of his head and he could not find it. So he told them the story of Carlo, instead.

Carlo was a fine dog. He had but one fault. He liked to suck eggs.

Day after day the cook went out into the hen-house to get eggs, and day after day there were no eggs to be found.

At first she thought it must be a rat that stole her eggs, and she set a trap. A clever old rat came and ate the cheese, but he never got caught.

One day the cook saw Carlo sucking an egg. Whisk! she was after him with a broom, and gave him a sound beating! But this did not cure Carlo of his bad habit. He went into the hen-house and stole eggs whenever he pleased.

The cook said she was not going to allow this, so one day she called the dog to her in a most friendly way, and held out half an egg in her hand.

Carlo thought that the cook had made up her mind to let him eat all the eggs he wanted, so he took the egg in his mouth, and swallowed it quickly.

Then he began to behave very strangely. He yelped with pain, and ran out into the yard and rolled over and over in the snow.

"Good! Now you will steal no more eggs," said the cook.

What do you suppose was the matter with Carlo? The egg the cook had given him was full of red pepper, and his mouth burned as though on fire. There is no telling what the poor dog would have done if a little girl had not come along just then.

The little girl had found out what the cook had done. She crept out of the house and said:

"Poor Carlo, poor doggie, come to me!" and then she took snow and washed out Carlo's mouth and patted him on the head until he felt all right again.

Carlo never forgot the little girl's kindness, and he never stole eggs any more.

Just as old Grizzly stopped speaking, "Tap, tap," was heard on the window. They looked up and saw Bushy Tail outside.

"Let him in. I'll see that he does no harm," said old Grizzly. They opened-the door, and Bushy Tail jumped in.

Now, Bushy Tail would not have come if he had not had something to say, for he felt a little ashamed about the pies.

What do you suppose Bushy Tail had come to say? He had heard of a big gold mine in the West, and he wanted Grizzly Bear and the Cotton-Tail family to go west with him to buy the gold mine.

Old Grizzly was delighted with the idea, but Bunny and Susan said they would rather stay at home. As they were talking, "Tap, tap," was heard on the window again, and there stood Bunny Boy. He had come home from his travels!

Bunny Boy's head was tied up and he looked as though he had had a hard time. Susan asked if he would like to go west and look for gold, but Bunny Boy only shook his head.

<eob>

The Sandman: His Farm Stories

By

William J. Hopkins



I.

The Oxen Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds, and it stood not far from the road. And in the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.


Not far from the kitchen door was a well, with a bucket tied by a rope to the end of a great long pole. And when they wanted water, they let the bucket down into the well and pulled it up full of water. They used this water to drink, and to wash their faces and hands, and to wash the dishes: but it wasn't good to wash clothes, because it wouldn't make good soap-suds. To get water to wash the clothes, they had a great enormous hogshead at the corner of the house. And when it rained, the rain fell on the roof, and ran down the roof to the gutter, and ran down the gutter to the spout, and ran down the spout to the hogshead. And when they wanted water to wash the clothes, they took some of the water out of the hogshead.


But when it had not rained for a long time, there was no water in the hogshead. Then they got out the drag and put a barrel on it, and the old oxen came out from the barn, and put their heads down low; and Uncle John put the yoke over their necks, and put the bows under and fastened them, and hooked the chain of the drag to the yoke. There wasn't any harness, and there weren't any reins. Then he said "Gee up there, Buck; gee up there, Star." And the old oxen started walking slowly along, dragging the drag, with the barrel on it, along the ground. And Uncle John walked along beside them, carrying a long whip or a long stick with a sharp end; and little John walked along by the drag.


And they walked slowly out of the yard into the road and along the road until they came to a big field with a stone wall around it, and a big gate in the stone wall. It wasn't a regular gate, but at each side of the open place in the wall there was a post with holes in it. And long bars went across and rested in the holes. And the old oxen stopped, and Uncle John took the bars down and laid them on the ground. Then the oxen started and walked through the gate and across the field until they came to the river. And when they came to the river, they stopped.

The little river and the field are not there now, because the people put a great enormous heap of dirt across, and the river couldn't get through. The water ran in and couldn't get out, and spread out all over the field and made a big pond. And they had some great pipes under the ground, all the way to Boston. And the water runs through the pipes to Boston, and the people use it there to drink, and wash faces and hands, and wash dishes, and wash clothes.

Well, when the old oxen stopped at the river, Uncle John took his bucket and dipped it in the river, and poured the water into the barrel until the barrel was full. Then he said "Gee up there," and the old oxen started slowly walking across the field. And the drag tilted around on the rough ground, and the water splashed about in the barrel, and slopped over the top of the barrel on to the drag, and on to the ground. And the oxen walked out of the gate into the road and stopped. And Uncle John put the bars back into the holes, and the old oxen started again and walked slowly along the road, until they came to the farm-house, and in at the big gate, and up to the kitchen door, and there they stopped. And Uncle John unhooked the chain from the yoke, and took out the bows, and took off the yoke, and the old oxen walked into the barn and went to sleep. And they left the drag with the barrel of water by the kitchen door.

And the next morning, when they wanted water to wash the clothes, there was the barrel of water, all ready.

And that's all.




II.

The Fine-Hominy Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds, and it stood not far from the road. And in the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

Not far from the house there was a field where corn grew; and when the winter was over and the snow was gone and it was beginning to get warm, Uncle John got the old oxen out of the barn. And the oxen put their heads down, and Uncle John put the yoke over and the bows under, and he put the plough on the drag and hooked the drag chain to the yoke. Then he said: "Gee up there, Buck; gee up there, Star."

So the old oxen started walking slowly along the wagon track and out of the gate into the road. Uncle Solomon and Uncle John walked along beside them, and little John walked behind; and they walked along until they came to the corn-field. Then the oxen stopped and Uncle John took the bars down out of the holes in the posts, and the oxen geed up again through the gate into the corn-field.

Then Uncle John unhooked the chain from the drag and hooked it to the plough and said "Gee up" again, and the oxen started walking along across the field, dragging the plough. Uncle Solomon held the handles, and the plough dug into the ground and turned up the dirt into a great heap on one side and left a deep furrow -- a kind of a long hollow -- all across the field where it had gone. And the old oxen walked across the field, around and around, making the furrow and turning up the dirt, until they had been all over the field.

Then Uncle John unhooked the chain from the plough and hooked it on to the harrow. The harrow is a big kind of a frame that has diggers like little ploughs sticking down all over the under side of it. And the oxen dragged the harrow over the field and the little teeth broke up the lumps of dirt and smoothed it over and made it soft, so that the seeds could grow.

Then Uncle John unhooked the chain from the harrow and hooked it to the drag and put the plough on the drag and said "Gee up," and the oxen walked along through the gateway and along the road until they came to the farm-house. And they went in at the wide gate and up the wagon track until they came to the shed, and there they stopped. Then Uncle John unhooked the chain and took off the yoke, and the old oxen went into the barn and went to sleep; and Uncle John put the drag in the shed.


The next day Uncle John took a great bag full of corn, and put it over his shoulder and started walking along to the corn-field; and little John walked behind. And when they got to the corn-field, Uncle John put the great bag of corn on the ground and put some in a little bag and gave it to little John. Then Uncle John began walking across the field and little John walked behind. And at every step Uncle John stopped and made five little holes in the ground; and then he took another step and made five other little holes. And little John came after and he put one grain of corn in each hole and brushed the dirt over. And they went all over the field, putting the corn in the ground, and when it was all covered over, they went away and left it.

Then the rain came and fell on the field and sank into the ground, and the sun shone and warmed it, and the corn began to grow. And soon the little green blades pushed through the ground like grass, and got bigger and bigger and taller and taller until when the summer was almost over they were great corn-stalks as high as Uncle John's head; and on each stalk were the ears of corn, wrapped up tight in green leaves, and at the top was the tassel that waved about. Then, when the tassel got yellow and brown and the leaves began to dry up, Uncle John knew it was time to gather the corn, for it was ripe.


Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John came out with great heavy, sharp knives and cut down all the corn-stalks and pulled the ears of corn off the stalks. And little John came and helped pull off the leaves from around the ears. Then the old oxen came out of the barn and Uncle John put the yoke over their necks and the bows up under and hooked the tongue of the ox-cart to the yoke. And he said "Gee up there," and the old oxen began walking slowly along, dragging the cart; and they went out the wide gate and along the road to the corn-field.

Then Uncle John and Uncle Solomon tossed the ears of corn into the cart; and when it was full, the old oxen started again, walking slowly along, back to the farm-house, in through the wide gate and up the wagon track and in at the wide door of the barn. And Uncle John put all the ears of corn into a kind of pen in the barn and the old oxen dragged the cart back to the corn-field to get it filled again; and so they did until all the ears of corn were in the pen.

And then Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the cart and put the cart in the shed, and he took off the yoke, and the oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

The next morning Uncle Solomon and Uncle John and little John all went out to the barn and sat on little stools -- low stools with three legs, that they sit on when they milk the cows -- and rubbed the kernels of corn off the cobs. Then Uncle John put all the corn into bags and put it away; and he put the cobs in the shed, to use in making fires.

Then, one morning, Uncle John got out the oxen, and they put their heads down, and he put the yoke over their necks and the bows up under, and he hooked the tongue of the ox-cart to the yoke; and he said "Gee up there," and they walked into the barn. Then Uncle John put all the bags of corn into the cart, and he put little John up on the cart, and the old oxen started again and walked slowly along, down the wagon track, out the wide gate, and into the road.

Then they turned along the road, not the way to the field where they got the water, but the other way. And they walked a long way until they came to a place where there was a building beside a little river. And on the outside of the building was a great enormous wheel, so big that it reached down and dipped into the water. And when the water in the little river flowed along, it made the great wheel turn around; and this made a great heavy stone inside the building turn around on top of another stone. Now the building is called a Mill, and the big wheel outside is called a Mill-Wheel, and the stones are called Mill-Stones; and the man that takes care of the mill is called the Miller.


Now the miller was sitting in the doorway of the mill; and when he saw Uncle John and little John and the ox-cart filled with bags, he got up and came out, and called to Uncle John: "Good morning. What can I do for you this morning?"

And Uncle John said: "I've got some corn to grind."


So the oxen stopped, and little John got down, and the miller and Uncle John took all the bags of corn into the mill, and the oxen lay down and went to sleep. Then Uncle John and little John sat down on some logs in the mill, and the miller asked Uncle John how he wanted the corn ground. So Uncle John said he wanted some of it just cracked, and some of it ground into fine hominy, and some of it into meal.

Then the miller fixed the stones so they would just crack the corn, and he poured the corn in at a place where it would run down between the stones, and he started the stone turning. When the corn was cracked, he put it into the bags again, and tied them up.

Then he fixed the stones so they would grind the corn into fine hominy, and he poured the corn in, and it came out ground into fine hominy. Then he put the fine hominy into the bags again and tied them up.

Then he fixed the stones so they would grind the corn into meal, and he poured the corn in, and it came out ground into meal. Then he put the meal into the bags again and tied them up. And the miller kept two bags of each kind to pay for grinding the corn; but the other bags he put into the ox-cart.

Then the oxen got up and little John was lifted up and the old oxen started walking slowly along home again. And they walked a long time until they came to the wide gate, and they turned in at the gate and up the wagon track to the kitchen door, and there they stopped. And Uncle John took one of the bags of meal into the kitchen and gave it to Aunt Deborah.

And he said: "Here's your meal, Deborah."

And Aunt Deborah said: "All right. I'll make some Johnny-cake for breakfast to-morrow."

And the rest of the meal was put away in the store-room until they wanted it; for they had enough to last them all winter and some to take to market besides. Then Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the cart from the yoke and put the cart in the shed. And he took off the yoke and the old oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

And that's all.




III.

The Apple Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds, and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that went up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

In the orchard grew many apple-trees. Some had yellow apples and some had green apples and some had red apples and some had brown apples. And the yellow apples got ripe before the summer was over; but the green apples and the red apples and the brown apples were not ripe until the summer was over and it was beginning to get cold.

So, one day, after the summer was over and it was beginning to get cold, Uncle John saw that the apples on one of the trees were ready to be picked. And they were red apples. So he got out the old oxen, and they put their heads down and he put the yoke over and the bows under and hooked the tongue of the ox-cart to the yoke. Then he said: "Gee up there, Buck; gee up there, Star." And the old oxen began walking slowly along, past the barn to the orchard. And they turned in through the wide gate into the orchard and went along until they came to the right tree.


Then they stopped and Uncle John took a basket and climbed up into the tree. And he picked the apples very carefully and put them into the basket. And when the basket was full, he climbed down from the tree and emptied the basket carefully into the cart. Then he climbed up again and filled the basket again; and so he did until the cart was full. Then Uncle John said: "Gee up there;" and the old oxen started and turned around and walked slowly back to the barn and in at the big door. Then Uncle John took all the apples out of the cart and put them in a kind of pen, and the old oxen started again and walked slowly back to the orchard.

So Uncle John gathered all the apples from that tree and put them in the pen in the barn. Then he unhooked the tongue of the cart and took off the yoke, and the old oxen went to their places and went to sleep.

The next morning, Uncle Solomon and Uncle John and little John all went out to the barn, and they took little three-legged stools that had one end higher than the other, -- the kind they used when they milked the cows, -- and they sat on these stools and looked over all the apples, one by one. The apples that were very nice indeed they put in some barrels that were there; and the apples that were good, but not quite so nice and big, they put in a pile on the floor; and the apples that had specks on them or holes in them, or that were twisted, they put in another pile. And this last pile they gave to the horses and cows and oxen and pigs, and the apples in the barrels were to go to market, or for the people to eat.

Then Uncle John got out the old oxen and they put their heads down low, and he put the yoke over and the bows under and hooked the tongue of the ox-cart to the yoke. And he put into the cart all the apples that were in the first pile, those that were good but not quite big enough to put in the barrels, and he put two empty kegs -- little barrels -- on the top of the load. Then the old oxen started walking slowly along, out of the barn and along the wagon track past the shed and past the kitchen door and through the gate into the road. And they turned along the road, not the way to the field where they went to get water, but the other way. And Uncle John walked beside, and little John ran ahead, and they went along until they came to a little house by the side of the road, and there they stopped. Then Uncle John opened the door of the little house and they went in. And inside there was nothing but a log against the wall, to sit on, and in the middle of the room a kind of a thing they called a cider-press. It had a place to put the apples in, and a flat cover that came down on top, and a screw and a long handle above. Besides the cider-press, there was a chopper to chop the apples into little pieces.


Then little John sat down on the log and Uncle John put the apples in the chopper and chopped them up fine. Then he put some chopped apples, with some straw over them, in the place that was meant for apples, and then he took hold of the long handle, and walked around and around. That made the screw turn and the cover squeeze down on the apples so that the juice ran out below into the keg that was put there. And when the juice was all squeezed out of those apples, he walked around the other way, holding the handle, and that made the cover lift up. Then he took out the squeezed apples and put in some other apples and squeezed them the same way. And when all the apples in the cart had been squeezed, both kegs were full of juice. And they call the juice cider.

So Uncle John put the great stoppers that they call bungs into the bung-holes in the kegs, so that the cider would not run out. Then he put the kegs in the cart, and little John came out of the little house and Uncle John shut the door, and the old oxen turned around and walked slowly along until they came to the gate, and they walked up the track to the kitchen door, and there they stopped. Then Uncle John and Uncle Solomon took the kegs down into the cellar, and they took out a little bung near the bottom of one of the kegs, and put in a wooden spigot -- a kind of a faucet. Then they set that keg on a shelf, so that a pitcher or a mug could go under the spigot.

Then Uncle John took the yoke off the oxen and they went into the barn and went to sleep.

After supper that evening, Uncle Solomon and Uncle John were sitting in the sitting-room and Uncle John spoke to little John, and said: "John, I think I would like a drink of cider."


So little John took a pitcher and went down into the cellar, and his mother held a light while he put the pitcher under the spigot and turned the spigot; and the cider ran into the pitcher, and when enough had run in he turned the spigot the other way and the cider stopped running. Then he carried the cider up to his father, and his father drank it.

And when Uncle John had drunk the cider, he said to Uncle Solomon: "Father, that's pretty good cider; you'd better have some."

And Uncle Solomon said: "Don't care if I do." So little John had to go down cellar again and get another pitcher of cider.

Those two kegs of cider lasted for a while and then more apples were ripe and they made enough cider to last all winter and some to send to market besides.

And that's all.




IV.

The Whole Wheat Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds, and it stood not far from the road. And in the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a little track that went up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to a gate in a stone wall, where the bars were across; and through that field and another gate where the bars were across, into the maple-sugar woods. And in that field wheat grew.

When the summer was nearly over and the corn and most of the other things had got ripe and had been gathered, Uncle John got out the old oxen and put the yoke over their necks and the bows up under; and he hooked the drag chain to the yoke and put the plough on the drag and said: "Gee up there, Buck; gee up there, Star." And the old oxen started slowly along past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

Then Uncle John took the plough off the drag and unhooked the chain from the drag and hooked it to the plough. Uncle Solomon held the handles of the plough and the old oxen started walking slowly across the field dragging the plough; and the plough dug into the ground and turned the earth up at one side and made a deep furrow where it had gone. So they went all around the field and around until it was all ploughed.


Then Uncle John unhooked the chain from the plough and hooked it to the harrow; and the old oxen started and walked slowly back and forth across the field, and the teeth of the harrow broke up the lumps of dirt and made it all soft. And when the field was all harrowed, Uncle John unhooked the chain from the harrow and hooked it to the drag and put the plough on the drag, and the old oxen walked slowly back to the barn. And Uncle John unhooked the chain and took off the yoke; and the oxen went to their places in the barn and went to sleep, and the drag was in the shed.


The next morning, Uncle John put some whole wheat in a big bag and put the bag over his shoulder and walked along past the orchard to the wheat-field. And when he got to the wheat-field, he put the bag down on the ground and put some of the wheat in a little bag that he had hanging from his shoulder. And then he began walking across the field, and as he walked along he took up a handful of wheat and threw it far out so that it scattered over the ground. And that way he scattered all the wheat so that it lay in the soft ground, and then he went away and left it.

And the rain fell and the sun shone on the field and the wheat began to grow. And soon the little green blades pushed up through the ground like grass; and the wheat grew higher and higher until it was as high as little John's knees. And then the summer was all over and it was beginning to get cold; so the wheat stopped growing and stayed just as high as that all winter and the snow covered it.

And when the winter was over and it began to get warm, the snow melted away and the wheat began to grow again; and it got taller and taller until it was as tall as Uncle John's waist. And then the little tassels at the top of each stem got yellow and brown and the wheat was ripe. This was in the beginning of the summer.

Then Uncle John and Uncle Solomon got their scythes and their whetstones and started very early in the morning to the wheat-field. And they sharpened their scythes with the whetstones and swung the scythes back and forth and began to cut down the wheat. Every time the scythe swung, it cut through the stalks of wheat and they fell down on the ground. And they walked along over the field, swinging the scythes and cutting down the wheat, until all the wheat was cut. Then they went home and left it lying there in the sun.

The next morning Uncle John got out the oxen and they put their heads down low, and he put the yoke over and the bows under and hooked the tongue of the cart to the yoke and said "Gee up there." And the old oxen walked slowly along, past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

And the sun had dried the stalks of wheat and the tassels. The tassels are a lot of little cases, on a fine stem; and in each little case is a grain of whole wheat. When the tassels are dry, the little cases are all ready to break open.

Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John took their long forks and put the wheat in the cart, and when the cart was full the old oxen walked slowly back to the barn and in at the great doors.

There were great enormous doors in the side of the barn, big enough for a wagon to go through when it was piled up high with a load of hay or of wheat. And in the other side of the barn were other great enormous doors, so that the wagon could go right through the barn; and between the doors was only the great open floor with nothing on it. On one side of this open place were the cows, and on the other side were the horses and the oxen, and the cart went in between, with the wheat in it.

Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John took the wheat out of the cart and put it on the floor of the barn; and the old oxen started again and walked out the other door and back to the wheat-field. Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John filled the cart again and the oxen dragged that wheat to the barn; and they did the same way until all the wheat was on the barn floor. Then Uncle John took off the yoke and the old oxen went to their places and went to sleep.

The next morning Uncle Solomon and Uncle John went to the barn, and each took down from a nail a long smooth stick that had another smooth stick fastened to its end by a piece of leather so that it flapped about. This was to beat the wheat with, and they called it a flail.


And so Uncle Solomon and Uncle John stood in amidst the wheat on the barn floor and whacked it with the flails so that they made a great noise -- whack! whack! -- on the floor. And the little cases broke open and the grains of whole wheat fell out and dropped between the stalks to the barn floor. And the pieces of the broken cases blew out from the great barn doors; for the doors were open at both sides and the wind blew through. These broken pieces that blow away, they call chaff.

Then when Uncle Solomon and Uncle John had whacked for a long time, and they thought that all the whole wheat had come out of the cases, they hung up the flails and took their long forks and lifted up the stalks of the wheat and shook them so that all the grains of wheat might drop through; and they put the dried stalks of the wheat in a corner of the hay-loft above where the cows slept. These dried stalks they call straw, and they put it for the horses and the cows and the oxen to sleep on.

And when the straw was all put away, there was all the wheat on the floor; and they gathered it up and put it into bags. And they had enough to make whole wheat flour to last all winter, and to feed the chickens and every kind of a thing that they wanted to use wheat for, and there was enough to take some to market besides.

And that's all.




V.

The Stump Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds. And when this farm-house was just built, before it was Uncle Solomon's, the man that lived there wanted some fields where he could plant his corn and his potatoes and his wheat. But the places where the fields would be were all covered with trees.

So in the winter when the snow was on the ground, he went out and cut down the trees with his axe. And the great big trees he carried to the mill, and they were sawed up into boards; that is another story. And the branches and the small trees he chopped up with his axe to burn in the fireplaces. Then the field was all covered with the stumps of the trees and with great rocks.


Then, when it began to get warm, after the winter was over, the man got out the old oxen. There were two pairs of oxen, and they came out of the barn and put down their heads, and the man put the yokes over their necks and the bows up under, and he hooked great chains to the yokes. And he hooked one chain to the drag, and took his whip and said: "Gee up there, Buck; gee up there, Star." And the old oxen began walking slowly along to the field.

Then the man unhooked the drag, and fastened one of the chains to a stump, and hooked the other chain to that chain, and said: "Gee up there." And all the oxen began to pull as hard as they could, and all of a sudden out came the stump with a lot of dirt. And he pulled out all the stumps the same way, and stood them up at the back of the field, where they made a kind of a fence with the roots sticking slanting up into the air.


Then there were the big rocks all over the field. And the man fastened the chains to a rock and the old oxen pulled as hard as they could, and out came the rock and they put it on the drag. And then the man saw where he wanted his fence; and they dug a trench and put flat rocks on the bottom and then the biggest rocks they had on the flat rocks. And they pulled all the rocks out of the ground with the chains, and put them on the drag, and the old oxen pulled them over to the trench, and the man piled them up and built a wall.

Building the wall took a long time -- a good many days. And when the oxen had pulled all the rocks out of the ground and dragged them over to the wall, the field was all soft and ready to be ploughed. So the oxen started walking along, out of the field, along the road, dragging the drag. And they went in at the big gate and up past the kitchen door to the barn. Then the man unhooked the chains and took off the yokes and the oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

And that's all.




VI.

The Horsie Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a little track that went up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field. Not very far from that farm-house there was a field where the horses and cows used to go to eat the grass. That was the same field where they went to get water from the river; and in the wall that was between that field and the next, there was a wide gateway. At each side of the gateway there was a post with holes in it, and long bars went across and rested in the holes. And when the bars were across, the horses and cows couldn't go through to the other field. But when the bars were taken out of the holes, then the horses and cows could go through as much as they wanted to and eat the grass in either field.

One day little John was going across the field because it was the short way; and there was a horse in the field, eating the grass, and the bars were down. It was a kind, pleasant horse, but he liked to have fun. And when he saw the little boy going across the field, he thought he would have fun, so he ran after him.


Little John saw the horse coming and he was frightened. He was near the wall that was between the two fields, and he ran as hard as he could and got to the wall before the horse caught him. Then he began to climb over the wall into the next field.

And the horse saw what he was doing and ran down the field, beside the wall, and through the gate and back on the other side; and he got there just as the little boy was getting down. And little John heard the horse's feet on the ground -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump; and he looked around and he saw the horse galloping up by the wall. Then he was frightened and he began to climb back again over the wall as fast as he could.

And the horse saw what he was doing and ran down the field, beside the wall, and through the gate and back on the other side; and he got there just as the little boy was getting down. And little John heard the horse's feet on the ground -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump; and he looked around and he saw the horse galloping up by the wall. Then he was frightened and he began to climb back again over the wall as fast as he could.

And the horse saw what he was doing and ran down the field, beside the wall, and through the gate and back on the other side; and he got there just as the little boy was getting down. And little John heard the horse's feet on the ground -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump; and he looked around and saw the horse galloping up by the wall. Then he was frightened and he began to climb back again over the wall as fast as he could.

And the horse saw what he was doing and ran down the field, beside the wall, and through the gate and back on the other side; and he got there just as the little boy was getting down. And little John heard the horse's feet on the ground -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump -- ca-tha-lump; and he looked around and saw the horse galloping up by the wall. Then he was frightened and he began to climb over the wall again. But every time he had climbed over the wall between the fields, he had gone a little nearer to the road, until he was near enough to the wall between the field and the road to reach that. And this time, instead of climbing back into the other field, he climbed over into the road.


And poor little John was very much frightened and ran along the road crying, and got home, and his father saw him and asked him: "What's the matter, John?" And then little John told his father about the horse. And his father laughed and said that the horse was a kind horse but he liked to have fun; and little John better not go there any more. And so the little boy did not go through that field again, but went around by the road.

And that's all.




VII.

The Log Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a little track that went up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field. But when this farm-house was just built, there wasn't any wheat-field or any other field, and the places where the fields would be were all covered with trees. And that was a long time before Uncle Solomon had the farm.

So the man that built the farm-house took his axe, one day, when the snow was on the ground, and he went to the place where he wanted the fields and he began to cut down the trees. There were big trees and little trees, and it took him a long time to cut down all the trees on the place where the field would be. He cut off all the branches, and the branches and the little trees he cut up with his axe to burn in the fireplaces; and he piled all that wood near the kitchen door. But the big logs -- the trunks of the big trees after the branches were cut off -- he was going to take to the mill, to have them sawed into boards.

So, one morning, after that was all done, the man got out the oxen. There were two yoke of oxen -- two oxen they call a "yoke" of oxen, because two are yoked together -- and they came out of the barn and put their heads down and he put the yokes over and the bows under and he hooked the tongue of a great sled to each yoke. And on each sled was a great chain.

Then he said: "Gee up there," and the oxen all started walking slowly along, and they walked out of the wide gate and along the road until they came to the place where the trees were all cut down, and there they stopped. And the sleds were beside one of the big logs, one sled at each end.


Then they unhooked the tongues of the sleds from the yokes and led the oxen out of the way. And the man and two other men that were helping him put some little logs sloping from the ground up to the sleds, and with poles that had hooks on the ends they rolled the great log up the little logs on to the sleds, so that it rested on them. And there was one sled under each end, but under the middle there was nothing. Then they fastened that log to the sleds, so that it couldn't roll off, and they rolled another log up on the other side and fastened that; and they rolled another log up on top of the first two. Then they fastened the tongue of each sled to the logs, and the logs were held on with the great chains, so they couldn't roll off. Then they hooked a chain to the first sled and to one of the yokes, and another chain from that yoke to the other yoke. And the man said: "Gee up there," and all the oxen pulled as hard as they could, and the sleds started sliding along the ground on the snow and into the road. And the oxen walked slowly along the road, pulling the sleds with the logs on them, for a long way.

When they had gone along the road for a long way, they came to a place where there was a building beside a little river. And on the side of the building was a wheel so large that it reached down into the water. And when the water ran along, it made the wheel turn around and that made a big saw go, inside the building.

And the oxen pulled the sleds with the logs up beside the building and there was a strong carriage that ran on wheels on a track. And the men unfastened the chains and rolled a log off on to the carriage and fastened it there. Then they pushed on the carriage and it rolled along toward the saw, and the saw was going And the end of the log came against the saw and the saw made a great screeching noise and began to cut into the log, and it kept on cutting and the men pushed, and the saw cut all the way through the log, to the other end, and that piece fell off. That piece was round on one side and flat on the other.


Then they rolled the carriage back and fastened the log farther over and pushed it up against the saw again, and the saw cut off another piece that was flat on both sides. That piece was a board. And that way they cut the log all up into boards, and then they cut up the other logs the same way.

When the logs were all cut into boards, the men put the boards on the sleds and fastened them on just the same way the logs had been fastened, and the oxen started and turned around and walked along the road until they came to the farm-house; and they turned in at the gate and went up past the kitchen door to the place where the shed was going to be, and there they stopped. And the men took the boards off and put them on the ground in a pile, so that the man would have them there to build the shed. For the shed wasn't built then. The barn was built first and then the house.

And the other big logs they took to the saw-mill on other days and sawed them up into boards, so that the man had all the boards he needed to build the shed and the chicken house and all the other things and some to give to the men for helping him.

And when that was done, the man took off the yokes and the old oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

And that's all.




VIII.

The Uncle Sam Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

In that farm-house lived Uncle Solomon and Uncle John; and little Charles and little John and their mother Aunt Deborah; and little Sam and his mother Aunt Phyllis. Uncle Solomon was Uncle John's father and Uncle John was little John's father, so that Uncle Solomon was little John's grandfather. And little Sam was Uncle Solomon's little boy, so that little Sam was little John's uncle. But little Sam was a littler boy than little John.

Little John and Uncle Sam used to play together; and one day when little John was wheeling Uncle Sam in the wheelbarrow, he thought it would be fun to tip him out. So he tipped Uncle Sam right out into some bushes, and Uncle Sam scratched his face and began to cry. And Uncle Solomon heard his little boy crying, and he came running out of the house. Then he saw little John and the wheelbarrow, and little Sam in the bushes, crying, and he knew that little John had tipped little Sam out of the wheelbarrow.


So Uncle Solomon was angry, and he grabbed little John by the back of his collar and the back of his trousers, and he lifted him up and gave him a great swing, and he tossed little John right over the wall. And little John came down in some bushes and got his face scratched a little, but he didn't cry. He just got up and ran around the wall and went into the house another way, and kept out of Uncle Solomon's way. But he didn't tip Uncle Sam into the bushes any more.

And that's all.




IX.

The Market Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

One morning, after the summer was over and all the different things had got ripe and had been gathered, Uncle John woke up when the old rooster crowed, very early, long before it was light. And he got up and put on his clothes, and Aunt Deborah got up too, and they went down-stairs.


Then, while Aunt Deborah fixed the fire and got breakfast ready, Uncle John went out to the barn. He gave the horses their breakfast, and when they had eaten it he took them out of their stalls and put the harness on and led them out to the shed. Then he hitched them to the big wagon and he made them back the wagon up to the place where all the things were put that were to go to market.

Then Uncle Solomon came out and helped, and they put into the wagon all the barrels of apples that they could get in, and they put in a lot of squashes and turnips and some kegs of cider and some bags of meal and fine hominy and some butter that Aunt Deborah and Aunt Phyllis had made and some other things. And when these things were all in the wagon, breakfast was ready, and Uncle John fastened the horses to a post and went in to breakfast. And all this they had to do by the light of a lantern, because it wasn't daylight yet.


Then, when Uncle John and little John had had their breakfast, they came out of the house, and Uncle John put little John up on the high seat and he unhitched the horses and climbed up on the high seat beside him. And then Aunt Deborah came out of the house and handed Uncle John a little bundle, and he put the bundle under the seat. In the bundle was some luncheon for Uncle John and little John; and for the horses there was some luncheon too, oats in a pail that hung under the wagon, one pail for each horse. And a lantern hung beside the seat, for it wasn't daylight yet.

When they were all ready, Uncle John said: "Get up," and the horses started walking down the little track into the road and along the road. The horses wanted to trot, but Uncle John wouldn't let them because it isn't good for horses to trot when they have just had their breakfast; and he held on to the reins tight and they had to walk. So they walked along for awhile and it was very dark; and pretty soon Uncle John let the horses trot. And they trotted along the road for a long time and at last it began to get light, and little John was very glad, for he was cold. Then Uncle John blew out the lantern and after awhile the sun came up and shone on them and made them warm. And the horses trotted along for a long time and at last they began to come to the city, and it was very early.

So the horses dragged the wagon through the city streets, and there were not many people in the streets, for they had not had their breakfasts. And by and by they came to the shops and little John saw the boys opening the doors of the shops and sweeping the shops and the sidewalks; and so they went along until they came to a great open place. And in the middle of the open place was a big building, and all about it were wagons, some standing in the middle of the street and some backed up to the curbstone. All these wagons had come in from the country, bringing the things to eat; and the building was a market, and the men in the market bought the things from the men that drove the wagons, and the people that lived in the houses came down afterward and bought the things from the market-men.

Then Uncle John drove the horses up to the sidewalk and he got out and hitched the horses to a post and told little John not to get off the seat; and Uncle John went into the market. When he had been gone some time, he came back and a market-man came with him. The market-man had a long white apron on and no coat; and he looked at the barrels of apples and the squashes and the turnips and the kegs of cider and the bags of meal and the butter and the other things, and he thought about it for a few minutes and then he said: "Well, I'll give you twenty dollars for the lot."

And Uncle John thought for a few minutes and then he said: "Well, I ought to get more for all that. It's all first-class. But I suppose I'd better let it go and get back."

So Uncle John unhitched the horses and backed the wagon up to the sidewalk. Then he took the bridles off the horses' heads and took the buckets of oats from under the wagon; and he put the pails on boxes at the horses' heads, one for each horse, and the horses began to eat the oats.


Then a man came out of the market, wheeling a truck -- a kind of a little cart with iron wheels -- and he helped the market-man take the barrels out of the wagon, and the squashes and turnips and the kegs of cider and the bags of meal and the butter and the other things. And they put them on the truck, a part at a time, and he wheeled them into the market. Then, when that was all done, the market-man took some money from his pocket and counted twenty dollars and handed it to Uncle John. And then the horses had finished eating the oats, and Uncle John took the pails and hung them under the wagon again and put the bridles on the horses' heads.

Then Uncle John climbed up on the high seat beside little John and took the reins in his hands and said "Get up"; and the horses started and went across the open place to a great stone that was hollowed out and was full of water. And the horses each took a great drink of water and then they lifted up their heads and started along the streets.

And pretty soon Uncle John stopped them at a shop, and he went in and bought some things that Aunt Deborah wanted, and he paid the shop-man some of the money the market-man had given him. Then they went to another shop and Uncle John bought some more things. And after that they didn't stop at any shops, but the horses trotted along through the streets until they were out of the city and going along the road in the country that led to the farm-house.

By and by they came to a steep hill and the horses stopped trotting and walked, for they were tired. And Uncle John fastened the reins and took the bundle from under the seat and undid it, and in it were bread and butter and hard eggs and gingerbread and a bottle of nice milk. And Uncle John and little John ate the nice things and liked them, for they were both very hungry.

Then they got to the top of the hill and Uncle John took up the reins again and said "Get up," and the horses trotted along for a long time until they came to the farm-house; and they turned in at the wide gate and went up to the kitchen door and there they stopped. And Uncle John got down and took little John down. Little John was glad to get off the high seat, for he had been there a long time and he was very tired.

So he went into the house and Uncle John unhitched the horses from the wagon and put the wagon in the shed. And he took the horses to the barn and took off their harness and put them in their stalls, and they went to sleep.

And that's all.




X.

The Maple-Sugar Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field; and through the wheat-field to the maple-sugar woods.

One day, when the winter was almost over and it was beginning to get warmer, Uncle John got out the old oxen. And they came out and put their heads down and he put the yoke over and the bows under, and he hooked the tongue of the sled to the yoke; for the snow was not all melted, and enough was on the ground for the sled to go on.

Then he put on the sled his axe and Uncle Solomon's, and a lot of buckets and a lot of wooden spouts he had made, and the big saw. Then he put little John on the sled and said "Gee up there," and Uncle Solomon came too, and they walked along beside the sled. And the old oxen walked slowly along the track past the barn and past the orchard to the wide gate that led into the wheat-field, and there they stopped. And Uncle John took down the bars and the oxen went through the gate and across the wheat-field, and stopped at the wide gate on the other side of the field. Then Uncle John took down those bars and the old oxen started and walked through and along the little road in the maple-sugar woods until they came to a little house beside the road, and there they stopped.

Then Uncle John opened the door of the little house; and inside, it was about as big as a little room that a little boy sleeps in. And in one corner was a chimney, and in front of the chimney was a great enormous iron kettle, set up on a little low brick wall that was just like a part of the chimney turned along the ground. In the front was a hole in the low wall, so that wood could be put in, and at the back, under the kettle, there was a hole into the chimney, so that the smoke would go up the chimney and out at the top. And in one corner of the little house were some square iron pans.

Then Uncle John put two of the buckets down in the house, and the big saw; and he shut the door and the oxen started and walked along until they came where were some maple-sugar trees, and there they stopped. Then Uncle John and Uncle Solomon took their axes and went to the trees and they made little notches in the trees, low down, so that there was room to put a bucket under. And they drove a spout in each notch and put a bucket under each spout. And then they went to other trees and made a notch in each tree and drove in a spout and put a bucket under and so they did until they had used up all their buckets.


Then the old oxen walked along until they came to a pile of wood that was cut up all ready to burn; and there they stopped and Uncle Solomon and Uncle John put the wood on the sled. Then they said: "Gee up," and the oxen walked back to the little house, and they took the wood off the sled. And the wood was in great long sticks, too long to put in the place under the kettle. So Uncle John got the big saw from the little house and he and Uncle Solomon sawed the wood into small sticks and piled it up nicely.

Then they put the saw on the sled and shut the door of the little house and the old oxen started walking back along the little road, dragging the sled, with the saw and the axes and little John. And they went through the gate into the wheat-field and Uncle John put the bars back; and they went across the wheat-field and through the gate at the other side, and Uncle John put those bars back. And they walked along past the orchard and past the barn to the shed.

And Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the sled and took off the yoke, and the old oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

The next morning, Uncle John and little John started along the little road, past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard; and they climbed over the bars into the wheat-field, and went through the wheat-field and climbed over the bars into the maple-sugar woods. Then they walked along until they came to the little house, and Uncle John opened the door of the house and took out the two buckets he had left there.

Then they went to some of the maple-sugar trees where they had put buckets the day before, and the sap was dripping slowly into the buckets -- drip -- drop -- drip -- drop -- and the buckets were nearly half full. So Uncle John poured the sap from those buckets into the empty buckets and went along to some other trees and poured the sap from those buckets in with the other, and the buckets he carried were full. So he took them back to the little house and emptied them into the big kettle.

Then he went to other trees and filled the two buckets again with the sap that had dripped, and emptied that into the kettle. And so he did until he had taken all the sap that had dripped.


Then he put wood under the big kettle and lighted it, and the fire burned and the sap got hot and after a while it began to boil. And while it was boiling, Uncle John stirred the sap once in a while with a wooden stirring thing he had made. And when it had boiled a long time, he dipped out a little with the stirrer and went to the door and dropped it in the snow, so that when it got cool he could see whether it was boiled enough. But it wasn't done enough, and he let it boil longer, and then he dropped some more in the snow; and this time he thought it was about right for maple-syrup.

So he dipped sap out of the kettle into a keg that was in the little house, until the keg was full. And then he put the bung into the bung-hole and set the keg in the corner.

Then Uncle John put more wood on the fire and the sap boiled a long time. And at last he thought it was done enough for maple-sugar; and he dipped some out with the stirrer and went to the door and dropped it in the snow. And when it got cold, he saw that it was hard, and was just right for maple-sugar. So he took the little square pans that were in the corner of the house and he dipped the boiled sap from the kettle into the pans and set them in the snow outside. Then he let the fire go out, and when the sugar in the pans was hard, he brought it into the house, and shut the door and started along the little road, and little John after. They walked along through the maple-sugar woods and climbed the bars into the wheat-field, and walked across the wheat-field and climbed the bars at the other side, and walked along past the orchard and past the barn and past the shed to the kitchen door, and there they went in.

The next morning, Uncle John and little John went to the maple-sugar woods again, and Uncle John got some more sap and boiled it and made maple-syrup and maple-sugar. And so they did every day until they had taken all the sap that the trees ought to give.

Then Uncle John got out the old oxen and they put their heads down and he put the yoke over and the bows under, and he hooked the tongue of the sled to the yoke. Then he said "Gee up there," and the oxen started walking along past the barn and past the orchard, and Uncle John took down the bars at the wheat-field and they went through and across the field, and he took down the bars at the other side and they walked through and along the road in the maple-sugar woods until they came to the little house.

There they stopped, and Uncle John opened the door and put the kegs on the sled, and all the little squares of maple-sugar and all the buckets and all the spouts that he had pulled out of the trees. And he shut the door of the little house, and the oxen started and walked back along the road through the maple-sugar woods into the wheat-field, and Uncle John put up the bars. And they walked across the wheat-field and through the gate at the other side, and Uncle John put up those bars; and they walked along past the orchard and past the barn, and little John came after.

Then the old oxen dragged the sled to the place where they kept the things that were to go to market, and Uncle John took off the maple-syrup and the maple-sugar and put them in that place. But some of the maple-syrup and some of the maple-sugar he put in the cellar for themselves to use; for little Charles and little John and little Sam liked maple-sugar and they liked maple-syrup on bread. And there was enough maple-syrup and maple-sugar to last them a long time and a lot to go to market besides.

Then Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the sled from the yoke and put the sled in the shed; and he took off the yoke and the old oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

And that's all.




XI.

The Rail Fence Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field; and through the wheat-field to the maple-sugar woods.

All about were other fields; and one of them was a great enormous field where Uncle John used to let the horses and cows go to eat the grass, after he had got the hay in. This field was so big that Uncle John thought it would be better if it was made into two fields. He couldn't put a stone wall across it, because all the stones in the field had been made into the wall that went around the outside. So he thought an easy way would be to put a rail fence across.

So, one day, when it was winter and snow was on the ground, Uncle John and Uncle Solomon took their axes and walked along the little track, past the barn and past the orchard, and climbed over the bars into the wheat-field. Then they walked across the wheat-field and climbed over the bars into the maple-sugar woods; and they walked along the road in the woods until they came to a place where were some trees that were just the right size to make rails and posts. They were not maple-sugar trees, but a different kind.


Then they cut down enough of these trees to make all the rails and all the posts they wanted; and they cut off all the branches and they cut some of the trees into logs that were just long enough for rails, and they cut the other trees into logs that were just long enough for posts. Then they took the rail logs and with their axes they split each one all along from one end to the other, until it was in six pieces. Each piece was a rail. But the post logs they didn't split.

Then they left the logs and the rails lying there and walked back, and climbed over into the wheat-field, and went across the wheat-field and climbed over at the other side, and walked past the orchard and past the barn and past the shed and went in at the kitchen door.

The next morning, Uncle John got out the old oxen, and they put their heads down low, and he put the yoke over and the bows under, and hooked the tongue of the sled to the yoke. Then he said: "Gee up there," and they started walking slowly along, past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field; and Uncle John took down the bars and they walked across the wheat-field, and he took down the bars at the other side. Then the old oxen walked through the gate and along the road to the place where the post logs and the rails were; and Uncle Solomon had come too, and little John. But they didn't let little John come when they cut the trees down, because they were afraid he might get hurt.

Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John piled the rails on the sled, and the post logs on top, and the old oxen started and walked along the road and through into the wheat-field and across the field, and Uncle John put the bars up after the oxen had gone through the gates. Then they dragged the sled along past the orchard and past the barn to the shed. There they stopped and Uncle John and Uncle Solomon took off the logs and the rails. The rails were piled up under the shed, to dry; but the logs they had to make square, and holes had to be bored in them before they would be posts. Then Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the sled from the yoke and took off the yoke, and the old oxen went into the barn.

The next day, Uncle John took an axe that was a queer shape, and he made the post logs square. Then he bored the holes in the logs for the rails to go in, and piled the posts up under the shed. They were all ready to set into the ground, but the ground was frozen hard, and they couldn't be set until the winter was over and the ground was soft.

After the winter was over and it was getting warm, the ground melted out and got soft. Then Uncle John and Uncle Solomon took a crowbar -- a great, heavy iron bar with a sharp end -- and a shovel, and they went to the great enormous field. Then they saw where they wanted the fence to be, and they dug a lot of holes in the ground, all in a row, to put the posts in.


Then they went back and Uncle John got out the oxen and put the yoke over and the bows under and hooked the tongue of the cart to the yoke. On the cart they piled the posts, and there were so many they had to come back for another load. Then the oxen started and walked down the little track and out through the wide gate into the road, and along the road to the great enormous field where the holes were all dug for the posts. Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John put the posts in the holes and pounded the dirt down hard.

Then the oxen walked back along the road to the farm-house and in at the gate and up to the shed. And Uncle John put the rails on the cart and the oxen walked back to the field again and in beside the row of posts. And Uncle John took the rails off the cart and put them in the holes in the posts, so that they went across from one post to the next. And in each post were four holes, and four rails went across.

Then the oxen went a little farther and the rails were put in between the next posts, and so on until the rails reached all the way across the field, and the fence was done. And when Uncle John wanted the cows or the horses to go through, he could take down the rails at any part of the fence.

Then the old oxen started walking back out of the field into the road and along the road to the farm-house. And they went in at the wide gate and up the track past the kitchen door to the shed, and there they stopped.

And Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the cart from the yoke and put the cart in the shed. And he took off the yoke and the old oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

And that's all.




XII.

The Cow Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.


One morning, the old rooster crowed very early, as soon as it began to be light. And that waked Uncle John and Aunt Deborah, and Uncle Solomon and Aunt Phyllis. And they all got up and put on their clothes and came down-stairs. Then Aunt Deborah and Aunt Phyllis went about their work in the kitchen, getting things for breakfast and fixing the fire; and Uncle Solomon and Uncle John went out to the barn. Uncle Solomon looked after the horses and gave them their breakfast, and Uncle John looked after the cows.

Between the two great doors of the barn there was a great open place so that the wagons could go right through; and that was where they threshed the wheat. And on one side were the stalls for the horses and the places for the oxen, and on the other side were the places for the cows. In the corner of the barn next to the horses was the harness-room, and in the corner next to the cows was the milk-room.

There were two big horses and two big oxen and six cows. The horses were in stalls, but the cows didn't have stalls. They stood in a row on a kind of a low platform, with their heads toward the open place in the middle of the barn. Each cow had her head through a kind of frame made of two boards that went up from the floor, so that when the boards were fastened at the top she couldn't get her head out, but she could move it up and down all she wanted to. And when they wanted to let the cows out, they unfastened one of the boards and let it down. But Uncle John didn't like the frames for the cows, so he never fastened the boards at all, but he put a chain around the neck of each cow and hooked the other end to a post.

In front of each cow was a little low wall, about as high as her neck, and just behind the wall was a trough that they call a manger, where they could put hay or meal or other things for the cow to eat, so that she could reach it. Just over the manger of each cow was a hole in the floor of the loft where the hay was, so that they could put hay through and it would fall right into the manger, in front of the cow. In winter the cows had hay, but in summer they didn't have hay, because they could eat the grass, and that was better.

So, when Uncle John went to look after the cows, he didn't climb up to the loft and pitch some hay down through the holes, as he would do in winter, but he took a wooden measure and went to a big box that they call a bin. It stood in the corner next to the milk-room, and it was full of meal that was ground up from corn at the mill. And he gave each cow a measureful of meal and put it in the manger so that she could eat it.

Then he went to the milk-room and got the big milk pails and his milking-stool. The milking-stool was a little stool that had three legs, and one of the legs was shorter than the other two, so that it sloped.

Then Uncle John put the milking-stool down by a cow, and the pail was between his knees, resting on the end of the stool. And he milked the cow and the milk spurted into the pail. And when she had given all the milk she had, the pail was about half full.

Then Uncle John went to the next cow and milked her, and when that pail was full, he took the other pail. And so he milked all the cows, one after the other, and when both the pails were full, he took them to the milk-room and poured the milk through a strainer into a big can. And the cows were eating their meal all the time they were being milked.

At the side of the barn, behind the cows, was a door that opened into the cow-yard. A sloping place led down from the barn to the ground, so that the cows could walk down into the yard. In the winter, the cows stayed in the cow-yard while they were out of the barn, because it was sunny and warm, and there was no grass in the field for them to eat. A high fence was all around the yard, and in one corner was a tub made of a hogshead cut in two, and a pump was beside it. And the tub was always full of water, so that the cows could drink whenever they were thirsty. So, when Uncle John had milked all the cows, he opened the door into the cow-yard, and he unhooked the chains from the necks of the cows, one after another. And the cows turned around and walked through the door and down the sloping place into the cow-yard, the leader first, and every cow took a drink from the tub in the corner of the yard. Then they stood by the gate, waiting for little John to come.

When a lot of cows are together, one of the cows is always the leader, and she always goes first, wherever they go. If any other cow tries to go first, the leader butts that one and makes her go behind. Or if the other cow doesn't want to go behind, they put their horns together and push, and the one that pushes harder is the leader.


So the cows waited at the gate, and little John had come down-stairs and Aunt Deborah had given him a piece of johnny-cake, because breakfast wasn't ready and little boys are always hungry. Then little John came to the gate to the cow-yard, and opened the gate, and the cows hurried to go through the gate, the leader first, and the others following after. And they went along the little track and through the gate into the road, and along the road to the great enormous field. And there they stopped, for the bars were up and they had to wait for little John to come along and let them down, so that they could go through.

And little John came running along, eating his piece of johnny-cake, and kicking up the dirt with his bare feet, for in the summer-time he didn't wear any shoes or stockings. And he came to the gate and he let the bars down at one end, and the cows stepped over the bars carefully, the leader first, and went into the field. And little John put the bars up again, so that the cows couldn't get out, and he turned around and ran back to the farm-house to get his breakfast.

When the cows were all in the field, they began to eat the grass; and they walked slowly about, eating the grass, until they had had all they wanted. Then they went over to the corner of the field, where there was a stream of water running along, and each cow took a drink of water. In the middle of the field was a big tree with long branches and a great many leaves, so that under the tree it was shady and cool. By the time the cows had eaten all the grass they wanted, it was hot out in the sun, and they all walked over to the big tree and got in the cool shade.

Some of them lay down and some of them stood still, and they switched their tails about to keep the flies off, and they chewed their cuds. For a cow has two kinds of stomach. When she bites off the grass, she swallows it down quickly, and it goes into the first stomach; and after awhile, when she has eaten all the grass she wants, she goes and lies down, or stands still and some of the grass comes back into her mouth in a bunch and she chews it all up fine and swallows it again, so that it goes down into her real stomach. Then another bunch comes up and she chews that and swallows it, and so she does until all the grass is chewed up fine. That is what they call chewing the cud.

So the cows stayed in the shade of the big tree until they were hungry again, and then they walked about and ate some more of the grass and drank some more water out of the little stream. And by that time it was in the afternoon and almost time for little John to come to drive them home.

So they all stood looking at the gate and waiting for little John. And by and by little John came running along, and he let down the bars at one end, and he called "Co-o-ow! Co-o-ow!" and the cows all started hurrying along to the gate. And they stepped over the bars carefully, the leader first, and walked along the road, for they knew the way to go. And little John came running after.

When the cows came to the farm-house, they turned in at the gate and went up the little track to the cow-yard. And they went in at the gate of the cow-yard, and up the sloping place into the barn. And each cow knew where she ought to go, and she went there, and Uncle John fastened the chains around their necks; and little John shut the gate of the cow-yard and went into the house.

Then Uncle John put a measureful of meal in the manger in front of each cow, and he got his milking-stool and the milk pails and he milked all the cows. And while the cows were being milked, they ate the meal and chewed their cuds.

When the cows were all milked, Uncle John poured the milk through the strainer into the big cans and took it out to the spring-house to set it, so that the cream would come on it. But some of the milk he took into the house for their supper.

Then he shut the big doors of the barn and fastened them, and the cows lay down and went to sleep.

And that's all.




XIII.

The Hay Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a little track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

All about were other fields. One of them was a great enormous field, and in this field was growing grass that would be made into hay.

One day, when the summer was nearly half over, Uncle John saw that the little tassels at the tops of the stems of the grass were getting yellow, and he knew that the grass was ripe enough to cut for hay; and the grass was as high as little John's head. So, very early the next morning, Uncle Solomon and Uncle John took their scythes and their whetstones and went over to the great enormous field, and two other men came to help. When the grass that these other men had was ready to cut, then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John would go and help them cut it.

And they had a jug, and in it was water, with some molasses and a little vinegar mixed with it. This was for them to drink when they got very hot and thirsty, mowing, and they put it down by the stone wall, where it was cool.


Then the men all took their whetstones and sharpened their scythes, and Uncle Solomon started first, at the corner of the field, and he swung his scythe back and forth, and every time he swung the scythe it cut down some grass and made a noise, "Swish." And then he took a little step ahead and swung the scythe again, and he walked very slowly along, cutting the grass. And when Uncle Solomon had got a little way along, so that the next scythe wouldn't cut him, Uncle John began next to the place where Uncle Solomon had begun, and he swung his scythe and walked slowly along, cutting the grass. Then one of the other men began at the next place, when Uncle John had got a little way along, and then the last man. So all the men were walking slowly along, swinging their scythes together, and cutting the grass, and the grass fell down in four long rows. And they mowed this way all the morning, and cut down all the grass in the field.


And just when they had finished, and all the grass was cut down, they heard the horn that Aunt Deborah was blowing. That meant that dinner was ready. They had a horn to blow for dinner because the men had to work in fields that were far from the house, where they couldn't hear a dinner-bell. But they could hear the horn. So the horn hung on a hook beside the kitchen door; and when dinner was ready, Aunt Deborah took the horn from the hook and blew it.

When the men heard the horn, they took their coats and their scythes and their whetstones and the jug, and they went back along the road to the farm-house and left the grass lying there, just as it fell down. And the sun shone on the grass and dried it, so that it was changing to hay.

Then, the next morning, Uncle Solomon and Uncle John took their pitchforks and went over to the field and spread the grass out evenly, so that it would dry better; and they left it until the afternoon.

In the afternoon, Uncle John and Uncle Solomon took two great wide wooden rakes, and little John took a little rake, and they went to the field. Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John each held one of the great wide rakes so that it trailed behind, and they walked along and the rakes rolled the grass up into long rows. Then they walked along the other way, trailing the rakes, and the grass rolled up into piles, and little John raked after. They call the piles of hay haycocks, and they were as high as little John's head. Then they went away and left the hay there all night.

In the morning, when the sun had shone on the haycocks long enough to dry off the dew, Uncle John got out the old oxen. And they put their heads down, and he put the yoke over and the bows under, and he hooked the tongue of the hay-cart to the yoke. Then he put little John up in the cart and took the pitchforks, and gave little John his little rake. And the old oxen started walking slowly along, out into the road and along the road to the great enormous field, and in at the gate. And they walked along beside one of the haycocks, and there they stopped.

Then Uncle John lifted little John out of the cart, and Uncle Solomon and Uncle John both stuck their pitchforks into the haycock and lifted it right up and pitched it over the side of the cart, so that it fell into the cart. Then they went along to the next haycock and pitched that in the same way, and little John raked after, raking up the hay that had dropped from the pitchforks. So they went along to the other haycocks and pitched them into the cart, and when the hay was nearly up to the top of the side of the cart, Uncle John climbed in, and he made the hay even in the cart, with his fork. Uncle Solomon pitched the hay up into the cart, and Uncle John made it even in the cart, so it couldn't fall out, and they piled the hay up in the cart until it was a great enormous load, higher than the room. And little John raked after.


When they had made the load as high as they could, the old oxen started and turned around, and walked back through the gate and along the road to the farm house, and in at the gate and up the track past the kitchen door and past the shed, and in at the big door of the barn. And they went along in the open place in the barn and stopped in the middle, so that the load of hay was beside the floor of the loft where the hay was kept, and the top of the load was higher than the floor of the loft.

Then Uncle Solomon climbed up the ladder to the loft, and Uncle John pitched the hay from the cart to the loft. And Uncle Solomon took his fork and pitched the hay back against the wall and packed it tight, so that they could get more in when they brought it, and fill the loft as full as it would hold.

When all the hay was out of the cart, Uncle Solomon came down from the loft, and the oxen started walking along, out of the other big door and around the barn and back to the hay-field. Then they filled the cart again, the same way that they did the first time, and put that hay in the barn. And they had to go back three times after the first time before they had all the hay that was in the field. And when it was all in the barn, there was hay enough for the horses and the oxen and the cows to eat all winter.

Then the old oxen walked out through the other door of the barn, and around the barn to the shed. And Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the cart and put the cart in the shed, and he took off the yoke and the oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

And that's all.




XIV.

The Fireplace Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

In the kitchen there wasn't any stove, because they didn't have stoves then, but there was a great enormous fireplace, so big that great long sticks of wood could be put in it to burn. And Uncle John or Uncle Solomon had to cut the wood that was to be burned in the fireplace, and pile it up in a great pile near the kitchen door.


In the fireplace was a long iron stick that went along near the top, and at the side of the fireplace it bent down like an elbow and went into some hinges that were in the wall of the fireplace. And at the end of this long iron stick was a hook, so that a kettle would hang on it over the fire. This iron stick they call a crane; and it would swing out on the hinges, away from the fire, so that they could hang something on without burning their hands, and then they could swing it back again.

And every night, before she went to bed, Aunt Deborah took the shovel and put ashes all over the fire, so that it wouldn't blaze and burn the wood all up, but wouldn't go out, either. For there wasn't any furnace, and if the fire went out, the house would get very cold, and there weren't any matches then, so that it was hard to light the fire.

At that farm-house were a great many chickens, and in the summer-time they liked to fly up into the trees, and sit on the branches to sleep. And in the morning, as soon as it began to get light, the old rooster would wake up and flap his wings and crow very loud. So, one morning, the old rooster crowed very early and waked Uncle John and Aunt Deborah, and Uncle Solomon and Aunt Phyllis.

And they all got up and put on their clothes and went down-stairs. Uncle Solomon and Uncle John went to the barn to look after the horses and the cows and the oxen, and Aunt Deborah and Aunt Phyllis began to fix the fire and get breakfast ready.

Aunt Phyllis went to the spring-house for the milk and the butter, and to the buttery for some other things. Then she went to the hen-house to find some eggs.


Aunt Deborah raked all the ashes off the fire and put on some sticks of wood that Uncle John had brought in, and then she took the blower and blew the fire with it until it began to blaze. Then she took the iron kettle and filled it with water at the well, and she pulled the crane out away from the fire, with an iron hook, and hung the kettle on the hook of the crane, and swung it back over the fire. And the fire blazed, and the water in the kettle got hot, and after a while it began to boil.

While the water in the kettle was getting hot, Aunt Deborah took some corn-meal and some flour and some salt and some sugar, and mixed them together in a big yellow bowl, and she mixed in some soda and some cream-o'-tartar. They are fine white powders that would make the johnny-cake light and nice when it was baked; for she was making johnny-cake. Then she took the milk that Aunt Phyllis had brought from the spring-house, and she poured some of it into the bowl and stirred it all in. And when she had poured in all the milk that she wanted, she took some of the eggs that Aunt Phyllis had brought, and she broke the shells and let the inside of the eggs drop into a littler bowl, and then she beat them all up together until they were all foamy. Then she poured them into the big yellow bowl and stirred them all in. When all the things were stirred up together, Aunt Deborah took a pan that had a cover, and she put butter all over the pan, and poured in the things from the yellow bowl. Then she put on the cover, and she took a kind of rake and she raked some of the blazing fire away, and with a long iron fork she put the pan down on the hot coals. Then she raked the fire on top of the pan again and left it.

When the johnny-cake was in the fire, getting baked, Aunt Deborah got some tea out of the jar that they called a caddy, and she put it in the teapot. Then she pulled the crane away from the fire, with the hook, and she poured some boiling water in on the tea and set the teapot down in front of the fire. Then she put some eggs in the kettle and swung it back over the fire.

While Aunt Deborah was making the johnny-cake and the tea, Aunt Phyllis had put the plates on the table, and the mugs, and the cups and saucers, and the knives and forks, and all the other things, and she had put some butter on the table, on a plate, and some milk in a white pitcher. Then she went to the buttery and took down a ham that hung on a hook, and she cut some thin slices and put them on a plate and put that plate on the table. And by that time the johnny-cake was done and the eggs, and the tea. And Aunt Deborah swung the crane off the fire and took the eggs out with a ladle that had little holes in it for the water to go through. Then she poured cold water on the eggs, so that they wouldn't cook any more, and she put them in a bowl and put them on the table. Then she raked the fire off the top of the pan, and took the pan out with the long iron fork. And she took the cover off, and the johnny-cake was nice and brown, and just right and smoking hot. And she cut it into little squares and put it in a dish, and Aunt Phyllis put all the rest of the things on the table while Aunt Deborah went to the door and took down the horn and blew it.

Then Uncle Solomon and Uncle John came in from the barn, and little Charles and little John came in from driving the cows, and little Sam came down-stairs. And they all sat down at the table and ate their breakfast, and it was very nice.

And that's all.




XV.

The Baking Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a little track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

One morning the old rooster had crowed very early, and Uncle Solomon and Uncle John and Aunt Phyllis and Aunt Deborah had come down-stairs and done their work. It was Saturday morning, and that was baking day; so, when they had all finished breakfast, and Aunt Deborah and Aunt Phyllis had cleared up the things and washed the dishes, they got ready for the baking.

The chimney was a great enormous chimney that went all across the end of the kitchen. And beside the big fireplace was an iron door that opened into the oven. For the oven was a big hole in the chimney, beside the fireplace; and right in the middle of the chimney, behind the fireplace, was a great big hole, as big as a closet, and at the back was a little door that was just big enough for people to go in. In this closet in the chimney they used to build a fire sometimes, and hang hams and fish over it in the smoke.

When they were ready to begin, Aunt Deborah opened the door to the oven, and she took some wood that Uncle John had brought in, and she built a fire right in the oven. Then she took up some coals from the fireplace and lighted the fire in the oven and shut the door. And the fire burned and the oven got hot. And once in awhile Aunt Deborah opened the door and put in some more wood.

Then, while the fire was burning in the oven and getting the oven hot, Aunt Deborah and Aunt Phyllis took flour and butter and lard and water, and they mixed them together just the right way, and made some dough. And they rolled the dough out thin, with a long wooden roller, and they folded it over and rolled it out again, and did that over and over until they thought it was right. Then they spread the thin dough out on the bottom of some plates that were middle-sized deep.

And Aunt Deborah had some apples all ready, with the skin cut off and the cores cut out, and the nice part of the apples cut up into slices. And some of the apples she had stewed in water until they were all soft, and some she hadn't.

First she put some of the stewed apples in the plates on top of the thin dough, and put in a little sugar and some cinnamon and some nutmeg on top of some; and on some she didn't put any cinnamon or any nutmeg. Then she laid another thin piece of dough over the top of the apples, and she made little marks with a fork all around the edge, and she cut holes in the top with a knife.

Then, in other plates she put the apples that were not stewed, and a lot of sugar, and thin dough on top, the same way. Those were apple pies, and they were three kinds.


Then Aunt Deborah made some squash pies, and put in on the dough that was on the bottom of the plates some of the inside of squashes that she had cooked over the fire. The very inside of squashes is soft and full of seeds, and that part isn't good to eat; but just next to the seeds is the part that is good. And spices and a lot of things were mixed with the squash to make it taste better. There wasn't any thin dough put over the top of the squash pies, but just a thin strip around the edge. And there were other kinds of pies besides the apple and the squash, and when they were made, there were so many that they covered the tops of both the tables, for Uncle Solomon and Uncle John liked pies.

Then Aunt Deborah thought the oven was hot enough, and she opened the door of the oven, and with a long rake she pulled the fire out into a big pan and put it into the fireplace. Then she put into the oven all the pies it would hold, and she shut the door; and the pies were baking in the oven, it was so hot, though there wasn't any fire in it. And when those pies had been in the oven for awhile, they were all done, and Aunt Deborah pulled them out with a kind of shovel and set them down in front of the fire, and she put other pies in; and so she did until all the pies were baked.


Then she put coals in the oven again, and a little wood, to get the oven hotter, for it had cooled, baking so many pies.

When she first came down that morning, Aunt Deborah had mixed some bread, and had set it in a big pan near the fire, to rise; and now it had risen enough, and she took it out of the big pan. And while the oven was getting hot again, she put the bread on a smooth board and rolled it around and pushed it with her hands. That is what they call kneading.

Then she took some square pans that were deep, and she put some of the bread in each pan and set them down by the fire again. And pretty soon the oven was hot enough, and the fire was raked out, and the bread was put in. By that time it was time to get dinner ready, and Aunt Deborah left the bread in the oven while she got dinner. For the oven was getting cooler all the time, and the bread would not get burned.

So, when the bread was done, Aunt Deborah took it out and wrapped it in a cloth until it was cool. And Aunt Phyllis put all the pies in the buttery. Then they had enough pies and enough bread to last them all a whole week, and they would not bake any more until the next Saturday.

And that's all.




XVI.

The Swimming Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

In that farm-house lived Uncle Solomon and Uncle John, and little John and little Charles and their mother, Aunt Deborah, and little Sam and his mother, Aunt Phyllis.

One day in summer it was very hot. Little Charles was about nine years old, and little John was about seven, and little Charles said to little John: "John, let's go in swimming."

And little John said: "All right."

So they went very quietly away from the kitchen door, where they were playing, and went toward the barn, as though they were going to look for eggs. But they sneaked around the barn and down close to the house on the other side, where Aunt Deborah wouldn't see them, and over the fence into the road. And they went along the road until they came to the field that they used to go through to get water from the river. Then they turned into that field and went down to the river, and along the bank of the river until they came to a great big tree that grew close by the edge of the river, at the end of a stone wall.


When they came to that big tree, they stopped and took off all their clothes and went into the water. And they stayed in the water a long time and swam around and chased each other, and they ran along in the water where it wasn't very deep, and splashed and had a fine time. And when they had been in long enough and were all cool, they went back to the place where they had left their clothes, and they took their shirts and got themselves dry with their shirts as well as they could. Then they spread their shirts out in the sunshine to dry, and they ran about on the bank. And when their shirts were dry, they put their clothes on. Then they went back along the road and over the fence and around the barn, the way they had come, and began to play near the shed as though they hadn't been away at all.

Pretty soon Aunt Deborah came to the kitchen door and she called to little Charles. "Charles, I want you to get me some eggs."

And when Charles turned around to go, Aunt Deborah looked at him very hard, and she called: "Charles, come here to me." But Charles didn't want to come very near, so he came only a little way.

And Aunt Deborah said: "Charles, I want you to come right here to me."

So Charles came slowly beside his mother, and she took off his hat and looked at his hair. His hair was a little wet, for he couldn't get it quite dry with his shirt.

And Aunt Deborah said: "Charles, you've been in swimming."

And Charles dug up the dirt with his bare feet and said, "Yes'm." For little Charles and little John never said things that were not true, although they sometimes did things they ought not to do.

Then Aunt Deborah said: "Charles, if you do that again I'll tell your father."

And Charles said, "Yes'm." Then he ran away quickly to find the eggs.

Then Aunt Deborah said: "John, come here to me."

So little John came beside his mother, and she took off his hat and saw that his hair was wet.

And she said: "John, you've been swimming, too." And little John looked at his mother and grinned and said, "Yes'm."

And Aunt Deborah said, "You mustn't do that, John. You're too little. Don't do it again, and I'll ask Uncle Solomon to take you and Charles in his boat." So little John ran off after little Charles.

The next morning Uncle Solomon called to all the little boys: "Who wants to go out in the boat with me?"

And little Charles and little John and little Sam all said at the same time, "I do."

So Uncle Solomon said, "Come on, boys."

Then he walked along the track and into the road and along the road, and the little boys ran ahead; for they knew where he was going. And by and by they came to the pond. It was a great big pond, and Uncle Solomon's boat was on the bank under some trees. Uncle Solomon had built that boat himself, for he had been a sailor, and knew all about boats. So he pushed the boat off into the water, and the little boys all got in and sat still. For Uncle Solomon wouldn't let them jump around in the boat because that might tip it over.

So Uncle Solomon rowed the little boys over to a nice place where it was shady, and where the water was not very deep; and he rowed cross-handed, because he thought that was easier. When they had got to the place, the little boys all took off their clothes, and Uncle Solomon took up each boy and threw him over into the water. They were not afraid, because he had taught them how to swim, and he was right there, to see that nothing happened to harm them. And they swam around and had a fine time.


And when Uncle Solomon thought they had been in the water long enough, he made them swim near the boat, and he reached over and pulled them into the boat, one at a time. Then they dried themselves with a towel he had brought, and they put on their clothes, and Uncle Solomon rowed the boat back to the place where he kept it.

Then the little boys got out and he pulled the boat up on the shore, and they all went back along the road to the farm-house. And they went in at the wide gate and up to the kitchen door. And there was Aunt Deborah, with four pieces of gingerbread. One piece she gave to little Charles and one to little John and one to little Sam, and the biggest piece of all she gave to Uncle Solomon.

And they all ate their gingerbread, and thought it was very good indeed.

And that's all.




XVII.

The Chicken Story

Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

Behind the barn was the hen-house, and inside the hen-house there were long poles that went all the way across, for the hens to sit on to sleep. Those poles they call roosts. In winter the hens all sleep on the roosts in the hen-house, because it is warmer there; but in the summer they like to get up in the trees and sleep out-of-doors.

Along the side of the hen-house were some boxes with hay in them, and a board along the top. These were the nests, and in each nest was a pretend egg, made of china. The hens would see the pretend egg and think it was real, and they would lay the real eggs in the nests. For they like to lay eggs in places where eggs are already.

There was a little door, low down, for the hens to go through, and outside was a yard, with a fence around made of strips of wood. In this fence was a door that was kept shut in winter, but was open in summer so that the hens and chickens could go out and eat the bugs and worms. Bugs and worms sometimes eat the growing things that the farmers have planted, so the farmers like to have the chickens eat the bugs and worms. And in the side of the hen-house was a big door for people to go through.

When the summer was beginning, there were a good many hens and some chickens that were half grown up, and a very old rooster, and some that were not so old. Sometimes the roosters would fight, but they didn't fight very hard, for they were not the kind that fight hard.

All the roosters and the hens and the chickens that were half grown up flew up into the trees when it was beginning to be dark, and they sat on the branches in long rows, and put their heads under their wings and went to sleep. The very old rooster and most of the hens roosted in the apple-trees in the orchard, but some of the hens roosted in other trees.


And in the middle of the night the old rooster waked a little and crowed, but it wasn't a very loud crow. But when it began to be light in the morning, the old rooster waked and flapped his wings and crowed very loud. And that waked the other roosters and they flapped their wings and crowed, and the hens waked, and all the roosters and the hens flapped their wings and flew down to the ground, and began to look about for their breakfast.

Some of the hens stayed in the orchard and looked about on the ground and scratched up the dirt and picked up the bugs and worms that they found. Some of them went over to the cow-yard and flew over the fence and scratched around there, and they drank water out of the big tub in the corner. And some of the hens went to the kitchen door to see what things Aunt Deborah had thrown down there for them to eat. The chickens that were half grown up went over to the fields where the potatoes and the beans and the peas were growing, and they ran about among the vines and picked the bugs and worms off the vines.

After awhile, when all the hens and chickens had finished their breakfasts, some of the hens went into the hen-house to lay eggs. Each of these hens laid one egg in one of the nests, and when she had laid the egg, she came out of the hen-house and cackled and made a great noise. For that is the way hens do. But there were two of the hens that did not like to lay eggs in the hen-house.


One of these hens walked along the little road and across the wheat-field into the maple-sugar woods. She had made a nest there, out of dried grass and leaves, and it was hidden away under some bushes, where nobody could find it. That hen laid an egg in that nest every day, until she had laid nine. Then she sat on the eggs and kept them warm, and she came over to the farm-house every day to get something to eat and then she went back to her nest again. And when she had sat on those eggs for three weeks, the little chickens came out of the shells and ran about. And then she walked over to the farm-house and the little chickens ran along with her.


The other hen that wouldn't lay eggs in the hen-house made a nest in the wheat-field; but little John found that nest and took the eggs away, so she didn't have any chickens.

When the hens had laid their eggs, they went out into the road and sat down in the dust and scratched the dust up all over themselves, for they liked the warm dust in among their feathers. And they stayed there until they were hungry again. Then they scratched around in the dirt, and ate some more bugs and worms, and the things that Aunt Deborah threw out for them to eat. And so they did until it began to get dark.

Then they all walked along to the orchard or to some other trees, and they stood under the trees, and looked up and gave queer little jumps and flapped their wings, and they flew up into the trees and sat on the branches. And they went along the branches sideways until they had found the places they liked. Then they squatted down and put their heads under their wings and went to sleep.

And that's all.




XVIII.

The Shawl Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. This farm was Uncle Solomon's. But before he had the farm, he was a sailor, and he sailed in great ships, over the great enormous ocean. A great many ships used to sail from Boston, over the big ocean, carrying different things to far countries, and one of these ships was the brig Industry. Uncle Solomon was the captain of the brig Industry, but that was when he was a young man, and a long time before he had the farm.

One day the brig Industry was lying beside the wharf at Boston, and she was tied to the wharf with great ropes. And all the things had been put in the ship, the things they were to sell in the far country where they were going, and the things to eat, and the water they would drink. For the ocean water is salt and bitter, so that people can't drink it, and they had to carry all the water that they would need to drink and almost all the things they would need to eat. The water was in big hogsheads, down near the bottom of the ship. The sailors were all on the ship, and everything was all ready to start. Then Captain Solomon walked down the wharf, and he got on the ship, and the great ropes were untied, and the sailors hoisted the sails, and the ship sailed away from the wharf. She sailed down the harbour and past the islands and out into the great ocean.

So the wind kept blowing, and the Industry kept sailing along over the ocean for a great many days. She sailed along, through parts of the ocean where it is always hot and where it rains a great deal, and past the country where the monkeys live, and around the end of that country. And after awhile Captain Solomon saw some land, and he knew it was an island where no people lived, but where beautiful clear water ran out of a crack in the rock. So he made the ship go near that island, and then the sailors fixed the sails so that the ship wouldn't go ahead. And the sailors let down one of the rowboats into the water. For every big ship has some rowboats that are hung up over the deck. And they took all the hogsheads of water and emptied out what water was left. Then they put in the bungs and tied all the hogsheads together with ropes that went between them, and they threw them over the side of the ship into the water. Then the sailors in the rowboat caught the end of the rope and rowed, and they went to the island, dragging the hogsheads that floated on the top of the water. And they filled the hogsheads with nice fresh water that came out of the rock, and then they rowed back to the ship, dragging the hogsheads. And they were hoisted up into the ship, and the rowboat was hoisted up, and the sailors fixed the sails again so that the ship would sail ahead.


So they sailed along for a great many days, and at last they came to the far country. That country is called India. And the Industry sailed into a wide river, and the sailors took down the sails and let down the great anchor to the bottom of the river. For the water by the shore was not deep enough for the ship to go there, so they had to keep the ship in the middle of the river. On the shore was a city, and a lot of men came out from the shore in little rowboats and took the things out of the Industry and carried them to the city. And the boats were so little, and there were so many things, they had to go back and forth a great many times.

When the things were all taken out of the ship, Captain Solomon had his rowboat let down into the water, and he got in, and two sailors rowed him to the land. Then he went to the man who had bought all the things he had brought, and the man paid Captain Solomon the money for the things. Then Captain Solomon started to look about to see what he could buy to take back to Boston.

First he bought a lot of tea, and a lot of spices, like cinnamon and cloves and nutmegs, and a lot of china dishes that had houses and trees and birds painted on them in blue. Then he bought a lot of pretty tables and such things that were made of teak-wood and ebony and ivory. And he bought a lot of little images that were carved out of ivory, and some trays that were shiny black, with birds and flowers painted on them in red and silver and gold. Then he bought a great many logs of teak-wood to carry back to Boston, to make into chairs and mantels and doors for the inside of houses. And when all these things were carried to the ship and put in, Captain Solomon had some money left, and he looked about to see what he could buy that was very nice.

In India they have cloth that is made of the hair of goats, and shawls that are made of the hair of camels. The people made these things and brought them to the city to sell. The cloth was very nice and the shawls were very fine and beautiful.

So Captain Solomon went to the place where they had the cloth of goat's hair and the camel's-hair shawls, and he bought a great many shawls and some of the cloth. Some of the shawls were white, with a pattern of curly shapes in the middle, in red and blue and yellow, and some had a border of the same kind all around the edge. Some were red, with a pattern all over them of blue and brown and yellow and white. And besides the shawls, there were narrow pieces made of camel's hair, that were meant to be worn around ladies' necks. And they were all very beautiful.

So Captain Solomon had all the shawls and the pieces of cloth put in two great chests made of cedar, and he had the chests carried on the ship and put in his cabin. His cabin was the room where he did all his work, looking at the charts and maps, to see where the ship was, and writing down in a book what happened every day. The beautiful shawls would be taken care of in his cabin better than in the bottom of the ship, with the teak-wood and the other things.

When Captain Solomon had bought the shawls and got them put on the ship, he bought a lot of things for the sailors to eat while the ship was sailing back to Boston. There were flour and meal and very hard crackers and salt and sugar and fine hominy and peas and beans and a lot of other things, and great hogsheads of meat that was in salt water. And there was a cow that they kept in a kind of pen on the deck of the ship, and four sheep and a lot of chickens. So they could have milk and eggs, and sometimes roast chicken for dinner, or roast mutton. Then they filled all the water barrels with fresh water, and the sailors pulled up the great anchor and hoisted the sails.

So the Industry sailed out of the river and into the big ocean, and they sailed away for a great many days. And when they came to the island where the nice water ran out of the rock, Captain Solomon had all the water barrels filled with fresh water again. Then they sailed along, around the end of the country where the monkeys lived, and over another big ocean. And after a long time they came to Boston, and the Industry sailed in past the islands and into the harbour, and up to the wharf. And the sailors took down the sails and fastened the ship to the wharf with great ropes.

Then Captain Solomon went on shore and got a big wagon. The horses dragged the wagon down on the wharf, and the men took the two chests out of the cabin and put them on the wagon. Then Captain Solomon got on the wagon with the men, and they drove the horses through the streets until they came to the place where the men stayed that owned the Industry. That place they call an office.
So Captain Solomon got down from the wagon, and the men took the chests and carried them into the office. In the office were Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob. They had been sailors, too, and they owned the Industry. And Captain Solomon opened the chests and showed the cloth and the shawls to Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob, and they thought the cloth and the shawls were very beautiful. And while Captain Jonathan was looking at the shawls he found one that was white, with a pattern in the middle of red and yellow and brown and blue. He thought that shawl was the prettiest shawl he had ever seen. So he said: "Jacob, I am going to give this shawl to my daughter Lois."

And Captain Jacob said, "All right." For Captain Jonathan's daughter Lois was Captain Jacob's wife.

So Captain Jonathan gave the shawl to his daughter Lois. And after a great many years she gave the shawl to her daughter Lois. And after a great many years more, when that Lois was an old lady, she gave the shawl to her niece, who was named Lois. And when that Lois was an old lady she used to wear the shawl almost all the time. But one day she forgot and hung the shawl over the balusters near the door just when the cook was going away. And the cook saw the shawl and took it away and never brought it back.

And that's all.




XIX.

The Buying-Farm Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. And in the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. The farm wasn't Uncle Solomon's then, but it belonged to the man that had built the farm-house, and that man had built the barn first and then the house. And he had cut down the trees and made the fields smooth and nice where the different things were to grow. And when he had lived there a good many years, he was tired of being there, and he wanted to go somewhere else.

Captain Solomon had sailed on the great ocean a great many years, and he was tired of being a sailor, and thought he would like to have a farm; and besides, he was afraid that if he kept on being a sailor, his little boys would want to be sailors, too, and he didn't want them to be. There were three boys, Uncle John and his two brothers; and when they got big enough, Uncle John's brothers ran away and were sailors. For they didn't like to be on a farm. But Uncle John stayed on the farm after Uncle Solomon bought it.

So one day Captain Solomon came to the farm and he found the man that had got it all ready and had built the house. And the man showed Captain Solomon all the fields where the things were growing, and the orchard and the maple-sugar woods and the barn and the house. And Captain Solomon liked the farm. So he paid the man some money, and the man gave the farm to Uncle Solomon. For after he had bought the farm, the people all called Captain Solomon Uncle Solomon. Then the man took all his beds and chairs and tables and the other things from the house, and he moved them away to another place.


Then Uncle Solomon put all his things in great wagons, and it took a long time to move them to the farm, for Uncle Solomon had lived in Wellfleet, a town that is on the shore of the great ocean, and the farm was a long way from that town, and it was not on the shore of the ocean. They didn't have railroads then, and all the things had to be dragged in the wagons. But at last the wagons came to the farm, and Uncle Solomon took all the things out of the wagons and put them in the house. He put the wagons in the shed and the horses in the barn. That was a very long time ago, more than one hundred years.

When all the things were put in the house, Uncle Solomon bought some cows and the things he needed to do farm work with. Then he began to do all the things that have to be done on a farm, the things that the other stories tell about.

And that's all.




XX.

The Butter Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

In the morning, when Uncle John had milked all the cows, he took all the milk, in the big pails, to the milk-room that was in the corner of the barn, and he poured it through a cloth into some cans. Then he carried the pails to the kitchen door, and Aunt Deborah washed them out with cold water. Then she poured some very hot water into them and rinsed them out, and set them in the sunshine. And Uncle John went back to the milk-room and took the cans of milk and carried them out to the spring-house.

The spring-house was a little low house that was in the orchard, and a stream of water ran right through the middle of it. It was the same stream of water that ran on through the big field where the cows went to eat the grass, and then it ran on, under the road and through another field and into the river. They didn't have ice then, in the summer time, but the water of the little stream was cool, and they used that to keep the milk and the butter from getting too hot. They had made a trench for the water to run through, and in the bottom of the trench they had put great flat stones, so that the water ran over the stones. And on top of the stones the water wasn't deep at all.

So Uncle John took the milk to the spring-house and poured it into big flat pans, and set the pans in the water on the flat stones, so that the water would keep the milk cool while the cream came to the top. The cream is the yellow, fat part of milk, and when the milk stands still, the cream comes to the top.

Every time Uncle John had finished milking the cows, he took the milk to the spring-house and put it in flat pans and left the pans in the cool water. And when the milk had stood so for as long as all day or all night, Aunt Deborah went out to the spring-house and took a kind of big spoon and skimmed the cream off the top of the milk, and put the cream into a stone jar. And she left the cream in the jar for two or three days until it was just right to make into butter.


When the cream in the jar was just right, Aunt Deborah and Aunt Phyllis took it to the buttery and put it in the churn, a kind of box that had a long handle. And on the end of the handle was a big piece of wood with holes all through it. Then Aunt Phyllis took hold of the long handle and made it go up and down, and Aunt Deborah held on to the churn, so that it wouldn't tip over. And when Aunt Phyllis was tired, Aunt Deborah made the handle go up and down, and Aunt Phyllis held on to the churn. And the cream splashed all about, and at last it began to turn into butter, in little lumps.


When it was done enough, Aunt Deborah poured off the watery stuff that they called buttermilk, and she washed the butter with water, and she put in a lot of salt. The buttermilk she saved, because sometimes people like to drink it. Then she took the butter that was all in little lumps, and she worked it together, so that the water came out of it, and it was all in big lumps. And she worked that all together until it was worked enough, and was in one big lump.

Then she got a little mould, a kind of cup with a cover. And in the inside of the cover was a picture, cut into the wood, of an ear of corn and some marks all about. Then Aunt Deborah put some of the butter into the mould, and she put the cover over, and pushed hard, and the butter was squeezed into a little round cake, with the picture of the ear of corn on the top. Then she took out that piece and put in some more, and she made a little cake of that. And so she did with all the butter, until it was all in little cakes; and those cakes of butter they call pats.

When all the butter was made into pats, Aunt Deborah put the pats into a great round wooden box and carried the box out to the spring-house to get cold, and keep until it was wanted. Every week she made enough butter to fill the big round box. That was enough for them to eat, and some to take to market besides.

And that's all.




XXI.

The Bean-Pole Story


Once upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

All about were other fields where different things grew. There were squashes and turnips and melons and corn and oats and potatoes and cabbages and onions and peas and beans. Some of the bean plants grew like little short trees, but the others wanted to climb on something. So Uncle John had to get some bean-poles for the bean plants to climb up. So, one morning, when summer was just beginning, the bean plants had come up through the ground, and were tall enough to begin to climb.

Uncle John took his axe and a big sharp knife and he got out the old oxen. They put their heads down and he put the yoke over and the bows under, and hooked the tongue of the cart to the yoke. Then he said "Gee up there;" and the old oxen started walking slowly along, past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field, and little John came after.

And Uncle John took down the bars, and the oxen went through the wheat-field, and he took down the bars at the other side of the field, and they walked through into the maple-sugar woods. Then they went along the road in the woods past the little maple-sugar house, and they kept on until they came to a place where there weren't any big trees, but there were a great many little slim trees very close together. The little slim trees were about as big as little John's wrist at the bottom, and they were about twice as tall as Uncle John.


Then Uncle John stopped the oxen, and he took his axe and cut down a great many of the little slim trees. They were so little that he cut down each tree with one whack of the axe. And when the trees were cut down, as many as he wanted, he took the big sharp knife and he cut off all the branches of each tree. The trees grew so close together that there weren't many branches, and what there were, were very small. Then Uncle John put all the branches in a pile away from the trees, and he piled the trees all on the cart. The trees, after the branches were cut off, were straight and almost smooth. At the bottom they were about as big as little John's wrist, and at the top they were only as big as his thumb. These smooth trees without any branches they called poles.

Then Uncle John said, "Gee up there," and the oxen started and turned around, and walked slowly along, through the maple-sugar woods, and through the wheat-field, and Uncle John put up the bars after they had gone through. Then they walked along past the orchard and past the barn and past the shed and past the kitchen door, and through the wide gate into the road. And they went along the road until they came to the field where the beans were growing; and they turned in at the gate into that field, and went along to the bean plants, and there they stopped.

Then Uncle John took the poles out of the cart, one at a time, and he stuck a pole into the ground near each bean plant, so that the vine, when it was feeling around for something to climb on, would find the pole. The poles, after they were stuck into the ground, went up in the air just a little higher than Uncle John's head. And Uncle John said, "Gee up" again, and the old oxen turned around and went back along the road and in at the wide gate and up past the kitchen door to the shed. And Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the cart and took off the yoke, and the oxen went into the barn.


Then the bean vines kept on growing, and they got higher and higher, and they twisted around and found the poles, and they held on to the poles and kept on twisting and climbing until they had reached the tops of the poles. Then the flowers came on the vines, and afterward the pods with beans in them grew where the flowers had been. For the beans are only the seeds that the flowers change into after they wither away. And at the end of the summer, when the beans had stopped growing and were ripe, Uncle John gathered them and took them in to Aunt Deborah.

And that's all.

<eob>

Baartock

By

Lewis Roth



Chapter 1


Baartock was sitting by the side of the old two lane country road, crying.  Seven years old and all alone for hours, but that wasn't why he was sobbing, tears running down his cheeks.  He had grown up in the forest, he was used to being alone, except for his parents.  He wasn't lost and he hadn't run away from home, though he felt so ashamed he didn't want to go home.  It had been a bad day, a terrible day. Baartock had been waiting all day to scare someone, but there hadn't been anyone to scare.  It was such a bad thing to happen to a troll on his first day.

Today was such an important day.  Today was the very first day that Baartock was to go out scaring all by himself.  He had stayed up late the night before and had gotten up early, so he would be all tired and cranky.  He had gone out of the cave where he lived and rolled in the smelliest, nastiest mud he could find, so he would look his scariest. And he had practiced his screams and shrieks, until both his parents yelled at him to shut-up and to go scare somebody.  He had set out, going down the old dry stream-bed, just like his father had told him. On the way, he fell down and cut his knee, which made him really angry. He threw a rock at a bird that was singing in the trees, trying to make fun of him.  He missed and that made him even angrier.  When he got to the road and looked both ways, he crossed it and hid in the culvert. Then he waited and listened.

The culvert wasn't much of a bridge. It was just a big, old concrete pipe that went under the road for rain-water to go through. He wished that it was a bridge, any kind of bridge at all.  Even a wooden bridge, but a real bridge that he could hide under and come rushing out to scare people. He crouched down to wait and listen.

He knew what he was listening for.  The sound of someone walking down the road.  Baartock had practiced at home, just the way his father had shown him.  He would stand waiting, just out of sight. Then, when he heard something, he would run up the hill, roaring and screaming.  The practice had all gone so well.  When he did it at home, he never had to wait long to hear something.  He had scared lots of squirrels, a deer, two opossum, and a skunk. Baartock didn't like to remember the skunk.  They had scared each other.

To help pass the time, Baartock remembered of some of the stories that his father told.  Stories about the famous trolls in his family, and how they had scared people.  How his Great-great-uncle Sssssgnaarll had chased a whole village.  He had come running down the side of the mountain and right into the village, yelling and screaming his loudest, and everybody had run away.  And how wonderfully ugly his mother's grandfather Munchch-Crunchch had been. So ugly, that just as soon as he looked up over the side of a bridge, people would faint right where they were standing. It was fun to think about things like that, while he was waiting.

He thought about the name he was going to earn for himself. Something really scary and wonderful.  Baartock wasn't his real name. That was just what his mother called him.  His father would just yell 'kid', and Baartock knew that meant him.  That's the way it is with trolls.  But he wouldn't get a name, a real troll name until he was twelve years old, and had scared lots of people.  He wanted to earn a really scary name like Arrrggrr-Munch Slinurp, which was his father's name.

He waited for a long time, but no one came. After a while, when he got tired, he ate his sandwiches.  They were really good.  His mother had put extra sand in them.  Just as he finished his lunch, a bee stung him.  That got him angry again, and he felt that he could scare anybody who came along.  He settled down again to wait and listen.  But he didn't hear anything.  He kept waiting.  When he got tired of waiting down under the road in the culvert, he climbed up and hid in a bush by the side of the road. Baartock waited some more, but still nobody came walking down the road.  The sun was right overhead.  He was hot and tired and hungry and lots of things, but mostly unhappy. The longer he waited, the unhappier he got.

He was sitting by the side of the road, crying, when the car drove up and stopped near him.  He was sobbing so hard that he didn't hear it. It wouldn't have mattered if he had heard it.  His father hadn't shown him how to scare a car.  He did hear the car door slam, when Mr. Fennis got out.

"What's the matter?"  Mr. Fennis didn't know anything about trolls, but he knew about children.  And what he saw was a very dirty little child sitting by the side of the road, crying.  Mr. Fennis taught third grade and would have been at school, but this morning he had to go to the dentist.  He was hurrying to get back to school.  He didn't want to miss more than half the day.  The substitute teacher had been sick and Mrs. Jackson, the principal, was teaching his class.  That was almost as bad as the pain in his mouth.

As soon as Baartock saw Mr. Fennis, he knew what he was supposed to do. If he hadn't been sobbing so hard, he might have been able to scare him.

"Ahgrr," Baartock started to yell, but it got all mixed up with his crying and didn't come out scary at all.

"What's the matter?"  Mr. Fennis asked again.  "Are you hurt?"

Baartock could only shake his head.

"Are you lost?  What's wrong?"

Baartock tried to say, "I'm trying to scare you," but all that came out was "scare."

"You don't have to be scared.  I'll try to help you. Do you know how to get home?"

Baartock nodded his head and sobbed some more.  He hadn't been able to scare this person.  Now they were even talking. Oh, this was awful.

"Let me take you home," said Mr. Fennis.  "Which way do you live?"

Baartock pointed up the hill.   "I don't think anyone lives up there. You must live in the old Howard place."  Mr. Fennis seemed to be talking mostly to himself.  Then he asked "How old are you?"

"Seven," answered Baartock.

"You should be in school today."

"No school."  Baartock didn't know what school was, but he didn't think he should be there.  "Father said 'wait here'.  I came early today, but nobody came."

"You've been waiting for a school bus all this time?" Mr. Fennis knew what the trouble was now.  The poor kid. Missed the bus, and he's been sitting here ever since.  No wonder he was crying. Though he could have gone back home and gotten cleaned up.  I'd better take him home and explain things to his mother.

"What's your name?"

"Don't have name,"  Baartock was feeling a little better. Just sobbing every now and then.

"Well then, what can I call you?"  asked Mr. Fennis. After all, he was a teacher and he knew how to get an answer.

"Baartock.  Mother calls me Baartock."

"All right, Baartock.  You can call me, Mr. Fennis.  I teach third grade at the school where you should be today. I'm going to take you home."  Then he had a thought.  No point in driving back to the old Howard house if no one would be there.  So many mothers had jobs. Besides, he was in a hurry to get back to school.  "Is your mother home now?" he asked.

"No."  Baartock knew that his mother would be out gathering poison ivy and catching lizards for dinner.

"Well, Baartock.  You should be in school and I'm going there.  You can ride there with me and come home on the school bus." Taking Baartock's hand, they walked to the car.

For some trollish reason, Baartock's mother hadn't told him not to talk with strangers, or not to go anywhere  with them.  Maybe it was because she didn't think that he would ever get the chance. But, Baartock knew that he was supposed to be scaring someone, not talking to them.  Or going in a car with them.

Because he had stayed up in the woods until today, Baartock had never seen a car.  He didn't know a car was, or what it looked like.  He certainly had never ridden in one, but he liked this thing they got into.  Mr. Fennis was neat about most things, but his car was a mess. The paint was scratched, one of the fenders was dented, and on the floor were some paper coffee cups and soda cans.  On the back seat were seven over-due library books, an overflowing litter bag, a couple of cans of oil, which should have been in the trunk, and some plastic tubing for a science project.  To Baartock, it looked just like home. He was busy looking around when Mr. Fennis started the engine and began to drive off.  Then Baartock went wild and really did scare Mr. Fennis.




Chapter 2


It was only a short drive, though it felt very long to both Baartock and Mr. Fennis.  When Mr. Fennis finally parked the car at Marvis T. Johnson Elementary School, he got out and helped Baartock out of the back seat.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, Baartock," apologized  Mr. Fennis, helping him out.  "You almost made us crash when you grabbed the steering wheel.  You don't do that in your folks car, do you?"

"Don't like!" said Baartock angrily, as he kicked at the side of the car.

"Don't do that!  It's my car.  It may not look pretty, but it's paid for and takes me where I want to go."

"Go home," said Baartock and he started to walk off the way they had come.  Like all trolls, he had an almost perfect sense of direction and couldn't get lost. This place wasn't at all like the woods and he didn't like it.  It was all new and frightening to him. Since he was a troll, he wasn't going to be scared, or not much anyway. He was supposed to do the scaring.

"Come on, Baartock.  Let's go on into school."  Mr. Fennis grabbed Baartock's hand.

"Don't want school!  Want to go home!"

So, with Mr. Fennis pulling one way and Baartock pulling the other, they went into school.  As soon as they got inside, Baartock stopped wanting to go home and started looking at this new kind of cave he was in.  There were big boards fastened to the walls, covered with lots of colored papers.  There were cases with glass frames with more colored papers behind them.  The walls were a bright yellow, and there were lights overhead.  Even the floor was smooth and shiny. There were a lot of new things for him to see. He was still looking around when they got to the school office.

"Ms. Laurence, Baartock seems to have missed the bus this morning," said Mr. Fennis to the woman sitting at a desk, behind the counter. Ms. Laurence was the school secretary.  "I found him still waiting by the road."

"Baartock? I don't know any Baartock."

"Well, he's seven, so he must be in Mrs. Stogbuchner's class.  Could you get him down there?  I've really got to get back to my class. Good-by, Baartock."  With that, Mr. Fennis hurried out of the office and down the hall, leaving Baartock in the office.

Baartock looked at Ms. Laurence.  Then he looked all around the room. When he had seen enough he said,  "Not Mississtog-Buchnersklass.  Go home!  Now!"  Baartock thought it might be fun to meet someone with a wonderfully scary name like Mississtog-Buchnersklass, but he was tired and wanted to go home.  He was just out the door, leaving Ms. Laurence calling "Baartock! Stop!" when he crashed right into Mrs. Jackson, the principal.

Mr. Fennis told Mrs. Jackson about Baartock just as soon as he had gotten into his classroom and she came running to the office. Mrs. Jackson had been a school teacher for many years and principal for a few more, but she wasn't sure that she had ever seen a child quite like the dirty, wild, little one, who was trying to pull away from her. "Stop right now!"  Mrs. Jackson's voice echoed up and down the hall. Baartock stopped squirming and stood, wide-eyed, staring at her.  He didn't know humans could sound like that.  Down the hall, classroom doors opened and several teachers looked out.  Mrs. Jackson ignored them as she pushed Baartock back into the office and closed the door.

"Please tell me your name."  Before he could say that he wasn't old enough to have a name, Ms. Laurence answered "Baartock."

"Baartock," said Mrs. Jackson as she brought him over to a bench, "sit down.  Tell me how you got so dirty."

"Rolled in mud.  Want to go home."

"You certainly must have rolled in the mud.  I understand you missed your bus this morning."

"Mrs. Jackson," said Ms. Laurence, who had stopped watching them and was busily looking through some papers, "We don't have any student named Baartock."  School had just started the week before, but Ms. Laurence was sure that she knew the names of all the new students.  And where to find their records.

"Is today your first day?" asked Mrs. Jackson.  "Yes!  First day! First day!" Baartock answered right away.  Finally he had found someone who understood that today was his first day to go scare people by all himself.

"But, Mrs. Jackson, I don't have his registration forms, medical records, or anything."  Ms. Laurence was now going through file drawers.

"I'm sure you'll find them.  Baartock and I will just go down to Mrs. Stogbuchner's class, then I'll be back to help you look," said Mrs. Jackson as she opened the door. "Baartock, let's go meet your teacher. I'm sure you'll be very happy in her class."

"Want to go home!" repeated Baartock rather loudly as they walked down the hall.

"Please don't shout, Baartock.  We don't want to disturb the other classes.  I'm sure you would like to go home.  I would like to go home, too, but we're  supposed to be here.  And we'll get everything straightened out about your bus schedule, so you won't miss your bus tomorrow. I'll make sure that you get home after school is over. Just behave yourself and do what Mrs. Stogbuchner tells you."




Chapter 3


"Now, let's get you into class," said Mrs. Jackson. They went to the last door on the right side of the hall, and Mrs. Jackson looked through a little window in the door.

"Is it recess time already?  The class must be outside." She opened the door and they went into the classroom.  It was a bright cheerful room, with windows all along one wall and chairs pulled up around low tables.

"This will be your classroom," Mrs. Jackson said.  They walked to a door in the back of the classroom and went outside.

"Let's see if we can find them.  They should be on the playground. That's around this way."  Hand in hand, they went around to the back of the school building.

There was the playground.  And the class.  So many humans. Baartock had never seen that many humans.  They were swinging, racing around, climbing, playing, and just standing.  They were laughing and yelling and screaming. They were all having fun.  Baartock was so interested, that he didn't see the woman coming over to them.

"Baartock, this is your teacher, Mrs. Stogbuchner," said Mrs. Jackson. "Mrs. Stogbuchner, this is Baartock. This is his first day, isn't it Baartock?"

"First day," said Baartock, still looking at the children.

"Nice to have you in my class, Baartock," said Mrs. Stogbuchner.  "I'm sure you will enjoy it here."

"I'll come see that you get on the right bus to get home, Baartock," said Mrs. Jackson.  "Why don't you go play. But, please behave yourself.  I want to talk to Mrs. Stogbuchner for a moment."

Baartock started walking over to where the children were playing.  He was thinking so many different things. It was his first day and he should be scaring people, and here were humans to scare. But there were just so many of them, all running and laughing and playing.  Nobody was paying any attention to him.  They weren't even looking at him. Baartock couldn't think of any way to scare anybody. This was all so new, and not the way it was supposed to be. He was suddenly scared.  He didn't know what to do.

Baartock had been slowly walking by the fence that went around the playground.  When he got to the jungle gym, he stopped and watched the three boys who were climbing on it. He wasn't quite sure why they were climbing and chasing each other, but they seemed to be having fun. Suddenly, Baartock jumped up on the bars and climbed up to the top.  It was like climbing a tree, but it was different, too. He was just sitting there, looking around, when one of the boys, the one with red hair, climbed up beside him.

"Hi.  I'm Jason.  Are you new?"

"No, I'm Baartock," he said.  He wouldn't want a dumb name like 'New'.

All the other children were about the same size as Baartock, but Jason was even bigger.  He was trying to think what to say to this red haired boy.

Then Jason started to climb down again.  When he was just a little way down, he called, "Try to catch me, Baartock!"

Baartock knew what to do.  He started climbing down, chasing Jason as fast as he could.  By now, Jason was on the ground, running past the swings.  When Baartock got down, he started running.  He ran past the swings, past the slide. He was catching up to Jason, he had almost caught him, when a there was a whistle and Jason stopped. Baartock crashed into him and they both fell down.  Jason got on his feet right away.

"We've got to go in now," he said as he pulled Baartock to his feet. "We have to go line up.  Come on."

Baartock didn't understand what they were going to do, but he walked along with Jason.  As they walked over to where Mrs. Stogbuchner was standing, Baartock said, "I caught you."

"I can run faster," answered Jason.  "Next time you won't."

Mrs. Stogbuchner again blew her whistle.  "Recess is over. Time to go inside," she called.  Then she saw Baartock and Jason. "Making friends already, Baartock? Jason, please let Baartock sit next to you and help him along today."

"Yes, Mrs. Stogbuchner," said Jason.

"Everybody settle down," called Mrs. Stogbuchner as she walked past the children, who were lining up.

"I'm supposed to be first today, right, Mrs. Stogbuchner?" called a boy from the front of the line.

"All right, Jimmy," she answered.

"There.  I told you so," Jimmy said loudly to the girl standing next to him.

"Don't start a fight about it, Jimmy," said Mrs. Stogbuchner, who was now at the back of the line.  "Let's walk inside quietly.  No running!" she called, as Jimmy started rushing off.

In just a few minutes, Baartock found himself sitting right next to Jason, at one of the low tables in the classroom.  Mrs. Stogbuchner, standing in front of the classroom was saying, "We have someone new in class." Everybody was looking around.  "Baartock, please stand up. This is his first day."

Baartock stood up, but he was embarrassed.  Now everybody knew this was his first day, he'd never be able to scare anybody.  He was still standing, when Mrs. Stogbuchner said, "You may sit down now, Baartock."

Jason reached up and pulled Baartock back onto his chair.  A couple of children at the next table were giggling, and several others were whispering something and pointing at him.  Baartock felt uncomfortable. He wasn't really too interested in the papers that were passed around. But he got interested in making the marks on the paper, when Jason helped him color the worksheet.  There were so many bright colors.  He got so interested in coloring that he didn't pay any attention to anything else.  It didn't seem very long before Mrs. Stogbuchner said, "It's time to get everything put away now."

Jason whispered to him, "Where do you live?"

"That way," said Baartock, pointing.  That was the way a troll would give directions.  Just point in the direction you were supposed to go, and then walk until you got there. In spite of everything that had happened today, he knew just exactly where his home was.  He had been so busy, he hadn't thought about it until now. "Want to go home," he said.

"We all get to go home in just a few minutes, Baartock," said Mrs. Stogbuchner, who had been walking around making sure that everything was put away.  "Everybody sits down quietly and waits for the bell."

Baartock started to ask Jason, "What's bell?"  But he only got to say "What's . . .."

Mrs. Stogbuchner was still standing behind him. "Baartock, in this classroom, 'wait quietly' means 'no talking'."

Mrs. Jackson came into the classroom and walked over to them.  "Mrs. Stogbuchner, if you're finished with Baartock for today, I'd like him to come to the office now."

"Yes.  We're all through.  Baartock, please go with Mrs. Jackson, and we'll see you tomorrow."

When they got into the hall, Mrs. Jackson said, "Baartock, we couldn't find your file, and I do need to talk to your mother. Instead of riding on the school bus, I'm going to drive you home."

"Go home now?" asked Baartock quietly.  He remembered how angry this person could sound.

"Yes.  I'm going to drive you home."    Just then the bell rang, and Baartock jumped three feet in the air.




Chapter 4


When Baartock and Mrs. Jackson walked out to the parking lot, Mr. Fennis was waiting beside his car.

"Ready to go home, Baartock?" asked Mr. Fennis.

"Go home now," answered Baartock, and he started to walk away.

"Baartock!  Come back here!"  Mrs. Jackson's voice stopped him and he turned around.

"Not go home now?" asked Baartock.

"We're going to take you home, but we're not going to walk. We are going to drive in the car."

Walking home was exactly what Baartock had planned to do. Then he had an idea.  "Don't like car.  You drive.  I walk," he said.

"No.  Now please get in."

"You'd think he'd never ridden in car until today," commented Mr. Fennis as he got in and closed the door.  "He became positively wild when I drove him to school."

"Well, he'll behave this time, won't you Baartock.  You just sit quietly while we take you home."

"Sit," said Baartock unhappily.

Mr. Fennis started the car, and Baartock started to jump, but he saw Mrs. Jackson watching him.  So he just sat and looked even unhappier.

The ride this time seemed much quicker for Mr. Fennis, since Baartock wasn't jumping around in the car.

"They must live in Donald and Phyllis Howard's old house," he said as they drove down the country road.  "I found him just down the road from their driveway."

"I didn't know anyone had moved in there," said Mrs. Jackson.

Just then Baartock exclaimed "Home!" pointing up the hill.

"Can we use the driveway instead, Baartock?" said Mr. Fennis.  "I don't want to walk up the hill, even if you do have a shortcut."  He drove on down the road a little further, then slowed even more as they came to a mailbox and a dirt driveway.

"That's funny.  The 'For Sale' sign's still there," said Mrs. Jackson. Out in the middle of the corn-stalk stubbled field was a weathered sign, 'Farm For Sale - Crow Real Estate'.    "This is the only house up here.  They must have just not taken the sign down yet."

Baartock sat in the back seat and didn't say anything. Mr. Fennis turned the car onto the driveway and started up the hill. This dirt road did go near his family's cave, but he never used it. Trolls almost never use roads unless there are bridges, and the bridges are to live under or hide under.

The driveway went up the hill, between the field and the woods.  It didn't look as though a car had been on it for a long time.  The grass growing in the middle was quite tall, and the bushes growing next to the road needed to be cut back.  They scraped the side of the car as they went up the driveway.  And there were a lot of holes that needed filling.  Mr. Fennis was driving slowly, but the car still raised a cloud of dust behind them.

Up near the top of the hill, the road turned away from the woods, toward a grove of trees and the old frame house almost hidden in the trees.

"Home over there," said Baartock, pointing back into the woods, as Mr. Fennis was about to turn toward the house.

"But there aren't any houses in the woods," said Mrs. Jackson.

"Can we look at the house first, Baartock?" asked Mr. Fennis.

"Home over there!" said Baartock again, still pointing toward the woods, but he sat quietly as they drove up to the house. There was a smaller sign on the porch by the front door, 'House & Farm For Sale - Crow Real Estate' with a phone number to call.

"It certainly doesn't look like anyone lives here," said Mr. Fennis, as he turned the car around in the driveway.  "All right, Baartock.  Which way is your home?"

"Home that way," said Baartock, still pointing into the woods.

"Mr. Fennis, do you think he's lost?" asked Mrs. Jackson quietly.

"Not lost.  Never get lost.  Home over there!" said Baartock firmly. Trolls can also hear very well.

Mr. Fennis drove the car back to where the driveway turned down hill and stopped it.  "Baartock, just how far is your home?"

"Home over there.  Not far.  Easy walk," said Baartock. If these humans weren't with him, he could easily run home.

"Mrs. Jackson, if we are going to meet Baartock's parents, I guess we have to walk through the woods. Baartock, will your mother or father be home now?" asked Mr. Fennis.

"Mother home now," answered Baartock.  He was suddenly hungry, thinking about the lizard and poison ivy dinner she said she would fix.

Mr. Fennis got out and went around and opened the door for Mrs. Jackson and Baartock.  "Baartock, will you please show us the way to your home?"

They walked into the woods, Baartock in front, walking easily and quietly between trees and bushes.  Next came Mr. Fennis, pushing his way through, and holding branches out of the way for Mrs. Jackson.  She came last, carrying her briefcase full of important school papers.

"Slow down, Baartock," called Mr. Fennis, when Baartock got too far ahead of them.  "We can't go that fast.  How much further is it?"

"Home soon," answered Baartock.

"I really don't believe this," said Mrs. Jackson, more to herself than to Mr. Fennis.  "Could he live out here in the woods?"

"He acts like he knows where he's going," was Mr. Fennis' reply.

Baartock was waiting for them at the dry stream bed. When they caught up with him, he pointed up the hill.  "Home there," he said, starting again.

This was easier walking, without all of the branches. But there were a lot of loose rocks underfoot, and a few pools of muddy water from the last rain.  A little way further, Baartock turned into the woods and stopped in a clearing by the mouth of a cave.

"Home!" he yelled, and went inside.

"But he can't live in a cave," said Mr. Fennis, panting.  It had been more of a hike in the woods than he had been expecting.

Just then, Baartock came back out of the cave, followed by his mother.

"Oh!" gasped Mrs. Jackson.

Baartock's mother, Whinnurf Slinurp, was an adult troll. She was almost seven feet tall, with a slightly gray-green skin, which is very attractive for a troll.  She was dressed in something like a robe, made of odd bits of cloth sewn patchwork fashion.  She was a gentle troll, not mean or nasty like some trolls.  Of course, neither Mrs. Jackson nor Mr. Fennis knew that she was a gentle troll. She had a basket of acorns and toadstools in her hand, which she had been fixing for dinner.

"Who you?" she asked in a booming voice.

Trolls, being larger than most humans, have louder, deeper voices. Compared to the way trolls normally are, she was being very polite. These must be humans from the nearby village.  She hadn't seen humans in quite a long time.  She had almost forgotten how little and ugly humans were.

Mr. Fennis and Mrs. Jackson looked at Baartock's mother and then at each other.  Mr. Fennis was ready to run away right now and forget the whole thing.  He was wondering if Mrs. Jackson could run fast enough to keep up.   For just a moment, Mrs. Jackson was wondering the same thing.  Then something made her change her mind. She had come to meet Baartock's mother or father and that was what she was going to do.  So, while Mr. Fennis watched wide-eyed, she said, "I'm Mrs. Jackson, the principal of the Marvis T. Johnson Elementary School.  This is Mr. Fennis, who teaches third grade there."

"So," said Whinnurf Slinurp.  That was like saying 'okay', only no troll, even a very polite troll, would say 'okay'.

"Are you Baartock's mother?" asked Mrs. Jackson.

"Yes," said Whinnurf Slinurp.  Proudly she added, "He good troll."




Chapter 5


"A troll!  I've been driving around all day with a troll!" thought Mr. Fennis.  "I didn't even think there were trolls.  Aren't they supposed to be mean?  Aren't they supposed to eat people?"  Mr. Fennis tried to remember everything that he had ever read about trolls in stories and fairy tales.  The only things he could remember were scary.

But, somehow, if Mrs. Jackson was having the same thoughts, they didn't seem to bother her.  All she saw was a seven-year-old child who should be in school.

"Have you enrolled Baartock in school?" she asked.

"What?  What school?" asked Whinnurf Slinurp.

Mrs. Jackson had it all figured out now.  Troll or not, this was another parent who had to be told about the importance of education, the state laws requiring school attendance, and all the other things about school.  "All children are supposed to go to school," she said. "Baartock is supposed to go to school."

"Go school today," Baartock told his mother.

"Baartock," said Mrs. Jackson, "why don't you show Mr. Fennis around? I need to talk to your mother for a few minutes." Both Baartock and Mr. Fennis started to say something, but she cut them both off.

"We'll only be a few minutes," she said again.  "We'll call you.

"Come on, Baartock.  Why don't you show me around?" Mr. Fennis decided that one young troll was probably better than two trolls and a school principal.

Baartock led the way back toward the dry stream bed. He wasn't sure what he would be able to show.  All the noise this human, Mr. Fennis, was making was scaring everything away.  Even the squirrels and mice were all hiding.  He pointed through the trees at a head-knocking bird.

"It's a red-headed woodpecker," said Mr. Fennis, when he finally saw it.

Then Baartock got an idea.  He knew just what to show. He started up the hill along the stream bed.

"We shouldn't go too far.  We have to be able to hear when they call."

"Can hear.  Not far," said Baartock as he kept scrambling up the hill. This was something that no amount of noise could scare away.

"Please slow down," asked Mr. Fennis after a few minutes. He wasn't used to racing up hills, and he was getting hot.

"Not far," repeated Baartock, but he did slow down to let Mr. Fennis catch up.

At one time there must have been a lot of water coming down from a spring, because the stream bed was wide in some places and deep in others as it cut a path down the hill. But now it was dry most of the time, except when it rained, when the water would come churning down the hill, bubbling past the rocks and washing the leaves down hill. Then after the rain ended, it would stop flowing, just leaving pools to dry up in the sunlight.

Mr. Fennis caught up with Baartock at a bend in the stream bed, just where it went around a clump of trees. Baartock just pointed up the hill.

"Mine," he said.

Mr. Fennis stopped to see what he was pointing at. Just a little way up the hill was a stone bridge over the stream bed.  Mr. Fennis stared at it.

The bridge looked just like a picture out of a story book. It was a low, wide, stone arch crossing over the stream.  Big, heavy stones made up the pillars on each end and the curved bottom of the bridge.  Lots of smaller flat stones filled in the walls, and some bigger ones topped off the walls.  There were trees and bushes going up to the bridge on either side.  Under the arch, there was the glitter of sunlight on a pool on the other side.  It was a very pretty sight, but Mr. Fennis couldn't think why anyone would build a bridge here, so far away from everything.

Baartock ran to the bridge and stood under it, and looked back at Mr. Fennis with a big grin.  "Mine," he said again.

Mr. Fennis hurried to the bridge too.  He had never seen a real stone bridge like this before.  "Baartock," he said, "you shouldn't stand under there.  It might not be safe."

"Not safe?" asked Baartock.

"One of those stones might fall down."

"Not fall down," said Baartock, not grinning any more. "I make.  Good bridge.  Trolls make good bridge.  I show you good bridge."

He came out from under the bridge, and went scrambling up the side of the stream bed.  Mr. Fennis looked for a better place to climb up, but finally climbed where Baartock had.  When he got up to the end of the bridge, Baartock was in the middle.  And he wasn't just standing there. He was jumping up and down.

"I make good bridge," he said again.  "Not fall down.

"Yes.  It's a good bridge," agreed Mr. Fennis.  He stopped watching Baartock and examined the bridge.  It did seem safe.  It really did look like someone had just built it.  The path on each side only went about ten feet into the woods and stopped.  There didn't seem to be any reason for anyone to build a bridge in the middle of the woods.  He didn't even consider what Baartock had said, that he had built it.

Baartock stood watching Mr. Fennis for a minute, then he had an idea. He went over and took his hand.  "Come," he said, leading him to the end of the path.  "I call.  You come cross bridge." Baartock ran back across the bridge and into the woods on the other side.

Mr. Fennis stood waiting for a minute, then he faintly heard Baartock call "Now!"  It sounded like he had run way off in the woods.  Not sure what the game was, Mr. Fennis walked back to the bridge and started to cross it.

Just then there was the most awful noise he had ever heard. He stopped to look around.  And Baartock came running and screaming up from under the bridge.  Mr. Fennis stood there for a moment with his mouth wide open, then he found himself running off the bridge, and running away into the woods.  He was quite a long way into the woods when he realized that the noise had been made by Baartock.  It had been terrifying.  He stopped beside a big tree and leaned on it while he caught his breath.  He wasn't used to running, or to being scared like that.  He was still standing there panting, when Baartock came walking up to him.  Mr. Fennis didn't know what to say.

"Good bridge," was what Baartock said, with a huge grin on his face. He had done it.  On his first day.  He really had scared someone.

Mr. Fennis stood, leaning up against the tree, and thought of some things he could say, but "Shouldn't we go back now?" was what he said.

With Baartock leading the way, they walked back toward the stream bed. Not far below the bridge there was a place where they could get down easily.  They were starting down when Baartock suddenly stopped.

"Mother call," he said and raced off down the hill.

Mr. Fennis hadn't heard anything, but he was too out of breath to call for Baartock to wait.  When he could have called, Baartock was out of sight, so he just slowly walked down the hill after him.  When he got to the clearing in front of the cave, Mrs. Jackson and Baartock's mother were coming out of the cave.

"We were starting to wonder where you were," said Mrs. Jackson.

"Baartock was showing me his bridge," said Mr. Fennis. "Though he told me he built it."

"Baartock good troll.  Build good bridge," said his mother.

"You mean he really did build it?"

"I'm sure he did," said Mrs. Jackson.  "I've been learning some amazing things about trolls, but we must be going now. It was very nice talking with you, Mrs. Slinurp. I'll see you both in the morning," she said, seeing Baartock come back out of the cave.  With Mr. Fennis following, she led the way back down the hill.

Baartock watched them leave and listened to them talk, or at least Mrs. Jackson.  "I could hear that scream all the way down here," she said. Then, "Well, he is a troll, you know."  He didn't hear anything else after that, and went in the cave to help his mother fix dinner.  He was very hungry.

When his father got home, Baartock had told him all about what had happen to him, including riding in the car and about the school.  His father hadn't said anything about that, but he didn't look too pleased. Then Baartock told about showing Mr. Fennis his bridge and about how he had scared him.  That had made his father laugh long and loud, and he'd patted Baartock on the head and told him what a good troll he was. After dinner, Baartock went to bed. Later, he heard his mother and father talking quietly, or at least quietly for trolls who were quite loud sometimes, but he was tired and happy and went back to sleep.




Chapter 6


The next morning, after his father had gone off, Baartock and his mother left the cave.  They went through the woods toward the old empty house, the one Mr. Fennis had called the 'old Howard house'.

They were crossing the stream bed when Baartock saw a muddy pool he could splash in.  He was just about to dive into it when his mother said "No!"  When he caught up with her all she said was "Not today." It was puzzling to him. She always let him get muddy.

When they got to the empty house, there was a car in the driveway, and Mrs. Jackson was standing beside it.

"Good morning," she said.  "Are you ready to go to school, Baartock?"

Baartock wasn't sure about that, so he didn't say anything. He had almost forgotten about school.  That was part of his first day, but not the important part.  He had forgotten about Mrs. Jackson saying she would see them in the morning.

Mrs. Jackson opened the car doors, and when Baartock and his mother got in, she showed them how to fasten their seat belts.  Mrs. Jackson explained that while she was a good driver, some other drivers weren't, and that they were probably safer wearing the seat belts.  His mother listened carefully to what Mrs. Jackson was saying.  She didn't seem to mind being in a car, until Mrs. Jackson started the engine.  Whinnurf Slinurp was a troll, so she wasn't about to get scared, but she did grip the edge of the seat very firmly.  When Mrs. Jackson asked if she was all right, she just closed her eyes tightly and said "Go."  But as they drove toward town, Baartock's mother finally opened her eyes to see where they were going.

This time Baartock watched out the window as they drove into town. There were lots of buildings like the old empty house that he knew. There were humans walking and lots of cars, and some big cars called trucks.  Some of them came right at them, but they always just missed Mrs. Jackson's car.

He was learning a lot about humans.  Mrs. Jackson had been talking almost all the time while she had been driving. He learned about streets, and blocks, which were between streets, and about houses and stores.  Only he hadn't seen a single bridge.  Suddenly he said, "School that way," and pointed.

"Yes, you're right, Baartock.  The school is that way. You certainly do know just where you are.  But we've got to go some place else first. We're almost there."

In just a few blocks, Mrs. Jackson turned the car into a driveway and parked in a space in front of a brick building.  She showed them how to unbuckle the seat belts.  Baartock practiced putting his on and taking it off, while she walked around to open the doors.  There was a sign on the front of the building, 'Public Health Services', but that didn't mean much to Baartock.  As they walked to the house, he asked about it.

"I'll tell you about it in just a minute," Mrs. Jackson said.

Baartock didn't know what a minute was, but he decided to wait and see what this house was.  And if there were any children here.  He had been thinking about Jason, and wanted to race him again.  He was sure that he could run faster, even though Jason was a little bigger.

Inside there was a woman at a desk, who looked up as they came in.  She seemed surprised when she looked up at Baartock's mother, but she didn't look scared.  "Nurse Dodge is expecting you, Mrs. Jackson," she said.  "You can go right in."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Jackson, and she led them down a hallway.  There were several doors, and she knocked on one and was opening it when a voice said, "Come in."

There were chairs and a desk in this room, as well as a woman dressed all in white clothes, who stood up and came around her desk as they went in. "Norma, thank you for seeing us so early," said Mrs. Jackson. "Mrs. Slinurp, this is Nurse Norma Dodge.  And this is Baartock."

"I'm glad to meet you," said Nurse Dodge in a cheerful voice.  "Please come in and sit down."  After she shut the door and went back behind her desk, she said, "I understand Baartock is to start going to our school."

Baartock didn't know anything about that, but his mother said, "Yes."

"Let me tell you about what I do here," said Nurse Dodge.

"I explained about medical records and shots," said Mrs. Jackson.

"I'm sure that you did, but I would like telling about it anyway," said Nurse Dodge.  To Baartock's mother she said, "I see most of the school children here and many of the adults too, and I try to keep them healthy.  I give the shots that will keep them from getting sick.  But I understand that Baartock has never been sick." "Yes," said his mother proudly.  "Baartock never sick. Little trolls never get sick.  Big trolls not get sick, too."

That wasn't really quite true.  Many young trolls get sore throats when they first start to practice their screaming.  That was because they would shriek instead of yelling or screaming.  Their mothers would make them gargle with warm salty water and that would usually make them better right away.  But other than that, young trolls never got colds or fevers or were ever sick.

"But if you never get sick," asked the nurse, "how do you know about being sick?"

"I see humans sick before," answered his mother.  "Not same for trolls. Maybe break arm, break leg same as humans. There are troll ways to fix trolls.  Trolls never get human sick."

Baartock didn't like to remember about breaking things. During the summer, when he was building his bridge, an arch stone had fallen on his hand and it broke two of his fingers.  It had really hurt.  His mother had put some salve on his fingers so they wouldn't hurt and would heal faster, then she had straightened them and wrapped them. When she unwrapped them two days later, they weren't broken any more, and he went back and finished his bridge.  But he remembered how much it hurt, and he was more careful after that.

He stopped listening to what the adults were saying. He was getting tired of just sitting.  There wasn't anything in the room to interest him, but there was an open door to another room, so he got up to look at it.

There wasn't much in that room either.  Just a little bed and a lot of little doors under a counter.  They were too small for an adult to go through, but he thought that he might fit through some of them.  He was just about to go look behind those doors when his mother said, "Baartock sit!"

Baartock went back and sat down and waited some more. He waited for what he thought was quite a long time.  The adults just kept talking. Talking about him.  He knew that they would keep on talking and then either he would have to do something now, or else he couldn't do something until he was bigger.  And he was right.  After all the talking, they agreed that he had to have a shot.  Nurse Dodge went in the other room and came back with a tiny bottle and something she called a 'needle'.  Baartock's mother did a lot of sewing, but this wasn't like any needle that Baartock had ever seen before.  She put something from the bottle into the needle, then came over to Baartock. He was watching her carefully.

"This may hurt a little, Baartock," she said.  "You might want to look over at your mother."  Then she wiped his arm with something that smelled awful and made his arm wet, and she stuck the needle in his arm.  It did hurt, a little like getting stuck by a thorn on a bush in the woods.  Then she pulled the needle out and said, "That wasn't too bad, was it?"

"Not hurt," said Baartock, though it did hurt some.

Nurse Dodge put the needle in a metal trash can and put the little bottle back in the other room.  Then she went back behind her desk and wrote something on a piece of paper.  "The school needs this to show that Baartock has had his required shots," she said, "and I'll keep a copy here."

"Well, Baartock," said Mrs. Jackson, "shall we go to school now?"

"Go see Mississtog-Buchnersklass?  Go see Jason?" asked Baartock.

"Yes.  We should hurry, so we'll be there before lunch."

They left the house and got back in the car.  Mrs. Jackson let Baartock put on his seat belt himself, but she checked to make sure it was fastened.




Chapter 7


They got out of the car after the short drive to the school.

"Go home now," Baartock's mother announced, and started walking down the sidewalk, leaving Baartock and Mrs. Jackson standing by the car.

"But," Mrs. Jackson called hurriedly, "I'll drive you home."

"No,"  was Whinnurf Slinurp's answer.  She didn't look back or even slow down, but walked off quickly toward home. She had had enough of humans and their strange ways for one day.

"How strange," Mrs. Jackson thought also.  "I certainly hope it wasn't something that I said.  I wonder if that's just the way trolls are?" They watched as Baartock's mother walking quickly down the sidewalk and around the corner of the school building and out of sight.

She said, "All right, Baartock, let's get into school. Before you go to your class, we have to stop by the office." The went in the front door and down the hall to the office. Baartock knew this room now.  It was near the front door and it was the only door with a big glass window in it.  All the doors either had no window at all or only a little one, up high, that he wasn't tall enough to look through.

"Mrs. Jackson, I'm glad you're here," Ms. Laurence said all in a rush. "There were some wasps in Mrs. Breckenridge's class and they couldn't get them out.  Some of the children got frightened.  She took her class out to the playground and Mr. Blevis is trying to get rid of the wasps."

"Good.  For a moment I thought that I was supposed to catch the wasps," Mrs. Jackson said laughing.  "I'm sure that Mr. Blevis can take care of it.  Would you get a new student kit for Baartock? There should still be some left in the supply room."

Ms. Laurence came out from behind her desk and went out the door.  Mrs. Jackson said, "She's getting some things you'll need for school; tablets of paper, scissors, crayons, and pencils.  When they're used up you can buy more from the school store.  Mrs. Stogbuchner can tell you about it."

Baartock was about to ask what Mrs. Jackson was talking about, because there were so many words she used that he didn't know. She had talked about stores when he was in her car. Mississtog-Buchnersklass had let him have some crayons to use, those little sticks that made wonderful, colorful marks on the paper.  He wanted to know if some of the other things were just as great as crayons, when Ms. Laurence came back in the office and gave him a box and some pads of paper.

"These are for you, Baartock," she said.

"You give me?" he asked.  He hadn't expected someone to give him anything.  He was embarrassed, because he didn't have anything to give her.

"Yes, I'm giving them to you.  These are yours."

"We usually say "thank you" when someone gives us something," said Mrs. Jackson.

"Thank you," said Baartock.  He thought about it and then decided that it was just the human way of giving things.

"You're welcome, Baartock," said Ms. Laurence, as she went back to her desk.

He opened the box and looked inside.  There were a lot of things in it. Most of them he didn't understand, but there was a box full of crayons, just like the ones he had used the day before.

"There's a place on the box for your name," said Mrs. Jackson.  "Why don't I write Baartock on this one, so that we'll know that it's yours. All the new students have a pencil box just like this.  We have to be able to tell them apart."  She got a pen from the counter and wrote 'BAARTOCK' in big letters on the top of the box.

Baartock looked at the marks she had made on it.  "This say my box?" he asked.

"Yes," said Mrs. Jackson.  "This word is 'Baartock'."

He looked at the marks some more, then got the pen from the counter. On one end of the box, he made another mark. It was a mark his mother had shown him how to make, his special mark.  He had practiced making it and put it on all his things.  He even had cut it into one of the stones of his bridge, working carefully, the way his father had shown him.

"This say my box, too," he said, holding it up for Mrs. Jackson to see. "Now I know my box."

What Mrs. Jackson saw was not a scribbled mark that she might have expected, but carefully printed letters.  They were letters of an alphabet she didn't recognize, but still clearly letters. It was just one more new thing that she now knew about trolls.  She already knew more about trolls than anyone else in town.  There were only three people who even knew that there were trolls.

"Good.  We all know that it's Baartock's pencil box. Now, it's almost lunch time," she said, looking up at the clock high up on the wall. "We'd better be getting you to your class, before they go to lunch without you.  Aren't you getting hungry?"

Baartock hadn't thought about food, until Mrs. Jackson mentioned it. Suddenly he was hungry, very hungry.  It had been a long time since his breakfast bowl of porridge and some left-over acorns and toadstools from dinner.

"Yes.  Hungry," he said.




Chapter 8


It wasn't quite time for lunch, when Mrs. Jackson and Baartock got to his classroom.  Mrs. Stogbuchner was in the back of the room, reading to the class from a big storybook. The children had gathered their chairs in a circle around her, and had been listening to the story, until Baartock came in.  Then there was a flurry of activity.  Jason jumped up and brought a chair over, right next to his, for Baartock to sit on.  Several of the children started talking and some more had to move their chairs around.  Jason had to ask Baartock where he had been and then started to tell him about the story they were listening to. It was a few minutes before the class was all settled again and ready to get back to the story.

The rest of the story didn't make much sense to Baartock, and he was tired of listening to grown-ups talk. He'd been listening to talking all morning.  He was hungry and wanted something to eat. Finally the story was over and Mrs. Stogbuchner had them put their chairs back at the tables and then line up to go to lunch.  As soon as they were waiting quietly, she opened the door and led her class down the hall to the cafeteria.  This was a big room that Baartock hadn't seen before. There were lots of tables and chairs and all along one side there were humans fixing food. The smell of food made him even hungrier.  Baartock wanted to rush over and get something, but he had to stay in line. He had time to look around.  He saw Mrs. Jackson talking to some other adults sitting at a table in the back of the room.

"All right, dear, here's your tray."

One of the women handed him a big flat thing.  Then Baartock saw that all the children in front of him were sliding their trays along, and adults were putting plates of food on the trays.  So he slid his along too.  One woman handed him a plate of food.  Another gave him a little dish with some yellow pieces that smelled a little like fruit. Jason stopped him and gave him a funny shaped box with something cold inside.

"If you don't want your milk, I'll drink it," he said grinning.

As they got to the end of the line, Baartock was just about to take his tray to a table just as everyone else had.

"Where's your lunch money, dear?" asked the woman at the end of the line.

"What's money?"

"Come on Baartock, give her your lunch money."  Jason reached over and gave the woman some metal pieces. Then Baartock remembered.  His mother had given him some metal pieces, telling him that humans used them.  He reached in his pocket and gave some of them to the woman.  He picked up his tray and followed Jason to a table.

"You're supposed to get a fork and spoon when you get your tray," Jason said, looking at Baartock's tray as he opened his milk carton.  "You can use my spoon."

He took the spoon from Jason, and started to eat.  The food was awful.

"What's this?" he asked Jason with his mouth full.  He pointed at the brown stuff on his plate.

"Meatloaf," Jason answered, putting another forkful in his mouth.

Baartock tried the white lumpy stuff that had something brown poured over it.  It tasted so bad that he wanted to spit it out, but he was so hungry that he swallowed it instead.  The slice of bread he recognized, and it wasn't too bad.  At least he could eat it, anyway.  He tried a little bit of the yellow fruit.  It tasted as though it had been soaking in honey, it was that sweet.  It didn't even really taste like fruit.  Baartock looked over across the table. Jason's plate was empty already.  He looked around the cafeteria. All the children were eating the food.  The others at their table were eating it.

"Don't you like it?" Jason asked.

Baartock couldn't think of anything to say.  It was that awful.  He just shook his head 'no'.  Didn't humans eat anything that he could eat?  He was still very hungry.

"If you're not going to eat it, can I have it?"  Jason was just about to take Baartock's plate, when he saw Mrs. Jackson walking right toward their table.  Instead, he said, "I'll meet you out on the playground," and picked up his tray and got up.  Baartock saw the empty trays were being taken over to a window in the wall, and were left there.  He was about to get up and follow Jason, when Mrs. Jackson called to him. "Baartock, did you give these to the cashier?"  She was holding the metal pieces he had given the woman.

He nodded.  "Mother give me."

"Well, you can't pay for your lunch with them," she told him.  "They're much too valuable.  These are gold coins."  She held out the smallest yellow metal one.  "This is worth more than the price of a whole year of school lunches.  Do your mother give you any other coins?"

He reached into his pocket and got out the rest of the coins and handed them to Mrs. Jackson.

"These are all old coins," she said, examining them. "Most of these coins are made of silver.  There isn't a new coin here." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a coin to show him.

"These are the new coins," she said, showing him the ones she had. "Yours might look the same, but they're much older and worth much more. I'll have to talk to your mother about these.  You really shouldn't bring something so valuable to school.  You might lose them."

Baartock didn't know what 'valuable' was, and was going to tell her that his mother had a jar full of these coins, but Mrs. Jackson noticed his plate still full of food.

"I thought you were hungry."    "Am hungry," he said, then pointed at the plate.  He remembered the word that meant just how awful the food was. "Terrible," he said.

"You don't like it?  I thought our lunch was pretty good today."

"Terrible," he said again.  "Can't eat."

Mrs. Jackson thought for a moment.  "There's no reason you can't bring your lunch to school, instead of buying it," she said. "and I want to talk to your mother about these coins.  I'll drive you home after school, so I can talk to her.  May I keep these coins to give back to her?"

"Yes," Baartock said

Mrs. Jackson walked away, thinking about how little she really knew about trolls.

Baartock got up from the table and took his tray over to the window in the wall.  Looking inside, he saw that there was someone to take the trays and wash the plates and forks and spoons.  Leaving his tray, he went out the door to the playground to find Jason.




Chapter 9


By the time Mrs. Stogbuchner came out to the playground to call her class, Baartock had almost forgotten how hungry he was. He had found Jason and they had raced four times, and Baartock had won three times. Then several other boys had joined in, and they'd played tag.  That was a whole new game for Baartock.  He liked being 'it', then he could do the chasing.  When he was 'not it', he could run faster than any of the other boys, so they didn't try to chase him at all.

They went back into the classroom, and all the children went to their seats and got out their pencil boxes. Baartock was horrified to discover that his pencil box was missing.  It wasn't on the table where he'd left it.  It wasn't in the drawer at his place at the table.  It was his brand-new pencil box and he hadn't even used the crayons yet, and now it was gone.  He didn't see it anywhere.

"Hello.  You must be Baartock."

He looked around to see an adult standing right behind him.

"I'm Mrs. Pangle, Timmy's mother."  She pointed at one of the boys at the next table.  "I come in two afternoons a week.  I'm the aide for this class."

Baartock might have asked what an 'aide' was, but he was worried about his pencil box.  "If you're looking for your box, I put it in your cubby."

"Where cubby?"  He didn't know that he had a cubby, but if that was where his box was, he wanted to find it.

"It's right over here."  Mrs. Pangle led him to the back of the room, and stopped near the door going outside. "Here you are," she said pointing.  "This is your cubby."

There, just as she had said, was his missing pencil box.  He picked it up and held it, almost afraid that he might lose it again.

"My cubby?" he asked.

"That's right.  See, right here, 'Baartock'."  At the top of his cubby was a little card with marks on it.  He thought they looked like the marks Mrs. Jackson had made on his pencil box.  He looked at his box. The marks were just the same.  "I fixed it for you while you were at lunch."

He remembered what Mrs. Jackson said that humans say when only one gives something.  "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome, Baartock.  You shouldn't leave your things on the table, unless Mrs. Stogbuchner tells you to. It makes the room messy and you might lose something. Either put them in here, or in your drawer in the table."

He didn't to tell her that he wasn't going to lose his box again.  He held on to it tightly.    "And over here is where you can hang a coat," Mrs. Pangle said, pointing to some hooks in the wall. "This one is yours."

There were cards over each hook, and there was a mark on one that he recognized.  That must be his hook.

"You'd better get back to your seat now.  But I'll be here if you need help."

He went back to the table and found that someone had given him some sheets of paper with marks all over them. They didn't look like the ones he and Jason had used the crayons on before.  And they weren't.

"It's a writing worksheet," Jason said.  "You're supposed to make letters on the lines that look just like the ones they've made."

Baartock looked at the papers, then opened his box and got out his crayons.

"No, you're supposed to use your pencil," Jason said, seeing what Baartock was holding.

Baartock looked around and saw than none of them were using crayons. He had wanted to make colored marks, but they were all using long yellow sticks instead.  He hadn't used one of those before.  He put away his box of crayons, and got out his yellow stick.  He tried to use his the way all the children were, but it wouldn't make any marks on the paper.  The girl sitting across the table started giggling. She had been watching him.

"You have to sharpen it," she said.  "The pencil sharpener is on Mrs. Stogbuchner's desk."

Baartock got up and walked up to the desk.  He looked all over the desk, but he didn't see anything to sharpen the stick with. There wasn't a knife, or any kind of blade. Mississtog-Buchner was helping a girl at one table and Mississpangel was helping a boy in the back of the classroom.  He just stood there looking at the desk and waited.

"Yes, Baartock, what do you need?"  Mrs. Stogbuchner had finished with the girl and saw him just standing at her desk. Baartock wasn't sure just what to say, so he held up the pencil instead.

"Do you need some help with the pencil sharpener?" she asked.  Several children in the front of the class started snickering.  "All right, get back to your work," she said to them as she came over to help him.

"This is the pencil sharpener," she said, and taking the pencil from his hand, "and this is how to use it."  She put the pencil in a hole in a little box and started working the little crank on the side.  She pulled the pencil out of the box, and it had a point.  "That's how you do it.  You don't want to sharpen it too much, or you'd grind it all away.  Is that all you need?"

Baartock nodded and took the pencil from her and went back to his seat. The pencil now made marks on the paper, but they weren't pretty, like the marks the crayons made. Just little black lines.  He looked over at Jason.  He had already done two pages and was just starting on the third. The girl across the table was still working on the second page. Baartock hurried to catch up.  The marks weren't hard to make.  Some of them were very like the ones his mother had shown him.

He was working hard, and had just finished the first page, when the bell rang.  He started to jump up, but the table was in the way, and he fell over backwards.  The bell just went on ringing.

"Boys and girls.  Line up at the back door," Mrs. Stogbuchner called to the laughing children.  Mrs. Pangle rushed over to help Baartock up off the floor.  He wasn't hurt, only surprised. And the bell just kept on ringing.

"Children!" Mrs. Stogbuchner had to shout.  "Pay attention. This is a fire drill.  Just leave everything and line up.  Now!  Mrs. Pangle, is he all right?  Good.  Then will you lead the class out onto the playground?  Over by the fence.  I'll be right along."  She went over to turn off the lights and make sure that the door and windows were closed.

The children were still laughing as they went out the door. Baartock and Mrs. Stogbuchner were the last ones out.

"Are you all right, Baartock?  You didn't hurt yourself?" she asked.

"Not hurt," he said.  The bell was still ringing, even though all the children in the school seemed to be lined up in the playground.  "What you call this?"

"When the bell rings like that it is a fire alarm.  If someone discovers a fire, they sound that bell.  Then you are supposed to get out of the building as quickly and safely as possible.  You aren't supposed to run or fall down.  Then the firemen would come to put out the fire. It's called a fire drill."

It didn't seem like a fire drill to him.  "Where fire?" he asked. Right then the school bell finally stopped ringing.

"There wasn't a real fire," she answered.  "It's so you would know what to do if there were a real fire."

The whole thing seemed a little silly to Baartock.  He knew all about fire.  His mother cooked over a fire.  He had to help bring in kindling and small logs for the fire. There wasn't very much in the school to burn.  It wasn't much of a fire drill.  There wasn't any fire.

Mrs. Stogbuchner had walked over to the middle of the class and held up her hand.  When they were quiet she started talking.

"Children.  I'm very unhappy about what you did in there. What happened to Baartock could have been very serious.  He could have been hurt badly.  It wasn't funny. A fire alarm is very serious. Because you were laughing, you couldn't hear me, and I had to shout. When there's a fire alarm, I shouldn't have to shout, just as you shouldn't run.  We are going to have to practice this again."




Chapter 10


When the 'all clear' bell sounded, which was just one very short ring of the bell, Mrs. Pangle led the class back inside.  But they didn't stay inside for long.  As soon as they had finished the worksheets, Mrs. Stogbuchner stood at the front of the room and announced, "This is a fire drill. Everyone line up quickly at the back door."

They all lined up and practiced the fire drill, and because Bobby Miller was talking, they had to practice it another time.

This time, except for the noise the chairs made, scraping the floor as the children got up, there wasn't a sound in the classroom.  Mrs. Stogbuchner was finally satisfied.

"Now that's the way I want you to behave the next time we have a fire drill," she said.

The class had a very short recess, because they had taken so long practicing the fire drill.  They didn't get to play dodge ball, and they mostly sat around talking.  Except no-one would talk to Bobby Miller, and he sat by himself on a swing, not even swinging.

"What's dodge ball?" asked Baartock.  He wanted to know, even if they weren't going to do it.

"You've never played dodge ball?" Jason exclaimed. "It's sort-of like tag, except it takes a lot of kids.  Some kids make a circle and throw the ball at the kids in the middle.  And if they hit you, you're out. You're fast, so you should be good at it."

Jason's saying that made Baartock feel really good.  He had been unhappy ever since he had fallen over when the fire drill bell sounded. When he fell in the woods, there were always rocks or sharp sticks to land on and that hurt.  He hadn't hurt himself, but the floor was hard. He decided that he didn't like the school bell.  It always surprised him and made him jump.

When recess was over, they all went back into the classroom and Baartock finally got to use his crayons on the new worksheets. It didn't seem very long before Mrs. Jackson was at the door.

"Mrs. Stogbuchner, can I have Baartock now?" she asked.

"Baartock, would you please put away your things and go with Mrs. Jackson."

Jason helped him put his papers in the drawer of the table. But Baartock didn't put his pencil box in with them. He held on to it tightly as he and Mrs. Jackson walked out of the classroom.

"You're taking your pencil box home?" she asked.

"Show mother," was his answer.

"Just remember to bring it back tomorrow.  You'll be riding the school bus tomorrow, so I want you to meet your school bus driver."

They went out to the parking lot and there were a lot of yellow school busses waiting in a line.

"You'll be riding bus number 62," she said as they went down the sidewalk.  They stopped at one of the busses. "This is the bus you'll be riding.  See, number 62.  Mr. Barnes is the driver, and when you're on his bus, you have to sit quietly and do just what he tells you."

They walked over to the door of the bus and the man sitting inside pulled on a lever and the door opened.

"Hi," he said with a big grin.  "What can I do for you, Mrs. Jackson?"

"Mr. Barnes, this is Baartock."

"Hi Baartock.  Are you going to be on my bus?"

"Yes," Mrs. Jackson answered, before Baartock could say anything.  "I'm taking him home today, because I need to talk to his mother.  He'll be riding with you, starting tomorrow morning.  He'll be just down from where the Howards used to live."

"OK.  That would put you between Bobby Gill and Laura Robinson.  No problem."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Jackson.  Baartock hadn't seen Mr. Barnes give her anything, and he wondered why she said 'thank you'.

"I have to gather up a few things before I take you home," said Mrs. Jackson.  "Let's go back to the office."

"See you tomorrow," called Mr. Barnes, as they walked away. Baartock had wanted to stay and look at the school bus, but he followed her back inside the school.

"Please wait here," she said, when they were in the office, and she went behind the counter and into another room.  Ms. Laurence was busy at her desk.  He heard her say something, but she wasn't looking at him.

"What?" he asked.

"I'll be with you in a minute, Baartock," she said, looking over at him.  "I'm talking on the phone."

He watched her carefully.  She was sitting in a chair and she kept looking at some papers on the desk, and it seemed as though she was talking to the thing she was holding in her hand.

Baartock walked over to the door and looked out.  There wasn't anyone in the hall, and he could look out the open front doors at the line of school busses.

"Now, what can I do for you?" asked Ms. Laurence.

Baartock turned around.  Ms. Laurence was standing at the counter.  He was about to ask what a phone was, when the bell went off and Baartock jumped.  Ms. Laurence smiled at him.  "I used to hate that bell," she said, "but you do get used to it."

Suddenly, there was a lot of noise in the hall, and cries of 'No running!'  The hall was rapidly filling with talking, pushing, hurrying children.  Lots of them were bigger than Baartock.  Some were carrying books.  And all of them were trying to get out the front doors.

Mrs. Jackson came rushing out of the other room.  "I'll be right with you Baartock," she said as she hurried out of the office and down the hall to the front of the building. He could hear her voice calling, "No running, Carlos!" and "The bus won't leave without you, Helen."

Baartock watched some of the kids from his class go out the door.  Then there was Jason, going right past the office door.

"Hey Baartock!  You'll miss the bus!" he said as he kept hurrying down the hall.

"Bus tomorrow," Baartock said.  "Mrs. Jackson drive today."

"OK.  See you tomorrow," he yelled as he turned and ran out the door.

"Slow down, Jason," he heard Mrs. Jackson call.  Then he had to get out of the doorway, because several teachers were pushing past him to get into the office.  He went over to the bench and sat down to wait.

"Hello Baartock."  Mr. Fennis was standing just inside the doorway, with an arm-load of books and papers.  "How do you like school?"  He didn't wait for an answer, but went behind the counter, and started getting more papers out of a cubby.

In a little while, Mrs. Jackson came back into the office. "We'll be going in just a minute," she said, as she went back into the other room.  Baartock sat and watched the teachers and Mrs. Jackson wasn't gone very long this time. She came out with her briefcase in her hand.

"I'm ready to go now," she said.  They went out to the parking lot and got into her car.  She checked to make sure he had fastened his seat-belt properly, and then started the engine.

"Is there anything you'd like to see?" she asked, as she backed the car out of the parking place.

Baartock didn't have to think about it.  "Bridge," he said.

"Of course you'd want to see a bridge."  She had almost forgotten that he was a troll.  "We were almost there this morning."

"Where bridge?" Baartock asked excitedly.  He had decided there just weren't any bridges near-by.

"There's one right her in the middle of town.  It's a little ways past the clinic, on Main Street.  It's not too far.  Would you like to look at it?"

"Yes."  Then he remembered.  "Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome, Baartock."

They drove along Main Street, and he recognized the little house where they had been that morning and pointed to it.

"Yes," said Mrs. Jackson, "that's the clinic.  We're almost to the bridge now."

After a few more blocks, she turned a corner onto a side street and stopped the car.  "Well, we're here."

"Where bridge?" Baartock asked as he looked all around.

"It's right over there," she said pointing.  "Let's get out so you can look at it."

They got out of the car and walked across at the corner. Then Baartock saw the bridge.  It was a simple span going over a wide stream bed, but there wasn't very much water in the stream bed below. And the bridge was built of concrete, just like the culvert he'd hidden in on his first day.  Part of the town was on one side of the bridge, and there was more of the town on the other side.  The road crossed the bridge for cars and trucks, and busses.  And there was a sidewalk on the bridge for people to go across. He didn't know just what to say.  He was happy because there was a bridge, but it was a human-made bridge and nothing like as good as a troll-built bridge. He looked at it carefully.  After a while, he said, "Go home now." He'd found a bridge.




Chapter 11


Mrs. Jackson had a lot to talk about with his mother, when they got to his home.  They had talked all morning and now they were talking some more.  He had wanted to tell his father about the bridge, but he wasn't home yet.  So he had to sit and listen to Mrs. Jackson and his mother. When they started talking about lunch money, he remembered how very hungry he was, and went to get something to eat.  They were still talking about money when he finished eating. They agreed on a price and Mrs. Jackson got one of the small silver coins with some of her 'new' coins, and he could use some of those 'new' coins to buy milk and fruit at lunch time.  And he could bring his own lunch.  He was glad of that, because he didn't like the humans' food.  Then they talked about the school bus.  He wasn't very sure that he was going to like being on the school bus.  Mrs. Jackson had explained the 'Rules for Riding the School Bus', which was the name on a piece of paper she gave to his mother.  There were so many things he couldn't do on the bus.  One of the rules was 'No whistling'.  When he asked her what whistling was, she puckered up her mouth and made a strange sound. 'No bird noises', Baartock decided.

"Just behave like you did in my car today," she said, "and you won't have any problem.  You'll like Mr. Barnes."

Very early next morning, Baartock was standing by the side of the road when the yellow school bus drove up.  He was holding his pencil box and a bag with his lunch.  Mrs. Jackson had shown him a place that she thought would be a safe spot to stand and wait for the bus.  It wasn't right by the driveway to the 'old Howard house', but it wasn't right by the stream bed and the path he used to come down to the road, either.

The bus made a screeching noise as it came to a stop right in front of him.

"OK.  Come on up.  Thought I'd you'd be closer to the house," Mr. Barnes said in a loud voice, when he opened the bus door.  Then he shouted, "OK. New customer today.  Which seat can I sell him.  I think this one," he said, pointing at a seat for just one person right in the front of the bus. There was one very big boy sitting in the seat. "Gabe, you've been pretty good this week.  Find yourself a new seat."

"Aw, Mr. Barnes, do I have to?"

"Go on now.  Find a seat, before we're late getting to school."  Gabe gathered up his books and moved back to the middle of the bus and sat next to another big boy, and Baartock sat on the empty front seat. He looked around for the seat belt, as he started driving down the road.

"What's the matter?  Got ants in your pants?"  Mr. Barnes asked, when he saw Baartock squirming.

"No," Baartock said.  He didn't have ants anywhere.  He asked, "No seat belt?"  Mr. Barnes was using one.

"No," was the answer.  "They say that they're going to put seat belts in the all the busses.  Maybe by the time you're in high school.  You just stay in your seat, and I'll drive carefully."

The bus went on down the road, stopping to pick up children waiting by the road.  Soon there were a lot of kids on the bus.  Mr. Barnes kept talking to Baartock all the time he was driving.  In fact, he was talking to everyone on the bus, he was talking so loudly.  Much of what he said didn't make any sense to Baartock, but the kids laughed at some of the things he said.  Soon, Mr. Barnes turned the bus onto another road.

"School that way," Baartock said loudly, pointing down the other road. "Nice try, kid.  I know you're in a hurry to get to school, but we've got to go to the high school first."

"We can go to the grade school first!" came a shout from the back of the bus.

"The mall!  A field trip to the mall," someone else shouted.

"Some other day," Mr. Barnes shouted back.  They went on down this road for quite a while.  They went right past some children standing by the side of the road.

"They're waiting for a different bus," Mr. Barnes explained to Baartock.  "It'll be along soon."

Very soon after that, the bus pulled off the road into a parking lot, in front of a building much larger than the school Baartock was going to.  The parking lot was filled with cars, and humans were walking to the building.  There were six or seven big yellow school busses lined up in front of the building and lots of big kids were getting off.

"OK, high school, you students of higher education. Off!" called Mr. Barnes, as he pulled up really closely behind the last bus.  All the big kids got out of their seats and came up to the front of the bus to get off.  There were more busses lining up behind Mr. Barnes' bus, but they weren't letting anyone off.

There were still a lot of smaller children on the bus, when Mr. Barnes closed the door.

"Next stop, Marvis T. Johnson Elementary School," announced Mr. Barnes. But they didn't go anywhere.  They had to wait for the bus in front of them to pull off. Baartock could see inside the bus in front of them. The big kids were getting off very slowly.  The woman driving that bus seemed to be talking to each of them as they got off.

"She must have had some trouble with them," Mr. Barnes said. "We never have any trouble on this bus, do we?" he said very loudly.

"No!" several kids shouted back.

Most of the busses in the front of the school building had driven off.  Several more busses from behind them pulled around, and parked up ahead.  They waited a little longer, then finally the bus in front drove off.  And they drove off too.

They didn't go back the way they had come.  They turned onto another road, and drove for a long way, past a lot of houses, until they finally turned toward the school. Baartock asked Mr. Barnes why they were going such a long way.

"It's shorter this way," was his reply.  "I've been coming this way for years."

"No," said Baartock.  "Other way shorter.  We be school, go this far."

They drove for a little while longer, then they finally got to school. There were other busses lined up in front when Mr. Barnes stopped the bus and they got off.

"See you all this afternoon," Mr. Barnes said, as they were getting off.

This was the first time Baartock had gotten to school in the morning before it started.  No-one seemed to be going inside.  Jerry, a black-haired kid who had played tag, was getting off the next bus in front.  He saw Baartock and came running over.

"Want to go to the playground?" he asked.

They went around the building to the playground.  Jason was already there, and they raced a couple of times, then they went over and climbed on the jungle gym.  They were just sitting at the top when the bell rang.  A lot of the children ran to the building and went inside.

"That's only the first bell," said Jerry.  "We've got lots of time." So they sat for a while longer, until Jason started to get down.

"I'm going in," he said.  And all three of them went into the classroom, just as the bell rang again.




Chapter 12


School in the morning wasn't very different from school in the afternoon, Baartock decided.  There were some of the work-sheets that had to be colored, but these were of shapes of things and numbers. They got to work with a lot of pieces of paper with numbers on both sides that Jason said were called flash-cards.  He said that you were to add the numbers on the front of a flash card, and your answer was the same as the one on the back of the card.  The morning went by very quickly for Baartock.

Then, right before lunch time, Mrs. Stogbuchner read another story. This time, he understood most of the story. It was about a boy taking care of sheep, and when he got lonely, he would yell 'Wolf!' and all the villagers would come.  They got angry at the boy, when they didn't find a wolf.  But the boy got lonely and did it again, and the villagers got angry again.  Finally, when the wolf did come, and the boy yelled 'Wolf!' the villagers didn't come.

When Mrs. Stogbuchner finished reading the story, Baartock asked, "Why boy not scare wolf?"

"Well, wolves are big mean, animals," she said, "and the boy was probably scared of this wolf."

"Wolf scare easy," said Baartock.

"You'd just yell at it and it would run away," said one of the girls.

"Wolf scare easy," said Baartock again.  He'd never seen a wolf, because there weren't any around there.  But his father had talked about them.  They were just like foxes, only bigger.  Most of the animals in the woods were very scared of humans and of trolls, and would usually run way.  There were two foxes that lived near Baartock's home, and it had been very hard to watch them.  At first, they were very scared of him.  It had taken a lot of food, and many nights of quiet waiting, before the foxes would come near him.  Even now that they were used to him, if he made any sudden movement or loud noise, they would still run away.  Anyway, Baartock was sure that he could scare a wolf.

"You couldn't scare anything," said the girl.

Baartock was really insulted.  He was just about ready to do some scaring right then, when Mrs. Stogbuchner said, "All right, that's enough.  It's time to get ready for lunch."

Most of the children went to line up at the door and Baartock and a few children went over to their cubbies to get their lunches.  Then they went to line up also.  The girl was right in front of Baartock in the line.  She looked back at him and said, "You couldn't scare anything."

Baartock could see Mrs. Stogbuchner looking right at them, but he said very quietly, "Can scare you."

"Janice, Baartock, stop it right now.  That's enough," Mrs. Stogbuchner said, and the girl turned around.

The class went down the hall to the cafeteria and Baartock waited in lunch line to get a container of milk and an apple.  When he got to the end of the line, he held out some of the coins his mother had gotten from Mrs. Jackson, and the woman took two of them. He went over to the table where Jason was and sat down and started getting his lunch out. Janice had been waiting to see where he would sit, and she came over and sat at the same table.

"Baartock, you couldn't scare anything," she said. Baartock started to say something, but Mrs. Stogbuchner was standing near the table and she said something first.

"Janice.  I told you to stop it," she said.

"But he said," Janice started to say.

"He didn't say anything.  I've been standing right here. Now, just eat your lunch quietly, or I'll move you to another table."

"Yes, Mrs. Stogbuchner," Janice said, and Mrs. Stogbuchner walked off to another part of the cafeteria. Baartock had been listening, but he was hungry and had started eating his lunch.  His mother had packed a good lunch.

"Oh yuch!  What's that you're eating?" Janice shrieked. All the talking in the cafeteria stopped and Mrs. Jackson and Mrs. Stogbuchner came hurrying over to the table. Baartock looked over and saw she was pointing right at him.

"What are you eating?" she shrilled again.  Everybody in the cafeteria was looking at their table.

Baartock kept on chewing, but he opened up his sandwich to show her.

"Snake," he said, "very good."  On the slice of bread was a row of little green snakes.  Some were a little bigger than others and the heads and tails were hanging down over the edge of the bread. It had been a good summer and there were lots of snakes and lizards.

"That looks really good," said Jason.  "Can I have a bite?" Jason didn't really think it looked good, but he was enjoying teasing Janice.

"Oh!  Mrs. Stogbuchner, can I move?" Janice asked looking up at the teacher.

"I think you should," she answered, "and let Baartock eat his lunch in peace."  She picked up Janice's lunch tray and she and Janice went over to the other side of the cafeteria.  Mrs. Jackson walked off too, and everyone started eating their lunches and talking again.

After they were gone, Jason asked, "You really eat that?"

"Good," said Baartock.  "You try."  He held out his sandwich to Jason.

Jason took the sandwich, and looked at it as if it were going to eat him.  Then, carefully avoiding the snake heads, took a tiny bite and started chewing.  "It's ok," he said as he handed it back to Baartock, then he quickly took a drink of milk.

After finishing his lunch, Baartock took his lunch bag, which still had some acorns left in it, and he and Jason went out to the playground. They were standing near the door when Janice came out.

"You should have had some of Baartock's sandwich," Jason yelled to her. "It was really yummy."

Janice hurried off toward the swings and Jason and Baartock went over to the jungle gym and climbed to the top.

Soon, Mrs. Stogbuchner came out to get the class back inside.  The rest of the afternoon went by quickly.  There weren't any fire drills, and they got to play dodge ball at recess.  Baartock thought it was a fun game.  He liked being in the middle.  The children in the circle had to throw a big ball, and it was easy to keep away from it.  Even though Baartock wasn't the last one left inside the circle any of the times, he still had fun.

They went back to the classroom and did some more worksheets.  Baartock was surprised when Mrs. Stogbuchner said that it was time to put everything away.  "Now don't forget about show-and-tell on Monday," she said.

Baartock raised his hand, like he had seen the children do when they wanted to ask something.

"Yes, Baartock?"

"What showandtell?" he asked.

"You can bring in something to show the rest of the class and tell about it.  Something you like or you think is unusual.  I'm sure that you have something you would like to share with the class."

Baartock had an idea right away about something to bring, but he didn't say what it was.

"Now leave your tables straight and put your chairs in their places, then line up at the door."

There was a lot of rushing around and putting things away, and soon they were all lined up.

"All right.  I want you to have a nice weekend.  I'll see you on Monday,"  Mrs. Stogbuchner said just as the bell rang. Baartock didn't jump this time.  He had guessed that the bell was about to ring.  They hurried down the hall to get to the school busses.

"See you Monday," Jason called as he ran off to his bus. Baartock walked along the sidewalk until he came to bus 62.

"You were right," Mr. Barnes said as Baartock go on the bus. "The other road is shorter."  He kept on talking all the way to the high school.  He kept talking all the time until he stopped to let Baartock off the bus.  Baartock wasn't listening to him.  He was thinking about showandtell.




Chapter 13


Monday morning, Baartock was down by the side of the road, waiting anxiously for the school bus to arrive.  When he had asked his mother what 'weekend' and 'Monday' were, she had explained that many people didn't work everyday, and took two days every week to do other things. While trolls like to work everyday until the job is done and then rest; humans like to take little rests every week, she told him. He would have to wait two extra days, until Monday, for school and showandtell. She decided that he would need to know, so she taught him the human names for the days of the week.

There were dark clouds overhead when Baartock went down the hill to wait for the bus, but it wasn't raining yet.  It had gotten really cloudy the day before.  Baartock remembered the human name for that day was Sunday.  His father had said that they were going to have a lot of rain. Baartock liked it when there was a lot of rain, like there had been during the summer.  Then there were lots of pools and mud to go splashing in, and there was water running down hill under his bridge. He liked to hide under it then, because it was even more like a real troll bridge.

He was happy to see the school bus drive up.  He wanted to get to school for showandtell.  He climbed into the school bus and sat on the front seat.

"Hey, Baartock.  Do you know where the high school is? From right here?" Mr. Barnes asked, looking at him.

Baartock just pointed and said "That way."

Mr. Barnes stopped to think about it, then he said, "You're right.  How about to your school?"

Baartock pointed again, in a different direction. "You know, you're a regular little compass," Mr. Barnes said as he started to drive off.

Baartock didn't know what a compass was, but any troll could give directions.  It was easy.

They got to school earlier than they had on Friday, and Baartock went around to the playground.  Jason wasn't there, so Baartock went over to the swings to wait for him.  Soon both Jason and Jerry were coming around the corner of the school to the playground. They were talking about what they had done over the weekend.  Jerry said that he had been to see a movie.  That didn't sound very exciting to Baartock, though he wasn't sure what a 'movie' was. Jason seemed interested though and asked all about it.

Soon the first bell rang and Baartock went into the classroom.  He wanted to get ready for showandtell.  Mrs. Stogbuchner was at her desk and she called him over.

"I had a talk with Mrs. Jackson, and I think I should go talk to your mother," she said.  "Maybe you could bring something a little less trollish for lunch."

Baartock didn't understand what she wanted to talk to his mother about, but he said, "Mother home now."

"I can't go right now," said Mrs. Stogbuchner, "but maybe sometime later this week.  Did you bring something for show-and-tell?"

"Yes," said Baartock.

"Will you tell me what you brought?"

Baartock had wanted it to be a surprise, but he told her. Mrs. Stogbuchner listened carefully as Baartock explained.  Finally she asked, "Do you know how to use it?"

Baartock nodded.

Then she said, "I'll have to ask Mrs. Jackson if it's all right.  You put your things away and I'll go talk to her about it now."  She got up from her desk and went out the door.

All the children had come in when the second bell rang. Mrs. Stogbuchner came hurrying into the classroom.

"All right.  Take your seats and settle down," she said to the class. She came over to Baartock.  "Mrs. Jackson said that you could show it to the class, but it has to be outside on the playground. And she wants to be there."

The morning went by so slowly for Baartock.  He couldn't keep his thoughts on what they were doing.  He wanted it to be time for showandtell.  Finally, Mrs. Jackson came into the classroom.

"Class," Mrs. Stogbuchner said, "It's time for show-and-tell.  Baartock has brought something that I think you'll all want to see, but he will have to show you outside.  Since it looks like rain, I think he should be first.  Everybody please line up by the door and we'll go out and see what Baartock brought."

Mrs. Jackson came over to Baartock and said, "I've never seen this. Can you really make it work?"

Baartock nodded, and went over to his cubby to get his bag with his surprise for showandtell.

When they were all outside gathered around Mrs. Stogbuchner on part of the playground where there wasn't any grass, she said, "Baartock, show the class what you brought and tell them about it."

He came into the middle of the class.  "You show me fire drill," he said.  "But no fire.  I show you fire drill that make fire."  He held out a little bow, a straight stick, and two small blocks of wood.

"Will you show the class how it works?" asked Mrs. Jackson.

Baartock knelt down and put one of the blocks on the ground and put some tree bark next to it.  Then he put the straight stick in a small hole in that block, wrapped the bowstring around the stick, and holding the second block in his hand put it on top of the stick. Then he started to work the bow back and forth.

"This fire drill make fire," he said again.

"Does this really work?" somebody asked.

"We were supposed to learn how to use these in scouts," said Mrs. Stogbuchner, as Baartock worked the bow back and forth.  "But none of us could make them work."

Before she could say anything else, the bark that Baartock had put next to the block was starting to smoke. Then it was smoking a lot, and Baartock dropped the fire drill and picked up the bark and started to blow on it.  And it burst into flame.

He dropped the burning bark on the ground, and picked up the bow and stick.  "Fire drill," he said.

"But how does it work?" somebody wanted to know.

"Wood get hot.  Make fire," Baartock explained.  He held out the bottom wood block, which was still hot.  The class gathered in closely to feel how hot it was.  Mrs. Jackson was making sure that the burning bark was all put out.

Just then it started to rain, big heavy drops.

"Everybody back inside," called Mrs. Stogbuchner. "Don't line up.  Just get inside quickly."

Everybody ran for the classroom door.  Baartock quickly gathered up his fire drill and he and Mrs. Jackson hurried after the class.

When they were all settled in the classroom again, Mrs. Stogbuchner said, "Thank you Baartock, for showing us another kind of fire drill. Now, does anyone else have anything for show-and-tell?"




Chapter 14


It was raining harder than ever when they went to lunch. Looking out the classroom windows, Baartock couldn't see the trees or the houses across the wide grass strip next to the school.  He couldn't see the street.  He could just barely see the grass outside the window.  It was a blowing, dark gray rainstorm.  At times, the wind would blow the raindrops right at the windows.  Just a little while later, the rain was pouring straight down.  Everybody seemed to be thinking of other things.  Even Mrs. Stogbuchner kept losing her place in the story she was reading, whenever the rain would come crashing against the windows. Finally it was lunchtime.

Baartock bought milk in the lunch line, but the fruit they had were some long yellow things that he hadn't seen before, so he didn't get any.  When he sat at the table across from Jason, the red-haired boy asked, "Why do you call that a fire drill?" "Drill.  Make holes same way," Baartock answered, and made a back and forth motion with his hand.

"I guess you could get through wood.  But it must take a long time."

"Wood.  Stone too," replied Baartock.

"You can drill through stone like that?"

"Use many shafts," said Baartock, making an up and down motion, meaning the straight stick he had used.  "Make hole."

Jason was about to say something when there was a sudden flash of light and a tremendous thunderblast right outside the cafeteria.  The people sitting by the windows jumped up, and someone knocked a lunch tray onto the floor. One of the women who worked in the cafeteria brought over a mop to clean up the spilled food, and everybody who had been sitting next to the windows moved to different seats.  The rain was now squirting against the windows, and some water was coming in under the door to the playground.  The woman with the mop went over to clean that up too.

Everybody ate very quietly, as if they were waiting for the next thunderbolt to strike.  While they were eating a man came in with a mop and a bucket and some tools to try to stop the leak around the door. Baartock was watching the man working, when Jason said, "Let's go back to the classroom."

"Not go outside?" asked Baartock.

"They wouldn't let us.  Not in this much rain.  Who'd want to go out in this anyway?"

Baartock had been thinking about going out.  It was only rain. Instead, when he finished his lunch, he went with Jason back to the classroom.

Some others were already back in the classroom, in groups talking, or just staring out the windows at the rain. Mrs. Stogbuchner was sitting at her desk, with a lunch tray from the cafeteria, eating, when they got there.

"Mrs. Stogbuchner, can we get out the games?" asked Jason.

"All right.  But you'll have to put them away when lunch time is over."

"All right!" Jason whooped.  "Come on, Baartock."

"And please be quiet," she said, as she went back to her lunch.

"Yes, Mrs. Stogbuchner," Jason said.

They went into the back of the classroom, and near the cubbies was a shelf with some large flat boxes and some smaller ones.

"You want to play checkers?" asked Jason.

"Don't know checkers.  Show me," said Baartock.

They sat in the back of the classroom, and Jason taught him how to play checkers.  When some other children saw them playing, they got out other games, and soon there were lots of people playing all kinds of games.

It kept on raining very hard, and there were occasional lightning flashes and crashes of thunder.

Lunch time seemed to be going on longer than usual. Baartock had just lost another game of checkers, and he let Jerry play.  He didn't like checkers very much.  None of the other games seemed too interesting either, so he walked over and looked out the window at the rain.  He saw Ms. Laurence hurry in and go over to talk to Mrs. Stogbuchner.

"Children."  Ms. Laurence had hurried out again and Mrs. Stogbuchner was walking to the middle of the classroom. "Quiet please."

There was a lot of stirring around by the children to listen to her.

"They are going to close school early today, because of all this rain." She held up her hand for quiet.  Some children had started to cheer and talk as soon as they heard the news.

"They say that this could be a bad storm, and there could be some flooding.  Since so many of you live on small roads, they decided you should go home very soon.  They're trying to reach the bus drivers now. If it keeps raining like this, there might not be school tomorrow."

The children were still quiet, but they were all smiling and poking at each other.

"You may go on with your recess now, and I'll have you straighten up the games just before the busses get here. Now please be very quiet, while I go to the office."  She turned and went out the door.

Suddenly, none of the children were interested in the games. They all wanted to talk about getting out of school early, and no school tomorrow, and what they were going to do.  They started talking quietly, but soon the talk got louder.  Then, one of the boys threw a ball of paper at another boy.  There was a lot of loud talking, and throwing things, and running around, when Mrs. Stogbuchner came back into the room.

"Get in your seats!  Right now!"  She was standing just inside the door, glaring at the class.

The children hurried to their chairs and sat down.

"I told you to be quiet while I went to the office."

The children looked at each other, as if to find out who had been making all the noise. "Barbara, Norma, Robert, and Jason, go back and straighten up the games and put them away.  Do it quietly and quickly. Timmy, hand out these worksheets.  Since you don't want recess now, I have some other work you can do, until the busses get here."

Timmy walked around the room with the stack of papers she gave him, putting four worksheets on each table.

Mrs. Stogbuchner walked to the back of the classroom to watch the straightening up.  The room was very quiet, except for the noises from the back of the room.

Baartock started working, and soon Jason sat down and started working too.

Mrs. Stogbuchner walked around the room for a while, then she went over and stood in the doorway, looking down the hall.  Soon she said, "Put your things away now.  If you brought raincoats, or have anything else to take home, get it, then line up."

Baartock hadn't brought a raincoat, but he went to his cubby to get the fire drill and his lunchbag.  He decided to take his pencil box home, too.

The class was all lined up, waiting for the bell.  Mrs. Stogbuchner said, "If it keeps raining like this, watch the news on TV to see if we're having school tomorrow." Then the bell did ring, and they were all hurrying to get to the school busses.

"See you," called Jason, as they went down the hall. They got to the front door and the wind was blowing the rain right in at them.  The floor was wet and someone had put down rubber mats so they wouldn't slip or fall.

When they went outside, everybody ran to the busses. Baartock was soaked as he got on Mr. Barnes's bus, from just that short run.  There were lights on the front of each bus, and there were sticks wiping back and forth to get the rain off the front windows.  But Mr. Barnes still drove very slowly to the high school. He wasn't talking all the time, this afternoon.

When Baartock got off the bus, he ran to his path to get home.  The creekbed was filled with water rushing and splashing down hill.  There was a lot of water going through the culvert.  Baartock hurried up the hill, next to the stream.  He wanted to see what it was like at his bridge.




Chapter 15


It had rained all the rest of the day.  Baartock had a great time up at his bridge.  The water was racing under the bridge, making a wonderful gurgling sound.  It made hiding under the arch like being in one of the stories his father told.  The only thing missing was someone walking over the bridge.  He would come out from under the bridge screaming his loudest and run up the side of the stream bed. He could just see them running away.

Right then it really didn't matter that there wasn't anyone crossing his bridge.  Baartock now knew so many humans and so much about them, that was easy to pretend who was walking up to cross the bridge.  There was Mr. Fennis, of course.  He had run away so wonderfully.  Then there was Ms. Laurence.  Baartock could scare her easily.  He didn't pretend to scare Mrs. Jackson or Mrs. Stogbuchner. Somehow they didn't seem like people to scare.  But that girl in his class, Janice, Baartock scared her again and again.  And some of the other children in the class.  They were all so easy to scare.  He was having a great time.

He even pretended that Jason was helping him scare people. Not that Jason was anything like a troll, but Baartock liked him and he thought Jason would have fun scaring people.

After a while, when it started to get dark, Baartock went back home in the rain.  He was glad that his father had known it was going to rain. They had gathered in extra firewood.  Even though it wasn't cold, the fire warmed the cave and helped him to dry off.

Though it had been raining all day, his mother had fixed an extra good meal.  Baartock really liked the cricket and green bean salad.  Later they all sat around the fire and his mother patched his pants and sewed on the new winter coat she was making, and his father told stories.  He stayed up late, and it was still raining hard when he finally went to bed.

The next morning it was still raining, and his mother told him to go wait for the bus, but if it didn't come when it should, to come back home.  And his father surprised him by saying he would be staying home if it kept on raining. The room he was working on in the cavern would probably be flooded, and he wouldn't be able to work.

So, while it was still raining quite hard, Baartock went down to stand by the side of the road and wait for the school bus. Actually, he wasn't waiting right beside the road in the rain, but back a little way, under some trees that still had lots of leaves. He thought he could see the bus in time to come out and catch it.  He waited and waited, but he didn't see a bus or a car or anything coming down the road.  He went over to look at the culvert.  Rain water was coming roaring down the stream bed right at the culvert, but there was so much that it couldn't all get through.  There were branches and rocks that had come down with the water that were blocking the opening.  It was beginning to make a pool on that side of the road.  On the other side, it was shooting out of the culvert, but it was beginning to make a pool there too.

When Baartock felt he had waited long enough, he went back home.  His father was carving out some extra shelves in the kitchen. He went to watch his father work, and started handing him tools. They worked most of the morning.  His mother came back home and saw the mess they were making, and started making some sandwiches.  They all finished about the same time, and his mother chased them both out of the cave so she could clean up.  There were rock chips all over the kitchen.

Then Baartock and his father went up and sat under his bridge and ate their sandwiches.  For a while, his father told stories, about when he had been a young troll, before he'd earned his name.  Then they looked at some places that Baartock had had trouble with building his bridge. They stood in the stream and the pouring rain, and his father showed him some better ways to do the stone-work.  They even took a few of the stones out, and his father worked on them, then they put them back. Baartock was much happier about the way the bridge looked now.  Then his father showed him places where the water might weaken the bridge if they weren't fixed, not today, but later when the rain stopped and the water went down.

While they were working the rain eased up as if it were going to stop, then it started coming down again as hard as before. They had quite a busy afternoon, and his father said that it was time to go home, even if there was still a mess in the kitchen for them to clean up.

It rained all the next day, too.  Not as hard as before, just a steady rain that went on and on.  Baartock went down in the morning to see if the bus would come, but it didn't.  He waited a long time, playing beside the stream, but nothing came along the road.

The culvert that he had hidden in was completely blocked now, with branches and rocks.  The water had made a big pool, and it was flowing over the road.  He went up the hill a little way and sat there, dropping small branches into the stream, and watching them float down, across the pool and across the road.

After a while, he went back home.  It was such fun to splash his way up the stream.  He got thoroughly soaked. When he got home and dry, he helped his father make one of the closets larger.  His father chipped and dug at the rock wall, and Baartock swept and picked-up, and carried all of the trash outside in a bucket.  They worked most of the afternoon.  Dinner was a simple meal.  It had been too wet to go get anything, so it was mostly left-overs.

The rain stopped just after dinnertime, and Baartock went out to look around.  It was getting dark, but he walked up to his bridge.  He was worried about the spots his father had pointed out. When he got there, his bridge was all right.  An opossum was hiding under the arch, trying to stay dry, and it growled at him.  It wanted to be left alone and Baartock was able to see what he wanted to, without chasing it off.

Going home in the dark, he slipped and fell into the stream a couple of times.  He was glad to sit by the fire and get dry, now that he knew that his bridge was safe.

The nest morning it wasn't raining, though there were still a lot of clouds overhead.  But they were blowing away, and it might be sunny later.  Baartock walked down to wait for the bus.  He went down the path beside the stream.  Even though the rain had stopped the night before, the stream was just as full as it had been when it was raining. It was still rushing and splashing its way down the hill.

Baartock couldn't get all the way to the road.  The water had risen even higher.  It wasn't a pool, it was a lake.  The road was completely under water.  It was almost as deep as he was tall. During the night, two of the trees beside the stream had fallen over, and were lying across the road.  The holes, where the roots had been were filled with water.  And there was still more water coming down the stream.  He walked along the edge of water for a long way. Finally, near the driveway to the 'old Howard house', there was no more water covering the road.

Baartock played by the side of this new lake for a while, skipping stones.  When he grew tired of that, he went up the driveway, and home. He left his lunch bag, and went up to check on his bridge again.  The opossum was gone, but there was still too much water for him to work on his bridge, and he went back home.

His father had decided that he couldn't go to work again, so he was sleeping late.  His mother was busy in the kitchen, so Baartock got out his pencil box and some worksheets he had brought home from school and sat near the mouth of the cave and did them again.




Chapter 16


The sun started to come through the clouds, and Baartock moved his stool outside the cave.  He was just about to get back to work, when he heard someone coming up the hill.  He put his pencil box and worksheets on the stool and went inside to tell his mother. They were just coming out of the cave when Mrs. Jackson and Mrs. Stogbuchner came into the clearing.

"Hello, Mrs. Slinurp.  Hello, Baartock," called Mrs. Jackson.  To Baartock's mother, she said, "This is Baartock's teacher, Mrs. Stogbuchner."

"I'm pleased to meet you," said Mrs. Stogbuchner.  "I told Baartock that I wanted to meet you this week."

No-one asked if Baartock had remembered to tell his mother, but the way she looked at him said that he had forgotten.

"I hope we're not coming at a bad time," Mrs. Jackson said. "No," said his mother.  "You want to talk?"

"Baartock, I see you've been doing some school work.  I think that's a very good," said Mrs. Stogbuchner, looking at the worksheets.  Then she followed his mother and Mrs. Jackson into the cave.

Baartock thought about checking his bridge again, but it was nearly lunch time, and after lunch maybe his father could help him work on it. So he sat back down in the sun, and kept working on the papers.  He could hear the adults' voices, but he couldn't hear what they were saying.

After a while he decided he was hungry and went to look for his lunch bag.  He remembered putting it in the kitchen, so he went to get it. The adults were still talking, and he didn't think they had even noticed him, until Mrs. Jackson said, "Baartock, something happened to the bridge we looked at."

Suddenly, there was a booming voice, coming from the back of the cave. "What happen bridge?"  Baartock's father was awake, and coming out of the bedroom.  The word 'bridge' would wake most trolls from a sound sleep.

Meeting just one adult troll for the first time had been a surprise for Mrs. Stogbuchner, and even Mrs. Jackson hadn't met his father.  And Baartock's father was bigger and angrier looking than most trolls, even though he wasn't any meaner than Baartock's mother. But they didn't know whether to stay or run.  Before they could decide, Baartock's father was in the living room saying, "What happen bridge?" again.

His mother saw just how scared the humans were, and said, "Wait.  She tell."

"There was just too much water," began Mrs. Jackson, not sure what he wanted to know.  "It collapsed.  It fell down.  There's no more bridge in town."

Baartock had told his father about the bridge, of course. And what he had thought of a human-built bridge. He wasn't really surprised that it had fallen down.

"Where bridge?" asked his father.

Baartock was just about to tell him, when Mrs. Jackson asked, "You want to see the bridge?"

"You show me bridge," replied his father.  "You show me bridge now?"

Just as suddenly as his father had appeared, they were going out of the cave.  Baartock grabbed his lunch bag and followed them out.  They went down the hill toward the 'old Howard house'.

"We'll have to go the long way around," said Mrs. Jackson. "Your road is flooded too."

That didn't matter to his father and they kept walking down the hill. When they got to the car, there was a problem trying to figure out where they were all to sit. Mrs. Jackson had to slide the front seat up, so the three trolls could sit in the back.  If they hadn't been trolls, they wouldn't have been able to squeeze in.  But trolls can bend to fit into tight places.  Soon they were all inside and Mrs. Jackson was driving.

Baartock opened his lunch bag to get something to eat. His father had some too, but his mother said she wasn't hungry.  Neither Mrs. Jackson or Mrs. Stogbuchner wanted any either.

Riding in a car for the first time didn't seem to bother Baartock's father.  Maybe it was because he was going to see the bridge, or maybe it just didn't bother him.

They did have to go the long way around, but eventually they got to where the bridge had been.  There were lots of kids standing around and some adults too.  There were big orange painted barrels blocking the road, so people wouldn't drive their cars too close. Mrs. Jackson had to park her car down the block.  They got out of the car and went over to look.  Baartock thought he saw Jason, but he wasn't sure. Besides, seeing the bridge was more important, right then.

The water hadn't really gotten that high, though the stream was moving very quickly.  It was easy to see what had happened.  The water had washed away the dirt around the supports, and then the supports had started to move, and the span had fallen down.  It was lying, broken and twisted, in the rushing water.

Baartock's mother was interested, but she could see what she wanted from where she was standing.  Baartock and his father walked right to the edge to examine the wreckage.

"Don't get so close to the edge!" a man in uniform shouted at them.  He started to come over to tell them to move back.

"I look at bridge," Baartock's father growled at the man.

"Yes sir," said the man, backing away.  Most of the other humans nearby backed away also.

His father looked at the way the bridge had been built from where he was standing, then suddenly, he jumped into the stream.

"Hey!  Help him!  Get a rope, somebody!" the man in uniform was shouting.  He came rushing to the edge to find Baartock's father standing, quite calmly, waist deep in the rushing water, examining where the supports had been.

"Hey! Catch this," the man shouted, starting to throw the rope.

"Stop!"  Baartock's mother had come over.  "He working. You stop or he get angry."

"But he's going to . . ." the man started to say, looking up at her.

"You stop," his mother said again.

"Yes ma'am," the man said, and he took the rope and went back where he had been standing.  He just stood there watching, and not knowing what to do.

Mrs. Jackson went over to talk to him.  Soon the man walked over to his car and got out a blanket and gave it to Mrs. Jackson.

When he had seen enough, Baartock's father climbed up on the broken bridge span and calmly stepped up onto the road.  Several people in the crowd cheered when he came up, but he didn't seem to notice.

"Where she?" he asked.

Baartock pointed out Mrs. Jackson, still standing next to the man in uniform.  They all walked over to her.  Mrs. Jackson handed him the blanket, and he used it to dry off.

"Can fix," his father said.  "Build right this time. Not fall down again."

"You can build a new bridge?" asked Mrs. Jackson.

Baartock thought that was a silly question.  He had been sure that he could have built a better bridge, and he wasn't even old enough to have a name.   "Hey!  Baartock!" came a shout from the crowd.  Jason was standing there waving at him.

Baartock waved back.  The adults were talking about things that didn't seem to have anything to do with building bridges, so he went over to talk to Jason.

"Isn't this really something.  Are those your folks? Everybody was sure surprised when your dad jumped in like that," Jason just went on in a rush.  "Your dad knows about bridges?"

"Can build better bridge," Baartock answered.

Soon, Baartock's mother called him over and they got back in the car and went home.




Chapter 17


The next day was Friday, but there wasn't any school. Mrs. Stogbuchner had said that a lot of the roads were under water, just like the road near Baartock's home.  But even though there wasn't any school, the next morning Baartock was going to town.

Early in the morning, his father got him up, and they had something to eat.  Baartock got the big lunch bag and his father picked up his bag of tools and they left and walked down to the 'old Howard house' and waited.  The sun wasn't up very high when Mrs. Jackson came driving up the hill.

"Good morning," she called, as she stopped the car.

"Go bridge now," said his father.

Mrs. Jackson had decided that was just the way trolls were. With bridges, they were all business.

"Good morning," said Baartock.  He thought any morning he could go help work on a bridge was a good morning.

They got into the car.  Baartock sat in the front and put on the seat belt.  His father stretched out along the back seat.  He wasn't squeezed into the back, like he had been the day before.  They still had to drive the long way around, but it wasn't too long before Mrs. Jackson was parking the car.

There wasn't a crowd at the bridge, it was too early in the morning. The man in uniform was there again.  He didn't say anything to Baartock's father, but he did wave to Mrs. Jackson, and she waved back.

His father didn't want to waste any time getting started replacing the old bridge.  As soon as they got there, he climbed out of the car and carrying his bag of tools, went to the edge of the road.  He jumped down into the water, and Baartock started handing him hammers and chisels, as he called for them.  He would dry and put away the ones that his father was finished with and threw back to him.

While they were working, people came to watch, but the man in uniform kept them back.  Jason came down too, but the man wouldn't let him come over.

At lunch time, his father climbed back up and dried himself off with the blanket, and they sat under a tree to eat.  Baartock was hungry, but his father ate four sandwiches to his one.  Lunch was quickly over, and they were ready to go back to work.

This time, after his father jumped down, he told Baartock to hand him the bag of tools.  Then he walked carefully through the rushing stream, across the wrecked bridge to the other side and tossed the bag up on the road. Then he came back and told Baartock to climb onto his shoulders.  He crossed the stream again, and Baartock scrambled up the other side.  Then just as before, he handed down tools or put them away.

During the afternoon, a man came to talk to Baartock's father. He was on the other side, and Baartock couldn't hear what they were talking about.  After a while, the man left and his father came back to work.

"Stone," his father said.  That was enough. Baartock knew they had been talking about how much stone would be needed to rebuild the bridge. His father was going to rebuild the bridge the right way, the troll way, with stone and not concrete.

It wasn't dark when Baartock was carried back across the stream.  They were finished for the day.

The next day, Mrs. Jackson couldn't come to get them. When they got down to the house, Mr. Fennis was waiting for them.  He didn't say a word, but he stared at Baartock's father.  He looked as if his eyes were going to pop out.

There were a few people already there, when they got to the bridge. And the man in uniform was there too.

The water had gone down a lot, and they worked on something new.  This time, they didn't work where the supports had been, but spent the day breaking up the old bridge.  Some pieces his father piled up, to keep the stream from washing away his new supports.  The rest of the pieces he tossed up to Baartock, who piled them beside the road. It was a long hard day, and Baartock fell asleep in the car on the way home.

The next day, both of Baartock's parents went off with Mrs. Jackson to look at the stone they were going to build with.  Baartock didn't go along.  He wanted to work on his bridge.  Now that the stream had gone down, he could fix it the way he wanted to.  It was fun, but now that he was working on a real bridge, his own seemed very small.

He went to school the next morning, but after school, instead of riding home on Mr. Barnes' bus, he went to help his parents work on the new bridge.  He spent the rest of the afternoon helping pile up the broken pieces of the old bridge.

For the rest of that week and for several weeks after, Baartock spent his days in school and his afternoons and weekends working on the bridge.  For a while, trucks came, bringing blocks of stone, and big timbers they would use for supports, building the bridge.  They brought enough stone to make a hill of stone, until his father said that was enough.

In those weeks, the crowd that came to watch the bridge being built grew bigger, and there were more men in uniform to keep them back.  The pile of stone got smaller and the bridge got closer to being finished. Somehow, word had gotten out that trolls were building a bridge.  A lot of people didn't believe it, and others didn't care.  Other people heard that a man, a woman, and a boy were building a bridge by themselves, and came to watch.  A few people tried to push their way past the men in uniform to talk to Baartock's parents while they were working.

Then one afternoon, right after lunch, Mrs. Jackson came to get Baartock from class.  He was surprised when she said that they were going to the bridge.  He usually didn't go until school was over.  As they went out to the parking lot, they went past several school busses parked in front of the school.  He thought one of the busses was Mr. Barnes's, but they didn't go to it.  They went to her car and drove to the bridge.

When they got there, there was a big crowd just standing around one end of the bridge.  Baartock's parents were standing in the middle of the bridge, but they weren't working.  Baartock looked at the bridge.  It looked finished, but as he walked over, he saw that there was one block missing from one side, and that block was lying on the sidewalk.

He walked over to his parents to find out why they hadn't finished the bridge.  His mother just said, "wait," and kept watching Mrs. Jackson. Soon the school busses drove up and a lot of kids got out. There was all of Mrs. Stogbuchner's class, and a lot of other kids besides. They came over to the bridge, but they didn't come across it, they just stood there with the rest of the crowd.  They were all talking quietly, and watching Baartock and his parents.  After a while a man got up on a little wooden platform and started talking.  He talked for a long time, but Baartock wasn't listening to him.  He had gotten an idea.  A wonderful idea.

Baartock's mother had been watching the man on the platform.  When he finished taking, she said, "Put stone in."

Baartock went over and picked up the last stone to put in the wall.  He slid it into place, and the crowd started to cheer.  When he stepped back, he saw the writing on the block.  It was his special mark, and the letters 'BAARTOCK'S BRIDGE'.

The crowd kept on cheering, and Baartock felt embarrassed. Then he looked at his father.  And his father looked at him.  His father must have had the same idea, for suddenly they both started yelling at the top of their lungs, screaming, bellowing as loud as they could, as they ran at the crowd standing at the end of the bridge.

At the first sound, the crowd was frozen in place, and as Baartock and his father kept yelling and running at them, the crowd turned and ran away from the bridge as fast as they could.  All the humans kept on running until they were out of sight. Baartock and his father stopped at the end of the bridge and they turned and walked back, laughing, to his mother in the middle of the bridge.  She looked at them.

"Good bridge," she said.  "Good troll bridge."

<eob>

Somebody's Little Girl

By

Martha Young



If I were just to tell the things that Bessie Bell remembered I should tell you some very strange things.  Bessie Bell did not know whether she remembered them, or just knew them, or whether they just grew, those strange things in some strange country that never was anywhere in the world; for when Bessie Bell tried to tell about those strange things great grown wise people said: "No, no, Bessie Bell, there is nothing in the world like that."

So Bessie Bell just remembered and wondered.

She remembered how somewhere, sometime, there was a window where you could look out and see everything green, little and green, and always changing and moving, away, away -- beyond everything little, and green, and moving all the time.  But great grown wise folks said: "No, there is no window in all the world like that."

And once when some one gave Bessie Bell a little round red apple she caught her breath very quickly and her little heart jumped and then thumped very loudly (that is the way it seemed to her) and she remembered: Little apple trees all just alike, and little apple trees in rows all just alike on top of those and again on top of those until they came to a great row of big round red apples on top of all.

Rut great grown people said: "No, no, Bessie Bell, there are no apple trees in all the world like that."

And one time Bessie Bell was at a pretty house and somebody sat her on a little low chair and said: "Keep still, Bessie Bell."

She kept still so long that at last she began to be afraid to move at all, and she got afraid even to crook up her little finger for fear it would pop off loud, -- she had kept still so long that all her round little fingers and her round little legs felt so stiff.

Then one, great grown person said: "She seems a very quiet child." And the other said: "She is a very quiet child -- sometimes."

But just then Bessie Bell turned her head, and though her round little neck felt stiff it did not pop! -- and she saw -- something in a corner that was blue, green, and brown, and soft, and she forgot how afraid to move she was, and she forgot how stiff she thought she was, and she forgot how still she was told to be, and she jumped up and ran to the corner and cried out: "Pretty! Pretty! Pretty!"

One grown person took up the Thing that was blue, and green, and brown, and soft, and waved it to and fro, to and fro in front of Bessie Bell.

And Bessie Bell clapped her hands, and jumped for joy, and laughed, and cried: "Boo! boo! boo!"

And Bessie Bell ran right into the Thing that was blue, and green, and brown, and soft, and she threw out her round little arms and clasped them about the Thing that was blue, and green, and brown, and soft!

And she pulled it over her face, and she laughed and cried for joy -- because she remembered -- 

But the great grown person who had brought Bessie Bell to the pretty house said: "Oh, Bessie Bell! Why, Bessie Bell!  For shame, Bessie Bell!  How could you do so to the beautiful peacock-feather-fly-brush!"

So Bessie Bell could only cry -- and that very softly -- and feel ashamed as she was bid, and forget what it was that she remembered.

Bessie Bell might have remembered one time when a great house was all desolate, and when nobody or nothing at all breathed in the whole great big house, but one little tiny girl and one great big white cat, with just one black spot on its tail.

The nurse that always had played so nicely with the tiny little girl was lying with her cheek in her hand over yonder.

The Grandmother who had always talked so much to the tiny little girl was not talking any more.

The tiny little girl was so sick that she only just could breathe quickly, just so -- and just so -- .

If Bessie Bell could remember that, it was only that she remembered the big white cat like a big soft dream.  And she might have remembered how, now and then, the big cat put out a paw and touched the little girl's cheek, like a soft white dream-touch.

And that little girl had on a night-gown that was long, and soft, and white, and on that little white night-gown was worked, oh so carefully, in linen thread: "Bessie Bell."

Then the few people who walked about the world in Fever-time came in to that big house, and they took up that little tiny girl that breathed so softly and so quickly -- just so!

And they read on her little white night-gown the words written with the linen thread: "Bessie Bell."

And they said: "Let us take this little girl with us."

They put a big soft white blanket around the little girl and walked out of the big house with her, someone carrying her in strong arms.

And the big white cat got down off the big white bed and rubbed himself against the bedpost, and went round and round the bed-post, and rubbed himself round and round the bed-post.

And the tiny little girl never saw the big house, or the big soft white cat any more.

And now when it happened that she remembered something, great grown people said: "No, no, Bessie Bell, there is nothing in the world like that."

So she just wondered and remembered, and almost forgot what it was that she did remember.

* * * * * *


Sister Mary Felice had all the little tiny girls playing in the sand: that was the place that was meant for the little girls to play in.

All the little girls had on blue checked aprons.  All the aprons had straps and buttons behind.

For just one hour every day all the little tiny girls played in the sand, and while they played Sister Mary Felice sat on a willow-wrought bench and watched them play.

Then when that hour was exactly passed Sister Angela always came with a basket of netted canes, an Indian basket, on her arm.  In the Indian basket were little cakes -- such nice little cakes -- always they had caraway seeds in them.

One day Sister Mary Felice said: "Sister Angela, did Sister Ignatius put too many caraway seeds in the cakes this time?"

Sister Angela said: "I think not, Sister Mary Felice.  Will you try one?"

Sister Mary Felice said: "I thank you, Sister Angela."

Then Sister Mary Felice took one to try.

Then always Sister Angela, with the Indian basket on her arm, took all the little girls to the long back gallery that was latticed in.

On a low shelf close against the lattice sat a row of white basins.

Then all the little tiny girls washed their little tiny hands in the white basins.  And while they washed their little tiny hands by twos and by threes together, two little girls washing their hands in one basin together, three little girls washing their hands together, they all oftentimes laughed together and said:

"Wash together! And be friends forever! Wash together! And be friends forever!"

Then Sister Angela held a long pink checked towel in her hands while the little tiny girls came as their tiny hands were washed and wiped them on the pink checked towel.

Then if two little girls took hold of the pink checked towel at once they both laughed and sang:

"Don't wipe together, Or we'll fight Before night."

And the other little girls that were still washing their hands in the white basins on the low shelf by the back-gallery lattice sang over and over again:

"Wash together! We'll wash together! And we'll be happy forever!"

When all the pink clean tiny hands were wiped dry, or as nearly dry as little girls do wipe tiny pink hands, on the pink checked towel held for them by Sister Angela, then Sister Angela hung the pink checked towel on the lowest limb of the arbor-vita tree.  Then the little girls all ran to sit down in a row on the lowest step of the back gallery, with their little feet on the gravel below.  Sister Angela walked the length of the row, and gave to each little girl in the row a sweet tiny cake, or maybe Sister Angela walked twice down the row and gave to each little girl two cakes, or sometimes maybe she walked three times down the row, and then each little girl had three cakes; but no one little girl ever had more than every other little girl.

Always Sister Angela sat a little way off from the row of the little girls.  She always sat on a bench under the great magnolia-tree and watched the tiny girls as they ate their tiny cakes.

And always the pink checked towel waved itself ever so softly to and fro on the lowest limb of the arbor-vitae-tree, for that was the way that pink checked towels did to help to dry themselves after helping to dry so many little pink fingers.  Often, so often, little brown sparrows came hopping to the gravel to pick up any tiny crumbs of cake that the little girls dropped, but you may be sure that they did not drop so very many, many little brown crumbs for little brown birds to find.

But if they were dropped, even if by rare chance were the crumbs so large as to be nearly as large as half of a cake -- why then, that crumb had to stay for those little birds.  It was the law! The law that the little girls had made for themselves, and nobody but themselves knew about that law -- for the good of the birds.  But no little girl cared to disobey that law of their own that nobody but themselves knew about, for if one had -- how dreadful it would have been -- no little girl would have played with her until -- oh, so long, so long -- until she might at last have been forgiven!

So all the little brown crumbs that the tiny little girls did drop, why the tiny little brown birds did pick up, -- and they never said whether they liked caraway seeds or not!

* * * * * *


One day when the tiny little girls were all in a row eating cakes, Sister Angela, sitting on a bench under the magnolia, said quite suddenly: "Good morning!"

She rose up from her seat under the great magnolia.

Then the little brown birds fluttered up from the gravel.

Then all the little girls looked up.

There stood two pretty grown-up people.

And these two grown-up people had no soft white around their faces like the soft white around the face that Sister Angela wore, and they had no black veils, soft and long like the black veil that Sister Angela wore. And they had no little white crosses like the small white cross that Sister Angela wore on the breast of her soft black dress.

One of the pretty-grown up folks looked at one of the little tiny girls and said: "And what is her name?"

Sister Angela said: "Bessie Bell was written on her little white night-gown, done in linen thread."

And Sister Angela said: "Yes, we have always kept the little white night-gown."

And one of the pretty grown-up people said: "Yes, that was right. Always to keep the little white night-gown."

And the other grown-up person said: "And how comes that to be all that you know?"

Sister Angela said: "Because of the fever."

And the pretty one said: "The dreadful fever!"

Sister Angela said: "Yes.  The dreadful fever.  It often leaves none in a house, and even sometimes none in a whole neighborhood to tell the story."

If, as Sister Angela and the pretty grown person talked, there came to Bessie Bell any thought of a great silent house, and a big white cat, with just one bit of black spot on its tail, why if such a thought came to Bessie Bell it came only to float away, away like white thistle seed -- drifting away as dreams drift.

When the two pretty grown ones had gone away, then Sister Angela had nodded her head at the row of little girls, so that they might know that they might go on eating their cakes, for of course the little girls knew that they must hold their cakes in their hands and wait, and not eat, when Sister Angela had shaken her head gently at them while she talked to the two pretty ones.  The little brown birds seemed to know, too, that they could come back to the gravel to look for crumbs again.

Then, as the little girls were again eating their cakes, one little girl said: "Sister Angela, were they Sisters?"

Sister Angela said: "No, they are not Sisters."

Then another little girl asked: "Sister Angela, what were they, then?"

Sister Angela said: "They are only just ladies."

Then always after that Bessie Bell and the other little girls were glad when Only-Just-Ladies came to see them.

The sun shone nearly always, or it seemed to the little girls that it nearly always shone, out in that large garden where they could play the hour in the sand, and where they could spend one hour eating their cakes with their feet on the gravel, and where they could walk behind Sister Justina on all the shell-bordered walks around the beds (but they must not step on the beds) -- just one hour.  If a rain came it always did surprise them: those little girls were always surprised when it rained!  and they did not know exactly what to do when it rained, though they knew almost always what to do when the sun shone.  One day when it rained it happened that the little girls were all left over the one hour in the long room where all the rows and rows of the little arm-chairs sat, and where all the little girls learned to Count, and to say Their Prayers, and to Tell the Time, and to sing "Angels Bright," and to know the A B C blocks.  Sister Theckla, who always stayed the one hour in that room, had gone to say to the Sisters that the one hour was over, and that it was raining, and what must the little girls do now?

While Sister Theckla was gone, all the little girls went to the windows, and all the tiny girls looked at the rain coming down, coming down in drops, so many drops; and so fast the drops came that they seemed to come in long strings of drops straight from the sky.

Then one little girl laughed and began to beat on the window by which she stood, to beat all over it as far as her little damp pink fingers could reach, and to say:

"Rain! Rain! Go to Spain! Rain! Rain! Go to Spain! Rain! Rain! Go to Spain!"

And all the little girls thought that was so beautiful that they began to beat all over the windows, too, just as high and just as far as their little damp pink fingers could reach, and to sing as loud and as gaily as they could sing:

"Rain! Rain! Go to Spain!"

Sister Theckla and Sister Angela came to the door of the room, -- and they were so astonished that they could only look at one another and say to one another: "What do they mean?  Where did they learn that?"

And the little girl who had taught the other little girls that much of the song remembered some more; and so she beat louder than ever on the window pane and said:

"Rain, rain, rain, Go away! And come another day!"

All the little girls laughed more than ever and sang louder than ever:

"Rain, rain, rain, Go away! Come again another day!"

Then Sister Angela looked at Sister Theckla and said: "Where did the child learn that, do you suppose?"

And Sister Theckla said: "She is older than the others.  She must have learned it at home!"

And Sister Angela and Sister Theckla came into the room and they said: "See, now, what you have done to the windows!"

Sure enough, when the little girls looked at the windows the glass was all dim and blurred with little damp finger-prints!

* * * * * *


It was one day as the sun shone as it did shine most days, that the same little girl who knew how to sing that song when it rained was running on the shell-bordered walk, holding Bessie Bell's hand and running, when her little foot tripped up against Bessie Bell's foot, -- and over Bessie Bell rolled on the walk with the shell border.

Then Bessie Bell cried and cried.

And Sister Mary Felice said: "Bessie Bell, where are you hurt?"

Bessie Bell did not know where she was hurt: she only knew that she was so sorry to have been so happy to be running, and then to roll so suddenly on the walk.

Then the little girl said: "She isn't hurt at all.  She is just crying."

Sister Mary Felice said: "But you threw her down.  You must tell her you are sorry."

Then the little girl said: "But I didn't mean to throw her down."

"But," Sister Mary Felice said, "you did trip her up, and you must beg her pardon."

Then Sister Theckla came to take all the little girls to the room where so many chairs sat in so many rows, and she too said: "Yes, you must beg her pardon."

Bessie Bell was listening so that she had almost stopped crying, but now when Sister Story Felice and Sister Theckla both said to the little girl, "Yes, you must beg pardon," then the little girl began to cry, too.

Then Bessie Bell grew so sorry again, she hardly knew why, or for what, that she began to cry again.

So then both Sisters said again: "Yes, you should beg pardon."

But the little girl still cried, and said, "But I didn't mean to trip her."  Then she shook her head at Bessie Bell and said -- because she just had to say it:

"I beg your pardon! Grant me grace! I hope the cat will scratch your face!"

Oh! Sister Mary Felice looked at Sister Theckla, and Sister Theckla looked at Sister Mary Felice -- and they both said: "Where did she learn that?"

But Bessie Bell knew that the little girl did not mean to throw her down, so she said, "No, you didn't mean to do it."

She had thought she ought to say that, and she had been getting ready to say that before the little girl had been made to beg her pardon, and now that she had gotten ready she said: "No, you didn't mean to do it."

Then the little girl stopped crying, too, and ran and caught Bessie Bell's hand again and said to her again:

"I beg your pardon! Grant me grace! I hope the cat won't scratch your face!"

So they went skipping down the walk together just as they had gone before.  Then Sister Mary Felice and Sister Theckla both said: "Well! Well!"

* * * * * *


One time it came about that Bessie Bell lay a long time in her little white crib-bed, and she did not know why, and she did not care much why.  She did not get up and play in the sand while Sister Mary Felice looked one hour at the little girls playing in the sand.

She scarcely wondered why she did not leave the crib-bed to sit on the long gallery-step in a row with all the other little girls, all with their feet on the gravel, and all eating the tiny cakes that Sister Ignatius made, while Sister Angela sat on the bench under the magnolia-tree and looked at the row of little girls.

If sometimes just at waking from fitful sleep in her crib-bed there came to her just a thought, or a remembrance, of a great big soft white cat that reached its paw out and softly touched her cheek, it came to her only like the touch of fancy in a big soft white dream.

Often Only-Just-Ladies came and talked over her little white crib with Sister Helen Vincula.

Bessie Bell's little fingers were no longer pink and round now; they lay just white, so white and small, on the white spread.  And Bessie Bell did not mind how quiet she was told to be, for she was too tired to want to make any noise at all.

One day it happened that an Only-Just-Lady came and said: "Sister Helen Vincula, I want to give you a ticket to carry you away to the high mountain, and I want you to go to stay a month in my house on the mountain, and I want you to carry this little sick girl with you.  And when you are there, Sister Helen Vincula, my bread-man will bring you bread, and my milk-man will bring you milk, and my market-man from the cove will bring you apples and eggs, and all the rest of the good things that come up the mountain from the warm caves."

"For," the Only-Just-Lady said, "I want this little sick girl to grow well again, and I want her little arms and legs and fingers to get round and pink again."

Bessie Bell thought that that was a very pretty tale that the Lady was telling, but she did not know or understand that that tale was about her.  Then the Only-Just-Lady said, "Sister Helen Vincula, it will do you good, too, as well as this little girl to stay in the high mountains."

Not until all of Bessie Bell's little blue checked aprons, and all of her little blue dresses, and all of her little white petticoats, and all of her little white night-gowns, and even the tiny old night-gown with the linen thread name worked on it, had been put with all the rest of her small belongings into the old trunk with brass tacks in the leather, the old, old trunk that had belonged to Sister Helen Vincula, did Bessie Bell know that it was herself, little Bessie Bell, who was going away Somewhere.

* * * * * *


It was a very strange new world to Bessie Bell, that new world up on the High Mountain.

She did not think the grand views off the edge of the high mountain so strange.  But she loved to look out on those views as she stood by Sister Helen Vincula on the gray cliff; Sister Helen Vincula holding her hand very fast while they both looked down into the valleys and coves.  As the shadows of evening crept up to the cliff whereon they stood, and as those shadows folded round and round the points and coves, those points and caves lying below and beyond fold over fold, everything grew purple and violet.

Everything grew so purple, and so violet, and so great, and so wide that it seemed sometimes to the little girl, standing on the cliff by Sister Helen Vincula, that she was looking right down into the heart of a violet as great, as wide -- as great, as wide -- as the whole world.

But this did not seem so strange to Bessie Bell, for she yet remembered that window out of which one could see just small, green, moving things, and of which great grown people had told her, "No, Bessie Bell, there is no such window in all the world."

So in her own way she thought that maybe after awhile that the big, big violet might drift away, away, and great grown people might say, "No, Bessie Bell, there never was a violet in all the world like that."

It was the people -- and all the people -- of that new world that seemed so strange to Bessie Bell.

There were children, and children in all the summer cabins on that high mountain.

And those children did not walk in rows.

And those children did not do things by one hours.

And those children did not wash their hands in little white basins sitting in rows on long back gallery benches.

It was strange to Bessie Bell that those children did not sit in rows to eat tiny cakes with caraway seeds in them while Sister Angela sat on the bench under the great magnolia-tree and looked at the row of little girls.

It was so very strange to Bessie Bell that these children wore all sorts of clothes -- all sorts! Not just blue dresses, and blue checked aprons.

And Bessie Bell knew, too, that those little girls in all sorts of clothes could not float away into that strange country of No-where and Never-was, where, too, the things that she remembered seemed to drift away -- and to so nearly get lost, living only in dimming memory.

These little girls in all sorts of clothes were real, and sure-enough, and nobody could ever say of them, "There are no such little girls in the world," because sometimes when Bessie Bell would get to thinking, and thinking about the strangeness of them, she would almost wonder if she did not just remember them.  When she would give one just a little pinch to see if that one was a real sure-enough little girl, why that little girl would say, "Don't." She would say "Don't!" just the same as a little girl in the row of little girls all with blue checked aprons would say "Don't," if you pinched one of them ever so little.

There were no Sisters on that high mountain.  Sister Helen Vincula was the only Sister there.  That seemed very strange to Bessie Bell.

One day the strangest thing of all so far happened.

One little girl called another little girl with whom she was playing, "Sister."

Bessie Bell laughed at that.

"Oh, she is not a Sister!" said Bessie Bell.

"Yes, she is; she is my sister!" said the little girl.

"No," said Bessie Bell, just as great grown people said to her when she remembered strange things, "No, there never was in the world a Sister like that!"

Then the smaller of the little girls who were playing together ran to the larger one, and caught hold of her hand, and they stood together in front of Bessie Bell -- they both had long black curls, but Bessie Bell had short golden curls -- and the smaller girl said: "Yes, she is my sister!"

And the larger girl said: "Yes, she is, too.  She is my-own-dear-sister!"

The smaller little girl shook her black curls and said: "She is my own-dear-owny-downy-dear-sister!"

In all of her life Bessie Bell had never heard anything like that.

And all the other little girls who were playing joined in and said: "Bessie Bell doesn't know what she is talking about.  Of course you are sisters.  Everybody knows you are sisters!"

Bessie Bell was distressed to be told that she did not know what she was talking about -- and she knew so much about Sisters.

So she began to cry, very softly.

Then she stopped crying long enough to say: "But I never saw Sisters like that before!"

Then she took up her crying again right where she left off.

Then a little boy -- but he seemed a very large boy to Bessie Bell with his long-striped-stocking-legs -- said to Bessie Bell: "No, Bessie Bell, they are not Sisters like Sister Helen Vincula and the Sisters that you know, but they are just what they say they are -- just own dear sisters."

Then came to Bessie Bell that knowledge that we are often times slow in getting: she knew all of a sudden -- that she did not know everything. She did not know all, even about Sisters.

Because, in all that she knew or remembered or wondered about, there was nothing at all about that strange thing that all the little children, but herself, knew so well about -- "Own-dear-sisters."

Another strange thing came into her mind, brought into her mind partly by her ears, but mostly by her eyes: There were not in this new world on the high mountain -- perhaps there were not after all so many anywhere as she had thought -- there were not so many Sisters like Sister Helen Vincula (for was not Sister Helen Vincula the only Sister she had seen on the mountain?).  There were not after all so many Sisters like Sister Angela; and Sister Mary Felice, who watched the little blue-checked-apron girls playing in the sand; and Sister Ignatius, who cooked the cakes with the caraway seeds in them; and Sister Theckla, who taught the little girls to Count and to Sing.

Why, the whole world, surely the up-on-the mountain-world, seemed full of Only-Just-Ladies.

Not just a Lady here and there, coming to visit with hats on, to talk a little to the Sisters, to look at the little girls with blue checked aprons on.  But here they were coming and going all the time, moving about, and living in the cabins, walking everywhere with or without hats on, standing on the gray cliffs, and looking down -- maybe into the heart of a worldwide violet there, off the edge of the cliff, such as Bessie Bell saw or fancied she saw.

So many Ladies.

Bessie Bell leaned against the little fluted post of the gallery to the cabin that she and Sister Helen Vincula lived in, and decided to herself that, strange as it was, yet was it true that the whole world was full of -- Ladies.

There were yet stranger things for Bessie Bell to learn.

She had not for long played with those many little girls in all sorts of clothes, and with larger girls, and with boys, -- some with short-striped-stocking-legs and some with long-striped-stocking-legs, -- before she heard one child say: "Mama says she will take me to Sweet Fern Cave to-morrow."

Or perhaps it was another child who said: "Mama won't let me wade in the branch."

Or another child said: "Mama says I can have a party for all the little girls and boys on the mountain next Friday!"

Then another little child said: "My Mama has made me a beautiful pink dress, and I will wear that to your party."

Mama?  My Mama?

Bessie Bell leaned against the little fluted post of the gallery to the cabin where she and Sister Helen Vincula lived, and thought a great deal about that.

And Bessie Bell wondered a great deal what that could mean: Mama?  My Mama?

There were strange new things in this world.

Bessie Bell almost forgot to remember now, because every day was so full of such strange new things to know.

Mama?  My Mama?

Bessie Bell did a great deal of thinking about that.

One day the little children were playing at building rock chimneys.

There was not much sand there for little children to play in, so that the children often built rock chimneys, and rock tables, and rock fences.

As they were playing one little girl suddenly left the playground and ran, calling: "Mama! Mama! Come here; come this way, and see the chimney we have built!"

Bessie Bell turned quickly from play and looked after the little girl who was running across the playground to where three ladies were standing.

The little girl caught the dress of one of the ladies, and came pulling at her dress and bringing her across the ground to see the stone chimney, and the little girl kept saying:

"Look, Mama! See, Mama! Isn't it a grand chimney? Won't it 'most hold smoke?"

Bessie Bell stood still with her little hands -- they were beginning to be round pink little hands again, now -- clasped in front of her and wondered.

"See, Mama! Look, Mama!" cried the little girl.

"Why does she say: Mama?" asked Bessie Bell, because she just wondered, and wondered -- and she did not know.

"Because it is her Mama," said a child who had just brought two more rocks to put on the chimney.

"Oh," said Bessie Bell.

That lady who was the little girl's Mama looked much as all the ladies looked.

"Are all Ladies Mamas?" asked Bessie Bell.

She hoped the child who had brought the two rocks would not laugh, for Bessie Bell knew she would cry if she did.

The little girl did not laugh at all.  She was trying so carefully to put the last rock on top of the stone chimney, she said: "No, Bessie Bell: some are Mamas, and some are only just Ladies."

There.  There it was again: Only-Just-Ladies.

Bessie Bell wondered how to tell which were Mamas, and which were Ladies -- just Ladies.

Very often after that day she watched those who passed the cabin where she and Sister Helen Vincula lived, and wondered which were Mamas -- 

And which were Ladies.

There was no rule of old or young by which Bessie Bell could tell.

Nor was it as one could tell Sisters from Just-Ladies by a way of dress.  For Sisters, like Sister Helen Vincula, wore a soft white around the face, and soft long black veils, and a small cross on the breast of the dress: so that even had any not known the difference one could easily have guessed.

But for Ladies and Mamas there were none of these differences.

But Bessie Bell looked and looked and wondered, but her eyes brought to her no way of knowing.

Bessie Bell could at length think of only one way to find out the difference, and that was to ask -- to let her ears help her eyes to bring to her some way of knowing.

One day, a dear old lady with white curls all around under her bonnet stopped near the playground and called Bessie Bell to her and gave her some chocolate candy, every piece of candy folded up in its own white paper.

Bessie Bell said: "Thank you, ma'am."

Then as the lady still stood by the playground Bessie Bell asked her: "Are you a Lady, ma'am?"

"I have been called so," said the lady, smiling down at Bessie Bell.

"Or are you a Mama?" asked Bessie Bell.

"Ah," said the lady; "I am a Mama, too, but all my little girls have grown up and left me."

Bessie Bell wondered how they could have done that, those little girls. But she saw, and was so glad to see, that this lady was very wise, and that she understood all the things that little girls wonder about.

But though there was a difference, a very great difference, between Mamas and Ladies it was very hard to tell -- unless you asked.

One day a large fat lady took Bessie Bell on her lap.  That was very strange to Bessie Bell -- to sit on top of anybody.

And the lady made a rabbit, and a pony, and a preacher, all out of a handkerchief and her nice fat fingers.  And then she made with the same handkerchief and fingers a Mama holding a Baby.

Then Bessie Bell looked up at her with her wondering eyes and asked: "Are you a Lady -- "

"Bless my soul!" cried the lady. "Do you hear this child?  And now, come to think of it, I don't know whether I am a lady or not -- "

And the lady laughed until Bessie Bell felt quite shaken up.

"Or are you a Mama?" asked Bessie Bell, when it seemed that the lady was about to stop laughing.

"So that is it?" asked the lady, and she seemed about to begin laughing again.

"Yes, I am a Mama, and I have three little girls about as funny as you are."

Another time a lady passed by the cabin where Bessie Bell stood leaning against the little fluted white post of the gallery, and said:

"Good morning, Bessie Bell.  I am Alice's Mama."

That made things so simple, thought Bessie Bell.  This lady was a Mama. And she was Alice's Mama.

Bessie Bell wished that all would tell in that nice way at once whether they were Mamas or Just-Ladies.

The next lady who passed by the cabin also stopped to talk to Bessie Bell.

And Bessie Bell asked: "Are you a Mama or Only-Just-A-Lady?"

"I am only just a lady," the lady said, patting Bessie Bell's little tiny hand.  And it was easy to see that, in Bessie Bell's mind, though Only-Just-Ladies were kind and sweet, Mamas were far greater and more important beings.

One night, when Sister Helen Vincula had put Bessie Bell to bed in the small bed that was not a crib-bed, though like that she had slept in before she had come to the high mountain, Bessie Bell still lay wide awake.

Her blue eyes were wide open and both of her pink little hands were above her head on the pillow.  She was thinking, and thinking, and she forgot that she was thinking her thinking aloud, and she said:

"Alice has a mama.  Robbie has a mama.  Katie has a mama.  Where is Bessie Bell's mama?  Never mind: Bessie Bell will find a mama."

Then Sister Helen Vincula, who was wide awake, too, said:

"Ah me, ah me."

Bessie Bell said: "Sister Helen Vincula, did you call me?"

Sister Helen Vincula said:

"No, child: go to sleep."

* * * * * *


The next day was the day for Sister Helen Vincula and Bessie Bell to leave the high, cool mountain.  They were to leave the little cabin where the lady had told them to live until they had gotten well again.

So when their leaving day came Sister Helen Vincula put a clean stiff-starched blue-checked apron on Bessie Bell, and they walked together to the Mall where the band was playing.

Bessie Bell was always so glad when Sister Helen Vincula took her to the Mall in the afternoon when the band played.

All the little children went every afternoon in their prettiest dresses to the Mall where the band played.

Because in the afternoon the band played just the sort of music that little girls liked to hear.

Every afternoon all the nurses came to the Mall and brought all the babies, and the nurses rolled the babies up and down the sawdust walks in the pretty baby-carriages, with nice white, and pink, and blue parasols over the babies' heads.

That afternoon Sister Helen Vincula stayed a long time with Bessie Bell, on the Mall, sitting by her on the stone bench and listening to the gay music, and looking at the children in their prettiest clothes, and at the nurses rolling the babies in the pretty carriages with the beautiful pink, and white, and blue parasols over the babies' heads.

Then Sister Helen Vincula said: "Bessie Bell, I am going across the long bridge to see some ladies and to tell them Good-bye, because we are going away tomorrow."

And Sister Helen Vincula said: "Now, will you stay right here on this stone bench till I come back for you?"

Bessie Bell said, "Yes, Sister Helen Vincula."

So Sister Helen Vincula went away across the long bridge to see the ladies and to tell them Good-bye.

Bessie Bell did not know much about going away, and she did not understand about it at all, so she did not care at all about it.

She just sat on the stone bench with her little pink hands folded on her blue checked apron, and looked at the children in their prettiest clothes, and at the babies, and at the parasols.

She loved so to look, and she loved so to listen to the pretty gay music that she did not notice that a lady had come to the stone bench, and had seated herself just where Sister Helen Vincula had sat before she went to see the ladies and to tell them Good-bye.

There were many other ladies on the Mall, and many ladies passed in their walk by the stone bench where Bessie Bell and the lady sat.

Everybody loved to come to the Mall in the afternoon when the band played. Everybody loved to hear the gay music.  Everybody loved to see the children in their prettiest clothes, and to see all the nurses rolling the babies in the carriages with the pretty parasols.

And one of the ladies passing by looked over to the stone bench where Bessie Bell sat with her hands folded on her blue checked apron, and where the lady had seated herself just as Sister Helen Vincula had sat before she went across the long bridge.

And the lady said, as she passed by and looked: "Striking likeness."

Another lady with her said: "Wonderful!"

And another one with them said: "Impossible! But strange indeed -- "

Bessie Bell did not notice what the ladies said, but because they looked so attentively to where she sat on the stone bench her attention was turned the way their eyes turned as they talked in low tones and looked attentively passing by.

So when they had passed by, Bessie Bell turned and looked to the other end of the bench where the lady sat.

Bessie Bell was so surprised at the first look that she hardly knew what to think.

The lady did not look like Sister Helen Vincula, oh, not at all; but the veil that she wore was soft and black like that that Sister Helen Vincula wore.  The dress that the lady wore was black also, but it looked as if it were stiff and very crisp, and not soft like the dress that Sister Helen Vincula wore.  Bessie Bell did not mean to be rude, but she reached out one tiny hand and took hold of the lady's dress, just a tiny pinch of it.

Yes, it was very crisp.

Then the lady turned and looked at Bessie Bell.

Then Bessie Bell was still more surprised, for there was something white under her veil.  Not white all round the face like that Sister Helen Vincula wore, but soft crinkly white just over the lady's soft yellow hair.

Also on the breast of her black dress was a cross, but not white like the cross that Sister Helen Vincula wore.  No, this cross was shining very brightly, and it was very golden in the sunlight, -- and -- somehow, somehow, -- Bessie Bell knew just how that cross felt, -- she knew without feeling it.  She did not have to feel it as she had felt the dress.

Bessie Bell looked and thought.  She thought this lady looked like a Sister -- and yet there was a difference.  She looked also like Just-A-Lady, and she also looked grand and important enough for a Mama.

Bessie Bell looked and thought, but she could not tell just exactly what this lady was.

It was best that she should ask, and then she would surely know.

So she asked: "Are you a Lady, ma'am?"

"I hope so, little girl," the lady said.

"I thought, maybe, you were a Sister," said Bessie Bell.

"No," said the lady.

"Like Sister Mary Felice, and Sister Angela, and Sister Helen Vincula," said Bessie Bell.

"No," said the lady.

"Are you a Mama, then?" asked Bessie Bell.

The lady looked as if she were going to cry.

But Bessie Bell could see nothing to cry about.  The band was still playing ever so gaily, and all the little children looked so beautiful and so happy, all playing and running hither and thither on the sawdust walks, that it was good just to look at them.

But on the instant Bessie Bell remembered how sorrowful it was to cry when you could not understand things, so she quickly reached out her little pink hand and laid it on the lady's hand -- just because she knew how sorrowful it felt to feel like crying and not to know.

"You see," said Bessie Bell gently, as she softly patted the lady's hand, "you see, you do look something like a Sister, -- but," said Bessie Bell, "I believe you do look more like a Mama."

"Little girl," said the lady, "what do you mean?"

And she still looked as if she might cry.

"Yes," said Bessie Bell, for she had begun to think very hard, "Alice has a mama.  Robbie has a mama.  Lucy has a mama.  Everybody has a mama.  Never mind, Bessie Bell will find a mama -- "

"Little girl," said the lady, "why do you say, Bessie Bell -- ?"

When the lady said that it seemed to Bessie Bell that she heard something sweet -- something away off beyond what the band was playing, so she just clapped her hands and laughed out loud, and said over and over as if it were a little song:

"Bessie Bell! Bessie, Bessie, Bessie Bell!"

But the lady at her side looked down at the child as if she were afraid.  Bessie Bell knew how sorrowful it was to be afraid, so she stopped patting her hands and laughing, -- for she didn't know why she had begun to do it -- and she laid her hand again on the lady's hand, just because she knew how sorrowful it was to be afraid.

But Bessie Bell could not see anything to be afraid of: the band was playing just as gaily as ever, and the children, and the nurses, and the babies, and the parasols were as gay as ever.

"Where is your mama?" asked the lady, taking fast hold of the little hand that patted her hand.

"Everybody has a mama -- never mind -- "

"But where is your mama?" asked the lady again.

Bessie Bell had begun to wonder and so had forgotten to answer.

"Child, where is your mama?" said the lady again, still holding fast to Bessie Bell's hand.

"But -- I don't know," said Bessie Bell.

Then the lady looked as if she had begun to wonder, too, and she seemed to be looking away off; away off, but how closely she held Bessie Bell's hand -- closer than Sister Angela, or Sister Theckla, or even Sister Helen Vincula, or Sister Justina -- 

Then Bessie Bell began to wonder still more, and to remember, as the lady held fast to her little fingers.  She began to talk her thinking out loud, and she said: "Yes, there was a window -- where everything was green, and, small, and moving -- but Sister Justina said there was not any window like that in the whole world -- "

The lady held Bessie Bell's hand very hard, and she said -- softly, as if she, too, was talking her thinking aloud:

"Yes, there was a window like that in the world, for just outside the nursery-window there grew a Pride of China Tree, and it filled all the window with small, green, moving leaves -- "

Then Bessie Bell just let the lady draw her up close, and she leaned up against the lady.

She felt so happy now, for she knew she had found the Wisest Woman in the world, for this lady knew the things that little girls only could remember.  If she had thought about it she would have told the lady about the tiny apple-trees with the very, very small apples on them, and other rows of apple-trees over those, and other rows on top of those, and on top of all a row of big round red apples.

Then the lady might have said: Yes, there were apple-trees like that in the world, for all the nursery walls were papered like that, with a row of big round red apples at the top.

But Bessie Bell did not think of or remember that then; she just leaned up against the lady and swung one of her little feet up and down, back and forth, as she sat on the stone bench: she was so happy to have met the Wisest Woman in the world.

The people who passed by looked, and turned to look again, at the little girl in the stiff-starched, faded blue checked apron leaning up against the lady in the crisp, dull silk.

But Bessie Bell did not look at anybody who passed.

And the lady did not look at anybody who passed.

And the band kept on playing gay music.

It was not very long before Sister Helen Vincula came back from seeing the ladies across the long bridge, and from telling them Good-bye.  As soon as she saw Bessie Bell leaning up against the lady she cried:

"Why, Bessie Bell!"

Bessie Bell said, "Sister Helen Vincula," and she knew she had done something wrong, but she could only wonder what.

But the lady said very quickly, -- and she held Bessie Bell's hand even harder than before, -- she said:

"Sister Helen Vincula, I must ask you something -- "

Sister Helen Vincula and the lady talked a long time.

Bessie Bell did not listen very much to what they said.

She did not lean up against the lady now, but she sat close.  Sister Helen Vincula did not seem to mind that.

She did not swing her foot to and fro now, but she still felt very contented and happy to have met the very Wisest Woman.

When she did listen a little she heard the lady say:

"There came news that my husband was ill in Mobile, and I feared that it was of the Dreadful Fever, and I hurried there so that I could get to him before the Dreadful Quarantines were put on.  I felt all safe about the baby, for I left her with my mother and the faithful nurse who had been my nurse, too.  But when the worst had come and was over, -- and it was the Dreadful Fever, -- then I tried to get back to my home; but I could not for many, many days, because the Dreadful Quarantines were on.  Then at last I did get there -- I slipped up secretly by water.  All were gone. I could find no one who could tell me anything.  I could find no one who knew anything.  The house was wide open.  There was no sign of life, but that the cat came and rubbed up against me, and walked round and round me.  The Dreadful Fever was everywhere, and nobody could tell me anything; and I searched everywhere, always and always alone -- there was no one to help me: everyone was trying to save from the Dreadful Fever -- "

Bessie Bell did not know what all that was about, but she felt so sorry for the lady that she squeezed down ever so softly on her hand that held her own still so tightly.

Sister Helen Vincula wiped her eyes.

The lady kept looking away off, but still held Bessie Bell's hand in hers.

Then Sister Helen Vincula said: "We are going away to-morrow."

But the lady held fast to Bessie Bell's hand and said: "Not this little girl."

"Oh," said Sister Helen Vincula, "but she is in my charge, and so what can I do!"

And the lady said: "I cannot let her leave me -- not ever."

But Sister Helen Vincula said: "Oh, madam, you do not know.  No matter what we hope, we do not know -- "

But the lady held still faster to Bessie Bell's hand.

"Oh," said Sister Helen Vincula, "I have a thought! Come to our cabin with me."

So they went.

And Bessie Bell walked between Sister Helen Vincula and the lady.

And they each held one of her little pink hands.

When they were at the cabin Sister Helen Vincula opened the old trunk with the brass tacks on it, and she went down to the very bottom of it, unpacking as she went.  For the old trunk was almost entirely packed for the going away to-morrow.  Then Sister Helen Vincula took out, from almost the bottom of the trunk, the little white night-gown that had "Bessie Bell" written on it with linen thread.

And Sister Helen Vincula laid the little white night-gown across the lady's lap.

Then the lady read the name written with the linen thread.

The lady said: "I worked this name with my own hands."

She drew Bessie Bell closer to her, and she said: "Sister Helen Vincula, can you doubt?"

Bessie Bell stood contentedly where the lady held her, and she looked first at the night-gown and then at the lady, then at Sister Helen Vincula.  She did not know or care what it was all about -- she scarcely wondered.

"Sister Helen Vincula," said the lady, "I know past all doubting that I worked this name.  You believe that.  Much more past all doubting do you not know -- You must know -- "

"Ah," said Sister Helen Vincula, "I hope with you." She reached for the little night-gown, and she smoothed it in her fingers.  "Ah," she said, "the child has grown since she has been with us, so much, but the little gown -- it looks -- really smaller to me -- "

But the lady was not listening to Sister Helen Vincula.  She had her arms about Bessie Bell's shoulders and was looking into her face.

"I am glad I brought the little gown," Sister Helen Vincula was saying; "the child was so ill, so fearfully thin, I feared -- it was only a fancy -- I feared -- "

"No, no, no," cried the lady, drawing Bessie Bell closer.

"Now nearly two years she has been with us," said Sister Helen Vincula.

"She was just old enough to be put to the table in a high chair," said the lady.  "Ah, how she did laugh and crow and jump when her father took the peacock-feather-fly-brush from the maid, and waved it in front of her!  She would seize the ends of the feathers, and laugh and crow louder than ever, and hide her laughing little face deep into the feathers -- Ah me -- "

But Bessie Bell said nothing, nor remembered anything.  For she did not know that the lady was talking of something green, and blue, and soft, and brown.

And it was Sister Justina, and not Sister Helen Vincula, who had told her to be ashamed when she had cried: Pretty! Pretty! Pretty!  as the something green, and blue, and soft, and brown was waved to and fro in front of her until she seized it and buried her little face in it for the joy -- of remembering -- 

So Sister Helen Vincula did not know, and Bessie Bell did not remember, while the lady talked.

Only long after, when Bessie Bell grew much larger, it happened that whenever she saw an old-fashioned peacock-feather-fly-brush -- at first, just for a second, she felt very glad; and then, just for a second, she felt very sorry; and she never knew or could remember why.  She forgot after awhile how she had been so full of sorrow when Sister Justina said, Be Ashamed, and she could no longer remember why she was glad; only a feeling of both was left -- and she could not tell how or why.

But the lady would not let Bessie Bell get far from her, and Bessie did not care to go far from her.  She stood with her little pink hands folded, and looked up at the lady who held to her so closely.

Sister Helen Vincula said: "It was Sister Theckla who spent that summer with the sick, and it was Sister Theckla who brought the child to us. Can you not go home with us?  Or I could write to you at once -- "

"No," said the lady. "I will go.  The child shall not leave me -- '

"And we will talk to Sister Theckla, and she will tell us all that she knows, and then -- God willing -- we shall know all."

The lady said: "Yes, we will all go together.  We will go at once."

And so it was that when Sister Theckla had told all that she knew, then the lady knew (as she always had said she had known), past all doubting, that Bessie Bell had really found what she most wished for.

But we do not know how long it was before Bessie Bell really understood that the Wisest Woman in the world, who knew what little girls had almost forgotten how to remember, was her own Mother.

* * * * * *

When all the people on the high, cool mountains heard about all that the lady knew, and all that Sister Theckla told, and all that Bessie Bell had found, they were all as glad as they could be.

And when the boy with the long-striped-stocking-legs heard all about it he said: "That is fine!  Bessie Bell said that she would find a Mama -- and she has!"

<eob>

The Bird-Woman Of The Lewis And Clark Expedition

By

Katherine Chandler



The Bird-Woman.

The Bird-Woman was an Indian. She showed the white men the way into the West. There were no roads to the West then. That was one hundred years ago. This Indian woman took the white men across streams. She took them over hills. She took them through bushes. She seemed to find her way as a bird does. The white men said, "She goes like a bird. We will call her the Bird-Woman." Her Indian name was Sacajawea.



Who The White Men Were.

The white men Sacajawea went with were soldiers. There were twenty-nine soldiers. There were two captains. The name of one captain was Lewis. The name of the other captain was Clark. They were American soldiers.

They carried the American flag into the West. No white men knew about that part of the West then. The captains wished to learn all about the West. They wished to tell the people in the East about it. They had been going West a long time before they met Sacajawea. They had rowed up the Missouri River. They had come to many little streams. They did not know what the Indians called these streams. So they gave them new names for the white men.


On Fourth of July they named one stream Fourth of July Creek. They named another Independence Creek. We still call this stream by that name. You can find it on the map of Kansas. On Fourth of July the men rested. The soldier who woke first fired a gun. Then they all woke up and cheered for the Fourth of July. At night they fired another gun. Then the soldiers danced around the camp fire. After a time the ice and snow would not let them go on. They made a winter camp near the Mandan Indians. Here they met Sacajawea and her husband. Her husband was a Frenchman who knew a little about the West. Sacajawea was the only one there who had been to the far West. Lewis and Clark told the Frenchman they would pay him to go with them. He said he would go. Then he and Sacajawea came to live at the soldiers' camp.



Why Sacajawea Went West.

Sacajawea belonged in the West. Her tribe was called the Snake Indians. They lived in the Rocky Mountains. Sacajawea lived in the Mountains until she was twelve years old. Then her tribe went to war with the Mandans from the East. One day Sacajawea and some other girls were getting roots. They were down by a stream. Some Mandans came upon them. The girls ran fast to get away.

Sacajawea ran into the stream. An Indian caught her. He took her up on his horse. He carried her away to the East, to the country of the Mandans. There she married the Frenchman. There the Americans found her. She was glad when her husband said he would go West with Lewis and Clark. She thought she would see her own tribe again.



At Fort Mandan.

The soldiers called their winter camp Fort Mandan.  They had a hard winter there. It was so cold that many men were ill. They had no time to be ill. They had to work to be ready to go West when Spring opened. The captains wrote in their books about the Indians and animals and plants they had seen. They made maps of the country they had come through. They had long talks with the Indian chiefs. They made friends with the Indians by giving them medicine. An Indian boy had his feet frozen near the soldiers' camp. The captains kept him until his feet were well again. His people all came and thanked the captains.

The Indians told each other about the white men's medicine. They said, "The white men's medicine is better than our sweat-house." So they came for miles to the white camp to get the medicine. They gave the captains food. They wanted to be friends with them.

The soldiers hunted animals for food and for their skins. One soldier cut an old stove into pieces. The Indians wanted these pieces to make arrows and knives. They would give eight gallons of corn for one piece. The Indians did not know what money was. The captains did not carry money with them. They took flags and medals, knives and blankets, looking-glasses and beads, and many other things. With these they could get food from the Indians. On Christmas Day, 1804, the soldiers put the American flag up over the fort. They told the Indians not to come to see them on that day. They said it was the best day of their year. It was a cold day, with much ice and snow. They had a good dinner and after dinner the soldiers danced. On New Year's Day, 1805, they fired off all their guns. The captains let the soldiers go to the Mandan camp. They took their fiddle and danced for the Indians. One soldier danced on his hands with his head down. The Indians liked this dancing very much. They gave the soldiers some corn and some skins.



The Black Man.

Captain Clark had his black man, York, with him. The Indians were always surprised to see the black man. They thought he was stranger than the white men. One Mandan chief said, "This is a white man painted black." He wet his finger and tried to wash the black off York's skin. The black would not come off. Then York took off his hat. The chief had not seen such hair before. Then the chief said, "You are not like a white man. You are a black man." The Indians told each other of this black man. They came from far to see him. York helped make them friends with the whites. The captains named a river for York. The river had only a little water in it. They named it York's Dry River.



Sacajawea's Baby.

At Fort Mandan, Sacajawea's baby boy was born. He was only eight weeks old when the white men began to go to the far West. Sacajawea made a basket of skins for her baby. She put it on her back. The baby could sleep in the basket as Sacajawea walked. The soldiers liked the baby. They gave it sugar. They made it playthings of wood. They danced to make it laugh. Indian babies do not laugh much and they do not cry much. Once in the West the baby was ill. Then the soldiers camped for some days. They were very still. Captain Lewis gave the baby medicine. This made the baby well again. Then the men laughed. They said, "Let us sing and dance for the baby." The baby laughed as it looked at the men.

The warm April sun broke up the ice in the Missouri River. Then the party got into their boats and rowed on up the river. From this time on, Sacajawea and her baby were a help to the soldiers. When the Indians saw a woman and a baby with the men, they knew it was not a war party. Indians would not take a woman and baby to war. Only men go to war. The Indians did not shoot at the men. They came up to see what they wanted. If Sacajawea had not been there, they would have shot the white men. The Indians thought that all strangers wanted war. They thought this until the strangers showed that they were friends.



Making Friends With The Indians.

Sacajawea showed the captains how to make friends with the Indians. The Indians on the upper Missouri River and in the Rocky Mountains showed that they wanted to be friends in the same way. When they saw strangers, they stood still and talked to each other. If they wished to be friends, the chief walked out ahead of his people. He took off his blanket. He took hold of it by two corners. He threw it up high. Then he put it on the ground. This showed that he was putting down a skin for a friend to sit on. He did this three times. Then the strangers came up to him. They sat down together. They took off their moccasins. This showed that they wished to be true friends. If they were not true friends, they would go barefooted all their days. They thought it hard to go barefooted. The ground was covered with prickly pears. The prickly pears would hurt their feet.

When the strangers had their moccasins off, they smoked some pipes together. Then they gave each other presents. Then they told each other why they had come together. Captain Lewis and Captain Clark always told the Indians:

"We have come from the Great Father in Washington. He sends you these presents. He wants you to be friends with the white men. He wants you to be friends with the other Indians. When you all are friends, the men can get many animals and the women can get many roots. The Great Father will send you out the white men's goods when you are all friends."

The Indians always said to Lewis and Clark:

"We are glad to hear from the Great Father in Washington. We like his presents. We shall be glad to get the white men's goods. We will be friends with all men with Indians and with white men."



Sacajawea Saves The Captains' Goods.

Going up the Missouri, the compass, the books, and the maps were in one canoe. The captains had the compass to find the West. One day a big wind hit this canoe and turned it nearly over. Sacajawea's husband was at the rudder. He was afraid and let go. The water came into the canoe. The maps and books came up to the top of the water. Sacajawea saw them going out into the river. She took the compass into her lap. She caught the books. She called to her husband. He took the rudder again. He straightened the boat again. Then Sacajawea caught the maps that were on top of the river.



Sacajawea's River.

As the maps and books were wet, the soldiers had to camp two days. They put the maps and the books and the compass in the sun. When these were dry, they went on again. Ten days after, they came to a river that no white man had seen before. Captain Lewis wrote in his book, "It is a handsome river about 50 yards wide." They did not know the Indian name for it. The captains were so glad Sacajawea had saved their things that they named it for her. They said, "We will call it the Sacajawea or Bird-Woman's River." This river is still running. Look on a map of Montana. Do you see a stream named "Crooked Creek?" That is the stream Lewis and Clark named Sacajawea's River. Which do you think is the prettier name? Which do you think we should call it?



The First Sight Of The Rocky Mountains.

Going up the Missouri, the party had to drink the river water. It was not good and it made them ill. The sand blew in their eyes. The mosquitoes bit them all the time. But still the soldiers were happy. They carried their goods in boats. They walked when they wished to. They hunted buffalo and elk on the plains near the river. They had all they wanted to eat. One day in May, Captain Lewis was out hunting. He went up a little hill. Then far off to the West he saw the Rocky Mountains high and steep. Captain Lewis was the first white man to see these mountains. He wrote in his book that he felt a great pleasure on first seeing them. He knew they would be very hard to cross. They were all white with snow. But he was ready to go on so as to get to the West. He went back to the boats and told the others about the mountains. The men were happy and worked harder to get near them.



Sacajawea Is Ill.

Going up the Missouri, Sacajawea fell ill. She could not eat. She grew worse each day. Captain Clark gave her some medicine. It did not make her well. The soldiers had to camp until she could go on. They could not go on without her. They wanted her with them to make friends with her tribe. One day the soldiers found a hot sulphur spring. They carried Sacajawea to this spring. The water made her well. In a week she could go on.



How The Indians Hunted Buffalo.

On the plains of the Missouri there were many buffaloes. Sacajawea told the soldiers how the Indians hunted them. An Indian put on a buffalo skin. The buffalo's head was over his head. He walked out to where the buffaloes were eating. He stood between them and a high bank of the river. The other Indians went behind the buffaloes. The buffaloes ran toward the man in the buffalo skin. He ran fast toward the river. Then the buffaloes ran fast toward the river. At the high bank the man ran down and hid in a hole. The buffaloes came so fast that they could not stop at the bank. They fell over the bank on to the rocks near the river. Many were killed. Then the Indians came around the bank. They skinned the buffaloes. They dried the meat. They dried the skins to make blankets and houses.



The Falls Of The Missouri.

One June day Captain Lewis was walking ahead of the boats. He heard a great noise up the River. He pushed on fast. After walking seven miles, he came to the great Falls of the Missouri. He was the first white man to see these Falls. He sat down on a rock and watched the water dash and spray. He tried to draw a picture of the Falls. He tried to write about it in his book. But he said it was so wonderful that he could not draw it well nor picture it in words. When the men came up, they could not take their boats near the Falls. The Falls are very, very high. The highest fall is eighty-seven feet high, and the water comes down with a great rush. So the soldiers had to go around the Falls. That was a long, long way. It would be hard to carry all their things around the Falls. The captains said, "We will make a cache here. "We will put in the skins and plants and maps. "We can get them all again when we are coming home." The soldiers made two caches. In these they hid all the things they could do without. Without so much to carry, it would not be so hard to go around the Falls.



The Cache Near The Falls Of The Missouri.

To make a cache, the soldiers made a ring on the ground. They took up the sod inside the ring. They dug straight down for a foot. They put dried branches on the bottom and at the sides of this hole. They put dried skins over the branches. Then they put their goods into the hole, or cache. They put dried skins over the goods. Then they put the earth in. Then they put the sod on. The ring did not look as if it had been dug up. The Indians would not think to look there for goods.



How Sacajawea Cured Rattlesnake Bites.

Near the Falls of the Missouri, the party met many rattlesnakes. The snakes liked to lie in the sun on the river banks. Some times they went up trees and lay on the branches. One night Captain Lewis was sleeping under a tree. In the morning he looked up through the tree. He saw a big rattlesnake on a branch. It was going to spring at him. He caught his gun and killed it. It had seventeen rattles. Sometimes the soldiers had to go barefooted. The snakes bit their bare feet. Sacajawea knew how to cure the bite. She took a root she called the rattlesnake root. She beat it hard. She opened the snake bite. She tied the root on it. She put fresh root on two times a day. It cured the snake bite. The root would kill a man if he should eat it, but it will cure a snake bite.



Going Around The Falls.

The party had to go up a high hill to get around the Falls. It would take too long to carry the canoes on their backs. They could see only one big tree on the plains. It was a cottonwood. The soldiers cut it down. They cut wheels and tongues from it. The cottonwood is not hard enough for axles. The soldiers cut up the mast of their big boat for axles. They began to go up the hill. In a little time the axles broke. They put in willow axles. Then the cottonwood tongues broke. Then the men had to carry the goods on their backs. It was very hot. The mosquitoes and blow-flies bit them all the time. The prickly pear hurt their feet. It hurt them even through their moccasins. If they drank water, they were ill. One day it hailed hard. The hail knocked some of the men down. At night the grizzly bears took their food.



Grizzly Bears.

After many hard days, they got all the goods to the top of the Falls. The party saw many grizzly bears near the Falls. They were the first white men to see the grizzly bear. They found it a very large and very fierce bear. One day Captain Lewis was out hunting. He had killed a buffalo for dinner. He turned around to load his gun again. He saw a big bear coming after him. It was only twenty feet away. He did not have time to load his gun. There was no tree near. There was no rock near. The river bank was not high. Captain Lewis ran to the river. The bear ran after him with open mouth. It nearly caught him. Captain Lewis ran into the river. He turned around when the water was up to his waist. He pointed his gun at the bear. It stopped still. Then it roared and ran away. Captain Lewis did not know why the bear roared and ran, but he was glad to be safe.

One day six of the soldiers saw a big bear lying on a little hill near the river. The six soldiers came near him. They were all good shots. Four shot at him. Four balls went into his body. He jumped up. He ran at them with open mouth. Then the two other men fired. Their balls went into his body, too. One ball broke his shoulder. Still he ran at them. The men ran to the river. Two jumped into their canoe. The others hid in the willows. They loaded their guns as fast as they could. They shot him again. The shots only made him angry. He came very near two of the men. They threw away their guns and jumped down twenty feet into the river. The bear jumped in after them. He nearly caught the last one. Then one soldier in the willows shot the bear in the head. This shot killed him. The soldiers pulled the bear out of the river. They found eight balls in him. They took his skin to show the captains. They said he was a brave old bear. They named a creek near-by for him. They called it "The Brown-Bear-Defeated Creek."

One day a grizzly bear ran after a soldier. The soldier tried to shoot the bear. His gun would not go off. The gun was wet because he had been in the river all day. He ran to a tree. He got to the tree just in time. As the soldier climbed, he kicked the bear. The grizzly bear can not climb a tree. This grizzly sat at the foot of the tree to wait until the soldier would come down. The soldier called out loud. Two other soldiers heard him. They came running to help him. They saw the man in the tree. They saw the bear at the foot of the tree. They shot off their guns and made a big noise. The grizzly grew frightened. It ran away. Then the soldier came down from the tree. He was glad that his friends had come to his help.



At The Top Of The Falls.

After the men had carried all the goods to the top of the Falls, they made canoes to take them up the river. They were camping at the top of the Falls on the Fourth of July, 1805. Captain Lewis wrote that they had a good dinner that day. He said they had as good as if they were at home. They had "bacon, beans, buffalo meat, and suet dumplings." After dinner a soldier played the fiddle. Captain Lewis wrote: "Such as were able to shake a foot amused themselves in dancing on the green."



The Cloud-Burst.

One day Captain Clark took Sacajawea and her husband with him to look over the top of the Falls. Sacajawea's baby was in his basket on her back. Captain Clark saw a black cloud. He said, "It will rain soon. Let us go into that ravine." They sat under some big rocks. Sacajawea took off the baby's basket and put it at her feet. All the baby's clothes were in the basket. Sacajawea took the baby in her lap. It began to rain a little. The rain did not get to them. It rained harder. Then the cloud burst just over the ravine. The rain and hail made a big wave in the little ravine. Captain Clark saw the wave coming. He jumped up and caught his gun in his left hand. With his right hand he pushed Sacajawea up the bank. The wave was up to their waists. They ran faster and got to the top of the bank. Then the wave was fifteen feet high. It made a big noise as it ran down the ravine. Soon it would have caught them and carried them over the Falls. It did carry away the baby's basket and his clothes, and Captain Clark's compass. The next day a soldier found the compass in the mud.



At The Source Of The Missouri.

When the canoes were ready, the party started up the river above the Falls. As they reached the mountains, the river grew narrow. It was not deep, but it was rapid. The soldiers had to pull the canoes with ropes. The river did not run straight. One day the men dragged the canoes twelve miles. Then they were only four miles from where they had started. They had to walk in the river all day. Their feet were cut by the rocks. They were ill from being wet so much. It was hot in the day and cold at night. They had no wood but willow. They could not make a good fire. But they had enough to eat. Then the river grew very narrow. The canoes could not go up it. The soldiers put the canoes under water with rocks in them. They made another cache. In it they put skins, plants, seeds, minerals, maps, and some medicines. Captain Lewis and some men went ahead. They were looking for Indians. They wanted to buy some horses. After a time the river grew so narrow that a soldier put one foot on one bank and his other foot on the other bank. Then he said, "Thank God, I am alive to bestride the mighty Missouri." Before this, people did not know where the Missouri began. A little way off was the beginning of the mighty Columbia River. The soldiers reached this place in August. Captain Lewis was very happy as he drank some cold water from the beginnings of these two rivers. Captain Clark and the other men were coming behind. Sacajawea was with them. They had all the goods and walked slowly.



Sacajawea Finds Roots And Seeds.

Far up on the Missouri, Sacajawea knew the plants that were good to eat. The captains and soldiers were glad that she did. They had only a little corn left, and there were not many animals near. Sacajawea told Captain Clark all about the yamp plant, as her tribe knew it. It grew in wet ground. It had one stem and deeply cut leaves. Its stem and leaves were dark green. It had an umbrella of white flowers at the top of the stem. The Indian women watched the yamp until the stem dried up. Then they dug for the roots. The yamp root is white and hard. The Indians eat it fresh or dried. When it is dry, they pound it into a fine white powder. The Indian women make the yamp powder into a mush. Indian children like yamp mush as much as white children like candy. It tastes like our anise seed. The soldiers liked the yamp mush that Sacajawea made. Sacajawea also made a sunflower mush. She roasted sunflower seeds. Then she pounded them into a powder and made a mush with hot water. She made a good drink of the sunflower powder and cold water. She mixed the sunflower powder with bear grease and roasted it on hot rocks. This made a bread the soldiers liked very much. Without Sacajawea the soldiers would have been hungry. They did not know the plants. Some plants would kill them. But Sacajawea knew those good to eat.



Sacajawea's People.

One day near the head of the Missouri, Sacajawea stopped short as she walked. She looked hard to the West. She saw far away some Indians on horseback. She began to dance and jump. She waved her arms. She laughed and called out. She turned to Captain Clark and sucked her fingers. This showed that these Indians were her own people. She ran ahead to meet them. After a time a woman from the Indians ran out to meet Sacajawea. When they came together, they put their arms around each other. They danced together. They cried together. This woman had been Sacajawea's friend from the time when they were babies. She had been taken East by the same Indians that took Sacajawea. On the way East she got away from these Indians. She found her way home. She had been afraid she would never see Sacajawea again. Now they were happy to meet. They danced and sang and cried and laughed with their arms around each other.



Sacajawea's Brother.

The party went with Sacajawea's people to their camp. Captain Clark was taken to the chief's house. The house was made of a ring of willows. The chief put his arms about Captain Clark. He made him sit on a white skin. He tied in his hair six shells. Each one then took off his moccasins. Then they smoked without talking. When they wanted to talk, they sent for Sacajawea. She came into the house and sat down. She looked at the chief. She saw that he was her brother. She jumped up and ran to him. She threw her blanket over his head. She cried aloud in joy. He was glad to see her. He did not cry nor jump. He did not like to show that he was glad. Sacajawea told him about the white men. She said they wanted to go across the Rocky Mountains to the Big Water in the West. She did not know the way across the mountains. The Indians could help them. They could sell them horses and show them the way across the steep mountain tops.

Sacajawea said the white men had many things the Indians would like. If they found a good way over the mountains, the white men would send these things to the Indians each summer. Sacajawea said the white men were kind to her and her baby. If they had not taken care of her when she was ill, she would not have seen her brother again. Her brother said he was glad that the white men had been kind to her. He would help them over the mountains. He would talk to his men about it. He said to Captain Clark: "You have been kind to Sacajawea. I am your friend until my days are over. You shall own my house. You shall sit on my blanket. You shall have what I kill. You shall bear my name. My name belonged to me only, but now it is yours. You are Cameahwait." After that, all this tribe called Captain Clark "Cameahwait."



Sacajawea's People Will Show The Way.

Cameahwait told his people how good the white men were. He told them what good things they had. He said, "If we sell them horses and take them over the mountains, they can get back soon. No goods will come to us until they go back to their home. If we do not help them, they cannot cross the mountains. They do not know the way. They cannot carry food enough. They will meet death in the mountains. Then we shall never get their goods. Shall we help them, my brothers?"

And the people said, "Ah hi e! Ah hi e!" That means, "We are pleased." They got horses to carry the goods. They could not get enough horses to give the men to ride. The captains bought a horse for Sacajawea  to ride. The soldiers made saddles from the oars tied together with pieces of skins. Then they started up the steep mountain.



The Indians Try To Leave The Whites.

When they were in the mountain tops, Sacajawea overheard some Indians talking. They said: "We do not want to go across the mountains with the whites. We want to go down to the plains and hunt buffalo. We are hungry here. On the plains are many buffalo. We must hunt them now for our winter food. We do not care for the white men's goods. Our fathers lived without their goods. We can live without them. We will go off to-night and leave them. They will meet death in the mountains. In the Spring we can come back and get their goods."

Sacajawea went to Captain Lewis. She told him what she had heard. He called the chiefs together. They smoked a pipe together. Sacajawea slipped a piece of sugar into Cameahwait's hand. As he sucked it, she said, "You will get this good thing from the white men if you are friends with them."

Then Captain Lewis said, "Are you men of your word?"

The Indians said, "Yes."

He said, "Did you not promise to carry our goods over the mountains?"

The Indians said, "Yes."

"Then," he said, "why are you going to leave us now? If you had not promised, we would have gone back down the Missouri. Then no other white man would come to your land. You wish the whites to be your friends. You want them to give you goods. You should keep you promise to them. I will keep my promise to you. You seem afraid to keep your promise."

The chiefs said, "We are not afraid. We will keep our promise."

They sent out word to all their men to keep their promise. Captain Lewis thanked Sacajawea. If she had not told him, the Indians would have gone off in the night. The whites would have been left in the steep Rocky Mountains with no horses and no way of getting food.



Crossing The Rocky Mountains.

The trip across the mountains was very hard. The mountain tops were steep. There was no road. The ground was made of sharp rocks. The horses slipped and fell down. The men's feet were cut and black and blue. It rained many days and snowed nights. They had no houses. Before they could start on each day, they had to melt the snow off their goods. The men grew stiff from the wet and the cold. The only way they could get warm was to keep on walking. They had little food. They had only a little corn when they started across the mountains. This was soon gone. There were no animals, no fish, and no roots on the way. They had to kill their horses. They had only horsemeat to eat. The soldiers grew sick. Some could hardly stand. But they did not want to turn back. They knew the Indians could find the way down to the Columbia River. Then they could get to the Pacific Ocean without the Indians. So they went on.



At The Columbia River.

At last they got across the mountains and down on the Columbia River. The Indians who had showed them the way went home again. There were other Indians near the Columbia. These Indians gave the men salmon and roots. They ate so much that they were ill. The captains and all the soldiers were ill. But they started to make canoes to ride down the Columbia. They did not get well. So they bought some dogs. They cooked the dogs and ate them. For days they could eat only dog. The Indians laughed at them for eating dog. They said, "Dogs are good to watch the camp. They are not good to eat. We do not eat them. What poor men these must be to eat dog!" Suddenly the captains fired off their guns and a soldier played the fiddle. Then the Indians stopped laughing. They had never heard a gun before. They had never before heard a fiddle. They thought the white men must be wonderful people to have guns and fiddles. They wished to be friends with such wonderful people. So they did not make fun of them any more.



How The Indians Dried Salmon.

The soldiers left their horses here on the Columbia River. They asked the Indians to keep them until they should come back from the West. Then they started down the river in canoes. On the Columbia, the party saw some Indians drying salmon. They opened the fish. Then they put it in the sun. When it was well dried, they pounded it to powder between two stones. Then they put it into a basket. The basket was made of grass. It had dried salmon skin inside. The Indians pounded the powdered salmon down hard into the basket. When a basket was full, they put dried salmon skin on the top. Then the basket was put where it would keep dry. The salmon powder would keep for years. Only one tribe of Indians knew how to make it well. The other tribes bought it from them. All the tribes liked it. The white men, too, liked it.



The Wappato.

The party found a root new to them on the lower Columbia. The Indians called it wappato. Captain Clark called it arrowhead. The wappato grew all the year. The Indian women gathered it. A woman carried a light canoe to a pond. She waded into the pond. She put the canoe on the water. With her toes she pulled up the wappato from the bottom of the pond. The woman caught it and put it in the canoe. She was in the water many hours, summer and winter. When her canoe was full, she put it on her head and carried it home. She roasted the wappato on hot stones. It tasted very good. The soldiers said it was the best root they had tasted. The Indian women used to put some wappato in grass baskets and sell it to the tribes up the river.



To The Pacific Ocean.

The party went down the Columbia River in canoes. It was a hard trip. It rained all the time. Each day the men were wet to the skin. They had to carry their goods around some rapids. They could not be very cheerful. One day it stopped raining for a little time. The low clouds went away. The party saw that the river was very wide. They rowed on. Then they saw the great ocean lying in the sun. They became very happy. They cheered and laughed and sang. They rowed on very fast. Captain Lewis wrote in his book: "Ocean in view! O! the joy! We are in VIEW of the Ocean, this great Pacific Ocean, which we have been so long anxious to see. The noise made by the waves breaking on the rocky shores may be heard distinctly."



The Pacific Ocean.

The party saw that they had come to the end of their journey. They had come 4,134 miles from the mouth of the Missouri River. It had taken them a year and a half to come. But now they forgot their troubles. They forgot the times they had been hungry. They forgot their cut feet and their black and blue backs. They forgot the bears and the snakes and the mosquitoes. They saw the Pacific Ocean before them. They sang because they were the first white men to make this journey. They did not care for the troubles going back. They knew that they could go home faster than they had come. And they sang together, "The Ocean! The Ocean! O joy! O joy!"



Sacajawea On The Ocean Beach.

The party made a winter camp at the mouth of the Columbia River. They called it Fort Clatsop. The Indians near-by were the Clatsop tribe. These Indians gave the whites some whale blubber. They said that a whale was on the ocean beach. Captain Clark and some men got ready to go to see it. Sacajawea came to Captain Clark and said, "May I go, too? I have come over the mountains with you to find the Great Water and I have not been to it yet. Now I would see the Big Animal and the Great Water, too." Captain Clark was glad to have her go. He wrote in his book that this was the only time she asked for anything. She took her baby on her back and walked with Captain Clark. When she got near the ocean, she was afraid. The noise seemed to her like thunder. She always had been afraid of thunder. When she saw the waves, she was afraid they would come over the earth. She had never before seen any big body of water. She had seen only rivers and ponds. The ocean looked very big. She would not go near the waves. Then Captain Clark showed her the high water line. He told her that the waves would not go over that line. She sat down on the sand with her baby in her lap. She watched the waves a long time. Then she was not afraid. She walked out to the waves. When they came to shore, she ran before them. She let them come over her feet. She took some ocean water in her hand and tasted it. She did not like its salt taste. But she did like to run after the waves.



The Whale.

Captain Clark and his party walked all day before they came to where the whale lay. The waves had carried it up on the shore. It was a very big animal. It was longer than most houses. It was eighty feet long. The Indians were cutting it up. They put the meat into a large wooden trough. Then they put hot stones into the trough. The hot stones melted out the oil. The Indians put the oil into skin bags. They used it to eat with roots and mush. They did not wish to sell the oil. But after a time, they did sell some oil to Captain Clark. They sold him some blubber, too. The blubber was white and looked like pork fat. The soldiers cooked some and ate it. They liked it very much. Sacajawea was happy to see the whale. She walked all around it. She made her baby to look well at it. She told him he might never see one again. The baby did not care for the whale, but he laughed because Sacajawea laughed.



Sacajawea's Belt.

The Clatsop chief came to Fort Clatsop to see the captains. He had on a robe made of two sea-otter skins. The skins were the most beautiful the captains had yet seen. They wanted the chief to sell the robe. He did not want to sell it, as sea-otters are hard to get. They said they would give him anything they had for it. Still he would not sell it. Sacajawea saw him looking at her blue bead belt. She had made this belt from beads Captain Clark had given her. She used to wear it all the time. She said to the Clatsop chief, "Will you sell the robe for my belt?" He said, "Yes, I will sell it for the chief beads." The Indians called blue beads "chief beads." Sacajawea thought a little time. Then she gave her belt to him. He put it around his neck. He gave her his sea-otter robe. She gave it to Captain Clark for a present. She was sorry to give up her belt. The captains had no more blue beads to give her to make another. But she was glad to give Captain Clark the beautiful sea-otter skins.



At Fort Clatsop.

At Fort Clatsop, the captains wrote in their books. They wrote about all they had seen coming to the Pacific. They wrote about things near Fort Clatsop. They made maps of the land near the Missouri River, in the Rocky Mountains, and on the banks of the Columbia. Some of the men hunted. They made the skins of animals into clothes and moccasins. They made between three and four hundred pairs of moccasins. They saved these to wear on the way home. Five soldiers were sent down to the ocean beach to make salt. Each had a big kettle. They filled the kettles with ocean water. They burned a fire under the kettles day and night. In time, the water all boiled away. A crust of salt was left on the inside of the kettles. The soldiers gathered this salt into wooden kegs. It took seven weeks to make enough salt for their journey home. Captain Lewis wrote, "This salt was a great treat to many of the party." He liked salt very much. Captain Clark wrote that he did not care if he had salt or not.

On Christmas Day, 1805, the soldiers got up without making any noise. They fired their guns all at one time to waken the captains. Then they sang an old Christmas song. Then they wished the captains "Merry Christmas." They gave each other presents. Captain Clark wrote that he had twelve weasel tails, some underwear, some moccasins, and an Indian blanket for his Christmas presents. He gave a handkerchief or some little present to each man. There was no snow and no ice, but there was much rain. The soldiers had to stay in their log fort all day. They had only poor elk, poor roots, and some bad dried salmon for dinner. But they were cheerful. They danced and sang into the night. On New Year's Day, they fired their guns to welcome in the New Year. They had more to eat than on Christmas Day. The captains wrote, "Our greatest pleasure to-day is thinking about New Year's, 1807. Then we shall be home."



The Start Home.

In March, the elk left the woods near Fort Clatsop. The soldiers could not get enough to eat. The captains said, "It is time to start home." They bought a canoe with a soldier-coat and some little things. They took another canoe from the Clatsops for some elk meat that the Indians had stolen. They had not many things left to get food and horses with on the way home. But their guns were in good order. They had good powder and balls. They could kill game on the way. They cut up their big flag into five robes. They could sell them robes for food. The captains gave the Clatsops letters to give to any white men who should come there. These letters told about the party's trip out West. They told how they were going back East. The Clatsops promised to give these letters to the first white men who should come. Then the party said good-bye to the Clatsops. This was in the month of March. They started up the Columbia River, singing. They were happy because they were going home.



At Camp Chopunnish.

On the way up the Columbia, the soldiers killed game. They gave some to the Indians for roots. They came to the foot of the mountains in May. There was too much snow then for them to cross They made a camp near the Chopunnish Indians. They called it Camp Chopunnish. They sent out to get the horses they had left when camping there before. They tried to get enough food to last them over the mountains. Many of the Indians were ill. Captain Clark gave them medicine. They gave him food and horses for the medicine. Captain Lewis talked with the Indian chiefs all day. They promised to let some young Indians show the way over the mountains. The captains gave each soldier some of their goods and sent him out to get food. Captain Lewis wrote that each man had "only one awl and one knitting- pin, half an ounce of vermilion, two needles, a few skeins of thread, and a yard of ribbon." Two of the men took their goods with them in a canoe. The canoe turned over. They lost all their goods. They just saved their lives.

Two other men went up the river with their goods on a horse. The horse slipped down a steep bank into the river. He got safe to the bank across the river. An Indian made him swim back to the two soldiers. On the way, most of the goods were lost. The paint melted, and the horse's back was all red. The Indians on the bank across the river saw what the soldiers wanted. They loaded some roots and bread on a raft. They tried to cross to the soldiers. A high wind sent the raft on a rock. The raft turned over. The roots and bread were lost. Then the captains and men felt unhappy. They cut the buttons from their clothes. They gathered up all the bottles and medicine boxes they had. With these things, two soldiers went out to get food. They got three bushels of roots and some bread. The other men hunted. They dried some meat, and gave some to the Indians for roots. They became good friends with the Chopunnish Indians. They used to run fast races together. Both soldiers and Indians could run fast. The soldiers took sides and played prisoners' base.



Over The Rocky Mountains Going Home.

The party wanted to start over the mountains in early June. The Indians were not ready to go with them then. The party started to go without the Indians. They could not find food for the horses. There was snow all over the ground. They had to turn back and camp where there was grass. A week later the Indians were ready to go with them. They started a second time. The Indians showed them the way. They found food for the horses each night. The trip across the mountains was not so hard as it had been the year before. Now the snow covered all the sharp rocks. The snow was so hard that the horses could walk on it. Now they had enough food. All the men had horses. They went many miles each day. All were happy. One of the Indians liked Captain Lewis so much that he gave him his name, "Yomekollick."

This means "White Bear-skin Folded." The Indians thought their names were the best thing they could give to any one.



East Of The Rocky Mountains Again.

Before they left the mountains, the captains said:

"We will divide our party. Then we can go different ways. Then we shall see more of the country east of the Rocky Mountains."

So Captain Lewis and nine men started in a straight line to the Falls of the Missouri. Captain Clark and the others went more to the South. Sacajawea went with Captain Clark. The two parties promised to meet again down on the Missouri. They said good-bye to each other on July third. On the next day, Captain Clark wrote that they had a good Fourth of July dinner. They had fat deer and roots. Then they went on until time to sleep. They had no time to dance now. They were going home. Captain Lewis and his men pushed on all day. He did not write that they thought of the Fourth of July. Captain Clark sent ten men down the Missouri River the way they had come West. He went with Sacajawea and ten other men across to the Yellowstone River. Sacajawea found the way for him. She also found roots good to eat. Captain Clark wrote that she was of "great service" to him. Captain Clark's party went down the Yellowstone River to the Missouri River. Here they met two white men. These were the first white men besides themselves that they had seen for a year and four months. They were glad to hear news from the East. Soon after they met these white men, Captain Lewis and the other soldiers came down to them. This was in August. Captain Lewis had been shot by one of his best men. The man thought that Captain Lewis was an elk, because his clothes were brown. The man was very sorry for having shot him. Captain Lewis soon got well. The soldiers were happy to be together again. They forgot their troubles. They went down the Missouri, singing.

They were glad they had gone West. They had taken the country for the Americans. They had made friends with the Indians. They knew where food could be found. They knew about the animals and plants. Now other people could find the way from the maps the captains had made.



Sacajawea Says Good-Bye To The Soldiers.

Sacajawea's husband would not go to the captains' home. He wanted to live with the Mandans.

So Sacajawea had to say good-bye to the soldiers. The captains gave her husband five hundred dollars. They did not give Sacajawea any money. In those days, people did not think of paying women. All the party were sorry to leave Sacajawea and the baby. Sacajawea was sorry to stay behind. She stood on the bank of the river watching the soldiers as long as she could see them. The soldiers went down the Missouri to its mouth. When they saw the village there, they fired off all their guns. The people came out to see them and cheered that they were home again.



The Centennial.

The American people have always been glad that Lewis and Clark made this long, hard journey. That was just one hundred years ago. In this year of 1905, the American people are holding a centennial fair in honor of the Lewis and Clark journey. The Fair is at Portland, Oregon, because Lewis and Clark reached the Pacific Ocean in Oregon. At the Fair, there is a statue of Sacajawea and her baby. This statue is put there because Lewis and Clark wrote in their books: "The wonderful Bird-Woman did a full man's share to make the trip a success, besides taking care of her baby. She was one of the best of mothers." Some day, you can read these books for yourself, and learn more about Sacajawea and Captains Lewis and Clark.

The forestry building is made from the large trees for which Oregon is noted. Fort Clatsop was built from the large trees of Oregon, too, but the soldiers did not know how to make such a fine building as this one hundred years ago.

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More Russian Picture Tales

By

Valery Carrick



The Cock And The Bean.


A cock was scratching one day in the earth under the wall of a cottage when he found a bean.

He tried to swallow it, and choked himself. He choked himself and stretched himself out, and there he lay, and couldn't even breathe.

And his mistress saw him, ran up to him, and asked: "Mr. Cock, what makes you lie there like that, so that you can't breathe?"

"I've choked myself with a bean," he answered. "Go and ask the cow for some butter."

And his mistress came to the cow and said: "Mrs. Cow, give me some butter! My cock is lying there and can't even breathe, he has choked himself with a bean."

And the cow answered: "Go and ask the hay-makers for some hay."

And she came to the hay-makers and said: "Hay-makers, give me some hay! The hay's for the cow who will give me some butter, and the butter's for my cock who is lying there and can't breathe, he's choked himself with a bean." And the hay-makers answered: "Go and ask the oven to give you some loaves."

And she came to the oven and said: "Oven, oven, give me some loaves! The loaves are for the hay-makers, who will give me some hay, the hay's for the cow, who will give me some butter, and the butter's for my cock who is lying there and can't breathe, he's choked himself with a bean."

And the oven answered: "Go and ask the wood-cutters for some wood."

And she came to the wood cutters and said: "Give me some wood! The wood's for the oven, who will give me some loaves, the loaves are for the hay-cutters, who will give me some hay, the hay's for the cow, who will give me some butter, the butter's for my cock who is lying there and can't breathe, he's choked himself with a bean."

And they answered: "Go and ask the smith for an axe, we've nothing to cut the wood with."

So she came to the smith and said: "Smith, smith, give me an axe! The axe is for the wood-cutters, who will give me some wood, the wood's for the oven, who will give me some loaves, the loaves are for the hay-makers, who will give me some hay, the hay's for the cow, who will give me some butter, and the butter's for my cock who is lying there and can't breathe, he's choked himself with a bean." And he answered: "Go into the forest and burn me some charcoal."

So she went into the forest, gathered a bundle of sticks, and burned some charcoal. Then she took the charcoal to the smith, and he gave her an axe. She went with the axe to the wood-cutters, and the wood-cutters gave her some wood. The wood she took to the oven, and the oven gave her some loaves.

She took the loaves to the hay-makers, and the hay-makers gave her some hay. The hay she took to the cow, who gave her some butter. She brought the butter to the cock, and the cock gulped it down and swallowed the bean.

Then he jumped up merrily and started singing "Cock-a-doodle-doo! I was sitting under the wall, plaiting shoes, when I lost my awl, but I found a little coin, and I bought a little scarf, and gave it to a pretty girl."

And that's all about it.




The Goat And The Ram.


Once upon a time there lived a man and his wife, and they had a goat and a ram.

And one day the man said to his wife: "Look here, let's get rid of the ram and the goat; why, they only keep eating our corn, and don't help to feed us at all!"

So he told them: "Be off, goat and ram, and don't dare to show yourselves at my gate ever again."

So the goat and the ram made themselves a bag, and went off. And they went on and on, when suddenly they saw a wolf's head lying in the middle of the field.

And they picked up the head, put it in their bag, and went on again. And they went on and on, when suddenly they saw a fire burning, and they said: "Let's go and spend the night there, lest the wolves should eat us." But when they got there, lo and behold! it was the wolves themselves who were cooking their porridge, and so they said: "Good evening, young fellows, and good appetite to you!" And the wolves answered: "Good evening, Mr. Goat and Mr. Ram! We're just boiling our porridge, come and have some, and then we'll eat you both up." At this the goat took fright, while as for the ram, his legs had been shaking with fear for some time. Then the goat began to think, and he thought and thought and at last he said: "Come now, Mr. Ram, let's have a look at that wolf's head you've got in your sack!" And the ram took out the wolf's head, when the goat said: "No, not that one. Let's have the other bigger one!" And again the ram gave him the same head, but he said: "No, not that one either! let's have the largest of all!"

And the wolves looked, and thought the ram had a whole sackful of wolves' heads, and each one of them said to himself: "Well, these are nice guests to have! I'd better hop off!" And first one said aloud to the others: "I like your company all right, brothers, but somehow, the porridge doesn't seem to be boiling very well. I'll just run and fetch some sticks to throw on the fire." And as he went off, he thought to himself: "You and your company be bothered!" -- and never came back.

Then the second wolf kept thinking how he could get away, and he said: "It seems very funny, our brother went to fetch the wood, but he hasn't brought the wood, and hasn't come back himself. I'll just go and help him!" So off he went too, and never came back. And the third wolf was left sitting there, and at last he said: "I must really go and hurry them up. What are they dawdling all this time for!" And as soon as he was gone, he set off running and never so much as looked back.

And at that the ram and the goat were delighted. They ate up all the porridge and then ran away themselves.

Meanwhile the wolves had all three met, and they said: "Look here, why were we three frightened of the goat and the ram? They're no stronger than we, after all! Let's go and do them in!"

But when they came back to the fire, there was not so much as a trace of them left. Then the wolves set off in pursuit, and at last they saw them, where they had climbed up a tree, the goat on an upper and the ram on a lower branch. So the eldest wolf lay down under the tree, and began to show his teeth, looking up at them, and waiting for them to climb down. And the ram, who was trembling all over from fright, suddenly fell down right on top of the wolf, and at the same minute the goat shouted out from up above: "There, that's the one! get me the largest of all!" And the wolf was terrified, because he thought the ram had jumped down after him, and you should just have seen him run! And the other two followed after.

What a lucky boy is Pat, He's got a dog and a cat!




The Hungry Wolf.


There was once a wolf, and he got very hungry, and so he went to have a look to see what he could find for dinner. After a bit he saw a ram feeding in a meadow, so he went up to him and said: "Mr. Ram, Mr. Ram, I'm going to eat you!" But the ram answered: "Who are you, I should like to know, that you mean to eat me?" "I'm a wolf, and I'm looking for a good dinner," said the wolf. "What sort of a wolf do you fancy you are?" answered the ram, "you're not, you're a dog!" "No, I'm not a dog," said he, "I'm a wolf." "Well then," answered the ram, "if you're a wolf, stand at the bottom of the hill and open your jaws wide. Then I'll run down the hill and jump straight into your mouth." "All right," said the wolf.

So he stood at the bottom of the hill and opened his mouth wide, while the ram climbed to the top of the hill. Then he ran down the hill very fast, and hit the wolf with his horns as hard as he could.

The wolf rolled over, knocked senseless with the blow, while the ram ran off home. And there lay the wolf, till at last he came to himself again, with all his bones aching.

"Well, what a fool I must have been!" thought he. "Who ever saw a ram jump into one's mouth of his own free will?"

Then he went on further, just as hungry as ever, and after a bit he saw a horse walking in a meadow nibbling the grass.

So he went up to him and said: "Mr. Horse, Mr. Horse, I'm going to eat you!" But the horse answered: "Who are you, I should like to know, that you mean to eat me?" "I'm a wolf!" "You think again," answered the horse, "You're only a dog!" "No, I'm not a dog," said he, "I'm a wolf." "Oh, if you are sure you're a wolf, it's all right. Only I'm not very fat yet, so you'd better begin on my tail, and meanwhile I'll be munching some more grass and get a little fuller."

So the wolf went up to him from behind, and was just going to get to work on his tail, when the horse let out at him as hard as he could! And the wolf rolled over, while the horse ran off.

And there sat the wolf, and he thought: "Well, wasn't I a fool! wasn't I a noodle! Who ever heard of anyone starting to eat a horse by the tail?"

And so he wandered on further, when after a bit he saw a pig coming towards him, so when he got to him he said: "Mr. Pig, Mr. Pig, I'm going to eat you!" But the pig answered: "Who are you, I should like to know, that you mean to eat me?" "I'm a wolf." "You're a queer sort of wolf," answered the pig, "you're only a dog!" "No, I'm not a dog," said he, "I'm a wolf!" "Oh, that's all right then," answered the pig, "you just sit down on my back. I'll give you a ride, and then you can eat me."

So the wolf sat down on the pig's back, when lo and behold! the pig carried him straight into the village.

And all the dogs ran out, made a dash for the wolf, and began to tease him. And they teased him so much, it was all he could do to tear himself away and run off back into the forest.




The Peasant And The Bear.


Once upon a time a certain peasant lost his wife, then he lost his other relations, and then he was left alone with no one to help him in his home or his fields. So he went to Bruin and said: "Look here, Bruin, let's keep house and plant our garden and sow our corn together." And Bruin asked: "But how shall we divide it afterwards?" "How shall we divide it?" said the peasant, "Well, you take all the tops and let me have all the roots." "All right," answered Bruin. So they sowed some turnips, and they grew beautifully. And Bruin worked hard, and gathered in all the turnips, and then they began to divide them. And the peasant said: "The tops are yours, aren't they, Bruin?" "Yes," he answered. So the peasant cut off all the turnip tops and gave them to Bruin, and then sat down to count the roots. And Bruin saw that the peasant had done him down.

And he got huffy, lay down in his den, and started sucking his paws.

The next spring the peasant again came to see him, and said: "Look here, Bruin, let's work together again, shall we?" And Bruin answered: "Right-ho! only this time mind! you can have the tops, but I'm going to have the roots!" "Very well," said the peasant. And they sowed some wheat, and when the ears grew up and ripened, you never saw such a sight. Then they began to divide it, and the peasant took all the tops with the grain, and gave Bruin the straw and the roots. So he didn't get anything that time either.

And Bruin said to the peasant: "Well, good-bye! I'm not going to work with you any more, you're too crafty!" And with that he went off into the forest.




The Dog And The Cock


One summer a certain peasant's crops failed him, and so he had no food to give to his animals, which were a cock and a dog. And the dog said to the cock: "Well, brother Peeter, I think we should get more to eat if we went and lived in the forest than here at our master's, don't you?" "That's a fact," answered the cock, "let's be off, there's no help for it."

So they said good-bye to their master and mistress and went off to see what they could find. And they went on and on, and couldn't find a nice place to stop. Then it began to grow dark, and the cock said: "Let's spend the night on a tree. I'll fly up on to a branch, and you take shelter in the hollow. We'll get through the night somehow."

So the cock made his way on to a branch, tucked in his toes, and went to sleep, while the dog made himself a bed in the hollow of the tree. And they slept soundly the whole night through, and towards morning, when it began to get light, the cock woke up and, as was his custom, crew as loud as he could: "Cock-a-doodle-doo! cock-a-doodle-do! all wake up! all get up! the sun will soon be rising, and the day will soon begin!"

And he crew so loud, that a fox in a hole near by was up in an instant thinking: "What a funny thing for a cock to be crowing in the forest! I expect he's lost his way and can't get out again!"

And he began to look for the cock, and after a bit he saw him sitting upon the branch of the tree. "Oho!" thought the fox, "he'd make a fine meal! How can I get him to come down from there?"

So he went up to the tree and said to the cock: "What a splendid cock you are! I've never seen such a fine one all my days! What lovely feathers, just as if they were covered with gold! And your tail! nobody could describe it in words or on paper, it's so beautiful! And what a sweet voice you've got! I could listen to it all day and all night. Do fly down a little closer and let's get to know each other a little better. That reminds me, I've got a christening on at my place to-day, and I shall have plenty of food and drink to offer such a welcome guest. Let's go along to my home."

"Right you are," answered the cock, "I'll certainly come, only you must ask my companion too. We always go about together." "And where is your companion?" asked the fox. "Down below in the tree hollow," answered the cock. And the fox poked his head into the hole, thinking there was another cock there, when the dog popped his head out and caught Mr. Fox by the nose!




King Frost.


Once upon a time there lived an old man and his wife. She had one daughter of her own, and he had one of his own. And the old woman took a dislike to her step-daughter. Whatever her own daughter did, she praised her for everything and stroked her head, but whatever her step-daughter did, she grumbled at her and scolded her for everything; it was simply dreadful. And the old woman began to want to drive her step-daughter off the face of the earth, and she said to her husband: "Take her away into the dark forest, and let the frost freeze her to death." So there was nothing for the old man to do but harness his horse to the sledge, put his daughter in it, and drive her off into the forest. And he brought her right into the middle of the forest, set her down on the snow, and drove off home.

And there the little girl sat in the forest all alone, shivering with the cold. When lo and behold! there was old King Frost coming towards her, and he said: "Hullo, little girl, are you warm?" And she answered: "Yes, King Frost." Then he blew a cold breath on to her and again asked: "Are you warm, little girl?" And she answered: "Yes, King Frost!" Then he began to make it still colder; he made the branches crack, and covered them with hoar-frost, and let loose such cold, that you could hear the air creaking.

Then he asked her again: "Well, little girl, are you warm now?" And she answered: "Yes, King Frost!" And when he saw that she was a good girl, he felt sorry for her. So he put on her a fur coat, with trimmings of beaver, and made her warm, and said to her: "You're a good girl, and so I'll stop. Here's a little present for you from King Frost."

And he brought her a trunk full of all sorts of things, silver and gold, and bright-coloured stones.

Meanwhile her step-mother was saying to the old man at home: "I expect your daughter's frozen by now. Go into the forest and bring her back." So he harnessed his horse to the sledge, and set out to fetch his daughter.

Then his wife began to watch at the window, and at last she saw her husband driving towards home, and she said to herself: "That's all right, there come the old man's daughter's bones back in the sledge."

But the doggie outside said: "Bow, wow, bow-wow-wow! The old man's bringing his daughter home. She's blooming like the poppy-bloom, and she's got a fine present, and a new coat with a beaver collar!" And lo and behold! it was true; the old man drove up with his daughter alive and well, in her fine clothes and with her presents. "Well," thought her step-mother, "if King Frost has given all those things to the old man's daughter, he'll give my pretty girl ever so much more." And she said to her husband: "Take my daughter to the same place as quick as you can, and let King Frost give her a share too!"

So the old man took her daughter, left her in the forest, and then drove off home. And there the girl sat, with her teeth chattering with the cold, when lo and behold! there was King Frost coming along, and he said: "Hullo, little girl, are you warm?" And she answered: "What's that got to do with you? Go away to where you came from!" And King Frost grew angry and blew a cold breath on to the girl, and then asked her: "Are you warm, little girl?" And she answered: "Fancy asking! You can see I'm frozen! Be quick and give me the presents, and then get away to your home." Then King Frost began to make the girl still colder. And he kept making it colder and colder till he had frozen her through and through.

Meanwhile her mother was saying to the old man at home: "Go into the forest now, and bring back my daughter. And mind, don't forget to take the trunk and the fine clothes as well." So the old man started off, and his wife began to watch at the window.

She waited and waited, and at last she saw her husband driving towards home, and said to herself: "That's all right, there comes the old man bringing back my daughter all in silver and in gold."

But the doggie outside said: "Bow, wow, bow-wow-wow, the old man's bringing back bones in his sledge!" The old man drove up, and it was too true, instead of the bad old woman's daughter there was only an icicle!




The Bear's Paw.


One day a peasant saw a bear asleep in the forest, so he crept up to him and cut off one of his hind paws with an axe. And he brought the paw home, and said to his wife: "Boil some soup from the flesh, and knit some warm gloves out of the wool." So she took off the skin, threw the flesh into the pot to boil, and sat down to spin the wool.

And when Bruin woke up, he found his paw gone. There was no help for it, so he cut a bit of wood off a tree, hewed it, tied it on instead of his leg, and set out for the village. As he went along he sang:

"Hobble, hobble, hobble, On my lime-tree leg, On my birchen crutch! The water's asleep, And the earth's asleep, The whole village is asleep, Only one woman's awake, And she's boiling my flesh, Sitting on my skin, And spinning my wool!"

And the peasant's wife got very frightened, and hid as quick as she could in the cellar under the floor. And Bruin went into the house, and saw there was no one there. So he took his bit of skin, got his flesh out of the pot and made off.




The Bear And The Old Man's Daughters.


There was once an old man and he had three little daughters, and one day he said to them: "I am going out into the fields to plough, and you, my little daughters, bake me a loaf and bring it to me." "But how are we to find you, daddy?" they said.

"As I go along," he said, "I shall drop shavings in a row along the path, and that will help you to find me." And as the old man rode along he threw down the shavings one after the other, and a bear came and drew them all aside on to the path that led to his den.

Then the eldest daughter said to the youngest: "Go and take the bread to daddy." And the youngest said: "But how am I to find daddy, and where am I to take the bread to?" Then the eldest answered: "He kept dropping shavings in a row along the path as he went." Then she took the loaf, and started off to follow the shavings, when lo and behold! she came to the bear's den.

And the bear saw her and said: "O-ho! What a nice little girl has come to see me!"

The next day the old man went off to sow, and he said to his daughters: "My dear little daughters, my clever little ones, bake me a loaf and bring it to me in the field." "But how are we to find you, daddy?" they said. And he answered: "Yesterday I threw one row of shavings down, to-day I will throw two." And he set off, throwing the shavings down in two rows, and the bear came and drew them all aside on to the path that led to his den. Then the second daughter started out with the loaf, following the shavings, and went straight to the bear's den. And the bear saw her and said: "O-ho! here's another little girl come to see me!"

The next day the old man went off to the field to harrow, and he said to his daughter: "My dear little daughter, bake me a loaf and bring it to me in the field. I will throw three rows of shavings." And the old man went off, throwing the shavings down in three rows, and the bear came and drew them all aside on to the path that led to his den. And the eldest daughter set out, and she, too, came to the bear's den. And the bear saw her and said: "O-ho! here's a third little girl come to see me in my den!" And there they went on living, when one day the eldest sister said: "Bruin, Bruin, I'll bake some pies, and you take them and give them to my daddy to eat." "All right," answered the bear, "I'll take them." And so she popped her youngest sister into a sack, and said: "Here, Bruin, take this to my daddy, and mind, don't you eat it yourself on the way!" And the bear took the sack and set off with it to the old man. And as he went along, he kept saying to himself: "Suppose I sit down on a stump, and suppose I just eat one little pie!" And the youngest daughter in the sack heard him and said: "Don't sit down on a stump, don't! Don't eat a pie, don't!" And the bear thought that this was the eldest sister, and said to himself: "There now, fancy that! I've come a long way, and yet she can still hear me!" And he brought the sack right up to the old man's courtyard, when the dogs all rushed out and began to bark at him! So he flung down the sack and ran off home. And the eldest sister asked him: "Did they make you welcome, Bruin, and give you nice things to eat?" "They didn't give me anything to eat," he answered, "but their welcome was loud enough."

The next day the eldest sister said: "Bruin, take my daddy some more pies to eat!" And she tied up her other sister in the sack, and the bear put it on his back and carried it off into the village. And as he went through the forest he kept saying to himself: "Suppose I sit down on a stump, and suppose I just eat one little pie!" And the second daughter said to him from out of the sack: "Don't sit down on a stump, don't! Don't eat a pie, don't!" And the bear thought: "There now, fancy that! I've come a long way, and yet she can still hear me, and tells me not to eat a pie!" And so he reached the old man's courtyard, and when the dogs went for him that time, they all but worried him to death! So he flung down the sack and ran off home. And the eldest sister asked him: "Did they welcome you warmly, Bruin, and give you plenty to eat?" "It was such a warm welcome, and they gave me so much to eat, that I shan't forget it in a hurry!" he answered.

And the next day the eldest girl said: "I'll bake some more pies, and you take them to my daddy for him to eat." And so she herself sat down in the sack, and the bear carried her off. And as he carried her along he kept saying to himself: "Oh, I should so like to sit down on a stump, and I should so like to eat one little pie!" And the eldest daughter said to him from out of the sack: "Don't sit down on a stump, don't! Don't eat a pie, don't!" And the bear thought: "There now, fancy that! Look at the long way I've come, and yet she can still see and hear me!" And so he brought the sack to the old man, and then the dogs came upon him and all but tore him in bits. And he ran off into the forest without as much as looking round, and the old man began once more to live with his three little daughters.




The Straw Ox.


Once upon a time there lived an old man and his wife, and one day she said to him: "Make me a straw ox and smear him over with pitch." And he asked: "What for?" And she answered: "Do what I tell you! Never mind what it's for -- that's my business!" So the old man made a straw ox and smeared him over with pitch. Then his wife got ready in the early morning and drove the ox to pasture. She sat down under a tree, and began spinning flax and saying to herself: "Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass. Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass!" And she went on spinning and spinning, and fell asleep. Suddenly from out of the thick wood, from out of the dark forest, a bear came running, and ran right up against the ox. "Who in the world are you?" he asked. And the ox answered: "I'm the three-year-old ox, all made of straw and smeared over with pitch." Then the bear said: "Well, if you're smeared over with pitch, give me some to put on my poor torn side." And the ox answered: "Take some!" So the bear seized hold of the ox, when lo and behold! his paw stuck in the pitch. And when he tried to free it with the other paw, that one stuck too. Then he started gnawing with his teeth, and they stuck too. He couldn't tear himself away anyhow. And the old woman woke up and saw the bear stuck fast to the ox. So she ran home and shouted to her husband: "Come along quick, a bear has stuck fast to our ox, hurry up and catch him!" And he came along, took the bear, led him home, and shut him up in the lumber room.

The next day, as soon as the sun rose, the old woman again drove the ox to pasture, and she herself sat down under a tree, and began spinning flax and saying to herself: "Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass of the field! Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass of the field!" And she went on spinning and spinning, and fell asleep. Suddenly from out of the thick wood, from out of the dark forest, a wolf came running, and ran right up against the ox. "Who in the world are you?" he asked. And the ox answered: "I'm the three-year-old ox, all made of straw and smeared over with pitch." Then the wolf said: "Well, if that's so, give me some pitch to put on my poor torn side." And the ox answered: "By all means!" So the wolf tried to take some pitch, when lo and behold! his paw stuck in it. And when he tried to free it, it stuck all the faster. And the old woman woke up and saw the wolf sticking to the ox. So she ran to fetch her husband and said: "Come as quick as you can, there's a wolf stuck to the ox!" And he came and caught the wolf and put him in the cellar.

The next day, before even the sun had risen, the old woman again drove the ox to pasture, and she herself sat down under a tree, and began spinning flax and saying to herself: "Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass! Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass!" And she went on spinning and spinning, and fell asleep.

Suddenly from out of the thick wood, from out of the dark forest, a fox came running, and ran right up against the ox. "What sort of a beast are you?" he asked. And the ox answered: "I'm the three-year-old ox, all made of straw and smeared over with pitch." Then the fox said: "Well then, give me some pitch to rub on my side." And the fox was just going to take some pitch, when he stuck fast and couldn't free himself. And the old woman woke up and saw the fox sticking to the ox. So she ran to fetch her husband, and he came and took the fox and put him in the cellar as well.

The next day the old woman again sat down under the tree to spin her flax while the ox fed, and she began spinning and saying to herself: "Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass! Feed, feed, ox, on the fresh green grass!" And she went on spinning and spinning and fell asleep. Suddenly from out of the thick wood, from out of the dark forest, a grey hare came running and ran right up against the ox. "What sort of beast are you?" he asked. "I'm the three-year-old ox, all made of straw and smeared over with pitch." Then the hare said: "Well then, give me some pitch to rub on my side." "Take some!" answered the ox. And the hare caught hold of him with his teeth, when lo and behold! his teeth stuck fast. He tore and tore, but couldn't tear them free. And the old woman woke up, and ran to fetch her husband, and said: "Come as quick as you can, there's a hare stuck to the ox!" And the old man came, took the hare and flung him into the cellar. Then the old man began to grind his knife, and the bear heard him and asked: "What are you grinding your knife for?" And he answered: "I'm grinding my knife to take the skin off your back and make myself a fur coat out of it." But the bear said: "Oh! don't take the skin off my back! Better let me go free, and I'll repay you handsomely." "Well, mind you do!" answered the old man, and so he let the bear go free, and he ran off into the forest.

The next day the old man again began to grind his knife outside the cellar, and the wolf asked him: "What are you grinding your knife for?" And he answered: "I'm grinding my knife to take the skin off your back and make myself a fur coat out of it." But the wolf said: "Oh! don't take the skin off my back! Better let me go free, and I'll repay you handsomely." "Well, mind you do!" answered the old man, and so he let the wolf too go free. And again he began to grind his knife outside the cellar, and the fox asked him: "What are you grinding your knife for?" And he answered: "I'm grinding my knife to take the skin off your back, and make myself out of it a collar for my fur coat." But the fox said: "Oh! don't take the skin off my back! Better let me go free, and I'll repay you handsomely." "Well, mind you do!" answered he.

Then the hare was left all alone.
  
And again the old man began to grind his knife, and the hare asked him: "What are you grinding your knife for?" And he answered: "I'm grinding my knife to take the skin off your back, and make myself some fur gloves out of it." But the hare said: "Oh! don't take the skin off my back! Better let me go free, and I'll repay you handsomely." "Well, mind you do!" he answered, and let the hare too go free.

Early the next morning the old man heard someone knocking at the gate, so he asked: "Who's there?" And the answer came: "It's I, the bear, come to pay you my debt." And the old man opened the gate, and there was the bear with a hive of honey he had brought. So the old man took the honey, when again he heard knock-knock at the gate! "Who's there?" he asked, and the answer came: "It's I, the wolf, come to pay you my debt." And there was the wolf with a whole flock of sheep he had driven up. So the old man let the sheep into the yard, when again he heard knock-knock at the gate. "Who's there?" he asked, and the answer came: "It's I, the fox, come to pay you my debt." And there was the fox with a whole farm-yardful of cocks and hens, and ducks and geese. Suddenly there came another knock-knock at the gate. "Who's there?" asked the old man, and the answer came: "It's I, the hare, come to pay you my debt." And he had brought with him a whole heap of cabbages. And the old man and his wife began to live happily together, and always spoke well and kindly of those beasts.




The Fox And The Blackbird.


A fox was walking through the forest when he fell into a deep hole. And there he sat and sat, till all at once he began to feel hungry. He started looking round, but could see nothing. Then he looked up, and there he saw a blackbird in the tree above weaving its nest, and he said: "Mr. Blackbird, Mr. Blackbird, what are you doing?" And the blackbird answered: "I'm weaving my nest." "What are you weaving your nest for?" asked the fox. "To bring up my children in," answered the blackbird. "But I'm going to eat your children," said the fox. "Don't eat my children," answered the blackbird. "Well then, feed me, I'm hungry," said the fox. At that the blackbird began to fret and to worry: how should he feed the fox? Then he flew off into the village, and brought back a chicken for the fox.

And the fox ate the chicken, and after a little he said: "Mr. Blackbird, Mr. Blackbird, you fed me, didn't you?" And the blackbird answered: "Yes." "Well then," said the fox, "give me a drink!" At that the blackbird began to fret and to worry: how was he to get the fox a drink? Then he flew off into the village, and brought back a little pailful of water for the fox.

And the fox had a good drink, and after a little he said: "Mr. Blackbird, Mr. Blackbird, you fed me, didn't you?" And the blackbird answered: "Yes." "And you got me a drink?" "Yes." "Well then," said the fox, "come and pull me out of the hole!" At that the blackbird began to fret and to worry: how could he pull the fox out of the hole? Then he began to gather sticks in the forest and started throwing them into the hole. And he kept throwing them in and throwing them in, till he filled the hole. And the fox climbed up on to the sticks and out of the hole. And when he had climbed out, he lay down right under the tree. And there he lay and lay, and he said to the blackbird: "Look here, you fed me, didn't you, Mr. Blackbird?" And the blackbird answered. "Yes." "And you got me a drink?" "Yes." "And you pulled me out of the hole?" "Yes." "Well then," said the fox, "now make me laugh!" At that the blackbird began to fret and to worry: how should he make the fox laugh? At last he said: "Very well, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll fly into the village, and you run after me." So they agreed to do that, and the blackbird flew off into the village and perched on the gate of a rich peasant's house, while the fox lay down under the gateway. Then the blackbird began to sing: "Mistress, Mistress, bring a lump of fat! Mistress, Mistress, bring a lump of fat!" And the fox said: "That's fine, let's have it again!" So the blackbird began once more: "Mistress, Mistress, bring a lump of fat! Mistress, Mistress, bring a lump of fat!"

Suddenly from under the gate a dog said angrily: "Wow-wow!" and the fox took to his heels and hopped it into the forest as quick as he could!

And that's all about it.

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Umboo, The Elephant

By

Howard R. Garis



Chapter I

Baby Umboo


"Oh, my! But it's hot! It is just too hot for anything!" cried Chako, one of the monkeys in the circus cage. "It is hotter under this tent than ever it was in the jungle! Whew!" and he hung by his tail and swung to and fro from a wooden bar.

"In the jungle we could find a pool of water where we could keep cool," said another monkey, who was poking around the floor of the cage, hoping he could find a peanut. But there were only shells. "I wish I could go back to the jungle," he chattered.

"What did you come away from the jungle for, if you don't like it in this circus?" asked Woo-Uff, the big yellow lion, who lay on his back in his cage, his legs stuck up in the air, for he was cooler that way. "Why did you come from the jungle, Chako?"

"I didn't want to come," answered the swinging monkey. "But some white and black hunters caught me, and a lot more of us chattering chaps, and took us away from the jungle."

"That's right, my boy!" exclaimed the deep, rumbly voice of Umboo, the biggest elephant in the circus. "None of us animals would have come away from the jungle if we could have had our way. But, now that we are here, we must make the best of it."

"How can one make the best of it when it is so hot?" asked Chako. "The sun shines down on this circus tent hotter than ever it did in the jungle. And there is no pool of water where we can splash and be cool."

"Oh, if water is all you want, I can give you some of that," spoke Umboo. "Wait a minute!"

Near the elephants, of whom Umboo was one on a long line, chained to stakes driven in the ground, was a big tub of water, put there for them to drink when they wanted to. Umboo put his long, rubbery hose of a trunk down into this tub of water, and sucked up a lot, just as you fill your rubber ball at the bathroom basin.

"Look out now, monkeys!" cried the elephant. "It's going to rain!" and he sort of laughed away down in his throat. He couldn't laugh through his nose, as his nose was his trunk, and that was full of water. "Look out for a shower!" he cried.

With that the elephant went:

"Woof-umph!"

Out from his trunk, as if from a hose, sprinkled a shower of water. Over the cage of monkeys it sprayed, wetting them as might a fall of rain.

"Here comes some more!" cried Umboo, and again he dipped his trunk in the tub of water, sucked up some in the two hollow places, and again squirted it over the monkeys' cage.

"Oh, that's good! That's fine!" cried Chako. "That was like being in a jungle rain. I'm cooler now. Squirt some more, Umboo!"

"No, hold on, if you please!" rumbled another elephant. "It is all right for Umboo to splatter some water on you poor monkeys, but if he quirts away all in the tub we will have none to drink."

"That's so," said Umboo. "I can't squirt away all the water, Chako. We big elephants have to drink a lot more than you little monkeys. But when the circus men fill our tub again, I'll squirt some more on you."

"Thank you!" chattered Chako. "I feel cooler, anyhow. And we monkeys can't stand too much water. This felt fine!"

The monkeys in the cage were quite damp, and some began combing out their long hair with their queer little fingers, that look almost like yours, except that their thumb isn't quite the same.

"If Umboo can't squirt any more water on us, maybe he can do something else to help us forget that it is so hot," said Gink, a funny little monkey, who had a very long tail.

"What can he do, except squirt water on us?" asked Chako. "And I wish he'd do that again. It's the only thing to make us cooler."

"No, I wasn't thinking of that, though I do like a little water," spoke Gink. "But don't you remember, Umboo, you promised to tell us a story of how you lived in a jungle when you were a baby elephant?"

"Oh, yes, so he did!" exclaimed Chako. "I had forgotten about that. It will make us cooler, I think, to hear you tell a story, Umboo. Please do!"

"Well, all right, I will," said the big elephant, as he swung to and fro; because elephants are very seldom still, but always moving as they stand. And they sleep standing up -- did you know that?

"I'll tell you a story about my jungle," went on Umboo. "But perhaps you will not like it as well as you did the story Snarlie the tiger told you."

"Oh, yes we will," said Snarlie himself, a big, handsome striped tiger in a cage not far from where the monkeys lived. "You can tell us a good story, Umboo."

"And make it as long as the story Woo-Uff, the lion, told us," begged Humpo, the camel. "I liked his story."

"Thank you," spoke Woo-Uff, as he rolled over near the edge of his cage where he could hear better. "I'm glad you liked my story, Humpo, but I'm sure Umboo's will be better than mine. And don't forget the funny part, my big elephant friend."

"What funny part is that?" asked Horni, the rhinoceros.

"Oh, I guess he means where I once filled my trunk with water and squirted some on a man, as I did on the monkeys just now," said the swaying elephant.

"Why did you do that?" Chako wanted to know.

"Well, I'll tell you when I get to that part of my story," said the elephant. "Now do you all want to hear me talk?"

"Oh, yes! yes!" cried the animals in the circus tent. "Tell us your story, Umboo! Tell us about when you were a baby in the far-off jungle of Africa."

"I did not come from Africa; I came from an Indian jungle," said Umboo. "My friends, the African elephants, are much larger than I am, and they are wilder and fiercer, and so they are hardly every caught for the circus."

"I remember a great big elephant in a circus I was once with -- not this one, though," said Humpo, the camel. "His name was Jug -- no it was not Jug, and it wasn't Jig, but it began with a J."

"Maybe it was Jumbo," suggested Umboo.

"That was it -- Jumbo!" cried Humpo. "He was a very big elephant."

"Yes, I guess he was," said Umboo. "I have heard of him, but I never saw him. He was an African elephant, and they are all large. Poor Jumbo!"

"Why do you say that?" asked Chako the monkey. "Poor Jumbo?"

"Because he is dead," said Umboo. "Poor Jumbo was struck by one of those big puffing animals, of steam and steel and iron, that pull our circus train over the shiny rails."

"You mean a choo-choo-locomotive-steam-engine," said Woo-Uff, the lion.

"I suppose that is the name," said Umboo. "Anyhow, Jumbo was hit by an engine, and, big as he was, it killed him. His bones, or skeleton, are in a museum in New York now."

"Is New York a jungle?" asked Gink, who had not been with the circus very long.

"New York a jungle? Of course not!" laughed Snarlie, the tiger. "New York is a big city, and sometimes we circus animals are taken there to help with the show. I've been in New York lots of times."

"Well, don't let it make you proud," said Chako, the other monkey. "I have been there myself, and I'd much rather be in the jungle."

"Say, are we going to listen to you animals talk or hear the story Umboo is going to tell us?" asked Humpo, the camel. "I thought he was going to make us forget the heat."

"So I am," said Umboo, in a kind voice, "Only I wanted to speak about old Jumbo, There used to be a song about him, many years ago. It went something like this, and I heard a little English boy sing it:

"Alice said to Jumbo: 'I love you!' Jumbo said to Alice: 'I don't believe you do; 'Cause if you love me truly, As you say you do, Come over to America To Barnum's show!'"

"That's the song they used to sing about Jumbo, more than twenty years ago," said Umboo.

"My! How can you remember so far back?" asked Chako.

"Oh, we elephants live to a good old age," said Umboo. "Why, I am fifty years old now, and yet I am young! Some of the elephants in the jungle lived to be a hundred and twenty years old!"

"Oh, my!" cried Chako. "Did they have circuses as long ago as that?"

"Yes, but not the kind that traveled about, and showed in white tents," said Umboo. "But I have heard my father and mother say that we elephants live to be very old."

"And can you remember so far back, when you were a baby in the jungle?" asked Humpo.

"Oh, yes, very easily," answered Umboo. "I am going to tell you a story about how first I was a little elephant in the great, green forest, or jungle, and then I'll tell you how I was caught, and worked in a lumber yard in India, and how I was then sold to a circus."

"Well, then, please begin!" begged Chako. "It is getting hot again in this monkey cage, and if you haven't any water to squirt on us tell us your story."

"I will!" promised the elephant. And then, as the afternoon show was over, and it was not yet time for the night one to begin, the animals had a little quiet time to themselves. And, as they had done once before, they got ready to listen to a story.

In the book before this I have written for you the story of Woo-Uff, the lion. And before that I gave you the story of Snarlie, the tiger. And now we come to Umboo.

"The first thing I remember," began the elephant, "was when I was a little baby in the jungle."

"Were you very little?" asked Snarlie the tiger.

"Well, I have heard my mother say I weighed about two hundred pounds the first day I came into the world," answered Umboo. "So, though I was little for an elephant, I would have made a very big monkey, I suppose. And for a time I just stayed near my mother, between her two, big front legs, so the other elephants would not step on me, and I drank the milk my mother gave me, for my teeth were not yet ready for me to chew roots, leaves and grass."

"Tell us something that happened!" begged Chako, "and make it exciting, so we will forget about the heat!"

"Well," said Umboo, "I'll tell you of a terrible fright we had, and how -- "

But just then something else happened. Into the tent came running one of the circus men, and he cried to another, who was asleep on some hay near the elephants.

"Come! Loosen Umboo! We need him to help us get one of the wagons out of the mud! Bring Umboo, the strongest of all elephants!"




Chapter II

On The March


Umboo, the big circus elephant, was unchained from the stake in the circus tent to which he was made fast, and led out by one of the men.

"Oh, where are you going?" asked Horni, the rhinoceros, who had been taking a little doze, and who woke up, just as the men came in. "I thought I heard some one say you were going to tell a story, Umboo," spoke the rhinoceros.

"I was going to, and I started it," the elephant answered, "but now I must go out and help push a wagon loose from where it is stuck in the mud. I'll be back pretty soon, for it is no trouble at all for me to push even a big circus wagon."

"Yes, you are very strong," said Chako, the monkey. "Well, don't forget to come back and tell us about the jungle. That will make us forget the heat."

"Come, Umboo!" called one of the men, as he loosed the heavy elephant chains. "You must help us with the wagon."

Out of the circus tent walked the big elephant. He could understand some of the things the circus men said to him, just as your dog can understand you, when you call:

"Come here, Jack!" Then he runs to you, wagging his tail. But if you say:

"Go on home, Jack!"

How his tail droops, and how sadly your dog looks at you, even though you know it is best for him to go back, and not, perhaps, go to school with you, like Mary's little lamb.

So, in much the same way, Umboo knew what the men wanted of him. He was led across the circus lot, outside the big, white tent, that was gay with many-colored flags, and as Umboo swayed along, some boys, who were watching for what they might see, caught sight of the great elephant.

"Hey, Jim! Here's one of the big ones!" shouted one boy.

"Maybe he's going to take a drink out of the canal," said another.

"Maybe they're going to give him a swim," spoke a third boy.

But the men had something else for Umboo to do just then. They led him to where one of the big wagons, covered with red and gold paint, and shiny with pieces of looking glass, was stuck fast in the mud on a hill. For it had rained the day before the circus came to show in the town, and the ground was soft.

"Now, Umboo!" called the circus man, who was really one of the elephant keepers, and who gave them food and water, "now, Umboo, let us see if you can get this wagon out of the mud, as you did once before. The horses can not pull it, but you are stronger than many horses."

The horses, with red plumes on their heads, were still hitched to the wagon. There were eight of them, but they had pulled and pulled, and still the wagon was stuck in the mud.

"Are you going to help us, Umboo?" asked one of the horses who knew the elephant, for the circus animals can talk among themselves, just as you boys and girls do. "Are you going to help us?"

"I am going to try," Umboo answered. "You look tired, horsies! Take a little rest now, while I look and see which is the best way to push. Then, when I blow through my nose like a trumpet horn, you pull and I'll push, and we'll have the wagon out of the mud very soon!"

Umboo was led up to the back of the wagon. He looked at where the wheels were sunk away down in the soft ground, and then, being the strongest and most wise of all the beasts of the world, the elephant put his big, broad head against the wagon.

"Now, then, horsies! Pull!" he cried, trumpeting through his trunk, which was hollow like a hose. "Pull, horsies!"

The horses pulled and Umboo, the elephant, pushed, and soon the wagon was out on firm, hard ground.

"That's good!" cried the circus man. "I knew Umboo could do it!"

Then he gave the elephant a sweet bun, which he had saved for him, and back to the tent went Umboo.

"Now, please go on with your story!" begged Chako. "Tell us what happened in the jungle."

"I will," said Umboo, and this is the story he told. Umboo was only one of a number of baby elephants that lived with their fathers and mothers in the deep, green jungles of India. Not like the other jungle beasts were the elephants, for the big animals had no regular home. They did not live in caves as did the lions and tigers, for no cave was large enough for a herd of elephants.

And, except in the case of solitary, or lonely elephants, which are often savage beasts, or "rogues," all elephants live in herds -- a number of them always keeping together, just like a herd of cows.

Another reason why elephants do not live in one place, like a lion's cave, or in a nest or lair under the thick grass where a tiger brings up her striped babies, is that elephants eat so much that they have to keep moving from place to place to get more food.

They will eat all there is in one part of the jungle, and then travel many miles to a new place, not coming back to the first one until there are more green leaves, fresh grass, or new bark on the trees which they have partly stripped.

So Umboo, the two-hundred-pound baby elephant, lived with his mother in the jungle, drinking nothing but milk for the first six months, as he had no teeth to chew even the most tender grass.

"Well, are you strong enough to walk along now?" Umboo's mother asked him one day in the jungle, and this was when he was about half a week old.

"Oh, yes, I can walk now," said the baby elephant, as he swayed to and fro between his mother's front legs, while she stood over him to keep the other big elephants, and some of the half-grown elephant boys and girls, from bumping into him, and knocking him over. "I can walk all right. But why do you ask me that?" Umboo wanted to know.

"Because the herd is going to march away," said Mrs. Stumptail, which was the name of Umboo's mother. "They are going to march to another part of the jungle, and your father and I will march with them, as we do not want to be left behind. There is not much more left here to eat. We have taken all the palm nuts and leaves from the trees. We have only been waiting until you grew strong enough to march."

"Oh, I can march all right," said Umboo, telling his story to the circus animals in the tent. "Look how fast I can go!"

Out he started from under his mother's body, striding across a grassy place in the jungle. But Umboo was not as good at walking as he had thought. Even though he weighed two hundred pounds his legs were not very strong, and soon he began to totter.

"Look out!" cried his mother. "You are going to fall!" and she reached out her trunk and wound it around Umboo, holding him up.

"Hello!" trumpeted Mr. Stumptail, coming up just then with a big green branch in his trunk. "What's the matter here?"

"Umboo was just showing me how well he could walk," said his mother, speaking elephant talk, of course. "I told him the herd would soon be on the march, and that he must come along."

"But we won't go until he is strong enough," said Umboo's father. "Here," he said to Mrs. Stumptail, "eat this branch of palm nuts. They are good and sweet. Eat them while I go and see Old Tusker. I'll tell him not to start to lead the herd to another part of the jungle until Umboo is stronger."

Then, giving the mother elephant a branch of palm nuts, which food the big jungle animals like best of all, Mr. Stumptail went to see Tusker, the oldest and largest elephant of the jungle -- he who always led the herd on the march.

"My new little boy elephant is not quite strong enough to march, yet," said Mr. Stumptail to Tusker. "Can we wait here another day or two?"

"Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Stumptail," said the kind, old head elephant. "You know the herd will never go faster than the mothers and baby elephants can travel."

And this is true, as any old elephant hunter will tell you.

"Thank you," said Mr. Stumptail, to Tusker; for elephants are polite to each other, even though, in the jungle, they sometimes may be a bit rough toward lions and tigers, of whom they are afraid.

Back to the mother elephant and Baby Umboo went Mr. Stumptail, to tell them there was no hurry about the herd marching away. And two or three days later Umboo had grown stronger and was not so wobbly on his legs. He could run about a little, and once he even tried to bump his head against another elephant boy, quite older than he was.

"Here! You mustn't do that!" cried his mother. "What trick are you up to now?"

"Well, this elephant laughed at your tail," said Umboo. "He said it was a little short one, and not long like his mother's!"

"Don't mind that!" said Mrs. Stumptail, with a sort of laugh away down in her trunk. "All our family have short, or stumpy tails. That is how we get our name. The Stumptail elephants are very stylish, let me tell you."

"Oh, then it's all right," said Umboo, who was called by that name because he had made that sort of noise or sound through his nose, when he was a day old. And elephants and jungle folk are named for the sort of noises they make, or for something they do, or look like, just as Indians are named.

So Umboo played in the deep jungle forest with the other little elephant boys and girls until his mother and father saw that he was strong enough to walk well by himself.

"Now we will start on a long march!" called Tusker one day. "The jungle here is well eaten, and, besides, it is no longer safe for us here. So we will march."

"Why isn't the jungle safe here any more?" asked Umboo of his mother.

"I'll tell you," answered Tusker, who heard what the little elephant asked. "The other day," went on the big chap, "I went to the top of the hill over there," and he pointed with his trunk. "I heard up there a noise like thunder, but it was not thunder."

"What was it?" asked Umboo, who liked to listen to the talk of the old herd-leader. The other little elephants also gathered around to listen.

"It was the noise of the guns of the hunters," said Tusker. "They are coming to our jungle, and where the hunters come is no place for us. So we must march away and hide. Also there is not much food left here. We must go to a new jungle-place."

Raising his trunk in the air Tusker gave a loud call. All the other elephants gathered around him, and off he started, leading the way through the green forest.

"Now if I go too fast for any of you baby elephants, just squeak and I'll stop," said the big, kind elephant. "We will go only as fast as you little chaps can walk."

"You are very kind," said Mrs. Stumptail, helping Umboo, with her trunk, to get over a rough bit of ground.

On and on marched the elephants to find a new place in the jungle, where they would be safe from the hunters, and where they could find more sweet bark, leaves and palm nuts to eat. Umboo walked near his mother, as the other small elephant boys and girls walked near their mothers, and the bigger elephants helped the smaller and weaker ones over the rough places.

Pretty soon, in the jungle, the herd of elephants came to what seemed a big silver ribbon, shining in the sun. It sparkled like a looking glass on a circus wagon, though, as yet, neither Umboo, nor any of the other big animals had ever seen a show.

"What is that?" asked Umboo of his mother.

"That is a river of water," she answered. "It is water to drink and wash in."

"Oh, I never could drink all that water," said the baby elephant.

"No one expects you to!" said his mother, with an elephant laugh. "But we are going to swim across it to get on the other side."

"What is swimming?" asked Umboo.

"It means going in the water, and wiggling your legs so that you will float across and not sink," said Mrs. Stumptail. "See, we are at the jungle river now, and we will go across."

"Oh, but I'm afraid!" cried Umboo, holding back. "I don't want to go in all that water."

Mrs. Stumptail reached out her trunk and caught her little boy around the middle of his stomach.

"You must do as I tell you!" she said. "Up you go!" and she lifted him high in the air.

"Oh, did she let you fall?" suddenly asked Chako, who, with the other animals in the circus tent, was eagerly listening to the story Umboo was telling. "Did she let you fall?"




Chapter III

Sliding Down Hill


"Look here!" cried Snarlie, the tiger, when Chako, the monkey, had asked his question. "Look here, Chako! You mustn't interrupt like that when Umboo is talking! Let him tell his story, just as you let me tell mine. And maybe Umboo's jungle story will go in a book, as mine did."

"Is yours in a book?" asked Humpo, the camel.

"It is," answered Snarlie, and he did not speak at all proudly as some tigers might. "My story is in a book, and there are pictures of me, and also Toto, the little Indian princess. For I came from India, just as Umboo did."

"Now who is talking?" asked Woo-Uff, the lion. "I thought we were to listen to Umboo's story."

"That's right -- we were," said Snarlie. "I'm sorry I talked so much. But I was telling Chako about the books we are in, Woo-Uff."

"Yes, books are all well enough," said the lion, "but give me a good piece of meat. Now go on, Umboo. What was it Chako asked?"

"I wanted to know if Umboo's mother let him fall when she lifted him high up in her trunk when they came to the jungle river," said the monkey in the circus cage.

"No," answered Umboo, "she did not drop me. My mother was very strong, and her trunk had a good hold of me. She didn't drop me at all."

"Then what did she lift you up for?" asked Chako. "Once, in the jungle where I came from, I saw a big elephant lift up a tiger in his trunk, and the elephant threw the tiger down on the ground as hard as he could, and hurt him."

"That was because the tiger was going to bite the elephant if he could," answered Umboo. "Elephants only have their tusks, and trunk and big feet to fight with. They can't bite as you monkeys can, nor as lions and tigers can. But my mother lifted me up in her trunk to put me on her back."

"What did she want to do that for?" asked Humpo, the camel. "Was a hunter coming with a gun?"

"No, but she was going to swim across the river with the rest of the herd," answered Umboo, "and she knew I was too little to know how to swim yet. I learned how later, though, and I liked the water. But this time my mother took me across the river on her back."

"It's a good thing your mother didn't have a camel-back like Humpo," said Woo-Uff, with a sort of chuckling laugh.

"Why?" asked Horni, the rhinoceros.

"Because, if Mrs. Stumptail had a back, with humps in, as the camels have, Umboo would have fallen off into the water," said the lion, as he opened his big mouth in a sleepy yawn, showing his big, white, sharp teeth.

"My mother's back was big and strong," said Umboo. "It was flat, and not humpy, like a camel's, though their backs are all right on the desert. My mother lifted me up on her back with her trunk, and there I sat while she and the other elephants waded into the river."

And then the circus elephant went on telling his story.

Into the jungle river walked the elephants, the littlest ones on their mothers' backs, and some, very small ones, held in their mothers' trunks, which were lifted high in the air. These were the babies of the herd who were too small to ride safely on the backs of the big creatures.

"Pooh! I'm bigger than you! I can swim like the other elephants!" said Keedah; a large elephant boy, as he looked up and saw Umboo on his mother's back. "I don't have to be carried across a river! I can swim by myself."

"And so will my little boy, soon," said Mrs. Stumptail. "Swim on your own side, Keedah, and don't splash water on Umboo."

But Keedah was a little elephant chap full of mischief, and he did not do as he was told. Instead he filled his trunk with water and sprayed it all over Umboo.

"Ouch!" cried the little elephant baby, for the water felt cold, at first. "Stop it, Keedah!"

"Ha! Ha! I made you get wet, whether you swim or not!" laughed Keedah. "I'll put some more water on you!"

"No you don't! Now you swim along!" suddenly cried Mrs. Stumptail. "Get away!"

With that she tapped Keedah on his head with her trunk two or three times, and, when an elephant wants to, it can strike very hard with its long nose, even though it seems soft.

"Ouch! Ouch!" trumpeted Keedah as he swam out of reach of Mrs. Stumptail. "Ouch! Let me alone!"

"Learn to behave yourself then," said Umboo's mother.

"I'm going to tell my father on you!" cried the mischievous little elephant.

"Well, it won't do you any good," said a heavy voice behind him, and there was Keedah's father himself swimming along. "I saw what you did to Umboo," went on the old gentleman elephant, "and Mrs. Stumptail did just right to tap you with her trunk. Now be a good boy, and don't shower any more water on the baby elephants."

So Keedah promised that he wouldn't, and Umboo clung as tightly as he could, with his sprawly legs, to his mother's broad back as she swam across the river.

The water was wide, at this part of the jungle, but elephants are good swimmers. They can go in very deep water, and as long as they can keep the tip end of their trunk out, so they can breathe, the rest of their body can sink away down below the surface. And when the elephants are in the water the flies, mosquitoes and other biting bugs of the jungle can not harm them.

For, though the skin of elephants, rhinoceros beasts, and even the hippopotami, is very thick, some bugs can bite through it enough to give pain, and the animals don't like that. But in the water nothing can bite them, unless it's a crocodile, and none of those big fellows would come near a whole herd of elephants.

"What are we going to do when we get on the other side of the river?" asked Umboo of his mother, as he reached his trunk down in the water and took a little drink.

"Oh, we will rest a while, eat something, perhaps, and then we will keep on marching to a better part of the jungle," she answered.

"I know what I'm going to do when I get on the other shore," spoke Keedah, as once more he swam up along side of Umboo and his mother.

"What?" asked the little elephant who was having such a nice ride across the river. "What are you going to do?"

"I am going to have a slide down hill," went on Keedah, who did not seem to be going to make any more trouble.

"What's sliding down hill?" asked Umboo, and of course, you understand, all this talk was in animal language.

"Sliding down hill is fun," went on Keedah. "You know Old Tusker went up to the top of a place, called a hill, to look and see about the hunters in the jungle. Well, there is a hill on the other side of this river, and when we get across I'm going to the top of it and slide down.

"It's hard work going up hill," went on the larger elephant boy, "but it's easy coming down. You just sit on your hind legs, hold your trunk up in the air and down you come as fast as anything!"

"And be careful you don't bump into anything," said Mrs. Stumptail. "Sliding down hill is all right if you don't bump into anything. You must be careful, Umboo. Don't slide down any hills unless you ask me first."

"I won't," promised the baby elephant. "But tell me more about it, Keedah. Did you ever slide down hill?"

"Many a time. I was with the herd last year when we swam this same river. I could swim then, too, and when we came to the hill I climbed up. Then I came down lots faster than I walked up, and I went splash into the river. That didn't hurt at all," he said to Umboo's mother.

"No, it doesn't hurt to slide into the water," said the old elephant lady. "If you do any sliding, Umboo, see that you splash into the water, and not on the hard ground."

"I will, after I learn to swim," spoke Umboo.

A little later the herd of elephants were safely across the jungle river. Some rested in the shade of trees, pulling off the low branches and the palm nuts. Others rolled in the mud, to make a sort of coating over their skins, to keep off the flies. Others went to the top of the hill to slide down, and Keedah went with them.

"Oh, mother! I wish I could slide!" said Umboo, when he saw what fun the other elephants were having. They really did slide down hill, just as otters do, only the otter, or beaver, likes to have water on his slide, and the elephants did not care whether their slide was wet or dry. Down they came, over sticks and stones, and their skin was so tough that they never got hurt. And yet a fly could bite through that same hide! But that is because a fly has a very fine, sharp bill, which can go through the tiny pores, or holes, in the elephant's skin.

"Oh, I want to slide!" said Umboo to his mother. "I'm big enough, and if I can't swim when I splash in the water, you can be near to pull me out. Please let me slide down hill!"

"And did she let you?" asked Snarlie, the tiger, as the elephant stopped in the telling his story long enough to take a bite of hay. "Did she let you, Umboo?"




Chapter IV

Umboo Learns Something


Umboo, the big circus elephant, swallowed the sweet hay he had been chewing, and was about to keep on with the telling of his story about the things that happened to him when he was a little chap in the Indian jungle, when a lot of men came in the tent where the animals were standing about, or resting in their cages.

"Oh, now we can't hear any more of the story," said Chako, the big monkey, to Gink the little, long-tailed chap.

"Why can't we?" Gink wanted to know.

"Because the circus is going to move on. Our cage will be put on the steam cars, and away we will go, and Umboo, and the rest of the elephants, will be put in big box-cars."

"Won't we ever see him again, or hear more of his story?" asked Gink, who had not been with the circus very long, and so did not know much about it.

"Oh, yes, of course we'll hear more later on," answered Chako, "but not until tomorrow. Now the circus is going to move."

And that is just what happened. The men closed the sides of the cages, shutting the animals up in them. The tent was taken down, horses were hitched to the wagons, and away went the whole, big circus on a train to the next town where the show was to be given.

"It's too bad!" exclaimed Horni, the rhinoceros, who had a big horn on the end of his nose. "It's too bad, Umboo! I wanted to hear you tell about sliding down hill."

"I'll tell you tomorrow," said the elephant. "Now I have to go and help the horses, by pushing on some of the heavy wagons with my head. I'll finish the sliding-down-hill part of my story tomorrow."

"All right, don't forget!" called Chako, just before the men closed down the sides of the monkey cage.

"I won't," promised Umboo.

"It was the same way when I was telling my story," said Snarlie, the tiger. "Every now and then I had to stop when the circus moved from one place to another."

All through the night the trains of cars, with the circus wagons, tents, horses and performers, rolled along. In the morning the cars stopped just outside a big city, where the show was to be given for three days.

"And now I'll have a chance to tell you a lot more about what we elephants did in the jungle," said Umboo, when, once more, all the animal friends were in the tent together. "That is I'll tell you more, if you aren't tired of hearing it," he added.

"Tired? I should say not!" chattered Gink. "Go on, Umboo, if you please. Tell us a lot more!"

"And don't forget about sliding down hill," added Woo-Uff, the lion. "Did your mother let you?"

"Oh, yes, she let me," answered Umboo. "At first she did not want to, for a lot of the big elephants were having this fun. But, after a while, when they went away from the hill, having slid down enough, and when Keedah, and some of the other elephant boys and girls, took their turn, I went with them.

"At first I was a little afraid, when I got to the top of the hill, and saw how steep it was, and how far it seemed down to the bottom where the river ran. But I stuck my front feet out in front of me, and I sat down on the back part of my hind legs, where my skin is very thick, and then, all of a sudden Keedah came up behind me and gave me a push." "Did you go down?" asked Snarlie, laughing so that his sharp, white teeth showed in his red mouth.

"Did I go down? I should say I did!" cried Umboo. "I went down so fast I almost turned over in a somersault, the way the trick dogs do in our circus. And, at first, I was scared.

"But the hill of dirt was smooth, without any big stones in it, and away I slid. When I got to the water, in I went with a big splash; though of course I didn't make as much of a splatter as some of the larger elephants did."

"Was it fun?" asked Humpo, the camel.

"At first I didn't like it," answered Umboo. "The water got up my trunk, and choked me a little, and took my breath away. But my mother stood on the bank of the river and soon pulled me out; and when I went down next time I curled my trunk up, so then I was all right."

The other circus animals liked so much to hear Umboo's story of sliding down hill, that they kept asking him questions about it until nearly dinner time. But when the men came in the tent, bringing hay for the horses, elephants and camels, big chunks of meat for the lions and tigers, and dried bread for the monkeys, then all the animals were quiet for a time -- at least they made no noise except chewing.

And after their meal they all went to sleep for a little while, those in cages curling up in a corner, and the horses lying down on straw, but the elephants took their sleep standing up, for an elephant, even in the jungle, never lies down except perhaps to roll in water, or a mud-puddle. And the only time they lie down in a circus is when they are doing some trick.

"Now I guess you have slid down hill enough, Umboo," said the elephant's mother to him. "It is all right to have some fun, but there are other things to do in the jungle besides that. You must learn a few things."

"I had to learn things too," said Woo-Uff. "I had to learn how to creep up on fat goats, and knock them over with my big paws. There was an old lion named Boom-Boom, and he and I -- "

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" called Humpo, the camel, as he was chewing some hay in the circus tent after his dinner. "Is this your story, or Umboo's?"

"Oh, I forgot. I beg your pardon, Umboo!" said the big lion. "Please go on."

So Umboo went on telling his story, speaking of how his mother told him there were other things to do in the jungle besides sliding down hill to splash into the river.

It was some time after this, when Umboo had grown larger and stronger, and two of his tusks or teeth, had grown out of his jaw, sticking far beyond his lips, that his mother said to him:

"Now, Umboo, it is time you learned how to get something to eat for yourself. Up to now I have given you milk, or you have eaten the sweet palm nuts or the tree branches I pulled down for you, or those the other elephants left. Now it is time you learned to do things for yourself. Come with me, Umboo."

"Where are we going?" asked the small elephant. That is he was smaller than his mother, though he was very large along side of a dog or a cat. "Where are we going?"

"Far into the jungle," answered Mrs. Stumptail.

Umboo followed after her, brushing his way through the bushes, pushing aside even those that had thorns on them, for he never felt the sharp pricks through his thick skin, though, as I have told you, some kinds of bugs can bite their way through even this.

Suddenly, as Umboo walked along behind his mother, he began to sniff the air through his trunk.

"What is that good smell?" he asked, in elephant talk, of course. "It smells just like those nice, sweet roots you gave me to eat the other day."

"And that is just what you do smell, Umboo," said his mother. "Near here, in the jungle, grow trees with those sweet roots. If you want to eat some now see if you can find any. In that way you will learn when I am not with you. Hunt around now, and see if you can't smell where the sweet roots grow."

Umboo was hungry and he wanted, very much, to get the roots. So he began sniffing with his trunk close to the ground. When he moved one way the smell was not so strong.

"That means you are moving away from the roots," his mother told him. "Come over this way."

So Umboo moved the other way, and the smell of the sweet roots grew stronger, just as when you come nearer to a bakery or candy shop.

"Ah! Here they are! Right down under the ground, here!" suddenly cried Umboo, tapping with his trunk on a certain place under a big tree. "The roots are here, mother," he said. "But how am I going to get them out? I can't eat them if they are under the dirt!"

"How would you think you might get them out?" asked Mrs. Stumptail. "Come, be a smart elephant, Umboo. Use your brains. Elephants are the smartest animals in the world. Think a little and then see what you will do."

So Umboo thought, and then he remembered seeing what the other elephants did when they were hungry, and wanted to dig up tree roots.

"I guess I'll poke away the dirt with my feet," he said.

"Yes, that's a good way to begin," said Mrs. Stumptail.

So Umboo, with his big, broad fore feet, loosened the dirt over the tree roots. They were not down very deep, being the top roots, and not the big heavy ones, buried far down in the earth.

"Ha! Now I can see the roots!" cried the little boy elephant. "They are uncovered, but still I can't lift them up with my trunk, mother. What shall I do next?"

"What are your tusks for?" asked Mrs. Stumptail. "Don't be so silly! Pry up the roots with your tusks!"

So Umboo knelt down and put one of his big long teeth under a root. Then with a twist of his head he pried the root up from the ground.

"There! See how easy it is!" said his mother.

Then Umboo chewed the sweet root, but he did not swallow the hard, woody part. That would not have been good for him.

"Oh, but this is sweet!" he cried, shutting his eyes as he chewed away. "This is the sweetest root I ever ate."

"And you dug it up yourself! That is best part of it," said his mother. "You have learned to do something for yourself. Now, when you find yourself alone in the jungle, if you should stray away from the rest of the herd, you will know how to get something to eat. You have learned something."

"Is this all I have to learn?" Umboo wanted to know.

"Indeed not!" cried his mother. "There are many more things that you must know. But one thing at a time. A little later I will show you how to pull down a big tree, when there are palm nuts, or sweet branches, growing near the top, which you cannot reach, no matter how you try. Pulling trees down will be the next lesson. But dig up some more roots."

"I will dig some for you," said Umboo.

"Excuse me for not giving you some of the first ones I dug."

"Oh, that's all right," said Mrs. Stumptail. "I wanted you to learn, but you may give me some of the next ones you pry up."

Umboo uncovered more roots, and gave his mother some, and then, as he was moving to another part of the jungle, there suddenly sounded through the forest a loud, shrill cry.

"Quick, Umboo, come with me!" cried his mother. "That is Tusker calling us!"

"What does he want?" asked Umboo.

"He wants to tell us there is danger!" said Umboo's mother. "Hurry! Come with me back to the rest of the herd!"




Chapter V

Picking Nuts


Not stopping to dig up any more roots, Umboo rushed off through the jungle after his mother, who hurried on ahead. As they crashed along, breaking their way through bushes and knocking down small trees, they heard again the shrill trumpet of Tusker, the oldest and largest elephant of the jungle.

"What is he saying?" asked Umboo of his mother, as he hurried along, now close to her. "What is Tusker saying?"

"He is telling of some kind of danger," said the older elephant. "Just what it is I don't know. But the herd will be moving away very soon, to hide in a dark part of the jungle, and we must go with them."

As Umboo and his mother came out into an open part of the forest, where they had left the other elephants, when Umboo had been led away to be given his root-digging lesson, there was great excitement. Tusker stood on top of a little hill, his trunk high in the air, making all sorts of queer, trumpeting noises.

"We were waiting for you," said Mr. Stumptail to Umboo's mother. "We are going to run away and hide. Tusker is calling you."

"Well, tell him we are here now," said Mrs. Stumptail. "I had to give Umboo his lesson."

"And I dug up some sweet roots," said the little elephant, "but I didn't have time to bring you any," he told his father.

"Some other time will do," spoke Mr. Stumptail. "Hello, Tusker!" he called through his trunk to the old, big elephant. "Here they are now! Umboo and his mother have come back. We can all go hide in the jungle."

"Why must we hide?" asked Umboo.

"Because Tusker smelled danger," answered Keedah, who was with the other small elephants where they were gathered together, the older ones about them. "He smelled white and black hunters, with guns, and they are coming to shoot us, Tusker says. So he called a warning to all of us."

"I heard it away off where I was digging up roots," said Umboo. "But did Tusker see the hunters with their guns?"

"No, I didn't see them," said Tusker himself, coming down from the hill just then. "But I smelled them, and that is the same thing. The wind was blowing from them to me, and I could smell them very plainly. Come now, elephants! Into the deep, dark part of the jungle, where the hunters can not find us, we will go -- far into the jungle."

Then the herd moved off, and Umboo's mother told him, as they hurried along, that an elephant's eyes can not see very far.

"We have not a very sharp sight, like the hawks or the vultures," said Mrs. Stumptail, "so we have to depend on our noses. We can smell things a long way off, and when you are older you will get to know the difference between the sweet roots, under the ground, and the man-smell, which means danger.

"Tusker smelled the man-smell, even though he could not see the white and black hunters, and then he trumpeted through his trunk to tell us all to run away," said Mrs. Stumptail.

Through the jungle crashed the herd of elephants, not going any faster, though, than Umboo and the other small ones could trot along. Though an elephant is very big and heavy he can move swiftly through the forest, and go in places where no horse could travel, for the way would be too rough, and great vines and trees would be strung across the path. Indeed there is no path, the elephants making one for themselves, and when once a herd starts off it can hardly ever be caught by a hunter on foot.

"Do you think any of us will be shot?" asked Umboo, as he shuffled along beside his mother. "How does it feel to be shot?"

"My! But you ask a lot of questions," said Mrs. Stumptail; and I think Umboo was like a lot of boys and girls I know. But then if you don't ask questions how are you ever going to find out anything?

"I can tell you how it feels to be shot," said a middle-aged elephant, who was hurrying along, next to Mr. Stumptail. "It hurts very much, Umboo! It hurts very much, and worse than a whole lot of big bugs biting you at once."

"Were you ever shot?" asked Umboo.

"Indeed I was," answered the elephant, whose name was Bango, called so because he used to bang big trees down with his head. "I was shot twice."

"Tell me about it," said Umboo.

"It was some years ago," went on Bango. "I was with another herd, and we were eating away in the jungle. All at once I heard a noise like a little clap of thunder, and I felt a sharp pain in my head. One of the hard things the hunters shoot in their guns had hit me. Then another struck me in the leg."

"Didn't any of you smell the hunter coming?" asked Mr. Stumptail. "Didn't you smell him and get out of the way?"

"No," answered Bango, "none of us did. The wind was blowing the wrong way, I guess. But as soon as we heard the gun, and when I gave a blast through my trunk, as I felt myself hurt, then all the herd knew what had happened, and away we rushed, just as we are rushing now. We went very fast."

"Did the hunter get any of you?" asked Umboo.

"Not that time. I was the only one hit," said Bango. "But another time five or six of the herd I was with were killed by hunters."

"What for?" asked Keedah, who was now more friendly with Umboo. "Why did the hunters kill the elephants, Bango?"

"To get their big teeth, or tusks. Our tusks are ivory, you know, and the hunter men, so I have been told, take our teeth to make into round balls, with which they play games, or they use them to put on machines that make tinkle-tinkle sounds."

By this Bango meant pianos, the keys of which used to be made from ivory, though now they are mostly celluloid. And the game men play, with balls made from elephants' tusks, is called billiards.

On and on through the jungle hurried the elephants, until at last Tusker, who led the way, came to a stop.

"This is far enough," he said. "I do not believe the hunters will find us here. We will rest now."

Indeed it was time to stop, for some of the smaller elephants were quite tired out. Big elephants can hurry through the jungle very fast for as long as twenty hours at a time, stopping, perhaps, only during the very hottest part of the day. And when an elephant is very tired it begins to perspire, or "sweat," over each eye, and two little hollow places there look as though they had been wet with a sponge.

In the cooler part of the shady jungle the elephants rested, some of them pulling down branches from the trees to get at the leaves or tender bark. Umboo began sniffing along the ground with his trunk.

"What are you doing?" asked Keedah.

"I am smelling for sweet roots," was the answer. "My mother showed me how to do it. Do you want me to show you?"

"I learned that long ago," said Keedah.

"Why I can even get palm nuts off a high tree by knocking the tree down. Can you do that? Smelling out earth-roots is nothing!"

"I think it is something," spoke Umboo. "And, when I get a little bigger my mother is going to show me how to pull over, or knock down, a whole tree. But now I am hungry for roots."

So Umboo kept on sniffing at the ground with his trunk. He was feeling quite hungry. Suddenly Keedah cried:

"Ha! I have found some sweet roots! I am going to dig them up!"

"And I have found some, too!" exclaimed Umboo, as through his long nose of a trunk he sniffed the good smell.

Then the two elephant boys dug up the earth with their feet, sort of pawing aside the soft dirt, and with their tusks they pried up the roots, chewing the soft part.

At first the older elephants were uneasy, or worried, for fear that, even though they were in a deep part of the jungle, the hunters might come after them. Tusker and some of the big father-elephants went about, with their trunks high in the air, sniffing, sniffing and sniffing for any smell of danger.

But there seemed to be none. The hunters were left many miles away, and the elephants could rest and eat in peace. For many months after this they roamed about, going from place to place in the jungle as they ate one spot bare of roots and leaves. Sometimes the place where they drank water would dry up, and they would have to move to another river or spring. For an elephant must have plenty of water.

All this while Umboo kept on digging up sweet roots when ever he felt he wanted some, until he could do it almost as well as his mother or father could.

One day, when the elephant boy was traveling through the jungle he looked up and saw, growing on top of a tree, some palm nuts. Elephants are very fond of these, and will go a great way to get them. There are many kinds of palm trees, and on some grow cocoanuts, and on others dates; but the palm nuts the elephants eat are different.

Umboo looked up at the palm nuts growing on the tree in the jungle, and said:

"Oh, how I wish I had some of those."

"Well," said Mrs. Stumptail, "how do you think you can get them?"

"If I were a monkey," said the elephant boy, "I could climb up the tree and pick them off." Umboo had often, in the jungle, seen the monkeys do this.

"But you are not a monkey," said his mother. "Can you reach up with your trunk and pull down the nuts?"

Umboo tried, but his trunk was not long enough.

"I guess the only way to get the nuts is to break down the tree; but how can I do that?" he asked.

"Your head is the strongest part of you," said Mrs. Stumptail. "See if you can knock the tree over."

"Bang!" went Umboo's head against the tree. The tree shook and shivered, and a few nuts were knocked down, but not enough.

"Well," said the elephant boy, as he banged the tree again, "I don't mind doing this for fun, as it doesn't hurt, but the tree doesn't seem to be coming down very fast. And I can't get the nuts until it does. What shall I do, mother?"

"Just think a little harder," said Mrs. Stumptail. "I want you to grow up to be a smart elephant boy, and to do that you must think for yourself. I shall not always be with you. Try and think now how to get the tree down."

"I know!" cried Umboo. "I can pull it over with my trunk!"

He wrapped his long trunk around the tree and began to pull. He had often pulled up small trees and bushes this way, but the palm nut tree was stronger. Though Umboo pulled and pulled, digging his feet hard down into the ground, the tree did not come up.

"Oh, dear!" said the elephant boy. "I don't believe anyone can get this tree down, Mother!"

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Stumptail. "Don't be such a baby. Think hard, Umboo! You can easily uproot that tree and get all the nuts you want. Let me see you do it!"




Chapter VI

Umboo Is Lost


Umboo wanted to grow up to be a big, strong smart elephant. He wanted to be like Tusker, the leader of the herd, and he thought if he were as tall, and strong as that mighty fellow he would have no trouble at all in uprooting the tree.

"There must be some way of doing it," said Umboo to himself as he looked up at the palm nuts on top of the tree, and then he glanced at his mother who was watching him. Of course Mrs. Stumptail herself could easily have pulled the tree for Umboo, as it was not very large, but she did not want to do this. Just as your mother wants you to learn to lace your own shoes, or button them, and tie your hair ribbons.

As he stood thinking of what best to do, Umboo scraped with his feet in the dirt around the roots of the tree. Soon he uncovered some of the roots. They were not a kind he liked to eat, but, as he saw the roots laid bare, a new idea came into the head of the elephant boy.

"Ha! I know what I can do!" he said. "I can make the roots loose with my long tusks, and then it will be easy to push the tree over with my head. The roots won't hold it up any more!"

"That's it!" exclaimed his mother. "I was wondering how long it would take you to think of that. And it is better that you should think of it for yourself than that I should tell you. Now you will never forget. So loosen the dirt around the roots, Umboo, and then see what happens."

Kneeling down, Umboo put his tusks under the roots and pried them up, as he used to pry the sweet ones up which he liked to eat. In a little while he had broken many of the big roots. Then he stood up, backed away from the tree, and rushed at it to strike it with his big head which was like a battering-ram.

Once, twice, three times Umboo hit the tree. It shivered and shook, and then, because the roots no longer held it up, over it went with a crash.

"Hurray!" cried Umboo, or what meant the same thing in elephant talk. "Now I can get the palm nuts!"

"Yes," said his mother. "You have learned something else."

With the tree lying flat on the ground, it was easy for Umboo to reach the palm nuts with his trunk. He pulled them off and ate them, first, though, giving his mother some. For elephants, and other animals, know how to be kind and polite, though of course, they are not so good at it as are you boys and girls.

As Umboo and his mother were eating the palm nuts, along came Keedah.

"Hello!" cried the other elephant boy. "How did you get the palm tree down, Mrs. Stumptail?"

"I did it," said Umboo.

"You?" cried Keedah. "No! You are not strong enough for that!"

"No, I wasn't strong enough to knock this tree over with my head, or pull it down with my trunk, until I loosened the dirt at the roots," said Umboo. "After that it was easy."

"Well, you are getting to be like us bigger boys," said Keedah. "May I have some of the palm nuts, Umboo?"

"Yes," was the answer, for Umboo felt a little proud at what he had done, and, like a real person, he wanted others to know it.

"Did you ever knock down a palm tree?" asked Umboo of Keedah.

"Often," was the answer. "I learned to dig at the roots just as you did. But when it rains you don't have to do that."

"Why not?" Umboo wanted to know.

"Because the rain water makes the dirt soft around the roots, and we don't have to dig it loose with our tusks. Wait until some day when it rains, and you'll see how easy it is to knock over bigger trees than this."

And Umboo found that this was so. About a week after that it rained hard, and to the hot, tired and dusty elephants in the jungle the cooling showers were a delight. The rain soaked into the ground, until it was wet and soft, like a sponge.

Umboo, splashing in a mud puddle, walked away from where he had been standing near his mother.

"Where are you going?" asked Mrs. Stumptail.

"I am going to see if I can do as Keedah said he could do, and knock over a tree without digging at the roots," answered the elephant boy. "The ground is rain-soaked now, and soft."

"Very well," spoke his mother. "You may try it. But don't go too far away. The herd may move on through the jungle, and then you would be lost."

"I'll be careful," promised Umboo.

Off started the elephant boy, splashing through the mud and water. He did not need to wear rubber boots, or take an umbrella. In fact he would not have known what to do with either, though once, in a circus, I saw an elephant with an umbrella. But then I saw one with a hand organ, too, and you'd never see that in the jungle.

But Umboo's big feet were made for walking in mud and water, and his thick skin, though bugs could bite through it at times, did not let any rain leak through to wet him. There was plenty on the outside, however, just as there is outside your rubber coat.

"I'll just go off by myself and knock a great big tree over with my head," thought Umboo. "Then the other elephants will see what I can do. I wonder if it will be easy, on account of the ground being soft from the rain?"

On and on through the jungle wandered Umboo. He was big enough to travel by himself now, though of course he did not want to leave his mother, nor the herd, which was like home to him. He was one of a big family of elephants, some being his sisters, his brothers or his cousins.

All around him, through the forest, Umboo could hear the other elephants crashing about in the wet. They were looking for good things to eat, and none of them went very far away from the others. They wanted to be near where they could hear Tusker sound his trumpet call of danger, if he had to do so.

But Umboo being young, and perhaps rather foolish, thought he could go off as far as he pleased into the jungle.

"I can find my way back again, after I have knocked over a big tree," he thought to himself. "It will be easy."

The elephant boy saw several trees with bunches of palm nuts on them, but none was large enough for him. He wanted to pick out an extra large one; not as big, of course, as his mother or father or Tusker could have butted over, but still one bigger than the other trees he had been used to knocking down.

At last, when he had tramped on quite a distance through the mud and water of the jungle, Umboo saw before him a fine, large palm tree. Growing in the top, so far up that he could not reach any except the very lowest, and littlest, ones, were a number of clusters of palm nuts.

"Ah! That's the tree I'll knock down!" thought Umboo.

He went up to it, and looked at the ground around the roots. It was soft and spongy as he stepped on it, and water oozed out.

"This ought to be easy," said the elephant to himself. "Very easy!"

He put his head against the trunk of the tree and pushed. At first the tree only swayed a little, as though blown by the wind. Then the elephant boy, who was quite strong now, pushed harder and harder. Then he drew back his head and struck the palm tree a hard blow.

And then, all of a sudden, over it went, the roots pulling loose from the soft, wet ground. Over the tree went, falling with a crash!

"Ah ha!" laughed Umboo. "That's the way to do it! Keedah was right! It is very easy to knock over a tree when the ground is soft and muddy. Now for some good nuts to eat."

With his trunk Umboo pulled the palm nuts off the tree and stuffed them into his mouth. An elephant's trunk is to him what your hands are to you children.

After he had eaten as many of the nuts as he wanted (and you may be sure that was quite a number, for elephants have big appetites) Umboo tore off a large branch, with nuts clinging to it and started off through the jungle with it.

"I'll take this back to the herd with me," he thought. "My mother or father may like it. And I can show it to Keedah. He can tell by the size of this branch that the tree I knocked over must be a big one. Then I'll bring him here and show him the tree. I'm almost as big and strong as he is."

So thinking, Umboo went on through the forest. Each tree, leaf and vine was dripping water, for it was still raining hard. Steam arose from the ground, for the earth was hot and the water was warm, as it always is in the jungle.

Perhaps it was this steam, which was like a fog, rising all around him, that puzzled Umboo. And most certainly he was puzzled, for, when he had been walking quite a distance, he suddenly stopped and listened.

"This is strange," he said to himself. "I don't hear any of the other elephants. And I ought to be back with the herd now."

He listened more carefully, flapping his ears which were, by this time, about as large as a baby's bath tub. They were still growing. To and fro Umboo moved his ears, listening first one way and then the other. He could hear the patter of the rain, and the chatter of a monkey now and then, also the fluttering of the big jungle birds, with, every little while, the rustle of a snake. But the elephant boy could not hear the noise made by the other elephants.

"I guess I haven't walked far enough," he said to himself. "I must go along through the jungle some more. But I did not think I came as far as this when I was looking for a tree to knock over."

So, taking a tighter hold of the branch of palm nuts in his trunk, off started Umboo again, splashing through the muddy puddles. He looked this way and that, and he listened every now and then, stopping to do this, for he made so much noise himself, as he hurried along, that he could hear nothing else.

"Well, this is certainly funny!" thought Umboo, when he had stopped and listened about ten times. "I can't hear any other elephants at all. I wonder if they could have gone away and left me?"

Then he knew, that, though the other animals might have gone away and left him, his father and mother would not do this.

"And," thought Umboo, "if there had been any danger from hunters and their guns, Tusker would have sounded his call, and I would have heard that. I guess I haven't gone back far enough."

Then he hurried on again, but, after awhile, when he had listened and could hear nothing of the herd of elephants, and could not see them through the trees, Umboo began to be afraid.

"I guess I must be lost!" he said. "That's it! My mother said it might happen to me, and it has. I'm lost!"

And so he was! Poor Umboo was lost in the jungle, and the rain was coming down harder than ever!




Chapter VII

Umboo And The Snake


"Weren't you terribly frightened?" asked Chako, the lively monkey, as he swung by his tail from a bar in the top of his circus cage. "Weren't you dreadfully scared, Umboo, when you found out you were lost in the jungle?"

"Indeed I was," answered the elephant boy, who was telling his story to his friends in the big, white tent.

"I was lost once, in the jungle like that," went on the monkey chap, "and all I had to eat was a cocoanut. And I -- "

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" cried Humpo the camel. "Are we listening to your story, Chako, or to Umboo's?"

"Oh, that's so! I forgot!" exclaimed Chako. "Go on, Umboo. I won't talk any more."

"Well, I won't either -- at least for a while," said Umboo. "For here come the keepers with our dinners. Let's eat instead of talking."

And surely enough, into the circus tent came the men with the food for the animals -- hay for the elephants, meat for the lions and tigers, and dried bread and peanuts for the monkeys.

Then after a sleep, which most animals take about as soon as they have eaten, it was time for the circus to begin. Into the tent where the jungle folk were kept, came the boys and girls, with their fathers and mothers, or uncles, aunts and cousins.

"Oh, look at the big elephant!" cried one boy. "I'm going to give him some peanuts!" and he stopped in front of Umboo.

"No, don't!" cried a little girl who was with the boy. "He might bite you."

"Pooh! He can't!" said the boy. "He can only reach me with his long nose of a trunk, and there aren't any teeth in that. His teeth are in his mouth, farther up."

"Well, he's got a pinching thing on the end of his trunk," spoke the little girl, "and he can nip you."

"I don't guess he will," went on the boy. "Anyhow I'd like to give him some peanuts."

"And I'd like to have them," said Umboo, in elephant talk, of course, which the other animals could understand, but which was not known to the little boy and girl, nor to the other children in the circus tent.

Then the little boy grew brave, and held out a bag, partly filled with peanuts, to Umboo, who took them in his trunk, and chewed them up, first, though, taking them out of the bag, for he did not like to chew paper.

"I wish I could ride on the elephant's back!" said the little boy.

"Children do ride on the backs of elephants in India, the country where you and I came from, don't they, Umboo?" asked Snarlie, the tiger, when the children had passed on to the tent where the performers were to do their circus tricks.

"Oh, yes, many a ride I have given children in India," said Umboo. "But that was after I was caught in the jungle trap and tamed."

"Tell us about that!" begged Chako.

"All in good time! All in good time," said the big elephant, in a sort of drowsy voice, for he had hardly slept through all his nap that day, before the circus crowds came in. "I have yet to tell you how I was lost, and how I got back to the rest of the herd. But seeing the children remind me of the days in India," added Umboo.

"And it reminded me also," spoke Snarlie. "Well do I recall how little Princess Toto rode on the back of a great elephant like yourself, Umboo, and how it was then I first saw her. Afterward I went to live with her, and there was a palace, with a fountain in it where the water sparkled in the sun."

"What's a palace?" asked Chako, the monkey. "Is it something good to eat, like a cocoanut?"

"Indeed it is not," said Snarlie. "A palace is a big house, like this circus tent, only it is made of stone. Princess Toto and I lived there, but now I live in a circus, and I shall never see Toto again! I liked her very much."

"I like children, too," said Woo-Uff, the lion, in his deep, rumbly voice. "Once a little African boy named Gur was kind to me, and gave me a drink of water when I was caught in the net. He was a good boy."

"Did he ride on an elephant's back?" asked Snarlie.

"I never saw him do that," answered the lion, "though he may have. But the elephants of Africa, where I came from, are wilder, larger and more fierce than those of India, where our friend Umboo used to live. People hardly ever ride on an African elephant's back."

"Well, let us hear more of Umboo's story," suggested Humpo, the camel. "It seems to me everyone is talking but him."

"That's so," spoke Horni, the rhinoceros. "Please go on, Umboo. Tell us about how you were lost in the jungle."

So the big circus elephant, slowly swaying to and fro, and gently clanking his chains, told more of his jungle story.

When he looked all around among the trees, which were dripping water from the heavy rain, and when he could not see any of the other elephants, Umboo felt very badly indeed. For animals, even those who live in the jungle, get lonesome, the same as you boys and girls do when you go away from home.

"Well, if I am lost," thought Umboo to himself, as he held the branch of palm nuts, "I must see if I can not find the way home." For though elephants have no real home, traveling as they do to and fro in the jungle so much, Umboo called "home" the place where he had last seen his mother and the rest of the herd.

Since Umboo could not see a long way through the trees, as he might have done if he had eyes as sharp and bright as a big vulture bird, he had to do what most elephants do -- smell. So he raised his trunk in the air, dropping the palm branch to the ground, and sniffed as hard as he could. He wanted to smell the elephant smell -- the odor that would come from the herd of the big animals who were somewhere in the jungle eating leaves and bark.

But Umboo could not smell them. Nor could he smell any danger, and he was glad of that.

All the smells that came to him were those of the jungle -- the soft mud smell, the odor of wet, green leaves and the smell of the falling rain. All those smells Umboo knew and loved. But he could not smell the other elephants, and if he could have done so he would have known which way to walk to get to them.

Slowly he turned himself around, so as to smell each way the wind blew, toward him and from him. But it was of no use. No elephant smell came to him.

"I guess I am too far away," thought the elephant boy to himself. "I must walk on farther. Then I'll come to where my mother is. I wish I had not gone away from her."

Picking up the palm branch again, with the sweet nuts still fast to it, Umboo started off once more through the mud and water. The rain came down harder than ever, but he did not mind that. It washed his skin of the dried mud and dust that had been on it some time, and when it rained the bugs did not bite so much. Also the rain was not cold, for it was pleasant and warm in the jungle. Only it was lonesome to the elephant boy, who, never before, had been so long away from his mother.

On he tramped, splashing this way and that through the puddles, wading through little brooks and, once, even swimming over a small river, for, by this time Umboo was as good a swimmer as the other elephants.

"But I don't remember swimming that river before," said Umboo to himself, as he crawled out on the farther bank, with the branch of palm nuts held high in his trunk. "Surely I must have come the wrong way. I am worse lost than ever!"

And so Umboo was. But there was no help for it. He must keep on, and he hoped, before it grew dark, that he would find the herd, and his mother with it.

After he had swum across the river Umboo pushed on through the jungle for a mile or more. All at once he heard, off to one side, something crashing through the bushes much as he was doing.

"Ha! Perhaps that is another elephant!" thought Umboo. "Maybe it is my mother or my father, or perhaps Old Tusker coming to look for me. I shall be glad of that!

"Hello there!" cried Umboo in elephant talk. "Is that you, Mother? Here I am, over here!"

The crashing of the bushes stopped, and a loud voice said:

"No, I am not your mother. What is the matter with you, elephant boy?" and out of the jungle came stalking a big rhinoceros. On his head, close to the end of his nose, grew a long, sharp horn. At first Umboo was afraid of this horn, but the rhinoceros did not seem to be cross, and the elephant boy went closer to him.

"The matter with me," said Umboo, "is that I am lost. I went out in the jungle, away from where our herd of elephants was feeding, and now I can't find my way back again. Can you tell me where my mother is, Mr. Rhino?"

"I am sorry to say that I can not," answered the rhinoceros, scratching his leg with his horn. "But why did you go away from the herd?"

"I wanted to go out in the jungle and knock over a big tree," said Umboo. "Keedah, one of the boys in the herd, said it was easy to do when the ground was soft from the rain."

"And did you do it?" asked the rhinoceros.

"Yes," answered Umboo, "I did. This branch of palm nuts is from the tree I knocked over with my head. I'd give you some, only I am saving them for my mother."

"Oh, that's all right; thank you," said the other jungle beast. "I don't care much for palm nuts anyhow, and I'd rather you would save them for your mother."

"Do you know where my mother is?" asked Umboo eagerly.

"I am sorry to say I do not," was the reply. "I have been wandering about the jungle myself, looking for a rhinoceros friend of mine, but I haven't found him."

"Did you see a herd of elephants?" asked Umboo eagerly.

"No, I didn't exactly see them," answered Mr. Rhino, "but about two showers ago I heard a big noise in the jungle back of me, and perhaps that was the elephant herd."

Mr. Rhino said "two showers ago," instead of "two hours," you see, because the jungle animals have no clocks or watches, and they tell time by the sun, or by the number of rain-showers in a day. And Umboo knew that very well, so he knew about how long ago it was that the rhinoceros had heard the loud sounds of which he spoke.

"Oh, so you heard the elephants, did you?" exclaimed Umboo. "I am glad of that. Now I'll hurry off and find them. Thank you for telling me."

"Oh, that's all right," politely answered the rhinoceros. "I hope you find your mother and other friends. Good-bye!"

He wiggled his horn at Umboo, who waved his trunk with the palm tree branch in it, and once more, off through the jungle started the elephant boy.

On and on he went. But either he did not go the right way, or two showers ago was longer than either he or the rhinoceros thought, for Umboo did not even smell the other elephants, much less see them or hear them.

"Oh, dear!" thought Umboo again. "I'm surely lost as bad as before! What shall I do?"

He stood and looked about him in the dripping wet jungle. He felt hungry, but he did not like to eat the palm nuts he was saving for his mother, so he chewed some leaves from a tree, and nibbled a bit of bark. But neither was as good as the palm nuts would have been.

Then, as Umboo stood there, he suddenly heard a loud, hissing noise. It seemed to come from right under his feet, and, looking down, he saw a large snake.

Now all jungle animals are afraid of snakes for the serpents can bite and poison at the same time. So though a snake may not be very strong, he can kill by poison some of the strongest beasts. Thus it was that Umboo, who would have fought even a tiger, was afraid of the snake.

"Ah, ha! You would nip me, would you?" cried the elephant, as he raised his big foot to crush the snake before it had a chance to bite and poison him.




Chapter VIII

Umboo Finds His Mother


"Did the snake bite you?" asked Chako, the funny monkey chap, who was hanging by his tail, upside down, listening to the story told by Umboo. "Did the snake bite you?"

"Oh, can't you keep quiet?" asked Woo-Uff, the lion, in his deep, rumbly voice. "Let Umboo alone! He'll tell us what happened."

"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Chako. "I was so anxious that I could hardly wait to hear. We monkeys are very much afraid of snakes, you know."

"So I have heard," said Woo-Uff. "Please go on, Umboo."

So Umboo told the rest of his story.

In the jungle he stood, with one foot raised, ready to crush the big snake.

"Please do not step on me!" hissed the snake, for that was his way of talking. "Please do not put your big foot on me, elephant boy!"

"But I am afraid you will bite me," said Umboo.

"No, I'll not do that," answered the snake. "I do sometimes bite, when I am hungry, but I am not hungry now. Besides, you are quite too big to bite."

"Oh, ho, if you feel that way about it, all right," said Umboo, and he put his foot down, but not on the snake. "There are much larger elephants though, than I am. I wish I could see some of them now. Tell me," he asked the hissing serpent, "did you see anything of the elephant herd on your travels through the jungle?"

"No, not exactly," the snake made answer. "But, as you were kind enough not to step on me, I will do you a favor. I will show you the way through the jungle to where the other elephants are.

"Can you do it?" asked Umboo.

"Surely," replied the snake. "We serpents are the wisest of all creatures, not even excepting you big elephants. For we have to stay so low down on the ground that we would easily be stepped on and killed by other beasts, if we were not wise enough to keep out of the way. So, though I have not seen your mother, or the elephant herd, I can find them for you."

"How did you know I was looking for my mother?" asked Umboo. "I did not tell you that."

"No, but you told the rhinoceros," said the snake.

"Ha! Then you must have very good ears, Mrs. Snake, to have heard that, for it was a long way from here," said Umboo. "You must have very good ears indeed, though they are not as large as mine. In fact I can not see them at all."

"Never mind about my ears," said the snake. "I told you we serpents were very wise. We know many things. And now, if you please, follow me and I will show you the way through the jungle to where your mother is, and the rest of the herd. But as I have to crawl along on the ground, please be careful not to step on me. We snakes do not like to be stepped on."

"I'll be careful," promised Umboo.

Then the snake glided, or crawled, along through the jungle, and Umboo, watching which way she went, followed, carrying in his trunk the branch of palm nuts for his mother.

On and on went the snake, now and then stopping to coil and raise her head above the ground so she might listen. The water drops glistened on her shiny scales, and she was very beautiful in color, though she was so dangerous and deadly.

"What are you stopping for?" asked Umboo at one time.

"I am trying to listen to hear the tramp of the herd of elephants," the snake answered. "Do not make any noise."

So Umboo stood still, and was very quiet, but he could hear nothing. However, the snake must have heard, for she uncoiled herself and started off another way, saying:

"Follow me, Umboo."

"How did you know my name was Umboo?" asked the elephant boy. "I did not tell you that."

"We serpents are wise, and know many things," was the answer, and Umboo began to believe that.

"It is a good thing I met her," he said to himself, as he followed the glistening snake through the jungle. "I am glad I did not step on her as I was first going to do."

On and on through the jungle went Umboo, following the guiding snake, whose glistening scales and bright colors he could easily see amid the green leaves and bushes. At last the snake came to a stop and once more coiled and reared up her head.

"Make no noise, big elephant boy!" she hissed.

Umboo stood still and was very quiet.

"Ha! I thought so!" said the snake. "Go over that way," and she pointed with her head. "Walk about a mile, straight along, and you will come to your mother and the herd of elephants."

"How do you know?" asked Umboo.

"Because I can hear them," answered the snake. "I can hear the tramping of their big feet. I can hear them trumpeting through their long noses of trunks, and I can hear them tearing down the tree branches and stripping off the bark. That is how I know.

"I would go closer, and take you nearer to them, but some of them might step on me, without finding out first, that I would do them no harm. But you can easily find your way from here. Keep straight on," said the snake.

"Thank you, I will," answered Umboo. "I would give you some of these palm nuts, only I am saving them for my mother."

"Thank you," said the snake. "But I do not eat palm nuts. Take them on to your mother, elephant boy."

Then the snake glided away through the jungle, and, watching the end of her tail vanish under a bush, Umboo started off by himself. He had not heard the sounds spoken of by the serpent, but he knew the noises were such as a herd of elephants would make.

"She must have good ears, to hear what she heard," thought the elephant boy. "And yet her ears were not as large as mine."

So, flapping his own big ears, and wishing he could hear with them as well as the snake could with her small ones, Umboo stalked on through the jungle in the way she had told him to go.

It was not very long before he heard a crashing sound. Then he lifted his trunk, still holding the palm branch, and he sniffed and snuffed. And then, to the long, rubbery nose of the elephant boy, came the wild smell of other jungle animals.

"Ah! Now I smell the herd!" he cried. "Now I am not lost any more! Hurray!"

Of course when an elephant says "Hurray" it is different than the way you boys and girls say it. But it means the same thing.

On hurried Umboo. The crashing noises sounded more plainly now, and the elephant smell became stronger. Then, as he burst his way through the bushes, Umboo saw the other elephants standing together in a little clearing in the jungle, and Umboo's mother seemed to be talking to them.

"Ha!" suddenly cried Keedah, the larger elephant boy, as he saw the lost one. "Here he comes now! Here is Umboo!"

Mrs. Stumptail swung around and started toward him.

"Where in the world have you been?" she asked. "Why, Umboo! I have been so worried about you, and so has your father! We were just going out into the jungle to look for you."

"That's what we were," said Tusker. "And hard work it would have been with night coming on. We want to travel to a new place, too, and looking for you would have held us back. What do you mean by going off by yourself this way?"

"I went to see if I could knock over a big palm tree when the ground was soft from rain," said Umboo.

"And did you do it?" asked Mr. Stumptail.

"I did," answered Umboo. "I knocked over a big tree. It was easy, and here is a branch of it for you, and it has some nuts on," and he handed his mother the one he had brought with him all the way through the jungle.

"Oh, thank you!" said Mrs. Stumptail. "You are a very good boy, Umboo, and I shall like these nuts very much. But why did you stay away so long?"

"I was lost," answered the elephant chap. "I could not find my way back after I knocked over the tree. I met a rhinoceros, but he could not tell me where you were. Then I met a kind snake, and she showed me how to find you."

"Well, don't get lost again," said Umboo's mother. "We are glad you have come back, for, as Tusker says, we are about to travel on, and we did not want to leave you behind. So get ready now, we are going to a new part of the jungle."

A little later the herd started off, and Umboo walked with some of the other young elephants, or calves, as they are called. He told them the different things that happened to him when he was lost in the jungle.

On and on went the herd of elephants. They traveled nearly all night, and the next day they stopped to rest, for the sun was too hot for even such big, strong beasts.

Umboo and the others were feeding in a quiet part of the forest, when suddenly Tusker, who was always on the watch, no matter whether he was eating or not, gave a loud trumpet call.

"Ha! That means danger!" thought Umboo, who, by this time knew the meaning of the different calls. "I wonder what it can be?"




Chapter IX

To The Salt Spring


Quickly, as the other elephants in the jungle heard the trumpet call of Tusker, they ran in from the different trees, where they were pulling off leaves or stripping bark, and gathered around the big leader. Tusker stood with upraised trunk, his eyes flashing in the sun.

"What is it?" asked Mr. Stumptail, and some of the others. "What is the matter now?"

"I smell danger," cried Tusker. "I smell the man-smell, and that always means danger to us. There are hunters coming -- either black or white -- and they will have guns or bows and arrows to shoot us. We are near danger and we must go far away. Come, elephants -- away!"

Tusker raised his trunk again, and took a long breath through it. He was smelling to see in which direction the danger of the man-smell lay, and he would turn aside from that.

"The smell comes from the South," he said to the other elephants. "We must march to the North! Come!"

So he led the way through the jungle, Umboo and the other elephants following. As yet only a few of the others had smelled the danger-smell, and none of them heard any noise made by the hunters, if they were coming to shoot their guns or bows and arrows. But they all knew that Tusker was a wise elephant, and would lead them out of trouble. So they followed him.

On and on through the jungle crashed the big animals. They did not stop when trees and bushes got in their way, but broke them down, and stepped on them. A rush of elephants through the jungle to get away from danger is almost as hard to stop as a runaway locomotive and train of cars.

"Can you keep up with us?" asked Umboo's mother of him as he trotted along beside her. "Are we going too fast for you?"

"Oh, no. I can go quite fast now," said the elephant boy, and he really could, for he had grown much in the last few months. Plenty of palm nuts and the bark and leaves of the jungle trees had made him taller and stronger, and his legs were better fitted for running.

Still Tusker was a wise old elephant, and he knew, even in running from danger, that it was not well to go so fast that the smaller animals in the herd could not keep up. If he did that they would fall behind, and be caught or killed. So, every now and then the old elephant leader stopped a bit, and looked back. If he saw any of the boys or girls lagging, or going slow, he would stop for them to rest a little.

Still, even with rests now and then, the herd went on very fast, crashing through the jungle, to get away from the danger. At last Tusker stopped, and said:

"Well, I think we have come far enough. We are beyond the reach of the hunters now. We can stop and eat and sleep in peace."

So the elephants stopped. You see, now, why it was they had no regular homes. They have to move so often, either to go to new places in the jungle to find food, or to run from danger, so that a cave, such as lions or tigers have, or a nest, such as birds live in, would be of no use to elephants. They must live in the open, ready to hurry on for many miles at a moment's notice.

Tusker, and some of the older and wiser beasts, listened as well as they could, flapping their big ears slowly to and fro. They also smelled the air with their trunks. And, as there was no sign of danger, they felt that it would be safe to take a long rest.

They were hungry; for running, or exercise, gives elephants appetites just as it does you boys and girls. And some of the smaller elephants were sleepy. For, though they do not lie down to rest, elephants must sleep, as do other beasts, although they do it standing up. That night the herd remained quietly in the new spot in the jungle whither Tusker had led them. Some of them ate and some of them slept, and when morning came they went to a river of water; and each one took a long drink. Some of them swam about, and it was now that Umboo and the young elephants had some fun.

For you know that jungle beasts -- even the largest of them -- like to play and have fun. You have seen kittens at play, and puppy dogs; and little lions and tigers, as well as the smaller elephants, like to do the same thing -- have fun.

Umboo was standing on the bank of the river, having just been in for a swim, when Batu, another elephant boy, came up to him.

"Do you want to have some fun?" asked Batu.

"Yes," answered Umboo. "What doing?"

"Do you see Keedah over there, scraping his toe nails on a big stone?" asked Batu, for sometimes the toe nails of elephants grow too long and too rough, and have to be worn down. Keedah was doing this to his.

"Yes, I see him," answered Umboo. "What about him?"

"This," answered Batu, with a chuckling laugh that made him shake all over, for he was quite fat. "We will go up to him, as he stands with his back to the water, and while I am talking to him, and asking if his toe nails hurt, you can give him a push and knock him into the river."

"Oh, yes, we'll do that. It will be fun!" laughed Umboo.

For he knew that it would not hurt Keedah to splash into the water, and the elephant boys and girls used often to play that trick on one another, just as you children, perhaps, do at the seashore.

So up to the elephant boy, who was scraping his toe nails on a stone, slyly went Umboo and Batu. And Batu said:

"Ah, Keedah! Do your toes hurt you very much?"

"Oh, no, not so very much," was the answer. "I am getting to be a big elephant now, and I do not mind a little hurt."

"Ha! Then maybe you won't mind this!" suddenly cried Umboo with a laugh, as he quietly went up close to Keedah, and, butting him with his head, as a goat butts, knocked him down the bank into the river.

"Oh! Ugh! Blurg! Splub!" cried Keedah, as he splattered about in the water. "What are you doing that for?"

"Oh, just to have some fun," answered Umboo and Batu, laughing as they ran off.

"Well, I'll show you some more fun!" cried Keedah, as he scrambled up the river bank, and ran after the other two elephant boys, his trunk raised high in the air.

Umboo and Batu ran as fast as they could, of course, and Keedah raced after them. Finally he caught them, and struck them with his trunk. But it was all in fun, and no one minded it. Then, a little later, when Umboo was standing near the river, Keedah came up behind him and knocked him into the water.

"Now we are even!" laughed Keedah as he ran away.

"I don't mind!" said Umboo. "I was going in for another swim, anyhow. I like to be wet."

So he splashed about in the water and had fun, as did the other elephant boys and girls, and the larger elephants watched them, and let the water soak into their own tough hides.

For about a week the herd of elephants stayed near the jungle river. It was a good place for them. Many palm trees grew about, and there were plenty of other things to eat. There was water to drink and bathe in, and shade to rest in when the sun beat down too hot on the jungle. So the elephants liked it there.

But one day when Umboo and Batu were thinking up another fun-trick to play on Keedah, suddenly the trumpet call of Tusker was heard again.

"More danger!" exclaimed Umboo. "I wonder what it is this time?"

"Let us go ask," suggested Batu. "The others are getting ready to leave. They are closing in. Perhaps we have to run away again."

And that is just what the elephants had to do.

"It is the hunters once more!" cried Tusker. "I smell the man-smell! The danger-smell comes down to me on the wind. We must hurry on. Once more the hunters are after us!" and he trumpeted loudly on his trunk, to call in from the farthest parts of the forest the elephants who might have wandered away for food.

Soon the herd was on the march again. Swiftly they went through the jungle, breaking down small trees and big bushes. They stopped not for thorns, nor anything else in the path. On and on they went, crashing along -- anywhere to get away from the hunters with their guns and arrows.

"Are these the same hunters from whom we ran before?" asked Umboo of his mother, as he trotted along beside her.

"I do not know," she answered. "It may be that they are."

For many miles Tusker led his elephant friends through the jungle. Then suddenly he stopped and gave a loud trumpet call.

"Does that mean it is all right, and that we can stop to rest?" asked Umboo.

"I do not think so," said Mr. Stumptail. "That still is Tusker's danger call. Perhaps there are hunters ahead of us, as well as behind."

Tusker stopped, and around him gathered the other elephants.

"What is the matter?" asked Umboo.

"See, boy," answered the old elephant. "There is a fence of big trees ahead. We can not get through that. It is right across our path," and with his trunk he pointed to where there was, indeed, a high fence made of trees, cut down and set closely in the earth and so strong that even the biggest elephant would have had hard work to knock them down.

"Well, if we can't go that way we can go another," said Tusker.

So he turned about, and walked off another way, the other elephants following him.

"Who put the fence there, Mother?" asked Umboo.

"I do not know," answered Mrs. Stumptail. "Perhaps the hunters did, so we could not get into their gardens and eat the corn and other things that grow there. Very good things grow in the gardens which the white and black men plant, and, more than once in the night, I have broken in and eaten them. But it is dangerous, and Tusker does not want to lead us into danger. We will keep away from the fence."

Now, though the elephants did not know it, this fence was not built to keep elephants out of a garden. There were no gardens in that part of the jungle. The fence was put up by hunters on purpose to turn the elephants back, and soon you shall hear why this was done.

"Are we in danger now?" asked Umboo of his father as they hurried along, close beside Tusker.

"No, I think we are all right now," said the oldest, wisest and largest elephant of the herd. "I am going to lead you to the salt springs, where we can taste the salt of the earth. One way is as good as another, and if the fence stops us on one path we will go a new way. We are going to the salt springs."

Every year the herds of elephants in India come down to eat salt, for they need it to keep them well, as horses and cows do on the farm. And the elephant hunters know this too, and so they get ready to capture the wild elephants when they come down each season to get the salt.

The herd was not going so fast now. Tusker felt that they were well away from the hunters, and, though seeing the fence at first scared him a little, he now thought everything was all right.

"We will have good times when we get to the salt springs," said Tusker to the other elephants. "There we can rest, and the hunters will not shoot us."

"Yes, I am hungry for some salt," said Mrs. Stumptail, for she had been to the springs before, and so had many of the older animals.

Along marched Tusker at the head of the herd, and after him came the others. They, too, were hungry for salt, and Umboo was quite anxious to taste some, for he had had very little, as yet. But he liked it very much, and was anxious for more.

But an hour or so later, when traveling along toward where the salt springs bubbled up in the jungle, Tusker suddenly stopped again. Once more he gave the danger signal through his trunk.

"What is the matter now?" asked Mr. Stumptail. "More trouble?"

"Another fence!" cried the old elephant. "The jungle is full of strong fences! We can not go this way, either!"

"What can we do?" asked Umboo. "There is a fence behind us, and now one in front of us. What can we do?"

"Let me think a minute," said Tusker. "I fear there is danger on both sides of us."




Chapter X

In A Trap


All the other elephants waited while Tusker stood there, swaying to and fro in the jungle thinking. Some people say animals do not think, but I believe they do. At least it is thinking to them, though it may not seem so to us.

"Well, are we going to stay here all day?" asked a young elephant, who was crowded in among the others at the back of the herd. "I want to get to some place where I can have palm nuts to eat. I am hungry. Let's go on!"

"Be quiet!" called Umboo's father to this elephant. "Don't you see that Tusker is trying to think, and find the best way out of danger for us. Wait a bit."

So the elephants waited, and finally Tusker with a shake of his big ears, said:

"I never knew anything like this before. Always when we have come to the salt springs the way has been clear. There have been no man-made fences to stop us. But, since they are here it must be that it is not meant for us to go where the fences are. Very well. I know how to get to the salt springs without going near these things across our paths. We can go straight ahead, between the two fences!"

And that was just what the hunters, who had put up the fences in the jungle wanted. They wanted the elephants to go along between them, for, at the places where the fences came to an end, was a strong stockade, or trap, to catch the wild elephants.

Umboo, and none of the other elephants knew this at the time, but they learned it later, to their sorrow, some of them. When hunters in the Indian jungle wish to capture a lot of wild elephants, to work for them, or to be turned into trick elephants for the circus, the hunters do this.

First they find the place where, each year, the wild elephants come down from the hills, or out of the jungle, to taste the salt. For, as I told you, elephants must have salt once in a while, just as horses, cows and sheep on the farm need it. The elephants will travel a long way, and brave many dangers, to get salt.

Knowing this the hunters build long fences on each side of the road leading down from the hills to the salt spring. When the elephants crash their way through the jungle, on their way to the salt, they come to one of the fences. This turns them aside, and they go along until they come to another.

Then, just as did Tusker, and his friend Umboo and the other elephants, being between two strong fences, there is only one other thing to do. They can go between them toward the salt spring, or away from it. But, as they want salt very much, the big animals tramp along the two miles of fence toward the salty place, and, knowing the elephants will do this, the hunters are ready for them. Now I shall tell you what happened.

For a few minutes longer Tusker stood swaying in the jungle. He was trying to think what was the best thing for him to do, for he was the leader of the herd, and they would all do as he did, just as a flock of sheep will follow the old ram, even on the dangerous railroad track sometimes.

"Come!" trumpeted Tusker through his trunk, "we will go between the two fences to the salt springs."

"Is the salt good, Mother?" asked Umboo, for he had only had a little in his life, and as I told you, hardly remembered it.

"Very good, indeed," said Mrs. Stumptail. "You shall soon see and taste for yourself."

So along through the jungle, half way between the two lines of fence, went the elephants, little and big. They had not gone very far before, all of a sudden, Tusker stopped and raised his trunk in the air.

"Be careful!" he cried. "I smell danger! I smell the man smell! Oh, elephants, I fear something is going to happen."

And something did happen.

From behind the herd of elephants, and from both sides of them, came a terrible noise. It was as though a hundred thunderbolts had been shot off at once, and a terrible clapping sound was heard, as if the wings of great birds were flapping.

These noises were made by hunters up in the trees on each side of, and behind, the elephants. The hunters fired their guns, making the noise like small thunder bolts and other black men banged pieces of dry wood together, making the clapping sound.

The elephants were very much frightened. Never before had they heard anything like this.

"Oh, what is it?" cried Umboo, keeping close to his mother. "What is it all about. Does the salt spring make that noise?"

"No, it isn't that," said Mrs. Stumptail. "That must be the danger of which Tusker spoke. Be quiet and listen to what he is saying."

The old elephant leader had to trumpet through his trunk as loudly as he could to be heard above the noise of the guns and clappers.

"There is danger, O Elephants!" cried Tusker. "The man-smell is all around us, and the terrible noises are behind, and on both sides of us. There is only one place that is quiet, and that is straight ahead. We must go that way! Forward!"

And straight ahead rushed the elephants, toward the place where there was no noise. As they went on Mr. Stumptail looked to either side and saw where the two lines of fence came together into a place like a big ring, and the ring also had a fence around it.

"Look, Tusker!" cried Umboo's father. "Is it all right to go there where the fence is?"

"It is the only place to go to get away from the hunters," said Tusker. "They are behind us and on both sides. Only ahead of us is there none. We must go that way!"

And this is just what the hunters wanted. They made no noise in front of the elephants on purpose so they would rush that way. For, in that direction, was the strongly fenced-in stockade, or trap, with long barriers on each side leading to it.

To the elephants, who were frightened by the shooting and clapping noises behind, and on both sides of them, the silence in front of them seemed just what they wanted. Toward it they ran, not knowing that the trap was waiting for them.

Into it they rushed, the noise behind them sounding louder and louder now, with more guns shooting and more clappers clapping. Into the quiet of the stockade rushed Tusker, Mr. and Mrs. Stumptail, Umboo, Keedah and all the others.

And then, when they were safely in the trap, a great big door of logs, as strong as the fence of trees of which the stockade was built, fell with a bang behind them, shutting the elephants in. Then the shooting and clapping stopped.

For a moment it was quiet in the jungle, the only sound being the wind blowing in the trees, or the rubbing of the rough-skinned elephants' bodies, one against the other, making a queer, shuffling noise. The big animals crowded together in the middle of the stockade trap, and waited for what would happen next.

"Is this the salt spring, Mother?" asked Umboo.

"No," she sadly answered. "It is not. This is dreadful!"

"What has happened?" asked Umboo. "And why do Tusker and the other big elephants look so scared?"

"Because we are caught in a trap," answered the boy elephant's mother. "I have heard tell of these places, but I was never in one before."

"Can't we get out?" Umboo wanted to know.

"Tusker will try, and so will your father," said Mrs. Stumptail. "All the strong elephants will try to break out. Perhaps it will be all right yet. Listen, Tusker is going to speak."

Tusker, the big bull, raised his trunk and said:

"O, Elephants! I am sorry, but I seem to have led you into a trap. I did not know it was here. I tried to lead you away from the man-smell and away from the danger, but I have led you into worse. Now I will try to get you out. I see what has happened. The hunters made their fences in the jungle so we could only come this way -- this way into the trap. But we shall break out!

"Come over here by me, Mr. Stumptail, and you too, Mr. One Tusk, and you also, Bumper Head. Come, we will rush at the fence of this trap and batter it down. In that way we can get out. We shall fool these hunters yet. Come, we will batter down the fence and once more we will be in our jungle!"

"Yes, we will knock down the fence!" cried the other big elephants through their trunks. And they made such a rumble, and struck the ground so heavily with their great feet, that the earth trembled.




Chapter XI

Umboo Goes To School


"What is going to happen now?" asked Umboo the big elephant boy of his mother, as the great creatures stood huddled together in the middle of the stockade, or trap. "What is going to happen now?"

"Wait and see," advised Mrs. Stumptail, and she was much worried.

I have called Umboo a "big" elephant boy, for he was small no longer. He had grown fast since I began telling you about him as a baby drinking milk, and now, though of course he was not as large as his mother or father, nor as strong as Tusker, I must not call him "little" any more.

"Come, Elephant brothers!" cried Tusker. "We will break down the trap fence, and then we shall be free to go out into our jungle again."

But it was not so easy to do this as it was to say it. The men who had built the fences and trap well know that the elephants would try to get out, and the stockade had been made very strong.

Besides this there had been dug, inside the trap, and close to where the heavy tree-stakes had been driven into the ground, a ditch, or trench. There was no water in this ditch but on account of the trench the elephants could not get near enough the inside of the fence to strike it with their heads. If they had done so they would have gotten their front feet into the dug-out place, and, perhaps, would have fallen over and hurt themselves.

So when Tusker and the others hoped to knock the fence down by hitting, or butting, it with their heads, they found they could not, as the ditch stopped them. They could only just reach the fence by stretching out their trunks; they could not bang it with their big heads as they wanted to.

"Can't we ever get out of the trap?" asked Umboo of his mother when Tusker and the others had found they could not knock down the stockade fence. "Can't we ever get out?"

"And did you ever get out?" eagerly asked Snarlie, the tiger, who, with the other circus animals, listened to Umboo's story. "Did you ever get out of the trap, Umboo?"

"Tell us about that part!" begged Woo-Uff, the lion. "Once I was caught in a trap, but it was made of a net, with ropes of bark. It was then that Gur, the kind boy, gave me a drink of water."

"And I was in a trap also," spoke Snarlie, the striped tiger. "I fell into a deep pit. It was almost like your trap, Umboo, except that the sides were of dirt, and the pit was very deep. I could not jump out. But after a while I did not mind being caught, for I was taken care of by Princess Toto."

"Let us hear how Umboo got out of the trap," said Chako, the monkey.

"How do you know he got out?" asked Humpo, the camel.

"Isn't he here with us now?" asked Chako, who was a very smart monkey. "And if he hadn't got out of the trap he wouldn't be here. Anybody knows that!"

"Oh, yes; that's so," said Humpo, who did not think much, being quite content to eat hay, and let others do most of the talking. "But, all the same," went on the humpy creature, "I should like to hear how Umboo did get out of the trap."

"I'll tell you," said the elephant boy, and he went on with his story.

When the big elephants found, because of the ditch, that they could not get near enough the stockade fence to knock it down with their big heads, they became very wild. They raised their trunks and made loud trumpet sounds through them. They beat the earth with their feet until the ground trembled, and some of them rushed at the gate, which had fallen shut behind them, as they hurried into the trap to get away from the noise.

But the gate, which had no ditch in front of it, was the strongest part of the trap, and the elephants could not batter it down, try as they did. Tusker and the others banged into it, but the gate held firmly.

"Well, if we can't get out, what are we going to do?" asked Umboo of his mother.

"We shall have to stay here until the hunter-men come, I suppose," answered Mrs. Stumptail.

"Will they shoot us?" asked Umboo.

"I hope not," his mother said.

But Umboo need not have been afraid of that. Elephants in India are worth too much to shoot. They can be sold to circuses and park menageries.

But, better than this, the elephants in India do much work. They pull great wagons, that many horses could not move, and they work in lumber yards, piling up the big, heavy logs of teakwood, from which those queer, Chinese carved tables and chairs are made, and which wood is also used in ships. The Indians teach the elephants how to pile up big logs very carefully, and so straight that a big pile may be made without one falling off. Besides this the rich men of India, the Princes, own many elephants, which they ride on in little houses, called howdahs which are strapped to the backs of the big animals.

But before the wild elephants can be used thus they must go to school, to learn to be gentle, and to do as their drivers, or mahouts, tell them to do. And so Umboo went to school and I shall tell you about that.

Of course it was not such a school as you boys go to, and the big elephant boy did not have to learn to read and write. But he had to learn the meaning of Indian words, so that when he heard them he would know which meant go to the right or which to the left, and which meant to stand still, to kneel down or to go forward.

But I am getting a little ahead of my story. Umboo was still in the stockade trap with the other elephants. And there they were kept two or three days, without anything to eat or anything to drink. Fast they were kept in the stockade, where they could not get out, and as the days passed, and they felt very badly at not having anything to eat, or anything to drink, the elephants grew more quiet. No longer did they rush at the fence, and fall into the ditch. They huddled together in the middle part, and rubbed their trunks against one another, as men, in trouble, might shake hands.

"Oh, will we ever get out of this, and have sweet bark and palm nuts to eat again?" asked Umboo. "It was almost better to be lost in the jungle, as I was, than it is to be here, for then I had enough to eat. But of course I was lonesome without you," he said to his mother. "But I am hungry now."

"Perhaps they will let us out, or feed us soon," she said.

And, a little while after this, a noise was heard at the strong gate of the trap. It was slowly opened, but the elephants that were caught did not rush out. They feared more danger.

And then, to the surprise of Umboo and the others, in through the gate came great big elephants, and on the tops of their heads sat men, dressed in black clothing. And the men had strong ropes in their hands.

As soon as Tusker saw these men, and smelled them, he cried through his trunk:

"Ho, Brothers! Here is danger indeed! I smell the man-smell, even though it comes with other elephants like ourselves. We must get away from the danger!"

Tusker rushed at the gate, but before he could reach it two of the new elephants, who were tame, hurried toward him. The men on their heads threw the big ropes about Tusker, and he was pulled by the two elephants over toward a tree in the stockade, where he was made fast.

Tusker tried, with all his strength to break the ropes, but they only slipped easily around the tree, from which the bark had been taken to make it smooth and slippery for this very purpose.

"Be quiet, big, wild elephant," said one of the tame ones with a man on his head. "Be quiet and tell your friends to be quiet also. No one will hurt them. They will have food to eat, and sweet water to drink, if they are quiet."

Tusker heard this, and so did some of the other wild elephants. They were hungry and thirsty.

"Will you give us water to drink?" asked Tusker, for his trunk and mouth were very dry.

"You shall have water enough to swim in," answered one of the keonkies, or tame elephants.

"And may we eat?"

"You shall have all the palm nuts you want. That is if you are quiet."

"Then," said Tusker to Umboo, and the other wild elephants, "we may as well take it easy and be quiet. Raging about will do us no good, and we must eat and drink."

So most of the wild elephants became quiet. Some of them still tore around, trumpeting, but the big tame elephants pulled them with ropes to the trees where they were made fast. Mrs. Stumptail, and the other mother elephants, soon calmed down, and the boys and girls, like Umboo and Keedah, did as their mothers did.

In a short time the wild elephants were all either tied fast to trees, or were led away between two of the tame ones. Umboo was taken away from his mother.

"Oh, where am I going?" he cried to the tame elephants, one on either side of him. "I want to stay with you, Mother! Where are you taking me?"

"Do not make such a fuss, elephant boy," spoke one of the tame ones. "You will come to no harm, and you will see your mother again. You are going to go to school. You are young, and you will learn much more easily than some of the big elephants. Also you will have good things to eat and water to drink. Be nice now, and come with us."

Umboo had to go along whether he wanted to or not, for the big, tame elephants would pull him by the ropes. They led him to a sort of stable, and there he found some green fodder, some palm nuts and a tub of water. And Umboo drank the water first, for he was very thirsty. Then he ate and he felt better, though he wondered what had become of his mother.

But he did not wonder long, for elephants, and other animals, are not like boys and girls. They grow up more quickly, and get ready to go about for themselves, getting their own food, and living their own lives. And Umboo was big enough, now, to get along without his mother.

"Were you once living in the jungle, as I was?" asked Umboo of Chang, which was the name of one of the tame elephants.

"Surely," answered Chang, "I was as wild as Tusker, your big herd-leader. But when I was caught in the trap, as you were, and sent to school, I found the life here was much easier than in the jungle. It is true I have to do as the mahouts tell me, but they treat me kindly, they feed me and I never have to go thirsty, and when my toe nails get too long they smooth them down for me with a rough brick. Also they scrub my skin to keep away the biting bugs. You will like it here, Umboo, and soon you will go to school and learn how to pile the teakwood logs."

"And will I ride men on my head?" asked Umboo.

"Yes, you will learn to do that, and many things more," said Chang. But even he did not know all the wonderful things that were to happen to Umboo, nor how he was to go in the circus.




Chapter XII

Umboo Is Sold


Umboo, the big elephant boy, did not at once begin to learn the teakwood log-piling lesson. Just as in school you do not learn to read the first day, so it was with Umboo. He had to be trained by his keeper and the keonkies, or tame elephants.

And, after the first feeling of being sorry at having been taken away from his mother, Umboo grew to like the new life. His mother was sent to another big stable, farther away, though Umboo saw her once in a while. With him, however, were many of the wild elephants he had known when the herd was in the jungle. Keedah was one of these elephants.

"I don't like it here at all!" snarled Keedah, when he had been led up beside Umboo, a few days after they had all been caught in the trap. "I don't like it, and I'm not going to stay!"

"What are you going to do?" asked Umboo.

"I am going to run away," said the elephant boy, whom Umboo had once, in fun, knocked into the river. "I am going to run away, and go out in the jungle."

"Oh, no. I wouldn't do that if I were you," quietly said one of the tame elephants, coming up behind Keedah just then, and the half-wild elephant was so surprised that he nearly dropped a wisp of hay he was eating.

"If you ran away we should have to run into the jungle after you," went on the tame elephant. "And when we brought you back you would not have a nice time. It is better to do as you are told, and to learn to do what the black and white men tell you. For then you will be kindly treated, and have plenty to eat. And the work you will learn to do, after you go to school, as you and Umboo will go, will not be hard. Take my advice and stay where you are."

"Well, I guess I'll have to," said Keedah, with a funny look at Umboo. "I didn't know he heard me," he whispered, as if the tame elephant were a teacher in school, which, in a way, he was.

And then began long days and months of lessons for Umboo and the other wild elephants. They were not wild any longer, for the first thing they learned was that the tame elephants would help them, and next that the white and black men would be kind to them and feed them. So the jungle elephants, who used to roam about with Tusker for their leader, lost most of their wildness, quieted down, and were sent to different places in India to work in the lumber yards, or to carry Princes on their backs.

Umboo and his mother had to say good-bye, but they hoped to meet again, and though for a time Umboo felt sad, he soon forgot it as he had many things to learn.

One of the first was to let a man come near him to pat his trunk, and to feed him. In the beginning Umboo was very much afraid, because he smelled the man-smell, which Tusker had so often said meant danger. But Umboo grew to know that not all men were dangerous. For, though some might be hunters, with guns and sharp arrows, those who had caught the wild elephants were kind to the big animals.

"I wonder why I am afraid of the man?" thought Umboo. "He is much smaller than I am. His head hardly comes up to my tusks, and some of the tame elephants are even larger than I. Why are we so afraid of the men as to do just as they tell us?"

Of course Umboo did not know, but it is because man, who is also an animal, is put in charge of all the beasts of the jungle, the woods and fields. Animals are given to help man, and to feed him. And as a man has more brains -- that is he is smarter than animals -- he rules over them. Thus it is that even great elephants, and savage lions and tigers, as well as horses, know that man is their master, and must do as he wants them to.

So, though he could see that he was larger than a man, Umboo did not think much farther than this, and so he never made up his mind that, if he wanted to, he could run away, and that no one man could hold him. But perhaps it was just as well as it was, and that the elephant remained gentle and did as he was told, not trying to use his great strength against his friends.

One of the first things Umboo learned was to walk along, when he was told to do so in the Indian language.

At first Umboo did not know what this word meant. But his keeper gently pricked him with a sharp hook, called an "ankus," and to get away from the prick, which was like the bite of a big fly, Umboo stepped out and walked away.

"Ha! That is what I wanted you to do, little one," said the Indian, speaking to Umboo as he might to a child. And indeed the Indian mahouts consider their elephants almost like children.

When Umboo had learned that a certain word meant that he was to walk along, he was taught two others, one of which meant to go to the left, and the other to go to the right. Then, in a few weeks, he learned a fourth word, which meant to stand still, and then a fifth one, which meant to kneel down.

And though, at first, the elephant boy did not like doing the things he was told to do, as well as he had liked playing about in the jungle, he soon grew to see that his life was easier than it had been with Tusker and the others.

He never had to hunt for food, as it was brought to him by the keepers. Nor was he ever thirsty. And, best of all, he never had to drop what he was eating and run away, crashing through the jungle, because Tusker, or some other elephant had trumpeted the call of:

"Danger! I smell the man-smell!"

Umboo was used to the man-smell now, and knew that no harm would come to him. He knew the men were his friends.

And so he who had once been a wild baby elephant, grew to be a tame, big strong beast, who could carry heavy teakwood logs on his tusks, and pile them in great heaps near the river, where they were loaded upon great ships. Umboo did not know the boats were ships, but they were, and soon he was to have a ride in one. But I have not reached that part of his story yet.

Sometimes, instead of being made to pile the logs in the lumber yard, Umboo would be taken into the forest, where the Indians cut the trees down. The forest was something like the jungle where the boy elephant had once lived with Tusker and the others, and where he had played, and once been lost.

In the forest were great trees of teakwood and these the elephant workers had to drag out so they could be loaded upon carts, with great wooden wheels, and brought to the river. One day Umboo and Keedah were taken together to the teak forest.

"Now is our chance, Umboo," said the other elephant after a while as they went farther and farther into the woods. "Now is our chance!"

"Our chance for what?" asked Umboo, speaking in elephant talk, of course, and which the Indian keepers did not always understand.

"This is our chance to run away and go back to the jungle," went on Keedah. "When the men are not looking, after we have hauled out a few big logs, we will go away and hide. At night we can run off to the jungle."

"No," said Umboo, shaking his trunk, "I am not going to do it. If we run away they will find us and bring us back. Besides, I like it in the lumber yard. It is fun to pile up the big logs, and lay them straight."

"Pooh! I don't think so," said Keedah, who had not given up all his wild ways. "I am going to run!"

And so, watching his chance, when the Indian men were not looking, Keedah sneaked off into the dark part of the woods. In a little while he was missed, and the keepers, with shouts, started after him. They tied Umboo to a tree with chains, leaving him there while they went to hunt Keedah.

"They need not have chained me," thought Umboo. "I would not run away. I like my men friends too much, for they are good to me."

The keepers got other elephants and hunted Keedah in the forest. For three days they searched for him, and at last they found him and brought him back. For Keedah had forgotten some of his wildness, and did not know so well how to keep away from the men who were after him, as he had known when he lived in the herd, with Tusker to lead the way.

So Keedah, tired and dirty, and hungry too, it must be said -- for he had not found good things to eat in the woods -- Keedah was brought back. And he was kept chained up for a week, and given only water and not much food. This was to tame him down, and make him learn that it did not pay to run off when he was taken to the teakwood forest.

"I wish I had done as you did, and stayed," said Keedah sorrowfully to Umboo. "I am not going to run away any more."

So Umboo and the other wild elephants who were caught at the same time as he was, stayed around the lumber camp, and did work for their white and black masters. Sometimes a few of the elephants were sold, and taken away by Indian Princes, to live in stables near the palaces, to have gold and silver cloths fastened on their backs, and then the howdahs, in which rode the rich Indians, would be strapped on.

Sometimes other wild elephants were brought in, having been caught as Umboo had been. And once Umboo helped to tame one of these little wild ones, telling him to be nice, as he would be kindly treated and have food and water.

And one day new adventures came to Umboo.

By this time he was a big, strong elephant, nearly fully grown, for it was now many years since he had been a baby in the jungle. And one day, as he was standing near a pile of lumber, that he had helped to build, one of the white men, whom he knew, and who had been kind to Umboo, took a handkerchief from his white, linen coat pocket, and wiped his face, for the day was hot.

Then a little spirit of mischief seemed to enter Umboo. And this little spirit, or fairy, seemed to whisper:

"Take his handkerchief out of his pocket with your trunk, Umboo, and make believe wipe your own face with it. That will be a funny little trick, and will make the men laugh, and maybe they will give you some soft, brown sugar." This the elephants like very much.

Umboo saw the edge of the handkerchief sticking out of the man's pocket. Very softly the elephant reached put his trunk and took it. Then Umboo flourished the piece of white linen in the air, as the man had done, and pretended to use it, though Umboo's face was much larger than the man's, and really needed no handkerchief.

The man turned around, as he heard his friends laughing, and when he saw what Umboo had done the man smiled and said:

"Ha! That elephant is too smart to be piling lumber. I heard the other day where I could sell one to go in a circus. I'll sell Umboo! He will make a good circus elephant, to do tricks."

And so Umboo was sold, though at first he did not know what that was, nor where he was to be taken. He only thought of how the men laughed when he took out the handkerchief from the pocket.




Chapter XIII

Umboo On The Ship


The man who bought Umboo was one who owned part of a circus. He traveled about in India, and other far-off countries, looking for strange animals that he could send to America, across the ocean, where they would be put in cages and tents and shown to boys and girls, and also grown-up folk. You may think a circus is all fun and peanuts and pink lemonade, but it also teaches us something. Without a circus many boys and girls would never know what an elephant looks like; or a lion, or tiger or camel, except, perhaps, by pictures.

"And I'll send this trick elephant over to a circus," said the man who had bought Umboo from the lumber yard. "I think he will be a smart elephant, and make the boys and girls laugh." He knew Umboo liked boys and girls, for many of them had ridden on his back as he worked in the lumber yard.

"I thought Umboo was smart as soon as I saw him take the handkerchief from my pocket," said the lumber man to the circus man. "That is why I sent for you to let you buy him. For I knew you wanted a smart, young elephant for your circus."

"Yes, I am glad to get Umboo," spoke the circus man. "I wonder if he will do that handkerchief trick again? I'll try him."

So the circus man stood near our elephant friend, and let the end of his handkerchief stick a little way out of his pocket.

Umboo knew at once what was wanted of him.

"I'll just pull that white rag out and hear the men laugh," thought the elephant boy to himself. "I don't know why they think it is so funny, but I'll do it. I guess they would think it more funny if they could have seen me knock Keedah into the river."

Umboo reached out his trunk, when the man's back was turned toward him, and gently took out the handkerchief. Then the big elephant boy pretended to wipe his face with it.

"Ha! Ha!" laughed the circus man. "That is a good trick! I must give the elephant a big lump of sugar."

He did so, and Umboo liked it very much, letting the sweet juice trickle down his throat.

"I wish they would give me sugar every time I take out the white rag," thought Umboo. "It's fun!"

After this Umboo did not pile lumber any more. He was taken out of the yard, and kept by himself in a small stable, and given nice things to eat until one day the circus man opened the door and called:

"Well, Umboo, I guess we are ready to start now. You are going to say good-bye to India and to the jungle. You are going where Jumbo went -- off to America to be in a circus show!"

Of course Umboo did not understand all that the circus man said to him, but the elephant boy thought to himself:

"Well, he is kind to me. He gives me sugar. I'll go with him, and pull that white rag out of his pocket as often as he lets me. I wonder what he was saying about Jumbo?"

For Umboo remembered hearing the other elephants talking about Jumbo, who, however, came from Africa and not from India.

"Come, Umboo!" called the circus man. "You are going on a big ship, and take a long ride. I hope you will not be seasick."

Umboo did not know exactly what a ship was. He had seen big boats come up the river, near where he worked, to get lumber, and some of the elephants, who had been down near the ocean shore, said those boats were ships. And of course Umboo did not know what it meant to be seasick.

However he liked the circus man, and when the elephant boy came out of the stable he felt around with his trunk in the man's pocket.

"For," thought Umboo, "if I pull that white rag out of his coat again, maybe he'll give me some more sweet sugar."

So, with the tip of his trunk, which could pick up little things, even as you can with your fingers, Umboo felt about for the handkerchief. He did not find it, however.

"Ha! Ha!" laughed the circus man, "You did not forget, did you? You are going to be a good trick elephant, I'm sure. Here is my handkerchief, in my other pocket. I put it there to fool you!" and he turned about so that the white cloth could be seen hanging down on the other side of his coat.

"Ha! That's funny!" thought Umboo. "I did not know the man had two pockets!"

Then the elephant pulled out the handkerchief again, and the man laughed and gave him a extra large lump of sugar.

"Now come with me, Umboo," said the man, and he led him away, out of the lumber yard.

"Where are you going?" called Keedah, and some of the other boys.

"I don't know," answered Umboo, in elephant talk, of course. "But I heard the man say something about making me do tricks in a circus."

"Oh, then you are going to have a fine, time," said one of the keonkies, or tame elephants, that help train the wild ones. "If you go to the circus you will have fun. A friend of mine was once in one, and then, in his old age, he came back to India to live. And he said he never enjoyed himself so much as in a circus. And how he did used to talk about the peanuts!"

"What are peanuts?" asked Umboo.

"I don't know," answered the keonkie, "but Zoop -- that the was the name of my friend -- said they were almost as good as the sweet sugar and palm nuts."

"Then they must be very good," said Umboo, "and I shall like them. Good-bye, friends!" he called. "Maybe some day I'll come back from the circus."

"But you never did; did you?" asked Snarlie the tiger, who, with the other animals in the tent, was listening to Umboo's story. "You never did go back, for you are here yet."

"No, I haven't gone back to India, and I don't believe I ever shall," spoke Umboo. "Sometimes I wish I could go back in the jungle for a little while, and get a few palm nuts, but the peanuts here are just as good, and there is never any danger."

"Please go on with your story," begged Horni, the rhinoceros. "I want to hear how you got over here, and joined the circus."

"I came on a ship, just as you did," answered Umboo, and then he went on to tell how he was led away from the lumber yard.

To get from the place where he had, for a year or more, been piling up teakwood logs, to the great, salt ocean which the ships crossed, Umboo had to take a ride on the railroad. He might have walked, but this would have taken too long.

Umboo had never before seen a railroad, a railroad car or a locomotive, and when he first noticed the big, black engine, puffing out smoke and steam, the elephant boy was as frightened as when he had seen the snake in the jungle. Umboo raised his trunk in the air, and made a loud trumpet sound of danger.

"Don't be afraid," said a tame elephant near by. "There is nothing to hurt you."

"Nothing to hurt me!" cried Umboo. "What do you call that big, black thing, whose breath steams out of the top of his head, as mine sometimes comes out of my trunk on a cold morning? Nothing to be afraid of? Why, that is worse than a big rhino! Much worse!"

"That is the engine, and it will give you a nice ride," said the tame elephant. "It will pull you along the shiny rails, and you will never have to lift your foot. Go close up to it, and see that it will not hurt you. Don't be afraid!"

Umboo trembled, but the circus man spoke kind words to him, and then the elephant walked slowly up to the engine, or locomotive. It snorted and puffed and tooted its whistle, and at each new sound Umboo started back, and would have run away. But the man spoke to him, and the tame elephant talked to him, and finally Umboo saw that the engine did not get off the shiny rails.

"Well, if it stays on them it can't chase after me," thought Umboo. "I can run to one side, but that big, black animal, that puffs steam out of the top of its head, can't. I guess I'll be all right."

Then Umboo was led past the engine, (which, of course, did him no harm) up a sort of little bridge of wood -- a runway -- that went from the ground into a big freight, or box car. At first Umboo feared this bridge might break with him, as he was so heavy, and an elephant doesn't like to step on anything that will give way and let him fall.

So Umboo first tried it with one foot, and then with another, and, finding it would not break, he stepped on it and walked into the car. There was plenty of straw in it, so Umboo would not be hurt if the car jolted as it rumbled along over the railroad tracks, and inside his new stable the elephant boy found some sweet roots and palm nuts.

He was so interested in eating these that, at first, he did not notice when the train started, and before he knew it Umboo found himself being pulled along without having to take a step.

"Ha!" thought the elephant. "It's just as the keonkie told me, I can move without lifting a foot! I am having a fine ride!"

Two days later Umboo reached the seashore and was led from the railroad car, and over to a big ship that was waiting in the harbor. To Umboo it looked more like a big house than a ship, and when they took him to the gang-plank, or another run-way, as they had taken him to the one that led into the freight car, he was again afraid something would break and let him fall. But when he tried it with his fore-feet, and found it firm, up it he walked and soon he was in a sort of stable, on board the big ship.

To his surprise, Umboo found other elephants there also, and from various parts of the ship came the smell of many different wild animals -- camels, sacred cows from India, a rhinoceros, a buffalo and many strange beasts.

For this was a circus ship, and was bringing to America many strange birds and animals from the jungle.

"Now, Umboo, we are off!" said the circus man, as he came down to see the elephants and other creatures. "You are all going to start across the ocean in this big ship, and I hope none of you will be seasick."

Of course Umboo and the other elephants did not understand exactly what the man said, but they knew he was kind to them, for he gave them some food to eat and water to drink.

Pretty soon the ship began to pitch and toss and roll. It was out on the big ocean. The elephants did not so much mind the rolling motion, as they never stopped swaying themselves, and they were used to it, but some of the other animals had a bad time.

I wish I could tell you all that happened on board the ship, that was taking Umboo to the circus, but I have not room in this book. I'll tell you one thing that happened, though, and Umboo often used to laugh about it later.

One day, when the ship had been sailing about a week, a man came down in the hold, or stable where the elephants were. This man was a sort of joker. He liked to play tricks on animals and sometimes on his friends, and this time he thought he would play a trick on Umboo.

The man took a sour lemon, and plastered it all on the outside with some sticky brown sugar. This he held out to Umboo, saying:

"Here; have a nice, sweet lump!"

Of course Umboo thought it was all sugar, but when he chewed it, and found inside a sour lemon, it made tears come into his eyes, and he curled his trunk, and made such a funny, wrinkled face, that the man laughed and exclaimed:

"Oh, see how the elephant likes a lemon! Isn't that a funny trick!"

But I don't think it was a funny trick at all, and neither did Umboo. As soon as he could do so, he let the sour lemon drop out of his mouth into the straw on which he stood.

"Ha!" said the elephant next to Umboo. "If I could reach that man I'd tickle him with my trunk, and maybe pinch him, too."

"So would I," said Umboo. "But I can't reach him," and he could not, for the elephant was chained fast to the wall of the ship.

"But I'll know him when I see him again," exclaimed Umboo, "and the next time he comes near me maybe I can play a trick on him."

"I hope you can," said the other elephant.

And now you wait and see what happened.

The ship sailed on and on over the sea, each day coming nearer and nearer to America, which is the land of the circus. And Umboo and the other animals grew tired of being kept below decks, in the darkness. They wanted to get out into the sunshine.

Each day Umboo kept watch for the man who had given him the lemon in the lump of sugar, but the trick-player did not again come down where the elephants were.

And finally, one day, the circus man came down. He quietly rubbed the trunk of Umboo, patted him, and spoke kind words to him, feeding him good sugar.

"Now, my trick elephant," he said, "we will soon be going ashore, and we will see how you like a circus."




Chapter XIV

Umboo In The Circus


Many things happened to Umboo after he was taken out of the ship in which he had crossed the ocean. And there were so many of them that he could not remember all of them to tell his circus friends who were listening to his story.

"But did you get seasick?" asked Humpo, the camel. "That's what I want to know. Did you get seasick?"

"No, I did not," answered Umboo. "But I was tired of staying in the dark part of the ship so long. I wanted to get out in the sun. And I wanted to see if I could do that trick again, of taking the white rag from the man's pocket."

"And did you?" asked Snarlie, the tiger.

"I did, the first chance I had," answered Umboo. "But that was not until I had been off the ship for a day or so."

Umboo and the other animals were taken from the ship, and again put in railroad cars to be taken to a sort of training place. Wild animals, fresh from the jungle, are not taken at once to the circus. If they were the lions would roar, the tigers would snarl and the elephants would try to break loose and run away, and this would so scare the boys and girls who went to the circus that they would never come again.

So circus men first send the animals to a sort of training camp. There is one in Bridgeport, Conn., and another in New Jersey, on the Hackensack meadows. There the wild beasts are taken in charge, by men who know how to train them.

And it was to a place like this that Umboo was taken. It was not at all like a circus, except for the number of wild animals about. There was no big white tent; nothing but a sort of large barn, and there were no gay flags fluttering, and no bands playing music. All that would come later.

Umboo was chained in the middle of the barn, with the other elephants, and some hay was given him to eat. At first the elephant, who, not long before, had been wild in the jungle, and later piling teakwood logs, was uneasy and a bit frightened. So were his companions.

"But don't be afraid, Umboo," said the kind man who had come all the way from India with the elephant. "You will soon like it here, though you may not like being taught tricks. But you will like it when you can do funny things, and make the boys and girls laugh. Also, when you do your tricks well, you shall have lumps of sugar."

"Well, I hope there will be no lemons inside the lumps," said Umboo to Char, another big beast next to him.

"What is that about lemons in sugar?" asked Char.

"Oh, a man on the ship played a trick on me," answered Umboo. "I haven't seen him since, but I am on the lookout for him, and when I do see him, if I get near enough -- well, I'll make him wish he hadn't fooled me."

"It was a mean trick," said Char. "I hope you find that man."

For a few days the elephants, and other wild jungle animals, who were to be tamed and taught to do things in the circus, were left to themselves. This was to get them quiet after their long trip, and to make them feel at home.

Umboo did not have to be tamed, for he was already kind and gentle. But some of the lions and tigers were fierce and wild, and they had to get to know that the circus men would not harm them. Most of the elephants, like Umboo, were no longer wild, but they knew nothing about being trained to do tricks. None of them could even so much as take a handkerchief out of a man's pocket, so really Umboo was one class ahead of them. But that did not make him proud.

One day, about a week after he had come to the circus-barn, Umboo saw some men coming toward him with ropes and other things. Among the men was the one from India, and this man Umboo liked.

"Now, Umboo" said this man, "you are going to learn a harder trick than that of taking a handkerchief from my pocket. You are going to learn to stand on your hind legs. It may seem hard to you at first, but it is easy when you know how, and you will like it. The boys and girls who come to the circus to see you, will like it, too, and you will get sugar if you do the trick well."

Of course Umboo did not know all that the man said to him, but he understood that something new was going on, and he reached out his trunk to touch his friend.

"I haven't any sugar for you now," said the man with a laugh, "but I may have some later. Let me see how you behave."

The men began putting ropes around Umboo's big neck. He did not mind this, for it had been done before, in India, when he was to pull a heavy wagon of teakwood logs. But this time it was different.

All of a sudden Umboo felt his front legs being lifted from the ground. His head and trunk went up in the air, and all his weight came on his hind legs. They were strong enough to bear it, but the elephant did not know what was going on.

"It's all right, my elephant friend!" said the man from India. "Up! Up! Stand up! Stand on your hind legs, Umboo!"

And Umboo had to do this whether he wanted to or not. The rope, on which the men were pulling, and which was fast to a hook in the ceiling of the barn over head, was lifting Umboo's front feet from the ground. This left him only his hind legs, and he had to stand on them whether he wanted to or not.

If you have ever tried to teach your dog to stand on his hind legs, you will know what was being done to Umboo. When you try to teach your dog this trick, you generally take him where he can stand up in a corner, so he can lean against the wall and will not fall over backwards or sideways; for that is what he feels like doing when you lift up his front legs.

But an elephant is so big, you see, that it would take a very large corner for him to back into. And he is so big and heavy that not even ten men could lift up his front legs. So they just hitch a rope around his head, and then men, hauling on the rope and pulleys, lift the front of the elephant, as men hoist up a piano.

"Ugh!" grunted Umboo through his trunk, as he felt his head and front legs going up. "What in the world is this?"

"Don't be afraid, my jungle friend," said an old big, tame elephant, who was kept in the circus barn just to make the others feel more at home. "Don't be afraid. You are only being taught the first of your tricks. I was taught the same way. It won't hurt you. Here, throw your weight on your back legs, and stand on them -- this way."

And, to the surprise of Umboo, the other elephant, without the help of any ropes, reared himself up in the air and stood on his hind legs just as your dog can do.

"That's the way to do it!" said the trick elephant.

"I wonder if I can?" said Umboo.

"Try it," urged his new friend.

And when the man loosed the ropes, and let Umboo's front legs down, after they had hoisted them up once, he suddenly gave a little spring, and up he went, standing on his hind legs all by himself, and almost as good as the trick beast could do it.

"Well, I declare!" cried one of the men. "That elephant is the smartest one we ever trained. He does the trick after being shown just once!"

"Oh, yes, I knew he was smart when he did that handkerchief trick," said the man from India. "Umboo will be ready to join the circus before any of the others."

Once more Umboo was hoisted up by the ropes, but there was really no need for it. He knew what was wanted of him, and he did it.

"That's fine!" said the big elephant. "If you learn the other things as easily as you learned this trick, you will have no trouble."

"Are there other tricks to learn." asked Umboo.

"Oh, many of them," answered Wang, the best trick elephant in the circus. "You have only just begun."

And Umboo found that this was so. In the ten days that followed he was taught many more tricks. Some of them he did not learn so easily as he had the one of standing on his hind legs, and the ropes had to be used many times. But the other trick elephants, of whom there was more than one, showed the untrained ones what to do, and, in time, Umboo and his friends could go through many "stunts," as the circus men called them.

Umboo learned to lie down and "play dead," he learned to stand on a little stool, like an over-turned washtub, he learned to kneel down over a man stretched on the ground, and not crush him with the great body, weighing more than two tons of coal.

Other tricks, which Umboo learned, were to take pennies in his trunk, lift up a lid of a "bank," which was a big box, drop the pennies in and ring a bell, as if he had put money in a cash drawer. He also learned to turn the handle of a hand organ with his trunk, to ring a dinner bell, and do many other tricks, such as you have seen elephants do in a circus.

Then, one day, the man from India came where Umboo was, and giving him some peanuts, which our friend had learned to like very much, said:

"Well, now it is time you joined the circus. You know enough tricks to make a start, and your circus-trainer will teach you more. So off to the circus you go, Umboo! Off to the circus!"

And the next day Umboo went.




Chapter XV

Umboo Remembers


Brightly in the sun gleamed the white tents. In the wind the gay flags fluttered. Here and there were men selling pink lemonade and peanuts. Around the green grass were the big wagons -- wagons that needed eight or ten horses to pull, wagons shining with gold and silver mirrors -- heavy, rumbling wagons, which Umboo and the other elephants had to push out of the mud when the horses could not pull them.

"And so this is the circus, is it?" asked Umboo, as his friend, Wang, and he were led up to the tents.

"This is the circus," spoke Wang. "But I forgot. This is your first one; isn't it?"

"The very first," answered Umboo. "My! It's lots different from the barn where I learned my tricks, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes, heaps different. It's more jolly," said Wang.

"And it's different from the jungle," went on Umboo.

"Oh, yes indeed! It isn't at all like the jungle," said Wang. "I remember the jungle very well. I always had to be sniffing here and there for danger, and often I had to drink muddy water, or else I went hungry. Here that never happens. All we have to do here is to perform our tricks, push a wagon out of the mud now and then, and eat and sleep. You'll like it here, Umboo."

"I'm sure I shall," he answered. "But what is that funny noise?"

"That is the music playing," answered Wang. "In the circus we do our tricks to band music. It's more fun that way."

Umboo liked the music, and there was one man who played a big horn -- larger than himself, and the horn went: "Umph-umph!" just as Tusker used to trumpet through his trunk.

Umboo and the other elephants were taken into the animal tent, and placed around the outer ring, their legs chained to stakes driven in the ground. In cages were monkeys, lions, tigers and other beasts of the wood or jungle.

"Was it this circus of ours which you were first taken to, Umboo?" asked Humpo. "I came here about a year ago."

"No, it was not this one, but it was one like it," said the elephant. "I came here about a year ago."

"I remember that time," said Snarlie. "I liked you as soon as I saw you, Umboo."

"So did I," spoke Woo-Uff, the lion, stretching out his big paws.

"Let us hear the rest of Umboo's story," suggested Chako, the monkey. "Did you like the circus?"

"Indeed I did, very much," Umboo answered.

Then he told how he stood in the ring, and watched the boys and girls, and the men and women, come in to look at the animals before they went in the main tent, to sit down and watch the performers and animals do their tricks and "stunts."

Boys and girls, and some grown-folk, too, gave the elephants peanuts and bits of popcorn balls which the big fellows liked very much, indeed.

While Umboo was standing in line, with the other elephants, waiting until it was time for them to go in the big tent, and perform their tricks, such as standing on their hind legs and getting up on small barrels, our jungle friend saw a man coming toward him with a bag in his hand.

And, all at once Umboo remembered something. He looked sharply at the man and thought:

"Ha! There is the fellow who gave me the sour lemon inside the lump of sugar. Now is my chance to play a trick on him."

The man, with the bag in his hand, walked toward Umboo. To that man all elephants looked alike. He did not know he had ever seen this one before, and had played a mean trick on him. And the man said to another man who was with him:

"Watch me fool this elephant. I have an empty bag. I have blown it up full of wind, so that it looks like a bag of peanuts. I'll give it to this elephant and fool him."

"Maybe he'll bite you," said the other man, and the first one answered:

"Pooh! I'm not afraid. Watch me! I fooled an elephant once before. I gave him a lemon in some candy, and you should see the funny face he made. Ha! ha!"

"Ah, ha!" thought Umboo to himself. "He laughs, does he? Wait until I see what a funny face he is going to make."

The man held out the bag of wind to Umboo. But, instead of taking it, and getting fooled, the wise elephant suddenly dipped his trunk into a tub of water that stood near. Umboo sucked his trunk full of water and then, all at once, before the man knew what was going to happen, Umboo blew the water all over him.

"Whewiff!" went the water in the man's face, and all over his new suit, that he had put on to wear to the circus.

"Oh, my!" cried the man. "What happened?" and he spluttered and stuttered and gurgled. "What happened?" he asked, as he backed away and wiped the water from his face.

"I guess what happened," said the man who was with him, but who did not get wet, "was that the elephant played a trick on you, instead of you playing one on him. That's what happened!"

"I guess it did," said the man, whose windblown bag was all wet and flabby now. "But I don't see why he did it. I never fooled him before!"

"Maybe this is the same elephant you fooled with the lemon," said the second man.

"It couldn't be," spoke the wet one. "That was a long while ago, on a ship, and an elephant can't remember."

"But I did remember," said Umboo, as he told his story to his circus friends. "I could remember that man even now, if I saw him. And so I got even with him for giving me a lemon," and the big elephant laughed, until he shook all over like a bath-tub full of jelly.

"What happened after that?" asked Umboo.

"Oh, after that the man went out of the circus tent," said the elephant. "Everybody was laughing at him and the funny faces he made. But the water didn't hurt him much, and he soon dried for it was a hot day."

"And did you do your tricks in the circus?" asked Chako.

"Oh, yes, I went in the ring, and heard the music play. Then all us elephants stood on our hind legs, and I played the hand organ, rang a bell, put pennies in my bank and did many tricks. And one I did I liked best of all."

"What was that?" asked Horni, the rhinoceros.

"It was firing a little brass cannon," answered Umboo. "Some other elephants and myself played soldiers at war, and toward the end I had to pull a string with my trunk. In some way, I don't just know how, the string fired the cannon. None of the other elephants would do it. They were afraid, but I wasn't. I saw that the cannon wouldn't hurt me if I didn't get in front where its black mouth was, so I pulled the string. And when I did the cannon went 'Bang!' And the band played, and the big drum went 'Boom!' and the big horn went 'Umph-umph!' and the boys and girls yelled like anything. It was lots of fun!

"I liked that circus very much. I hope, someday, they'll let me shoot a cannon here."

"Maybe they will," said Woo-Uff, the lion. "I should like to hear it. But is that all your story, Umboo?"

"That is all, yes. I stayed with that circus for some time, and then was sold again, and as you all know, brought here. And I like it here very much, because you are all so kind to me. And I enjoyed listening to the story you told, Woo-Uff, and to Snarlie's story also."

"Well, we liked yours," said Chako, the monkey, as he hung by his tail and ate a peanut.

"Is there any one else who can tell a story?" asked Snarlie. "We will soon be traveling on again, but after that, when we settle down to rest, I should like to hear another tale."

"I can tell about my jungle," said Chako.

"We have had enough of jungles," said Woo-Uff. "Does any circus animal know any other kind of stories?"

"How would you like to hear one about the hot, sandy desert?" asked Humpo, the camel.

"That would be fine!" cried Umboo. "Tell us your story, Humpo!"

"I will," promised the camel. And, if all goes well, that story will be in the next Circus Animal Book; if you think you would like to read it. It will be called "Humpo, the Camel."

The elephants swayed to and fro, their leg-chains clanking in the tent. The monkeys chattered among themselves. Snarlie, the big, striped tiger yawned and stretched. Woo-Uff, the lion, laughed.

"Ha! I wonder what makes that lion so jolly?" said one of the circus keepers.

"Perhaps the elephant tickled him," suggested a second man.

"Maybe he had a funny dream," spoke another.

"Both wrong!" said Woo-Uff, in animal language that the other circus beasts could understand. "I was laughing at the way Umboo squirted water on the lemon-man."

"Yes, that was funny," said Umboo. "Very funny!" And he, too, laughed as he chewed his hay.

And, now that his story is finished, we will say good-bye to him and his friends for a while.

<eob>

Myths And Folk Tales Of Ireland

By

Jeremiah Curtin




The Son Of The King Of Erin And The Giant Of Loch Lein.[1]

[1] Loch LA(C)in, former name of one of the Lakes of Killarney.


On a time there lived a king and a queen in Erin, and they had an only son. They were very careful and fond of this son; whatever he asked for was granted, and what he wanted he had.

When grown to be almost a young man the son went away one day to the hills to hunt. He could find no game, -- saw nothing all day. Towards evening he sat down on a hillside to rest, but soon stood up again and started to go home empty-handed. Then he heard a whistle behind him, and turning, saw a giant hurrying down the hill.

The giant came to him, took his hand, and said: "Can you play cards?"

"I can indeed," said the king's son.

"Well, if you can," said the giant, "we'll have a game here on this hillside."

So the two sat down, and the giant had out a pack of cards in a twinkling. "What shall we play for?" asked the giant.

"For two estates," answered the king's son.

They played: the young man won, and went home the better for two estates. He was very glad, and hurried to tell his father the luck he had.

Next day he went to the same place, and didn't wait long till the giant came again.

"Welcome, king's son," said the giant. "What shall we play for to-day?" "I'll leave that to yourself," answered the young man.

"Well," said the giant, "I have five hundred bullocks with golden horns and silver hoofs, and I'll play them against as many cattle belonging to you."

"Agreed," said the king's son.

They played. The giant lost again. He had the cattle brought to the place; and the king's son went home with the five hundred bullocks. The king his father was outside watching, and was more delighted than the day before when he saw the drove of beautiful cattle with horns of gold and hoofs of silver.

When the bullocks were driven in, the king sent for the old blind sage (Sean dall Glic), to know what he would say of the young man's luck.

"My advice," said the old blind sage, "is not to let your son go the way of the giant again, for if he plays with him a third time he'll rue it."

But nothing could keep the king's son from playing the third time. Away he went, in spite of every advice and warning, and sat on the same hillside.

He waited long, but no one came. At last he rose to go home. That moment he heard a whistle behind him, and turning, saw the giant coming.

"Well, will you play with me to-day?" asked the giant.

"I would," said the king's son, "but I have nothing to bet."

"You have indeed."

"I have not," said the king's son.

"Haven't you your head?" asked the giant of Loch LA(C)in, for it was he that was in it.

"I have," answered the king's son.

"So have I my head," said the giant; "and we'll play for each other's heads."

This third time the giant won the game; and the king's son was to give himself up in a year and a day to the giant in his castle.

The young man went home sad and weary. The king and queen were outside watching, and when they saw him approaching, they knew great trouble was on him. When he came to where they were, he wouldn't speak, but went straight into the castle, and wouldn't eat or drink.

He was sad and lamenting for a good while, till at last he disappeared one day, the king and queen knew not whither. After that they didn't hear of him, -- didn't know was he dead or alive.

The young man after he left home was walking along over the kingdom for a long time. One day he saw no house, big or little, till after dark he came in front of a hill, and at the foot of the hill saw a small light. He went to the light, found a small house, and inside an old woman sitting at a warm fire, and every tooth in her head as long as a staff.

She stood up when he entered, took him by the hand, and said, "You are welcome to my house, son of the king of Erin." Then she brought warm water, washed his feet and legs from the knees down, gave him supper, and put him to bed.

When he rose next morning he found breakfast ready before him. The old woman said: "You were with me last night; you'll be with my sister to-night, and what she tells you to do, do, or your head'll be in danger. Now take the gift I give you. Here is a ball of thread: do you throw it in front of you before you start, and all day the ball will be rolling ahead of you, and you'll be following behind winding the thread into another ball."

He obeyed the old woman, threw the ball down, and followed. All the day he was going up hill and down, across valleys and open places, keeping the ball in sight and winding the thread as he went, till evening, when he saw a hill in front, and a small light at the foot of it.

He went to the light and found a house, which he entered. There was no one inside but an old woman with teeth as long as a crutch.

"Oh! then you are welcome to my house, king's son of Erin," said she. "You were with my sister last night; you are with me to-night; and it's glad I am to see you."

She gave him meat and drink and a good bed to lie on.

When he rose next morning breakfast was there before him, and when he had eaten and was ready for the journey, the old woman gave him a ball of thread, saying: "You were with my younger sister the night before last; you were with me last night; and you'll be with my elder sister to-night. You must do what she tells you, or you'll lose your head. You must throw this ball before you, and follow the clew till evening."

He threw down the ball: it rolled on, showing the way up and down mountains and hills, across valleys and braes. All day he wound the ball; unceasingly it went till nightfall, when he came to a light, found a little house, and went in. Inside was an old woman, the eldest sister, who said: "You are welcome, and glad am I to see you, king's son."

She treated him as well as the other two had done. After he had eaten breakfast next morning, she said: -- 

"I know well the journey you are on. You have lost your head to the Giant of Loch LA(C)in, and you are going to give yourself up. This giant has a great castle. Around the castle are seven hundred iron spikes, and on every spike of them but one is the head of a king, a queen, or a king's son. The seven hundredth spike is empty, and nothing can save your head from that spike if you don't take my advice.

"Here is a ball for you: walk behind it till you come to a lake near the giant's castle. When you come to that lake at midday the ball will be unwound.

"The giant has three young daughters, and they come at noon every day of the year to bathe in the lake. You must watch them well, for each will have a lily on her breast, -- one a blue, another a white, and the third a yellow lily. You mustn't let your eyes off the one with the yellow lily. Watch her well: when she undresses to go into the water, see where she puts her clothes; when the three are out in the lake swimming, do you slip away with the clothes of Yellow Lily.

"When the sisters come out from bathing, and find that the one with the yellow lily has lost her clothes, the other two will laugh and make game of her, and she will crouch down crying on the shore, with nothing to cover her, and say, 'How can I go home now, and everybody making sport of me? Whoever took my clothes, if he'll give them back to me, I'll save him from the danger he is in, if I have the power.'"

The king's son followed the ball till nearly noon, when it stopped at a lake not far from the giant's castle. Then he hid behind a rock at the water's edge, and waited.

At midday the three sisters came to the lake, and, leaving their clothes on the strand, went into the water. When all three were in the lake swimming and playing with great pleasure and sport, the king's son slipped out and took the clothes of the sister with the yellow lily.

After they had bathed in the lake to their hearts' content, the three sisters came out. When the two with the blue and the white lilies saw their sister on the shore and her clothes gone, they began to laugh and make sport of her. Then, cowering and crouching down, she began to cry and lament, saying: "How can I go home now, with my own sisters laughing at me? If I stir from this, everybody will see me and make sport of me."

The sisters went home and left her there. When they were gone, and she was alone at the water crying and sobbing, all at once she came to herself and called out: "Whoever took my clothes, I'll forgive him if he brings them to me now, and I'll save him from the danger he is in if I can."

When he heard this, the king's son put the clothes out to her, and stayed behind himself till she told him to come forth.

Then she said: "I know well where you are going. My father, the Giant of Loch LA(C)in, has a soft bed waiting for you, -- a deep tank of water for your death. But don't be uneasy; go into the water, and wait till I come to save you. Be at that castle above before my father. When he comes home to-night and asks for you, take no meat from him, but go to rest in the tank when he tells you."

The giant's daughter left the king's son, who went his way to the castle alone at a fair and easy gait, for he had time enough on his hands and to spare.

When the Giant of Loch LA(C)in came home that night, the first question he asked was, "Is the son of the king of Erin here?"

"I am," said the king's son.

"Come," said the giant, "and get your evening's meat."

"I'll take no meat now, for I don't need it," said the king's son.

"Well, come with me then, and I'll show you your bed." He went, and the giant put the king's son into the deep tank of water to drown, and being tired himself from hunting all day over the mountains and hills of Erin, he went to sleep.

That minute his youngest daughter came, took the king's son out of the tank, placed plenty to eat and to drink before him, and gave him a good bed to sleep on that night.

The giant's daughter watched till she heard her father stirring before daybreak; then she roused the king's son, and put him in the tank again.

Soon the giant came to the tank and called out: "Are you here, son of the king of Erin?"

"I am," said the king's son.

"Well, come out now. There is a great work for you to-day. I have a stable outside, in which I keep five hundred horses, and that stable has not been cleaned these seven hundred years. My great-grandmother when a girl lost a slumber-pin (bar an suan) somewhere in that stable, and never could find it. You must have that pin for me when I come home to-night; if you don't, your head will be on the seven hundredth spike to-morrow."

Then two shovels were brought for him to choose from to clean out the stable, an old and a new one. He chose the new shovel, and went to work.

For every shovelful he threw out, two came in; and soon the door of the stable was closed on him. When the stable-door was closed, the giant's daughter called from outside: "How are you thriving now, king's son?"

"I'm not thriving at all," said the king's son; "for as much as I throw out, twice as much comes in, and the door is closed against me."

"You must make a way for me to come in, and I'll help you," said she.

"How can I do that?" asked the king's son.

However, she did it. The giant's daughter made her way into the stable, and she wasn't long inside till the stable was cleared, and she saw the bar an suan.

"There is the pin over there in the corner," said she to the king's son, who put it in his bosom to give to the giant.

Now he was happy, and the giant's daughter had good meat and drink put before him.

When the giant himself came home, he asked: "How did you do your work to-day?"

"I did it well; I thought nothing of it."

"Did you find the bar an suan?"

"I did indeed; here 'tis for you."

"Oh! then," said the giant, "it is either the devil or my daughter that helped you to do that work, for I know you never did it alone."

"It's neither the devil nor your daughter, but my own strength that did the work," said the son of the king of Erin.

"You have done the work; now you must have your meat." "I want no meat to-day; I am well satisfied as I am," said the king's son.

"Well," said the giant, "since you'll have no meat, you must go to sleep in the tank."

He went into the tank. The giant himself was soon snoring, for he was tired from hunting over Erin all day.

The moment her father was away, Yellow Lily came, took the king's son out of the tank, gave him a good supper and bed, and watched till the giant was stirring before daybreak. Then she roused the king's son and put him in the tank.

"Are you alive in the tank?" asked the giant at daybreak.

"I am," said the king's son.

"Well, you have a great work before you to-day. That stable you cleaned yesterday hasn't been thatched these seven hundred years, and if you don't have it thatched for me when I come home to-night, with birds' feathers, and not two feathers of one color or kind, I'll have your head on the seven hundredth spike to-morrow."

"Here are two whistles, -- an old, and a new one; take your choice of them to call the birds."

The king's son took the new whistle, and set out over the hills and valleys, whistling as he went. But no matter how he whistled, not a bird came near him. At last, tired and worn out with travelling and whistling, he sat down on a hillock and began to cry.

That moment Yellow Lily was at his side with a cloth, which she spread out, and there was a grand meal before him. He hadn't finished eating and drinking, before the stable was thatched with birds' feathers, and no two of them of one color or kind.

When he came home that evening the giant called out: "Have you the stable thatched for me to-night?"

"I have indeed," said the king's son; "and small trouble I had with it."

"If that's true," said the giant, "either the devil or my daughter helped you."

"It was my own strength, and not the devil or your daughter that helped me," said the king's son.

He spent that night as he had the two nights before.

Next morning, when the giant found him alive in the tank, he said: "There is great work before you to-day, which you must do, or your head'll be on the spike to-morrow. Below here, under my castle, is a tree nine hundred feet high, and there isn't a limb on that tree, from the roots up, except one small limb at the very top, where there is a crow's nest. The tree is covered with glass from the ground to the crow's nest. In the nest is one egg: you must have that egg before me here for my supper to-night, or I'll have your head on the seven hundredth spike to-morrow."

The giant went hunting, and the king's son went down to the tree, tried to shake it, but could not make it stir. Then he tried to climb; but no use, it was all slippery glass. Then he thought, "Sure I'm done for now; I must lose my head this time."

He stood there in sadness, when Yellow Lily came, and said: "How are you thriving in your work?"

"I can do nothing," said the king's son.

"Well, all that we have done up to this time is nothing to climbing this tree. But first of all let us sit down together and eat, and then we'll talk," said Yellow Lily.

They sat down, she spread the cloth again, and they had a splendid feast. When the feast was over she took out a knife from her pocket and said: -- 

"Now you must kill me, strip the flesh from my bones, take all the bones apart, and use them as steps for climbing the tree. When you are climbing the tree, they will stick to the glass as if they had grown out of it; but when you are coming down, and have put your foot on each one, they will drop into your hand when you touch them. Be sure and stand on each bone, leave none untouched; if you do, it will stay behind. Put all my flesh into this clean cloth by the side of the spring at the roots of the tree. When you come to the earth, arrange my bones together, put the flesh over them, sprinkle it with water from the spring, and I shall be alive and well before you. But don't forget a bone of me on the tree."

"How could I kill you," asked the king's son, "after what you have done for me?"

"If you won't obey, you and I are done for," said Yellow Lily. "You must climb the tree, or we are lost; and to climb the tree you must do as I say."

The king's son obeyed. He killed Yellow Lily, cut the flesh from her body, and unjointed the bones, as she had told him.

As he went up, the king's son put the bones of Yellow Lily's body against the side of the tree, using them as steps, till he came under the nest and stood on the last bone.

Then he took the crow's egg; and coming down, put his foot on every bone, then took it with him, till he came to the last bone, which was so near the ground that he failed to touch it with his foot.

He now placed all the bones of Yellow Lily in order again at the side of the spring, put the flesh on them, sprinkled it with water from the spring. She rose up before him, and said: "Didn't I tell you not to leave a bone of my body without stepping on it? Now I am lame for life! You left my little toe on the tree without touching it, and I have but nine toes."

When the giant came home that night, the first words he had were, "Have you the crow's egg for my supper?"

"I have," said the king's son.

"If you have, then either the devil or my daughter is helping you."

"It is my own strength that's helping me," said the king's son.

"Well, whoever it is, I must forgive you now, and your head is your own."

So the king's son was free to go his own road, and away he went, and never stopped till he came home to his own father and mother, who had a great welcome before him; and why not? For they thought he was dead.

When the son was at home a time, the king called up the old blind sage, and asked, "What must I do with my son now?"

"If you follow my advice," said the old blind sage, "you'll find a wife for him; and then he'll not go roaming away again, and leave you as he did before."

The king was pleased with the advice, and he sent a message to the king of Lochlin[2] to ask his daughter in marriage.

[2] Lochlin, -- Denmark.

The king of Lochlin came with the daughter and a ship full of attendants, and there was to be a grand wedding at the castle of the king of Erin. Now, the king's son asked his father to invite the Giant of Loch LA(C)in and Yellow Lily to the wedding. The king sent messages for them to come.

The day before the marriage there was a great feast at the castle. As the feast went on, and all were merry, the Giant of Loch LA(C)in said: "I never was at a place like this but one man sang a song, a second told a story, and the third played a trick."

Then the king of Erin sang a song, the king of Lochlin told a story, and when the turn came to the giant, he asked Yellow Lily to take his place.

She threw two grains of wheat in the air, and there came down on the table two pigeons. The cock pigeon pecked at the hen and pushed her off the table. Then the hen called out to him in a human voice, "You wouldn't do that to me the day I cleaned the stable for you."

Next time Yellow Lily put two grains of wheat on the table. The cock ate the wheat, pecked the hen, and pushed her off the table to the floor. The hen said: "You would not do that to me the day I thatched the stable for you with birds' feathers, and not two of one color or kind."

The third time Yellow Lily put two more grains of wheat on the table. The cock ate both, and pushed the hen off to the floor. Then the hen called out: "You wouldn't do that to me the day you killed me and took my bones to make steps up the glass tree nine hundred feet high to get the crow's egg for the supper of the Giant of Loch LA(C)in, and forget my little toe when you were coming down, and left me lame for life."

"Well," said the king's son to the guests at the feast, "when I was a little younger than I am now, I used to be everywhere in the world sporting and gaming; and once when I was away, I lost the key of a casket that I had. I had a new key made, and after it was brought to me I found the old one. Now, I'll leave it to any one here to tell what am I to do, -- which of the keys should I keep?"

"My advice to you," said the king of Lochlin, "is to keep the old key, for it fits the lock better, and you're more used to it."

Then the king's son stood up and said: "I thank you, king of Lochlin, for a wise advice and an honest word. This is my bride, the daughter of the Giant of Loch LA(C)in. I'll have her, and no other woman. Your daughter is my father's guest, and no worse, but better, for having come to a wedding in Erin."

The king's son married Yellow Lily, daughter of the Giant of Loch LA(C)in, the wedding lasted long, and all were happy.




The Three Daughters Of King O'hara.


There was a king in Desmond whose name was Coluath O'Hara, and he had three daughters. On a time when the king was away from home, the eldest daughter took a thought that she'd like to be married. So she went up in the castle, put on the cloak of darkness which her father had, and wished for the most beautiful man under the sun as a husband for herself.

She got her wish; for scarcely had she put off the cloak of darkness, when there came, in a golden coach with four horses, two black and two white, the finest man she had ever laid eyes on, and took her away.

When the second daughter saw what had happened to her sister, she put on the cloak of darkness, and wished for the next best man in the world as a husband.

She put off the cloak; and straightway there came, in a golden coach with four black horses, a man nearly as good as the first, and took her away.

The third sister put on the cloak, and wished for the best white dog in the world.

Presently he came, with one man attending, in a golden coach and four snow-white horses, and took the youngest sister away.

When the king came home, the stable-boy told him what had happened while he was gone. He was enraged beyond measure when he heard that his youngest daughter had wished for a white dog, and gone off with him.

When the first man brought his wife home he asked: "In what form will you have me in the daytime, -- as I am now in the daytime, or as I am now at night?"

"As you are now in the daytime."

So the first sister had her husband as a man in the daytime; but at night he was a seal.

The second man put the same question to the middle sister, and got the same answer; so the second sister had her husband in the same form as the first.

When the third sister came to where the white dog lived, he asked her: "How will you have me to be in the daytime, -- as I am now in the day, or as I am now at night?"

"As you are now in the day."

So the white dog was a dog in the daytime, but the most beautiful of men at night.

After a time the third sister had a son; and one day, when her husband was going out to hunt, he warned her that if anything should happen the child, not to shed a tear on that account.

While he was gone, a great gray crow that used to haunt the place came and carried the child away when it was a week old.

Remembering the warning, she shed not a tear for the loss.

All went on as before till another son was born. The husband used to go hunting every day, and again he said she must not shed a tear if anything happened.

When the child was a week old a great gray crow came and bore him away; but the mother did not cry or drop a tear.

All went well till a daughter was born. When she was a week old a great gray crow came and swept her away. This time the mother dropped one tear on a handkerchief, which she took out of her pocket, and then put back again.

When the husband came home from hunting and heard what the crow had done, he asked the wife, "Have you shed tears this time?"

"I have dropped one tear," said she.

Then he was very angry; for he knew what harm she had done by dropping that one tear.

Soon after their father invited the three sisters to visit him and be present at a great feast in their honor. They sent messages, each from her own place, that they would come.

The king was very glad at the prospect of seeing his children; but the queen was grieved, and thought it a great disgrace that her youngest daughter had no one to come home with her but a white dog.

The white dog was in dread that the king wouldn't leave him inside with the company, but would drive him from the castle to the yard, and that the dogs outside wouldn't leave a patch of skin on his back, but would tear the life out of him.

The youngest daughter comforted him. "There is no danger to you," said she, "for wherever I am, you'll be, and wherever you go, I'll follow and take care of you."

When all was ready for the feast at the castle, and the company were assembled, the king was for banishing the white dog; but the youngest daughter would not listen to her father, -- would not let the white dog out of her sight, but kept him near her at the feast, and divided with him the food that came to herself.

When the feast was over, and all the guests had gone, the three sisters went to their own rooms in the castle.

Late in the evening the queen took the cook with her, and stole in to see what was in her daughters' rooms. They were all asleep at the time. What should she see by the side of her youngest daughter but the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on.

Then she went to where the other two daughters were sleeping; and there, instead of the two men who brought them to the feast, were two seals, fast asleep.

The queen was greatly troubled at the sight of the seals. When she and the cook were returning, they came upon the skin of the white dog. She caught it up as she went, and threw it into the kitchen fire.

The skin was not five minutes in the fire when it gave a crack that woke not only all in the castle, but all in the country for miles around.

The husband of the youngest daughter sprang up. He was very angry and very sorry, and said: "If I had been able to spend three nights with you under your father's roof, I should have got back my own form again for good, and could have been a man both in the day and the night; but now I must go."

He rose from the bed, ran out of the castle, and away he went as fast as ever his two legs could carry him, overtaking the one before him, and leaving the one behind. He was this way all that night and the next day; but he couldn't leave the wife, for she followed from the castle, was after him in the night and the day too, and never lost sight of him. In the afternoon he turned, and told her to go back to her father; but she would not listen to him. At nightfall they came to the first house they had seen since leaving the castle. He turned and said: "Do you go inside and stay in this house till morning; I'll pass the night outside where I am."

The wife went in. The woman of the house rose up, gave her a pleasant welcome, and put a good supper before her. She was not long in the house when a little boy came to her knee and called her "Mother."

The woman of the house told the child to go back to his place, and not to come out again.

"Here are a pair of scissors," said the woman of the house to the king's daughter, "and they will serve you well. Whatever ragged people you see, if you cut a piece off their rags, that moment they will have new clothes of cloth of gold."

She stayed that night, for she had good welcome. Next morning when she went out, her husband said: "You'd better go home now to your father."

"I'll not go to my father if I have to leave you," said she.

So he went on, and she followed. It was that way all the day till night came; and at nightfall they saw another house at the foot of a hill, and again the husband stopped and said: "You go in; I'll stop outside till morning."

The woman of the house gave her a good welcome. After she had eaten and drunk, a little boy came out of another room, ran to her knee, and said, "Mother." The woman of the house sent the boy back to where he had come from, and told him to stay there.

Next morning, when the princess was going out to her husband, the woman of the house gave her a comb, and said: "If you meet any person with a diseased and a sore head, and draw this comb over it three times, the head will be well, and covered with the most beautiful golden hair ever seen."

She took the comb, and went out to her husband.

"Leave me now," said he, "and go back to your own father."

"I will not," said she, "but I will follow you while I have the power." So they went forward that day, as on the other two.

At nightfall they came to a third house, at the foot of a hill, where the princess received a good welcome. After she had eaten supper, a little girl with only one eye came to her knee and said, "Mother."

The princess began to cry at sight of the child, thinking that she herself was the cause that it had but one eye. Then she put her hand into her pocket where she kept the handkerchief on which she had dropped the tear when the gray crow carried her infant away. She had never used the handkerchief since that day, for there was an eye on it.

She opened the handkerchief, and put the eye in the girl's head. It grew into the socket that minute, and the child saw out of it as well as out of the other eye; and then the woman of the house sent the little one to bed.

Next morning, as the king's daughter was going out, the woman of the house gave her a whistle, and said: "Whenever you put this whistle to your mouth and blow on it, all the birds of the air will come to you from every quarter under the sun. Be careful of the whistle, as it may serve you greatly."

"Go back to your father's castle," said the husband when she came to him, "for I must leave you to-day."

They went on together a few hundred yards, and then sat on a green hillock, and he told the wife: "Your mother has come between us; but for her we might have lived together all our days. If I had been allowed to pass three nights with you in your father's house, I should have got back my form of a man both in the daytime and the night. The Queen of Tir na n-Og [the land of youth] enchanted and put on me a spell, that unless I could spend three nights with a wife under her father's roof in Erin, I should bear the form of a white dog one half of my time; but if the skin of the dog should be burned before the three nights were over, I must go down to her kingdom and marry the queen herself. And 'tis to her I am going to-day. I have no power to stay, and I must leave you; so farewell, you'll never see me again on the upper earth."

He left her sitting on the mound, went a few steps forward to some bulrushes, pulled up one, and disappeared in the opening where the rush had been.

She stopped there, sitting on the mound lamenting, till evening, not knowing what to do. At last she bethought herself, and going to the rushes, pulled up a stalk, went down, followed her husband, and never stopped till she came to the lower land.

After a while she reached a small house near a splendid castle. She went into the house and asked, could she stay there till morning. "You can," said the woman of the house, "and welcome."

Next day the woman of the house was washing clothes, for that was how she made a living. The princess fell to and helped her with the work. In the course of that day the Queen of Tir na n-Og and the husband of the princess were married.

Near the castle, and not far from the washerwoman's, lived a henwife with two ragged little daughters. One of them came around the washerwoman's house to play. The child looked so poor and her clothes were so torn and dirty that the princess took pity on her, and cut the clothes with the scissors which she had.

That moment the most beautiful dress of cloth of gold ever seen on woman or child in that kingdom was on the henwife's daughter.

When she saw what she had on, the child ran home to her mother as fast as ever she could go.

"Who gave you that dress?" asked the henwife.

"A strange woman that is in that house beyond," said the little girl, pointing to the washerwoman's house.

The henwife went straight to the Queen of Tir na n-Og and said: "There is a strange woman in the place, who will be likely to take your husband from you, unless you banish her away or do something to her; for she has a pair of scissors different from anything ever seen or heard of in this country."

When the queen heard this she sent word to the princess that, unless the scissors were given up to her without delay, she would have the head off her.

The princess said she would give up the scissors if the queen would let her pass one night with her husband.

The queen answered that she was willing to give her the one night. The princess came and gave up the scissors, and went to her own husband; but the queen had given him a drink, and he fell asleep, and never woke till after the princess had gone in the morning.

Next day another daughter of the henwife went to the washerwoman's house to play. She was wretched-looking, her head being covered with scabs and sores.

The princess drew the comb three times over the child's head, cured it, and covered it with beautiful golden hair. The little girl ran home and told her mother how the strange woman had drawn the comb over her head, cured it, and given her beautiful golden hair.

The henwife hurried off to the queen and said: "That strange woman has a comb with wonderful power to cure, and give golden hair; and she'll take your husband from you unless you banish her or take her life."

The queen sent word to the princess that unless she gave up the comb, she would have her life.

The princess returned as answer that she would give up the comb if she might pass one night with the queen's husband.

The queen was willing, and gave her husband a draught as before. When the princess came, he was fast asleep, and did not waken till after she had gone in the morning.

On the third day the washerwoman and the princess went out to walk, and the first daughter of the henwife with them. When they were outside the town, the princess put the whistle to her mouth and blew. That moment the birds of the air flew to her from every direction in flocks. Among them was a bird of song and new tales. The princess went to one side with the bird. "What means can I take," asked she, "against the queen to get back my husband? Is it best to kill her, and can I do it?"

"It is very hard," said the bird, "to kill her. There is no one in all Tir na n-Og who is able to take her life but her own husband. Inside a holly-tree in front of the castle is a wether, in the wether a duck, in the duck an egg, and in that egg is her heart and life. No man in Tir na n-Og can cut that holly-tree but her husband."

The princess blew the whistle again. A fox and a hawk came to her. She caught and put them into two boxes, which the washerwoman had with her, and took them to her new home.

When the henwife's daughter went home, she told her mother about the whistle. Away ran the henwife to the queen, and said: "That strange woman has a whistle that brings together all the birds of the air, and she'll have your husband yet, unless you take her head."

"I'll take the whistle from her, anyhow," said the queen. So she sent for the whistle.

The princess gave answer that she would give up the whistle if she might pass one night with the queen's husband.

The queen agreed, and gave him a draught as on the other nights. He was asleep when the princess came and when she went away.

Before going, the princess left a letter with his servant for the queen's husband, in which she told how she had followed him to Tir na n-Og, and had given the scissors, the comb, and the whistle, to pass three nights in his company, but had not spoken to him because the queen had given him sleeping draughts; that the life of the queen was in an egg, the egg in a duck, the duck in a wether, the wether in a holly-tree in front of the castle, and that no man could split the tree but himself.

As soon as he got the letter the husband took an axe, and went to the holly-tree. When he came to the tree he found the princess there before him, having the two boxes with the fox and the hawk in them.

He struck the tree a few blows; it split open, and out sprang the wether. He ran scarce twenty perches before the fox caught him. The fox tore him open; then the duck flew out. The duck had not flown fifteen perches when the hawk caught and killed her, smashing the egg. That instant the Queen of Tir na n-Og died.

The husband kissed and embraced his faithful wife. He gave a great feast; and when the feast was over, he burned the henwife with her house, built a palace for the washerwoman, and made his servant secretary.

They never left Tir na n-Og, and are living there happily now; and so may we live here.




The Weaver's Son And The Giant Of The White Hill.


There was once a weaver in Erin who lived at the edge of a wood; and on a time when he had nothing to burn, he went out with his daughter to get fagots for the fire.

They gathered two bundles, and were ready to carry them home, when who should come along but a splendid-looking stranger on horseback. And he said to the weaver: "My good man, will you give me that girl of yours?"

"Indeed then I will not," said the weaver.

"I'll give you her weight in gold," said the stranger, and he put out the gold there on the ground.

So the weaver went home with the gold and without the daughter. He buried the gold in the garden, without letting his wife know what he had done. When she asked, "Where is our daughter?" the weaver said: "I sent her on an errand to a neighbor's house for things that I want."

Night came, but no sight of the girl. The next time he went for fagots, the weaver took his second daughter to the wood; and when they had two bundles gathered, and were ready to go home, a second stranger came on horseback, much finer than the first, and asked the weaver would he give him his daughter.

"I will not," said the weaver.

"Well," said the stranger, "I'll give you her weight in silver if you'll let her go with me;" and he put the silver down before him.

The weaver carried home the silver and buried it in the garden with the gold, and the daughter went away with the man on horseback.

When he went again to the wood, the weaver took his third daughter with him; and when they were ready to go home, a third man came on horseback, gave the weight of the third daughter in copper, and took her away. The weaver buried the copper with the gold and silver.

Now, the wife was lamenting and moaning night and day for her three daughters, and gave the weaver no rest till he told the whole story.

Now, a son was born to them; and when the boy grew up and was going to school, he heard how his three sisters had been carried away for their weight in gold and silver and copper; and every day when he came home he saw how his mother was lamenting and wandering outside in grief through the fields and pits and ditches, so he asked her what trouble was on her; but she wouldn't tell him a word.

At last he came home crying from school one day, and said: "I'll not sleep three nights in one house till I find my three sisters." Then he said to his mother: "Make me three loaves of bread, mother, for I am going on a journey."

Next day he asked had she the bread ready. She said she had, and she was crying bitterly all the time. "I'm going to leave you now, mother," said he; "and I'll come back when I have found my three sisters."

He went away, and walked on till he was tired and hungry; and then he sat down to eat the bread that his mother had given him, when a red-haired man came up and asked him for something to eat. "Sit down here," said the boy. He sat down, and the two ate till there was not a crumb of the bread left.

The boy told of the journey he was on; then the red-haired man said: "There may not be much use in your going, but here are three things that'll serve you, -- the sword of sharpness, the cloth of plenty, and the cloak of darkness. No man can kill you while that sword is in your hand; and whenever you are hungry or dry, all you have to do is to spread the cloth and ask for what you'd like to eat or drink, and it will be there before you. When you put on the cloak, there won't be a man or a woman or a living thing in the world that'll see you, and you'll go to whatever place you have set your mind on quicker than any wind."

The red-haired man went his way, and the boy travelled on. Before evening a great shower came, and he ran for shelter to a large oak-tree. When he got near the tree his foot slipped, the ground opened, and down he went through the earth till he came to another country. When he was in the other country he put on the cloak of darkness and went ahead like a blast of wind, and never stopped till he saw a castle in the distance; and soon he was there. But he found nine gates closed before him, and no way to go through. It was written inside the cloak of darkness that his eldest sister lived in that castle.

He was not long at the gate looking in when a girl came to him and said, "Go on out of that; if you don't, you'll be killed."

"Do you go in," said he to the girl, "and tell my sister, the woman of this castle, to come out to me." The girl ran in; out came the sister, and asked: "Why are you here, and what did you come for?"

"I have come to this country to find my three sisters, who were given away by my father for their weight in gold, silver, and copper; and you are my eldest sister."

She knew from what he said that he was her brother, so she opened the gates and brought him in, saying: "Don't wonder at anything you see in this castle. My husband is enchanted. I see him only at night. He goes off every morning, stays away all day, and comes home in the evening."

The sun went down; and while they were talking, the husband rushed in, and the noise of him was terrible. He came in the form of a ram, ran up stairs, and soon after came down a man.

"Who is this that's with you?" asked he of the wife.

"Oh! that's my brother, who has come from Erin to see me," said she.

Next morning, when the man of the castle was going off in the form of a ram, he turned to the boy and asked, "Will you stay a few days in my castle? You are welcome."

"Nothing would please me better," said the boy; "but I have made a vow never to sleep three nights in one house till I have found my three sisters."

"Well," said the ram, "since you must go, here is something for you." And pulling out a bit of his own wool, he gave it to the boy, saying: "Keep this; and whenever a trouble is on you, take it out, and call on what rams are in the world to help you." Away went the ram. The boy took farewell of his sister, put on the cloak of darkness, and disappeared. He travelled till hungry and tired, then he sat down, took off the cloak of darkness, spread the cloth of plenty, and asked for meat and drink. After he had eaten and drunk his fill, he took up the cloth, put on the cloak of darkness, and went ahead, passing every wind that was before him, and leaving every wind that was behind.

About an hour before sunset he saw the castle in which his second sister lived. When he reached the gate, a girl came out to him and said: "Go away from that gate, or you'll be killed."

"I'll not leave this till my sister who lives in the castle comes out and speaks to me."

The girl ran in, and out came the sister. When she heard his story and his father's name, she knew that he was her brother, and said: "Come into the castle, but think nothing of what you'll see or hear. I don't see my husband from morning till night. He goes and comes in a strange form, but he is a man at night."

About sunset there was a terrible noise, and in rushed the man of the castle in the form of a tremendous salmon. He went flapping upstairs; but he wasn't long there till he came down a fine-looking man.

"Who is that with you?" asked he of the wife. "I thought you would let no one into the castle while I was gone."

"Oh! this is my brother, who has come to see me," said she.

"If he's your brother, he's welcome," said the man.

They supped, and then slept till morning. When the man of the castle was going out again, in the form of a great salmon, he turned to the boy and said: "You'd better stay here with us a while."

"I cannot," said the boy. "I made a vow never to sleep three nights in one house till I had seen my three sisters. I must go on now and find my third sister."

The salmon then took off a piece of his fin and gave it to the boy, saying: "If any difficulty meets you, or trouble comes on you, call on what salmons are in the sea to come and help you."

They parted. The boy put on his cloak of darkness, and away he went, more swiftly than any wind. He never stopped till he was hungry and thirsty. Then he sat down, took off his cloak of darkness, spread the cloth of plenty, and ate his fill; when he had eaten, he went on again till near sundown, when he saw the castle where his third sister lived. All three castles were near the sea. Neither sister knew what place she was in, and neither knew where the other two were living.

The third sister took her brother in just as the first and second had done, telling him not to wonder at anything he saw.

They were not long inside when a roaring noise was heard, and in came the greatest eagle that ever was seen. The eagle hurried upstairs, and soon came down a man.

"Who is that stranger there with you?" asked he of the wife. (He, as well as the ram and salmon, knew the boy; he only wanted to try his wife.)

"This is my brother, who has come to see me."

They all took supper and slept that night. When the eagle was going away in the morning, he pulled a feather out of his wing, and said to the boy: "Keep this; it may serve you. If you are ever in straits and want help, call on what eagles are in the world, and they'll come to you."

There was no hurry now, for the third sister was found; and the boy went upstairs with her to examine the country all around, and to look at the sea. Soon he saw a great white hill, and on the top of the hill a castle.

"In that castle on the white hill beyond," said the sister, "lives a giant, who stole from her home the most beautiful young woman in the world. From all parts the greatest heroes and champions and kings' sons are coming to take her away from the giant and marry her. There is not a man of them all who is able to conquer the giant and free the young woman; but the giant conquers them, cuts their heads off, and then eats their flesh. When he has picked the bones clean, he throws them out; and the whole place around the castle is white with the bones of the men that the giant has eaten."

"I must go," said the boy, "to that castle to know can I kill the giant and bring away the young woman."

So he took leave of his sister, put on the cloak of darkness, took his sword with him, and was soon inside the castle. The giant was fighting with champions outside. When the boy saw the young woman he took off the cloak of darkness and spoke to her.

"Oh!" said she, "what can you do against the giant? No man has ever come to this castle without losing his life. The giant kills every man; and no one has ever come here so big that the giant did not eat him at one meal."

"And is there no way to kill him?" asked the boy.

"I think not," said she.

"Well, if you'll give me something to eat, I'll stay here; and when the giant comes in, I'll do my best to kill him. But don't let on that I am here."

Then he put on the cloak of darkness, and no one could see him. When the giant came in, he had the bodies of two men on his back. He threw down the bodies and told the young woman to get them ready for his dinner. Then he snuffed around, and said: "There's some one here; I smell the blood of an Erineach."

"I don't think you do," said the young woman; "I can't see any one."

"Neither can I," said the giant; "but I smell a man."

With that the boy drew his sword; and when the giant was struck, he ran in the direction of the blow to give one back; then he was struck on the other side.

They were at one another this way, the giant and the boy with the cloak of darkness on him, till the giant had fifty wounds, and was covered with blood. Every minute he was getting a slash of a sword, but never could give one back. At last he called out: "Whoever you are, wait till to-morrow, and I'll face you then."

So the fighting stopped; and the young woman began to cry and lament as if her heart would break when she saw the state the giant was in. "Oh! you'll be with me no longer; you'll be killed now: what can I do alone without you?" and she tried to please him, and washed his wounds.

"Don't be afraid," said the giant; "this one, whoever he is, will not kill me, for there is no man in the world that can kill me." Then the giant went to bed, and was well in the morning.

Next day the giant and the boy began in the middle of the forenoon, and fought till the middle of the afternoon. The giant was covered with wounds, and he had not given one blow to the boy, and could not see him, for he was always in his cloak of darkness. So the giant had to ask for rest till next morning.

While the young woman was washing and dressing the wounds of the giant she cried and lamented all the time, saying: "What'll become of me now? I'm afraid you'll be killed this time; and how can I live here without you?"

"Have no fear for me," said the giant; "I'll put your mind at rest. In the bottom of the sea is a chest locked and bound, in that chest is a duck, in the duck an egg; and I never can be killed unless some one gets the egg from the duck in the chest at the bottom of the sea, and rubs it on the mole that is under my right breast."

While the giant was telling this to the woman to put her mind at rest, who should be listening to the story but the boy in the cloak of darkness. The minute he heard of the chest in the sea, he thought of the salmons. So off he hurried to the seashore, which was not far away. Then he took out the fin that his eldest sister's husband had given him, and called on what salmons were in the sea to bring up the chest with the duck inside, and put it out on the beach before him.

He had not long to wait till he saw nothing but salmon, -- the whole sea was covered with them, moving to land; and they put the chest out on the beach before him.

But the chest was locked and strong; how could he open it? He thought of the rams; and taking out the lock of wool, said: "I want what rams are in the world to come and break open this chest!"

That minute the rams of the world were running to the seashore, each with a terrible pair of horns on him; and soon they battered the chest to splinters. Out flew the duck, and away she went over the sea.

The boy took out the feather, and said: "I want what eagles are in the world to get me the egg from that duck."

That minute the duck was surrounded by the eagles of the world, and the egg was soon brought to the boy. He put the feather, the wool, and the fin in his pocket, put on the cloak of darkness, and went to the castle on the white hill, and told the young woman, when she was dressing the wounds of the giant again, to raise up his arm.

Next day they fought till the middle of the afternoon. The giant was almost cut to pieces, and called for a cessation.

The young woman hurried to dress the wounds, and he said: "I see you would help me if you could: you are not able. But never fear, I shall not be killed." Then she raised his arm to wash away the blood, and the boy, who was there in his cloak of darkness, struck the mole with the egg. The giant died that minute.

The boy took the young woman to the castle of his third sister. Next day he went back for the treasures of the giant, and there was more gold in the castle than one horse could draw.

They spent nine days in the castle of the eagle with the third sister. Then the boy gave back the feather, and the two went on till they came to the castle of the salmon, where they spent nine more days with the second sister; and he gave back the fin.

When they came to the castle of the ram, they spent fifteen days with the first sister, and had great feasting and enjoyment. Then the boy gave back the lock of wool to the ram, and taking farewell of his sister and her husband, set out for home with the young woman of the white castle, who was now his wife, bringing presents from the three daughters to their father and mother.

At last they reached the opening near the tree, came up through the ground, and went on to where he met the red-haired man. Then he spread the cloth of plenty, asked for every good meat and drink, and called the red-haired man. He came. The three sat down, ate and drank with enjoyment.

When they had finished, the boy gave back to the red-haired man the cloak of darkness, the sword of sharpness, and the cloth of plenty, and thanked him.

"You were kind to me," said the red-haired man; "you gave me of your bread when I asked for it, and told me where you were going. I took pity on you; for I knew you never could get what you wanted unless I helped you. I am the brother of the eagle, the salmon, and the ram."

They parted. The boy went home, built a castle with the treasure of the giant, and lived happily with his parents and wife.




Fair, Brown, And Trembling.


King Aedh Curucha lived in Tir Conal, and he had three daughters, whose names were Fair, Brown, and Trembling.

Fair and Brown had new dresses, and went to church every Sunday. Trembling was kept at home to do the cooking and work. They would not let her go out of the house at all; for she was more beautiful than the other two, and they were in dread she might marry before themselves.

They carried on in this way for seven years. At the end of seven years the son of the king of Omanya[3] fell in love with the eldest sister.

[3] The ancient Emania in Ulster.

One Sunday morning, after the other two had gone to church, the old henwife came into the kitchen to Trembling, and said: "It's at church you ought to be this day, instead of working here at home."

"How could I go?" said Trembling. "I have no clothes good enough to wear at church; and if my sisters were to see me there, they'd kill me for going out of the house."

"I'll give you," said the henwife, "a finer dress than either of them has ever seen. And now tell me what dress will you have?"

"I'll have," said Trembling, "a dress as white as snow, and green shoes for my feet."

Then the henwife put on the cloak of darkness, clipped a piece from the old clothes the young woman had on, and asked for the whitest robes in the world and the most beautiful that could be found, and a pair of green shoes.

That moment she had the robe and the shoes, and she brought them to Trembling, who put them on. When Trembling was dressed and ready, the henwife said: "I have a honey-bird here to sit on your right shoulder, and a honey-finger to put on your left. At the door stands a milk-white mare, with a golden saddle for you to sit on, and a golden bridle to hold in your hand."

Trembling sat on the golden saddle; and when she was ready to start, the henwife said: "You must not go inside the door of the church, and the minute the people rise up at the end of Mass, do you make off, and ride home as fast as the mare will carry you."

When Trembling came to the door of the church there was no one inside who could get a glimpse of her but was striving to know who she was; and when they saw her hurrying away at the end of Mass, they ran out to overtake her. But no use in their running; she was away before any man could come near her. From the minute she left the church till she got home, she overtook the wind before her, and outstripped the wind behind.

She came down at the door, went in, and found the henwife had dinner ready. She put off the white robes, and had on her old dress in a twinkling.

When the two sisters came home the henwife asked: "Have you any news to-day from the church?"

"We have great news," said they. "We saw a wonderful, grand lady at the church-door. The like of the robes she had we have never seen on woman before. It's little that was thought of our dresses beside what she had on; and there wasn't a man at the church, from the king to the beggar, but was trying to look at her and know who she was."

The sisters would give no peace till they had two dresses like the robes of the strange lady; but honey-birds and honey-fingers were not to be found.

Next Sunday the two sisters went to church again, and left the youngest at home to cook the dinner.

After they had gone, the henwife came in and asked: "Will you go to church to-day?"

"I would go," said Trembling, "if I could get the going."

"What robe will you wear?" asked the henwife.

"The finest black satin that can be found, and red shoes for my feet."

"What color do you want the mare to be?"

"I want her to be so black and so glossy that I can see myself in her body."

The henwife put on the cloak of darkness, and asked for the robes and the mare. That moment she had them. When Trembling was dressed, the henwife put the honey-bird on her right shoulder and the honey-finger on her left. The saddle on the mare was silver, and so was the bridle.

When Trembling sat in the saddle and was going away, the henwife ordered her strictly not to go inside the door of the church, but to rush away as soon as the people rose at the end of Mass, and hurry home on the mare before any man could stop her.

That Sunday the people were more astonished than ever, and gazed at her more than the first time; and all they were thinking of was to know who she was. But they had no chance; for the moment the people rose at the end of Mass she slipped from the church, was in the silver saddle, and home before a man could stop her or talk to her.

The henwife had the dinner ready. Trembling took off her satin robe, and had on her old clothes before her sisters got home.

"What news have you to-day?" asked the henwife of the sisters when they came from the church.

"Oh, we saw the grand strange lady again! And it's little that any man could think of our dresses after looking at the robes of satin that she had on! And all at church, from high to low, had their mouths open, gazing at her, and no man was looking at us."

The two sisters gave neither rest nor peace till they got dresses as nearly like the strange lady's robes as they could find. Of course they were not so good; for the like of those robes could not be found in Erin.

When the third Sunday came, Fair and Brown went to church dressed in black satin. They left Trembling at home to work in the kitchen, and told her to be sure and have dinner ready when they came back.

After they had gone and were out of sight, the henwife came to the kitchen and said: "Well, my dear, are you for church to-day?"

"I would go if I had a new dress to wear."

"I'll get you any dress you ask for. What dress would you like?" asked the henwife.

"A dress red as a rose from the waist down, and white as snow from the waist up; a cape of green on my shoulders; and a hat on my head with a red, a white, and a green feather in it; and shoes for my feet with the toes red, the middle white, and the backs and heels green."

The henwife put on the cloak of darkness, wished for all these things, and had them. When Trembling was dressed, the henwife put the honey-bird on her right shoulder and the honey-finger on her left, and placing the hat on her head, clipped a few hairs from one lock and a few from another with her scissors, and that moment the most beautiful golden hair was flowing down over the girl's shoulders. Then the henwife asked what kind of a mare she would ride. She said white, with blue and gold-colored diamond-shaped spots all over her body, on her back a saddle of gold, and on her head a golden bridle.

The mare stood there before the door, and a bird sitting between her ears, which began to sing as soon as Trembling was in the saddle, and never stopped till she came home from the church.

The fame of the beautiful strange lady had gone out through the world, and all the princes and great men that were in it came to church that Sunday, each one hoping that it was himself would have her home with him after Mass.

The son of the king of Omanya forgot all about the eldest sister, and remained outside the church, so as to catch the strange lady before she could hurry away.

The church was more crowded than ever before, and there were three times as many outside. There was such a throng before the church that Trembling could only come inside the gate.

As soon as the people were rising at the end of Mass, the lady slipped out through the gate, was in the golden saddle in an instant, and sweeping away ahead of the wind. But if she was, the prince of Omanya was at her side, and, seizing her by the foot, he ran with the mare for thirty perches, and never let go of the beautiful lady till the shoe was pulled from her foot, and he was left behind with it in his hand. She came home as fast as the mare could carry her, and was thinking all the time that the henwife would kill her for losing the shoe.

Seeing her so vexed and so changed in the face, the old woman asked: "What's the trouble that's on you now?"

"Oh! I've lost one of the shoes off my feet," said Trembling.

"Don't mind that; don't be vexed," said the henwife; "maybe it's the best thing that ever happened to you."

Then Trembling gave up all the things she had to the henwife, put on her old clothes, and went to work in the kitchen. When the sisters came home, the henwife asked: "Have you any news from the church?"

"We have indeed," said they; "for we saw the grandest sight to-day. The strange lady came again, in grander array than before. On herself and the horse she rode were the finest colors of the world, and between the ears of the horse was a bird which never stopped singing from the time she came till she went away. The lady herself is the most beautiful woman ever seen by man in Erin."

After Trembling had disappeared from the church, the son of the king of Omanya said to the other kings' sons: "I will have that lady for my own."

They all said: "You didn't win her just by taking the shoe off her foot, you'll have to win her by the point of the sword; you'll have to fight for her with us before you can call her your own."

"Well," said the son of the king of Omanya, "when I find the lady that shoe will fit, I'll fight for her, never fear, before I leave her to any of you."

Then all the kings' sons were uneasy, and anxious to know who was she that lost the shoe; and they began to travel all over Erin to know could they find her. The prince of Omanya and all the others went in a great company together, and made the round of Erin; they went everywhere, -- north, south, east, and west. They visited every place where a woman was to be found, and left not a house in the kingdom they did not search, to know could they find the woman the shoe would fit, not caring whether she was rich or poor, of high or low degree.

The prince of Omanya always kept the shoe; and when the young women saw it, they had great hopes, for it was of proper size, neither large nor small, and it would beat any man to know of what material it was made. One thought it would fit her if she cut a little from her great toe; and another, with too short a foot, put something in the tip of her stocking. But no use, they only spoiled their feet, and were curing them for months afterwards.

The two sisters, Fair and Brown, heard that the princes of the world were looking all over Erin for the woman that could wear the shoe, and every day they were talking of trying it on; and one day Trembling spoke up and said: "Maybe it's my foot that the shoe will fit."

"Oh, the breaking of the dog's foot on you! Why say so when you were at home every Sunday?" They were that way waiting, and scolding the younger sister, till the princes were near the place. The day they were to come, the sisters put Trembling in a closet, and locked the door on her. When the company came to the house, the prince of Omanya gave the shoe to the sisters. But though they tried and tried, it would fit neither of them.

"Is there any other young woman in the house?" asked the prince.

"There is," said Trembling, speaking up in the closet; "I'm here."

"Oh! we have her for nothing but to put out the ashes," said the sisters.

But the prince and the others wouldn't leave the house till they had seen her; so the two sisters had to open the door. When Trembling came out, the shoe was given to her, and it fitted exactly.

The prince of Omanya looked at her and said: "You are the woman the shoe fits, and you are the woman I took the shoe from."

Then Trembling spoke up, and said: "Do you stay here till I return."

Then she went to the henwife's house. The old woman put on the cloak of darkness, got everything for her she had the first Sunday at church, and put her on the white mare in the same fashion. Then Trembling rode along the highway to the front of the house. All who saw her the first time said: "This is the lady we saw at church."

Then she went away a second time, and a second time came back on the black mare in the second dress which the henwife gave her. All who saw her the second Sunday said: "That is the lady we saw at church." A third time she asked for a short absence, and soon came back on the third mare and in the third dress. All who saw her the third time said: "That is the lady we saw at church." Every man was satisfied, and knew that she was the woman.

Then all the princes and great men spoke up, and said to the son of the king of Omanya: "You'll have to fight now for her before we let her go with you."

"I'm here before you, ready for combat," answered the prince.

Then the son of the king of Lochlin stepped forth. The struggle began, and a terrible struggle it was. They fought for nine hours; and then the son of the king of Lochlin stopped, gave up his claim, and left the field. Next day the son of the king of Spain fought six hours, and yielded his claim. On the third day the son of the king of NyerfA cubedi fought eight hours, and stopped. The fourth day the son of the king of Greece fought six hours, and stopped. On the fifth day no more strange princes wanted to fight; and all the sons of kings in Erin said they would not fight with a man of their own land, that the strangers had had their chance, and as no others came to claim the woman, she belonged of right to the son of the king of Omanya.

The marriage-day was fixed, and the invitations were sent out. The wedding lasted for a year and a day. When the wedding was over, the king's son brought home the bride, and when the time came a son was born. The young woman sent for her eldest sister, Fair, to be with her and care for her. One day, when Trembling was well, and when her husband was away hunting, the two sisters went out to walk; and when they came to the sea-side, the eldest pushed the youngest sister in. A great whale came and swallowed her.

The eldest sister came home alone, and the husband asked, "Where is your sister?"

"She has gone home to her father in Ballyshannon; now that I am well, I don't need her."

"Well," said the husband, looking at her, "I'm in dread, it's my wife that has gone."

"Oh! no," said she; "it's my sister Fair that's gone."

Since the sisters were very much alike, the prince was in doubt. That night he put his sword between them, and said: "If you are my wife, this sword will get warm; if not, it will stay cold."

In the morning when he rose up, the sword was as cold as when he put it there.

It happened when the two sisters were walking by the seashore, that a little cowboy was down by the water minding cattle, and saw Fair push Trembling into the sea; and next day, when the tide came in, he saw the whale swim up and throw her out on the sand. When she was on the sand she said to the cowboy: "When you go home in the evening with the cows, tell the master that my sister Fair pushed me into the sea yesterday; that a whale swallowed me, and then threw me out, but will come again and swallow me with the coming of the next tide; then he'll go out with the tide, and come again with to-morrow's tide, and throw me again on the strand. The whale will cast me out three times. I'm under the enchantment of this whale, and cannot leave the beach or escape myself. Unless my husband saves me before I'm swallowed the fourth time, I shall be lost. He must come and shoot the whale with a silver bullet when he turns on the broad of his back. Under the breast-fin of the whale is a reddish-brown spot. My husband must hit him in that spot, for it is the only place in which he can be killed."

When the cowboy got home, the eldest sister gave him a draught of oblivion, and he did not tell.

Next day he went again to the sea. The whale came and cast Trembling on shore again. She asked the boy: "Did you tell the master what I told you to tell him?"

"I did not," said he; "I forgot."

"How did you forget?" asked she.

"The woman of the house gave me a drink that made me forget."

"Well, don't forget telling him this night; and if she gives you a drink, don't take it from her."

As soon as the cowboy came home, the eldest sister offered him a drink. He refused to take it till he had delivered his message and told all to the master. The third day the prince went down with his gun and a silver bullet in it. He was not long down when the whale came and threw Trembling upon the beach as the two days before. She had no power to speak to her husband till he had killed the whale. Then the whale went out, turned over once on the broad of his back, and showed the spot for a moment only. That moment the prince fired. He had but the one chance, and a short one at that; but he took it, and hit the spot, and the whale, mad with pain, made the sea all around red with blood, and died.

That minute Trembling was able to speak, and went home with her husband, who sent word to her father what the eldest sister had done. The father came, and told him any death he chose to give her to give it. The prince told the father he would leave her life and death with himself. The father had her put out then on the sea in a barrel, with provisions in it for seven years.

In time Trembling had a second child, a daughter. The prince and she sent the cowboy to school, and trained him up as one of their own children, and said: "If the little girl that is born to us now lives, no other man in the world will get her but him."

The cowboy and the prince's daughter lived on till they were married. The mother said to her husband: "You could not have saved me from the whale but for the little cowboy; on that account I don't grudge him my daughter."

The son of the king of Omanya and Trembling had fourteen children, and they lived happily till the two died of old age.




The King Of Erin And The Queen Of The Lonesome Island.


There was a king in Erin long ago, and this king went out hunting one day, but saw nothing till near sunset, when what should come across him but a black pig.

"Since I've seen nothing all day but this black pig, I'll be at her now," said the king; so he put spurs to his horse and raced after the pig.

When the pig was on a hill he was in the valley behind her; when he was on a hill, the pig was in the valley before him. At last they came to the sea-side, and the pig rushed out into the deep water straight from the shore. The king spurred on his horse and followed the black pig through the sea till his horse failed under him and was drowned.

Then the king swam on himself till he was growing weak, and said: "It was for the death of me that the black pig came in my way."

But he swam on some distance yet, till at last he saw land. The pig went up on an island; the king too went on shore, and said to himself: "Oh! it is for no good that I came here; there is neither house nor shelter to be seen." But he cheered up after a while, walked around, and said: "I'm a useless man if I can't find shelter in some place."

After going on a short space he saw a great castle in a valley before him. When he came to the front of the castle he saw that it had a low door with a broad threshold all covered with sharp-edged razors, and a low lintel of long-pointed needles. The path to the castle was covered with gravel of gold. The king came up, and went in with a jump over the razors and under the needles. When inside he saw a great fire on a broad hearth, and said to himself, "I'll sit down here, dry my clothes, and warm my body at this fire."

As he sat and warmed himself, a table came out before him with every sort of food and drink, without his seeing any one bring it.

"Upon my honor and power," said the king of Erin, "there is nothing bad in this! I'll eat and drink my fill."

Then he fell to, and ate and drank his fill. When he had grown tired, he looked behind him, and if he did he saw a fine room, and in it a bed covered with gold. "Well," said he, "I'll go back and sleep in that bed a while, I'm so tired."

He stretched himself on the bed and fell asleep. In the night he woke up, and felt the presence of a woman in the room. He reached out his hand towards her and spoke, but got no answer; she was silent.

When morning came, and he made his way out of the castle, she spread a beautiful garden with her Druidic spells over the island, -- so great that though he travelled through it all day he could not escape from it. At sunset he was back at the door of the castle; and in he went over the razors and under the needles, sat at the fire, and the table came out before him as on the previous evening. He ate, drank, and slept on the bed; and when he woke in the night, there was the woman in the room; but she was silent and unseen as before.

When he went out on the second morning the king of Erin saw a garden three times more beautiful than the one of the day before. He travelled all day, but could not escape, -- could not get out of the garden. At sunset he was back at the door of the castle; in he went over the razors and under the needles, ate, drank, and slept, as before.

In the middle of the night he woke up, and felt the presence of the woman in the room. "Well," said he, "it is a wonderful thing for me to pass three nights in a room with a woman, and not see her nor know who she is!"

"You won't have that to say again, king of Erin," answered a voice. And that moment the room was filled with a bright light, and the king looked upon the finest woman he had ever seen. "Well, king of Erin, you are on Lonesome Island. I am the black pig that enticed you over the land and through the sea to this place, and I am queen of Lonesome Island. My two sisters and I are under a Druidic spell, and we cannot escape from this spell till your son and mine shall free us. Now, king of Erin, I will give you a boat to-morrow morning, and do you sail away to your own kingdom."

In the morning she went with him to the seashore to the boat. The king gave the prow of the boat to the sea, and its stern to the land; then he raised the sails, and went his way. The music he had was the roaring of the wind with the whistling of eels, and he broke neither oar nor mast till he landed under his own castle in Erin.

Three quarters of a year after, the queen of Lonesome Island gave birth to a son. She reared him with care from day to day and year to year till he was a splendid youth. She taught him the learning of wise men one half of the day, and warlike exercises with Druidic spells the other half. One time the young man, the prince of Lonesome Island, came in from hunting, and found his mother sobbing and crying.

"Oh! what has happened to you, mother?" he asked.

"My son, great grief has come on me. A friend of mine is going to be killed to-morrow."

"Who is he?"

"The king of Erin. The king of Spain has come against him with a great army. He wishes to sweep him and his men from the face of the earth, and take the kingdom himself."

"Well, what can we do? If I were there, I'd help the king of Erin."

"Since you say that, my son, I'll send you this very evening. With the power of my Druidic spells, you'll be in Erin in the morning."

The prince of Lonesome Island went away that night, and next morning at the rising of the sun he drew up his boat under the king's castle in Erin. He went ashore, and saw the whole land black with the forces of the king of Spain, who was getting ready to attack the king of Erin and sweep him and his men from the face of the earth.

The prince went straight to the king of Spain, and said, "I ask one day's truce."

"You shall have it, my champion," answered the king of Spain.

The prince then went to the castle of the king of Erin, and stayed there that day as a guest. Next morning early he dressed himself in his champion's array, and, taking his nine-edged sword, he went down alone to the king of Spain, and, standing before him, bade him guard himself.

They closed in conflict, the king of Spain with all his forces on one side, and the prince of Lonesome Island on the other. They fought an awful battle that day from sunrise till sunset. They made soft places hard, and hard places soft; they made high places low, and low places high; they brought water out of the centre of hard gray rocks, and made dry rushes soft in the most distant parts of Erin till sunset; and when the sun went down, the king of Spain and his last man were dead on the field.

Neither the king of Erin nor his forces took part in the battle. They had no need, and they had no chance.

Now the king of Erin had two sons, who were such cowards that they hid themselves from fright during the battle; but their mother told the king of Erin that her elder son was the man who had destroyed the king of Spain and all his men.

There was great rejoicing and a feast at the castle of the king of Erin. At the end of the feast the queen said: "I wish to give the last cup to this stranger who is here as a guest;" and taking him to an adjoining chamber which had a window right over the sea, she seated him in the open window and gave him a cup of drowsiness to drink. When he had emptied the cup and closed his eyes, she pushed him out into the darkness.

The prince of Lonesome Island swam on the water for four days and nights, till he came to a rock in the ocean, and there he lived for three months, eating the seaweeds of the rock, till one foggy day a vessel came near and the captain cried out: "We shall be wrecked on this rock!" Then he said, "There is some one on the rock; go and see who it is."

They landed, and found the prince, his clothes all gone, his body black from the seaweed, which was growing all over it.

"Who are you?" asked the captain.

"Give me first to eat and drink, and then I'll talk," said he.

They brought him food and drink; and when he had eaten and drunk, the prince said to the captain: "What part of the world have you come from?"

"I have just sailed from Lonesome Island," said the captain. "I was obliged to sail away, for fire was coming from every side to burn my ship."

"Would you like to go back?"

"I should indeed."

"Well, turn around; you'll have no trouble if I am with you."

The captain returned. The queen of Lonesome Island was standing on the shore as the ship came in.

"Oh, my child!" cried she, "why have you been away so long?"

"The queen of Erin threw me into the sea after I had kept the head of the king of Erin on him, and saved her life too."

"Well, my son, that will come up against the queen of Erin on another day."

Now, the prince lived on Lonesome Island three years longer, till one time he came home from hunting, and found his mother wringing her hands and shedding bitter tears.

"Oh! what has happened?" asked he.

"I am weeping because the king of Spain has gone to take vengeance on the king of Erin for the death of his father, whom you killed."

"Well, mother, I'll go to help the king of Erin, if you give me leave." "Since you have said it, you shall go this very night."

He went to the shore. Putting the prow of his bark to the sea and her stern to land, he raised high the sails, and heard no sound as he went but the pleasant wind and the whistling of eels, till he pulled up his boat next morning under the castle of the king of Erin and went on shore.

The whole country was black with the troops of the king of Spain, who was just ready to attack, when the prince stood before him, and asked a truce till next morning.

"That you shall have, my champion," answered the king. So there was peace for that day.

Next morning at sunrise, the prince faced the king of Spain and his army, and there followed a struggle more terrible than that with his father; but at sunset neither the king of Spain nor one of his men was left alive.

The two sons of the king of Erin were frightened almost to death, and hid during the battle, so that no one saw them or knew where they were. But when the king of Spain and his army were destroyed, the queen said to the king: "My elder son has saved us." Then she went to bed, and taking the blood of a chicken in her mouth, spat it out, saying: "This is my heart's blood; and nothing can cure me now but three bottles of water from Tubber Tintye, the flaming well."

When the prince was told of the sickness of the queen of Erin, he came to her and said: "I'll go for the water if your two sons will go with me."

"They shall go," said the queen; and away went the three young men towards the East, in search of the flaming well.

In the morning they came to a house on the roadside; and going in, they saw a woman who had washed herself in a golden basin which stood before her. She was then wetting her head with the water in the basin, and combing her hair with a golden comb. She threw back her hair, and looking at the prince, said: "You are welcome, sister's son. What is on you? Is it the misfortune of the world that has brought you here?"

"It is not; I am going to Tubber Tintye for three bottles of water."

"That is what you'll never do; no man can cross the fiery river or go through the enchantments around Tubber Tintye. Stay here with me, and I'll give you all I have."

"No, I cannot stay, I must go on."

"Well, you'll be in your other aunt's house to-morrow night, and she will tell you all."

Next morning, when they were getting ready to take the road, the elder son of the queen of Erin was frightened at what he had heard, and said: "I am sick; I cannot go farther."

"Stop here where you are till I come back," said the prince. Then he went on with the younger brother, till at sunset they came to a house where they saw a woman wetting her head from a golden basin, and combing her hair with a golden comb. She threw back her hair, looked at the prince, and said: "You are welcome, sister's son! What brought you to this place? Was it the misfortune of the world that brought you to live under Druidic spells like me and my sisters?" This was the elder sister of the queen of the Lonesome Island.

"No," said the prince; "I am going to Tubber Tintye for three bottles of water from the flaming well."

"Oh, sister's son, it's a hard journey you're on! But stay here to-night; to-morrow morning I'll tell you all."

In the morning the prince's aunt said: "The queen of the Island of Tubber Tintye has an enormous castle, in which she lives. She has a countless army of giants, beasts, and monsters to guard the castle and the flaming well. There are thousands upon thousands of them, of every form and size. When they get drowsy, and sleep comes on them, they sleep for seven years without waking. The queen has twelve attendant maidens, who live in twelve chambers. She is in the thirteenth and innermost chamber herself. The queen and the maidens sleep during the same seven years as the giants and beasts. When the seven years are over, they all wake up, and none of them sleep again for seven other years. If any man could enter the castle during the seven years of sleep, he could do what he liked. But the island on which the castle stands is girt by a river of fire and surrounded by a belt of poison-trees."

The aunt now blew on a horn, and all the birds of the air gathered around her from every place under the heavens, and she asked each in turn where it dwelt, and each told her; but none knew of the flaming well, till an old eagle said: "I left Tubber Tintye to-day."

"How are all the people there?" asked the aunt.

"They are all asleep since yesterday morning," answered the old eagle.

The aunt dismissed the birds; and turning to the prince, said, "Here is a bridle for you. Go to the stables, shake the bridle, and put it on whatever horse runs out to meet you."

Now the second son of the queen of Erin said: "I am too sick to go farther."

"Well, stay here till I come back," said the prince, who took the bridle and went out.

The prince of the Lonesome Island stood in front of his aunt's stables, shook the bridle, and out came a dirty, lean little shaggy horse.

"Sit on my back, son of the king of Erin and the queen of Lonesome Island," said the little shaggy horse.

This was the first the prince had heard of his father. He had often wondered who he might be, but had never heard who he was before.

He mounted the horse, which said: "Keep a firm grip now, for I shall clear the river of fire at a single bound, and pass the poison-trees; but if you touch any part of the trees, even with a thread of the clothing that's on you, you'll never eat another bite; and as I rush by the end of the castle of Tubber Tintye with the speed of the wind, you must spring from my back through an open window that is there; and if you don't get in at the window, you're done for. I'll wait for you outside till you are ready to go back to Erin."

The prince did as the little horse told him. They crossed the river of fire, escaped the touch of the poison-trees, and as the horse shot past the castle, the prince sprang through the open window, and came down safe and sound inside.

The whole place, enormous in extent, was filled with sleeping giants and monsters of sea and land, -- great whales, long slippery eels, bears, and beasts of every form and kind. The prince passed through them and over them till he came to a great stairway. At the head of the stairway he went into a chamber, where he found the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, stretched on a couch asleep. "I'll have nothing to say to you," thought he, and went on to the next; and so he looked into twelve chambers. In each was a woman more beautiful than the one before. But when he reached the thirteenth chamber and opened the door, the flash of gold took the sight from his eyes. He stood a while till the sight came back, and then entered. In the great bright chamber was a golden couch, resting on wheels of gold. The wheels turned continually; the couch went round and round, never stopping night or day. On the couch lay the queen of Tubber Tintye; and if her twelve maidens were beautiful, they would not be beautiful if seen near her. At the foot of the couch was Tubber Tintye itself, -- the well of fire. There was a golden cover upon the well, and it went around continually with the couch of the queen.

"Upon my word," said the prince, "I'll rest here a while." And he went up on the couch, and never left it for six days and nights.

On the seventh morning he said, "It is time for me now to leave this place." So he came down and filled the three bottles with water from the flaming well. In the golden chamber was a table of gold, and on the table a leg of mutton with a loaf of bread; and if all the men in Erin were to eat for a twelvemonth from the table, the mutton and the bread would be in the same form after the eating as before.

The prince sat down, ate his fill of the loaf and the leg of mutton, and left them as he had found them. Then he rose up, took his three bottles, put them in his wallet, and was leaving the chamber, when he said to himself: "It would be a shame to go away without leaving something by which the queen may know who was here while she slept." So he wrote a letter, saying that the son of the king of Erin and the queen of the Lonesome Island had spent six days and nights in the golden chamber of Tubber Tintye, had taken away three bottles of water from the flaming well, and had eaten from the table of gold. Putting this letter under the pillow of the queen, he went out, stood in the open window, sprang on the back of the lean and shaggy little horse, and passed the trees and the river unharmed.

When they were near his aunt's house, the horse stopped, and said: "Put your hand into my ear, and draw out of it a Druidic rod; then cut me into four quarters, and strike each quarter with the rod. Each one of them will become the son of a king, for four princes were enchanted and turned into the lean little shaggy horse that carried you to Tubber Tintye. When you have freed the four princes from this form you can free your two aunts from the spell that is on them, and take them with you to Lonesome Island."

The prince did as the horse desired; and straightway four princes stood before him, and thanking him for what he had done, they departed at once, each to his own kingdom.

The prince removed the spell from his aunts, and, travelling with them and the two sons of the queen of Erin, all soon appeared at the castle of the king.

When they were near the door of their mother's chamber, the elder of the two sons of the queen of Erin stepped up to the prince of Lonesome Island, snatched the three bottles from the wallet that he had at his side, and running up to his mother's bed, said: "Here, mother, are the three bottles of water which I brought you from Tubber Tintye."

"Thank you, my son; you have saved my life," said she.

The prince went on his bark and sailed away with his aunts to Lonesome Island, where he lived with his mother seven years.

When seven years were over, the queen of Tubber Tintye awoke from her sleep in the golden chamber; and with her the twelve maidens and all the giants, beasts, and monsters that slept in the great castle.

When the queen opened her eyes, she saw a boy about six years old playing by himself on the floor. He was very beautiful and bright, and he had gold on his forehead and silver on his poll. When she saw the child, she began to cry and wring her hands, and said: "Some man has been here while I slept."

Straightway she sent for her Seandallglic (old blind sage), told him about the child, and asked: "What am I to do now?"

The old blind sage thought a while, and then said: "Whoever was here must be a hero; for the child has gold on his forehead and silver on his poll, and he never went from this place without leaving his name behind him. Let search be made, and we shall know who he was."

Search was made, and at last they found the letter of the prince under the pillow of the couch. The queen was now glad, and proud of the child.

Next day she assembled all her forces, her giants and guards; and when she had them drawn up in line, the army was seven miles long from van to rear. The queen opened through the river of fire a safe way for the host, and led it on till she came to the castle of the king of Erin. She held all the land near the castle, so the king had the sea on one side, and the army of the queen of Tubber Tintye on the other, ready to destroy him and all that he had. The queen sent a herald for the king to come down.

"What are you going to do?" asked the king when he came to her tent. "I have had trouble enough in my life already, without having more of it now."

"Find for me," said the queen, "the man who came to my castle and entered the golden chamber of Tubber Tintye while I slept, or I'll sweep you and all you have from the face of the earth."

The king of Erin called down his elder son, and asked: "Did you enter the chamber of the queen of Tubber Tintye?"

"I did."

"Go, then, and tell her so, and save us."

He went; and when he told the queen, she said: "If you entered my chamber, then mount my gray steed."

He mounted the steed; and if he did, the steed rose in the air with a bound, hurled him off his back, in a moment, threw him on a rock, and dashed the brains out of his head.

The king called down his second son, who said that he had been in the golden chamber. Then he mounted the gray steed, which killed him as it had his brother.

Now the queen called the king again, and said: "Unless you bring the man who entered my golden chamber while I slept, I'll not leave a sign of you or anything you have upon the face of the earth." Straightway the king sent a message to the queen of Lonesome Island, saying: "Come to me with your son and your two sisters!"

The queen set out next morning, and at sunset she drew up her boat under the castle of the king of Erin. Glad were they to see her at the castle, for great dread was on all.

Next morning the king went down to the queen of Tubber Tintye, who said: "Bring me the man who entered my castle, or I'll destroy you and all you have in Erin this day."

The king went up to the castle; immediately the prince of Lonesome Island went to the queen.

"Are you the man who entered my castle?" asked she.

"I don't know," said the prince.

"Go up now on my gray steed!" said the queen.

He sat on the gray steed, which rose under him into the sky. The prince stood on the back of the horse, and cut three times with his sword as he went up under the sun. When he came to the earth again, the queen of Tubber Tintye ran over to him, put his head on her bosom, and said: "You are the man."

Now she called the queen of Erin to her tent, and drawing from her own pocket a belt of silk, slender as a cord, she said: "Put this on."

The queen of Erin put it on, and then the queen of Tubber Tintye said: "Tighten, belt!" The belt tightened till the queen of Erin screamed with pain. "Now tell me," said the queen of Tubber Tintye, "who was the father of your elder son."

"The gardener," said the queen of Erin.

Again the queen of Tubber Tintye said; "Tighten, belt!" The queen of Erin screamed worse than before; and she had good reason, for she was cut nearly in two. "Now tell me who was the father of your second son."

"The big brewer," said the queen of Erin.

Said the queen of Tubber Tintye to the king of Erin: "Get this woman dead."

The king put down a big fire then, and when it was blazing high, he threw the wife in, and she was destroyed at once.

"Now do you marry the queen of Lonesome Island, and my child will be grandchild to you and to her," said the queen of Tubber Tintye.

This was done, and the queen of Lonesome Island became queen of Erin and lived in the castle by the sea. And the queen of Tubber Tintye married the prince of Lonesome Island, the champion who entered the golden chamber while she slept.

Now the king of Erin sent ten ships with messages to all the kings of the world, inviting them to come to the wedding of the queen of Tubber Tintye and his son, and to his own wedding with the queen of Lonesome Island.

The queen removed the Druidic spells from her giants, beasts, and monsters; then went home, and made the prince of Lonesome Island king of Tubber Tintye and lord of the golden chamber.




The Shee An Gannon And The Gruagach Gaire.


The Shee an Gannon[4] was born in the morning, named at noon, and went in the evening to ask his daughter of the king of Erin.

[4] Shee an Gannon, in Gaelic "Sighe an Gannon," the fairy of the Gannon.

"I will give you my daughter in marriage," said the king of Erin; "you won't get her, though, unless you go and bring me back the tidings that I want, and tell me what it is that put a stop to the laughing of the Gruagach Gaire,[5] who before this laughed always, and laughed so loud that the whole world heard him. There are twelve iron spikes out here in the garden behind my castle. On eleven of the spikes are the heads of kings' sons who came seeking my daughter in marriage, and all of them went away to get the knowledge I wanted. Not one was able to get it and tell me what stopped the Gruagach Gaire from laughing. I took the heads off them all when they came back without the tidings for which they went, and I'm greatly in dread that your head'll be on the twelfth spike, for I'll do the same to you that I did to the eleven kings' sons unless you tell what put a stop to the laughing of the Gruagach."

[5] The laughing Gruagach.

The Shee an Gannon made no answer, but left the king and pushed away to know could he find why the Gruagach was silent.

He took a glen at a step, a hill at a leap, and travelled all day till evening. Then he came to a house. The master of the house asked him what sort was he, and he said: "A young man looking for hire."

"Well," said the master of the house, "I was going to-morrow to look for a man to mind my cows. If you'll work for me, you'll have a good place, the best food a man could have to eat in this world, and a soft bed to lie on."

The Shee an Gannon took service, and ate his supper. Then the master of the house said: "I am the Gruagach Gaire; now that you are my man and have eaten your supper, you'll have a bed of silk to sleep on."

Next morning after breakfast the Gruagach said to the Shee an Gannon: "Go out now and loosen my five golden cows and my bull without horns, and drive them to pasture; but when you have them out on the grass, be careful you don't let them go near the land of the giant."

The new cowboy drove the cattle to pasture, and when near the land of the giant, he saw it was covered with woods and surrounded by a high wall. He went up, put his back against the wall, and threw in a great stretch of it; then he went inside and threw out another great stretch of the wall, and put the five golden cows and the bull without horns on the land of the giant.

Then he climbed a tree, ate the sweet apples himself, and threw the sour ones down to the cattle of the Gruagach Gaire.

Soon a great crashing was heard in the woods, -- the noise of young trees bending, and old trees breaking. The cowboy looked around, and saw a five-headed giant pushing through the trees; and soon he was before him. "Poor miserable creature!" said the giant; "but weren't you impudent to come to my land and trouble me in this way? You're too big for one bite, and too small for two. I don't know what to do but tear you to pieces."

"You nasty brute," said the cowboy, coming down to him from the tree, "'tis little I care for you;" and then they went at each other. So great was the noise between them that there was nothing in the world but what was looking on and listening to the combat.

They fought till late in the afternoon, when the giant was getting the upper hand; and then the cowboy thought that if the giant should kill him, his father and mother would never find him or set eyes on him again, and he would never get the daughter of the king of Erin. The heart in his body grew strong at this thought. He sprang on the giant, and with the first squeeze and thrust he put him to his knees in the hard ground, with the second thrust to his waist, and with the third to his shoulders.

"I have you at last; you're done for now!" said the cowboy. Then he took out his knife, cut the five heads off the giant, and when he had them off he cut out the tongues and threw the heads over the wall.

Then he put the tongues in his pocket and drove home the cattle. That evening the Gruagach couldn't find vessels enough in all his place to hold the milk of the five golden cows.

After supper the cowboy would give no talk to his master, but kept his mind to himself, and went to the bed of silk to sleep.

Next morning after breakfast the cowboy drove out his cattle, and going on farther than the day before, stopped at a high wall. He put his back to the wall, threw in a long stretch of it, then went in and threw out another long stretch of it.

After that he put the five golden cows and the bull without horns on the land, and going up on a tree, ate sweet apples himself, and threw down the sour ones to the cattle.

Now the son of the king of Tisean set out from the king of Erin on the same errand, after asking for his daughter; and as soon as the cowboy drove in his cattle on the second day, he came along by the giant's land, found the five heads of the giant thrown out by the cowboy the day before, and picking them up, ran off to the king of Erin and put them down before him.

"Oh, you have done good work!" said the king. "You have won one third of my daughter."

Soon after the cowboy had begun to eat sweet apples, and the son of the king of Tisean had run off with the five heads, there came a great noise of young trees bending, and old trees breaking, and presently the cowboy saw a giant larger than the one he had killed the day before.

"You miserable little wretch!" cried the giant; "what brings you here on my land?"

"You wicked brute!" said the cowboy, "I don't care for you;" and slipping down from the tree, he fell upon the giant.

The fight was fiercer than his first one; but towards evening, when he was growing faint, the cowboy remembered that if he should fall, neither his father nor mother would see him again, and he would never get the daughter of the king of Erin.

This thought gave him strength; and jumping up, he caught the giant, put him with one thrust to his knees in the hard earth, with a second to his waist, with a third to his shoulders, and then swept the five heads off him and threw them over the wall, after he had cut out the tongues and put them in his pocket.

Leaving the body of the giant, the cowboy drove home the cattle, and the Gruagach had still greater trouble in finding vessels for the milk of the five golden cows.

After supper the cowboy said not a word, but went to sleep.

Next morning he drove the cattle still farther, and came to green woods and a strong wall. Putting his back to the wall, he threw in a great piece of it, and going in, threw out another piece. Then he drove the five golden cows and the bull without horns to the land inside, ate sweet apples himself, and threw down sour ones to the cattle.

The son of the king of Tisean came and carried off the heads as on the day before.

Presently a third giant came crashing through the woods, and a battle followed more terrible than the other two.

Towards evening the giant was gaining the upper hand, and the cowboy, growing weak, would have been killed; but the thought of his parents and the daughter of the king of Erin gave him strength, and he swept the five heads off the giant, and threw them over the wall after he had put the tongues in his pocket.

Then the cowboy drove home his cattle; and the Gruagach didn't know what to do with the milk of the five golden cows, there was so much of it.

But when the cowboy was on the way home with the cattle, the son of the king of Tisean came, took the five heads of the giant, and hurried to the king of Erin.

"You have won my daughter now," said the king of Erin when he saw the heads; "but you'll not get her unless you tell me what stops the Gruagach Gaire from laughing."

On the fourth morning the cowboy rose before his master, and the first words he said to the Gruagach were:

"What keeps you from laughing, you who used to laugh so loud that the whole world heard you?"

"I'm sorry," said the Gruagach, "that the daughter of the king of Erin sent you here."

"If you don't tell me of your own will, I'll make you tell me," said the cowboy; and he put a face on himself that was terrible to look at, and running through the house like a madman, could find nothing that would give pain enough to the Gruagach but some ropes made of untanned sheepskin hanging on the wall.

He took these down, caught the Gruagach, fastened his two hands behind him, and tied his feet so that his little toes were whispering to his ears. When he was in this state the Gruagach said: "I'll tell you what stopped my laughing if you set me free."

So the cowboy unbound him, the two sat down together, and the Gruagach said: -- 

"I lived in this castle here with my twelve sons. We ate, drank, played cards, and enjoyed ourselves, till one day when my sons and I were playing, a wizard hare came rushing in, jumped on our table, defiled it, and ran away.

"On another day he came again; but if he did, we were ready for him, my twelve sons and myself. As soon as he defiled our table and ran off, we made after him, and followed him till nightfall, when he went into a glen. We saw a light before us. I ran on, and came to a house with a great apartment, where there was a man with twelve daughters, and the hare was tied to the side of the room near the women.

"There was a large pot over the fire in the room, and a great stork boiling in the pot. The man of the house said to me: 'There are bundles of rushes at the end of the room, go there and sit down with your men!'

"He went into the next room and brought out two pikes, one of wood, the other of iron, and asked me which of the pikes would I take. I said, 'I'll take the iron one;' for I thought in my heart that if an attack should come on me, I could defend myself better with the iron than the wooden pike.

"The man of the house gave me the iron pike, and the first chance of taking what I could out of the pot on the point of the pike. I got but a small piece of the stork, and the man of the house took all the rest on his wooden pike. We had to fast that night; and when the man and his twelve daughters ate the flesh of the stork, they hurled the bare bones in the faces of my sons and myself.

"We had to stop all night that way, beaten on the faces by the bones of the stork.

"Next morning, when we were going away, the man of the house asked me to stay a while; and going into the next room, he brought out twelve loops of iron and one of wood, and said to me: 'Put the heads of your twelve sons into the iron loops, or your own head into the wooden one;' and I said: 'I'll put the twelve heads of my sons in the iron loops, and keep my own out of the wooden one.'

"He put the iron loops on the necks of my twelve sons, and put the wooden one on his own neck. Then he snapped the loops one after another, till he took the heads off my twelve sons and threw the heads and bodies out of the house; but he did nothing to hurt his own neck.

"When he had killed my sons he took hold of me and stripped the skin and flesh from the small of my back down, and when he had done that he took the skin of a black sheep that had been hanging on the wall for seven years and clapped it on my body in place of my own flesh and skin; and the sheepskin grew on me, and every year since then I shear myself, and every bit of wool I use for the stockings that I wear I clip off my own back."

When he had said this, the Gruagach showed the cowboy his back covered with thick black wool.

After what he had seen and heard, the cowboy said: "I know now why you don't laugh, and small blame to you. But does that hare come here still to spoil your table?"

"He does indeed," said the Gruagach.

Both went to the table to play, and they were not long playing cards when the hare ran in; and before they could stop him he was on the table, and had put it in such a state that they could not play on it longer if they had wanted to.

But the cowboy made after the hare, and the Gruagach after the cowboy, and they ran as fast as ever their legs could carry them till nightfall; and when the hare was entering the castle where the twelve sons of the Gruagach were killed, the cowboy caught him by the two hind legs and dashed out his brains against the wall; and the skull of the hare was knocked into the chief room of the castle, and fell at the feet of the master of the place.

"Who has dared to interfere with my fighting pet?" screamed he.

"I," said the cowboy; "and if your pet had had manners, he might be alive now."

The cowboy and the Gruagach stood by the fire. A stork was boiling in the pot, as when the Gruagach came the first time. The master of the house went into the next room and brought out an iron and a wooden pike, and asked the cowboy which would he choose.

"I'll take the wooden one," said the cowboy; "and you may keep the iron one for yourself."

So he took the wooden one; and going to the pot, brought out on the pike all the stork except a small bite, and he and the Gruagach fell to eating, and they were eating the flesh of the stork all night. The cowboy and the Gruagach were at home in the place that time.

In the morning the master of the house went into the next room, took down the twelve iron loops with a wooden one, brought them out, and asked the cowboy which would he take, the twelve iron or the one wooden loop.

"What could I do with the twelve iron ones for myself or my master? I'll take the wooden one."

He put it on, and taking the twelve iron loops, put them on the necks of the twelve daughters of the house, then snapped the twelve heads off them, and turning to their father, said: "I'll do the same thing to you unless you bring the twelve sons of my master to life, and make them as well and strong as when you took their heads."

The master of the house went out and brought the twelve to life again; and when the Gruagach saw all his sons alive and as well as ever, he let a laugh out of himself, and all the Eastern world heard the laugh.

Then the cowboy said to the Gruagach: "It's a bad thing you have done to me, for the daughter of the king of Erin will be married the day after your laugh is heard."

"Oh! then we must be there in time," said the Gruagach; and they all made away from the place as fast as ever they could, the cowboy, the Gruagach, and his twelve sons.

On the road they came to a woman who was crying very hard.

"What is your trouble?" asked the cowboy.

"You need have no care," said she, "for I will not tell you."

"You must tell me," said he, "for I'll help you out of it."

"Well," said the woman, "I have three sons, and they used to play hurley with the three sons of the king of the Sasenach,[6] and they were more than a match for the king's sons. And it was the rule that the winning side should give three wallops of their hurleys to the other side; and my sons were winning every game, and gave such a beating to the king's sons that they complained to their father, and the king carried away my sons to London, and he is going to hang them there to-day."

[6] Sasenach, English.

"I'll bring them here this minute," said the cowboy. "You have no time," said the Gruagach.

"Have you tobacco and a pipe?" asked the cowboy of the Gruagach.

"I have not," said he.

"Well, I have," said the cowboy; and putting his hand in his pocket, he took out tobacco and a pipe, gave them to the Gruagach, and said: "I'll be in London and back before you can put tobacco in this pipe and light it."

He disappeared, was back from London with the three boys all safe and well, and gave them to their mother before the Gruagach could get a taste of smoke out of the pipe.

"Now come with us," said the cowboy to the woman and her sons, "to the wedding of the daughter of the king of Erin."

They hurried on; and when within three miles of the king's castle there was such a throng of people that no one could go a step ahead. "We must clear a road through this," said the cowboy.

"We must indeed," said the Gruagach; and at it they went, threw the people some on one side and some on the other, and soon they had an opening for themselves to the king's castle.

As they went in, the daughter of the king of Erin and the son of the king of Tisean were on their knees just going to be married. The cowboy drew his hand on the bridegroom, and gave a blow that sent him spinning till he stopped under a table at the other side of the room.

"What scoundrel struck that blow?" asked the king of Erin.

"It was I," said the cowboy.

"What reason had you to strike the man who won my daughter?"

"It was I who won your daughter, not he; and if you don't believe me, the Gruagach Gaire is here himself. He'll tell you the whole story from beginning to end, and show you the tongues of the giants."

So the Gruagach came up and told the king the whole story, how the Shee an Gannon had become his cowboy, had guarded the five golden cows and the bull without horns, cut off the heads of the five-headed giants, killed the wizard hare, and brought his own twelve sons to life. "And then," said the Gruagach, "he is the only man in the whole world I have ever told why I stopped laughing, and the only one who has ever seen my fleece of wool."

When the king of Erin heard what the Gruagach said, and saw the tongues of the giants fitted into the heads, he made the Shee an Gannon kneel down by his daughter, and they were married on the spot.

Then the son of the king of Tisean was thrown into prison, and the next day they put down a great fire, and the deceiver was burned to ashes.

The wedding lasted nine days, and the last day was better than the first.




The Three Daughters Of The King Of The East, And The Son Of A King In Erin.


There was once a king in Erin, and he had an only son. While this son was a little child his mother died.

After a time the king married and had a second son.

The two boys grew up together; and as the elder was far handsomer and better than the younger, the queen became jealous, and was for banishing him out of her sight.

The king's castle stood near the shore of Loch Erne, and three swans came every day to be in the water and swim in the lake. The elder brother used to go fishing; and once when he sat at the side of the water, the three swans made young women of themselves, came to where he sat, and talked to the king's son.

The queen had a boy minding cows in the place, and when he went home that night he told about what he had seen, -- that there were three young women at the lake, and the king's son was talking to the three that day. Next morning the queen called the cowboy to her, and said: "Here is a pin of slumber; and do you stick it in the clothes of the king's son before the young women come, and when they go away, take out the pin and bring it back to me."

That day when the cowboy saw the three young women coming, he went near and threw the pin, which stuck in the clothes of the king's son. That instant he fell asleep on the ground.

When the young women came, one of them took a towel, dipped it in the cold water of the lake, and rubbed his face; but she could not rouse him. When their time came to go, they were crying and lamenting because the young man was asleep; and one of the three put a gold pin in his bosom, so that when he woke up he would find it and keep her in mind.

After they had gone a couple of hours, the cowboy came up, took out the sleeping-pin, and hurried off. The king's son woke up without delay; and finding the gold pin in his bosom, he knew the young woman had come to see him.

Next day he fished and waited again. When the cowboy saw the young women coming out of the lake, he stole up a second time, and threw the pin, which stuck in his clothes, and that moment he was drowsy and fell asleep. When the young women came he was lying on the ground asleep. One of them rubbed him with a towel dipped in the water of the lake; but no matter what she did, he slept on, and when they had to go, she put a gold ring in his bosom. When the sisters were leaving the lake, and had put on their swan-skins and become swans, they all flew around him and flapped their wings in his face to know could they rouse him; but there was no use in trying.

After they had gone, the cowboy came and took out the sleeping-pin. When the king's son was awake he put his hand in his bosom, found the keepsake, and knew that the sisters had come to him.

When he went fishing the third day, he called up the cowboy and said: "I fall asleep every day. I know something is done to me. Now do you tell me all. In time I'll reward you well. I know my stepmother sends something by you that takes my senses away."

"I would tell," said the cowboy, "but I'm in dread my mistress might kill or banish me."

"She will not, for I'll put you in the way she'll not harm you. You see my fishing-bag here? Now throw the pin, which I know you have, towards me, and hit the bag."

The cowboy did as he was told, and threw the pin into the fishing-bag, where it remained without harm to any one. The cowboy went back to his cattle, and the prince fished on as before. The three swans were out in the middle of the lake swimming around for themselves in the water, and the prince moved on, fishing, till he came to a bend in the shore. On one side of him a tongue of land ran out into the lake. The swans came to the shore, leaving the piece of land between themselves and the prince. Then they took off their swan-skins, were young women, and bathed in the lake.

After that they came out, put on the dress of young women, and went to where the king's son was fishing.

He spoke to them, and asked where were they from, in what place were they born, and why were they swans.

They said: "We are three sisters, daughters of the king of the East, and we have two brothers. Our mother died, and our father married again, and had two other daughters; and these two are not so good looking nor so well favored as we, and their mother was in dread they wouldn't get such fine husbands as we, so she enchanted us, and now we are going about the world from lake to lake in the form of swans."

Then the eldest of the three sisters said to the king's son: "What kind are you, and where were you born?"

"I was born in Erin," said he; "and when I was a little boy my mother died, my father married again and had a second son, and that son wasn't to the eye what I was, and my stepmother was for banishing me from my father's house because she thought her own son was not so good as I was, and I am fishing here every day by the lake to keep out of her sight."

"Well," said the eldest sister, "I thought you were a king's son, and so I came to you in my own form to know could we go on in the world together."

"I don't know yet what to do," said the king's son.

"Well, be sure of your mind to-morrow, for that will be the last day for me here."

When the cowboy was going home, the king's son gave him the sleeping-pin for the stepmother. When he had driven in the cattle, the cowboy told the queen that the young man had fallen asleep as on the two other days.

But there was an old witch in the place who was wandering about the lake that day. She saw everything, went to the queen, and told her how the three swans had made young women of themselves, and talked with her stepson.

When the queen heard the old witch, she fell into a terrible rage at the cowboy for telling her a lie, and banished him out of her sight forever. Then she got another cowboy, and sent him off with the sleeping-pin next day. When he came near the lake, the king's son tried to drive him off; but the cowboy threw the sleeping-pin into his clothes, and he fell down near the edge of the water without sight or sense.

The three sisters came, and found him sleeping. They rubbed him, and threw water on his face, but they could not wake him. And the three were lamenting sorely, for they had brought a swan's skin with them that day, so the king's son might make a swan of himself and fly away with them, for this was their last day at that place; but they could do nothing now, for he lay there dead asleep on the ground before them.

The eldest sister pulled out her handkerchief, and the falling tears dropped on it. Then she took a knife, and cut one of the nipples from her breast. The second sister wrote on the handkerchief: "Keep this in mind till you get more account from us." They put it in his bosom and went away.

As soon as the sisters had gone, the cowboy came, drew out the pin, and hurried away. The stepmother was always trying to banish the king's son, hoping that something might happen to him, and her own son be the heir. So now he went off and wandered away through Erin, always inquiring for the eldest sister, but never could find her.

At the end of seven years he came home, and was fishing at the side of Loch Erne again, when a swan flew up to him and said: "Your love is lying on her death-bed, unless you go to save her. She is bleeding from the breast, and you must go to her now. Go straight to the East!"

The king's son went straight to the East, and on the way there rose up storm and fog against him; but they did not stop him. He was going on always, and when he was three weeks' journey from his father's castle he stumbled one dark, misty day and fell over a ditch. When he rose up there stood on the other side of the ditch before him a little horse, all bridled and saddled, with a whip on the saddle. The horse spoke up and said: "If you are the king's son, I was sent here to meet you, and carry you to the castle of the king of the East. There is a young woman at the castle who thinks it long till she sees you. Now ask me no questions, for I'm not at liberty to talk to you till I bring you to the East."

"I suppose we are to be a long time going?" said the king's son.

"Don't trouble yourself about the going; I'll take you safely. Sit on my back now, and be sure you're a good rider, and you'll not be long on the road. This is my last word."

They went on, and were going always; and as he travelled, the prince met the wind that was before him, and the wind that blew behind could not come up with him. When he was hungry the pommel of the saddle opened, and he found the best of eating inside.

They went on sweeping over the world for two weeks, and when they were near the East the horse said: "Get down from my back now, for it's tired I am."

"How far are we from the castle?" asked the king's son.

"Five days' journey," answered the horse. "When you come to the castle, don't stop a moment till you ask where the young woman is lying; and tell them to be sure to give good stabling and food to the horse. Come and see me yourself every day. If you don't, there will be nothing for me but fasting; and that's what I don't like."

When the king's son came to the castle it was evening. The two younger sisters welcomed him. (These were two of the swans at the lake in Erin, and now at home by the enchantment of their stepmother. They were swans in the daytime, and women only at night, so as not to be under the eye of young men when these came to see the stepmother's own daughters.) They said: "Our sister is on an island, and we'll go to her." They got a boat for the young man, and went with him to where their sister was lying. They said to her: "The son of the king of Erin is here."

"Let him come in, that I may look at him," said she.

The king's son went in, and when she saw him she was glad. "Have you anything that belongs to me?" asked she.

"I have."

"Then throw it on my breast."

He threw the handkerchief on her breast and went away. Next day she rose from the bed as well as ever. On the third day after his arrival, the son of the king of Erin married the eldest daughter of the king of the East, and the stepmother's enchantment was destroyed; and there was the grandest wedding that ever was seen in that kingdom.

The king's son, thinking only of his bride, forgot all about the horse that had brought him over the long road. When at last he went to see him, the stable was empty; the horse had gone. And neither his father in Erin nor the stepmother came to his mind, he was living so pleasantly in the East. But after he had been there a long time, and a son and a daughter had been born to him, he remembered his father. Then he made up his mind not to let the stepmother's son be heir to the kingdom in place of himself. So taking his wife and children, he left the East and travelled to Erin. He stopped on the road, and sent word to the father that he was coming.

When the stepmother heard the news, a great weakness came on her. She fell into a fit and died.

The king's son waited in a convenient place till the funeral was over, and then he came to the castle and lived with his father. He was not long in the place when he sent messengers to know could they find the cowboy that the stepmother banished for telling about the sleeping-pin. They brought the cowboy to the castle, and the king made him his coachman.

The cowboy was not twelve months in his new place before he married. Then the king's son gave him a fine piece of land to live on, with six cows and four horses. There was not a happier man in the kingdom than the cowboy. When the father died, the king's son became king in Erin himself.




The Fisherman's Son And The Gruagach Of Tricks.


There was an old fisherman once in Erin who had a wife and one son.

The old fisherman used to go about with a fishing-rod and tackle to the rivers and lochs and every place where fish resort, and he was killing salmon and other fish to keep the life in himself and his wife and son.

The son was not so keen nor so wise as another, and the father was instructing him every day in fishing, so that if himself should be taken from the world, the son would be able to support the old mother and get his own living.

One day when the father and son were fishing in a river near the sea, they looked out over the water and saw a small dark speck on the waves. It grew larger and larger, till they saw a boat, and when the boat drew near they saw a man sitting in the stern of it.

There was a nice beach near the place where they were fishing. The man brought the boat straight to the beach, and stepping out drew it up on the sand.

They saw then that the stranger was a man of high degree (duine uasal).

After he had put the boat high on the sand, he came to where the two were at work, and said: "Old fisherman, you'd better let this son of yours with me for a year and a day, and I will make a very wise man of him. I am the Gruagach na g-cleasan[7] (Gruagach of tricks), and I'll bind myself to be here with your son this day year."

[7] Pronounced nAi glAissan.

"I can't let him go," said the old fisherman, "till he gets his mother's advice."

"Whatever goes as far as women I'll have nothing to do with," said the Gruagach. "You had better give him to me now, and let the mother alone."

They talked till at last the fisherman promised to let his son go for the year and a day. Then the Gruagach gave his word to have the boy there at the seashore that day year.

The Gruagach and the boy went into the boat and sailed away.

When the year and a day were over, the old fisherman went to the same place where he had parted with his son and the Gruagach, and stood looking over the sea, thinking would he see his son that day.

At last he saw a black spot on the water, then a boat. When it was near he saw two men sitting in the stern of the boat. When it touched land, the two, who were duine uasal in appearance, jumped out, and one of them pulled the boat to the top of the strand. Then that one, followed by the other, came to where the old fisherman was waiting, and asked: "What trouble is on you now, my good man?"

"I had a son that wasn't so keen nor so wise as another, and myself and this son were here fishing, and a stranger came, like yourself to-day, and asked would I let my son with him for a year and a day. I let the son go, and the man promised to be here with him to-day, and that's why I am waiting at this place now." "Well," said the Gruagach, "am I your son?"

"You are not," said the fisherman.

"Is this man here your son?"

"I don't know him," said the fisherman.

"Well, then, he is all you will have in place of your son," said the Gruagach.

The old man looked again, and knew his son. He caught hold of him and welcomed him home.

"Now," said the Gruagach, "isn't he a better man than he was a year ago?"

"Oh, he's nearly a smart man now!" said the old fisherman.

"Well," said the Gruagach, "will you let him with me for another year and a day?"

"I will not," said the old man; "I want him myself."

The Gruagach then begged and craved till the fisherman promised to let the son with him for a year and a day again. But the old man forgot to take his word of the Gruagach to bring back the son at the end of the time; and when the Gruagach and the boy were in the boat, and had pushed out to sea, the Gruagach shouted to the old man: "I kept my promise to bring back your son to-day. I haven't given you my word at all now. I'll not bring him back, and you'll never see him again."

The fisherman went home with a heavy and sorrowful heart, and the old woman scolded him all that night till next morning for letting her son go with the Gruagach a second time.

Then himself and the old woman were lamenting a quarter of a year; and when another quarter had passed, he said to her: "I'll leave you here now, and I'll be walking on myself till I wear my legs off up to my knees, and from my knees to my waist, till I find where is my son." So away went the old man walking, and he used to spend but one night in a house, and not two nights in any house, till his feet were all in blisters. One evening late he came to a hut where there was an old woman sitting at a fire.

"Poor man!" said she, when she laid eyes on him, "it's a great distress you are in, to be so disfigured with wounds and sores. What is the trouble that's on you?"

"I had a son," said the old man, "and the Gruagach na g-cleasan came on a day and took him from me."

"Oh, poor man!" said she. "I have a son with that same Gruagach these twelve years, and I have never been able to get him back or get sight of him, and I'm in dread you'll not be able to get your son either. But to-morrow, in the morning, I'll tell you all I know, and show you the road you must go to find the house of the Gruagach na g-cleasan."

Next morning she showed the old fisherman the road. He was to come to the place by evening.

When he came and entered the house, the Gruagach shook hands with him, and said: "You are welcome, old fisherman. It was I that put this journey on you, and made you come here looking for your son."

"It was no one else but you," said the fisherman.

"Well," said the Gruagach, "you won't see your son to-day. At noon to-morrow I'll put a whistle in my mouth and call together all the birds in my place, and they'll come. Among others will be twelve doves. I'll put my hand in my pocket, this way, and take out wheat and throw it before them on the ground. The doves will eat the wheat, and you must pick your son out of the twelve. If you find him, you'll have him; if you don't, you'll never get him again."

After the Gruagach had said these words the old man ate his supper and went to bed.

In the dead of night the old fisherman's son came. "Oh, father!" said he, "it would be hard for you to pick me out among the twelve doves, if you had to do it alone; but I'll tell you. When the Gruagach calls us in, and we go to pick up the wheat, I'll make a ring around the others, walking for myself; and as I go I'll give some of them a tip of my bill, and I'll lift my wings when I'm striking them. There was a spot under one of my arms when I left home, and you'll see that spot under my wing when I raise it to-morrow. Don't miss the bird that I'll be, and don't let your eyes off it; if you do, you'll lose me forever."

Next morning the old man rose, had his breakfast, and kept thinking of what his son had told him.

At midday the Gruagach took his whistle and blew. Birds came to him from every part, and among others the twelve doves.

He took wheat from his pocket, threw it to the doves, and said to the father: "Now pick out your son from the twelve."

The old man was watching, and soon he saw one of the doves walking around the other eleven and hitting some of them a clip of its bill, and then it raised its wings, and the old man saw the spot. The bird let its wings down again, and went to eating with the rest.

The father never let his eyes off the bird. After a while he said to the Gruagach: "I'll have that bird there for my son." "Well," said the Gruagach, "that is your son. I can't blame you for having him; but I blame your instructor for the information he gave you, and I give him my curse."

So the old fisherman got his son back in his proper shape, and away they went, father and son, from the house of the Gruagach. The old man felt stronger now, and they never stopped travelling a day till they came home.

The old mother was very glad to see her son, and see him such a wise, smart man.

After coming home they had no means but the fishing; they were as poor as ever before.

At this time it was given out at every crossroad in Erin, and in all public places in the kingdom, that there were to be great horse-races. Now, when the day came, the old fisherman's son said:

"Come away with me, father, to the races."

The old man went with him, and when they were near the race-course, the son said:

"Stop here till I tell you this: I'll make myself into the best horse that's here to-day, and do you take me to the place where the races are to be, and when you take me in, I'll open my mouth, trying to kill and eat every man that'll be near me, I'll have such life and swiftness; and do you find a rider for me that'll ride me, and don't let me go till the other horses are far ahead on the course. Then let me go. I'll come up to them, and I'll run ahead of them and win the race. After that every rich man there will want to buy me of you; but don't you sell me to any man for less than five hundred pounds; and be sure you get that price for me. And when you have the gold, and you are giving me up, take the bit out of my mouth, and don't sell the bridle for any money. Then come to this spot, shake the bridle, and I'll be here in my own form before you."

The son made himself a horse, and the old fisherman took him to the race. He reared and snorted, trying to take the head off every man that came near him.

The old man shouted for a rider. A rider came; he mounted the horse and held him in. The old man didn't let him start till the other horses were well ahead on the course; then he let him go.

The new horse caught up with the others and shot past them. So they had not gone half way when he was in at the winning-post.

When the race was ended, there was a great noise over the strange horse. Men crowded around the old fisherman from every corner of the field, asking what would he take for the horse.

"Five hundred pounds," said he.

"Here 'tis for you," said the next man to him.

In a moment the horse was sold, and the money in the old man's pocket. Then he pulled the bridle off the horse's head, and made his way out of the place as fast as ever he could.

It was not long till he was at the spot where the son had told him what to do. The minute he came, he shook the bridle, and the son was there before him in his own shape and features.

Oh, but the old fisherman was glad when he had his son with him again, and the money in his pocket!

The two went home together. They had money enough now to live, and quit the fishing. They had plenty to eat and drink, and they spent their lives in ease and comfort till the next year, when it was given out at all the cross-roads in Erin, and every public place in the kingdom, that there was to be a great hunting with hounds, in the same place where the races had been the year before.

When the day came, the fisherman's son said: "Come, father, let us go away to this hunting."

"Ah!" said the old man, "what do we want to go for? Haven't we plenty to eat at home, with money enough and to spare? What do we care for hunting with hounds?"

"Oh! they'll give us more money," said the son, "if we go."

The fisherman listened to his son, and away they went. When the two came to the spot where the son had made a horse of himself the year before, he stopped, and said to the father: "I'll make a hound of myself to-day, and when you bring me in sight of the game, you'll see me wild with jumping and trying to get away; but do you hold me fast till the right time comes, then let go. I'll sweep ahead of every hound in the field, catch the game, and win the prize for you.

"When the hunt is over, so many men will come to buy me that they'll put you in a maze; but be sure you get three hundred pounds for me, and when you have the money, and are giving me up, don't forget to keep my rope. Come to this place, shake the rope, and I'll be here before you, as I am now. If you don't keep the rope, you'll go home without me."

The son made a hound of himself, and the old father took him to the hunting-ground.

When the hunt began, the hound was springing and jumping like mad; but the father held him till the others were far out in the field. Then he let him loose, and away went the son.

Soon he was up with the pack, then in front of the pack, and never stopped till he caught the game and won the prize.

When the hunt was over, and the dogs and game brought in, all the people crowded around the old fisherman, saying: "What do you want of that hound? Better sell him; he's no good to you."

They put the old man in a maze, there were so many of them, and they pressed him so hard.

He said at last: "I'll sell the hound; and three hundred pounds is the price I want for him."

"Here 'tis for you," said a stranger, putting the money into his hand.

The old man took the money and gave up the dog, without taking off the rope. He forgot his son's warning.

That minute the Gruagach na g-cleasan called out: "I'll take the worth of my money out of your son now;" and away he went with the hound.

The old man walked home alone that night, and it is a heavy heart he had in him when he came to the old woman without the son. And the two were lamenting their lot till morning.

Still and all, they were better off than the first time they lost their son, as they had plenty of everything, and could live at their ease.

The Gruagach went away home, and put the fisherman's son in a cave of concealment that he had, bound him hand and foot, and tied hard knots on his neck up to the chin. From above there fell on him drops of poison, and every drop that fell went from the skin to the flesh, from the flesh to the bone, from the bone to the marrow, and he sat there under the poison drops, without meat, drink, or rest.

In the Gruagach's house was a servant-maid, and the fisherman's son had been kind to her the time he was in the place before.

On a day when the Gruagach and his eleven sons were out hunting, the maid was going with a tub of dirty water to throw it into the river that ran by the side of the house. She went through the cave of concealment where the fisherman's son was bound, and he asked of her the wetting of his mouth from the tub.

"Oh! the Gruagach would take the life of me," said she, "when he comes home, if I gave you as much as one drop."

"Well," said he, "when I was in this house before, and when I had power in my hands, it's good and kind I was to you; and when I get out of this confinement I'll do you a turn, if you give me the wetting of my mouth now."

The maid put the tub near his lips.

"Oh! I can't stoop to drink unless you untie one knot from my throat," said he.

Then she put the tub down, stooped to him, and loosed one knot from his throat. When she loosed the one knot he made an eel of himself, and dropped into the tub. There he began shaking the water, till he put some of it on the ground, and when he had the place about him wet, he sprang from the tub, and slipped along out under the door. The maid caught him; but could not hold him, he was so slippery. He made his way from the door to the river, which ran near the side of the house.

When the Gruagach na g-cleasan came home in the evening with his eleven sons, they went to take a look at the fisherman's son; but he was not to be seen. Then the Gruagach called the maid, and taking his sword, said: "I'll take the head off you if you don't tell me this minute what happened while I was gone."

"Oh!" said the maid, "he begged so hard for a drop of dirty water to wet his mouth that I hadn't the heart to refuse, for 'tis good he was to me and kind each time he saw me when he was here in the house before. When the water touched his mouth, he made an eel of himself, spilled water out of the tub, and slipped along over the wet place to the river outside. I caught him to bring him back, but I couldn't hold him; in spite of all I could do, he made away."

The Gruagach dropped his sword, and went to the water side with his sons.

The sons made eleven eels of themselves, and the Gruagach their father was the twelfth. They went around in the water, searching in every place, and there was not a stone in the river that they passed without looking under and around it for the old fisherman's son.

And when he knew that they were after him, he made himself into a salmon; and when they knew he was a salmon, the sons made eleven otters of themselves, and the Gruagach made himself the twelfth.

When the fisherman's son found that twelve otters were after him, he was weak with hunger, and when they had come near, he made himself a whale. But the eleven brothers and their father made twelve cannon whales of themselves, for they had all gone out of the river, and were in the sea now.

When they were coming near him, the fisherman's son was weak from pursuit and hunger, so he jumped up out of the water, and made a swallow of himself; but the Gruagach and his sons became twelve hawks, and chased the swallow through the air; and as they whirled round and darted, they pressed him hard, till all of them came near the castle of the king of Erin.

Now the king had made a summer-house for his daughter; and where should she be at this time but sitting on the top of the summer-house.

The old fisherman's son dropped down till he was near her; then he fell into her lap in the form of a ring. The daughter of the king of Erin took up the ring, looked at it, and put it on her finger. The ring took her fancy, and she was glad.

When the Gruagach and his sons saw this, they let themselves down at the king's castle, having the form of the finest men that could be seen in the kingdom.

When the king's daughter had the ring on her finger she looked at it and liked it. Then the ring spoke, and said: "My life is in your hands now; don't part from the ring, and don't let it go to any man, and you'll give me a long life."

The Gruagach na g-cleasan and his eleven sons went into the king's castle and played on every instrument known to man, and they showed every sport that could be shown before a king. This they did for three days and three nights. When that time was over, and they were going away, the king spoke up and asked:

"What is the reward that you would like, and what would be pleasing to you from me?"

"We want neither gold nor silver," said the Gruagach; "all the reward we ask of you is the ring that I lost on a time, and which is now on your daughter's finger." "If my daughter has the ring that you lost, it shall be given to you," said the king.

Now the ring spoke to the king's daughter and said: "Don't part with me for anything till you send your trusted man for three gallons of strong spirits and a gallon of wheat; put the spirits and the wheat together in an open barrel before the fire. When your father says you must give up the ring, do you answer back that you have never left the summer-house, that you have nothing on your hand but what is your own and paid for. Your father will say then that you must part with me, and give me up to the stranger. When he forces you in this way, and you can keep me no longer, then throw me into the fire; and you'll see great sport and strange things."

The king's daughter sent for the spirits and the wheat, had them mixed together, and put in an open barrel before the fire.

The king called the daughter in, and asked: "Have you the ring which this stranger lost?"

"I have a ring," said she, "but it's my own, and I'll not part with it. I'll not give it to him nor to any man."

"You must," said the king, "for my word is pledged, and you must part with the ring!"

When she heard this, she slipped the ring from her finger and threw it into the fire.

That moment the eleven brothers made eleven pairs of tongs of themselves; their father, the old Gruagach, was the twelfth pair.

The twelve jumped into the fire to know in what spark of it would they find the old fisherman's son; and they were a long time working and searching through the fire, when out flew a spark, and into the barrel. The twelve made themselves men, turned over the barrel, and spilled the wheat on the floor. Then in a twinkling they were twelve cocks strutting around.

They fell to and picked away at the wheat to know which one would find the fisherman's son. Soon one dropped on one side, and a second on the opposite side, until all twelve were lying drunk from the wheat.

Then the old fisherman's son made a fox of himself, and the first cock he came to was the old Gruagach na g-cleasan himself. He took the head off the Gruagach with one bite, and the heads off the eleven brothers with eleven other bites.

When the twelve were dead, the old fisherman's son made himself the finest-looking man in Erin, and began to give music and sport to the king; and he entertained him five times better than had the Gruagach and his eleven sons.

Then the king's daughter fell in love with him, and she set her mind on him to that degree that there was no life for her without him.

When the king saw the straits that his daughter was in, he ordered the marriage without delay.

The wedding lasted for nine days and nine nights, and the ninth night was the best of all.

When the wedding was over, the king felt he was losing his strength, so he took the crown off his own head, and put it on the head of the old fisherman's son, and made him king of Erin in place of himself.

The young couple were the luck, and we the stepping-stones. The presents we got at the marriage were stockings of buttermilk and shoes of paper, and these were worn to the soles of our feet when we got home from the wedding.




The Thirteenth Son Of The King Of Erin.


There was a king in Erin long ago who had thirteen sons, and as they grew up he taught them good learning and every exercise and art befitting their rank.

One day the king went hunting, and saw a swan swimming in a lake with thirteen little ones. She kept driving away the thirteenth, and would not let it come near the others.

The king wondered greatly at this, and when he came home he summoned his Sean dall Glic (old blind sage), and said: "I saw a great wonder to-day while out hunting, -- a swan with thirteen cygnets, and she driving away the thirteenth continually, and keeping the twelve with her. Tell me the cause and reason of this. Why should a mother hate her thirteenth little one, and guard the other twelve?"

"I will tell you," said the old blind sage: "all creatures on earth, whether beast or human, which have thirteen young, should put the thirteenth away, and let it wander for itself through the world and find its fate, so that the will of Heaven may work upon it, and not come down on the others. Now you have thirteen sons, and you must give the thirteenth to the Diachbha."[8]

[8] Diachbha, "divinity," "fate."

"Then that is the meaning of the swan on the lake, -- I must give up my thirteenth son to the Diachbha?"

"It is," said the old blind sage; "you must give up one of your thirteen sons."

"But how can I give one of them away when I am so fond of all; and which one shall it be?"

"I'll tell you what to do. When the thirteen come home to-night, shut the door against the last that comes."

Now one of the sons was slow, not so keen nor so sharp as another; but the eldest, who was called Sean Ruadh, was the best, the hero of them all. And it happened that night that he came home last, and when he came his father shut the door against him. The boy raised his hands and said: "Father, what are you going to do with me; what do you wish?"

"It is my duty," said the father, "to give one of my sons to the Diachbha; and as you are the thirteenth, you must go."

"Well, give me my outfit for the road."

The outfit was brought, Sean Ruadh put it on; then the father gave him a black-haired steed that could overtake the wind before him, and outstrip the wind behind.

Sean Ruadh mounted the steed and hurried away. He went on each day without rest, and slept in the woods at night.

One morning he put on some old clothes which he had in a pack on the saddle, and leaving his horse in the woods, went aside to an opening. He was not long there when a king rode up and stopped before him.

"Who are you, and where are you going?" asked the king. "Oh!" said Sean Ruadh, "I am astray. I do not know where to go, nor what I am to do."

"If that is how you are, I'll tell you what to do, -- come with me."

"Why should I go with you?" asked Sean Ruadh.

"Well, I have a great many cows, and I have no one to go with them, no one to mind them. I am in great trouble also. My daughter will die a terrible death very soon."

"How will she die?" asked Sean Ruadh.

"There is an urfeist,[9] a great serpent of the sea, a monster which must get a king's daughter to devour every seven years. Once in seven years this thing comes up out of the sea for its meat. The turn has now come to my daughter, and we don't know what day will the urfeist appear. The whole castle and all of us are in mourning for my wretched child."

[9] Urfeist, "great serpent."

"Perhaps some one will come to save her," said Sean Ruadh.

"Oh! there is a whole army of kings' sons who have come, and they all promise to save her; but I'm in dread none of them will meet the urfeist."

Sean Ruadh agreed with the king to serve for seven years, and went home with him.

Next morning Sean Ruadh drove out the king's cows to pasture.

Now there were three giants not far from the king's place. They lived in three castles in sight of each other, and every night each of these giants shouted just before going to bed. So loud was the shout that each let out of himself that the people heard it in all the country around.

Sean Ruadh drove the cattle up to the giant's land, pushed down the wall, and let them in. The grass was very high, -- three times better than any on the king's pastures.

As Sean Ruadh sat watching the cattle, a giant came running towards him and called out: "I don't know whether to put a pinch of you in my nose, or a bite of you in my mouth!"

"Bad luck to me," said Sean Ruadh, "if I came here but to take the life out of you!"

"How would you like to fight, -- on the gray stones, or with sharp swords?" asked the giant.

"I'll fight you," said Sean Ruadh, "on the gray stones, where your great legs will be going down, and mine standing high."

They faced one another then, and began to fight. At the first encounter Sean Ruadh put the giant down to his knees among the hard gray stones, at the second he put him to his waist, and at the third to his shoulders.

"Come, take me out of this," cried the giant, "and I'll give you my castle and all I've got. I'll give you my sword of light that never fails to kill at a blow. I'll give you my black horse that can overtake the wind before, and outstrip the wind behind. These are all up there in my castle."

Sean Ruadh killed the giant and went up to the castle, where the housekeeper said to him: "Oh! it is you that are welcome. You have killed the dirty giant that was here. Come with me now till I show you all the riches and treasures."

She opened the door of the giant's store-room and said: "All these are yours. Here are the keys of the castle."

"Keep them till I come again, and wake me in the evening," said Sean Ruadh, lying down on the giant's bed.

He slept till evening; then the housekeeper roused him, and he drove the king's cattle home. The cows never gave so much milk as that night. They gave as much as in a whole week before.

Sean Ruadh met the king, and asked: "What news from your daughter?"

"The great serpent did not come to-day," said the king; "but he may come to-morrow."

"Well, to-morrow he may not come till another day," said Sean Ruadh.

Now the king knew nothing of the strength of Sean Ruadh, who was bare-footed, ragged, and shabby.

The second morning Sean Ruadh put the king's cows in the second giant's land. Out came the second giant with the same questions and threats as the first, and the cowboy spoke as on the day before.

They fell to fighting; and when the giant was to his shoulders in the hard gray rocks, he said: "I'll give you my sword of light and my brown-haired horse if you'll spare my life."

"Where is your sword of light?" asked Sean Ruadh.

"It is hung up over my bed."

Sean Ruadh ran to the giant's castle, and took the sword, which screamed out when he seized it; but he held it fast, hurried back to the giant, and asked, "How shall I try the edge of this sword?"

"Against a stick," was the reply.

"I see no stick better than your own head," said Sean Ruadh; and with that he swept the head off the giant.

The cowboy now went back to the castle and hung up the sword. "Blessing to you," said the housekeeper; "you have killed the giant! Come, now, and I'll show you his riches and treasures, which are yours forever."

Sean Ruadh found more treasure in this castle than in the first one. When he had seen all, he gave the keys to the housekeeper till he should need them. He slept as on the day before, then drove the cows home in the evening.

The king said: "I have the luck since you came to me. My cows give three times as much milk to-day as they did yesterday."

"Well," said Sean Ruadh, "have you any account of the urfeist?"

"He didn't come to-day," said the king; "but he may come to-morrow."

Sean Ruadh went out with the king's cows on the third day, and drove them to the third giant's land, who came out and fought a more desperate battle than either of the other two; but the cowboy pushed him down among the gray rocks to his shoulders and killed him.

At the castle of the third giant he was received with gladness by the housekeeper, who showed him the treasures and gave him the keys; but he left the keys with her till he should need them. That evening the king's cows had more milk than ever before.

On the fourth day Sean Ruadh went out with the cows, but stopped at the first giant's castle. The housekeeper at his command brought out the dress of the giant, which was all black. He put on the giant's apparel, black as night, and girded on his sword of light. Then he mounted the black-haired steed, which overtook the wind before, and outstripped the wind behind; and rushing on between earth and sky, he never stopped till he came to the beach, where he saw hundreds upon hundreds of kings' sons, and champions, who were anxious to save the king's daughter, but were so frightened at the terrible urfeist that they would not go near her.

When he had seen the princess and the trembling champions, Sean Ruadh turned his black steed to the castle. Presently the king saw, riding between earth and sky, a splendid stranger, who stopped before him.

"What is that I see on the shore?" asked the stranger. "Is it a fair, or some great meeting?"

"Haven't you heard," asked the king, "that a monster is coming to destroy my daughter to-day?"

"No, I haven't heard anything," answered the stranger, who turned away and disappeared.

Soon the black horseman was before the princess, who was sitting alone on a rock near the sea. As she looked at the stranger, she thought he was the finest man on earth, and her heart was cheered.

"Have you no one to save you?" he asked.

"No one."

"Will you let me lay my head on your lap till the urfeist comes? Then rouse me."

He put his head on her lap and fell asleep. While he slept, the princess took three hairs from his head and hid them in her bosom. As soon as she had hidden the hairs, she saw the urfeist coming on the sea, great as an island, and throwing up water to the sky as he moved. She roused the stranger, who sprang up to defend her.

The urfeist came upon shore, and was advancing on the princess with mouth open and wide as a bridge, when the stranger stood before him and said: "This woman is mine, not yours!"

Then drawing his sword of light, he swept off the monster's head with a blow; but the head rushed back to its place, and grew on again.

In a twinkle the urfeist turned and went back to the sea; but as he went, he said: "I'll be here again to-morrow, and swallow the whole world before me as I come."

"Well," answered the stranger, "maybe another will come to meet you."

Sean Ruadh mounted his black steed, and was gone before the princess could stop him. Sad was her heart when she saw him rush off between the earth and sky more swiftly than any wind.

Sean Ruadh went to the first giant's castle and put away his horse, clothes, and sword. Then he slept on the giant's bed till evening, when the housekeeper woke him, and he drove home the cows. Meeting the king, he asked: "Well, how has your daughter fared to-day?"

"Oh! the urfeist came out of the sea to carry her away; but a wonderful black champion came riding between earth and sky and saved her."

"Who was he?"

"Oh! there is many a man who says he did it. But my daughter isn't saved yet, for the urfeist said he'd come to-morrow."

"Well, never fear; perhaps another champion will come to-morrow."

Next morning Sean Ruadh drove the king's cows to the land of the second giant, where he left them feeding, and then went to the castle, where the housekeeper met him and said: "You are welcome. I'm here before you, and all is well." "Let the brown horse be brought; let the giant's apparel and sword be ready for me," said Sean Ruadh.

The apparel was brought, the beautiful blue dress of the second giant, and his sword of light. Sean Ruadh put on the apparel, took the sword, mounted the brown steed, and sped away between earth and air three times more swiftly than the day before.

He rode first to the seashore, saw the king's daughter sitting on the rock alone, and the princes and champions far away, trembling in dread of the urfeist. Then he rode to the king, enquired about the crowd on the seashore, and received the same answer as before. "But is there no man to save her?" asked Sean Ruadh.

"Oh! there are men enough," said the king, "who promise to save her, and say they are brave; but there is no man of them who will stand to his word and face the urfeist when he rises from the sea."

Sean Ruadh was away before the king knew it, and rode to the princess in his suit of blue, bearing his sword of light. "Is there no one to save you?" asked he.

"No one."

"Let me lay my head on your lap, and when the urfeist comes, rouse me."

He put his head on her lap, and while he slept she took out the three hairs, compared them with his hair, and said to herself: "You are the man who was here yesterday."

When the urfeist appeared, coming over the sea, the princess roused the stranger, who sprang up and hurried to the beach.

The monster, moving at a greater speed, and raising more water than on the day before, came with open mouth to land. Again Sean Ruadh stood in his way, and with one blow of the giant's sword made two halves of the urfeist. But the two halves rushed together, and were one as before.

Then the urfeist turned to the sea again, and said as he went: "All the champions on earth won't save her from me to-morrow!"

Sean Ruadh sprang to his steed and back to the castle. He went, leaving the princess in despair at his going. She tore her hair and wept for the loss of the blue champion, -- the one man who had dared to save her.

Sean Ruadh put on his old clothes, and drove home the cows as usual. The king said: "A strange champion, all dressed in blue, saved my daughter to-day; but she is grieving her life away because he is gone."

"Well, that is a small matter, since her life is safe," said Sean Ruadh.

There was a feast for the whole world that night at the king's castle, and gladness was on every face that the king's daughter was safe again.

Next day Sean Ruadh drove the cows to the third giant's pasture, went to the castle, and told the housekeeper to bring the giant's sword and apparel, and have the red steed led to the door. The third giant's dress had as many colors as there are in the sky, and his boots were of blue glass.

Sean Ruadh, dressed and mounted on his red steed, was the most beautiful man in the world. When ready to start, the housekeeper said to him: "The beast will be so enraged this time that no arms can stop him; he will rise from the sea with three great swords coming out of his mouth, and he could cut to pieces and swallow the whole world if it stood before him in battle. There is only one way to conquer the urfeist, and I will show it to you. Take this brown apple, put it in your bosom, and when he comes rushing from the sea with open mouth, do you throw the apple down his throat, and the great urfeist will melt away and die on the strand."

Sean Ruadh went on the red steed between earth and sky, with thrice the speed of the day before. He saw the maiden sitting on the rock alone, saw the trembling kings' sons in the distance watching to know what would happen, and saw the king hoping for some one to save his daughter; then he went to the princess, and put his head on her lap; when he had fallen asleep, she took the three hairs from her bosom, and looking at them, said: "You are the man who saved me yesterday."

The urfeist was not long in coming. The princess roused Sean Ruadh, who sprang to his feet and went to the sea. The urfeist came up enormous, terrible to look at, with a mouth big enough to swallow the world, and three sharp swords coming out of it. When he saw Sean Ruadh, he sprang at him with a roar; but Sean Ruadh threw the apple into his mouth, and the beast fell helpless on the strand, flattened out and melted away to a dirty jelly on the shore.

Then Sean Ruadh went towards the princess and said: "That urfeist will never trouble man or woman again."

The princess ran and tried to cling to him; but he was on the red steed, rushing away between earth and sky, before she could stop him. She held, however, so firmly to one of the blue glass boots that Sean Ruadh had to leave it in her hands.

When he drove home the cows that night, the king came out, and Sean Ruadh asked: "What news from the urfeist?"

"Oh!" said the king, "I've had the luck since you came to me. A champion wearing all the colors of the sky, and riding a red steed between earth and air, destroyed the urfeist to-day. My daughter is safe forever; but she is ready to kill herself because she hasn't the man that saved her."

That night there was a feast in the king's castle such as no one had ever seen before. The halls were filled with princes and champions, and each one said: "I am the man that saved the princess!"

The king sent for the old blind sage, and asked, what should he do to find the man who saved his daughter. The old blind sage said, -- 

"Send out word to all the world that the man whose foot the blue glass boot will fit is the champion who killed the urfeist, and you'll give him your daughter in marriage."

The king sent out word to the world to come to try on the boot. It was too large for some, too small for others. When all had failed, the old sage said, -- 

"All have tried the boot but the cowboy."

"Oh! he is always out with the cows; what use in his trying," said the king.

"No matter," answered the old blind sage; "let twenty men go and bring down the cowboy."

The king sent up twenty men, who found the cowboy sleeping in the shadow of a stone wall. They began to make a hay rope to bind him; but he woke up, and had twenty ropes ready before they had one. Then he jumped at them, tied the twenty in a bundle, and fastened the bundle to the wall. They waited and waited at the castle for the twenty men and the cowboy, till at last the king sent twenty men more, with swords, to know what was the delay.

When they came, this twenty began to make a hay rope to tie the cowboy; but he had twenty ropes made before their one, and no matter how they fought, the cowboy tied the twenty in a bundle, and the bundle to the other twenty men.

When neither party came back, the old blind sage said to the king: "Go up now, and throw yourself down before the cowboy, for he has tied the forty men in two bundles, and the bundles to each other."

The king went and threw himself down before the cowboy, who raised him up and said: "What is this for?"

"Come down now and try on the glass boot," said the king.

"How can I go, when I have work to do here?"

"Oh! never mind; you'll come back soon enough to do the work."

The cowboy untied the forty men and went down with the king. When he stood in front of the castle, he saw the princess sitting in her upper chamber, and the glass boot on the window-sill before her.

That moment the boot sprang from the window through the air to him, and went on his foot of itself. The princess was downstairs in a twinkle, and in the arms of Sean Ruadh.

The whole place was crowded with kings' sons and champions, who claimed that they had saved the princess.

"What are these men here for?" asked Sean Ruadh. "Oh! they have been trying to put on the boot," said the king.

With that Sean Ruadh drew his sword of light, swept the heads off every man of them, and threw heads and bodies on the dirt-heap behind the castle.

Then the king sent ships with messengers to all the kings and queens of the world, -- to the kings of Spain, France, Greece, and Lochlin, and to Diarmuid, son of the monarch of light, -- to come to the wedding of his daughter and Sean Ruadh.

Sean Ruadh, after the wedding, went with his wife to live in the kingdom of the giants, and left his father-in-law on his own land.




Kil Arthur.


There was a time long ago, and if we had lived then, we shouldn't be living now.

In that time there was a law in the world that if a young man came to woo a young woman, and her people wouldn't give her to him, the young woman should get her death by the law.

There was a king in Erin at that time who had a daughter, and he had a son too, who was called Kil Arthur, son of the monarch of Erin.

Now, not far from the castle of the king there was a tinker; and one morning he said to his mother: "Put down my breakfast for me, mother."

"Where are you going?" asked the mother.

"I'm going for a wife."

"Where?"

"I am going for the daughter of the king of Erin."

"Oh! my son, bad luck is upon you. It is death to ask for the king's daughter, and you a tinker."

"I don't care for that," said he.

So the tinker went to the king's castle. They were at dinner when he came, and the king trembled as he saw him.

Though they were at table, the tinker went into the room.

The king asked: "What did you come for at this time?"

"I came to marry your daughter."

"That life and strength may leave me if ever you get my daughter in marriage! I'd give her to death before I would to a tinker."

Now Kil Arthur, the king's son, came in, caught the tinker and hanged him, facing the front of the castle. When he was dead, they made seven parts of his body, and flung them into the sea.

Then the king had a box made so close and tight that no water could enter, and inside the box they fixed a coffin; and when they had put a bed with meat and drink into the coffin, they brought the king's daughter, laid her on the bed, closed the box, and pushed it into the open sea. The box went out with the tide and moved on the water for a long time; where it was one day it was not the next, -- carried along by the waves day and night, till at last it came to another land.

Now, in the other land was a man who had spent his time in going to sea, till at length he got very poor, and said: "I'll stay at home now, since God has let me live this long. I heard my father say once that if a man would always rise early and walk along the strand, he would get his fortune from the tide at last."

One morning early, as this man was going along the strand, he saw the box, and brought it up to the shore, where he opened it and took out the coffin. When the lid was off the coffin, he found a woman inside alive.

"Oh!" said he, "I'd rather have you there than the full of the box of gold."

"I think the gold would be better for you," said the woman.

He took the stranger to his house, and gave her food and drink. Then he made a great cross on the ground, and clasping hands with the woman, jumped over the arms of the cross, going in the same direction as the sun. This was the form of marriage in that land. They lived together pleasantly. She was a fine woman, worked well for her husband, and brought him great wealth, so that he became richer than any man; and one day, when out walking alone, he said to himself: "I am able to give a grand dinner now to Ri Fohin, Sladaire Mor [king under the wave, the great robber], who owns men, women, and every kind of beast."

Then he went home and invited Ri Fohin to dinner. He came with all the men, women, and beasts he had, and they covered the country for six miles.

The beasts were fed outside by themselves, but the people in the house. When dinner was over, he asked Ri Fohin: "Have you ever seen a house so fine and rich, or a dinner so good, as mine to-night?"

"I have not," said Ri Fohin.

Then the man went to each person present. Each gave the same answer, and said, "I have never seen such a house nor such a dinner."

He asked his wife, and she said: "My praise is no praise here; but what is this to the house and the feasting of my father, the king of Erin?"

"Why did you say that?" asked the man, and he went a second and a third time to the guests and to his wife. All had the same answers for him. Then he gave his wife a flip of the thumb on her ear, in a friendly way, and said: "Why don't you give good luck to my house; why do you give it a bad name?"

Then all the guests said: "It is a shame to strike your wife on the night of a feast."

Now the man was angry and went out of his house. It was growing dark, but he saw a champion coming on a black steed between earth and air; and the champion, who was no other than Kil Arthur, his brother-in-law, took him up and bore him away to the castle of the king of Erin.

When Kil Arthur arrived they were just sitting down to dinner in the castle, and the man dined with his father-in-law. After dinner the king of Erin had cards brought and asked his son-in-law: "Do you ever play with these?"

"No, I have never played with the like of them."

"Well, shuffle them now," said the king. He shuffled; and as they were enchanted cards and whoever held them could never lose a game he was the best player in the world, though he had never played a game before in his life.

The king said, "Put them in your pocket, they may do you good." Then the king gave him a fiddle, and asked:

"Have you ever played on the like of this?"

"Indeed I have not," said the man.

"Well, play on it now," said the king.

He played, and never in his life had he heard such music.

"Keep it," said the king; "as long as you don't let it from you, you're the first musician on earth. Now I'll give you something else. Here is a cup which will always give you every kind of drink you can wish for; and if all the men in the world were to drink out of it they could never empty it. Keep these three things; but never raise hand on your wife again."

The king of Erin gave him his blessing; then Kil Arthur took him up on the steed, and going between earth and sky he was soon back at his own home.

Now Ri Fohin had carried off the man's wife and all that he had while he was at dinner with the King of Erin. Going out on the road the king's son-in-law began to cry: "Oh, what shall I do; what shall I do!" and as he cried, who should come but Kil Arthur on his steed, who said, "Be quiet, I'll go for your wife and goods."

Kil Arthur went, and killed Ri Fohin and all his people and beasts, -- didn't leave one alive. Then he brought back his sister to her husband, and stayed with them for three years.

One day he said to his sister: "I am going to leave you. I don't know what strength I have; I'll walk the world now till I know is there a man in it as good as myself."

Next morning he bade good-bye to his sister, and rode away on his black-haired steed, which overtook the wind before and outstripped the wind behind. He travelled swiftly till evening, spent the night in a forest, and the second day hurried on as he had the first.

The second night he spent in a forest; and next morning as he rose from the ground he saw before him a man covered with blood from fighting, and the clothes nearly torn from his body.

"What have you been doing?" asked Kil Arthur.

"I have been playing cards all night. And where are you going?" inquired the stranger of Kil Arthur.

"I am going around the world to know can I find a man as good as myself."

"Come with me," said the stranger, "and I'll show you a man who couldn't find his match till he went to fight the main ocean."

Kil Arthur went with the ragged stranger till they came to a place from which they saw a giant out on the ocean beating the waves with a club.

Kil Arthur went up to the giant's castle, and struck the pole of combat such a blow that the giant in the ocean heard it above the noise of his club as he pounded the waves.

"What do you want?" asked the giant in the ocean, as he stopped from the pounding.

"I want you to come in here to land," said Kil Arthur, "and fight with a better man than yourself."

The giant came to land, and standing near his castle said to Kil Arthur: "Which would you rather fight with, -- gray stones or sharp weapons?"

"Gray stones," said Kil Arthur.

They went at each other, and fought the most terrible battle that either of them had ever seen till that day. At last Kil Arthur pushed the giant to his shoulders through solid earth.

"Take me out of this," cried the giant, "and I'll give you my sword of light that never missed a blow, my Druidic rod of most powerful enchantment, and my healing draught which cures every sickness and wound."

"Well," said Kil Arthur, "I'll go for your sword and try it."

He went to the giant's castle for the sword, the rod, and the healing draught. When he returned the giant said: "Try the sword on that tree out there."

"Oh," said Kil Arthur, "there is no tree so good as your own neck," and with that he swept off the head of the giant; took it, and went on his way till he came to a house. He went in and put the head on a table; but that instant it disappeared, -- went away of itself. Food and drink of every kind came on the table. When Kil Arthur had eaten and the table was cleared by some invisible power, the giant's head bounded on to the table, and with it a pack of cards. "Perhaps this head wants to play with me," thought Kil Arthur, and he cut his own cards and shuffled them.

The head took up the cards and played with its mouth as well as any man could with his hands. It won all the time, -- wasn't playing fairly. Then Kil Arthur thought: "I'll settle this;" and he took the cards and showed how the head had taken five points in the game that didn't belong to it. Then the head sprang at him, struck and beat him till he seized and hurled it into the fire.

As soon as he had the head in the fire a beautiful woman stood before him, and said: "You have killed nine of my brothers, and this was the best of the nine. I have eight more brothers who go out to fight with four hundred men each day, and they kill them all; but next morning the four hundred are alive again and my brothers have to do battle anew. Now my mother and these eight brothers will be here soon; and they'll go down on their bended knees and curse you who killed my nine brothers, and I'm afraid your blood will rise within you when you hear the curses, and you'll kill my eight remaining brothers."

"Oh," said Kil Arthur, "I'll be deaf when the curses are spoken; I'll not hear them." Then he went to a couch and lay down. Presently the mother and eight brothers came, and cursed Kil Arthur with all the curses they knew. He heard them to the end, but gave no word from himself.

Next morning he rose early, girded on his nine-edged sword, went forth to where the eight brothers were going to fight the four hundred, and said to the eight: "Sit down, and I'll fight in your place."

Kil Arthur faced the four hundred, and fought with them alone; and exactly at midday he had them all dead. "Now some one," said he, "brings these to life again. I'll lie down among them and see who it is."

Soon he saw an old hag coming with a brush in her hand, and an open vessel hanging from her neck by a string. When she came to the four hundred she dipped the brush into the vessel and sprinkled the liquid which was in it over the bodies of the men. They rose up behind her as she passed along.

"Bad luck to you," said Kil Arthur, "you are the one that keeps them alive;" then he seized her. Putting one of his feet on her two ankles, and grasping her by the head and shoulders, he twisted her body till he put the life out of her.

When dying she said: "I put you under a curse, to keep on this road till you come to the 'ram of the five rocks,' and tell him you have killed the hag of the heights and all her care."

He went to the place where the ram of the five rocks lived and struck the pole of combat before his castle. Out came the ram, and they fought till Kil Arthur seized his enemy and dashed the brains out of him against the rocks.

Then he went to the castle of the beautiful woman whose nine brothers he had killed, and for whose eight brothers he had slain the four hundred. When he appeared the mother rejoiced; the eight brothers blessed him and gave him their sister in marriage; and Kil Arthur took the beautiful woman to his father's castle in Erin, where they both lived happily and well.




Shaking-Head.


There was once a king of a province in Erin who had an only son. The king was very careful of this son, and sent him to school for good instruction.

The other three kings of provinces in Erin had three sons at the same school; and the three sent word by this one to his father, that if he didn't put his son to death they would put both father and son to death themselves.

When the young man came home with this word to his father and mother, they were grieved when they heard it. But the king's son said that he would go out into the world to seek his fortune, and settle the trouble in that way. So away he went, taking with him only five pounds in money for his support.

The young man travelled on till he came to a grave-yard, where he saw four men fighting over a coffin. Then he went up to the four, and saw that two of them were trying to put the coffin down into a grave, and the other two preventing them and keeping the coffin above ground. When the king's son came near the men, he asked: "Why do you fight in such a place as this, and why do you keep the coffin above ground?"

Two of the men answered, and said: "The body of our brother is in this coffin, and these two men won't let us bury it."

The other two then said: "We have a debt of five pounds on the dead man, and we won't let his body be buried till the debt is paid." The king's son said: "Do you let these men bury their brother, and I will pay what you ask."

Then the two let the brothers of the dead man bury him. The king's son paid the five pounds, and went away empty-handed, and, except the clothes on his back, he had no more than on the day he was born. After he had gone on his way awhile and the grave-yard was out of sight he turned and saw a sprightly red-haired man (fear ruadh) hurrying after him. When he came up, the stranger asked: "Don't you want a serving man?"

"I do not," answered the king's son, "I have nothing to support myself with, let alone a serving man."

"Well, never mind that," said the red-haired man; "I'll be with you wherever you go, whether you have anything or not."

"What is your name?" asked the king's son.

"Shaking-head," answered the red man.

When they had gone on a piece of the way together the king's son stopped and asked: "Where shall we be to-night?"

"We shall be in a giant's castle where there will be small welcome for us," said Shaking-head.

When evening came they found themselves in front of a castle. In they went and saw no one inside, only a tall old hag. But they were not long in the place till they heard a loud, rushing noise outside, and a blow on the castle. The giant came; and the first words he let out of his mouth were: "I'm glad to have an Erinach on my supper-table to eat to-night." Then turning to the two he said: "What brought you here this evening; what do you want in my castle?"

"All the champions and heroes of Erin are going to take your property from you and destroy yourself; we have come to warn you, and there is nobody to save you from them but us," said Shaking-head.

When the giant heard these words he changed his treatment entirely. He gave the king's son and Shaking-head a hearty welcome and a kindly greeting. When he understood the news they brought, he washed them with the tears of his eyes, dried them with kisses, and gave them a good supper and a soft bed that night.

Next morning the giant was up at an early hour, and he went to the bedside of each man and told him to rise and have breakfast. Shaking-head asked his reward of the giant for telling him of the champions of Erin and the danger he was in.

"Well," said the giant, "there's a pot of gold over there under my bed; take as much out of it as ever you wish, and welcome."

"It isn't gold I want for my service," said Shaking-head; "you have a gift which suits me better."

"What gift is that?" asked the giant.

"The light black steed in your stable."

"That's a gift I won't give you," said the giant, "for when any one comes to trouble or attack me, all I have to do is to throw my leg over that steed, and away he carries me out of sight of every enemy."

"Well," said Shaking-head, "if you don't give me that steed I'll bring all the kingdom of Erin against you, and you'll be destroyed with all you have."

The giant stopped a moment, and said: "I believe you'd do that thing, so you may take the steed." Then Shaking-head took the steed of the giant, gave him to the king's son, and away they went.

At sunset Shaking-head said: "We are near the castle of another giant, the next brother to the one who entertained us last night. He hasn't much welcome for us either; but he will treat us well when he is threatened."

The second giant was going to eat the king's son for supper, but when Shaking-head told him about the forces of Erin he changed his manner and entertained them well.

Next morning after breakfast, Shaking-head said: "You must give me a present for my services in warning you."

"There is a pot of gold under my bed," said the giant; "take all you want of it."

"I don't want your gold," said Shaking-head, "but you have a gift which suits me well."

"What is that?" asked the giant.

"The two-handed black sword that never fails a blow."

"You won't get that gift from me," said the giant; "and I can't spare it; for if a whole army were to come against me, as soon as I'd have my two hands on the hilt of that sword, I'd let no man near me without sweeping the head off him."

"Well," said Shaking-head, "I have been keeping back your enemies this long time; but I'll let them at you now, and I'll raise up more. I'll put the whole kingdom of Erin against you."

The giant stopped a moment, and said: "I believe you'd do that if it served you." So he took the sword off his belt and handed it to his guest. Shaking-head gave it to the king's son, who mounted his steed, and they both went away.

When they had gone some distance from the giant's castle Shaking-head said to the king's son, "Where shall we be to-night? -- you have more knowledge than I." "Indeed then I have not," said the king's son; "I have no knowledge at all of where we are going; it is you who have the knowledge."

"Well," said Shaking-head, "we'll be at the third and youngest giant's castle to-night, and at first he'll treat us far worse and more harshly, but still we'll take this night's lodging of him, and a good gift in the morning."

Soon after sunset they came to the castle where they met the worst reception and the harshest they had found on the road. The giant was going to eat them both for supper; but when Shaking-head told him of the champions of Erin, he became as kind as his two brothers, and gave good entertainment to both.

Next morning after breakfast, Shaking-head asked for a present in return for his services.

"Do you see the pot of gold in the corner there under my bed? -- take all you want and welcome," said the giant.

"It's not gold I want," said Shaking-head, "but the cloak of darkness."

"Oh," said the giant, "you'll not get that cloak of me, for I want it myself. If any man were to come against me, all I'd have to do would be to put that cloak on my shoulders, and no one in the world could see me, or know where I'd be."

"Well," said Shaking-head, "it's long enough that I am keeping your enemies away; and if you don't give me that cloak now I'll raise all the kingdom of Erin and still more forces to destroy you, and it's not long you'll last after they come."

The giant thought a moment, and then said: "I believe you'd do what you say. There's the black cloak hanging on the wall before you; take it."

Shaking-head took the cloak, and the two went away together, the king's son riding on the light black steed, and having the double-handed sword at his back. When out of sight of the giant, Shaking-head put on the cloak, and wasn't to be seen, and no other man could have been seen in his place. Then the king's son looked around, and began to call and search for his man, -- he was lonely without him and grieved not to see him. Shaking-head, glad to see the affection of the king's son, took off the cloak and was at his side again.

"Where are we going now?" asked the king's son.

"We are going on a long journey to (Ri Chuil an Or) King Behind the Gold, to ask his daughter of him."

The two travelled on, till they came to the castle of King Behind the Gold. Then Shaking-head said: "Go in you, and ask his daughter of the king, and I'll stay here outside with the cloak on me." So he went in and spoke to the king, and the answer he got was this: -- 

"I am willing to give you my daughter, but you won't get her unless you do what she will ask of you. And I must tell you now that three hundred kings' sons, lacking one, have come to ask for my daughter, and in the garden behind my castle are three hundred iron spikes, and every spike of them but one is covered with the head of a king's son who couldn't do what my daughter wanted of him, and I'm greatly in dread that your own head will be put on the one spike that is left uncovered."

"Well," said the king's son, "I'll do my best to keep my head where it is at present."

"Stay here in my castle," said the king, "and you'll have good entertainment till we know can you do what will be asked of you." At night when the king's son was going to bed, the princess gave him a thimble, and said: "Have this for me in the morning."

He put the thimble on his finger; and she thought it could be easily taken away, if he would sleep. So she came to him in the night, with a drink, and said: "I give you this in hopes I'll gain more drink by you." He swallowed the liquor, and the princess went away with the empty cup. Then the king's son put the thimble in his mouth between his cheek and his teeth for safe keeping, and was soon asleep.

When the princess came to her own chamber, she struck her maid with a slat an draoichta (a rod of enchantment) and turned her into a rat; then she made such music of fifes and trumpets to sound throughout the castle, that every soul in it fell asleep. That minute, she sent the rat to where the king's son was sleeping, and the rat put her tail into the nostrils of the young man, tickled his nose so that he sneezed and blew the thimble out of his mouth. The rat caught it and ran away to the princess, who struck her with the rod of enchantment and turned her into a maid again.

Then the princess and the maid set out for the eastern world, taking the thimble with them. Shaking-head, who was watching with his cloak on, unseen by all, had seen everything, and now followed at their heels. In the eastern world, at the sea-side was a rock. The princess tapped it with her finger, and the rock opened; there was a great house inside, and in the house a giant. The princess greeted him and gave him the thimble, saying: "You're to keep this so no man can get it."

"Oh," said the giant, taking the thimble and throwing it aside, "you need have no fear; no man can find me in this place."

Shaking-head caught the thimble from the ground and put it in his pocket. When she had finished conversation with the giant, the princess kissed him, and hurried away. Shaking-head followed her step for step, till they came at break of day to the castle of King Behind the Gold. Shaking-head went to the king's son and asked: "Was anything given you to keep last night?"

"Yes, before I came to this chamber the princess gave me her thimble, and told me to have it for her in the morning."

"Have you it now?" asked Shaking-head.

"It is not in my mouth where I put it last night, it is not in the bed; I'm afraid my head is lost," said the king's son.

"Well, look at this," said Shaking-head, taking the thimble out of his pocket and giving it to him. "The whole kingdom is moving to-day to see your death. All the people have heard that you are here asking for the princess, and they think your head'll be put on the last spike in the garden, with the heads of the other kings' sons. Rise up now, mount your light black steed, ride to the summer-house of the princess and her father, and give her the thimble."

The king's son did as Shaking-head told him. When he gave up the thimble, the king said, "You have won one third of my daughter." But the princess was bitterly angry and vexed to the heart, that any man on earth should know that she had dealings with the giant; she cared more for that than anything else.

When the second day had passed, and the king's son was going to bed, the princess gave him a comb to keep, and said: "If you don't have this for me in the morning, your head will be put on the spike that's left in my father's garden."

The king's son took the comb with him, wrapped it in a handkerchief, and tied it to his head.

In the night the princess came with a draught which she gave him, and soon he was asleep. Going back to her own chamber, she struck the maid with her rod of enchantment, and made a great yellow cat of her. Then she caused such music of fifes and trumpets to sound throughout the castle that every soul was in a deep sleep before the music was over, and that moment she sent the cat to the chamber of the king's son. The cat worked the handkerchief off his head, took out the comb and ran with it to the princess, who turned her into a maid again.

The two set out for the eastern world straightway; but as they did, Shaking-head followed them in his cloak of darkness, till they came to the house of the giant in the great rock at the end of the road, at the sea. The princess gave the giant the comb, and said: "The thimble that I gave you to keep last night was taken from you, for the king's son in Erin brought it back to me this morning, and has done one third of the work of winning me, and I didn't expect you'd serve me in this way."

When the giant heard this, he was raging, and threw the comb into the sea behind him. Then with Druidic spells he raised thunder and lightning and wind. The sea was roaring with storm and rain; but the comb had not touched the water when Shaking-head caught it.

When her talk was over the princess gave the giant a kiss, and home she went with the maid; but Shaking-head followed them step by step.

In the morning Shaking-head went to the king's son, roused him, and asked: "What was your task last night?"

"The princess gave me a comb to have for her this morning," answered the king's son.

"Where is it now?" asked Shaking-head.

"Here on my head," said the king's son, putting up his hand to get it; but the comb was gone. "I'm done for now," said the king's son; "my head will be on the last spike to-day unless I have the comb for the princess."

"Here it is for you," said Shaking-head, taking the comb out of his pocket. "And now," said he, "the whole kingdom is coming to this castle to-day to see your head put on the last spike in the garden of King Behind the Gold, for all men think the same will happen to you that has happened to every king's son before you. Go up on your steed and ride to the summer-house where the king and his daughter are sitting, and give her the comb."

The king's son did as Shaking-head bade him. When he saw the comb the king said, "Now you have my daughter two-thirds won." But her face went from the princess entirely, she was so vexed that any man should know of her dealings with the giant.

The third night when he was going to bed the princess said to the king's son, "If you will not have at my father's castle to-morrow morning the head I will kiss to-night, you'll die to-morrow, and your own head will be put on the last spike in my father's garden." Later in the night she came to the bedside of the king's son with a draught, which he drank, and before she was back in her chamber, he slept. Then she made such music all over the castle that not a soul was awake when the music had ceased. That moment she hurried away with her maid to the eastern world; but Shaking-head followed her in his cloak of darkness. This time he carried with him the two-handed sword that never failed a blow.

When she came to the rock in the eastern world and entered the house of the giant, the princess said, "You let my two gifts go with the son of the king in Erin, and he'll have me won to-morrow if he'll have your head at my father's castle in the morning."

"Never fear," said the giant, "there is nothing in the world to take the head off me but the double-handed sword of darkness that never fails a blow, and that sword belongs to my brother in the western world."

The princess gave the giant a kiss at parting; and as she hurried away with her maid the giant turned to look at her. His head was covered with an iron cap; but as he looked he laid bare a thin strip of his neck. Shaking-head was there near him, and said in his mind: "Your brother's sword has never been so close to your neck before;" and with one blow he swept the head off him. Then began the greatest struggle that Shaking-head ever had, to keep the head from the body of the giant. The head fought to put itself on again, and never stopped till the body was dead; then it fell to the ground. Shaking-head seized, but couldn't stir the head, -- couldn't move it from its place. Then he searched all around it and found a (bar an suan) pin of slumber near the ear. When he took the pin away he had no trouble in carrying the head; and he made no delay but came to the castle at daybreak, and threw the head to a herd of pigs that belonged to the king. Then he went to the king's son, and asked:

"What happened to you last night?"

"The princess came to me, and said that if I wouldn't bring to her father's castle this morning the head she was to kiss last night, my own head would be on the last spike to-day."

"Come out with me now to the pigs," said Shaking-head.

The two went out, and Shaking-head said: "Go in among the pigs, and take the head with you to the king; and a strange head it is to put before a king."

So the king's son went on his steed to the summer-house, and gave the head to the king and his daughter, and turning to the princess, said:

"This is the head you kissed last night, and it's not a nice looking head either."

"You have my daughter won now entirely," said the king, "and she is yours. And do you take that head to the great dark hole that is out there on one side of my castle grounds, and throw it down."

The king's son mounted his steed, and rode off with the head till he came to the hole going deep into the earth. When he let down the head it went to the bottom with such a roaring and such a noise that every mare and cow and every beast in the whole kingdom cast its young, such was the terror that was caused by the noise of the head in going to the bottom of the hole.

When the head was put away the king's son went back to the castle, and married the daughter of King Behind the Gold. The wedding lasted nine days and nights, and the last night was better than the first.

When the wedding was over Shaking-head went to the king, and said: "You have provided no fortune for your daughter, and it is but right that you should remember her."

"I have plenty of gold and silver to give her," said the king.

"It isn't gold and silver that your son-in-law wants, but men to stand against his enemies, when they come on him."

"I have more treasures than men," said King Behind the Gold; "but I won't see my daughter conquered for want of an army."

They were satisfied with the king's word, and next day took the road to Erin, and kept on their way till they came opposite the grave-yard. Then Shaking-head said to the king's son: "You are no good, you have never told me a story since the first day I saw you."

"I have but one story to tell you, except what happened since we met."

"Well, tell me what happened before we met."

"I was passing this place before I saw you," said the king's son, "and four men were fighting over a coffin. I spoke to them, and two of them said they were burying the body of their brother which was in the coffin, and the others said the dead man owed them five pounds, and they wouldn't let the coffin into the ground until they got the money. I paid five pounds and the body was buried."

"It was my body was in the coffin," said Shaking-head, "and I came back into this world to do you a good turn; and now I am going, and you'll never see me again unless trouble is on you."

Shaking-head disappeared, and the king's son went home. He wasn't with his father long till the other three kings' sons heard he had come back to Erin with the daughter of King Behind the Gold. They sent word, saying: "We'll take the head off you now, and put an end to your father and yourself."

The king's son went out to walk alone, and as he was lamenting the fate he had brought on his father, who should come along to meet him but Shaking-head.

"What trouble is on you now?" asked he.

"Oh, three kings' sons are coming with their fleets and armies to destroy my father and myself, and what can we do with our one fleet and one army?"

"Well," said Shaking-head, "I'll settle that for you without delay." Then he sent a message straight to King Behind the Gold, who gave a fleet and an army, and they came to Erin so quickly that they were at the castle before the forces of the three kings' sons. And when the three came the battle began on sea and land at both sides of the castle.

The three fleets of the three kings' sons were sunk, their armies destroyed, and the three heads taken off themselves. When the battle was over and the country safe the king resigned the castle and power to his son, and the son of a king in a province became king over all the land of Erin.




Birth Of Fin Maccumhail.[10]

[10] Cumhail, genitive of Cumhal, after Mac = son; pronounced Cool.


Cumhal Macart was a great champion in the west of Erin, and it was prophesied of him that if ever he married he would meet death in the next battle he fought.

For this reason he had no wife, and knew no woman for a long time; till one day he saw the king's daughter, who was so beautiful that he forgot all fear and married her in secret.

Next day after the marriage, news came that a battle had to be fought.

Now a Druid had told the king that his daughter's son would take the kingdom from him; so he made up his mind to look after the daughter, and not let any man come near her.

Before he went to the battle, Cumhal told his mother everything, -- told her of his relations with the king's daughter.

He said, "I shall be killed in battle to-day, according to the prophecy of the Druid, and I'm afraid if his daughter has a son the king will kill the child, for the prophecy is that he will lose the kingdom by the son of his own daughter. Now, if the king's daughter has a son do you hide and rear him, if you can; you will be his only hope and stay."

Cumhal was killed in the battle, and within that year the king's daughter had a son. By command of his grandfather, the boy was thrown out of the castle window into a loch, to be drowned, on the day of his birth.

The boy sank from sight; but after remaining a while under the water, he rose again to the surface, and came to land holding a live salmon in his hand.

The grandmother of the boy, Cumhal's mother, stood watching on the shore, and said to herself as she saw this: "He is my grandson, the true son of my own child," and seizing the boy, she rushed away with him, and vanished, before the king's people could stop her.

When the king heard that the old woman had escaped with his daughter's son, he fell into a terrible rage, and ordered all the male children born that day in the kingdom to be put to death, hoping in this way to kill his own grandson, and save the crown for himself.

After she had disappeared from the bank of the loch, the old woman, Cumhal's mother, made her way to a thick forest, where she spent that night as best she could. Next day she came to a great oak tree. Then she hired a man to cut out a chamber in the tree.

When all was finished, and there was a nice room in the oak for herself and her grandson, and a whelp of the same age as the boy, and which she had brought with her from the castle, she said to the man: "Give me the axe which you have in your hand, there is something here that I want to fix."

The man gave the axe into her hand, and that minute she swept the head off him, saying: "You'll never tell any man about this place now." One day the whelp ate some of the fine chippings (bran) left cut by the carpenter from the inside of the tree. The old woman said: "You'll be called Bran from this out."

All three lived in the tree together, and the old woman did not take her grandson out till the end of five years; and then he couldn't walk, he had been sitting so long inside.

When the old grandmother had taught the boy to walk, she brought him one day to the brow of a hill from which there was a long slope. She took a switch and said: "Now, run down this place. I will follow and strike you with this switch, and coming up I will run ahead, and you strike me as often as you can."

The first time they ran down, his grandmother struck him many times. In coming up the first time, he did not strike her at all. Every time they ran down she struck him less, and every time they ran up he struck her more.

They ran up and down for three days; and at the end of that time she could not strike him once, and he struck her at every step she took. He had now become a great runner.

When he was fifteen years of age, the old woman went with him to a hurling match between the forces of his grandfather and those of a neighboring king. Both sides were equal in skill; and neither was able to win, till the youth opposed his grandfather's people. Then, he won every game. When the ball was thrown in the air, he struck it coming down, and so again and again, -- never letting the ball touch the ground till he had driven it through the barrier.

The old king, who was very angry, and greatly mortified, at the defeat of his people, exclaimed, as he saw the youth, who was very fair and had white hair: "Who is that fin cumhal[11] [white cap]?"

[11] Cumhal, the name of Fin's father. Denotes also a cap or head-covering, fin = white. The punning resemblance suggested to the old woman the full name, Fin MacCumhail.

"Ah, that is it; Fin will be his name, and Fin MacCumhail he is," said the old woman.

The king ordered his people to seize and put the young man to death, on the spot. The old woman hurried to the side of her grandson. They slipped from the crowd and away they went, a hill at a leap, a glen at a step, and thirty-two miles at a running-leap. They ran a long distance, till Fin grew tired; then the old grandmother took him on her back, putting his feet into two pockets which were in her dress, one on each side, and ran on with the same swiftness as before, a hill at a leap, a glen at a step, and thirty-two miles at a running-leap.

After a time, the old woman felt the approach of pursuit, and said to Fin: "Look behind, and tell me what you see."

"I see," said he, "a white horse with a champion on his back."

"Oh, no fear," said she; "a white horse has no endurance; he can never catch us, we are safe from him." And on they sped. A second time she felt the approach of pursuit, and again she said: "Look back, and see who is coming."

Fin looked back, and said: "I see a warrior riding on a brown horse."

"Never fear," said the old woman; "there is never a brown horse but is giddy, he cannot overtake us." She rushed on as before. A third time she said: "Look around, and see who is coming now." Fin looked, and said: "I see a black warrior on a black horse, following fast."

"There is no horse so tough as a black horse," said the grandmother. "There is no escape from this one. My grandson, one or both of us must die. I am old, my time has nearly come. I will die, and you and Bran save yourselves. (Bran had been with them all the time.) Right here ahead is a deep bog; you jump off my back, and escape as best you can. I'll jump into the bog up to my neck; and when the king's men come, I'll say that you are in the bog before me, sunk out of sight, and I'm trying to find you. As my hair and yours are the same color, they will think my head good enough to carry back. They will cut it off, and take it in place of yours, and show it to the king; that will satisfy his anger."

Fin slipped down, took farewell of his grandmother, and hurried on with Bran. The old woman came to the bog, jumped in, and sank to her neck. The king's men were soon at the edge of the bog, and the black rider called out to the old woman: "Where is Fin?"

"He is here in the bog before me, and I'm trying can I find him."

As the horsemen could not find Fin, and thought the old woman's head would do to carry back, they cut it off, and took it with them, saying: "This will satisfy the king."

Fin and Bran went on till they came to a great cave, in which they found a herd of goats. At the further end of the cave was a smouldering fire. The two lay down to rest.

A couple of hours later, in came a giant with a salmon in his hand. This giant was of awful height, he had but one eye, and that in the middle of his forehead, as large as the sun in heaven.

When he saw Fin, he called out: "Here, take this salmon and roast it; but be careful, for if you raise a single blister on it I'll cut the head off you. I've followed this salmon for three days and three nights without stopping, and I never let it out of my sight, for it is the most wonderful salmon in the world."

The giant lay down to sleep in the middle of the cave. Fin spitted the salmon, and held it over the fire.

The minute the giant closed the one eye in his head, he began to snore. Every time he drew breath into his body, he dragged Fin, the spit, the salmon, Bran, and all the goats to his mouth; and every time he drove a breath out of himself, he threw them back to the places they were in before. Fin was drawn time after time to the mouth of the giant with such force, that he was in dread of going down his throat.

When partly cooked, a blister rose on the salmon. Fin pressed the place with his thumb, to know could he break the blister, and hide from the giant the harm that was done. But he burned his thumb, and, to ease the pain, put it between his teeth, and gnawed the skin to the flesh, the flesh to the bone, the bone to the marrow; and when he had tasted the marrow, he received the knowledge of all things. Next moment, he was drawn by the breath of the giant right up to his face, and, knowing from his thumb what to do, he plunged the hot spit into the sleeping eye of the giant and destroyed it.

That instant the giant with a single bound was at the low entrance of the cave, and, standing with his back to the wall and a foot on each side of the opening, roared out: "You'll not leave this place alive."

Now Fin killed the largest goat, skinned him as quickly as he could, then putting the skin on himself he drove the herd to where the giant stood; the goats passed out one by one between his legs. When the great goat came the giant took him by the horns. Fin slipped from the skin, and ran out.

"Oh, you've escaped," said the giant, "but before we part let me make you a present."

"I'm afraid to go near you," said Fin; "if you wish to give me a present, put it out this way, and then go back."

The giant placed a ring on the ground, then went back. Fin took up the ring and put it on the end of his little finger above the first joint. It clung so firmly that no man in the world could have taken it off.

The giant then called out, "Where are you?"

"On Fin's finger," cried the ring. That instant the giant sprang at Fin and almost came down on his head, thinking in this way to crush him to bits. Fin sprang to a distance. Again the giant asked, "Where are you?"

"On Fin's finger," answered the ring.

Again the giant made a leap, coming down just in front of Fin. Many times he called and many times almost caught Fin, who could not escape with the ring on his finger. While in this terrible struggle, not knowing how to escape, Bran ran up and asked:

"Why don't you chew your thumb?" Fin bit his thumb to the marrow, and then knew what to do. He took the knife with which he had skinned the goat, cut off his finger at the first joint, and threw it, with the ring still on, into a deep bog near by.

Again the giant called out, "Where are you?" and the ring answered, "On Fin's finger."

Straightway the giant sprang towards the voice, sank to his shoulders in the bog, and stayed there.

Fin with Bran now went on his way, and travelled till he reached a deep and thick wood, where a thousand horses were drawing timber, and men felling and preparing it.

"What is this?" asked Fin of the overseer of the workmen.

"Oh, we are building a dun (a castle) for the king; we build one every day, and every night it is burned to the ground. Our king has an only daughter; he will give her to any man who will save the dun, and he'll leave him the kingdom at his death. If any man undertakes to save the dun and fails, his life must pay for it; the king will cut his head off. The best champions in Erin have tried and failed; they are now in the king's dungeons, a whole army of them, waiting the king's pleasure. He's going to cut the heads off them all in one day."

"Why don't you chew your thumb?" asked Bran.

Fin chewed his thumb to the marrow, and then knew that on the eastern side of the world there lived an old hag with her three sons, and every evening at nightfall she sent the youngest of these to burn the king's dun.

"I will save the king's dun," said Fin.

"Well," said the overseer, "better men than you have tried and lost their lives." "Oh," said Fin, "I'm not afraid; I'll try for the sake of the king's daughter."

Now Fin, followed by Bran, went with the overseer to the king. "I hear you will give your daughter to the man who saves your dun," said Fin.

"I will," said the king; "but if he fails I must have his head."

"Well," said Fin, "I'll risk my head for the sake of your daughter. If I fail I'm satisfied." The king gave Fin food and drink; he supped, and after supper went to the dun.

"Why don't you chew your thumb?" said Bran; "then you'll know what to do." He did. Then Bran took her place on the roof, waiting for the old woman's son. Now the old woman in the east told her youngest son to hurry on with his torches, burn the dun, and come back without delay; for the stirabout was boiling and he must not be too late for supper.

He took the torches, and shot off through the air with a wonderful speed. Soon he was in sight of the king's dun, threw the torches upon the thatched roof to set it on fire as usual.

That moment Bran gave the torches such a push with her shoulders, that they fell into the stream which ran around the dun, and were put out. "Who is this," cried the youngest son of the old hag, "who has dared to put out my lights, and interfere with my hereditary right?"

"I," said Fin, who stood in front of him. Then began a terrible battle between Fin and the old woman's son. Bran came down from the dun to help Fin; she bit and tore his enemy's back, stripping the skin and flesh from his head to his heels.

After a terrible struggle such as had not been in the world before that night, Fin cut the head off his enemy. But for Bran, Fin could never have conquered.

The time for the return of her son had passed; supper was ready. The old woman, impatient and angry, said to the second son: "You take torches and hurry on, see why your brother loiters. I'll pay him for this when he comes home! But be careful and don't do like him, or you'll have your pay too. Hurry back, for the stirabout is boiling and ready for supper."

He started off, was met and killed exactly as his brother, except that he was stronger and the battle fiercer. But for Bran, Fin would have lost his life that night.

The old woman was raging at the delay, and said to her eldest son, who had not been out of the house for years: (It was only in case of the greatest need that she sent him. He had a cat's head, and was called Pus an Chuine, "Puss of the Corner;" he was the eldest and strongest of all the brothers.) "Now take torches, go and see what delays your brothers; I'll pay them for this when they come home."

The eldest brother shot off through the air, came to the king's dun, and threw his torches upon the roof. They had just singed the straw a little, when Bran pushed them off with such force that they fell into the stream and were quenched.

"Who is this," screamed Cat-head, "who dares to interfere with my ancestral right?"

"I," shouted Fin. Then the struggle began fiercer than with the second brother. Bran helped from behind, tearing the flesh from his head to his heels; but at length Cat-head fastened his teeth into Fin's breast, biting and gnawing till Fin cut the head off. The body fell to the ground, but the head lived, gnawing as terribly as before. Do what they could it was impossible to kill it. Fin hacked and cut, but could neither kill nor pull it off. When nearly exhausted, Bran said:

"Why don't you chew your thumb?"

Fin chewed his thumb, and reaching the marrow knew that the old woman in the east was ready to start with torches to find her sons, and burn the dun herself, and that she had a vial of liquid with which she could bring the sons to life; and that nothing could free him from Cat-head but the old woman's blood.

After midnight the old hag, enraged at the delay of her sons, started and shot through the air like lightning, more swiftly than her sons. She threw her torches from afar upon the roof of the dun; but Bran as before hurled them into the stream.

Now the old woman circled around in the air looking for her sons. Fin was getting very weak from pain and loss of blood, for Cat-head was biting at his breast all the time.

Bran called out: "Rouse yourself, oh, Fin; use all your power or we are lost! If the old hag gets a drop from the vial upon the bodies of her sons, they will come to life, and then we're done for."

Thus roused, Fin with one spring reached the old woman in the air, and swept the bottle from her grasp; which falling upon the ground was emptied.

The old hag gave a scream which was heard all over the world, came to the ground and closed with Fin. Then followed a battle greater than the world had ever known before that night, or has ever seen since. Water sprang out of gray rocks, cows cast their calves even when they had none, and hard rushes grew soft in the remotest corner of Erin, so desperate was the fighting and so awful, between Fin and the old hag. Fin would have died that night but for Bran.

Just as daylight was coming Fin swept the head off the old woman, caught some of her blood, and rubbed it around Cat-head, who fell off dead.

He rubbed his own wounds with the blood and was cured; then rubbed some on Bran, who had been singed with the torches, and she was as well as ever. Fin, exhausted with fighting, dropped down and fell asleep.

While he was sleeping the chief steward of the king came to the dun, found it standing safe and sound, and seeing Fin lying there asleep knew that he had saved it. Bran tried to waken Fin, pulled and tugged, but could not rouse him.

The steward went to the king, and said: "I have saved the dun, and I claim the reward."

"It shall be given you," answered the king; and straightway the steward was recognized as the king's son-in-law, and orders were given to make ready for the wedding.

Bran had listened to what was going on, and when her master woke, exactly at midday, she told him of all that was taking place in the castle of the king.

Fin went to the king, and said: "I have saved your dun, and I claim the reward."

"Oh," said the king, "my steward claimed the reward, and it has been given to him."

"He had nothing to do with saving the dun; I saved it," said Fin.

"Well," answered the king, "he is the first man who told me of its safety and claimed the reward." "Bring him here: let me look at him," said Fin.

He was sent for, and came. "Did you save the king's dun?" asked Fin. "I did," said the steward.

"You did not, and take that for your lies," said Fin; and striking him with the edge of his open hand he swept the head off his body, dashing it against the other side of the room, flattening it like paste on the wall.

"You are the man," said the king to Fin, "who saved the dun; yours is the reward. All the champions, and there is many a man of them, who have failed to save it are in the dungeons of my fortress; their heads must be cut off before the wedding takes place."

"Will you let me see them?" asked Fin.

"I will," said the king.

Fin went down to the men, and found the first champions of Erin in the dungeons. "Will you obey me in all things if I save you from death?" said Fin. "We will," said they. Then he went back to the king and asked:

"Will you give me the lives of these champions of Erin, in place of your daughter's hand?"

"I will," said the king.

All the champions were liberated, and left the king's castle that day. Ever after they followed the orders of Fin, and these were the beginning of his forces and the first of the Fenians of Erin.




Fin Maccumhail And The Fenians Of Erin In The Castle Of Fear Dubh.


It was the custom with Fin MacCumhail and the Fenians of Erin, when a stranger from any part of the world came to their castle, not to ask him a question for a year and a day.

On a time, a champion came to Fin and his men, and remained with them. He was not at all pleasant or agreeable.

At last Fin and his men took counsel together; they were much annoyed because their guest was so dull and morose, never saying a word, always silent.

While discussing what kind of man he was, Diarmuid Duivne offered to try him; so one evening when they were eating together, Diarmuid came and snatched from his mouth the hind-quarter of a bullock, which he was picking.

Diarmuid pulled at one part of the quarter, -- pulled with all his strength, but only took the part that he seized, while the other kept the part he held. All laughed; the stranger laughed too, as heartily as any. It was the first laugh they had heard from him.

The strange champion saw all their feats of arms and practised with them, till the year and a day were over. Then he said to Fin and his men:

"I have spent a pleasant year in your company; you gave me good treatment, and the least I can do now is to give you a feast at my own castle."

No one had asked what his name was up to that time. Fin now asked his name. He answered: "My name is Fear Dubh, of Alba."

Fin accepted the invitation; and they appointed the day for the feast, which was to be in Erin, since Fear Dubh did not wish to trouble them to go to Alban. He took leave of his host and started for home.

When the day for the feast came, Fin and the chief men of the Fenians of Erin set out for the castle of Fear Dubh.

They went, a glen at a step, a hill at a leap, and thirty-two miles at a running leap, till they came to the grand castle where the feast was to be given.

They went in; everything was ready, seats at the table, and every man's name at his seat in the same order as at Fin's castle. Diarmuid, who was always very sportive, -- fond of hunting, and paying court to women, was not with them; he had gone to the mountains with his dogs.

All sat down, except Conan Maol MacMorna (never a man spoke well of him); no seat was ready for him, for he used to lie on the flat of his back on the floor, at Fin's castle.

When all were seated the door of the castle closed of itself. Fin then asked the man nearest the door, to rise and open it. The man tried to rise; he pulled this way and that, over and hither, but he couldn't get up. Then the next man tried, and the next, and so on, till the turn came to Fin himself, who tried in vain.

Now, whenever Fin and his men were in trouble and great danger it was their custom to raise a cry of distress (a voice of howling), heard all over Erin. Then all men knew that they were in peril of death; for they never raised this cry except in the last extremity.

Fin's son, Fialan, who was three years old and in the cradle, heard the cry, was roused, and jumped up.

"Get me a sword!" said he to the nurse. "My father and his men are in distress; I must go to aid them."

"What could you do, poor little child."

Fialan looked around, saw an old rusty sword-blade laid aside for ages. He took it down, gave it a snap; it sprang up so as to hit his arm, and all the rust dropped off; the blade was pure as shining silver.

"This will do," said he; and then he set out towards the place where he heard the cry, going a glen at a step, a hill at a leap, and thirty-two miles at a running leap, till he came to the door of the castle, and cried out.

Fin answered from inside, "Is that you, my child?"

"It is," said Fialan.

"Why did you come?"

"I heard your cry, and how could I stay at home, hearing the cry of my father and the Fenians of Erin!"

"Oh, my child, you cannot help us much."

Fialan struck the door powerfully with his sword, but no use. Then, one of the men inside asked Fin to chew his thumb, to know what was keeping them in, and why they were bound.

Fin chewed his thumb, from skin to blood, from blood to bone, from bone to marrow, and discovered that Fear Dubh had built the castle by magic, and that he was coming himself with a great force to cut the head off each one of them. (These men from Alba had always a grudge against the champions of Erin.)

Said Fin to Fialan: "Do you go now, and stand at the ford near the castle, and meet Fear Dubh."

Fialan went and stood in the middle of the ford. He wasn't long there when he saw Fear Dubh coming with a great army.

"Leave the ford, my child," said Fear Dubh, who knew him at once. "I have not come to harm your father. I spent a pleasant year at his castle. I've only come to show him honor."

"I know why you have come," answered Fialan. "You've come to destroy my father and all his men, and I'll not leave this ford while I can hold it."

"Leave the ford; I don't want to harm your father, I want to do him honor. If you don't let us pass my men will kill you," said Fear Dubh.

"I will not let you pass so long as I'm alive before you," said Fialan.

The men faced him; and if they did Fialan kept his place, and a battle commenced, the like of which was never seen before that day. Fialan went through the army as a hawk through a flock of sparrows on a March morning, till he killed every man except Fear Dubh. Fear Dubh told him again to leave the ford, he didn't want to harm his father.

"Oh!" said Fialan, "I know well what you want."

"If you don't leave that place I'll make you leave it!" said Fear Dubh. Then they closed in combat; and such a combat was never seen before between any two warriors. They made springs to rise through the centre of hard gray rocks, cows to cast their calves whether they had them or not. All the horses of the country were racing about and neighing in dread and fear, and all created things were terrified at the sound and clamor of the fight, till the weapons of Fear Dubh went to pieces in the struggle, and Fialan made two halves of his own sword.

Now they closed in wrestling. In the first round Fialan put Fear Dubh to his knees in the hard bottom of the river; the second round he put him to his hips, and the third, to his shoulders.

"Now," said he, "I have you," giving him a stroke of the half of his sword, which cut the head off him.

Then Fialan went to the door of the castle and told his father what he had done.

Fin chewed his thumb again, and knew what other danger was coming. "My son," said he to Fialan, "Fear Dubh has a younger brother more powerful than he was; that brother is coming against us now with greater forces than those which you have destroyed."

As soon as Fialan heard these words he hurried to the ford, and waited till the second army came up. He destroyed this army as he had the other, and closed with the second brother in a fight fiercer and more terrible than the first; but at last he thrust him to his armpits in the hard bottom of the river and cut off his head.

Then he went to the castle, and told his father what he had done. A third time Fin chewed his thumb, and said: "My son, a third army more to be dreaded than the other two is coming now to destroy us, and at the head of it is the youngest brother of Fear Dubh, the most desperate and powerful of the three."

Again Fialan rushed off to the ford; and, though the work was greater than before, he left not a man of the army alive. Then he closed with the youngest brother of Fear Dubh, and if the first and second battles were terrible this was more terrible by far; but at last he planted the youngest brother up to his armpits in the hard bottom of the river, and swept the head off him.

Now, after the heat and struggle of combat Fialan was in such a rage that he lost his mind from fury, not having any one to fight against; and if the whole world had been there before him he would have gone through it and conquered it all.

But having no one to face him he rushed along the river-bank, tearing the flesh from his own body. Never had such madness been seen in any created being before that day.

Diarmuid came now and knocked at the door of the castle, having the dog Bran with him, and asked Fin what had caused him to raise the cry of distress.

"Oh, Diarmuid," said Fin, "we are all fastened in here to be killed. Fialan has destroyed three armies, and Fear Dubh with his two brothers. He is raging now along the bank of the river; you must not go near him, for he would tear you limb from limb. At this moment he wouldn't spare me, his own father; but after a while he will cease from raging and die down; then you can go. The mother of Fear Dubh is coming, and will soon be at the ford. She is more violent, more venomous, more to be dreaded, a greater warrior than her sons. The chief weapon she has are the nails on her fingers; each nail is seven perches long, of the hardest steel on earth. She is coming in the air at this moment with the speed of a hawk, and she has a k??an (a small vessel), with liquor in it, which has such power that if she puts three drops of it on the mouths of her sons they will rise up as well as ever; and if she brings them to life there is nothing to save us.

"Go to the ford; she will be hovering over the corpses of the three armies to know can she find her sons, and as soon as she sees them she will dart down and give them the liquor. You must rise with a mighty bound upon her, dash the k??an out of her hand and spill the liquor.

"If you can kill her save her blood, for nothing in the world can free us from this place and open the door of the castle but the blood of the old hag. I'm in dread you'll not succeed, for she is far more terrible than all her sons together. Go now; Fialan is dying away, and the old woman is coming; make no delay."

Diarmuid hurried to the ford, stood watching a while; then he saw high in the air something no larger than a hawk. As it came nearer and nearer he saw it was the old woman. She hovered high in the air over the ford. At last she saw her sons, and was swooping down, when Diarmuid rose with a bound into the air and struck the vial a league out of her hand.

The old hag gave a shriek that was heard to the eastern world, and screamed: "Who has dared to interfere with me or my sons?"

"I," answered Diarmuid; "and you'll not go further till I do to you what has been done to your sons."

The fight began; and if there ever was a fight, before or since, it could not be more terrible than this one; but great as was the power of Diarmuid he never could have conquered but for Bran the dog.

The old woman with her nails stripped the skin and flesh from Diarmuid almost to the vitals. But Bran tore the skin and flesh off the old woman's back from her head to her heels.

From the dint of blood-loss and fighting, Diarmuid was growing faint. Despair came on him, and he was on the point of giving way, when a little robin flew near to him, and sitting on a bush, spoke, saying:

"Oh, Diarmuid, take strength; rise and sweep the head off the old hag, or Fin and the Fenians of Erin are no more."

Diarmuid took courage, and with his last strength made one great effort, swept the head off the old hag and caught her blood in a vessel. He rubbed some on his own wounds, -- they were cured; then he cured Bran.

Straightway he took the blood to the castle, rubbed drops of it on the door, which opened, and he went in.

All laughed with joy at the rescue. He freed Fin and his men by rubbing the blood on the chairs; but when he came as far as Conan Maol the blood gave out.

All were going away. "Why should you leave me here after you;" cried Conan Maol, "I would rather die at once than stay here for a lingering death. Why don't you, Oscar, and you, Gol MacMorna, come and tear me out of this place; anyhow you'll be able to drag the arms out of me and kill me at once; better that than leave me to die alone."

Oscar and Gol took each a hand, braced their feet against his feet, put forth all their strength and brought him standing; but if they did, he left all the skin and much of the flesh from the back of his head to his heels on the floor behind him. He was covered with blood, and by all accounts was in a terrible condition, bleeding and wounded.

Now there were sheep grazing near the castle. The Fenians ran out, killed and skinned the largest and best of the flock, and clapped the fresh skin on Conan's back; and such was the healing power in the sheep, and the wound very fresh, that Conan's back healed, and he marched home with the rest of the men, and soon got well; and if he did, they sheared off his back wool enough every year to make a pair of stockings for each one of the Fenians of Erin, and for Fin himself.

And that was a great thing to do and useful, for wool was scarce in Erin in those days. Fin and his men lived pleasantly and joyously for some time; and if they didn't, may we.




Fin Maccumhail And The Knight Of The Full Axe.


There was a day when Fin went on an expedition by himself. He walked out to his currochAin on the seashore, gave it a kick that sent it out nine leagues from land, then with a spring he jumped into the boat and rowed over the sea.

After he had gone some distance he saw a giant coming towards him, walking through the water, which did not reach his knees. Looking up, Fin could see nothing between the head of the giant and the sky.

With one step the giant was in front of Fin, and it seemed that he and his boat would be lost in a moment between the legs of the terrible monster.

"Poor, little helpless creature! what brings you here in my way?" asked the giant. He was just going to lay hold of the boat and toss it far off to one side, when Fin called out:

"Won't you give fair play; just let me put foot on solid land, and see what will happen. Don't attack me here; I'm not afraid to meet you once I have earth for my two feet to stand on."

"If that is all you want I can take you to land very soon." And seizing the boat as he would a grass-blade, the giant drew it to the shore of the sea opposite to that from which Fin started, and in front of his own castle. "What will you do now?" asked the giant.

"I'll fight with you," said Fin.

The giant brought out his battle-axe, which had a blade seven acres in size. Fin was ready with his sword, and now began a most terrible battle.

Fin faced the giant, slashing at him with his sword, and when the giant made an offer of the axe at him, Fin would dart to one side; and when the axe missing him struck the ground, it went into the handle. The giant was a long time striving to know could he draw out the axe; and while at this Fin ran behind and cut steps with his sword into the leg of his enemy; and by the time the giant had the axe out of the ground, Fin was ready for him again and in front of him, striking and vexing him with his sword. It was another long while till a blow came down; and when the axe went into the ground again, Fin ran behind a second time, cut more steps in the leg and body of the giant, so as to reach his neck and cut the head off him.

When the axe was coming to the ground the third time, Fin slipped and fell under one corner of it, and between the feet of the giant, who closed his legs with a clap that was heard to the end of the Western World. He thought to catch Fin; but Fin was too quick for him, and though badly hurt he was able to cut more steps and climb to the neck of the giant. With one blow he swept the head off him, -- and a big head it was; by all accounts as broad as the moon.

The battle was fought in front of the giant's castle. Fin was terribly wounded; the axe had cut that deep that his bowels were to be seen. He dropped at the side of the giant, and lay helpless on the ground. After the fall of the giant twelve women came out of his castle, and when they drew near and saw him dead they laughed from joy; but seeing Fin with his wound they began to mourn.

"Oh, then," said Fin, "is it making sport of me you are after the evil day that I've had?"

"Indeed it is not. We are twelve daughters of kings, stolen from our fathers. We saw the giant fall, and came here to look at him dead; we grieve for you and mourn for the sorrow that is on you, but we are so glad the giant is killed that we cannot help laughing."

"Well," said Fin, "if you mourn for me and are glad that I have killed the giant, will you carry me to my currochAin, lay me in it, and push it out to sea? The waves may bear me home, and I care for nothing else if only one day my bones may come to land in Erin."

The twelve women took him up carefully and put him in the boat, and when the tide came they pushed it out to sea.

Fin lay in the bottom of the boat barely alive. It floated along, and he was borne over the waves. Hither and thither went the boat, till at last one day a blackbird came down on the body of Fin MacCumhail, and began to pick at his entrails. The blackbird said:

"Many a long day have I watched and waited for this chance, and glad am I to have it now."

That moment the blackbird turned into a little man not more than three feet high. Then he said: "I was under a Druidic spell, to be a blackbird till I should get three bites of fat from the entrails of Fin MacCumhail. I have followed you everywhere; have watched you in battle and hunt, on sea and land, but never have I been able to get the chance till this day. Now I have it, I have also the power to make you well again."

He put Fin's entrails into their proper place, rubbed him with an ointment that he had, and Fin was well as ever.

The little man, who said his name was Ridiri na lan tur (Knight of the Full Axe) had a small axe, his only weapon. As they floated along he said to Fin: "I wish to show you some strange things, such as you have never seen in Erin. We are near a country where the king's daughter is to be married to-night. We will prevent the ceremony."

"Oh no," said Fin, "I would rather go to my own home."

"Never mind," said the little man, "nothing can harm you in my company; come with me. This is a wonderful king, and he has a wonderful daughter. It's a strange country, and I want to show you the place. We'll tell him that you are Fin MacCumhail, monarch of Erin; that we have been shipwrecked, and ask for a night's shelter."

Fin consented at last, and with the Knight of the Full Axe landed, drew the boat on shore, and went to the king's castle. There was noise and tumult; great crowds of people had come to do honor to the king's daughter. Never before had such preparations been made in that kingdom.

The Knight of the Full Axe knocked at the door, and asked admission for himself and Fin MacCumhail, monarch of Erin, shipwrecked on that shore. (The country was north of Erin, far out in the sea.)

The attendants said: "No strangers may enter here, but there is a great house further on; go there and welcome."

The house to which they were directed was twenty-one miles long, ten miles wide, and about five miles distant from the castle; inhabited by the strangest men in the world, body-guards of the king, fed from the king's house, and a terrible feeding it was, -- human flesh. All strangers who came to the king's castle were sent to that house, where the guards tore them to pieces and ate them up.

These guards had to be fed well; if not they would devour the whole country.

With Fin and the Knight of the Full Axe there went a messenger, who was careful not to go near the house; he pointed it out from a distance, and ran home.

Fin and the knight knocked at the door. When it was opened all inside laughed; as they laughed, Fin could see their hearts and livers they were so glad. The Knight of the Full Axe asked, "Why do you laugh in this way?"

"Oh," answered they, "we laugh because you are so small you'll not make a mouthful for one of us."

The guards barred the door and put a prop against it. Now the knight put a second prop against the door; the guards asked, "Why do you do that?"

"I do it so none of you may escape me," answered the knight. Then seizing two of the largest of the guards, one in each hand, he used them as clubs and killed the others with them. He ran the length of the house, striking right and left, till he walloped the life out of all that was in it, but the two. To them he said: "I spare you to clean out the house, and make the place fit for the monarch of Erin to spend the night in. Bring rushes, and make ready to receive Fin MacCumhail."

And from wherever they got them, they brought two baskets of rushes, each basket as big as a mountain, and spread litter on the ground two feet deep through the whole house; and then at the knight's command they brought a pile of turf, and made a grand fire.

Late in the evening the king's attendants brought food, which they left near the house of the guards; these monsters were fed twice a day, morning and evening. To their great surprise the attendants saw the bodies of the dead giants piled up outside the house; they ran off quickly to tell the news.

Now the Knight of the Full Axe sat by the fire. The two guards that he had spared tried to chat and be agreeable; but the knight snapped at them and said: "What company are you for the monarch of Erin?" Then he caught the two, squeezed the life out of them, and threw them on the pile outside.

"Now," said the knight to Fin, "there is no suitable food for you; I must get you something good to eat from the castle."

So off he started, reached the castle quickly, knocked at the door, and demanded the best of food, saying, "'Tis fine treatment you are giving the monarch of Erin to-night!"

They trembled at the voice of the little man, and without words or delay gave him the best they had in the castle. He carried it back and placed it before Fin. "Now," said he, "they have given us no wine; we must have wine, and that of the best."

"Oh, we have no need of wine!" said Fin; but off went the knight.

Again he demanded supplies at the castle. He took a hogshead of the best wine, threw it over his shoulder, and, as he hurried out, he struck a jamb off the door and swept it along with the hogshead.

"Now," said the knight, after they had eaten and drunk, "'tis too bad for the monarch of Erin to sleep on rushes; he should have the best bed in the land."

"Oh, trouble yourself no further," said Fin; "better sleep on rushes than all this noise."

But the knight would listen to nothing; away he went to the castle, and shouted: "Give me the best bed in this place! I want it for Fin MacCumhail, the monarch of Erin."

They gave him the bed in a moment. With hurried steps he was back, and said to Fin: "Rest on this bed. Now I'll stop the wedding of the princess; you may take her to Erin if you like."

"Oh, that would not be right! I am well as I am," said Fin, who was getting in dread of the knight himself.

"No, you'd better have the princess," and off rushed the knight. He entered the castle. All were in terror; hither and thither they hurried, not knowing what to do. The Knight of the Full Axe seized the princess. "The monarch of Erin is a better man than your bridegroom," said he; and clapping her under his arm, away he went. Not a man had the courage to stir.

All was confusion and fear in the king's castle. The princess was gone and no one could save her. All were in terrible dread, knowing what had been done at the long house.

At last an old hag, one of the queen's waiting-women, said: "I'll go and see what has become of the princess. I'll go on the chimney and look down."

Off ran the hag, and never rested till she was on the top of the chimney, sticking down her head to know what could she see. The chimney was wide, for the king's guards had cooked all their food below on the fire. The Knight of the Full Axe was looking up at the time and saw the two eyes staring down at him.

"Go on out of that," cried he, flinging his axe; which stuck in the old woman's forehead. Off she rushed to the castle. She had seen nothing of the princess; all she knew was that a little man was sitting by the fire warming himself, that he had thrown his axe at her, and it had stuck in her forehead.

At daylight the knight spoke to Fin, who rose at once. "Now," said he, "I have no strength left; all my strength is in the axe. While I had that I could do anything, now I can do nothing. We are in great danger; but there is such dread of us on the people here that we may mend matters yet. Do you put on the dress of a leech, get herbs and vials, and pretend you have great skill in healing. Go to the castle, and say you can take the axe out of the old hag's head. No man there can do that without killing her; she will die the minute it is drawn. Get at her, seize the axe, pull it out, and with it you will have the greatest power on earth."

Fin went to the castle, and said: "I am a great doctor. I can take the axe out of the old woman's head without trouble."

They took him to the hag, who was sitting upright in bed; her head was so sore she couldn't lie down. He felt her head around the axe, sent the people away; when they were gone he took hold of the handle. With one snap he made two halves of the old woman's head. Fin ran out with the axe, leaving the old hag dead behind him. He never stopped till he came where he had left the knight.

Fin MacCumhail was now the strongest man on earth, and the knight the weakest. "You may keep the axe," said the little man; "I shall not envy you, but will go with you and you will protect me."

"No," said Fin, "it shall never be said that I took the axe from you, though I know its value and feel its power."

The knight was glad to get back his axe, and now the two set out for Erin. Fin kicked the boat three leagues from land, and with a bound they both came down in it, and floated on till they saw the coast of Erin. Then the little man said:

"I must leave you now. Though of your kin, I cannot land in Erin. But if you need me at any time you have only to look over your right shoulder, call my name, and you will see me before you."

Now Fin sprang ashore; he had been absent a year and more, and no man knew where he was while gone. All thought him lost. Great was the gladness when Fin came home, and told the Fenians of Erin of what he had seen and what he had done.




Gilla Na Grakin And Fin Maccumhail.


There was a blacksmith in Dun Kinealy beyond Killybegs, and he had two young men serving him whose names were CA(C)sa MacRi na Tulach and Lun Dubh MacSmola.

When their time was up the young men settled with the blacksmith and took their pay of him. After they had eaten breakfast in the morning they went away together.

When they had gone some distance from the house they changed their gait, so that when they took one step forward they took two backwards; and when evening came they were not five perches away from the house where they had eaten breakfast in the morning.

Then one said to the other: "I suppose what is on one of us is on the other."

"What's that?" asked the first.

"We are both in love with ScA(C)hide ni WAinanan."

"That is true," said the other, "we are both in love with the blacksmith's maid."

When this was said they turned and went back to the house. The blacksmith welcomed them, and was glad.

"You need not welcome us," said they; "we have not come back to you to seek hire; but we are both in love with ScA(C)hide ni WAinanan, and you'll have to settle the matter for us."

"Well," said the blacksmith, "I can do that. We'll open the two doors of the forge, and let you and the maiden go in and stand in the middle of the place. Then do you two go out, one at each door, and the man she'll follow will have her."

The three came in, -- one man went out at each door of the forge; ScA(C)hide followed Lun Dubh.

When he saw this CA(C)sa spoke up, and said: "I'm willing to leave her with you; but turn back a moment here to me, for the word that'll be between us."

Lun Dubh turned back into the forge, and CA(C)sa said: "Put your finger on this anvil."

Lun Dubh put his finger on the anvil. CA(C)sa, catching up a good spike, which the old blacksmith had made, and a hammer drove the spike through the finger of Lun Dubh, fastening him to the anvil.

"Now," said Lun Dubh to CA(C)sa; "let me go free, and do you take ScA(C)hide; but I must have the first blow on you in battle or war, or wherever else I meet you in the world."

"I will give you that," said CA(C)sa. So he freed his comrade from the anvil. The young men parted from each other, -- Lun Dubh went one way alone, and CA(C)sa another with ScA(C)hide ni WAinanan.

As CA(C)sa went along he bought a skin at every house where he could find one, until he had enough to make clothes in which to disguise himself; for he was in dread of Lun Dubh, on account of the first blow which he had the right to strike when they met.

He put on the skin clothes, and changed his name to Gilla na Grakin (the fellow of the skins).

Gilla and his wife held on their way till they came to the castle of Fin MacCumhail; and the time they came there was no one in the place but women.

"Where is Fin MacCumhail with his men to-day?" asked Gilla na Grakin.

"They are all out hunting," said the women.

Now Gilla saw that the castle stood with open door facing the wind, and turning again to the women he asked: "Why do you have the door of the castle to the wind?"

"When Fin and his men are at home and the wind comes in at the door, they all go out, take hold of the castle and turn it around till the door is on the sheltered side."

When Gilla na Grakin heard this he went out, put his hands to the castle, and turned it around till the door was on the sheltered side.

In the evening when Fin and the Fenians of Erin were coming from the hunt, they saw the castle turned around, and Fin said to the men: "I'm afraid we haven't half enough of game for the supper of the strangers who have come to visit us to-day, there are so many of them that they have turned the castle around."

When they came home they saw there was no man there but Gilla na Grakin, and they wondered at the work he had done.

Gilla stood before Fin, and said: "Do you want a serving man?"

"I do indeed," said Fin.

"What wages will you give me for a year and a day?" asked Gilla.

"What yourself will ask," replied Fin.

"I won't ask much," said Gilla; "five pounds for myself, and a room in the castle for my wife."

"You shall have both," said Fin.

"I'm your man now," said Gilla. The whole company spent the first part of that night in ease, the second in sport, and the third in a short sleep.

The next morning all the Fenians of Erin were going to hunt, as the day before, and Fin said to Gilla na Grakin: "Will you take any man to help you?"

"I'll take no man with me but myself; and do you let me go in one part of the country alone, and go yourself with all your men in another part."

"Well," said Fin, "will you find dry glens of ridges, or go in deep boggy places where there is danger of drowning?"

"I will go in deep boggy places."

All left the castle to hunt. Fin and the Fenians of Erin went in one direction, and Gilla na Grakin in another, and hunted all day.

When they came home in the evening Gilla na Grakin had a thousand times more game than Fin and all his men together.

When Fin saw this he was glad to have such a good man, and was pleased beyond measure with Gilla na Grakin. The whole company spent that night as they had the night before, -- in ease and sport and sleep.

Next day Conan Maol was outside with Fin, and he said: "Gilla na Grakin will destroy the Fenians of Erin and put you and all of us to death, unless you banish him in some way from this castle."

"Well;" said Fin to Conan Maol, "I've never had a good man but you wanted me to put him away. And how could I banish such a man as this if I tried?"

"The way to banish him," said Conan Maol, "is to send him to the king of Lochlin to take from him the pot of plenty that's never without meat, but has always enough in it to feed the whole world, and bring that pot to this castle."

Fin called Gilla na Grakin, and said: "You'll have to go for me now to the king of Lochlin, and get from him the pot of plenty that is never without meat, and bring it here to me."

"Well," said Gilla, "as long as I'm in your service I can't refuse to do your work."

So away went Gilla. He took a glen at a step and a hill at a leap till he came to the shore of the sea, where he caught up two sticks, put one across the other, then gave them a tip of the hand, and a fine vessel rose out of the two pieces of wood.

Gilla na Grakin went on board the vessel, hoisted the sails, and off he went in a straight line. The music he heard on his way was the whistling of eels in the sea and the calling of gulls in the air, till he came under the king's castle in Lochlin. When he came, there were hundreds of ships standing near the shore, and he had to anchor outside them all; then he stepped from ship to ship till he stood on land.

What should there be at the time he landed but a great feast in the castle of the king. So Gilla went to the front of the castle and stood outside at the door; but he could go no further for the crowd, and no one looked at him. At last he shouted: "This is a very hospitable feast, and you are a people of fine manners not to ask a stranger is he hungry or thirsty."

"You are right," said the king, who turned to the people and said: "Give the pot of plenty to the stranger till he eats his fill."

The people obeyed the king, and when Gilla na Grakin got hold of the pot he made for the ship, and never stopped till he was on board. He put the pot in a safe place below. Then standing on deck he said to himself: "It is no use to take the pot by my swiftness unless I take it by my strength."

So he turned and went to land again. All the heroes and champions of the king of Lochlin and his whole army were ready to fight, but if they were so was Gilla na Grakin.

When he came up to the army he began and went through it as a hawk goes through a flock of swallows, till he made one heap of their heads and another heap of their weapons. Then he went to the castle, caught the king in one hand and the queen in the other, and putting them under his two arms brought them out in front of the castle and killed each with the other.

All was quiet and still at the castle. There wasn't a man alive to stand up against Gilla na Grakin, who went to his ship, raised the sails, and started for Erin. All he heard was the spouting of whales, the whistling of eels, the calling of gulls, and the roar of the wind, as the ship rushed back to the place where he had made it in Erin. When he reached that place he gave the ship a tip of his hand, and there before him was the pot of plenty, and with it the two sticks which he had found on the shore of the sea when he was going to the castle of the king of Lochlin.

He left the sticks where he found them, put the pot on his back, and hurried away to the castle of Fin MacCumhail.

Fin and all the Fenians of Erin were glad to see Gilla na Grakin, and Fin thanked him for the work he had done.

The first part of that night they spent in ease, the second in sport, the third in a hurried sleep.

Next morning they rose and had breakfast from the pot. From that day out they hunted for pleasure alone. They had enough and to spare from the pot of plenty.

Another day Conan Maol was outside the castle with Fin, and he said: "Gilla na Grakin will destroy you and me and all of us unless we find some way of putting him to death."

"What do you want him to do now?" asked Fin.

"Let him go," said Conan Maol, to the king of the Flood, "and bring back the cup that is never drained."

Fin went to the castle and called up Gilla na Grakin. "I want you to go now," said he, "to the king of the Flood, and bring me his cup that is never dry."

When he heard Fin's words, Gilla went off without delay; he took a glen at a step, and a hill at a leap, till he came to the sea. There he took up two sticks of wood, threw one across the other, and they became a fine large ship.

Away he sailed in a straight line, listening as he went to the spouting of whales, the whistling of eels and the calling of gulls, and never stopped till he anchored outside the castle of the king of the Flood. There was many a ship at land before him, so he stopped outside them all, and stepped from ship to ship till he reached the shore.

The king of the Flood was giving a great feast that day. Gilla na Grakin went to the castle, but could not enter, so great was the throng. He stood at the door a while, and then called out, "You are an ill-mannered people, not to ask a stranger is he hungry or dry!"

The king heard these words, and said, "You are right;" and turning to his people said, "Give this stranger the cup till he drinks his fill."

As soon as ever Gilla got the cup in his hands, he made for the ship and never stopped till he put the cup in the hold of the vessel. Then he came on deck, and thought, "It's no use to take the cup with my swiftness, unless I take it with my strength."

So back he turned to the castle, and when he reached land, the whole army and all the champions of the king of the Flood stood ready to oppose him. When he came up, he went through them as a hawk through a flock of swallows. He made a heap of their heads in one place, and a heap of their weapons in another, and then went back to the ship without thinking of the king and the queen of the Flood -- forgot them.

He raised his sails and went away, listening to music on the sea till he touched land in Erin. Then he took the cup in one hand, struck the ship with the other, turned it into the two sticks which he had found on the shore, and travelled on till he came to the castle of Fin MacCumhail and gave up the cup.

"You're the best man I have ever had," said Fin; "and I give you my thanks and praise for the work you have done."

In the castle they spent the first part of that night in ease, the second in sport, and the third in a hurried sleep.

Next morning said Fin to the Fenians of Erin, "We needn't leave the house now unless we like. We have the best of eating from the pot, and the best of drinking from the cup. The one is never empty, and the other is never dry, and we'll go hunting in future only to pass the time for ourselves."

One day Conan Maol was out with Fin a third time, and said he: "If we don't find some way to kill Gilla na Grakin, he'll destroy you and me, and all the Fenians of Erin."

"Well," asked Fin, "where do you want to send him this time?"

"I want him to go to the eastern world, and find out what was it that left the Gruagach with but the one hair on his head."

Fin went to the castle, called up Gilla na Grakin, and said:

"You must go for me now to the eastern world, to know what was it that left the Gruagach with the one hair on his head."

"Well," said Gilla, "I never knew that you wanted to put me to death till this minute; I know it now. But still so long as I'm in your service I can't refuse to do your work."

Then Gilla na Grakin stepped out of the castle door, and away he went to the eastern world. He took a glen at a step, a hill at a leap, and lochs and seas at a bound till he entered the Gruagach's house in the eastern world.

"What is your errand to me," asked the Gruagach, "and why have you come to my house?"

"I have come," said Gilla, "to know what was it that left you with the one hair on your head."

"Sit down here and rest yourself to-night, and if you are a good man, I'll tell you to-morrow," said the Gruagach.

When bedtime came the Gruagach said: "There is an iron harrow there beyond, with teeth on both sides of it; go now and stretch yourself on that harrow, and sleep till morning."

When daylight came, the Gruagach was on his feet, and asked Gilla was he up.

"I am," said he. After they had eaten breakfast, the Gruagach went to another room and brought out two iron loops. One of these he put on Gilla's neck, and the other on his own, and then they began to jerk the loops and pull one another and they fought till late in the afternoon; neither had the upper hand, but if one man was weaker than the other, that man was Gilla na Grakin.

"And now," thought he to himself, "the Gruagach will take my life, and my wife will never know what became of me." The thought gave him strength and power, so up he sprang, and with the first pull he gave he put the Gruagach to his knees in the ground, with the second he put him to his waist, with the third to his shoulders.

"Indeed," said Gilla, "it would be easier for me to strike the head off you now, than to let you go; but if I took your head I shouldn't have my master's work done."

"If you let me go," said the Gruagach, "I'll tell you what happened to me, and why I have but the one hair on my head."

Gilla set him free, then the two sat down together, and the Gruagach began: -- 

"I was living here, without trouble or annoyance from any man, till one day a hare ran in, made an unseemly noise under that table there, and insulted us. I was here myself at the time with my wife and my son and my daughter; and we had a hound, a beagle, and a black horse.

"The hare ran out from under the table, and I made after the hare, and my wife and son and daughter, with the horse and the two dogs, followed me.

"When the hare was on the top of a hill, I had almost hold of his hind legs, but I never caught him.

"When night was near, the hare came to the walls of a great castle, and as he was jumping over, I hit him a blow on the hind leg with a stick, but in he went to the castle.

"Out came an old hag, and screamed, 'Who is it that worried the pet of this castle!'

"I said it was myself that did it. Then she faced me, and made at me and the fight began between us. We fought all that night, and the next day till near evening. Then she turned around and pulled a Druidic rod out of herself, ran from me and struck my wife and son and daughter and the two hounds and the horse with the Druidic rod and made stones of them.

"Then she turned on me again and there wasn't but the one hair left on my head from the desperate fighting, and she looked at me, and said:

"'I'll let you go this time but I'll give you a good payment before you leave.' She caught hold of me then in the grip of her one hand and with the other she took a sharp knife and stripped all the skin and flesh off my back, from my waist to my heels. Then, taking the skin of a rough shaggy goat, she clapped it on to me in place of my own skin and flesh, and told me to go my way.

"I left the old hag and the castle behind, but the skin grew to me and I wear it to this day." And here the Gruagach turned to Gilla na Grakin and showed him the goatskin growing on his body in place of his own skin and flesh.

"Well," said Gilla, when he saw the shaggy back of the Gruagach, "does that hare come here to insult you yet?"

"He does, indeed," said the Gruagach, "but I haven't taken a bite nor a sup off that table since his first visit." "Let us sit down there now," said Gilla na Grakin.

They sat down at the table, but they were not sitting long till the hare came, repeated the insult, and ran out.

Gilla na Grakin made after the hare, and the Gruagach after Gilla.

Gilla ran as fast as ever his legs could carry him, and he was often that near that he used to stretch his arm out after the hare, and almost catch him; but he never touched him till near night, when he was clearing the wall. Then Gilla caught him by the two hind legs, and, swinging him over his own shoulder, dashed him against the wall, tore the head from the body, and sent it bounding across the courtyard of the castle.

Out rushed an old hag that minute. She had but one tooth and that in her upper jaw, and she used this tooth for a crutch.

"Who has killed the pet of this castle!" shrieked she.

"It was I that killed him," said Gilla na Grakin. Then the two made at one another, -- the hag and Gilla. They fought all that night and next day. With their fighting they made the hard rocks soft, and water to spring out through the middle of them. All the land of the eastern world was trembling as the evening drew near, and if one of the two was getting weak from the struggle and tired, that one was Gilla na Grakin. When he saw this he thought to himself, "Isn't it a pity if an old hag puts me to death, me, who has put to death many a strong hero."

At this thought he sprang up and seized the hag. With the first thrust which he gave her into the ground he put her to the knees, with the second to her waist, with the third to her shoulders.

"Now," said the old hag to Gilla, "don't kill me, and I'll give you the rod of druidism (enchantment), which I have between my skin and flesh."

"Oh, you wicked old wretch! I'll have that after your death, and no thanks to you," said Gilla. With that he swept the head off of her with a single blow.

Then the head jumped at the body, and tried to get its place again, but Gilla stood between them, and kept the head off till the body was cold. Then he took out the rod of enchantment from between the skin and the flesh, and threw the body and the head of the old hag aside.

The Gruagach came up, and Gilla said, "Show me now the stones which were once your wife and children, your dogs and your horse."

The Gruagach went with him to the stones. Gilla struck each with the rod, and the wife, the son, the daughter, the hounds and the horse of the Gruagach were alive again.

When this was done, Gilla turned to the Gruagach, struck the goatskin from his body, and gave him his own skin and flesh back again with the power of the rod.

When all were restored, they started for the Gruagach's house, and when there the Gruagach said to Gilla na Grakin, -- 

"Stay here with me till you get your rest. We won't leave this place for a year and a day, and then I'll go with you to the castle of Fin MacCumhail and give witness to Fin of all that has happened to me and all you have done."

"Oh," said Gilla na Grakin, "I can't stay to rest, I must go now!"

The Gruagach was so glad that he had got back all his family and his own flesh that he followed Gilla, and they set out for the castle of Fin MacCumhail in Erin.

They took a glen at a step, a hill at a leap, and the sea at a bound.

Conan Maol, who was outside the castle when they came in sight, ran in and said to Fin, "Gilla na Grakin and the Gruagach are coming, and they'll destroy all that's about the castle, and all that's inside as well!"

"If they do," said Fin, "it's your own fault, and you have no one to blame but yourself."

"Well," said Conan Maol, "I'll lie down here in the cradle, and put a steel cap on my head."

Conan lay down in the cradle. Gilla and the Gruagach came into the castle. The Gruagach sat down near the cradle. Then he said to Fin, "I came here with Gilla na Grakin to bear witness to you of all that has happened to me, and of all he has done."

Then he told Fin the whole story of what they had gone through and what they had done.

With that the Gruagach put his hand behind him and asked: "How old is this child lying here in the cradle?"

"Only three years," said Fin's wife.

Then the Gruagach took the steel cap between his thumb and fingers, thinking it was the head of the child, and squeezed till the steel cracked with a loud snap, but the child didn't cry.

"Oh, there's the making of a man in him. If he gets age he'll be a champion," said the Gruagach.

Next day the Gruagach left Fin's castle and went to his own place and family.

Gilla na Grakin's time was now up, for he had served a year and a day.

Fin went out to wash himself in a spring near the castle, and when he looked into the spring a spirit spoke up out of the water to him and said:

"You must give back his cup to the king of the Flood, or you must give him battle in its place."

Fin went back to the castle, lamenting the state he was in.

Conan Maol said, "You look like a sorrowful man."

"Why shouldn't I be?" said Fin. "A spirit spoke to me from the spring outside, and told me I must give back the cup to the king of the Flood, or give him battle in place of it. Now Gilla's time is up, and I don't know what to do."

"Well," said Conan Maol, "do you go now and speak to him, and maybe he'll do you a good turn."

Fin went to Gilla na Grakin, and told him what happened at the spring.

"My time is up, as you know," said Gilla, "and I cannot serve on time that is past; but if you want me to go, you must watch my wife ScA(C)hide ni WAinanan on Friday night; and in the middle of the night, when she is combing her hair, any request you'll make of her she can't refuse. The request you'll make is that she'll let me go with you to the king of the Flood, to take the cup to his castle and bring it back again."

Fin watched the time closely, and when the middle of Friday night came, he looked through a hole in the door and saw ScA(C)hide combing her hair. Then he asked his request of her.

"Well," answered she, "I can't refuse, but you must promise me to bring back Gilla, dead or alive."

Fin promised her that.

Next morning Fin MacCumhail and Gilla na Grakin set out for the castle of the king of the Flood, taking the cup with them.

They walked over Erin till they came to the shore of the sea. There Gilla caught up two pieces of wood, and putting one across the other, struck them a tip of his fingers, and out of them rose a fine ship. He and Fin went on board, sailed away, and never stopped till they cast anchor outside all the ships, under the castle of the king of the Flood. The two walked on from deck to deck till they stood on shore.

They went a short distance from the castle of the king and pitched a tent.

Said Gilla to Fin, "Now we are hungry, and I must find food for you and myself."

So Gilla na Grakin went to the castle and asked food of the king of the Flood.

"You'll get nothing to eat from me. I have no food in this place to give you or the like of you; but there is a wild bull in the wood outside. Find him: if you kill him, you'll have something to eat; if not you'll go fasting," said the king of the Flood to Gilla na Grakin.

Gilla went out to the wood, and when the wild bull saw a man coming towards him he drove his horns into the ground, and put an acre of land over his own back. Then he threw up an oak-tree, roots and all, till it nearly reached the sky, and made at Gilla na Grakin. But if he did, Gilla was ready for him and faced him, and when the bull came up, he caught him by the horns and threw him to the ground; then putting a foot on one horn, he took the other in his two hands, split the bull from muzzle to tail, and made two halves of him.

Gilla carried the carcass to the tent, and when he had taken off the skin he said to Fin, "We have no pot to boil the meat in. Well, I'll go to the king again."

So off he went and knocked at the castle door.

"What do you want now?" asked the king.

"I want a pot," said Gilla, "to boil the wild bull."

"Well," said the king, "I have no pot for you but that big pot back in the yard, in which we boil stuff for the pigs. I'll give you the loan of that if you are able to carry it."

"It's good to get that itself from a bad person," said Gilla na Grakin, and away he went to look for the pot behind the castle.

At last he found it, and when he put it down at the tent he said to Fin, "We have nothing now to boil the pot with, nothing to make a fire."

Then he went a third time to the castle, knocked at the door, and out came the king. "What do you want now?" asked he.

"Fire to boil the bull."

"Go to the wood and get firewood for yourself, or do without it. You'll get no firewood from me," said the king of the Flood.

Gilla went out, got plenty of wood and boiled the whole bull.

"We are well off now," said he to Fin; "we have plenty to eat."

Next morning Gilla na Grakin went to the castle and knocked.

"Who is that?" asked the king, without opening the door.

"I want no chat nor questions from you," said Gilla, "but get me a breakfast." "I have no breakfast now," said the king; "but wait a minute and you'll get a hot breakfast from me."

That moment the signal was sounded for the armies of the king of the Flood to take Gilla na Grakin and his master.

When the armies stood ready Gilla began and went through them as a hawk through sparrows. He made one heap of their heads and another of their weapons, -- didn't leave a man living. Then he went into the castle and taking the king of the Flood in one hand and the queen in the other, he killed each of them against the other.

Now all was quiet at the castle. Gilla na Grakin struck the tent and went to the ship with Fin MacCumhail, who had the cup that was never dry.

They raised the sails and went over the sea toward Erin, till they saw a large ship on one side of them.

"If it's going to help us that ship is," said Fin, "'tis all the better for us, but if 'tis going against us she is, that's the bad part of it."

As the ship came near, Gilla na Grakin looked at her sharply, and said to Fin, "I think it's Lun Dubh that's on that ship."

"Well," said Fin, "maybe he'll not know you in a strange dress."

When Lun Dubh came alongside, he called out: "I know you well, and it's not by your dress that I know you, CA(C)sa MacRi na Tulach." Then Lun Dubh sprang on deck, raised his hand, struck Gilla, and stretched him dead.

Fin sailed away with the body of Gilla na Grakin, and when he came in sight of the shore of Erin he raised a black flag; for he had promised Gilla's wife to raise a white flag if her husband was well, but a black one if he was dead.

When he came to the shore, ScA(C)hide ni WAinanan was there before him, and she had a large, roomy box. When she saw Fin she said, "You have him dead with you?"

"I have," said Fin.

"What will you do with him now?" asked she.

"I will bury him decently," said Fin.

"You will not," said she; "you will put him in this box."

Then Fin put him in the box. She went aside and got some fresh shamrock and went into the box with Gilla. Then she told Fin to push the box out to sea, and putting down the cover fastened it inside.

Fin pushed the box out into the sea, and away it went driven by wind and waves, till one day ScA(C)hide looked out through a hole and saw two sparrows flying and a dead one between them. The two living sparrows let the dead one down on an island. Soon they rose up again, and the dead one was living.

Said ScA(C)hide to herself, "There might be something on that island that would cure my husband as it cured the dead bird."

Now the sea put the box in on the island. ScA(C)hide unfastened the cover, came out, and walked around the island. Nothing could she find but a small spring of water in a rock. "It's in this the cure may be," thought she, as she looked at the water. Then taking off one of her shoes she put it full of the water, took it to the box, and poured it on Gilla na Grakin. That moment he stood up alive and well. Gilla walked along the shore till he found two pieces of wood. He threw one across the other, gave them a tip of his hand, a fine large ship stood there at the shore, and in it he sailed with ScA(C)hide back to Erin.

When they landed he turned the vessel into two sticks again with a tip of the hand, and set out with his wife for the castle of Fin MacCumhail in TirConal.

They came to the castle of Fin at midnight. Gilla knocked and said, "Put my wages out to me."

"Well," said Fin inside, "there is no man, alive or dead, that has wages on me but Gilla na Grakin, and I would rather see that fellow here than the wages of three men."

"Well, rise up now and you'll see him," said Gilla.

Fin rose up, saw his man, gave him his wages with thanks and Gilla departed.

At the break of day they saw a great house before them. A man walked out with a kerchief bound on his head.

When Gilla na Grakin came up, he knew the man, and raising his hand, struck him dead with a blow.

"I have satisfaction on Lun Dubh, now," said Gilla to the wife. The two went into the house and stayed there, and may be there yet for anything we know. We are the luck and they are the winners.




Fin Maccumhail, The Seven Brothers And The King Of France.


When Fin MacCumhail with seven companies of the Fenians of Erin was living at Tara of the Kings, he went hunting one day with the seven companies; and while out on the mountains seven young men came towards him and when they came up and stood before him he asked their names of them.

Each gave his name in turn, beginning with the eldest, and their names were Strong, son of Strength; Wise, son of Wisdom; Builder, son of Builder; Whistler, son of Whistler; Guide, son of Guide; Climber, son of Climber; Thief, son of Thief.

The seven young men pleased Fin; they were looking for service, so he hired them for a year and a day.

When Fin and the Fenians of Erin went home that night from the hunt there was a message at the castle before them from the king of France to Fin MacCumhail and the Fenians of Erin, asking them to come over to him on a most important affair.

Fin held a council straightway and said, "France is a thousand miles from this and the sea between it and Erin; how can we go to the king of France?"

Then Strong, son of Strength, spoke up and said: "What is the use of hiring us if we can't do this work and the like of it? If you'll make a ship here, or in any place, I'll pull it in the sea."

"And I," said Builder, "will make a ship fit for you or any king on earth with one blow of this axe in my hand."

"That's what I want," said Fin, "and now do you make that ship for me."

"I will," said Builder.

"Well," said Strong, "I'll put your ship in the sea."

Builder made the ship there at Tara of the Kings and then Strong brought it to the seashore and put it in the water. Fin and the Fenians of Erin went on board, and Guide took the ship from Erin to France.

When Fin and his men went to the king of France he was glad to see them and said:

"I'll tell you the reason now I asked you here, and the business I have with you. This time three years ago my wife had a son, two years ago a second, one year ago a third, and the neighbors' wives are thinking she'll have another child soon. Immediately they were born the three were taken away, and I want you to save the fourth; for we all think it will be taken from us like the other three. When each one of the others was sleeping, a hand came down the chimney to the cradle and took the child away with it up the chimney. There is meat and drink in plenty in that room for you and the Fenians of Erin. My only request is that you'll watch the child."

"We'll do that," said Fin, and he went into the chamber with men enough to watch and the seven brothers with him. Then the seven said: "Do you and the men go to sleep for yourselves, and we'll do the watching." So Fin and the men went to sleep. The child was born early in the evening and put in the cradle. At the dead of night Wise said to Strong: "Now is your time; the hand is near; keep your eye on it."

Soon he saw the hand coming lower and lower and moving towards the child; and when it was going into the cradle, Strong caught the hand and it drew him up nearly to the top of the chimney. Then he pulled it down to the ashes; again it drew him up.

They were that way all night, -- the hand drawing Strong almost to the top of the chimney and out of the house and Strong dragging the hand down to the hearth. They were up and down the chimney till break of day; and every stone in the castle of the king of France was trembling in its place from the struggle.

But at break of day Strong tore from its shoulder the arm with the hand, and there was peace. Now all rose up at the castle. The king came and was glad when he saw the child.

Then Fin spoke up and said: "We have done no good thing yet till we bring back the other three to you."

Wise spoke up and said: "I know very well where the other three are, and I'll show you the place."

So all set out and they followed him to the castle of Mal MacMulcan and there they saw the three sons of the King of France carrying water to MacMulcan to cool the shoulder from which the arm had been torn by Strong.

Then Wise said to Climber: "Now is your time to take the children away; for we can do it without being seen; but if Mal MacMulcan were to see the children going from him, he'd destroy the whole world. But as it is when he finds the children are gone, he has a sister there near himself, and he'll break her head against the wall of the castle."

Then Climber took a clew from his pocket and threw it over the walls of the castle, and the walls were so high that no bird of the air could fly over them. Then they fixed a rope ladder on the castle. Wise, Guide, and Climber went up the ladder and at break of day they brought away the three children and gave them to the king of France that morning. And the king of France was so glad when he saw his three sons that he said to Fin: "I will give you your ship full of the most precious stuffs in my kingdom."

"I will take nothing for myself," said Fin; "but do you give what you like to my seven young men who have done the work;" and the seven said they wouldn't take anything while they were serving with him. So Fin took the present from the king of France and set sail for Erin with the Fenians and the seven young men.

While they were on the way to Erin they saw the sea raging after them. Wise, son of Wisdom, said: "That is Mal MacMulcan coming to get satisfaction out of us."

Then MacMulcan caught hold of the ship by the stern and pulled it down till the masts touched the sea. Strong caught him by the left remaining hand, and the two began to fight, and at last Strong pulled him on to the deck of the ship.

"Our ship will be sunk," said Wise, "and Fin with the Fenians of Erin and the seven of us will be drowned unless you make a flail out of MacMulcan and thrash the head off his body on the deck of the ship."

Strong made a flail out of MacMulcan and killed him, and the sea was filled with blood in a minute of time. Then the ship moved on without harm till they came to the same spot in Erin from which they had sailed.

When Fin came to the place where he had hired the seven young men the year and a day were over. He paid them their hire and they left him. Then he came to his own castle at Tara of the Kings.

One day Fin went out walking alone, and he met an old hag by the way. She spoke up to him and asked: "Would you play a game of cards with me?"

"I would," said Fin, "if I had the means of playing."

The old hag pulled out a pack of cards and said: "Here you have the means of playing as many games as you like."

They sat down and played; Fin got the first game on the old woman. Then she said, "Put the sentence on me now."

"I will not," said Fin; "I'll do nothing till we play another game."

They played again and she won the second game. Then she said to Fin, "You will have to go and bring here for me the head of Curucha na Gras and the sword that guards his castle; and I won't give you leave to take away any of your men with you but one, and he is the worst of them all, -- 'Iron back without action,' and the time for your journey is a year and a day. Now what is your sentence on me?" said the old hag.

"You'll put one foot," said Fin, "on the top of my castle in Tara of the Kings, and the other on a hill in Mayo, and you'll stand with your back to the wind and your face to the storm, a sheaf of wheat on the ground before the gate will be all you'll have to eat, and any grain that will be blown out of it, if you catch that you'll have it, and you'll be that way till I come back."

So Fin went away with himself and "Iron back without action." And when they had gone as far as a large wood that was by the roadside, a thick fog came on them, and rain, and they sat down at the edge of the wood and waited. Soon they saw a red-haired boy with a bow and arrows shooting birds, and whenever he hit a bird he used to put the arrow through its two eyes and not put a drop of blood on its feathers.

And when the red boy came near Fin, he drew his bow, sent an arrow through "Iron back without action," and put the life out of him.

When he did that Fin said, "You have left me without any man, though this was the worst of all I have."

"You'd better hire me," said the red boy; "you've lost nothing, for you were without a man when you had that fellow the same as you are now."

So Fin hired the red boy and asked him his name. "I won't tell you that," said he, "but do you put the name on me that'll please yourself."

"Well," said Fin, "since I met you in the rain and the mist I'll call you Misty."

"That'll be my name while I'm with you," said the red boy, "and now we'll cast lots to see which of us will carry the other;" and the lot fell upon Misty. He raised Fin on his back to carry him, and the first leap he took was six miles, and every step a mile, and he went on without stopping till he was in the Western World. When they came to the castle of Curucha na Gras, Fin and Misty put up a tent for themselves and they were hungry enough after the long road, and Misty said, "I will go and ask Curucha for something to eat." He went to the castle and put a fighting blow on the door. Curucha came out and Misty asked him for bread.

"I wouldn't give you the leavings of my pigs," said Curucha.

Misty turned and left him, but on the way he met the bakers bringing bread from the bake house and he caught all their loaves from them and ran home to Fin. "We have plenty to eat now," said Misty, "but nothing at all to drink. I must go to Curucha to know will he give us something to drink."

He went a second time to the castle, put a fighting blow on the door, and out came Curucha.

"What do you want this time?" asked he.

"I want drink for myself and my master, Fin MacCumhail."

"You'll get no drink from me. I wouldn't give you the dirty ditch-water that's outside my castle."

Misty turned to go home, but on the way he met twelve boys each carrying the full of his arms of bottles of wine. He took every bottle from them, and it wasn't long till he was in the tent.

"Now we can eat and drink our fill."

"We can indeed," said Fin. Next morning Misty put another fighting blow on the door of the castle. Out flew Curucha with his guardian sword in his hand, and he made at Misty. With the first blow he gave him, he took an ear off his head.

Misty sprang back, drew his bow, and sent an arrow into Curucha's breast. It flew out through his head and he fell lifeless on the ground. Then Misty drew his knife, cut off the head, and carried the head and the sword to Fin MacCumhail, and Fin was glad to get them both.

"Take the head," said Misty, "and put it on top of the holly bush that's out here above us." Fin put the head on the holly bush, and the minute he put it there the head burnt the bush to the earth, and the earth to the clay.

Then they took the best horse that could be found about Curucha's castle. Fin sat on the horse, with the sword and head in front of him; and Misty followed behind.

They went their way and never stopped till they came to the place where Misty sent the arrow through "Iron back without action" and killed him. When they came to that spot, Misty asked Fin would he tell him a story, and Fin answered, "I have no story to tell except that we are in the place now where you killed my man."

"Oh, then," said Misty, "I'm glad you put that in my mind for I'll give him back to you now." So they went and took "Iron back without action" out of the ground; then Misty struck him with a rod of enchantment which he had, and brought life into him again.

Then Misty turned to Fin and said: "I am a brother of the seven boys who went with you to save the children of the king of France. I was too young for action at that time, but my mother sent me here now as a gift to help you and tell you what to do. When you go to the hag she'll ask you for the sword, but you'll not give it, you'll only show it to her. And when she has seen the sword she'll ask for the head. And you'll not give the head to her either, you'll only show it; and when she sees the head, she'll open her mouth with joy at seeing the head of her brother; and when you see her open her mouth be sure to strike her on the breast with the head; and if you don't do that, the whole world wouldn't be able to kill her."

Then Fin left Misty where he met him and with "Iron back without action" he made for Tara of the Kings.

When he came in front of the old hag she asked him had he the gifts. Fin said he had. She asked for the sword but she didn't get it, Fin only showed it to her. Then she asked for the head, and when she saw the head, she opened her mouth with delight at seeing the head of her brother.

While she stood there with open mouth gazing, Fin picked out the mark and struck her on the breast with the head. She fell to the ground; they left her there dead and went into the castle.




Black, Brown, And Gray.


On a day Fin MacCumhail was near Tara of the Kings, south of Ballyshannon, hunting with seven companies of the Fenians of Erin.

During the day they saw three strange men coming towards them, and Fin said to the Fenians: "Let none of you speak to them, and if they have good manners they'll not speak to you nor to any man till they come to me."

When the three men came up, they said nothing till they stood before Fin himself. Then he asked what their names were and what they wanted. They answered: -- 

"Our names are Dubh, Dun, and GlasAin [Black, Brown, and Gray]. We have come to find Fin MacCumhail, chief of the Fenians of Erin, and take service with him."

Fin was so well pleased with their looks that he brought them home with him that evening and called them his sons. Then he said, "Every man who comes to this castle must watch the first night for me, and since three of you have come together, each will watch one third of the night. You'll cast lots to see who'll watch first and second."

Fin had the trunk of a tree brought, three equal parts made of it, and one given to each of the men.

Then he said, "When each of you begins his watch he will set fire to his own piece of wood, and so long as the wood burns he will watch."

The lot fell to Dubh to go on the first watch. Dubh set fire to his log, then went out around the castle, the dog Bran with him. He wandered on, going further and further from the castle, and Bran after him. At last he saw a bright light and went towards it. When he came to the place where the light was burning, he saw a large house. He entered the house and when inside saw a great company of most strange looking men, drinking out of a single cup.

The chief of the party, who was sitting on a high place, gave the cup to the man nearest him; and when he had drunk his fill out of it, he passed it to his neighbor, and so on to the last.

While the cup was going the round of the company, the chief said, "This is the great cup that was taken from Fin MacCumhail a hundred years ago; and as much as each man wishes to drink he always gets from it, and no matter how many men there may be, or what they wish for, they always have their fill."

Dubh sat near the door on the edge of the crowd, and when the cup came to him he drank a little, then slipped out and hurried away in the dark; when he came to the fountain at the castle of Fin MacCumhail, his log was burned.

As the second lot had fallen on Dun, it was now his turn to watch, so he set fire to his log and went out, in the place of Dubh, with the dog Bran after him.

Dun walked on through the night till he saw a fire. He went towards it, and when he had come near he saw a large house, which he entered; and when inside he saw a crowd of strange looking men, fighting. They were ferocious, wonderful to look at, and fighting wildly.

The chief, who had climbed on the crossbeams of the house to escape the uproar and struggle, called out to the crowd below: "Stop fighting now; for I have a better gift than the one you have lost this night." And putting his hand behind his belt, he drew out a knife and held it before them, saying: "Here is the wonderful knife, the small knife of division, that was stolen from Fin MacCumhail a hundred years ago, and if you cut on a bone with the knife, you'll get the finest meat in the world, and as much of it as ever your hearts can wish for."

Then he passed down the knife and a bare bone to the man next him, and the man began to cut; and off came slices of the sweetest and best meat in the world.

The knife and the bone passed from man to man till they came to Dun, who cut a slice off the bone, slipped out unseen, and made for Fin's castle as fast as his two legs could carry him through the darkness and over the ground.

When he was by the fountain at the castle, his part of the log was burned and his watch at an end.

Now GlasAin set fire to his stick of wood and went out on his watch and walked forward till he saw the light and came to the same house that Dubh and Dun had visited. Looking in he saw the place full of dead bodies, and thought, "There must be some great wonder here. If I lie down in the midst of these and put some of them over me to hide myself, I shall be able to see what is going on."

He lay down and pulled some of the bodies over himself. He wasn't there long when he saw an old hag coming into the house. She had but one leg, one arm, and one upper tooth, which was as long as her leg and served her in place of a crutch. When inside the door she took up the first corpse she met and threw it aside; it was lean. As she went on she took two bites out of every fat corpse she met, and threw every lean one aside.

She had her fill of flesh and blood before she came to GlasAin; and as soon as she had that, she dropped down on the floor, lay on her back, and went to sleep.

Every breath she drew, GlasAin was afraid she'd drag the roof down on top of his head, and every time she let a breath out of her he thought she'd sweep the roof off the house.

Then he rose up, looked at her, and wondered at the bulk of her body. At last he drew his sword, hit her a slash, and if he did, three young giants sprang forth.

GlasAin killed the first giant, the dog Bran killed the second, and the third ran away.

GlasAin now hurried back, and when he reached the fountain at Fin's castle, his log of wood was burned, and day was dawning.

When all had risen in the morning, and the Fenians of Erin came out, Fin said to Dubh, "Have you anything new or wonderful to tell me after the night's watching?"

"I have," said Dubh; "for I brought back the drinking-cup that you lost a hundred years ago. I was out in the darkness watching. I walked on, and the dog Bran with me till I saw a light. When I came to the light I found a house, and in the house a company feasting. The chief was a very old man, and sat on a high place above the rest. He took out the cup and said: 'This is the cup that was stolen from Fin MacCumhail a hundred years ago, and it is always full of the best drink in the world; and when one of you has drunk from the cup pass it on to the next.'

"They drank and passed the cup till it came to me. I took it and hurried back. When I came here, my log was burned and my watch was finished. Here now is the cup for you," said Dubh to Fin MacCumhail.

Fin praised him greatly for what he had done, and turning to Dun said: "Now tell us what happened in your watch."

"When my turn came I set fire to the log which you gave me, and walked on; the dog Bran following, till I saw a light. When I came to the light, I found a house in which was a crowd of people, all fighting except one very old man on a high place above the rest. He called to them for peace, and told them to be quiet. 'For,' said he, 'I have a better gift for you than the one you lost this night,' and he took out the small knife of division with a bare bone, and said: 'This is the knife that was stolen from Fin MacCumhail, a hundred years ago, and whenever you cut on the bone with the knife, you'll get your fill of the best meat on earth.'

"Then he handed the knife and the bone to the man nearest him, who cut from it all the meat he wanted, and then passed it to his neighbor. The knife went from hand to hand till it came to me, then I took it, slipped out, and hurried away. When I came to the fountain, my log was burned, and here are the knife and bone for you."

"You have done a great work, and deserve my best praise," said Fin. "We are sure of the best eating and drinking as long as we keep the cup and the knife."

"Now what have you seen in your part of the night?" said Fin to GlasAin.

"I went out," said GlasAin, "with the dog Bran, and walked on till I saw a light, and when I came to the light I saw a house, which I entered. Inside were heaps of dead men, killed in fighting, and I wondered greatly when I saw them. At last I lay down in the midst of the corpses, put some of them over me and waited to see what would happen.

"Soon an old hag came in at the door, she had but one arm, one leg, and the one tooth out of her upper jaw, and that tooth as long as her leg, and she used it for a crutch as she hobbled along. She threw aside the first corpse she met and took two bites out of the second, -- for she threw every lean corpse away and took two bites out of every fat one. When she had eaten her fill, she lay down on her back in the middle of the floor and went to sleep. I rose up then to look at her, and every time she drew a breath I was in dread she would bring down the roof of the house on the top of my head, and every time she let a breath out of her, I thought she'd sweep the roof from the building, so strong was the breath of the old hag.

"Then I drew my sword and cut her with a blow, but if I did three young giants sprang up before me. I killed the first, Bran killed the second, but the third escaped. I walked away then, and when I was at the fountain outside, daylight had come and my log was burned."

"Between you and me," said Fin, "it would have been as well if you had let the old hag alone. I am greatly in dread the third young giant will bring trouble on us all."

For twenty-one years Fin MacCumhail and the Fenians of Erin hunted for sport alone. They had the best of eating from the small knife of division, and the best of drinking from the cup that was never dry. At the end of twenty-one years Dubh, Dun, and GlasAin went away, and one day, as Fin and the Fenians of Erin were hunting on the hills and mountains, they saw a Fear Ruadh (a red haired man) coming toward them.

"There is a bright looking man coming this way," said Fin, "and don't you speak to him."

"Oh, what do we care for him?" asked Conan Maol.

"Don't be rude to a stranger," said Fin.

The Fear Ruadh came forward and spoke to no man till he stood before Fin.

"What have you come for?" asked Fin.

"To find a master for twenty-one years."

"What wages do you ask?" inquired Fin.

"No wages but this, -- that if I die before the twenty-one years have passed, I shall be buried on Inis Caol (Light Island)."

"I'll give you those wages," said Fin, and he hired the Fear Ruadh for twenty-one years.

He served Fin for twenty years to his satisfaction; but toward the end of the twenty-first year he fell into a decline, became an old man, and died.

When the Fear Ruadh was dead, the Fenians of Erin said that not a step would they go to bury him; but Fin declared that he wouldn't break his word for any man, and must take the corpse to Inis Caol.

Fin had an old white horse which he had turned out to find a living for himself as he could on the hillsides and in the woods. And now he looked for the horse and found that he had become younger than older in looks since he had put him out. So he took the old white horse and tied a coffin, with the body of the Fear Ruadh in it, on his back. Then they started him on ahead and away he went followed by Fin and twelve men of the Fenians of Erin.

When they came to the temple on Inis Caol there were no signs of the white horse and the coffin; but the temple was open and in went Fin and the twelve.

There were seats for each man inside. They sat down and rested awhile and then Fin tried to rise but couldn't. He told the men to rise, but the twelve were fastened to the seats, and the seats to the ground, so that not a man of them could come to his feet.

"Oh," said Fin, "I'm in dread there is some evil trick played on us."

At that moment the Fear Ruadh stood before them in all his former strength and youth and said: "Now is the time for me to take satisfaction out of you for my mother and brothers," Then one of the men said to Fin, "Chew your thumb to know is there any way out of this."

Fin chewed his thumb to know what should he do. When he knew, he blew the great whistle with his two hands; which was heard by Donogh Kamcosa and Diarmuid O'Duivne.

The Fear Ruadh fell to and killed three of the men; but before he could touch the fourth Donogh and Diarmuid were there, and put an end to him. Now all were free, and Fin with the nine men went back to their castle south of Ballyshannon.




Fin Maccumhail And The Son Of The King Of Alba.


On a day Fin went out hunting with his dog Bran, on Knock an Ar; and he killed so much game that he didn't know what to do with it or how to bring it home. As he stood looking and thinking, all at once he saw a man running towards him, with a rope around his waist so long that half his body was covered with it; and the man was of such size that, as he ran, Fin could see the whole world between his legs and nothing between his head and the sky. When he came up, the man saluted Fin, who answered him most kindly. "Where are you going?" asked Fin. "I am out looking for a master." "Well," said Fin, "I am in sore need of a man; what can you do?" "Do you see this rope on my body? Whatever this rope will bind I can carry." "If that is true," said Fin, "you are the man I want. Do you see the game on this hillside?" "I do," said the man. "Well, put that into the rope and carry it to my castle."

The man put all the game into the rope, made a great bundle, and threw it on his back.

"Show me the way to the castle now," said he. Fin started on ahead, and though he ran with all his might, he could not gain one step on the man who followed with the game. The sentry on guard at the castle saw the man running while yet far off. He stepped inside the gate and said: "There is a man coming with a load on his back as big as a mountain." Before he could come out again to his place the man was there and the load off his back. When the game came to the ground, it shook the castle to its foundations. Next day the man was sent to herd cows for a time, and while he was gone, ConAin Maol said to Fin: "If you don't put this cowherd to death, he will destroy all the Fenians of Erin." "How could I put such a good man to death?" asked Fin. "Send him," said ConAin, "to sow corn on the brink of a lake in the north of Erin. Now, in that lake lives a serpent that never lets a person pass, but swallows every man that goes that way." Fin agreed to this, and the next morning after breakfast he called the man, gave him seven bullocks, a plough, and a sack of grain, and sent him to the lake in the north of Erin to sow corn. When he came to the lake, the man started to plough, drew one furrow. The lake began to boil up, and as he was coming back, making the second furrow, the serpent was on the field before him and swallowed the seven bullocks and the plough up to the handles. But the man held fast to what he had in his two hands, gave a pull, and dragged the plough and six of the bullocks out of the belly of the serpent. The seventh one remained inside. The serpent went at him and they fought for seven days and nights. At the end of that time the serpent was as tame as a cat, and the man drove him and the six bullocks home before him.

When he was in sight of Fin's castle, the sentry at the gate ran in and cried: "That cowherd is coming with the size of a mountain before him!" "Run out," said ConAin Maol, "and tell him to tie the serpent to that oak out there."

They ran out, and the man tied the serpent to the oak-tree, then came in and had a good supper.

Next morning the man went out to herd cows as before. "Well," said ConAin Maol to Fin, "if you don't put this man to death, he'll destroy you and me and all the Fenians of Erin."

"How could I put such a man to death?"

"There is," said ConAin, "a bullock in the north of Erin, and he drives fog out of himself for seven days and then he draws it in for seven other days. To-morrow is the last day for drawing it in. If any one man comes near, he'll swallow him alive."

When the cowherd came to supper in the evening, Fin said to him: "I am going to have a feast and need fresh beef. Now there is a bullock in that same valley by the lake in the north of Erin where you punished the serpent; and if you go there and bring the bullock to me, you'll have my thanks."

"I'll go," said the man, "the first thing after breakfast in the morning."

So off he went next morning; and when he came near the valley, he found the bullock asleep and drawing in the last of the fog; and soon he found himself going in with it. So he caught hold of a great oak-tree for safety. The bullock woke up then and saw him, and letting a roar out of himself, faced him, and gave him a pitch with his horn which sent him seven miles over the top of a wood. And when he fell to the ground, the bullock was on him again before he had time to rise, and gave him another pitch which sent him back and broke three ribs in his body.

"This will never do," said the man, as he rose, and pulling up an oak-tree by the roots for a club, he faced the bullock. And there they were at one another for five days and nights, till the bullock was as tame as a cat and the man drove him home to Fin's castle. The sentry saw them coming and ran inside the gate with word. "Tell the man to tie the bullock to that oak-tree beyond," said ConAin. "We don't want him near this place." The cowherd tied the bullock, and told Fin to send four of the best butchers in Erin to kill him with an axe; and the four of them struck him one after another and any of them couldn't knock him.

"Give me an axe," said the man to the butchers. They gave him the axe, and the first stroke he gave, he knocked the bullock. Then they began to skin him; but the man didn't like the way they were doing the work, so he took his sword and had three quarters of the bullock skinned before they could skin one.

Next morning the cowherd went out with the cows; but he wasn't long gone when ConAin Maol came to Fin and said: "If you don't put an end to that man, he'll soon put an end to you and to me and to all of us, so there won't be a man of the Fenians of Erin left alive."

"How could I put an end to a man like him?" asked Fin.

"There is in the north of Erin," said ConAin, "a wild sow who has two great pigs of her own; and she and her two pigs have bags of poison in their tails; and when they see any man, they run at him and shake their poison bags; and if the smallest drop of the poison touches him, it is death to him that minute. And, if by any chance he should escape the wild sow and the pigs, there is a fox-man called the Gruagach, who has but one eye and that in the middle of his forehead. The Gruagach carries a club of a ton weight, and if the cowherd gets one welt of that club, he'll never trouble the Fenians of Erin again."

Next morning Fin called up the cowherd and said, "I am going to have a feast in this castle, and I would like to have some fresh pork. There is a wild sow in the north of Erin with two pigs, and if you bring her to me before the feast, you'll have my thanks."

"I'll go and bring her to you," said the cowherd. So after breakfast he took his sword, went to the north of Erin, and stole up to the sow and two pigs, and whipped the tails off the three of them, before they knew he was in it. Then he faced the wild sow and fought with her for four days and five nights, and on the morning of the fifth day he knocked her dead. At the last blow, his sword stuck in her backbone and he couldn't draw it out. But with one pull he broke the blade, and stood there over her with only the hilt in his hand. Then he put his foot on one of her jaws, took the other in his hands, and splitting her evenly from the nose to the tail, made two halves of her.

He threw one half on his shoulder; and that minute the big Gruagach with one eye in his head came along and made an offer of his club at him to kill him. But the cowherd jumped aside, and catching the Gruagach by one of his legs, threw him up on to the half of the wild sow on his shoulder, and taking the other half of her from the ground, clapped that on the top of the Gruagach, and ran away to Fin's castle as fast as his legs could carry him.

The sentry at the castle gate ran in and said: "The cowherd is running to the castle, and the size of a mountain on his back." "Go out now," said ConAin Maol, "and stop him where he is, or he'll throw down the castle if he comes here with the load that's on him." But before the sentry was back at his place, the cowherd was at the gate shaking the load off his back and the castle to its foundations, so that every dish and vessel in it was broken to bits.

The Gruagach jumped from the ground, rubbed his legs and every part of him that was sore from the treatment he got. He was so much in dread of the cowherd that he ran with all the strength that was in him, and never stopped to look back till he was in the north of Erin.

Next morning the cowherd went out with the cows, drove them back in the evening, and while picking the thigh-bone of a bullock for his supper, Oscar, son of Oisin, the strongest man of the Fenians of Erin, came up to him and took hold of the bone to pull it from his hand. The cowherd held one end and Oscar the other, and pulled till they made two halves of the bone. "What did you carry away?" asked the cowherd. "What I have in my hand," said Oscar. "And I kept what I held in my fist," said the cowherd. "There is that for you now," said Oscar, and he hit him a slap.

The cowherd said no word in answer, but next morning he asked his wages of Fin. "Oh, then," said Fin, "I'll pay you and welcome, for you are the best man I have ever had or met with."

Then the cowherd went away to Cahirciveen in Kerry where he had an enchanted castle. But before he went he invited Fin MacCumhail and the Fenians of Erin to have a great feast with him. "For," said he to Fin, "I'm not a cowherd at all, but the son of the king of Alba, and I'll give you good cheer."

When the Fenians came to the place, they found the finest castle that could be seen. There were three fires in each room and seven spits at every fire. When they had gone and sat down in their places, there was but one fire in each room. "Rise up, every man of you," said Fin, "or we are lost; for this is an enchanted place."

They tried to rise, but each man was fastened to his seat, and the seat to the floor; and not one of them could stir. Then the last fire went out and they were in darkness.

"Chew your thumb," said ConAin to Fin, "and try is there any way out of here." Fin chewed his thumb and knew what trouble they were in. Then he put his two hands into his mouth and blew the old-time whistle. And this whistle was heard by PogAin and CeolAin, two sons of Fin who were in the North at that time, one fishing and the other hurling.

When they heard the whistle, they said: "Our father and the Fenians of Erin are in trouble." And they faced towards the sound and never stopped till they knocked at the door of the enchanted castle of the son of Alba at Cahirciveen.

"Who is there?" asked Fin.

"Your two sons," said one of them.

"Well," said Fin, "we are in danger of death to-night. That cowherd I had in my service was no cowherd at all, but the son of the king of Alba; and his father has said that he will not eat three meals off one table without having my head. There is an army now on the road to kill us to-night. There is no way in or out of this castle but by one ford, and to that ford the army of the king of Alba is coming."

The two sons of Fin went out at nightfall and stood in the ford before the army. The son of the king of Alba knew them well, and calling each by name, said: "Won't you let us pass?" "We will not," said they; and then the fight began. The two sons of Fin MacCumhail, PogAin and CeolAin, destroyed the whole army and killed every man except the son of the king of Alba.

After the battle the two went back to their father. "We have destroyed the whole army at the ford," said they.

"There is a greater danger ahead," said Fin. "There is an old hag coming with a little pot. She will dip her finger in the pot, touch the lips of the dead men, and bring the whole army to life. But first of all there will be music at the ford, and if you hear the music, you'll fall asleep. Now go, but if you do not overpower the old hag, we are lost."

"We'll do the best we can," said the two sons of Fin.

They were not long at the ford when one said, "I am falling asleep from that music." "So am I," said the other. "Knock your foot down on mine," said the first. The other kicked his foot and struck him, but no use. Then each took his spear and drove it through the foot of the other, but both fell asleep in spite of the spears.

The old hag went on touching the lips of the dead men, who stood up alive; and she was crossing the ford at the head of the army when she stumbled over the two sleeping brothers and spilt what was in the pot over their bodies.

They sprang up fresh and well, and picking up two stones of a ton weight each that were there in the ford, they made for the champions of Alban and never stopped till they killed the last man of them; and then they killed the old hag herself.

PogAin and CeolAin then knocked at the door of the castle.

"Who's there?" asked Fin.

"Your two sons," said they; "and we have killed all the champions of Alban and the old hag as well." "You have more to do yet," said Fin. "There are three kings in the north of Erin who have three silver goblets. These kings are holding a feast in a fort to-day. You must go and cut the heads off the three, put their blood in the goblets and bring them here. When you come, rub the blood on the keyhole of the door and it will open before you. When you come in, rub the seats and we shall all be free."

The three goblets of blood were brought to Cahirciveen, the door of the castle flew open, and light came into every room. The brothers rubbed blood on the chairs of all the Fenians of Erin and freed them all, except ConAin Maol, who had no chair, but sat on the floor with his back to the wall. When they came to him the last drop of blood was gone.

All the Fenians of Erin were hurrying past, anxious to escape, and paid no heed to ConAin, who had never a good word in his mouth for any man. Then ConAin turned to Diarmuid, and said: "If a woman were here in place of me, you wouldn't leave her to die this way." Then Diarmuid turned, took him by one hand, and Goll MacMorna by the other, and pulling with all their might, tore him from the wall and the floor. But if they did, he left all the skin of his back from his head to his heels on the floor and the wall behind him. But when they were going home through the hills of Tralee, they found a sheep on the way, killed it, and clapped the skin on ConAin. The sheepskin grew to his body; and he was so well and strong that they sheared him every year, and got wool enough from his back to make flannel and frieze for the Fenians of Erin ever after.




Cuculin.


There was a king in a land not far from Greece who had two daughters, and the younger was fairer than the elder daughter.

This old king made a match between the king of Greece and his own elder daughter; but he kept the younger one hidden away till after the marriage. Then the younger daughter came forth to view; and when the king of Greece saw her, he wouldn't look at his own wife. Nothing would do him but to get the younger sister and leave the elder at home with her father.

The king wouldn't listen to this, wouldn't agree to the change, so the king of Greece left his wife where she was, went home alone in a terrible rage and collected all his forces to march against the kingdom of his father-in-law.

He soon conquered the king and his army and, so far as he was able, he vexed and tormented him. To do this the more completely, he took from him a rod of Druidic spells, enchantment, and ring of youth which he had, and, striking the elder sister with the rod, he said: "You will be a serpent of the sea and live outside there in the bay by the castle."

Then turning to the younger sister, whose name was Gil an Og, he struck her, and said: "You'll be a cat while inside this castle, and have your own form only when you are outside the walls."

After he had done this, the king of Greece went home to his own country, taking with him the rod of enchantment and the ring of youth. The king died in misery and grief, leaving his two daughters spellbound.

Now there was a Druid in that kingdom, and the younger sister went to consult him, and asked: "Shall I ever be released from the enchantment that's on me now?"

"You will not, unless you find the man to release you; and there is no man in the world to do that but a champion who is now with Fin MacCumhail in Erin."

"Well, how can I find that man?" asked she.

"I will tell you," said the Druid. "Do you make a shirt out of your own hair, take it with you, and never stop till you land in Erin and find Fin and his men; the man that the shirt will fit is the man who will release you."

She began to make the shirt and worked without stopping till it was finished. Then she went on her journey and never rested till she came to Erin in a ship. She went on shore and inquired where Fin and his men were to be found at that time of the year.

"You will find them at Knock an Ar," was the answer she got.

She went to Knock an Ar carrying the shirt with her. The first man she met was Conan Maol, and she said to him: "I have come to find the man this shirt will fit. From the time one man tries it all must try till I see the man it fits."

The shirt went from hand to hand till Cuculin put it on. "Well," said she, "it fits as your own skin."

Now Gil an Og told Cuculin all that had happened, -- how her father had forced her sister to marry the king of Greece, how this king had made war on her father, enchanted her sister and herself, and carried off the rod of enchantment with the ring of youth, and how the old Druid said the man this shirt would fit was the only man in the world who could release them.

Now Gil an Og and Cuculin went to the ship and sailed across the seas to her country and went to her castle.

"You'll have no one but a cat for company to-night," said Gil an Og. "I have the form of a cat inside this castle, but outside I have my own appearance. Your dinner is ready, go in."

After the dinner Cuculin went to another room apart, and lay down to rest after the journey. The cat came to his pillow, sat there and purred till he fell asleep and slept soundly till morning.

When he rose up, a basin of water, and everything he needed was before him, and his breakfast ready. He walked out after breakfast; Gil an Og was on the green outside before him and said:

"If you are not willing to free my sister and myself, I shall not urge you; but if you do free us, I shall be glad and thankful. Many king's sons and champions before you have gone to recover the ring and the rod; but they have never come back."

"Well, whether I thrive or not, I'll venture," said Cuculin.

"I will give you," said Gil an Og, "a present such as I have never given before to any man who ventured out on my behalf; I will give you the speckled boat."

Cuculin took leave of Gil an Og and sailed away in the speckled boat to Greece, where he went to the king's court, and challenged him to combat.

The king of Greece gathered his forces and sent them out to chastise Cuculin. He killed them all to the last man. Then Cuculin challenged the king a second time.

"I have no one now to fight but myself," said the king; "and I don't think it becomes me to go out and meet the like of you."

"If you don't come out to me," said Cuculin, "I'll go in to you and cut the head off you in your own castle."

"That's enough of impudence from you, you scoundrel," said the king of Greece. "I won't have you come into my castle, but I'll meet you on the open plain."

The king went out, and they fought till Cuculin got the better of him, bound him head and heels, and said: "I'll cut the head off you now unless you give me the ring of youth and the rod of enchantment that you took from the father of Gil an Og."

"Well, I did carry them away," said the king, "but it wouldn't be easy for me now to give them to you or to her; for there was a man who came and carried them away, who could take them from you and from me, and from as many more of us, if they were here."

"Who was that man?" asked Cuculin.

"His name," said the king, "is Lug[12] Longhand. And if I had known what you wanted, there would have been no difference between us. I'll tell you how I lost the ring and rod and I'll go with you and show you where Lug Longhand lives. But do you come to my castle. We'll have a good time together."

[12] Pronounced "Loog."

They set out next day, and never stopped till they came opposite Lug Longhand castle, and Cuculin challenged his forces to combat.

"I have no forces," said Lug, "but I'll fight you myself." So the combat began, and they spent the whole day at one another, and neither gained the victory.

The king of Greece himself put up a tent on the green in front of the castle, and prepared everything necessary to eat and drink (there was no one else to do it). After breakfast next day, Cuculin and Lug began fighting again. The king of Greece looked on as the day before.

They fought the whole day till near evening, when Cuculin got the upper hand of Lug Longhand and bound him head and heels, saying: "I'll cut the head off you now unless you give me the rod and the ring that you carried away from the king of Greece."

"Oh, then," said Lug, "it would be hard for me to give them to you or to him; for forces came and took them from me; and they would have taken them from you and from him, if you had been here."

"Who in the world took them from you?" asked the king of Greece.

"Release me from this bond, and come to my castle, and I'll tell you the whole story," said Lug Longhand.

Cuculin released him, and they went to the castle. They got good reception and entertainment from Lug that night, and the following morning as well. He said: "The ring and the rod were taken from me by the knight of the island of the Flood. This island is surrounded by a chain, and there is a ring of fire seven miles wide between the chain and the castle. No man can come near the island without breaking the chain, and the moment the chain is broken the fire stops burning at that place; and the instant the fire goes down the knight rushes out and attacks and slays every man that's before him." The king of Greece, Cuculin, and Lug Longhand now sailed on in the speckled boat towards the island of the Flood. On the following morning when the speckled boat struck the chain, she was thrown back three days' sail, and was near being sunk, and would have gone to the bottom of the sea but for her own goodness and strength.

As soon as Cuculin saw what had happened, he took the oars, rowed on again, and drove the vessel forward with such venom that she cut through the chain and went one third of her length on to dry land. That moment the fire was quenched where the vessel struck, and when the knight of the Island saw the fire go out, he rushed to the shore and met Cuculin, the king of Greece, and Lug Longhand.

When Cuculin saw him, he threw aside his weapons, caught him, raised him above his head, hurled him down on the flat of his back, bound him head and heels, and said: "I'll cut the head off you unless you give me the ring and the rod that you carried away from Lug Longhand."

"I took them from him, it's true," said the knight; "but it would be hard for me to give them to you now; for a man came and took them from me, who would have taken them from you and all that are with you, and as many more if they had been here before him."

"Who in the world could that man be?" asked Cuculin.

"The Dark Gruagach of the Northern Island. Release me, and come to my castle. I'll tell you all and entertain you well."

He took them to his castle, gave them good cheer, and told them all about the Gruagach and his island. Next morning all sailed away in Cuculin's vessel, which they had left at the shore of the island, and never stopped till they came to the Gruagach's castle, and pitched their tents in front of it.

Then Cuculin challenged the Gruagach. The others followed after to know would he thrive. The Gruagach came out and faced Cuculin, and they began and spent the whole day at one another and neither of them gained the upper hand. When evening came, they stopped and prepared for supper and the night.

Next day after breakfast Cuculin challenged the Gruagach again, and they fought till evening; when Cuculin got the better in the struggle, disarmed the Gruagach, bound him, and said: "Unless you give up the rod of enchantment and the ring of youth that you took from the knight of the island of the Flood, I'll cut the head off you now."

"I took them from him, 'tis true; but there was a man named Thin-in-Iron, who took them from me, and he would have taken them from you and from me, and all that are here, if there were twice as many. He is such a man that sword cannot cut him, fire cannot burn him, water cannot drown him, and 'tis no easy thing to get the better of him. But if you'll free me now and come to my castle, I'll treat you well and tell you all about him." Cuculin agreed to this.

Next morning they would not stop nor be satisfied till they went their way. They found the castle of Thin-in-Iron, and Cuculin challenged him to combat. They fought; and he was cutting the flesh from Cuculin, but Cuculin's sword cut no flesh from him. They fought till Cuculin said: "It is time now to stop till to-morrow."

Cuculin was scarcely able to reach the tent. They had to support him and put him to bed. Now, who should come to Cuculin that night but Gil an Og, and she said: "You have gone further than any man before you, and I'll cure you now, and you need go no further for the rod of enchantment and the ring of youth."

"Well," said Cuculin, "I'll never give over till I knock another day's trial out of Thin-in-Iron."

When it was time for rest, Gil an Og went away, and Cuculin fell asleep for himself. On the following morning all his comrades were up and facing his tent. They thought to see him dead, but he was in as good health as ever.

They prepared breakfast, and after breakfast Cuculin went before the door of the castle to challenge his enemy.

Thin-in-Iron thrust his head out and said: "That man I fought yesterday has come again to-day. It would have been a good deed if I had cut the head off him last night. Then he wouldn't be here to trouble me this morning. I won't come home this day till I bring his head with me. Then I'll have peace."

They met in combat and fought till the night was coming. Then Thin-in-Iron cried out for a cessation, and if he did, Cuculin was glad to give it; for his sword had no effect upon Thin-in-Iron except to tire and nearly kill him (he was enchanted and no arms could cut him). When Thin-in-Iron went to his castle, he threw up three sups of blood, and said to his housekeeper: "Though his sword could not penetrate me, he has nearly broken my heart."

Cuculin had to be carried to his tent. His comrades laid him on his bed and said: "Whoever came and healed him yesterday, may be the same will be here to-night." They went away and were not long gone when Gil an Og came and said: "Cuculin, if you had done my bidding, you wouldn't be as you are to-night. But if you neglect my words now, you'll never see my face again. I'll cure you this time and make you as well as ever;" and whatever virtue she had she healed him so he was as strong as before.

"Oh, then," said Cuculin, "whatever comes on me I'll never turn back till I knock another day's trial out of Thin-in-Iron."

"Well," said she, "you are a stronger man than he, but there is no good in working at him with a sword. Throw your sword aside to-morrow, and you'll get the better of him and bind him. You'll not see me again."

She went away and he fell asleep. His comrades came in the morning and found him sleeping. They got breakfast, and, after eating, Cuculin went out and called a challenge.

"Oh, 'tis the same man as yesterday," said Thin-in-Iron, "and if I had cut the head off him then, it wouldn't be he that would trouble me to-day. If I live for it, I'll bring his head in my hand to-night, and he'll never disturb me again."

When Cuculin saw Thin-in-Iron coming, he threw his sword aside, and facing him, caught him by the body, raised him up, then dashed him to the ground, and said, "If you don't give me what I want, I'll cut the head off you."

"What do you want of me?" asked Thin-in-Iron.

"I want the rod of enchantment and the ring of youth you carried from the Gruagach."

"I did indeed carry them from him, but it would be no easy thing for me to give them to you or any other man; for a force came which took them from me."

"What could take them from you?" asked Cuculin.

"The queen of the Wilderness, an old hag that has them now. But release me from this bondage and I'll take you to my castle and entertain you well, and I'll go with you and the rest of the company to see how will you thrive."

So he took Cuculin and his friends to the castle and entertained them joyously, and he said: "The old hag, the queen of the Wilderness, lives in a round tower, which is always turning on wheels. There is but one entrance to the tower, and that high above the ground, and in the one chamber in which she lives, keeping the ring and the rod, is a chair, and she has but to sit on the chair and wish herself in any part of the world, and that moment she is there. She has six lines of guards protecting her tower, and if you pass all of these, you'll do what no man before you has done to this day. The first guards are two lions that rush out to know which of them will get the first bite out of the throat of any one that tries to pass. The second are seven men with iron hurlies and an iron ball, and with their hurlies they wallop the life out of any man that goes their way. The third is Hung-up-Naked, who hangs on a tree with his toes to the earth, his head cut from his shoulders and lying on the ground, and who kills every man who comes near him. The fourth is the bull of the Mist that darkens the woods for seven miles around, and destroys everything that enters the Mist. The fifth are seven cats with poison tails; and one drop of their poison would kill the strongest man."

Next morning all went with Cuculin as far as the lions who guarded the queen of the Wilderness, an old hag made young by the ring of youth. The two lions ran at Cuculin to see which would have the first bite out of him.

Cuculin wore a red silk scarf around his neck and had a fine head of hair. He cut the hair off his head and wound it around one hand, took his scarf and wrapped it around the other. Then rushing at the lions, he thrust a hand down the throat of each lion (for lions can bite neither silk nor hair). He pulled the livers and lights out of the two and they fell dead before him. His comrades looking on, said: "You'll thrive now since you have done this deed;" and they left him and went home, each to his own country.

Cuculin went further. The next people he met were the seven men with the iron hurlies (ball clubs), and they said; "'Tis long since any man walked this way to us; we'll have sport now."

The first one said: "Give him a touch of the hurly and let the others do the same; and we'll wallop him till he is dead."

Now Cuculin drew his sword and cut the head off the first man before he could make an offer of the hurly at him; and then he did the same to the other six.

He went on his way till he came to Hung-up-Naked, who was hanging from a tree, his head on the ground near him. The queen of the Wilderness had fastened him to the tree because he wouldn't marry her; and she said: "If any man comes who will put your head on you, you'll be free." And she laid the injunction on him to kill every man who tried to pass his way without putting the head on him.

Cuculin went up, looked at him, and saw heaps of bones around the tree. The body said: "You can't go by here. I fight with every man who tries to pass."

"Well, I'm not going to fight with a man unless he has a head on him. Take your head." And Cuculin, picking up the head, clapped it on the body, and said, "Now I'll fight with you!"

The man said: "I'm all right now. I know where you are going. I'll stay here till you come; if you conquer you'll not forget me. Take the head off me now; put it where you found it; and if you succeed, remember that I shall be here before you on your way home."

Cuculin went on, but soon met the bull of the Mist that covered seven miles of the wood with thick mist. When the bull saw him, he made at him and stuck a horn in his ribs and threw him three miles into the wood, against a great oak tree and broke three ribs in his side.

"Well," said Cuculin, when he recovered, "if I get another throw like that, I'll not be good for much exercise." He was barely on his feet when the bull was at him again; but when he came up he caught the bull by both horns and away they went wrestling and struggling. For three days and nights Cuculin kept the bull in play, till the morning of the fourth day, when he put him on the flat of his back. Then he turned him on the side, and putting a foot on one horn and taking the other in his two hands, he said: "'Tis well I earned you; there is not a stitch on me that isn't torn to rags from wrestling with you." He pulled the bull asunder from his horns to his tail, into two equal parts, and said: "Now that I have you in two, it's in quarters I'll put you." He took his sword, and when he struck the backbone of the bull, the sword remained in the bone and he couldn't pull it out.

He walked away and stood awhile and looked. "'Tis hard to say," said he, "that any good champion would leave his sword behind him." So he went back and made another pull and took the hilt off his sword, leaving the blade in the back of the bull. Then he went away tattered and torn, the hilt in his hand, and he turned up towards the forge of the Strong Smith. One of the Smith's boys was out for coal at the time: he saw Cuculin coming with the hilt in his hand, and ran in, saying: "There is a man coming up and he looks like a fool; we'll have fun!"

"Hold your tongue!" said the master. "Have you heard any account of the bull of the Mist these three days?"

"We have not," said the boys.

"Perhaps," said the Strong Smith, "that's a good champion that's coming, and do you mind yourselves."

At that moment Cuculin walked in to the forge where twelve boys and the master were working. He saluted them and asked, "Can you put a blade in this hilt?"

"We can," said the master. They put in the blade. Cuculin raised the sword and took a shake out of it and broke it to bits.

"This is a rotten blade," said he. "Go at it again."

They made a second blade. The boys were in dread of him now. He broke the second blade in the same way as the first. They made six blades, one stronger than the other. He did the same to them all. "There is no use in talking," said the Strong Smith; "we have no stuff that would make a right blade for you. Go down now," said he to two of the boys, "and bring up an old sword that's down in the stable full of rust."

They went and brought up the sword on two hand-spikes between them; it was so heavy that one couldn't carry it. They gave it to Cuculin, and with one blow on his heel he knocked the dust from it and went out at the door and took a shake out of it; and if he did, he darkened the whole place with the rust from the blade.

"This is my sword, whoever made it," said he.

"It is," said the master; "it's yours and welcome. I know who you are now, and where you are going. Remember that I'm in bondage here." The Strong Smith took Cuculin then to his house, gave him refreshment and clothes for the journey. When he was ready, the Smith said: "I hope you'll thrive. You have done a deal more than any man that ever walked this way before. There is nothing now to stand in your way till you come to the seven cats outside the turning tower. If they shake their tails and a drop of poison comes on you, it will penetrate to your heart. You must sweep off their tails with your sword. 'Tis equal to you what their bodies will do after that."

Cuculin soon came to them and there wasn't one of the seven cats he didn't strip of her tail before she knew he was in it. He cared nothing for the bodies so he had the tails. The cats ran away.

Now he faced the tower turning on wheels. The queen of the Wilderness was in it. He had been told by Thin-in-Iron that he must cut the axle. He found the axle, cut it, and the tower stopped that instant. Cuculin made a spring and went in through the single passage.

The old hag was preparing to sit on the chair as she saw him coming. He sprang forward, pushed the chair away with one hand, and, catching her by the back of the neck with the other, said: "You are to lose your head now, old woman!"

"Spare me, and what you want you'll get," said she. "I have the ring of youth and the rod of enchantment," and she gave them to him. He put the ring on his finger, and saying, "You'll never do mischief again to man!" he turned her face to the entrance, and gave her a kick. Out she flew through the opening and down to the ground, where she broke her neck and died on the spot.

Cuculin made the Strong Smith king over all the dominions of the queen of the Wilderness, and proclaimed that any person in the country who refused to obey the new king would be put to death.

Cuculin turned back at once, and travelled till he came to Hung-up-Naked. He took him down, and putting the head on his body, struck him a blow of the rod and made the finest looking man of him that could be found. The man went back to his own home happy and well.

Cuculin never stopped till he came to the castle of Gil an Og. She was outside with a fine welcome before him; and why not, to be sure, for he had the rod of enchantment and the ring of youth!

When she entered the castle and took the form of a cat, he struck her a blow of the rod and she gained the same form and face she had before the king of Greece struck her. Then he asked, "Where is your sister?" "In the lake there outside," answered Gil an Og, "in the form of a sea-serpent." She went out with him, and the moment they came to the edge of the lake the sister rose up near them. Then Cuculin struck her with the rod and she came to land in her own shape and countenance.

Next day they saw a deal of vessels facing the harbor, and what should they be but a fleet of ships, and on the ships were the king of Greece, Lug Longhand, the knight of the island of the Flood, the Dark Gruagach of the Northern Island and Thin-in-Iron: and they came each in his own vessel to know was there any account of Cuculin. There was good welcome for them all, and when they had feasted and rejoiced together Cuculin married Gil an Og. The king of Greece took Gil an Og's sister, who was his own wife at first, and went home.

Cuculin went away himself with his wife Gil an Og, never stopping till he came to Erin; and when he came, Fin MacCumhail and his men were at KilConaly, near the river Shannon.

When Cuculin went from Erin he left a son whose mother was called the Virago of Alba: she was still alive and the son was eighteen years old. When she heard that Cuculin had brought Gil an Og to Erin, she was enraged with jealousy and madness. She had reared the son, whose name was ConlAin, like any king's son, and now giving him his arms of a champion she told him to go to his father.

"I would," said he, "if I knew who my father is."

"His name is Cuculin, and he is with Fin MacCumhail. I bind you not to yield to any man," said she to her son, "nor tell your name to any man till you fight him out."

ConlAin started from Ulster where his mother was, and never stopped till he was facing Fin and his men, who were hunting that day along the cliffs of KilConaly.

When the young man came up Fin said, "There is a single man facing us."

Conan Maol said, "Let some one go against him, ask who he is and what he wants."

"I never give an account of myself to any man," said ConlAin, "till I get an account from him."

"There is no man among us," said Conan, "bound in that way but Cuculin." They called on Cuculin; he came up and the two fought. ConlAin knew by the description his mother had given that Cuculin was his father, but Cuculin did not know his son. Every time ConlAin aimed his spear he threw it so as to strike the ground in front of Cuculin's toe, but Cuculin aimed straight at him.

They were at one another three days and three nights. The son always sparing the father, the father never sparing the son.

Conan Maol came to them the fourth morning. "Cuculin," said he, "I didn't expect to see any man standing against you three days, and you such a champion."

When ConlAin heard Conan Maol urging the father to kill him, he gave a bitter look at Conan, and forgot his guard. Cuculin's spear went through his head that minute, and he fell. "I die of that blow from my father," said he.

"Are you my son?" said Cuculin.

"I am," said ConlAin.

Cuculin took his sword and cut the head off him sooner than leave him in the punishment and pain he was in. Then he faced all the people, and Fin was looking on.

"There's trouble on Cuculin," said Fin. "Chew your thumb," said Conan Maol, "to know what's on him."

Fin chewed his thumb, and said, "Cuculin is after killing his own son, and if I and all my men were to face him before his passion cools, at the end of seven days, he'd destroy every man of us."

"Go now," said Conan, "and bind him to go down to Bale strand and give seven days' fighting against the waves of the sea, rather than kill us all."

So Fin bound him to go down. When he went to Bale strand Cuculin found a great white stone. He grasped his sword in his right hand and cried out: "If I had the head of the woman who sent her son into peril of death at my hand, I'd split it as I split this stone," and he made four quarters of the stone. Then he strove with the waves seven days and nights till he fell from hunger and weakness, and the waves went over him.




Oisin In Tir Na N-Og.


There was a king in Tir na n-Og (the land of Youth) who held the throne and crown for many a year against all comers; and the law of the kingdom was that every seventh year the champions and best men of the country should run for the office of king.

Once in seven years they all met at the front of the palace and ran to the top of a hill two miles distant. On the top of that hill was a chair and the man that sat first in the chair was king of Tir na n-Og for the next seven years. After he had ruled for ages, the king became anxious; he was afraid that some one might sit in the chair before him, and take the crown off his head. So he called up his Druid one day and asked: "How long shall I keep the chair to rule this land, and will any man sit in it before me and take the crown off my head?"

"You will keep the chair and the crown forever," said the Druid, "unless your own son-in-law takes them from you."

The king had no sons and but one daughter, the finest woman in Tir na n-Og; and the like of her could not be found in Erin or any kingdom in the world. When the king heard the words of the Druid, he said, "I'll have no son-in-law, for I'll put the daughter in a way no man will marry her."

Then he took a rod of Druidic spells, and calling the daughter up before him, he struck her with the rod, and put a pig's head on her in place of her own. Then he sent the daughter away to her own place in the castle, and turning to the Druid said: "There is no man that will marry her now."

When the Druid saw the face that was on the princess with the pig's head that the father gave her, he grew very sorry that he had given such information to the king; and some time after he went to see the princess.

"Must I be in this way forever?" asked she of the Druid.

"You must," said he, "till you marry one of the sons of Fin MacCumhail in Erin. If you marry one of Fin's sons, you'll be freed from the blot that is on you now, and get back your own head and countenance."

When she heard this she was impatient in her mind, and could never rest till she left Tir na n-Og and came to Erin. When she had inquired she heard that Fin and the Fenians of Erin were at that time living on Knock an Ar, and she made her way to the place without delay and lived there a while; and when she saw Oisin, he pleased her; and when she found out that he was a son of Fin MacCumhail, she was always making up to him and coming towards him. And it was usual for the Fenians in those days to go out hunting on the hills and mountains and in the woods of Erin, and when one of them went he always took five or six men with him to bring home the game.

On a day Oisin set out with his men and dogs to the woods; and he went so far and killed so much game that when it was brought together, the men were so tired, weak, and hungry that they couldn't carry it, but went away home and left him with the three dogs, Bran, SciolAin, and BuglA(C)n,[13] to shift for himself.

[13] Celebrated dogs of Fin MacCumhail.

Now the daughter of the king of Tir na n-Og, who was herself the queen of Youth, followed closely in the hunt all that day, and when the men left Oisin she came up to him; and as he stood looking at the great pile of game and said, "I am very sorry to leave behind anything that I've had the trouble of killing," she looked at him and said, "Tie up a bundle for me, and I'll carry it to lighten the load off you."

Oisin gave her a bundle of the game to carry, and took the remainder himself. The evening was very warm and the game heavy, and after they had gone some distance, Oisin said, "Let us rest a while." Both threw down their burdens, and put their backs against a great stone that was by the roadside. The woman was heated and out of breath, and opened her dress to cool herself. Then Oisin looked at her and saw her beautiful form and her white bosom.

"Oh, then," said he, "it's a pity you have the pig's head on you; for I have never seen such an appearance on a woman in all my life before."

"Well," said she, "my father is the king of Tir na n-Og, and I was the finest woman in his kingdom and the most beautiful of all, till he put me under a Druidic spell and gave me the pig's head that's on me now in place of my own. And the Druid of Tir na n-Og came to me afterwards, and told me that if one of the sons of Fin MacCumhail would marry me, the pig's head would vanish, and I should get back my face in the same form as it was before my father struck me with the Druid's wand. When I heard this I never stopped till I came to Erin, where I found your father and picked you out among the sons of Fin MacCumhail, and followed you to see would you marry me and set me free."

"If that is the state you are in, and if marriage with me will free you from the spell, I'll not leave the pig's head on you long."

So they got married without delay, not waiting to take home the game or to lift it from the ground. That moment the pig's head was gone, and the king's daughter had the same face and beauty that she had before her father struck her with the Druidic wand.

"Now," said the queen of Youth to Oisin, "I cannot stay here long, and unless you come with me to Tir na n-Og we must part."

"Oh," said Oisin, "wherever you go I'll go, and wherever you turn I'll follow."

Then she turned and Oisin went with her, not going back to Knock an Ar to see his father or his son. That very day they set out for Tir na n-Og and never stopped till they came to her father's castle; and when they came, there was a welcome before them, for the king thought his daughter was lost. That same year there was to be a choice of a king, and when the appointed day came at the end of the seventh year all the great men and the champions, and the king himself, met together at the front of the castle to run and see who should be first in the chair on the hill; but before a man of them was halfway to the hill, Oisin was sitting above in the chair before them. After that time no one stood up to run for the office against Oisin, and he spent many a happy year as king in Tir na n-Og. At last he said to his wife: "I wish I could be in Erin to-day to see my father and his men."

"If you go," said his wife, "and set foot on the land of Erin, you'll never come back here to me, and you'll become a blind old man. How long do you think it is since you came here?"

"About three years," said Oisin. "It is three hundred years," said she, "since you came to this kingdom with me. If you must go to Erin, I'll give you this white steed to carry you; but if you come down from the steed or touch the soil of Erin with your foot, the steed will come back that minute, and you'll be where he left you, a poor old man."

"I'll come back, never fear," said Oisin. "Have I not good reason to come back? But I must see my father and my son and my friends in Erin once more; I must have even one look at them."

She prepared the steed for Oisin and said, "This steed will carry you wherever you wish to go."

Oisin never stopped till the steed touched the soil of Erin; and he went on till he came to Knock Patrick in Munster, where he saw a man herding cows. In the field, where the cows were grazing there was a broad flat stone.

"Will you come here," said Oisin to the herdsman, "and turn over this stone?"

"Indeed, then, I will not," said the herdsman; "for I could not lift it, nor twenty men more like me."

Oisin rode up to the stone, and, reaching down, caught it with his hand and turned it over. Underneath the stone was the great horn of the Fenians (borabu), which circled round like a seashell, and it was the rule that when any of the Fenians of Erin blew the borabu, the others would assemble at once from whatever part of the country they might be in at the time.

"Will you bring this horn to me!" asked Oisin of the herdsman.

"I will not," said the herdsman; "for neither I nor many more like me could raise it from the ground." With that Oisin moved near the horn, and reaching down took it in his hand; but so eager was he to blow it, that he forgot everything, and slipped in reaching till one foot touched the earth. In an instant the steed was gone, and Oisin lay on the ground a blind old man. The herdsman went to Saint Patrick, who lived near by, and told him what had happened.

Saint Patrick sent a man and a horse for Oisin, brought him to his own house, gave him a room by himself, and sent a boy to stay with him to serve and take care of him. And Saint Patrick commanded his cook to send Oisin plenty of meat and drink, to give him bread and beef and butter every day.

Now Oisin lived a while in this way. The cook sent him provisions each day, and Saint Patrick himself asked him all kinds of questions about the old times of the Fenians of Erin. Oisin told him about his father, Fin MacCumhail, about himself, his son Osgar, Goll MacMorna, Conan Maol, Diarmuid, and all the Fenian heroes; how they fought, feasted, and hunted, how they came under Druidic spells, and how they were freed from them.

At the same time, Saint Patrick was putting up a great building; but what his men used to put up in the daytime was levelled at night, and Saint Patrick lamented over his losses in the hearing of Oisin. Then Oisin said in the hearing of Saint Patrick, "If I had my strength and my sight, I'd put a stop to the power that is levelling your work."

"Do you think you'd be able to do that," said Saint Patrick, "and let my building go on?"

"I do, indeed," said Oisin. So Saint Patrick prayed to the Lord, and the sight and strength came back to Oisin. He went to the woods and got a great club and stood at the building on guard.

What should come in the night but a great beast in the form of a bull, which began to uproot and destroy the work. But if he did Oisin faced him, and the battle began hot and heavy between the two; but in the course of the night Oisin got the upper hand of the bull and left him dead before the building. Then he stretched out on the ground himself and fell asleep.

Now Saint Patrick was waiting at home to know how would the battle come out, and thinking Oisin too long away he sent a messenger to the building; and when the messenger came he saw the ground torn up, a hill in one place and a hollow in the next. The bull was dead and Oisin sleeping after the desperate battle. He went back and told what he saw.

"Oh," said Saint Patrick, "it's better to knock the strength out of him again; for he'll kill us all if he gets vexed."

Saint Patrick took the strength out of him, and when Oisin woke up he was a blind old man and the messenger went out and brought him home.

Oisin lived on for a time as before. The cook sent him his food, the boy served him, and Saint Patrick listened to the stories of the Fenians of Erin.

Saint Patrick had a neighbor, a Jew, a very rich man but the greatest miser in the kingdom, and he had the finest haggart of corn in Erin. Well, the Jew and Saint Patrick got very intimate with one another and so great became the friendship of the Jew for Saint Patrick at last, that he said he'd give him, for the support of his house, as much corn as one man could thrash out of the haggart[14] in a day.

[14] Haggart, hay-yard.

When Saint Patrick went home after getting the promise of the corn, he told in the hearing of Oisin about what the Jew had said.

"Oh, then," said Oisin, "if I had my sight and strength, I'd thrash as much corn in one day as would do your whole house for a twelvemonth and more."

"Will you do that for me?" said Saint Patrick.

"I will," said Oisin.

Saint Patrick prayed again to the Lord, and the sight and strength came back to Oisin. He went to the woods next morning at daybreak, Oisin did, pulled up two fine ash-trees and made a flail of them. After eating his breakfast he left the house and never stopped till he faced the haggart of the Jew. Standing before one of the stacks of wheat he hit it a wallop of his flail and broke it asunder. He kept on in this way till he slashed the whole haggart to and fro, -- and the Jew running like mad up and down the highroad in front of the haggart, tearing the hair from his head when he saw what was doing to his wheat, and the face gone from him entirely he was so in dread of Oisin.

When the haggart was thrashed clean, Oisin went to Saint Patrick and told him to send his men for the wheat; for he had thrashed out the whole haggart. When Saint Patrick saw the countenance that was on Oisin, and heard what he had done he was greatly in dread of him, and knocked the strength out of him again, and Oisin became an old, blind man as before.

Saint Patrick's men went to the haggart and there was so much wheat they didn't bring the half of it away with them and they didn't want it.

Oisin again lived for a while as before and then he was vexed because the cook didn't give him what he wanted. He told Saint Patrick that he wasn't getting enough to eat. Then Saint Patrick called up the cook before himself and Oisin and asked her what she was giving Oisin to eat. She said: "I give him at every meal what bread is baked on a large griddle and all the butter I make in one churn, and a quarter of beef besides."

"That ought to be enough for you," said Saint Patrick.

"Oh, then," said Oisin, turning to the cook, "I have often seen the leg of a blackbird bigger than the quarter of beef you give me, I have often seen an ivy leaf bigger than the griddle on which you bake the bread for me, and I have often seen a single rowan berry [the mountain ash berry] bigger than the bit of butter you give me to eat."

"You lie!" said the cook, "you never did."

Oisin said not a word in answer.

Now there was a hound in the place that was going to have her first whelps, and Oisin said to the boy who was tending him: "Do you mind and get the first whelp she'll have and drown the others."

Next morning the boy found three whelps, and coming back to Oisin, said: "There are three whelps and 'tis unknown which of them is the first."

At Saint Patrick's house they had slaughtered an ox the day before, and Oisin said: "Go now and bring the hide of the ox and hang it up in this room." When the hide was hung up Oisin said, "Bring here the three whelps and throw them up against the hide." The boy threw up one of the whelps against the oxhide. "What did he do?" asked Oisin.

"What did he do," said the boy, "but fall to the ground."

"Throw up another," said Oisin. The boy threw another. "What did he do?" asked Oisin.

"What did he do but to fall the same as the first."

The third whelp was thrown and he held fast to the hide, -- didn't fall. "What did he do?" asked Oisin.

"Oh," said the boy, "he kept his hold."

"Take him down," said Oisin; "give him to the mother: bring both in here; feed the mother well and drown the other two."

The boy did as he was commanded, and fed the two well, and when the whelp grew up the mother was banished, the whelp chained up and fed for a year and a day. And when the year and a day were spent, Oisin said, "We'll go hunting to-morrow, and we'll take the dog with us."

They went next day, the boy guiding Oisin, holding the dog by a chain. They went first to the place where Oisin had touched earth and lost the magic steed from Tir na n-Og. The borabu of the Fenians of Erin was lying on the ground there still. Oisin took it up and they went on to Glen na Smuil (Thrush's Glen). When at the edge of the glen Oisin began to sound the borabu. Birds and beasts of every kind came hurrying forward. He blew the horn till the glen was full of them from end to end.

"What do you see now?" asked he of the boy.

"The glen is full of living things."

"What is the dog doing?" "He is looking ahead and his hair is on end."

"Do you see anything else?"

"I see a great bird all black settling down on the north side of the glen."

"That's what I want," said Oisin; "what is the dog doing now?"

"Oh, the eyes are coming out of his head, and there isn't a rib of hair on his body that isn't standing up."

"Let him go now," said Oisin. The boy let slip the chain and the dog rushed through the glen killing everything before him. When all the others were dead he turned to the great blackbird and killed that. Then he faced Oisin and the boy and came bounding toward them with venom and fierceness. Oisin drew out of his bosom a brass ball and said: "If you don't throw this into the dog's mouth he'll destroy us both; knock the dog with the ball or he'll tear us to pieces."

"Oh," said the boy, "I'll never be able to throw the ball, I'm so in dread of the dog."

"Come here at my back, then," said Oisin, "and straighten my hand towards the dog." The boy directed the hand and Oisin threw the ball into the dog's mouth and killed him on the spot.

"What have we done?" asked Oisin.

"Oh, the dog is knocked," said the boy.

"We are all right then," said Oisin, "and do you lead me now to the blackbird of the carn, I don't care for the others."

They went to the great bird, kindled a fire and cooked all except one of its legs. Then Oisin ate as much as he wanted and said; "I've had a good meal of my own hunting and it's many and many a day since I have had one. Now let us go on farther." They went into the woods, and soon Oisin asked the boy; "Do you see anything wonderful?"

"I see an ivy with the largest leaves I have ever set eyes on."

"Take one leaf of that ivy," said Oisin.

The boy took the leaf. Near the ivy they found a rowan berry, and then went home taking the three things with them, -- the blackbird's leg, the ivy leaf, and the rowan berry. When they reached the house Oisin called for the cook, and Saint Patrick made her come to the fore. When she came Oisin pointed to the blackbird's leg and asked, "Which is larger, that leg or the quarter of beef you give me?"

"Oh, that is a deal larger," said the cook.

"You were right in that case," said Saint Patrick to Oisin.

Then Oisin drew out the ivy leaf and asked, "Which is larger, this or the griddle on which you made bread for me?"

"That is larger than the griddle and the bread together," said the cook.

"Right again," said Saint Patrick.

Oisin now took out the rowan berry and asked: "Which is larger, this berry or the butter of one churning which you give me?"

"Oh, that is bigger," said the cook, "than both the churn and the butter."

"Right, every time," said Saint Patrick.

Then Oisin raised his arm and swept the head off the cook with a stroke from the edge of his hand, saying, "You'll never give the lie to an honest man again."

<eob>

Doctor Rabbit And Brushtail The Fox

By

Thomas Clark Hinkle



Brushtail The Fox Comes To The Big Green Woods


Doctor Rabbit and Cheepy Chipmunk were sitting in Doctor Rabbit's front yard talking. They laughed a good deal as they talked, for it was a lovely morning in the beautiful Big Green Woods, and everyone felt happy.

Finally jolly Doctor Rabbit said he believed he would run over to the big sycamore tree to eat some more of the tender blue grass that grew there. It seemed as if he could eat there all day and all night, he said, because that grass was so good. Cheepy Chipmunk said he was getting hungry again too, and he guessed he would be going home to eat the fresh ear of corn he had found that morning.

Cheepy Chipmunk got up and was starting away, when Doctor Rabbit seized him and said in a low, frightened whisper that scared Cheepy half to death, "Come back and sit down and keep as still as anything. Look out there, will you!"

Very badly startled, Cheepy Chipmunk came back and sat down, and his eyes followed Doctor Rabbit's eyes. Cheepy saw an animal such as he had never seen before. This animal looked somewhat like a dog, but Cheepy knew right away he was no dog. He was not quite so large as Ki-yi Coyote, and was of a reddish-brown color, with a large, bushy tail. The animal was walking along under the trees not far away, and did not even look in the direction of Doctor Rabbit and little Cheepy Chipmunk.

But, although he could not tell why, Cheepy knew at once that that reddish-brown animal walking along out there under the trees was very dangerous to chipmunks and rabbits and any number of other little animals. Yes, sir, Cheepy Chipmunk was dreadfully frightened at once, for he was certain his life and the lives of Stubby Woodchuck, Chatty Red Squirrel and all his other friends were in great danger. But he had never seen such an animal before, so of course he did not know what it was.

While Doctor Rabbit and Cheepy Chipmunk looked, the strange animal walked along just as if he were not interested in anything. He did not even look toward Doctor Rabbit and Cheepy Chipmunk. This fooled innocent Cheepy, and he whispered to Doctor Rabbit, "He has not seen us; let's slip into your house! I don't want him to catch sight of us."

"Keep right still!" Doctor Rabbit whispered in reply. "Just sit still. Yes, he has seen us -- don't you fool yourself about that. But he knows well enough he can't catch us now. He's made up his mind he'll wait until he gets a better chance. But we won't let him know we see him. We'll have to try to deceive him at every turn. Yes, sir, Cheepy, we've got to watch out every minute now; we certainly have. He's one of the most cunning animals there is. I'm sorry he's come into our woods."

Cheepy Chipmunk was so frightened that his teeth were chattering as he asked, "Who is he?"

"He's Brushtail the Fox," Doctor Rabbit said. "I saw him a number of times in the woods up along the Deep River where I used to live. We'll see more of him -- we can count on that. And now, Friend Cheepy, you must stay right here at my house until we are sure Brushtail has stopped watching us out of the corner of his eye."




Chatty Red Squirrel Is Heard Scolding Loudly


Doctor Rabbit was right. Brushtail the Fox had seen exactly who was in Doctor Rabbit's front yard, but he did not act as if he knew there was any one within a mile of him. No, he just kept right on walking slowly under the trees. And then all of a sudden Chatty Red Squirrel almost made him look up. Chatty was high up in a big hackberry tree, and from this safe perch he scolded Brushtail as loudly as he could.

"Get out of these woods!" Chatty Squirrel shouted angrily. "You have no right in here. You are just sneaking around trying to catch somebody. But you can't. I won't let you. I'll tell on you. Look here, everybody. Here is old Brushtail the Fox. I know you, Mr. Brushtail. I've seen you before in the woods up along the Deep River. Look out, everybody! Brushtail is around. He's right under this tree, right this minute. I can see him. Look out for Mr. Brushtail! Here he is!"

Well, Doctor Rabbit and Cheepy Chipmunk watched and listened while Chatty Squirrel scolded Brushtail the Fox so loudly. But Brushtail paid no attention whatever to Chatty. The fact was that he did hear every word Chatty Squirrel said and he was pretty angry about it, too, because you see he did not want all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods to know he was around. He wanted to get one or two of them for breakfast before they even dreamed he was anywhere near.

But even if he was angry, Brushtail knew, of course, that he could not climb that tree after Chatty Squirrel, so he just ground his teeth and walked on. He decided that he would make Chatty pay for this, indeed he would. He would catch him the very first of all. And so as Doctor Rabbit and Cheepy Chipmunk looked and listened, Brushtail, without saying a word, walked on and finally slipped out of sight among some leafy bushes.

"I'm going home this minute!" Cheepy Chipmunk exclaimed, his voice trembling with fear; and away he went for his stump as fast as he could run.

After Cheepy had gone, Doctor Rabbit said to himself, "Well, I do declare! So Brushtail the Fox has found the Big Green Woods, and likely enough intends to live here. If he does we'll certainly all have to watch out every minute. Indeed we will. I'm glad Chatty Squirrel is scolding so loudly. Perhaps our friends will all hear and be on the lookout."

Chatty Squirrel, who had followed along in the branches of the trees and kept sight of slinky Brushtail, was now heard quite a distance away, scolding louder than ever.

"I wonder what Chatty is scolding about out there now," Doctor Rabbit said. "It sounds as if he were still talking to Brushtail. Perhaps Brushtail has stopped out there, and possibly he has caught something and is eating it. I'm going to slip out that way and see. I'll take the path that leads past several briar patches, and if Mr. Fox runs for me I'll just slip into a briar patch. If he tries to follow me in there he knows what he'll get. He'll get his eyes scratched out with the briars. My, how Chatty is scolding! He's scolding Brushtail, too. Brushtail must be doing something unusual or Chatty would not talk so excitedly."




Brushtail The Fox Plays "Possum"


Doctor Rabbit hurried away from his home toward the place where he heard Chatty Squirrel scolding Brushtail the Fox. Doctor Rabbit, to tell the truth, was afraid to venture out there so close to Brushtail, but then, he reasoned, he would have to go sooner or later and get something to eat, so he might as well venture out now and see what the old villain was doing.

Doctor Rabbit kept in the path that led past several briar patches, and this made him feel pretty safe. The nearer Doctor Rabbit came to the place where Chatty Squirrel was scolding, the louder sounded Chatty's angry voice. Doctor Rabbit crept close, and slipped into a briar patch. Not more than twenty feet away, lying on the ground as still as if he were dead, was Brushtail the Fox. But he did not fool Doctor Rabbit in the least. Doctor Rabbit knew instantly what Brushtail wanted: he wanted Chatty Squirrel.

Because Brushtail lay so still and paid not the least attention to his scolding, Chatty Squirrel became really puzzled. He stopped scolding and said to himself, "Now I wonder if that old scamp is dead. He certainly lies there very still, anyway. I believe I'll just slip down on the ground for a minute and see. If he's just playing dead, he'll come after me when I get on the ground. Then I'll know for sure, and I'll go back up the tree in a hurry."

Chatty Squirrel scrambled down the tree, and as soon as he reached the ground he began scolding Brushtail the Fox. He thought, of course, that this would make Brushtail jump up if he were only playing dead; but Brushtail paid no attention to Chatty. He lay as still as a dead fox. Chatty Squirrel ran a little way toward him, but was afraid to venture far. Just then he happened to see Doctor Rabbit hiding under the briar patch, motioning for him to come over, and looking as though he knew something very funny.

There happened to be another tree by the briar patch, so Chatty Squirrel sprang right over to see what Doctor Rabbit wanted. Doctor Rabbit whispered something in Chatty's ear, and then they chuckled softly to themselves. The more Chatty thought about what Doctor Rabbit had said, the more he laughed -- not very loudly, of course, because he did not want Brushtail the Fox to hear.

"Hurry along now before he gets up!" Doctor Rabbit whispered, and away ran Chatty Squirrel back to the tree he had left. Chatty scrambled back up the tree in a hurry, and began scolding Brushtail louder than ever. He did not say a word about Doctor Rabbit, of course; he just went right on scolding as if nothing had happened.

Now Brushtail the Fox was not dead, and as he lay there very still he thought every minute Chatty Squirrel's curiosity would get the better of him and Chatty would come down the tree and close enough so that he could pounce upon him. But Chatty did just exactly what Doctor Rabbit had told him to do.

"I wish," he said aloud, "that I knew whether Mr. Fox is really dead. He lies so still I believe he is, and if he lies there much longer I shall have to go down and see. Yes, I'll have to go down and poke him and see!"

Brushtail the Fox could scarcely keep from smacking his lips when Chatty said this, but he did not move, of course. He lay perfectly still, not even winking an eye, for he was very hungry, and he hoped Chatty Squirrel would decide to hurry and come down.

And all the time that Chatty Squirrel up in the tree was scolding, Doctor Rabbit was working at something in the near-by thicket. Chatty, you see, was going to keep Brushtail's attention until Doctor Rabbit played a good joke on old Brushtail.




Brushtail Gets A Scare


Now, this was what Doctor Rabbit was doing in the near-by thicket. He gathered some moss, and rolled it into a big ball. Then he took a bottle of medicine from his medicine case. The bottle had ammonia in it -- spirits of ammonia, it was -- and Doctor Rabbit poured the medicine all over and through the big ball of moss.

My, but that ammonia smelled strong! I should say it did smell strong. It was so strong, in fact, that Doctor Rabbit had to turn his head partly away from the moss while he poured the medicine on it. Now Doctor Rabbit had to be very, very careful. He picked up the ball of moss in his front paws and walked toward Brushtail the Fox, who lay on the ground with his eyes shut tight.

Chatty Squirrel kept up a very loud scolding as Doctor Rabbit slipped up to Brushtail. Then when he was very near, Doctor Rabbit threw that moss with all the terribly strong ammonia right on Brushtail's head and over his nose. Brushtail got such a big whiff of the medicine that he almost strangled. My, how he did jump and yell! He was terribly scared, because he did not know for a minute what had happened.

Then he heard Chatty up on the limb laughing and shouting for joy. Doctor Rabbit ran back to the edge of the thicket, and he was laughing too. It certainly did look funny to see Brushtail the Fox standing and staring at that moss as if he thought it was something alive.

When Brushtail saw that a joke had been played on him he was terribly angry. He knew, of course, he could not get Chatty, so he made a rush for Doctor Rabbit.

But Doctor Rabbit skipped into the thicket, picked up his medicine case and shouted, "Good day, Mr. Fox! I guess you won't have Chatty for breakfast! You'd better eat the moss ball."

And away Doctor Rabbit ran. In a twinkling he was out of sight in the leafy woods.

Brushtail the Fox ran after Doctor Rabbit as fast as he could go, but it was no use. He could not find him. Now it happened that Doctor Rabbit had not gone far at all. He was not far from home, so he just hid behind a big log. And he was watching Brushtail the Fox all the time.

My! How he did jump and yell!

After a time Brushtail sat down and kept still. His sharp eyes, however, were looking in every direction. He thought he might see Doctor Rabbit by keeping quiet and looking about him.

Doctor Rabbit, as I have said, was so close to his home that he knew he was safe, so he walked quietly from behind the log, holding his medicine case and acting just as though he did not know that Brushtail the Fox was anywhere about.

Brushtail quickly lay down and was as quiet as possible.

Then Doctor Rabbit stopped, looked back, and said pleasantly, "It's a nice morning, Brushy."

That surely surprised Brushtail, but when he saw Doctor Rabbit's home tree not far away, he knew he could not catch him. So he smiled and said, "I've just been playing with you all the time. Do come on over to my home, Neighbor Rabbit. I have something very fine there to show you. We'll have some good times together."

"Ha! ha! ha!" wise Doctor Rabbit laughed, as he started toward his big tree. "Yes," he continued, "I suppose you have some very cruel teeth to show me, Mr. Brushtail, but I can see them quite as well as I care to. Ha! ha! ha!" And Doctor Rabbit ran for his tree.

Brushtail ran after him, too, but Doctor Rabbit ran fast and reached his home in safety. There he peeked out and saw Brushtail steal into some bushes.




Doctor Rabbit Sees Something Interesting


Now when Doctor Rabbit ran into the big hollow tree that was his home, Brushtail the Fox slunk into some leafy bushes near by, and lay down without making a sound.

"I'll just wait here," Brushtail whispered to himself, "and that smart old rabbit will be coming out pretty soon. He won't know that I'm anywhere about."

But old Brushtail was very much mistaken, for Doctor Rabbit had peeked out of his front door just as soon as he was inside his house, and you remember he saw Brushtail steal into the bushes. No, sir, he wasn't to be fooled this time.

For a long time Brushtail lay in the bushes. He lay so quietly that not a leaf on the branches about him stirred. His glittering eyes were turned toward Doctor Rabbit's tree, and every little while he showed his long, sharp teeth as he smiled at the thought of the good meal that big fat rabbit would make.

But all the while Doctor Rabbit watched from an upstairs window where Brushtail could not see him, although Doctor Rabbit could plainly see the pointed nose and sharp, gleaming eyes of his enemy.

Presently Doctor Rabbit heard the rustle of leaves and the gay chatter, chatter, chatter of Chatty Red Squirrel as he bounded into the branches of a tree overlooking the bushes that hid Brushtail.

Doctor Rabbit drew a long breath of relief. He wasn't afraid of Brushtail the Fox when he was safe in his big hollow tree -- oh no, you mustn't think that, not for a moment. But you see Doctor Rabbit was getting pretty tired and stiff from watching so cautiously from his upstairs window, and yet he couldn't quite bring himself to the point of going downstairs and forgetting Brushtail. No indeed, he couldn't quite do that.

So Doctor Rabbit was glad to see Chatty Red Squirrel, for he knew just what would happen. And sure enough, in a few minutes Chatty Squirrel saw Brushtail lying low in the bushes, and then how he did scold!

"Aha, old Brushtail, I see you hiding in the bushes. Thought I wouldn't see you, didn't you? Thought I wouldn't see you! But I see you, all right. You can't fool Chatty, no siree. Oh, I know you're looking for Doctor Rabbit," and Chatty's tone became angrier at the thought of Brushtail waiting to pounce upon his good friend, Doctor Rabbit. "You're just waiting for Doctor Rabbit to come home and then spring out at him. Get out of here, get out, get out of here!" screamed Chatty.

Brushtail the Fox was angry. Well, I should say he was. He knew that Doctor Rabbit would hear Chatty Red Squirrel's scolding, and would know that he was hiding ready to eat him if he came out of the tree. Brushtail was so angry that he snarled. But he slunk away through the bushes without saying a word to Chatty Red. Brushtail is wise enough to know that there is no use arguing with Chatty Squirrel, for Chatty is altogether too noisy a talker. I should say he is.

When Brushtail slunk away through the bushes, Doctor Rabbit called to Chatty Red Squirrel, but Chatty did not hear him. He had scampered away to another tree, still talking loudly.

Then Doctor Rabbit turned quickly and leaned out of his window to watch Brushtail the Fox. Brushtail was trotting off through the Big Green Woods in a direction in which Doctor Rabbit seldom went. And Doctor Rabbit noticed that he seemed to be afraid someone would see him. He looked on each side of him as he went along, and every now and then he took a big jump sidewise. Doctor Rabbit was certainly interested now, for he believed Brushtail the Fox was going to hide somewhere. Probably he was going to hide in a place where he hid every day.

Yes, sir, Brushtail certainly was cautious now, and he must have jumped to one side as many as five times while Doctor Rabbit was watching him. Then in a little while he reached a part of the woods where the brush and leaves were so thick that Doctor Rabbit could just barely see him as he slipped along.




Two Hunters Come To The Big Green Woods


When Brushtail the Fox slipped into the place where there were so many leafy bushes, it was very hard for Doctor Rabbit to see him from his big tree. Sometimes he lost sight of Brushtail altogether, and then for an instant he would see his long, sharp nose, or his reddish-brown coat, or his big bushy tail. And all the time Brushtail became more and more cautious. He moved so slowly and so quietly among the bushes that Doctor Rabbit had to strain his eyes to see him. Then suddenly Brushtail jumped high up onto the dead limb of a big fallen tree. He walked out on this limb, then jumped far out into a dense thicket and disappeared.

Yes, sir, Brushtail the Fox was gone! Doctor Rabbit stood by his window in the tree and looked and looked. He thought he would presently see a sharp nose or a bushy tail, but he did not. Brushtail was hiding somewhere in that thicket.

"Well! well! well!" Doctor Rabbit exclaimed. "I certainly should like to know what old Brushtail is doing in there. I am positive he is in that thicket. He never could have slipped out without my seeing him. Yes, sir, he's in there. And that's probably where he always hides. Likely enough he has a den in there. I shouldn't be surprised if there are a lot of rocks in there and Brushtail the Fox has a big hole away back under them."

"Well," Doctor Rabbit continued, talking softly to himself, "I'm going to slip out there as near as possible and keep watch and see if I can discover anything more about Brushtail. I must not tell anyone as yet what I have seen. No, if I want to get a lot of information I must just keep still and do the finding out myself. It isn't safe to trust too many people."

Doctor Rabbit ran downstairs and was starting out into the woods to try to get nearer Brushtail's hiding place when he saw something that made him keep still and watch. Farmer Roe and his boy were coming through the woods toward Doctor Rabbit's tree. Just as they went past, Doctor Rabbit heard Farmer Roe say, "Yes, I'm certain that there is a fox in these woods. That was a fox's track we saw in the yard this morning, and that was a fox, I am sure, that took the old white hen last night. Our chickens will be in danger until we get rid of him."

"Do you suppose he hides in these woods in the daytime?" asked Farmer Roe's boy.

"I shouldn't be surprised," replied Farmer Roe. "In fact, I'm pretty sure he hides close by. There is one thing that puzzles me, however, and that is that although Yappy trailed that fox directly from the chicken yard, he lost the trail right in the woods and could not pick it up again. The fox has played some trick, of course," said Farmer Roe, "and we must try and find out what it is. I really shouldn't be surprised," he went on, "if that fox is lying around close enough to see us this minute. We'll just keep watch until we discover his hiding place."




Doctor Rabbit Informs His Friends


Doctor Rabbit did not find out anything more about Brushtail the Fox that day, nor for several days. But it was only a very short time until all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods knew that Brushtail the Fox was around, and they were afraid to poke their noses out of their homes.

Stubby Woodchuck had seen Brushtail three times, and he said Brushtail certainly did look fierce.

"He looked so fierce he took my appetite away for several hours each time I saw him," said Stubby Woodchuck, "and I am sure he looks fully as terrible as Ki-yi Coyote or Tom Wildcat. Yes, sir, we have a very mean and dangerous enemy in Mr. Brushtail, and we must keep watch every minute."

"I wish he'd go away and stay away," said Cheepy Chipmunk, who was always easily frightened.

"But he doesn't expect to leave at all," Doctor Rabbit informed his friends. "He expects to live here in these woods, right along."

"He does!" exclaimed poor Cheepy Chipmunk, his voice trembling with fear. "How do you know he expects to live here?"

"Well," explained Doctor Rabbit, "I have seen quite enough to convince me that Brushtail expects to make his home in the Big Green Woods. In fact, I am in position to know that he has a home here right now. It's all fixed up, and he's living in it. He spends his time there except when he's out hunting us or after one of Farmer Roe's nice fat hens."

"Where is old Brushtail's home?" Stubby Woodchuck and Cheepy Chipmunk demanded in the same breath.

"Sh!" Doctor Rabbit warned his friends. "Don't talk so loud! Brushtail might be hiding so near he could hear every word you say. The fact is, I can't tell you any more at present. It would not help if I told you more, and it might get out so Brushtail would hear of it. Just keep still about what I've said and watch for Brushtail every minute you are out in the woods. In the meantime whenever I get a chance I will hide in a certain place, where I can see him often enough, I think, to discover what his plans are. Then when I find out all I can, I will slip around quietly and tell you."

"I saw Farmer Roe and his boy passing through our woods this morning," Stubby Woodchuck said. "I wonder what they were after?"

"They were after Brushtail," Doctor Rabbit explained. "I heard them talking and I heard them say they were trying to find out where he lives."

"Dear me! I hope they'll run him away so he'll never come back!" said Cheepy Chipmunk, with a troubled look.

"They'll probably have to find out first where he lives," said Doctor Rabbit, "and I believe that is going to be pretty hard for them to do. But still, Yappy has a very sharp nose, and in time he may find Brushtail's den."

It was dinner time, so Doctor Rabbit and Stubby Woodchuck and Cheepy Chipmunk separated, each slipping home as quietly as he could.




What Doctor Rabbit Saw


Doctor Rabbit did not see Brushtail the Fox again for several days. Then one morning when the sun came up warm and bright and all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods were feeling very happy, Doctor Rabbit decided that he would try again. He made up his mind to slip over to that thicket where he had last seen Brushtail, and see what he could discover with his sharp eyes.

There were a good many briar patches along the way, and Doctor Rabbit kept as near these as possible, so he was safe, even though the way was a little longer. You can be very sure, too, that Doctor Rabbit kept his eyes wide open all the time. But he did not see the least sign of Brushtail the Fox, and decided that he was probably somewhere in that dense thicket.

"Perhaps," thought Doctor Rabbit, "old Brushtail is in there right now eating a chicken he has stolen from Farmer Roe."

Now the very thought of getting any nearer that thicket made Doctor Rabbit tremble with fear. Still, there was a fine big briar patch close to the thicket, and Doctor Rabbit decided he would run for this. He had hidden in that briar patch several times from various enemies, and was familiar with every inch of it. He knew he would be safe from Brushtail in the briar patch, and all Brushtail could do if he saw Doctor Rabbit hiding there would be just to wait outside. But he would have to give up in the end, because Doctor Rabbit never would come out of a briar patch so long as an enemy was waiting for him.

Doctor Rabbit got all ready, and then he ran for that briar patch. He ran as hard as he could and dived into the briar patch just as if Brushtail were very close behind him, because, you see, it might be that Brushtail was very close. Then Doctor Rabbit crept to the center of the briar patch and sat down. He decided that if necessary he would stay in the briar patch all day and watch. He knew Brushtail the Fox had some kind of a secret in that thicket -- a den or something -- else he never would have been so careful about getting into it.

Doctor Rabbit waited for about two hours, and he was already getting tired when all of a sudden he sat as still as a stone. In fact, he sat so perfectly still that I doubt if you could have seen him even if you had been looking right at him.

The reason why Doctor Rabbit sat still so quickly was that he saw a movement in the leafy thicket. Presently the bushes parted, and who do you suppose came out? No, it was not Brushtail -- it was Mrs. Brushtail! And now Doctor Rabbit knew exactly why Brushtail had been so careful about getting into that thicket. It was Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail's home. And it was here, of course, that Farmer Roe's hens were disappearing, and this was where Doctor Rabbit and Stubby Woodchuck and all their friends would go if they didn't watch out! Yes, sir! This was where a great many of the little creatures of the Big Green Woods would disappear if Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail did not leave. While Doctor Rabbit was looking at Mrs. Brushtail she yawned, showing all of her long, sharp teeth. Although he was safe in the briar patch, Doctor Rabbit trembled. He was a little too close to old Mrs. Brushtail to feel quite comfortable.




Mrs. Brushtail Gets A Hen


Of course Doctor Rabbit was greatly surprised to see Mrs. Brushtail in the thicket. And still, after he thought about it, he was not so surprised either. You see, it was spring and just the time of year for Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail to find themselves a new home if they needed one.

Mrs. Brushtail stood there looking about in every direction with her sharp eyes. Then she gave a great spring and landed on the limb of the fallen tree. She walked along the limb until she came to the end of it, and then jumped, as Brushtail had done, as far out as she could, only Mrs. Brushtail did not jump toward the thicket, she jumped away from it. She stood again looking all around and listening for a minute, then trotted away through the woods toward Farmer Roe's, and was soon out of sight.

Doctor Rabbit thought to himself, "Mrs. Brushtail is going over to the edge of the woods nearest to Farmer Roe's. She's going to hide there and see if some foolish hen doesn't come out into the woods to hunt bugs and grasshoppers."

And he made up his mind that as long as he was safe he would just wait where he was and see if Mrs. Brushtail would come back.

Well, he did not have to wait very long. As he sat in the briar patch listening, he heard a terrible cackling over toward the edge of the woods nearest Farmer Roe's. It sounded as if chickens were very much frightened and were running in every direction. In a short time Doctor Rabbit saw Mrs. Brushtail coming through the woods. And sure enough, she had one of Farmer Roe's big white hens in her mouth.

Mrs. Brushtail held the hen by the neck, and after making a wide circle and jumping to one side as far as she could she came to the fallen tree. When she looked up at the high limb she seemed puzzled. You see, she could not jump so high with the hen. But she was pretty wise. She laid the hen upon the trunk of the tree, then jumped upon the limb above, and reaching down, picked up the hen and walked out along the limb toward the leafy thicket. Then she sprang into the thicket and disappeared.

How Doctor Rabbit did want to see the inside of that thicket! And what made him all the more curious was that he was certain he heard a number of growls after Mrs. Brushtail disappeared in there. And the growls did not sound like Mrs. Brushtail's voice, or like Brushtail's either.

Yes, sir, there was something very interesting going on in that thicket, and Doctor Rabbit made up his mind he must see what it was, if possible. He wondered where Brushtail was. Doctor Rabbit disliked to go any nearer the thicket unless he knew where that sly old fox was.

"But," he said to himself, "likely enough Mr. Brushtail is in the thicket with Mrs. Brushtail and is helping her eat that chicken. Anyway, it's only a little distance to that tree with a hole in the base and a lot of prickly vines around it. I'm going to run for it! The distance is so short that Brushtail would not have time to get me even if he saw me. I'll get to the tree, and if Brushtail should come after me I'll run into the hole at the base of the tree. I'll find out about old Brushy before he knows it. And the first thing they know they will be going out of these woods in a hurry. But I must be very, very careful. I should say I must! I must watch every second. My, how those animals in that thicket do growl! It sounds almost as if they were quarreling."




Brushtail The Fox Finds Some Pieces Of Cheese


Doctor Rabbit was just ready to run to the tree with the prickly vines around it when he crouched low and sat very still again. He heard somebody coming through the woods. Pretty soon he saw that it was Farmer Roe.

The farmer stopped when he got close to the briar patch and muttered to himself, "Every spring I have to rid these woods of a fox or two. I guess I'll just put out a little bait for them and see how that will work."

As soon as Doctor Rabbit heard Farmer Roe coming through the woods he noticed that everything in the thicket grew very quiet. I should say it did! There was not the least sound in there -- not a single growl. And there Farmer Roe stood within twenty feet of the home of Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail without ever dreaming of it.

Farmer Roe had gloves on, and he held a number of pieces of cheese on one hand. He put several of these pieces of cheese under the fallen tree. Right near the thicket he placed some more cheese, partly under some dead leaves. Then Farmer Roe went around placing the cheese here and there where he thought the fox would be most likely to find it. After a time he put the last piece of cheese under an old log.

Then he straightened up and said, "There, now! That ought to fix him, or both of them, if there are two instead of one. I'm glad Yappy has been trained not to eat anything he finds out in the woods," he added, "for this bait would be the end of him, too! And that would never do."

And Farmer Roe walked back through the woods toward his house. After a while the sound of his heavy footsteps died away.

Everything in the thicket was perfectly still. There was not a sound. Doctor Rabbit waited and listened. Then he heard a movement inside the thicket. Presently Mrs. Brushtail came out, sat down, and looked in the direction Farmer Roe had taken. While she sat there Mr. Brushtail came trotting up from somewhere out in the woods. Doctor Rabbit heard the two talking very rapidly and excitedly, but they talked so low he could not understand what they said. He wanted very much to know what they said, but what interested him still more was that he again heard those growls in the thicket. He wondered who it could be, since neither Brushtail nor Mrs. Brushtail was in there now.

Well, after Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail had talked for a while, Brushtail went right up to the old dead log where Farmer Roe had placed some of the cheese. Doctor Rabbit was delighted, for he thought this would be the end of Brushtail the Fox. And we can't blame Doctor Rabbit or think him cruel, either, for hoping so. You see, Doctor Rabbit, being a doctor, knew at once that Farmer Roe had poisoned that cheese. Yes, sir, he had put poison in it for Mr. Fox. And if Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail should eat just one of those pieces of cheese it would certainly cause their death.

But Doctor Rabbit was certainly surprised at what happened. Brushtail took the piece of cheese carefully in his mouth and carried it to a small hole a little distance away. Then he hunted around until he found every piece of poisoned cheese Farmer Roe had put out. And each time he found a piece of cheese he did just what he did with the first piece: he carried it to that hole and dropped it in. When he had finished he stood and looked down at all those pieces of cheese. Then he began scratching leaves and dirt into the hole. Once in a while he would turn around and look down into the hole and laugh. Then he would turn his back again, and just make the leaves and dirt fly into that hole.

Well, he scratched and scratched and scratched until there was not a bit of cheese anywhere to be seen. The hole was full of leaves and dirt, so you never could have found it. Mrs. Brushtail came out and smiled at Brushtail, and both of them looked at Farmer Roe's house and laughed and laughed.

But Doctor Rabbit was not pleased. I should say he wasn't pleased, and he wondered how these two terrible creatures would ever be driven away from the woods. And he wondered more than ever who it was that kept growling in the thicket.




The Growlers Come Out Of The Thicket


After Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail had gone back into the thicket, Doctor Rabbit wanted to run home. He surely was uncomfortable so near to Brushtail and Mrs. Brushtail.

"And still," he thought to himself, "since I am here, I'll just stay a little longer and discover all I can."

Well, the growling went on for a while in the thicket, and then something happened that certainly surprised Doctor Rabbit. Mrs. Brushtail came out into the open with Farmer Roe's chicken, partly eaten, and she was followed by four little foxes!

Mrs. Brushtail dropped the chicken on the ground for the little foxes, and then she sprang upon a log and just lay there and watched them. Mr. Fox trotted off into the woods again.

"He's probably going after another hen," thought Doctor Rabbit, "or after Stubby Woodchuck or Chatty Red Squirrel or any of us he can catch." And Doctor Rabbit hoped all his little friends would be on the lookout.

While Mrs. Brushtail lay up on the log and looked on proudly, how the little foxes did pull at that dead chicken and growl!

"And so there are the growlers I heard in the thicket!" Doctor Rabbit thought to himself.

Those little foxes might have looked pretty to some people, they were so young and so playful and so funny; but they did not look pretty to Doctor Rabbit. Indeed they did not. They looked like four terrible monsters. Their little eyes snapped like the eyes of terrible little savages, and their tiny teeth, sharp as needles, pulled feathers and sank into the chicken.

It was certainly true that Mrs. Brushtail was teaching her very small children how to eat chicken, and as she lay on the log and watched them, she seemed perfectly satisfied with them.

After the little foxes had growled and pulled at the chicken for a good while, Brushtail was seen coming through the woods with something in his mouth. Then suddenly Doctor Rabbit became almost sick with fear. He thought for a second that Brushtail had caught Stubby Woodchuck, but it proved to be no one but a large and ugly old woodrat that had lately grown so cross and savage that all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods were afraid of him.

Doctor Rabbit was very glad indeed that it was that particular old woodrat, because he had really become dangerous.

Brushtail dropped the woodrat down before the little foxes, and how they did did begin pulling and biting him! Mrs. Brushtail up on the log smiled ever so broadly at this. But it was not a pleasing smile to Doctor Rabbit, hiding in the briar patch. I should say not! It was a terrible smile.

The next instant Yappy came tearing through the woods, right toward the thicket, and Doctor Rabbit had a moment of hope. But Mrs. Brushtail just uttered one quick, low growl, and every little fox scurried into the thicket. That time Doctor Rabbit had a good view of the inside of the thicket, and he saw what became of the foxes. They went into a hole under some rocks by a large papaw bush. "So that," said Doctor Rabbit to himself, "is where Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail and their little Brushies have their den."

Brushtail did not run into the thicket with Mrs. Brushtail and the little foxes. When he saw Yappy coming toward the thicket he ran right toward the excited dog and then hid behind another thicket. When Yappy came near, Brushtail sprang right out, and away he ran. Yappy bayed loudly, and away he went through the woods after Brushtail. You see now what Brushtail was doing -- he was leading Yappy away from that den of little foxes!




Jack Rabbit Sprains His Foot


When Mrs. Brushtail and the four little Brushies ran into the hole in the thicket and Father Brushtail ran away through the woods with Yappy in hot pursuit, Doctor Rabbit decided he had better be going. He had discovered a great deal anyway, and now he wanted to find some of his friends and tell them about it.

Doctor Rabbit decided first to go over to the Wide Prairie and see his friend Jack Rabbit. Doctor Rabbit was not much afraid to cross the Wide Prairie, now that Ki-yi Coyote was gone and Brushtail the Fox was busy, for the time at least.

Doctor Rabbit had not been over to see Jack Rabbit's family for a long time, and he was considerably surprised to find Jack Rabbit laid up with a sprained foot. Jack Rabbit said he had sprained his foot the day before while running from some terrible creature that looked somewhat like Ki-yi Coyote and just a little like a dog, but not exactly like either of them.

"He had a large, bushy tail," Jack Rabbit explained, "and his coat was a reddish-brown color. He jumped out from behind some bunch grass and came at me so swiftly that I jumped and turned quickly. And that was how I sprained my foot. He certainly is a fierce and dangerous creature, and I wondered if any of the rest of you had seen him," Jack Rabbit concluded.

"Indeed we have," Doctor Rabbit replied. "I'll bandage your foot now," he continued, "and then we can talk about this new enemy. Mrs. Jack Rabbit," Doctor Rabbit said looking at her over his gold glasses, "I'll thank you for that bottle of chloroform liniment I left here some time ago."

Mrs. Jack Rabbit brought out the bottle of liniment, and after Doctor Rabbit had bathed Jack Rabbit's foot with some of the liniment he bandaged it quite snugly.

"That feels fine!" said Jack Rabbit, getting right up and standing on all four feet. "I'm so glad you came over, Doctor. That foot feels so good I know I can dance a little jig!"

And Jack Rabbit started to dance a little, but he said, "Ouch!" right away, and everybody laughed, even Jack Rabbit. His foot was not quite well enough for dancing.

Then Doctor Rabbit said, "I told you some of the rest of us had seen that same animal that chased you, Jack Rabbit. I am sure it was the same animal, from the way you describe him. It is Brushtail the Fox. He has just lately moved into the Big Green Woods, and intends to make his home there right along. What makes the matter worse for all of us is that not only has Mr. Brushtail come, but he has brought his whole family!"

"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Jack Rabbit. "I thought one of them was enough. But all of them -- well, that makes it pretty serious for us."

"But it might be worse," said Doctor Rabbit, who always sees the bright side of everything. "You see," he continued, "four of those foxes are so small that they are harmless. Besides, Farmer Roe and his boy are on the lookout for that whole Fox family, and they may get rid of them in a very short time. I thought once," Doctor Rabbit continued, "of letting Yappy run me right to that thicket where the Fox family lives. But if I did, Brushtail or Mrs. Brushtail would surely be right there to lead Yappy away off into the woods. No, if Farmer Roe or his boy doesn't stumble onto their den, I'll have to think up some way myself to get rid of that Fox family. I'll bring my imagination into play," said Doctor Rabbit smilingly, and somewhat proudly, too.

"What does 'magination' mean, sir?" little Billy Rabbit asked wonderingly.

"It means," said Doctor Rabbit, "that you must think and think and think until you think out something quite new."

Then Doctor Rabbit patted all the little rabbits on the head, except Billy Rabbit whom he chucked under the chin, as he bade them all a very pleasant good morning.

"Keep a sharp lookout, and don't worry," Doctor Rabbit said with a smile as he left. "If Farmer Roe does not get rid of that Fox family, I'll think out some way myself."

And he ran like a gray streak back across the Wide Prairie toward the Big Green Woods.




Doctoring Little Thomas Woodchuck


The next morning quite early Doctor Rabbit received a call to visit a new Woodchuck family that had recently moved into the north part of the Big Green Woods. Doctor Rabbit told Father Woodchuck, who came over after him, that he would be along in a very few moments. Then he shut the door and began to get ready.

Doctor Rabbit always dressed with especial care when he was called to a new family. He got out his silk hat and brushed it carefully. He curled his mustache until it looked just right. Then he put on his finest pair of gold glasses, which he kept laid away for such occasions.

He looked very handsome, I can tell you, in his new blue coat, his bright red trousers, and his finest pair of soft white shoes. He surely did.

Doctor Rabbit was ready. He picked up his best medicine case, filled with the finest of medicines, and started toward the home of the new family of Woodchucks.

When Doctor Rabbit reached the place he found it was one of the youngsters who was sick. In fact, it was Thomas Woodchuck, the pet of the family. His name was not just Tommy; it was Thomas, and everybody called him that. Doctor Rabbit sat down by the bed and said, "Let me see your tongue, Thomas." You see, Doctor Rabbit had asked what Thomas' name was. He always did this. It helped the children not to feel afraid of him.

Little Thomas Woodchuck put out his tongue.

"I see! I see! That will do, Thomas," said Doctor Rabbit cheerfully. "Your tongue is badly coated. Your pulse is pretty rapid, too."

Then Doctor Rabbit thumped all around over little Thomas Woodchuck, just as the men doctors thump around over little boys and girls when they are sick. Only Doctor Rabbit did not have to thump so long. He could always find out in a hurry what was the trouble.

Doctor Rabbit looked very wisely over his fine gold glasses at all the rest of the family who were standing about and said, "Mr. and Mrs. Woodchuck, your son has some stomach trouble from eating too many of those raw peanuts Farmer Roe has stored in his cob house!"

Well, sir, that was exactly the truth. They all wondered how Doctor Rabbit knew what Thomas had eaten. But Doctor Rabbit just had his eyes open, and put two and two together. He knew the peanuts were in Farmer Roe's cob house because he had taken a few of them himself now and then. And then he saw a lot of peanut hulls right under the cover of the bed where little Thomas Woodchuck lay.

"Thomas," said Doctor Rabbit, laughing, "you must not eat so many of those peanuts. Why, there will be none left for me!"

Then little Thomas Woodchuck and the whole family laughed, and they all felt better. But Doctor Rabbit gave Thomas three big black pills and told him to swallow them all at once. Thomas did, and they were so bitter he tried to spit them out after he had swallowed them, but he could not do it, of course, and so they went right to work curing him.

"You will be quite well tomorrow, Thomas," Doctor Rabbit said cheerfully, and the whole Woodchuck family breathed easier.

Then Mrs. Woodchuck said, "Doctor, I hear two terrible foxes have come into our woods."

Doctor Rabbit frowned at Mrs. Woodchuck to make her keep still about the foxes near Thomas, for fear he might be frightened. He was always very careful about this when visiting his patients. "Well, I must be going. Goodbye, Thomas," Doctor Rabbit said, just as if he had not heard Mrs. Woodchuck.

Then when he was out in the kitchen he whispered very low to Father and Mother Woodchuck: "Yes, two terrible foxes have come into the Big Green Woods, but I did not want Thomas to hear. But don't you worry, Mrs. Woodchuck," Doctor Rabbit went on, because he saw how troubled she looked, "don't you worry a bit, I thought of a scheme to get rid of Ki-yi Coyote and also of Tom Wildcat, and if Farmer Roe does not get rid of Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail, I will. Good morning!" And Doctor Rabbit slipped out of the door and was gone.




Listening To The Brushtails


It was a mighty good thing that Doctor Rabbit kept a sharp lookout on his way home from the Woodchuck house. If he had not been watching he might have run right into Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail, who stood talking behind a large elm tree.

Doctor Rabbit heard them and saw them at the same time. He was so close that he was afraid even to run. So he crept noiselessly under a dense leafy thicket near at hand. Doctor Rabbit was pretty badly scared, because there was not a briar patch anywhere near. So he did the safest thing. He crouched down on the ground, kept still, and listened.

Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail, talking behind the tree, never dreamed, of course, that there was anybody close by listening. They talked pretty softly, but Doctor Rabbit was so near that he could hear every word they said. Brushtail was talking. "Yes," he said, "that dog has a very sharp nose, and he is bound to find our den sooner or later. So I think, Mrs. Fox, we had better move you and the children clear out of these woods. I'll take you to a new den in the woods away off up the river. There is not much in the way of rabbits and woodchucks and chickens up there, but I'll keep on spending most of my time down here. You see, I can catch the rabbits and woodchucks and chickens, and carry them up to you."

"Very well, dear," said Mrs. Brushtail, "I think that is an excellent plan. When shall we move?"

"This very day," Brushtail said. "We'll get the young foxes right away and start off with them. The sooner we get them out of here, the better it will be for all of us."

Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail trotted off toward the thicket in which they had their den. Doctor Rabbit was still a little scared, but he believed he would follow at a distance and see for himself whether Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail actually did move the little foxes.

Mr. and Mrs. Brushtail went into the thicket, and in a very short time came out again. And sure enough, each of them carried a little fox by the back of its neck.

They walked across the shallow Murmuring Brook and laid the two little Brushies down on the other side in a thicket. Then they came back and carried the other two little Brushies over in the same way.

As they went past him this last time Doctor Rabbit heard Brushtail say to Mrs. Brushtail, "You can just wait with them in the thicket on the other side of Murmuring Brook until I carry two of them up the river to the new den. When I come back we can carry the other two."

You see, foxes can carry their baby Foxes by the back of the neck and not hurt them at all.

Well, Doctor Rabbit was glad and hungry at the same time. He now hurried right over to the nice, tender blue grass under the big sycamore tree. There he found Chatty Red Squirrel, Cheepy Chipmunk, and quite a number of his other friends, who all wanted to know at once if Doctor Rabbit had found out anything more about Mr. Fox. Doctor Rabbit did know a great deal, as you know, and he told his friends he would tell them. But he added that he was so hungry he would have to eat while he talked. Doctor Rabbit is a great person to eat grass, anyway.

"It seems as though I never can get enough!" he said every now and then.




Doctor Rabbit Tells Some Good News


Chatty Red Squirrel, Cheepy Chipmunk, and all the rest of Doctor Rabbit's friends who were gathered under the big sycamore tree were certainly very happy when Doctor Rabbit told them that Mrs. Brushtail and all the little Brushies were leaving the Big Green Woods for good.

"As the matter stands now," Doctor Rabbit said, "we've nobody but Brushtail to look out for. But he's surely enough! I should say he is! And if Farmer Roe does not get him soon, I'm going to keep right on thinking of some plan to get him out of here. We can't scare him as we did Tom Wildcat. Brushtail is too cunning for that. He'd just laugh at us if we painted signs and put them up on our doors, no matter what was painted on the signs. I heard Brushtail tell Mrs. Brushtail that he would not live in that thicket any more. He said he would get himself a new den not far off and probably a little nearer to the Murmuring Brook. So you see we could not lead Yappy to Brushtail now if we wanted to. And I am afraid Yappy will be a good while in finding Brushtail's new den. I may find it," Doctor Rabbit continued, "but I'd never risk trying to lead Yappy to it, and Jack Rabbit has a sprained foot, so he can't. But from the way he talked to me, I don't think he'd be willing to try it even if his foot weren't sprained."

Brushtail the Fox seized her by the neck

"Possibly," suggested Chatty Red Squirrel, "Brushtail will not have a fallen tree near his new den, nor any other way of making Yappy lose the trail. And possibly Yappy will smell along old Brushtail's trail and find him right in his den."

"Don't you ever think Brushtail will be foolish enough to walk straight along the ground to his den," said Doctor Rabbit. "He's far too wise for that, no matter where his den is. No, sir, he will make big jumps sidewise and walk back on his trail and walk in big circles, and better still, walk for a distance in the Murmuring Brook. Ah! he'll do a whole lot of things before he goes into his den. Of course," Doctor Rabbit said softly, "it is possible Farmer Roe may trap old Brushtail. I saw him working with a trap only this morning."




A Foolish Old Hen


Several days after Doctor Rabbit had talked to his friends under the big sycamore tree he was hopping along near the edge of the Big Green Woods when he saw Brushtail the Fox hiding behind a tree and looking toward Farmer Roe's house.

Doctor Rabbit crept under a big brush pile and looked in the same direction. What do you suppose Brushtail was watching? Well, he was looking at a big Plymouth Rock hen coming across the field right toward the place where he lay hidden.

Now, if Doctor Rabbit had had something better than a brush pile to hide under, he might have made some sort of noise and warned the hen. But if he had made the least sound, Brushtail would have come diving under that brush pile in a second, for he isn't afraid of brush piles as he is of briar patches.

Pretty soon the hen reached the woods. She stretched up her neck and looked around, but not seeing anything she started into the woods for some crickets. She had gone only a few steps when Brushtail the Fox bounded out, seized her by the neck, and ran off through the Big Green Woods.

Doctor Rabbit followed along behind, going hoppity, hoppity, hoppity, and presently he saw Brushtail splashing along in the Murmuring Brook. He was trotting along in the brook for a distance, for, you see, a hound cannot smell a fox's tracks in the water; and so Yappy could not track him.

Doctor Rabbit stopped and looked.

He saw Brushtail finally cross to the other side of the Murmuring Brook. Brushtail then turned and looked back to see if anybody was following him. He did not see anyone, so, still holding the dead hen in his mouth, he trotted out of sight among the trees.

Of course Doctor Rabbit knew what Brushtail was going to do. He was going to take that hen up the river to Mrs. Brushtail and the little Brushies.

When Brushtail had passed out of sight, Doctor Rabbit did not go home at once. No, he sat down to think. He was trying to think out a way to drive old Brushtail out of the Big Green Woods. He sat there and thought ever and ever so long. Sometimes he thought so hard he scratched his head without knowing it. At other times he curled his mustache.

So he thought and thought, but after a long time he said he would have to give it up for this time. He was not discouraged, for he could tell from the various things he had thought of that something would turn up after a while to help him work out a plan that would get rid of Brushtail the Fox. That was one fine thing about Doctor Rabbit -- he would not give up. He kept right on trying.

Well, for the next two days Doctor Rabbit was busy doctoring the little Chipmunk children. They had got into Farmer Roe's apple orchard and had eaten a lot of green apples, in spite of the fact that Mother Chipmunk had told Jimmy Chipmunk, her oldest, that he and the rest of the children should not eat green apples.




Doctor Rabbit Lays A Trap


The day after Doctor Rabbit cured the little Chipmunk children, he thought of a new plan for catching Brushtail the Fox, and he decided to try it at once.

Doctor Rabbit knew very well that somehow he must drive Brushtail out of the Big Green Woods. None of the little creatures would be safe for a moment until this was done. Yes, cruel, sly old Brushtail must be driven away, and everything depended on our clever Doctor Rabbit.

As Doctor Rabbit started hopping along through the woods he said quietly to himself, "Of course this scheme I have in mind may not work. But it is worth trying anyway. I won't tell any of my friends about it, and then if I don't catch Brushtail they won't be disappointed. But if I do catch him!"

Right here Doctor Rabbit stopped and laughed and laughed. "My," he continued, "if I do catch him, won't Stubby Woodchuck and Cheepy Chipmunk and all the others be surprised! Well, I should say they will be surprised!"

And Doctor Rabbit went hopping along, chuckling to himself and feeling mighty fine. He is always happy when he has thought of a plan to get rid of some big, cruel animal.

Doctor Rabbit kept going until he came to a part of the Big Green Woods where the Murmuring Brook was widest and deepest. He knew just what he was looking for, too. You see, Farmer Roe's boy had been setting his fishing lines here every night. Each morning he would pull his lines out of the water, take the fish off, and then leave one or two of the lines lying on the bank until evening.

Doctor Rabbit wanted one of these fishing lines, and when he reached the place, sure enough, there was a long, stout fishing line lying right on the ground. There were some hooks on the end of the line, but Doctor Rabbit did not want these, so with his sharp teeth he cut them off. Then he picked up the line and took it some distance away to a big thicket. Here Doctor Rabbit began making a loop in one end of that fishing line and chuckling as he worked.

Well, in just a little while he had that loop all fixed. Then he spread out the loop, which was made so it would slip, on a nice patch of open ground near the thicket. The other end of the line he hid in the thicket. Then he went over to the edge of the Murmuring Brook. He moved along the edge of the brook and watched ever so carefully. Now what do you suppose Doctor Rabbit was looking for this time? Well, sir, he was looking for a live fish. He saw several and made a grab for them, but they all got away. But Doctor Rabbit is very patient, and presently he seized a nice one and carried it, wiggling in his mouth, back to the loop he had made in that line. He dropped the small fish in the center of the loop. The fish didn't jump much now; it only wiggled and flapped its tail a little, and that was just what Doctor Rabbit wanted it to do.

He ran into the thicket where the other end of the line was and waited for Brushtail the Fox to come along.

As Doctor Rabbit waited and listened he heard footsteps approaching. He peeped out to see who it was. It wasn't Brushtail at all; it was Ray Coon. And my, you should have seen Mr. Coon run for that fish when he saw it!

"Hurrah!" Ray Coon shouted. "Some one has lost a fish. Here's my breakfast right here!"

And he was just about to pounce upon the fish when he was almost scared out of his wits by Doctor Rabbit calling out, "Boo! Let that fish alone, Neighbor! I put it there to catch Brushtail the Fox! Come here, into the thicket."

And so Ray Coon, looking rather foolish, went into the thicket where Doctor Rabbit was hiding.

"Keep right still!" Doctor Rabbit whispered to his friend. "I was going to try to catch old Brushtail all by myself," he continued, "but now that you have happened along you'd better stay, for I may need some help."

"How are you going to catch him, Doctor Rabbit?" Ray Coon asked. And Doctor Rabbit just pointed one foot out toward the loop and the squirming fish. Then Ray Coon understood, and how he did chuckle! He was just as much amused as was Doctor Rabbit and they both laughed and laughed, but they had to be very quiet, of course, because at any minute Brushtail might come along.

Suddenly Doctor Rabbit peeked out and whispered, "Sh! sh! Keep as still as anything! There comes old Brushy now. And yes, he's coming this way!"




Brushtail The Fox Is Almost Caught


Doctor Rabbit and Ray Coon kept perfectly quiet in the thicket and watched Brushtail the Fox as he came creeping along. When he saw the fish lying in that loop, my, how wide Brushtail's eyes did open! The fish jumped and squirmed just enough to make Brushtail want it very badly. He was so delighted that he stood up on his hind legs and danced toward the fish.

"Ha! ha!" he laughed. "It was probably old Bald Eagle who flew over the woods and dropped his fish! Ha! ha! ha! That's luck for me -- a fine fish for breakfast. And I did not have to get my feet wet to catch it." Then Brushtail began to sing:

"Great flying Bald Eagle caught a fish, And flew away to eat him; But down it fell through green treetops, And Brushy Fox will cheat him!"

Brushtail finished his song and jumped for the fish. He jumped, of course, right into that loop Doctor Rabbit had made in the stout fishing cord. Well, sir, just as soon as Brushtail's feet touched the ground inside that loop, Doctor Rabbit and Ray Coon jerked the line as quickly and as firmly as they could. The loop slipped up and caught Brushtail around the body. My, but he was surprised and scared! I should say he was! He forgot the fish instantly, and he yelled ever so loud, "Let me go," although he did not know, of course, just what it was that had caught him.

The way he yelled and started pulling to get away was so funny that Doctor Rabbit and Ray Coon laughed until they could scarcely hold the line.

They wrapped the line around their paws and held on as hard as ever they could. And my, how Brushtail did dig his claws into the ground and pull!

When he found he couldn't free himself he was more frightened than ever and shouted (because, you see, he could not see what held him), "You let go of me, you old ghost, or goblin man! You let go of me or I'll claw you to pieces! Let go of me or I'll come back there and pull all your hair out, and I'll throw you in the briars so far you'll never get out and they will stick you forever!"

And all the time Brushtail was talking this he was digging his claws into the ground and pulling with all his might.

Doctor Rabbit could not have held him alone, but Ray Coon is pretty plump and stout, and he helped a great deal. But Brushtail pulled so hard that he pulled them right out of the thicket before they knew it!

Doctor Rabbit was so anxious to hold Brushtail that he cried right out, "Hold him, Ray Coon! Hold on to him! Hold on to him!"

Then Doctor Rabbit saw his mistake, for when Brushtail the Fox heard that voice he stopped pulling and turned around quickly. When he turned toward them, Ray Coon seized the fish, and he and Doctor Rabbit ran for their lives. And Brushtail was close behind them.

Doctor Rabbit skipped away as easily as could be, and Ray Coon, with the fish in his mouth, started up a tree. Brushtail ran for Ray Coon and gave a big spring for him. He almost got him, too, for he bit him on the hind foot. But Ray Coon managed to get up on a limb just out of reach. Brushtail was so angry at losing the fish and being completely fooled that he jumped several times as high as he could, but he could not jump quite high enough. So Ray Coon just sat there and ate that fish right before Brushtail's eyes.

"This is an extra good fish," Ray Coon called down, as he gobbled it up. "It's extra good, Brushy. But you didn't want it anyway, did you? Ha! ha! ha!"

Then old Brushtail was angrier than before. He pulled the loop off of his body with his teeth and snarled, "All right for this time -- you and that big fat rabbit fooled me. He's pretty clever, but he'll not fool me again. And the next time I'll get both of you. I'll eat rabbit and coon both at one meal. In about three days I'll get both of you!" And with an angry growl old Brushtail the Fox went off into the woods.

After a while Doctor Rabbit ventured out of his hiding place and hopped over to the tree which Ray Coon had climbed.

"Brushtail has gone off toward the Murmuring Brook," Doctor Rabbit said. "Come on down and let me doctor your foot where he bit you. I see it's bleeding a little."

Ray Coon came right down and laughed as he said, "My foot isn't hurt much, Doctor, and it will soon be well if you put some of your yellow salve on it."

"Of course it will," Doctor Rabbit agreed, as he took some salve from his medicine case.

He bandaged Ray's foot in a few minutes. But all the time that he was bandaging it, he kept a sharp lookout for Brushtail.

"He's very sly," Doctor Rabbit said, "and I am certain that right this minute he is planning some scheme to catch us or some of our friends."

"That's so," Ray Coon replied, looking at the bushes around him somewhat nervously. "I do wish," he continued, "that we could think of some plan to get rid of him for good. Then we could live happily and have our fun as we used to do."

"Don't you worry, Neighbor Coon," Doctor Rabbit chuckled as he picked up his medicine case and looked at Ray Coon over his big glasses. "Don't you worry," he repeated, "I'll have a plan all in good time, and right now I'm going in the direction he went, to see what he is up to!"

Ray Coon seemed a little nervous again as he said, "Well, do be careful, whatever you do, Doctor, because he looked terribly cruel, you remember."

"Ha! ha! ha!" jolly Doctor Rabbit laughed as he started away, waving a paw at Ray Coon, "I'll take care of myself -- never fear. And I'll take care of old Brushy Fox, too! Ha! ha! ha! Yes, I'll see what he's doing now. Perhaps I shall catch him right away." And Doctor Rabbit slipped away in the direction in which Brushtail had gone.




An Exciting Chase


You remember that Doctor Rabbit started out to find Brushtail the Fox and watch him. Well, it was not long before Brushtail was found, and it certainly was exciting for Doctor Rabbit to watch what happened. This is the way it happened. It was Yappy who found Brushtail. Doctor Rabbit was hopping along, looking for Brushtail, when Yappy came tearing through the woods and almost ran into Brushtail.

You see, Brushtail saw Yappy coming, but he thought Yappy would pass by because he had not as yet smelled the trail. These things Brushtail always knows. But Yappy passed so close he smelled fox, and then Brushtail certainly did have to jump and run.

Doctor Rabbit just sprang up on the trunk of a fallen tree to watch the race. All of a sudden he saw Farmer Roe and his boy running toward Yappy, and with them was another big dog which joined in the chase after Brushtail.

"It's a fox! a fox! It's that old fox!" shouted Farmer Roe's boy. "Catch him, Yappy! Catch him! catch him!" The second big hound turned Brushtail back so that he almost ran into Farmer Roe before he saw him.

Farmer Roe threw a stick at Brushtail but missed him.

"Catch him, Yappy, catch him!" shouted Farmer Roe. "He'll steal all my hens if you don't."

Away they all ran after Brushtail the Fox -- Farmer Roe and his boy yelling, and both hounds barking.

"My!" exclaimed Doctor Rabbit as he sat on the fallen tree, "I certainly do hope they'll catch him!"

And just at that moment it looked as if they would catch Brushtail. He was in such a great hurry that in trying to jump across a wide ditch in the woods he fell right into it. And Yappy was almost upon him.

"Yappy's got him!" shouted Farmer Roe's boy. "Yappy's got him!"

But Brushtail was not to be caught so easily. He sprang out of that hole in a flash, and away he ran like the wind.

As Doctor Rabbit watched, Brushtail ran out of sight in the woods, and the barking of the hounds and the voices of Farmer Roe and his boy sounded farther and farther away. Doctor Rabbit sat and waited, for he thought they might turn Brushtail back and run him past the fallen tree. But after a while they seemed farther away than ever, and he could just barely hear Yappy barking on the trail. Doctor Rabbit just sat still and waited. He knew that Brushtail the Fox was one of the slyest creatures in the woods, and he was pretty sure now that he would get away for this time at least.

"I should not be surprised if he came sneaking back right around here. And still," Doctor Rabbit said hopefully, "Yappy may get him. I'll just wait for a time and see what does happen."

Several times as Doctor Rabbit sat there he heard a noise in the bushes near by and each time he looked quickly in that direction. But it must have been the wind blowing the leaves, for he did not see anything.

Once, however, Doctor Rabbit was really startled. A big woodrat ran through some dead leaves and made a good deal of noise. He stopped and looked at Doctor Rabbit and asked, "Are you waiting for some one?"

"Yes," Doctor Rabbit replied, "I'm waiting for Brushtail the Fox; I'm expecting him any time."

"Brushtail the Fox!" exclaimed the Woodrat. "Well, I'm not going to wait for him!" And he hurried away as fast as he could.

Then Doctor Rabbit heard another noise. Some creature was creeping through the bushes not far off. He was coming nearer, too.




The Big Gray Goose Gets Away


Doctor Rabbit sat on the trunk of the fallen tree and never moved a muscle as he listened to the animal creeping through the thicket. Every now and then it would stop, and there was not a sound; then it would move again, and all the time it kept coming nearer and nearer.

Doctor Rabbit has a way of twitching his nose most of the time, but as he sat there he did not even move his nose. No, sir! He was as still as the tree trunk on which he sat. He kept his eyes right on the place from which the sounds of the creeping animal came.

And then his heart gave a thump and beat very fast -- for out of the thicket came old Brushtail himself! He looked all about carefully, and then sat down panting, tired out from his long run.

But after he was somewhat rested, Brushtail got up and grinned. He looked out in the woods in the direction where Yappy and the other hound were still running and barking.

"Ha! ha! ha!" Brushtail chuckled softly. "They've lost my trail. I knew they would when I walked down the Murmuring Brook. Well," he continued, "I'll just look around a bit for something to eat. Perhaps I can find that big fat rabbit."

It happened that Brushtail started right for the fallen tree where Doctor Rabbit sat, and Doctor Rabbit was just about to spring off and run when something else happened. Farmer Roe's big gray goose came near. She was eating some tender green grass blades and never dreamed that a fox was near. But Brushtail saw her and started creeping toward her.

Doctor Rabbit could not bear to see that big gray goose gobbled up, so he shouted as loud as he could, "Look out, Gray Goose! Brushtail the Fox is going to get you! He's coming! He's coming!"

Now, as you may know, a tame goose cannot fly very far, but many of them can fly a short distance, and fly fairly high too. The gray goose was terribly frightened, and instantly began flapping her great wings. She flew just high enough in the air so that Brushtail missed him when he sprang. If the Murmuring Brook had not been near, that gray goose would surely have been caught, because, as I have said, she cannot fly very far; but as it was she managed to fly across the brook. Then she came to the ground again and ran screaming and flapping her wings toward Farmer Roe's. She got out of the woods in a few moments and Brushtail the Fox did not catch her.

Now when Doctor Rabbit shouted, Brushtail turned quickly and saw him, but knowing that he could not catch both of them, he sprang for the gray goose. But Brushtail did not swim across Murmuring Brook. He knew it would take him too long, and he saw that he could not catch the gray goose after all. So he turned from the edge of the brook and started back after Doctor Rabbit.

My, but Brushtail was angry at Doctor Rabbit!

"It was that big fat rabbit that made me miss my dinner!" snarled Brushtail.

"I saw him sitting on that fallen tree. It was he who warned that silly goose!"

And Brushtail ran swiftly to the fallen tree, and darted quickly all around it. He sprang into the near-by thickets and charged under some small brush piles. In fact, he raced around and hunted in every spot where he thought Doctor Rabbit might be hiding, and all the time he kept up an angry growl.

"I'll get him; I'll get him," Brushtail kept snarling. "I'll get that big fat rabbit if it takes me a week!"




Brushtail The Fox Finds The Traps


A few days after Doctor Rabbit had helped Farmer Roe's big gray goose to escape from Brushtail the Fox, Doctor Rabbit saw something that interested him greatly. Farmer Roe was working at something out in the woods. There was a briar patch near by, so Doctor Rabbit crept into this and watched.

Yes, sir! Farmer Roe was actually setting a trap, or rather, he was setting four traps. And he was surely arranging things so that if Brushtail could ever be fooled at all he could be fooled here, or so it seemed, at least. Farmer Roe had chosen a low place in the woods, full of the finest white sand. He staked the traps and set them in the sand, and covered them all over with sand so that they could not be seen. Then he dragged an old cow's head right in the center of the four traps.

Now, you see, it looked just as if some animal had been eating the cow's head and had left it right in that nice fine white sand. And if Mr. Fox should happen along, it looked as if he might try to go right up to that head. Then he would be sure to step into one of those traps!

Well, all the rest of that day and most of the night Doctor Rabbit watched those traps and that cow's head. At last, far along in the night, he heard a noise in the bushes close by. The moon shone very brightly through the trees, and on that patch of white sand and the cow's head. A dark form came slipping out of the shadows and kept coming nearer. Pretty soon Doctor Rabbit saw who it was. It was Brushtail the Fox.

Brushtail sniffed toward the cow's head and said, "Well, well, fresh beef! This is pretty fine!" And he began walking around and around that cow's head. But he seemed a little suspicious, for he did not walk right up to the head. Still, he kept getting closer and closer. And then, all of a sudden, he stumbled over something.

"Hello! What's this!" Brushtail exclaimed. He dug around a little in the sand, then said, "Oho, I see! It's a stake I stumbled over, and here is a chain and -- why sure enough! There's a trap fastened to the chain. Ha! ha! ha! No beef to-night, thank you! I'll just wait. Perhaps some foolish animal will drag that head away and hide it. Then I'll just help myself. Sooner or later I'll get that head!" And Brushtail trotted away.

It was a queer procession!

But he did not go far until he stopped and sniffed again in the direction of the cow's head.

"My!" exclaimed Brushtail, "That meat certainly does smell good, so good that I am almost tempted to go back and try to get it. But I'm afraid. I'll just wait as I said. And I'll get that cow's head as sure as anything."

And laughing to himself because he believed he was so clever, Brushtail stole softly away into the woods.

Well, Brushtail is clever, but some one else was just a bit cleverer, and that was Doctor Rabbit.




Getting Together


Of course Doctor Rabbit was greatly disappointed when Brushtail the Fox discovered that there was a trap set in the sand, because he had thought surely Brushtail would be caught. Then, after Brushtail had gone away, Doctor Rabbit suddenly thought of something. Yes, sir! It came to him in an instant -- a plan to get rid of Brushtail the Fox! And the plan was suggested to Doctor Rabbit by Brushtail's remark, "Perhaps some foolish animal will drag that head away and hide it. Then I'll just help myself."

Well, as soon as it was daylight, Doctor Rabbit hurried right over to Jack Rabbit's, told him what his plan was, and brought Jack Rabbit back with him. Then Doctor Rabbit hurried around through the Big Green Woods telling his friends. He told Stubby Woodchuck, Cheepy Chipmunk, Chatty Red Squirrel, Frisky Grey Squirrel, Robin-the-Red, O. Possum, busy Blue Jay, Jim Crow, and quite a number of others. He asked them all to come about the middle of the forenoon to the place where Farmer Roe had placed the cow's head, as he would need every one of them at about that time.

Immediately Doctor Rabbit and Jack Rabbit hurried away toward Farmer Roe's back lot. They squeezed under a board fence and began looking for something.

"Here it is!" Doctor Rabbit said, picking up a stout piece of rope that had been part of a clothes-line.

"I knew it was in here somewhere," Jack Rabbit said, "for I saw it just yesterday."

"Now," said Doctor Rabbit, "let's go back to the woods and find that slim hickory tree that has a grapevine hanging from the top."

They ran into the woods, and after a little search found the hickory. They hid the rope they had found and hurried over to the cow's head in the sand. There they found all the other little creatures. After a great deal of very careful work, Doctor Rabbit, Jack Rabbit, and O. Possum managed to get the cow's head outside the circle of traps. Then every one of Doctor Rabbit's friends helped to pull and push the cow's head. It was a queer procession!

After quite a while they succeeded in pushing and pulling the cow's head to the slim hickory tree. Doctor Rabbit told them now to push it into a near-by thicket, and they did.

Fat O. Possum exclaimed, "Whew, I'm tired. Now let's eat the head!"

Everybody but O. Possum laughed at that, and Doctor Rabbit said, "No, Brother Possum, not just yet, but you are helping wonderfully, and tomorrow morning I think you can have this head all to yourself. I think we'll be rid of Brushtail the Fox by that time."

Doctor Rabbit now grabbed hold of the grapevine that hung from the top of the hickory, and he and all his friends pulled and pulled until they bent the top of the hickory down to the thicket. Then, while his friends held the tree-top down, Doctor Rabbit made a snare or loop of the rope he had found, and arranged it in the thicket so that if Brushtail got to the cow's head he would have to step through the snare, or slip noose. Finally, Doctor Rabbit tied the tree rather loosely to a small twig of the thicket and told his friends to step back carefully, because the least thing would make the tree fly up as it was before and take that snare with it.




Brushtail The Fox Discovers The Cow's Head


Doctor Rabbit and all his friends stood back and watched to see whether the tree would fly back, but it did not. It held as firm and quiet as could be.

"Now," said Doctor Rabbit, "old Brushy will come back to where that head was, and, seeing it gone, he will naturally think that O. Possum or somebody has dragged it away. So Brushtail will smell along the ground where we have dragged the head, and he will finally find it right here. I have hidden the noose in the thicket so that Mister Fox will not notice it, and he'll walk right in to get that head. In doing so, he'll put his head through that noose and pull on it, trying to get to the head. Well, when Mr. Brushtail pulls, he'll break that slender twig that holds the tree down, because that twig is about ready to break as it is. Then we'll see what'll happen!"

"Let's hurry away now," Doctor Rabbit added. "If foxy Brushtail happened to see all of us here at once he might become suspicious. I'll come back soon and watch, and if anything happens I'll let all of you know at once."

So away went Stubby Woodchuck and O. Possum and all the others, talking quietly yet excitedly, and now and then laughing a little. They said they hoped Brushtail would come soon, and they also said that something just told them away down deep in their hearts that Brushtail was surely going to be caught this time. And all that day they could scarcely eat, they were so eager to know whether Brushtail would get caught in that noose in the thicket.

Doctor Rabbit hid not far from the cow's head and waited all day. Then he went to supper and came quickly back. Pretty soon night came, and the big round moon came up. Along about midnight Doctor Rabbit heard a sound. Pit-a-pat! pit-a-pat! pit-a-pat! Some one was coming along slowly through the woods! Then, as the form came nearer, Doctor Rabbit saw Brushtail the Fox trotting along with his sharp nose to the ground, smelling the trail where that cow's head had been dragged.

Well, sir, Brushtail went right up to the thicket where the noose was. Then he laughed and laughed and laughed.

"Well, well, well!" said Brushtail. "I guess I'm just a little too smart for anybody around these woods. Ha! ha! ha! It's just as I thought. That silly old fat possum or somebody has been foolish enough to walk right in among those traps that Farmer Roe set and drag that head up here. Well, I'll just go on into this thicket and bring that head out and take charge of it myself. There's enough meat to last me several days." And Brushtail started into the thicket.




What Happened To Brushtail The Fox


When Brushtail the Fox started into the thicket to get the cow's head he never dreamed, of course, that there was anything there to catch him. So he plunged right into the thicket. Swish! Up went that tall, slim hickory tree, and Brushtail with it! You never heard such a yell as Brushtail gave. He yelled so loudly that all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods were awakened, and Doctor Rabbit did not have to call them. They all came running toward the place where the snare had been set.

Even Jack Rabbit, away out in the Wide Prairie, heard Brushtail yell, and here came Jack Rabbit running as fast as he could.

In a little time all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods were there. Now, you see, Brushtail had put his front legs through that noose, so that it held him around the body just behind his fore legs. The rope did not hurt him much, although it pulled considerably. So he dangled up there and howled, while all the little creatures below shouted and danced for joy.

Of course, when Brushtail saw all the little creatures come so quickly, he knew a trick had been played upon him, but he was too badly scared to be angry. I should say he was! He was about scared out of his wits when that tree jerked him up into the air, and he was about as badly scared now as ever, because he could not see how he was ever going to get down from there.

"Let me down! Let me down! Let me down!" Brushtail shouted, clawing wildly at the air.

"Oh yes!" said Doctor Rabbit. "I suppose we'll let you down, foxy Brushy. I suppose we know what you would do to us mighty quick if you caught us. Yes, it's likely we'll let you down. Ha! ha! ha!" And Doctor Rabbit and all his friends danced around under the tree and laughed and laughed.

"I'll go out of these woods and never, never, never come back if you'll just let me down!" Brushtail promised; and he really meant it. This was just what Doctor Rabbit was waiting to hear Brushtail say.

But Doctor Rabbit said, "We'll go over to my house for a little while and talk the matter over."

And, with Brushtail begging them to come back and let him down, they all hurried over to Doctor Rabbit's house in the big tree. When they were inside Doctor Rabbit seated them all in his best chairs.

Then he stood up and said, "My friends, I just wanted to have you all come over here and stay until morning. The fact is, that while Brushtail is pretty badly scared, he is not hurt much yet, and we must hurt him, at least a little, or he may forget his promise and come back to our woods. By morning, however, I think he will have learned a lesson he never will forget, and I think he'll keep out."

So they talked and had a good time at Doctor Rabbit's until morning. It was just daylight when they went back to the slim hickory. Brushtail was still hanging there, and when he saw them how he did yell to be let down!

"Very well, Brother Brushy," Doctor Rabbit said, "we'll let you down, and if you ever come back into our woods again -- "

"Oh," yelled Brushtail before Doctor Rabbit could say another word, "I'll never, never, never come back if I can get down. I'd rather live on crickets and bugs all my life than to take chances." But Brushtail did not say any more, because he wanted to get down right away.

"O. Possum," said Doctor Rabbit, "if you'll go up and gnaw that rope in two so that old Brushtail can drop to the ground, you may have that cow's head all for yourself."

"I'll do that," O. Possum said, and he began climbing the tree. Presently O. Possum was above Brushtail, and began gnawing the rope.

"Oh, dear me!" shouted Brushtail after O. Possum had gnawed for a time. "It's an awfully long way to the ground, I'm afraid!"

And then O. Possum got the rope gnawed right in two. Plunk! Brushtail struck the ground. Well, sir, he got right up and started to run. He was so stiff he could not run well at first, but the farther he went the faster he ran. After he got across the Murmuring Brook he went away through the woods on the other side like a streak. I don't know of anything that could have scared Brushtail and made him stay scared as that snare did.

Brushtail the Fox never came around the Big Green Woods after that. Doctor Rabbit and his friends were certainly glad and happy.

<eob>

The Doers

By

William John Hopkins



I

The Digging-Men Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy who was almost five years old. And his mother used to let him wander about the garden and in the road near the house, for there weren't many horses going by, and the men who drove the horses that did go by knew the little boy and they were careful.

So this boy wandered about and played happily by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls. And wherever he went his cat went too.

One morning he saw some men come with a big cart and two horses, and they stopped in a field near his house where there were some queer boards nailed on sticks that were stuck in the ground; and the boards turned corners, and there were strings across from one board to another.

And the men got out of the big cart and unhitched the horses from the cart, and the little boy thought he had better go there and see what they were going to do.

So he went, dragging his cart behind him, with his shovel and his hoe rattling in the bottom of it.

And his cat saw him going, and she ran on ahead with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

And the little boy came to the men and the horses and he stopped and stood still.

And his cat stopped too, but she didn't stand still; she rolled over on her back on the ground and wanted to play, but nobody would pay any attention to her.

Pretty soon one of the men looked down and saw the little boy.

"Hello!" he said.

"Hello," said the little boy. "What are you going to do?"

"Why," said the man, "we're going to dig dirt."

"Are you going to dig a hole?" the little boy asked.

"Yes," said the man; "a great big hole."

"And what is the hole for?" the little boy asked. "Is it to plant something in?"

"No," said the man, "it's going to be the cellar of a house."

"Oh," said the little boy, "is it? And do you think I could help you dig? I've got my shovel and my cart."

"I'm afraid," said the man, "that it wouldn't do. You see that great scoop?"

He pointed to a big iron scoop that was in the cart.

The little boy looked and nodded.

"Is that a scoop? What is it for?"

"The horses drag it, and a man takes hold of those two handles like plough-handles, and it scoops the dirt right up."

The little boy nodded again.

"You can watch us if you want to," the man said then. "But you must be careful not to get in the way of the horses."

"And can my kitty watch too?"

The man laughed and said his kitty could watch if she wanted to.

And the other men took pickaxes out of the cart, the handles of the pickaxes and their iron heads, and each man slipped the head of his pickaxe over the handle and gave it a tap on the ground to drive the head on.

And they walked slowly in under the strings between the boards and they got in a line.

And the little boy sat down on a stone that was just the right size and watched them. His cat came and got right between his feet.

Then the man at the end of the line raised his pickaxe high above his head, and the next man did the same, and then the third man, and so on to the other end of the line.

And the first man struck his pickaxe down hard into the ground, and it made the ground grunt, Mnh!

And the second man did the same, and the ground gave another grunt, Mnh!

And then the third man did the same thing, and so on to the other end of the line.

Then the first man was ready again, so that the sound of the pickaxes was as regular as the ticking of the tall clock.

When the pickaxe was in the ground, each man gave a kind of a pry that loosened the dirt.

And when they had picked, the men went ahead a little short step and picked a new place and left the loosened dirt behind, so that, pretty soon, they were walking on the dirt that they had loosened.

The cat had got tired of lying between the little boy's feet and having no attention paid to her, so she got up and ran off a little way, and stopped and looked back, but the little boy wouldn't look.

So she walked back, with her bushy tail straight up in the air, and rubbed against the little boy's legs.

Still the little boy didn't notice her. And the reason why he didn't notice her was that the horses were being hitched to the big iron scoop.

As soon as the horses were hitched to the scoop, they started walking along; and the scoop turned right over on its face, upside down, because the man didn't have hold of the handles.

And the horses dragged the scoop, upside down, and it bumped over the stones and made a ringing kind of noise, and they dragged it in between the boards and over the dirt that had been loosened by the pickaxes, and when they got to the end of the loosened dirt, they stopped.

Then the man turned the horses around, and he took hold of the handles of the scoop and turned it over; and he kept hold of the handles, and the horses started, and the scoop dug into the loose dirt and scooped it right up and carried it along.

Now the field, where they were digging the cellar, sloped down behind where the cellar was to be, so that, when the horses came to that part, they were walking down-hill.

And the man let go of the handles of the scoop, and it turned over and dumped its load of dirt.

And when the horses heard the scoop bumping and banging on the ground, they turned around of their own accord and walked back to get a new load.

And so they did until they had scooped out all the dirt that had been loosened.

Then the pickaxe men went back and began again on the part that had been scooped, but the horses had to wait for the dirt to be loosened, and they stood outside of the cellar.

It was beginning to look a little bit like a cellar now, but a very shallow one.

And the little boy was getting tired of watching the pickaxes rise and fall and of listening to the noise the ground made. So he got up.

And his cat saw him getting up, and she ran to him, and she saw that he was going to the man with the horses, so she ran ahead, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

The man saw them coming, and he looked at the little boy and smiled.

"I've got to go now," the little boy said, when he had come to the man.

"So soon?" asked the man. "I hope you aren't tired."

"I think I'd better go home," the little boy said. "P'r'aps my mother would like to see me."

"I shouldn't wonder if she'd like to see you pretty often," the man said. "You tell her that you'll be safe here. I'll keep my eye on you."

"How will you get your eye on me?" the little boy asked.

The man laughed. "Will you come again?"

"I'll come to-morrow," the little boy said. "P'r'aps I'll come this afternoon. Good-bye."

"Good-bye," said the man.

And he watched the little boy as he trudged away, dragging his cart, with his hoe and his shovel rattling in the bottom of it, and with his cat walking beside him and looking up into his face.

And that's all of this story.




II

The Mason Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy and he was almost five years old. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls.

One morning he was sitting right down in the gravel of his front walk, the walk that led to the front door of the house that he lived in, and he had been digging in the gravel. The hole that he was digging was square.

And he had picked the dirt all over with a big nail, and pried it loose, and then he had pretended that his shovel was a big iron scoop that could scoop the dirt out just the way the big scoop did when it was dragged by the horses.

For he had been watching the men dig a cellar in the field next to his house.

And his cat was there, rolling in the gravel and playing with the air.

Pretty soon his mother looked out of a window, and then she came running out.

"My dear little boy," she said, "what are you digging?"

The little boy got up, and the cat scampered away a few feet, with her bushy tail straight up in the air.

"I'm digging a cellar for a house," said the little boy.

"Oh," said his mother. "Well, don't you think you'd better build the house over near the sand-pile? People coming in might not see this house, and they might kick it over and walk on it. But the masons have come to work on the real cellar."

"The masons?" the little boy asked.

"The men to build the cellar wall. You may go and watch them if you like."

The little boy nodded again. Then he put his shovel into his cart, and took hold of the handle of the cart. Then he looked back.

"Good-bye," he said.

"Good-bye, my dear little son," his mother said.

And she watched him trudging away, dragging his cart, with his shovel and his hoe rattling in the bottom of it.

And his cat ran on ahead, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

The little boy saw a man hoeing slowly at something in a big shallow wooden box.

And the something that he was hoeing at was all white and it slopped here and there; and the hoe was all white, and the outside of the box was all covered with slops of the same white stuff, and the man's shoes were white, too, and the bottoms of his overalls.

And there was a pile of new sand that looked all moist and just right to play in.

There was another man standing at the edge of the cellar and looking down into it.

The cellar itself was so deep now that the little boy could just see the tops of the hats of the men who were working in it.

The man who had been looking down into the cellar heard the shovel and the hoe rattling in the cart and looked up.

"Hello!" he called.

"Hello," said the little boy. "What are you doing?"

"I'm just looking to see if the men do their work right. Come over here and I'll show you."

So the little boy left his cart beside the pile of sand and walked over to where the man was.

And the man met him and took hold of his hand; and they walked together to the edge of the cellar and looked down into it, and the man stooped down and kneeled on one knee, with his arm half around the little boy so that he wouldn't fall in.

In the cellar the little boy saw a great many big stones that lay all about the middle, where they had been dumped; and there were six men working around the edge of the cellar building the wall.

In part of the cellar the wall had been begun and was about two feet high; but in another part there was nothing but the smooth dirt at the bottom, and the smooth sides of the cellar that went straight up.

And two of the men were digging a trench in the smooth bottom of the cellar where the wall would be.

When they had the shallow trench dug for a few feet, one of the men put down his shovel and went to the pile of stones.

And he found some stones that were the size he wanted, each of them just about as big as he could carry in one hand. And he took two of these and went to the trench and put them in.

Then he went to the pile and got two more, and he put them in the trench, too. And so he did until the bottom of the trench was all covered.

Then he got smaller stones and threw them in on top of the bigger ones; and, on top of those, still smaller stones that were flattish.

The flat stones filled the trench up nearly to the top, and he didn't put in any more but took up his shovel again and helped the other man dig.

Then two of the other men came, and they looked at the trench to see if it was all right.

Then they went to the pile of big stones and they picked out one of the biggest, and they took their big iron crowbars and put the points of the bars under the stone, to move it.

The little boy wondered.

"What are they going to do?" he asked. "Are they going to move it? Can they move it?"

The man nodded.

"Easy enough," he said. "You watch."

And the men pried with their crowbars, and the big stone started from its place and rolled down from the pile. And the men got it over to the trench, sometimes prying it with their crowbars and sometimes rolling it with their hands, and they set it in its place on top of the small flat stones.

Then one of the men shut one of his eyes and squinted along the wall that was done to see if the stone was just in the right place; and the other man moved the stone with his crowbar just a little until it was in exactly the right place.

Then they went to the pile again and got another big stone in the same way, and they got it over to the trench and set it in its place beside the first.

Then the men went to the pile again, and they picked out a stone that was nearly as big as the bottom stones, and they hammered it with great hammers and split off some thin, flat pieces.

That was to make it fit better in the place where it was to go. The ground all about the wall was covered with thin, flat pieces that had been hammered off other stones.

And they got a great thick board, and they put one end of the board on top of the bottom stones which they had just put in the trench, and they put the other end of the board on the ground in front of the stone which they had been hammering, and they rolled the stone slowly up the board until it came to the end.

And they rolled it off the end upon the bottom stones, and got it into its place with their crowbars.

And where it did not fit well enough, they put in thin, flat pieces that they picked up from the ground.

The man who knelt on one knee at the edge of the cellar told the little boy about it as the men worked.

And, when the men had put in the little flat pieces of stone, one of them looked up and smiled at the little boy and said that they called the thin, flat pieces "chocks."

"Not woodchucks," he said, "but just chocks."

The little boy smiled and nodded. He had never seen a woodchuck, but there was a picture of one in his animal-book. It wasn't a very good picture.

"I guess," he said, "that they are stone-chucks."

All the men who heard him laughed. And they went to work again, and the little boy turned to the man who was holding him.

"I've got to go now," he said, "and play in that pile of sand."

"All right," said the man. "You play there just as long as you want to."

So the little boy went over to the man who was hoeing the white stuff. It wasn't so white as it had been and it was thicker, just about like nice mud.

And his cat came up from somewhere. The little boy didn't know where she had been, but he didn't pay any attention to her. He just stood and watched the man.

"What are you making?" he asked at last.

"I'm making mortar," the man said. "They put it in the cracks of the wall, to hold it together."

"Oh," said the little boy. "Well, would you like to have me help you?"

"You might bring me a load of sand," said the man, "if you want to. I shall have to put in more sand."

So the little boy went to his cart, and he threw out his hoe. He wasn't careful where he threw it, and the handle of the hoe hit the cat.

And the cat ran home as fast as she could go. But the little boy didn't know it, he was so busy.

And he backed the cart up to the sand-pile, and he took his shovel and shoveled sand into the cart until the man said that was enough.

Then he took hold of the handle and pulled. It was heavier than he thought it would be, but he pulled it over to the box of mortar. It was only a few steps.

Then the man told him to shovel it in, a little at a time.

And the little boy shoveled it in slowly, and he felt very proud, for he was helping to make real mortar.

And he kept on shoveling until the man said that was enough.

The man hoed the mortar for a few minutes, and then he took up a queer-looking thing that he said was his hod.

It was made of two boards that were put together like a V with the point down; and another board was nailed across one end, but the other end was left open.

It was a kind of a trough; and a stick like a broom-handle stuck down from the middle of it.

And the man filled this hod with mortar, and he turned around and put the hod across one shoulder with the bottom of the trough resting on his shoulder.

And he took hold of the stick, and he walked off, down a ladder into the cellar.

And he dumped the mortar out of the hod on to a board near the men who were building the wall. Then he came up again.

The little boy watched him until he had come up out of the cellar. And he asked the man whether he would want any more sand, but the man said that he wouldn't for some time.

So the little boy went and played in the sand-pile for a long time, and, while he was playing, his cat came and rubbed against him. Then the little boy got up.

"I've got to go now," he said to the mortar man. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye," said the man. "Come again."

"Yes," said the little boy, "I will."

And he put his shovel and his hoe into his cart, and he took hold of the handle of the cart, and he walked off, with his shovel and his hoe rattling behind him.

And his cat ran on ahead, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

And that's all of this story.




III

The Dinner-Time And Jonah Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy and he was almost five years old. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

They were building a house in the field next to that little boy's house, and he used to go there almost every day to watch the men and to help.

One day it was late when he went, because his mother had taken him with her down to the Square to do an errand, and when he came back he had to change his clothes and put on his overalls. His mother wouldn't let him wear his overalls down to the Square.

And when he had his overalls on, he hurried and got his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he called his cat, and she came running, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

And he hurried to the new house, dragging his cart; and his shovel and his hoe rattled in the bottom of it.

The mortar man saw him.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," said the little boy. "Did you wonder where I was?"

"I did that," said the mortar man.

"Well, I had to go on an errand with my mother," the little boy said, "but I hurried and came as soon as I could, and here I am. Do you want some sand?"

But the mortar man didn't want any more sand then. He filled his hod with mortar, and he stooped down and took the hod of mortar on his shoulder, and he went trotting to the ladder, and he went down the ladder.

Then the little boy couldn't see him, because the cellar walls were done and the carpenters had come, and they had put on the great square beams that lie on top of the cellar walls, and they had put in the beams that go across from one side to the other and hold up the floors.

But there were some men in the cellar, for the little boy could hear them laughing and talking.

And the mortar man had told him that they were the bricklayers who were building the chimneys and two of the masons who were smearing mortar over all the cracks of the wall, so that the water wouldn't leak through from the ground into the cellar.

The little boy wished that he could see those men, but he was afraid that it wouldn't be being careful to go down that ladder, and he didn't think he could do it, anyway, for the steps were too far apart.

So he looked about and he saw the man who had held the handles of the scoop, and who had held him that other day, while he looked down into the cellar and saw the masons building the wall. He was called the foreman.

The foreman was glad to see the little boy, and beckoned to him.

And the little boy went, and the foreman took hold of his hand, and they went together right up on the floor beams; but the foreman carried him when they got up there, because there weren't any boards on the beams yet, and the little boy might have fallen through between the beams.

And when they got to the right place, they both stooped over and looked down between the beams, through a great big square hole. A chimney would come up through the hole, and the bricklayers were building it.

The little boy was surprised to see how enormous a chimney had to be at the bottom.

There were four men laying bricks as fast as ever they could, but it was all the little boy could do to watch one of the men.

First, he took up a brick from the pile, with his left hand, and he generally tossed the brick up a little way in the air, and it turned over before he caught it again, so that he saw all sides of it; and, with the flat trowel which he held in his right hand, he scooped up some mortar.

And he slapped the trowelful of mortar down on the bricks where he wanted to put that other brick, and he gave a little wipe with the trowel around the edges, and he pressed the brick that he was holding in his left hand down into place, and he tapped the brick with the handle of the trowel, and the mortar squeezed out all around, and, with his trowel, he scooped off the mortar that had squeezed out, and he slapped that down in a new place.

Then he began again, and reached down for another brick.

The little boy was so busy watching the bricklayer that he forgot all about the masons who were putting mortar on the wall.

But, pretty soon, all the men said something to all the other men, and they stopped laying bricks, and they began to take off their overalls.

"What are they going to do now?" the little boy asked.

"They are going to eat their dinner," said the foreman. "Come on."

So the foreman and the little boy got down on the ground again, and the foreman set the little boy down, and he took his hand, and they went back, near the pile of sand, where there were some nice boards to sit on.

And the men all came trooping out of the cellar, and each man went and got his dinner from the place where he had put it when he came there in the morning.

Some of the men had their dinner in pails and some had theirs in baskets and one man had his in a newspaper, so that he wouldn't have anything to carry home at night.

And the men came where the nice boards were, and they sat around anywhere, and they opened their pails and their baskets and the newspaper bundle, and they began to eat their dinners.

The little boy had sat down, too, but he didn't feel very comfortable.

He thought that, perhaps, he ought to have brought his dinner, but he didn't know about it, so how could he have brought it?

And he got up and started home, but the foreman called after him and asked him why he was going.

And the little boy said that he was going to bring his dinner, too, and eat it with them.

And the foreman said that they would give him some of their dinner, and that there were all sorts of nice things that their wives had cooked.

And the little boy said that he would ask his mother, and he would hurry as fast as he could.

In a few minutes, the little boy came back to the place where the men were sitting.

He walked very carefully, because he was carrying a cup of milk; and his cat walked beside him and looked up at the cup of milk all the time, and, every few steps, she stood on her hind legs and tried to reach the milk.

But she couldn't, and the little boy didn't pay any attention to her.

When he got to the men, the foreman asked him what his mother said.

And the little boy told him that his mother said he could have some of their things if they didn't give him any cake or any pie, and that any of the men could have their tea or coffee warmed for them if they would take it to his house.

The men who had tea or coffee were glad to hear that, and they went to the little boy's house and took their tea and their coffee.

Some had it in bottles and some had it in the covers of their dinner-pails, with the cup to drink out of fitting over the top.

The foreman didn't go, and the little boy sat down close to him and began to drink his milk; but his cat bothered him by trying to get it.

So the little boy gave her a push with his foot.

"Get away, kitty," he said. "You can't have any."

Then the foreman laughed, and he broke off a piece of white bread and gave it to the little boy. And the little boy took a great enormous bite.

"Is it good?" the foreman asked.

The little boy nodded. "M -- m -- m!" he said. He couldn't really say anything because he had his mouth full of bread.

"My wife made it," said the foreman. "I think she's a very fine cook."

The little boy put his mouthful of bread in his cheek so that he could speak.

"Yes," he said, "I think so too."

The foreman laughed again, and then the men began to come back.

They all wanted to give the little boy something; and some of them gave him other little pieces of white bread, and some of them gave him little corners of their sandwiches, and some gave him little pieces of dark-colored bread.

And he ate his pieces of bread and drank his milk, and the foreman gave him two of some little thin molasses cookies that were all crackly and crumbly; for little crackly cookies like those aren't much like cake.

When all the men had finished their dinner and had drunk their tea and their coffee, they went and put their pails and their baskets away and then came back and sat down again, and some of them got out their pipes and filled them.

The little boy was very happy, and he sat on the board with his hands in his lap, and he smiled.

"Now," said the foreman, "there's time for a story before you go to work again. Do any of you know a story?"

He looked all about and, last of all, he looked at the little boy. "Do you know any story?"

"Well," the little boy said, "I know about Jonah."

"Will you tell us about Jonah?" the foreman asked. "I should like to hear that story."

"Yes," said the little boy, "I will tell it. Well, once upon a time there was a man named Jonah. And he had to go to Nineveh to tell the people how bad they were. But he didn't want to go; so he didn't. He ran away in a ship.

"And when he got into the ship, he lay down and went to sleep. And the ship started, and pretty soon the wind began to blow terribly hard, and there were 'normous great waves, and the ship got all tippy. And the sailors were afraid, and they threw out the things that were in the ship.

"So the captain went to the place where Jonah was. 'Wake up, Jonah!' he said. 'Why don't you get up and pray?'

"Then the sailors talked together, and said that it must be Jonah's fault. 'Who is this Jonah, anyway?' they said. 'Where did he come from, and what is he doing here? Let's ask him.'

"So they did. And Jonah told them, and said: 'I guess you'll have to throw me out of the ship.' So they threw Jonah over into the water, and there wasn't any more storm.

"And Jonah, he went down and down and down in the water, and I guess he thought he was going to be drowned. Then a great, big whale came along and saw Jonah, and he opened his mouth wide and went at Jonah and swallowed him. But he didn't bite him or chew him or anything.

"But Jonah was terribly scared, 'cause he couldn't hardly guess where he was. The insides of the whale were all wet, and it was all pitchy dark in there.

"There wasn't anything for Jonah to do but to think, and after he had thought for a long, long time, the whale up-swallowed him and spitted him out on to the beach. And I s'pose Jonah went and washed his clothes, because they were all whaley.

"And then he went to Nineveh and told them to be more better, and they did be."

And that's all of Jonah.




IV

The Carpenter Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy and he was almost five years old. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

They were building a house in a field near that little boy's house; and, one morning, he had heard the sounds of hammers and of mallets all the time he was at breakfast.

So he hurried to get through, and he slipped down from his chair and took off his napkin and he wiped his mouth and he turned to his mother.

She was sitting still, smiling because he was in such a hurry.

"You seem to be in a good deal of a hurry," she said.

"Yes," he said, nodding, "I am. I think I had better go over to the new house."

"To see whether the men are doing their work right?" she asked.

"You see, I have to help the mortar man," he explained. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye, dear," she said. Then she kissed him. "Be very careful."

"Yes, I will."

Then he went out, and he got his cart, and he put his shovel and his hoe in it, and he called his cat; but no cat came. And he called her again, but she didn't come then.

So he took up the handle of his cart, and he walked over to the new house, dragging his cart behind him, with his shovel and his hoe rattling in the bottom of it.

The mortar man was still there, hoeing mortar for the bricklayers to use, for the chimneys weren't done yet.

"Hello," said the mortar man.

"Hello," the little boy said. "I came as soon as I could."

"Where's your kitty?" the mortar man asked. "You couldn't find her, could you? Well, look around behind you."

The little boy looked around behind him.

He was standing with his back to the house, so that, when he looked behind him he saw the new house and the carpenters who were working at great beams which were on wooden horses that stood on the ground.

And he saw his cat, too. She was walking toward him, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

But the little boy was too much interested in what the carpenters were doing to pay much attention to his cat.

"What are those men doing?" he asked of the mortar man.

"The carpenters? They are cutting mortises in those girts. That is, little holes in those big beams. The ends of other beams will be made small enough to go in those holes, and they will hold the floor up."

"Mor -- tar!" shouted one of the men who were building the chimney.

The mortar man hurried off with his hod of mortar, and the little boy wandered over to where the carpenters were.

His cat went, too, but he left his cart by the pile of sand.

There were two carpenters there, and they both looked up and smiled.

They had great thick chisels and heavy wooden mallets in their hands, and there was a big bit, or "borer," as the little boy called it, lying on the ground between them. And I don't know why "borer" isn't a better name for it.

There were some round holes in the beams which had been made by the borer, and the men were making those round holes square with the chisels.

One of the men had just finished a hole when the little boy came, and he went ahead to the next round hole, and he put the edge of the chisel carefully against the wood, and he struck it with the mallet.

Plack! Plack! Plack! shrieked the mallet on the chisel.

Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! the wood grunted, and it seemed to shiver when the mallet struck.

Then there was a splintering noise and a part of the wood broke away.

Plack! Plack! Plack! screamed the mallet again.

The wood grunted again, but it was of no use, and another piece broke away.

And then the man hit the chisel again and another piece broke off, and the chisel came through on the other side of the beam.

And the carpenter drove the chisel through at the other side of the hole, in the same way; and what had been a round hole was a square one.

Then he laid the mallet down and took the chisel in both hands, and he leaned over the square hole and made the sides all smooth with the chisel.

Then he made a sort of sloping hole, a kind of a little square trench, and it went from the side of the beam into the square hole.

Then he put his tools down and looked at the little boy again and smiled.

"There!" he said. "That's done."

The little boy smiled back at him.

"Is it?" he said. "What goes in that hole? I could put my hand in it."

"It's not for little boys' hands," answered the carpenter. "The end of a short beam goes in there. I'll show you. We have to make places for the chimneys to come through and so people can go upstairs without knocking their heads. Did you ever think of that?"

The little boy shook his head, and he came nearer. "Show me."

So the carpenter went to a little pile of short beams; and he took one and brought it back.

And he turned the big beam on edge, and fitted the end of the little beam into the hole.

The end of the little beam had already been made small, so that it would go in.

"There," he said. "Now here, where I stand, will be the stairs for people to go up, and there will be that other big beam on the other side. We have to leave this big hole in the floor so that a man can go on the stairs without hitting his head, you know. Everywhere else will be a floor, except where the chimneys come through. Do you understand?"

The little boy nodded. He thought that he understood, although it was not very easy to understand.

And while he was trying to understand better, there came a voice behind him.

"Hello! I wondered where you were."

And he looked around and there was his friend the foreman, and the cat had gone to meet him and was coming back beside him, and she was looking up into the foreman's face, and her bushy tail was sticking straight up into the air.

"Hello," said the little boy; and he leaned back against the horse that the beam rested on.

"Your kitty," said the foreman, "came up here all by herself, and she followed me about."

The little boy laughed.

"She's a funny kitty," he said.

The foreman stooped down.

"I think you'd better tell me your name," he said. "I like to know the names of my friends."

"My name is David," the little boy answered.

"And mine is Jonathan," said the foreman quickly. "Think of that! Now, Davie, come with me and let's see how the other men are getting on."

So David put his little hand into the foreman's big one, and they started; and David saw some men putting up a great, tall beam on one of the corners.

Two men were holding it, and another man reached up as high as he could and nailed a board to it, and the other end of the board was fastened down low, so that the tall beam shouldn't fall over when the men let go.

"What are those men doing?" David asked. "That sticks up like my kitty's tail, doesn't it?"

"So it does," the foreman said. "There'll be more of them presently, sticking up all along every side."

"Will there? How many of those sticks will there be?"

"Oh, I don't know; more than fifty, I should think."

"A cat with fifty tails." And the little boy laughed. "Did you ever see a kitty with fifty tails?"

"All sticking straight up in the air!" said the foreman. "That would be funny. She'd look like a porcupine."

"What is a porcupine?" David asked. "Did I ever see one?"

"I guess not," the foreman answered. "Anyway, I never did. It's a little animal all covered with sharp things. It's just as if your kitty's fur was about three or four times as long as it is, and every hair was stiff and sharp. There's a great rattling as they walk, I'm told. The Indians used to sew the quills -- the sharp things -- on their soft leather slippers, because they looked pretty."

"Tell me some more about them," said David.

"I don't know any more. See, Davie, the men are putting up another stick."

So David watched the men put up that stick, and he forgot about the porcupine, which was what the foreman wanted.

And then he watched them put up another, and then another.

"They look as if they were the bones of the house," he said.

"So they do, Davie," the foreman said, "and so they are. And the whole frame, before it's boarded in -- before any boards are nailed on -- looks like the skeleton of a house, and so it is. They'll have pretty near the whole frame up by the time you eat your supper; or to-morrow morning, at any rate. Then you look and see. It's much the same way that your body's made: your ribs and the other bones are the frame, and inside you there are a lot of rooms, and it's all covered with soft skin instead of boards."

"Am I? What are my ribs?"

"These bones." And the foreman stooped and ran his finger quickly down David's ribs, and David shrieked with laughter.

"Tickles," said David. "Show me my ribs again."

"It isn't good for little boys to be tickled too much," said the foreman. "Now we'll go over to the sand-pile for a while. I don't want to take you into the house until they get the frame all up and some floors down. It isn't safe."

So they turned around and went to the sand-pile, and the foreman stayed there a little while and played in the sand.

Then he had to go away; and the mortar man had gone away, and nobody was there but David and his cat.

And David thought that he would help the mortar man, so he filled his cart with sand and dragged it over to the mortar box and shoveled it in.

Then he took up the handle of his cart, and he called his cat, and he walked along to his house, dragging his cart.

And his shovel rattled in the bottom of it, and his cat ran on before him.

But he had forgotten his hoe. It was in the pile of sand.

And that's all of this story.




V

The Water-Men Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy and he was almost five years old. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing. And his name was David.

They were building a house in a field near David's house; and, one morning, he heard a curious sound, and he wondered what they were doing, and he asked his mother.

"Mother," he said, "what are they doing? What are they? It sounds as if they were pickaxing the dirt."

His mother laughed. "Well," she answered, "perhaps they are. I don't know what they are doing. I think you'll have to go and see."

"Think I'll have to go and see," David repeated; "but I'll have my breakfast first."

So he had his breakfast first, and he hurried a little because he wanted to know what the noise was.

And when he was through his breakfast he took off his napkin and slipped down from his chair and went around to kiss his mother.

His father had gone off to town in the early train.

"Good-bye," said David.

"Good-bye, dear," said his mother. "Be very careful."

He nodded. "Yes, I will." He was going out, but he stopped. "I don't hear it now, mother. I don't hear the noise. Do you suppose they've stopped doing it?"

"If you go right along over there, I think you'll find out about it."

So the little boy went out, and he picked up his shovel, but he couldn't find his hoe.

And he put his shovel into his cart, and took up the handle of the cart, and his cat came running, and he went toward the new house, dragging his cart behind him with his shovel rattling in the bottom of it. His cat ran on ahead.

Long before he got as far as the house, he saw some men's heads bob up in the middle of the road; heads without any bodies to them.

And he went nearer, and he saw that the men were in a trench that they had dug in the road, as far as the new house.

Some long iron pipes were in the gutter. The pipes were big enough for his kitty to crawl through.

He wanted to ask somebody about them, but there was nobody there except the two men in the trench, so he walked along until he came to the mortar box.

The mortar man wasn't there. He had gone into the house with a hod of mortar.

So David looked all about for somebody.

He saw the pile of sand with his hoe sticking out of it, but he didn't pay any attention to it, for he wasn't thinking about hoes then.

And he saw the bones of the house almost all up, so that they made a pretty good skeleton, and the carpenters were putting up the rafters: the beams that hold up the roof.

And other carpenters had just begun nailing boards on to the outside of the up-and-down beams, and there was a great noise of hammering.

At last he saw the foreman.

"Hello!" David called.

There was such a noise, with the carpenters all hammering, that the foreman didn't hear him.

"Hello!" called David again, louder.

Still the foreman didn't hear.

"Hello!" David shouted as loud as he could shout. "Hello, Jonathan!"

The foreman heard, that time, and he looked around and laughed.

"Ho, Davie!" he said in a big round voice. "Just wait a minute and I'll be down there."

So David waited a minute, then two, then five minutes, and the foreman came. Then David asked his question.

"What are the men doing in the road?"

"They're digging a trench. When they get it done, they'll lay water pipes in it. And the water will come all the way from the reservoir on the hill, and it will go through pipes that are already laid under the streets, and it will come to this street, and it will turn into this street and go along, and some will go into your house, and some will keep on to this house and go in through a pipe that will be under the ground just the other side of the sand-pile.

"That pipe will go through the cellar wall, and to all the faucets in the house, so that when the little boy who will live here wants to wash his hands or take a bath, he will turn a faucet and the water will come running. There, now."

"Oh," said David, "will a little boy live here?"

"I don't know who will live here, Davie," the foreman answered. "There most generally is a little boy or so in any family that lives in this town."

"Oh," said David; and he nodded his head, and he saw a faucet that was nailed to a board.

And the faucet was on the end of a pipe which stuck up from the ground near the mortar box.

"Why," he said, "there's a faucet, and water will come. I've seen the mortar man get it there."

"Yes," said the foreman. "We had to have water to use. It comes through this pipe that lies on top of the ground all the way to your house. See?"

And the foreman showed David the pipe. It was hidden by the long grass.

"They're going to lay the pipes now, Davie. Do you want to see them do it?"

So David put his little hand into the foreman's big one, and they went together to where the men were.

The men had got up out of the trench, and they were going to take up one of the iron pipes that lay in the gutter.

Just as they began to lift it, out of one end of it popped David's kitty. She scurried around and popped into the end of another pipe, and all the men laughed.

"Funny kitty," said David.

Then the men took hold of the pipe that the cat had been in at first, and they lifted it, one at each end, and they carried it and put it down beside the trench.

Then they got into the trench again, and they took hold of the pipe and lowered it to the bottom.

David couldn't see what the men were doing then, and he went to the edge of the trench and squatted there and watched.

He saw the end of a pipe sticking out of the ground into the trench. It looked as if it had been in the ground a long time.

"What is that?" he asked the foreman.

The foreman said it was the end of the old pipe, and there was a place near his house where they could put a long iron thing into the ground, down as far as the pipes, and turn it and let the water into this pipe. The long iron thing was like a clock-key.

"And Davie," he said, "you see that one end of each pipe flares out bigger than the other end. The men put the small end of one pipe into the flaring end of the next. You'll see."

So David looked and the men fitted the small end of the new pipe into the flaring end of the old one, and they blocked the new pipe up with dirt and stones until it was just right.

Then one of the men took some things that were in the trench. All that David saw was what looked like some old frazzled-out rope, and he laid the things he had taken up around the new pipe in the joint, and he hammered them in tight with a kind of a dull chisel. That was so that the water shouldn't leak through.

When the men had the old frazzled-out rope all hammered in tight, the other man came and brought him something that looked all snaky, and it was shiny like the lead of a pencil, and it waved about as if it were heavy and it seemed to be all moist like mud.

And the man took this snaky, wavy thing, and he wrapped it around the pipe, and he drove it into the joint until it looked like a part of the pipe.

Then he felt it all over carefully, and he stood up and looked at it.

And he made up his mind that it was all right, and the other man began to shovel dirt down into the trench, and they punched the dirt until it was all hard under the pipe and at the sides.

Then they went to the gutter and picked up another pipe.

The foreman couldn't wait any longer.

"I've got to go now, Davie."

"Where have you got to go?" David asked. "Can I go with you?"

"I've got to go into the house. I can't take you in there yet. I'm afraid you'd get hurt. In a day or two you can go in."

David nodded. He was thinking about those pipes.

"Will the men keep on putting those pipes together until they come to the house?" he asked. "And how will they get the pipe into the house? They'll have to put it through a window."

"No," the foreman answered, "they won't have to put it through a window. They'll lay the pipes straight past the house, and they'll plug up the end until there are some more houses built on this road.

"Then they'll fit a little pipe into the side of the big pipe and run it through a hole in the cellar wall.

"The little pipe is not much bigger than that pipe that the faucet is on, over by the mortar box. What'll you do now, Davie? -- play in the sand?"

David nodded again. "Good-bye," he said.

"Good-bye." And the foreman went into the house.

And David dug in the sand for a while, and then he looked for his cat, but he didn't see her; so he put his shovel and his hoe into the cart, and walked off, dragging the cart, with the shovel and the hoe rattling in the bottom of it.

And when he got to the pipes, the cat popped out of the end of one of them, and she ran ahead of David, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air, and David walked along to his house.

And that's all.




VI

The Shingle And Clapboard Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

One day he wandered up to the corner of the road that he lived on.

He wasn't allowed to go beyond that corner, and his mother didn't like to have him go so far as the corner.

But he was pretending, and he didn't know how far he had come.

He played in the gravel of the gutter for a long time, and he was talking nearly all the time.

His cat was there, taking little runs away, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air. Then she would lie down on her back and play with the air, and then she always jumped up in a great hurry and ran back to David and rubbed against him.

But David wasn't talking to his cat, and he wasn't talking to himself.

He was talking to the pretend child who was his playmate and who had come there holding to the other handle of his cart and helping him drag it.

And he was so busy that he didn't notice the great wagon that was just about to turn the corner.

The driver called to him.

"Hey, little boy! Don't get run over."

David scrambled up on the sidewalk before he even looked, for he remembered to be careful.

Then he looked, and he saw a big wagon that was drawn by two horses, and the wagon was loaded with short, shiny boards, tied together in bundles, and on top of the bundles of short, shiny boards were bundles of shingles, a great many of them.

David knew what shingles looked like when they came in bundles, but he wondered what the shiny, short boards were.

But he didn't ask, because the horses were almost trotting, they were walking so fast, and the driver seemed to be pretty busy.

He supposed that the shingles and things were going to the new house, and he watched the wagon until it stopped there.

Then he took up the handle of his cart, and he walked off with it as fast as he could walk, and then he began to run, and his shovel and his hoe rattled so that you would have thought they would rattle out.

The pretend child didn't go with David, for he had forgotten all about her.

Sometimes the child was a girl and sometimes it was a boy; but it was a girl that morning. She was left in the gutter at the corner.

And David didn't call his cat, and the cat stayed at the corner for a while, and first she looked at the pretend little girl and then she looked after David, and she didn't know which to go with.

But at last she went running after David, and she caught up with him, and she ran on ahead, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

When David got to the house, he found the wagon there, and the horses were standing still, and the driver was throwing off the bundles of shingles and another man was piling them up.

They had got almost to the shiny, short boards.

And the foreman was there, and he was putting something down with a very short pencil in a little old book.

"Hello," said David. "What are -- "

But the foreman interrupted him.

"Just wait a minute, Davie, until I get these checked up."

So David waited a long time, but the wagon was unloaded at last, and the little book put in the foreman's pocket.

"Now, Davie," the foreman said, "what was it that you were asking me?"

"I was asking what are these," said David, putting his hand on a bundle of the shiny boards.

"Those are clapboards, Davie."

The foreman stooped down and pointed to the house.

"You see they have begun to put them on the outside of the walls of the house, but we had to have some more. You see that one edge of a clapboard is thin and the other edge is thick."

He pulled one of the clapboards from a bundle and showed David.

"The thick edges go over the thin edges, very much like shingles, and they keep the rain and the wind out. You know about shingles?"

David nodded doubtfully.

"I don't know whether I do or not."

"Well," the foreman said, "you ought to know about them. Those two men have just begun to shingle the piazza roof. If you can wait a few minutes, I'll take you up there. You aren't very busy this morning, are you?"

David smiled and shook his head.

The foreman smiled too.

"You wait right here, and I'll come and get you pretty soon."

So David waited, and while he was waiting he watched the men putting on clapboards.

They had begun at the top and had got about halfway down that side.

The side of the house was all covered with red stuff which looked something like cloth and something like thick paper. It was paper, and it rippled and waved in the wind.

The men were putting the clapboards on outside of that red paper.

A man had a pile of clapboards beside him, and he took one up and he lifted the edge of the one above, and he tucked the thin edge of the clapboard that he held in his hand under the edge that he had lifted; and he gave it little taps with his hammer until it was in the right place, and then he drove fine nails through the thick edge that he had lifted, and through the thin edge of the clapboard beneath, and into the wall of the house.

Then he took up another clapboard and put it close up to the one that he had just fastened, with its thin edge tucked under the thick edge of the one above.

The men put on clapboards very fast, and David was so interested in seeing them do it that he forgot that the foreman had not come back for him.

He had gone up nearer, so as to see just how the clapboards went on, when he heard the foreman's voice behind him.

"Well, Davie," said the foreman, "do you think you could put on clapboards as fast as that?"

David shook his head.

"No, I couldn't."

"Perhaps not. But come on, and we'll see what you can do with shingles."

And the foreman took David's small hand in his big one, and they went to where a ladder stood leaning against the edge of the piazza roof.

A little way below the edge of the roof there was a rough sort of a platform, made of two boards laid on some other boards that were nailed to the posts of the piazza and to long sticks which went up and down and had their ends resting on the ground.

This was what the carpenters called a staging or scaffolding, and when they got through their work, they would take it down.

"Now, Davie," said the foreman, "you take hold of the rungs and climb up. It's a pretty long stretch for little legs, but I'll hold you, and I won't let you fall. Don't look down. Look up."

So David took hold of a rung and stretched his leg as high as it would go, and he managed to get his foot on the first rung.

Then he pulled himself up and reached up with one hand and took hold of the next rung; and then he put his other hand up, and he stretched his leg up as high as it would go, and he stepped up another rung.

The rungs of a ladder are the little round sticks that go across that you put your feet on.

David climbed very slowly, and he was rather scared at first; but he felt the foreman's arm around him, and the foreman kept just behind him, so that he stopped being scared.

And he climbed a little faster, and he came to the platform.

"Now, what shall I do?" he asked.

"Now you hold your breath," the foreman said, "and I'll put you over on to the staging."

So Davie held his breath and one of the shingle men came and held him by the arms when the foreman had set him down upon the boards.

Then the foreman stepped upon the staging and put his arm around David again.

"There!" said the foreman. "You've climbed your first ladder. Now we'll see about the shingling."

There was a whole bundle of shingles on the staging, and another bundle that had been opened, and the shingle men had thrown a good many of these shingles up on the roof, so that they would be handy.

And David saw that there were three rows of shingles on already, and that a string was stretched tight across the last row; and the string was chalky-looking, and blue.

"They're just going to mark another row," the foreman said. "You watch."

Then one of the shingle men lifted the stretched string between his thumb and his forefinger, and he let it go, and it snapped down hard upon the shingles.

And they took the string away, and there was a blue line all along the row of shingles.

"What is that?" David asked.

"Chalk, Davie. They put chalk on the string by rubbing a lump of chalk on it. That line shows where the edge of the next row of shingles goes.

"And they lay the shingles on so that each crack in the row beneath is covered. The shingles are different widths, you see, and they can always find one that fits up close to the next one and covers a crack.

"If the cracks were not covered, the rain would get through and the roof would leak.

"Now let's see if you can lay shingles. Pick out one that you think will be right to cover the crack in the row beneath, and lay it down close up to the last one and with its thick edge to that blue line."

David was rather excited at the thought that he was to lay the shingles.

"Shall I?" he asked.

The foreman nodded, and he pointed to a shingle.

"Try that one."

So David took the one that the foreman pointed at, and he laid it down as well as he could, close up to the last one which the shingle man had put on, and with its thick edge at the blue line.

It took him some time, because he had never laid shingles before; but the shingle man had only to change it a tiny bit, and then he drove in two nails about halfway up toward the thin edge.

And David took another shingle which the foreman pointed at, and he fitted it in its place a little more quickly, and the shingle man didn't have to change that one at all, but drove the nails with hardly more than two blows of his hammer.

So David kept on laying shingles, and the shingle man nailed them.

At first the foreman pointed to the right shingles; but, after a while, he didn't point, but David chose them himself.

And they finished that row, and they began the next.

"I'm afraid, Davie," the foreman said, "that we'll have to go down now. Aren't you ready to go?"

David was getting a little bit tired, for the shingle man nailed his shingles before he could wink, and he felt hurried all the time.

So he said that he was ready, and the foreman took him under his arm and carried him down the ladder that way.

"Good-bye," he called to the shingle men as he was going down.

"Good-bye," the shingle men called to David. "We're much obliged."

"You're welcome," David called back to the shingle men.

Then he was set down on the ground, and he was rather glad to feel the ground again.

And his cat came running, with her bushy tail straight up in the air, and David started off.

"Where are you going so fast?" the foreman asked.

David stopped for a moment.

"I've got to go home now."

"To tell your mother that you've been shingling?"

David nodded, and he smiled shyly.

"Well, good-bye, Davie," the foreman said.

"Good-bye," said David.

And he turned again and ran to his cart, and he took up the handle.

And he started walking as fast as he could, dragging his cart, with his shovel and his hoe rattling in the bottom, and his cat ran on ahead; and she ran right up the front steps and in at the door, and David came after.

But he left his cart in the path.

And that's all of the shingle story.




VII

The Plumber Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

They were building a new house in the field next to David's house, and it was all done on the outside, but it wasn't painted.

And the men were working inside, for David could hear the hammering, and sometimes he could hear them sawing.

One morning, after breakfast, David went to his mother and said that the foreman wanted him to come to the new house that morning, for the plumbers would be there.

He didn't know what plumbers were.

"What are plumbers, mother?"

"They are men who mend the pipes, dear," his mother answered.

"What pipes?" he asked. "Are the pipes broken?"

His mother laughed. "Well, I suppose they put in the water pipes, and the bathtubs and the basins and the hot-water boiler and all those things."

David nodded, and let his mother kiss him, and then he went out.

And his cat was there, waiting for him, and his cart was there, with his shovel and his hoe in the bottom of it. And he stooped down and took hold of the handle of his cart, and he trudged to the new house, dragging his cart.

The mortar man had gone some time before, and there wasn't any sand-pile, but the foreman saw him coming.

"Hello, Davie," he called.

"Hello," David called back.

"You're just in time to go into the house with me," the foreman said.

So David dropped the handle of his cart and the foreman took hold of his hand, and they went up the steps and into the house.

The partition walls between the rooms weren't all done, and David could see right through them in some places into the next room.

And the foreman and David went through the place that would be the front hall when it was done, with the front stairs going up out of it; and some carpenters were working there now and there was a great mess.

"What are the carpenters doing?" David asked.

"They're nailing on laths, Davie," the foreman answered. "Laths, you see, are the little thin sticks that go on the up-and-down sticks of the walls, and the plaster goes on them and squeezes between them. Then, when it hardens, the part that is between the laths holds the rest of the plaster up and against the wall."

David nodded, but they were in the back hall now, with the back stairs going up out of it, and he forgot the carpenters and the laths.

Under the back stairs were some stairs that went down to the cellar, and the foreman started down.

"Be careful of the steps, Davie," said the foreman. "They have to have these rough boards on them now, while the workmen are here, so that the real steps won't get all dirty and worn. When the men are almost through, about the last thing they do is to lay floors and put nice boards on the stairs."

David couldn't see very well, but he could feel that the boards of the stairs were uneven and rough, and some of them were small; but he was careful, and he went slowly, and at last he was on the cellar floor.

Far off in the very end of the cellar he saw a lantern lighted, and a flickering light which moved about, high up.

Then, as he got used to the darkness, he saw the legs of two men; and they had great wrenches and were doing something to long pipes, and they had a candle which they held close up to the pipes, so that they could see.

And the pipes went along close to the beams overhead, so that the men were all the time bumping their heads and knocking their elbows on the beams, and they didn't have room enough to work.

That was the reason why David had seen only their legs when he first came down.

It wasn't a very convenient way to work, but the men didn't seem to mind. Perhaps they were used to it.

"Are those the pipes that the water goes through?" David asked.

"Yes, Davie," the foreman said. "It comes in through the wall there, close down to the floor, from that pipe that you saw the men laying in the street.

"Then it goes up and through these pipes to the back of the cellar, and then up again to the kitchen and the pantry and the bathrooms.

"It isn't much fun being down here, is it?"

"No," David said, "it isn't."

The foreman laughed.

"Well, you wait a half a jiffy and we'll go up."

So David waited while the foreman took a paper out of his pocket.

And first he looked at the paper and then he looked at the pipes, and then he looked at the paper again.

Then he folded the paper and put it into his pocket, and he took David's hand and they went up the cellar stairs, and through a door into the kitchen.

There David saw the legs of two other men who were lying down under the sink.

They had a stump of a candle, too, for David could see its flickering light.

And there was a kind of a lamp out on the floor beyond, and it burned with a sputtering and a hissing and a roaring, and it threw a big bluish kind of a flame straight out, like water out of a hose.

David watched the men for nearly a minute without saying anything, but he couldn't guess what they were up to.

"What are they doing?" he asked at last.

"They're putting in the waste pipe and the trap," said the foreman; "but you don't know what that is, of course. They're putting in the pipe that the water runs through when it runs out of the sink."

"Oh, I know," David cried. "It's for the dirty water that the pots and pans have been washed in; the soapy water."

"That's just right, Davie."

"Well," David said, "why do they have to be lying down to do it? I should think they'd rather do it standing up or sitting down."

At that, one of the men poked his head out and smiled at David.

"You got that just right, too," he said; "but here's where it has to go, and there's no other way that I know of."

"The pipe has to be under the sink, Davie, for the water to run into it," the foreman said. "Now come on, and we'll go upstairs again."

So the foreman and David went up the back stairs very slowly and carefully, for there were rough boards on those stairs, too; and they went through a door and through the upstairs hall, and through another door into a small square room.

The foreman said that that room would be the bathroom. No plaster was on the walls yet, but the laths were all on. And there wasn't any bathtub yet, nor any basin; only some pipes sticking up out of the floor.

And David saw the bodies and the legs of two more men.

These men had their heads and shoulders through a great square hole in the floor, and their bodies and their legs were lying on the floor and sticking out straight.

David laughed. "Water-pipe men are funny men," he said.

One of the men lifted his head out of the hole in the floor and smiled at David, but he didn't say anything.

"They're putting in the waste pipe and the trap," the foreman said; "that is, the pipe that the water will run through when it runs out of the bathtub. A tub will be here Davie, after the floor is laid."

David nodded.

"Would you like to be a plumber, Davie?" the foreman asked, smiling.

David shook his head.

"I think I'd better go now," he said. "My kitty won't know where I am."

So the foreman laughed, and he tucked David under his arm and carried him downstairs and out of the front door, and he set him down on the ground.

"Good-bye, Davie," said the foreman.

"Good-bye," said David.

And he took hold of the handle of his cart, and walked home as fast as he could, dragging his cart, and his shovel and his hoe rattled in the bottom of it.

When he got home, there was his cat waiting for him.

David dropped the handle of his cart, and ran around to the back of the house and got an old grocery box that he used to play with.

He kept all his things at the back of the house: old broken grocery boxes and old tin cans and rows of bottles, some of them filled with water and some filled with thin mud and some empty, and nails and pieces of iron and sticks; but not his toys.

And David dragged the old grocery box around to the front, and put it opposite the end of a step.

Not all of the boards which had been nailed on for a cover were taken off, so that the inside of the box was hard to get at, and it was rather dark.

Then he picked up two short sticks and put them on the step.

David hurried to do all these things, and when he had them done, he hurried into the house and into the dining-room, and he climbed up in a chair and took a short candle out of one of the candlesticks which they used on the table.

Then he pushed the chair over near where the matches were, and he climbed up again and got three matches. And then he hurried out again.

He scratched one of the matches on the piazza floor and managed to get the candle lighted with that first match.

So he dropped the other two matches, he didn't know where, and he carried his candle to the grocery box, very carefully, so that it shouldn't blow out, and he reached in and put it in a corner.

Then he lay down on the step and put his head and shoulders and his arms inside the box, and he took the two short sticks in his hands.

David's mother had heard the chair scraping on the dining-room floor, when he pushed it over to get the matches, and she thought that, as likely as not, that was David, and she thought that she had better see what he was doing.

She didn't think there was any great hurry about it, and so she came downstairs in a few minutes, and she went out upon the piazza.

There she saw David's body and his fat little legs sticking out straight on the step, but his head and his arms were in the box, so she couldn't see them.

And there was a light flickering inside the box, and there was a noise of scraping and knocking, once in a while.

But she wasn't surprised.

"What in the world are you doing, dear?" she asked.

David drew his head out of the box so that he could see his mother and answer her. His face was pretty red.

"I'm a plumber, mother," he said, "and I'm doing the work in the bathroom. Plumbers always do it this way."

David's mother laughed.

"So they do, dear, pretty nearly," she said. "Be very careful of the candle, and don't burn yourself or set the box afire, and be sure to blow it out when you are through."

And David nodded and put his head back in the box, and his mother went in, smiling.

And his cat came and stood on the cover boards that had been left on, and she put her head down and peered into the box, but she didn't get in.

And that's all of the plumber story.




VIII

The Painter Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

They were building a new house in the field next to David's house, and the masons were through their work, and the bricklayers were through, and the water men were through, and the plumbers were through, and the gas men were through, and the plasterers were through, and the carpenters were almost through, for they were laying nice clean boards on the floors, and they had the floors almost done.

David had watched them do it, and had seen how they put one board down after another, and gave the last board whacks with a hammer, to drive it close up against the next board, and nailed it through the edge, so that the nails shouldn't show.

But they always put a piece of a board against the floor board, and whacked the hammer on that, because they wanted the floor to be all smooth and shiny and not to show any marks of a hammer.

And now the house had to be painted.

So, one morning, a great big wagon came to the new house.

And on the wagon were ladders, some of them very tall, and they stuck out far beyond the ends of the wagon; and there were great enormous hooks, and boards that were all painty; and a great many pots of paint, some dark green for the blinds, and some a lemon-yellow for the corners of the house and what the painters call the trimmings.

But most of the paint was white.

There were two kinds of white paint, one kind for the outside of the house and another for the inside.

And there were all the kinds of brushes that the painters would need, and there were great bundles of cloth, which the painters would spread over the floors, so that the nice clean floors shouldn't get all spattered with paint; and there were some odds and ends besides.

And the painters came, and they took the things all off the wagon.

Of course, the carpenters had some ladders that would reach, but those were the carpenters' ladders, not the painters'; and the carpenters had some boards, but those were the carpenters' boards, not the painters'.

That is why the painters had brought boards and ladders.

David had gone on the train with his father and his mother, that morning, but the painters didn't know about him, so they kept right on with their work.

The foreman was there, and he was sorry that David wasn't there to see what the painters were doing, but he knew that David would see them before they were through with their work.

The wagon was unloaded, and some of the painters went inside the house, to paint the parts that had to be painted in there; and some of the painters got ready to paint the outside of the house.

And they took thick pieces of board, and bored a hole in the middle, and they nailed those pieces of board on the roof, near the edge.

And they put the great enormous hooks up there, with the pointed ends in the holes in the boards, and the other ends hanging over the edge of the roof, over the gutter and the eaves.

The ends of the hooks which hung over had pulleys in them, and through the pulleys ran long ropes which hung down to the ground.

And the painters fastened the end of one of the ropes to one end of a ladder, and the end of another rope to the other end of the ladder.

Then they put some of the painty boards along over the rungs, so that the men shouldn't fall through or drop their pots of paint through, and they had made a sort of a staging which could be highered or lowered by the ropes.

And they tried the ropes, to see that it was all right, and two painters got on it, with their pots of paint and their brushes and everything they needed.

And one man sat at each end, and they pulled on the ropes, and hoisted the staging, with themselves sitting on it, up off the ground.

And the staging, with the two men on it, and their pots of paint, went slowly higher and higher, until it was as high as it could go, and the men could reach the highest board that they had to paint.

Then they fastened the ropes carefully, and they stirred up the paint, and they took up the brushes and they dipped the brushes in the paint, and they knocked them gently against the side of the paint-pot, plop, plop, plop, and they began to move them quickly over the boards, swish, swish, swish, first one side of the brush, and then back again on the other side.

And the first thing you knew they had all those boards painted, and they had to lower the staging so that they could reach the boards lower down.

"Hello!" called a little clear voice, and the painters looked down.

The foreman was standing there, watching the painters; and he looked, and there was David, all dressed in his go-to-town clothes.

And the foreman looked again, and there was David's mother, standing by her gate and waiting for David.

And she had on her go-to-town clothes, too.

"Hello, Davie," the foreman called. "You're all dressed up, aren't you? You'd better go and get into your overalls, quick, and then come back."

David's mother had heard what the foreman said, and she nodded and smiled to thank him, because she would have to call very loud, indeed, to make him hear, and she didn't like to.

And David nodded, and he ran back to his mother.

"Mother," he said, "the foreman said to get into my overalls. What did he mean, mother? Does that mean to put them on?"

"Yes, dear," his mother said, smiling.

So David paid no attention to his cat, who was coming to meet him and to rub against him, but he hurried to change his clothes and to put on his overalls.

And when he had his clothes changed and his overalls on, he ran out, and there was his cat waiting for him.

And he took up the handle of his cart, and he walked off as fast as he could, dragging his cart, and his shovel and his hoe rattled in the bottom of it; and his cat ran on ahead, with her bushy tail sticking up in the air.

I don't know why David took his cart that time, for there wasn't any mortar man, and there wasn't any sand-pile. He almost always took his cart.

When David got to the house, there was the foreman standing in almost the same place, but the painters had lowered the staging some more.

And David didn't say anything, but he dropped the handle of his cart, and he went to the foreman and reached up for the foreman's hand.

And the foreman's big hand closed over David's little one, and the foreman smiled, but he didn't say anything, either. He waited for David to speak.

David watched the painters for some time.

"What color are they painting it?" he asked at last. "It looks like white on the brushes, but sort of watery when they put it on, just as my paints look when I put a great deal of water with them. Have they got a great deal of water with their paint?"

"Not water, Davie," the foreman answered, "but oil. This is the first coat of paint, you see, put right on the bare wood, and the wood soaks the oil out of the paint at a great rate. They won't put so much oil in the second and third coats."

"Oh," said David, "will they paint it three times?"

"Three times for new wood," the foreman said.

He didn't say any more then, but he watched and so did David while the painters dipped their brushes and patted them against the sides of their paint-pots and brushed them quickly back and forth over the new clapboards.

"Come with me, Davie," the foreman said at last, "and let's see if we can't scare up something else that's interesting."

And so David went with the foreman, and they went around by the cellar door.

And there they saw a great pile of shutters or blinds which were to go on the outside of all the windows of the house.

These blinds were leaning, one against another, and they had already been painted a kind of bluish gray, and each one had whole rows of little slats that you could turn back and forth.

And beyond the pile of bluish gray blinds was a smaller pile of dark green blinds, and the dark green blinds glistened with fresh paint, and they were leaning, one against another.

And between the pile of bluish gray blinds and the pile of dark green blinds were two painters, painting for dear life, and they were painting the bluish gray blinds dark green.

David watched them for a few minutes. It seemed to be a good deal of trouble to get the slats well painted.

"These," said the foreman, putting his hand on the bluish gray blinds, "are just as they come from the mill -- the factory where they are made. This first coat of paint is put on there. Then our painters paint them whatever color is wanted."

David nodded, but he didn't say anything, for he didn't understand why the carpenters didn't make the blinds.

Pretty soon he pulled at the foreman's hand.

"I want to go back," he said.

So they went back to the painters who were painting the side of the house.

They had lowered the staging so low that the foreman could reach it.

"I'll tell you what, Davie," the foreman said. "Do you suppose you could paint a clapboard?"

"Oh," cried David, "will they let me?"

"I guess so," the foreman answered. "You ask them."

David looked up at the painters, and the painters looked down at David, and they were smiling.

David started to speak, but he couldn't ask what he wanted to. And the painters saw what was the matter, and one of them spoke.

"Want to paint a board?" he asked. "Well, come on up here."

So the foreman put his hands under David's arms, and he lifted David right up, over the staging, and set him down with his feet hanging over. And the painter dipped his brush into the paint, and patted it gently against the side of the paint-pot, plop, plop, plop, and he handed the brush to David.

"Oh," David said, "it's heavy!"

"So it is," the painter said. "The paint is mostly lead, that's why. Now, you move the brush away from you as if you were sweeping the floor or dusting the board. Then, when it has gone as far as you can reach, you bring it back on the other side."

David tried, but he didn't do it very well and the paint squeezed out of the brush and ran down and dripped from the edge of the clapboard.

"Not that way," the painter said. "I'll show you."

Then he took hold of David's wrist, but he left the brush in David's hand, and he moved it the way it ought to go, and he swept up all the little rivers of paint and all the little drips, and spread it smoothly over the clapboard.

"There!" said the painter. "Now, do you see?"

David nodded, and he tried again.

This time he did better, but the paint was all gone from the brush, and he held it out to the painter for more.

So the painter dipped it again, and David took it, and painted some more.

And each time he did better than he had done the last time, and he hitched along on the staging, and that clapboard was all painted before he knew it.

And David sighed and started to get up on his feet.

But the other painter called to him.

"Hey, David!" he called. "Aren't you going to do any painting for me? That isn't fair. You come over and do a board for me."

David smiled with pleasure. "Yes, I will," he said.

So he crawled on his hands and knees along the staging, and the foreman walked along on the ground beside him.

And he painted a clapboard for that other painter, but a great drop of the paint got on the leg of his overalls.

"Oh," he said, "I got some paint on my overalls."

"Gracious!" said the painter. "That's nothing. Look at my overalls."

The painter's overalls were made of strong white cloth, and they were all splashed up with paint, all colors. But he had painted a great deal more than David had.

So David finished the clapboard, and then he got up on his feet, and the foreman took him and lifted him down to the ground.

"Thank you," said the painter.

"Thank you," said the other painter.

"You're welcome," David said. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye," said both the painters.

And David began to run to his cart.

"Good-bye, Davie," the foreman said.

David stopped a moment and looked around.

"Good-bye," he said.

Then his cat came running to meet him, and he grabbed up the handle of his cart, and he kept on running, dragging his cart, and his shovel and his hoe rattled away like everything in the bottom of it.

And when he got to his house, he didn't stop running, but just dropped the handle of the cart, and he climbed up the steps as fast as he could and ran into the house.

"Mother," he called, "I painted two boards and I got some paint on my overalls. But you ought to see the painter's overalls. They're awful painty."

And that's all.




IX

The Tree-Men Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

Behind David's house were some thin woods. And in those woods were oak trees, several kinds, but he didn't know the difference between the kinds.

And there were cedar trees and chestnut trees and birch trees of three kinds; and there were white pine trees and pitch pine trees, and the pitch pine trees were sticky all over.

David knew the pitch pine trees, because he had got his clothes all covered with their stickiness.

And there were a few great sycamore trees, and some ash trees, and some beech trees, and a lot of other kinds that I can't remember the names of.

All summer there were lots of birds in these woods and about the edge of them; and in the winter, when all those summer birds had gone away, other birds came.

And four blue jays stayed there all the year, and the crows stayed, of course, but they didn't live in those woods especially.

And there were chickadees and juncos, which are one kind of snowbird; and there were a lot of little birds which looked like sparrows, and there were red-polled linnets, and occasionally a flock of cedar-birds would cover the cedars like gray snowflakes, and once David's mother called him to come quick and see the pine grosbeaks.

And when David came, he saw a great flock of birds which looked gray, but three of them had the most beautiful rose-colored feathers on their breasts and shoulders and heads, making them look as if they had tied rose-colored aprons about their necks. David watched them until they flew away.

All these birds were very busy feeding on the seeds of weeds or the berries of the trees, and some of them dug insects out of the bark.

And there were gray squirrels which raced along the branches of the trees, and jumped from one branch to another, and poked about on the ground and opened the chestnut-burs which had just fallen from the trees, and ate the chestnuts, or scampered over the roof just above David's head, and made a great racket.

They were great fat fellows with warm, thick fur, not much like the squirrels on Boston Common, but they got almost as tame with David, although he never could get quite near enough to one to pat it. That was better, for the squirrel might have bitten David.

David used to try to get near them, but he always told his cat to stay at home when he was going after them, for the squirrels were afraid of his cat.

One morning in the fall David had gone after the squirrels. There were a great many squirrels about, for the chestnuts had begun to fall, and the squirrels were very busy.

And David had got farther and farther from his house, but he was where he could see the road.

And he heard the rattle of a wagon, and he looked and saw a very spick-and-span new wagon, painted red, with yellow and black stripes on it, and the wheels were flashing in the sun as they turned.

On the wagon were ladders and long slender poles, and four men were riding on it.

The wagon stopped, and the men got off. One of the men took a halter out of the wagon and tied the horse to a tree, while the others took off the ladders.

Then each man took one of the long, slender poles, and a big can and a little can. And they took the ladders on their shoulders and held them with one hand, and the poles in the other hand, and the handles of the cans in that other hand, too, and they began to walk right to where David was.

And all the squirrels heard them coming, and they stopped eating chestnuts, and each squirrel scurried to a tree, with his chestnut in his mouth, and he scrambled up the tree, on the opposite side of the trunk from the men, so that the men couldn't see him.

They scrambled up the trunks very fast, until they came to a branch; and each squirrel sat on his branch, next to the trunk, and made a sort of a scolding, barking noise, and every time he made the noise his tail gave a queer little jerk.

David was watching them, and he heard their noises, and he couldn't help laughing to see their tails jerk.

And then the men were there, and they saw David laughing.

"Hello," said one of the men. "What's so funny?"

"I was laughing at the squirrels," David said; "they make their tails go."

"Yes," said the man, "I hear them, and I see some of them. How they do scold! But we wouldn't hurt them."

He put his cans down, and he leaned his pole against a tree, and he stood the ladder against the tree.

David looked in the cans. There wasn't anything in the little can, but the big can was full of something that was about as thick as molasses and almost as black as ink, only it was brownish black.

"What is it?" he asked. "Is it molasses? It smells horrid."

The man laughed.

"No," he answered, "it isn't molasses or anything good to eat. It's creosote. That's a poisonous kind of stuff. We put it on these things."

He pointed to a place on a tree. It looked as if somebody had daubed dirt on the trunk, and the place was about the size of David's thumb, and it was rounded out a little at the middle.

"I guess you never noticed those places," the man said. "Inside of that are the eggs of a moth that eats things up and does a great deal of harm. Those eggs would hatch when it gets warm enough, and little worms would come out, and they would begin to eat, and the worms would change into moths later on, and the moths would lay more eggs. We are trying to get rid of them, so we paint some creosote on every bunch of eggs we can find, and that kills them.

"If you look carefully you can see a good many places just like this, all over the trunks of the trees and on the under sides of branches. Some trees have a good many on them, and some don't have any. There's a lot on this tree."

David looked and saw the little mud spots farther up the trunk, and then he looked higher and he saw some of the spots on the under sides of the branches, as the man had said.

He nodded.

"You paint some now," he said, going nearer, "with that stuff."

The man laughed.

"You want to see me do it right off, do you?" he asked.

So he took a stubby paint brush from his belt, and he dipped it into the big can, and he wiped it over as many of the spots as he could reach. The spots looked as if they had been painted with tar.

"Now," he said, "I am going to walk right up that tree."

He pointed to his legs, and David saw that a long iron thing was strapped to each leg, and the iron thing had a sharp point which stuck down about as far as the soles of his shoes.

"Those are climbers, or spurs. We can walk right up any tree that isn't too large around, and you see that those points are bent in a little so that they will stick into the trunk of the tree on each side. You watch."

So the man poured some of the stuff from the big can into the little can, and he hung the little can from his belt, and he stuck the stubby paint brush in his belt.

Then he went to the tree, and he put his hands half-around the trunk, and he lifted up one foot and jabbed it down, so that he jabbed the spur into the tree. Then he lifted the other foot and jabbed that spur in; and he walked right up the tree.

And when he had got to other spots that had been too high for him to reach, he stopped and held on with one hand, while he took the paint brush and painted those egg bunches with stuff from the little can.

But there were some egg bunches left on branches that were too little for the man to go on.

So the man put one leg over a branch, and he took his pole, which was leaning against a twig just beside him, and he fixed the paint brush in the end of the pole, in a place that was meant for it, and he reached out with the pole and painted all those egg bunches on the small branches.

Then he put the pole back, leaning against the twig, and he came slowly down to the ground.

"There!" he said. "Did you see how I did it? Do you think that you could paint some?"

David's eyes glistened.

"Oh, could I? But I couldn't walk up the tree."

The man smiled.

"I'm afraid you couldn't, but you can paint as far as you can reach with the pole."

The other men were busy on trees near, and they watched while David painted the mud spots on another tree which the man found for him.

He wasn't very tall and there were only two spots which he could reach while he stood on the ground.

But the man held him up in his arms as high as he could, and when he had painted all those spots, the man fixed the paint brush in the end of the pole.

It was pretty heavy for such a little boy to manage, and the end would wave around so that he couldn't make the brush paint where he wanted it to.

So the man helped David to hold the pole steady and paint as far as it could reach.

Just then David heard his mother calling him.

"I've got to go now," he said to the man. "I think my mother wants me."

"Well, good-bye," the man said. "We're much obliged."

"You're welcome," David said. "Good-bye."

And he turned around and went galloping through the woods to his house.

And his cat met him, and then his mother met him.

"Where were you, dear?" his mother asked.

"I was helping the tree-men paint egg-spots. How big are moth-eggs, mother?"

But his mother didn't know.

And that's all.




X

The Clearing-Up Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

They had been building a new house in the field next to David's house, and it was all done. Even the last coat of paint was dry.

David knew, because he had tried it with his finger to see. He had tried it three times, and the first two times it wasn't dry, but the last time it was.

And the carpenters had gone, and the painters had gone, but they had left great messes and piles of stuff that had been swept out of the house, and heaps of the sawed-off ends of boards, and some good boards, and piles of broken laths and plaster and the little pieces that they had sawed off the laths, and some broken saw-horses, and a lot of other rubbish.

One morning David heard the rattle of a wagon; and he looked and saw a wagon stop at the new house, and he saw the nice foreman that he knew, and there were two other men.

And the men jumped out, and the foreman jumped out, and David hurried to go over there. He hurried so fast that he forgot to take his cart, and he forgot to call his cat, but his cat came just the same, and she ran on ahead, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

And when the foreman saw the cat, he knew that David couldn't be far off, and he looked up and he saw him.

"Hello, Davie," he said. "I'm glad to see you."

"Hello," David said. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to sort of clear up the place, Davie. Don't you think it needs it? And I'm going to have all this rubbish carried off or burned up."

David nodded, but he didn't say anything; and he reached up, and he put his little hand into the foreman's big one.

Then the two men who had come with the foreman began to pick out the boards that were good.

There were some great heavy planks which were covered with plaster and spattered with paint, but they were good planks and could be used again.

The men took these planks, one man at each end, and they brought them to the wagon and they put them in.

When they had brought all the planks, they separated the long boards from the little short ends of boards, and they brought the long boards to the wagon and they put them on top of the planks.

Then they piled the little short ends of boards near the cellar door. It was a great pile of wood that the people who moved into the house could have to burn.

Then they found a couple of saw-horses that were pretty good, and they put them on top of the boards in the wagon, and the wagon was loaded with as much as one horse ought to pull.

So the foreman told one of them to go along with that load, and to hurry back, and he would stay there and help the other man do a little clearing up.

And the man climbed into the seat, and drove off.

"Now, Davie," the foreman said, "I've got to help my man, and I can't stay here with you and do nothing, although I should like to."

"What are you going to do?" David asked.

"Oh, we're going to put all the rubbish that will burn over there on the bare spot, where it can't set anything afire. All the stuff that we can't burn we'll rake up into piles, and when the wagon comes back, we'll take it away. And there's a little gravel over there that is hardly worth taking, and we'll leave it for the graders to use."

"What are the graders?" asked David. "What do they do?"

"Oh, the graders are sort of rough gardeners. They spread the dirt around where it is wanted, and they make it the right height all along the foundation, and smooth it off, and they make the walks up to the front door and the back door, and they spread gravel on the walks. Sometimes they make terraces or banks, but they won't do that here. It will be a nice slope from the house down to the field, all around."

David looked at the house, which stood high on its foundation, and he saw that there was a great hole between the ground and the front steps. He supposed that the graders would fill up that hole.

He nodded.

"I'll get my cart," he said, "and then I'll help you."

So he ran all the way home, and his cat saw him running and she ran too, faster than David ran, and she ran right up on to the piazza.

But David didn't go there. He took up the handle of his cart, and he ran back again.

And his cat saw that she had made a mistake, and she ran faster than ever; and she passed David, and she was running so fast that her bushy tail didn't stick up in the air at all, but straight out behind.

And David came where the foreman was standing, waiting for him, and the foreman showed him where he wanted the rubbish piled to be burned, far from the house.

And the foreman and David worked together, and they piled the rubbish into the cart; and when it was full, they dragged the cart over to the place, and they emptied the rubbish out of it.

Then the foreman took a match out of his pocket, and he scratched the match on his trousers-leg, and he lighted the pile of rubbish.

And a little thin column of smoke went up, and then it blazed, and then it crackled, and the foreman and David went back for another load.

The foreman and David worked for a long time, getting loads of rubbish, and dragging them over to the fire.

Then the foreman would take up the cart, all filled with little odds and ends of sticks and with shavings and with twigs and the ends of laths, and he would turn the cart upside down over the fire, and empty all that stuff out.

Then David would drag the cart back.

The other man was working with a rake all this long time, raking over the places where the foreman and David had been, and he raked the pieces of plaster and the other stuff that wouldn't burn into little heaps.

Suddenly they heard the rattle of the wagon, and they all looked up. And the wagon stopped, and the man who had been driving jumped off, and the horse just stood where he had stopped, and he breathed hard and looked after the man, and he pricked his ears forward.

Then the foreman told the men to get all that stuff into the wagon, and he waved his hand toward the heaps of rubbish that had been raked up.

So the man held out his hand toward the horse, and he whistled, and the horse came, and he followed the men to the farthest pile of rubbish.

And the men took shovels and shoveled the stuff into the wagon in no time. Then they walked along to the next heap, and the horse came after.

And they shoveled that stuff into the wagon, and they walked along to the next heap, and the horse came after.

And so they did until they had shoveled in the last heap; and the horse walked into the road, dragging the wagon after him, and there he stopped.

The foreman and David had picked up all the little odds and ends of things which would burn, and had put them on the fire.

The fire had been blazing up high, but now it wasn't blazing so high, and it was almost burned out.

And the two men stood still, leaning on their shovels, and looked all about.

And the foreman stood still, and he looked all about.

And David stood still, leaning on the handle of his cart, and he looked all about, because he saw the others looking; but he didn't see anything in particular.

The foreman turned to David and sighed.

"Well, Davie," he said, "I guess that'll be about all."

David nodded and looked over to the fire, which was not much more than a heap of red coals and white ashes.

The foreman saw where he was looking.

"The fire'll be all right," he said. "It's about out. Now I'll take just one more look around."

So the foreman walked all around the house, slowly, and he looked carefully to make sure that he had not forgotten anything.

And he looked at the cellar door and at the places where the heaps of rubbish had been, and all around the foundations of the house, and at the great hole under the front steps where the steps didn't come down to the ground, and at the fire last of all.

The fire had all burned out to white ashes, and every swirl of the wind made the ashes fly about.

Then the foreman came where David was.

"Now we're going, Davie," he said. "We'll come back some day to build another house next to this one. Will you help us then?"

"Yes," said David, "I'll help you as much as I can. When are you going to build it?"

"Oh, I don't know," the foreman said, "but I should think it would be before long. Somebody's going to move into this house in a few days. We're much obliged to you for helping us build this."

"You're welcome," said David.

Then the foreman shook David's hand.

"Good-bye, Davie," he said. "Don't forget us."

"Good-bye," said David.

Then the foreman climbed up to the seat of the wagon. The other men were up there already.

And all the men waved their hands, and the horse started.

David stood and watched them until they turned the corner.

Then he picked up his shovel and his hoe and threw them into his cart, and began to walk home, dragging his cart, with his shovel and his hoe rattling in the bottom of it.

And his cat came running, and she ran ahead, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

And that's all of this story.




XI

The Setting-Out Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

One morning he was playing in the thin woods behind his house.

He had his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he was walking slowly along, kicking the dead leaves and looking up at the leaves on the trees.

Not nearly all the leaves had fallen from the trees yet, but those leaves that were still on the trees had turned to all kinds of pretty colors: red and yellow and a great many pretty browns which looked alive. And some leaves were red and yellow together, and some were still green with red and yellow spots on them, and some leaves had not changed their color at all, but were green all over.

And the squirrels were very busy hunting chestnuts and they didn't pay much attention to David.

Suddenly there was a great scurrying, and every squirrel went racing up the nearest tree, and David's cat came running, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air, and she ran a little way ahead of David, and she flopped over on her back in a little pile of leaves, and she began playing with the leaves.

David laughed at her. "Funny kitty!" he said.

Then he turned and went on talking, but he wasn't talking to his cat and he wasn't talking to himself.

His pretend playmate had come, and it was the boy, this time, and he had brought the cat.

So David and that pretend little boy played together for a long time.

Sometimes they dragged the cart together, and sometimes they stopped and hunted for chestnuts, and they put into the cart the chestnuts that they found.

And after a while they came into that part of the woods which was behind the new house.

And David heard some men talking together up at the new house, and he looked and saw them squatting down beside the house, and two of the men had shovels.

So David and the pretend little boy hurried to go to the new house, to see what the men were doing, and they dragged the cart, and the shovel and the hoe and the chestnuts all rattled about together in the bottom of it; and the cat went running on ahead.

But, when David got there, the pretend little boy had gone, for David had forgotten about him.

And David stopped a little way from the men, and looked about.

The grading men must have got their work all finished, for the ground all about didn't look at all as it had when the foreman and David had left it.

There weren't any signs of the rubbish, and the dirt was up higher on the foundation in a nice straight line, and it sloped down to the field all around, and it had been made all smooth.

David wondered about the great hole that was under the front steps, and he went around there and looked, and the hole wasn't there any more, but the ground came up to the steps, and a man was raking gravel smooth, to make a front walk like the one that went into David's house.

David didn't say anything, and the man didn't say anything either, but kept on raking.

So David went back to the place where the men were, with the shovels.

Those men were digging a round hole in the ground, about big enough for David to sit in and stretch his legs out straight.

And when they had the hole dug, another man came, carrying a little tree.

There were a whole pile of little trees out near the road, and they all had their roots tied up in bagging, or a kind of coarse cloth.

The tree which the man was carrying was a little Christmas tree. He had taken the cloth off of the roots, and he was cutting off, with his knife, some of the ends of roots.

Then he put it in the hole, carefully, and the men spread the roots out all around in the bottom of the hole, and they sifted some dark-colored dirt all about them, and they worked it in between the fine roots with their fingers, and they pressed it down hard.

The man who had put the tree in was holding on to it all the time, so that it should grow up straight.

And when the roots were all right and the dirt was pressed down hard, he let go of the tree and took up the end of a hose that was lying on the ground, right behind him.

David hadn't noticed the hose before. It came from a shiny hose-faucet, and the hose-faucet stuck out of the house just above the foundation, halfway along the side.

The man let water run from the hose into the dirt that had just been put around the roots of the tree, and he let it run for a long time.

And when the top of the hole was just a puddle of mud, he stopped the water and dropped the hose, and the men scattered a little dark-colored dirt that was dry over the top of it.

That dark-colored dirt is called loam, and it is the best kind of dirt to make things grow.

David saw that from the house down to where the path would be to the back door was already covered with the same dark-colored dirt.

The other side of the path was nice and smooth, but it looked sort of raw and the dirt was a yellow color.

Just beside the road was a great pile of dark-colored dirt, and there was a two-wheeled cart backed up to the pile, and a man was shoveling the dirt into the cart.

When the cart was filled, the man tossed his shovel on top of the dirt and started walking along.

"Come along, Jack," he said.

The horse had had his ears pricked forward, and when the man said that, he started and followed the man to the end of the yellow dirt.

There he stopped, and the man took his shovel off the cart and threw it on the ground. And he took the backboard out of the cart, and he put his knee on the cart, and the top tipped back and slid all that dirt out in a heap on the ground.

Then the horse walked along two steps, and the man took his shovel and scraped out what was left in the cart, and he tipped the top of the cart back again and he put the backboard in.

And he got up into the cart, and the horse turned around and walked back to the pile to get another load.

David wanted to ask somebody some questions about the dirt, but he didn't know any of the men, and they all seemed to be very busy.

So he just watched; and he saw another man come, and he had a shovel, and he spread around the dirt in the heap that the cart had just dumped until it was pretty even and smooth.

And the horse came, bringing another load, and that was dumped, and the man spread that around with his shovel.

David went nearer, and the man saw him.

"Are you going to plant some little trees?" David asked.

"We're going to sow grass seed here," the man answered, "when this is all covered with loam."

Then another load of loam came, and he was busy with his shovel, and David went back to watch the other men plant trees.

They were planting more little Christmas trees near that first one, five trees in a kind of a clump, and David watched them dig the holes and put the trees in, and spread the roots about, and put dirt on them, and stamp the dirt down hard, and put the water in.

And when the Christmas trees were all planted, they put another kind at the back corner of the house.

Then they went to the front corner of the house, and one of them said that there was the place for the lilac bushes.

And he got the lilac bushes and cut off a part of the roots while the other men were digging the holes, and they planted the lilac bushes in the holes, but they didn't do it so carefully as they had with the other kinds of trees.

And when they had the holes filled up and the water turned off, and the planting of lilac bushes all finished, they stopped and leaned on their shovels and looked around, to see what else they had to do.

The loam was all over the yellow dirt, and the last load was just being spread around.

So some of the men went to get the grass seed. That grass seed was in green bags.

And they took up bags of grass seed and began walking slowly along over the ground, and they took up handfuls of the grass seed and scattered it in the air so that it fell evenly over the ground.

And they sowed the seed all among the trees they had just planted, and all over the smooth dirt, and wherever they wanted the grass to grow; but they didn't sow it in the paths.

Then two other men came, and they were dragging a great heavy stone roller behind them.

It was so heavy that the two men had to walk very slowly, each dragging it by one handle.

And they went to and fro over the ground where the grass seed had been sown, and they rolled it down smooth and hard and shiny.

Before the roller men had got through, the others had gone and put on their coats and gathered up their tools; and David knew that they were through their work.

So he went where he had left his cart, and he looked for the pretend little boy, but he had gone away, and David couldn't find him. And he looked for his cat, and he couldn't see her either.

So he took up the handle of his cart, and he walked along to his house, dragging his cart, with his shovel and his hoe and the chestnuts all rattling together in the bottom of it.

And that's all.




XII

The Pole-Men Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

One morning he had just started to wander along the road toward the corner of the next street.

He wasn't allowed to go beyond that corner, but he could look and see what was coming, and perhaps he could see the postman and the black dog.

His cat was walking along beside him, looking up into his face, and he was dragging his cart, with his shovel and his hoe rattling in the bottom of it, for he might want to play in the sand of the gutter.

But before he got more than halfway to the corner, he heard a great rattling and shouting, and two horses came around the corner.

They made a very wide turn, because they were dragging a wagon, and behind that came two great logs which looked like trees, except that they were all smoothed off.

And David wondered where the other ends of the logs were, for he couldn't see anything but logs coming around the corner.

Then came a pair of strong wheels that the logs rested upon, and presently there were the other ends of the logs, and David knew that the logs were either telephone poles or electric light poles, for he had seen a great many of both kinds.

There was a man driving, and two other men, and they had some other smaller poles and some shovels in the wagon.

David stopped short, and his cat stopped, and they watched the wagon, with the poles behind it, go slowly down the road until it had got a little way beyond his house.

Then it stopped, and the men jumped out, and they began to look up in the air.

David wondered why they were doing that. He wondered so much that he walked along, with his cat walking beside him and his cart coming after, to ask the men.

But before he got near enough to them to ask, they had stopped looking up in the air, and they talked to each other, and David knew by what they said that they had been looking to see where the telephone line to his house stopped.

Then they started the horses, and the men walked beside them, and they walked about as far as a big boy could throw a stone, and there they stopped.

And the men undid the ropes from the long logs, and they rolled one of them to one side and tipped it so that its big end was on the ground, and they tied the ropes on to the other log again.

Then they got two of the smaller poles from the wagon, and they held up the small end of the log with the small poles; and the wagon started and the wheels went out from under the log and left it.

Then the men took away the small poles and the log fell upon the ground, and it made a big booming noise as it fell.

The other log was unloaded in the same way not far from the corner of the new house, and they led the horses to a tree and tied them; and they took the shovels and all the little poles and the other things out of the wagon.

The shovels were strange-looking things, with long, straight handles and queer blades, more like long mustard-spoons than shovels; and the little poles had sharp spikes in the ends, and some of the poles were not much longer than clothes-poles, and some were a great deal longer; and there were two sharp-pointed iron bars.

The men took all their things to the place where the first pole lay on the ground, and two of them took bars and the other took one of the shovels.

And the men with the bars stuck them into the ground and loosened the dirt, and the other man scooped out the dirt with his big mustard-spoon. Then some more dirt was loosened and that was scooped out with the shovel.

The hole that they were digging was not much bigger around than the end of the pole which would go into it.

The hole kept getting deeper, so that a common shovel wouldn't have got up any dirt at all; but the man with the mustard-spoon shovel just gave it a little twist, and lifted it out with dirt in it.

Pretty soon they had the hole dug deep enough.

It was so deep that, if a man could have stood on the bottom of it, he could have just seen out, if he stood on his tiptoes.

But only a slim man could have got into the hole. A fat man would have stuck fast as soon as his legs were in.

Then the men put down their bars and the shovel, and got the little poles, and went where the long log lay.

And they rolled it over with bars which were something like tongs, except that they had only one handle; and they rolled it until the big end of the log was just over the hole.

Then they took the shortest small poles with spikes in the ends, and they put them where they could reach them quickly.

And they all took hold of the end of the log and lifted it as high as they could reach; and one of the men reached out quickly for his spike pole, while the other two men held the log, and he jabbed the spike hard into the log and held it while another man got his spike pole and jabbed the spike hard into the log.

Then the third man jabbed the spike of his pole in, and they all lifted together, and the butt end of the log slipped a little way into the hole.

It couldn't go all the way to the bottom, because the big pole wasn't up far enough yet, and the butt end struck the side of the hole.

Then they got longer spike poles, one man at a time, and they lifted again, and the big pole slipped a little farther down into the hole.

And one of the men jabbed his spike pole in at another place, and then the other men did, and they lifted again, and the big pole went thump! on the bottom of the hole.

And the men left their spike poles sticking in, all around, and jammed the other ends into the ground to hold the big pole up straight while they filled in the dirt around it.

David had been watching the men all the time, but he was careful not to get near, because he had seen how the big pole bounced around when it was unloaded.

His cat was not so careful, and she was almost hit by one of the spike poles when the man threw it down, and she scampered home as fast as she could go.

But David didn't pay any attention to her, and the men were too busy to notice.

When the dirt was pounded hard around the pole, the men took up their things, and walked along to the place where they had unloaded the other pole; and David walked along, too, dragging his cart.

He would have liked to take some of the things in his cart, but they were all too big, for he asked one of the men.

And the man looked at his cart, and he looked at David, and he laughed and shook his head.

"But you be very careful not to get too near," he said. "If the pole should get away from us, there's no knowing what it would do."

"Yes," said David. "I was careful."

"So you were," the man said. "You do the same way while we set this pole."

So the men set the other pole, and David stood a long way off.

He stood so far off that he couldn't see very well, and when the men had the pole straight up in the air, he wandered over to the wagon and tried to see if anything else was in it.

The backboard was up and he couldn't see inside at all, but he saw the wheels that the poles had come on, and he thought he would try to shin up on them and look in.

So he put his arms around the axle and tried to get one leg over; but as soon as he took his foot off the ground, the wheels began to go. He put his foot down again and made the wheels go faster, hanging on to the axle with his arms and paddling on the ground with his feet, for the ground sloped a little.

And when the wheels had rolled gently down to the lowest part of the road, they stopped and David couldn't make them go any more, even when he pushed as hard as he could.

But the men had got through setting the pole, and they were going over to the wagon when David rolled down the road and couldn't get back.

And they all went where he was, and one of them pushed on the axle, and David pushed, and the wheels rolled back again to the wagon.

And the men let down the backboard, and they put in all their things: all their poles and the bars and the shovel.

Then they took out a big coil of something that looked like rubber tubing which was wound on a great wooden spool.

The spool was as big around as David's body, and the stuff that looked like rubber tubing looked all twisty, as if there were two pieces twisted together.

David wanted very much to know what it was. He didn't like to ask, but the man who had it saw that he was looking at it very hard.

"Do you know what that is?" he asked, smiling at David.

David shook his head.

"Is it a little hose?"

"No, it's wire, and the wire is covered with that black rubbery stuff. See, here are the ends."

He found the ends of the wire and showed them to David. There were two bright ends of copper wire, and they peeped out of the black rubber covering.

"There are two of them, you see, and they are twisted together."

David nodded, but he didn't say anything.

The other men were buckling on to their legs some iron spurs, or climbers, just like those the tree men had.

And when they had their climbers buckled on, they took a little coil of rope and some queer little wooden things and a big hammer, and they went to the nearest pole.

One of the men walked right up this pole, and when he got nearly to the top, he put a big strap around his waist and around the pole, and buckled it, so that it held him to the pole, not tight up against it, but loosely so that he could use his hands.

Then he took one of the wooden things that was sticking out of his pocket, and he took his hammer from his belt, and he nailed the wooden thing to the pole. And the coil of rope was hanging at his belt; and he took it off, and he undid it, and let one end drop down to the ground.

The man who was standing there tied on a big lump of glass, and the man on the pole pulled it up, and untied it, and screwed it on the top of the wooden pin that he had just nailed on. Then he dropped his rope and came down the pole.

And he walked along until he came to the pole in front of David's house, and he walked right up that pole.

Then he let down one end of his rope, and the man on the ground tied it to the end of the twisted wires, and the man on the pole pulled them up, and the spool turned over and the wires unwound as the ends went up the pole.

David couldn't see what the man on the pole did with the ends of the wires, but he fastened them somehow to the wires that were there already, and then he came down.

And the man on the ground put a short stick through the hole in the middle of the spool, and he took hold of one end of the stick and the man who had just come down from the pole took hold of the other end, and they walked along, and the hanging wire began to get tight, and the spool began to turn around as they walked, and the wire lay on the ground behind them.

And they walked past the two new poles and to the corner of the new house; and they put the spool down on the ground.

Almost all the wire had unwound from the spool.

The other man had been doing what had to be done at the second pole: nailing on the wooden thing and putting the glass on.

Then he had taken a ladder to the corner of the house, and he had fastened some things for the wire to go through, up the corner of the house to the eaves.

Then he came down the ladder, and all the men walked back together.

The first man walked up his pole again and waited.

And the second man walked up his pole, and let down the end of the rope.

And the man on the ground tied it to the wire, and the man on the pole pulled it up, and the wire hung in the air between him and David's house.

Then the man on the ground walked along to the next pole, and he tied the man's rope to the wire and he pulled it up.

And the man on the ground walked along to the corner of the new house, and he took hold of the wire there, and went up the ladder with it, and the wire was hanging in the air all the way from the new house to David's house, but it rested on the two poles between.

Then the men all pulled the wire as tight as it ought to be, and they fastened it to the poles and to the house, just the way it belonged, and they made it go down the corner of the house, and they cut it off at the bottom and left the ends sticking out.

Some other men would come and put wires inside the house, and those other men would put the telephone in so that people could talk with each other when they were far apart.

Then the pole men came down from their poles and the ladder, and they gathered up all their things and put them into the wagon.

And they took off their climbers and put them into the wagon, and they tied the wheels on behind, so that they would drag after the wagon.

And they untied the horses and they all got in, and they drove away, with all their six wheels rattling, and they left David looking after them.

But before they had got far one of the men turned and saw David looking after them, and he saw his cat; and he waved his hand to David, and he waved it to his cat.

Of course, the cat couldn't wave her hand, but David could, and he did, and then the wagon turned the corner, and the wheels rattled after.

And David looked to see where his cart was, for he had forgotten it; and he went to the cart, and took up the handle and walked slowly home.

And that's all.




XIII

The Moving-Men Story


Once upon a time there was a little boy, and he was almost five years old, and his name was David. And there weren't any other children near for him to play with, so he used to play happily all by himself.

He had his cat and his cart and his shovel and his hoe, and he always wore his overalls when he was playing.

They had been building a new house in the field next to David's house, and it was all done, and all ready to be lived in.

It had electric lights and a range which would burn either coal or gas; and in cold weather they would burn coal in the range, and in warm weather they would use the gas part.

And the telephone was all in, for the inside-telephone-men had come and put it in.

David hadn't seen them do their work, because they had been inside the house all the time, and there wasn't any nice foreman, like Jonathan, who knew him, and who took pains to show him everything there was to show.

But he had seen them go in, carrying the telephone, and he had seen them come out without it, and he had asked them if they had it all fixed so that people could talk, and they had said that they had fixed it, and that it was all right.

Then six great wagons had come. Three of the wagons brought furnace coal and two of them brought range coal, and one brought a load of wood to burn in the fireplaces.

And the furnace coal went in at one cellar window, and the range coal went in at another cellar window, and the wood went in at the cellar door, in a man's arms.

All these different things were being done at once, and there was a tremendous racket with all the coal going down through iron chutes, and all the men had been very busy.

Then the racket had stopped, and the men had taken their chutes and thrown them into the wagons, and they had climbed up into their seats, and they had rattled off, in a procession, but they had left the cellar windows flapping.

Coal men never do fasten the cellar windows unless there is somebody right there to remind them of it. And, in a few minutes, David saw a man come out of the house and lock the door, and walk up the road and turn the corner.

The next day, David watched the new house for a long time, but nothing happened, and he couldn't see that there was anybody there, so he wandered into the thin woods behind his house.

His cat started with him, but two crows came and flew at the cat, and she was frightened and ran home as fast as she could go, with her bushy tail sticking straight out behind her.

David laughed to see her running away from the crows, and he walked along slowly, and he came where were some crusts of bread and other things which the maid at his house had taken out there for the birds.

David's mother had the maid throw out crusts of bread and tie lumps of fat on the trees all winter, because when the snow is on the ground it is sometimes hard for the birds to find things enough to eat.

There was a plenty of things for the birds to eat now, and they were easy enough to get, but some birds were picking at the scraps.

Suddenly the birds flew up into a tree and two gray squirrels came and gnawed at the bread crusts, when the two crows that had chased David's cat came flapping down and tried to get at the scraps.

But the squirrels stopped eating and chased the crows savagely; and the crows didn't fight back, but they just flew up a little bit of a way and hovered there until the squirrels began to eat again.

Then they flapped down on the ground and began to sneak up toward the scraps; and the squirrels darted at them and chased them again.

David wasn't very near, and he had watched the squirrels and the crows for some time.

Then he just happened to look up, and he saw a maid come out of the cellar door of the new house and get some wood from the pile that the carpenters had left.

And she picked out the little pieces and put them in her apron and went in; and, almost as soon as she was in, smoke began to come out of the chimney, and David thought he had better go there and see what was going on.

He walked up past his house, and stopped and got his cart and called his cat. And his cat came running, and he walked along, dragging his cart, with his shovel and his hoe rattling in the bottom of it.

But when he got to the road he looked up to the corner to see if there was anything coming, and he saw what he thought must be the circus just turning the corner.

First there came three great horses, harnessed abreast, and their harness was glittering with chains and little brass things and with ivory rings; and the horses were dragging a great big shiny van which seemed almost as big as a house.

The driver's seat was up high, and the top of the van stuck over and made a little roof for it; and on the side of the van was a picture of two lions, and the lions in the picture were about as big as real lions.

And behind that van came another three-horse van like the first, with lions painted on the side.

And behind that came a smaller van drawn by two horses, and that had lions painted on the side, and a little dog trotted under the two-horse van, and his tongue was hanging out because he had trotted a long way and he was thirsty.

When these three vans had turned the corner, no more came, although David watched for as much as half a minute.

By that time the first van was past him and his cat had caught sight of the little dog and the little dog had caught sight of the cat.

But the cat didn't do anything, and the little dog was too tired to chase her. So he pretended that he didn't see her, and he trotted along under the van as far as the new house.

All the vans stopped at the new house, and the horses backed them up side by side in the gutter. There wasn't any curbstone, and the sidewalk was a new one of gravel, and there would be a border of grass when the grass had time to grow.

As soon as the vans had stopped, the little dog trotted out from under the two-horse one, and went around the house looking for some water.

And he came to the faucet where they screw on the hose, and he saw that there was a drop of water hanging on the bottom of the faucet. So he licked that up and waited until another drop came, and he licked that up.

Then one of the moving-men saw him.

"Poor little Dick!" said the moving-man.

And he went to the faucet and the little dog wagged his stump of a tail and backed away a step and waited.

Then the moving-man turned the handle of the faucet so that a little thin stream of water ran out, and the little dog came up and lapped out of the little thin stream, wagging his stump of a tail very fast. He wagged and he lapped until he had had enough.

And the moving-man turned the handle of the faucet the other way, and the water stopped running.

Then the little dog licked the man's hand, and he trotted back to the van, and he went under and curled up and slumped down, and he put his head on his paws, and he drew two or three long breaths, and he went to sleep.

There were three men with each three-horse van and two men with the two-horse van; and they had all got down and taken off their coats, and they had unlocked the great tall doors at the back of each van, and they had opened the doors, and had taken some of the things out.

The things were covered with a great many old soft cloths: old coarse burlaps, and old quilts and comforters. These soft cloths belonged to the moving-men, and they kept them to use in that way, so that the things which they moved shouldn't get scratched or broken.

When they took anything out of a van, they took off the cloths and threw them in a pile on the sidewalk, and they put the things in a sort of a clump, along the front walk of the new house.

David had come up close, dragging his cart, but his cat had run off into the field.

Then the moving-men noticed David standing there.

"Hello," said one of the men. He seemed to be a kind of a foreman. "Do you live around here?"

David pointed to his house.

"I live in that house. Do you know whether there are any little boys coming to live in this house?"

"I think likely," said the moving-man, "but I don't know for certain."

"Well, are you going to take all these things into the house?" David asked again, pointing at the things.

There were a hat-rack, and two waste-baskets filled with little things done up in newspaper, and a little table, and a paste-board box filled with hats, and two mirrors about as tall as David, and a maid's wash-stand, and a bundle of pictures tied up in newspapers, and a wooden box full of rubbers, and some crockery things, and a barrel of kitchen things, and a great enormous paste-board box tied up with tape, and another great paste-board box with the side broken in, and three kitchen chairs, and a chamber chair, and a bundle of magazines, and some other things; and they were all spread out on the walk.

These things were all the things that had been left over and put in last in packing the vans, or little things which filled up chinks.

"We are going to take them in as soon as somebody comes to tell us where to put them," the moving-man answered. "And we want to take in some of the big things first, such as beds and dining-room table and heavy things like those. They are all packed in the bottom of the vans."

David nodded his head.

Just then one of the men took out of a van a little upholstered armchair.

"Hello!" said the moving-man. "That looks as if there was a youngster of some kind coming, either a boy or a girl."

Then another man came with a box of toys, and set it down beside the armchair.

David saw it and smiled.

"That looks so, too, doesn't it now?" said the moving-man. He looked up. "And here he is, I guess."

David turned around, and he saw a very pleasant-looking man coming along, and, holding by his hand, there was a little boy who looked as if he might be almost five years old.

They came near, and David looked at the little boy, but he didn't say anything, and the little boy looked at David, and he didn't say anything either, but he held to his father's hand tighter than ever.

"Well, here we are. You have not been waiting long, I judge. Now I'll go in and you can come along with the things as fast as you like. What will you do, Dick?"

At the sound of his name, the little dog raised his head and wagged his stump of a tail and was all ready to get up; but nobody saw him, for the little boy was whispering to his father, who turned to David.

"I guess that your name is David," he said; and David nodded. "I know your father, David. How would you like it if Dick stayed out here with you? You two can play anywhere that you are used to, David, or you can stay and watch as long as you like."

David thought that that would be nice, and he turned his cart around and took out the backboard, and he told Dick that he might sit in it if he wanted to, or he could sit in the little armchair.

Dick chose the cart to sit in, and David sat in the armchair, and they watched the men, who were beginning to carry in the things.

They had taken some more things out of one of the vans, and they had come to the heavy things.

One man was in the van, unpacking the things and pushing them to the back, where the other men could reach them.

And a man would take as much as he could carry under his arms, and march into the house with it; and another man would come and get his load, and he would march in with it.

There was a procession of men going in with their loads and coming out without any, and Dick's father stood just inside the front door and told each man where to leave his load, and the man went to that room and left it, and came out again.

But when they had all the parts of a bed in the room where the bed was to be, they put the bed together, so that it was all ready to be made up.

Two men carried in the dining-table, and the library table, and the ice-chest, and each bureau, and each dressing-table, and each bookcase, and the tall clock, and each sofa, and each of the washstands, and everything that was either too big or too heavy for one man.

They had come to a lot of boxes, all just alike, each box just about a load for one man. The men were taking them up as fast as they could, and going in, and piling them up in the hall, and they joked about them, they were so heavy.

David was curious about the boxes, and he asked Dick what was in them; and Dick said that books were in them, and his mother and his father packed them, and it took them a long time, for they had to wrap every book in newspaper and stuff newspapers in all the cracks. Then his father had screwed the tops on with a screwer.

And David said it was funny how heavy books were, because they were made of paper, and paper was one of the lightest things there was, and his kitty liked to play with pieces of newspaper, out of doors, where the wind blew them.

Then he got up and called his cat, but she didn't come.

"I'll tell you," David said; "let's go and find her."

So Dick and David each took hold of one handle of the cart, and walked along to David's house, and David called his cat again, but she didn't come.

Then he thought that she must be in the woods, and they would go there and find her.

But first he went into his house and asked the maid to give him and Dick some cookies, and the maid gave him three for Dick and three for himself.

And he gave Dick his three, and the two little boys wandered on into the woods, eating their cookies and dragging the cart behind them, and David thought how much better a real little boy was than a pretend little boy.

And David told Dick about the squirrels and the crows and the other birds that were there, and he showed him where there were some chestnuts; and they picked up some chestnuts and got them out of the burs and put them into the cart.

Then suddenly there was David's cat walking along, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air; and she went to David and rubbed against him, and she went to Dick and rubbed against him, and she went to the cart and rubbed against that.

Then she ran on ahead, and they came after, and they went to the place where the squirrels and the crows had been.

But no squirrels were there.

So the two little boys wandered on through the thin woods, looking for squirrels, and sometimes the cat was with them and sometimes she wasn't, and at last they were just behind Dickie's house, for the new house was his house now.

And they looked up and saw the vans just starting away, and the horses were trotting.

They watched until they couldn't see the vans any longer, and they heard them turn the corner.

"I guess I've got to go," said Dickie then.

"Why have you got to go?" David asked. "Aren't you going to live in that house?"

"Yes," Dick said, "I am, but we're going back for to-night. To-morrow the maids will have it all ready, and we'll come and bring my mother and my baby sister."

"Oh," said David.

That was the first time Dick had told him that he had a baby sister.

Dick had already started up to his house, but he stopped and turned around.

"Good-bye, David," he said.

"Good-bye, Dick," said David.

And Dick turned again and hurried to the new house, but David stood, holding the handle of his cart and looking after him.

And he saw Dick's father come around the corner of the house and take Dick by the hand.

Then Dick's father stood for a minute looking at the house, as if he was afraid that he had forgotten something.

But he couldn't think of anything, and he and Dick began to walk away, and Dick was talking to his father and his father was smiling.

David stood still, watching them, until he couldn't see them any longer.

Then he began to gallop along toward his house, dragging his cart, and his shovel and his hoe rattled like everything in the bottom of it; and his cat ran on ahead, with her bushy tail sticking straight up in the air.

And that's the end of this book.

<eob>

Robinson Crusoe In Words Of One Syllable

By

Mary Godolphin



I was born at York on the first of March in the sixth year of the reign of King Charles the First. From the time when I was quite a young child, I had felt a great wish to spend my life at sea, and as I grew, so did this taste grow more and more strong; till at last I broke loose from my school and home, and found my way on foot to Hull, where I soon got a place on board a ship.

When we had set sail but a few days, a squall of wind came on, and on the fifth night we sprang a leak. All hands were sent to the pumps, but we felt the ship groan in all her planks, and her beams quake from stem to stern; so that it was soon quite clear there was no hope for her, and that all we could do was to save our lives.

The first thing was to fire off guns, to show that we were in need of help, and at length a ship, which lay not far from us, sent a boat to our aid. But the sea was too rough for it to lie near our ship's side, so we threw out a rope, which the men in the boat caught, and made fast, and by this means we all got in. Still in so wild a sea it was in vain to try to get on board the ship which had sent out the men, or to use our oars in the boat, and all we could do was to let it drive to shore.

In the space of half an hour our own ship struck on a rock and went down, and we saw her no more. We made but slow way to the land, which we caught sight of now and then when the boat rose to the top of some high wave, and there we saw men who ran in crowds, to and fro, all bent on one thing, and that was to save us.

At last to our great joy we got on shore, where we had the luck to meet with friends who gave us the means to get back to Hull; and if I had now had the good sense to go home, it would have been well for me.

The man whose ship had gone down said with a grave look, "Young lad, you ought to go to sea no more, it is not the kind, of life for you." "Why Sir, will you go to sea no more then?" "That is not the same kind of thing; I was bred to the sea, but you were not, and came on board my ship just to find out what a life at sea was like, and you may guess what you will come to if you do not go back to your home. God will not bless you, and it may be that you have brought all this woe on us."

I spoke not a word more to him; which way he went I knew not, nor did I care to know, for I was hurt at this rude speech. Shall I go home thought I, or shall I go to sea? Shame kept me from home, and I could not make up my mind what course of life to take.

As it has been my fate through life to choose for the worst, so I did now. I had gold in my purse, and good clothes on my back, and to sea I went once more.

But I had worse luck this time than the last, for when we were far out at sea, some Turks in a small ship came on our track in full chase. We set as much sail as our yards would bear, so as to get clear from them. But in spite of this, we saw our foes gain on us, and we felt sure that they would come up with our ship in a few hours' time.

At last they caught us, but we brought our guns to bear on them, which made them shear off for a time, yet they kept up a fire at us as long as they were in range. The next time the Turks came up, some of their men got on board our ship, and set to work to cut the sails, and do us all kinds of harm. So, as ten of our men lay dead, and most of the rest had wounds, we gave in.

The chief of the Turks took me as his prize to a port which was held by the Moors. He did not use me so ill as at first I thought he would have done, but he set me to work with the rest of his slaves. This was a change in my life which I did not think had been in store for me. How my heart sank with grief at the thought of those whom I had left at home, nay, to whom I had not had the grace so much as to say "Good bye" when I went to sea, nor to give a hint of what I meant to do!

Yet all that I went through at this time was but a taste of the toils and cares which it has since been my lot to bear.

I thought at first that the Turk might take me with him when next he went to sea, and so I should find some way to get free; but the hope did not last long, for at such times he left me on shore to see to his crops. This kind of life I led for two years, and as the Turk knew and saw more of me, he made me more and more free. He went out in his boat once or twice a week to catch a kind of flat fish, and now and then he took me and a boy with him, for we were quick at this kind of sport, and he grew quite fond of me.

One day the Turk sent me in the boat to catch some fish, with no one else but a man and a boy. While we were out so thick a fog came on that though we were out not half a mile from the shore, we quite lost sight of it for twelve hours; and when the sun rose the next day, our boat was at least ten miles out at sea. The wind blew fresh, and we were all much in want of food, but at last, with the help of our oars and sail, we got back safe to land.

When the Turk heard how we had lost our way, he said that the next time he went out, he would take a boat that would hold all we could want if we were kept out at sea. So he had quite a state room built in the long boat of his ship, as well as a room for us slaves. One day he sent me to trim the boat, as he had two friends who would go in it to fish with him. But when the time came they did not go, so he sent me with the man and the boy -- whose name was Xury -- to catch some fish for the guests that were to sup with him.

Now the thought struck me all at once that this would be a good chance to set off with the boat, and get free. So in the first place, I took all the food that I could lay my hands on, and I told the man that it would be too bold of us to eat of the bread that had been put in the boat for the Turk. He said he thought so too, and he brought down a small sack of rice and some rusks.

While the man was on shore I put up some wine, a large lump of wax, a saw, an axe, a spade, some rope, and all sorts of things that might be of use to us. I knew where the Turk's case of wine was, and I put that in the boat while the man was on shore. By one more trick I got all that I had need of. I said to the boy, "the Turk's guns are in the boat, but there is no shot. Do you think you could get some? You know where it is kept, and we may want to shoot a fowl or two." So he brought a case and a pouch which held all that we could want for the guns. These I put in the boat, and then set sail out of the port to fish.

The wind blew, from the North, or North West, which was a bad wind for me; for had it been South I could have made for the coast of Spain. But, blow which way it might, my mind was made up to get off, and to leave the rest to fate. I then let down my lines to fish, but I took care to have bad sport; and when the fish bit, I would not pull them up, for the Moor was not to see them. I said to him, "This will not do, we shall catch no fish here, we ought to sail on a bit." Well, the Moor thought there was no harm in this. He set the sails, and, as the helm was in my hands, I ran the boat out a mile or more, and then brought her to, as if I meant to fish.

Now, thought I, the time has come for me to get free! I gave the helm to the boy, and then took the Moor round the waist, and threw him out of the boat.

Down he went! but soon rose up, for he swam like a duck. He said he would go all round the world with me, if I would but take him in.

I had some fear lest he should climb up the boat's side, and force his way back; so I brought my gun to point at him, and said, "You can swim to land with ease if you choose, make haste then to get there; but if you come near the boat you shall have a shot through the head, for I mean to be a free man from this hour."

He then swam for the shore, and no doubt got safe there, as the sea was so calm.

At first I thought I would take the Moor with me, and let Xury swim to land; but the Moor was not a man that I could trust. When he was gone I said to Xury, "If you will swear to be true to me, you shall be a great man in time; if not, I must throw you out of the boat too."

The poor boy gave me such a sweet smile as he swore to be true to me, that I could not find it in my heart to doubt him.

While the man was still in view (for he was on his way to the land), we stood out to sea with the boat, so that he and those that saw us from the shore might think we had gone to the straits' mouth, for no one went to the South coast, as a tribe of men dwelt there who were known to kill and eat their foes.

We then bent our course to the East, so as to keep in with the shore; and as we had a fair wind and a smooth sea, by the next day at noon, we were not less than 150 miles out of the reach of the Turk.

I had still some fear lest I should be caught by the Moors, so I would not go on shore in the day time. But when it grew dark we made our way to the coast, and came to the mouth of a stream, from which we thought we could swim to land, and then look round us. But as soon as it was quite dark we heard strange sounds -- barks, roars, grunts, and howls. The poor lad said he could not go on shore till dawn. "Well," said I, "then we must give it up, but it may be that in the day time we shall be seen by men, who for all we know would do us more harm than wild beasts." "Then we give them the shoot gun," said Xury with a laugh, "and make them run away." I was glad to see so much mirth in the boy, and gave him some bread and rice.

We lay still at night, but did not sleep long, for in a few hours' time some huge beasts came down to the sea to bathe. The poor boy shook from head to foot at the sight. One of these beasts came near our boat, and though it was too dark to see him well, we heard him puff and blow, and knew that he must be a large one by the noise he made. At last the brute came as near to the boat as two oars' length, so I shot at him, and he swam to the shore.

The roar and cries set up by beasts and birds at the noise of my gun would seem to show that we had made a bad choice of a place to land on; but be that as it would, to shore we had to go to find some fresh spring, so that we might fill our casks. Xury said if I would let him go with one of the jars, he would find out if the springs were fit to drink; and, if they were sweet, he would bring the jar back full. "Why should you go?" said I; "Why should not I go, and you stay in the boat?" At this Xury said, "if wild mans come they eat me, you go way." I could not but love the lad for this kind speech. "Well," said I, "we will both go, and if the wild men come we must kill them, they shall not eat you or me."

I gave Xury some rum from the Turk's case to cheer him up, and we went on shore. The boy went off with his gun, full a mile from the spot where we stood, and came back with a hare that he had shot, which we were glad to cook and eat; but the good news which he brought was that he had found a spring, and had seen no wild men.

I made a guess that the Cape de Verd Isles were not far off, for I saw the top of the Great Peak, which I knew was near them. My one hope was that if I kept near the coast, I should find some ship that would take us on board; and then, and not till then, should I feel a free man. In a word, I put the whole of my fate on this chance, that I must meet with some ship, or die.

On the coast we saw some men who stood to look at us. They were black, and wore no clothes. I would have gone on shore to them, but Xury -- who knew best -- said, "Not you go! Not you go!" So I brought the boat as near the land as I could, that I might talk to them, and they kept up with me a long way. I saw that one of them had a lance in his hand.

I made signs that they should bring me some food, and they on their part made signs for me to stop my boat. So I let down the top of my sail, and lay by, while two of them ran off; and in less than half an hour they came back with some dry meat and a sort of corn which is grown in this part of the world. This we should have been glad to get, but knew not how to do so; for we durst not go on shore to them, nor did they dare to come to us. At last they took a safe way for us all, for they brought the food to the shore, where they set it, down, and then went a long way off while we took it in. We made signs to show our thanks, for we had not a thing that we could spare to give them.

But as good luck would have it, we were at hand to take a great prize for them; for two wild beasts, of the same kind as the first I spoke of, came in, full chase from the hills down to the sea.

They swam as if they had come for sport. The men flew from them in fear, all but the one who held the lance. One of these beasts came near our boat; so I lay in wait for him with my gun; and as soon as the brute was in range, I shot him through the head. Twice he sank down in the sea, and twice he came up; and then just swam to the land, where he fell down dead. The men were in as much fear at the sound of my gun, as they had been at the sight of the beasts. But when I made signs for them to come to the shore, they took heart, and came.

They at once made for their prize; and by the help of a rope, which they slung round him, they brought him safe on the beach.

We now left our wild men, and went on and on, for twelve days more. The land in front of us ran out four or five miles, like a bill; and we had to keep some way from the coast, to make this point, so that we lost sight of the shore.

I gave the helm to Xury and sat down to think what would be my best course to take: when all at once I heard the lad cry out "A ship with a sail! A ship with a sail!" He did not show much joy at the sight, for he thought that this ship had been sent out to take him back: but I knew well, from the look of her, that she was not one of the Turk's.

I made all the sail I could to come in the ship's way, and told Xury to fire a gun, in the hope that if those on deck could not hear the sound, they might see the smoke. This they did see, and then let down their sails so that we might come up to them, and in three hours time we were at the ship's side. The men spoke to us in French, but I could not make out what they meant. At last a Scot on board said in my own tongue, "Who are you? Whence do you come?" I told him in a few words how I had got free from the Moors.

Then the man who had charge of the ship bade me come on board, and took me in with Xury and all my goods. I told him that he might take all I had, but he said "You shall have your goods back when we come to land, for I have but done for you what you would have done for me, had I been in the same plight."

He gave me a good round sum for my boat, and said that I should have the same sum for Xury, if I would part with him. But I told him that as it was by the boy's help that I had got free, I was loath to sell him. He said it was just and right in me to feel thus, but at the same time, if I could make up my mind to part with him, he should be set free in two years' time. So, as the poor slave had a wish to go with him, I did not say "no." I got to All Saints' Bay in three weeks, and was now a free man.

I had made a good sum by all my store, and with this I went on land. But I did not at all know what to do next. At length I met with a man whose case was much the same as my own, and we both took some land to farm. My stock, like his, was low, but we made our farms serve to keep us in food, though not more than that. We both stood in need of help, and I saw now that I had done wrong to part with my boy.

I did not at all like this kind of life. What! thought I, have I come all this way to do that which I could have done as well at home with my friends round me! And to add to my grief, the kind friend, who had brought me here in his ship, now meant to leave these shores.

On my first start to sea when a boy, I had put a small sum in the hands of an aunt, and this my friend said I should do well to spend on my farm. So when he got home he sent some of it in cash, and laid out the rest in cloth, stuffs, baize, and such like goods. My aunt had put a few pounds in my friend's hands as a gift to him, to show her thanks for all that he had done for me, and with this sum he was so kind as to buy me a slave. In the mean time I had bought a slave, so now I had two, and all went on well for the next year.

But soon my plans grew too large for my means. One day some men came to ask me to take charge of a slave ship to be sent out by them. They said they would give me a share in the slaves, and pay the cost of the stock. This would have been a good thing for me if I had not had farms and land; but it was wild and rash to think of it now, for I had made a large sum, and ought to have gone on in the same way for three or four years more. Well, I told these men that I would go with all my heart, if they would look to my farm in the mean time, which they said they would do.

So I made my will, and went on board this ship on the same day on which, eight years since, I had left Hull. She had six guns, twelve men, and a boy. We took with us saws, chains, toys, beads, bits of glass, and such like ware, to suit the taste of those with whom we had to trade.

We were not more than twelve days from the Line, when a high wind took us off we knew not where. All at once there was a cry of "Land!" and the ship struck on a bank of sand, in which she sank so deep that we could not get her off. At last we found that we must make up our minds to leave her, and get to shore as well as we could. There had been a boat at her stern, but we found it had been torn off by the force of the waves. One small boat was still left on the ship's side, so we got in it.

There we were all of us on the wild sea. The heart of each now grew faint, our cheeks were pale, and our eyes were dim, for there was but one hope, and that was to find some bay, and so get in the lee of the land. We now gave up our whole souls to God.

The sea grew more and more rough, and its white foam would curl and boil. At last the waves, in their wild sport, burst on the boat's side, and we were all thrown out.

I could swim well, but the force of the waves made me lose my breath too much to do so. At length one large wave took me to the shore, and left me high and dry, though half dead with fear. I got on my feet and made the best of my way for the land; but just then the curve of a huge wave rose up as high as a hill, and this I had no strength to keep from, so it took me back to the sea. I did my best to float on the top, and held my breath to do so. The next wave was quite as high, and shut me up in its bulk. I held my hands down tight to my side, and then my head shot out at the top of the waves. This gave me heart and breath too, and soon my feet felt the ground.

I stood quite still for a short time, to let the sea run back from me, and then I set off with all my might to the shore, but yet the waves caught me, and twice more did they take me back, and twice more land me on the shore. I thought the last wave would have been the death of me, for it drove me on a piece of rock, and with such force, as to leave me in a kind of swoon, which, thank God, did not last long. At length, to my great joy, I got up to the cliffs close to the shore, where I found some grass, out of the reach of the sea. There, I sat down, safe on land at last.

I could but cry out in the words of the Psalm, "They that go down to the sea in ships, these men see the works of the Lord in the deep. For at His word the storms rise, the winds blow, and lift up the waves; then do they mount to the sky, and from thence go down to the deep. My soul faints, I reel to and fro, and am at my wit's end: then the Lord brings me out of all my fears."

I felt so wrapt in joy, that all I could do was to walk up and down the coast, now lift up my hands, now fold them on my breast, and thank God for all that He had done for me, when the rest of the men were lost. All lost but I, and I was safe! I now cast my eyes round me, to find out what kind of a place it was that I had been thus thrown in, like a bird in a storm. Then all the glee I felt at first left me; for I was wet and cold, and had no dry clothes to put on, no food to eat and not a friend to help me.

There were wild beasts here, but I had no gun to shoot them with, or to keep me from their jaws. I had but a knife and a pipe. It now grew dark; and where was I to go for the night? I thought the top of some high tree would be a good place to keep me out of harm's way; and that there I might sit and think of death, for, as yet, I had no hopes of life. Well, I went to my tree, and made a kind of nest to sleep in. Then I cut a stick to keep off the beasts of prey, in case they should come, and fell to sleep just as if the branch I lay on had been a bed of down.

When I woke up it was broad day; the sky too was clear and the sea calm. But I saw from the top of the tree that in the night the ship had left the bank of sand, and lay but a mile from me; while the boat was on the beach, two miles on my right. I went some way down by the shore, to get to the boat; but an arm of the sea, half a mile broad, kept me from it. At noon, the tide went a long way out, so that I could get near the ship; and here I found that if we had but made up our minds to stay on board, we should all have been safe.

I shed tears at the thought, for I could not help it; yet, as there was no use in that, it struck me that the best thing for me to do was to swim to the ship. I soon threw off my clothes, took to the sea, and swam up to the wreck. But how was I to get on deck? I had swam twice round the ship, when a piece of rope, caught my eye, which hung down from her side so low, that at first the waves hid it. By the help of this rope I got on board. I found that there was a bulge in the ship, and that she had sprung a leak. You may be sure that my first thought was to look round for some food, and I soon made my way to the bin, where the bread was kept, and ate some of it as I went to and fro, for there was no time to lose. There was, too, some rum, of which I took a good draught, and this gave me heart. What I stood most in need of, was a boat to take the goods to shore. But it was vain to wish for that which could not be had; and as there were some spare yards in the ship, two or three large planks of wood, and a spare mast or two, I fell to work with these, to make a raft.

I put four spars side by side, and laid short bits of plank on them, cross ways, to make my raft strong. Though these planks would bear my own weight, they were too slight to bear much of my freight. So I took a saw which was on board, and cut a mast in three lengths, and these gave great strength to the raft. I found some bread and rice, a Dutch cheese, and some dry goat's flesh. There had been some wheat, but the rats had got at it, and it was all gone.

My next task was to screen my goods from the spray of the sea; and it did not take me long to do this, for there were three large chests on board which held all, and these I put on the raft. When the high tide came up it took off my coat and shirt, which I had left on the shore; but there were some fresh clothes in the ship.

"See here is a prize!" said I, out loud, (though there were none to hear me), "now I shall not starve." For I found four large guns. But how was my raft to be got to land? I had no sail, no oars; and a gust of wind would make all my store slide off. Yet there were three things which I was glad of; a calm sea, a tide which set in to the shore, and a slight breeze to blow me there.

I had the good luck to find some oars in a part of the ship, in which I had made no search till now. With these I put to sea, and for half a mile my raft went well; but soon I found it drove to one side. At length I saw a creek, to which, with some toil, I took my raft; and now the beach was so near, that I felt my oar touch the ground.

Here I had well nigh lost my freight, for the shore lay on a slope, so that there was no place to land on, save where one end of the raft would lie so high, and one end so low, that all my goods would fall off. To wait till the tide came up was all that could be done. So when the sea was a foot deep, I thrust the raft on a flat piece of ground, to moor her there, and stuck my two oars in the sand, one on each side of the raft. Thus I let her lie till the ebb of the tide, and when it went down, she was left safe on land with all her freight.

I saw that there were birds on the isle, and I shot one of them. Mine must have been the first gun that had been heard there since the world was made; for at the sound of it, whole flocks of birds flew up, with loud cries, from all parts of the wood. The shape of the beak of the one I shot was like that of a hawk, but the claws were not so large.

I now went back to my raft to land my stores, and this took up the rest of the day. What to do at night I knew not, nor where to find a safe place to land my stores on. I did not like to lie down on the ground, for fear of beasts of prey, as well as snakes, but there was no cause for these fears, as I have since found. I put the chests and boards round me as well as I could, and made a kind of hut for the night.

As there was still a great store of things left in the ship, which would be of use to me, I thought that I ought to bring them to land at once; for I knew that the first storm would break up the ship. So I went on board, and took good care this time not to load my raft too much.

The first thing, I sought for was the tool chest; and in it were some bags of nails, spikes, saws, knives, and such things: but best of all I found a stone to grind my tools on. There were two or three flasks, some large bags of shot, and a roll of lead; but this last I had not the strength to hoist up to the ship's side, so as to get it on my raft. There were some spare sails too which I brought to shore.

I had some fear lest my stores might be run off with by beasts of prey, if not by men; but I found all safe and sound when I went back, and no one had come there but a wild cat, which sat on one of the chests. When I came up I held my gun at her, but as she did not know what a gun was, this did not rouse her. She ate a piece of dry goat's flesh, and then took her leave.

Now that I had two freights of goods at hand, I made a tent with the ship's sails, to stow them in, and cut the poles for it from the wood. I now took all the things out of the casks and chests, and put the casks in piles round the tent, to give it strength; and when this was done, I shut up the door with the boards, spread one of the beds (which I had brought from the ship) on the ground, laid two guns close to my head, and went to bed for the first time. I slept all night, for I was much in need of rest.

The next day I was sad and sick at heart, for I felt how dull it was to be thus cut off from all the rest of the world. I had no great wish for work: but there was too much to be done for me to dwell long on my sad lot. Each day as it came, I went off to the wreck to fetch more things; and I brought back as much as the raft would hold. One day I had put too great a load on the raft, which made it sink down on one side, so that the goods were lost in the sea; but at this I did not fret, as the chief part of the freight was some rope, which would not have been of much use to me.

The twelve days that I had been in the isle were spent in this way, and I had brought to land all that one pair of hands could lift; though if the sea had been still calm, I might have brought the whole ship, piece by piece.

The last time I swam to the wreck, the wind blew so hard, that I made up my mind to go on board next time at low tide. I found some tea and some gold coin; but as to the gold, it made me laugh to look at it. "O drug!" said I, "Thou art of no use to me! I care not to save thee. Stay where thou art, till the ship go down, then go thou with it!"

Still, I thought I might as well just take it; so I put it in a piece of the sail, and threw it on deck that I might place it on the raft. Bye-and-bye, the wind blew from the shore, so I had to swim back with all speed; for I knew that at the turn of the tide, I should find it hard work to get to land at all. But in spite of the high wind, I came to my home all safe. At dawn of day I put my head out, and cast my eyes on the sea. When lo! no ship was there!

This change in the face of things, and the loss of such a friend, quite struck me down. Yet I was glad to think that I had brought to shore all that could be of use to me. I had now to look out for some spot where I could make my home. Half way up a hill there was a small plain, four or five score feet long, and twice as broad; and as it had a full view of the sea, I thought that it would be a good place for my house.

I first dug a trench round a space which took in twelve yards; and in this I drove two rows of stakes, till they stood firm like piles, five and a half feet from the ground. I made the stakes close and tight with bits of rope; and put small sticks on the top of them in the shape of spikes. This made so strong a fence that no man or beast could get in.

The door of my house was on the top, and I had to climb up to it by steps, which I took in with me, so that no one else might come up by the same way. Close to the back of the house stood a high rock, in which I made a cave, and laid all the earth that I had dug out of it round my house, to the height of a foot and a half. I had to go out once a day in search of food. The first time, I saw some goats, but they were too shy and swift of foot, to let me get near them.

At last I lay in wait for them close to their own haunts. If they saw me in the vale, though they might be on high ground, they would run off, wild with fear; but if they were in the vale, and I on high ground, they took no heed of me. The first goat I shot had a kid by her side, and when the old one fell, the kid stood near her, till I took her off on my back, and then the young one ran by my side. I put down the goat, and brought the kid home to tame it; but as it was too young to feed, I had to kill it.

At first I thought that, for the lack of pen and ink, I should lose all note of time; so I made a large post, in the shape of a cross, on which I cut these words, "I came on these shores on the 8th day of June, in the year 1659" On the side of this post I made a notch each day as it came, and this I kept up till the last.

I have not yet said a word of my four pets, which were two cats, a dog, and a bird. You may guess how fond I was of them, for they were all the friends left to me. I brought the dog and two cats from the ship. The dog would fetch things for me at all times, and by his bark, his whine, his growl, and his tricks, he would all but talk to me; yet he could not give me thought for thought.

If I could but have had some one near me to find fault with, or to find fault with me, what a treat it would have been! Now that I had brought ink from the ship, I wrote down a sketch of each day as it came; not so much to leave to those who might read it, when I was dead and gone, as to get rid of my own thoughts, and draw me from the fears which all day long dwelt on my mind, till my head would ache with the weight of them.

I was a long way out of the course of ships: and oh, how dull it was to be cast on this lone spot with no one to love, no one to make me laugh, no one to make me weep, no one to make me think. It was dull to roam, day by day, from the wood to the shore; and from the shore back to the wood, and feed on my own thoughts all the while.

So much for the sad view of my case; but like most things it had a bright side as well as a dark one. For here was I safe on land, while all the rest of the ship's crew were lost. Well, thought I, God who shapes our ways, and led me by the hand then, can save me from this state now, or send some one to be with me; true, I am cast on a rough and rude part of the globe, but there are no beasts of prey on it to kill or hurt me. God has sent the ship so near to me, that I have got from it all things to meet my wants for the rest of my days. Let life be what it may, there is sure to be much to thank God for; and I soon gave up all dull thoughts, and did not so much as look out for a sail.

My goods from the wreck had been in the cave for more than ten months; and it was time now to put them right, as they took up all the space, and left me no room to turn in: so I made my small cave a large one, and dug it out a long way back in the sand rock. Then I brought the mouth of it up to the fence, and so made a back way to my house. This done, I put shelves on each side, to hold my goods, which made my cave look like a shop full of stores. To make these shelves I cut down a tree, and with the help of a saw, an axe, a plane, and some more tools, I made boards.

A chair, and a desk to write on, came next. I rose in good time, and set to work till noon, then I ate my meal, then I went out with my gun, and to work once more till the sun had set; and then to bed. It took me more than a week to change the shape and size of my cave, but I had made it far too large; for in course of time the earth fell in from the roof; and had I been in it, when this took place, I should have lost my life. I had now to set up posts in my cave, with planks on the top of them, so as to make a roof of wood.

One day, when out with my gun, I shot a wild cat, the skin of which made me a cap; and I found some birds of the dove tribe, which built their nests in the holes of rocks.

I had to go to bed at dusk, till I made a lamp of goat's fat, which I put in a clay dish; and this, with a piece of hemp for a wick, made a good light. As I had found a use for the bag which had held the fowl's food on board ship, I shook out from it the husks of corn. This was just at the time when the great rains fell, and in the course of a month, blades of rice, corn, and rye, sprang up. As time went by, and the grain was ripe, I kept it, and took care to sow it each year; but I could not boast of a crop of wheat, as will be shown bye-and-bye, for three years.

A thing now took place on the isle, which no one could have dreamt of, and which struck me down with fear. It was this -- the ground shook with great force, which threw down earth from the rock with a loud crash -- once more there was a shock -- and now the earth fell from the roof of my cave. The sea did not look the same as it had done, for the shocks were just as strong there as on land. The sway of the earth made me feel sick; and there was a noise and a roar all around me. The same kind of shock came a third time; and when it had gone off, I sat quite still on the ground, for I knew not what to do. Then the clouds grew dark, the wind rose, trees were torn up by the roots, the sea was a mass of foam and froth, and a great part of the isle was laid waste with the storm. I thought that the world had come to an end. In three hours' time all was calm; but rain fell all that night, and a great part of the next day. Now, though quite worn out, I had to move my goods which were in the cave, to some safe place.

I knew that tools would be my first want, and that I should have to grind mine on the stone, as they were blunt and worn with use. But as it took both hands to hold the tool, I could not turn the stone; so I made a wheel by which I could move it with my foot. This was no small task, but I took great pains with it, and at length it was done.

The rain fell for some days and a cold chill came on me; in short I was ill. I had pains in my head, and could get no sleep at night, and my thoughts were wild and strange. At one time I shook with cold, and then a hot fit came on, with faint sweats, which would last six hours at a time. Ill as I was, I had to go out with my gun to get food. I shot a goat, but it was a great toil to bring it home, and still more to cook it.

I spent the next day in bed, and felt half dead from thirst, yet too weak to stand up to get some drink. I lay and wept like a child. "Lord look on me! Lord look on me!" would I cry for hours.

At last the fit left me, and I slept, and did not wake till dawn. I dreamt that I lay on the ground, and saw a man come down from a great black cloud in a flame of light. When he stood on the earth, it shook as it had done a few days since; and all the world to me was full of fire. He came up and said "As I see that all these things have not brought thee to pray, now thou shalt die." Then I woke, and found it was a dream. Weak and faint, I was in dread all day lest my fit should come on.

Too ill to get out with my gun, I sat on the shore to think, and thus ran my thoughts: "What is this sea which is all round me? and whence is it? There can be no doubt that the hand that made it, made the air, the earth, the sky. And who is that? It is God who hath made all things. Well then, if God hath made all things, it must be He who guides them; and if so, no one thing in the whole range of His works can take place, and He not know it. Then God must know how sick and sad I am, and He wills me to be here. O, why hath God done this to me!"

Then some voice would seem to say, "Dost thou ask why God hath done this to thee? Ask why thou wert not shot by the Moors, who came on board the ship, and took the lives of thy mates. Ask why thou wert not torn by the beasts of prey on the coasts. Ask why thou didst not go down in the deep sea with the rest of the crew, but didst come to this isle, and art safe."

A sound sleep then fell on me, and when I woke it must have been three o'clock the next day, by the rays of the sun: nay, it may have been more than that; for I think that this must have been the day that I did not mark on my post, as I have since found that there was one notch too few.

I now took from my store the Book of God's Word, which I had brought from the wreck, not one page, of which I had yet read. My eyes fell on five words, that would seem to have been put there for my good at this time; so well did they cheer my faint hopes, and touch the true source of my fears. They were these: "I will not leave thee." And they have dwelt in my heart to this day. I laid down the book, to pray. My cry was "O, Lord, help me to love and learn thy ways."

This was the first time in all my life that I had felt a sense that God was near, and heard me. As for my dull life here, it was not worth a thought; for now a new strength had come to me; and there was a change in my griefs, as well as in my joys.

I had now been in the isle twelve months, and I thought it was time to go all round it, in search of its woods, springs, and creeks. So I set off, and brought back with me limes and grapes in their prime, large and ripe. I had hung the grapes in the sun to dry, and in a few days' time went to fetch them, that I might lay up a store. The vale, on the banks of which they grew, was fresh and green, and a clear, bright stream ran through it, which gave so great a charm to the spot, as to make me wish to live there.

But there was no view of the sea from this vale, while from my house, no ships could come on my side of the isle, and not be seen by me; yet the cool, soft banks were so sweet and new to me that much of my time was spent there.

In the first of the three years in which I had grown corn, I had sown it too late; in the next, it was spoilt by the drought; but the third years' crop had sprung up well.

I found that the hares would lie in it night and day, for which there was no cure but to plant a thick hedge all round it; and this took me more than three weeks to do. I shot the hares in the day time; and when it grew dark, I made fast the dog's chain to the gate, and there he stood to bark all night.

In a short time the corn grew strong, and at last ripe but, just as the hares had hurt it in the blade, so now the birds ate it in the ear. At the noise of my gun, whole flocks of them would fly up; and at this rate I saw that there would be no corn left; so I made up my mind to keep a look out night and day. I hid by the side of a hedge, and could see the birds sit on the trees and watch, and then come down, one by one, at first. Now each grain of wheat was, as it were, a small loaf of bread to me. So the great thing was to get rid of these birds. My plan was this, I shot three, and hung them up, like thieves, to scare all that came to the corn; and from this time, as long as the dead ones hung there, not a bird came near. When the corn was ripe, I made a scythe out of the swords from the ship, and got in my crop.

Few of us think of the cost at which a loaf of bread is made. Of course, there was no plough here to turn up the earth, and no spade to dig it with, so I made one with wood; but this was soon worn out, and for want of a rake, I made use of the bough of a tree. When I had got the corn home, I had to thrash it, part the grain from the chaff, and store it up. Then came the want of a mill to grind it, of sieves to clean it, and of yeast to make bread of it.

Still, my bread was made, though I had no tools; and no one could say that I did not earn it, by the sweat of my brow. When the rain kept me in doors, it was good fun to teach my pet bird Poll to talk; but so mute were all things round me, that the sound of my own voice made me start.

My chief wants now were jars, pots, cups, and plates, but I knew not how I could make them. At last I went in search of some clay, and found some a mile from my house; but it was quite a joke to see the queer shapes and forms that I made out of it. For some of my pots and jars were too weak to bear their own weight; and they would fall out here, and in there, in all sorts of ways; while some, when they were put in the sun to bake, would crack with the heat of its rays. You may guess what my joy was when at last a pot was made which would stand the heat of the fire, so that I could boil the meat for broth.

The next thing to be made was a sieve, to part the grain from the husks. Goat's hair was of no use to me, as I could not weave or spin; so I made a shift for two years with a thin kind of stuff, which I had brought from the ship. But to grind the corn with the stones was the worst of all, such hard work did I find it. To bake the bread I burnt some wood down to an ash, which I threw on the hearth to heat it, and then set my loaves on the hearth, and in this way my bread was made.

The next thing to turn my thoughts to was the ship's boat, which lay on the high ridge of sand, where it had been thrust by the storm which had cast me on these shores. But it lay with the keel to the sky, so I had to dig the sand from it, and turn it up with the help of a pole. When I had done this I found it was all in vain, for I had not the strength to launch it. So all I could do now, was to make a boat of less size out of a tree; and I found one that was just fit for it, which grew not far from the shore, but I could no more stir this than I could the ship's boat. What was to be done? I first dug the ground flat and smooth all the way from the boat to the sea, so as to let it slide down; but this plan did not turn out well, so I thought I would try a new way, which was to make a trench, so as to bring the sea up to the boat, as the boat could not be brought to the sea. But to do this, I must have dug down to a great depth, which would take one man some years to do. And when too late, I found it was not wise to work out a scheme, till I had first thought of the cost and toil.

"Well," thought I, "I must give up the boat, and with it all my hopes to leave the isle. But I have this to think of: I am lord of the whole isle; in fact, a king. I have wood with which I might build a fleet, and grapes, if not corn, to freight it with, though all my wealth is but a few gold coins." For these I had no sort of use, and could have found it in my heart to give them all for a peck of peas and some ink, which last I stood much in need of. But it was best to dwell more on what I had, than on what I had not.

I now must needs try once more to build a boat, but this time it was to have a mast, for which the ship's sails would be of great use. I made a deck at each end, to keep out the spray of the sea, a bin for my food, and a rest for my gun, with a flap to screen it from the wet. More than all, the boat was one of such a size that I could launch it.

My first cruise was up and down the creek, but soon I got bold, and made the whole round of my isle. I took with me bread, cakes, and a pot full of rice, some rum, half a goat, two great coats, one of which was to lie on, and one to put on at night. I set sail in the sixth year of my reign. On the East side of the isle, there was a large ridge of rocks, which lay two miles from the shore; and a shoal of sand lay for half a mile from the rocks to the beach. To get round to this point, I had to sail a great way out to sea; and here I all but lost my life.

But I got back to my home at last. On my way there, quite worn out with the toils of the boat, I lay down in the shade to rest my limbs, and slept. But judge, if you can, what a start I gave, when a voice woke me out of my sleep, and spoke my name three times! A voice in this wild place! To call me by name, too! Then the voice said, "Where are you? Where have you been? How came you here?" But now I saw it all; for at the top of the hedge sat Poll, who did but say the words she had been taught by me.

I now went in search of some goats, and laid snares for them, with rice for a bait I had set the traps in the night, and found they had all stood, though the bait was gone. So I thought of a new way to take them, which was to make a pit and lay sticks and grass on it, so as to hide it; and in this way I caught an old goat and some kids. But the old goat was much too fierce for me, so I let him go. I brought all the young ones home, and let them fast a long time, till at last they fed from my hand, and were quite tame. I kept them in a kind of park, in which there were trees to screen them from the sun. At first my park was three miles round; but it struck me that, in so great a space, the kids would soon get as wild as if they had the range of the whole vale, and that it would be as well to give them less room; so I had to make a hedge which took me three months to plant. My park held a flock of twelve goats, and in two years more there were more than two score.

My dog sat at meals with me, and one cat on each side of me, on stools, and we had Poll to talk to us. Now for a word or two as to the dress in which I made a tour round the isle. I could but think how droll it would look in the streets of the town in which I was born. I wore a high cap of goat's skin, with a flap that hung, down, to keep the sun and rain from my neck, a coat made from the skin of a goat too, the skirts of which came down to my hips, and the same on my legs, with no shoes, but flaps of the fur round my shins. I had a broad belt of the same round my waist, which drew on with two thongs; and from it, on my right side, hung a saw and an axe; and on my left side a pouch for the shot. My beard had not been cut since I came here. But no more need be said of my looks, for there were few to see me. A strange sight was now in store for me, which was to change the whole course of my life in the isle.

One day at noon, while on a stroll down to a part of the shore that was new to me, what should I see on the sand but the print of a man's foot! I felt as if I was bound by a spell, and could not stir from, the spot.

Bye-and-bye, I stole a look round me, but no one was in sight, What could this mean? I went three or four times to look at it. There it was -- the print of a man's foot; toes, heel, and all the parts of a foot. How could it have come there?

My head swam with fear; and as I left the spot, I made two or three steps, and then took a look round me; then two steps more, and did the same thing. I took fright at the stump of an old tree, and ran to my house, as if for my life. How could aught in the shape of a man come to that shore, and I not know it? Where was the ship that brought him? Then a vague dread took hold of my mind, that some man, or set of men, had found me out; and it might be, that they meant to kill me, or rob me of all I had.

How strange a thing is the life of man! One day we love that which the next day we hate. One day we seek what the next day we shun. One day we long for the thing which the next day we fear; and so we go on. Now, from the time that I was cast on this isle, my great source of grief was that I should be thus cut off from the rest of my race. Why, then, should the thought that a man might be near give me all this pain? Nay, why should the mere sight of the print of a man's foot, make me quake with fear? It seems most strange; yet not more strange than true.

Once it struck me that it might be the print of my own foot, when first the storm cast me on these shores. Could I have come this way from the boat? Should it in truth turn out to be the print of my own foot, I should be like a boy who tells of a ghost, and feels more fright at his own tale, than those do whom he meant to scare.

Fear kept me in-doors for three days, till the want of food drove me out. At last I was so bold as to go down to the coast to look once more at the print of the foot, to see if it was the same shape as my own. I found it was not so large by a great deal; so it was clear there were men in the isle. Just at this time my good watch dog fell down dead at my feet. He was old and worn out, and in him I lost my best guard and friend.

One day as I went from the hill to the coast, a scene lay in front of me which made me sick at heart. The spot was spread with the bones of men. There was a round place dug in the earth, where a fire had been made, and here some men had come to feast. Now that I had seen this sight, I knew not how to act; I kept close to my home, and would scarce stir from it, save to milk my flock of goats.

To feel safe was now more to me than to be well fed; and I did not care to drive a nail, or chop a stick of wood, lest the sound of it should be heard, much less would I fire a gun. As to my bread and meat, I had to bake it at night when the smoke could not be seen. But I soon found the way to burn wood with turf at the top of it, which made it like chark, or dry coal; and this I could use by day, as it had no smoke.

I found in the wood where I went to get the sticks for my fire, a cave so large that I could stand in it; but I made more haste to get out, than in; for two large eyes, as bright as stars, shone out from it with a fierce glare. I took a torch, and went to see what they could be, and found that there was no cause for fear; for the eyes were those of an old gray goat, which had gone there to die of old age. I gave him a push, to try to get him out of the cave, but he could not rise from the ground where he lay; so I left him there to die, as I could not save his life.

I found the width of the cave was twelve feet; but part of it, near the end, was so low that I had to creep on my hands and feet to go in. What the length of it was I could not tell, for my light went out, and I had to give up my search. The next day, I went to the cave with large lights made of goat's fat; and when I got to the end, I found that the roof rose to two score feet or more.

As my lights shone on the walls and roof of the cave, a sight burst on my view, the charms of which no tongue could tell; for the walls shone like stars. What was in the rock to cause this it was hard to say; they might be gems, or bright stones, or gold. But let them be what they may, this cave was a mine of wealth to me; for at such time as I felt dull or sad, the bright scene would flash on my mind's eye, and fill it with joy.

A score of years had gone by, with no new sight to rest my eyes on, till this scene burst on them. I felt as if I should like to spend the rest of my life here; and at its close, lie down to die in this cave, like the old goat.

As I went home I was struck by the sight of some smoke, which came from a fire no more than two miles off. From this time I lost all my peace of mind. Day and night a dread would haunt me, that the men who had made this fire would find me out. I went home and drew up my steps, but first I made all things round me look wild and rude. To load my gun was the next thing to do, and I thought it would be best to stay at home and hide.

But this was not to be borne long. I had no spy to send out and all I could do was to get to the top of the hill, and keep a good look out. At last, through my glass, I could see a group of wild men join in a dance round their fire. As soon a they had left, I took two guns, and slung a sword on my side; then with all speed, I set off to the top of the hill, once more to have a good view.

This time I made up my mind to go up to the men, but not with a view to kill them, for I felt that it would be wrong to do so. With such a load of arms, it took me two hours to reach the spot where the fire was; and by the time I got there, the men had all gone; but I saw them in four boats out at sea.

Down on the shore, there was a proof of what the work of these men had been. The signs of their feast made me sick at heart, and I shut my eyes. I durst not fire my gun when I went out for food on that side the isle, lest there should be some of the men left, who might hear it, and so find me out. This state of things went on for a year and three months, and for all that time I saw no more men.

On the twelfth of May, a great storm of wind blew all day and night. As it was dark, I sat in my house; and in the midst of the gale, I heard a gun fire! My guess was that it must have been from some ship cast on shore by the storm. So I set a light to some wood on top of the hill, that those in the ship, if ship it should be, might know that some one was there to aid them. I then heard two more guns fire. When it was light, I went to the South side of the isle, and there lay the wreck of a ship, cast on the rocks in the night by the storm. She was too far off for me to see if there were men on board.

Words could not tell how much I did long to bring but one of the ship's crew to the shore! So strong was my wish to save the life of those on board, that I could have laid down my own life to do so. There are some springs in the heart which, when hope stirs them, drive the soul on with such a force, that to lose all chance of the thing one hopes for, would seem to make one mad; and thus was it with me.

Now, I thought, was the time to use my boat; so I set to work at once to fit it out. I took on board some rum (of which I still had a good deal left), some dry grapes, a bag of rice, some goat's milk, and cheese, and then put out to sea. A dread came on me at the thought of the risk I had run on the same rocks; but my heart did not quite fail me, though I knew that, as my boat was small, if a gale of wind should spring up, all would be lost. Then I found that I must go back to the shore till the tide should turn, and the ebb come on.

I made up my mind to go out the next day with the high tide, so I slept that night in my boat. At dawn I set out to sea, and in less than two hours I came up to the wreck. What a scene was there! The ship had struck on two rocks. The stern was torn by the force of the waves, the masts were swept off, ropes and chains lay strewn on the deck, and all was wrapt in gloom. As I came up to the wreck, a dog swam to me with a yelp and a whine. I took him on board my boat, and when I gave him some bread he ate it like a wolf, and as to drink, he would have burst, if I had let him take his fill of it.

I went to the cook's room, where I found two men, but they were both dead. The tongue was mute, the ear was deaf, the eye was shut, and the lip was stiff; still the sad tale was told, for each had his arm round his friend's neck, and so they must have sat to wait for death. What a change had come on the scene, once so wild with the lash of the waves and the roar of the wind! All was calm now -- death had done its work, and all had felt its stroke, save the dog, and he was the one thing that still had life.

I thought the ship must have come from Spain, and there was much gold on board. I took some of the chests and put them in my boat, but did not wait to see what they held, and with this spoil, and three casks of rum, I came back.

I found all things at home just as I had left them, my goats, my cats, and my bird. The scene in the cook's room was in my mind day and night, and to cheer me up I drank some of the rum. I then set to work to bring my freight from the shore, where I had left it. In the chests were two great bags of gold, and some bars of the same, and near these lay three small flasks and three bags of shot which were a great prize.

From this time, all went well with me for two years; but it was not to last. One day, as I stood on the hill, I saw six boats on the shore! What could this mean?

Where were the men who had brought them? And what had they come for? I saw through my glass that there were a score and a half, at least, on the east side of the isle. They had meat on the fire, round which I could see them dance. They then took a man from one of the boats, who was bound hand and foot; but when they came to loose his bonds, he set off as fast as his feet would take him, and in a straight line to my house.

To tell the truth, when I saw all the rest of the men run to catch him, my hair stood on end with fright. In the creek, he swam like a fish, and the plunge which he took brought him through it in a few strokes. All the men now gave up the chase but two, and they swam through the creek, but by no means so fast as the slave had done. Now, I thought, was the time for me to help the poor man, and my heart told me it would be right to do so. I ran down my steps with my two guns, and went with all speed up the hill, and then down by a short cut to meet them.

I gave a sign to the poor slave to come to me, and at the same time went up to meet the two men, who were in chase of him. I made a rush at the first of these, to knock him down with the stock of my gun, and he fell. I saw the one who was left, aim at me with his bow, so, to save my life, I shot him dead.

The smoke and noise from my gun, gave the poor slave who had been bound, such a shock, that he stood still on the spot, as if he had been in a trance. I gave a loud shout for him to come to me, and I took care to show him that I was a friend, and made all the signs I could think of to coax him up to me. At length he came, knelt down to kiss the ground, and then took hold of my foot, and set it on his head. All this meant that he was my slave; and I bade him rise, and made much of him.

But there was more work to be done yet; for the man who had had the blow from my gun was not dead. I made a sign for my slave (as I shall now call him) to look at him. At this he spoke to me, and though I could not make out what he said, yet it gave me a shock of joy; for it was the first sound of a man's voice that I had heard, for all the years I had been on the isle.

The man whom I had struck with the stock of my gun, sat up; and my slave, who was in great fear of him, made signs for me to lend him my sword, which hung in a belt at my side. With this he ran up to the man, and with one stroke cut off his head. When he had done this, he brought me back my sword with a laugh, and put it down in front of me. I did not like to see the glee with which he did it, and I did not feel that my own life was quite safe with such a man.

He, in his turn, could but lift up his large brown hands with awe, to think that I had put his foe to death, while I stood so far from him. But as to the sword, he and the rest of his tribe made use of swords of wood, and this was why he knew so well how to wield mine. He made signs to me to let him go and see the man who had been shot; and he gave him a turn round, first on this side, then on that; and when he saw the wound made in his breast by the shot, he stood quite, still once more, as if he had lost his wits. I made signs for him to come back, for my fears told me that the rest of the men might come in search of their friends.

I did not like to take my slave to my house, nor to my cave; so I threw down some straw from the rice plant for him to sleep on, and gave him some bread and a bunch of dry grapes to eat. He was a fine man, with straight strong limbs, tall, and young. His hair was thick, like wool, and black. His head was large and high; and he had bright black eyes. He was of a dark brown hue; his face was round, and his nose small, but not flat; he had a good mouth with thin lips, with which he could give a soft smile; and his teeth were as white as snow.

I had been to milk my goats in the field close by, and when he saw me, he ran to me, and lay down on the ground to show me his thanks. He then put his head on the ground, and set my foot on his head, as he had done at first. He took all the means he could think of, to let me know that he would serve me all his life; and I gave a sign to show that I thought well of him. The next thing was to think of some name to call him by. I chose that of the sixth day of the week (Friday), as he came to me on that day. I took care not to lose sight of him all that night, and when the sun rose, I made signs for him to come to me, that I might give him some clothes, for he wore none. We then went up to the top of the hill, to look out for the men; but as we could not see them, or their boats, it was clear that they had left the isle.

My slave has since told me that they had had a great fight with the tribe that dwelt next to them; and that all those men whom each side took in war were their own by right. My slave's foes had four who fell to their share, of whom he was one.

I now set to work to make my man a cap of hare's skin, and gave him a goat's skin to wear round his waist. It was a great source of pride to him, to find that his clothes were as good as my own.

At night, I kept my guns, sword, and bow close to my side; but there was no need for this, as my slave was, in sooth, most true to me. He did all that he was set to do, with his whole heart in the work; and I knew that he would lay down his life to save mine. What could a man do more than that? And oh, the joy to have him here to cheer me in this lone isle!

I did my best to teach him, so like a child as he was, to do and feel all that was right, I found him apt, and full of fun; and he took great pains to learn all that I could tell him. Our lives ran on in a calm, smooth way; and, but for the vile feasts which were held on the shores, I felt no wish to leave the isle.

As my slave had by no means lost his zest for these meals, it struck me that the best way to cure him, was to let him taste the flesh of beasts; so I took him with me one day to the wood for some sport. I saw a she-goat, in the shade, with her two kids. I caught Friday by the arm, and made signs to him not to stir, and then shot one of the kids; but the noise of the gun gave the poor man a great shock. He did not see the kid, nor did he know that it was dead. He tore his dress off his breast to feel if there was a wound there; then he knelt down to me, and took hold of my knees to pray of me not to kill him.

To show poor Friday that his life was quite safe, I led him by the hand, and told him to fetch the kid. By and by, I saw a hawk in a tree, so I bade him look at the gun, the hawk, and the ground; and then I shot the bird. But my poor slave gave still more signs of fear this time, than he did at first: for he shook from head to foot. He must have thought that some fiend of death dwelt in the gun, and I think that he would have knelt down to it, as well as to me; but he would not so much as touch the gun for some time, though he would speak to it when he thought I was not near. Once he told me that what he said to it was to ask it not to kill him.

I brought home the bird, and made broth of it. Friday was much struck to see me eat salt with it, and made a wry face; but I, in my turn, took some that had no salt with it, and I made a wry face at that. The next day I gave him a piece of kid's flesh, which I had hung by a string in front of the fire to roast. My plan was to put two poles, one on each side of the fire, and a stick, on the top of them to hold the string. When my slave came to taste the flesh, he took the best means to let me know how good he thought it.

The next day I set him to beat out and sift some corn. I let him see me make the bread, and he soon did all the work. I felt quite a love for his true, warm heart, and he soon learnt to talk to me. One day I said, "Do the men of your tribe win in fight?" He told me, with a smile, that they did. "Well, then," said I, "How came they to let their foes take you?"

"They run one, two, three, and make go in the boat that time."

"Well, and what do the men do with those they take?"

"Eat them all up."

This was not good news for me, but I went on, and said, "Where do they take them?"

"Go to next place where they think."

"Do they come here?"

"Yes, yes, they come here, come else place too."

"Have you been here with them twice?"

"Yes, come there."

He meant the North West side of the isle, so to this spot I took him the next day. He knew the place, and told me he was there once with a score of men. To let me know this, he put a score of stones all of a row, and made me count them.

"Are not the boats lost on your shore now and then?" He said that there was no fear, and that no boats were lost. He told me that up a great way by the moon -- that is where the moon then came up -- there dwelt a tribe of white men like me, with beards. I felt sure that they must have come from Spain, to work the gold mines. I put this to him: "Could I go from this isle and join those men?"

"Yes, yes, you may go in two boats."

It was hard to see how one man could go in two boats, but what he meant was, a boat twice as large as my own.

One day I said to my slave, "Do you know who made you?"

But he could not tell at all what these words meant. So I said, "Do you know who made the sea, the ground we tread on, the hills, and woods?" He said it was Beek, whose home was a great way off, and that he was so old that the sea and the land were not so old as he.

"If this old man has made all things, why do not all things bow down to him?"

My slave gave a grave look, and said, "All things say 'O' to him."

"Where do the men in your land go when they die?"

"All go to Beek."

I then held my hand up to the sky to point to it, and said, "God dwells there. He made the world, and all things in it. The moon and the stars are the work of his hand. God sends the wind and the rain on the earth, and the streams that flow: He hides the face of the sky with clouds, makes the grass to grow for the beasts of the field, and herbs for the use of man. God's love knows no end. When we pray, He draws near to us and hears us."

It was a real joy to my poor slave to hear me talk of these things. He sat still for a long time, then gave a sigh, and told me that he would say "O" to Beek no more, for he was but a short way off, and yet could not hear, till men went up the hill to speak to him.

"Did you go up the hill to speak to him?" said I.

"No, Okes go up to Beek, not young mans."

"What do Okes say to him?"

"They say 'O.'"

Now that I brought my man Friday to know that Beek was not the true God, such was the sense he had of my worth, that I had fears lest I should stand in the place of Beek. I did my best to call forth his faith in Christ, and make it strong and clear, till at last -- thanks be to the Lord -- I brought him to the love of Him, with the whole grasp of his soul.

To please my poor slave, I gave him a sketch of my whole life; I told him where I was born, and where I spent my days when a child. He was glad to hear tales of the land of my birth, and of the trade which we keep up, in ships, with all parts of the known world. I gave him a knife and a belt, which made him dance with joy.

One day as we stood on the top of the hill at the east side of the isle, I saw him fix his eyes on the main land, and stand for a long time to, gaze at it; then jump and sing, and call out to me.

"What do you see?" said I.

"Oh joy!" said he, with a fierce glee in his eyes, "Oh glad! There see my land!"

Why did he strain his eyes to stare at this land, as if he had a wish to be there? It put fears in my mind which made me feel far, less at my ease with him. Thought I, if he should go back to his home, he will think no more of what I have taught him, and done for him. He will be sure to tell the rest of his tribe all my ways, and come back with, it may be, scores of them, and kill me, and then dance round me, as they did round the men, the last time they came on my isle.

But these were all false fears, though they found a place in my mind a long while; and I was not so kind to him now as I had been. From this time I made it a rule, day by day, to find out if there were grounds for my fears or not. I said, "Do you not wish to be once more in your own land?"

"Yes! I be much O glad to be at my own land."

"What would you do there? Would you turn wild, and be as you were?"

"No, no, I would tell them to be good, tell them eat bread, corn, milk, no eat man more!"

"Why, they would kill you!"

"No, no, they no kill; they love learn."

He then told me that some white men, who had come on their shores in a boat, had taught them a great deal.

"Then will you go back to your land with me?"

He said he could not swim so far, so I told him he should help me to build a boat to go in. Then he said, "If you go, I go."

"I go? why they would eat me!"

"No, me make them much love you."

Then he told me as well as he could, how kind they had been to some white men. I brought out the large boat to hear what he thought of it, but he said it was too small. We then went to look at the old ship's boat, which, as it had been in the sun for years, was not at all in a sound state. The poor man made sure that it would do. But how were we to know this? I told him we should build a boat as large as that, and that he should go home in it. He spoke not a word, but was grave and sad.

"What ails you?" said I.

"Why, you grieve mad with your man?"

"What do you mean? I am not cross with you."

"No cross? no cross with me? Why send your man home to his own land, then?"

"Did you not tell me you would like to go back?"

"Yes, yes, we both there; no wish self there, if you not there!"

"And what should I do there?"

"You do great deal much good! you teach wild men be good men; you tell them know God, pray God, and lead new life."

We soon set to work to make a boat that would take us both. The first thing was to look out for some large trees that grew near the shore, so that we could launch our boat when it was made. My slave's plan was to burn the wood to make it the right shape; but as mine was to hew it, I set him to work with my tools; and in two months' time we had made a good strong boat; but it took a long while to get her down to the shore.

Friday had the whole charge of her; and, large as she was, he made her move with ease, and said, "he thought she go there well, though great blow wind!" He did not know that I meant to make a mast and sail. I cut down a young fir tree for the mast, and then I set to work at the sail. It made me laugh to see my man stand and stare, when he came to watch me sail the boat. But he soon gave a jump, a laugh, and a clap of the hands when he saw the sail jibe and fall, first on this side, then on that.

The next thing to do was to stow our boat up in the creek, where we dug a small dock; and when the tide was low, we made a dam, to keep out the sea. The time of year had now come for us to set sail, so we got out all our stores, to put them in the boat.

One day I sent Friday to the shore, to get a sort of herb that grew there. I soon heard him cry out to me, "O grief! O bad! O bad! O out there boats, one, two, three!" "Keep a stout heart," said I, to cheer him. The poor man shook with fear; for he thought that the men who brought him here, had now come back to kill him.

"Can you fight?" said I.

"Me shoot; but me saw three boats; one, two, three!"

"Have no fear; those that we do not kill, will be sure to take fright at the sound of our guns. Now will you stand by me, and do just as you are bid?"

"Me die when you bid die."

I gave him a good draught of rum; and when he had drunk this, he took up an axe and two guns, each of which had a charge of swan shot. I took two guns as well, and put large shot in them, and then hung my great sword by my side. From the top of the bill, I saw with the help of my glass, that the boats had each brought eight men, and one slave. They had come on shore near the creek, where a grove of young trees grew close down to the sea.

They had with them three slaves, bound hand and foot, and you who read this, may guess what they were brought here for. I felt that I must try and save them from so hard a fate, and that to do this, I should have to put some of their foes to death. So we set forth on our way. I gave Friday strict charge to keep close to me, and not to fire till I told him to do so.

We went full a mile out of our way, that we might get round to the wood to bide there. But we had not gone far, when my old qualms came back to me, and I thought, "Is it for me to dip my hands in man's blood? Why should I kill those who have done me no harm, and mean not to hurt me? Nay, who do not so much as know that they are in the wrong, when they hold these feasts. Are not their ways a sign that God has left them (with the rest of their tribe) to their own dull hearts? God did not call me to be a judge for Him. He who said, 'Thou shalt not kill,' said it for me, as well as the rest of the world."

A throng of thoughts like these would rush on my mind, as if to warn me to pause, till I felt sure that there was more to call me to the work than I then knew of. I took my stand in the wood, to watch the men at their feast, and then crept on, with Friday close at my heels. Thus we went till we came to the skirts of the wood. Then I said to. Friday, "Go up to the top of that tree, and bring me word if you can see the men."

He went, and quick as thought, came back to say that they were all round the fire, and that the man who was bound on the sand would be the next they would kill. But when he told me that it was a white man, one of my own race, I felt the blood boil in my veins. Two of the gang had gone to loose the white man from his bonds; so now was the time to fire.

At the sound of our guns, we saw all the men jump up from the ground where they sat. It must have been the first gun the I had heard in their lives. They knew not which way to look. I now threw down my piece, and took up a small gun; Friday did the same; and I gave him the word to fire! The men ran right and left, with yells and screams.

I now made a rush out of the wood, that they might see me, with my man Friday at my heels, of course. We gave a loud shout, and ran up to the white man as fast as we could. There he lay on the hot sand. I cut the flag, or rush, by which he was bound, but he was too weak to stand or speak, so I gave him some rum. He let me know by all the signs that he could think of, how much he stood in my debt for all that I had done for him.

I said, "We will talk of that bye and bye; but now we must do what we can to save our lives." Friday, who was free to go where he chose, flew here and there, and put all the men to the rout. They fled in full haste to their boats, and were soon out at sea; and so we got rid of our foes at last.

The man whom we had found on the sand told us that his name was Carl, and that he came from Spain. But there was one more man to claim our care; for the black men had left a small boat on the sands, and in this I saw a poor wretch who lay half dead. He could not so much as look up, so tight was he bound, neck and heels. When I cut the bonds from him he gave a deep groan, for he thought that all this was but to lead him out to die.

Friday then came up, and I bade him speak to the old man in his own tongue, and tell him that he was free. This good news gave him strength, and he sat up in the boat. But when Friday came to hear him talk, and to look him in the face, it brought the tears to my eyes to see him kiss and hug the poor old man, and dance round him with joy, then weep, wring his hands, and beat his own face and head, and then laugh once more, sing, and leap. For a long time he could not speak to me, so as to, let me know what all this meant. But at length he told me that he was the son of this poor old man, and that his name was Jaf.

It would be a hard task for me to tell of all the quaint, signs Friday made to show his joy. He went in and out of the boat five or six times, sat down by old Jaf, and held the poor old man's head close to his breast to warm it; then he set to work to rub his arms and feet, which were cold and stiff from the bonds. I told Friday to give him some rum and bread; but he said, "None! Bad dog eat all up self." He then ran off straight to the house, and took no heed of my calls, but went as swift as a deer.

In an hour's time, he came back with a jug in his hand. The good soul had gone all the way to the house, that Jaf might have a fresh draught from my well; and with it he brought two cakes, one of which I bade him take to Carl, who lay in the shade of a tree. His limbs were stiff and cold, and he was too weak to say a word.

I set my man to rub his feet with rum, and while he did so, I saw Friday turn his head round from time to time, to steal a look at the old man. Then we brought Carl and Jaf home from the boat on our backs, as they could not walk. The door of my house was at the top, and the poor sick men could not climb the steps by which I got in, so we made for them a tent of old sails.

I was now a king of these three men, as well as Lord of the isle; and I felt proud to say, "They all owe their lives to their king, and would lay them down for him if he bade them do so." But I did not think that my reign was so soon to come to an end. The next thing for us to do was to give Carl and Jaf some food, and to kill and roast a kid, to which we all four sat down, and I did my best to cheer them.

Carl in a few days grew quite strong, and I set him to work to dig some land for seed; for it was clear we should want more corn now that we had two more mouths to fill. So we put in the ground all the stock of grain I had, and thus we all four had as much work as we could do for some time. When the crop grew, and was ripe, we found we had a good store of grain.

We made a plan that Carl and Jaf should go back to the main land, to try if they could get some of the white men who had been cast on shore there, to come and live with us; so they got out the boat, and took with them two guns and food for eight days. They were to come back in a week's time, and I bade them hang out a sign when they came in sight, so that we might know who they were.

One day, Friday ran up to me in great glee, and said, "They are back! They are back!" A mile from shore, there was a boat with a sail, which stood in for the land; but I knew it could not be the one which our two friends had gone out in, for it was on the wrong side of the isle for that. I saw too, through my glass, a ship out at sea. There were twelve men in the boat, three of whom were bound in chains, and four had fire arms.

Bye and bye, I saw one of the men raise his sword to those who were in chains, and I felt sure that all was not right. Then I saw that the three men who had been bound were set free; and when they had come on shore they lay on the ground, in the shade of a tree. I was soon at their side, for their looks, so sad and worn, brought to my mind the first few hours I had spent in this wild spot, where all to me was wrapt in gloom.

I went up to these men, and said:

"Who are you, Sirs?"

They gave a start at my voice and at my strange dress, and made a move as if they would fly from me. I said, "Do not fear me, for it may be that you have a friend at hand, though you do not think it." "He must be sent from the sky then," said one of them with a grave look; and he took off his hat to me at the same time. "All help is from thence, Sir," I said; "but what can I do to aid you? You look as if you had some load of grief on your breast. I saw one of the men lift his sword as if to kill you."

The tears ran down the poor man's face, as he said,

"Is this a god, or is it but a man?" "Have no doubt on that score, Sir," said I, "for a god would not have come with a dress like this. No, do not fear -- nor raise your hopes too high; for you see but a man, yet one who will do all he can to help you. Your speech shows me that you come from the same land as I do. I will do all I can to serve you. Tell me your case." "Our case, Sir, is too long to you while they who would kill us are so near. My name is Paul. To be short, Sir, my crew have thrust me out of my ship, which you see out there, and have left me here to die. It was as much as I could do to make them sheath their swords, which you saw were drawn to slay me. They have set me down in this isle with these two men, my friend here, and the ship's mate."

"Where have they gone?" said I.

"There, in the wood, close by. I fear they may have seen and heard us. If they have, they will be sure to kill us all."

"Have they fire-arms?"

"They have four guns, one of which is in the boat."

"Well then, leave all to me!"

"There are two of the men," said he, "who are worse than the rest. All but these I feel sure would go back to work the ship."

I thought it was best to speak out to Paul at once, and I said, "Now if I save your life, there are two things which you must do." But he read my thoughts, and said, "If you save my life, you shall do as you like with me and my ship, and take her where you please."

I saw that the two men, in whose charge the boat had been left, had come on shore; so the first thing I did was to send Friday to fetch from it the oars, the sail, and the gun. And now the ship might be said to be in our hands. When the time came for the men to go back to the ship, they were in a great rage; for, as the boat had now no sail nor oars, they knew not how to get out to their ship.

We heard them say that it was a strange sort of isle, for that sprites had come to the boat, to take off the sails and oars. We could see them run to and fro, with great rage; then go and sit in the boat to rest, and then come on shore once more. When they drew near to us, Paul and Friday would fain have had me fall on them at once. But my wish was to spare them, and kill as few as I could. I told two of my men to creep on their hands and feet close to the ground, so that they might not be seen, and when they got up to the men, not to fire till I gave the word.

They had not stood thus long, when three of the crew came up to us. Till now, we had but heard their voice, but when they came so near as to be seen, Paul and Friday stood up and shot at them. Two of the men fell dead, and they were the worst of the crew, and the third ran off. At the sound of the guns I came up, but it was so dark that the men could not tell if there were three of us or three score.

It fell out just as I could wish, for I heard the men ask, "To whom must we yield, and where are they?" Friday told them that Paul was there with the king of the isle, who had brought with him a crowd of men! At this one of the crew said, "If Paul will spare our lives, we will yield." "Then," said Friday, "you shall know the king's will." Then Paul said to them, "You know my voice; if you lay down your arms the king will spare your lives!"

They fell on their knees to beg the same of me. I took good care that they did not see me, but I gave them my word that they should all live, that I should take four of them to work the ship, and that the rest would be bound hand and foot, for the good faith of the four. This was to show them what a stern king I was.

Of course I soon set them free, and I put them in a way to take my place on the isle. I told them of all my ways, taught them how to mind the goats, how to work the farm, and make the bread. I gave them a house to live in, fire arms, tools, and my two tame cats, in fact, all but Poll and my gold.

As I sat on the top of the hill, Paul came up to me. He held out his hand to point to the ship, and with much warmth took me to his arms, and said, "My dear friend, there is your ship! For she is all yours, and so are we, and all that is in her."

I cast my eyes to the ship, which rode half a mile off the shore, at the mouth of the creek, and near the place where I had brought my rafts to the land. Yes, there she stood, the ship that was to set me free, and to take me where I might choose to go. She set her sails to the wind, and her flags threw out their gay stripes in the breeze. Such a sight was too much for me, and I fell down faint with joy. Paul then took out a flask which he had brought for me, and gave me a dram, which I drank, but for a good while I could not speak to him.

Friday and Paul then went on board the ship, and Paul took charge of her once more. We did not start that night, but at noon the next day I left the isle!

That lone isle, where I had spent so great a part of my life -- not much less than thrice ten long years.

When I came back to the dear land of my birth, all was strange and new to me. I went to my old home at York, but none of my friends were there, and to my great grief I saw, on the stone at their grave, the sad tale of their death.

As they had thought, of course, that I was dead, they had not left me their wealth and lands, so that I stood much in want of means, for it was but a small sum that I had brought with me from the isle. But in this time of need, I had the luck to find my good friend who once took me up at sea. He was now grown too old for work, and had put his son in the ship in his place. He did not know me at first, but I was soon brought to his mind when I told him who I was. I found from him that the land which I had bought on my way to the isle was now worth much.

As it was a long way off, I felt no wish to go and live there so I made up my mind to sell it, and in the course of a few months, I got for it a sum so large as to make me a rich man all at once.

Weeks, months, and years went by; I had a farm, a wife, and two sons, and was by no means young; but still I could not get rid of a strong wish which dwelt in my thoughts by day and my dreams by night, and that was to set foot once more in my old isle.

I had now no need to work for food, or for means of life; all I had to do was to teach my boys to be wise and good, to live at my ease, and see my wealth grow day by day. Yet the wish to go back to my wild haunts clung round me like a cloud, and I could in no way drive it from me, so true is it that "what is bred in the bone will not come out of the flesh."

At length I lost my wife, which was a great blow to me, and my home was now so sad, that I made up my mind to launch out once more on the broad sea, and go with my man Friday to that lone isle where dwelt all my hopes.

I took with me as large a store of tools, clothes, and such like goods as I had room for, and men of skill in all kinds of trades, to live in the isle. When we set sail, we had a fair wind for some time, but one night the mate, who was at the watch, told me he saw a flash of fire, and heard a gun go off. At this we all ran on deck, from whence we saw a great light, and as there was no land that way, we knew that it must be some ship on fire at sea, which could not be far off, for we heard the sound of the gun.

The wind was still fair, so we made our way for the point where we saw the light, and in half an hour, it was but too plain that a large ship was on fire in the midst of the broad sea. I gave the word to fire off five guns, and we then lay by, to wait till break of day. But in the dead of the night, the ship blew up in the air, the flames shot forth, and what there was left of the ship sank. We hung out lights, and our guns kept up a fire all night long, to let the crew know that there was help at hand.

At eight o'clock the next day we found, by the aid of the glass, that two of the ship's boats were out at sea, quite full of men. They had seen us, and had done their best to make us see them, and in half an hour we came up with them.

It would be a hard task for me to set forth in words the scene which took place in my ship, when the poor French folk (for such they were) came on board. As to grief and fear, these are soon told -- sighs, tears, and groans make up the sum of them -- but such a cause of joy as this was, in sooth, too much for them to bear, weak and all but dead as they were.

Some would send up shouts of joy that rent the sky; some would cry and wring their hands as if in the depths of grief; some would dance, laugh, and sing; not a few were dumb, sick, faint, in a swoon, or half mad; and two or three were seen to give thanks to God.

In this strange group, there was a young French priest who did his best to soothe those round him, and I saw him go up to some of the crew, and say to them, "Why do you scream, and tear your hair, and wring your hands, my men? Let your joy be free and full, give it full range and scope, but leave off this trick of the hands, and lift them up in praise; let your voice swell out, not in screams, but in hymns of thanks to God, who has brought you out of so great a strait, for this will add peace to your joy."

The next day, they were all in a right frame of mind, so I gave them what stores I could spare, and put them on board a ship that we met with on her way to France, all save five who, with the priest, had a wish to join me.

But we had not set sail long, when we fell in with a ship that had been blown out to sea by a storm, and had lost her masts; and, worse than all, her crew had not had an ounce of meat or bread for ten days. I gave them all some food, which they ate like wolves in the snow, but I thought it best to check them, as I had fears that so much all at once would cause the death of some of them.

There were a youth and a young girl in the ship who the mate said he thought must be dead, but he had not had the heart to go near them, for the food was all gone. I found that they were faint for the want of it, and as it were in the jaws of death; but in a short time they both got well, and as they had no wish to go back to their ship, I took them with me. So now I had eight more on board my ship, than I had when I first set out.

In three months from the time when I left home, I came in sight of my isle, and I brought the ship safe up, by the side of the creek, which was near my old house.

I went up to Friday, to ask if he knew where he was. He took a look round him, and soon, with a clap of the hands, said "O yes! O there! O yes! O there!" Bye and bye, he set up a dance with such wild glee, that it was as much as I could do to keep him on deck. "Well, what think you, Friday?" said I; "shall we find those whom we left still here? -- Shall we see poor old Jaf?" He stood quite mute for a while, but when I spoke of old Jaf (whose son Friday was), the tears ran down his face, and the poor soul was as sad as could be. "No, no," said he, "no more, no, no more."

As we caught sight of some men at the top of the hill, I gave word to fire three guns, to show that we were friends, and soon we saw smoke rise from the side of the creek. I then went on shore in a boat, with the priest and Friday, and hung out a white flag of peace. The first man I cast my eyes on at the creek, was my old friend Carl, who, when I was last on the isle, had been brought here in bonds.

I gave strict charge to the men in the boat not to go on shore, but Friday could not be kept back, for with his quick eye he had caught sight of old Jaf. It brought the tears to our eyes to see his joy when he met the old man. He gave him a kiss, took him up in his arms, set him down in the shade, then stood a short way off to look at him, as one would look at a work of art, then felt him with his hand, and all this time he was in full talk, and told him, one by one, all the strange tales of what he had seen since they had last met.

As to my friend Carl, he came up to me, and with much warmth shook my hands, and then took me to my old house, which he now gave up to me. I could no more have found the place, than if I had not been there at all. The rows of trees stood so thick and close, that the house could not be got at, save by such blind ways as none but those who made them could find out. "Why have you built all these forts?" said I. Carl told me that he felt sure I should say there was much need of them, when I heard how they had spent their time since they had come to the isle.

He brought twelve men to the spot where I stood, and said, "Sir, all these men owe their lives to you." Then, one by one, they came up to me, not as if they had been the mere crew of a ship, but like men of rank who had come to kiss the hand of their king.

The first thing was to bear all that had been done in the isle since I had left it. But I must first state that, when we were on the point to set sail from the isle, a feud sprang up on board our ship, which we could not put down, till we had laid two of the men in chains. The next day, these two men stole each of them a gun and some small arms, and took the ship's boat, and ran off with it to join the three bad men on shore.

As soon as I found this out, I sent the long-boat on shore, with twelve men and the mate, and off they went to seek the two who had left the ship. But their search was in vain, nor could they find one of the rest, for they had all fled to the woods when they saw the boat. We had now lost five of the crew, but the three first were so much worse than the last two, that in a few days they sent them out of doors, and would have no more to do with them, nor would they for a long while give them food to eat.

So the two poor men had to live as well as they could by hard work, and they set up their tents on the north shore of the isle, to be out of the way of the wild men, who were wont to land on the east side. Here they built them two huts, one to lodge in, and one to lay up their stores in; and the men from Spain gave them some corn for seed, as well as some peas which I had left them. They soon learned to dig, and plant, and hedge in their land, in the mode which I had set for them, and in short, to lead good lives, so that I shall now call them the "two good men."

But when the three bad men saw, this, they were full of spite, and came one day to tease and vex them. They told them that the isle was their own, and that no one else had a right to build on it, if they did not pay rent. The two good men thought at first that they were in jest, and told them to come and sit down, and see what fine homes they had built, and say what rent they would ask.

But one of the three said they should soon see that they were not in jest, and took a torch in his hand, and put it to the roof of the but, and would have set it on fire, had not one of the two good men trod the fire out with his feet. The bad man was in such a rage at this, that he ran at him with a pole he had in his hand, and this brought on a fight, the end of which was that the three men had to stand off. But in a short time they came back, and trod down the corn, and shot the goats and young kids, which the poor men had got to bring up tame for their store.

One day when the two men were out, they came to their home, and said, "Ha! there's the nest, but the birds are flown." They then set to work to pull down both the huts, and left not a stick, nor scarce a sign on the ground to show where the tents had stood. They tore up, too, all the goods and stock that they could find, and when they had done this, they told it all to the men of Spain, and said, "You, sirs, shall have the same sauce, if you do not mend your ways."

They then fell to blows and hard words, but Carl had them bound in cords, and took their arms from them. The men of Spain then said they would do them no harm, and if they would live at peace they would help them, and that they should live with them as they had done till that time, but they could not give them back their arms for three or four months.

One night Carl -- whom I shall call "the chief," as he took the lead of all the rest -- felt a great weight on his mind, and could get no sleep, though he was quite well in health. He lay still for some time, but as he, did not feel at case, he got up, and took a look out. But as it was too dark to see far, and he heard no noise, he went back to his bed. Still it was all one, he could not sleep; and though he knew not why, his thoughts would give him no rest.

He then woke up one of his friends, and told him how it had been with him. "Say you so?" said he "What if there should be some bad plot at work near us!" They then set off to the top of the hill, where I was wont to go, and from thence they saw the light of a fire, quite a short way from them, and heard the sounds of men, not of one or two, but of a great crowd. We need not doubt that the chief and the man with him now ran back at once, to tell all the rest what they had seen; and when they heard the news, they could not be kept close where they were, but must all run out to see how things stood.

At last they thought that the best thing to do would be, while it was dark, to send old Jaf out as a spy, to learn who they were, and what they meant to do. When the old man had been gone an hour or two, he brought word back that he had been in the midst of the foes, though they had not seen him, and that they were in two sets or tribes who were at war, and had come there to fight. And so it was, for in a short time they heard the noise of the fight, which went on for two hours, and at the end, with three loud shouts or screams, they left the isle in their boats. Thus my friends were set free from all their fears, and saw no more of their wild foes for some time.

One day a whim took the three bad men that they would go to the main land, from whence the wild men came, and try if they could not seize some of them, and bring them home as slaves, so as to make them do the hard part of their work for them. The chief gave them all the arms and stores that they could want, and a large boat to go in, but when they bade them "God speed," no one thought that they would find their way back to the isle. But lo! in three weeks and a day, they did in truth come back. One of the two good men was the first to catch sight of them, and tell the news to his friends.

The men said that they had found the land in two days, and that the wild men gave them roots and fish to eat, and were so kind as to bring down eight slaves to take back with them, three of whom were men and five were girls. So they gave their good hosts an axe, an old key, and a knife, and brought off the slaves in their boat to the isle. As the chief and his friends did not care to wed the young girls, the five men who had been the crew of Paul's ship drew lots for choice, so that each had a wife, and the three men slaves were set to work for the two good men, though there was not much for them to do.

But one of them ran off to the woods, and they could not hear of him more. They had good cause to think that he found his way home, as in three or four weeks some wild men came to the isle, and when they had had their feast and dance, they went off in two days' time. So my friends might well fear that if this slave got safe home, he would be sure to tell the wild men that they were in the isle, and in what part of it they might be found. And so it came to pass, for in less than two months, six boats of wild men, with eight or ten men in each boat, came to the north side of the isle, where they had not been known to come up to that time.

The foe had brought their boats to land, not more than a mile from the tent of the two good men, and it was there that the slave who had run off had been kept. These men had the good luck to see the boats when they were a long way off, so that it took them quite an hour from that time to reach the shore.

My friends now had to think how that hour was to be spent. The first thing they did was to bind the two slaves that were left, and to take their wives, and as much of their stores as they could, to some dark place in the woods. They then sent a third slave to the chief and his men, to tell them the news, and to ask for help.

They had not gone far in the woods, when they saw, to their great grief and rage, that their huts were in flames, and that the wild men ran to and fro, like beasts in search of prey. But still our men went on, and did not halt, till they came to a thick part of the wood, where the large trunk of an old tree stood, and in this tree they both took their post. But they had not been there long, when two of the wild men ran that way, and they saw three more, and then five more, who all ran the same way, as if they knew where they were.

Our two poor men made up their minds to let the first two pass, and then take the three and the five in line, as they came up, but to fire at one at a time, as the first shot might chance to hit all three.

So the man who was to fire put three or four balls in his gun, and from a hole in the tree, took a sure aim, and stood still till the three wild men came so near that he could not miss them. They soon saw that one of these three was the slave that had fled from them, as they both knew him well, and they made up their minds that they would kill him, though they should both fire.

At the first shot two of the wild men fell dead, and the third had a graze on his arm, and though not much hurt, sat down on the ground with loud screams and yells. When the five men who came next, heard the sound of the gun and the slave's cries, they stood still at first, as if they were struck dumb with fright. So our two men both shot off their guns in the midst of them, and then ran up and bound them safe with cords.

They then went to the thick part of the wood, where they had put their wives and slaves, to see if all were safe there, and to their joy they found that though the wild men had been quite near them, they had not found them out. While they were here, the chief and his men came up, and told them that the rest had gone to take care of my old house and grove, in case the troop of wild men should spread so far that way.

They then went back to the burnt huts, and when they came in sight of the shore, they found that their foes had all gone out to sea. So they set to work to build up their huts, and as all the men in the isle lent them their aid, they were soon in a way to thrive once more. For five or six months they saw no more of the wild men. But one day a large fleet of more than a score of boats came in sight, full of men who had bows, darts, clubs, swords, and such like arms of war, and our friends were all in great fear.

As they came at dusk, and at the East side of the isle, our men had the whole night to think of what they should do. And as they knew that the most safe way was to hide and lie in wait, they first of all took down the huts which were built for the two good men, and drove their goats to the cave, for they thought the wild men would go straight there as soon as it was day, and play the old game.

The next day they took up their post with all their force at the wood, near the home of the two men, to wait for the foe. They gave no guns to the slaves, but each of them had a long staff with a spike at the end of it, and by his side an axe. There were two of the wives who could not be kept back, but would go out and fight with bows and darts.

The wild men came on with a bold and fierce mien, not in a line, but all in crowds here and there, to the point were our men lay in wait for them. When they were so near as to be in range of the guns, our men shot at them right and left with five or six balls in each charge. As the foe came up in close crowds, they fell dead on all sides, and most of those that they did not kill were much hurt, so that great fear and dread came on them all.

Our men then fell on them from three points with the butt end of their guns, swords, and staves, and did their work so well that the wild men set up a loud shriek, and flew for their lives to the woods and hills, with all the speed that fear and swift feet could help them to do. As our men did not care to chase them, they got to the shore where they had come to land and where the boats lay.

But their rout was not yet at an end, for it blew a great storm that day from the sea, so that they could not put off. And as the storm went on all that night, when the tide came up, the surge of the sea drove most of their boats so high on the shore, that they could not be got off save with great toil, and the force of the waves on the beach broke some of them to bits.

At break of day, our men went forth to find them, and when they saw the state of things, they got some dry wood from a dead tree, and set their boats on fire. When the foe saw this, they ran all through the isle with loud cries, as if they were mad, so that our men did not know at first what to do with them, for they trod all the corn down with their feet, and tore up the vines just as the grapes were ripe, and did a great deal of harm.

At last they brought old Jaf to them, to tell them how kind they would be to them, that they would save their lives, and give them part of the isle to live in, if they would keep in their own bounds, and that they should have corn to plant, and should make it grow for their bread. They were but too glad to have such good terms of peace, and they soon learnt to make all kinds of work with canes, wood, and sticks, such as chairs, stools, and beds, and this they did with great skill when they were once taught.

From this time till I came back to the isle my friends saw no more wild men. I now told the chief that I had not come to take off his men, but to bring more, and to give them all such things as they would want to guard their homes from foes, and cheer up their hearts.

The next day I made a grand feast for them all, and the ship's cook and mate came on shore to dress it. We brought out our rounds of salt beef and pork, a bowl of punch, some beer, and French wines; and Carl gave the cooks five whole kids to roast, three of which were sent to the crew on board ship, that they, on their part, might feast on fresh meat from shore.

I gave each of the men a shirt, a coat, a hat, and a pair of shoes, and I need not say how glad they were to meet with gifts so new to them. Then I brought out the tools, of which each man had a spade, a rake, an axe, a crow, a saw, a knife and such like things as well as arms, and all that they could want for the use of them.

As I saw there was a kind will on all sides, I now took on shore the youth and the maid whom we had brought from the ship that we met on her way to France. The girl had been well brought up, and all the crew had a good word for her. As they both had a wish to be left on the isle, I gave them each a plot of ground, on which they had tents and barns built.

I had brought out with me five men to live here, one of whom could turn his hand to all sorts of things, so I gave him the name of "Jack of all Trades."

One day the French priest came to ask if I would leave my man Friday here, for through him, he said, he could talk to the black men in their own tongue, and teach them the things of God. "Need I add," said he, "that it was for this cause that I came here?" I felt that I could not part with my man Friday for the whole world, so I told the priest that if I could have made up my mind to leave him here, I was quite sure that Friday would not part from me.

When I had seen that all things were in a good state on the isle, I set to work to put my ship to rights, to go home once more. One day, as I was on my way to it, the youth whom I had brought from the ship that was burnt, came up to me, and said, "Sir, you have brought a priest with you, and while you are here, we want him to wed two of us."

I made a guess that one of these must be the maid that I had brought to the isle, and that it was the wish of the young man to make her his wife. I spoke to him with some warmth in my tone, and bade him turn it well in his mind first, as the girl was not in the same rank of life as he had been brought up in. But he said, with a smile, that I had made a wrong guess, for it was "Jack of all Trades" that he had come to plead for. It gave me great joy to hear this, as the maid was as good a girl as could be, and I thought well of Jack; so on that day I gave her to him. They were to have a large piece of ground to grow their crops on, with a house to live in, and sheds for their goats.

The isle was now set out in this way: all the west end was left waste, so that if the wild men should land on it, they might come and go, and hurt no one. My old house I gave to the chief, with all its woods, which now spread out as far as the creek, and the south end was for the white men and their wives.

It struck me that there was one gift which I had not thought of, and that was the book of God's Word, which I knew would give to those who could feel the words in it, fresh strength for their work, and grace to bear the ills of life.

Now that I had been in the isle quite a month, I once more set sail on the fifth day of May; and all my friends told me that they should stay there till I came to fetch them.

When we had been out three days, though the sea was smooth and calm, we saw that it was quite black on the land side; and as we knew not what to make of it, I sent the chief mate up the main mast to find out with his glass what it could be. He said it was a fleet of scores and scores of small boats, full of wild men who came fast at us with fierce looks.

As soon as we got near them, I gave word to furl all sails and stop the ship, and as there was nought to fear from them but fire, to get the boats out and man them both well, and so wait for them to come up.

In this way we lay by for them, and in a short time they came up with us; but as I thought they would try to row round and so close us in, I told the men in the boats not to let them come too near. This, though we did not mean it, brought us to a fight with them, and they shot a cloud of darts at our boats. We did not fire at them, yet in half an hour they went back out to sea, and then came straight to us, till we were so near that they could hear us speak.

I bade my men keep close, so as to be safe from their darts if they should shoot, and get out the guns. I then sent Friday on deck, to call out to them in their own tongue and ask what they meant. It may be that they did not know what he said, but as soon as he spoke to them I heard him cry out that they would shoot. This was too true, for they let fly a thick cloud of darts, and to my great grief poor Friday fell dead, for there was no one else in their sight. He was shot with three darts, and three more fell quite near him, so good was their aim.

I was so mad with rage at the loss of my dear Friday, that I bade the men load five guns with small shot, and four with large, and we gave them such a fierce fire that in all their lives they could not have seen one like it. Then a rare scene met our eyes: dread and fear came on them all, for their boats, which were small, were split and sunk -- three or four by one shot. The men who were not dead had to swim, and those who had wounds were left to sink, for all the rest got off as fast as they could. Our boat took up one poor man who had to swim for his life, when the rest had fled for the space of half an hour. In three hours' time, we could not see more than three or four of their boats, and as a breeze sprang up we set sail.

At first the man whom we took on board would not eat or speak, and we all had fears lest he should pine to death. But when we had taught him to say a few words, he told us that his friends -- the wild men-had come out with their kin to have a great fight, and that all they meant was to make us look at the grand sight. So it was for this that poor Friday fell! He who had been as good and true to me as man could be! And now in deep grief I must take my leave of him.

We went on with a fair wind to All Saints' Bay, and here I found a sloop that I had brought with me from home, that I might send men and stores for the use of my friends in the isle. I taught the mate how to find the place, and when he came back, I found that he had done so with ease.

One of our crew had a great wish to go with the sloop, and live on the isle, if the chief would give him land to plant. So I told him he should go by all means, and gave him the wild man for his slave. I found, too, that a man who had come with his wife and child and three slaves, to hide from the king of Spain, would like to go, if he could have some land there, though he had but a small stock to take with him; so I put them all on board the sloop, and saw them safe out of the bay, on their way to the isle. With them I sent three milch cows, five calves, a horse and a colt, all of which, as I heard, went safe and sound.

I have now no more to say of my isle, as I had left it for the last time, but my life in lands no less far from home was not yet at an end. From the Bay of All Saints we went straight to the Cape of Good Hope. Here I made up my mind to part from the ship in which I had come from the Isle, and with two of the crew to stay on land, and leave the rest to go on their way. I soon made friends with some men from France, as well as from my own land, and two Jews, who had come out to the Cape to trade.

As I found that some goods which I had brought with me from home were worth a great deal, I made a large sum by the sale of them. When we had been at the Cape of Good Hope for nine months, we thought that the best thing we could do would be to hire a ship, and sail to the Spice Isles, to buy cloves, so we got a ship, and men to work her, and set out. When we had bought and sold our goods in the course of trade, we came back, and then set out once more; so that, in short, as we went from port to port, to and fro, I spent, from first to last, six years in this part of the world.

At length we thought we would go and seek new scenes where we could get fresh gains. And a strange set of men we at last fell in with, as you who read this tale will say when you look at the print in front of this page.

When we had put on shore, we made friends with a man who got us a large house, built with canes, and a small kind of hut of the same near it. It had a high fence of canes round it to keep out thieves, of whom, it seems, there are not a few in that land. The name of the town was Ching, and we found that the fair or mart which was kept there would not be held for three or four months. So we sent our ship back to the Cape, as we meant to stay in this part of the world for some time, and go from place to place to see what sort of a land it was, and then come back to the fair at Ching.

We first went to a town which it was well worth our while to see, and which must have been, as near as I can guess, quite in the heart of this land. It was built with straight streets which ran in cross lines.

But I must own, when I came home to the place of my birth, I was much struck to hear my friends say such fine things of the wealth and trade of these parts of the world, for I saw and knew that the men were a mere herd or crowd of mean slaves. What is their trade to ours, or to that of France and Spain? What are their ports, with a few junks and barks, to our grand fleets? One of our large ships of war would sink all their ships, one line of French troops would beat all their horse, and the same may be said of their ports, which would not stand for one month such a siege as we could bring to bear on them.

In three weeks more we came to their chief town. When we had laid in a large stock of tea, shawls, fans, raw silks, and such like goods, we set out for the north. As we knew we should run all kinds of risks on our way, we took with us a strong force to act as a guard, and to keep us from the wild hordes who rove from place to place all through the land. Some of our men were Scots, who had come out to trade here, and had great wealth, and I was glad to join them, as it was by no means the first time that they had been here.

We took five guides with us, and we all put our coin in one purse, to buy food on the way, and to pay the men who took charge of us. One of us we chose out for our chief, to take the lead in case we should have to fight for our lives; and when the time came, we had no small need of him. On the sides of all the roads, we saw men who made pots, cups, pans, and such like ware, out of a kind of earth, which is, in fact, the chief trade in this part of the world.

One thing, the guide said he would show me, that was not to be seen in all the world else (and this, in good sooth, I could not sneer at, as I had done at most of the things I had seen here), and this was a house that was built of a kind of ware, such as most plates and cups are made of. "How big is it?" said I, "can we take it on the back of a horse?" "On a horse!" said the guide, "why, two score of men live in it." He then took us to it, and I found that it was in truth a large house, built with lath and the best ware that can be made out of earth. The sun shone hot on the walls, which were quite white, hard, and smooth as glass, with forms on them in blue paint. On the walls of the rooms were small square tiles of the best ware, with red, blue, and green paint of all shades and hues, in rare forms, done in good taste; and as they use the same kind of earth to join the tiles with, you could not see where the tiles met. The floors of the rooms were made of the same ware, and as strong as those we have at home; and the same may be said of the roofs, but they were of a dark shade. If we had had more time to spare, I should have been glad to have seen more of this house, for there were the ponds for the fish, the walks, the yards, and courts, which were all made in the same way. This odd sight kept me from my friends for two hours, and when I had come up to them, I had to pay a fine to our chief, as they had to wait so long.

In two days more we came to the Great Wall, which was made as a fort to keep the whole land safe, -- and a great work it is. It goes in a long track for miles and miles, where the rocks are so high and steep that no foe could climb them; or, if they did, no wall could stop them. The Great Wall is as thick as it is high, and it turns and winds in all sorts of ways.

We now saw, for the first time, some troops of the hordes I spoke of, who rove from place to place, to rob and kill all whom they meet with. They know no real mode of war, or skill in fight. Each has a poor lean horse, which is not fit to do good work. Our chief gave some of us leave to go out and hunt as they call it, and what was it but to hunt sheep! These sheep are wild and swift of foot, but they will not run far, and you are sure of sport when you start in the chase. They go in flocks of a score, or two, and like true sheep, keep close when they fly. In this sort of chase it was our hap to meet with some two score of the wild hordes, but what sort of prey they had come to hunt I know not. As soon as they saw us, one of them blew some loud notes on a kind of horn, with a sound that was quite new to me. We all thought this was to call their friends round them, and so it was, for in a short time a fresh troop of the same size came to join them; and they were all, as far as we could judge, a mile off. One of the Scots was with us, and as soon as he heard the horn, he told us that we must lose no time, but draw up in line, and charge them at once. We told him we would, if he would take the lead.

They stood still, and cast a wild gaze at us, like a mere crowd, drawn up in no line; but as soon as they saw us come at them, they let fly their darts, which did not hit us, for though their aim was true, they fell short of us. We now came to a halt to fire at them, and then went at full speed to fall on them sword in hand, for so the bold Scot that led us, told us to do.

As soon as we came up to them, they fled right and left. The sole stand made was by three of them, who had a kind of short sword in their hands, and bows on their backs, and who did all they could to call all the rest back to them. The brave Scot rode close up to them, and with his gun threw one off his horse, shot the next, and the third ran off, and this was the end of our fight. All the bad luck we met with, was that the sheep that we had in chase got off. We had not a man hurt, but as for the foe, five of them were dead, and not a few had wounds, while the rest fled at the mere noise of our guns.

Thus we went on our way from town to town, and now and then met some of these wild hordes, whom we had to fight and I need not add that each time we had the best of the fray. At last we made our way to the chief town of the North Seas at the end of a year, five months and three days, from the time when we left Ching. When I had been there six weeks, and had bought some more goods; I took ship and set sail for the land of my birth, which I had left, this time, for ten years, nine months and three days.

And now I must bring this tale of my life to a close, while at the age of three score years and twelve, I feel that the day is at hand, when I shall go forth on that sea of peace and love, which has no waves or shores but those of bliss that knows no end.

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Pretty Tales For The Nursery

By

Isabel Thompson



Fanny's Birthday.


Here is a nice new book! It is mine. Papa has just given it to me, for this is my birth-day, and I am five years old. Oh, how pretty it is! Here are boys and girls at play, like Willie and me; and here is nurse, with baby on her knee.

They will call me a dunce if I do not learn to read well, so I will try my very best; for what is the use of a nice book like this, if I cannot read it? It is not of a bit more use than my wax doll would be to puss.

What, Miss Puss, you hear your own name, do you? and think we are going to have a game of play. On no, puss, no such thing. It will not do for me to mind only play, for mamma says that, if I live, I shall be a woman in time, and there are many things that I must learn before then.

Look, puss, here is my new book. Ah, I see you do not care for books. You like to lie on the warm rug before the fire, and there you sleep away half your time. That may do very well for a puss, but it will not do for me. If I am as idle as you, I shall grow up a dunce, and what would papa say then? No, no, pussy, you may do as you like, but for my part I am not going to be a dunce.

Sometimes I sit upon mamma's knee, and she tells me the story about a young king, who lived many years ago, and who loved the Bible better than any other book in the world, and how God took him to wear a crown of gold in heaven. Or else she talks to me about Jesus, who came down from his glory above to die for us upon the cross. I love to hear about him when he was a baby, and his mother laid him in a manger, for there was no room for him in the inn. Oh! how glad I shall be when I can read these things in books.

Mamma says that when I can read, I shall have books that will teach me about many things which are to be seen in places a long way off, far, far over the sea. About lions and tigers, that live in the woods, and about black boys and girls, like the poor man who came to beg at the door. Willie and I ran away from him, but nurse called us back, and said he would not hurt us; and mamma told us to pity him and be kind to him, if we saw him again. I should like to see the little black boys and girls. Some of them go to school, I am told, but others are never taught anything that is good: I am very sorry for them.

Let me look again at my new book. Papa was very kind to buy it for me, and I will take care of it, that not a leaf may be torn. But I shall lend it to Willie if he asks me, for mamma says we must be kind to each other. I will tell him to take care of it when I lend it to him. Now I will go and show it to nurse, and ask her to put on it a white paper cover to keep it clean. Good bye, pussy, I will leave you to finish your nap, and when I come back again I will have some play with you.




The Dog That Had No Home.


One day little James stood upon a chair, and looked out at the window, and he saw a dog lying on a bank on the other side of the road. Then a bad boy came that way and hit it with a stick. James could see the poor dog shiver with cold as he lay on the wet bank. James felt very sorry for him, and he said, "Why does not the dog go home, and lie down by the fire, and get warm?"

Then James's mother said, "I do not think the poor dog has any home to go to. I have seen him out there before; and one day I saw Jane Rose keep a bad boy from hurting the dog."

Now James was very sorry that this poor dog should have no home. He talked a great deal about him, and when it began to grow dark, he got upon the chair again to see if he was still lying there.

The dog was there still, but he was not lying down this time. He stood upon the bank, and looked this way and that way, as if he did not know where to go. He looked more cold and wet than before, for the rain was coming down fast. Then James said to his mother, "May I tell Jane to let that poor dog come in? See how cold and hungry he looks. I should like to give him my bread and butter, for I have had some dinner, but the poor dog has not had a bit."

His mother said, "We cannot have him in the house, but you may ask Jane to let him come into the yard, and there is some straw in one corner of the shed where he may lie and get dry."

James was very glad to hear this, and he ran in a great hurry to tell Jane. So Jane went to the gate to call the dog, and James went back to the window to see him come in. But the dog would not come at first, and James's mother said that he looked afraid of being beat. At last he came very slowly across the road, and when he heard Jane call him, "Poor fellow! poor fellow!" he ran into the yard.

James's mother told Jane to give the dog some water to drink, and something to eat. So James stood by and saw him fed, and then the dog lay down on the straw, and curled himself round. James gave him one little pat on the head, and the dog wagged his tail, which was the only way he had to say, Thank you. Then James and Jane came away from the shed, and the dog went to sleep.

The last thing before James went to bed, he begged of Jane to go and see if the dog was still lying in the shed. Yes, he was snug asleep in the straw. James's mother said she would give him leave to stay there all night if he liked.

The next day, as soon as James awoke, he began to talk about the dog to Jane, who came to dress him. Jane said that he was not gone away, and the rain was over, and he was come out of the shed. So James made haste down stairs, and he went into the yard to see how he was after his good night's rest.

The dog was lying in the sun, and when he saw James he jumped up and ran to him; for a dog always knows those who are kind to him, and treat him well. If James had not been kind to this dog the night before, he would not have been so glad to see him come into the yard.

Then James patted him, and said, "Doggy, what is your name?" But the dog only looked in James's face. He was a very pretty dog, but he was very thin, like a dog that has no home. And James said, "Oh, I wish I might keep you for my own! I would feed you, and take care of you, and you should never lie out in the rain and the cold any more."

Then James's father came out of the house, and he said, "If I were to let you keep this dog, are you sure that you would be always kind to him, and use him well?" And James said, "Yes, father, indeed I would," Then his father said, "We must try to find out his proper master, if he has one, and send him to his own home; but if he has not a proper master, nor a home, he shall be your dog, my boy, and we will have a kennel made for him; and as he has been such a roving dog, Rover shall be his name."

So James's father asked a great many people about the dog, to try to find out his master and his home. But no one knew anything about him, and no one could tell where he came from. And some kind people said they were glad that he had found a good home, and he was a wise dog not to go away from it.

So James kept him for his own, and there was a kennel made for him, and it was set up in a corner of the yard. And he was called by the name of Rover, as he had been such a roving dog all the time that he had no home.




Annie Grove's Shoe.


One warm summer day, when little Annie Grove was coming home from school, some of her school-fellows said, "Let us go into the fields and get some flowers to take home." So they got over the stile into the field by the side of the road. Annie could not get over the stile at first, for it was a high one; but her brother John and Jane Gray told her to put her foot upon the step, and then they lifted her over into the field. Her brother was older than the rest, so he was tall and strong. It is right that the older boys and girls should be kind to the little ones, but they should not help them to do wrong; and John knew that they were both doing wrong when he helped to lift Annie over into the field.

They all ran about the fields a long time, for it was a fine sun-shiny day. When they grew hot and tired, they sat down under some trees beside a narrow brook. After a while, Jane Gray said, "How nice it would be to wade over the brook this warm day!" And one said, "I will do it," and some one else said, "I will do it," and so they all jumped up and got ready to wade over the brook. Little Annie Grove jumped up too, and took off her shoes and her little white socks, and she held up her frock round her, and put the shoes and socks into her frock to keep them safe. Then she put her little bare feet into the water to wade across the brook. She would not have done it if any grown-up person had been by, for she knew that it was wrong.

There were some sharp stones lying at the bottom of the brook, and when Annie was about half-way over, she trod upon one of them, and hurt her foot. Poor Annie stood still, and began to cry, for she was afraid to go on, and afraid to turn back, and the sharp stone had hurt her foot very much. She held up her frock with one hand, and a school-fellow who was close by took pity on her, and led her by the other hand back again to the grassy bank under the trees.

Then Jane Gray wiped Annie's foot dry with some of the long grass, and then they began to put on her socks and shoes. But only one shoe could be found. They looked among the grass, and they looked on the bank, but there was only one shoe to be seen. She had let the other slip away when she hurt her foot, and all the time since it had been going down the brook; and the brook was deeper and wider at the other end of the field, so there was little hope that poor Annie's shoe would ever be seen again.

What Annie was to do not even Jane Gray could tell. How was she to walk home with only one shoe? It was now very late, and there was not much time to talk about it, for every one of the girls ought to have been at home at least an hour before. So she had to go along with them as well as she could, the little white sock coming to the ground at every other step, so that people turned to look after her, and smiled, as she walked down the street. Poor Annie will not soon forget that day of sorrow and shame.

Her mother was angry when she got home, for though Annie was a little girl, she was quite old enough to have known better; and if other people do wrong that is no good reason why we should do the same.




The Little Boy's Bedtime.


One night little Albert sat at play with his box of bricks till bedtime. He sat at the foot of his mamma's work-table, and he built a house with walls round it, and steps up to the door, and a well in the middle of the yard. His mamma said it was very nicely done. Then Albert began to take the house to pieces, and put away the bricks; and before he had put all the bricks into the box, the clock struck eight.

When the clock struck, Susan came to the door and said, "Come, master Albert, it is time to go to bed." His mamma said, "Please to come again by and by, for the little boy is not quite ready. He has not said his prayer. He will be ready soon." But Albert cried out, "Go away, Susan. I do not want to go to bed. I want to sit up a little longer."

Mamma. My dear, it is bedtime, and you must go.

Albert. It is not your bedtime, mamma. I do not think any one goes to sleep so soon but baby and me.

Mamma. Oh yes, I can tell you of many more. The little birds' bedtime comes before yours. It comes when the sun goes down, so they went to sleep long ago.

Albert. Where do the birds sleep, mamma?

Mamma. Some are hid in the long grass in the fields, and some are among the leaves on the tall trees. There they are, if you could see them now, each with its little head under its wing.

Albert. I dare say they are tired with flying about all day.

Mamma. Yes, they were tired, and glad to go to rest. Then there are the doves in the dove-cot. If you were to go out and listen now, you would not hear their soft coo, for they are all asleep. And the white hen is asleep, with her seven little chicks safe under her wings.

Albert. But Keeper is not asleep. I heard him bark just now.

Mamma. No, for it is Keeper's duty to keep watch, and take care of the house.

Albert. Mamma, do you think that poor old woman and little girl are asleep, whom papa met to-day, and who begged for a bit of bread?

Mamma. I cannot tell, my dear boy. Only think, if they are now out in the dark, with cold and tired feet, what thanks they would give to any one for a soft warm bed like yours!

Albert. Must I thank Susan for my nice warm bed?

Mamma. Susan is very kind to you, my love, and you must thank her for all she does for you, and speak kindly to her in return. But it is God who gives you a home, and food to eat, and a bed to rest in. You must thank God for all the good things you have.

Albert. I do thank him, mamma, when I say my little verse. May I say it now?

Mamma. Yes, let me hear it before you kneel down to say your prayer.

Albert. I thank God for the soft warm bed On which I lay my little head; I thank him for the sweet repose When my weary eyelids close; But more then all I praise his name Who once for me a child became, And left his glory in the sky, For me to suffer and to die.

Mamma. Now come and kneel down by me to say your prayer.

Then little Albert knelt down, and when he had ended his prayer, his mamma took him upon her knee for some more talk, as Susan did not come. She told him that he was a sinful child, and had done many bad things. But she also told him that God was full of love, and had sent his only Son Jesus Christ into the world to die for our sins. And God will hear our prayers for the sake of his dear Son; and if we ask him, he will pardon our sins, and give us his Holy Spirit to make us holy.

When their talk was nearly over, Susan came again, and Albert kissed his mamma, and jumped off her knee, and bade her good night. And as he went up-stairs he said,

"I thank God for the soft warm bed On which I lay my little head; I thank him for the sweet repose When my weary eyelids close."




The Thief In The Dolls' House.


Lucy and Kate had a kind aunt; and one very cold day, when the snow was on the ground, she sent them a New Year's Gift. It was a little house for dolls to live in, and there were four rooms in it, and tables and chairs. Two of the rooms were below, and two of them were above. In each of the two rooms that were above, there was a little wooden frame for a bed to lie on, but there was no bed on it, and no pillow, and there were no sheets, nor anything else of the kind. Their aunt sent word that Lucy and Kate must make the things that were wanted, and it would help them to learn to sew.

Their aunt also sent two little wax dolls to be in the house. One of the dolls had on a pink silk frock, and the other had on a blue frock.

So their mother gave them some linen to make the sheets, and to make a case for each of the beds, and for the pillows. Lucy and Kate said to each other, "What shall we put into the beds, to make them soft, like the bed in baby's cot?" And Lucy said, "Nurse has got some bran in a bag; I will ask her to give us some to put into the beds." Then Kate said that bran would do very well.

They went to ask nurse, and she was very kind, and she said, "I think it would be better to stuff the beds with wool." The little girls said, "Yes, give us some bran, if you please, nurse. We have not any wool, and we do not want to wait till we can get some, for we do not like our dolls to sit up all night."

For a long time after this, Lucy and Kate played with their dolls, and the pretty house, and every night they took off the silk frocks, and put on the white caps and the night-gowns, and laid each doll in its own little bed. And then they shut the door of the house. But one night they were in a hurry, for their aunt was come to see them, and they did not shut the door quite fast.

The next day, when play-time came, the little girls went into the room where all their toys were kept. Kate went up to the corner where the dolls' house stood, for they had a place for everything, and tried to keep everything in its place. But the door of the house stood open, and as soon as Kate looked in, she called for Lucy in great haste. "O Lucy! come, quick! quick! There has been a thief in our dolls' house, and here are our poor dolls lying on the floor!"

Lucy ran to look, and she saw the two dolls, each lying on the floor in its own room, and the rooms in a litter with bits of bran. Lucy and Kate lifted up the dolls with great care, but they were not hurt, for the beds were not far from the floor, and so they had not had a very bad fall. It was plain that some thief had been in the house, for the chairs and tables were not in their right places, and nearly all the bran that had been in the beds was gone away. As for the bed-rooms, they were in such a litter that they were not fit to be seen. Then Lucy and Kate said, "Who could the thief have been? And how did he get in?"

Now nurse had begun to dress the baby in the nest room, but when she heard Lucy and Kate call to each other, she laid the baby in his cot, and came to see what was the matter. The little girls each laid hold of her hand, and cried out, "O nurse! there has been a thief in our dolls' house!" So nurse looked in, and when she saw the rooms in a litter, and the bran lying about on the floor, she began to laugh. And she said, "Yes, there has been a thief. I can see that some poor little hungry mouse has been in your house, and has ate up the bran that was in the beds."

The little girls then began to laugh too, and Lucy said, "How could the mouse get in?" And nurse told them that the door could not have been shut close the night before, and so the mouse pushed it quite open, and went in.

Then Lucy and Kate ran to tell their mother, and she came to look at the dolls' house, and to see the litter that the thief had made with the bran upon the floor. So she gave them some more linen to make new cases for the beds, and they set to work again that same day. But they took care this time to stuff the beds and the pillows with nice soft wool, that the hungry mouse might not eat them up when next he wanted a supper.




Harry.


Harry was a little boy who lived in a town, and went to school. He went with some boys who were older than he was, and they took care of him in the street. Little boys should not run about the street alone, or they may be hurt.

Harry was a good boy at school. He tried to learn; and one day he got to the top of his class. This was good news to carry home to his mamma, and it made Harry feel proud, which was very wrong. Pride is a sin; and when we give way to sin, it is sure to end in sorrow.

Harry said to his mamma, "I like you to praise me, mamma, and to call me a good boy. I mean to be always good. I will keep at the top of my class as long as I can, and I will never do any thing wrong."

His mamma said, "You must not say that you will never do wrong, but you must ask God to help you to be good, for the sake of Jesus Christ his Son; for that is the way to be kept from sin."

But Harry did not know that he had a sinful heart.

Now his mamma had told him that when he came from school, he must not stop to play by the way. The very day after he had this talk with her about being good, as he was coming home, with his book-bag on his arm, some of the boys began to play in the street. And Harry put down his book-bag, to play with them, and they played so long that at last it grew dusk, and then Harry set off home as fast as he could run. But he forgot that he had left his book-bag lying in the street.

When he got to the door, he rang the bell, and Susan, the maid, let him in. So Susan said, "Why, master Harry, where have you been till now?" But Harry looked down, and rubbed his shoes very hard upon the mat, as if he did not hear her.

His mamma had put away her work, and the tea-things were ready, and the urn was on the table, and toast, and bread and butter, and cake. It was very late indeed. His mamma said, "How is it you are so late, my dear? I hope you did not stop to play in the street."

Then Harry told a lie; for he said that he had not stopped to play.

His mamma saw that he did not speak the truth, for his face was very red, and he looked like a boy that was telling a lie. I cannot tell you how sad she felt to think that her little Harry should be such a wicked child.

But before she had time to say a word, all at once Harry missed his book-bag off his arm, and he knew that he had left it lying in the street. He could no longer hide his fault from his mamma, so he began to cry, and said, "May I go back and look for my book-bag? I have left it on a step at some one's door."

Then his mamma asked, "How came you to put your book-bag on the step?" And Harry cried more than before, and told her that he had stayed to play with the other boys.

His mamma said, "You have been a very wicked boy, and there are two things that I must punish you for. I must punish you for not coming home as you were bid, and then for trying to hide your fault by telling a lie."

So she called Susan, and asked her to go up the street with Harry to look for his book-bag. By this time it was nearly dark, and Harry took hold of Susan's hand, and went crying along the street. One or two people who passed him said, "I wonder what is the matter with that little boy." When they came to the corner of the street where he had stayed to play, he said, "This is the place, and I laid my book-bag on that step." Then Susan looked, and Harry looked; but the book-bag was not there. Susan said that some one must have stolen it.

Harry was afraid that his mamma would be very angry when she knew that his bag and all his school-books were quite gone. But no, that which gave her most pain and grief was to know that her little boy had not spoken the truth. It is a sad thing to tell a lie. God has said that all liars shall have their part in the lake of fire that burns for ever and ever.

So Harry's mamma had to punish him, very soon after he had told her that he would be always good. He had now found out that he had a sinful heart. You also are a sinner, young reader. You often do what is wrong. Do not forget this story about Harry; and if ever you feel proud when you have tried to do well, go and say this little prayer to your Father who is in heaven: "O Lord, I am a poor sinful child. I cannot do right of myself. Pardon my sins, and give me a meek and humble heart, for the sake of Jesus Christ my Saviour. Amen."




The Pond In The Field.


Mary lived with her mother in a little house. She often sat by the door on a long seat, and then would run about the field on the other side of the road. There was a narrow path in the field, and people used to walk along it when they came that way from the town. Down at the corner of the field, near the stile, there were some tall trees, and under the trees there was a pond. The water in the pond was not very deep, but it was deep enough to drown a little girl like Mary, so her mother told her she must never play near the pond, for fear she should slip in.

While Mary was at play, her mother was at work in the house. For her mother was poor, and had to work to find them food, and things to wear to keep them warm. So she could not spare time to look after her little girl when she was at play.

Mary's mother came home from market one day, and in her basket she had a little tin can, with a handle, and she gave it to Mary for her own. So she always drank her milk and her tea out of this can. Now Mary had seen her mother go down to the pond to fetch a pail of water, and it came into her head that she would fetch the water in her own little can, to fill the kettle for tea. So when her mother was busy at work, she got on a chair, and took her can off the shelf, and away she ran down to the pond, not saying a word.

Mary went close to the pond with her little can in her hand, to stoop down and dip it into the water. But the can fell into the water. The grass at the edge of the pond was muddy and wet, and so, just as she was going to stoop down, Mary's foot went slip -- slip, and she fell into the water. Poor Mary! she gave one loud scream, and that was all that she could do.

Now not far from the spot where Mary fell into the pond, a kind girl named Jane, who lived close by, was reading a book as she sat under a tree. She heard a splash in the water, and saw Mary fall into the pond. She soon threw down her book on the grass, and ran to help the poor little girl out of the water. She took hold of Mary's frock, and pulled her out of the pond. Then she took her up in her arms, and ran with her along the narrow path to the house, for she well knew that the house by the side of the field was little Mary's home.

Mary's mother met them at the door, and when she saw her little girl, she began to cry. But kind Jane said, "Do not cry. Your little girl is not hurt." So they took off Mary's wet frock, and put on her a nice dry nightgown, and laid her in bed. And her mother made her some warm tea, and then she went to sleep. When she woke up again, she was quite well.

Jane went back to the field to pick up her book, but Mary's little can was nowhere to be seen. It was never heard of again; and Mary had to drink her milk and her tea out of a tea cup, for the little tin can was quite gone. I do not think she went near the pond again. It was a lesson to her ever after, to mind and do as her mother told her.




Mamma's Doll.


Ellen. Oh! mamma, I am so sorry! Look at my poor doll. I let baby play with it, and she has thrown it upon the floor, and broken its nose.

Mamma. Poor doll! You do look a sad figure, indeed.

Ellen. I did not like to be unkind to baby, you know, mamma, and so I gave it to her for a little while, when she held out her hands to take it. But I did not think she would throw it upon the floor.

Mamma. Do not cry, my dear. Come and sit upon my knee, and I will tell you a story. I hope you were not very angry with baby. She is too young to know that a doll is not to be thrown upon the floor.

Ellen. No, mamma, I was not angry. Baby did not know any better. But I cannot help crying for my pretty doll.

Mamma. Let me wipe away that tear. Now hear my story. I am going to tell you about my doll, when I was a little girl.

Ellen. Oh! mamma, had you a doll, once? And was it as large as mine? Was it a wax doll, mamma?

Mamma. It was a large wax doll much larger than yours; and it had blue eyes and dark brown hair. When I was a little older than you are, I went with my mamma and my aunt to spend some weeks in a fine old city; and one day while we were there, my mamma took me into a shop, and bought this doll for me. She said I must dress it myself, and my aunt showed me the proper way to make its frocks. With this help I was able to dress it very nicely. And my mamma said to me, "This is the last doll that I intend to buy for you; for, if you take care of it, it will not spoil like your other dolls."

Ellen. And did you take care of it, mamma?

Mamma. Yes, for my mamma taught me to be neat, and to keep everything in order, as I try to teach you. So at the end of a year, my doll looked just as good as new. I used to play with it very often, and I called it by the name of Jessie. I had a little sister, as you have, whom I loved very much, and when she was a baby I used to nurse her, and kiss her little soft cheeks. But when she was two or three years old, she was taken very ill, and could no longer play about the nursery. She grew pale and thin, and used to lie all day in the nurse's arms, or in her little cot. She was too ill to play with any of the toys that she had been fond of before. But one day I took my doll to the side of her little cot, where she was lying, and then she gave a very faint smile; so I laid it by her side, and that seemed to please her. After that, when she was lying in her cot, the doll always lay there too, for it was the only thing which seemed to please her, all the time that she was ill.

One day, when I wanted to go into her room as I had been used to do, they told me she was dead. I saw her when she was laid in her little coffin. She was pale, and so very cold. There were some flowers lying on her pillow, and a rose-bud in each little hand. The soul of the dear baby was gone to God; and her body was laid in a grave, under the yew tree in the churchyard.

Ellen. Oh! dear mamma, how sad you must have felt! What should I do if our dear baby were to die?

Mamma. I did indeed feel sad, and after that time I could never bear to play with my pretty doll, for the sight of it seemed to bring back my grief again. So my mamma put it by with great care, and all the frocks and other things that I had made. But only think, Ellen, what pain I should have felt, if I had been unkind to my little sister when she wished to have my doll. Should not all little girls try to be kind to each other?

Ellen. I will try, mamma; and I am glad that I was not cross with baby when she threw my doll upon the floor.

Mamma. I have not yet done with the story about my doll. It was put by safe in a drawer, and lay there a great many years, and when I was grown up, I used to look at it now and then. My mamma never gave it away. Can you guess where it is now? And should you not like to see my pretty Jessie?

Ellen. Yes, mamma, I should like to see her, indeed.

Mamma. Then after dinner we will take a walk, and pay a visit to grandmamma, and we will ask her to show us the doll that came from the fine old city so many long years ago.

Ellen. Thank you, mamma, that will be very nice. And may I play with Jessie a little while, and walk with her round grandmamma's garden?

Mamma. You may, my love. And since baby, who did not know any better, has broken your doll's face, it shall be put among her toys for her to play with. And we will ask grandmamma to let Jessie come home with us. You have been a kind little girl; and so, as I like to see you happy, you shall have her for your own.




The Short Text.


Have you ever seen a book of Short Texts in Short Words? It is a book for a little child, and there is in it a very short and easy text for every day in the year. A text means some words taken from the Bible, which is God's own book, that he has given to teach us the way to heaven. The Bible tells us about our sins, and about the Lord Jesus Christ, who came to seek and to save us. And it also tells us how we may become holy, by the help of the Holy Spirit.

But I was going to tell you about the book of texts. Little Arthur had one of these books, and he used to learn the text for every day, and repeat it to his mamma before he began school. Arthur did not go to school to any one but his mamma. She taught him his lesson each day, and heard him say it.

One day, the text was very short indeed. It was only four words. It was, "Thou GOD seest me." When Arthur had said it to his mamma, she began to talk to him; and Arthur stood quietly at the work-table, and looked in her face.

She said to him, "My little boy, when you are left in the room alone, you may think that no one can see you; but God can see you at all times. When you think you are quite alone, God is near you. When you wake up in the dark night, God is with you. He loves you, and is your best Friend. You have other friends who are good and kind, but God is better to you than all. Then try to please him by doing what is right. When you are alone, and a bad wish comes into your heart, think of this text, 'Thou GOD seest me,' and put away the bad wish from your heart."

Soon after this, Arthur's mamma told him that he might put on his cap and gloves, and go with her to call at the house of a friend who was ill. So they had a nice walk; and when they got to the house, Arthur was shown into a large room, where he was told to sit down and wait, while his mamma went up-stairs to see her friend. The little boy was left alone in the room; and at first he sat quite still, and only looked at the pretty things that were lying on the table just before him. But after a while, he got up from the stool, and began to walk softly about the room. There were many pretty things that he liked to look at. There were some birds under a large glass, and Arthur had never in all his life seen any birds so gay and bright in colour. But he saw they were not alive, for not one of them moved when he put his finger upon the glass. He was very sorry to think that the birds were not alive.

But the thing that Arthur liked best of all, better even than the birds, was a very small china dog which he found on a low table in one corner of the room. It was a white dog, with a curly tail and long ears; and it sat up on its hind legs, just as their live dog Carlo did at home. Arthur took it up and looked at it again and again, and he said in his own mind, "Oh, how I wish I might keep this little dog for my own!"

Now this was a bad wish that came into his mind. But he did not think of his text, as his mamma had told him, and he did not try to put it away. No; he looked all round the room and out at the window, and then he came back to the table in the corner; and he felt quite sure that no one could see him, and so he took up the china dog and put it into the little pocket at the side of his coat.

Arthur then went and sat down again upon the stool. He did not feel happy, though the little china dog was safe in his pocket and no one knew. He felt afraid -- afraid to hear his mamma's footsteps coming down the stairs, and yet afraid to stay in the room alone. How was this, when he had felt so happy, and not in the least afraid, only a little time before?

A thief is always afraid of being found out, and Arthur was now a thief. He could not be happy, for God has put something in our hearts which will not let us be happy when we have given way to sin. So there Arthur sat, quite still; and the clock on the mantel-piece, which he had not heard before, went tick -- tick; and Arthur grew more and more afraid, but still his mamma did not come.

He put his hand into his pocket to feel if the little china dog was there quite safe. Yes, it was there, but Arthur did not want to take it out and look at it. He did not seem to care about it now. All at once, while his hand was in his pocket, the short text came into his mind. He said it out, but with a very low voice, "Thou GOD seest me." Then he began to think about God, who could see him at all times, even when he was quite alone; and he felt sorry for the wicked thing that he had done. His hand was still in his pocket, when he heard his mamma's voice as she came down-stairs; but he ran across the room, and took the little dog out of his pocket, and put it back upon the table before she came in. Oh, how glad was Arthur when this was done! His heart felt light, and all his fear went away.

He told his mamma about the little china dog as they went home, and how the short text came into his mind. His mamma shed tears of joy to think that God had caused her little boy to be sorry for his sin, and to put back what he had stolen. And when they were at home, she made him kneel down to thank God, and to ask him to pardon the wicked wish that he had felt, and the wicked thing that he had done, for the sake of Jesus Christ his Son.




The Grey Rabbit.


"Look at papa," said Frank to little George, one day, as he stood at the window of their play-room up stairs. "I cannot think what he is going to do with that wooden box. I saw John lift it out of the stable just now, and put it into that corner. What have they got in the box? See, papa stoops down to look inside. What can it be, I wonder?"

George came when he was called, and looked out of the window as well as he could; but, being rather short, he had to go back for a stool to mount upon before he could see into the yard. When this was done, he saw all three quite plain, -- his papa, and old John, and the large wooden box, with a black handle on the lid.

"I know, Frank," said George, with a wise look. "They are going to put away some flower-seeds in the box. I heard John tell papa that he had saved a great many seeds this year; and papa said they must be put away in a dry place till spring."

"Oh! you silly child," said Frank, who was six years old, and of course knew a great deal more than little George, who was only four. "Do you think they would want such a large box, just to hold a few flower-seeds? No, no; it is something that papa wants to hide. I saw him look round, as much as to say, I do not wish to be seen. Should not you like to know what it is?"

"Yes, I should like to know," said little George; "but I cannot see, the box is so far off."

"Wait a little while, and we will have a peep, when papa and John are gone away." So said Frank, who always liked to pry into every thing. "We will creep softly down stairs, and into the yard, and then lift up the lid of the box. Papa will be in the house, and John will be in the stable; so nobody will know."

The little boys stayed to watch at the window; and very soon, as Frank had said, their papa came into the house, and John went to his work in the stable, and so the box was left alone. Puss, indeed, walked slowly across the yard, and gave a sniff at the key-hole, as if she too wanted to see what there was inside; and then she lay down in the sunshine close by, with her head on her fore-paws: but Frank and George both knew that puss could tell no tales, and so they did not mind her at all. Hand in hand they crept down stairs. All was quiet in the house. Their papa was in his study, and their mamma was in the nursery, and the maids were busy about their work.

Both of these little boys knew that they were doing wrong. They had been told, often and often, not to meddle with things that did not belong to them. As Frank was so much older than George, he was the more to blame; but George was old enough to know better, or why did he put his little foot so gently on the stairs, and go out on tiptoe into the yard?

The two boys went up close to the box, and then looked round to make sure that there was no one to see them. Not a step was to be heard, and only puss lay there, with her eyes fixed upon the box. It was long and low, and the lid was held down by a hasp. Frank and George had both to stoop down, and then Frank took hold of the hasp and lifted up the lid. Oh! sad to tell! out popped a little grey rabbit. Puss darted upon it in a moment; she caught it in her mouth, and, not caring in the least for the cries of Frank and George, away she went over the wall, and the rabbit was seen no more.

Old John ran out of the stable, with his fork in his hand, and at sight of him both Frank and George were still. But both papa and mamma had heard their cries, and came out of the house; and the maids ran down stairs in a fright, to see what was the matter. There was no need for any one to speak a word. The empty box, with its open lid, and the red faces of Frank and George, with their look of shame, told what they had been about.

Their kind papa had bought the little rabbit for Frank and George; and John was going that very day to make a rabbit hutch, and fix it up in the yard, for he was very clever in making such things. Before night, if they had been wise enough to wait, they would have seen the little grey rabbit in its hutch, and might have given it green leaves and clover to nibble. But this was all over now; and it was owing to their fault that they had lost the young rabbit.

But when Frank and George grew to be a little older, their papa gave them a hutch and four young rabbits. They had learned not to meddle with things that did not belong to them, and so they had a reward for their better conduct.




The Lost Boy.


I will tell you of a boy who did not mind what was said to him. He used to do what he was told must not be done, and that was very sad. I hope you are not like him.

The boy's name was John. He had a dog that he used to play with; and he had a kite, and he used to fly it in a field by the side of the house. He had many other toys, more than I can tell you of. But he was too fond of play, and did not love his book; and when he was more than five, he did not know how to read the most easy lesson. Was he not an idle boy?

One day, John was by the gate at the end of the lawn. No one was with him, for Ann the maid was just gone away, and she had told him to wait till she came back. The gate was half open, so he went to peep into the lane. He saw a bird hop on the path, and its wing hung down on one side as if it had been hurt. John did not mind what Ann had said, that he must wait for her at the gate, and he ran to take hold of the bird. Then it flew away, but not far, and John ran after it down the road. He put out his hand to catch it; but the bird rose again, and at last it flew to a bank high up the lane, and John did not see it any more.

Then he said, "I will go back to Ann at the gate." But he did not know that he had run so far, and a turn was in the lane, so that he could not see the gate. Then John was in great fear, for he did not know which way to go to get home. He cried out for Ann as loud as he could; but Ann was far off, and he was not able to make her hear. Oh! what fear he was in!

John ran very fast down the lane, but he did not see any one to show him the way home. When he was too much tired to ran any more, he sat down on the bank and cried. A bird sang in a tree over his head, and the sun was up high in the blue sky. It was a fine day, and if John had done as he was bid, he would have had a nice long walk with Ann. But now he was very sad, and he sat on the bank and cried. Boys are sure to be made sad, if they will not mind, and do as they are told.

When Ann came back to the gate, and saw that John was not there, she ran into the lane to look for him, and to call him. But John could not hear her call him, for you know he was a long way off. Then Ann ran back into the house, and told John's papa and mamma that he was lost. As soon as his papa heard this, he laid down his book, and put on his hat to go and seek him. The man also went to seek him. And his mamma said, "Pray make haste and bring my dear boy home again." As for Ann, she took the dog with her down the lane to help to find him, for he was very fond of John. Dash was the dog's name, and a good dog he was.

It was not long till Ann and Dash came to the turn of the lane, and then they both saw John, who sat upon the bank, very sad. The dog gave a bark, as if he had said, "There he is! I am glad we have found him!" Then Dash ran up to him as fast as he could, and John was very glad to see him come along the lane; and he said, "Good Dash! dear Dash! you are come to take me home."

So John and Dash went to meet Ann, for she did not run as fast as the dog had done. John told her that he had been a bad boy and was very sorry. When Ann saw that he was sorry, she gave him a kiss, and said that he must not do so any more. Then they went back home, and John soon saw his papa in the lane. But he did not run to him, and look glad, as he did at other times. Why did not John run to his papa? Can you guess? Yes, it was that he had not done as he was bid, and he knew his papa did not like to hear that he had been a bad boy.

His papa stood still; and when John, and Ann, and Dash came up to him, John said, "Papa, I have not been good. I am very sorry, I will try to be good next time." So his papa said, "I hope you will;" and he took hold of his hand, and led him back to the house. And his mamma was very glad to see him, safe and well.

John said that it was his wish to be good, and his papa told him that he must pray to God to help him. I hope you will pray to God. No one can make you good but God. I cannot make you good. Your papa cannot make you good. No one can do this for you, but God. Then pray to him. Say, "Lord, help me to be good, for the sake of Jesus, thy dear Son, who died upon the cross to take away my sins." God can see you now; and if you pray to him, he will hear you.

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History Of The United States In Words Of One Syllable

By

Helen W. Pierson



Chapter I.

How This Land Was Found.


For a long time, in past years, it was not known that the world was round. If the men in those days had been told that a ship could start from a port and sail straight on for months and come round to the same place, it would have made them laugh as at a good joke. They did not know the real shape of the earth, but thought it was a flat plane.

In those days our land was the home of the In-di-ans, or red men, as we call them, from their dark skins. The red man does not live in a house, but in a sort of tent or hut. The tribes of red men had all this land for their own when Co-lum-bus was born. The great woods, the green plains, the bright streams, were all theirs. They made their wars in a strange and fierce style, and wore at their belts locks of hair, cut from the heads of those slain by their hands. These locks, cut from the head with part of the skin, they call a scalp. It was the pride of an In-di-an to have scalps hung at his belt. No one had taught him that this was wrong, and he did not have the Word of God to show him the right way.

When Co-lum-bus was a mere boy he was fond of the sea and ships. He would go and watch the waves, and think about how ships were made, and the best way to sail them. He was born in Gen-oa, which is by the blue sea; so when he was a small boy he could watch the white sails come in. Such queer ships they had there, with strange high prows! As time went on, and he grew of age, he made trips in these ships, and was in sea-fights, and once or twice he was in a wreck. So you see he had a chance to grow strong and brave for the work he had to do.

What he read in books taught him that the world was round, and not flat, as was thought in those times. So he knew that if he could sail west he would come to a new land. He thought of this a long time, and at last he grew more sure of it, but he could get no one else to think as he did. He spent ten years in this way. He was full of plans; but he could get no help and no gold. He was too poor to do all with no aid from his friends. At last he went to Spain.

There were a King and Queen there who were kind to Co-lum-bus; but at first they would not give their gold to help him. They thought this was a wild dream. At last, with a sad heart, he made up his mind to turn his back on the court of Spain.

While on his way, a man came to him from Queen Is-a-bel-la. She had sent him word that she would help him; "that she would pledge her own gems to give him aid." But she did not have to do this, as means were found when Co-lum-bus went back to the court. His heart was made glad; for they gave him a small fleet of three ships, and on the 3d of August, 1492, the sun rose on the fleet as it went forth on its way to the new land. All was strange to the new crew, and they had all sorts of queer thoughts and fears of the sea. They had not been out of sight of land in all their lives; and when they saw the deep, dark sea on all sides, they were full of fear that they would not see their homes again. The trade-wind which took them west so fast, would keep them, they thought, from their land when they had the wish to go back. At last they grew so full of fear, they swore they would not go on, and Co-lum-bus had hard work to make them. But soon there were signs of land, and some land birds flew by the ship; and one of the crew found a branch of a tree on the waves, which had some fresh red fruit on it.

Oh, how glad they were! Co-lum-bus felt so sure that he was near land, he gave word for the ships to lie by that night. No man thought of sleep. They all kept watch on deck to see this strange new coast for which they had borne so much.

In the night a cry of joy was heard. Co-lum-bus had seen a light far off, and a shout of "Land! land!" soon came from all sides.

When the sun rose they all saw a green strip of shore some five miles long. The men fell at the feet of Co-lum-bus and shed tears of joy. Then they sang a hymn of praise to God, who had kept them and brought them safe and sound to this new place. They got out the small boats and put men and arms in them, with flags, and a band to play a march of joy, and the crews made their way to the shore. Co-lum-bus, in a rich dress with his drawn sword in his hand, sprang on the beach, and then the crew came next. They set up a cross, and all knelt at its foot and gave thanks for their safe trip. Then Co-lum-bus set up the flag of Cas-tile and Le-on, and took the new land for the crown of Spain.

While they stood there with shouts of joy and songs, some strange dark shapes stole up with soft steps to their side. The crew thought these men must have come from a new world, as they saw their dark skins and the gay paint and plumes they wore. Co-lum-bus gave them the name of In-di-ans, for he thought the new coast was part of In-dia. He did not know that he had found a new land. These men with red skins were glad to kiss the feet of the Span-iards, and change their gold chains and rude rings for the beads and pins the crew gave to them.

Co-lum-bus spent some time in the new land he had found, and then he set sail for home to take his friends and the Queen the great news. A wild storm came on the way home, and Co-lum-bus thought that all was lost, so he wrote his tale on a cake of wax and put the cake in a cask and threw it in the sea; so that if he had gone down in the storm, all that he had found would not be lost to the world.

But God took care of Co-lum-bus and his crew. They got back to their homes once more and had a grand time. The King and Queen gave them a new and fine fleet; and in time they came back and saw new points of land on which to build homes, and they found, too, South A-mer-i-ca.

There were some in Spain who did not like Co-lum-bus, for he had won gold and fame, while they had none. So they told false tales of him; and when his friend, Queen Is-a-bel-la, died, he was once brought back from the land he had found in chains. How sad that was! -- was it not? At last he had to die old and poor, and this land did not have his name. It had no name for some time; but at last an I-tal-ian, who made a few trips there, and wrote of what he saw, gave his name to the new world. His name was A-mer-i-cus Ves-pu-ci-us. That is a hard name for you to say, but you can all say A-mer-i-ca, and that is the name of our land.



Chapter II.

The New World.

When the news of this land of gold spread over the world, Eng-land and France and Spain all sent ships to see what they could find. They each thought they would like to have a slice. The Eng-lish thought they had some rights, as one of their men, named Ca-bot, had, in truth, been the first to touch this new shore. The next time he came, he made his way down the coast to what we call Vir-gin-ia, and set up a claim for Eng-land.

Then the King of France sent a man to plant his flag here, and he gave the name of New France to part of our coast. But though Eng-land and France both set claim to the land, they did not send men here to live for a long time.

At last Queen E-liz-a-beth gave one of the great men at court, called Sir Wal-ter Ral-eigh, a claim to a large tract of land in A-mer-i-ca. He came with two ships, and found the red skins kind. They brought him gifts, and he went back to tell of all the strange things he had seen, and some came to live on the new shores. But the red skins were hard to live with, and the small group of white men could get no food, and were near death, when a brave man, named Sir Fran-cis Drake, came with a ship and took them off to their homes. The next band that came met a sad fate, for they all fell by the hand of the red men.

There were some in Eng-land who had a great wish to see this new world. They thought they would like to live in a land with no King, and have a church where they could pray to God in their own way. They were called "Pil-grims," for they went from place to place and would sing psalms and pray, and they were full of joy at the thought of their new home.

Do you know the name of the ship they came in? It is a sweet name, and you must keep it in your mind -- The May-flow-er. They did not have a smooth trip, and a storm blew them on to the coast of Mass-a-chu-setts. It was bare and cold, but it was nice to see land at all. There were all sorts of fowl there, and they saw a whale; but when they went to shoot it the gun burst. They made their way to a vale where there was a spring, and there they took their first drink in the new land.

There was a rock called Plym-outh Rock, and here they made their homes and built the first house. It was in 1620, in a cold time of the year, that the May-flow-er brought her crew to Plym-outh Rock. There was not much food, and they had from the first a foe whom they could not trust or make a friend. These were a new race of men. They had brown skins; were tall and straight, with long, coarse black hair. They had no books, and got their food in the hunt, or caught fish in the streams. They made boats of birch bark -- queer, long things, with a point at each end. They could make bows, and would pound their corn with two stones for their bread. They took the skins of beasts for their clothes, for they knew how to dress them. Each tribe had its head man, called a chief, and their great joy was in war. When their foes took them, they would not pray for their lives. They were brave in their own way, and would show no fear at the sight of the fire that was to burn their flesh.

Their wives, the squaws, would dress the food and do all the hard work at home. They were the ones who dug each small patch of ground and put in the beans and corn. The men had a scorn for work. They were made to fight, they thought. They would say, "The Great Chief gave the white man a plow and the red man a bow, and sent them in the world to gain food, each in his own way."

In this new land there was not a horse, cow, sheep, cat, dog, or hen to be found. You would not like such a place, would you? What did the young people do for pets in those days? No chicks to feed, no puss with her soft, warm fur, for small hands to stroke.

But the new homes were not left in peace. The red men saw that their doom was near. They felt that they would have to move on and on, to give place to these men who knew so much; who read books and had schools, and taught their young ones to pray. So they took the guns that they had bought from the white men and went to war with them. When they took them they would tie them fast to stakes, burn them to death, and all the time the flames were at work, these fierce red men would dance a war dance of joy. They bought rum from the white men, and it made them like brutes.

They knew that the white men had come to take their land, and that was cause for their hate. And so the white men, in their turn, felt no love for the red skin, and thought they did well to push him back more and more, and take all they could from him. The white men were to blame, for they first gave the vile rum to the red men, and that made them wild. They would burn down the white man's house at night, and kill his wife and babes. Think how sad it must be to wake up in the night and find the hot blaze of a fire in your face, and the wild war-whoop of an In-di-an in your ears. But you can lie down in your bed in peace, for there is no one to harm you -- you live in good times.

But those who were brave enough to come and live in this new land, had a hard life at first. There were no snug farms as now, with fields of green corn and wheat. At times the poor men could not get much to eat, and one wrote home: "The crumbs that fall from your meals would be sweet to me. When I can get a cup of meal and boil It with a pinch of salt, I give thanks as for a great feast. The In-di-ans at times bring corn and trade it for clothes or knives. One day they gave me a peck of corn for a small dog. It would be a strange thing to see a piece of roast beef or veal here."

It will not seem strange, then, that, in such hard times, death came to these small bands and took some away. But those who were left kept up brave hearts, and would not go back to their old homes; and though all were so poor, there was not a case of theft in four years. They grew to like the land, and one said, "A sup of New Eng-land air is worth more than a draught of Old Eng-land ale."

For one of the first bands of men who came here, made their homes in a place to which they gave the name of New Eng-land, after their old home. As time went on each place grew to be a town, and soon had a church and a school of its own. If we had gone in one of those towns on the Lord's day, we would have seen some strange sights. As the clocks struck nine, there would come out a man who would beat a drum or blow a conch shell, or ring a bell to call all the folks to church. As we drew near to this church, we would have seen that it was built of logs, with a small flag to wave on it. There would be a fence of stakes round it, and a man with a gun on guard near it. Those who went in left all their guns in his care.

If you look at this church you will see that it has no glass panes like ours, but small and dull and thick ones set in lead. It is the style now to like that old thick glass, and to use it once more. You might see on the front of this church, near the door, the heads of wolves that had been slain in the hunt in the past year.

In this church the old men sat on one side, and the young men were not with them. They had their own place. So, too, the boys did not sit by the girls. Most of the boys sat on the stairs, and there was a man there as a sort of guard to see that they did not talk. He had a long rod or wand in his hand, with a hare's foot on one end, and a hare's tail on the other. He would let no one go to sleep. If he saw a girl nod, he would touch her on the face with the soft brush of the hare's tail; but if it were a boy who was caught in a nap, he got a sharp rap from the hare's foot. So you see in those times one could not make such a snug nest in the pew and take a long sleep as one does now; and they had to stay three or four hours in church. It must have been hard for small folks not to nod at times.

When they sung, it was out of a book by the name of "The Bay Psalm Book," and they did not know more than ten tunes. In those days no one could stay from church but for a good cause, or else they had to pay a fine. And if a man staid from church a month, he was put in the stocks, or in a cage of wood, where all could see him and laugh and jeer at him.

You do not know what stocks are in these times, but if you had stood in a New Eng-land town then, you would have seen a strange thing made of wood, by the road near the church. This queer frame of wood would hold a man fast so that he could not move, and you may think a day in the stocks would be hard to bear, and would make one's bones ache.

A house in such a town, in those days, was all built on the ground floor; so there were no stairs. It was made of earth or logs, and had a steep roof of thatch. The place for the fire was built of rough stones. It was large enough to burn logs four feet long, and had so much room in it that a man and his wife and boys and girls could sit in it and look up at the sky.

The dress in those days was not the same as it is now. The men wore small clothes, which came to the knee like a small boy's in these times, and they had stiff ruffs round their necks and caps of rich stuff on their heads. The young men wore fine belts, and great high boots which were made with a roll at the top. The girls wore silk hoods in the streets, and stiff rich gowns, with long waists, and lace caps on feast-days. But folks could not wear gay clothes if the law did not think they had means to spend for such fine things.

They had some queer laws in those days. Those who had done wrong had to stand in the stocks, which held them by the feet and neck, so they could not get away, or they had to mount stools in church. If a man had a wife who had the name of a bad scold, a cleft stick was put on her tongue, or she was made to take a cold dip in a stream. I dare say you think those were hard laws, and you are glad to live in these days. But that was a race who had the fear of God in their hearts; their aim was to do just right and to rule the land in the best way.

Chapter III.

The Red Men And Their Wars.

At first, before they had time to plant the fields, the men could but hunt and fish for food; but as years went by, they had farms, and made glass and things for trade; they wove cloth of wool, and some from a plant that grows in the south, of which you may know the name. It is white and soft.

They had not much coin, and so they had to do the best they could with skins and corn, or what they could get for trade. The first mint to make coin was set up in Mass-a-chu-setts in 1652. This coin had a pine tree on one side, and the name of the State. One side had a date and N. E. for New Eng-land. All this coin was known as "pine-tree coin." In time the land at Plym-outh Bay and those near took one name, "Mass-a-chu-setts."

In the meanwhile the small band who had made homes in Vir-gin-ia had come to grief. They had been men of good birth in their own land, and did not know much of hard work. They had come in search of wealth. Great tales had been told of the gold here. It had been said one could pick up great lumps of gold, as large as a hen's egg, in the streams. They found that all this was not true, and that a man had to work hard to live. They grew sick, and death came in their midst to make things more sad; so that they lost more than half of their small band.

One man, John Smith by name, did great things for them. He had been brave from his birth. He had been in wars oft, and once he built him a lodge of boughs in a forest and took his books with him, that he might learn the art of war. Once he went to fight the Turks. He is said to have been sold as a slave. It may be all these tales are not true; but it is true he taught his own friends in Vir-gin-ia how to live. He got them to build a fort and log huts for the cold times. He made friends as far as he could of the In-di-ans, so that he could get boat loads of food from them. He said that "he who would not work might not eat;" so no man could be a drone in the hive. Each one must learn to swing the axe in the woods or to hunt and to fish.

Once the In-di-ans took him and they told him that he must die. Their great chief Pow-ha-tan had said the word; so his head was laid upon a stone, and a huge war club raised to strike the blow. But a young girl was seen to spring to his side, throw her arms round his neck, and pray that he might be set free. She was the pet of the tribe, for she was the child of their chief; and so Cap-tain Smith was set free. You may be sure he was full of thanks to his kind young friend, and it is said she might have been seen on her way to James-town more than once, as time went on, with small stores of corn for the white men. And when she grew up a white man made her his wife.

But at last a bad wound made Cap-tain Smith go back to Eng-land, and things grew worse and worse in Vir-gin-ia. Food was more and more scarce, and a sad time came, which was long known as "Starving Time." It was in 1609. At last they all made up their minds to go back to their old home. None shed a tear as the sun rose on that day; they had known bad times in the new land, and did not grieve to go. But as their ship made its way down the bay, they met Lord Del-a-ware, with a great stock of food, and new men to swell the ranks. So they were glad to turn back and try the place once more; and in the course of time they throve and built and spread, and that part of the land made a new State, which we know as Vir-gin-ia. In that State was first grown a weed which you have seen men smoke and chew.

The folks in Mass-a-chu-setts went by the name of "Pu-ri-tans." They had left their old home that they might pray to God in their own way, and they thought that their own way was the right one. When men came in their midst who did not think as they did, they were sent out of the place. There was a class called Quak-ers, or Friends, who were mild, and did all they could for peace; but they thought they had their rights as well as the rest, and might serve God in their own way. They did not believe in wars, and would not bear arms. They would not hire a man to preach for them; but when they met, each one spoke as he felt the thought come in his heart. They kept the laws, and did to all men as they wished them to do to them. They said "thee and thou" for "you," and "yea and nay" for "yes and no;" but this could hurt no one, and it seems strange to us that they were not let stay in the place. They had to fly for their lives, and four were put to death. In these days all men are free to serve God in their own way.

And in that time there was one man to raise his voice for the poor Quak-ers, and all who were like them. This man was Rog-er Will-iams. He held that the State had no right to say what men should think and feel. You may be sure those who were high in place did not like to hear that; so he had to fly from his home one cold day, and for a time he hid in the woods. But the In-di-ans gave him a home, and one chief made him a gift of a piece of land, which he called "Prov-i-dence," as it was to him like a gift from God. And so the State of Rhode Isl-and, where this town was built, was known as a place where thought was free. The Quak-ers were glad to find a home in that State, where they could dwell in peace.

In 1675, a war, known as King Phil-ip's war, broke out in Mass-a-chu-setts. King Phil-ip was an In-di-an chief who saw that the white man would soon own all the land, and he knew that meant death to his race. He made a plan to kill all the white men. The first blow fell on the Lord's day, as the folks were on their way home from church. The men flew to arms, and did not dare to lay them down when they were in the field at work, or at their homes. When they went to church they would stack them at the door.

King Phil-ip and his men made their camp in a great swamp, where it was hard for the white men to reach them. Here they laid up a store of food, and had great tribes of red men. They would not fight in the wide fields, but would skulk in nooks, and rush out and hold all the land in fear, for the foe would seem to be on all sides. At last they were made to leave their strong hold, and could find no place to hide. There was a fight, and the In-di-ans fell thick and fast. Phil-ip ran, but one of his own tribe, who had a grudge, shot him dead. He had done all he could for his own folk, but fell by the hand of one of them at last.

All this time the King of Eng-land was at the head of this land as well, and the men he sent were wont to rule things with a high hand. They would not grant what our men thought to be their rights. Dutch ships had come in to trade for furs with the In-di-ans. Some of the crews stayed here and made their homes in a place they called New Am-ster-dam. It is now known by the name of New York. These first Dutch men bought the land from the In-di-ans, and it was to go to their heirs through all time.

A band of Swedes made their home in Del-a-ware. A Quak-er by the name of Will-iam Penn bought a grant of land from the King. He thought to make a home for all his sect, who had as hard a time in Eng-land as they did here. He sent a band of these men here, and the next year he came too. He met the In-di-ans by a great elm tree. He was a kind and good man, and would not take their land from them. He bought it and made them his friends. "We will live in love with Will-iam Penn and his heirs," said they, "as long as the sun and moon shall shine." And it is said that to this day a red man is loathe to shed Quak-er blood.

In 1683, Penn bought land from the Swedes and laid out a town, to which he gave the name of Phil-a-del-phia. It stood in the midst of a wood, and the wild deer ran by the men who came to take a look at their new home. When Penn came, he sent out a call for all the men to meet in one place, and there he met with them, and they laid out the code or kind of laws they were to have. This code was known as "The Great Law." No one could vote that did not believe in Christ; and all might pray to God in their own way. So you see the Quak-ers did not wish to force men to believe as they did. They felt that was not right or just.

Penn did all he could for his sect, and was mild and good to the red men. He said to them, "We meet on the broad path of good faith and good will. I will deal with you in love. We are one flesh and blood."

So our land grew, and State by State was laid out, and towns were built, and all this time the King of Eng-land was at the head of the whole. There were more In-di-an wars; for the red men gave the new folk no peace. They would come down from the depths of the woods of Can-a-da on their snow shoes, and drag men and their wives from their beds and scalp them and set their homes on fire. Many a child, too, had to fly with the rest in the cold night, with bare feet and few clothes on, to seek a place to hide from this fierce foe.

In 1754, a war broke out which we call the "French and In-di-an War." The Eng-lish had at this time a great strip of land on our coast which they held as their own. It was like a string to the great bow of French land, which went from Que-bec to New Or-leans. Both French and Eng-lish laid claim to part of the land; and those who had the wish to live in peace could not but look on in fear.

The French built three forts, and that made all feel that they meant to hold the land. A young man by the name of George Wash-ing-ton, was sent to ask that they should pull down these forts. You have heard of George Wash-ing-ton, I know. You have been told that he was "first in peace, first in war, and first in the hearts of all." You have, I am sure, heard the tale of the fruit tree that he cut, and how he could not tell a lie to save him. He was a boy then, and some one had made his heart glad with the gift of a small axe. What should a boy do with such a thing, if he could not cut with it? So George went round to try the sharp edge of his axe, and, as bad luck would have it, he came on a young fruit tree. It may be that the fruit was of a rare kind, and so when it was found that the bark of the tree had been cut in such a way that one could hope for no more fruit, the cry rang out on all sides, "Who has done this deed?"

Our small boy was not at peace in his own mind. He did not know in what shape the wrath might fall on him; but he came forth in a brave way and said, "I did it, Father, I can not tell a lie. I cut it." We are glad there has been one boy who could not tell a lie, and we hope there are some in our own times.

So this George Wash-ing-ton, then a young man, was sent to the French man who was at the head of the forts, to say that he must take them down at once. He had a hard time to get there, for it was cold, and the streams were big with the rains. The snow fell and froze as it fell. His horse gave out, and he had to go on foot. He had one man with him, and they struck out in to the woods. They had to cross a stream on a rude raft, and they were caught in the ice. It bore them on with great speed, and when Wash-ing-ton threw out his pole to check the speed, he fell in the stream. But he knew how to swim, and so he got to land. When day came, it grew still more cold, and the stream froze in such a way that he could walk on it to the place where he would be.

The men at the French forts would not say that they would give them up. In fact, they made boasts that they could hold them in spite of all, and so the war went on. The French would dart out and seize Eng-lish ships, and then the Eng-lish would march on the French, and do them all the harm they could. Wash-ing-ton fought on the side of the Eng-lish in this war. Once the In-di-ans laid in wait for them in the wood, and as the men were on the march with their flags and beat of drum, they heard the fierce war whoop on all sides. The Brit-ish troops did not know how to deal with such a foe; but our men sprang down and fought them in their own way.

One chief made a vow that he would kill Wash-ing-ton. Four balls were sent through his clothes. Twice his horse was shot. Gen-er-al Brad-dock, who was at the head of the Eng-lish troops, was shot and borne from the field to die. There was a great fright, and the men fled on all sides. Wash-ing-ton did what he could to save them from the foe, like a brave man. But the French went on and built more forts, and our men were at their wits' end to hold their own with foes on all sides.

There were six tribes of the red men who were their friends, and I would tell you their names if they were not too long and hard.

But you will find in the State of New York lakes and streams which bear the same names. We ought to bear them in mind, as they were of great use in those times. So it was thought best for all our men to meet in a town by the name of Al-ba-ny, to fix on a way to keep these six tribes our friends, and to join with them to fight the French. Al-ba-ny was then a small town with few in it; but it had a stone fort. Here our men met the chiefs and had a talk with them. The chiefs told our clan they were not so wise and brave as the French, or they would build forts like them.

But there was one wise man in our midst, Ben-ja-min Frank-lin. He had been a poor boy, so poor that when he went in to the great town of Phil-a-del-phia, he had but a few cents. But he knew how to print; and more than that he was fond of books, and so could learn all sorts of things. He brought with him a small print on which was shown a snake cut in parts. Each part had on it the name of one of the States. He said they must be made one or die, and that to be one was the way to be great. But our men did not see their way clear to do this yet. We know they made the States one in time.

The death of Gen-er-al Brad-dock was a great blow to their hopes. They saw that all the red-coats, as we call the Eng-lish, were not brave; but could run as fast as the rest. Still they took some forts, with long names, from the French in this war. They made a move on them at Que-bec, with Gen-er-al Wolfe at the head of our troops.

Quebec was one of the strong forts of the world. At first Gen-er-al Wolfe lost at all points. But he found at last a way to go in boats. With no noise they made their way to land, and up a steep hill, and at dawn the French woke to see red-coats on all sides. Their Gen-er-al Mont-calm led them out of the fort to fight. If he had not, he might have won the day, for the fort was strong. But he chose to fight in the wide field, and so we won.

At the time of the fight, Gen-er-al Wolfe, who had been struck by a death shot, heard shouts of joy, "They fly -- they fly!" "Who fly!" came from his white lips. "The French." "Then praise God, I die at peace," he said, with his last breath.

Gen-er-al Mont-calm, too, on the French side, had a wound, and was told he could not live. "I am glad of it," he said, "for then I shall not live to see my town yield to the foe." So you see they were two brave men who fell that day. In five days a peace was made with France; for she gave up most of the land to which she had laid claim.

But there were some of the red men who did not want this peace with the Eng-lish. They had seen the red-coats run away from them, and they thought they might now strike a blow for their own homes and land. The French made them think they would help them. "The King of France has but slept for a time," they said, "but he will soon wake up, and then he will drive the foe from the homes of the red men, and give them back their land."

There was one brave chief, Pon-ti-ac, who heard all this with a glad heart. "I will live and die a French man," he said, and he sent men to each town to bear a belt with red or black beads on it, and a knife with a red stain on it; these meant war. The knife was of the kind with which they were wont to scalp the foe, and the red stain told that deeds of blood were at hand. When this belt and knife were kept, Pon-ti-ac knew that the chiefs there would join the war. Their first move was on a fort at De-troit.

This was Pon-ti-ac's plan. He would go some day to the fort with some men and ask leave to come in and show them a war dance. While some were in the dance, a few would stroll through the fort and see all that could be seen. Then they would go once more as if for a call, with arms hid in their clothes, and strike down the white men when they did not look for it. The first part of this plan went on all right; but one of the squaws, who was a friend to the head man of the fort, told him what the red men meant to do. So when Pon-ti-ac and his men went in the fort, each with his gun hid in his clothes, they found ranks of men with arms to meet them, and they were glad to get out with their lives.

But Pon-ti-ac would not give up, for he made more friends, and laid siege to De-troit in 1763. It was a long siege for the red man, but it held out, though food was scarce, and the men in it felt that they must soon starve. Pon-ti-ac at last had to make peace, and met his own death at the hands of a red man, who was mad with drink; and so the French and In-di-an war came to an end.



Chapter IV.

The War That Made Us Free.


For a time all were at peace; but at last a war broke out that took more time, and cost more men, than all the wars of the past. You have heard of it, it may be, by the name of the Rev-o-lu-tion.

There are some old men who fought in that war, who are alive this day. You see the cause of this war came out of what our men thought to be their wrongs. They thought the rule of Eng-land too hard, and that they should have their own men to rule them. They would have gone on as they were, if they had thought that Eng-land was just to them; but she put a tax on the things they had to use. She had a large debt to pay, and so she thought it fair our men should help to pay it; and our men held that they ought to have a voice as to what the tax should be, and fix what they knew to be right.

Do you know what a tax means? It meant, in this case, that when our men bought a thing, they had to pay a few cents more than its real price, and these few cents were to go to Eng-land. Of course these few cents from all sides grew to be a good sum, and was quite a help. Eng-land, at this time, made a law which we know by the name of the "Stamp Act." This law, which gave to Eng-land a tax on all deeds, was one great cause of the wrath of our men. One man made a speech on it that was put in print, and the boys in the schools spoke it. In all the States men took the same view; so that the Stamp Act may be said to have lit the fire which in time made such a blaze.

In all the States men stood up for what they thought their rights, and they made up their mind that they would not pay this tax on Eng-lish things, but would learn to make them of their own. Men and their wives took a vow that the fine clothes from their old home should not tempt them, but they would spin and weave, and wear what they made, though it might be poor and coarse. One brave dame wrote to her friends, "I hope there are none of us but would wrap up in the skins of sheep and goats to keep us warm, if we must else pay a tax which is not just on the goods of Eng-land."

The wrath at the Stamp Act grew more fierce each day, and the men who were sent to put it in force did not dare to do so. One was caught and made to say that he would give the thing up. He was made to fling up his hat and cry as they told him, three times, in words which meant that they were right and the King was wrong. No one was found so bold as to put the Stamp Act in force; and the news went to the King and set him in a great rage. Some of their own great men were on our side, and were glad we did not yield.

At last the King gave up the Stamp Act, but said he had a right to tax us as he chose. There was great joy here at the news that the Stamp Act was to be heard from no more. The bells were rung, and flags were flung out on the breeze, and all who were held for debt were made free. For a year there was no more heard of a tax; but then a new act came. This tax was made on tea and glass, and such things, which were in use all the time. This woke new wrath, and troops had to come out to keep the peace, which our men said they would not bear. The boys from the schools felt the wrong, and would call the "red-coats" in scorn by that name; and the young men made a vow that they would drive them from the town.

There were street fights each day; and the men were more and more set to have their rights. The folk wore the rough clothes which they spun and wove, and would not buy a yard of Eng-lish cloth. Then they sought to find some plant that they might use for tea, so that they would not have to buy tea and pay the tax on it. They must have had some queer drinks at that time. When the King found they were so set in their way, he gave up all but the tax on tea. Then he sent three large ship loads of it here, in the hope that our folk would want it so much when they saw it, that they would be glad to pay the tax.

But our men had made up their minds that this tea should not land. So when the tea ships came in, a guard was set on them by our men as they lay at the wharf, so that the tea should not be brought to shore. A large crowd of men met in a Hall in Bos-ton, to say what should be done with the tea; and at last they gave out, that if the tea were sent back where it came from, all would be well. But the head man, who was sent here to rule us by the King, would not do this, and said so. When this was told to the crowd, a war-whoop was heard at the porch, and some men in the dress of In-di-ans made a rush down to the wharf, and went on board of the three tea ships, and cast all the chests of tea in the bay. Then they went home in peace and did no one harm. This was the "Bos-ton Tea Par-ty," and is so known at this day.

At New York and Bos-ton they did not try to land the tea when they heard of this, but took it back. At one time the tea was set on fire. All this made our men more and more set on their own way; and the King grew in a rage with them. He made some strong laws, sent troops to Bos-ton, and put in force a bill called a Port Bill, which would not let a boat go in or out the port, save that it brought food or wood. One of their own men stood up and said this was a "bill to make us slaves." And the wood and food had to be brought in a new route, and not straight in the bay. Not a stick of wood or a pound of flour could be brought in a row boat, or straight in from a near point; it must all go round to the place where the Eng-lish saw fit, where they could stop it and see just what was there.

Of course this was hard for the good folk of Bos-ton, and they did not bear their wrongs in peace. They had gifts sent them by land -- of grain and salt fish and sheep. From the South came flour and rice, and some times gold for the poor. So that the Port Bill made all feel to them like friends, for all towns took up the cause of Bos-ton as their own.

This was just what the wise men at the court of King George had said would be the case. They knew it would make our folk more strong to drive them with hard laws to fight. And so it came to pass, as the two great men, Burke and Fox, had said, King George was set in his way, and would not change, but did his best to push the laws through. The Bos-ton Port Bill was one of the things that made the States one. For they had but one mind on these harsh laws, and stood as one man for the right. The day when this Port Bill was first put in force, the Town Hall in one of the towns was hung with black, as for a death; the Bill was on it, and the toll of bells was heard all day.

If we could have stood in Bos-ton in those days, we would have seen that there was not much work, and no ships at the wharves but those of Eng-land. There were guns in view, and men with red-coats in the streets. There were tents on the green, and clubs that met each night, to talk of this strange turn in things, and what was best to do. They did not want war, but saw no way to get out of it. Great men spoke of it here and there, and each speech was read at the clubs.

"We must fight," grew to be the cry. But there were some, of course, who felt sad at all this, who thought it wrong not to do the will of the King in all things. They said this land would come to grief, for we were the ones who had the most to lose by war. These men had the name of "To-ries," and the rest did not look on them as friends, but held them as foes. Some of these men went back to their old homes, and came here in the troops of the King to fight their old friends. Some stayed and came round to new views, and took part in the wars that came to pass in time. All knew that the ranks of the King would be made of men who had fought in wars, and were known to be brave; while on our side they would be raw men, who did not know the art of war. But still our men were brave, and they said, with strong hearts, "The strife may be long, but the end is sure. We will fight for our homes, for our lands, for the right. We will be free!"



Chapter V.

Three Great Fights.


In each town, at this time, men thought but of war, and how to train for it; so that in case of need each one could spring to arms at once. Guns were put in a safe place, and stores of food were bought. The Brit-ish in their turn kept watch on all, and more troops were brought in.

Our men made a plan, that when it should be known that a large force of the Brit-ish were to move out of Bos-ton at night, a light should be hung out of the North Church by way of a sign. One night the watch by the Charles saw the light gleam high on the church, and they knew some move was on hand. At once all was stir and noise. Men rode here and there to find out what it meant. One went in a boat, and then took a fleet horse to seek out two of the wise and great men, and see what was best to do. The man who took this ride, and went from house to house with a call to those who slept, was Paul Re-vere. There is a song this day on that ride.

You may be sure there was no more sleep in a house that night. When he rode by -- "Do not make so much noise," said one on guard.

"Noise," said Paul Re-vere, "there will be noise ere long; the foe is on us!"

All this time the Eng-lish troops had made a swift, still march. They thought no one had seen or known their move; but all at once the bells in each church rang out a wild peal. In each town the church bell sent a call to each home. So it was plain that all was known. Paul Re-vere and the scouts had done the work well. The Brit-ish sent back for more troops. They came, and they were told to hold the bridge at Con-cord. But when Ma-jor Pit-cairn, who was at the head of the Brit-ish, came to Lex-ing-ton at dawn, he found a great crowd of men with arms.

"What do ye here?" he said, in wrath, "go to your homes! Why don't ye lay down your arms?" But as they made no move to go, his troops sent forth a fire on them, which they gave back with a will. Eight of our men got their death wounds that day, and this was the first blood shed in the war.

The Brit-ish then gave three cheers and set out on a march to Con-cord. The people of that town made haste to move their stores of food and arms to a safe place in the woods. Their scouts took the North bridge, and could see that the Brit-ish were in the streets of the town; that they had set the court house on fire, and cut down the pole, and laid waste the stores they found. So the men on the bridge made up their minds they would try to drive this foe out. There were but few of them, but they had strong hearts.

One of their head men said, "I have not a man who fears to go." He was the first who was shot, and fell dead. Still they went on and made a brave fire, so that the Brit-ish set out to run. But they could not go back as they came; for by this time our men for miles round, came in on all sides. Some were in their shirt sleeves, they had come in such haste; but each one had a gun in his hand, and took his place back of a tree or stone wall, where he could get good aim. One of the Brit-ish wrote home that the men came so fast, they would seem to drop from the sky.

At each step the Brit-ish troops took, a shot would come from some side, and a man would fall dead. At last such a fear came on our foe, that they broke into a run. They did not know what to do. They had no more shot, and could not give back the fire. One of them wrote, "They had to lie down for rest on the ground, and their tongues hung out of their mouths like dogs spent by the chase." All the way to Bos-ton they felt the fire of our men, and they were glad to get back to their great ships, the men of war, and rest where they could be safe. They had lost three times more men than the A-mer-i-cans.

There was a great stir in the court of the King when the news was brought that their troops had run from a hand full of raw men, who had no skill in the art of war. Poor Lord Per-cy, who had been at the head of the Eng-lish, came in for hard names, though he was a brave man. They were mad, and had to give vent to their wrath on some one. In A-mer-i-ca it was felt that this was the first blow struck; and Sam-u-el Ad-ams, when he heard the news at Lex-ing-ton, said, "Oh, what a grand day this is!" for he knew this strife would not end till all the States were free.

There were some hills near Bos-ton, and our men knew that there was a plan to gain them, and make a place for Eng-lish troops on them. You see, if the foe had such high ground, they could have a grand chance to fire down on those in the town. So our men stole out by night and threw up earth works, and took all the troops they could get from all parts, and put them in charge there. In the mean while they sent their wives and young ones out of the town, so that none but Brit-ish troop were left there. They made no noise in their march that night; no one heard them, and the bells in the church struck twelve ere they dug a sod. But they were soon at work, and could hear the guard on the man-of-war cry out each hour, "All's well."

When the day came, and the sun rose, the earth works were seen from the ships, and at once they sent out a fire on them. So in Bos-ton the troops woke to see the true state of things, and were not slow to do their best. But our men went on with their work, spite of the shots. One of the foe had a glass through which he could see each move of our men round the works. "Will they fight?" said he. "To the last drop of their blood," said one who stood near.

So they made up their minds to lose no time, but to make a raid on the works that day. It was a hot day in June. Part of our men stood by a rail fence, on the edge of a hill, by the name of Bun-ker Hill; part were back of the mounds which were but half made. Then the rail fence was made to screen the men back of it, by a lot of new mown hay, put in to fill up the gaps.

The Brit-ish troops went in boats, and took their stand on the bank of the Charles. They had two men to our one, and were full of skill in the use of arms. Our men had come in from the farm or the shop. They did not know what a drill meant; but their place was more safe back of the earth works, while the troops of the foe were out in full sight in the field. It is a grand sight; the long lines, the red coats and white pants of the Brit-ish; the white cross belts, the beat of drums, the play of fifes. The sky is clear and hot. Great white clouds sail on the blue. The folks crowd on the roof of each house in the town.

So our men laid in wait, as the troops took up a slow march on them. The Eng-lish found the day hot, and they had their arms and food to weigh them down. But they had no doubts, and their march was sure. They would fire now and then, and few shots fell on them. On they came, till they got ten rods from the earth works. Then the word rang out on our side, "Fire!" When the smoke was gone it was seen that the dead lay on the ground here and there; and those who were left had set off to run.

A great shout went up from the forts; a cheer came back from those at the rail fence. They, too, had held back their fire to the last, and then three fourths of those who had set out to chase them fell in the ranks, and the rest ran. Gen-er-al Put-nam was one of our great men in this fight. When the foe came on, he had said to his men, "Aim low; wait till you can see the whites of their eyes," and their aim was sure. When they saw the Brit-ish troops in flight, they thought they would give them chase; but they had no more shot, and so could not make good what they had won. They fell back with sad hearts, one by one, and lost more as they did so than they had done in the fight.

This was the fight of Bunk-er Hill, and though the A-mer-i-cans did not win the day, they made plain to all men that they had stout hearts, and could deal a blow for their rights. In this fight Gener-al War-ren lost his life.



Chapter VI.

First In War -- First In Peace.


The first thing George Wash-ing-ton was heard to ask when news came of this fight was, "Did our men stand fire?" And when he was told that they did, he said, "Then the rights of our land are safe." From this day our men took heart and were of good cheer. The Brit-ish lost one in four of their men in that fight; and on our side we did not lose half as much. In Eng-land men did not know what to make of so great a loss to their troops from so small a force as ours.

In this land there was a call for more troops, and George Wash-ing-ton was put at their head. He had shown that he was a brave and true man. He came from Vir-gin-ia, his home, and met the rest 'neath a great elm tree in Cam-bridge. This tree is known as the "Wash-ing-ton Elm" to this day. All felt a wish to see this brave man, who had no small fame; they came from all sides to greet him, and saw a man more than six feet tall, with a broad chest, large hands and feet, a fine face, a clear eye, and the air of one born to rule. He wore a blue coat, with buff small clothes, and a black plume in his hat.

Wash-ing-ton saw, in his turn, a crowd of men of all sorts and kinds, rude and rough in their looks, and with odd kinds of arms, no two of which were alike, in their hands. Some were in old coats, some in their shirt sleeves. No state suits or gold bands or fine plumes were there. And when Gen-er-al Wash-ing-ton went round to the camp, he found things were in a bad state. Some had straight lines of tents, neat and nice, but most were in small huts made of boards or stones or turf. The food was rough and scarce, and the men had not the first means for war; not as much as would load their guns more than a few times.

It would not have been strange if Wash-ing-ton had felt his heart sink at such a sight. But he went to work in a brave way to do the best he could. Some store ships of food fell, by good luck, in the hands of our men, who had been sent out to get what they could; so that food was not so scarce. But still they had no food for their guns, and could not march on the foe.

The Brit-ish troops still held Bos-ton; but could not get food and wood for fires. The small-pox, too, broke out in their midst. They had to pull down an old house now and then and burn it to keep warm; and they sent crowds out of the town to be fed. They put troops in each church, and made a play house of the Town Hall. At times they would send out play bills to Wash-ing-ton and his men. They did not want them to know that things were so hard with them.

Once in this hall they had a play on the times. It was meant to show how they were shut in by the foe, and of course to make fun at the same time. In one part, a man in a dress like Wash-ing-ton, with a great wig, and a long sword all rust, came on the stage. By his side was a green lad, with an old gun. This was done to cast a slur on our men. But just then there was a cry, "The Yan-kees are on Bunk-er Hill." At first this was thought to be a part of the play; but when Gen-er-al Howe said, in a loud voice, "Men, to your posts!" there was great fright. Men ran, their wives fell in a faint, and all felt there was no fun in such a scare. In a short time the Eng-lish left Bos-ton; for they could not be safe from the fire that came down on them from all the hills round.

But they did not give up the fight. When the King and his court heard of Bunk-er Hill, they made up their minds they would rule this land, let it cost what it would. So they cut off our trade as far as they could, and they brought in all the men they could find from all lands which would give them help. So you may be sure they had a great crowd to come on us and try to bend us to their will. But our folk kept up a stout heart in the face of all. They felt they had gone too far to go back.

There were some wise men who were known as the "Con-gress," who had met in Phil-a-del-phia. They gave it as their mind that "These States are and of right ought to be free;" and they stuck to this text. The troops had to fight, and it was the part of Con-gress to raise the men, the pay, and the arms. It would seem that they had the worst part to do. To be sure, when they thought of the past, they might take heart. In the face of such a foe, it must be said, our men had done well. Doc-tor Frank-lin felt that way; but there were some rich men who thought it would be death to the States to make war.

So Con-gress met to see if it were best that they should strike the blow at once that would make them free. They had more than one talk on this, and at first the time did not seem ripe. They were to break all ties with Eng-land, to pay no more tax, and to try to find help if they could, in their fight to be free. Some great men wrote out the plan, and you can still see it in the Hall in Phil-a-del-phia. This sheet is called the "Dec-la-ra-tion of In-de-pend-ence." It meant that they were bound to be free, and so they wrote it down. It was made Ju-ly 4th, 1776, and that is why you hear the noise of fire works and see signs of joy on each Fourth of Ju-ly since that day.

When the men came to sign this Dec-la-ra-tion, the one who wrote his name first, said, "We must be one; we must all pull the same way; we must hang side by side." "Or we shall hang with none at our side," said Frank-lin. But no doubt there were sad hearts that day, though these words did raise a laugh.

They did not change this dec-la-ra-tion much from the way they wrote it first. There was one clause on the slave trade which the men from the South did not like; so it was struck out. There were twelve States -- though they did not call them States in those days -- that gave their vote for it. New York would not vote at all. The bell of the State House was to ring if the "Dec-la-ra-tion" should pass. This bell had been put up years since, and one might read on it, though these are not just the words, "Let all the land be free." So the old man who was wont to ring this bell, put his boy at the door of the hall where the men met.

When at last the Dec-la-ra-tion should pass, the man who kept the door was to make a sign to the boy. You may think how all hearts beat when this boy ran out with a cry of "Ring, ring;" and what a peal of joy rang out from the bell! Then the Dec-la-ra-tion was read to each of the troops, and there were loud cheers on cheers from all sides. That night the form of George the Third, on horse-back, which had been wrought in stone, and stood in one of the squares, was laid low in the dust by the crowd.

Yet for all this brave show, the men were sad at heart. They knew how poor they were, and how few, and the true state of the troops, and all that could be brought to put them down. They set out to make a flag of their own; for they had all sorts of flags at this time. One had a pine tree on a white ground, and was known as the "pine tree flag." On this flag were words which meant, "Call to God for help."

When Wash-ing-ton came to take the head of the troops, he had a new flag made with stripes of red and white, as now; but on one end was a red and white cross, like that which marks the Brit-ish flag. This flag went with our troops in Bos-ton, when the Brit-ish took up their march out of that place. But, by vote of Con-gress, a change was made, and it was said that our flag must have red and white stripes, and white stars on a blue ground -- a star and a stripe for each State. Now when they make a new State, they put a new star on our flag. Count them and see how strong we are.

The first man to hoist the new flag was Cap-tain Paul Jones. He was at the head of a man-of-war, and from that ship it was first flung out on the breeze. This is the flag that now waves in town and camp, and on our ships to all the ports of the land. We have more stars now, but the stripes stay the same.



Chapter VII.

The Rest Of The War.


Up to this time, most of the fights had been round Bos-ton. But Wash-ing-ton now saw that there would be a move made on New York; so he sent Gen-er-al Lee to help keep the town, and he soon went there too. Some men came to their aid from the South, and Lord Howe, with a great mass of Eng-lish troops, were there to meet them. Lord Howe had word from King George first to speak of peace, but he did not know to whom he should speak. He wrote a note to "George Wash-ing-ton;" but our chief would not read it, as he said his true name, as head of the troops,  should be on it. So Lord Howe wrote no more. He saw that the  hour to fight had come.

At first the A-mer-i-can troops came to grief, and Wash-ing-ton and his men had to make their way back for a time. The Brit-ish took heart from this, and our men were sad. They were poor, and had few clothes, and some had no shoes for that long, hard march; so that one could track their steps by the blood on the ground.

Wash-ing-ton saw there was no time to lose, and he must strike a swift blow. He knew there were troops of Ger-mans at Tren-ton, and that they still held to the ways of their land. Do you know the name of that day when you have a tree with nice gifts and lights hung on it? It is the day when Christ was born, and which we keep to this time for His sake. Well, Wash-ing-ton knew these folk would cling to the ways of their old homes. That they would keep the feast and be off their guard. So on the eve of that day he set out to march on them with his men. A storm of sleet came up in the night, but they went on, and when the dawn rose, these brave men, who had come through the snow and ice, stood in ranks for the fight. Some one wrote a note, and a man ran all the way to Tren-ton to warn the Ger-mans. But they were at cards. The Gen-er-al had his cards in his hands, and it was his turn to play. He must look at his cards first.

Yes, his life is at stake, but he does not know it. In the dim gray of the dawn our men march in on them. There is the sound of wheels and a shout. Co-lon-el Kall hears the drums beat, and the cards drop from his hands -- too late! He got his death in that fight, and all his men were held and bound. These things put our troops in heart once more, and it was the wish of all to go on; but they had a hard, sad time through the days of storm and cold at Val-ley Forge.

If we could see that camp at Val-ley Forge, in our mind's eye, we would know how much those poor men had to bear in this war to make us free. They had lost some by death, and more were ill. They had so few clothes to put on when they slept, that some sat up all night by the fires to keep warm. At one time there were few who had shoes, and the sick had to lie on the bare ground, for want of straw. The head men had to wear old quilts or bed spreads round in the camp, to keep them warm, for want of the right kind of clothes.

The troops were not paid; or the sort of pay they got would not buy them food. Food was so scarce that, at last, the pass word was, "No food -- no man." There were men in this camp who had been at the court of kings; who had fed on rich food, and had wine to drink, and now they were like to starve.

All this time Wash-ing-ton did his best to keep up the heart of his troops. He did not tell Con-gress how few and worn they were; and there were those who gave him blame that he did not do great things with these few worn out men. All this time the Brit-ish troops in Phil-a-del-phia had what they chose of good fare, and led a gay life. Some of them, with Gen-er-al Bur-goyne at their head, in the mean time, had two or three fights with our men, but found they did not gain much. At last they were glad to go back. Just as they made a move to do so, our men had the luck to hem them in on all sides in one place and won the day. This was at Sar-a-to-ga. This was good news to those in Val-ley Forge. It brought cheer to them, and they felt brave to go on.

In Eng-land men did not know what to make of our luck. It made a stir in France, where we had friends; and some of their young men came here to join our troops. We had some great French men with us at that time. One whose name is still held in love by all -- the great La-fa-yette.

At this time France made a vow to us that she would stand our friend, and give us aid. When this was known in Eng-land, fears rose on all sides; for they knew how much help France could give, and how strong it would make us. They sent men over to talk to us of peace, but it was too late. The A-mer-i-cans had no thought but to be free, and they would take no less than that. But these men still came, and thought they would see what bribes could do. A large sum of gold was held out to Gen-er-al Reed, if he would aid their cause. He said, "I am not worth so much; but such as I am, the King of Eng-land has not so much gold as would buy me!"

But the aid from France was less than they thought it would be. Fleets were sent, but they gave small help to the cause. And so the war went on for three years more. At times our men would make a good fight, and then there would be dark days when the foe had things all his own way. The Eng-lish had paid some tribes of In-di-ans to fight on their side; and once there was a sad scene, where men and their wives and babes were put to death by these fierce wild men. This was not war, of course. We give it a much worse name.

Then there were sea-fights. In one of these, the men on the ships fought three hours, and the ships took fire more than once; but at last the Brit-ish gave up. In that ship the man who took the lead on our side was Paul Jones.

There is a tale told of what the brave wife of one of those men, to whom we give the name of Friends, did for our cause at this time. Gen-er-al Howe made his home in her house, a long low brick one, at Tren-ton. He said to her one day, "I want to have some friends here to night, and I would like to have the spare back room to meet them in."

"It shall be as thee says," said Friend Ruth.

"See that all the folks in the house are in bed at a good hour," said Gen-er-al Howe.

"I will move that they go," said Friend Ruth.

So when the men came to see Gen-er-al Howe that night, it was all still in the house. Friend Ruth let them in.

"You may go to bed and stay till I call," said Gen-er-al Howe.

Ruth went to her room and lay down awhile; but did not take off her clothes. She must know what these men meant to do. At last she took off her shoes and went to the door of the room, and put her ear to the key hole. This is what she heard. Some one reads, "Our troops will make a move by stealth on the foe, and we will take them ere they know we are on them!"

There was no more sleep for Friend Ruth that night. She lay in her bed till dawn; but all her aim was to think of a plan to help our troops, and not to let them fall in the snare. At last she hit on a plan to get out of the lines. She was in need of some flour; and to get flour, she must go to a grist mill, for they did not sell it at stores in those days. Gen-er-al Howe could not say he would not let her get flour, as he ate at her house; so he gave her a pass. While they ground the grist for her at the mill, she rode on as fast as she could, till she came to one of our guards. She said some words to him in a low voice, and rode back, got her flour, and was home in no time.

When Gen-er-al Howe came on our troops the next day, he found them all drawn up in rank and file in good trim to meet him. He thought it best not to have a fight at all; and it was a strange thing to him how they could have known of his move.

Down in the South there were brave men at the head of our troops. One was Ma-ri-on, who led his men through the woods by paths that were known to few. They gave him the name of the "Swamp Fox," and the Brit-ish cast slurs on him, and said he would not come out for a fight in a bold way, but took their posts at night, and when they were off guard. But he gave them a proof of what he could do, when he and Greene fought them and won the day in a fair field. Greene made such a name in this fight that he took rank next to Wash-ing-ton from that time.

We have to tell a sad tale now of one of our own men -- a man, too, who had won fame in the war. He had shown that he was brave; but men did not like him much, for he thought more of his own gain than of his land, and he had the wish for a high place, which he did not get. His name was Ben-e-dict Ar-nold, and his bad act was, that he made a plan to sell his own land to the Eng-lish. He wrote to the foe all he could of the moves our troops were to make, and their state, but he did not sign his own name. Once he had his camp at the head of some men at West Point, and he made up his mind to give this place, which was strong with forts, to the Brit-ish. This he would have done, and the whole land would have come to grief, but for a chance that brought the vile plan to light.

One day a young man rides down the path by the stream. There is a wood of oak near. On the ground, by the trees, there are three young men. They have a game of cards. They have been out all night, and have sat down to rest.

They hear the sound of hoofs.

"Some one on his way to New York for trade," says one.

His friend peers out. "No; his clothes are too good for that," he says.

All three spring to their feet, and cry, "Halt!"

The man on the horse stops, and says, "I hope you are on our side."

"Which side is that?" cry the men.

"The side of the King."

"All right," they say; for they wish to find out more.

"Thank God, I am once more with friends!" he says, as he takes out his gold watch. "I must get on. I am in great haste."

"We can not let you go," say the men.

"But I have a pass."

"Whose?"

"Gen-er-al Ar-nold's."

"You must get off your horse."

"But, I tell you, you will get in a scrape if you stop me. Read this pass."

"No good. You said you were Brit-ish; we must search you."

"I have naught."

"We will see. Take off your coat."

The coat is laid off, and the boots. Ah, what is this? The hand of Ar-nold in this; and "West Point" the date. A shout went up, "He is a spy!"

He was a young Eng-lish man by the name of An-dre. He took his watch and purse, and said he would give them all, if they would let him go free. They would not, but took him to the near A-mer-i-can Post to try him. Of course, what Ar-nold had done all came out. He had known this would be the case, for as soon as the news was brought that An-dre was in the hands of our men, he took leave of his wife, gave a kiss to his boy, and sped on his way to an Eng-lish ship. He got to Eng-land, and was paid a large sum of gold; and they gave him a fine place at the head of some troops; but no man would make a friend of him. The Eng-lish had been glad to use him, but they would not take him by the hand.

You may think what a life he had. His own land had cast him out, but he came back to fight her at the head of the foe. But the new land where he had made his home had no real place for him. Once in the great house in Eng-land, where the wise men meet to talk of their laws, one rose to make a speech. But when he saw Ar-nold in a seat near him, he said, "I will not speak while that man is in the house." Long years after, when one of the great men of France had it in his mind to come to this land, he went to Ar-nold for some notes to his friends. Ar-nold said, "I was born in A-mer-i-ca. I spent my youth there; but Ah! I can call no man in A-mer-i-ca my friend."

In the mean time An-dre, the young Eng-lish man, who had met Ar-nold, and got the plans which were to give us up in to the hands of the foe, was shown to be a spy. There was but one doom for a spy. He must be hung. All felt for his fate. He was young, and had a fine face, and the air of good birth; but his hour had come. Tears were shed at his death; though he was our foe. All knew he was a brave man, who had not been slow to risk his life in the cause of his land. He thought he was right, and took all means to serve his own ends. For Ar-nold, who would have sold his own, there was but hate, and they gave him a name which would serve to show what his crime had been to all time -- Ar-nold the Trai-tor!

All this while the French had been our friends; but they had not met with a chance to show what they could do, till a great fight came which made an end of this war. This was at a place by the name of York-town, in Vir-gin-ia. Wash-ing-ton was there with his troops, and the French Gen-er-al, who had a hard name, which you may learn one of these days, was with him at the head of his men. They took the best works of the Brit-ish, and made such a brave stand, that Lord Corn-wal-lis thought it would be wise to leave by night, with all his troops. But a storm came, and they could not get off, so they all had to give up to Wash-ing-ton.

There was a grand scene that day, in the fall of 1781, when Wash-ing-ton and his French friends stood in two ranks, and their old foes took up a slow march by them, and laid down their arms as they went. Great was the joy in all the land when the news was known. Those who woke that night in Phil-a-del-phia, heard the watch cry, "Past two o'clock and Corn-wal-lis is ours!" When the news came to Con-gress, they sent out word for a day to be set, in all the States, to give thanks to God, and all who were held for debt, or for crime, or what cause it might be, were set free, that they might share the great joy.

Well might they all be glad, for this meant the end of the war. It had cost them dear in gold as well as lives; but it had been worse for Eng-land than for them. The sums she had spent were vast, and one could not count the lives she had lost. Add to this the fact that she had lost this great land, which had once been all her own, and now was made free. Our land now took a new name. You can read it, I know, though it is not in short words, "The U-nit-ed States of A-mer-i-ca."



Chapter VIII.

In Times Of Peace.


When peace came, the men who had been in camp went to their own homes. They were all poor, and did not know what to do. There was no gold in the land, but a kind of cash which was so bad that it took more than you could count to buy a pair of shoes. Gen-er-al Wash-ing-ton found his task more hard to keep all in good cheer, now there were no fights on hand, than when they were at war. There had to be a tax on some things to keep all right, and they did not want to pay the tax, or their debts at this time. Wash-ing-ton felt that things were at loose ends, and he must make them more strong.

Each State had a wish to be first; and it would seem that, with no foe to fight, they were on the point of war with their own selves. There was need of a strong hand to rule the whole land. So men were sent out of each State to meet in Phil-a-del-phia and talk of the best plan. They had a long talk, and at last wrote what we call the "Con-sti-tu-tion." Ten of the States gave it their vote at once; but three held back for a while.

There were grand times in our land when it was known that the Con-sti-tu-tion was to be our guide; that we were to be in truth, "The U-nit-ed States of A-mer-i-ca," with one will, one aim, one soul as it were, while time should last.

A great crowd came out in Phil-a-del-phia to show their joy. Each trade had its men there, with the tools of the trade in their hands. There was a grand car, made in the shape of that bird which we chose as the sign of our land. It was drawn by six steeds, and in it sat those who were to judge the folk in our great courts. They held a staff, and on it was our "Con-sti-tu-tion," in a frame, and on the top of the staff a cap, which we might call the cap of the free -- a kind they were fond of in France at that time. There were ten ships on the river, gay with flags and gilt, to show forth the ten States that had cast their vote in the right way.

George Wash-ing-ton was made the first Pres-i-dent, and as he took his way to New York, which was then the seat of rule, he met joy and kind words on all the route.

At Tren-ton, where he had fought, there was an arch thrown out on a bridge, where he must pass. This was hung with wreaths, and young girls stood with hands full of sweet buds and bloom, which they flung in his path, as they sung a song to greet him, and thank him for all he had done.

As he drew near New York, a barge came out to meet him. It had a crew all in white, and was meant to show the States -- a man for each State. Then more boats came to join them, with our flag on each. Wash-ing-ton was led in great state to his new home. When the time came for him first to meet with the folk and take the oath to be true to the Con-sti-tu-tion, there was such a rush to the place that some one said, "One might walk on the heads of the crowd." When Wash-ing-ton came out where all could see him, and the oath was read to him, and he took it, a great cheer rent the air, and a cry rang out, "Long live George Wash-ing-ton, Pres-i-dent of the U-nit-ed States." There was a flag flung out from that Hall, a peal of bells rang, and a blast was sent out from the guns, to show the joy and the love with which they took him for their chief. This was on April 30, 1789.

War is bad for all folks; for it is hard, when it is past, for men to learn the arts of peace. Wash-ing-ton found the whole land in debt. They did not want a tax, and the red men were still their foes. But in a few years he made a great change. The In-di-ans were put down, and France and Spain and Eng-land were brought to deal with us as friends. It was a man by the name of John Jay, who wrote out the terms with Eng-land, and so we had peace for a time.

Just then there was a great fight in France, not with a foe, but in their own midst. The men there had seen how our land had won the day, and they had a mind to be free and have no King. They did not go at it in the same way that we did; but shed much blood of their own folk, and cut off the heads of their King and Queen, and did things which made good men sad. But they said they did it all to be free. There was a reign of fright for a time. But at last, the mob could rule no more, and they were glad to take a King.

Wash-ing-ton kept up great state, for those times, in his own home, and when he drove out he had a state coach, cream white in hue, and drawn by six steeds on state days. He took but one horse on the Lord's day, when he rode to church. This coach was of the shape of a half sphere, and had wreaths, and the forms of small fat boys with wings, drawn on it in gay tints. He set days for all to come and see him in his home. Those who came would see Wash-ing-ton in front of the fire place, and near him the band of great men who gave him help with their wise words. He would be, seen in a coat of black, with a vest of white or pearl, and buff gloves. His hair was made white with a kind of dust they had in use in those days; and it was put in a sort of silk bag at the back of his head. That was a queue.

He would have his hat in his hand, and he wore a long sword. He did not shake hands with his guests, but made them a bow, and had some word for each. His wife, too, had times for her friends to come; and all must be in full dress -- the dames in low necks and short sleeves. On the birth day of Wash-ing-ton, men would meet to dine in all the large towns; and those who made rhymes would write odes to the great man. There were some who did not like all this state and form and show. They thought it was too much like the style of kings in the old land, and they would have been glad to have a new mode here. They did not wish to see a Judge in a robe of red, or the man who was to preach in the church in a wig, with gown and bands. They were for plain dress and plain ways.

You may see now bits of the stiff, rich silks of those days, or it may be a quaint old gown, rich in lace, which has been kept from that time. You may see in your mind the dame who wore it, as she waves her fan, sent from France, with the head of Wash-ing-ton on it. The hair of this dame would be drawn high on her head, and made white with the dust of which I spoke, and put in great puffs. The men whose trade it was to dress hair in those days had such a crowd of folks to fix, that they had to get up at four to do the work. I have heard of great dames who sat up all night to keep their hair in good style for some ball, or the play. The men, too, thought quite as much of dress as their wives, and in those days they did not wear plain cloth suits as now. Then a man put on a wig, and a white stiff stock, that held up his chin; a vest of white silk, it may be with rose-buds on it, and all the rest of his clothes were rich.

It was the mode to have a snuff box in those days; it might be of gold, or some dear stuff, with much work on it, and when one met a friend they would be as sure to stop and take a pinch of snuff as to lift the hat in our time.

They gave Balls in those days, which were quite grand, but they did not dance in the same way as now. They had all sorts of slow steps and bows. There was a kind of stiff grace in their style, and some would like it more now, than the rush and whirl of our mode of to-day. The dames were borne in a sort of chair through the streets to these Balls.

All this was the way of life with the rich. The poor still wore the clothes they spun and wove, and they made their own lights, and struck fire with two flints. They had not seen a match then, and did not dream of gas, or of the strange new light which has been found in our time. They went to bed with the chicks, and rose when the cock crew. The towns at the North throve the best. At the South towns were few, and in the far West the foot of man had not yet found its way.

Those brave men who had first come to this land, had seen here and there in the South a strange plant. It had a sort of bulb full of a fine white down, and those who had seen it in hot lands knew it could be spun, and cloth made from it. It was not hard to make it grow; but the white fluff was so full of seeds that it took a whole day to get a pound free from them. Wise men saw in this plant a great fund of wealth for the States. So they set to work to find a quick way to take the seed out.

There was a man in the East who heard of this, and set his brain to work. He was a young man by the name of E-li Whit-ney; and he had not seen the plant when he took it in his head that he could find a way to "gin" it; for that is the name of the work. He had to walk all the way to one of the towns at the South, to get the seed, and as he had no tools or wire, he had to make them. You may think that was slow work, but he had a strong will, and when he had made a rude "gin," he bade his friends come and see how it would do. All saw that it would work well; but some thieves broke in his house at night and stole it. So there was a long time that the man who made the "gin" got nought for it. For those who stole it made gins like it and sold them. These gins did the work well and fast, and so there grew up a great trade for us in this soft white fluff.

It is made in cloth for you to wear, and is spread on your beds, and will take all sorts of bright dyes. We sell it to all the world, and wealth flows in on all sides. This would not have been the case had not the young man, E-li Whit-ney, made the "gin."

The death of one of the great men of the land came to pass at this time. We have told you of Ben-ja-min Frank-lin. He was born in Bos-ton, and he was the son of a poor man. But he knew how to print, and he set up a press in a room where he could print each morn the news of the day. He did not scorn to sell all sorts of wares as well, such as rags, ink, soap, and such things. He had read a great deal, and found out more than those round him knew. You have seen the sharp light play in the dark clouds in a storm. You know that it strikes at times; it may be a house or a barn or a man, and that the one who is struck is apt to die.

Well, Frank-lin thought that this light could be drawn down from the skies, and when he heard a laugh at this, he set to work to prove it. He sent his son out one day in a storm, with a kite in his hand. As a low black cloud went by, they saw the fierce light tear through it; it would seem that the light ran down the string of the kite. Frank-lin had put a key on this string, and when he made his friends touch that key, they drew sparks from it. So they saw that he had found out a great thing; and from that has come the plan of the rods that are now put on a house to keep it safe in a storm. This gave him fame here and in the rest of the world. He was sent to France and made strong friends for us there. He is said to have done more good works for his land than all the rest of the men of his time. So it is not strange that all felt sad when death took him from us.

The French, too, met in their great hall to mourn his loss; and one of their chiefs said, "The sage whom two worlds claim as their own is dead;" and they wore crape on their arms for three days, for his sake.

While Wash-ing-ton had the rule of the land, more new States came in. The first of these was Ver-mont. This State was full of green hills and strong brave men, who had cut down the trees and made homes there. Once New York laid claim to this land, but they could not drive these brave men out. They thought they had a right to the soil, and they sent a man, by name E-than Al-len, to talk with the men of New York. He was met with gibes and sneers, but he would not yield. He said to them in words from the good Book, "Our gods are gods of the hills, so they are more strong than yours."

So when the men from New York came to drive out those who had made homes in the midst of these hills, they found a stout foe. The Vermont boys would take those who came and tie them to trees and whip them with rods from the beech trees. To this they gave the name of "the beech seal;" and those from New York did not care to have the "beech seal" put on them more than once. They grew mad, of course, and they sent out bills in which they set forth that they would give a good price for the head of E-than Al-len. But in time peace was made in these two States, when they had fought side by side in the great war. And so Ver-mont was brought in and took that name, which means "Green Hills."

The next State that came in was Ken-tuck-y. This land was next to Vir-gin-ia, and for a time held to be a part of that State. The first man who made his way through its wild woods and hills was Dan-iel Boone, who had won a name for the way he could go in to the nooks and glens and trap wild beasts for their fur. He took a small band of men with him, and they had no fear, but went far in where man had not yet trod, to hunt or fish, or make salt at the "Salt Licks" or springs. He built forts and held them with his few friends for quite a time, spite of the red men. But once they took him and bound him, and thought they could make him one of them; so much did they like his strength and pluck, but he got free. When men heard of his brave deeds, more came to help him. The most of them were from Vir-gin-ia, and brought their slaves with them.

The In-di-ans were in a rage at all this new force, and made the best fight they could to drive them from the soil; so that whole land came to be known as the "Dark Land of Blood." In time, peace was made, and the land grew to a State by the name of Ken-tuck-y.

Wash-ing-ton held his post for two terms, or eight years, and he did not wish to serve more. So John Ad-ams was the choice of all, for the next chief of our land.



Chapter IX.

New Men And New Laws.


John Ad-ams was one of the men who gave his help to write out the "Dec-la-ra-tion of In-de-pend-ence," of which you have been told. That was, as you know, the first step to make us free. In it we had made known that we would make our own laws, and no one should rule us but those in our own land. John Ad-ams had gone to France at the end of the great war, and had been one to help make the French our friends. In his time. Wash-ing-ton was made the home of the Pres-i-dents.

This town took its name from our great chief, and he was the one to pick out a place for the new site. This home we call the White House. At this time France did not seem to hold to the old ties that had made us friends. When our men were sent to her courts, she would not hear them, and there were some sea fights with our ships. It would seem that a new war must come out of this, and Wash-ing-ton had a call from his home to take the head of the troops. But there was no war, for Na-po-le-on, a young man, who had shown great tact and strength, got things in his own hands in France, and we made peace through him with the French.

There were some who did not like John Ad-ams, for the laws that he made. One of these laws gave him the right to seize and send out of our States those who came here from strange lands, though none could prove they had done wrong. So, though he was a great man, he did not get votes for a new term.

And now the hour had come when Wash-ing-ton must die. All felt how much they were in debt to him, for the way he had led them in the war, and his wise rule in time of peace. He had made all men his friends in the end, and in the great hall at Wash-ing-ton, it was then said -- the words live to this day, that he was "First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of all." He was sick a long time; and his last words were: "I die hard, but I do not fear to go!"

No new States came in while Ad-ams had the rule; but the land grew in worth, and more homes were made here. But there was a great stretch of wild land still, where the bears and the wolves could prowl in the woods at will, and no smoke from the fire on a home hearth was seen in the air.

Jef-fer-son was the third man whom the land chose to be their chief. He was well known as one of the first to frame the Dec-la-ra-tion. At this time there was a war of France with Eng-land, and we had hard work to keep clear of both. For France had made a law that we should not help her foe; and Eng-land had done the same. And both sides would take our ships at sea, if they thought they made trade with the foe. So our ships had hard times, and did not know what way to steer, lest one should seize them and take all they had on board. More than this, Eng-land said she had a right to search our ships and see if we had her men on board of them, and to take such if found. And once or twice it came to pass, that they took the whole crew of a ship, so that there was not a man left in it to sail it.

One day a man-of-war went to search one of our ships for men, they said, who had run from them. They were in sight of one of our forts; but when our men would not let the search be made, a fire was made on our ship, and they took four of the men, and hung one of them. This was bad for our trade, and made a great stir in our midst, and woke up the old wrath at Eng-land.

So Con-gress, with a wish to give Eng-land tit for tat, as you would say, made a law that we should not trade with her, and our ships should not go out of our own ports. But this, you know, hurt us more than it hurt Eng-land; and, for a time, Jef-fer-son came in for a share of the hard thoughts, as though it were all his fault. Those whose trade had been hurt by the law felt as if he had been to blame, and the cause of loss to them. There were, too, on the sea a band of sea thieves, as we might call them. They were men who came from a wild race, far off, who would seize ships when they could, and take all the crew and hold them for slaves, till their friends would pay a good price for them. It was no strange thing in those days to hear read out in church the names of those who were slaves to such men. Great sums of gold were sent to set our men free. At last we made some terms with these thieves of the sea, but they would not keep the peace.

Then John Ad-ams sent out four ships to fight these men. We did not own but six war ships in those days. One of these had the bad luck to run on the shore in that strange land, so the foe took it, and the crew were made slaves. There was a brave young man in one of our ships, who made a plan to get back the lost boat, which had the same name as the town of "Phil-a-del-phia." He thought if we could not get her from the foe it would be best to burn her, so that they could not use her for their own ends. So he took a small boat which had been won from the foe in a fight, and put some of our own men in her, and stole up to the side of the "Phil-a-del-phia" by night. If he was seen -- it was thought to be a boat load of friends -- but they soon went to work, and when they got on board, the fight was short and fierce. The "Phil-a-del-phia" was theirs in no time; but they found they could not move her, so they set her on fire, and set sail once more, and did not lose a man. All this won a name and fame for the young man, whose name was De-ca-tur, and in time there grew up such a fear of him in those wild States that they were glad to make peace and take no more slaves.

Jef-fer-son's mode of life was not like Wash-ing-ton's had been. He did not care for fine things or a state-coach, but was plain in all his ways. He did not go to the House in a coach and six, but rode on a horse which he would tie to a post while he went in to read his speech. In time he did not go at all, but sent the speech to be read by some one, and so it is done in our day. He had no state times for the folk to come and see him; but on New Year's day and the Fourth of July his doors were flung wide, and all might call who had the wish to do so. He did not let men know when his birth day came, so that no feasts should be kept, and odes made on it. He made the debt of the land less in his time. He thought that all men had a right to vote, and at that time there were those who did not hold such views.

There was one great law that came to pass in Jef-fer-son's time. This was to keep out the slave trade. This trade tore the black man from his home, and sold him to those who would pay the most. He must leave his wife, his boys and girls, and see them no more, and be brought in the dark hold of a ship to a strange land, where he did not know their speech. Here he must work at his strange tasks, with no hope and no joy in his life. Jef-fer-son felt that the slave trade was wrong, and he had the wish to see it brought to an end. He thought it gave us a bad name. But there were those in Con-gress who did not feel in that way. They said if it was right to hold slaves at all, it could not be wrong to bring them here. So the talk grew fierce, some on this side and some on that; but, in the end, the law was made. Spite of this law, the trade went on by stealth for years, though the ships of more lands than one came to the aid of the slaves to break up this bad trade. In the States there was no law to say that slaves should not be bought and sold, and so this went on till the last war.

One grand thing that came to be made in the time of Jef-fer-son was the steam boat. There were ships with sails, and boats that went by oars, but none that went by steam. The first one that was made would go four miles an hour; but it was not on the same plan as those we have now. The first made like those now in use, was built by Rob-ert Ful-ton, in 1807. Men then had not much faith in it, and would laugh at it as they do at most new things. Ful-ton said no one spoke a kind word of it; but when they came to see the launch, and took note of its speed, those who came to mock were glad to cheer.

The first steam boat made on his plan was the "Cler-mont," and went at the rate of five miles an hour, spite of wind and tide. As it went on its way, it sent such a great mass of sparks up in the air, and the noise of its wheels was so loud that when the crews of the ships that came in its way saw it, they would drop on their knees in fright, and pray to be kept safe from this strange thing. But, in time, more were made, and men saw that there was naught to fear in these great steam boats, though they did seem to breathe out fire and smoke. Still, at first, they did not dare to cross the sea in them.

There was a great tract of land in the west, which Jef-fer-son bought for the U-nit-ed States from the French. Part of it is now known as the State of Lou-i-si-ana, and took its name from the French King. One of the great streams of the world runs through it. Do you know its name?

Jef-fer-son sent men to find out all they could of this land he had bought; what kind of tribes of red men were in it, what wild beasts were in the wood, and what sort of plants grew there. These men took with them food, fire arms, and gifts for the chiefs of the red men. They were gone two or three years; and made their camps in the woods, when the cold and storm were so great they could not go on. They went up the great stream to the falls where no white man had been, and then they went on and found the source of the stream. They wrote of all they saw, and men read it in their homes. They read of new tribes of red men; of herds of wild beasts, so large that one herd would take up a stream a mile wide. They said some of tribes were poor, but some had good homes and fine steeds, which they would sell for a few beads. They found, too, they could make a great trade for furs with these tribes. There was one man who made a post for this trade. It is said he bought furs by the weight, and would put his hand or foot in the scale, and call it a pound. You may think how much fur it would take to weigh them down.

The next chief of our land was James Mad-i-son. When he came in, he found that men were once more in a state of wrath with Eng-land. You see they felt it hard that our ships should have to let Eng-land stop them and search them as she chose. So at last it came to war, and at first we did not win at all. The red men took part with our foe; and one chief, by name of Te-cum-seh, made a plan to join all the tribes of In-di-ans in war on the whites. He took part in all the fights, and made a brave stand, but he fell at last.

Though we did not win much on land, we had good luck on the sea. We took one of Eng-land's ships; but then they in turn took one of ours, and a brave man, who fought with his crew at the head of it, fell, shot with his death wound. "Don't give up the ship!" was his cry with his last breath.

These words, "Don't give up the ship," were put on a flag, which was held in a great fight that took place at that time. There were nine ships on our side, and six on the side of the foe.

This flag was put on our flag ship, and a brave man fought for it. His name was Per-ry. The flag ship was lost; but Per-ry flew to a small boat with his flag, and got to the next ship. He fought so well that he won the day, and the Brit-ish lost all their six ships. Such a thing had not been known till that time. When the Brit-ish gave up, Per-ry wrote, "We have met the foe, and they are ours!"

There was war for three years; and in the last year the Brit-ish took some of our towns on the coast south, and set fire to the State Hall and Pres-i-dent's house at Wash-ing-ton. They made a raid on New Or-leans, but we had a man there who built up miles of bales for a sort of breast works, and fought back of them with our troops, so they did not get that town; and this was the last fight of the war.

Peace was made, and both sides were glad to sign it. From this time the Eng-lish laid claim to no right of search in our ships. This was known for a time as the "Late War," but since then we have had more wars, so it would not do to call it by that name now. But from that day we have had peace with Eng-land, and may it long last.

Now came a time of peace when the land grew, and men went west and made homes, and built flour mills, and cut down trees, so that in a short time a wild place would change in to a town; and you would see a church spire point up to the sky, and a school with its crowd of young ones at their tasks.



Chapter X.

The Slave Trade.


Mad-i-son had two terms of rule, and then Mon-roe was the next choice of the land. He had fought in the great war, and had a high place in the States. He had shown that he was a brave man, and was the one sent to France when our land bought Lou-i-si-ana.

When he was made Pres-i-dent, he made a tour of all the posts north and east, to see what strength they would have in case of war. He wore a blue coat that was home-spun, and was plain in all his dress. He won the hearts of all by his frank ways. He met all men as friends, and had no pride and pomp to keep them far off; he was as one of them. He thought more of the good of his land than his own. One said of him, "If we could turn his soul in side out, not a spot could be found on it." When he came to die, he was poor in purse but rich in a good name.

The red men were not at peace in his time, and there was one more cause of strife, and that was the slaves. Since the first ship load of slaves had been brought in, the trade had grown more and more at the South. The men at the North had grown to like this trade less and less. It had been thought at first it would soon die out, but they saw this would not be the case. At last there was a strife each time that a State, that held slaves, would want to come in. The free States would cry out that it was wrong to have more slave States.

Those at the South said that when a free State was brought in, there ought to be a slave State too, or else the North would grow too strong, and have things all their own way. And so there was a fight when the time came for the State of Mis-sou-ri to come in. I do not mean that they went to war with shot and shell. This was a war of words. The North said that it was wrong to buy and sell men, and to break up homes; that it was bad for the men who held slaves, and for those in bonds, and that the first men of the land had the wish to get rid of it. The South said that if the great men of the land had the wish to get rid of it, they still kept their own slaves; that it was the best state for the black men; that they could learn more than in their own wild land; that white men could not work out of doors in the hot time, and so the crops could not be grown if the black man was made free.

At last Con-gress let Mis-sou-ri come in as a slave State, but made a law that a line should be drawn in the land. North of this line there could be no slaves. South of it men could keep slaves or not, just as they chose; men look on this now as a weak move. At that time the slaves were few, and the trade not great, so it might have been put down with more ease. But with time it grew so strong that it took long years and a great war to crush it out. Five new States came in while Mon-roe was at the head of the land.

John Quin-cy Ad-ams came next. He was the son of the Pres-i-dent of the same name, and had been nine years old when he heard the Dec-la-ra-tion read from the State House in Bos-ton. Since then the land had grown to a vast size, and was at peace. Much was done in his time to make our land thrive and grow. The red men were made to move west, and their lands were bought.

In his time, the first rail road was built. It was but three miles long, and it was a horse that drew the car and not steam. The first use of steam came in more late from Eng-land. The first steam car did not make much speed; but it was thought to be a great thing. Still there were those who said it would not be worth much; that it could not draw its own weight, but that its wheels would spin round and round on the rail. Some thought that if it were made to go, it would be bad for the farms; would scare off the cows and sheep, and the smoke would make the sheep's wool black. But their fears were laid at rest in time by the sight of these cars as they ran on in peace, and brought none of these ills to pass.

In the same year the land had to mourn the death of two great men. Strange to say, they went on the same day, and that was the Fourth of July. Both these men had put their names on the great Dec-la-ra-tion, and they had grown to be strong friends. Jef-fer-son heard the fire of a gun, just as he went. His last words were, "Is this the Fourth?"

Ad-ams, who lay near to death, saw the sun set and heard the shouts from those who kept the day in his town. He sent them word to hold fast the rights that day had brought them; and the old man could hear the cheer that they gave at his words.

At this time there was a great talk of a sort of tax to be put on all goods brought here from far lands. This we call a tar-iff, and we hear a great deal of it in this day. There are those who think a high tax should be put on all goods made out of our own land, so as to keep them out and give those made here a chance. There are some who think that all trade should be free; and that ships should sail here with what they choose and land it, with no one to see what it is, and put a tax on it.

Ad-ams, in his time, was for a high tax, and for this cause he did not have but one term as our chief. Those who did not want the tax had the most votes, and they chose An-drew Jack-son for the next man. He had been well known in the war, and had built up those breast works in New Or-leans of which we have told you, from which our men beat the Brit-ish.

While he was chief, there were some in the South who felt that the North had more than its share of the wealth of the land. You see there were more great mills and more goods made in the North, and the tax on strange goods was too much help to those at home. At least this was so thought by the South, and they had a plan to cut loose and set up a new band of States. They had drills of their young men, and got arms, and had made choice of a man to lead them. His name was John C. Cal-houn, and he was to be their first chief. But Jack-son said that "if a State could go out of the band of States when it chose, we would come to naught;" and he sent troops and ships of war to the South, and put a stop to all the stir in a short time.

Tribes of the red men had gone out to the far West, but there were those who would not move. There was a tribe in Flor-i-da who fought for a long time in the swamps of that land. Some slaves who had run away from their homes were with them. One of the chiefs of the red men had a slave for a wife, and when she went with him to one of our forts, she was held and kept as a slave, and the chief was put in chains. When he got free, he made a vow to pay up the white man for all he had borne, and for the loss of his wife. So he led the red men in this war. His name was Os-ce-o-la. He was caught at last, and kept in one of our forts till he died. But the war went on for years, at a great cost of life, till few of that tribe were left in the land. And this war cost three times as much as had been paid for the whole of the State of Flor-i-da.

This war had so much to do with slaves, that all the talk on the slave trade came up once more. There was a man of that class of which we have told you -- one of the Friends, or Quak-ers, who put in print his views, that some plan should be made by which all slaves should be freed in time.

Then a young man, by name of Gar-ri-son, wrote that the best way was to set all free at once. This made a great stir, and some said he should be brought to court and made to take back his words. But he said, "I will speak out what I feel. I will not go back an inch, and I will be heard." And just at this time, to make things worse, and stir up great fear in the land, a slave in Vir-gin-ia, got a mob of black men, and they went from house to house and put all to death who came in their way.

Gar-ri-son did not like war, and he would not have blood shed; but there were those who laid all the fault of this at his door. They said he taught the slave he had a right to be free, and so this black man rose and took his rights. The slave who had done so much harm was at last caught, and put in jail and then hung.

Jack-son thought it would be well for Con-gress to pass a bill, that no thing on the slave trade should go through the mails; but that bill did not pass. Some were made friends to Jack-son by this strong course, when the South had a plan to break up our States, and leave the North; but, of course, there were those who did not like him for the same cause. He had both strong friends and foes; but made so good a rule, that he put the land out of debt, and had a sum left to share with the States. Much new land was bought in his time.

Jack-son was a great man. He had come from poor folks, and as a boy he was more fond of sports than of books. His life had its ups and downs. Once he was in the hands of the foe, and told he must clean some boots for them. It was too much for a free born A-mer-i-can to clean Brit-ish boots. It made his blood boil, and he said with scorn that he would not do such work. He was not mild or meek, you know, but had a strong will of his own. And he kept his word spite of blows, and was sent to jail. There the poor boy had small pox. He knew not where to turn when he got out of jail, for he was poor, and had no one left to help him. He had more than one fight in his time, and scars that he did not gain in war. He was brave through and through, and won fame where he went. He was in his old home when he drew his last breath in peace.

When Mar-tin Van Bu-ren came in, the talk on the slave trade grew worse. A slave child by the name of Med, who had been brought to Bos-ton by a man, was said to be free by the Court of that State, as she had trod on free soil. But at the same time some of the dames who met to take the slaves' part, were set on by a mob, and Gar-ri-son, who stood up to make them a speech, was bound with ropes. Then this fierce mob set to work to drag him through the streets; but some friends got hold of him, and had to lodge him in jail to save his life. Two schools for the blacks were set on fire; and one man in the West, who was a great friend of the slave, met his death at the hands of a mob.

Just at this time there was a plan to bring in Tex-as as a slave State, and this shook the land from North to South. Long pleas with the names of a great mass of folks were sent to Con-gress, to beg them not to let Tex-as come in as a slave State. John Quin-cy Ad-ams, it is said, spoke an hour a day for twelve days, on the side of those who would make Tex-as a free State. They put off the strife at that time, and did not bring Tex-as in at all. Con-gress made a rule, that no bills that spoke of slaves should be brought in, and this was in force for ten years.

In Van Bu-ren's time there was a great crash in trade, and hard times in the land. He did not make the hard times, still he had but one term for that cause. Men felt a hope that a new man might bring in a new state of things. They chose Har-ri-son, who had fought in a brave way in the wars with the red men.

He came from the far West, where his home had once been in a log house. So he had the name of the Log Cabin man, and the poor men in the land all felt proud that one of their own kind was their chief; one who had made his way out of the ranks. There was a print of that log cabin on all sorts of things, and toys were made in that form, and songs were made on it, and sung when men met.

The new Pres-i-dent did not live but one month, and so for the rest of the four years, John Ty-ler took the rule; but he did not please those who had cast their votes for him. He would not let their bills pass: one of which was to form a States Bank, on which the Whigs had all set their hearts. The State of Tex-as was brought in at this time.

You have all seen the wires which stretch from pole to pole in the streets of our great towns, and in lone roads by field and wood. You know what they are for, and how by means of them you can send word to a friend in time of need, or hear from those you love in a flash. It may be a death that is told, or some news of joy that they can not wait to send by the slow way of the post.

Well, when James K. Polk was thought of as a good man to make chief of the land, the news was the first that had been sent on these wires. The first lines built were made here, and went from Bal-ti-more to Wash-ing-ton. Morse was the name of the man who found out how to send news on wires in this way.

At this time there were two great men of whom you should hear, for their names are on the list of fame, which has stood the test of time. One was Hen-ry Clay. He was born in the West, and was poor, but he made his way from the small log school house, where he went to learn his first task, to rank with the great men of our land. He could win men to be his friends, when they had made up their minds to hate him. He had a strong will, and kept true to his own aims. He spoke with such grace and force that he could sway men's minds and thrill their hearts. He has said, "I owe all I have won in life to one fact, that when I was a boy, and for some years, as I grew up, I would learn and speak what I read in books. More than one off hand speech did I make in a corn field or in the woods, or in a barn, with but an ox or horse to hear me. It is to this I owe much that has gone to shape and mould my course in life."

One man, who was not his friend, said at his death, "If I were to write on the stone that marks his place of rest, I would place there these words: 'Here lies one who led men by his own force for long years; but did not swerve from the truth, or call in lies to help him.'"

One more great man died on the same day as Clay. His name was Web-ster. He was a great states man. He went to school but a few weeks in all his life. He was then so shy that he could not pluck up heart to speak a piece in the school. He did not think that in time to come his words would stir the land. He says, "I was brave in my own room, and would learn the piece and speak it there; but when the day came, and I would see all eyes turn to me, and they would call out my name, I could not rise from my seat."

In all things but this he stood well at school, and he had a great wish to learn. But he knew they were all poor at home, and he felt that he must go to work and help them, fond as he was of his books. When he heard that he was to go on; that he should have a chance to make his dream true, he was full of joy. "I see yet," he said, "the great hill up which we went that day in the snow. When I heard the news, I could not speak for joy. There were such a crowd of young ones in our home, I did not see how they could spare the funds. A warm glow ran through me; I had to weep."

When he was through school, he at once rose to a high place. He was at the head of all who spoke in the House. He was grand and great, but he had a sense of fun in him. Once some one came to him with one of those books where the names of friends or great men are kept, with the wish that he would write his name by the side of John Ad-ams. He wrote:

"If by his name I write my own, 'Twill take me where I am not known; And the cold words will meet my ear, Why, friend, and how did you come here?"

When his death was known, there was grief in the length and breadth of the land. No death since that of Wash-ing-ton was made such a theme for speech.



Chapter XI.

A New War.


In the time of James K. Polk, a war rose in which our States were not of one mind. Our folk in Tex-as laid claim to a large tract of land which those in Mex-i-co said was theirs. The States at the North did not wish to go in to this war; but those at the South did. This was in 1846. Gen-er-al Tay-lor went with his troops at once in to the land of the foe, and built a fort on a stream there. He gave it the name of Fort Brown. On his way he met the troops of the foe drawn up in the road. They had three to one of his small band; but he had the good luck to rout them, with loss of but nine men on our side.

Then he took up his march on their great town, which had the name of Mon-te-rey. This town had high hills and deep gulfs round it, and strong forts. Its streets were full of men with arms. Gen-er-al Tay-lor made a grand move on the town. To get out of the fire that would seem to pour on them from the roofs, the troops went in and dug their way through stone walls from house to house, or they would pass from roof to roof. Ere they came to the grand place of the town, it was in their hands, the foe gave up the fight.

At this time San-ta An-na, who was chief of the Mex-i-can troops, heard that most of our men had been drawn off to help Gen-er-al Scott; so he thought it would be a good time to crush us. They laid in wait with all their best troops, and the fight went on from the rise of the sun till dark. It grew hard to hold our ground, and the day would have been lost but for the guns of Cap-tain Bragg, who came to our help. He made a dash up to a few yards from the foe, and let fire. Their ranks were seen to shake. "Some more grape. Cap-tain Bragg," said Gen-er-al Tay-lor. One more round, and then a third came, and the Mex-i-cans broke and fled. In the night San-ta An-na drew all his troops off.

Gen-er-al Scott, at the head of our troops, made a march through the land of Mex-i-co, and took all that came in his way. He drew siege lines round the town of Ve-ra Cruz, and sent bombs in to it, and in four days the town, with its strong hold, gave up the fight. A week from that time our troops took up their march for the chief town. At one pass in the hills, the foe had a strong hold. Gen-er-al Scott had a road cut round the base of those hills and through the woods; and then he was in a place to pour out fire on the rear of the foe, while more troops took him in front. The foe fled in such haste that San-ta An-na, who was lame, left his leg of wood on the ground, and got off on his wheel mule.

The town of Mex-i-co is in the midst of a grand plain, with green fields and cloud capt mounts round it. The foe had made a strong stand here, with forts and men. Our men made a move in the night. It was so dark they had to feel their way; but they took their stand on a height from which they could storm the strong points of the foe. At last they took some of the guns, and the roads were laid bare to the gates of the town.

There was some talk of a peace then, but Gen-er-al Scott found that it was not in good faith. The foe did it to gain time, to make things strong once more. So the next day, he took up his march on the great town of Mex-i-co. A strong fort, on a high rock by the town, was made ours; each out work fell one by one, and at last our troops took the great Ci-ty of Mex-i-co, and the next morn our flag with its stripes and stars was seen to float in the light from those grand old piles, which had been the home of more than one prince of Mex-i-co. So the war came to an end in just two years.

Till this time, Cal-i-for-nia had been known as a far off land, to which men went by sea, round Cape Horn, to buy hides and fur. But in 1848, came news to the East-ern States that there were gold mines in that place. It was said that a Swiss had found, as he dug in the sand, a bright sort of dust, and it was thought to be gold. All at once, on this news, there was a great rush from all parts of the land to the gold mines of Cal-i-for-nia, and there was a great sum won the first year. In two years the town of San Fran-cis-co had grown to quite a large place. The name of Cal-i-for-nia is said to have been found in an old book in Spain, and means an isle full of gold.

Three more States were brought in while Polk was our chief, and two of them were free States. It was shown that those who came to us from the old world, chose the free States for their homes, and those at the South felt sure that the North would grow too fast if they did not gain more ground. There was a great piece of land which both North and South laid claim to, and there were high words on both sides. At last a band of men by the name of Free Soil men, took a stand that slaves should be kept out of all new land which the U-nit-ed States might gain in all time to come.

The next man who was the choice of the land was Tay-lor, the one who led part of our troops in the war with Mex-i-co. He was put in by the Whigs. The Free Soil men did not vote for him. He did not live but one year, and then Fill-more took his place.



Chapter XII.

The War Of North And South.


Once more the talk on free States and slave States was heard on all sides, and Hen-ry Clay had made more than one great speech to try and keep the peace. Cal-i-for-nia came in as a free State; but a bill went in force which made it a crime to help or keep a slave who had run off from his home. A man could go in to a free State and take back his slave by force, and no court or Judge in the land could stop him. In fact, they were bound to help him. This was thought harsh and wrong by most of the men at the North; but it was made a law. This law made more stir than aught else had done till this time. Men would help the slaves, spite of the law; and in some States they made laws of their own, that no one could claim a slave if he did not bring the case in to court, that they might see if he had a just claim.

When Pierce was made Pres-i-dent, the strife still went on; and this was made worse by a wish on the part of those who held slaves to bring them North of the line, in to a great tract of land -- so large that two States could be made out of it -- Kan-sas and Ne-bras-ka.

The South said all they would ask, would be that those who had their homes on the soil should say how they would like things to be, and put it to vote. Con-gress did at last pass a bill to give them their own choice, to be free or slave States. But this did not bring peace; for they had fights when they went to vote. At last they were all at war, and would burn a town or sack a house, or steal the cows and goods of those they thought foes. The whole land was a scene of blood, but in the end Kan-sas was brought in as a free State.

In the time of Pierce a great tract of land was bought from Mexico. It is now known as New Mex-i-co. In his time, too, trade with Japan was first made free to our ships.

When Bu-chan-an came to take the place of chief in our land, the talk on the slaves was by no means at rest. In the great Court of our land, the "Dred Scott" case was brought up in the first year of his rule, and it was said that those who held slaves had the right to take them with them where they chose, through all the free States. Then came John Brown's raid, which was like a fire brand in all the slave States.

John Brown was a man who had fought on the side of the Free Soil men in Kan-sas, and now all was at peace there. He had a plan to go in to the slave States and free the slaves. He had been in Vir-gin-ia when he was a boy, and knew there were strong holds in the hills, where he thought the slaves could make a stand and fight till they were free. He got a small band of men and went to a place by the name of Har-per's Fer-ry, and took the town. Those who had their homes there fled in fright; so he took the great place where arms were made for our troops. He thought he would give these arms to the black men, whom he had no doubt would flock to his side. He had a small force, but fear made all think it was a great one. The news of the raid went like a flash on the wires to all parts of the States, and men were sent to fight him and take him. His small force were brave, and did not give up till death or wounds made them do so.

It is said by those who held him as their foe, that John Brown was cool and firm in the face of death. With one son dead by his side, and one shot through, he felt the pulse of the son so near to death with one hand, but held fast to his gun, and spoke words of cheer to his men. He fell at last with six wounds, but did not die of them. He was brought in to Court, and they set to work to try him. The head man of Vir-gin-ia, by the name of Wise, said, "Those who think John Brown is a mad man, do not know him. He is a man of clear head and a brave heart. I would trust him to be a man of truth."

But he was led out to be hung. On his way there, his last act was to kiss a slave child. Six of his friends were hung on the same spot. Some few of the band got off to the free States. All this made the talk of North and South on the slave trade more and more fierce; and when a new man was to be made Pres-i-dent, those who went for free soil, that is, no slaves, chose their own man, and he got the most votes. These Free Soil men had grown to be a large throng, and they had a new name. The man they chose was A-bra-ham Lin-coln. He was a man who would have been glad to have kept the peace; but the South would not have it so. They were in a rage, and said they would go out of the band of States. They thought a State had the right to go out if it chose to do so. This was "States Rights" to their mind.

"States Rights" had long been held as the creed of the South; so there were six States that put it to vote, and said they would go out of the U-nion. South Car-o-li-na was the one to lead the way. They said they would make a new band of States, where it would be right to hold slaves; and they took one of our forts.

Troops were sent in a boat, by name, "The Star of the West," but they were met by a fire from the fort. Then they took their stand on the shore by Fort Sum-ter, which was held by a few men. For two days the fire went on, and at last the brave man who held the fort had to give it up. His men were worn out, the place was on fire, and they had no more food for their guns. So they went out with the beat of drums and their flags flung out on the air.

The sound of the first gun at Fort Sum-ter was a shock to all the land. Most of those at the North, who had not felt the slave trade to be wrong, now took sides with those who had been its foes from the first. All the States at the South took one side, but the slaves were for those who had the wish to make them free.

In the first of this storm the end came of Bu-chan-an's term. Three States came in at this time. Or-e-gon, Min-ne-so-ta, and Kan-sas. The last two bear the name the red men gave two streams that flow through them. The name Or-e-gon is said to mean "wild rice."

Up to the time of the first gun fired at Fort Sum-ter, men had felt that the South could be brought back. Few at the North thought there would be war; but at the South it had been thought of for a long time. The young men had met for drill, and arms had been hid where they could be found. Lin-coln found but a small band of troops, but he sent out a call for more. As these men were on their march through the streets of Bal-ti-more, the mob threw stones at them, and three of them fell dead. Then the troops let fire on the mob, and nine men fell. This made a great stir at the North, for they thought it went to show the hate in the hearts of the men at the South.

The next time the troops were sent, they did not march through Bal-ti-more. They found the rails torn up by the way, and had to mend them as they went on. Once when they saw a car that was a wreck by the way side, some one was heard to ask if one could be found in the ranks who could mend it. "I can," said a man who stood by it, "for I built it."

So you see the troops were made up of men from all trades, who had left their work to fight for their land. In the course of time, troops went in peace through the streets of Bal-ti-more.

Men came in to the ranks on all sides when they heard the call; but they found that arms were scarce, most had been sent South. So the North had to buy or make these in as short a time as they could. There had to be clothes made, too, for the troops, and food found for stores, and carts to draw it, and drugs for the sick. All must be done at once, and all in such a way that there must be no waste or want. Lin-coln at this time made a law that no ships should go in or out of the ports of the South.

The war soon made a stand in both East and West Vir-gin-ia. In the west of this State there were men who did not wish to fight on the side of the South; but they had to do so or leave the State. There was a move made to march on Rich-mond; but the troops had to go back, and lost the day at the fight of Bull Run. It was a sad rout for the troops of the North, as they made haste back to Wash-ing-ton, with a fear that the foe might come and take that place.

At the end of this year Gen-er-al Scott gave up his place at the head of all the troops to Gen-er-al Mc-Clel-lan.

When this war broke out, we had but four ships in a good state to take part in it. Yet we were in need of a force that could block up the ports of the South. Eng-land and France gave help to the South, for they let them fit out ships in their ports, and all through the war the South was kept up by the hope of aid from these lands.

A great fight took place at An-tie-tam, where the troops of Gen-er-al Mc-Clel-lan met those of Lee. This was one of the worst fights of the war, and there was great loss of life on both sides. The North won the day, and Lee drew off his troops. It was thought by some that a move in the right way would have cut short this flight, and they said Mc-Clel-lan ought to have made such a move. So Gen-er-al Burn-side took his place at the head of the troops, and he took the town of Fred-er-icks-burg. In the mean time there was a ship fight, in which the South for a time did good work. She had a ship which she had made strong with iron plates and hard wood, and a bow of steel. This ship set sail in the bay to fight the whole U-nion fleet. The ships of wood could make no stand. In vain did they pour out fire and balls. It was said the balls would strike and glance off, and did no more harm than peas from a pop gun. At nine that night two of our ships had gone down in fire and smoke, and one was run on the ground.

All at once a small queer thing came in sight. Some one said it was like a cheese box on a raft. This was the Mon-i-tor. When dawn came it bore down on the Mer-ri-mac and sent out a fire. The ram gave the fire back. For two hours the fire was kept up; till at last the Mon-i-tor sent a shel through the port hole of the foe. This fell right in the midst of her crew. So those in the Mer-ri-mac thought it would be wise to get out of the way of more such shells, and it left the coast clear. There was great joy felt at the North when the news came that they had won this fight; for all had felt that if this ship, with its hard sides and bow of steel, had been left free to sail in to New York bay, all the ships of wood in our port would have gone down in her path. From the time of this fight, a great change has been made in the way they have built ships.

Gen-er-al Grant fought in this war, and led our troops to win the day in more than one fight. One of the great moves of the war was made on New Or-leans by Far-ra-gut in ships, and Gen-er-al But-ler with a land force.

This town had two strong forts, and there was a long chain with earth works at each end. There were fire rafts full of stuff that they could set on fire, and gun boats, and one of the kind we know as a ram.

Far-ra-gut sent fire in to the forts in vain. His boats took fire from the rafts, and he had to put out each as it went by. At last, he thought he would try and run by the forts with his fleet, and he did so. The forts, the steam boats, and the ram, kept up a hot fire, but in the midst of shot and ball, he made his way up the stream. The next day at dawn, he was in New Or-leans, and in a day more the fleets and forts were in his hands, and Gen-er-al But-ler, with a land force, came in to the town.

In this year, 1862, Lin-coln sent out a bill that said "the slaves should be free then, and for all time."

And it was then thought that it would be a good thing for the black man to help in this war that had made him free. So there came to be black troops made up of the free slaves. By this time the cost of the war had grown great, and the U-nion side felt that it was time to bring things to a close.

The South took heart and came with their troops in to a free State; and a great fight took place near a town by the name of Get-tys-burg. There was great loss on both sides. But Lee had to fly with his men, and this fight put an end to the hopes of the South. At the time of the last shot in fight, Gen-er-al Grant, far off in Vicks-burg, brought the foe to terms. Vicks-burg was a place on high bluffs, and it had guns on all sides to stop our ships on their way up the stream. It stood a long siege of more than a month, but at last it fell.

But as time went on, it grew more and more hard to get men for the war. There had to be a draft, and the folks did not like that. In a draft, one has to draw a lot, and no one knew on whom the lot would fall. In New York there were some who felt a sort of spite at the black folks, as they held them to be the cause of the war, and there was a mob that set on them in the streets. It went on for three days, and some black men fell struck by stones from the mob. But at last it was brought to an end.

The next year Grant made some good moves, and, on the whole, the sky grew more clear. Lin-coln said, "Peace does not seem so far off as it did. I hope it will come soon and come to stay, and come so that it will be worth all we have done for it."

In 1864, Gen-er-al Grant was put at the head of all the troops. He had shown that he knew a great deal of war, and he had done good work. He soon made a plan of two great moves that should go on at the same time. One of these was to march on Rich-mond with one branch of the troops, while Gen-er-al Sher-man should take one branch through the States of the South, from mount to sea.

Gen-er-al Grant did not swerve from the course he had laid out. He said, "I will fight it out on this line," and he did, spite of all loss. He laid siege to Rich-mond, but for a time they held out. At sea the ships of the South at first won on all sides. They drove our ships out, and got off with no harm, till the time that the Al-a-ba-ma was sunk. One more grand fight with ships took place in Mo-bile Bay.

This bay was a great place for boats to run in with food and stores to the foe. Our ships could not make their way there, for there were two forts, a ram of great strength, and shells that would blow them up set in the way. Far-ra-gut put false bows on his ships, so that they might charge the ram, and at last it was sunk.

Sher-man had a hard work to do; for he must take his troops through the land of the foe, by their strong forts, through hill and dale and pass. He meant to cut off their chance to get food, and to break up the rail roads. He first took the town of At-lan-ta, and from that point set out on the "March to the Sea," which has won him so much fame. He had to feed his troops for the most part on what he could find in the land he went through. He took Sa-van-nah and wrote to Lin-coln, "I beg to give you the gift of the town of Sa-van-nah, with all its guns and stores."

Then he took up his march once more through swamp and bog, or up the high steep hills and rocks. The cold days had come, but on they went, through storms of sleet and snow, or in the face of floods of rain, with a foe on all sides. Such a march had not been known in all the wars of the past. Long will the fame of that March to the Sea live in our land. He had found, as he said, that all the men in the South had been drawn out to aid the troops, and that there were no more left, and the land was a "mere shell."

Charles-ton gave up at the end of a long siege; but it was set on fire in all parts by its own folk, so that it might not be worth much when it fell in our hands.

The last move was made by Grant on Rich-mond. He felt that one more blow would bring the war to a close. He sent out word to Sher-i-dan, "When day dawns push round the foe, and get to his rear." Two days more our troops were in the streets of Rich-mond. When Lee found he could not hold his place, he sent word by the wires to Jef-fer-son Da-vis at Rich-mond. Da-vis was the man the South had made their chief, and he was in church when the news came to him. He read these words: "My lines are cut at three points. Rich-mond must be left to night."

Da-vis left the church, and the news spread at once that the town was lost. There was fright on all sides, and the streets were soon full of men who knew not what to do. The means for flight were small, and a poor cart and horse would have brought a large sum of gold. The ships were set on fire or blown up, and some of the stores of the town were in a blaze. Oh, what a night! All sought to fly, but few had means to go.

The next day some black troops were the first to march in the town. This was the real end of the war. Gen-er-al Lee did all he could to save his men; but they were so faint with want of food that they could not march, and so weak they could not hold their guns. So he gave up all at last to Gen-er-al Grant, and the whole South had to yield.

This war had cost the land more than you could count in gold and lives. But it had made the slave free; and we know that we shall have the curse of the slave trade in our land no more. And it had shown that the creed of States Rights was not the best one, for if we were cut up in parts we would be weak, while if we stay as one, we will be strong. Our true strength, then, is to hold fast the bond that binds all the States, North and South, East and West, in one.

There was great joy, and all gave thanks at the North when the news that the war had come to an end was borne on the wires. Lin-coln had held his course in a firm, brave way. He had said in a speech in New York, when he was on his way to take his place, "When the time comes for me to speak, I shall then take the ground that I think is right -- right for the North, for the South, for the East, for the West, for all our land."

And so he had done. The war was a grief to him. He said, "We did not think this war would last so long. Both sides read the same Word of God, and both pray to Him to aid in a war on those who are bound to them by near ties. We hope, we pray, that this scourge of war may soon pass. But if God wills it should stay till each drop of blood drawn by the lash shall be paid with one drawn with the sword, it must be said, 'Shall not the Judge of all the world do right?'"

Five days from the time that the news of joy came in a flash on the wires, Lin-coln was dead. He had been shot while he sat in his box, at the play, by a man of the name of Wilkes Booth. This man had by some means got in the box and made the door fast. When he had shot Lin-coln, he sprang from the box to the stage, but caught his foot in one of our flags, and broke his leg. He had a horse at the door, and got off; but was at last found in a barn, where he stood at bay. They set the barn on fire to drive him out; but he still stood his ground, and fought till the last, when he fell, shot by one of our men.

Those who stood by the bed side of Lin-coln saw that there was no hope. All the land was full of gloom, when the sad news came. As his corpse was borne in a train to his old home, the towns were hung with black on the whole route, and most men wore the badge of grief. Those who had not been warm friends of Lin-coln in his life, felt a shock at his death, for they knew a brave, true man had gone.



Chapter XIII.

Peace Once More.


At the time of Lin-coln's death, there had been a sort of plot to kill more of the head men of the land. Sew-ard had been shot in his own house, and there was a great fear in Wash-ing-ton; for no one knew how far this plot might reach.

When An-drew John-son took the place at the head of the land, there was some fear that those who had spent so long a time in the war would not know how to live in time of peace. But they soon made their way to their old homes, and were glad to lay down their arms and take up the old trades once more. There was a vast debt, and all sorts of loans to be got. Then there were those who thought that the States, which were the cause of the war, should not have the right to come back on their own terms; and some thought they could come back when they would, and in their own way.

But John-son brought out a Bill which gave back all their rights to most of those who had made the war. The States could come back if they would say that they would have no more slaves, and that they would be true to the U-nit-ed States in all time to come. John-son did not act in a way to suit those who had cast their votes for him, and Con-gress made a move that he should give up his place. When they came to try him, they found there was one vote short. That one vote kept him in his place; but he did not get a new term.

The next man who was the choice of the land was U-lys-ses S. Grant, whose work in the war had won him such fame. In his time all the States of the South came back in to the U-nion. Great tracts of land were made ours; the debt was made less; and there was a law made which said that men of all races and hues should have a right to vote. In his last term a grand show took place in Phil-a-del-phia. All the lands in the world sent things to be shown there, and all the trades of the world had place in those great halls.

When Hayes came in there was talk that there had not been a fair vote for him; but in time he won his way. He was fair to both North and South, and his rule was mild but firm. He drew all troops out of the South, that those States might put their own laws in force, with no help from Wash-ing-ton; so that if their own folks had wrongs, their own courts must set the thing right.

Time has shown that this course was wise. The States at the South have grown in peace and good will to us since that time, and the white men there now seem quite glad to have the black men vote. Rail ways have been built so fast that it is thought in a few years there will be four or five of these great lines through the whole length and breadth of the land. Our debt has been paid off at such a quick rate that if we go on it will be gone ere long, and the tax on all things can be made less. We have shown, too, that we have not stood still.

In old times each watch in use here came from the old lands, but now a watch is made here that might win the prize from those on that side of the sea. So, too, in glass, tools, knives, soap, combs, and all sorts of things, we have made a name. The beef and grain we send out bring in vast wealth.

James A. Gar-field was our choice in 1881. A great shock was felt in the land, just two months from the time he came to the White House, when we heard he had been shot while on his way to take a train for the North. A man by the name of Gui-teau, who had some sort of strange craze, was the one who did the black deed.

They bore Gar-field at once to his home in the White House, and for a long time he lay there in great pain. Day by day the news would flash on the wires that told his state, how his pulse beat, how he had slept, and what hope there was for his life. All would seize the news and read it each day, with the wish that he might yet live. They took him to Long Branch in the hope that the sea breeze might help him; but though his life held out for near the space of three months, it came to an end, and his last breath was drawn in that sweet home by the sea, Sep-tem-ber 19, 1881. Great grief was felt at his death, and all lands strove to say a kind word. The Court of Eng-land put on black for him, and the Queen sent a wreath for his grave. Gui-teau was hung for his crime.

Ches-ter A. Ar-thur is now our Pres-i-dent. We are at peace with all the world. The same flag, with the old stars and stripes, floats now in the South as in the North. Long may it wave, "On the land of the free and the home of the brave."

<eob>

The Story Of A Calico Clown

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

The Giant's Swing


"To-night we shall have a most wonderful time," said the Elephant from the Noah's Ark to a Double Humped Camel who lived in the stall next to him.

"What kind of a time?" asked the Camel. He stood on the toy counter of a big department store, looking across the top of a drum toward a Jack in the Box who was swaying to and fro on his long spring. "What do you call a wonderful time, Mr. Elephant?"

"Oh, having fun," replied the big toy animal, slowly swinging his trunk to and fro. "And to-night the Calico Clown is going to give a special exhibition."

"Oh, is he?" suddenly asked a funny little Wooden Donkey with a head that wagged up and down. "Is he going to climb a string again and burn his red and yellow trousers as he once did?"

"Indeed I am not!" exclaimed the Calico Clown himself. The Clown was leaning against his friend Mr. Jumping Jack, who was a cousin of Jack in the Box. "I'm not going to give any special exhibition like that," went on the Clown. "I'm just going to do a few funny tricks, such as standing on my head and banging my cymbals together. And, I am not sure, but I may ask a riddle."

"Will it be that one about what makes more noise than a pig under a gate?" inquired a Celluloid Doll. "Well, yes, it will be that riddle," replied the Clown, trying to look very stern.

"That's the only riddle he knows," whispered the Elephant.

"What I should like to know," said the Camel, "is why a pig should want to get under a gate, anyhow. Why didn't he stay in his pen?"

"Oh, there's no use trying to make you understand," sighed the Clown. "I'll just have to dance around, do a few jigs, bang my cymbals together, and do things like that to amuse you."

"Well, we'll have a good time to-night, anyhow," said the Celluloid Doll. "We really haven't had much fun since the Candy Rabbit and the Monkey on a Stick went away. I wish -- "

"Hush!" suddenly called the Calico Clown. "Here come the clerks. The store will soon be filled with customers."

The toys became very still and quiet. This talk among them had taken place in the early morning hours, after a night of jolly good times. But when daylight came, and when clerks and customers filled the store, the toys were no longer allowed to do as they pleased. They could not move about or talk as they could on other occasions.

The Calico Clown was a jolly chap, and he seemed to stand out among all the other toys on the counter. He wore calico trousers of which one leg was red and the other yellow. He had a calico shirt that was spotted, speckled and striped in gay colors, and on each of his hands was a round piece of brass. These pieces of brass were called "cymbals," and the Calico Clown could bang them together as the drummer bangs his cymbals in the band.

I say the Calico Clown could bang his cymbals together, and by that I mean he could do it when no boys or girls or grown folk were looking at him. This was the rule for all the toys. They could move about and talk only when no human eyes were looking. As soon as you glanced at them they became as still and as quiet as potatoes.

But any one who picked up the Calico Clown could make him bang his cymbals together by pressing on his chest. There was a little spring, and also a sort of squeaker, such as you have heard in toy bears or sheep.

Besides being able to clap his cymbals together, the Calico Clown could also move his arms and legs when you pulled certain strings, like those on some Jumping Jacks. The Calico Clown was a lively fellow, as well as being very gaily dressed.

But now all the toys were still and quiet. They sat or stood or were lying down on the counter, waiting for what would happen next. And what generally did happen was that some customers came to the store and bought them.

Already a number of the toys had been sold and taken away. There was the Sawdust Doll. She was the first to go. Then the White Rocking Horse had been bought for a boy named Dick, a brother of Dorothy, who now owned the Sawdust Doll. The Lamb on Wheels had been purchased by a jolly sailor, and when the Lamb saw him she feared she would be taken on an ocean trip and made seasick. But the sailor gave the Lamb to a little girl named Mirabell. And, in the course of time, her brother Arnold was given a Bold Tin Soldier and some soldier men.

The Candy Rabbit -- about whom I have told you in a book, as I have told you of these other toys -- the Candy Rabbit was given as an Easter present to a little girl named Madeline, and her brother Herbert had, later, been given the Monkey on a Stick.

The Calico Clown was looking over at the Celluloid Doll, thinking how pretty she was, and he was also thinking of the Sawdust Doll, whom he had liked very much, when, all of a sudden, it seemed as if a whirlwind had blown into the toy department.

A boy with a very loud voice and feet that tramped and stamped on the floor rushed up to the counter.

"I want a toy! I want something to play with!" cried this boy. "I want a Jumping Jack and I want a Noah's Ark! You said you'd get me something if I let the dentist pull that tooth, and now you've got to! I want a lot of toys!" he cried to the lady who was with him.

"Yes, Archibald. But please be quiet!" begged his mother. "I will get you a toy. Which one do you want?"

"I want this Elephant!" cried the boy who, I am afraid, was rather rude. He caught the Elephant up by his trunk, and twisted the poor animal around.

"Goodness me, sakes alive! I'm getting dizzy," thought the Elephant. "I hope this boy is not to be my master!"

And this, it would seem, was not going to happen. Suddenly the boy dropped the Elephant.

"I don't want this toy! He can't do anything!" the boy shouted. "I want something that jiggles and joggles and does things! Oh, I want this one!" and, as true as I'm telling you, that boy caught up the Calico Clown.

"Well, I guess this is the last of me!" thought the Calico Clown. "I will not last very long in the hands of this rude chap."

The boy had grabbed up the Calico Clown and had thrown the Elephant down so hard that the Celluloid Doll was knocked over.

"Be careful, little boy, if you please," gently said the girl clerk.

"Oh, I've got to have this Clown!" went on the rude boy. "I don't care for other toys. Does this fellow do anything?" he asked of the clerk, while his mother looked on, hardly knowing what to say. Archibald had just been to the dentist's to have a tooth pulled, so perhaps we should forgive him for being a little rough.

"The Clown plays his cymbals when you touch him here," and the clerk pointed to the spring hidden in the chest of the gay fellow, under his speckled, striped and spotted calico jacket.

"Oh, I'll touch him all right! I'll punch him!" cried the boy, and he jabbed the Calico Clown so hard in the chest that the cymbals rattled together like marbles in a boy's pocket.

"He's dandy! I want him!" cried the boy. "What else does he do?" he asked.

"He moves his arms and legs when you pull these strings," was the answer, and the clerk showed the boy how to do it.

"Oh, he's a jolly toy!" cried Archibald. "I'll have some fun with him when I show him to the other fellows. Hi! Look at him jig!" and he pulled the strings so fast that it seemed as if the poor Clown would turn somersaults.

"I can see what will happen to me," thought the Clown. "I shall come to pieces in about a week, and be thrown in the ash can. Why can't he be nice and quiet?"

But Archibald was not that kind of boy. He seemed to want to make a noise or do something all the while. Most of his toys at home were broken, and that is why his mother had to promise to get him another before he would let her take him to the dentist's to have an aching tooth pulled.

"I want this Clown!" cried Archibald, making the cymbals bang together again and again.

"Very well, you may have it," his mother replied.

"I'll wrap it up for you," said the clerk, and the poor Clown was quickly smothered in a wrapping of paper around which a string was tied.

"Here is your toy, Archibald," said his mother, when the plaything came back ready to be taken out of the store. The mother had taken it from the clerk, and now she handed it to her little boy.

And so he carried the Calico Clown away, without giving the poor, jolly fellow a chance to say good-bye to the Elephant, the Camel or the Celluloid Doll.

"Now our good time for to-night is spoiled," sadly thought the Elephant. "Our jolly comrade is gone!"

All the way home in the automobile Archibald kept punching the red and yellow Clown in the chest and banging the cymbals together until the boy's mother said:

"Oh, Archibald, please be quiet! My head aches!"

"All right, I'll make my Clown jiggle!" said the boy, who really loved his mother, though sometimes he was rude.

Then he pulled the strings until the poor Clown thought his arms and legs would come off, so fast were they jerked about.

When Archibald reached home with his new toy he ran out into the street to find some of his playmates. He saw a boy named Pete and another named Sam.

"Look what I've got!" cried Archibald.

"A Jumping Jack!" exclaimed Sam.

"It's a Calico Clown, and he can do everything," said Archibald. "He's like one in a circus, and he can do funny tricks. He can jiggle his arms and legs and play the cymbals. I'll show you!"

He worked the Clown so fast that the red and yellow chap grew dizzy again.

"That's fine!" said Sam. "I wish I had a Clown like that."

"Can he do the giant's swing?" asked Pete.

"What's the giant's swing?" Archibald wanted to know.

"It's something the men do in a circus," was the answer. "Here, I have some string in my pocket. We'll make a trapeze in your back yard and we'll have the Calico Clown do the giant's swing."

"Oh, that'll be fun!" cried Archibald.

"Yes, it may be fun for you," thought the Calico Clown, "but what about me? What is the giant's swing, anyhow? Oh, I wish I were back on the toy counter!"




Chapter II

A Broken Leg


Sam and Pete hurried with Archibald to his back yard. Archibald carried the red and yellow Calico Clown in his hands. Now and then the boy would punch the gay fellow in the chest, making the cymbals clang together with a bang. Again Archibald would pull the strings, causing the Calico Clown to jiggle his arms and legs.

"You're a nice toy, all right," said Archibald. "I like my Clown!"

"But wait until I make him do the giant's swing!" exclaimed Pete. "That will be worth seeing!"

When the boys reached a tree in Archibald's yard, Pete found a piece of broken broom handle for the bar of the trapeze. From his pocket he took some strong pieces of string. With these the broomstick was tied to the limb of a tree, so that it hung down and swung to and fro like a swing.

"Now well put the Clown on," Pete called to Archibald, when the trapeze was finished.

"How are you going to make him stay on?" asked Sam.

"Oh, I can tie him on with another piece of string," Pete answered.

"That's easy!" yelled Archibald.

It did not take Pete long to tie the Calico Clown on the swinging trapeze. It was quite high from the ground, and as the little toy man looked down and saw how far below him the green grass was, his knees seemed to shake and his cymbals to tremble.

"Oh, if I should fall now I would be broken to pieces!" said the Calico Clown to himself, for of course he dared not speak aloud now, and he dared not move by himself. "This is much higher than when I climbed the string in the toy store and caught fire at the gas jet. This is much higher than I ever was up before," sighed the Clown.

"Is he ready to do the giant's swing now?" asked Sam.

"In a minute," answered Pete.

Once the Clown was tied on, Pete began to swing the trapeze to and fro. Farther and farther swung the Calico Clown, and, as he moved to and fro, his cymbals clanged together. His arms and legs also jiggled and jumped, as they had done when Archibald pulled the strings.

Pete stood behind the trapeze and gave it little pushes with his hands every now and then. This made it swing farther and farther.

"Oh, it almost turned all the way over!" suddenly cried Archibald.

"That's what I want it to do," said Pete. "When the trapeze goes all the way over and around and around, that's the giant's swing I was telling you about. Watch!"

Archibald and Sam watched, and in another moment the trapeze swung up and over so hard that it turned around and around in a regular circle.

"Hurray! There she goes!" cried Pete.

"Oh, look!" exclaimed Sam.

"Say, that's great!" yelled Archibald. "I didn't know my Calico Clown could do that!"

As for the Calico Clown himself, he did not know it either, and he felt very bad that he was made to do the giant's swing.

"Oh, how dizzy it makes me feel!" he said to himself. "I know I'm going to fall!"

He could feel the strings that tied him to the broomstick bar beginning to loosen. The Calico Clown shut his eyes, thinking that if he did not see the green grass whirling around beneath him he would not feel so dizzy. Around and around he went in the giant's swing.

And then, all of a sudden, something broke. It was the string holding the Calico Clown to the broomstick. And when the string broke off flew the Clown!

He flew off just when the trapeze was at the highest point, and away through the air sailed the red and yellow toy, as if he had been shot from a cannon.

"Oh, look at that!" cried Archibald, "Now you've gone and done it, Pete!"

"He busted loose!" shouted Sam.

"If he falls and breaks, you've got to get me another," cried Archibald.

"I'm going to fall, all right," thought the poor Clown to himself, "and I shouldn't be a bit surprised if I broke into bits!"

One can not go sailing through the air forever, even if one is a Calico Clown. And, after being flung off the trapeze and shooting along high above the green grass, the Calico Clown felt himself falling down.

Once more he shut his eyes, as he could do this without the boys seeing him. His arms and legs jiggled and joggled about, and his cymbals clanged with a tinkling sound.

"Oh, dear!" sighed the Calico Clown.

There came a soft, dull thud on the grass. That was the Calico Clown falling down. He felt a sudden, sharp pain go through him, and then he seemed to faint away.

For a time the Calico Clown knew nothing of what happened. Archibald, Sam and Pete ran over to where the toy had fallen. Archibald was the first to pick it up. The cymbals were still fast to the Clown's hands, and so were the jiggling strings attached to his arms and legs. But something was wrong.

"Oh, one of his legs is broken!" cried Archibald. "My Calico Clown is spoiled! Pete, you've broken one of his legs!"

And that was what had happened. In his fall from the trapeze the poor red and yellow toy had cracked one of his wooden legs. It was the one on which he wore the red half of his trousers.

"I -- I didn't mean to do that," said Pete.

"Well, you did it; and now you have to get me another toy!" exclaimed Archibald. "If you don't I'll tell my mother on you."

"Oh, Arch!" exclaimed Sam.

"Oh, all right. I'll get you another," said Pete quickly. "You can come over to my house now, and I'll give you anything I have in place of your Calico Clown. I didn't think his leg would break so easily."

The three boys, with Archibald carrying the poor, broken-legged Clown, hurried out of the yard. As they were going to Pete's house they met a boy named Sidney, who was a brother of Herbert and Madeline. Madeline owned the Candy Rabbit, and Herbert had a Monkey on a Stick -- both of them toys that had once lived in the same store with the Calico Clown.

"What have you?" asked Sidney of Archibald.

"A Calico Clown," was the answer. "He was new a little while ago, but Pete put him on a trapeze and made him do the giant's swing and now he's done for -- he's got a broken leg."

"What are you going to do with him?" asked Sidney.

"He's going to make me give him one of my toys in place of the Clown," answered Pete. "Of course it was my fault he broke -- I guess I didn't tie him on tight enough. And I'm willing to give Archie another toy for him, but -- "

Sidney suddenly thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out a gaily painted top that hummed and made music when you spun it.

"I'll trade you that for your Calico Clown," said Sidney to Archibald.

"But the Clown has a broken leg," explained Pete.

"I don't care. Maybe I can mend it," Sidney answered. "Once I fixed a Jumping Jack that had lost his head."

"Well, if you did that, you can fix a Clown that has only a broken leg," said Sam. "Go on and trade with him, Archie."

"All right, I will," decided Archibald. He held out the broken Clown and in trade took the musical top.

"Now I don't have to give you any of my toys, do I, Archie?" asked Pete.

"Nope," Archibald answered. "I'd rather have this top than a broken Calico Clown."

While he was being traded for the top the Calico Clown came out of his faint. His broken leg did not hurt so much now. He felt more like himself.

"Oh, ho!" he thought. "I am to have a new master, it seems. Well, I hope it will not be one who makes me do the giant's swing. Once is enough for that!"

Archibald went off with Sam and Pete to try the musical top. Sidney carried the Calico Clown toward the house where Madeline and Herbert lived.

"I'll fix you as good as new," said Sidney, looking at the dangling, broken leg.

And, as Sidney walked along, all of a sudden he heard his sister calling.

"Oh, quick, somebody! Somebody come quick! He's fallen into the water!"




Chapter III

The Clown's Dance


Sidney stuffed the Calico Clown into his pocket and ran as fast as he could toward his sister. He saw her standing near a little fountain in the side yard of their home.

"What's the matter, Madeline?" asked Sidney, making sure the Calico Clown was not falling out of his pocket as he ran along.

"Oh, he's in the water!" said the little girl.

"Who is?" her brother wanted to know. "Who's in?"

"My Candy Rabbit. I set him on the edge of the fountain so he could watch the birds having a bath, and he fell right in."

Sidney looked toward the fountain. He saw nothing of the Candy Rabbit.

"You can't see him 'cause he's over the edge, down inside," went on Madeline. "I can't reach and get him, or I'd fish him out myself. And if he stays there very long he'll melt, as he almost did once when he fell into the bathtub. Oh, please get him out for me."

"I will!" promised Sidney.

"Oh, is it possible I am to see my dear old friend, the Candy Rabbit, again?" thought the Calico Clown, who, though stuffed into Sidney's pocket, had heard all that was said. The toys could hear and understand talk at all times, except when they were asleep. The broken leg of the gay red and yellow chap did not hurt him very much just now. "I shall certainly be glad to see the Candy Rabbit again," the Clown thought. "And Sidney had better hurry and get him out of the water, or he surely will melt, and that would be dreadful."

The fountain in the yard of the house where Herbert, Madeline and Sidney lived was rather a high one. The little girl could just reach up to the rim of the basin to set her Rabbit there, but, once he had toppled over and was down inside, she could neither see nor reach him.

"You'll have to stand on something or you can't get him," Madeline said to Sidney. "Shall I get you a box?"

"No, I'll stand on my tiptoes," he answered. And he did, thus making himself tall enough to reach over into the water and fish out the Candy Rabbit.

Out that sweet fellow came, dripping wet, but not much harmed.

"Oh, he didn't melt, did he?" asked Madeline. "I'm so glad!"

"He hasn't melted yet," answered Sidney, as he handed the Easter toy to his sister. "But you'd better put him in the sun to dry, or he may crumble away."

"I will," Madeline promised.

As Sidney turned to walk away, the Calico Clown fell out of his pocket.

"What's that? Where'd you get him?" cried Madeline. At the same time the Candy Rabbit saw the gay red and yellow chap from the toy store.

"Oh, there's my dear old Clown friend!" thought the Rabbit, all wet as he was. "How in the wide world did he get here?"

But of course he could not ask, any more than the Calico Clown could answer.

And when the Clown, lying on the grass where he had fallen from Sidney's pocket, saw the Candy Rabbit, the Clown said to himself:

"Yes, there he is! The same one I knew before. Oh, if we could only get together by ourselves and talk! How much we could say!"

Sidney picked the Calico Clown up off the grass.

"Where did you get him?" asked Madeline again. "He's awfully cute. I saw one like that in the store where Aunt Emma got my Candy Rabbit."

"Maybe this is the same one," Sidney answered. "I traded off my musical top to Archibald for the Clown. His leg is broken."

"Whose -- Archibald's?" asked Madeline, in surprise.

"No, the Clown's," answered Sidney, with a laugh. "I'm going to fix it. Course a Calico Clown is worth more than a musical top, for the Clown is new and my top was old. But a Clown with a broken leg isn't worth so much."

"Is it worth anything?" asked Madeline. "I mean can you fix him?"

"Oh, yes," her brother answered. "He can still bang his cymbals, and he can jiggle both his arms and the leg that isn't broken."

Sidney punched the Clown in the chest, and the red and yellow fellow clapped his hands together and made the cymbals tinkle. Then Sidney pulled the strings and the two arms of the Clown went up and down, and one leg kicked out as nicely as you please. But the other leg did not move.

"That's the leg that's broken," Sidney explained. "He got broken when Pete made him do the giant's swing."

"He looks as though he was trying to dance on one leg!" laughed Madeline. "He's awfully cute, but he's funny!"

"I'll soon fix him, and he'll be as good as ever," declared her brother. "You'd better go and put your Rabbit in the sun to dry."

So Madeline did this, and very glad the sweet chap was to feel the warm sun on his back, for he had been made quite drippy and sticky by having fallen into the fountain.

Sidney, as I have told you, was a boy who could mend things. Once he had fixed Herbert's toy boat that was broken, and, another time, he had glued a head back on Madeline's Celluloid Doll.

"And I think I can glue my Clown's broken leg," thought Sidney, as he went toward the kitchen. There, he remembered, the cook always kept a tube of sticky glue.

"What are you going to mend now?" asked the cook.

"A broken leg," Sidney answered.

"Oh, you can't mend a broken leg with glue!" cried the cook. "You had much better call in the doctor. Whose leg is it?"

"I'm going to be the toy doctor," the little boy went on. "It's the wooden leg of a Calico Clown I'm going to mend."

"Oh, that's different," said the cook. "Well, here's the glue."

She handed Sidney the tube. He took it and his Clown over to a table. Pushing up the red trouser Sidney saw where the Clown's leg was broken. The wood was cracked and splintered, but the two pieces were there.

"I'll just glue them together," said the boy. And this he did. Then, as he knew that glue must set, or get hard, he put his Calico Clown away on a shelf in a closet, where the toy chap saw something that made him wonder.

At first, in the darkness, the Clown could not make out what or who it was on the shelf in the closet with him. Then, as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom, he noticed that it was a Cat.

"Oh, are you a toy, too?" asked the Calico Clown politely, for he wanted company and some one to talk to.

"No, I am not exactly a toy," answered the Cat.

"You look like one," the Clown said. "There was one just like you in our store, only that cat's head wobbled."

"Well, my head doesn't wobble -- it comes off," said the Cat.

"Your head comes off!" cried the Clown in great surprise. "I should think that would hurt!"

"No, it's made to do that," the Cat explained. "You see I'm a match safe, and I also have a place inside me where burned matches may be put. To put them in me you have to lift off my head. It doesn't hurt at all -- I'm used to it."

"Oh, that's different," said the Calico Clown. "Well, I am very glad to meet you. Do you know the Candy Rabbit?"

The Cat said she did, and very well, too.

"He sleeps here on the closet shelf with me every night," she added. "You'll see him, pretty soon!"

"I shall be very glad to," remarked the Clown. "Excuse me for not sitting up as I talk," he said, for Sidney had laid him down flat on his back. "The truth of the matter," went on the Clown, "is that my leg was broken a while ago, and the boy just glued it together."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" mewed the Match-Safe Cat.

"I'm not -- I'm glad," said the Clown. "If it wasn't glued I'd be a slimpsy lopsy sort of chap."

"Oh, I didn't mean I was sorry your leg was GLUED, I meant that I was sorry it was BROKEN," went on the Cat. "Now let's tell each other our adventures."

So they did, talking until late in the evening when, suddenly, the closet door was opened by Madeline. Of course, then the Cat and the Calico Clown had to be very still and quiet.

"There, I guess you'll be best in the closet for the rest of the night," said Madeline to her Candy Rabbit Easter toy. "You'll be all dry in the morning, I hope," and she thrust the Rabbit back on the shelf and shut the door.

"Oh, my dear Calico Clown friend!" cried the Candy Rabbit, as soon as it was safe for the toys to speak, "how glad I am to see you again."

"And I am glad to see you," said the Clown. "I rather like it here with the Cat."

"But why are you lying flat on your back?" asked the Candy Rabbit. "You used to be such a lively, jolly fellow. Come, get up and give us one of your old-time jigs or dances."

"I'm very sorry, but I can't," answered the Clown. Then he told about his glued, broken leg, and how he would have to lie very stiff and straight and keep quiet.

"But maybe, toward morning, I'll be well again, and then I can dance for you," he promised.

"I hope so," mewed the Cat. "I have never seen a Calico Clown do a dance."

"You should see him -- he is quite wonderful," whispered the Candy Rabbit behind his paw.

"Well, if I can't dance for you, I can ask a riddle," said the Clown, after a bit. "What makes more noise than a pig under -- "

"Oh, PLEASE don't start that over again," begged the Candy Rabbit. "You used to ask it in the store, and none of us could think of the answer. Don't tell riddles! Let's just talk!"

So the toys talked together and told one another their different adventures. The night passed. Madeline, Herbert and Sidney slept, and Sidney dreamed of the fun he would have with his Calico Clown when the broken leg was firmly glued together again.

And as the night passed the glue dried and set, and the Clown, feeling his leg growing better, grew happier.

"I say!" he called out just before morning to the Rabbit and the Cat. "Are you asleep?"

"I was, but I am awake now," the sugar Bunny answered.

"And I am awake too," added the Cat.

"Then I will dance for you," went on the Clown. "My leg is better."

He stood up and he cut such funny antics by clapping his cymbals together, standing first on one leg and then on the other, jiggling his hands and feet, that the Cat went into mews of laughter and the Rabbit chuckled until his pink nose seemed to wrinkle all up like an accordion.




Chapter IV

Up In A Tree


Faster and faster danced the Calico Clown. No one needed to pull his strings now, for he could dance by himself, no eyes of children or grown folk being in the closet to watch him.

Up and down, first to this side and then to the other, now on his left foot and now on his right, tapping his cymbals softly together, and wagging his head, the Calico Clown amused the Match-Safe Cat and the sugar Bunny in the closet.

"Oh, don't dance any more! Please stop!" begged the Candy Rabbit, holding one paw to his side.

"Don't you like it?" asked the Calico Clown, rather surprised.

"Oh, yes!" was the answer. "But your dance is so funny that it makes me laugh so hard that my ears ache! Do please stop!"

"Yes, please do," begged the Cat. "If you don't, I'm afraid I'll laugh so hard my head may come off and roll to the floor."

"Oh, I wouldn't want THAT to happen!" exclaimed the Clown, as he brought his queer, jerky dance to an end. "If you'd rather, I could tell a riddle."

"Not the one about what makes more noise than a pig under a gate!" exclaimed the Candy Rabbit. "Don't ask that one!"

"Well, it's the only one I know," said the Clown. "I'll try to think of another. But, anyhow, I'll stop my dancing. However, I'm glad for one reason that I did it. It shows that my broken leg is almost as good as the other. A bit stiff, perhaps, but almost as good."

"Yes, you danced as well as I ever saw you jig back in the toy store," said the Rabbit. "You have made the night pass very pleasantly for us."

"You have indeed," added the Cat. "We appreciate your dancing and your fun very much."

"Thank you, both," replied the Calico Clown. "It is a pleasure to do things for fellows such as you."

Then they rested quietly.

A little later Sidney opened the door of the closet to see if his Calico Clown was all right. There lay the yellow and red chap on his back, with one leg stuck straight up in the air, as if he had just kicked a football and then had fallen down.

"Why! Why!" exclaimed Sidney in surprise. "I didn't leave my Clown like THAT!"

"What has happened to him?" asked Madeline, who came to see if her Candy Rabbit was dry.

"He has one leg stuck up in the air," went on her brother. "I left him lying flat on his back, so the broken leg I mended would get good and hard and stiff again. Now look at him!"

"It IS funny," agreed Madeline. "Didn't you move him?"

"I didn't touch him, and I don't believe anybody has come to this closet since I put him here, except you. Wouldn't it be funny, Madeline, if the Clown got up by himself to see if he could walk on his glued leg?"

"Yes, it would be very funny," agreed the little girl. "But maybe my Rabbit helped him, or this Match-Safe Cat. Maybe they moved the Clown!"

"How could they?" Sidney wanted to know.

"They couldn't, unless they came to life," went on Madeline in a whisper. "And sometimes," she went on, looking around to make sure no one else heard her, "sometimes I think that our toys CAN do things by themselves when we can't see them."

"Oh, ho! Course they can't do anything!" laughed Sidney.

But if he could have seen the Calico Clown dancing on the closet shelf, and if he could have heard the Cat and the Candy Rabbit laughing until one's head nearly came off and the other had pains in his ears, then Sidney would have thought differently, wouldn't he?

"Well, anyhow, I'm going to take my Calico Clown out and see how he jumps around this morning," said Sidney, after a while.

Sidney found that the Calico Clown was almost as good an acrobat, or jumper, as ever. When punched in the chest, the Clown would bang his cymbals together. And when the strings were pulled, out shot the arms and legs like those of a Jumping Jack, only in different fashion.

The red and yellow trousers of the Clown had not been soiled by his giant's swing accident, and Sidney had been careful not to get any spots of glue on his toy when he mended him.

"The only thing wrong is that the broken leg is a little stiffer than the other," Sidney said, as he made his Clown do all sorts of funny tricks. "I suppose that leg is a little shorter, or maybe the glue made it stiff. But he is just what I want, and I'd rather have him than the musical top I traded for him. Maybe Herbert and I can get up a little circus, as Herbert once had a show with his Monkey on a Stick. A clown belongs in a circus, and so do monkeys. Maybe we'll have one."

The Calico Clown, who heard Sidney say this, thought it would be very jolly to be in a circus.

Sidney certainly liked the Calico Clown. He made him do many funny tricks for the boys and girls -- Dick, Dorothy, Mirabell, Arnold, and for Madeline and Herbert, who were Sidney's brother and sister.

"With my Monkey on a Stick and your Calico Clown we surely can have a fine circus some day," said Herbert, as he and Sidney were playing out on the porch one warm, summer day.

The Monkey and Clown had been glad to see each other when they met again after having been separated at the store. Each one had different adventures to tell.

All of a sudden, as Herbert and Sidney, with their Monkey and Clown toys, were making each other laugh by the funny antics of the two playthings, a voice called:

"Boys, do you want some bread and jam?"

"Oh, I should say we did!" cried Herbert.

"We're coming," answered Sidney, for it was the jolly, good-natured cook who had called to them from her kitchen where she had just made some fresh raspberry jam.

Leaving the Monkey and the Clown on the porch, the boys ran around to the side door for their jam and bread.

"Now we have a chance to talk," said the Monkey to the Clown.

"Yes, but it will not be for very long," was the answer. "Those boys will soon be back here. They'll not eat forever. I was just wondering -- "

"What?" asked the Monkey, for the Calico Clown suddenly stopped speaking and looked down the street. "What were you wondering?"

"Well, just NOW I am wondering if that is your brother," went on the Clown, pointing toward the gate with one hand on which was fastened a clanging cymbal. "Look, here comes a chap who looks just like you, except that he has no stick, and his cap is blue, while yours is red. And hark! I hear music!"

"Oh, it's a hand organ, and that's a real, live monkey you see!" exclaimed the Monkey on a Stick. "It is true he looks like me, but we are no relation. He is a live monkey and I am a toy."

"Here he comes now!" cried the Calico Clown, and, as he spoke, the hand-organ man, making music, came along, and the live monkey ran into the yard and up on the steps. And then a dreadful thing happened!

For the live monkey quickly caught up the Calico Clown, and, holding the red and yellow chap in his hands, the long-tailed creature climbed up into a tree. Yes, indeed, as true as I'm telling you, the live monkey carried the Calico Clown up into a tree!




Chapter V

Taken Down Town


The Calico Clown was so surprised at the quick action of the monkey in catching him by one leg and carrying him up into the tree, that, for a moment or two, the toy said nothing. But as the hand-organ monkey climbed higher and higher the Clown finally cried:

"Here! Hold on if you please! What are you going to do?"

"Oh, just have some fun!" answered the monkey in a laughing voice. You see, he could understand and speak toy talk, just as the Calico Clown knew how to talk and understand animal language.

"Well, it may be fun for you," went on the Clown, "but I don't like it! This is no fun for me! Ouch! Look out for my leg!" the Clown suddenly cried, as the monkey banged him against a branch of the tree.

"What about your leg?" asked the monkey, sitting down on a branch and winding his tail around it so he wouldn't fall off. "I don't see anything the matter."

"I mean look out and don't hurt my broken leg," went on the Clown. "Sidney, the little boy who owns me, glued it, but if you bang it too hard it may break all over again and then I'll be in a mighty bad fix."

"Oh, excuse me. I'll be careful," said the monkey.

"Well, I wish you'd take me down out of this tree," begged the Calico Clown. "I don't see why you brought me up here, anyhow."

"Oh, I just grabbed hold of you and brought you up here for fun," said the monkey. "I felt like playing. And I had to do it quickly, or my master would have stopped me. Every time I grab up anything he doesn't want me to take, I have to climb a tree. He can't chase me up there, though he'd like to lots of times, I guess."

"I thought hand-organ monkeys had collars around their necks, and a long rope fast to that which their masters held," said the Clown.

"Well, I had that, too, but I took the rope off a little while ago, so I could run loose," explained the live monkey. "I want to have some fun. Can you do anything to amuse me?" and he looked at the cymbals on the Calico Clown's hands and at the strings which were fast to his legs and arms.

"I can ask you a riddle about what makes more noise than a pig under a gate," said the Clown. "Shall I?"

"Please don't do that," begged the monkey. "I never was any good at guessing riddles. Can't you do anything else?"

"Yes, a few things," the Clown said. Then he banged his cymbals together and began to jiggle his arms and legs in such a funny way that the monkey who was holding him laughed and laughed and laughed.

"Oh, you are too funny for anything!" cried the monkey. "I'm glad I picked you up. Oh, excuse me while I laugh a little harder!"

The monkey set the Clown down astraddle the limb of a tree near the trunk, and quite a distance up from the ground. Then the monkey laughed so hard that, if he had not been holding on by his tail, he surely would have fallen. For the Clown kept on doing his funny antics and tricks, and the monkey kept on laughing until he had to hold his sides with feet and hands, they ached so.

"Oh, I'm so glad I met you!" said the monkey, when he had a chance between his fits of laughter. "I hope my master comes through this street every day with his hand organ. I'll be looking for you."

"And I'll be looking for you -- to keep out of your way, if I can," thought the Clown, though he did not say it out loud.

The monkey finally grew a little quiet, and he was just going to ask the Clown to do some more jiggling when, all at once, the music of the hand organ stopped, and the Italian man cried:

"Ah, Jacko! I see you! Up-a in de tree. Bad monk! Come down right away to your Tony! Come, Jacko!"

"Oh, goodness me! I've got to go. My fun is over! Now I've got to go to work gathering pennies in my cap!" said the monkey. "Good-bye!" he called to the Calico Clown, and down out of the tree the monkey began to climb, swinging from limb to limb by his tail, as he used to do in the cocoanut groves of the forest where he had once lived.

"Here! Come back and get me! Don't leave me up in a tree like this!" begged the Calico Clown, who had sat down astride the limb after he had done his last funny trick. "Come and get me!"

"Sorry, but I haven't time! My master is calling me! I must go!" answered the monkey, hurrying more than ever. Down the tree he swung.

"Oh take me down! Don't leave me like this!" begged the Clown. But it was of no use. There he was, left all alone, high up in a tree, sitting on a branch.

Of course neither Tony, the music man, nor Sidney nor Herbert had heard this talk between the toy and the animal, for they spoke in a language that only a few can understand. The organ grinder was anxious for his monkey to come back, and he watched him scrambling down the tree. The two boys, who had gone to get bread and jam, came back to the front yard. They saw the organ grinder and his monkey, and, for the moment, they forgot all about their Clown and the Monkey on a Stick. They did not look toward the porch, or they would have noticed that the Clown was gone, though the toy Monkey was still there. The live monkey was dancing toward the boys, holding out his cap for pennies.

And the Calico Clown was up in the tree, not knowing how in the world he was ever going to get down.

"Oh, look at the monkey!" cried Herbert, as he saw the music man's long-tailed animal.

"He's nice," said Sidney. "He's like your Monkey on a Stick, only bigger, Herb. I'm going in and ask mother for a penny."

"So'm I!" said Herbert.

Still thinking that their own toys were safe on the porch, the little boys ran back into the house, where each one got a penny for the hand-organ monkey. And the monkey took off his blue cap to gather the pennies for his master.

"Good boys!" said the Italian with a smile, and he played another tune for them. And then it was time for him to travel on.

"Come along, Jacko!" he called to his monkey, and then he fastened the rope back on his monkey's collar and made him jump up on the organ. Then the two of them went down the street.

"Oh, there he goes!" thought the poor Calico Clown, still up in the tree. "Oh, he's going to leave me here! Oh, what shall I do?"

Well might he ask that. What could he do? How was he going to get down?

Herbert and Sidney, standing at the gate, saw the music man turn around the corner of the street.

"Now we'll go back and play with my Monkey and your Clown," said Herbert. "We'll practice for the circus we're going to have."

"That'll be fun!" laughed Sidney.

But when the two boys went back to the porch -- well, you know, as well as I, what happened. They saw the Monkey on a Stick, but no Clown!

"Why -- why, where is he?" asked Sidney, looking around. "Did you take him, Herb? Did you take my Calico Clown?"

"No, of course not," answered Herbert. "They were both here when we went to get our bread and jam. Oh, Sid! I know what happened!" he suddenly exclaimed.

"What?" asked his brother.

"The hand-organ monkey took your Clown away with him!" went on Herbert.

At first Sidney thought that this might be so, but, after thinking over the matter for a moment, he shook his head and answered:

"No, the live monkey didn't take my Clown. Don't you remember? He came up here with his cap in his hand to get our pennies. Then, when he went away, he was sitting on top of the organ and he had his cap off and so did the music man, and they didn't either of them have my Clown."

"Yes, I guess that's right," Herbert said. "But he's gone."

"We've got to find my Clown," said Sidney. "I want him back, and we can't have a circus without him. We've GOT to find him."

"Yes, we have," agreed Herbert. "Maybe Carlo, the dog, came and carried him away."

"Maybe," said Sidney. They blamed lots of things on poor Carlo, and sometimes he did do tricks. But this was not one of those times. So the two boys began searching for the Calico Clown.

As for that jolly chap himself he was still up in the tree. And he was not so very jolly just then, either. He did not once think of asking his pig riddle.

"I wonder if I can wiggle down?" he asked himself. "There is no one to see me now, and I can move about. I'm going to try to get down."

He wiggled and he woggled, whatever that is, and managed to get one leg over the limb, so both were on the same side. The Clown was just going to try to swing to the next lowest branch, as he had seen the live monkey do, when, all of a sudden, he slipped and fell.

"Oh, dear! Another accident! This is going to be a bad one -- worse than the giant's swing!" he cried.

Down, down, down, he fell. What was going to happen?

Now, just about this time, it chanced that a man was passing under the tree. This man had on a large, loose coat with large pockets on the sides, and he was so used to carrying things in his pockets that each nearly always stood wide open, like a hungry mouth, waiting for some one to fill it.

And, as luck would have it, the man came under the tree just as the Calico Clown slipped and fell. And so, instead of falling to the ground, the Clown fell into one of the wide open side pockets of the man's coat. And the man never knew about it -- at least for a time.

"Oh, my goodness me, what a narrow escape!" exclaimed the Clown as he landed safely in the soft pocket. "This is better than falling on the hard ground. But I wonder what will happen to me now."

And well might he ask that, for the man, not knowing the Clown was in his pocket, hurried on down town to his office.




Chapter VI

In The Office


The Man, into whose pocket the Calico Clown had fallen from the tree, hurried along the street, not knowing a thing of what had happened. He was anxious to get to his office to look after his business, for he was a very busy Man. He kept other folks busy, too -- clerks and office boy and a girl to write letters on the typewriter.

Now, as it happened, the Man was a little late that morning, and when he reached his office he was in such haste that he did not take time to do anything before he sat down in his big chair to look over his mail.

"Please write some letters for me on the typewriter," he said to Miss Jones, who worked the machine.

Miss Jones sat down and became very busy. The Man told her what to write and she banged away on the machine. Every once in a while she would look at the Man when he paused to think of something else to say. And once, as she did this, a queer look came over the face of Miss Jones. Then she smiled and next she burst right out into a loud laugh.

And the funny part of it was that just then the Man was telling her to put in a letter something like this:

"I am very, very sorry to tell you that I can not do as you want me to."

And, just as he said the word "sorry," Miss Jones laughed her very hardest.

"Eh! What's the matter? What is so very funny about my saying I am sorry?" asked the Man. The girl typewriter and the office boy called him "the Boss" behind his back, and they liked him very much, for he was kind and good to them.

"Oh, dear! I MUST laugh!" said Miss Jones.

Miss Jones pointed to something sticking out of his side coat pocket. The Man put his hand there and pulled out -- the Calico Clown!

You should have seen the strange look come over the Man's face. Then he laughed as hard as Miss Jones, and the office boy in the next room, hearing them, laughed also.

"Well, how in the world did that Calico Clown come to be in my pocket?" exclaimed the man. He took the toy out, turned it over and looked at it from all sides. As he did so he happened to punch the Clown in the chest, and of course the Clown banged his cymbals together, as he had been taught to do in the workshop of Santa Claus, where he had been made.

And as the cymbals tinkled and clanged the typewriter girl laughed harder than ever. Then the man happened to pull one of the strings, and the Clown kicked up his legs. The office boy was looking into the room just then, and, seeing this antic of the jolly red and yellow chap, the office boy laughed out loud.

"Dear me! I'm glad every one in this office is so good-natured," thought the Clown to himself. "And I certainly am glad to get out of that Man's pocket. I was nearly smothered there, but of course it was better than being in the tree. I'll do some more tricks for them if the Man pulls more strings."

And the Man did. He pulled the strings fastened to the Clown's arms, and they jiggled and joggled in a merry fashion, so the girl and the office boy laughed harder than ever.

"Well, how in the world did that Clown toy come to be in my pocket? That's what I want to know," said the Man, very much puzzled.

"Maybe one of the children put it in," suggested the girl. She knew the Man had children at home.

"No, I hardly think it was any of MY children," said the Man. "Arnold has no toy like this. He has a Bold Tin Soldier, as he calls him, and some soldier men. And my little girl, Mirabell, has a Lamb on Wheels. But neither of them has a Calico Clown."

"Perhaps some of their playmates called at your house, to have fun with Arnold or Mirabell," said the typewriter girl, "and they may have dropped the Clown into your pocket as your coat hung on the rack."

"Yes, that could have happened," said the Man. "But I remember I put my hand in my pocket as I left the house, to make sure I had some letters I was to mail. The Clown was not in my pocket then. He must have got in after I left my house. And how could that happen, I should like to know! I didn't go in any place. How could it have happened?"

Of course neither the office boy nor the typewriter girl could tell. They had not seen the Calico Clown fall from the tree into the pocket of the Man as he passed underneath. And even the Man himself had not seen this.

"It's very queer," said the father of Mirabell and Arnold. "The only way it could have happened that I can think of is that some children I passed on the street may have tossed the Clown into my pocket. I have very large ones in this coat, and sometimes they stand wide open."

The Calico Clown stayed in the office all that day. It was the first time he had ever been to business, and he rather liked it as a change. Very few toys ever have the chance he had. He sat up on the Man's desk and watched the girl click at the typewriter, and he watched the office boy come in and out. The office boy looked at the Clown, too.

"I'm going to have some fun with him when the Boss goes out to lunch," said the office boy to himself.

Now the Clown felt rather strange in the office. His part in life was to make joy and laughter, and he could not do it sitting up straight and stiff on a desk. He looked around, and he saw, not far from him, a jolly little man, like a dwarf.

"I wish I could speak to him," thought the Clown. "He looks as if he belonged to the toy family."

And you can imagine how surprised the Clown was when, all of a sudden, the Man lifted the head right off the queer-looking little dwarf and dipped his pen down inside him!

"Why, he's an ink well!" thought the Clown. "That's what he is! An ink well! And his head comes off the same as the Porcelain Cat's head lifts off for matches to be put inside her. How very odd! I'd like to talk to that chap."

When the Man went out to lunch, into the office hurried the office boy with a grin on his face.

"What do you want?" asked the typewriter girl. "I want to make that Clown jiggle," was the answer. "I'm going to have some fun with him."

"No, you mustn't!" exclaimed the girl. "The Boss won't like it if you touch him. If you break him -- "

"Aw, I won't break him!" cried the boy. "Let me have him!"

He made a grab for the Calico Clown, and the girl tried to stop the boy. As a result the Clown was knocked off the desk to the floor.

"Oh, dear! I hope my glued leg is not broken!" thought the Clown.




Chapter VII

In The Wash-Basket


"There, now look what you did!" cried the girl.

"I didn't do it! You did!" said the boy. "If you hadn't jiggled it out of my hand when I was taking it down it wouldn't have fallen."

I don't know how long they might have gone on disputing in this fashion if the office boy from next door had not poked his head in and called:

"What's the matter?"

Then he saw the Calico Clown lying on the floor and he added:

"Has Santa Claus been here?" and he laughed.

"It came out of the pocket of the Boss," explained the first office boy. "He put it on his desk. I was going to look at it and pull the strings, 'cause the Boss is out to lunch, but she jiggled my hand and made me drop it. Now it's busted."

"Maybe it isn't," said the second office boy. "I'll see."

He picked the Calico Clown up off the floor, punched him in the chest, and the gay red and yellow chap banged his cymbals together.

"He's all right so far," said the second office boy. "Now we'll pull the strings."

"And there's where trouble may come in," thought the Calico Clown himself, for he heard and saw and felt all that went on. "I'm almost sure my glued leg is broken," said the Clown to himself.

But when the strings were pulled, one after another, and the arms and legs and head of the funny fellow twisted and turned and jerked, the two office boys and the typewriter girl laughed. And the Clown himself was glad, for he felt that he was not broken.

"If the Boss comes in and finds you playing with that Clown you'll catch it," said the girl to the first office boy, after a while.

"I guess I'd better put him back on the desk. I'm going out to get my dinner pretty soon," the boy said.

And a little later, while the girl was in an outer office looking over some papers and while the Man was still at his lunch and while the office boy was out getting something to eat, the Calico Clown was left alone with the Ink-Well Dwarf.

"How do you do?" politely asked the Clown.

"Very well, thank you," answered the Dwarf. "And how are you? Where did you come from? Are you going to work here?"

"I never work!" exclaimed the Clown. "I am only to make jolly fun and laughter."

"Then this is no place for you," went on the Dwarf. "This is an office, and we must all work, though I must admit that those boys seem to get as much fun out of it as any one. They're always skylarking, cutting up, and playing jokes. But I work myself. I hold ink for the Boss."

"I see you do," answered the Clown. "I suppose I don't really belong here, made only for fun, as I am. And I did not want to come here. It was quite accidental. I was brought."

"How!" asked the Ink-Well Dwarf.

"In the pocket of the Man they call the Boss," was the reply. And then the Clown told of how he had fallen out of the tree.

All the remainder of the day the Calico Clown sat on the desk of the Man, wondering what would happen to him. At last he found out.

At the close of the afternoon, when no more business was to be done, the Man arose and closed his desk. He put papers in his different pockets to take home with him, and then he saw the Calico Clown.

"Oh, I mustn't forget you!" he said, speaking out loud as he sometimes did when alone. And he was alone in the office now, for the boy and the typewriter girl had gone. "I'll take you home and ask Arnold or Mirabell to whom you belong," went on the man. "You are some child's toy, I'm sure of that, and one of my children may know where you live."

The Calico Clown knew this to be so, and he knew that either Arnold or Mirabell would at once be able to say that the Clown belonged to Sidney, for they had seen Sidney playing with this toy.

"Back into my pocket you go!" said the Man, and he took the Clown down off the top of the desk. "There are a lot of handkerchiefs in that pocket," the man went on. "They'll make a good, soft bed for you to lie on."

And, surely enough, there was a soft bed of handkerchiefs for the Calico Clown. They were handkerchiefs the man had been carrying in his pocket for some time, and he had forgotten to put them in the wash, as his wife, over and over again, had told him to do.

A little later, with the Calico Clown nestled down in among a pile of handkerchiefs in his pocket, the Man started for home from his office.

"Well, I am certainly doing some traveling this day," thought the Clown, as he reposed in the Man's pocket. "First I am carried up a tree, and then I fall down. Next I am taken to an office, just as if I were in business like the Ink-Well Dwarf, and now I am being taken to the home of Mirabell and Arnold. I wonder what will happen next."

He did not have to wait long to find out.

Down the street walked the Man, and soon he was within sight of his home, where Mirabell and Arnold lived. The two children were out in front, waiting for their father. As soon as they saw him coming they stopped swinging on the gate and cried:

"Here comes Daddy!"

He waved his hand to them.

Down the street they raced to meet him, and taking hold of his hands, one on either side, they led him toward the house.

Just then out of the side gate came Mandy, the jolly fat colored washer-woman. She had a basket full of clothes on a small express wagon.

"Oh, that reminds me!" exclaimed Mirabell's father. "I'll put these handkerchiefs from my pocket in your basket of wash, Mandy! You can take them home with you, wash them clean and iron them and bring them back to me."

"'Deed an' dat's just what I can do!" exclaimed Mandy, smiling broadly. "Put 'em right down yeah in mah basket!"

She turned back the sheet she had spread over the soiled clothes and made a little place down in one corner for the Man to put his handkerchiefs.

There was quite a bundle of them, all wadded together.

"There, you can tell Mother I didn't forget my handkerchiefs this time," said Daddy to his two children. "You saw me put them in the wash, didn't you?"

"Yes, Daddy, we did!" exclaimed Mirabell. "And, oh, you ought to see what happened to my Lamb on Wheels to-day!"

"What happened?" asked Daddy, as he straightened up after having stooped down to thrust the handkerchiefs into the basket.

"Why, Arnold's Bold Tin Soldier got caught in the curly wool on my Lamb's back," explained Mirabell, "and they both fell into the flour barrel!"

"That WAS funny!" laughed Daddy. And he was thinking so much about this and laughing so with Arnold and Mirabell that he never stopped to think of the Calico Clown in among the handkerchiefs he had put in the wash-basket.

But that is what he had done. He had thrust the Clown, with the handkerchiefs, down in Mandy's basket of soiled clothes.

"Oh, my! Oh, dear me! Oh, what is going to happen now?" thought the Calico Clown as he felt himself covered up and taken away. "Oh, if I could only tell Mirabell or Arnold I am here. Oh, this is dreadful."

But he could do nothing! Away he was taken in the wash-basket.




Chapter VIII

Down In A Deep Hole


Daddy hurried into the house with Mirabell and Arnold. The children were eager to show their father into what a funny pickle the Bold Tin Soldier and the Lamb on Wheels had got. Of course, it wasn't exactly a "pickle." I only call it that for fun. It was really the flour barrel into which the two toys had fallen.

"How did it happen?" asked Daddy, as the children brought out their playthings, the Soldier still entangled in the Lamb's wool, and both of them white with flour.

"It happened when we were in the kitchen watching the cook make a cake," explained Mirabell. "I was playing with my Lamb on the floor and I lifted her up to let her see how nice the cake looked."

"But what about your Soldier, Arnold?" asked Daddy.

"Oh, I had set my Soldier Captain on the back of Mirabell's Lamb to give him a ride," explained the little boy.

"I said he could," remarked Mirabell.

"And when she lifted her Lamb up she lifted my Soldier up, too," added Arnold.

"And then!" burst out Mirabell, laughing, "my foot slipped and I let go of my Lamb on Wheels, and she fell into the flour barrel, and so did Arnold's Bold Tin Soldier."

"And they were a sight, all white and covered with flour!" exclaimed the little boy.

But now we must see what happened to the Calico Clown.

At first he was very uncomfortable, stuck down in among the soiled clothes. He feared he would smother; but really he did not need much air, and he soon found he was getting all he needed. The clothes were so soft that they did not crush him, and -- he was not near any of Mirabell's or Arnold's play clothes -- he soon found that they were not badly soiled. So, after getting over his first distaste, he began rather to like the ride in the little express wagon.

"It isn't as smooth as an automobile," thought the Calico Clown, "but it is jolly for a change. The only thing that's worrying me is what is going to happen next; and to know whether or not I shall ever see Sidney again."

And at this time, which was early in the evening, Sidney was still looking everywhere for his Calico Clown. The little boy told his mother and sister how he and Herbert had left the Clown and the Monkey on a Stick on the porch while they went to get bread and jam.

"And when we came back my Monkey was there," said Herbert, "but Sid's Clown was gone."

"It is very strange where your toy has got to," said Mother. She helped Sidney and Herbert look, but the Clown seemed gone forever, and Sidney felt sorry.

"Now we can never have that circus," he said to his brother.

"Oh, maybe he'll be found some day," was the answer. But Sidney sadly shook his head.

Trundling the little express wagon with her basket of clothes along the streets, Mandy finally reached her home where she did the washing and ironing. Her children were waiting for her to come to supper. Liza Ann, the oldest girl, had set the table, and Jim, the next oldest boy, was out on the steps watching for his mother, just as Arnold and Mirabell watched for their daddy.

"Is de table all set, honey?" asked Mandy of Liza Ann. "I hopes it is, 'cause I wants to put dese yeah clothes in to soak after I eats."

"De table is all sot," explained Liza Ann. "An' de meat an' taters is all ready to hotten up."

"Dass good," sighed Mandy, for she was rather tired. "I'll jest leave these yeah clothes till after supper," she went on, putting the basket down in a corner of the room.

"Dear me! I wonder how much longer I shall have to stay here," thought the Calico Clown, tucked away under the sheet and in the pile of handkerchiefs. "Aren't they ever going to let me out? This is worse than being in jail!"

But at last Mandy's supper was finished, and, with Liza Ann and Jim to help her sort the clothes, she filled a tub with water and began. The big sheet was taken off the top of the basket, and then Liza Ann reached in and took up the bundle of handkerchiefs.

"You wants to be keerful o' dem, honey," said her mother. "Dem's de bestest an' most special hankowitches o' Mirabell's pa, an' he's very 'tickler how dey is washed. Better let me have dem, honey."

Mandy reached over to take the handkerchiefs from Liza Ann, and at that moment the little colored girl saw something red and yellow among them.

"Oh, what a funny handkowitch!" she called, and the next moment they all saw the Calico Clown. Mandy took him out of the bundle.

"Oh, Mammy! I want him!" cried Jim.

"Nope! He's mine! I saw him, fustest!" exclaimed Liza Ann, and she reached for the Calico Clown.

"Wait a minute, now, chilluns. Wait a minute!" said Mandy, and she held the toy close to her breast. "Dish yeah don't belongs to us."

"But it come in de basket of wash, Mammy!" said Jim. "Why can't we keep it?"

"'Cause tain't belongin' to us," answered his mother. "I can jest guess how it come in. Mirabell or Arnold, dey done drop it in dere Daddy's pocket, an' he didn't know nothin' about its bein' in. He took it out wif his hankowitches, and put it in mah basket of wash. An' I brung it home. My! My! It suah is funny how it happened!"

She held the Calico Clown up and looked at him.

"Oh, ain't he jest grand!" cried Jim, his eyes shining with delight.

"He suah is a gay fellow all right," said Mandy.

Liza Ann reached up and pulled one of the Clown's strings. Quickly his legs jiggled and he cut some funny capers.

"Oh, my! Dat suah is scrumptious!" laughed the little colored girl.

"Oh, Mammy, jest let us play with him a little while!" begged Jim. "Den I'll take him back to where he belongs."

"All right," agreed Mandy. "But be mighty keerful of him! If dat Calico Clown should get busted Mirabell or Arnold is gwine to feel mighty bad!"

You see she didn't know the Clown belonged to Sidney, and not to either Mirabell or Arnold.

"Come on, we'll have some fun wif him!" said Liza Ann to her brother.

And then, while their mother put the clothes to soak, the children played with the Calico Clown. They were good and gentle children, and the gay toy did not in the least mind clanging his cymbals for them or doing his funny dance. He jiggled and joggled his arms and legs, and went through such funny antics that Jim and Liza Ann laughed again and again.

"Po' li'l honey lambs!" said Mandy with a sigh, as she bent over the wash tub. "I wish dey had some toys of dere own. But den I'se got good clean and soft watah to wash wif, an' dat's a blessin'! Lots of folks hasn't got only hard watah, what won't make no suds."

After the clothes had been put to soak in a tub Mandy dried her hands and sat and looked at Liza Ann and Jim playing with the Calico Clown.

"Come now, you'd better get ready to take him back," she said to Jim, after a while.

"Does you mean to take him back where you got de basket of wash, Mammy?" asked the colored boy.

"Yes," his mother answered. "You know de big green house. You's been dere befo', honey. You go dere now, Jim -- tisn't late yet -- an' you take back dis Clown. Tell Mirabell or Arnold dat it got in de wash wif dere daddy's pocket hankowitches."

"All right," said Jim, with a sigh. "I will. But I suah does wish we could keep him!"

"So do I," sighed Liza Ann in a low voice.

"Well, maybe some day I can make money enough to git you somethin' to play wif," said their mother.

As she had said, it was not late, though the sun had set. It was a warm, summer night, and the moon was shining brightly. Jim knew the way to the house where Mirabell and Arnold lived, for he had often gone there both with his mother and alone, either to get or bring back the clothes.

With the Calico Clown wrapped in a piece of paper, Jim set off on his trip. He hurried along, thinking how nice it would be if he had a toy like that. He was wondering how long it would be before his mother could earn enough money to buy one when, just as he turned into the yard of the house where Arnold and Mirabell lived, Jim stumbled and fell.

The Calico Clown shot out of his hands, and the poor toy, as he flew along, thought to himself:

"Oh, what is happening now!"

The next moment he fell into a deep hole, and only that he grasped the long grass at the edge of it, Jim would have fallen in himself.

"Fo' de lan' sakes!" exclaimed the little colored boy as he picked himself up. "What have done gone an' happened now?"

You see, he felt about it just as the Calico Clown did.




Chapter IX

Back Home


The door of the house in which Arnold and Mirabell lived opened, and their daddy looked out toward the front yard. He had heard the grunt made by Jim when the little colored boy fell down and dropped the Calico Clown into a hole.

"Is anybody there?" asked Mirabell's father.

"I'se heah!" exclaimed Jim, as he slowly arose. "I was bringin' back de Calico Clown, an' I 'mos' fell into a big hole."

"There, Father! I told you that hole ought to be covered up!" exclaimed Mirabell's mother, who had also come to the door.

"Oh, no'm! I didn't fall in!" answered Jim, who heard what was said. "But I almos' did, an' I guess de Clown he fell in complete an' altogether."

"The Clown? What do you mean?" asked Daddy.

"De Clown what got in Mammy's basket of wash," explained the little colored boy.

By this time he had picked himself up, and in the light that streamed out from the open door of the house he saw the hole into which he had so nearly fallen. It was a hole dug by a man who had come to fix the sewer pipes that day, and when night came he had not finished. He left a deep, wide, gaping hole just beside the front walk.

Arnold, Mirabell and the others in the house knew of the hole, and kept away from it. In the daylight, when Mandy had taken away the wash, she had seen it and had not fallen in. But poor Jim, coming after dark, had stumbled in the thick grass and had nearly plumped himself in.

As for the Clown -- well, there he was down in the dirt at the bottom of the hole!

"I wonder what is the matter with me!" thought the gay red and yellow fellow as he came to a stop in some soft dirt. "I seem to be very unlucky!"

"What does Jim mean about a Clown falling in the hole?" asked Arnold curiously.

"And a Clown being in the basket with the wash?" added Mirabell.

"I think I can tell you," their father answered, suddenly remembering what he had put in his pocket to bring home from the office. "But first I will put some boards over the hole the plumber left so no one else will fall in, or nearly fall in."

"You'll get the Clown up, won't you, Daddy?" asked Mirabell. "Maybe it's like the one Sidney had."

"Did Sidney have a Calico Clown with one leg red and the other leg yellow?" asked Daddy.

"Yes, and it did all sorts of funny tricks when you pulled the strings; and he clapped his cymbals when you punched him in the chest," said Arnold.

"Well, then this must be Sidney's Clown. But how it came in my pocket is more than I can guess," said Daddy. "Yes, I'll get the Clown up out of the hole, and then I'll put some boards over it."

A lantern was brought out and flashed down into the hole. There, on the bottom, lay the Calico Clown.

"I'll bring him up!" offered Jim, and quickly he climbed down, caught hold of the gay toy, and climbed out again.

"Thank you, Jim," said Daddy.

"Yes, that's Sidney's Clown," declared Arnold, when he had looked at the red and yellow chap. "But how did he get in the basket of clothes?"

"That's quite a long story," said Daddy. "Come into the house and I'll tell you. Did your mother send you back with the Clown, Jim?" he asked of the little colored boy.

"Yes'm -- I mean yes, sah!" Jim answered. "He was in de basket all done wrapped up in hankowitches."

"Those were the handkerchiefs I took from my pocket and put in Mandy's basket when I met her at the gate," said Mirabell's daddy. "And so you found him, Jim!"

"Yes'm -- I mean yes, sah! Me an' Liza Ann found him. He's a jolly good Clown; but Mammy, she wouldn't let us keep him 'cause as how she said he belonged to Mirabell or Arnold."

"No, he doesn't live here," said Arnold. "Oh, Sid will be so glad to get him back!"

"I suppose you and your sister felt bad about losing the Clown," said Daddy to Jim. "Didn't you?"

"I suahly did!" exclaimed the little colored boy. "So did Liza Ann."

Daddy and Mother talked softly together a moment, and then Mother hurried away to come back with something that made Jim's eyes sparkle and open wide.

For she had a little toy engine, which could be wound up with a key and sent whizzing along. And there was a fine Jumping Jack, which jiggled almost as nicely as did the Calico Clown.

"Here are two toys that Arnold and Mirabell are through with," said Mother, with a smile at Jim. "They are not broken, and they will each go. Perhaps you will like them almost as much as you did the Calico Clown."

"Oh, golly!" cried Jim. "We'll like 'em better! 'Cause dere's two of 'em -- one fo' each of us! Oh, we's eber so much obligedness."

Clasping the two toys in his little brown hands, away Jim raced in the darkness to tell his sister the good news. The Jumping Jack was for her and the toy engine for him. And I may as well tell you now that the two children were made perfectly happy with their toys -- just as happy as they would have been with the Calico Clown.

"Well, thank goodness, I think my adventures are over for the night," thought the Clown, as he was taken into Mirabell's house and the dirt brushed off his red and yellow trousers. "This has been such a day! Oh, SUCH a day!"

And indeed it had been from the time he fell out of the tree into the Man's coat pocket until Jim stumbled with him and he fell into the hole.

"Sidney will be glad to get his Clown back," went on Arnold, when the toy had been set on the table where Daddy took his place to tell the evening story.

"I wish we could take it to him now," said Mirabell.

"Mayn't we?" asked her brother.

"It is getting late," said their mother. "You may take the toy over the first thing in the morning."

"But all the while Sidney will be wondering where his Clown is," objected the little girl.

"I know what we can do!" exclaimed Arnold. "We can telephone and tell him it's here."

"Yes, we can do that," said Daddy.

So, a little later, Sidney was told, over the telephone, that his lost Calico Clown had been found. The story was briefly told of how it had got into the wash-basket after having been found in Daddy's pocket and taken to the office.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Sidney. "I'll be over the first thing in the morning to get him."

"But what I'm wondering about is how the Clown got in my pocket," said Daddy, with a puzzled look on his face. "If you children didn't put it there, who did?" and he looked at Mirabell and Arnold.

And I might say that this was always a mystery, as much so as the Clown's riddle about what made more noise than a pig under a gate.

Daddy told Mirabell and Arnold their usual good-night story. Then the children went to bed and Mother put the Calico Clown on the mantelpiece where he would be safe for the night.

"Whoever sees Sidney first in the morning," said Mother, as she, too, got ready to go to bed, "may be the one to give him his toy."

Then the lights were put out and the house was still and quiet. Ordinarily, when this time came, the Calico Clown, like the other toys, would have been at his liveliest. But now he was so tired, with all his adventures of the day, that he just gave a long sigh and said:

"I am not going to stir! I am just going to lie down here and sleep until morning! Enough has happened for one day."

So he stretched out, with a pen wiper for a cushion, and went to sleep.

Bright and early the next morning Sidney ran over to the house of his cousins.

"Is my Calico Clown here?" he cried.

"Yes," answered Arnold, who was also up. "I'll get him for you."

"Oh, thank you!" said Sidney, when he had his toy once more. And a little later the Calico Clown was back home. But his adventures were not over.




Chapter X

The Toy Party


"Oh, Sidney! aren't you glad you have your Calico Clown back?" cried his sister Madeline when she saw her brother coming toward the house with his toy which he had got at Arnold's home. "I just guess I am!" said the little boy. "I thought I'd never see him again."

"And I'm glad, too," cried Herbert, as he made his Monkey go up and down the Stick. "Now we can get ready for our circus."

"Are you going to have a show?" asked Madeline.

"Yes," answered Sidney. "We have a Clown and a Monkey, and they're always the funniest things in a circus. Don't you remember when we had the show with my Monkey in it?"

"Yes. And that was lots of fun," said Madeline. "But I know something better than a show."

"What?" Sidney asked.

"A party," went on Madeline. "Let's have a Toy Party. That will be better than a show, even a circus show."

Sidney wanted to know how it would be better, and Madeline said:

"'Cause you can have things to eat at a Toy Party, and you can't always have things at a circus, lessen you buy 'em; and maybe not then, 'cepting peanuts and lemonade. Let's have a Toy Party and we can get mother to give us real things to eat."

"Oh, that will be fun!" cried Sidney. "I should say so!" agreed Herbert.

"And we'll ask Dorothy to bring her Sawdust Doll," said Madeline, "Arnold can bring his Bold Tin Soldier, and Mirabell her Lamb on Wheels. And I'll bring my Candy Rabbit."

"You did have a party for him," said Herbert.

"Well, this one can be for Sid's Calico Clown," explained Madeline. "And you can bring your Monkey on a Stick, Herb."

The idea of a Toy Party seemed to please the two boys, and Madeline was glad she had thought of it. She lost no time in getting ready for it.

"I'll go and put a new ribbon on the neck of my Candy Rabbit," she said to her brothers. "You get your Monkey and Clown all nice and clean, and then I'll ask Mother if Cook can make a special cake."

"My Monkey is clean enough," said Herbert. "Dirt doesn't show on him, anyhow. He's colored brown."

"And my Clown's pretty good, even if he did fall in a dirt hole," went on Sidney. "A Clown has to be a little dirty, for he falls all over the circus ring, you know."

"There isn't going to be any circus ring at our Toy Party," laughed Madeline. "Now I'll go and see about the cake."

"And we'll go and tell Dick, Arnold and the girls," said Sidney. "Here, Madeline, please keep my Calico Clown for me until I come back."

Away he ran with his brother, who carried the Monkey on a Stick. The Calico Clown rather hoped the long-tailed chap would be left to keep him company, but it was not to be just yet.

"But perhaps I can talk to the Candy Rabbit while Madeline is getting ready for the party," thought the Clown. "He and I are old friends."

But even this was not to be. Madeline probably did not think that the Clown would have liked to be with some of the other toys for a while. She just kept hold of the gay red and yellow fellow after her brother had handed him to her, and took him with her to the kitchen, where she knew her mother was.

"Oh, Mother! may Cook bake us a cake for the Toy Party?" cried Madeline, and, not thinking what she was doing, she laid the Calico Clown down in a large basket of oranges which the fruit man had just set on the kitchen table.

"A cake for a Toy Party?" repeated Mother. "Yes, I think so. Tell me more about it."

So Madeline told about the Toy Party that was going to be held, and how the Sawdust Doll, the White Rocking Horse, and all the other jolly creatures were to come.

"Course they won't EAT the cake -- only make believe," explained Madeline. "We'll eat the cake -- we children."

"Yes, I supposed you would," said Mother, with a laugh as she looked at Cook.

"And, please, may I help?" asked Madeline.

"Yes," promised Cook, and then, not thinking what she was doing and not seeing the Calico Clown, who had slipped away down in among the oranges, she took the basket of fruit from the table.

"I'll just set the oranges in the ice box," she said. "They need to be well chilled for the orangeade, and it's a hot day."

And that is how it was that the Clown, a little later, found himself beginning to feel freezing cold. He had not minded being laid for a time in with the golden, yellow fruit. It smelled so nice that he shut his eyes and breathed deep of the perfume. He even took a little sleep. And then, the next thing he knew, he felt a breath of cold air after a door was slammed shut.

"Dear me! what can have happened now?" said the Calico Clown, suddenly awakening. "Am I back again at the North Pole workshop of Santa Claus? It feels like it, but it doesn't look like it. For his shop was nice and light, though it was sometimes cold. Here it is dark."

"Well, I simply am freezing!" went on the Clown. "I've got to keep warm, somehow!"

So what did he do but stand up and begin to dance around among the oranges. Up and down, first to this side and then to the other danced the jolly fellow, jerking his arms and swinging his legs. He clapped his hands together to warm them, and his cymbals clanged in the cold, frosty air of the ice box.

After a while the Clown began to feel warmer. But as soon as he stopped jumping around he felt cold again.

"I've got to keep moving, that's all there is to it!" he said to himself, and he had to dance again.

Really he must have looked funny, doing a jig on a basket of oranges, but it was not so funny for the poor Clown himself. He was beginning to get tired, and he was wondering how long he would have to keep up his exercise, when the ice-box door suddenly opened and Cook lifted out a bowl of cream.

"Oh, for the love of trading stamps!" she cried, as she saw the Clown in among the oranges. "How did you ever get there? You must be almost frozen!"

And the poor fellow would have been, if he had not danced.

"I certainly didn't see you there when I put the fruit in the ice box," went on the cook. "Madeline must have put you among the oranges."

And, of course, this was just what had happened. Naturally you may say that the reason the cook saw the Clown the second time, after she opened the ice-box door, was because some of the oranges rolled to one side, allowing the Clown to be seen. But that isn't how it happened at all. The Clown simply climbed out from among the fruit to dance and keep himself warm, and that's how he happened to be seen.

"Oh, dear me! To think I should do a thing like that!" cried Madeline, when the cook handed her the Calico Clown. "Sidney might have thought his toy was lost again if you hadn't found him. Now we'll bake the cake, and I'll put the Clown by the stove to get warm."

After a while everything was ready for the party. The cake was baked and covered with icing. There were also some crullers and some cookies.

Herbert, Sidney and Mirabell put on their party clothes, and with the Monkey on a Stick nicely brushed, the Candy Rabbit with a new ribbon on his neck, and with the last specks of dirt shaken off the red and yellow trousers of the Clown, they all waited for the others to come.

"Here's Dorothy with her Sawdust Doll!" cried Madeline, running to the window.

"Yes, and Arnold is helping Dick carry over the White Rocking Horse," added Sidney. "Oh, what fun we'll have!"

"I hope Arnold brought his Bold Tin Soldier Captain and all the others," said Herbert.

Arnold brought them, and his sister Mirabell came with her Lamb on Wheels.

Then such fun as there was at the Toy Party! I really don't know whether the children or the toys enjoyed it most. But I do know that the children ate the cakes and cookies, which was something the toys could not do.

While Dick, Dorothy and the other boys and girls were in the room, the toys could not speak to one another. But when, in playing some game the lads and lassies went out into the yard, the toys had their chance.

"Oh, I have so many things to tell you!" said the Calico Clown. "I have had so many adventures!"

Then he related how the monkey had taken him up into the tree and how finally he had got back home.

"Quite remarkable," said the Lamb on Wheels. "You certainly have --  Ouch! Oh, dear!" said the Lamb, suddenly switching one of her legs.

"What's the matter?" asked the Bold Tin Soldier. "If anybody is teasing you I'll make him stop!" and he drew his sword and looked very fierce -- as all tin soldiers look.

"It was nothing," said the Lamb on Wheels. "Just a pang of rheumatism. The remains of the cold I caught in one of my wheels the time I made the voyage down the brook on the raft the boys built."

Then the Sawdust Doll told of a little adventure she had had recently, when she was left in the wrong doll carriage by mistake and was taken home to the wrong house.

"Nothing as remarkable as jumping downstairs and scaring the burglars has happened to me," said the White Rocking Horse. "But Dick was riding me in the kitchen the other day and he ran me over an egg."

"Did it hurt you?" asked the Monkey.

"No; but it spoiled the egg," said the Horse, laughing.

"Well, I must say it is very nice of the children to get up a party for us like this," said the Calico Clown. "And I, for one -- "

"Hush! Here they come! We must be very still and quiet!" whispered the Candy Rabbit.

And back into the room trooped the merry children, and they played more games and ate more cake until none was left, and then the party was over.

"Well, I certainly have come to a happy home," thought the Calico Clown, when he was put to bed that night on a closet shelf. "This is just as jolly as being in the store!" And he snuggled up close to the Candy Rabbit and the Monkey on a Stick. Then they all went to sleep.

<eob>

Bunny Brown And His Sister Sue Giving A Show

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

"Look At The Skylight!"


With a joyful laugh, her curls dancing about her head, while her brown eyes sparkled with fun, a little girl danced through the hall and into the dining room where her brother was eating a rather late breakfast of buckwheat cakes and syrup.

"Oh, Bunny, it's doing it! It's come! Oh, won't we have fun!" cried the little girl.

Bunny Brown looked up at his sister Sue, holding a bit of syrup-covered cake on his fork.

"What's come?" he asked. "Has Aunt Lu come to visit us, or did Wango, the monkey, come up on our front steps?"

"No, it isn't Mr. Jed Winkler's monkey and Aunt Lu didn't come, but I wish she had," answered Sue. "But it's come -- a lot of it, and I'm so glad! Hurray!"

Bunny Brown put down his fork and looked more carefully at his sister.

"What are you playing?" he asked, thinking perhaps it was some new game.

"I'm not playing anything!" declared Sue. "I'm so glad it's come! Now we can have some fun! Just look out the window, Bunny Brown!"

"But what has come?" asked the little boy, who was a year older than his sister Sue. He was a bright chap, with merry blue eyes and they opened wide now, trying to see what Sue was so excited about.

"What is it?" asked Bunny Brown once more.

"It's snow!" cried Sue. "It's the first snow, and it's soon going to be Thanksgiving and Christmas and all like that! And we can get out our sleds, and we can go skating and make snow men and -- and -- and --  -- "

But she just had to stop. She was all out of breath, and she didn't seem to have any words left with which to talk to Bunny.

"Oh! Snow!" exclaimed Bunny, and he said; it in such a funny way that Sue laughed.

Just then in came her mother from the kitchen where she had been baking more cakes for her little boy.

"Oh, it's you, is it, Sue?" asked Mrs. Brown. "Do you want some more breakfast?"

"No, thank you, Mother. I had mine. I just came in to tell Bunny it's snowing. And we can have a lot of fun, can't we?"

"Well, you children do manage to have a lot of fun, one way or another," said Mrs. Brown, with a smile.

"Is it snowing, Mother?" asked Bunny, too excited now to want to finish his breakfast.

"Yes, it really is," answered Mrs. Brown. "I was so busy getting enough cakes baked for you that I didn't notice the snow much. But, as Sue says, it is coming down quite fast."

"Hurray!" cried Bunny, even as Sue had done. "Do you think there will be lots of the snow?"

"Well, it looks as though there might be quite a storm for the first snow of the season," replied the mother of Bunny Brown and his sister Sue. "It's a bit early this year, too. It's almost two weeks until Thanksgiving and here it is snowing. I'm afraid we're going to have a hard winter."

"With lots of snow and ice, Mother?" asked Bunny.

"Yes. And with cold weather that isn't good for poor folks."

"Oh, I'm glad!" cried Bunny. "Not about the poor folks, though," he added quickly, as he saw his mother look at him in surprise. "But I'm glad there'll be lots of ice. Sue and I can go skating."

"And there'll be lots of ice for ice-cream next summer," added Sue.

Mrs. Brown laughed. Then, as she saw Bunny racing to the window with Sue, to push aside the curtains and look out at the falling white flakes, she said:

"Come back and finish your breakfast, Bunny. I want to clear off the table."

"I want to see the snow, first," replied the little boy. "Anyhow, I guess I've had enough cakes."

"Oh, and I just brought in some nice, hot, brown ones!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown.

"I'll help eat 'em!" offered Sue, and though she had had her breakfast a little while before, she now ate part of a second one, helping her brother.

It was Saturday, and, as there was no school, Mrs. Brown had allowed both children to sleep a little later than usual. Sue had been up first, and, after eating her breakfast and playing around the house, she had gone to the window to look out and wish that Bunny would get up to play and have fun with her.

Then she had seen the first snow of the season and had run into the dining room to find her brother there eating his late meal.

"May we go out in the snow and play?" asked Bunny, when he had finished the last of the brown cakes and the sweet syrup.

"Yes, if you put on your boots and your warm coats. You don't want to get cold, you know, or you can't go to the play in the Opera House this afternoon."

"Oh, we've got to see that!" cried Bunny. "I 'most forgot; didn't you, Sue?"

"Yes," replied the little girl, "I did. Maybe it will snow so hard that they can't have the show, like once it rained so hard we couldn't play circus in the tent Grandpa put up for us in the lot."

"Yes, it did rain hard," agreed Bunny. "And it's snowing hard," he added, as he squirmed into his coat and again looked out of the window. "Will it snow so hard they can't give the show, Mother?" he asked.

"Oh, I think not," answered Mrs. Brown. "This play isn't going to be in a tent, you know. It's in the Opera House, and they give shows there whether it rains or snows. I think you may both count on going to the show this afternoon."

"Oh, what fun!" cried Bunny.

"Lots of fun!" echoed Sue.

Then out they ran to play amid the swirling, white flakes; and it is hard to say whether they had more fun in the first snow or in thinking about the play they were to see in the Opera House that afternoon.

At any rate Bunny Brown and his sister Sue certainly had fun playing out in the yard of their house and in the street in front. At first there was not snow enough to do more than make slides on the sidewalk, and the little boy and girl did this for a time. They made two long slides, and men and women coming along smiled to see the brother and sister at play. But these same men and women were careful not to step on the slippery slides made by Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, for they did not want to slip and fall.

As for Bunny and Sue, they did not mind whether they fell or not. Half the time they were tumbling down and the other half getting up again. But they managed to do some sliding, too.

"Come on!" cried Bunny, after a bit. "There's enough now to make snowballs!"

"Could we make a snow house, too?" asked his sister.

"No, there isn't enough for that. But we can make snowballs and throw 'em!"

"Don't throw any at me!" begged Sue. "'Cause if you did, an' the snow went down my neck, it would melt and I'd get wet an' then I couldn't go to the show an' you'd be sorry!"

This was rather a long sentence for Sue, and she was a bit out of breath when she had finished.

"No, I won't throw any snowballs at you," promised Bunny.

"Oh, here come Harry Bentley and Charlie Star!" exclaimed Sue.

"I'll throw snowballs at them!" decided Bunny. "Hi!" he called to two of his boy chums. "Let's throw snowballs!"

"We're with you!" answered Charlie.

"I'm not going to play snowball fight," decided Sue. "I see Mary Watson and Sadie West. I'm going to play with them."

So she trotted off to make little snow dolls with her girl friends, while Bunny, with Charlie and Harry, threw soft snowballs at one another. The children were having such fun that it seemed only a few minutes since breakfast when Mrs. Brown called:

"Bunny! Sue! Come in and get washed for lunch. And you have to get dressed if you're going to the play!"

"Oh, we're going, sure!" exclaimed Bunny. "Are you?" he asked Charlie and Harry.

"Yes," they replied, and when Sue ran toward her house with Bunny she told her brother that Sadie and Mary were also going to the play that afternoon in the town Opera House.

"Oh, we'll have a lot of fun!" cried Bunny. "Will it be a funny play?" he asked Uncle Tad, who had promised to take the two children.

"Well, I guess it'll be funny for you two youngsters," was the answer of the old soldier. "But I guess it isn't much of a theatrical company that would come to Bellemere to give a show so near the beginning of winter. But it will be all right for boys and girls."

"It's a show for the benefit of our Red Cross Chapter," said Mrs. Brown. "That's why I asked you to take the children, Uncle Tad. I have to be with the other ladies of the committee, to help take tickets and look after things."

"Oh, I'll look after Bunny and Sue!" exclaimed Uncle Tad. "I'll see that they have a good time!"

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue were so excited because of the first snow storm and because of thinking of the play they were to see, that they could hardly dress. But at last they were ready, and they set off in the family automobile, which Uncle Tad drove. Mrs. Brown went along also, but Mr. Brown had to stay at the office. The office was at the dock where he owned a fish and boat business.

It was still snowing, and the ground was now quite white, when the automobile drew up at the Opera House, which was where all sorts of shows and entertainments were given in Bellemere, the home of the Brown family.

"We can have a lot more fun in the snow to-morrow!" whispered Sue, as she and her brother passed in, Uncle Tad handing the tickets to Mrs. Gordon, who smiled at them. She was one of the committee of ladies who, like Mrs. Brown, were helping with the entertainment. There were to be speeches by some of the men of Bellemere, but what would be more enjoyable to the young folks was the performance of a number of vaudeville actors and actresses, said to come all the way from New York.

"There's a jiggler who holds a cannon ball on his neck," whispered Charlie Star to Bunny, when the Brown children had found their seats, which were near those of some of their friends.

"He means a juggler," said George Watson.

"Yes, that's it -- a juggler," agreed Charlie.

"And there are a little boy and girl who do tricks and sing," added Mary Watson. "I saw their pictures."

"Oh, it'll be lovely!" sighed Sue. "I wish it would begin!"

The boys, girls and grown folks were still coming in and taking their seats. The curtain hid the stage. And how the children did wonder what was going on behind that piece of painted canvas! The musicians were just beginning to "tune up," as Uncle Tad said. The ushers were hurrying to and fro, seating the late-comers. One of the men who worked in the Opera House, sweeping it out, attending to the fires in winter, and sometimes selling tickets, got a long pole to open a skylight ventilator, to let in some fresh air.

Just how it happened no one seemed to know, but suddenly the long pole slipped and there was a crash and tinkle of glass. Nearly every one jumped in his or her seat, and some one cried:

"Look at the skylight! It's going to fall!"

Bunny Brown, his sister Sue, and every one else looked up. True enough, something had gone wrong with the skylight the man had tried to open. It seemed to have slipped from its place in the frame where it was fastened in the roof, and the big window of metal and glass looked as though about to fall on the heads of the audience directly under it.

"Oh, Bunny, let's run!" cried Sue. "It's going to drop right on us!"

And truly it did seem so. Slowly the big skylight was slipping from its fastenings, and several in the audience screamed.



Chapter II

"Let's Give A Show!"


Just when it seemed as if a bad accident would happen and that some one would be hurt by the fall of the roof-window, the man who had been using the long pole thrust it under the edge of the sliding skylight and held it there. Then he called:

"I have it! I can keep it from falling until somebody gets up on the roof and fixes it. Hurry up, though!"

"I'll go up and fix it!" said another usher. "Guess the first snow was too heavy for the skylight! Keep still, everybody!" he added. "There's no danger now!"

The man had to shout to be heard above the screams of the frightened and excited people, but he made his voice carry to all parts of the Opera House, and finally it became more quiet. Then a man stepped from behind the curtain and stood on the front part of the stage. He held up his hand to make the people know he wanted them to be quiet, and when his voice could be heard he said:

"There is no danger now. There was some, but it has passed. The man will hold the skylight in place until it can be fastened. And while he is doing that I wish those who are sitting under it would move quietly out into the aisles. Don't crowd or rush. You children can pretend it is like the fire drill you have at school."

"Oh, we do have fire drill at our school, don't we, Bunny?" cried Sue, in a rather loud voice. Her words carried to all parts of the theater and many laughed. This laugh was just what was needed to make the people forget their fright, and soon the place directly under the loosened skylight was clear. Bunny and Sue, with Uncle Tad and their boy and girl chums, moved out into the aisle, and soon the men began the work of fastening the skylight back in place. And you may be sure they fastened it tight.

While this is being done I will take a few moments to tell my new readers something about the two Brown children. As you may have guessed, there are other volumes which come before this one. The first is called "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue."

Bunny and Sue lived with their father and mother in a pretty house in the town of Bellemere. Bellemere was on the seacoast and also near a small river. Mr. Brown was in the boat and fish business, and he owned a dock, or wharf, on the bay and had his office there. He had many men to help, and also a big boy, who was almost a man. The big boy's name was Bunker Blue, and he was very good to Bunny and Sue. Living in the same house with the Browns was Uncle Tad. He was Mr. Brown's uncle, but Bunny and Sue thought they owned just as much of the dear old soldier as did their father. Besides Uncle Tad, the children had other relations. They had a grandfather and a grandmother, and also an aunt, Miss Lulu Baker, who lived in a big city.

Bunny and Sue Brown had many friends in Bellemere. Besides the few boys and girls I have mentioned there were many others. And there was also Jed Winkler, an old sailor who owned a monkey, and, lately, he had bought a green parrot from an old shipmate of his. Jed Winkler had a sister, a rather cross maiden lady who did not like the monkey very much. And the monkey, whose name was Wango, seemed to know this, for he was always playing tricks on Miss Winkler.

The second volume of the series is called "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue on Grandpa's Farm." There, you can easily imagine, the little boy and girl had lots of fun. During their visit to the farm they got up a circus, and there is a book telling all about it. They had a real tent, which their grandfather got for them, and in it they and some of their friends gave a very funny performance.

When Bunny and Sue went to Aunt Lu's city home they had many wonderful times, and when they went on a vacation to Camp Rest-a-While so many things happened near the beautiful lake that the children never tired talking about them.

It was after the children had spent such a happy time in the camp that they went to the "Big Woods," as Bunny and Sue called them, and, after that, their father and mother took them on an auto tour, when many strange things happened. "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue and Their Shetland Pony" is the name of the book just before the one you are reading now, and after many adventures with the little horse the two children planned for winter fun. Going to the show in the Opera House was part of this fun.

It did not take very long for the man who had gone up to the roof to fix the broken skylight. The children could see him away up above their heads as they sat in the theater, or stood there, for those who had places directly under the skylight would not use the seats until the roof-window was fixed.

"There! It's all right now," said the man on the stage. "There is no more danger. Take your seats and the show will begin."

From all over the Opera House you could have heard delighted "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" from the children. There was a rustling of programs, a swish of skirts, several coughs, and one or two sneezes. Then the fiddles squeaked, there was rumble and boom of the drums, and the orchestra played the Star-Spangled Banner.

Every one stood up until the national air was ended and then the musicians began to play a dance tune which was so lively that the feet of every one, old and young, seemed to be tapping the floor.

Then came a pause, the lights in the Opera House were turned low, and at last the curtain went up. Bunny Brown and his sister Sue held tightly to the arms of their seats, lest they might slip out during the excitement that was to follow. And it was exciting for the children, as you may easily guess.

The first act was the juggler, or the "jiggler," as one of the boys had called him. He placed a pole on his chin, and on top of the pole a glass of water. Then with three balls he did a number of odd tricks.

"And all the while, mind you!" exclaimed Bunny, telling his father about it afterward, "the man held the water, on the pole on his chin and he didn't drop it once."

"Yes, that must have been wonderful," said Daddy Brown. "If he had dropped the pole he'd have broken the glass, wouldn't he?"

"And he would have spilled the water, too!" exclaimed Bunny's sister. "And it was real water!"

"No!" cried Mr. Brown, in fun, making believe he didn't believe this.

"Yes it was, really!" declared Sue, and Bunny nodded his head also.

The juggler did many other tricks, even tossing balls up into the air and letting them fall in a tall silk hat he wore. The hat had no crown to it, but it had a funny little door, or opening, cut in front, and as fast as the juggler would toss the rubber balls into his hat, they would roll out of the little door in front. My, how the children did laugh! But the juggler never even smiled.

The next act was that of an old man who, on the programme, was called an "Impersonator."

"What's that mean?" asked Bunny of Uncle Tad. "Does he do juggles too?"

"No, he dresses up like some persons you may have seen in pictures. He pretends he's General Washington, or the President, or some great soldier. He tries to look as much like these persons as he can, so they call him an impersonator. Watch, and you'll see."

When the "Impersonator" came out on the stage he did not look like any one but himself. He made a few remarks, but Bunny and Sue did not pay much attention. They were more interested in what he was going to do. The man, who wore a black suit, "like the minister's," as Mary Watson whispered to Sue, suddenly stepped over to a little table, on which were two electric lights and a looking glass.

The children could not see exactly what the man did. They noticed that his hands were working very quickly, but he had his back toward them. All at once his black hair seemed to turn white, and in a moment he caught up from a chair a coat of blue and gold; he slipped this on. Then he turned suddenly and faced the audience.

"Oh, it's George Washington!" cried a boy, and the audience laughed. And, to tell the truth, the man on the stage did look a great deal like our first president, as you see him in pictures. The man had put a white wig on over his black hair, and had put on the kind of coat George Washington used to wear.

I wish I had time to tell you all the different persons this actor made up to appear like, but I can mention only a few. From Washington he turned himself into Lincoln, and then into Roosevelt. Then he made up like some of the French and English generals, and afterward he made himself look like General Grant, smoking a cigar.

Every one applauded as the man bowed himself off the stage. There was a thrill of excitement when the next number was announced. A little girl was shown on the stage. She did not seem much older than Sue, but of course she was. She began to sing in a sweet, childish voice, and in the midst of her song a boy dressed in a suit of bright spangles suddenly appeared from the side. Without a word the boy began turning handsprings and somersaults and doing flipflops in front of the girl.

Suddenly she stopped her song, stamped her little foot, and in pretended anger cried:

"What do you mean by coming out here and spoiling my singing act?"

"Why, the man back there," said the boy, pointing behind the scenes, "told me to come out here and amuse the people," and he seemed, to smile right at Bunny Brown and Sue.

"He told you to come out and amuse the people, did he? Well, what does he think I'm doing?" demanded the girl.

"I don't know. I guess he thinks maybe you're making 'em cry!" was the boy acrobat's grinning answer.

"Well, I like that! The idea!" exclaimed the girl. "I'm going right back and tell him I won't sing another song in this show! The idea!" and she hurried off the stage.

"Oh, won't she sing any more?" whispered Sue to Uncle Tad.

"Yes," answered the soldier with a smile. "That's just part of the act -- to make it more interesting."

"Now that she is out of the way I'll have more room to do my flipflops," said the boy acrobat, and he started to do all sorts of tricks. But, just as Uncle Tad had said, the girl was only pretending, for pretty soon she came back again with a prettier dress on, and she danced and sang while the boy did handsprings to the delight of Bunny Brown, his sister Sue, and all the others in the audience.

I haven't room to tell you all that happened at the show that afternoon, for this story is to be about a show Bunny and Sue gave. But I will just say every one liked the entertainment, and when Bunny was coming out, walking behind Sue, he suddenly said:

"I know what we can do!"

"What?" asked the little girl.

"Let's give a show ourselves -- like this!" Bunny pointed toward the stage.

Sue looked at Bunny to make sure he was not joking. Then she answered and said:

"We will! We'll give a show ourselves!"



Chapter III

Talking It Over


One evening two or three days after the performance in the Opera House, where Bunny and Sue had so much enjoyed the impersonator, the juggler, the boy acrobat, and the girl singer, a number of ladies called at the home of Mrs. Brown. As it was early Bunny and Sue had not yet gone to bed so they could hear the talk that went on.

"I think we did very well, Mrs. Brown," said Mrs. West, the mother of Sue's playmate, Sadie. "We cleared nearly two hundred dollars for our Red Cross Chapter from the Opera House show."

"That's splendid!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "I didn't think we would make quite so much. But we could use still more money."

"Yes, if we had more money we could do more good," said Mrs. Bentley. "I don't suppose we could have another performance soon. The people would not come."

Bunny and Sue, who were in another room looking at picture books, glanced at one another. Then they smiled. Bunny slid down off his chair, followed by Sue.

"Shall we tell 'em?" asked Bunny.

"Yes," nodded Sue.

So the two children walked slowly into the room where their mother and the other ladies were talking about the Red Cross Society. Mrs. Brown was just saying something.

"No," she remarked, "I hardly believe we could arrange to give another show right away. It would be too much like --  -- "

"Mother!" interrupted Bunny, speaking in a low voice.

"Yes, Son!" answered Mrs. Brown. "But run away now, dear. Mother is very busy. I'll speak to you in just a minute."

"But we want to talk about the show, Mother," persisted Bunny.

"Oh, but I haven't time," said Mrs. Brown with a smile. "You saw the show, and that's enough. Now run away, like a good boy. And you and Sue must soon get ready for bed."

"But it's about another show, Mother!" insisted Bunny. "We heard what you said, Sue and I did -- and we want to help you get more money."

"Isn't that sweet of them!" exclaimed Mrs. Bentley.

"Well, our Red Cross Chapter certainly needs money," remarked Mrs. Brown, with a sigh; "but I'm afraid you can't help us any, Bunny."

"Oh, yes we can!" said Sue.

"Why, what are you children thinking of?" asked Mrs. Brown, in some surprise. "How can you help us get money for the Red Cross?"

"By a show!" cried Bunny, and he almost shouted the words he was so excited. "That's what we're going to do, Mother -- give a show -- me and Sue -- I mean Sue and I," he added quickly, as he saw his mother look strangely at him, for she had often told him he must learn to speak correctly.

"What do the children mean?" asked Mrs. Newton.

"I'll tell you!" went on Bunny, speaking very fast, for he feared he and Sue would be sent to bed before they had a chance to explain. "We thought of it after we saw the show in the Opera House. We boys and girls can get up a show, and we can charge money to come in. We had a circus once, in a tent, didn't we, Mother?" and Bunny appealed to Mrs. Brown.

"Yes, they once gave a show in a tent at their Grandpa's farm," said Mrs. Brown. "And it was quite good, too, for children. But I'm afraid a show like that, given in town here, wouldn't bring in much money for the Red Cross, my dears," and she smiled at Bunny and Sue.

"Oh, we weren't going to give a show like the circus one!" declared Bunny. "This will be different! We'll have some singing, like the girl did in the Opera House -- I guess Sue can sing. And I can do some somersaults, like those the boy did."

"And maybe we could get Uncle Tad to dress up like General Grant or Washington," added Sue.

"They have it all thought out!" exclaimed Mrs. West, with a smile.

"Oh, but that isn't all!" said Bunny. "There's lots of other things we can do. We told some of the boys and girls about it and they want to be in it. Please, Mother, couldn't Sue and I get up a show?"

"No, my dears, I don't believe you could," Mrs. Brown answered with another smile. "It is very good of you to want to help the Red Cross, but getting up a show is very hard work. I hardly think little boys and girls could do it."

"If ever we big folks get up another show we'll let you children have part in it," promised Mrs. Star.

"Oh, but we want to give a show of our own!" said Bunny. "And I guess we can, too. How much does it cost to buy the Opera House?" he asked.

"Oh, you don't have to buy it to give a show," said Mrs. West. "It can be hired for one or two nights. But when are you going to give your show?" she asked Bunny.

"Maybe 'bout Christmas," he said. "Folks have more money then, and we could get more for your Red Cross. Please, Mother, mayn't we give a show?"

"Oh, well, I'll see about it," said Mrs. Brown, more with the idea of getting Bunny and his sister off to bed than because she really thought they could ever give a show. She had an idea they would forget all about it by morning.

"Oh, goodie!" cried Sue, for when her mother said: "I'll see about it," it generally meant that something would happen. But of course giving a show was different, even though Bunny and Sue had once held a circus. You may read about that in the book of which I have spoken.

"Well, trot along to bed now, my dears," said Mrs. Brown. "We ladies have business to attend to. We'll talk about your show to-morrow."

"It's going to be a fine one," declared Bunny. "I'm going to learn how to do some back somersaults like that boy's on the stage."

"Well, be careful you don't get hurt," begged Mrs. West.

"Cute little dears, aren't they," said Mrs. Bentley, as Bunny and his sister Sue went out of the room.

"I should think they would keep you busy trying to guess what they will do next, Mrs. Brown," remarked Mrs. Star.

"They do," sighed the mother of Bunny Brown and his sister Sue. But she smiled as she sighed, for her little boy and girl never made her any real trouble.

"Do you think they really will give a show?" asked Mrs. Bentley.

"You never can tell," was Mrs. Brown's answer. "We didn't think they'd actually give a circus performance, but they did. However, a show in a real theater is quite different, and I hardly believe Bunny and Sue will go on with the idea."

But Bunny and Sue did -- at least they started talking it over the first thing next day, and when school was over quite a gathering of boys and girls assembled in a room over the Brown garage.

"Now, girls and fellows," said Bunny, as he stood in front of the crowd of his playmates, who were seated on old boxes, broken chairs, and other things stored away in the garage, "we're going to get up a show to make money for the Red Cross."

"Do you mean a make-believe show, and charge five pins to come in?" asked Harry Bentley.

"No, I mean a real show, like in a theater, and charge real money," went on Bunny. "Pins aren't any good for the Red Cross. They get all the pins they want. They need money -- my mother said so. Now we could get up a regular acting play -- like that one we saw at the Opera House. We could have some singing in it, and some jiggling and some of us could do tricks and stand on our heads."

"Going to have any animals in it?" one boy wanted to know.

"Yes, we could," answered Bunny. "They have animals on the stage just like in a circus, only it's different, of course. We could have our dog and cat in it."

"I've got a goat!" cried another boy. "He butts you with his horns, only maybe I could cure him of that."

"We could use Toby, our Shetland pony," added Sue. "He eats sugar out of my hand."

"And we could have my trained white mice," said Charlie Star.

"If you have mice in it I'm not going to play!" exclaimed Sadie West. "I don't like mice at all!"

"Neither do I!" added Jennie Harris.

"Well, we could get Mr. Jed Winkler's parrot, maybe," suggested Bunny.

"And his monkey!" some one added.

"Oh, yes!" cried all the children.

Suddenly the door of the room opened and in burst Tom Milton.

"Say!" he cried, "Mr. Jed Winkler's monkey is loose in Mr. Raymond's hardware store, and you ought to see the place! Come on! Mr. Jed Winkler's monkey is loose again!" and he jumped up and down he was so excited.



Chapter IV

The Climbing Boy


Tom Milton had been invited by Bunny Brown to come to the meeting in the room over the garage and talk about the play which Bunny and his sister wanted to give. But, for some reason or other, Tom had not come with the other children. Many, including Bunny, had wondered what kept Tom away, but now, when Tom rushed in with the news that Mr. Jed Winkler's monkey was loose, none of the children thought of anything but the long-tailed animal with his funny, wrinkled face.

"How'd he get loose?" asked Bunny Brown, as he jumped down off a box on which he had been standing.

"Did he hurt any one?" asked Sue.

"Is he smashing everything in Mr. Raymond's store?" Charlie Star wanted to know.

"I should say so! You ought to see!" cried Tom. "I was coming past on my way here when I heard a lot of yells and saw a big crowd in front of the store. I looked in, and the monkey was banging a frying pan on a coffee grinder and making a big racket. Mr. Raymond was trying to get him down off a high shelf, but Wango wouldn't come. Then I ran on here to tell you about it."

"I'm glad you did," said Bunny Brown.

"We'll have this meeting again after we see the monkey," he said. "The meeting is -- it's -- er -- well, I don't know what it is my mother says when her meetings are stopped, but this meeting about the show we're going to give, is stopped while we go to see Mr. Jed Winkler's monkey."

"Oh, won't it be fun to see him drum with a frying pan!" exclaimed Sue.

"Maybe he won't be doing that when we get there," said Tom Milton. "But I guess he'll be doing something just as good."

"That monkey is always doing something," declared Charlie Star. "How'd he get loose, Tom?"

"Don't know!"

"Maybe Miss Winkler let him loose," suggested Sadie West. "She doesn't like Jed's monkey."

"And I guess she doesn't like his parrot very much, either. It makes a lot more noise than her canary bird," said Mary Watson. "I was in there the other day, and the parrot screeched like anything!"

"Well, come on, we'll go see the monkey!" called Sue.

There was a scramble among the children for hats and coats, for the weather was cold, though there had been no more snow storms since the first one. As Bunny, Sue, and the others passed along the side of the house on their way out of the yard, Mrs. Brown called to them.

"Where are you going, children?" she asked.

"To see Mr. Jed Winkler's monkey," answered Bunny.

"Are you going to have him in your show?" Mrs. Brown wanted to know, for she had not forgotten the circus the children once gave.

"We were talking about it," explained Sue, "when Tom Milton come and told us the monkey was loose."

"And he is in the hardware store," added Bunny. "We're going to see him!" he cried, his eyes shining.

"Well, button up your coats, for it's cold," warned Mrs. Brown. "I guess this will be the end of the show business," she added to Mrs. Watson who had stopped in for a few minutes' talk. "The children will forget all about their play after they see the monkey. And I shall be just as well pleased. Their circus was fun, but it meant a lot of work, and if they give a show, as Bunny and Sue talk of doing, it will mean more work."

"I don't believe they'll do it," answered Mrs. Watson.

But she hardly knew Bunny Brown and his sister Sue.

On to the hardware store hurried the group of children. As soon as they turned the corner of the street leading to Mr. Raymond's place they saw a crowd in front of the store.

"Oh, come on! Hurry!" cried Bunny. "Maybe he'll be all through doing things when we get there! Hurry!"

The boys and girls began to run, and when they reached the store they heard, from inside, a clanging and crashing sound.

"I guess Wango is doing things yet!" cried Sue.

"I guess so," agreed Tom Milton. "Come on, let's go in the side door and we can see better," he proposed.

Tom seemed to know the best way to this "free show," and he led the others. Bunny, his sister, and their boy and girl friends went down a little alley, and thus into the store by a side entrance.

As they stepped into the hardware place there was another crash of pots and pans, and Sue cried:

"Oh, I see him! He's got an egg beater now in one paw!"

"And some pie pans in the other!" exclaimed Bunny.

"Where is he? I don't see him!" said Mary Watson.

"Right up on the shelf by the cans of paint," replied Bunny, pointing. "Say, if he opens any cans of paint and splashes that around won't it be fun!" he laughed.

"Hi there, Bunny Brown!" called Mr. Raymond, the hardware man, when he heard the little boy say this. "Don't be suggesting such things! That monkey might hear you and try it. I don't want my store all splashed up with red and green paint. Come on down now, Wango!" he called, snapping his fingers at the old sailor's queer pet. "Come on down, and I'll give you a cookie."

"I guess he'd rather have a cocoanut," suggested Sue. "My mother has some cocoanut for a cake, and there's a picture of a monkey on the paper, and he's eating cocoanuts."

"But I haven't any cocoanut to offer him," said Mr. Raymond. "I wish Jed Winkler would come and get his old monkey down! Wango would come to him."

"How'd the monkey get in here?" asked Bunny.

"I don't know," confessed Mr. Raymond. "First I knew, I heard the lady I was selling a coffee strainer to exclaim, and I looked up and there was Wango skipping around on the shelves. I guess Jed must have left a window open and the monkey got out, though he doesn't generally skip around outdoors in cold weather. Then he must have come along the street until he got to my place, and, when he saw the door open, in he popped. Jed's house is only a few steps from here. But I wish Jed would come and get his Wango."

"Here he is now!" cried a chorus of children's voices, and, looking toward the front of his store, Mr. Raymond saw the old sailor coming in.

"What's all the trouble here?" asked Mr. Winkler.

"It's your monkey again, Jed," answered Mr. Raymond. "Lucky my place isn't a china store, or you'd have a lot of damages to pay for broken dishes. As it is, Wango can't break any of my pots and pans, though he certainly is mussing them up a lot!"

Well might this be said, for, as the hardware man spoke, the monkey leaped from one shelf to another and, in so doing, knocked down a lot of tin pans which fell to the floor with a clatter and a bang.

"Can't you do something to stop him?" cried Mr. Raymond.

"Well, yes, I suppose I can," said Mr. Winkler slowly. "I didn't know he was loose till a minute ago, when some one came and told me. I was down on the fish dock, talking with Bunker Blue. But I'll get Wango down. I'm real glad he isn't in a china store, for he surely would break things! Here, Wango!" he called, holding out his hand to the monkey, now perched on a high shelf. "Come on down, that's a good chap! Come on down!"

"He doesn't seem to want to come," suggested a man with a red moustache.

"Oh, I'll get him. He needs a little coaxing," returned the old sailor. "Come on down, Wango!" he went on.

Wango looked at the egg beater he held in one paw, and then, seeing the little handle which turned the wheel, he began to twist it. To do this he dropped the pie pans he held in the other paw and they fell to the floor with a crash.

"Land goodness, he certainly makes noise enough!" said one of the women in the store, covering her ears with her hands.

Perched above the heads of the crowd, and paying no attention to the calls of Jed Winkler, the monkey began turning the egg beater. He seemed to like that most of all.

"Maybe he thinks it's a hand organ," suggested Bunny Brown, and the people in the store laughed.

"Come on, Wango! Come down!" cried Mr. Winkler, but the monkey would not leap down from the high shelf.

"Guess you'll have to climb up and get him yourself, Jed," suggested Mr. Reinberg, who kept the drygoods store next door. He had run in, together with other neighboring shopkeepers, to see what the excitement was about.

"I could get him down if I had something to coax him with," returned the old sailor.

"I promised him a cookie," said Mr. Raymond.

"He'd rather have a piece of cake -- cocoanut cake would be best," went on Mr. Winkler.

"I'll go home and get some," offered Bunny Brown. "My mother baked a cocoanut cake yesterday, and I guess there's some left."

"You don't need to go all the way back to your house after the cake," said Mrs. Nesham, who kept a bakery across the street from the hardware store. "I'll get one from my shelves."

She hurried across the way, and soon came back with a large piece of cocoanut cake.

"If the monkey doesn't take it I wish she'd give it to me," said Tom Milton.

"Oh, Wango will take this all right," said Jed Winkler. "Here you are, you little rascal!" he called to his pet. "Come down and see what I have for you." He held up the piece of cake. Wango saw it and this seemed to be just what he wanted. He dropped the egg beater, which fell to the floor with another clatter and clang, and then the monkey began climbing down the shelves.

He had almost reached the old sailor, his master, when the front door of the hardware store opened to allow a new customer to come in. Whether this frightened Wango, or whether he thought he had not yet had enough fun, no one knew. But instantly he snatched the piece of cake from Mr. Winkler's hand, and, holding it in his paw, skipped out the door.

"There he goes!" cried Bunny Brown. "He's loose again!"

"And he's up in a tree out in front!" added Tom Milton, who had rushed out ahead of the others in the store.

Surely enough, when the crowd got outside, there was Wango perched high in a big, leafless tree, eating cake.

THERE WAS WANGO PERCHED HIGH ON A BIG TREE. Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue Giving a Show. Page 42

"Well, how are you going to get him down out of there?" asked Mr. Snowden.

"Looks as if I'd have to climb after him," said Mr. Winkler. "When I was a sailor on a ship, and had Wango for a pet, he used to climb up the mast and rigging and I'd go after him. That was when I was younger. I don't believe I could climb that tree and get him now."

"Do you want me to do it for you, mister?" asked a new voice.

Bunny, Sue, and the other children turned to see who had spoken. They saw a boy about twelve years old, with bright, shining eyes standing beside Mr. Winkler and pointing up at the monkey in the tree. The strange boy seemed to have arrived on the scene very suddenly.

"Do you want me to climb the tree and get your monkey for you?" asked the boy. "I'll do it, if he doesn't bite."

"Oh, he doesn't bite -- Wango is very gentle," said Mr. Winkler. "But can you climb that high tree?"

"I've climbed higher ones than that," was the answer. "And ropes and poles and the sides of buildings. I can climb almost anything if I can get a hold. I'll go up and get the monkey for you!"

As he spoke he took off his coat; and though the day was cold Bunny noticed that the strange boy wore no overcoat. Hanging his jacket on a low limb of the tree which held Wango, the boy began to climb. And, as he did so, Sue pulled her brother's sleeve.

"Do you know who that is?" she whispered.

"Who?" asked Bunny Brown.

"That boy climbing the tree. Don't you 'member him?"

"No. Who is he?"

"Why, he's the boy who turned somersaults in the Opera House show!"



Chapter V

A Cold Little Singer


Bunny Brown was so excited in watching to see how the strange boy would climb up and get the monkey that, at first, he paid little attention to what Sue said. The boy by this time was beginning to scramble up the trunk of the tree. Sitting on a branch, high above the lad's head, was Wango the monkey, eating the piece of cake.

"It's the very same boy, I know it is!" declared Sue.

"What same boy?" asked Sadie West, while the other boys and girls watched the climber.

"The same one who was with the little girl that sang songs in the Opera House show. Don't you remember, Bunny?" asked Sue.

This time Bunny not only heard what his sister said, but he paid some attention to her. And, noting that the climbing boy was half way up the tree now, Bunny turned to Sue and asked her what she had said.

"This is the number three time I told you," she answered, shaking her head. "That's the boy from the show in the Opera House!"

Bunny looked closely at the climbing lad.

"Why, so it is!" he cried. "Look, Charlie -- Harry -- that's the acrobat from the show!"

The boy in the tree was in plain sight now, over the heads of the crowd, as he made his way upward from limb to limb, and several of Bunny's chums were sure he was the same lad they had seen in the show.

"But what's he doing here?" asked Bunny. "Mother read in the paper that the same show we saw here was traveling around and was in Wayville last night. I wonder why that boy is here?"

"And where's his sister that sang such funny little songs?" inquired Sadie West.

"We'll ask him when he comes down," suggested George Watson, who used to be a mean, tricky boy, making a lot of trouble for Bunny and Sue. But, of late, George had been kinder.

Higher and higher, up into the tree went the "show boy," as the children called him. Wango still was perched on the limb of the tree, eating his cake. He did not climb higher or try to leap to another tree, as Jed Winkler said he was afraid his pet might do.

Up and up went the boy, and a moment later he was calling in a kind and gentle voice to the monkey and holding out his hands.

"Come on, old fellow! Come on down with me!" invited the climbing boy. "They want you down below! Come on!"

Whether Wango was tired of his tricks, or whether he had eaten all his cake and thought the only way he could get more was by coming down as he was invited, no one stopped to figure out. At any rate the old sailor's pet gave a friendly little chatter and then advanced until he could perch on the boy's shoulder, which he did, clasping his paws around the lad's neck.

"That's the way! Now we'll go down!" said the boy.

"He's got him! He's got your monkey, Mr. Winkler!" cried the children standing beneath the tree.

"He's a good climber -- that boy!" said the old sailor. "He's as good a climber as I used to be when I was on a ship."

Down came the boy with the monkey on his shoulder. Of course Wango himself could have climbed down alone had he wished to, but he didn't seem to want to do this -- that was the trouble.

"There you are!" exclaimed the boy, as he slid to the ground, and walked over to Mr. Winkler, with Wango still perched on his shoulder. "Here's your monkey!"

"Much obliged, my boy," said the old sailor. "It was very good of you. Do you -- er -- do I owe you anything?" and he began to fumble in his pocket as if for money, while Wango jumped from the lad's back to the shoulder of his master.

"No, not anything. I did it for fun," was the laughing answer. "I'm used to climbing and that sort of thing. I like it!"

"Didn't you used to be in the show that was in the Opera House here last week?" asked Harry Bentley.

"Yes," answered the boy, as he put on his coat. "I was with the show."

"Why aren't you with it now?" asked Bunny.

"And where's your sister -- the one that sang?" added Sue.

The boy's face turned red, and he seemed to be confused.

"Well, we -- er -- I -- that is we left the show," he said. "Maybe I ought to say that the show left us. It 'busted up,' as we say. There wasn't enough money to pay the actors, and so we all had to quit."

"That's too bad," said Jed Winkler. "It was a pretty good show, too. But say, my boy, I feel that I owe you something for having gotten my monkey down out of the tree. If you haven't been paid by the show people, perhaps -- maybe --  -- "

"Oh, no, thank you! I don't take pay for doing things like climbing trees after pet monkeys," was the answer. The boy started to laugh, but he did not get very far with it. "You don't owe me anything. And now I must go and get my sister," he added.

"Where did you leave her?" asked Mrs. Newton, one of the ladies who had been in the store when the monkey began "cutting up."

"I left her sitting on a bench in the little park down near the river front," answered the boy.

"That's a cold place!" exclaimed Mrs. Newton. "Why don't you take her where it's warm?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, I don't know where to take her," said the boy. "We just had money enough left to pay our trolley fare from a place called Wayville, where we played last night, to this town. We thought we'd come back here."

"To give another show?" asked the hardware man.

"No, I guess our show is gone for good," was the boy's answer. "But I sort of liked this place, and so did my sister. I thought I might get work here, at least until I could make money enough to go back to New York."

"Got any folks in New York?" asked Mr. Winkler, as he stroked the head of his pet monkey.

"Well, no, not exactly folks," replied the show boy, as he brushed some bits of bark from his trousers. "But it's easier to get a place with a show if you're in New York. They all start out from there."

"That boy looks to me as though the best place for him, right now, would be at a table with a good meal on it," said Mrs. Newton. "He looks hungry and cold."

"He does that," agreed Mrs. Brown, who had followed Bunny and Sue to see that they did not get into mischief. "I'm going to invite him to our house." She stepped up closer to the lad who had got the monkey down out of the tree, and asked: "Wouldn't you like to come home with me and have something to eat?"

The boy's face flushed and his eyes brightened.

"Thank you," he said. "I really am hungry. I'll be glad to work for a meal. There wasn't money enough for breakfast and car fare too, but I thought there was a better chance for work here than in Wayville, and so my sister and I came on."

"And where did you say she was?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"I left her sitting in the little park down by the water front, while I came up into the town to look for work. Then I saw the crowd around the tree and --  -- "

"Poor little girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "Now, you two are coming home with me!" she went on. "We'll talk about work later. Come along, my boy. I've got children of my own, and I know what's good for 'em. Take me to where you left your sister. And don't all of you come, or you might bother the poor child," she added, as she saw the crowd about to follow. "I'll tell you all about it later."

"Can't we come, Mother?" asked Bunny Brown.

"Yes, you and Sue come with me. Mrs. Newton," she went on, turning to a fat lady, "I wish you'd go to my house and start to get something ready for these starved ones to eat. I'll be right along with them."

"And I'll take my monkey back home," said Jed Winkler. "My sister might be worried about him," and he smiled as the crowd laughed, for it was well known that Miss Winkler did not like Wango, though she was not unkind to him.

"Now show me where your sister is," said Mrs. Brown to the boy, as she walked along with him and her own two children. "By the way, what's your name?"

"Mart Clayton," he answered. "That's my real name, but my sister and I sometimes have stage names. Her real one is Lucile."

"That's a nice name," said Sue. "I like it better'n mine. Your sister sings, doesn't she?"

"Yes," answered the boy. "There she is, now!" he added, pointing to a bench in a little park that was not far from Mr. Brown's boat and fish dock.

"The poor, cold little singer!" murmured Mrs. Brown. "I must take care of them both!"

When they approached the bench the girl, who was about a year younger than her brother, looked up in surprise.

"Did you find any work?" she asked Mart eagerly.

"Well, no, not exactly," he answered.

The girl seemed much disappointed.

"But we're going to eat!" he added. "This lady has invited us to her house. After that I'll have a chance to look around and get a job to earn money to pay her and take us back to New York."

"Oh, you are the guests of Bunny and Sue for the meal. Guests don't pay," Mrs. Brown said, smiling at the strangers.

"Oh!" exclaimed Lucile. "That is -- it's very kind of you," she said.

"You poor thing! You're cold!" exclaimed Bunny's mother. "No wonder, sitting here without a jacket! Where's your cloak?"

"I -- I guess it's with our other baggage," was the girl's answer. "The boarding house kept it because we couldn't pay the bill when the show failed!" and tears came into her eyes.

"Never mind! We'll look after you," said motherly Mrs. Brown. "Come along, Bunny and Sue. Mrs. Newton will be at our house by this time."

As the five of them started down the street Bunny stopped suddenly.

"What's the matter?" asked his mother.

"I -- I forgot something," he said. "I've got to see Mr. Winkler!" and he started off on a run.



Chapter VI

General Washington


Mart Clayton, the boy who had climbed the tree to get down Mr. Winkler's monkey, looked first at funny Bunny Brown, who was trotting downstreet, and then he looked at Bunny's mother.

"Shall I run after him and bring him back?" asked Mart.

"O, no. Bunny will come back if I call him," was the answer. "But I wonder why he is in such a hurry to see Mr. Winkler? I'll find out," she went on. Then, making her voice louder, she called: "Bunny, come back here, please, come back."

"But, Mother, I've got to see Mr. Winkler!" exclaimed Bunny, as he paused and turned around. "It's about our show."

"That will keep until later," said Mrs. Brown with a smile. "I want you to come back with me now and help entertain the company," and she smiled and nodded to Mart and Lucile Clayton.

"Oh, yes. I -- I didn't mean to be impolite," said Bunny, as he walked slowly back. "But I wanted to ask Mr. Winkler if we could have his monkey in our show."

"Oh, are you going to have a show?" asked Lucile, as she walked along with Sue, while Mrs. Brown, Bunny and Mart followed.

"Yes!" exclaimed Bunny, who heard the question. "We had a circus once, and we made some money. And after we saw the Opera House show you were in, we wanted to have one ourselves. So we're going to get one up. Sue can sing and I can turn somersaults. Not as good as you, of course," he said to Mart. "And one boy has some trained white mice and if we could get Mr. Winkler's monkey and --  -- "

"And his parrot! He's got a parrot, too!" exclaimed Sue.

"Yes, if he'll let us have the parrot we could have a dandy show!" agreed Bunny.

"I hope it will be a better show than the one we were in," said Mart, with a sad little smile. "It isn't any fun to go traveling with a troupe and then have it 'bust up' on the road as ours did."

"Aren't you children very young to be traveling alone?" asked Mrs. Brown. "Haven't you any -- well, any folks at all?"

She did not like to mention "father or mother," for fear both parents might be dead and to speak of them might cause sorrow to Mart and Lucile. But surely, Mrs. Brown thought, the boy and girl ought to have some one to look after them.

"Oh, we weren't exactly alone," said Lucile, who was not as old as her brother. "We were like one big family until the show failed. Mr. and Mrs. Jackson were in charge, and Mrs. Jackson was very good to us. But people didn't seem to like our performance, and we didn't make enough money to keep on playing."

"I liked your show," said Bunny.

"So did I!" exclaimed his sister Sue. "It was grand."

"Yes, if we had done as well everywhere as we did in this town I guess we'd have been all right," said Mart. "But we didn't. We got stranded in Wayville -- that's the next largest town to this, I heard some one say, and we couldn't go any farther. Some of our baggage had to go to pay bills. Mr. and Mrs. Jackson left us at a boarding house while they went to New York to see if they could raise money."

"But I guess they couldn't," added his sister. "Anyhow they didn't come back, and we didn't have any money. So the boarding house lady kept what few things we had left, and Mart and I came away."

"I made up my mind I'd have to do something," went on the climbing boy, as Bunny and Sue thought of him. "I'm strong, and if I could get work I'd soon earn enough money to take me and my sister back to New York. Perhaps you could tell me where I could get a job," he added to Mrs. Brown.

"We'll talk about that after you get warm and have had something to eat," said she.

"Yes, maybe that would be better," agreed Mart. "It makes you feel sort of funny not to eat."

"I know it does," put in Bunny. "Once Sue and I went to Camp Rest-a-While, and we got lost in the woods, and we didn't have anything to eat for a terrible long while."

"It was 'most all day," sighed Sue. "And we were terrible glad when daddy and mother found us!"

"I should say you were -- well, very glad," laughed her mother. "But here we are at our house. Now come in, Lucile and Mart, and make yourselves at home."

"And after you get warm, and have had something to eat, maybe you'll tell us about how to get up a show in a theater -- not one in a tent like a circus," suggested Bunny.

"Yes, we'll help you all we can," promised Lucile.

Mrs. Newton, coming to the Brown house ahead of the others, had got a nice lunch ready, and from the way Mart and his sister sat down to it and ate it was evident that they were very hungry. It was nice and warm in the Brown house, too, and the children from the vaudeville troupe seemed to like to be near the fire.

"Now if you have had enough to eat, perhaps you will tell me a little bit more about yourselves," suggested Mrs. Brown, when the two visitors were ready to leave the table. "I want to help you," she went on, "and I can best do that if I know more about you. My husband is in the boat and fish business here in Bellemere," she said, "and though he is not as busy in winter as he is in summer, he may find work for you," she added to Mart.

"I hope he can!" said the boy. "Well, I'll tell you about myself and my sister. You see we come of a theatrical family. Our father and mother were in the show business up to the time they died."

"Oh, then your father and mother are dead?" asked Mrs. Brown kindly.

"Yes," went on Lucile. "We hardly remember them as they died when we were little. We were brought up by our uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie. They were in the show business, too, and they traveled under several different names.

"Sometimes we traveled with them, and again we'd be off on the road by ourselves. But whenever we went alone that way Uncle Simon would always get some one, like Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, to look after us and take charge of us. So we didn't have it so hard until Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie went away."

"Went away!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "Where did they go?"

"That's what we can't find out," answered Mart "They left their address for us with Mr. Jackson, but he lost it, and now we don't know where our uncle and aunt are."

"But surely some one knows!" said Mrs. Newton.

"Well, yes, I guess Uncle Bill knows, but we can't find him," said Mart.

"You seem to belong to a lost family!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown, with a smile. "Who is Uncle Bill, and where is he?"

"We don't know where he is, but he's blind," put in Lucile. "The last we heard of him he was going to some Home for the Blind, or to some hospital to be cured. But we don't know where he is. If we could find him he'd have Uncle Simon's address, for Uncle Simon used to always write to Uncle Bill. Of course Uncle Bill had to get some one to read the letters to him. But we haven't seen either of our uncles for a long time."

"You poor children!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "This is too bad! We must see what we can do to help you. Where do you think your Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie went to?" she asked.

"It was over to England or France, or some place like that," answered Mart. "It was just before the war started, and maybe their ship was sunk. Anyhow, we haven't heard from them since then, and Mr. Jackson lost their address," he added.

"But your Uncle Simon knew where Mr. Jackson was, didn't he?" asked Mrs. Newton with interest.

"Well, maybe he did and maybe he didn't," answered Mart. "You see Mr. Jackson and his wife travel about a lot. Lots of times letters get lost, so Uncle Simon may have written about us, and Mr. Jackson might never have got the letter."

"Yes, that's so," agreed Mrs. Brown. "Well, when my husband comes home we'll talk with him and see what is best to do. You had better stay here until then and make yourselves at home. Hark! There's the doorbell."

"Who do you suppose that is, Mother?" asked Sue.

"I can't tell that, Sue, from here."

"I'll go and see who it is, Mother," offered Bunny, as he ran through the hall. The others heard the front door open and the sound of a man's voice mingling with that of Bunny's. In a moment the little fellow came running back.

"Who is it?" asked his mother.

"General Washington," was the surprising answer.



Chapter VII

"Down On The Farm"


For a moment Mrs. Brown did not know whether to laugh at Bunny for playing a joke or to tell him he must not do such things when there were visitors at the house. But Bunny looked so serious that his mother thought perhaps he did not mean to be funny.

"Who is it?" she asked again.

"General Washington," replied the little boy.

"Bunny Brown!" cried Mrs. Newton, "what do you mean?"

"Well, it's the man who made believe he was General Washington in the Opera House show, anyhow!" declared Bunny. "'Course he doesn't look like General Washington now, but --  -- "

Lucile and Mart did not wait for Bunny to finish. Together they ran to the front door.

"Bunny Brown, you aren't playing any jokes, are you?" asked his mother.

"No'm! Honest I mean it!" cried Bunny, his eyes shining with excitement. "It's the same man who was General Washington and General Grant and a lot of other people at the show in the Opera House! He's at our front door now, and he wants to know if the Happy Day Twins are here."

"The Happy Day Twins?" exclaimed Mrs. Brown.

"That's the name the boy and girl went under on the programme, you know," explained Mrs. Newton. "The same children you have been so kind to -- Lucile and Mart Clayton. They took the name of the 'Happy Day Twins' on the stage you know. Did the impersonator want them, Bunny?" she asked.

"I didn't see any 'personator," answered the little boy. "He was General Washington, I tell you, only he wasn't dressed up."

"I must go and see," declared Mrs. Brown.

As she went down the hall she met the brother and sister coming back. They seemed much excited.

"It's our friend, Mr. Treadwell," explained Mart. "He heard we had started for this town, and he followed us. He heard about my climbing the tree after the monkey, and some one told him my sister and I had come to your house, Mrs. Brown. May I ask him in? It's Mr. Samuel Treadwell, and he's a good friend of ours."

"Certainly, ask him in," said Mrs. Brown, with a smile. "Perhaps he is hungry, too," she said to her friend Mrs. Newton, Mart having gone back to the front door. "I've heard that actors are often hungry."

"But he's General Washington, too, isn't he?" demanded Bunny, following Mart.

"Yes, he pretends to be all sorts of famous people -- on the stage," kindly explained Mart to Bunny. "You'll like him, he can do lots of tricks."

"Can he jiggle -- I mean juggle?"

"Yes, but not as good as the other man in the play."

By this time Mrs. Brown had reached the door. On the steps stood an elderly man, with a pleasant smile on his face. Mrs. Brown recognized him at once as the impersonator, though of course he had on no wig or costume now. He looked just like an ordinary man, except that his face was rather more wrinkled.

"I'm sorry to trouble you, madam," said the man, "but I have been looking for my little friends, the 'Happy Day Twins,' as they are billed. Their real names are -- well, I suppose they have told you," and he smiled at Lucile and Mart, who were standing in the hall.

"Yes, we have been learning something about them, but we would be glad to know more, so we could help them," said Mrs. Brown. "Won't you come in? We have just been giving the children a little lunch, and perhaps, if you have not eaten lately, you will be glad to do so now."

"More glad than you can guess, madam," said the man with a bow. "I am, indeed, hungry. We have had bad luck, as perhaps Lucile and Mart have told you."

"Yes, they spoke of it," said Bunny's mother. "And now please come in, and while you are eating we can talk."

"Say, we could have a regular show here now!" whispered Bunny Brown to his sister Sue. "We have three actors now, and you and I would make two more."

"Oh, I don't want to be in a show now," said Sue. "I want to hear what they're going to tell mother."

Bunny did also, and when Mr. Treadwell had seated himself at the table the children listened to what followed.

"When you rang I was just telling Mart that perhaps my husband could give him some work, so enough money could be earned for the trip to New York," said Mrs. Brown. "Is it true that no one knows where these children's uncle and aunt can be found?"

"Well, I guess it's true enough," said Mr. Treadwell. "There are two uncles and one aunt, according to the story. William Clayton, who is a brother of Mart's father, is blind, and in some home or hospital -- I don't know where, and I guess the children don't either," he added.

Lucile and Mart shook their heads.

"Simon Weatherby and his wife, Sallie, are brother and sister-in-law of Mrs. Clayton's," went on the impersonator. "The last heard of them was that they sailed for the other side -- England, France or maybe Australia for all I know. We theatrical folk travel around a good bit. Anyhow, Simon Weatherby and his wife left in a hurry, and they gave the care of the children over to Mr. and Mrs. Jackson.

"Now Mr. Jackson is all right, and a nice man, but he is careless, else he wouldn't get into so much trouble, and he wouldn't have lost the address of Mart's Uncle Simon. But that's how it happened. So the children have some relations if we can only find them, and what they are to do in the meanwhile, now that the show is scattered, is more than I know."

"Well, I know one thing they're going to do, and that is stay right here with me until they are sure of a home somewhere else," said Mrs. Brown.

"I'm glad to hear you say that!" exclaimed Mr. Treadwell, as he finished his lunch. "I heard they left the boarding house, and that they had no money. Well, I haven't any too much myself, but I followed them, hoping I could find 'em and help 'em. Now I've found my little friends all right," he said, looking kindly at Lucile and Mart, "but some one else has helped them."

"They helped some one else first," said Mrs. Newton, with a smile. "Mart got Mr. Winkler's monkey down out of a tree."

"I heard about that," returned Mr. Treadwell, with a laugh. "Well, now that I have located you, I suppose I'd better travel on, though where to go or what to do I don't know," he added with a sigh. "I'm not as young as I once was," he added, "and there isn't the demand for impersonators there once was. If I could get back to New York --  -- "

He paused and shook his head sadly.

"Why don't you stay here and look for work, just as I'm going to do?" asked Mart. "If you get to New York there won't be much chance. All the theater places are filled now for the winter season."

"That's so!" agreed the impersonator. "But I don't know what sort of work I could do here."

"You -- you could be in our show!" interrupted Bunny, who, with Sue, had been listening eagerly to all the talk. "We're going to have a show, and you three could be in it!"

"Going to have a show, are you?" asked Mr. Treadwell, with a smile.

"Yes, a real one," declared Sue. "Once we had a circus, but this show is going to be in the Opera House, maybe, and we'll give all the money we make to our mother's Red Cross."

"That will be nice," said Mr. Treadwell, with a smile. "But I'm afraid I'd be too big to fit into your show."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Bunny. "We're going to have Bobbie Boomer in it, and he's a big fat boy."

Mr. Treadwell laughed and Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Newton joined in.

"What sort of play are you going to have?" asked Mr. Treadwell.

"Well, we were just talking about it, in our garage, when Tom Milton told us that Mr. Winkler's monkey was loose," explained Bunny, "and we didn't talk any more about it until just now. But the show is going to be different from the circus."

"Where are you going to have it?" asked Mrs. Newton.

"I don't know," confessed Bunny. "Maybe my father will let us have it in the boat shop. That's a big place."

A step was heard in the hall, and Bunny and Sue cried:

"There's our daddy now!"

Mr. Brown walked in, kissed the children and seemed quite surprised to see three strangers present. Matters were quickly explained to him, however, and he welcomed Mr. Treadwell, Lucile and Mart.

"Do you think you could find work for them?" asked Mrs. Brown, when the stories had been told.

"Well, I might," slowly answered Mr. Brown. "I need some help down at the dock and office to get things ready for winter."

"Don't make 'em work so hard they can't help in our show," begged Bunny.

"Oh, you're going to have another circus, are you?" asked his father, with a smile.

"No, it isn't going to be a circus, it's going to be a regular Opera House show!" cried Sue.

"What about?" her father wanted to know, as he caught her up in his arms.

"We don't know yet," Bunny said. "But maybe the play will be about pirates or Indians or soldiers."

"Why don't you have some nice quiet play that would be good for Christmas?" asked Mr. Brown. "Why not have a play with a farm scene in it? You have been down to Grandpa's farm, and you know a lot about the country. Why not have a farm play and call it 'Down on the Farm'?"

"That's the very thing!" suddenly cried Mr. Treadwell. "Excuse me for getting so excited," he said, "but when you spoke about a farm play I remembered that we have some farm scenery in our show that failed. I believe you could buy that scenery cheap for the children," he said to Mr. Brown. "There are three scenes, one meadow, a barnyard with a barn and an orchard; and the last had a house with it."

"Oh, Daddy! get us the farm theater things for our new play!" cried Bunny Brown.



Chapter VIII

The Scenery


Daddy Brown looked at his two children, and then, as he glanced across the table at the actor who made believe he was George Washington and other great men, Daddy Brown laughed.

"These youngsters of mine will be giving a real show before I know it, with scenery and everything," he said.

"Well, a show isn't much fun unless you have some scenery in it," said Mr. Treadwell, "and the scenery I spoke of, which was part of our show, can be bought cheap, I think."

"Say, Daddy, is the sheenery in a show like the sheenery in a automobile or one of your motor boats?" asked Sue.

"Oh, she's thinking of wheels and things that go around!" laughed Bunny. "That's ma-chinery, Sue, and scenery is what we saw in the Opera House -- make-believe trees, and the brook, you know."

"Oh!" exclaimed Sue. "Well, can we have that -- that sheenery for our play?" she asked her father.

"I'll see about it," he answered, and Bunny and Sue looked happy, for, like their mother, whenever their father said "I'll see," it almost always meant that he would do as they wanted him to.

"I'm afraid, though," said Mr. Brown, "that getting up a show in town will be harder, Bunny and Sue, than getting up a circus. In the circus you could use your dog Splash and some of the animals from Grandpa's farm. But a theater show, or one like it, hasn't many animals in it. You ought to do more acting than you do trapeze work."

"Oh, we can do it!" cried Bunny Brown. "They're going to help, aren't you?" and he looked over at Lucile and Mart.

"We'll help all we can," Mart promised. "That is, if we're here, and I don't see how we can get away, for we haven't any money to pay our fare on the train."

"That's my trouble, too," said Mr. Treadwell, with a smile. "I'd offer to help too, if I thought I was going to be here."

"Oh, then we'll be sure to have a show!" declared Bunny. "You can be General Washington and maybe some soldier, and we'll pretend you came down to the farm to see us. Then I'll turn somersaults and Sue can bring me out some cookies to eat, 'cause I get hungry when I turn somersaults. And you can do tricks like those you did in the Opera House," he added to Mart.

"What do you want me to do?" asked Lucile, with a smile.

"Oh, you -- you can help Sue bring out the cookies for Mart and me," decided Bunny. "And -- oh yes -- you can sing -- those songs you sang in the show we went to see, you know."

"All right, I'll help all I can -- if I'm here," said Lucile.

"Well, suppose we talk a little about the trouble you good theater folks are in," suggested Mr. Brown. "The show Bunny and Sue are going to give can wait for a while. Now what do you want to do -- get back to New York, all three of you?"

"Well, New York is the place almost all show people start from," said Mr. Treadwell, "but I don't know that there's much use going back there now. All the places in other shows will be taken. If I could get some sort of work here for the winter I'd stay."

"So would I!" declared Mart. "I like to stay in a place two or three weeks at a time, and not have to move to a new town every night, like a circus. Have you any work you could let me do?" he asked Mr. Brown.

"I was going to speak of that," replied the father of Bunny and Sue. "One of the young men in my office is going on leave, and I could hire you in his place. The wages aren't very big," he said, "but it would be enough for you to live on and take care of your sister."

"I suppose I could board here in Bellemere," suggested Mart.

"You can stay right here -- you and Lucile!" cried Mrs. Brown. "Our house is plenty large enough, and there's lots of room. Do stay here -- at least until you locate your uncle and your aunt."

"That's very kind of you," said Lucile softly, and she reached over and stroked Sue's curls.

"Oh, goodie!" cried Bunny, when he understood that his father was going to hire Mart Clayton to work in the office at the dock. "Then you can help us get up the show."

"Well, I'll do all I can," promised Mart.

"And I'll help, too," added Lucile.

"If you can find a place for me, Mr. Brown, I'll make the same promise," said Mr. Treadwell. "I don't care much about going back to New York, and if Mart and Lucile stay here I'd like to stay, too, and sort of look after them. I'll try to help them find their missing folks."

"I guess I can find work for you," said Mr. Brown. "Do you know anything about the fish or boat business?"

"Very little, I'm afraid. I once worked as a bookkeeper in a piano factory, though, if that would help any," he said.

"Keeping books is just what I want done," said Mr. Brown. "So you can have a place in my office. The man I have is going to leave, and you may take his place. He also has a room with Mr. Winkler and his sister, and you could get board there."

"That suits me all right, and thank you very much," said Mr. Treadwell. "I'll send over to Wayville and get what little baggage I have. But will it be all right for me to board at Mr. Winkler's?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. They'll be glad to have you."

"And you can see Mr. Winkler's monkey Wango and the parrot all the while!" cried Bunny Brown.

"That will be a treat!" laughed Mr. Treadwell.

So it was settled that both Mr. Treadwell and Mart would work for Mr. Brown. The man who pretended to be George Washington and other great men would board with the old sailor and his sister, while Mart and Lucile would live with the Browns.

"And we'll have lots of fun!" said Sue to Lucile.

"And will you show me how to make flipflops?" asked Bunny of Mart.

"Yes," answered the boy actor and acrobat, "I will."

While Lucile remained at Mrs. Brown's house, Mart, with Mr. Brown and the impersonator went over to Wayville to get the baggage of the theatrical folk. Mr. Brown was going to pay the board bills. Bunny and Sue wanted to go also, but their father said:

"I'll take you along when we go to look at the scenery. You'd only be in the way now, and wouldn't have a good time."

That night Lucile and Mart stayed at the Brown house, which was to be their home for some time, and Mr. Treadwell went to board with the Winklers.

"And when you come over in the morning tell us all about the monkey and parrot!" begged Bunny, as the actor started for his boarding place that evening.

"I will," was the promise.

"When are we going to get the scenery for our play, Daddy?" asked Bunny Brown, as he and his sister Sue were getting ready for bed that night.

"I'll take you over to-morrow after school," was the promise. And you can well imagine that the two children could hardly wait for the time to come.

The air was clear and cold, and it seemed as if there would be more snow when Mr. Brown brought around the automobile in which the trip to Wayville was to be made. Bunny and Sue, Lucile and Mart were to sit in the back, while Mr. Brown and Mr. Treadwell sat in front. They were going to the place where the theatrical scenery had been stored since the time the vaudeville troupe had got into trouble.

"I'm glad winter is coming, aren't you?" asked Bunny of Mart, as they rode along the roads which were still covered with snow from the first storm.

"Well, yes, I like winter," was the answer. "It's always the best time for the show business -- 'tisn't like a circus -- that does best in the summer time."

"We had our circus in summer," said Sue. "Now we're going to have a real theater show in the winter."

The automobile was going down a snowy hill into Wayville, and Mr. Brown had put on the brakes, for, once or twice, the machine had slid from side to side.

"I ought to have chains on the back wheels," said the fish merchant to Mr. Treadwell. "But if I go slowly I guess I'll be all right. Do you think we need any more scenery than the three sets you spoke of -- the barnyard, the orchard and the meadow?"

"No, I think that will be enough," said the actor. "The children only want something simple. You can tell when you see it."

"Can we pick apples in the orchard?" asked Sue.

Before Mr. Treadwell could answer something happened. Mr. Brown turned out to one side of the road to let another automobile pass, and, a moment later, his machine began sliding to one side at a place where there was a deep gully.

"Oh!" screamed Lucile. "We're going to upset!"



Chapter IX

Bunny Does A Trick


Nearer and nearer to the side of the deep gully, across the road that was slippery with snow, slid Mr. Brown's automobile. Bunny and Sue's father's hands held tightly to the steering wheel, and he pressed his foot down hard on the brake pedal.

"Oh! Oh!" cried the children.

"Sit still! It will be all right!" exclaimed Mr. Brown. "We won't be hurt!"

And so well did he steer the automobile that in a few seconds more it was back in the middle of the road and going safely down the hill. The dangerous gully was passed. It had all happened so quickly that Bunny and Sue had had no chance to get really frightened. But they were so sure their father could do everything all right that I hardly believe they would have worried even if the auto had started to roll over sideways. Bunny would probably have thought it only a trick, and he and Sue were very fond of tricks.

"The man in the other automobile didn't give you enough room to pass, did he, Mr. Brown?" asked the actor, when the danger was over.

"Not quite," was the answer. "We'll go home by another road that is wider, but I took this one because it is the shortest way."

"I hope I didn't do wrong to cry out that way," Lucile said, when they were on their way again.

"No, you didn't do any harm," said Mr. Brown. "I was a bit alarmed myself at first. But we're all right now."

"We were in a railroad wreck once," went on Lucile.

"Did the trains all smash up?" asked Bunny, his eyes wide open.

"Yes, they were badly smashed," answered Lucile. "I don't like to think about it. Mart was hurt, too!"

"Was you?" cried Bunny, forgetting, in his excitement, to speak correctly. "Say, you've had lots of things happen to you, haven't you?"

"Quite a few," answered the boy actor. "I've traveled around a good bit. But I think I like it here better than anywhere I've been."

"I do too," said Lucile. "Traveling everyday makes one tired."

A little later they reached Wayville, and Mr. Treadwell told Mr. Brown where to go in the automobile to look at the scenery. It was stored away, for the company that had "busted up," as Mart sometimes called it, had no further use for it.

"Oh, look! Here's a little house!" cried Bunny, when with their father and the others he and Sue had entered the big room where the scenery was stored.

"It's got a door to it," said Sue, "but the window is only make believe," and she found this out when she tried to stick her fat little hand out of what looked like a window in the side of the small house.

"Most things on a stage in a theater are make believe," said the man who pretended to be different persons. "You'll find the scenery isn't as pretty when you get close to it as it is when you see it from the other side of the footlights."

This the children noticed was true. The scenery was made of painted canvas stretched over a framework of wood. And the colors were put on with a coarse brush and was very thick, as Bunny and Sue saw when they went up close.

"But it looked so pretty in the Opera House," complained Bunny.

"That's because you were farther off, and because the lights were made to shine on it in a certain way," explained Mart. "It will look just as pretty again when you use it in your show."

Bunny and Sue were not so sure of this, but they were willing to wait and see. Mr. Brown and Mr. Treadwell looked over the scenery.

As the actor had said, there were three "sets" as they are called. One was a scene painted to look like a meadow, with a big green field, a stream of water and, in the distance, cows eating grass. Of course the cows were only pictured ones as was the grass and stream.

The barnyard scene showed more cows and the end of a barn, and in this barn there was a real door that opened and shut. Mr. Treadwell explained that the boy and girl actors could go through this door to enter upon or leave the stage during the play.

"There's a pump and a watering trough that goes with this scene," said the actor. "In the play as we used to give it the trough was filled with water and one of the actors had to fall into it."

"And does the pump pump real water?" cried Bunny.

"Yes, about a pail full," was the answer.

"Then we'll have it in our show!" cried the little boy. "I'll fall into the trough and get all wet, Sue, and you can pump more water on me from the pump."

"That'll be fun!" laughed Sue.

"We'll have to see about that act first," laughed Mr. Brown. "Now let's find out what else we have for the great play 'Down on the Farm.' Where's that orchard I heard you speak of, Mr. Treadwell?"

"I guess the orchard is behind the barn," laughed the old actor. And when some of the men in the storage place had lifted away the painted canvas that represented the barn, a pretty orchard scene was shown.

"There's the rest of the little house!" cried Bunny, for at first he had only noticed one side of it.

"Yes, there is one end of a house shown in this scene, as one end of the barn is shown in the other," explained the actor. "And there is a real door, too, that opens and shuts. The orchard, as you see, is only painted."

And so it was, but in such a way as to appear very pretty when set up and lighted.

"Here's a real tree!" cried Bunny, who was rummaging about back of the stacked-up scenery.

"Well, it's meant to look like a real tree," said Mr. Treadwell, "but it isn't, really. It's a pretty good imitation of a peach tree, and I suppose you could use it in your show, children."

"Peaches don't grow in the winter," objected Bunny, who had been on his grandfather's farm often enough to know this.

"We could make believe our show was in summer," said Sue.

"Yes, or you could make believe your play took place down south, where it's always warm," added Mart, "and you could have this for an orange tree."

"Oh, no! That wouldn't do!" laughed Mr. Treadwell. "The leaves aren't anything like those of an orange tree. I remember once when we gave an act with this tree it was supposed to be on a tropic island, and one of the actors fastened a cocoanut on it, to make the audience think it really grew there."

"What happened?" asked Mr. Brown, as he saw the actor laugh.

"Well, the cocoanut wasn't fastened on very well," was the answer, "and when the leading lady was standing under the tree, singing a sad song, the cocoanut fell off and dropped on her foot. She stopped singing right there, and the play was nearly spoiled. So don't have oranges grow on peach trees," he advised.

"We could have peanuts," suggested Bunny. "They wouldn't hurt if they fell on you."

Mr. Brown and Mr. Treadwell laughed at that, and Bunny wondered why they did.

The children were delighted with the scenery, once they had got over their surprise at how coarse the paint looked when they were close to it. The barn and the house, with their real doors that opened and shut, were quite wonderful to Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, and so was the tree.

This was made of wood with what seemed to be real bark on it, and had limbs, branches, and twigs that seemed very natural. But Mr. Treadwell explained that it was all artificial, like the palms you see in some hotels and moving picture theaters.

While Bunny and Sue waited, Mr. Brown talked with the man who had charge of the scenery, and in a little while the children's father said he would buy the set, which was offered at a low price.

"And can we give our show with it?" Bunny wanted to know when told what his father had done.

"Yes," said Mr. Brown. "It will be delivered in Bellemere day after to-morrow, and stored away in our garage until you decide when and where you are going to give your show. There is a lot to be done before your first performance, children. I guess you know that, from the work you had getting up your circus."

"We'll have a lot of fun!" declared Bunny, not thinking of the hard work. "When we get back home I'll tell the boys and girls about the scenery and they can come over to see it. Then we'll begin to practice for the show play."

"You'll have to have a play written for you, bringing in all the scenery I've bought," said Mr. Brown.

"I guess I can manage that part for them," suggested Mr. Treadwell. "I have written two or three little plays, and I guess I can do one more. I'll write out a little sketch and have parts to fit as many boys and girls as Bunny and Sue can get to act."

"Oh, I can get a lot of 'em!" cried Bunny. "And will you make it so Sue can pump water and I can fall in the trough and get all wet?"

"It's pretty cold to fall into the water," said the actor. "But we'll talk of that later."

You can imagine how excited the little friends of Bunny Brown and his sister Sue were when they heard that Mr. Brown had bought some real scenery for the children's play. As soon as the house, the barn, the meadow, the barnyard, and the orchard had been brought to the garage a crowd of boys and girls was on hand to look at them.

Sue led a number of her girl friends up in the loft to look over the painted canvas, and Bunny took charge of a throng of boys. Sue was explaining about the make-believe tree, that once had had a cocoanut on it, when suddenly there came a cry of pain from behind the painted canvas barn.

"Oh! Oh!" exclaimed a voice. "I'm stuck fast!"

"That's Bunny!" shouted Sue. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"Bunny tried to do a trick and he's caught!" answered Charlie Star. "You'd better go and get your father or mother!"



Chapter X

Getting Ready


Sue Brown was too curious when she heard Charlie say this to do as she had been told.

"Oh, Bunny!" she called out, as she heard her brother's cries, "what's the matter, and where are you?"

"He's stuck in the watering trough," explained Harry Bentley. "Come on back here and you can see him!"

"Get me out! Get me out!" begged Bunny. "Please get me out!"

"Better go get your father or mother," advised Charlie again. "I've pulled and pulled, and I can't get Bunny loose. His trick didn't work out right."

But Sue made up her mind that she would see what was the matter with Bunny before she called on her father and mother to come and help. She and Bunny had often been in little troublesome scrapes before, and often they got out by themselves. They might do it this time. So Sue darted around the piled-up scenery, and there she saw a group of boys around the stage watering trough.

This was made to look like the watering troughs you may have seen in the country, made from a big, hollowed-out log. Only this one was made of sheet tin, and painted to look like wood.

Down in the trough was Bunny Brown. He was stretched out at full length and he seemed to be caught. In fact he was caught, and the reason for it was that Bunny was a little too big to fit in the stage trough -- that is his shoulders were too large. But his legs and feet were free, and with his shoes he was drumming a tattoo on the inside of the tin trough, which was somewhat like a bathtub.

"Oh, Bunny Brown, what have you done now?" cried Sue, when she saw her brother in the trough and the crowd of boys standing around him.

"I -- I'm stuck fast!" Bunny replied. "I was practising a trick, like the one I'm going to do on the stage when we give our play. I got in the trough, and now I can't get out."

"It's a good thing we didn't put the water in as he wanted us to do," said George Watson, "else he'd be soaking wet now."

"Yes, I'm glad you didn't put the water in," agreed Bunny. "But say, I wish I could get out!"

He wiggled and squirmed, but still he was held fast.

"Oh, if he has to stay stuck in there all the while Bunny can't be in the show!" said Sadie West.

"We'll get him out!" declared Charlie Star. "Come on, Harry, you and George each take hold of him on one side, and Bobby Boomer and I'll pull his legs."

"My legs aren't caught!" said Bunny. "It's my shoulders!"

"Well, if I pull on your legs it'll help get your shoulders loose, I guess," returned Charlie. "Come on now, fellows!"

"Can't we girls help too?" asked Sue.

"Well, maybe you could," Charlie agreed. "All pull."

"Don't tear my clothes," protested Bunny. "If I tear my clothes maybe my mother won't let me be in the show."

"Come on now, let's all pull together!" suggested Charlie.

"COME ON NOW, LET'S ALL PULL TOGETHER!" Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue Giving a Show. Page 96

As many of the boys and girls as could, gathered around the trough and tried to pull Bunny loose. But he stuck fast in spite of all they could do. Then Sue said:

"I'm going to tell mother. She'll know how to get him loose. Once he was stuck in the rain water barrel, when it was empty, and my mother got him out. She can do 'most everything. I'll go for her."

"Yes, I guess you'd better," agreed Bunny. "We've got a lot to do to get ready for the play, and I can't do anything while I'm stuck fast here."

"It's a good thing this isn't in the play, or everybody in the audience would be laughing at us," said Harry Bentley.

"I -- I guess I won't get in the trough when we give our play real," decided Bunny. "I might get stuck then. I'll think up some other trick to do."

Sue was about to hurry away, intending to call her mother, when some one was heard coming up the stairs that led to the loft over the garage. A moment later the head and shoulders of Mart Clayton came into view.

"Oh, Mart!" cried Sue, for she and Bunny felt quite well acquainted with the boy and girl performers, "Bunny is stuck in the trough and he can't get out!"

"Is there water in it?" asked Lucile's brother quickly, as he jumped up the rest of the stairs.

"No!" answered a chorus of boys and girls. "Not a drop."

"Oh, then he's all right," said Mart. "I'll soon have him out."

And he did. It was very simple. Mart simply pulled Bunny's coat off, over the little fellow's head, and then Bunny was small enough to slip out of the trough himself. He had so wiggled and squirmed after getting into the tin thing like a bath tub that his coat was all hunched up in bunches. This kept his shoulders from slipping out, but when the coat was off everything was all right.

"What did you get in there for?" asked Mart, when Bunny was on his feet once more.

"I was practising my act," was the answer. "I'm going to be a farmer boy in the play, and then I hide in the trough so I can scare an old tramp that comes to get a drink of water. Only there isn't going to be any water in the trough when I do my act," said Bunny. "I wanted there to be some, but mother won't let me."

"I guess we can do that act just as well without water as with it," said Mart with a smile. "An audience likes to see real water on the stage, but we can use some in the pump, I guess. Now then, boys and girls, are you all going to be in the new play, 'Down on the Farm?'"

"Yes, I am! I am! So'm I!" came the answers, and Mart laughed and put his hands over his ears.

"I guess we'll have plenty of actors and actresses," he said. "Mr. Treadwell will be out here this afternoon and tell you something of the little play he is going to write for you -- for all of us, in fact, for my sister and I are going to be in it with you. But now suppose I tell you a little about a stage, and how to come on and go off."

"Is Bunny going to get stuck again?" asked Sue. "If he is I'm going to tell mother so she can help get him out."

"No, I won't get in the trough again," said Bunny. "I only did it now to see if I'd fit. And I don't -- very well," he added.

Then Mart told Bunny, Sue, and the others something about how a stage in a theater is set, and something about the proper way to come on and go off. A little later Lucile also came out to the garage and she drilled the girls in a little dance they were to give.

Then the two young performers showed the others how the stage scenery was set up to look as real as possible from the front.

"Where are you going to give your play?" asked Mart, as they all sat down to rest.

"Oh, we don't know, yet," said Bunny. "I guess we won't have it until around Christmas, and by then my father will think up some place for us."

"Couldn't we have it up here?" asked Sadie West. "All the scenery is here."

"Oh, there isn't room," said Lucile. "We have to have a stage, and then there is no place up here for the audience to sit. And there isn't any use in giving a play unless you have an audience. That's half the fun. What are you going to do with all the money you make, Bunny Brown?" she asked the little chap.

"Oh, I -- I guess we'll give it to mother's Red Cross," he answered. "But first we've got to find out what sort of acts we can give. Our dog Splash is a good actor -- he was in our circus."

"I guess Mr. Treadwell can work Splash into the play in some way," said Mart. "We'll ask him."

That afternoon the actor gathered the children around him, out in the loft over the garage, and, by questioning them, he found out what each one could do best. Some could recite little verses, others could sing and some could dance.

"Can't I have my trained white mice in the play?" asked Will Laydon. "They twirl around on a wire wheel and one of 'em stands up on his hind legs."

"Well, perhaps we can use them," said the actor. "Now I'll tell you a little about the play I am going to write for you. It will be in three acts. One act will be in the meadow, as we have the scenery for that and must use what we have. Another act will be in the barnyard, and we can use as many animals there as we can get. Then we'll have the last act in the orchard, and you children can be in swings, in the trees, or playing around."

"We've got only one tree and not many of us can get in that," objected Charlie Star.

"Well, perhaps I can rig up another tree -- or something that will do," said Mr. Treadwell. "We'll decide about that later. Now as to the play. I thought I'd have it very simple. It's about an old man and two children who have lived in the city all their lives. They are in the show business and they get tired of it. One day while traveling about they miss their train, and they are left in a lonely country town.

"At first they don't like it, but when they see how quiet and peaceful it is, after the hot, noisy city, they decide to stay. They reach a farmhouse and find some children who are tired of the country and want to go to the city. The old man and the city children tell the country children about how hot it is in town, and advise them to stay in the fields and meadows.

"Then the old man and the children with him do some of the things they used to do in a city theater, and the country children do some of the things they do Friday afternoons at school. And they all have a good time. Then they hear about some poor people who live in a hospital, or some place like that, and they decide to get up a show to make money to give to the poor folks who haven't had much joy in life. So they give a little show, make some money and all ends happily. How do you like that?"

No one spoke for a moment, and then Bunny cried:

"Why -- why that's just like you and -- and us, Mr. Treadwell! It's almost real -- like it is here."

"Yes," agreed the actor, "I thought I'd make it as real as possible, and as natural. It will go better that way. Do you like it?"

"Oh, it's lovely!" said Sue. "I hope Sadie West will speak the piece about a Dolly's Prayer."

"Yes, she speaks that very nicely," said Mary Watson.

"Then we'll have her do it in our little play," decided Mr. Treadwell. "And now I'll start to work writing the play and we can soon begin to practice."

"And we really can give the money to the Blind Home here, instead of to the Red Cross, maybe," said Bunny. "Once mother and some ladies got up an entertainment and they made 'most fifty dollars for the Blind Home."

"I hope we can make as much," said Lucile. "It's dreadful to be blind. I feel so sorry for our Uncle Bill. I wish we could find him."

"And I wish we could find Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie," added Mart. "But still we like it here," he hastened to add, lest Bunny and Sue might think he and his sister did not care for all that Mr. and Mrs. Brown had done for them.

In the week that followed Mr. Treadwell, when he was not working in Mr. Brown's office, keeping books, wrote away at the little play. Mart, too, when he was not busy at the dock, helping Bunker Blue, did what he could to get ready for the show. The children did not tell any one except their fathers and mothers what it was to be about.

"It must be a secret," said Bunny Brown. "Then everybody will buy a ticket to come and see it."

"But where are we going to have the show?" asked Sue of Bunny one night.

"I don't know," Bunny answered.

"I must begin to look around for a place for you," said Mr. Brown. "I did think we could use the old moving picture theater, but that has been sold and is being torn down. But we'll find some place. How are you coming on with the children's play?" he asked the impersonator.

"Very well, I think," was the answer. "We'll soon be ready for a trial, or rehearsal, as it is called. Have you heard anything about the uncle and aunt of Mart and Lucile?" he asked.

"No," replied Mr. Brown, "I haven't. I have written several letters hoping to get some word, but I haven't as yet. I can't even find out where Mr. and Mrs. Jackson are. They might have found the address of the children's Aunt Sallie and Uncle Simon. But Jackson seems to have vanished after his show failed."

"Yes, that often happens," said Mr. Treadwell.

"If we could only find our Uncle Bill he could tell us just what we want to know," said Mart. "But I don't know where he is."

"Could he, by any chance, be in this Blind Home just outside of your town?" asked the actor.

"No, I thought of that, and inquired," said Mr. Brown. "There is no person named Clayton in the place. Well, we'll just keep on hoping."

The weather was now getting colder. Thanksgiving came, and there were jolly good times in the Brown home. Mart and Lucile said they had never had such a happy holiday since their own folks were with them, and Mr. Treadwell, who was invited to dinner, told such funny jokes and stories, making believe he was a colored man, or an Irishman, at times, that he had every one laughing. Bunker Blue came to dinner also, and he said he had had as much fun as if he had been to the theater.

"You'll come to our show, won't you, Bunker?" asked Bunny, when he could eat no more.

"Oh, sure, I'll come!" said the fish boy. "And I'll clap as loud as I can when you get in the water trough."

"I'm not going to get in," decided Bunny. "I'm going to let Charlie Star do that -- he's smaller 'n I am."

The children were given their parts for the farm play, and they practiced whenever they had a chance over the garage. The scenery was still stored there, and Mr. Brown was trying to find a place in town large enough for the show to be given.

It was one evening after a day of practice, and while Bunny, Sue, and the others in the Brown house were talking about the play, that a ring came at the front door.

"Oh, maybe that's a special delivery letter to say our uncle and aunt have been heard from!" exclaimed Lucile.

"Oh, if it should be!" murmured Sue, hopefully.

But it was Mr. Raymond, the hardware store keeper, in whose place Wango the monkey had once got loose.

"Good evening, Mr. Brown," was Mr. Raymond's greeting as he came in. "I heard you were looking for a place for the children to give some sort of entertainment -- is that so?"

"Yes," was the answer. "I did hope we might get the old moving picture theater, but that's been sold, and I really don't know what to do. We have the scenery, the children have nearly learned their parts, but we have no place to give the show."

"Well, I've come to tell you where you can find a place," said the hardware man, and Bunny and Sue clapped their hands in delight.



Chapter XI

The Strange Voice


"This is very kind of you, I'm sure, Mr. Raymond," said Mr. Brown. "I didn't know there was any place in town I hadn't thought of. The church will hardly do, and the Opera House costs too much to hire for a simple little play. The town meeting hall is too small, and I was thinking we'd have to get a tent, perhaps.

"No, you won't have to do that," said the merchant. "You know there's a big loft over my store, don't you?"

"Yes, but I thought you had that piled full of things," said Mr. Brown.

"Well, it was, but it's partly cleaned out now," was the answer. "I'm going to clean out the rest, and you can have that place for your show, and welcome. It won't cost you a penny for rent."

"Oh! Oh!" Bunny Brown and his sister Sue fairly squealed in delight.

"I'm glad you like it," said Mr. Raymond with a smile. "I was up in my attic, as I call it, the other day, and after I got to thinking about cleaning it out I thought of you children and your show. I heard some one say that Mr. Brown couldn't get just the place that would suit, so began to measure around, and I think mine will do."

"I'm sure it will," said Mrs. Brown.

"But is there a stage and are there seats for the audience?" asked Mart, who was the first to think of these things.

"No, there isn't a stage, nor yet any seats," said Mr. Raymond, and at hearing this Bunny and Sue looked disappointed. But they brightened up when Mr. Raymond went on with a smile:

"I'm going to build a stage in the place, and also put in seats. It's about time we had, in this town, some place where little shows and entertainments can be given. The town hall is too small, and the Opera House is too big. I'm going to make mine in-between."

"Like the big bear and the little bear and the middle-sized bear!" laughed Sue.

"That's it," said Mr. Raymond. "I expect to make some money by renting out my hall after I get it fixed up. But I'm going to let you folks have it for nothing this time," he was quick to say. "It will advertise the place, and people will know about it. So now if you'd like it I'll go ahead and fix up the stage and the seats, and as soon as it's ready you can move your scenery in and have your show, Bunny Brown."

"Will it be ready in time for a Christmas entertainment?" asked Lucile.

"Oh, yes, I'll see to that!" promised Mr. Raymond.

"Well, I'm sure we can't thank you enough," said Mr. Brown. "I had promised the children a place for their show, but I was just beginning to think I couldn't find one. This will be just the thing."

"And Mr. Raymond can come to our play for nothing!" cried Bunny.

"Yes, I think that's the least we can offer him," laughed Mrs. Brown.

There was great excitement in town the next day, especially among the boys and girls, when it became known that a new hall was to be built over the hardware store, and it can be easily believed that Bunny, Sue, and their friends who were to be in the play, "Down on the Farm," were more excited than any one else.

While they waited for Mr. Raymond to have his "attic," as he called it, cleaned out and the stage built and seats put in, Bunny and Sue, with Mart and Lucile, had plenty of fun, as well as some work. For it was work to get up a play, as the children soon found out. Mr. Treadwell did his part, in writing the different parts the boy and girl actors were to speak, but the boys and girls themselves had to learn them by heart, and it was not as easy as learning to speak a "single piece" for Friday afternoon at school.

But every one did his or her best, and soon it was felt that the play was coming on "in fine shape," as the actor said. It was easier for Mart and Lucile to learn their parts, as they were used to appearing on the stage.

When the children were not practicing they had fun on the snow and ice, for winter had set in early that year, and there was plenty of coasting and skating.

One day Mart and his sister came back to the Brown house, having been downtown to see how the new hall for the play was coming on -- Raymond Hall it was to be called.

"Is it 'most ready?" asked Bunny, who opened the door for the boy acrobat and his singing sister.

"Yes," was the answer. "Mr. Raymond has had the stage built and they are putting in the seats to-day. Was there any mail for us, Bunny?" Mart asked.

"No," answered the little boy.

"Oh dear!" sighed Lucile. "I don't believe we'll ever hear from our folks. I guess they've forgotten us!"

"Maybe you'll hear at Christmas," said Sue softly. "You get things at Christmas you don't get in all the year, and maybe you'll get the letter you want, Lucile."

"I hope so," was the answer. "It's lonesome not to have any folks writing to you. But of course we love it here!" she made haste to add, for indeed the Browns were very kind to the boy and the girl, and also to Mr. Treadwell, who seemed to like it in Bellemere.

At last the new hall was finished, the farm scenery Mr. Brown had bought was moved in, and one bright, sunny day, with the sparkling white snow on the ground outside, the boys and girls gathered over the hardware store for practice.

"Now we will try the first act," said Mr. Treadwell, when the meadow scene had been set up on the stage, and it "looked as real as anything!" as Sue whispered to Sadie West.

"Take your places!" said the actor. "Remember now, Bunny and Sue are supposed to be picking daisies in the meadow, and you other children are picking buttercups. All at once an old tramp comes along the road -- which is the front of the stage, as I've told you."

"Oh, I don't want to play if there's going to be an old twamp in it!" exclaimed little Belle Hanson. "I don't like twamps! They's awful dirty!"

"It isn't a real tramp," said Mr. Treadwell. "I dress up like one, Belle," for he had arranged to have a number of costumes for himself so he could take different parts in the little play.

"Well, if it's just a play twamp all wight," said Belle. "They's wagged maybe, but not dirty."

The children were told what they must do and say for the first act. They had practiced it over and over again, but even then some of them would forget at times.

"Now we're all ready," said Mr. Treadwell, at length. "Start to pick daisies, Bunny and Sue, and the rest of you pick buttercups. Then I'll make believe I'm a tramp and come along the road."

As this was not what is called a "dress rehearsal" neither Mr. Treadwell nor the children had on any special costumes. They were wearing their everyday clothes.

Bunny, Sue, and the others took their places, and spoke their proper lines.

"Oh, here comes a tramp!" suddenly cried Sue to her brother, as she was supposed to do in the play when Mr. Treadwell appeared on the stage. "Here comes a tramp!"

Now Bunny was supposed to have a speech at this point, but no sooner had Sue cried out just as she had been taught to do, than a strange voice answered her, saying:

"A tramp is it! Set the dog on him! Here, Towser! Get after the tramp! No tramps allowed around here! Bow! Wow! Wow!" and then came a shrill whistle as of some one calling a dog.



Chapter XII

A Surprise


Mr. Treadwell, who was closely watching Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, to see that they did their first part in the play all right, looked up in surprise as he heard the strange voice speaking about the tramp, calling the dog and whistling.

"Please don't do that," said the actor. "That isn't in the play. Who said it?"

"No -- nobody -- I guess," replied Charlie Star.

"Well, somebody must have said it, for I heard it," replied Mr. Treadwell, with a smile. "Don't do it again! Now Bunny and Sue try it again. Make believe, Sue, that you see a tramp coming down the road. I'm to be the tramp, you know, and on the night of the show I'll really dress up like one. Now go on."

Bunny looked at Sue and Sue looked at Bunny. The other children in the play also looked at one another. They were sure none of them had spoken, and yet Mr. Treadwell seemed to think the voice had been one of theirs.

"Oh, here comes a tramp!" cried Sue once more, and Bunny was just about to repeat his part, when, again, came the strange, shrill voice, saying:

"No tramps allowed! No tramps wanted! Give him a cold potato and let him go!"

"Oh, I'm not going to stay here!" suddenly cried Sadie West.

"There is something funny here," said Bunny Brown. "None of us is talking and yet we hear a voice."

Mr. Treadwell, who had been looking over the papers on which he had written down the different parts of the play, looked up quickly when he again heard the strange voice. He was just about to ask who had called out when something fluttered down out of the stage tree which was to be set up in the orchard scene. The tree was off to one side, in what are called in theater talk, the "wings." Out of the tree fluttered something with flapping wings.

"It's a big owl!" cried George Watson.

"Don't let it get hold of your hair or it'll pull it all out!" called Sue. "Owls feets gets tangled in your hair," and she put her hands over her head.

"Pooh! They don't either!" cried Helen Newton.

The children were rushing here and there about the stage, and Mr. Treadwell was trying to see where the strange bird was going to light, when Bunny Brown cried out:

"'Tisn't an owl at all! It's Mr. Jed Winkler's parrot!"

And when the fluttering bird had come to rest on top of the stage barn, it was seen that it was just what Bunny said -- a big, green parrot. There it perched, picking at a make believe shingle with its hooked bill, and calling in its shrill voice:

"No tramps allowed! No tramps allowed! Call the dog! Here, Towser! Give him a cold potato and let him go! Bow wow!"

Then how all the children laughed!

"Why, it surely is Mr. Winkler's parrot!" exclaimed Mr. Treadwell, as he looked at the green bird. "He was safe in his cage when I came out this morning, but he must have got loose. I'd better go and tell Miss Winkler, for she likes the parrot as much as she doesn't like Jed's monkey. She told me she was teaching the parrot to say some new words, but I didn't know they were about tramps or I would have known right away it wasn't any of you children speaking during the play. Come on down, Polly!" called the actor to the green bird.

But Polly seemed to like it up on top of the stage barn, and from the top of the roof it cried again:

"No tramps! No tramps allowed! Towser, get after the tramps!"

The children laughed again, and Mr. Treadwell said:

"It wouldn't do to have the parrot in the play, or he'd spoil the first scene. Now I'd better go and tell Miss Winkler where she can find the bird."

But he was saved this trouble, for just then Miss Winkler herself came up the stairs leading from the hall at one side of the hardware store.

"Is my parrot here, Mr. Treadwell?" she asked the actor who boarded at her house. "I let him out of his cage when I was cleaning it a while ago, and when I looked for him, to put him back, he was gone. One of my windows was open and he must have flown out. Some of my neighbors said they saw a big bird flying toward the hardware store, so I came over. Mr. Raymond and I couldn't find him downstairs, and he told me to look up here. Have you seen Polly?"

The big, green bird answered for himself then, for he cried out:

"Look out for tramps!"

"Oh, there you are!" exclaimed Miss Winkler. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Polly, to fly off like that? You'll catch your death of cold; too, coming out this wintry weather! Here, come to me!"

She held out her hand, and the parrot fluttered down to one finger. Miss Winkler scratched the green bird's head, and the parrot seemed to like this.

"No tramps allowed!" he cried.

"I taught him to say that!" said Miss Winkler. "I thought it would be a good thing for a parrot to say. Often tramps come around when Jed isn't at home, and if they hear Polly speaking they'll think it's a man and go away. Now, Polly, we'll go home!"

"No tramps allowed!" said the bird again.

"I hope my parrot didn't spoil the play," said Miss Winkler to Mr. Treadwell and the children.

"Oh, no," answered the actor. "We didn't know he was in here, and when he began talking I thought it was one of the boys or girls speaking out of turn. But he did no harm."

"I'm glad of that," said the elderly woman. "A parrot is a heap sight better than a monkey, I tell Jed. He ought to teach Wango to talk, and then he'd be of some use!"

The children laughed as she went downstairs with the parrot on her finger, and Sue said:

"A monkey would be funny if he could talk, wouldn't he?"

"I should say so!" exclaimed Mr. Treadwell. "But now, children, we'll get on with the play."

Miss Winkler took her parrot home and shut him, or her, up in a cage. Sometimes "Polly" was called "him," and again "her." It didn't seem to matter which. The bird had got out of an open window when Miss Winkler was busy in another room, and, like the monkey, had gone to the store of Mr. Raymond, not far away.

I need not tell you about the practice for the play, as it took so long for each boy and girl to learn his or her part, and how to come on and go off the stage at the right time. At the proper place I'll tell you all about the play, but just now I'll say that for several days there was hard practice with Mr. Treadwell, Mart, and Lucile to help, or "coach," as it is called, the children.

"Do you think we'll be ready by Christmas?" asked Bunny one day.

"Oh, surely," answered the actor. It was planned to have the play, "Down on the Farm," given Christmas afternoon, and the money was to go to the Home for the Blind in Bellemere, and not the Red Cross.

"Oh, it's snowing again!" cried Bunny Brown, as he ran into the house one afternoon, when he and Sue came home from school. "May we take our sleds out, Mother?"

"Yes, I think so," answered Mrs. Brown.

"Where's Lucile?" asked Sue. "Can't she come and sleigh ride with us?"

"She and Mart are out in the pony stable," answered Sue's mother. "Your father let Mart come home early from the office, and he and his sister have been out in the barn ever since. I can't say what they're doing. Maybe you'd better go and see."

"Come on, Sue!" cried Bunny Brown. "Maybe they're practicing some new acts for the play."

But when Bunny and his sister entered the stable where the Shetland pony was kept, a sound of hammering was heard.

"Are you here, Mart?" called Bunny.

"Yes," was the answer. "Come and see what Lucile and I have made for you and Sue!"

Bunny and his sister hurried into the room where the little pony cart stood, and there they saw something that made them open their eyes in delight.



Chapter XIII

"They're Gone"


The pony cart, which generally stood in the middle of the barn floor next to the stall of Toby, the little Shetland, had been rolled back out of the way, and in its place stood what first seemed to Sue and Bunny to be a large box. But when they looked a second time, they saw that the box was fastened on a large sled -- larger than either of their small ones.

"What are you makin'?" asked Sue.

"Oh, something to give you and Bunny a pony ride," answered Mart.

"Oh, it's a pony sled, isn't it?" cried Bunny.

"Well, yes, something like that," was the answer, given with a smile. "There wasn't much to do down at the dock to-day, so your father let me off early. On my way home I saw this large sled at Mr. Raymond's store. It was broken, so he let me buy it cheap. I brought it here, mended it, and fastened on it this drygoods box. Lucile helped me, and she lined it with an old blanket your mother gave us. Now what do you think of your sled?" and Mart stepped back out of the way so Bunny and Sue could see what he had made.

"Oh, it's just -- just dandy!" cried the little boy.

"And it's a real seat in it!" exclaimed Sue.

"Yes, we took a smaller box and put it inside the large one for a seat," explained Lucile. "Now don't you want to go for a ride?"

"I -- I -- oh, it's dandy," cried Bunny, his eyes round with pleasure.

"See," went on Mart, "I am going to take the thills off the pony cart and fasten them on this sled. Then you can hitch up the Shetland and go for a ride."

"Oh! Oh!" squealed Sue, in delight, as she jumped up and down on the barn floor.

"Say, this is more than dandy!" cried Bunny. "It's Jim Dandy!"

He went closer to look at the home-made sled while Mart took the shafts from the pony cart and fastened them on the dry goods box at a place he had made for that purpose.

"Why, there's room for all four of us in the sled!" said Bunny, as he noticed how large the box was. "And our pony can pull four. He's done it lots of times."

"Well, then I guess he can do it on the slippery snow," said Mart. "We'll come if you want us to, Bunny."

"Of course I want you!" said the little boy.

"And Lucile, too!" added Sue, for she was very fond of the singing girl actress.

"Yes, I'll come," said Lucile. "But if you drive, Bunny, you must promise not to go too fast."

"Oh, I'll go slow," he agreed.

"Maybe the snow'll stop and then we can't go riding," Sue said.

"Oh, go and look and see if it has!" cried her brother. "That would be too bad, wouldn't it, to have the snow stop after Mart had made such a fine sled?"

But a look out the window of the barn showed the white flakes still swirling down, and Bunny and Sue laughed and clapped their hands in delight as Mart brought the pony from his stall.

Everything was just right. The pony backed in between the shafts, and soon drew the new sled outside where the newly fallen snow let it slip easily along.

"It will look nicer when it's painted," said Mart.

"I think it's nice now!" said Bunny.

"Terrible nice!" agreed Sue.

"Well, get in, and we'll have a ride," suggested Lucile. "Can you drive, Bunny?"

"Oh, yes!" was the answer; and Bunny soon showed that he could by taking the reins and guiding the pony around to the front of the house.

"Come on out, Mother, and see what we have!" cried Sue, as Bunny stopped the little horse.

"Oh, isn't that just fine!" laughed Mrs. Brown, as she came to the door. "What a nice surprise for you children! Did you thank Mart and Lucile for making it?"

"I -- I guess we forgot," said Bunny. "But we're glad you live with us," he said to the boy actor and his sister.

"So are we!" laughed Lucile. "This is more fun than going about from one place to another, and traveling half the night."

"I'm glad, too," said Sue. "Now let's go for a ride."

And they did, down the village street, stopping now and then to let some of their boy or girl friends look at the new pony sled Mart had made from an old drygoods box and the broken "bob" from the hardware store.

The white flakes sifted down, like feathers from a big goose flying high in the air, the bells on the Shetland pony jingled, and Bunny and Sue thought that never had they been so happy.

The snow lasted several days, and each day after school Bunny Brown and his sister Sue went for a pony ride in the jolly sled. Mart had painted it a bright red, and it really looked very nice.

"That boy is handy with tools," said Mr. Brown to his wife one day, when they were talking about Mart and wondering if he and Lucile would ever find their relatives. "If he'd like to stay with me he would be good help around the boats in the summer. He and Bunker Blue are good friends, and one helps the other."

"Lucile is good help around the house," said Mrs. Brown. "I'd love to have them with me always, but of course if they have relatives it would be better for them to live in their own home. Do you think the children's play will be nice?"

"Oh, I'm sure it will. Mr. Treadwell says they are doing nicely. I don't suppose they will make much money, but they'll have the fun of it, and it is good for children to try to help others, as Bunny, Sue, and their friends are hoping to help the Home for the Blind."

"It's too bad about Mart's blind uncle, isn't it? Do you think he'll ever be found?"

"Well, we can only hope," said Mr. Brown.

Though Bunny and Sue had fun in the snow and on the ice they did not forget to practice for the new play, nor did the other children. One afternoon all the little actors and actresses were assembled in the new hall over the hardware store. A rehearsal was going on, and nearly all the mothers of the children were there, as Mr. Treadwell had asked them to come so he might talk to them about the costumes that had to be made for the little girls and boys.

Just after the second scene, which took place partly in the barnyard, and partly in the barn itself, Will Laydon came walking out to the middle of the stage where Mr. Treadwell stood.

"They -- they're gone!" exclaimed Will, seemingly much excited.

"Just a moment," said the actor, who was talking to Mrs. Brown. "I'll attend to you in a minute, Will."

"But they're gone!" exclaimed the boy, and Mrs. Brown and the other ladies turned to look at him in some surprise. "My white mice got out of their cage just now," said Will, "and they're running all over. My white mice are loose!"



Chapter XIV

Splash Hangs On


For a while there was a good deal of excitement and wild scampering about. Mice ran here and mice ran there. Children scrambled after them or scrambled to get out of their way. There were cries and shrieks and laughter.

One little white mouse, frightened and not knowing where to go, ran up the dress skirt and into the lap of the mother of Bunny Brown and his sister Sue.

"Come here, Will, and come quick," called Mrs. Brown to the owner of the white mice. "I do not like your sort of pet, come and take it away -- and come quick, I say!"

"All right, I'll come," answered Will.

"Don't be frightened," called out Mr. Treadwell. "I'm sure Will's white mice are too well-trained to harm any one."

"Oh, we're not afraid!"

"They won't hurt anybody," said the boy who owned the white pets, and who was going to have them do little tricks during the show. "Why, they're so tame they'll crawl all over you and go to sleep in your pocket!"

"Oh, take 'em away! Take 'em away!" cried one girl. "I wouldn't have come if I had known there were to be any mice!"

"But they're white mice," said Will, "and I didn't know they were out of the cage. Somebody must have opened the door."

"I'll help you hunt for the white mice," offered Bunny Brown. "I'm not afraid of 'em!"

"I aren't, either," added Sue.

"I'm not zactly 'fraid of 'em," said Helen Newton, "but they make you feel so ticklish when they crawl on you!"

"They're nice," said Bunny Brown, as he crawled under a chair to coax a white mouse that was trying to hide behind a paper bag. "And they'll do some nice tricks in our show."

It took some little time to catch all the white mice. Will made sure, by counting twice, that he had every one of his pets back in their wire cage.

Then Mr. Treadwell told the mothers of the little girls what sort of costumes the young actresses and actors must have for the different parts in the play. Everything was very simple, and no costly costumes need be bought.

"You see we want to make all the money we can for the Home for the Blind," explained Bunny.

"That's a good idea," said Mrs. West. "I think the children are just perfectly fine to do things like this. It teaches them to be kind."

After the talk about the dresses and suits, Mr. Treadwell went on with, the rehearsal, or practice. I have told you something of what the play was to be about, but changes were made in it from time to time, during practice, just as changes are made in real plays. It was found that one boy could speak a piece better than another boy, so he was allowed to do this, while the first boy, perhaps, was given a funny dance to do. The same with the girls -- some could sing better than others. Most of the solo singing in the play was to be done by Lucile Clayton. She had a very sweet, clear voice, and of course she had had more practice than any of the others.

Of course all the boys wished they could do some of the acrobatic work that Mart was to do on the stage. But though some of the lads of Bellemere, like Bunny Brown, were pretty good at turning somersaults or flipflops, none of them was equal to Mart, who had been on the stage for several years. But he was training Bunny, Harry Bentley, Charlie Star and George Watson to do a leap-frog dance which Mr. Treadwell said would be very funny.

Mr. Treadwell was not only the author of the little play, but he was also the stage director; that is, he told the boys and girls what to do and when to do it. In this he was helped by Lucile and Mart. These three performers, who had been in such bad luck when the vaudeville troupe broke up, were now quite happy again. Mr. Treadwell and Mart were working for Mr. Brown, and though they did not make as much money as when they had been acting in theaters, still they had an easier time. Lucile, too, liked it at Mrs. Brown's.

Of course the two "waifs" as they were sometimes called, wished they could find out where there uncle and aunt were. They also wanted to find their blind uncle. But, so far, no trace of any of them was to be had, though many letters were written by Mr. Brown and Mr. Treadwell.

Mr. Treadwell was a very busy man. After he finished work at Mr. Brown's office he would help the children rehearse for the farm play. In the play Mr. Treadwell was to take several parts. In one act he was a tramp, and in another a farmer. Then, too, he took the character of a man from the city, and later he did a number of impersonations, using the costumes he had made use of in the various theaters.

"Don't you think we could have our dog Splash in the play?" asked Bunny of Mr. Treadwell one afternoon when the rehearsal was finished.

"Why, yes, I think so," was the answer. "I'll be thinking up a part for him. Has he good, strong teeth?"

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Sue, who was standing beside Bunny. "He has terrible strong teeth! You ought to see him bite a bone!"

"Well, I don't know that I want him to bite a bone on the stage," said Mr. Treadwell, with a laugh. "But we'll see about it."

Some days after that, during which time Mr. Treadwell spent many hours with Splash alone in the stable, Bunny and Sue were quite surprised on coming from school to hear loud barking in their yard.

"Maybe Splash is chasing a cat!" exclaimed Bunny.

"It must be a strange cat," said Sue; "'cause he likes all the other cats around here."

The children ran around the corner of the house and there saw a strange sight. Mr. Treadwell was running about the yard. After him ran Splash, and the dog was holding tightly to Mr. Treadwell's coat, shaking the tails as if trying to tear it off the actor.

"Oh! Oh!" screamed Sue. "Our Splash is mad at Mr. Treadwell!"



Chapter XV

Tickets For The Show


Back and forth across the snow-covered yard ran Mr. Treadwell, and after him went Splash, the dog, holding to the flying coat-tails of the actor.

"Splash! Splash! Come here to me!" cried Bunny. But the dog did not obey.

"Oh, Mother, come quick!" called Sue. "Our dog is going to eat Mr. Treadwell all up!"

Splash, indeed, did seem very angry, for he barked and growled. He growled more than he barked, for he could not open his mouth wide enough to bark when he was holding to the coat.

Mrs. Brown rushed to the kitchen door, and she was as much surprised as the children were at what she saw.

"Oh, call some one! Get some man to make Splash let Mr. Treadwell alone!" cried Sue.

The actor, with the dog still clinging to him, was running toward the children now, and, to his surprise, Bunny saw that Mr. Treadwell was laughing.

"Is he -- is he hurting you?" asked the little boy.

"Not a bit," was the answer. "Is Splash holding fast?"

"He's holding tight!" said Sue. "Oh, is he mad at you?"

Before Mr. Treadwell could answer there was a ripping sound, and a piece of cloth came loose from his coat. The piece of cloth stayed in Splash's teeth and the children's dog at once began to shake and worry it, as he might a big rat he had caught. And as Splash shook the piece of cloth he growled louder than before.

"Oh, has he torn your coat?" asked Mrs. Brown. "I never knew Splash to act that way before. He is always kind and gentle."

"He's all right now," answered Mr. Treadwell, with a laugh. "This is only in fun and part of the play."

"Part of the play!" exclaimed Bunny. "Didn't he really tear your coat?"

"No," answered the actor, and, turning around, he showed that his coat was not ripped a bit. Yet Splash certainly had a piece of cloth in his jaws.

"It's just a trick I have been teaching Splash during the last few days," explained Mr. Treadwell. "You see, I'm to take the part of a tramp in the first act. Now, most dogs don't like tramps, so I thought I'd have that sort of dog in the farm play.

"Splash will make a good actor dog, I think. First I found a bit of old cloth that he was used to playing with and shaking as he might shake a rat. Then I sewed this piece of cloth to my coat, so it would not pull off too easily. Then I took Splash out to the barn to train him. As soon as he saw his own private piece of cloth sewed on my coat he chased after me and wanted to get it. I ran away and we played at that game until Splash did just what I wanted him to.

"That is, he will run after me, grab hold of the piece of cloth sewed fast to my coat, and he'll hold on while I drag him about until the cloth tears loose just as you saw it. Though Splash barks and growls, it is all done in fun, and he likes the play very much."

"Is he going to do that on the stage?" asked Bunny.

"I hope that's what he'll do," said the actor, as he patted the dog, who came up to him, having given up, for the time, the teasing of the bit of cloth. "You see I'm to be a tramp in the first act of the play. I'll come walking down the road, and then, Bunny, you'll let Splash loose after me.

"He'll run out from the wings -- that is from the side, you know -- and chase me, for I'll be dressed in a ragged suit and on my coat-tails will be fastened the piece of cloth your dog likes so to tease. He'll grab hold of that, hang on, and I'll drag him across the stage. That ought to make the people laugh."

"I think it will," said Bunny. "And they'll think Splash is really mad at you, won't they?"

"I think they will, if we don't let them know any different," said the actor, with a laugh. "We must keep this part of our play a secret."

"Oh, yes! I love a secret!" said Sue. "We won't tell anybody."

"Splash is a smart dog," said Bunny, as he patted his pet.

"Indeed he is!" declared Mr. Treadwell. "He learned this hanging on trick much sooner than I thought he would. He likes to chase after me and let me drag him by my coat-tails."

After Splash had had a little rest the actor put him through the trick again, and Bunny and Sue laughed as they saw their dog swinging about the yard, making believe to chase a tramp. Of course, Mr. Treadwell was not dressed like a tramp now, though he would be in the first act of the play.

If Bunny and Sue could have had their way they would not have gone to school at all during the days when they were getting ready to give the play, "Down on the Farm." All the other boys and girls who were to be in it, also, would have been glad to stay at home from lessons, but, of course, that would never do. But all the time they had to spare from their books, Bunny, Sue, and the others spent either in practicing their parts or going to the hall over the hardware store where the performance was to be given.

Bunny and Sue had about learned their parts now, and so had most of the other children. Some were slower than others, and had to be told over and over again what to do. But, on the whole, Mr. Treadwell said he was well pleased.

School would close for the holidays a week before Christmas, and then there would be more time to rehearse. Meanwhile Bunny, Sue, and their friends had fun on the snow and ice as well as in practicing for the show.

Each day Mart and Lucile anxiously waited for the mail, to see if there were any replies to the letters sent out, seeking news of their uncles and their aunt. But no word came.

"I don't believe we'll ever hear," said Lucile with a sigh.

"It doesn't seem so," agreed her brother. "I guess we'll soon have to begin looking for another place with some show company on the road. I have almost enough money saved to take us to New York."

"Oh, but we can't let you go yet a while," said; Mr. Brown. "I'm sure we'll get some word of your relatives some day. Meanwhile, we are glad to have you stay with us. I like to have you work for me, Mart."

"Well, I'm glad to work, of course. But I feel that the theater is the place where I belong. Of course, it's harder work than in your office, but it's what my sister and I have been brought up to."

"I'm not going to hold you back," said Mr. Brown, to the boy and girl performers. "But stay here until after the holidays anyhow. By that time the little play will be over and you can decide what you want to do. Who knows? Perhaps by then we may find not only your blind Uncle Bill, but your Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie as well."

But Mart and Lucile shook their heads. They did not have much hope. However, they were glad to help the children get ready for the farm play.

One afternoon, when Bunny and Sue came in from school and were getting ready to go to the hall to practice, they heard their doorbell ring loud and long.

"Oh, maybe that's a telegram for us!" exclaimed Lucile. She was always hoping for sudden good news.

"No, it's Charlie Star," said Bunny, who had gone to the door. "Oh, come down and see what he's got!" he cried, and Sue, Mart, and Lucile hastened down the stairs.

"What is it?" asked Sue, as she saw her brother and Charlie looking at something which Charlie held. "Is it a mud turtle?"

"It's tickets!" exclaimed Bunny. "Tickets for our show! Charlie printed 'em on his printing press!"

He held up for all to see a small square of pasteboard on which appeared:

GRA TE SHOW BY BUNNY BWOWN aND HiS SisTEER S*UE CoMe 1 comE All and sEE "DO$N onTHE farn!! ADMISHION    $25



Chapter XVI

Upside Downside Bunny


For a few seconds Bunny, Sue, Mart and Lucile looked over the shoulders of one another at the ticket which Charlie Star had brought to show them.

"I didn't know we were going to have real tickets!" exclaimed Bunny. "This is lots more fun than I thought."

"It's just like a real show, with real tickets an' everything!" exclaimed Sue.

"'Course that isn't a very good ticket, yet," explained Charlie. "I just got it set up and there's a couple mistakes in it. I'll have them fixed before the show."

"Yes, I guess it would be better to have the mistakes fixed before you print the tickets for the show," replied Mart, with a smile. He knew something about show tickets, and he could see more mistakes in the one Charlie had made than could the young printer himself.

"But it's very nice," said Lucile, not wanting Charlie's feelings to be hurt. "Only you aren't going to charge twenty-five dollars to come to the show, are you?" she asked with a smile.

"Oh, no, that ought to be twenty-five cents," said Charlie, "only I made a mistake. Or else Harry Bentley did. He helped me set the type."

"Where did you get the printing press?" asked Mart.

"It's one my father had when he was a little boy," answered Charlie. "He had it put away in the attic, and he always said I could take it when I got old enough. So I asked him for it to-day.

"He said I wasn't quite old enough, but when I told him about the show we're going to have for the Blind Home he said he guessed I could print the tickets. So I set up the type. Harry helped me, and when we get it fixed right I'll print all the tickets for nothing."

"That will be very nice," said Mrs. Brown, who came in to look at what Charlie had brought over. "You did very well for the first time, I think."

I suppose you children can see where Charlie made the mistakes in setting up the type. But with the help of his father he corrected them, and when the tickets were printed for the show they were all right, even to the price to get in, which was twenty-five cents.

But of course I haven't really reached the show part of this story yet. I just thought I'd mention the tickets. There was still much to be done before Bunny, Sue, and the other children were ready for the first act of the play, "Down on the Farm."

Mr. Treadwell gave a great deal of his time to telling the boys and girls what to do, and in going over the little farm play. All the time he could spare away from Mr. Brown's office the actor gave to the show. If you have ever been in a play you know how often you must do the same thing over. Finally the time comes when you are as nearly perfect as possible. It was that way with Bunny and Sue. Sometimes they were tired of saying over and over again such things as: "Here come a tramp!" or "Let's call Snap, he'll make the tramp go away!"

Those were only two "lines" in the play, but these, as well as others, had to be said over and over again, until Mr. Treadwell was sure the children would not forget.

Mart and Lucile, also, had to practice their parts, but as the boy and girl actor and actress had been in plays before, it was not so hard for them. And though the two little strangers gave much of their time to getting ready for the performance they still had hours when they thought of their missing relations -- Uncle Bill, Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie.

For, though many letters had been written by Mr. Brown and Mr. Treadwell, no answers had come, and at times Lucile and Mart were very sad.

But no one could be sad very long when they were near Bunny Brown and his sister Sue. These two were always doing such funny things and saying such funny things that Mart and Lucile laughed more often than they were sad.

"Do you think, we can have Mr. Winkler's monkey and Miss Winkler's parrot in the show?" asked Bunny of Mart one day.

"I guess we can if Mr. Treadwell will write parts for them," answered Mart. "But the trouble is, you can't be sure that Wango and the parrot will do the things you want them to. The parrot might speak at the wrong time, and Wango might cut up by chasing his tail or hanging by his hind paws from the ceiling, and so make the audience laugh when we didn't want them to."

"That's so," agreed Bunny. "Then I guess we'll only just have our dog Splash in the play. He'll do whatever you tell him."

"He certainly chases after the tramp in a funny way," laughed Lucile. "I should think Mr. Treadwell would be afraid the dog would tear his coat."

"Oh, Splash only bites the old piece of cloth," said Mart. "It's a good trick."

A little while after this Bunny saw Mart going out to the garage with some ropes and straps under his arm. The garage was partly a barn, for the Shetland pony was kept in it and some hay for Toby, the pony, to eat was also stored in the same place.

"What are you going to do?" Bunny asked the boy acrobat.

"Practice a few of my new tricks that I'm going to do in the play," Mart answered. "There's a new kind of back somersault I want to turn, and a new kind of flipflop I want to make. You know in the play I do some tricks in front of the stage barn to make the farmers laugh. I'm supposed to be a boy who has run away from a circus."

"We knew a boy who really ran away from a circus once," said Bunny. "And he was in our show when we had one down at grandpa's farm."

"Well, I'm going to do a few circus tricks, as well as I can, though I never was in a tent show," said Mart.

"Please, may I come and watch you?" asked Bunny.

"Yes," answered Mart kindly.

So the acrobat and Bunny went out to the little barn, and there, with ropes and straps, Mart made a trapeze, such as you have often seen on the stage or in a circus. On the floor of the barn Mart spread a pile of hay.

"Is that for our pony to come out and eat?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Oh, no," answered Mart. "That's to make something soft for me to fall on, in case I slip. In the circus the performers have nets under them to catch them in case they slip. But you can't have nets in a garage very well, so I use the hay."

Bunny watched his friend swing to and fro, sometimes by his hands and sometimes by his toes, on the trapeze in the barn. And Mart was so sure and careful that he didn't slip once. So he didn't fall down on the hay.

"Did you ever fall?" asked Bunny, as he watched the young acrobat swing to and fro, with his head down.

"Oh, yes indeed! More than once. And once I broke my leg so I couldn't go on the stage for over a month."

"I don't want to break my leg," said Bunny.

"I hope you never do," answered Mart. "But, of course, as you aren't going on a trapeze you won't fall and break anything."

"I wish I could go on a trapeze," murmured Bunny. "I could do some of the things you do I guess."

"I'm afraid not," laughed Mart, with a shake of his head. "It isn't as easy as it looks, and you are not big enough. If you do your somersaults and part of a flipflop in the play, as you are going to do, you'll make a hit, Bunny."

"Do you mean I'll hit the floor?" asked the little boy.

"No," laughed Mart. "Though if you aren't careful that may happen. But when I say you'll make a 'hit' I mean that the audience will like the tricks you do and they'll clap."

"Like they did in the circus?" asked Bunny.

"Just like that," said Mart.

Bunny sat and watched his friend. It looked so easy when Mart swung to and fro on the rope, twisting and turning this way and that.

"I could do it," said Bunny to himself.

When Mart was called to the house by his sister he forgot to take down the ropes and straps that made the trapeze in the barn. They hung right before Bunny Brown's eyes.

"I believe I can do it!" said Bunny to himself, as he looked at the swinging trapeze. "Anyhow, if I do fall, there's some soft hay."

And then Bunny did what he should not have done. He pulled some boxes and rolled a barrel over to the middle of the barn floor until he had a sort of platform under the trapeze Mart had put up to practice on. Then Bunny climbed up, got hold of the swinging bar and swung his legs over. Then something queer happened, for the first thing Bunny Brown knew, there he was, hanging upside down with his legs over the trapeze and his head pointing to the pile of hay in the middle of the barn floor.



Chapter XVII

Sue's Queer Slide


Bunny Brown was at first so frightened, when he found himself swinging upside downside from Mart's trapeze, that he did not know what to do. He was too frightened even to call out, as he nearly always did when he found himself in trouble. Nearly always his first thought was of his father or mother. But this time he hardly knew what to do.

It had all happened so suddenly. He had not meant to get upside downside this way. All he wanted to do was to sit on the trapeze, as he had often sat in a swing, and sway to and fro. But something had gone wrong, something had slipped, and there Bunny was, hanging by his knees with his head toward the floor.

Then Bunny had a thought that he might let go with his clinging legs and drop to the pile of hay. That was what the hay was for -- to fall on. It was a thick, soft pile, but, somehow or other, Bunny did not like to think of falling on it head first.

"If I could only land on it with my hands or feet it wouldn't be so bad," thought the little fellow to himself. "But if I hit on my head --  -- "

And when he thought of that he clung with all his force to the wooden bar. He was still swinging to and fro, and on this first swing Bunny had knocked to one side the pile of boxes and the barrel with which he had made himself a sort of ladder so he could reach Mart's trapeze, which was several feet above the barn floor. So, now that the boxes by which he had climbed up were out of reach, Bunny could not get down by using them.

And he wanted, very much, to get down. He tried to wiggle around in such a way that he could reach the wooden bar with his hands, but he could not, and the more he wiggled the more it felt as though he might fall.

Then Bunny decided that he must call for help. He had hoped that Mart might come back, but the acrobatic boy was in the house helping his sister learn a new song Lucile was going to sing in the play. So Mart knew nothing of what was happening to Bunny.

"Mother! Daddy! Come and get me!" cried Bunny as he swung to and fro on the trapeze, head downward. "Come and get me! Mother! Daddy!"

Bunny might have called like this for some time, and neither his father nor his mother would have heard him. For Mr. Brown was down at his office on the dock, and Mrs. Brown was making a cake, beating up eggs with the egg beater.

An egg beater, you know, makes a lot of noise, and even if Bunny had been in the kitchen Mrs. Brown might not have heard him call out. And away out in the barn as he was, of course she couldn't hear him. I don't believe she could have heard him even if she hadn't been using the egg beater.

So poor little Bunny Brown swung by his legs on the trapeze in the upper part of the garage and he did not know how to get down nor how to stop himself.

"Daddy! Mother!" he called again, but no one heard him.

On a summer day, when the windows were open, Bunny's voice might have been heard from the barn to the house, but now no one heard him.

But, as it also happened, Sue was the means by which Bunny's trouble was discovered, though Sue, too, had an accident. Soon after Mart came to the house to help his sister, Sue heard the doorbell ring, and when she went to see who was there she saw Helen Newton, one of her little playmates who was to act in the show with Sue.

"Oh, Sue!" exclaimed Helen, "have you got a doll you could lend me? I have to have one in the play, and the only one I had isn't any good any more."

"Is your doll sick?" Sue wanted to know.

"She's worse than sick," said Helen. "Our puppy dog got hold of her the other day, and he dragged my doll all around the kitchen and all her clothes were torn off and she's chewed and she isn't fit to be seen. I can't have her in the play with me, though I did at first, before the puppy chewed her."

"I guess Sue can let you take one of her dolls," said Mrs. Brown, with a smile, as she came in from the kitchen where she had been doing her baking. "What one do you think would be best for Helen, Sue?"

"Oh, I guess my unbreakable doll, Jane Anna, would be best for in the play," Sue answered. "If you drop her, Helen, it won't hurt."

"No, and it won't hurt much if our puppy dog gets hold of her," added Helen. "Course our dog won't come to the play and chew up any dolls, but he might get hold of one again when I'm practicing at home. I think the Jane Anna will be best."

"I'll get her for you," offered Sue. But when she went to look for the doll for Helen, Jane Anna could not be found.

"I wonder where it is!" exclaimed Sue.

"Maybe your dog Splash chewed her up," said Helen.

"No, he doesn't chew dolls," replied Sue. "He chews up my school books, and Bunny's, but he doesn't chew dolls."

"I wish my dog would chew books," went on Helen. "Then I wouldn't have to study. Maybe he will chew them after he finds there isn't any of my old doll left to bite."

Sue looked in different places in the house for her unbreakable doll, but could not find it. She asked Lucile and Mart about it, when the brother and sister took a rest from the song which Lucile was to sing, though her brother had a part in it.

"Lost your doll, have you, Sue?" asked Mart. "Well, maybe she is hiding under the umbrella plant!"

"Oh, you're teasing me!" said Sue, and that's just what Mart was doing. For though Mrs. Brown did have an umbrella plant, and a rubber plant also, Sue's doll was not under either one.

"The last time I saw you have your unbreakable doll was out in the hayloft of the barn," said Lucile. "Don't you remember? You were playing house with Sadie West."

"O, now I remember!" cried Sue. "I left Jane Anna asleep in the hay in the corner of the loft. I'll go out and get her for you, Helen. You wait here."

So Helen sat down in a chair in the dining room while Sue ran out to the barn to look for her doll. Mart and Lucile began practicing the song again.

Now all this while Bunny Brown was swinging by his legs, upside downside on the trapeze. It seems to him a long while since he had started to hang head downward, but, really, it was not very long. For though it takes me quite a little while to tell you about it, really it all happened in a short while.

So Bunny Brown had not been swinging very long, head downward, before Sue ran out to the barn, or garage, whichever you like to call it, to look for her doll. Up the stairs into the loft, where Mart had fastened the trapeze, went Sue. She had just reached the top step and was wondering if her doll were really there when, all at once, Sue heard some one cry:

"Help me down! Help me down!"

"Oh, my!" was the little girl's first thought, "can that by my doll?"

Then she knew it couldn't be. For, though some dolls have inside them a little phonograph that can say words, Sue's Jane Anna had nothing like this.

"But somebody yelled!" said Sue to herself.

Just then the voice shouted again.

"Help me down! Help me down!"

"Oh, it's Bunny!" exclaimed Sue, as she heard her brother's voice. "Where are you, and what's the matter, Bunny?" she asked.

A moment later she looked toward the middle of the hayloft and saw the little boy swinging by his legs from the trapeze.

"Oh, Bunny Brown, are you doing circus tricks up here?" asked Sue. "Mamma wouldn't let you! Oh, Bunny Brown!"

"Help me down, Sue! Help me down!" shouted Bunny. "I daren't drop on the hay, and I want to get down!"

Sue took a step forward. She did not know just what she was going to do, but she wanted to help Bunny. And just then Sue's feet seemed to drop out from under her, and down she went in a funny slide.

DOWN WENT SUE IN A FUNNY SLIDE. Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue Giving a Show. Page 161

Down and down and down, with a lot of hay all around her, and out of sight of Bunny Brown, who was still on the trapeze, went sister Sue.



Chapter XVIII

Mr. Treadwell's Wig


Bunny Brown, swinging by his knees from the trapeze, had just one little look at his sister Sue, and then he didn't see her again. At first Bunny thought perhaps he had fallen asleep and had dreamed that he had seen Sue. So many things had happened since he climbed up on the funny swing that it would not have surprised Bunny to have learned that he had fallen asleep and dreamed.

But a moment later he heard Sue's voice, and then Bunny felt sure it was not a dream. For as Sue slipped and fell down a deep hole, together with a lot of hay, she called:

"Oh, oh! Oh, Bunny! Oh, Mother! Oh, Daddy!"

She wanted all three of them to help her and she didn't know which one she wanted most.

"Oh, Sue! Sue!" cried Bunny, as soon as he felt sure it was his sister he had seen and not a dream. "Sue! Come and help me!"

"Somebody's got to help me!" half sobbed Sue, and her voice seemed very faint and far away.

And no wonder! For Sue had slipped down the little hole over the manger, or feed-box, in the stall of Toby, the Shetland pony. In this barn, as perhaps you have seen in barns at your grandpa's farm in the country, there is a little hole cut in the floor of the loft, or upstairs part, so hay can be pushed down from the mow into the stall of a horse or a pony. There was a little hay covering this hole, so Sue did not see it when she went up to look for her doll. And it was down this hole that Sue had fallen.

Right down she went, into the manger of the pony's stall, but as the manger was filled with hay Sue didn't get hurt a bit. But the pony was very much surprised. It was just as if, when you were eating your bread and milk at the table some day, the ceiling over your head should suddenly have a hole come in it, and down through the hole, from upstairs, should slide a little horse.

"Oh! Oh!" cried Sue, in surprise. Of course the Shetland pony didn't say anything, but he was surprised just the same.

Sue wasn't hurt a bit, and soon she scrambled out of the manger and ran out of the stall. As she did so the little girl heard a bump, or thud, over her head. That bump made her think of Bunny, and how he was swinging on the trapeze.

"Oh, Bunny!" cried Sue, running up the stairs again. "Did you see me slide down the hay hole?"

"Yes," answered Bunny, "I did. And did you hear me fall on the pile of hay under the trapeze?"

"I heard a bumpity-bump sound!" said Sue.

"That was me," explained Bunny. "I couldn't hold on any longer, so I had to let go. But I fell in the hay and I didn't hurt myself at all. I thought I would hurt myself, or I'd have let go before this. Now I'm all right. I can do a trapeze swing almost as good as Mart. I'm all right now!"

Certainly he seemed so to Sue, who by this time had got to the top of the stairs and was looking across the loft at her brother. Bunny wasn't hurt -- the hay on which he had fallen was just like a feather bed.

"Well, we better go in now," said Sue. "We both falled down but we both didn't get hurt."

Bunny stood looking up at the trapeze. He was thinking of getting on it again, but as he remembered how frightened he was he made up his mind that he had better let Mart do those risky tricks.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" exclaimed Sue, as she and Bunny were going out of the barn toward the house. "I forgot my Jane Anna for Helen. I was coming out to get her when I heard you holler."

"I yelled a lot of times before anybody heard me," said Bunny, and he told Sue how he had climbed up on the pile of boxes, and how they had fallen so he could not get down off the trapeze.

"Well, you're down now," said Sue.

Mrs. Brown guessed that something was the matter when she saw Bunny and Sue coming back from the barn, looking rather excited, and she soon had the whole story. Then she told Bunny he must not get on Mart's trapeze again, as he was too little for that sort of play.

"Even if there's a lot of hay under it can't I get on?" asked Bunny.

"No, not even if there's a lot of hay under it," answered Mrs. Brown.

So that ended Bunny's hopes of becoming a trapeze performer in the show. But Mart still kept on practicing, and soon he could do a number of good tricks. Lucile, too, practiced her songs, and those who heard the children at their rehearsals said the show, which had first been thought of by Bunny and Sue, would be a good one.

Charlie Star fixed the mistakes in the tickets he was printing for the farm play and soon they were ready to be sold. All the fathers and mothers of the children who were to be in the play bought tickets, and so did other persons in Bellemere. The tickets were put on sale in the hardware store, in the drug store, in the grocery of Mr. Sam Gordon, and in other places about town.

Mr. Treadwell also made some big posters, telling about the show. These posters were hung in the window of the barber shop, and one was tacked up in the railroad station and another on Mr. Brown's dock office.

Everything was being made ready for the show which would be given Christmas afternoon. The children could hardly wait for the time to come, but, of course, they had to. Meanwhile, they had as much fun as they could when they were not at school or practicing their parts in the new hall built over the hardware store.

"How happy we could be living here and going to take part in a nice play if we only knew where our people were," said Lucile to her brother Mart one day.

"Yes, that's all we need to make us quite happy," said he. "But I guess we'll never see our uncles or Aunt Sallie again. Why, we haven't even heard from Mr. Jackson since our vaudeville show busted up.

"Well, I'm going to write just one more letter," went on Mart, and he got out pen, ink, and paper. "I'm going to write to that man in New York who used to act in the same play with Uncle Simon. Mr. Treadwell found that man's address the other day, and I'm going to write to him. He may know where Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie are."

"Does he know where Uncle Bill is?" asked. Lucile.

"I don't know. I'll ask him," decided Mart.

When the letter had been written Bunny and Sue came in from school. It was snowing again, and the ground was white with the beautiful flakes. The coats of Bunny and Sue were also covered, for they had been throwing snowballs at one another. Their cheeks were red and their eyes sparkling.

"Want to walk down the street with me while I mail this letter?" asked Mart of the two children.

"Oh, yes!" cried Sue.

"Can't we go in the pony sled?" Bunny asked. "There's enough snow to make it slip easy now."

"Yes, I guess we could go in the pony sled," agreed Mart. "And we can stop at Mr. Winkler's and ask Mr. Treadwell, if he's at home, if he wants us to come to rehearsal to-night."

Soon Bunny, Sue, Mart, and Lucile were riding down the street in the pony sled, having a fine time in the snow storm. It was quite a heavy fall of snow, but the weather was not very cold.

After mailing the letter the four children drove to the home of Mr. Winkler.

"I hope the monkey does something queer," said Bunny.

"I wish the parrot would sing a funny song!" exclaimed Sue.

"Something seems to be the matter, anyhow," said Lucile, as they got out of the little sled and walked toward the front door of Mr. Winkler's house, where the actor boarded. "Look at Miss Winkler running around," and she pointed to the sister of the old sailor. Miss Winkler could be seen hurrying about the room from one window to another.

"Do you want us all to come to practice to-night, Mr. Treadwell?" asked Mart, as he and the children entered the house and saw the actor hurrying around after Miss Winkler.

"Come to practice? Oh, I don't know!" was the answer. "I can't talk to you right away, Mart. Something has happened!"

"What is it?" asked Lucile. "Have you heard anything about --  -- ?"

"Oh, it isn't about your kin, I'm sorry to say," was the actor's answer. "It's just that one of my best wigs is missing -- the one I wear when I dress up like General Washington. Those wigs are scarce, and I hardly ever let it out of my box. But now it is gone!"

"And I've searched high and low for it all over this house, but I can't find it!" said Miss Winkler.

Bunny and Sue did not know quite what to make of all the excitement over the lost wig which Mr. Treadwell wore on his head in certain parts of the play. So they stood to one side while the search went on. Sue looked in the sitting room, while Mr. Treadwell and Miss Winkler went into the parlor that was hardly ever opened.

Something that Bunny saw in a chair in front of the kitchen stove made him call out:

"Oh, Miss Winkler! there's a funny old man in your kitchen, and he's trying to open the cupboard door where you keep the cookies. Come and see the funny old man!"



Chapter XIX

Uncle Bill


"What's that, Bunny Brown?" called Miss Winkler, stepping to the door of the parlor, in which Mr. Treadwell was looking for his missing wig. "What's that you said about an old man?"

"There's one in your kitchen now," added Sue, for she was now looking at the funny "old man" in the kitchen.

"One what in my kitchen?" asked Miss Winkler, in surprise.

"A funny old man," said Bunny again. "And he's after some of your nice sugar cookies." Bunny knew Miss Winkler's sugar cookies were nice because she sometimes gave him and Sue some. Not too often, but once in a while.

"An old man after my cookies, is there?" cried the sailor's sister. "Well, I'll see about that!"

Down the hall she hurried, leaving Mr. Treadwell to look for the wig himself, and this he was doing.

"I suppose it's some tramp!" exclaimed Miss Winkler. "Wait until I take the broom stick to him! The idea of taking my cookies! I'd rather give 'em to you children than to an old tramp. I wish your dog was here, Bunny Brown!"

"Oh, so do I!" cried Bunny. "Splash would hang on to the tramp the way he hangs to Mr. Treadwell's coat in the play. Oh, Sue, let's go home and get our Splash, and sic him on the tramp!"

By this time Miss Winkler had reached the kitchen door. Bunny and Sue, with Lucile and Mart, stood to one side, so the sailor's sister could go in and stop the funny old man from taking her cookies.

Into the kitchen hurried Miss Winkler. There, surely enough, with his gray head just showing over the back of a hall chair on which he was standing, was what seemed to be an old man. He had on a black coat, and one hand appeared to be reaching up into the cookie closet.

"Hi there! Get down out of that!" cried Miss Winkler. "The idea of you daring to take my cookies! Get out of here! You tramp!"

And the green parrot, in his cage hanging in the kitchen, cried in his shrill voice:

"No tramps allowed! Out you go! Sic him, Towser! Bow wow!"

Bunny, Sue, Mart, and Lucile hurried into the kitchen after Miss Winkler. They saw her quickly take a broom from a corner.

And then, as the sailor's sister ran around in front of the chair, on which the old man tramp seemed to be standing, she gave a scream.

"Wango! You good-for-nothing monkey you!" cried Miss Winkler. "The idea of pretending you were a tramp! I've a good notion to take this broom to you, anyhow!"

There was a chatter from the chair and the gray head dropped down out of sight.

"Oh, was it Wango?" cried Bunny Brown.

"Indeed it was!" said Miss Winkler. "The idea of his fooling us all like that!"

"But he looked just like an old man with gray hair," said Sue.

"Indeed he did," chimed in Mart and Lucile Clayton.

Just then Mr. Treadwell came through the hall into the kitchen.

"It's no use, Miss Winkler," he said. "I can't find my big wig anywhere. If I use one like if in the play I'll have to send to New York for another. My wig is lost."

"No, it isn't, either!" exclaimed Miss Winkler. "There it is -- on Wango!"

She pointed to the monkey, which, just then, ran around from behind the chair on which he had been standing. And, surely enough Wango had on the big, white wig for which Mr. Treadwell and Miss Winkler had been searching so long. The wig made Wango look like an old man.

"And he has on one of my jackets, too!" exclaimed the actor. "It's one I use in some of my stage plays, children, where I have to have a very short, little jacket. No wonder you thought a tramp was in Miss Winkler's kitchen! Wango, are you trying to be an impersonator, such as I used to be?" asked Mr. Treadwell, laughing and shaking his finger at Mr. Jed Winkler's monkey.

Wango made a funny little chattering noise, and took off the wig, which he held out to the actor.

"See, he's saying he's sorry!" exclaimed Lucile.

Next Wango took off the jacket. It was one of the costumes Mr. Treadwell used on the stage.

"I guess he won't dress up again," said Mart. "I didn't know he was such a performer."

"Oh, Wango is a regular pest for playing tricks!" said Miss Winkler. "I tell Jed, every day, that I won't have the monkey around any longer, but I always give in and let him stay. Now if he was as nice and quiet as the parrot it would be all right."

And just then the parrot began to screech and to cry:

"No tramps allowed! Sic 'em, Towser!"

Really the parrot made more noise than Wango, but Miss Winkler did not seem to think so.

"Well, I'm glad to get back my wig, anyhow," said Mr. Treadwell, as he took that and the jacket from Wango. "This little monkey must have gone in my room, found that I left my trunk open, and then he took out what he wanted."

"Do you really think he knew he was dressing up like a tramp?" asked Lucile.

"You never know what Wango thinks he's doing," said Miss Winkler. "But I'm glad I caught him in time. There wouldn't have been a cookie left if he had got his paws in the jar."

"Are there any cookies left now, Miss Winkler?" asked Bunny, with a funny little side look at his sister.

"Oh, yes, there's a whole jar full," answered the sailor's sister.

"Are you -- aren't you going to give Wango any?" asked Bunny.

"Give Wango any? Give my good sugar cookies to that monkey? Well, I guess not!" cried Miss Winkler. Then, as she looked at Bunny and Sue, a more gentle look came over her face.

"But I guess I'll give you children some," she said. "If it hadn't been that you saw Wango he might have cleaned out my cupboard. Yes, I'll give you children some cookies."

So she brought the jar from the cupboard, and not only gave some of her cookies -- which were really very good -- to Bunny and Sue, but also to Mart and Lucile. And even Mr. Treadwell had some.

As for Wango -- well, I'll tell you a little secret. He had some of the cookies, too. For when Miss Winkler wasn't looking, Bunny and Sue fed the jolly little monkey some bits of their cake. Wango was very fond of sweet things.

And so the lost wig was found, and Miss Winkler didn't have to drive the gray-haired tramp out of her kitchen with a broom, for which I suppose she was very glad.

Mr. Treadwell had time, now, to talk to Mart and the other children about the farm play, and he told them there would have to be a number of rehearsals, or practices, yet, before they would be ready to give a performance Christmas afternoon.

The children were drilled over and over again in their parts, until at last, a few days before Christmas, the actor said:

"Well, now I am satisfied. I think we are ready for the show!"

And, oh, how glad Bunny, Sue, and the others were! All their hard work would amount to something now.

One night, about three days before Christmas, Mr. Brown came home from the dock office one evening with Mr. Treadwell and Mart, who had finished their work.

"I had a letter from the Home for the Blind to-day," said Mr. Brown, as they sat at the supper table, for Mr. Treadwell had been invited to share the meal. "The superintendent would like to have me call, so he can tell me something about the work of the home and the poor people who have to stay there in the darkness. He thinks if I tell the audience that comes to see the children's play something about the Home for the Blind more people will be glad to help."

"I think they would," said Mrs. Brown. "Why don't you go over?"

"I will," answered Mr. Brown. "There isn't much to do to-morrow, so I'll go and take Bunny and Sue with me. Would you like to go?" he asked Mart and Lucile.

They said they would, and the next day the five of them went over in Mr. Brown's automobile. Mr. Treadwell was invited, but he said he had to go to the hall to make sure all the scenery for the play was ready.

The Home for the Blind was in a big red brick building on the side of a hill about two miles across the valley from Bellemere. It did not take long to get there in the automobile, for though there was snow on the ground the roads were good.

Mr. Harrison, the superintendent of the home, welcomed Mr. Brown and the children.

"Now please don't think this is a sad place," said Mr. Harrison. "Though the men and women and the boys and girls here can not see, they get along very well, considering. So don't think it's too sad.

"Of course it is sad enough, but it might be worse. That's what all our blind folk have come to think -- that it might be worse. They have ways of 'seeing,' even if they have eyes that are no longer any use to them. I just want you to go over our place, and then you will be more glad than ever, I hope, that you are going to help us with your little play. For we need many things. We need books, printed in the kind of type that the blind can read, and we need many things so that our blind men and women can work and make articles to sell. The money you are going to give us from your play will help to buy these things."

Then, indeed, Bunny Brown and his sister Sue were very glad they had decided to have a play, and they saw men and women and boys and girls who did not seem to be without their sight, for they went about almost as quickly as Bunny and Sue did.

"That's because they have learned their way," said Mr. Harrison. "Our blind folks know their way around here just as you can walk around some parts of your house in the dark."

He led them toward the music room, for there was one where the blind inmates played and sang, and as Mr. Brown and the children went through the door Lucile uttered a low cry at the sight of a man who was just getting up from the piano.

"Uncle Bill!" cried Lucile. "Uncle Bill! Oh, we have found you at last!"



Chapter XX

The Dress Rehearsal


Bunny Brown, who had been listening to the piano music of the blind man, looked quickly at Lucile as she cried out about Uncle Bill. For Bunny remembered how much the actress girl and her brother had wanted to find their blind uncle, so he might tell them where their other uncle and aunt were.

Sue just said: "O-oh!"

"Uncle Bill!" cried Mart, in the same sort of wondering voice as had his sister. "Yes, that's our Uncle Bill!" he went on, as the blind man, who had been playing, came over toward them. There was a strange look on his face, and except for a queer look about his eyes, one would hardly have known he was blind.

"Who is calling me?" he asked. "I seem to know those voices, though I have not heard them for a long time. Who is it?"

Lucile and Mart stepped forward. Mr. Brown was right behind them, and Bunny and Sue were near their father. Mr. Harrison, who was in charge of the Home, looked on in surprise.

"Do you know Mr. Clayton?" he asked Lucile and Mart.

"Yes, he is our uncle," Mart answered in a low voice, but, low as it was, the blind piano player heard. Holding out his hands toward the young theatrical players he cried,

"Now I know those voices. Lucile! Mart! I have found you at last!"

"And we have found you!" cried Lucile. "Oh, how wonderful!"

"Can you tell us where Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie are?" asked Mart. "We've lost track of them, and we were stranded after the show failed. We didn't know where to find you, and --  -- "

"Say, your trouble all came together, didn't it?" cried the blind man. "But now, perhaps, it is all over. Let me sit down with you, and then we'll have a long talk."

"But do you know where Aunt Sallie Weatherby is?" asked Lucile.

"Yes, of course! I have her address," said the blind Mr. Clayton.

By this time he had managed to walk up to Mart, clasping his hands. Then he found Lucile and kissed her. For, though he was blind, Mr. Clayton could tell by the sound of a person's voice just where they stood in a room, and walk over to them.

"Oh, how glad I am to find you again!" he said, as he felt around for a chair and sat down. "I have been waiting for a letter from Mr. Jackson so I might find you, but he has been a long time writing, and since my last letter to him I came to this place."

"We don't know where Mr. and Mrs. Jackson are," said Lucile. "They left us, after the company broke up, and we haven't heard from them since. But we didn't know you were here!"

"You weren't the last time we inquired," added Mart. "We knew you were in some such place as this, but Mr. Brown asked and no one here had heard of you."

"That's because I only came the other day," said the blind Mr. Clayton. "You see I am thinking of going back on the stage again, doing a funny piano act. I can play pretty well, even if I am blind," he said, turning toward Mr. Brown, for he seemed to know just where the children's father sat. "And as I don't like to sit around doing nothing I've decided to go back on the stage again."

"We're going on the stage!" cried Bunny, who, with Sue, had been waiting for a chance to get in a word or two.

"We're going to have a real play on a farm," said Sue. "And you ought to see our dog Splash hang on to Mr. Treadwell."

"Treadwell? Is that the impersonator?" asked Mr. Clayton.

"Yes," answered Mart. "He is helping us with the little play."

"And maybe you could be in it and play the piano!" cried Bunny. "We heard you play the piano terrible nice!"

"Well, I'm glad you liked it," said Mr. Clayton, with a laugh, "but I'm afraid I'm not quite ready to start a performance yet. I need more practice. Oh, but I am glad you have found me, and that I have found you!"

"Mr. Clayton only came to this Home a few days ago," explained Mr. Harrison to Mr. Brown. "I had forgotten that you had asked about some one of his name, or I would have sent you word before that the children's blind uncle was here."

"And if I had known they were so near me, and had been looking so long for me, I'd have sent them word," said Uncle Bill. "And now tell me all that happened, Mart and Lucile."

Their story was soon told, just as I have written it here -- how they were "stranded" when the show broke up, and how Mr. Brown took care of them. The story of Mr. Treadwell was also told to Mart and Lucile's Uncle Bill, and how the impersonator had written the little play.

"And once he lost his wig and Wango the monkey had it!" cried Sue.

"Indeed! Wango must be a funny monkey!" said Mr. Clayton.

"He's funny, and so's Miss Winkler," said Bunny.

They all laughed at this, and then Mr. Clayton told his story.

He had been an actor as were many of his relatives, including Mart and Lucile. He had been stricken blind some years before, and had been in many Homes and hospitals, trying to get cured. But at last he had given up hope, and settled down to make the best of life.

He often wrote to Lucile and Mart, and also to their Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie. But of late he had lost the address of the boy and girl actor, and they had also lost his. They all traveled around so much that one did not know where the other was, except that Lucile and her brother always stayed together, of course.

"But where is Aunt Sallie?" asked Mart.

Mr. Clayton said that she and her husband were many miles away, in a far country, traveling about and acting. But he knew their address, and he would at once send them word that Lucile and Mart wanted to hear from them. Mr. Clayton had not heard from the Weatherbys for several months, he remarked.

"Very likely they've been trying as hard to find you as you have to find them," said Mr. Clayton. "They'll be glad to know that I have found you."

"And we're glad we've found you!" cried Lucile, as she kissed her blind uncle again. "Oh, it's so good to have folks!"

"We would be glad to have you come over to our house and stay with us," said Mr. Brown to the blind man.

"Thank you," he answered, "but I must stay here and finish learning to play the piano for the act I am to do. Of course I'll come over and see Lucile and Mart, though. I call it 'seeing' them, but of course I can't use my eyes," he added. "However, I've grown used to that, and I don't seem to mind being in the dark."

"You can't ever see anybody make faces at you -- if they ever do -- can you?" asked Sue, as she patted his hand.

"No indeed!" laughed Mr. Clayton. "I never thought of that. But I suppose some bad people like to make faces at me, and, as you say, if ever they do I sha'n't see them."

"I don't guess anybody would make faces at you when you play on the piano," said Bunny Brown.

"I don't guess so, either," added Sue.

There was more talk, and then it was time for Mr. Brown and the children to go back home. Mr. Clayton promised to write a telegram to Lucile's other uncle and aunt. He could write even though he was blind, and Mr. Harrison, at the Home for the Blind, promised to send the message.

"Then you'll hear from Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie soon," said the blind man.

"I hope we hear before the play!" exclaimed Lucile. "It will make me so much happier when I sing."

"Perhaps you'll come over to the hall the night or the performance," suggested Mr. Brown to Mr. Clayton. "You can hear what goes on."

"I'll try to come," agreed the blind man.

Very happy, now that they had found their uncle, Mart and Lucile went home with Mr. Brown, Bunny, and Sue, promising to come often again to see Mr. Clayton.

"Wasn't it queer," said Mart, "that, after all, he should come to the same Home we're going to help with the farm play?"

"Very strange, indeed," said Mr. Brown.

"And now, if we can only get word from Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie, how happy we'll be!" exclaimed Lucile.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll hear soon, my dear," said Mrs. Brown when they had reached home and told her the good news.

Then followed a time of anxious waiting, with Lucile and Mart looking almost every hour for a message from their uncle and aunt so far away. And they and the other children were kept busy getting ready for the play. For it was almost Christmas and time for the great performance.

The tickets had been printed, and all the mistakes corrected in the type that Charlie Star had set up. Many tickets had been sold, and it looked as though everything would be all right.

"I do hope we won't make any mistakes," said Bunny to his sister one day, as they were talking about the coming play.

"I hope so, too," she answered. "Wouldn't it be terrible if we got on the stage and forgot what we were going to say?"

"Yes, it would," agreed Bunny. "I'm going to keep on saying my lines over and over again all the while. Then I won't forget."

"Don't be too anxious, my dears," said Mrs. Brown, as she heard the children talking this way. "Sometimes the more you try to remember things like that, the more easily you forget. Just do your best, put your whole mind on it, and I'm sure you will remember the right words to say, and the right actions to do."

"It's easier to remember what to do than what to say," declared Bunny. "Mr. Treadwell tells us to act just as we would if we weren't on the stage, but of course we can't say anything we happen to think of -- we have to say the right words."

"I remember once, when I was a little girl," remarked Mrs. Brown, as she threaded her needle, for she was mending one of Sue's dresses, "I had to speak a piece in school, and I didn't know it at all well."

"Oh, tell us about it, Mother!" begged Sue.

"Please do!" cried Bunny Brown. For there was a funny little smile on his mother's face, and whenever the children saw that they knew there was a story back of it.

"Well, it was this way," went on Mrs. Brown. "When I was a little girl I lived in the country, and I went to school in a little red brick schoolhouse about half a mile down the road from our house. We had a very nice teacher, and one day she said we must all learn a piece to speak for the next Friday afternoon.

"Well, of course we children were all excited. Some of us had spoken pieces before, and some of us had not. And I was one that never had, but I was pleased to think I should get up in front of the whole school and speak a piece.

"When I went home that night I asked my mother what I should learn as my recitation. She got down a book that she had used when she was a little school girl, and in it were a number of nice pieces. There was one about Mary and her little lamb, but I thought that was too young for me to take, so I picked out one about a ship being wrecked at sea. There were about ten verses to the piece, and they told how a great storm came up and drove the vessel on the rocks."

"I'd like to see a big storm!" exclaimed Bunny.

"Please keep quiet!" begged Sue. "Mother can't tell about her speaking in school if you're going to talk all the while."

"I won't talk any more," promised Bunny Brown. "Please go on, Mother. I'll be quiet."

So Mrs. Brown continued:

"I began to learn this piece about the wreck. I don't remember now, how it all went, but I know the first two lines were like this:

"'The thunder rolls, The lightning flashes!'

"I remember those lines very well," said the children's mother, "and I thought how wonderful it would be if I could get up there and speak them in a loud voice. I practiced hard, too -- as hard as you have practiced for your play. And I thought I had the piece learned perfectly. Finally Friday afternoon came, lessons were finished, books put away and we got ready for the recitations in the main schoolroom.

"I forget the different pieces that were spoken. There were all kinds, but none like mine. Some were sad and some were funny, and some of the boys and girls got up and were so stage-struck that they couldn't think of a single word of the pieces they had learned.

"Then I was afraid this would happen to me, but when my name was called, and I walked up to the platform, I was glad to find that I could remember every single word -- or at least I thought I could.

"But dear me! As soon as I opened my mouth and began to speak it was just as though the bottom had opened and let everything fall out of everything. All I could think of was the first two lines:

"'The thunder rolls, The lightning flashes!'

"Over and over again I repeated those lines, and I could not get past them. The teacher looked sorry for me, and some of the boys and girls began to laugh. This made it all the worse for me, and my face grew red. Over and over again I told about the thunder and lightning, and at last I made up my mind I'd have to do something, or else go to my seat as some of the other girls had done, without finishing. And I didn't want to do that.

"So I braced my feet on the platform, and then I stood straight up in front of the whole school and fairly shouted out this verse:

"'The thunder rolls, The lightning flashes! It broke Grandmother's teapot All to smashes!'

"That's what I gave as my first recitation," went on Mrs. Brown, when Bunny and Sue had finished laughing. "How those words about my grandmother's teapot popped into my head I don't know. I don't even remember my grandmother's teapot, though I suppose she had one. But that's the verse I recited. And you should have heard the children laugh!"

"What did the teacher say?" asked Bunny.

"At the time I thought she was rather angry," answered his mother, "thinking I had done it on purpose, to make fun of the speaking. But really I had not. The wrong two lines popped into my head all of a sudden. And of course; they spoiled the piece. I know now, too, that she was trying to keep from laughing, and that made her look stern."

"I hope that doesn't happen to us," said Sue, as she and Bunny thought over the little story their mother had told them.

"I hope not, either," agreed her brother. "Come on -- let's go up in the attic and practice."

So they did, and for some time they went over the lines they were to speak on the stage. After a while Lucile and Mart came in and helped Bunny and Sue. The older boy and girl said the two little ones were doing very well. Mr. Treadwell, too, who heard Bunny and Sue go through their parts, said they did very well.

"We'll have a good practice to-morrow," said the impersonator.

Then Mr. Treadwell called a dress rehearsal. That is generally the last one before the show, and it is really a complete performance in itself, though the audience isn't allowed to come in.

The day before Christmas Bunny, Sue, Lucile, Mart, and the other girls and boys assembled in the hall over the hardware store for the dress rehearsal. Mr. Treadwell was there, and the men who were to help set up the scenery were on hand.

Just before it was time for the rehearsal to begin George Watson went up to Mr. Treadwell.

"If you please," said he, "couldn't Peter be in the play?"

"Peter? Who is Peter?" asked the impersonator. "I'm afraid it's too late to put any one else in, George. They wouldn't have time to practice, and, besides, we really have all the actors we need."

"Oh, Peter wouldn't need any practice," said George. "He'd be just fine in the barnyard scene. I brought him with me!"

"Well, I'm sorry, for I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint your friend Peter," said Mr. Treadwell. "But where is he?"

"Here in this basket," answered George, and he held up a small one in front of the stage manager.



Chapter XXI

"Where Is Bunny?"


Mr. Treadwell looked first at George, then at the basket, and once more at George.

"Now look here, George," said the actor. "I don't mind your making fun or having jokes, but I'm very busy now, for the first act of the rehearsal is going to start. Besides, you shouldn't bring your baby brother to the hall in a small basket like that."

"My baby brother?" cried George with a laugh. "I haven't any baby brother! I have a sister Mary, but --  -- "

"But you said Peter was in there," said Mr. Treadwell. "And if Peter is --  -- "

"Oh, Peter isn't a baby, and he isn't my brother," said George with another laugh. "He's only a --  -- "

But before he could say what Peter was a loud crow sounded from inside the basket which George held up.

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" sounded all through the hall, and Bunny, Sue, and the others who were getting ready for their parts in the dress rehearsal of the play, laughed. Mr. Treadwell looked surprised.

"Why -- why -- it's a rooster!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, Peter is my pet bantam rooster," said George. "I brought him with me because I thought he could crow in the barnyard scene, and make it more natural like."

"Well, a crowing rooster would be a good performer to have in a barnyard scene on a stage," agreed Mr. Treadwell. "But the only thing about it is that we couldn't be sure that he would crow at the right time. He might crow when Lucile was singing, or when Bunny Brown was doing some of his tricks, or when Sue was making believe run away from me when I'm dressed up like a tramp."

"Yes," said George, "that's so. Peter crows a lot, and you can't tell when he's going to do it. But, Mr. Treadwell, he always crows when he flaps his wings, and if somebody could hold his wings so they couldn't flap then he couldn't crow. I wish we could have him in the play!"

"Well, we might try him, anyhow," said Mr. Treadwell, with a laugh. "Though I haven't anybody I could let stand near and hold the rooster's wings so he wouldn't crow."

"I could do that," offered George. "My rooster likes me."

"Yes, I suppose he does," agreed the stage manager. "But you have to recite a piece in the play, George, and your rooster might start to crow when you were reciting."

"That would make me laugh," said George, with a smile, "and I couldn't pucker up my mouth to whistle, and I have to do that in my piece."

"Then I guess we had better not have the rooster in the play," said Mr. Treadwell. "But since you have brought him we'll let him stay for the practice, and we'll see how he behaves. He certainly would be good in the barnyard scene, and make it quite natural, but I'm afraid he'll crow at the wrong time."

"And did you really think George had a little baby brother in the basket?" asked Sue, as the rooster was being shut up again.

"Yes, I really did," said Mr. Treadwell. "But now everybody get ready! The rehearsal will begin in a minute."

It took a little while for all the boys and girls to find their right places. Their mothers or big sisters were, in most cases, on hand ready to help them, to see that this little girl's dress was buttoned up the back, that her hair ribbon was prettily tied and that the little boys had their hair combed as it ought to be.

But at last everything was finished, and the stage was set for the first scene, that of the meadow. Everything was to go on just as if it was the real play -- the scenery, the lights, the curtain being raised and lowered, and everything.

Out in front were the mothers, the big sisters, with, here and there, an occasional father of the children who were taking part. This was the audience. Of course this audience didn't pay anything, but Bunny, Sue, and the others who were getting up the play, hoped a large throng would come Christmas afternoon, when the real play would be given.

I must not tell you, here, how the rehearsal went, for it was so like the play that if I set down all that took place I wouldn't have anything left to tell you about the main performance. All I will say is that after the meadow scene came the one in the barnyard.

"Now if the Peter rooster will crow right this will be a good scene," said Mr. Treadwell.

Well, the scene was all right -- at least at first. Bunny and Sue did their parts well, and so did the other children. The people sitting in front of the footlights -- which glowed as brightly as they would in the real performance -- said the show was going on finely. And Peter crowed just at the right time, too, without any one telling him to.

"That's great!" said Mr. Treadwell. "I think he can be in the play after all, George. It helps out the barnyard scene."

George felt quite proud of his bantam rooster, and Bunny and Sue were glad the feathered actor was in their show. But alas! Toward the end of the barnyard scene, when Lucile was singing a sad little song, Peter began to crow. He crowed and he crowed and he crowed, until Lucile could hardly be heard, and everybody laughed instead of sitting quietly.

"I'll go and hold his wings," offered George. But even that didn't quiet Peter. He kept on crowing louder than ever.

"I know what I'll do," said Bunny Brown. "I'll put Peter in his basket and carry him down to the cellar. That'll be dark, and he'll think it's night and he'll stop crowing."

"That will be just the thing!" said Mr. Treadwell.

So as Bunny Brown didn't have anything to do just then in the barnyard scene, he put Peter in the basket and carried the bantam rooster downstairs.

"What have you got there?" asked Mr. Raymond, the hardware man, as he saw Bunny with the basket.

The little boy told.

"Yes, put him down in the cellar," said Mr. Raymond. "That ought to keep him quiet. I'll turn on the electric lights down there for you, so you can see. Otherwise you might tumble downstairs in the dark."

Bunny had been down in the hardware store cellar before, once when his father was looking at a certain piece of iron for a boat, the iron being stowed away down in the basement, and at other times, when he himself wanted to buy some odds or ends from the hardware man to make some toy. So Bunny knew his way down into the cellar.

"I'll come and get you after the play," said Bunny to Peter, as he set the basket, with the rooster in it, on a big box.

Peter didn't answer. He didn't even crow. I guess he didn't like the dark. He might have thought it was night, when the electric lights were turned out after Bunny had gone upstairs, and Peter may have gone to roost.

Bunny tramped upstairs and went on with his parts in the play. Everything went along nicely, and every one said the last act, the one in the orchard, was fine. Bunny and Sue did well, as did Lucile, Mart and the others.

"I wish we could think of some way so my rooster would only crow at the right time," said George, when talking to Bunny, after the rehearsal was over.

Bunny Brown wished so, too, for he wanted the little play to be as real as it could, so the people who saw it would be glad they had come to pay money to help the Home for the Blind.

Mr. Clayton sent word from the Home that he would surely be on hand at the performance Christmas afternoon. He also said he had not yet received any word from the other uncle and aunt of the two vaudeville children.

"Oh, dear," sighed Lucile on Christmas eve, as she and her brother sat in the Brown home, "I do hope we can find Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie!"

"So do I hope you do," said Sue. "But, oh, won't we have fun to-morrow at the play! And to-morrow is Christmas. I'm going to hang up my stocking. Are you going to hang up your stocking?" she asked Mart and Lucile.

"Well, I don't know," answered the boy slowly. "I guess, seeing that we haven't heard from Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie yet, that maybe it wouldn't be any use for us to hang up our stockings, Sue."

"Oh, I think it would," said Mrs. Brown, with a funny little smile. "You tell Mart and Lucile to hang them up, Sue. I don't believe Santa Claus will forget them."

"There!" cried Sue. "You must do as mother says. Come on, Bunny!" she added. "Let's get our stockings ready, and we'll go to bed early. Christmas will come sooner then. Why, where's Bunny?" she asked, as she looked out in the kitchen where she had last seen her brother. "Bunny!" she called. "Come on, hang up our stockings!"

But Bunny Brown did not answer.

"Bunny isn't here!" said Sue. "Where is Bunny?"



Chapter XXII

Act I


"What's that? Isn't Bunny here?" asked Mr. Brown, who was busy talking to Mr. Treadwell about the play.

"This is the first I knew he wasn't here," answered Mrs. Brown. "Did any one see him go out?"

No one had.

"Perhaps he is upstairs," said Lucile.

"No, he wouldn't go up to bed without telling me," said Mrs. Brown. "Besides, he's been teasing me all evening to get his stockings ready to hang up, and he wouldn't go without them. Where can he be?"

"He isn't in the kitchen," said Sue, for she had gone out to look, and had come back again.

"Perhaps he is hiding away from you, just for fun," said Mart.

"He sometimes does play tricks," remarked Mr. Brown. "I'll take a look."

They all looked, and they called, but Bunny could not be found. He did not seem to be in the house. Mr. Brown even opened the back door and shouted, thinking perhaps Bunny had gone out to see that the Shetland pony was all right, as he sometimes did.

"Dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown, "where can he be?"

"Oh, he's all right," said her husband. "It's early yet, even if it is dark, and maybe he went out to play in the snow, though of course he shouldn't at this hour."

"It's snowing, too," said Mrs. Brown, as she stood in the back door beside her husband. "Snowing hard! There's going to be a big storm, and if Bunny is out in it -- I wish Bunny would not do such things!"

"Oh, will he get freezed?" cried Sue, her eyes opening big and round.

"No, dear, he'll be all right," replied her mother. "But he must be found."

"Maybe he went out with Bunker Blue," suggested Mart.

Bunker Blue, the boy, or rather, young man, who worked for Mr. Brown at the fish and boat dock, had been at the house shortly after supper, and later had said he was going back to the office to make sure it was locked, for it would not be open on Christmas Day.

"Perhaps Bunny did go back with Bunker," said Mr. Brown. "Though he shouldn't have done that. But he was so excited about the play there is no telling what he might do."

"Bunker ought to be at the office about this time," said Mrs. Brown, looking at the clock. "Call him on the telephone," she begged her husband, "and ask him if Bunny is there. I hope he is."

Bunker Blue answered the telephone a few minutes later, when Mr. Brown had called him on the wire.

"No, Bunny didn't come out with me," said Bunker. "But I saw him in the kitchen with his cap, coat, and rubber boots on when I left. He seemed to be getting ready to go out."

"Then he's gone off somewhere without telling us anything about it!" cried Mrs. Brown. "Maybe he went over to Charlie Star's house, to make sure there would be enough tickets for the show. Oh, I wish he hadn't gone out!"

"I can telephone to Mr. Star and ask," suggested Mr. Brown. But when he had done this, and no Bunny Brown was there, they all began to get quite excited.

"I'll get on my coat and rubbers and go out with you," said Mart, as Mr. Brown began to put on his overcoat. "He might be in the barn, practicing some of the tricks he is going to do in the play to-morrow."

"Oh, I don't believe Bunny would go out to the barn alone after dark," said Mrs. Brown.

Her husband and Mart were just starting out into the storm to look for the missing Bunny when the tramp of feet was heard on the porch.

"Here comes somebody!" cried Sue. "I hope it's Bunny!"

But it was not. Instead it was Bunker Blue, and he was covered with snow flakes. His nose was red, too, even if his name was Bunker Blue.

"Has Bunny come back yet?" asked Bunker, as he stamped his feet on the porch, to get the snow off.

"No, he hasn't," answered Mr. Brown. "We are getting very anxious about him, too, though the worst that can happen is that he may get cold. He shouldn't have gone out!"

"Well, I didn't see anything of him," said Bunker Blue. "I was quite surprised at what you told me, over the telephone, about his not being in the house in this storm."

"Oh, maybe he'll never come back, and then we can't have our nice Christmas play!" exclaimed Sue.

"Oh, Bunny will come back all right -- don't worry about that," said her father gently. "If he doesn't come we'll go and get him. In fact, now that you are here, Bunker, we three might as well set out and look for the little fellow. He's got something on his mind, or he wouldn't go out as he did."

"I'm sure I can't see what made him go out," said Mrs. Brown. "It's snowing very hard, too," she added, as she shaded her eyes from the light in the room and looked out of the window.

"But it isn't very cold, that's one good thing," her husband added. "Of course I wish Bunny hadn't gone out, but, since he has, we must go out and find him."

"Could he, by any chance, be hiding somewhere in the house?" asked Mart.

"We'll look," decided Mr. Brown, "although we looked before."

He and Mart, as well as Bunker Blue, were dressed to go out into the storm to look for Bunny, who was so strangely missing, but when Mart said this Mr. Brown decided that it would be better to go over the house once more, to make sure Bunny was not hiding away.

"We'll take Sue with us to help search," said her father, as he took off his overcoat, for he did not know how long he would stay in the house. "Bunny and Sue play hide-and-go-seek games in the different rooms," went on Mr. Brown, "and Sue knows lots of hiding places; don't you, Sue?"

"Yes, we hide in lots of places," the little girl answered. "But I don't guess Bunny is hiding now."

"Oh, well, maybe he is, just to fool us," returned her father. "Come now, we'll begin the search."

And while the storm was getting more and more wild outside, with the wind blowing harder and the snowflakes coming down more and more thickly, Mr. Brown, Bunker, and Mart, with Sue and Mrs. Brown to help them, began searching through the house after Bunny. It was a good thing they took Sue with them, for she knew many "cubby holes" in which she and her brother often took turns hiding. And some of these even her mother had forgotten about, though Mrs. Brown thought she knew every nook and cranny of the house.

But Bunny was in none of these places, and though they looked and called his name and called again, from attic to cellar, there was no sign of the little fellow.

"He surely must have gone out!" decided Mr. Brown. "Very likely he's gone to see some of the boys to talk about the play."

"Then let's go and find him!" cried Bunker Blue, putting on his coat again.

"That's what I say!" came from Mart. "This is no night for a little boy to be out. It's snowing harder than ever."

So Mr. Brown, Bunker, and Mart started out to look for Bunny. They went first to one house and then to another, and there were many houses where Bunny Brown and his sister Sue were in the habit of calling. At most of the places were boys and girls with whom Bunny and Sue played, or who were to take part in the Christmas show. But none of these boys or girls had seen Bunny.

"Well, this is certainly strange!" declared Mr. Brown, when they had stopped at the last place where they thought it likely Bunny would be. "I guess we'll have to tell the police about it and have them help hunt for him. I don't see what else we can do."

"Maybe it would be the best way," agreed Bunker Blue. "I'll go down and tell the chief of police."

"No, we had better telephone -- that's quicker," said Mr. Brown. So they stopped in the drug store and Mr. Brown talked to the police station on the wire.

"All right," the chief answered back. "I'll start some of my men out on the search. You go back home and let me know as soon as Bunny is found or comes back."

This Mr. Brown promised to do, and soon he and Mart and Bunker were back at the Brown home. Mrs. Brown looked very much disappointed and worried when her husband came in without Bunny.

"Oh, where can he be?" she cried.

Just then the heavy tramp of feet was heard on the porch.

"Maybe this is Bunny!" exclaimed Mart.

And Bunny Brown it was, all covered with snow flakes, his eyes shining and his cheeks red with the cold. He carried a small basket in one hand, and the other was clasped in that of Mr. Raymond, the man who owned the hardware store.

"Why Bunny Brown! where have you been?" cried his mother, as the lamp light shone on his flushed face, and made the snowflakes sparkle.

"And what have you got in the basket?" asked Sue.

"That's Peter," was the answer, and before any one could ask who Peter was, if they had wished to, there came a loud crow from the basket.

"A rooster!" cried Mrs. Brown.

"Yes," said Bunny. "Peter -- he's George's pet bantam rooster. And he crowed at the wrong time in the practice to-day -- I mean Peter crowed -- so I took him down into Mr. Raymond's cellar. And then I forgot all about him, and I left him there, and I thought of him after supper, and I guessed he'd be hungry, so I went back to get him."

"Yes, that's just what he did," said the hardware man. "I was busy waiting on late Christmas Eve customers, when in came Bunny, all covered with snow. I didn't know what he meant when he told me he'd come back for the rooster, for I'd forgotten about the bird myself.

"Nothing would do but he must bring Peter home, and, knowing what a bad storm it was, I came back with him. I'd have telephoned, but my wire's out of order, so I couldn't reach you, and I didn't want to stop to go anywhere else. So I brought him over in my auto."

"It was very kind of you," said Mr. Brown.

"And, Bunny, it was very wrong of you to go away without telling us," said Mrs. Brown.

"I'm sorry," answered the little boy. "But I thought maybe Peter'd be lonesome all alone in the dark, and on Christmas Eve too."

"That's so!" laughed Mr. Raymond. "I guess, Mrs. Brown, you'll have to forgive Bunny on account of it's being Christmas Eve."

"Did you hang up your stocking, Mr. Raymond?" asked Sue, and they all laughed at that, so that every one felt better, and Bunny was not scolded, as perhaps he ought to have been.

"Well, I must get back to my store," said the hardware man. "Merry Christmas to you, and I'll see you all at the play to-morrow!"

"Yes, we'll all be there!" cried Bunny. "You're going to have a free ticket, you know!"

This had been decided on, because Mr. Raymond was so kind about letting the children have the new hall he had fitted up.

"Good-nights," and more "Merry Christmas" greetings were called back and forth, and then, as the hardware man left in his automobile, to go chugging through the storm, Bunny Brown and his sister Sue hung up their stockings for Santa Claus and went to bed.

"Oh, I'm so happy; aren't you, Bunny?" laughed Sue. "Christmas will be here in the morning, and we're going to have a play an' -- everything lovely!"

"Yes," answered Bunny. "I'm glad, and I'm glad I got Peter so he won't have to stay all alone, too."

The little rooster was taken out by Mr. Brown and put in the chicken house near the barn for the night. Word was telephoned to George that his pet bantam was all right. In a little while every one in the house was in bed.

If this book had started out to be a Christmas story I could put in a lot about what nice presents Bunny and Sue got. And also how Santa Claus did not forget Mart and Lucile. But as this is a book about Bunny Brown and his sister Sue giving a show, I must get to that part of my story. I'll just say, though, that the little boy and girl thought it was the finest Christmas they had ever known.

"I hope it won't snow so hard that nobody will come to the show," said Sue, when, after breakfast, she stood with her nose pressed in a funny, flat way against the window. It was snowing, but not too hard.

"O, I guess every one will come," said Mrs. Brown. "They have all bought tickets, anyhow, so you'll make some money for the Home for the Blind."

"And I hope Uncle Bill doesn't forget to come," put in Lucile.

"I had word from him a little while ago," said Mr. Brown. "I'm going for him in my auto. And now we must have an early dinner and get ready for the play."

I think Bunny and Sue were so excited that they did not eat as much roast turkey and cranberry sauce at that Christmas dinner as at others. But they had enough, anyhow, and in due time they were at the hall, where they met all the other children. Bunny had brought back the bantam rooster, thinking that perhaps, after all, Peter might have some part in the play. Will Laydon had his trained white mice with him, Splash was on hand, ready to cling to the piece of cloth on Mr. Treadwell's coat, and some other animal pets were ready to do their share in the play.

There was a final looking over of every one, mothers and sisters saw to it that the dresses and suits of the girls and boys were all right, and Mr. Treadwell was here, there, and everywhere, back of the scenes and curtain.

"Oh, there's a terrible big crowd!" exclaimed Bunny, as he looked out at the audience through a peep-hole in the curtain.

"Then we'll make a lot of money for the Blind Home," said Sue.

"I see Uncle Bill!" cried Mart, as he, too, looked out.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" exclaimed Lucile. "Now if we could only hear from Aunt Sallie and Uncle Simon everything would be all right."

The musicians were in their places. The hall was well filled, not only with boys and girls who had come to see their chums and playmates act, but with grown folks as well.

"Are you all ready?" asked Mr. Treadwell of Bunny, Sue and the others, as the musicians finished playing the opening piece.

"Yes," answered Bunny. "I'm all ready."

"Is my hair ribbon on right?" Sue wanted to know.

"Yes, you look sweet!" said Lucile.

"Now all ready for act one!" exclaimed the impersonator as he made sure that Snap was in his place.

And then up went the curtain on the meadow scene!



Chapter XXIII

Act II


There was a moment of silence when the curtain first went up, and then as the audience, many of them for the first time, saw the pretty meadow scene, there was loud clapping. For the opening act was very nicely gotten up. The scenery Mr. Brown had bought from the stranded vaudeville company had been so set up by Mr. Treadwell that it looked very natural.

"Why, bless me, if that don't look jest like my south meddar!" exclaimed old Mr. Tyndell, as he looked at the stage.

"Hush, father! The people will hear you!" whispered his wife.

"Wa'al, I want 'em to!" he went on. "That's a fine piece of meddar!"

Several sitting near the old farmer laughed, but no one minded it. And then, as the musicians began to play softly, Lucile stepped out from behind a make-believe stone in the meadow beside a pretend brook and began to sing her first song. Every one grew quiet to listen.

The play, "Down on the Farm," had been changed somewhat by Mr. Tread well from what he had first planned. This had to be done as he found out the different things the boy and girl actors could best do. And the first act had to do with Lucile, a lost girl who wandered to a farm meadow near the house where Bunny Brown and his sister Sue lived, only, of course, they had different names in the play.

Lucile sang her little song, and then she pretended she was so tired, from having walked a long way, that she must lie down and take a rest.

It was while she was lying down on some green carpet that took the place of green grass in the meadow that Bunny and Sue were supposed to come along and find her.

Bunny and Sue had a little act to themselves at this point. They stood on the stage and talked about the sleeping Lucile. Bunny said she looked sad and he was going to cheer her up.

"How are you going to make her feel happy?" asked Sue.

"I -- I'm going to turn a pepper -- no, I mean a somersault!" cried Bunny, stammering a trifle and making a little mistake, for this was the first time he had acted before such a large crowd. But no one laughed.

"Can you turn somersaults?" asked Sue.

"Yes, I'll show you!" answered Bunny. And then, on the stage, he began turning over and over.

All this was part of the play, of course, and Bunny was loudly clapped for the way in which he turned head over heels. He had practiced these somersaults many times, and Mart had helped him.

"Well, if you can make her happy by doing that maybe I can make her happier by singing a song," said Sue. "I'll practice my song while she's asleep as you practiced your somersaults."

And so Sue began to sing, while Lucile pretended to be asleep. After Sue's song Mart was supposed to come along, being a boy who had run away from a circus, and he was to watch Bunny try to turn a handspring. Bunny was to make believe he couldn't turn a handspring very well, and Mart would then take the center of the stage.

"Here! Look at me do a flipflop!" cried Mart, and then he really did some very good tricks for a boy acrobat.

All this while Lucile was pretending to be asleep, and when Mart's tricks were over she was supposed to wake up suddenly. At this point Sue was to see the pretend tramp, who, of course, was only Mr. Treadwell dressed up in old clothes.

Everything went off very well. Along through the meadow walked the actor tramp, and then, when Sue and Bunny called for "Snap," out rushed Splash.

"Grab him!" cried Bunny, and his dog caught hold of the loose piece of cloth sewed to Mr. Treadwell's coat. Then began a funny scene, with the actor pulling one way and Splash pulling the other, until, with a rip, the cloth came loose and Splash began shaking it as he might a rat.

Well, you should have heard the people laugh and clap at that! They wanted that scene done over again, but of course this wasn't like a song, with two verses. Mr. Treadwell only had one patch sewed on his coat, and when that was torn off he didn't want Splash to pretend to bite him again.

Finally the dog act came to an end and the little play went on with George and Mary Watson, Harry Bentley, fat Bobbie Boomer, Sadie West, Charlie Star and Helen Newton, besides other boys and girls, taking part. They all did well, and the fathers and mothers and strangers, too, applauded very loudly.

Lucile's Uncle Bill could hear all that was said, though he could see nothing, and he seemed to enjoy it all very much. The first act came to an end with all the children joining in singing a chorus.

"And now for act two!" exclaimed Mr. Treadwell, as the curtain went down. "This is in the barnyard, you know."

"I hope Peter crows at the right time!" said George, for it had been decided to try the rooster in that act.

While the audience sat in front of the lowered curtain, waiting for it to go up again, the children behind the curtain were very busy. Most of them had to dress in different clothes, or "costumes," as they are called, for the next act. And, for a time, there was much hurrying to and fro, much hunting here and there for things that had been mislaid.

"Where's my red hat?" called Charlie Star as he looked back of a piece of scenery that had a little brook painted on it. "Has anybody got my red hat?"

"Is it a fireman's hat, Charlie?" asked Sue, who was looking for some one to help her pin her dress in the back.

"No, it was a soldier's hat, but I'm going to make believe I'm a fireman, so I guess you could call it a fireman's hat," explained Charlie. "Has anybody seen my red hat?"

"Hush! Not so loud!" called Mr. Treadwell to Charlie. "The audience out in front will hear you, and they'll all be laughing at us."

"Oh!" said Charlie more quietly. "But I've got to have my hat, or I can't be in the next act."

"I'll help you hunt for it," said Bunny Brown. "I know where all my things are for the next act and I have time to help you, Charlie, 'cause you helped me a lot by printing the tickets for our show."

The two little boys began to hunt behind the scene, on the stage, for the missing red hat. They searched all around for it, but it seemed to have disappeared. Even Mr. Treadwell helped look, for he knew the play would not go right unless Charlie was dressed as had been planned for him.

"Did anybody see Charlie's red hat?" finally the impersonator called, when he managed to stop all the others from talking for a moment. "Please think, and see if you can remember seeing a red hat."

Then the buzz of talk broke out again, while the men who had been hired to do it kept on setting up the scenes for the second act. But all the children who had time to do so helped Bunny look for the red hat.

"Maybe Splash took it," suggested Sue, when she had finally gotten her dress pinned to suit her. "I saw him dragging something off to one corner a while ago."

"Was it a bone?" asked Bunny.

"I couldn't see very well, 'cause I was in a hurry," Sue answered.

"Come on -- we'll find Splash!" called Bunny to Charlie and some of the others who were helping in the search.

But even the dog seemed to have hidden himself. At last, however, he was heard growling in a dark corner, and Bunny saw that his pet was chewing something, and tossing it up in the air, as he often tossed a bit of cloth or an old shoe.

"Splash! What have you got?" cried Bunny. "Bring it here!"

At first the dog did not mind, but finally, when both Sue and Bunny told him to come, out he came, dragging something after him.

"Oh, it is my red hat!" cried Charlie, when he saw it. "It's my nice red hat that mother made for me to wear in the show!"

And that is what it was. But the red hat was nice and red no longer. Splash had chewed all the red off it, and the hat was also very much out of shape.

"Splash! You're a bad dog!" cried Bunny, shaking his finger at his pet, and Splash slunk away with his tail between his legs. He always did that whenever any one called him a bad dog.

"Oh, see how bad he feels," said Sue, in her gentle voice. "I guess he didn't mean to be bad and chew your hat, Charlie."

"But he did chew it!" replied the little boy who was to wear it in the next act. "Look! I can't even get it on! It isn't a hat at all!"

"Let me see," said Mr. Treadwell, coming up just then. He looked at what Splash had left of the hat. It was torn and chewed and the color was all gone, for the red had been only red ribbons pinned on an old cap, and Splash had made them look very sad indeed.

"What can I do?" asked Charlie. "Have I got to stay out of the play?"

Mr. Treadwell thought for a moment.

"No," he said. "I'll tell you what we'll do. You were to be a fireman and wear this red hat, weren't you?"

"Yes," answered Charlie.

"Well, you can still be a fireman, but instead of a red hat you can wear a tin one. A tin hat will be just the thing for a fireman. It will keep the make-believe hot sparks, as well as the water, off his head."

"But where can I get a tin hat?" asked Charlie.

"I'll have Mr. Raymond bring up a small tin pail from his hardware store downstairs."

And that's what was done, and the new, shiny tin pail made a very funny hat for Charlie. He liked it better than the red one that Splash had chewed.

After some delay the curtain went up again, showing the barnyard scene, and in this Bunny and Sue were to drive Toby, their Shetland pony, on the stage. It had been decided they could do this, as the pony was a very little one.

Up went the curtain again, and once more the big crowd clapped as they saw how pretty and natural it was. There was part of a barn with a real door that opened, and when it swung wide and out trotted the Shetland pony on to the stage, drawing a little cart in which sat Bunny and Sue, why, then you should have heard the applause!

And then something happened. Just how it came about no one knew, but, all of a sudden, there was a loud crow, and out from his basket, which had been hidden back of the wings, flew Peter, the rooster.

At first no one paid much attention to this, as they all knew it was part of the play. But when Peter suddenly flew out from back of the stage and alighted right on the pony's back, Toby was much frightened.

Up he rose on his hind legs, and then he made a dash for the edge of the stage. Straight for the footlights he started, dragging Bunny and Sue in the cart after him!

Men jumped to their feet and women screamed. It looked as if Bunny and Sue would be hurt.



Chapter XXIV

Act III


Lucky it was for every one that Mr. Treadwell was an old actor and stage manager and that he was used to slight accidents happening during a show. Just at the time Bunny and Sue, in the pony cart, were seemingly about to be run over the footlights. Mr. Treadwell was at one side of the stage, waiting for his turn to go on, dressed as an old soldier. When he saw what was happening to the little boy and girl he did not stop.

Rushing out he fairly slid across the smooth boards, in front of the make-believe barn, and he grabbed the pony's bridle in one hand. In the other he held the sword that he was supposed to use as a soldier.

"Halt!" cried the impersonator. "Stop right where you are, and surrender to General Grant!"

Mr. Treadwell really was dressed up like General Grant, but Bunny and Sue were surprised to hear him use these words, which were not in the play at all, "General Grant" had quite a different part to perform, and at first Bunny and Sue could not understand it. All they knew was that Mr. Treadwell had caught the pony's bridle in time to stop the frightened animal from walking over the edge of the stage, when Peter the rooster crowed so loudly from his back. Perhaps the sharp claws of the rooster may have tickled the pony. I should think they would. Anyhow the pony was stopped just in time.

"Don't be frightened, Bunny and Sue!" whispered Mr. Treadwell, as he motioned for the orchestra to play a little louder, so no one in the audience could hear what he said. Then he went on: "Just pretend it is all part of the show! Make believe I was to rush out this way, and call on you to surrender. I'll take Peter off the pony's back. The rooster makes him afraid. Now, Bunny, you say: All right General Grant! I'll surrender if it takes all summer!"

Bunny had been told so many times by Mr. Treadwell just what other things to say that this time he did not waste a second. So, almost as soon as the impersonator, dressed as General Grant, had rushed out, grabbed the pony's bridle, and called on Bunny and Sue to surrender, Bunny answered:

"All right, General Grant. I'll surrender if -- if it takes all summer!"

Bunny didn't know why some of the old men in the audience laughed so hard when he said this, but later on his father told him that some of them, like Uncle Tad, had fought under General Grant in the Civil War and that he had said words that were a "take-off" of one of General Grant's real speeches.

So, in less time than I have taken to tell you about it, the danger was over, Mr. Treadwell had turned the pony around so that it was headed back toward the make-believe barn, Peter, the crowing rooster had been taken from the back of the little horse, and the play was going on as usual.

Lucile came out and sang another song, Mart did some acrobatic feats, and the other boys and girls did their parts in the play, while "General Grant" appeared again and amused the audience.

"Dear me, Mrs. Brown!" exclaimed Mrs. Newton, who sat next to the mother of Bunny and Sue, "I thought at first that was an accident -- the way the pony started off the stage when the rooster got on his back -- but I guess it was all part of the play."

"It was clever of them to get up something to fool us like that -- almost too real and life-like, I think, though," said the mother of one of the little boys in the play.

Mrs. Brown knew, from the looks on the faces of Bunny and Sue, that it was an accident, and not intended, but she said nothing, for she did not want to spoil any one's pleasure in the show.

And so the performance went on, the boys and girls doing simple little things they had been taught by Mr. Treadwell. There were dances and drills, for it was a sort of mixed-up play, without very much of what grown folks call "plot." But it was just the thing for Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, and the only sort of play they could have given, for they were not very old.

In one scene George Watson, Harry Bentley, and Charlie Star played leapfrog, jumping over one another's backs. Bunny also had a part in this.

George tried to get his rooster to do a little trick in the barnyard scene. The boy stood near the barn door and held a piece of bread in his hand. He wanted Peter, the rooster, to fly up, perch on his head, and eat the crumbs of bread. But the rooster seemed to think he had done enough by perching on the pony's back, and he wouldn't fly on top of George's head at all. So they had to leave that trick out of the second act.

Then the curtain went down on the second act, the barnyard scene, and the boy and girls got ready for the last, the third act, in the orchard. This was to be the prettiest of all, for it was supposed to be in apple-blossom time, and the scene was a beautiful one, though it was cold, snowy, and wintry weather outside. Mr. Treadwell had done his best on this act.

It was hard work for some of the children, though most of them thought of it as play, but they had spent long hours in drilling.

As I have told you, there was a real tree in the scene, and a house, and the play was supposed to end with every one saying how happy he or she was to be "Down on the Farm," when they all sang a song with those words in it.

Everything went off very nicely. Bunny and Sue did even better in this third act than in the first or second, and there was no little accident like that with the pony and rooster.

They were coming to the climax of the third act. Sue was supposed to be lost, and Bunny was supposed to hunt for her. He was to look everywhere, and at last find her up in an apple tree -- or what passed for an apple tree -- on the stage.

All went well until Sue slipped out of the farmhouse, ran to the apple tree and climbed up in it to hide among the artificial branches. Then Bunny started to pretend to look for her. He stood under the tree, but didn't let on he knew she was there, though of course he really did know.

"I wonder where she can be?" he said aloud, just as he was supposed to say in the play. "Where can she have hidden herself?"

And just then little Weejie Brewster piped up from where she was sitting with her mother:

"Dere she is, Bunny! Dere's Sue hidin' up in de apper tree! I kin see her 'egs stickin' out! She's in de tree, she is!"

Of course everybody burst out laughing at hearing this, but the play was so near the end that what Weejie said did not spoil it. Bunny had to laugh himself, and so did Sue. Then Bunny looked up among the branches, pretended to discover Sue, and on he went with the rest of his talk.

The little white mice performed once again. Splash did another trick quite well, too. And then Peter, the rooster, as if to make up for not behaving nicely in the second act, flew out on the head of George just as he was handing Lucile a bouquet when she sang her "Rose Song."

Of course the rooster, coming out at that time, rather spoiled Lucile's song, but she didn't mind, and when the audience got over laughing she went on with it as if nothing had happened.

It was just before the last scene, where the whole company of boys and girls was to gather around Mr. Treadwell, in front of the house, and sing the farm song, that something else happened.

Down the aisle came Mr. Jed Winkler, and in his hand he held a yellow telegram envelope. He marched up to Mr. Brown and said, so loud that every one could hear him:

"This message just came! I was over at the telegraph office and the operator gave it to me to bring to you."

"Oh, thank you," said Mr. Brown.

There was a little pause in the play while the children were getting ready to sing the last song. Mr. Brown tore open the message.

"I hope there is no bad news," some one said, and every one in the audience hoped the same thing, for they all liked Mr. Brown.

Bunny and Sue, up on the stage, looked at their father in some wonderment, while Lucile, who was to lead in the singing, glanced at her brother. Could the telegram be about them?



Chapter XXV

The Final Curtain


Mr. Treadwell, who was off to one side of the stage getting everything ready for the last scene, came out now to tell Bunny, Sue, and the others to start the singing.

"And sing good and loud," said the impersonator, who was dressed in a funny clown suit. "Sing your best, so all the people will like the show that Bunny and Sue started."

The piano player struck a few notes and then Mr. Brown, who had finished reading the telegram, held up his hand and stepped out into the aisle, walking toward the stage.

"Wait a minute!" called Mr. Brown, and the piano player stopped.

"Is there anything the matter?" asked Mr. Treadwell, and Lucile's Uncle Bill seemed a bit uneasy, for, being blind, he could not so well take care of himself in case of accident as could the others.

"Don't you want Bunny and me to sing any more, Daddy?" called out Sue, from where she stood on the stage, and nearly every one in the hall laughed.

"Oh, yes, indeed, I want you to sing," said Mr. Brown. "But I have some good news, and I might as well tell it to those to whom it comes before the show goes on. It will not take more than a few minute. Lucile -- Mart -- the good news is for you!" And Mr. Brown waved the telegram at the boy acrobat and his sister, the singer.

"Is it from our kin?" asked Mart.

"Yes," answered Bunny's father. "This message came to me because, I suppose, your uncle, Mr. William Clayton, gave my address when he telegraphed to your uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie."

"And is the message from them?" asked Lucile.

"Yes," replied Mr. Brown. "It's from your Uncle Simon, and he says he and your aunt will be here in about a week. They have been giving a show in a far-off country, and they did not know you had lost track of them and your Uncle Bill. But everything is all right now. Your uncle and aunt are coming to look after you, and they say they are sorry you had so much trouble."

"We didn't have much trouble after we met you, and you took care of us," said Mart.

"Well, I'm glad you feel that way about it," replied Mr. Brown. "And I'll be glad to have you and Lucile stay with me until your uncle and aunt come back. It's well they telegraphed instead of waiting to send a letter, for the good news came more quickly. They say they just received the first letter your Uncle Bill sent, and they made haste to answer by telegraph."

"So everything is all right, is it?" asked Mart's Uncle Bill, from where he sat with a friend from the Home for the Blind.

"Yes," answered Mr. Brown. "Lucile and Mart have found their relatives, and I hope they never lose them again."

"That's fine!" cried the blind man. "This will be a jolly Christmas for everybody!"

And so it was, and no one was happier than Lucile and Mart that they had found their missing uncle and aunt.

"Oh, I can sing my last song so much more happily now!" said Lucile softly.

"And I'm going to turn three flipflops instead of one!" cried Mart.

"And I'll help you!" added Bunny Brown, and every one laughed again. It was a merry, happy, jolly time, just right for Christmas.

"Well, all ready now, children!" called Mr. Treadwell when Mr. Brown had taken his seat. "Now for the last grand chorus then the final curtain and the play will be over!"

Once more the piano played, and then the children, led by Lucile, lifted up their sweet voices in song. And it seemed to be a hymn of thanksgiving for the two children who had found their lost ones.

Circling around the tree in the stage orchard marched Bunny Brown, his sister Sue, and the other children. Then out danced Mr. Treadwell, in another funny suit, and then, all at once, out from the wings rushed Splash the dog. He stood up on his hind legs put his paws on Mr. Treadwell's shoulders, and marched across the stage that way, while the audience clapped and Bunny and Sue stared with wide-opened eyes.

"I -- I didn't know my dog could do that trick!" cried Bunny.

"I taught it to him for a surprise," said the actor. "Hi, Splash! Come on and have another dance with me!" And the dog walked across the stage again on his hind legs.

And then, with another song, given as the children stood in a double row facing the audience, the show of "Down on the Farm" came to a close and the final curtain fell, while the crowd of fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts and friends applauded as loudly as they could. Mr. Brown gave a little talk about the Home for the Blind and many persons said they would help it.

"Well, from what I heard of it, I'll say that was a fine show!" said Lucile's Uncle Bill. "And one of the best parts was that telegram Mr. Brown read."

"Yes, I think so myself," said Bunny's father.

Back on the stage the children were hurrying to get off their costumes and into their regular garments, so they might go home and look at their Christmas presents once more.

"Shall we ever give the show again?" asked Charlie Star.

"Well, we might, in a day or so," said Mr. Treadwell. "If the audience would like to see it, we might give it some afternoon next week."

"Oh, yes, let's do it!" cried Bunny.

"Oh, yes!" cried Sue and the others.

While this talk was going on Mr. Raymond, the owner of the hall, came up to where Bunny Brown stood.

"I guess you're the treasurer of this show, aren't you?" he asked, and Sue noticed that the hardware man had something in his hand.

"No -- no," said Bunny, shaking his head, "I wasn't a -- a treasure. I was a farm boy in one act and I turned somersaults in another act."

"Well, I don't exactly mean that," said Mr. Raymond, with a laugh. "I mean you got up the show, didn't you?"

"Yes, Bunny and Sue really started it," said Mr. Treadwell.

"That's what I thought," said the hardware man. "Well, then, Bunny, this money comes to you. It's what was taken in at the door, and what was paid for tickets. Your father asked me to take charge of it, but, now that the first show, at least, is over, you'd better have it."

He handed a box that seemed to be full of silver money and bills to Bunny and Sue Brown.

"Oh! Oh!" exclaimed Sue. "It's most a thousand dollars I guess!"

"No, not quite as much as that," said Mr. Raymond. "But your show was a great success, and there's ninety dollars and fifteen cents there. The fifteen cents is from a boy who couldn't raise the quarter admission, so I let him in for fifteen. I'd have let him in for nothing, but he said he wanted to do all he could to help the Home for the Blind."

"Yes, this money's for the Blind Home," said Bunny. "I'm glad we got such a lot. I didn't think we'd get more than ten dollars."

"Indeed, you did very well, and I want to thank you on behalf of the blind people," said Mr. Harrison, manager of the Home, to whom Mr. Brown handed the money, after Bunny, Sue, and the other children had all had a look at it. "This will buy many a little comfort for my people."

Then, indeed, Bunny, Sue and the others felt repaid for all they had done to get up the show; and some of them had worked very hard to give the audience a pleasant and amusing time.

So everything came out well, and the finding of the uncle and aunt of Lucile and Mart was one of the nicest parts of the little play.

Soon the hall was deserted, and the children were on their way home. Mr. Bill Clayton -- though I presume his name was William, and not just Bill -- and Mr. Harrison went to the Brown house to stay for supper, and there the telegram from their Uncle Simon was read again by Lucile and Mart.

"I'm going to be a show actor when I grow up," declared Bunny Brown.

"And I'm going to sing on the stage -- I like it," said Sue.

"Well, it will be a good many years before you are old enough to go on the real stage," said her mother, with a laugh. "You or Bunny either."

And so the show that Bunny and Sue gave came to an end -- yet not quite an end, either. For the play was given over again the week after, and more money raised for the Home for the Blind. And among those in the audience were Mart and Lucile's Uncle Simon and Aunt Sallie. They had hurried their trip back to this country to look after Lucile and Mart, and they were glad to find their niece and nephew in such good hands.

"And if it hadn't been for Bunny Brown, thinking of getting up a show, maybe you'd never have found us," said Mart to his Uncle Simon.

"Maybe," agreed Mr. Weatherby. "Bunny did a lot, and so did his sister Sue! They're just the kind of children to do things!"

And perhaps, if all goes well, you may read of other doings of Bunny Brown and his sister Sue.

<eob>

Doctor Rabbit And Ki-Yi Coyote

By

Thomas Clark Hinkle



Doctor Rabbit Gets A Call


Doctor Rabbit lived in the very biggest tree in the Big Green Woods. He looked after all the other rabbits when they were ill and he doctored quite a number of the other little creatures of the Big Woods too, when they did not feel well. He was so jolly and cheerful, always trying so hard to help others, that he had a great many friends.

Doctor Rabbit said when he came to live in the Big Green Woods he didn't have the least idea that he would have so many adventures. "But then," he said one day as he curled his mustache, "it's a good thing I have so many adventures. They make me take plenty of exercise, and that's fine for my constitution." What he meant by this was that exercise kept him in good health.

I said Doctor Rabbit looked after some of the other creatures when they were ill. But there were some he did not dare go near. Well, I should say not! For instance, there was Ki-yi Coyote, who lived out on the Wide Prairie just outside the Big Green Woods. No, Doctor Rabbit never went near Ki-yi Coyote. And if old Ki-yi had been ill and if all his relatives had been so ill they never again would be able to get out of bed, Doctor Rabbit would not have cared at all. No indeed, he would have been glad of it, because Ki-yi Coyote and all his relatives, who lived far away, were ready any time to gobble up Doctor Rabbit.

Now, one fine morning in spring Doctor Rabbit began to have trouble with Ki-yi. On this morning Doctor Rabbit arose from his bed very early and prepared a fine breakfast for himself. He cooked some nice new potatoes and green peas he had found in Farmer Roe's garden. After he had eaten his breakfast he had to wash the dishes because there wasn't anybody else to do it. You see, he lived all alone in the big tree. He didn't like to wash dishes but he did it anyway. Then he put on his second best pair of glasses and went out in his front yard to get some fresh air and see if his neighbor, Blue Jay, was up.

There was a very good reason why he wanted to know whether Blue Jay was up. Just now Doctor Rabbit was greatly troubled. Now, what do you suppose he was troubled about? Why, word had been brought the night before that Billy Rabbit, the small son of Jack and Mrs. Jack Rabbit, who lived far out on the Wide Prairie, was ill. Blue Jay had come flying in to tell the news. He said Mrs. Jack Rabbit told him if Billy was not better by morning Doctor Rabbit would simply have to cross the Wide Prairie even if it was dangerous.

Now Doctor Rabbit was a cottontail rabbit, so of course he couldn't run faster than any other cottontail. He could not run anything like so fast nor so far as could Jack Rabbit. So Doctor Rabbit was greatly troubled this morning. He could not sit still, but kept walking slowly round and round in his front yard. As he walked round and round he said to himself, "I've never been so far out on the open Wide Prairie as Jack Rabbit's. Suppose I should go away out there to see little sick Billy and Ki-yi Coyote should get after me! Goodness gracious! He would be almost sure to catch me." Doctor Rabbit trembled a little and looked all around even though he was right in his own dooryard. He very much hoped he would not be called to go so far out on the Wide Prairie.

But what he feared happened. Very soon Jack Rabbit came running fast, and flying right along with him came Blue Jay. Busy Blue Jay generally knows everything that is happening.

Jack Rabbit walked straight up to Doctor Rabbit and, bowing politely, said:

"I'm so glad I found you at home, Doctor. My son Billy is no better. In fact, he is much worse, and we are troubled about him. Can't you run over and see him right now?"

For a moment Doctor Rabbit did not know what to say. He feared Ki-yi Coyote, but at the same time he hated to think of Billy Rabbit's being so ill with no one there to make him well. He thought and thought. Finally he said:

"Of course, Friend Jack Rabbit, I shall try to get over to see your son. But as you know, it's very dangerous for me because I can't run more than half as fast as you can. Now what could we do if old Ki-yi Coyote should happen to get after us?"

Friend Jack Rabbit scratched his head and said he hadn't thought about that. It was a very serious matter, too. For suppose Ki-yi Coyote should gobble up good Doctor Rabbit! Then what would the woods creatures do? They must certainly plan some means of going in safety.

"Say!" said Doctor Rabbit suddenly, "I've thought of a plan. I'll just ride on your back and we'll get there in no time!"

But Friend Jack Rabbit scratched his head again. He wasn't sure he could carry Doctor Rabbit, because the Doctor was very portly -- that is, he was pretty fat and heavy. But anyway he agreed to try the plan. So Doctor Rabbit hurried into his house and put on his best pair of gold glasses and his best clothes. He always liked, he said, to look his best before his patients. Then with his medicine case in hand he sprang upon Jack Rabbit's back.

"See how fast you can run to the edge of the Big Green Woods. That will be a good test!" shouted Doctor Rabbit, and Jack Rabbit answered, "Very well. If you're ready I'll try!"




In Fear Of Ki-Yi Coyote


Just as Jack Rabbit started for the edge of the Big Green Woods with Doctor Rabbit on his back, Blue Jay flew along ahead of them. Then came Robin-the-Red, whistling Red Bird and others. They had never seen Doctor Rabbit ride before and they all laughed and shouted at the funny appearance he made.

Away went Jack Rabbit as fast as he could for the edge of the Woods.

"This is fine!" cried Doctor Rabbit. "Keep it up, Jack Rabbit, and we'll be at your house in a jiffy!"

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Blue Jay and the others as they flew along near the ground watching them. "Look at Doctor Rabbit in his new automobile! Look at him!" they shouted. Then they all laughed again. As they raced along Stubby Woodchuck came out of his house to see the funny sight, and so did Cheepy Chipmunk and Chatty Red Squirrel and Frisky Gray Squirrel and many others.

They all wondered if Jack Rabbit could hold out carrying Doctor Rabbit so far. They thought he must be mighty strong if he could. But when he reached the edge of the woods he stopped and said he would have to give it up. He lay down and panted for a while. By and by he said he hadn't the least idea that Doctor Rabbit was so heavy. Indeed, he said it seemed as if he was carrying a house on his back by the time he reached the edge of the woods.

Then they talked the matter over and decided they would both walk -- or run if they had to. Doctor Rabbit was a good deal worried. He looked out across the Wide Prairie and saw how far it was to Jack Rabbit's little house. How he did hate to start! Then he had an idea. He saw several small trees out on the Prairie some distance apart. "Say! Jack Rabbit," said he, "I wonder if there are any holes among the roots of those trees so I could 'hole up' [he meant run into a hole] if I had to. I mean if Ki-yi Coyote should get after us."

"Sure enough!" cried Jack Rabbit. "The rain has washed bare the top roots of every one of those trees and there are two or three holes under every tree!"

Doctor Rabbit looked very straight at Jack Rabbit and said, "Now are you right sure about that?"

"Yes, I am sure," Jack Rabbit said; "as sure as anything. It happens that I was at every one of those trees just yesterday and I sniffed and snuffed round every one of those holes. I didn't go into any of them for I don't like to go into holes. But those holes are certainly there. And if Ki-yi Coyote should get after us when we get pretty well out on the Prairie, you could make for a tree and I'd let him chase me. I'm not much afraid of him because I've run away from him many a time."

"All right," agreed Doctor Rabbit. "We'll go straight for the first tree. When we get there we'll look all around for the least sign of slinky Ki-yi, and if we don't see anything we'll move on to the next tree."

"Sure thing," Jack Rabbit said; "that will make you as safe as anything." So they started out. As they hurried along Jack Rabbit said:


"When we leave the last tree we'll have only a little way to go to my home. It's just a little farther on beside an oak fence post."

So they kept going, hoppity, hoppity, hop. And as they went Doctor Rabbit's courage rose little by little. After all, thought he, perhaps Ki-yi Coyote would not see them.

Even so, he kept a sharp eye out for anything that might be moving in the grass. And he told Jack Rabbit to do the same.

"Indeed I will, sir," Jack Rabbit answered. "I always do look out. I should say I do! And if Ki-yi Coyote starts up I'll see him quick as a flash!"

Then they hurried a bit faster because Doctor Rabbit said he wanted to get to the first tree and examine the holes for himself.




The Holes Under The Trees


Doctor Rabbit and Mr. Jack Rabbit moved across the Wide Prairie and looked about them in every direction. There was a great deal of bunch grass on the Wide Prairie, and this made them very nervous. They knew how easy it would be for Ki-yi Coyote to hide behind one of those bunches of grass until an innocent rabbit came very near.

Doctor Rabbit stopped and said, "I really believe we should keep just as far as possible from every bunch of grass." Then he jumped backward, because he saw something moving in the grass. But it proved to be nothing but a sunflower; so they walked on.

By and by they came to the first tree, and how glad they were! Doctor Rabbit went into the hole there to look about. After a little time he came out and said a gray squirrel had been there, but it had been a good while before. He said it looked to him like an old house that people had lived in once, but not for a long time. You know how the grass grows up tall in the front yard, and the windows get broken, and the doors creak when you open them, and there is a damp, musty smell in a house. Well, Doctor Rabbit said it was that way in the hole under the tree. Some animal, a gray squirrel, maybe, had lived there, and perhaps some other small animal before the gray squirrel; but they were gone now.

Doctor Rabbit said there was one thing that bothered him a little.

"What's that?" Friend Jack Rabbit wanted to know. "Why," replied wise Doctor Rabbit, "I was just thinking that possibly Ki-yi Coyote knows who lived here, and why they are gone. Maybe he made a breakfast of them!"

They didn't say any more about that part of it, and pretty soon they came to the next tree. Doctor Rabbit went into the hole here, also. He was gone so long that Jack Rabbit began to be quite troubled; but finally Doctor Rabbit came out and said a cottontail rabbit had been in there, but it had been a good while ago. He thought it likely that old Ki-yi Coyote had gobbled up the cottontail who had lived there.

"However," Doctor Rabbit said, "possibly he got away." Then he exclaimed, "I surely hope he got away."

Doctor Rabbit looked into the holes under the other two trees, and said some small animals had once lived in them.

All this naturally made Doctor Rabbit more and more nervous. It looked as if no animal was safe out so far on the Wide Prairie but fleet Jack Rabbit, and even he had to watch out mighty close.

When they left the last tree, Doctor Rabbit said, "Now let's run good and fast the rest of the way!"

And they did -- hoppity, hoppity, hoppity, so fast that they looked like two long gray streaks going toward Jack Rabbit's home.




Doctoring Billy Rabbit


When Doctor Rabbit at last reached Jack Rabbit's home, he found Billy Rabbit was suffering with nothing more than a case of acute indigestion -- that is, colic. Doctor Rabbit said this was caused by Billy's having eaten too many green peas from Farmer Roe's garden.

Mrs. Jack Rabbit explained that kind friends and neighbors had brought in all sorts of patent medicines. These medicines, they said, had cured many of their family, even some who had lived before they were born.

"But," said Mrs. Jack Rabbit, looking seriously at Doctor Rabbit, "although I gave Billy all the medicine they brought, he is no better. In fact, he is worse."

Doctor Rabbit looked at Billy Rabbit and then looked over his gold glasses at the neighbors and friends standing all around. Then he said, "He grew worse, did he? Ahem! ahem! he grew worse! I see! I see! Well, to tell you the truth, Mrs. Jack Rabbit, after all that dope I should think he would grow worse!"

Well, that was pretty plain. Some of the neighbors wanted to let it be known that they were angry, but they didn't dare. No, you see their own work on Billy Rabbit was a failure. They had sent for the doctor, and they had to do just what he said.

So they all kept still, and Doctor Rabbit, after he had cleared his throat in a very dignified way, said, "Mrs. Jack Rabbit, I would thank you for a tablespoon."

When he got the tablespoon, Doctor Rabbit gave Billy Rabbit about the nastiest tasting medicine in the world. Now, guess what it was! Castor Oil? That's right, you guessed it the first time! Yes, that's exactly what Doctor Rabbit gave him -- a whole tablespoonful.

Billy Rabbit swallowed the whole spoonful before he knew what it was. Then, although he had before been lying quite still, he jumped around in the bed, kicked off the covers, and said he never would take another dose of medicine in his life.

But Doctor Rabbit just laughed and said that was the way little sick rabbits usually talked. Then Doctor Rabbit ordered some grass tea for his patient, and no more green peas for a whole week. "I shall have to be going now," he said, "and how I do wish I were back in the Big Green Woods!"

Now all the jack rabbit neighbors were feeling pretty friendly by this time, because they saw that Doctor Rabbit really was a very smart doctor. They all wanted to go along with him for his protection.

But Doctor Rabbit said, "No, that will do no good. Ki-yi Coyote would see all of us sooner than two of us. Friend Jack Rabbit and I will go back alone."

So the two of them started back toward the woods.




Ki-Yi Coyote Chases Doctor Rabbit


Doctor Rabbit and Jack Rabbit hurried along across the Wide Prairie until they came to the first tree. Here Doctor Rabbit said they had better stop and look around a bit. So cautious Jack Rabbit went up on a little hill and looked all around, but he said he couldn't see a thing.

"Did you look mighty close in the direction of the Big Green Woods?" Doctor Rabbit wanted to know. (You see this was the direction in which they were going.)

"Indeed, I did look!" replied Jack Rabbit. "I looked more closely in that direction than in any other, and there wasn't a thing in sight."

"All right," said Doctor Rabbit, "we'll go for the next tree."

They came safely to the next tree, and pretty soon they came to the last tree. Doctor Rabbit was feeling fine now. They stopped by the tree and talked for a little while.

Doctor Rabbit said, "I don't think I should care much if Ki-yi Coyote did come after us. I could run away from him and be in the Big Green Woods in no time!"

But Jack Rabbit had run away from Ki-yi Coyote a good many times, and he knew. So he said pretty seriously, "I don't know about that, Doctor Rabbit. Ki-yi can run something awful."

"I know," said Doctor Rabbit, "but the Big Green Woods look so close that I feel sure I could beat him that far."

Then what do you suppose he said? Well, he didn't realize what he was saying, of course, but this is what he said: "Ha, ha, ha! Why, Friend Jack Rabbit, I feel so sure about it that I wish old Ki-yi would come tearing out this way right now! Yes, sir! I wish he would. Just let him come whenever he wants to. If he came, I'd run away and be in the Big Green Woods so quick he could hardly see me."

And then something happened, something that Doctor Rabbit was not ready for at all, because he really was not expecting it. Just then Ki-yi Coyote did come tearing over the great Wide Prairie after them. And he came from the direction of the Big Green Woods! Doctor Rabbit had forgotten all about that. He certainly was very much surprised, and very badly scared. He could have darted into the hole under the tree, of course, and that is just what he should have done. But sometimes when rabbits, like little boys and girls, get scared, they forget all about what is the best thing to do. What Doctor Rabbit ought to have done the very first thing when he saw Ki-yi coming was to say to himself, "Now, I mustn't be so scared that I don't know what I'm doing. I must be careful and get out of this, because I have no one to help me."

But he didn't stop to think. No, he was so frightened he just hiked out across the Wide Prairie!

Then kind Jack Rabbit was certainly scared, not for himself, but for Doctor Rabbit. So he started out after Doctor Rabbit, and when he caught up he shouted in his ear as loud as he could, "What's the matter with you, Doctor Rabbit? You must be crazy! Now, I'll take care of Ki-yi Coyote and you dodge back for that hole under the tree." Then Doctor Rabbit remembered. Crafty Ki-yi was right close and tried hard to seize him, but he didn't, and Doctor Rabbit darted safely into the hole.

It was a mighty close call. Ki-yi Coyote's sharp teeth had snapped twice at Doctor Rabbit, once so close that some of his tiny round tail was bitten off.

All this time clever Jack Rabbit was close beside Doctor Rabbit, shouting (just to fool Ki-yi Coyote, of course), "Oh, my! I've got a broken leg! I've got a broken leg! What shall I do if Ki-yi Coyote comes after me! Oh, good Ki-yi, please don't come after me, 'cause I've got a broken leg!"

Well, if it hadn't been for this, I think that Ki-yi would certainly have caught Doctor Rabbit, but after he had missed him once, and was just going for him again, he heard Jack Rabbit's moan. So he said, "I'll go after Jack Rabbit. He has a broken leg, and I can catch him without half trying." And off he started after Jack Rabbit.




Doctor Rabbit Gets A Scare


When Jack Rabbit saw that Ki-yi Coyote was after him, he started away on three legs for all the world as if one of his legs was broken. It was very easy for him to play this little joke, because he had practiced it a good deal when a small dog got after him.

"Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear! what shall I do?" clever Jack Rabbit shouted back toward Ki-yi Coyote; and old Ki-yi thought now he would surely have rabbit for dinner. So he ran as hard as ever he could.

"Ha! ha!" he yelled. "I always knew you'd break your leg some time, and I'd get you. Ha! ha! Now I'm going to have a nice, big, fat rabbit for dinner!" And Ki-yi Coyote took a long, swift jump to seize Jack Rabbit -- but he wasn't there! He was farther away than ever. And much to Ki-yi's surprise and anger, Jack Rabbit put all four legs down on the ground and said as he ran, "So you're going to have rabbit for dinner, are you? Well, it won't be me, and it won't be Doctor Rabbit, for he's safe. Good day, Ki-yi; I must be going!"

And away Jack Rabbit went running. But he wasn't to get away so easily this time, after all. Ki-yi was most terribly angry, and he made up his mind to chase Jack Rabbit just as long as he could see him.

In the meantime, Doctor Rabbit lay down on the cool earth in the hole, and panted and panted. He was dreadfully tired and frightened from his run for life. He kept thinking that Ki-yi would thrust his long nose into the hole and begin digging to get in. But Ki-yi didn't, of course.

After Doctor Rabbit had rested a few minutes he began to be anxious to know what had become of Friend Jack Rabbit. Had Ki-yi by any chance caught him? Doctor Rabbit was scared even to think about it. He decided he would try to find out what had happened. So he crept very cautiously toward the opening of the hole and peeped out. First he put only his nose out. Then he put his whole head out, and looked all around.

He had about decided that swift Jack Rabbit had given old Ki-yi the slip. "Guess I'd better hike for the Big Green Woods," said Doctor Rabbit to himself, and he was just going to start when he saw something that made him change his mind mighty quick. And this time he didn't run for the Big Green Woods, either. I should say he didn't! No, he just backed part way into the hole under the tree, and then stretched up his head and watched what was coming.

What Doctor Rabbit saw was poor Jack Rabbit running as hard as he could, and Ki-yi Coyote still after him!

As he came on toward the tree, Jack Rabbit shouted out ever so loud, "Doctor Rabbit! Doctor Rabbit! Come out and help me a little. I'm about to be caught! It's my rheumatism. He's almost got me now!" And just then Jack Rabbit had to dodge very quickly to keep from being caught.

It certainly looked very bad for poor Jack Rabbit, and right then Ki-yi Coyote came very near seizing him again! Doctor Rabbit was almost too scared to breathe. He didn't know what on earth to do except to spring out and let Ki-yi chase him instead. And he was about to do this when he thought of something else. So he just lay low and waited while Jack Rabbit came running nearer and nearer the tree.




Doctor Rabbit And Jack Rabbit Escape


While Jack Rabbit, with Ki-yi Coyote close after him, was running toward the tree, Doctor Rabbit shouted out, "Come right past this tree, Jack Rabbit! Come right past this tree! I've got a plan! Come right along, I'll help you. Come on! Come on!"

That encouraged Friend Jack Rabbit wonderfully. He took a few extra long jumps and managed to get a little farther ahead of Ki-yi Coyote. Of course he didn't know what Doctor Rabbit was going to do, but Jack Rabbit always had great faith in Doctor Rabbit. So he ran right past the hole under the tree.

Then, just as crafty Ki-yi was going by with his mouth wide open and his tongue hanging out, Doctor Rabbit sprang up and threw a whole bottle of his very nastiest medicine right into Ki-yi's face!

Well, you should have seen old Ki-yi then. He was more surprised than he ever had been before in his life. And mad! He was about the maddest coyote you ever heard of. His mouth had been wide open, so of course he got most of the medicine there. It tasted so nasty he stopped just a moment to try to get it out of his mouth, but when he found he couldn't, he started out after Doctor Rabbit. He was angrier than ever, and ran as hard as he could run.

Just as soon as Doctor Rabbit had thrown the bad-tasting medicine in Ki-yi Coyote's face, he started out for the Big Green Woods as fast as his legs could carry him. Jack Rabbit had dodged over a little hill and was out of sight.

When angry Ki-yi started after him again Doctor Rabbit was already near the Big Green Woods, so he looked back and just laughed and shouted. "Ha, ha, ha!" he laughed. "I guess you're pretty mad, aren't you, Mr. Ki-yi? Ha, ha, ha! How do you like the medicine? Is it as good as -- as good as jack rabbit? Ha, ha, ha!" And with that, Doctor Rabbit bounded into the Big Green Woods, and whisked out of sight.

As Doctor Rabbit ran along, he met Jack Rabbit, who also had managed to get into the woods. They both kept running until they reached Doctor Rabbit's home in the big tree.

Here tired Jack Rabbit threw himself down on the grass and panted for a long while. He said it was about the hardest race he ever had had in his life, and that he guessed he must be getting old, for he couldn't run as fast as he used to. But after Doctor Rabbit had brought out some liniment and rubbed him well, Jack Rabbit said he felt better. Then after he had eaten a good dinner with Doctor Rabbit, he said he felt so fine he believed he could run away from Ki-yi Coyote and not half try.

"What I need," said Jack Rabbit, "is a little of that liniment around the house, so my wife could rub me with it now and then. I believe it would cure my rheumatism."

"I am quite certain of it," Doctor Rabbit told him, and he wrapped up a bottle of it right away and gave it to Jack Rabbit to take home with him. After that they sat down and talked.

"I wish," said Jack Rabbit then, "that there were some way to run Ki-yi Coyote clear out of the Wide Prairie, or some way to get rid of him altogether."

Doctor Rabbit was leaning against a tree curling his mustache and frowning a little. When he was thinking hard, he usually did frown. "I've been thinking about that, Friend Jack Rabbit," he said, "and I believe I know a way to get rid of crafty Ki-yi, so he'll never bother us again."

"You do?" exclaimed Jack Rabbit eagerly, pricking up his long ears. "What is your plan?"

Doctor Rabbit dropped his voice to a whisper and said, "I haven't thought it all out yet, but I will right soon, and I'll let you know." Then he looked through the trees toward the edge of the woods, and pointing one front foot, said:

"Look! look! Ki-yi's sneaking along out there now!" Jack Rabbit looked quickly, and sure enough, Ki-yi Coyote was slipping along and peering into the woods.

"He doesn't see us at all," whispered Jack Rabbit, "and I think I'll skip out and go while I know where he is. Now, when you decide how you're going to run him out of the Wide Prairie and get rid of him, let me know, will you?"

"I surely will," Doctor Rabbit said, "and I'll have it all thought out by morning."

Then Jack Rabbit slipped away to tell all his friends and relatives that in some way, he didn't just yet know how, Doctor Rabbit was going to get rid of Ki-yi Coyote.




Ki-Yi Coyote Watches For Doctor Rabbit


It was just as Doctor Rabbit had expected. He had not told Jack Rabbit about it, but that very night Ki-yi Coyote came prowling around, just as Doctor Rabbit thought he would.

Doctor Rabbit was in bed, but he had not gone to sleep, when he heard a noise out in his front yard. Very quietly he put his head out of an upstairs window.

Sure enough! There was slinky Ki-yi walking around out there and mumbling to himself. He was saying, "I know well enough he lives here. I can smell his tracks, and I can smell rabbit, too, as plain as anything. He's gone to bed now, no doubt, so I'll hide out here and pay him a call in the morning."

"He, he, he!" Ki-yi chuckled softly to himself. He was so tickled to think he had found where Doctor Rabbit lived. He thought now it would be easy to surprise Doctor Rabbit and make a breakfast of him.

Only a little distance away flowed the Murmuring Brook, where Doctor Rabbit went every morning for a drink.

There was a path that led from Doctor Rabbit's house to the brook, and Ki-yi Coyote thought he would hide right beside the path in the bushes. Then when Doctor Rabbit came along in the morning, he could pounce upon him and have him for breakfast.

So sly Ki-yi picked out a good place near the path and lay down to wait until morning.

"I suppose I'll get pretty tired waiting," he said, "but a big fat rabbit for breakfast is worth waiting for." And he smacked his lips at the very thought of it. Then he said, "My! I haven't tasted rabbit for two whole months. Yes, indeed, I'll wait right here until morning!" And again Ki-yi smacked his lips.

Now it so happened that Downy Screech Owl was in the tree right above Ki-yi Coyote, and heard what he said.

"Get out of my woods!" Downy Screech Owl cried, in his strange voice.

Old Ki-yi jumped, he was so startled. Then he looked up and saw who it was. "Never mind, Screechy," he said, in his smoothest voice, "I just came in for a cool drink at the Murmuring Brook and a little nap here."

"You can't fool me!" Downy Owl cried back in his very strange voice. "You're after something, and I know it! I know whom you are after, too. You are after -- "

Right here Downy Screech Owl stopped talking. He happened to think he might say something that would get Doctor Rabbit into trouble. So he made up his mind to keep still for the present, and slip over in a little while and tell Doctor Rabbit where Ki-yi Coyote was. You see, Downy Owl didn't know that Doctor Rabbit was awake. He didn't know that Ki-yi Coyote had even been seen by anybody else.

Downy Screech Owl waited until Ki-yi Coyote curled himself up, as if for a nap, and then flew around to Doctor Rabbit's back door and knocked very gently.

Doctor Rabbit opened the door only a very little crack, but when he saw who it was, he let Downy Owl in. And Downy began right away, for he was very much excited: "Ki-yi Coyote is right out there, hiding by the path, waiting for you!" he said.

But to his surprise, Doctor Rabbit answered, "I know it. I've been watching him all the time!"

"My, I'm certainly glad you have," said Downy Screech Owl; "but what are you going to do?"

"Don't talk so loud!" Doctor Rabbit warned. "I'm going to do this: I'm going to fool old Ki-yi worse than he ever was fooled before in his life. The first joke I play on him will be funny. But the second joke I play on him will take him clear away from the Big Green Woods and the Wide Prairie for good and all."

"My goodness me!" was all Downy Screech Owl could say, he was so puzzled. "How are you going to play the jokes on sly Ki-yi, and what are the jokes?" he wanted to know.

"Never mind now," Doctor Rabbit whispered; "you just slip back and see if Ki-yi is still there. If he is, try to keep him there."




Doctor Rabbit Calls On Chatty Squirrel


Little Downy Owl flew back to the tree. There was Ki-yi Coyote still lying below on the grass, all curled up just as if he were fast asleep. Downy Screech Owl looked at him for a while and then, out of curiosity, flew down on a limb a little closer. Still Ki-yi Coyote did not move, so Downy Owl flew a little closer. Just then he saw sly Ki-yi move his ear the tiniest bit, and heard him mumble something to himself. Little Downy flew up high in the tree as quick as winking.

"I'll just wait," he said very softly to himself, "and if old Ki-yi starts to go away, I'll talk to him and try to keep him here until I see what Doctor Rabbit is going to do."

When it was almost morning, Doctor Rabbit got out of bed and peeped out toward the place where Ki-yi had been. Yes, sir! He was still there. Indeed, he was. Doctor Rabbit saw him stretch his head up and look toward the house in the tree.

Doctor Rabbit was so tickled he just laughed to himself. Then he slipped out at his back door and went very quietly through the woods until he came to the tree where Chatty Red Squirrel lived.

Chatty Red was still asleep, but when Doctor Rabbit thumped on the door, he came down to see who was there. When he saw Doctor Rabbit, he said, "Anyone sick over this way, Doctor?"

"No," said Doctor Rabbit, "I just wanted you to help me out a little."

"I certainly will, if I can," Chatty Squirrel said. You see, he had once had the colic very bad, and Doctor Rabbit had come right over and cured him, so he felt deeply grateful. "What do you want me to do?" Chatty asked.

"Well," Doctor Rabbit said, "first I want to tell you that Ki-yi Coyote is in the Big Green Woods. In fact, he's hiding near my house this very minute, and expects to make a breakfast of me when I go down to the Murmuring Brook for a drink."

"Sakes alive!" Chatty exclaimed. "How did you find out?"

Then Doctor Rabbit told him that he had been awake and listening, and that Downy Screech Owl was up in the tree watching Ki-yi, and if necessary would talk to him to keep him there.

"Well, well, well!" exclaimed Chatty Squirrel, rubbing his eyes. He had hardly been awake when Doctor Rabbit knocked on the door, but now he was getting wider awake every minute. "What do you want me to do?" Chatty asked again, with his eyes wide open and very bright.

"First I want to play a joke on him," said Doctor Rabbit, "and I'll tell you how to do it. Ki-yi is now right under that big elm tree between my house and the Murmuring Brook. You slip over through the trees as quick as you can and climb up to that old nest Jim Crow used to live in. There's a stone in the nest that Farmer Roe's boy threw at you the other day. Do you remember?"

"Indeed I do remember, because Farmer Roe's boy almost hit me with that stone," Chatty Squirrel said.

"Very well, then," said Doctor Rabbit, "you get into that nest and get hold of that stone, and when you have a good chance, drop it down right on Ki-yi Coyote. Then lie flat on the limb and keep perfectly still, so he won't know where the stone came from."

"But where are you going to be, and what will you do?" Chatty Squirrel wanted to know. He was very nervous about it.

"You wait and see; I'll attend to that," Doctor Rabbit said softly. "And now you hurry along before Ki-yi Coyote decides to go away."




Fooling Ki-Yi Coyote


Chatty Red Squirrel remembered well enough how Farmer Roe's boy had thrown that rock up at him a few days before when he had taken refuge in Jim Crow's old nest.

It so happened that Chatty Squirrel was not much hurt. In fact he was only bruised a little when the stone fell into the nest. But he had been badly scared -- indeed he had, because the stone was big enough to do him terrible harm if it had struck him squarely.

Chatty Squirrel thought it would be a mighty fine joke to slip over and drop that stone on Ki-yi Coyote. He naturally hated old Ki-yi as much as anybody, because for breakfast -- or just any time -- Ki-yi was quite as fond of tender squirrel as he was of fat little rabbit or juicy little owl.

So when Doctor Rabbit slipped away toward a little bridge over the Murmuring Brook, Chatty Squirrel started off through the tree tops toward the big elm under which Ki-yi Coyote lay waiting.

It was just daylight when Chatty Red reached the big elm and got into the old crow's nest where the stone was. He peeped over the edge of the nest and down. Yes, sir! There was old Ki-yi Coyote! He had his ears pricked up, and he was squinting through the trees toward Doctor Rabbit's house.

"He'll come this way now, very soon!" greedy Ki-yi said, and smacked his lips. Chatty heard him, and was so angry he almost scolded out loud. But he didn't. He kept perfectly still and thought about the stone. Ki-yi Coyote moved a little, and now he was right under the old crow's nest.

Chatty Red wondered where Doctor Rabbit was, and looked down on the ground and all around, but he couldn't see him.

"I'll obey orders, anyway," Chatty whispered to himself, and he got his nose under the stone and began to work it toward the edge of the nest.

Ki-yi Coyote didn't know what was going on, of course, so he just lay still, smacked his lips, and kept a sharp eye on Doctor Rabbit's house.

After a little work, Chatty Squirrel got the stone to the edge of the nest, and then just as Ki-yi Coyote stretched his head a little, Chatty pushed the big stone over. Kerplunk! the stone hit Ki-yi right on the ear! Well, he was about the scaredest coyote that ever was. He yelped and sprang up in the air, and jumped all around.

Then right from the other side of the Murmuring Brook came the voice of Doctor Rabbit. "Ha, ha, ha! Well, well, foxy Ki-yi, what made you jump so? Ha, ha, ha! guess you didn't know I could throw so straight! Ha, ha, ha!"

Naturally Ki-yi Coyote thought Doctor Rabbit had thrown the stone, and he was terribly angry. Away he started. Yes, sir, he just ground his teeth and said he certainly would get Doctor Rabbit, and get him in a hurry, too. But luckily Murmuring Brook was between them, so Doctor Rabbit laughed and shouted again and darted out of sight in the woods.




Ki-Yi Coyote Chases Doctor Rabbit


As soon as Ki-yi Coyote started after Doctor Rabbit, Chatty Squirrel began scolding as hard as he could. Ki-yi was running so fast he didn't hear, but Chatty scolded anyway. It seemed to relieve his angry feelings.

My! How angry Chatty Squirrel was! He was angrier than he had ever been in all his life before.

"The idea," Chatty Squirrel scolded, "of Ki-yi Coyote's coming into the Big Green Woods to make a breakfast of Doctor Rabbit! And he would make a breakfast of me, too, or of Blue Jay, or of any of us, if he had a chance. I wish I were as big as the big brown bear for a minute. I'd show old Ki-yi Coyote!"

And Chatty Squirrel scolded so fast and so loud that presently his neighbors heard him and came flocking around to see what the trouble was.

"What's that you say?" asked Stubby Woodchuck, running up to the foot of the tree.

"What's that? What's that? What's that?" cried Blue Jay, and Jim Crow, and ever so many others as they came up.

"You'd better say, 'What's that?'" Chatty Squirrel chattered. "I just now dropped a stone on Ki-yi Coyote, who was lying right down there in those bushes. He was all ready to pounce on Doctor Rabbit and gobble him up!"

"Indeed!" exclaimed Blue Jay in his shrill voice.

"Indeed!" Jim Crow called in his hoarse voice.

"Indeed!" said big Uncle Owl in his deep bass voice. "Indeed! Indeed!" he exclaimed again seriously, as he straightened his spectacles. Now Uncle Owl hardly ever said more than one word, and when he said three words without stopping, it meant something very unusual had happened to him. He was almost excited.

All the little creatures of the Big Green Woods kept a respectful silence, even Chatty Squirrel, and listened respectfully for Uncle Owl to speak. So big Uncle Owl (he was more than twice as big as little Downy Owl) cleared his throat and looked straight at Chatty Squirrel. Then he said, "Well, well, why didn't you kill him?"

"I wish I could have killed him," Chatty Squirrel chattered angrily. "But anyway I hit him. And Doctor Rabbit fooled him ever so much, because, you see, Doctor Rabbit was on the other side of Murmuring Brook and ran away from Ki-yi as easily as anything. But what are we going to do?" Chatty went on. "Haven't we got enough to do to live without having old Ki-yi Coyote sneaking around in the Big Green Woods? I tell you, my friends, it's an outrage!"

Then they all looked at big Uncle Owl, and after a while he said in his deep voice, "My friends, I think we should have Doctor Rabbit call a meeting at once and see if we can't get rid of this danger. It would be serious, very serious indeed, if Ki-yi Coyote should decide to live in the Big Green Woods. He might make a meal of almost any of us. I've noticed that he is not at all particular what he eats, whether it's a bird or an animal. Only yesterday I saw him spring from some bunch grass in the prairie and seize a friend of mine, a small owl that had just come out of an old hole prairie-dog Paddy-Paws used to live in.

"Yes, indeed," old Uncle Owl went on, much excited for him, "yes, indeed! We must find Doctor Rabbit, and see what he has to say about it. I'll not rest until this terrible Ki-yi Coyote is driven entirely away from our Big Green Woods." And with that, stately Uncle Owl waddled back to his hole in the tree, where he stood looking out.

The other little creatures of the Big Green Woods then talked the matter over. Blue Jay said that if only they all could make as much noise as he could, he was sure they could drive Ki-yi Coyote away with noise alone. But since the others couldn't make as much noise, this plan had to be given up.

Gay Red Bird said he surely did wish he could think of some scheme to scare Ki-yi away, but being a mere bird he couldn't. Robin-the-Red said so too. Stubby Woodchuck and Cheepy Chipmunk both said they'd like to do it, but they didn't know how, either. They all looked at one another, and each one waited for some one else to speak. And just then they saw Doctor Rabbit coming across the woods toward them.

He wasn't running as if he were the least bit scared. Oh, no, he was acting as if he were glad about something. There was no doubt about that, because every now and then he would kick up his heels and laugh. And the nearer he came the more he danced and laughed.




Doctor Rabbit Has A Scheme


Doctor Rabbit came up jumping and dancing and laughing. He was certainly very much tickled about something, that was plain.

"Good morning, my friends," he said finally. "I suppose you all have come out here to see what Chatty Squirrel is scolding about. Has he told you?"

"Yes, yes, about Ki-yi Coyote!" they all said together.

"Well," Doctor Rabbit said, and he laughed again, "I gave old Ki-yi the slip pretty easily that time. Indeed I did, and Chatty Squirrel and I certainly did fool him! I guess we did fool him! Ha, ha, ha!" And Doctor Rabbit was so tickled he just had to hold his sides when he remembered how Ki-yi Coyote had jumped, and how puzzled he had looked when the stone hit him.

"The last I saw of him," Doctor Rabbit said, "he was sneaking along the Wide Prairie at the edge of the woods, looking for Jack Rabbit; and he was mumbling to himself and saying he was going to get me and Jack Rabbit too. But I'll take care of that. He thinks I'm not smart enough for him, but just let him wait and see! When I ran away from him and got into the briar patch, he shouted in at me and said:

"'All right for this time, Doctor Rabbit, but I'll get you the next time, and some of your friends, too. In fact, I think I like the Big Green Woods, and I'm going to live here. Perhaps I'll live here right along!'"

That troubled everybody but Doctor Rabbit. All the other little creatures of the Big Green Woods looked seriously at one another, and Stubby Woodchuck climbed up on a stump and looked nervously around. "I wish we could drive Ki-yi Coyote ten miles away, and I wish he never could get back!" Stubby Woodchuck said, with a very scared look on his face.

"Let's do it!" shouted Blue Jay. Blue Jay didn't have the least idea how it could be done, but he was willing to try, even as small as he was.

"Perhaps Doctor Rabbit has a plan," said Robin-the-Red. "He usually helps us out."

Then they all looked at Doctor Rabbit. Even old Uncle Owl looked from his hole in the tree.

"Well," said Doctor Rabbit, cheerfully, "I have been thinking about this since yesterday. First I thought out a way for us to catch Ki-yi, but that would be pretty dangerous for us, so I have decided to try another plan. I think my scheme will work, and none of us will have to get very close to Ki-yi Coyote, either. In fact, I think Jack Rabbit and I can do it ourselves, though we shall need the help of one very savage creature. I will tell you about him later."

"Let's do it right now!" shouted busy Blue Jay.

"No," Doctor Rabbit said, "it will take a little time. I'm going over to see Jack Rabbit this very afternoon," he continued. "After I have talked with him and we are all ready, I'll tell Friend Blue Jay and he'll tell you. Then all you'll need to do will be to come close to this big tree, and hide, and watch. You must excuse me now," he said. "I must go over and see one of Frisky Grey Squirrel's children who has been eating too many green nuts. Early in the morning Blue Jay will tell you when we shall be ready."

And with that Doctor Rabbit went away, hoppity, hoppity, hoppity, to see the little sick squirrel.




The Little Creatures Of The Woods Are Excited


The next day all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods talked of nothing but fierce Ki-yi Coyote. They wondered how Doctor Rabbit ever would drive him out of the Wide Prairie. They were all unusually careful, of course, because they did not know what moment Ki-yi Coyote might come tearing along.

Stubby Woodchuck was afraid to get up on his stump to sun himself. He only put his head a little way out of his door and looked around. Cheepy Chipmunk was frisking around his stump and, seeing his neighbor, Stubby Woodchuck, he called out, "Come on over, Friend Stubby. I have some fine vegetables for breakfast!"

"No, thank you," Stubby Woodchuck said from his doorway. "We had all better keep indoors until that dreadful Ki-yi Coyote leaves the woods entirely," and Stubby closed his door and went back into his kitchen, for he had not had his breakfast.

While Cheepy Chipmunk was frisking around he got a terrible scare. He had just jumped up on his stump when he was sure he saw Ki-yi's long tail showing from behind a near-by tree. Poor Cheepy fell off backward, he was so scared. He picked himself up as fast as he could, but when he looked again, he saw it was only Chatty Red Squirrel's tail, blowing from behind the tree.

"Cheer! cheer! cheer!" shouted Blue Jay, who had seen Cheepy Chipmunk fall off the stump. "What's the matter, Cheepy? Ha, ha, ha!"

"You'd better go and attend to your business, if you have any," retorted Cheepy Chipmunk angrily. But saucy Blue Jay only laughed again. He understood Cheepy Chipmunk, and he knew he would not stay angry very long.

"I'll wager anything you fell because you thought you saw Ki-yi Coyote," shouted saucy Blue Jay; "I'm going out to see where he is!" And away he flew.

Cheepy Chipmunk went inside, where Mrs. Chipmunk was getting the vegetables ready for breakfast. Little Jimmy Chipmunk, Cheepy and Mrs. Cheepy's small son, was running around after his mother as she worked, and asking her questions. He had never seen Ki-yi Coyote, and so had no idea about his size. "Mamma," he asked, "is Ki-yi Coyote as big as one of Farmer Roe's horses?"

"Why, of course not," Mother Chipmunk answered. "But he's big enough, and fierce enough too, for that matter; and for the present you must not so much as poke your nose outside the door."

"Will Doctor Rabbit find some way to drive Ki-yi Coyote out of the Big Green Woods?" Jimmy Chipmunk asked.

"I believe he will; I do hope so," Mother Chipmunk said. She was a good deal worried about Jimmy Chipmunk, because he was so often careless, and went out without telling her a thing about it.

"I wish," said Jimmy, crossly, "that old Ki-yi would fall down a well so deep he never could climb out again. I just hate to stay in the house. I want to go over right now and play with Johnny Woodchuck. I told him I'd come this morning."

"I wouldn't let you go for the world," Mother Chipmunk said; and then, very quietly, she slipped out at the back door and climbed up on the stump. But the minute she got up on the stump she nearly fell off backward, she was so scared. You see, Mother Chipmunk's near neighbor climbed up on her stump at the very same time, and they were both so surprised to see each other that they were dreadfully frightened.

"My sakes alive!" Sophy Woodchuck's voice trembled. "How you did frighten me, Neighbor Chipmunk! I suppose we all are pretty easily frightened at this time. One never knows when that terrible Ki-yi Coyote will spring out and make an end of us!"

"I have great faith in Doctor Rabbit," Mother Chipmunk said. She had overheard what Doctor Rabbit had promised the day before. "He told us yesterday," she continued, "that he will drive Ki-yi Coyote clear out of the Big Green Woods and clear out of the Wide Prairie."

"I wonder how in the world he will do it!" Sophy Woodchuck said.

"I haven't the slightest idea," her neighbor replied.

"Well," Sophy Woodchuck said, "we don't care how he does it, so long as the thing is done."

"No, indeed!" Mother Chipmunk exclaimed. "If only Ki-yi Coyote is driven away."




Doctor Rabbit Talks With Big Dog Yappy


You remember how badly scared Sophy Woodchuck and Neighbor Chipmunk were when they both climbed up on their stumps at the same time. Well, after their scare was over, they sat on their stumps -- which were their homes, of course -- and went on talking about various things that had happened among their neighbors of late; but in particular they talked about the terrible Ki-yi Coyote.

Then all of a sudden something happened that made them jump off their stumps, and dart in at their back doors and lock them in a hurry.

They had heard some animal tearing through the woods, apparently straight at them. As they peeked from their windows they naturally thought it was Ki-yi Coyote. But it wasn't. Ki-yi Coyote would have been far too smart to make so much noise. No, it was Farmer Roe's big dog, Yappy.

Yappy wasn't running after anything in particular. He was just running through the woods to take a little exercise and enjoy himself.

Yappy ran around for a time while the little creatures of the Big Green Woods hid and looked out at him. After he had scratched on Cheepy Chipmunk's door and tried to dig into Stubby Woodchuck's home, Yappy started out of the woods as fast as he had come in.

Just as he passed Doctor Rabbit's house, Doctor Rabbit put his head out of a hole pretty well up in the tree and said, "Good morning, Yappy!"

Happy Yappy stopped mighty quick and looked all around. He couldn't see anybody at first, and he wondered who it was that had spoken. Stubby and Mrs. Stubby and Cheepy and Mrs. Cheepy came to their windows to peek out and listen. Robin-the-Red, Jim Crow, and ever so many other of the little creatures of the Big Green Woods also listened. They wondered what Doctor Rabbit would say to Yappy.

After gazing around and up a little, Yappy at last saw Doctor Rabbit looking from the hole up in the tree.

"Why, good morning, Doctor!" Yappy said, in his pleasantest voice. "Come down on the grass here; you will be more comfortable."

"No, thank you," Doctor Rabbit said, "I'd rather talk from up here. You look pretty hungry, and I just wanted to ask you how you would like to have Jack Rabbit for your breakfast to-morrow morning?"

This was a question that was a little hard for Yappy to answer, under the circumstances. Rabbit was his favorite dish, when he could get one. He saw he could not get Doctor Rabbit, and he thought Doctor Rabbit was just making fun of him. Of course, Yappy was pretty angry. He was all the more angry because, although he had chased Jack Rabbit many times, he never had been able to catch him. Still, he was always willing to try again.

"That's all right about my wanting Jack Rabbit," Yappy snapped; "I could catch him in no time if I wanted to."

Doctor Rabbit almost laughed out loud at this, but he didn't, because that might have spoiled what he wanted to do.

"Why, of course," Doctor Rabbit said in his most friendly tones. "And I have decided I'll give you a chance at him. In fact, I have been watching for you to tell you this very thing. Now, all you have to do," Doctor Rabbit continued, "is to go where I tell you, and when I tell you, and you will run right on to him."

Yappy was certainly puzzled about this matter. Why, he wondered, did Doctor Rabbit want to get rid of Jack Rabbit? "Oh, well," Yappy thought to himself, "perhaps Jack Rabbit has been over in the Big Green Woods cuffing Doctor Rabbit; or maybe it is just because Doctor Rabbit is angry at Jack Rabbit for something or other he's done."

"Well" -- and Yappy tried to say it as if he was not very much interested -- "Well, I don't care much, but if you want to, you may tell me when and where I can find him."

"Good!" said Doctor Rabbit, and then he continued, "He'll be in a new burrow right by the first tree you come to out in the Wide Prairie. And he'll be there to-morrow morning at exactly nine o'clock."

"How do you know that?" Yappy asked with deep curiosity.

"Never mind how I know," Doctor Rabbit retorted. "He'll be there as sure as anything."

Yappy yawned as if it didn't make much difference to him. Then he said, "Well, I guess I'll be moving," and away he ran through the woods until he was out of sight.

Doctor Rabbit chuckled to himself. He knew mighty well that Yappy was interested, even if he did try to act as if he didn't care. And he knew the greedy fellow would be at that tree at nine the next morning, too.

Of course the other little creatures of the Big Green Woods were much puzzled that Doctor Rabbit should seem to have turned so quickly against Jack Rabbit. But the next morning they found out all about it. And something happened of which they had never even dreamed.




Doctor Rabbit Talks With Jack Rabbit


You remember how Doctor Rabbit looked out of a hole and told Farmer Roe's dog Yappy about catching Jack Rabbit. Well, after Yappy had run away and was out of sight in the woods, Doctor Rabbit concluded he'd better see Jack Rabbit right away. So he slipped quietly out of his house and ran through the woods toward the Wide Prairie.

Doctor Rabbit was lucky, because Jack Rabbit happened to be right on the edge of the woods. And Jack Rabbit said his son Billy was very much better. "I am very grateful," continued Jack Rabbit, "and I wish I could do something now to make you as happy as I am."

"You certainly can," Doctor Rabbit said. "Do you remember the day Ki-yi Coyote chased us out on the Wide Prairie, and I threw the medicine in his mouth?"

"I certainly do," said Jack Rabbit. "And when we got safely over to your house, you said you were thinking about a plan to drive Ki-yi Coyote clear away from the Big Green Woods and the Wide Prairie forever. Is that what you want me to do?"

"Yes," said Doctor Rabbit, "that's exactly what I was going to speak about. I want you to help me. Will you do it?"

"Why," declared Jack Rabbit, "I should say I will, if I can. But how can I help? All you need to do is to tell me what to do and I will do it."

"Don't be too sure you will," Doctor Rabbit warned in a friendly way. "What I want you to do has some danger in it. Are you much afraid of Farmer Roe's Yappy?"

"Why, why, of course," Jack Rabbit hesitated; "that is, I -- I -- wouldn't want to fight him!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" Doctor Rabbit couldn't keep from laughing at the idea of Jack Rabbit's fighting Yappy.

"I don't want you to fight him," Doctor Rabbit said, "but would you be willing to let him chase you?"

"Surely," exclaimed Jack Rabbit quickly. "I've given him the slip many a time."

"Suppose," said Doctor Rabbit, "that Yappy and one of his dog friends both should get after you, could you get away?"

"Yes, sir," Jack Rabbit said; "I've given both of those hounds the slip. They are just fox hounds, and I'm not the least bit afraid when they get after me. But what has that to do with driving Ki-yi Coyote away?"

"Just this," said Doctor Rabbit, moving a little closer. "At nine o'clock to-morrow morning Ki-yi Coyote is going to be right under that big elm where he was this morning, to catch me. Chatty Squirrel heard him say he was. He said, 'Yes, I'll come every morning and hide there until I do catch that big fat rabbit' -- meaning me, of course."

"Oh, I see! I see!" laughed Jack Rabbit, and he began to dance a little jig of joy. "I know what you want me to do," Jack Rabbit laughed. "You want me to let big old Yappy and his friend get after me, and then you want me to run straight for that big elm, and so lead Yappy and the other hound right onto old Ki-yi. And then they will chase him instead of me!"

"That's it! that's it!" said Doctor Rabbit. He was mighty glad that Jack Rabbit did not seem at all afraid. "And," Doctor Rabbit continued, "when Yappy and his companion once see Ki-yi Coyote, they will forget all about you, and you can get away as easily as anything."

"Oh, ho, ho, ho! ha, ha, ha!" laughed Jack Rabbit. It seemed too good to be true that they could fool crafty Ki-yi, and fool him so completely. Old Ki-yi, who was always getting the best of things, would now get some of the other side. So thought happy Jack-Rabbit.

"That certainly will be mighty fine!" cried Jack Rabbit. "Ki-yi Coyote will be there, smacking his lips, all ready to gobble you up; and the first thing he knows, I'll pop square over him, and the next second, Yappy will pop square onto him, if he doesn't move mighty quick. Ho, ho, ho!" Jack Rabbit danced and laughed some more. "Yes, indeed, Doctor Rabbit," he said, "I'll surely be at the tree in the Wide Prairie to-morrow morning at nine o'clock. Then be sure to tell all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods to watch and see what happens."

"I will indeed," said Doctor Rabbit, as he started off; "and thank you," he said, "for your bravery."




Old Uncle Owl Gives Good Advice


You remember how Doctor Rabbit asked Jack Rabbit to do a rather risky thing to drive Ki-yi Coyote out of the Big Green Woods. Well, the next morning after this, Friend Jack Rabbit was up a good while before daylight. To tell the truth, he had not slept very much during the night. No, sir; he just couldn't get to sleep because he kept thinking about that joke he and Doctor Rabbit were to play on wicked old Ki-yi Coyote.

Of course, it was not all fun, either. I should say not! You see, greedy Yappy would certainly gobble up Jack Rabbit if he could get him. But Jack Rabbit was not very much afraid, because he had run away from Yappy a good many times before.

No, brave Jack Rabbit didn't stay awake because he was scared. I suppose he couldn't sleep for about the same reason that boys sometimes stay awake when the circus comes to town. And the boys used to get up before daylight to go and see the animals, and perhaps some of them do it yet.

Yes, Jack Rabbit was very, very curious. He wondered if Ki-yi Coyote would really hide in the Big Green Woods under the elm tree, as Doctor Rabbit had said he would.

So, about four in the morning, Jack Rabbit slipped away and went over to watch along the edge of the woods. He had not been there long when, yes, sir; Sure enough! There came Ki-yi Coyote sneaking along and looking all around to make sure, as he thought, that nobody saw him.

As slinky Ki-yi Coyote slipped along he came pretty close to Jack Rabbit, and then Jack Rabbit lay mighty still. Indeed he did! He hardly dared to breathe until Ki-yi Coyote had passed from sight beneath the big elm farther on in the woods. Then Jack Rabbit just kicked up his heels and danced for joy. He wanted to laugh too, ever so much, but he didn't dare, because sharp-eared Ki-yi might hear him. No, Jack Rabbit ran clear back to his tree before he laughed, and then he laughed as loudly as he wanted to. "I can scarcely wait until nine o'clock comes," he said, after he had laughed again and danced another jig of joy.

Stubby Woodchuck had heard Doctor Rabbit talking with Yappy, and so as often as Stubby saw one of the little creatures of the Big Green Woods, he told him about it. It was not long before every one of them knew, and they wondered why kind Doctor Rabbit had told Yappy where to find Jack Rabbit. In fact, they really couldn't understand it at all, because Doctor Rabbit was so good and kind to everybody.

But when Uncle Owl heard about it, he looked very wise and said to a number of the little creatures of the Big Green Woods, "I'm sure you need not be troubled, my friends; for I think we shall find that this has something to do with getting Ki-yi Coyote away from the Big Green Woods and the Wide Prairie. Bear in mind, I say I only suspect it does," and with another very wise look Uncle Owl walked back to his hole in the tree, and there stood looking toward the big elm where Ki-yi Coyote lay hiding and watching for Doctor Rabbit.

Then about a half hour before nine o'clock, busy Blue Jay flew all over the Big Green Woods and told all the little creatures of the woods to go as close as they dared to the big elm where Ki-yi Coyote lay, and then watch.

When some of them tried to have Blue Jay stop and talk, he said he didn't have time. He said he was in the biggest hurry he had ever known. "You watch! You watch!" he would cry back at them as he flew away to tell others.

Before long they were all either flying or creeping toward the big elm. They didn't know what Doctor Rabbit's plan was, of course, but they believed something mighty interesting was going to happen. When they were all hidden, some of them kept up such a whispering it seemed as if Ki-yi must surely hear. Each one said it wasn't he who whispered, until presently Uncle Owl called out loudly from his tree, "Who?" Then they did keep still. Because there was Uncle Owl looking right at them.




Yappy Chases Ki-Yi Coyote


All the little creatures of the Big Green Woods were looking toward the big elm where Ki-yi Coyote was hiding and were wondering what would happen.

Then all of a sudden they heard big-mouthed Yappy baying away out on the Wide Prairie. Pretty soon they heard another hound baying.

It was quite true that Jack Rabbit had been started up at last. He had waited at the tree, and it had seemed as though nine o'clock never would come. At last when he saw Yappy and his friend coming, he was really glad.

When they were pretty close, Jack Rabbit sprang up, put his long ears straight in the air, and away he went. You see, when he doesn't have to run very fast, he keeps his ears straight up in the air; but when he has to run as fast as he can -- the way he did when Speedy Grey Hound got after him -- then he lays his long ears down flat to his head. And how he does run! He looks like a streak, he goes so fast.

Jack Rabbit was not much afraid of Yappy, because you see, Yappy was only a fox hound. Now a fox hound is dangerous enough at night, when he is on the trail of Ray Coon or O. Possum, but he can't do any harm in the daytime to swift Jack Rabbit on the Wide Prairie.

Big Yappy and his friend, the other fox hound, had been trained to trail, at night, nothing but Ray Coon and O. Possum and Tom Wildcat. But in the daytime they certainly did like to start up Jack Rabbit. Most of all, though, they liked to start up Ki-yi Coyote.

"There he goes!" shouted happy Yappy to his friend, as Jack Rabbit jumped up; and away they all went. And Jack Rabbit, of course, led them straight away for the Big Green Woods.

As they ran, Jack Rabbit kept thinking to himself, "I surely do hate to run so close to Ki-yi Coyote. Indeed, I do! Just suppose he should go after me as hard as ever he could." Then he would comfort himself by thinking, "But then, he'll never do it with the two hounds chasing him. I'll be all right. Yes, I'll just keep going. My, but I wish I could kick old Ki-yi right on the nose as I go past him!"

But wise Jack Rabbit said to himself that as soon as he had started up Ki-yi Coyote, he would run right back to the Wide Prairie, where there was plenty of room, because he might need it.

While all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods were looking and wondering, Doctor Rabbit bounded into the woods from somewhere. In a jiffy he was in his tree, looking out from an upper window.

The two hounds were coming after Jack Rabbit as fast as they could, yelling terribly at each other, and saying that this time they certainly would catch him.

But Jack Rabbit was very wise. He ran a little slower until the two hounds were fearfully close, and all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods looking on were dreadfully scared for poor Jack Rabbit. In fact, Mother Chipmunk and Sophy Woodchuck began to weep, and wipe their eyes with the corners of their aprons, because they said something had surely gone wrong with Jack Rabbit and this was the last of him. It would be terrible, they said; and how would Mrs. Jack Rabbit ever make a living for all that family of little rabbits out on the Wide Prairie?

The next minute Jack Rabbit ran straight for the big elm. He saw Ki-yi Coyote lying with his body close to the ground. Old Ki-yi Coyote had seen them coming, but he thought, of course, he would just watch and see Jack Rabbit and the hounds go by. Then suddenly, before he could realize it, Jack Rabbit leaped clear over startled Ki-yi. "Ki-yi! Ki-yi!" he shouted, "I've brought you some company. Here they are. Good day! I must be going!" And away went Jack Rabbit out of sight.

Well, Ki-yi Coyote was both surprised and angry. He was about the angriest he had ever been in his life. But what could he do? Well, he couldn't do a thing except tear out of the woods as hard as he could go. And then how all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods did laugh, even Mother Chipmunk and Sophy Woodchuck!

Now when Yappy and his friend saw Ki-yi Coyote jump up, they shouted for joy. "Woo! woo! woo!" shouted Yappy gaily to his friend. "Sly old Ki-yi! Woo, woo, woo! Here he is right under our noses! Now we'll see about him! Woo, woo, woo!" And away they went after Ki-yi Coyote. Ki-yi was so mad he could have bitten a nail if there had been one handy, but, mad or no mad, he had to run as hard as he could.

Now the little creatures of the Big Green Woods all hurried to the edge of the woods and looked on as Yappy and his friend started out across the Wide Prairie after Ki-yi Coyote.




Ki-Yi Coyote's Strange Hiding Place


How Ki-yi Coyote did run when he got out on the Wide Prairie! He thought he would run as fast as possible, and so get out of sight and hide from the two hounds. Sure enough, sly Ki-yi did this very thing. He ran so fast that pretty soon he passed from sight over a little hill, and it certainly looked as if he had escaped. Old Ki-yi thought he had, and as he hid in some tall grass, he chuckled to himself to think how easy it was to get away from his enemies. "I'll just wait and rest here," he said. "Ha, ha, ha! I'll get my rabbit for breakfast yet!"

But Ki-yi Coyote had no more than said that than here came Yappy and the other hound right on his trail. And they kept coming right on and sniffing and smelling Ki-yi's tracks until they were so close that Ki-yi had to spring up and run again. Once more he ran fast and hid, but again he was trailed, and again he had to jump up and run.

They kept this up all morning, until Ki-yi Coyote was getting pretty tired. Then, a little later, he was so dreadfully tired that what do you suppose he did? No, he didn't stop to fight, although cowardly Ki-yi sometimes does do that. He thought about it, but after he had looked back he said to himself, "No, I won't stop to fight. I'm not quite able to tackle Yappy and that other big hound, too. I'm going to do something else. I'm going where I can rest."

And he did. He ran straight for Farmer Roe's corn crib and squeezed under it! The dirt was soft and cool under there, and tired Ki-yi stretched out and made himself very comfortable. Then Yappy and his friend ran up to the hole where Ki-yi Coyote had gone under the corn crib, and began barking for all they were worth; and presently Farmer Roe and his boy came out and looked under the corn crib. They were certainly surprised to see Ki-yi hidden under there, and they decided at once that they would try to catch him alive.

The two hounds kept on barking, and Farmer Roe and his boy went right to work fixing something outside; but Ki-yi did not know what they were doing, and he felt pretty safe.

All this time the little creatures of the Big Green Woods had looked on from the edge of the Wide Prairie. Blue Jay was in the very top of the big elm, and he called down every now and then to tell just what was happening.

When Ki-yi Coyote ran under the corn crib, Doctor Rabbit slipped up pretty close to Farmer Roe's house. He got a good hiding place in some weeds, where he could see all that happened.

After a while Farmer Roe and his boy got some kind of a box fixed, and this they placed over the hole into which Ki-yi Coyote had run. Then they took the two hounds away and locked them in the barn. Doctor Rabbit slipped back to the woods.

"They've got it all fixed to catch Ki-yi alive!" he told the other little creatures of the Big Green Woods.

"How do you know?" they asked in a chorus.

"I heard them say so; and now you just wait and see!" Doctor Rabbit said. Then he slipped back again to hide in the weeds and watch.

Of course he had to be very careful, because Yappy might come tearing out into the weeds at any moment. But Doctor Rabbit's eyes are very sharp. He was sure he could see any danger if it came near, so he was not much afraid.




Catching Ki-Yi Coyote


All afternoon Doctor Rabbit watched the strange box that Farmer Roe had placed at the hole where Ki-yi Coyote had gone under the corn crib, but nothing happened. Toward evening Doctor Rabbit came back to the little creatures waiting in the woods. He looked very wisely at them and said:

"My friends, nothing more has happened as yet, but I feel quite certain that Ki-yi Coyote will be caught. I'm pretty tired now and must have my supper. Just as soon as it is daylight, Jack Rabbit and I will slip over again and watch, and see what Farmer Roe and his boy do about that box."

At this all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods began talking at once. Then they bade Doctor Rabbit good-night, and went back to their homes to await the news.

The next morning they were all startled by hearing noisy Blue Jay shouting, "Come here! Come here, all of you! Doctor Rabbit told me to call you. Old Ki-yi is caught, and I can see him. I can see him!"

Well, you should have seen all those little creatures of the Big Green Woods tumbling out of their homes! Stubby Woodchuck came tearing out of his front door, and before he knew it, bumped into Cheepy Chipmunk, and knocked him over. They were both mad about it for a minute. Stubby got bumped on the ear and Cheepy got a bump on the nose, but in the excitement they forgot their anger and hurried to the edge of the Wide Prairie, where all the other little creatures of the Big Green Woods seemed to be gathering.

Chatty Red Squirrel came out of his house so fast he ran square into Frisky Grey Squirrel, and then Neighbor Grey was provoked. He said he never did know a Red Squirrel that had any manners; but Chatty Red Squirrel kept right on running, and so Frisky Grey Squirrel forgot his crossness and ran too, as fast as he could, with the other excited little creatures of the Big Green Woods.

In almost no time they all had reached the edge of the woods. Then they all looked toward Farmer Roe's house and the strange box.




The Little Creatures Of The Woods Are Happy Again


When the little creatures of the Big Green Woods looked toward Farmer Roe's house, they saw Doctor Rabbit behind a fence post, watching.

Yes, it was true: Ki-yi Coyote was in that box! They knew it because several times they heard Farmer Roe's boy say, "We got him! I was sure he would come out in the night!"

Then the little creatures of the Big Green Woods wondered what Farmer Roe was doing. He went into the barn several times and brought out some boards, a hammer, and a saw. First he sawed the boards, and then he hammered and nailed ever so long.

After a while all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods could see what Farmer Roe was doing. He was making a kind of wood and wire cage for Ki-yi Coyote. When it was all ready, Farmer Roe and his son put the cage against the box that Ki-yi Coyote was in. Then Farmer Roe's boy poked Ki-yi with a long stick and drove him into the cage. Then as the farmer and his boy stood looking at dusty Ki-yi in the cage, they talked for quite a long time; but the little creatures of the Big Green Woods could not hear what was said. At last Farmer Roe and his boy went into the house. Then wise Doctor Rabbit came running back to the woods and said it was mighty fine the way things were turning out.

"They are going to load Ki-yi Coyote into a wagon, take him to the city, and sell him to the men who have charge of a big park there," said Doctor Rabbit excitedly.

"That's fine! Splendid!" shouted all the little creatures of the Big Green Woods. "Hurrah for Doctor Rabbit and his scheme for getting rid of Ki-yi Coyote!"

"And now," shouted Cheepy Chipmunk, mounting a stump and speaking so that all could hear, "I want you all to come right down to my house for dinner. Mother Chipmunk wants all of you!"

"Fine!" shouted Jimmy Chipmunk. "I'll get something good to eat, because company's coming!" His mother frowned at him, but no one thought anything about what Jimmy had said, they were so delighted to get the invitation; because Mother Chipmunk was about the best cook in the whole woods.

Then away they all went toward Cheepy Chipmunk's house, talking and laughing and shouting. And Billy Rabbit and Jimmy Chipmunk and Johnny Woodchuck kicked up their heels and ran after each other all the way, they were so happy.

It was a fine thing, they all said, to be going to such a good dinner, and to know that Ki-yi Coyote would not trouble them any more. They declared that they had never been so happy in all their lives before.

<eob>

Bunny Brown And His Sister Sue At Camp Rest-A-While

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

Grandpa's Tent


"Bunny! Bunny Brown! There's a wagon stoppin' in front of our house!"

"Is there? What kind of a wagon is it, Sue?"

The little girl, who had called to her brother about the wagon, stood with her nose pressed flat against the glass of the window, looking out to where the rain was beating down on the green grass of the front yard. Bunny Brown, who had been playing with a tin locomotive that ran on a tiny tin track, put his toy back in its box.

"What kind of a wagon is it Sue?" he asked his sister again.

"It isn't a grocery wagon," Sue answered slowly. "Not a grocery wagon, like the one we rode in once, when we gave all those things to Old Miss Hollyhock."

"Has it got any letters on it?" Bunny wanted to know. He was on his way to the window now, having taken up the toy railroad track, with which he was tired playing.

"Yes, it's got a E on it," Sue said, "and next comes the funny letter, Bunny, that looks like when you cross your legs or fingers."

"That's a X," said Bunny. He knew his letters better than did Sue, for Bunny could even read a little. "What's the next letter, Sue?"

Bunny could have run to the window himself, and looked out, but he wanted to pick up all the things with which he had been playing. His mother had always made him do this -- put away his toys when he was through.

"What's the next letter, Sue?" Bunny Brown asked.

Sue was not quite sure of it. She put her little head to one side so she might see better. Just then a man jumped off the seat, and splashed through a muddy puddle as he walked around to the end of the wagon.

"Oh, Bunny!" Sue cried. "The man's going to bring something here, I guess. He's taking out a big bundle."

"Maybe it's a wagon from the store," said Bunny. And, as he looked out through the window glass, pressing his nose flat against it, as his sister Sue had done, he spelled out the word:

Express

"That's an express wagon, Sue," said Bunny.

"What's express?" Sue wanted to know.

"That means when you're in a hurry," Bunny said. "You know, when we're playing train, sometimes I'm an express train, and I go awful fast."

"Yes, I 'member that," said Sue. "Once, when we hitched our dog, Splash, up to our express wagon, he went so fast he spilled me out."

"Well, that's express," Bunny went on. "When you went out of the wagon so fast you were an express."

"I don't like express, then," said Sue. "I like to go slower. But that can't be an express wagon, then, Bunny."

"Why not?"

"'Cause that's not goin' fast. It's jest standin' still."

"Oh, well, when it does go, it goes fast. That's an express wagon, all right. Somebody's sent us something by express. Oh, Sue, I wonder what it is?"

Sue shook her head. She did not know, and she could not guess. She was watching the man out in the rain -- the expressman who was trying to get something out of the back of his wagon. It was a big bundle, that was sure, because Bunny and Sue could see the end of it.

"I wonder if it's a present for us?" Sue asked.

"It can't be a present," answered Bunny. "It isn't Christmas. Don't you remember, Sue, we had Christmas at Aunt Lu's city home."

"So we did, Bunny. But it's something, anyhow."

That was certain, for now the man was pulling a very large bundle out of his wagon. It was so large that he could not carry it all alone, and he called for Sam, the stable man, to come and help him. With the help of Sam, the expressman carried the package back into the barn.

"Oh, I wonder what it is?" said Sue.

"We'll go and ask mother," suggested Bunny. "She'll know."

Together, the children fairly ran upstairs to their mother's sitting room, where she was sewing.

"Oh, Mother!" cried Sue. "There's a fast wagon out in front -- a fast wagon and --  -- "

"A fast wagon, Sue? What do you mean? Is it stuck fast in the mud?" Mrs. Brown asked.

"No, she means an express wagon," said Bunny, with a laugh. "I told her express was fast, Mother."

"Oh, I see," and Mrs. Brown smiled.

"But the express wagon did stop," went on the little boy. "It stopped here, and Sam and the man took out a big bundle. It's up in our barn. What is it, Mother?"

"I don't know, Bunny. Something your father sent for, perhaps. He may tell us what it is when he comes."

"May we go out and look at it?" Sue asked.

"No, dear, not in this rain. Can't you wait until daddy comes home?"

"Yes, but I -- I don't want to, Mother."

"Oh, well, we have to do many things in this world that we don't want to. Now go and play with your dolls, or something. I think daddy will be home early to-night, on account of the storm. Then he'll tell you what's in the bundle."

"Does Sam know?" asked Bunny, as he watched the express wagon drive away.

"Perhaps he does," answered Mrs. Brown.

"Then we can ask him!" exclaimed Sue. "Come on, Bunny!"

"No, dears, you mustn't go out to the barn in this rain. You'd get all wet."

"I could put on my rubber coat," suggested Bunny.

"And so could I -- and my rubber boots," said Sue.

Both children seemed to want very much to know what was in the express package. But when Mrs. Brown said they could not go out she meant it, and the more Bunny Brown and his sister Sue teased, the oftener Mrs. Brown shook her head.

"No, you can't go out and open that bundle," she said. "And if you tease much more daddy won't even tell you what's in it when he comes home. Be good children now."

Bunny and Sue did not often tease this way, for they were good children. But this day was an unpleasant, rainy one. They could not go out to have fun, because of the rain, and they had played with all their toys, getting tired of them, one after another.

"Mother, if we can't go out to the barn, could we have our dog, Splash, in here to play with us?" asked Bunny, after a while. "We could hitch him to a chair, and make believe it was an express wagon."

"Oh, yes!" cried Sue. "And you could be the driver, Bunny, and you could leave a package at my house -- make believe, you know -- and then I wouldn't know what was in it, and I could guess, and you could guess. We could play a guessing game; will you, Bunny?"

"Yes, I'll play that. May we have Splash in, Mother?"

"No, dear."

"Oh, why not?"

"Because I just saw Splash splashing through a puddle of muddy water. If he came in now he'd get you all dirty and he would spoil my carpet."

"But what can we do, Mother?" Sue asked, and her voice sounded almost as if she were going to cry.

"We want to do something," added Bunny.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Mrs. Brown, yet she could not help smiling. Rainy days were hard when two children had to stay in the house all the while.

"We can play 'spress wagon without Splash!" exclaimed Sue, for she was a good little girl, and did not want to make her mother worry.

"All right," agreed Bunny. "We'll just make believe we have Splash with us to pull the pretend wagon."

He and Sue often played pretend, and make-believe, games, and they had much fun this way. Now they turned one chair on the side, and put another in front. The turned-over chair was to be the wagon, and the other chair, standing on its four legs, was the horse. Bunny got some string for reins, and the stick the washerwoman used to punch the clothes down in the boiler made a good whip, when another piece of string was tied on the end of that.

"Giddap!" cried Bunny, sitting on a stool behind the chair-horse. "Giddap! This is an express wagon, and we've got to hurry."

"You must leave a package for me!" cried Sue. "This is my house, over on the couch," and she curled up in a lump. "And this is my little girl," she went on, pointing to one of her dolls, which she had taken into her "house" with her. "If I'm asleep -- make-believe, you know," said Sue to Bunny, "you tell my little girl to wake me up."

"Pooh! I can't talk to a doll!" cried Bunny.

"Yes, you can, too," said his sister. "Just pretend, you know."

"Well, even if I do, how can your doll talk to you, and wake you up?"

"Oh, Bunny! I'm only going to be make-believe asleep, and of course a doll, who can pretend to talk, can make-believe wake me up as easy as anything, when I'm only make-believe asleep."

"Oh, all right, if it's only make-believe," agreed Bunny. "Giddap, Splash! I've named the make-believe chair-horse the same as our dog," he explained to Sue.

Then the game began, and the children played nicely for some time, giving Mrs. Brown a chance to finish her sewing. Bunny and Sue took turns driving the "express wagon," and they had left many pretend bundles at each other's houses, when a step was heard in the front hall, and Bunny and Sue cried:

"Daddy! Daddy! Oh, daddy's come home!"

They made a rush for their father, and both together cried out:

"Oh, Daddy, a express package came! What's in it?"

"Did a package come?" asked Mr. Brown, as he took off his wet coat, for it was still raining.

"Yep! It's out in the barn," said Bunny Brown.

"Oh, please tell us the secret!" begged Sue. "I know it must be a secret, or mother would have told us."

Mrs. Brown smiled.

"The children have teased all afternoon to know what was in the bundle," she said.

"Well, I'll tell them," said Daddy Brown. "The package, that came by express, has in it grandpa's tent."

"Grandpa's tent!" cried Bunny.

"The one we played circus in, out in the country?" Sue demanded.

"The same one," answered Daddy Brown, with a laugh.

"Oh, are we going to have another circus?" cried Bunny, joyously.

"Now sit down and I'll tell you all about it," said Daddy Brown, and he took Bunny up on one knee, and Sue on the other.



Chapter II

A Grand Surprise


"Don't you want to have supper first?" asked Mrs. Brown, as she saw her husband sit down in the easy chair, with Bunny and Sue.

"Oh, I'm in no hurry," he said. "I came home early to-night, because there were only a few boats out, on account of the storm. I might just as well tell the children about the surprise before we eat."

"Oh, then it's a surprise!" cried Sue, clapping her hands.

"Why, yes, I rather think you'll be surprised when you hear about it," answered Daddy Brown.

"And is it a secret, too?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Well, you don't know what it is yet; do you?" inquired his father.

Bunny shook his head.

"Well, then," went on Daddy Brown with a smile, "if there is something nice you don't know, and someone is going to tell you, I guess that's a surprise; isn't it?"

"Oh, yes!" cried Sue. "And now, Daddy, don't tease us any more. Just tell us what it is? Will we like it?"

"Can we play with it?" Bunny wanted to know.

Mr. Brown laughed so hard that Sue nearly fell off one knee, and Bunny off the other.

"What is it, Daddy?" asked the little boy. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, just you -- and Sue," said Mr. Brown, still shaking up and down and sideways with laughter. "You are in a great hurry to have me tell you the surprise, and yet you keep on asking questions, so I have to answer them before I tell you."

"You asted the most questions, Bunny," said Sue, shaking her finger at him.

"No, I didn't. You did!"

"Well, we'll each just ask one question," went on Sue, "and then you can tell us, Daddy. I want to try and guess what it is -- I mean what the tent is for. Shall we each take one guess, Bunny?"

"Yep. You guess first, Sue. What do you say the tent is for?"

Sue thought for half a minute, shutting her brown eyes and wrinkling up her little nose. She was thinking very hard.

"I -- I guess the tent is for a house for our dog Splash," she said, after a bit. "Is it, Daddy?"

"No," and Mr. Brown shook his head. "It's your turn, Bunny."

Bunny looked up at the ceiling. Then he said:

"I guess grandpa's tent is going to be for us to play in when it rains. Is it, Daddy?"

"Well, that's pretty nearly right," Mr. Brown answered. "And now sit quiet and I'll tell you the surprise."

But before I let Mr. Brown tell the children the secret, I just want to say a few words to the boys and girls who are reading this as their first book of the Bunny and Sue series. There are four other books that come ahead of this, and I'll tell you their names so you may read them, and find out all about Bunny and Sue.

Of course those of you who have read the first, and all the other books in the series, do not need to stop to read this. You have already been introduced to the Brown children. But to those who have not, I would say that Bunny Brown and his sister Sue lived with their father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Walter Brown, in the town of Bellemere, which was on Sandport Bay, near the ocean.

Mr. Brown was in the boat business -- that is, he hired out boats to fishermen and others who wanted to go on the ocean or bay, sailing, rowing or in motor boats. Mr. Brown had men to help him, and also several big boys, almost as large as men. One of these last was Bunker Blue, a red-haired, good-natured lad, who was very fond of the two children.

In the first book of the series, named "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue," I told you the story of the little boy and girl, and what fun they had getting up a Punch and Judy show, and finding Aunt Lu's diamond ring in the queerest way. In the second book, "Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue on Grandpa's Farm," I told you how they went off to the country, in a great big moving van automobile, fitted up like a little house, in which they could eat and sleep.

Bunker Blue went with them to steer the automobile, and they also took along the children's dog, Splash, who was named that because he once splashed in the water and pulled out Sue. On Grandpa's farm Bunny and Sue had lots of fun. They got up a little show, which they held in the barn.

After the little show had been given, Bunker Blue, and some larger boys, thought they could get up a sort of circus. They did, holding it in two tents, a big one and a smaller one. The smaller tent belonged to Grandpa Brown, when he was in the army. And it was this tent that had just come by express to the Brown home in Bellemere.

"Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue Playing Circus" is the name of the third book, and in that you may read all about the show that Bunny and Sue took part in -- how the tents were washed away, how Ben Hall did his queer tricks, and what happened to him after that.

When the two Brown children came back from grandpa's farm they received an invitation from Aunt Lu, to spend the fall and winter at her city home in New York.

"Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue at Aunt Lu's City Home" is the name of the book telling all that happened when the two children went to New York. They met a little colored girl, named Wopsie, they were lost in a monkey store, Bunny flew his kite from the roof of Aunt Lu's house, and toward the end Bunny and Sue were run away with when in a pony cart in Central Park.

At first they did not like being run away with, but after they were spilled out, and Aunt Sallie picked them up, and she and Wopsie found out that they -- but there! I mustn't put so much of that book in this book. You would much rather read it yourself, I am sure.

So I'll just say that at Aunt Lu's city home Bunny and Sue had many good times, and enjoyed themselves very much. They were almost sorry when it was time to come home, but of course they could not always stay in New York.

But now it was spring, and Bunny and Sue were once more back in Bellemere. They had met all their old friends again, and had played with them, until this day, when, as I have told you, it was raining too hard to go out.

Before I go on with this story, I might say that Bunny was about six years old, and Sue a year younger. The two children were always together, and whatever Bunny did Sue thought was just right. It was not always, though, for often Bunny did things that got him and Sue into trouble.

Bunny did not mean this, but he was a brave, smart little chap, always wanting to do something to have fun, or to find out something new. He would often take chances in doing something new, when he did not know what would happen, or what the ending would be. And Sue liked fun so much, also, that she always followed Bunny.

The children knew everyone in the village of Bellemere, and everyone knew them, from Old Miss Hollyhock (a poor woman to whom Bunny and Sue were often kind) to Wango, the queer little monkey, owned by Jed Winkler, the old sailor. Wango did many funny tricks, and he, too, got into mischief. Sometimes it was hard to say who got oftener into trouble -- Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, or Wango, the queer little monkey.

Now that I have told you all this, so my newest little children-reader-friends will feel that they know Bunny and Sue as well as everyone else, I will go back to the story.

Bunny and Sue were still sitting on their father's knee.

"Well, tell us the surprise!" begged Sue, reaching over and kissing her daddy.

"And make it like a story," begged Bunny.

"I haven't time to make it like a story now, my dears," said Mr. Brown. "But the bundle you saw the expressman bring to the barn this afternoon was the tent from grandpa's farm."

"The same one we played circus in?" Bunny wanted to know.

"The same one," answered his father. "I asked grandpa to send it to me."

"What are we going to do with it, Daddy?" Sue asked. "I've tried and tried, but I can't guess."

"Well, this is the surprise," replied Daddy Brown, "and I hope you'll like it. We are going off into the woods camping -- that means living in a tent. We'll cook in a tent -- that is when it rains so we can't have a campfire out of doors -- we'll eat in the tent and we'll sleep in it."

"Oh, Daddy! Shall we -- really?" cried Bunny, almost falling off his father's knee he was so excited.

"Yes, that's what we're going to do," said Mr. Brown. "We are going to spend the summer in camp, under a tent instead of in a cottage, as we sometimes do. Will you like that?"

"Oh, I just guess we will!" cried Bunny Brown.

"And can I take my dolls along -- will there be room for 'em?" asked Sue.

"Oh, yes, plenty of room," answered Daddy Brown.

"And will Splash come?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Oh, yes, we'll take your dog along, of course. It wouldn't be like a real camp without Splash. So now you know what the tent is for."

"May we go out and look at it?" asked Bunny.

"Oh, no, son. Not to-night. It's still raining, and the tent is all wet. It will dry out in a few days. Besides, you've seen the tent up."

"It's just like when we had it for the circus," explained Sue. "I don't want to go out to the barn and see it, Bunny. I'm hungry, and I want my supper."

"It's almost ready," said Mother Brown. "Then we really are going camping?" She looked at her husband as she asked the question.

"Yes, I thought that would be a nice way to spend the summer vacation," said Mr. Brown. "Grandpa's tent is very large. We can sleep in that one. I also have a smaller tent, in which we can set a table, and next to that will be one, still smaller, where we can cook on an oil stove in wet weather. We'll have a real camp!"

"Oh, fine!" cried Bunny.

"How nice!" exclaimed Sue.

"And where are we going to camp?" Mother Brown questioned.

"Up in the woods, about ten miles from here, near Lake Wanda," answered Mr. Brown. "And, now that I've told you all about the surprise, I think, we'll have supper."



Chapter III

Bunny And Sue Sleep Out


After supper the two children, and their father and mother, as well, found so much to talk over, about camping out, that it was bed-time for Bunny and Sue almost before they knew it.

"Oh, can't we stay up just a little longer?" begged Bunny, when his mother told him it was time for him and Sue to get undressed.

"Just let's hear daddy tell, once more, how he cooks eggs over a campfire," added Sue.

"Not to-night; some other time," said Mr. Brown. "That's one of the things you must learn when going to camp -- to obey orders."

Daddy Brown set Bunny and Sue down on the floor -- they had climbed up into his lap again after supper. He stood up tall and straight, like a soldier, and touched his hand to his head.

"Order Number One!" he said. "Time to go to bed. Good-night!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" answered Bunny, putting his hand to his head, as he had seen his father do. That was saluting, you know, just as a gentleman lifts his hat to a lady, or a private soldier salutes his officer.

Mr. Brown laughed, for, though Bunny had saluted as a soldier does, the little boy had answered like a sailor. You see, he knew more about sailors than he did about soldiers, living near the sea as he had all his life.

Whenever Mr. Brown wanted Bunny to do anything, without asking too many questions about it, or talking too much, Bunny's father would pretend he was a captain, and the little boy a soldier, who must mind, or obey, at the first order. This pleased Bunny.

"Order Number One!" said Mr. Brown again. "Bunny Brown report to bed. Order Number Two, so must Sister Sue!"

Then everyone laughed, and off to bed and dreamland went the two children. They lay awake a little while, talking back and forth through the door between their rooms, but soon their eyes closed, and stayed closed until morning.

Mr. and Mrs. Brown sat up about an hour longer, talking about going to camp, and then they, too, went to bed.

"I think the children will like it -- living in a tent near the lake," said Daddy Brown, as he turned out the light.

"Yes," said Mrs. Brown. "They'll be sure to like it. I only hope they'll not fall in."

"Well, if they do, Splash will pull them out," said Daddy Brown.

Bunny and Sue were up early the next morning. Even before breakfast they had thought of the good times they were going to have in camp at Lake Wanda.

"Daddy, may we go out and see the tent now?" asked Bunny.

"After a bit," answered Mr. Brown. "The tent got rather wet, coming by express through the rain, and I'm going to send Bunker Blue and some of the fishermen around to-day to put it up so it will dry out. Then we'll roll the tent up again, tie it with ropes, and it will be ready to take with us to Lake Wanda."

"When are you going?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Oh, in about two weeks -- as soon as the weather gets a little more settled."

It was May now, and the flowers were beginning to bloom. Soon it would be June, and that is the nicest month in all the year to go camping in the woods, for the days are so long that it doesn't get dark until after eight o'clock at night, and one has that much longer to have fun.

When breakfast was over Bunny and Sue went out to the barn to look at the big express bundle which held the tent. It was too heavy for them to lift, or they themselves might have tried to put it up out on the lawn. Bunny Brown was that kind of boy. And Sue would have helped him. But, as it was, they waited for Bunker and some of the strong fishermen to come up from Mr. Brown's boat dock. In a little while the tent was put up on the lawn, and Bunny and Sue were allowed to play in it.

"The dining room tent will come in a few days," said Mr. Brown, "and also the cooking tent. I bought them in New York."

Then he told Bunny and Sue how they would go camping. The tents and cots, with bed clothes, and dishes, pots, pans, an oil stove and good things to eat, would all be put in the big moving van automobile, in which they had traveled to Grandpa Brown's farm in the country.

"We'll ride in that up to Lake Wanda," said Daddy Brown. "When we get to the woods, on the shore of the beautiful lake, we'll put up the tent, and make our camp. Then we'll have good times."

"Oh, I can hardly wait; can you?" asked Sue, speaking to her wax doll.

"I wish the time would hurry up," said Bunny. "But who is going to help you put up the tents, Daddy? You can't do them all alone."

"Oh, Bunker Blue is going camping with us."

"Goodie!" cried Bunny.

"And we'll also take Uncle Tad along," went on Daddy Brown.

"That's nice!" exclaimed Sue, clapping her hands. She and Bunny loved Uncle Tad. He was an old soldier, who had fought in the war. He was really Mr. Brown's uncle, but the children called him uncle too, and Uncle Tad loved Bunny Brown and his sister Sue very much.

The tent was not very wet from the rain, and Bunny and Sue had fun playing in it that day. Splash, their dog, played in the tent too. Splash asked nothing better than to be with Bunny and Sue.

"Bunny, are we going to sleep on the ground when we go camping?" Sue wanted to know, as she and her brother sat in the tent that afternoon.

"Well, maybe we will," the little boy said. "But I think I heard daddy say we would take some cot beds with us. You can sleep on the ground, though. Mother read me a story about some hunters who cut off some branches from an evergreen tree, and put their blankets over them to sleep on. They slept fine, too."

"Could we do that?" asked Sue.

"Yes," answered Bunny. And then a queer look came on the face of Bunny Brown. Sue saw it and asked:

"Oh, Bunny, is you got an idea?"

"Yes," Bunny answered slowly, "I has got an idea."

"Oh, goodie!" cried Sue. "Tell me about it, Bunny, and we'll do it!"

Bunny often had ideas. That is, he thought of things to do, and nothing pleased Sue more than to do things with her brother. They were not always the right things to do, but then the children couldn't be expected to do right all the while; could they?

So, whenever Bunny said he had an idea, which meant he was going to do something to have fun, Sue was anxious to know what his idea was.

"Tell me, Bunny!" she begged.

Bunny went over closer to his sister, looked all around the tent, as if to make sure no one was listening, and when he saw only Splash, the big dog, he whispered:

"Sue, how would you like to practice sleeping out?"

"Sleeping out?" said Sue. She did not just know what Bunny meant.

"Yes, sleeping out," said the little boy again. "Sleeping out in this tent, I mean. We'll have to do it, if we go to camp, and we might as well have some practice, you know."

Bunny and Sue knew what "practice" meant, for a girl whom they knew took music lessons, and she had to go in and practice playing on the piano every day.

Bunny thought that if you had to practice, or try over and over again, before you could play the piano, you might have to practice, or try, sleeping out of doors in a tent.

"How can we do it?" asked Sue.

"It's easy," Bunny answered. "We'll bring our blankets out here and sleep in the tent to-night."

"Maybe daddy and mother won't let us, Bunny."

"They won't care," said the little boy. "'Sides, they won't know it. We won't tell 'em. We'll just come out at night, when they've gone to sleep. We can slip down, out of our rooms, with our blankets, and sleep in the tent on the ground, just as we'll have to do in camp. 'Cause we mayn't always have cot beds there. Will you do it, Sue?"

"Course I will, Bunny Brown!"

Sue nearly always did what Bunny wanted her to. This time she was sure it would be lots of fun.

"All right," Bunny went on. "To-night, after it gets all dark, we'll come down, and sleep here."

"S'pose -- s'posin' I get to sleep in my own bed in the house, Bunny?"

"Oh, I'll wake you up," said Bunny. "I won't go to sleep, and I'll come in and tickle your feet."

Sue laughed. She always laughed when anyone tickled her feet, and even the thought of it made her giggle.

"Don't tickle 'em too hard, Bunny," she said. "'Cause if you do I'll sneeze and that will wake up daddy and mother."

"I won't tickle you too hard," Bunny said.

That night, after supper, Mrs. Brown said to her husband:

"Bunny and Sue are up to some trick, I know they are!"

"What makes you think so?" asked Mr. Brown.

"Oh, I can always tell. They are so quiet now, they haven't teased for anything all afternoon, and now they are getting ready to go to bed, though it isn't within a half-hour of their time."

"Oh, maybe they're sleepy," said Mr. Brown, who was reading the paper.

"No, I'm sure they are up to some trick," said Mother Brown.

And now, if you please, just you wait and see whether or not she was right.

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue did go to bed earlier than usual that night. Bunny, after supper, had whispered to his sister:

"If we go to bed sooner we can be awake quicker and go down to the tent."

"Can you open the door?" asked Sue.

"Yes, the back door opens easy."

"But has you got the branches from the evergreen tree cut so we can spread our blankets over them?" Sue wanted to know.

Bunny shook his head.

"I didn't dast do it," he said. "They might see me cutting 'em, and then they'd guess what we were going to do. We can each take two blankets off our beds, Sue, and that will make the ground soft enough. 'Sides, if we're going to be campers, and sleep in the woods, we mustn't mind a hard bed. Soldiers don't -- for daddy said so."

"Girls aren't soldiers!" said Sue. "But I'll come with you and we'll sleep on two blankets."

"To practice for when we go camping," added Bunny.

Sue nodded her head, and, with her doll, went up to bed in the room next to Bunny's.

"I just know those children are up to something," said Mother Brown, as she came down after tucking in Bunny and Sue. "I wish I knew what it was."

"Oh, I guess it isn't anything," laughed daddy.

Sue and her brother found it hard to keep awake. They had played hard all day, and that always makes children sleepy.

In fact, Bunny and Sue did fall asleep, but Bunny awakened sometime in the night, I suppose because he was thinking so much about going out into the tent.

The little fellow sat up in bed. A light was burning out in the hall, so he could see plainly enough. He remembered what he had promised to do -- wake up Sue by tickling her feet.

Softly he stole into her room, after putting on his bath robe. He dragged after him two blankets from his bed.

Reaching under the covers he gently tickled Sue's pink toes.

"What -- What's matter?" murmured Sue, sleepily.

"Hush!" whispered Bunny close to her ear. "Wake up, Sue! I don't want to tickle you any more, and make you sneeze. We're going to sleep out in the tent, you know."

Sue was soon wide awake. Softly she crawled out of bed, slipped on her bath robe, which was on a chair near her bed, and then, dragging two blankets after her, she and Bunny went softly down the stairs.

Carefully Bunny opened the door, and he and Sue went out on the side porch, and down across the lawn to where, in the moonlight, stood grandpa's tent.



Chapter IV

Splash Comes, Too


The camping tent, which had been put up by Daddy Brown, so it would be well dried out, stood wide open. Bunny and Sue, with their bed-blankets trailing after them, slipped in through the "front door."

Of course, there was not really a "front door" to a tent. There are just two pieces of canvas, called "flaps," that come together and make a sort of front door. Between these white flaps Bunny Brown and his sister Sue went, and they found themselves inside the tent.

"It -- it's awful dark, isn't it, Bunny?" whispered Sue, softly.

"Hush!" returned her brother. "We don't want them to see us. It will be light pretty soon, Sue."

"I -- I don't like it dark," she said.

"Shut your eyes and you won't see the dark," Bunny went on. His mother had often told him that when she wanted him to go to sleep in a dark room, or when only the hall light was dimly burning. So Bunny thought that would be a good thing to tell Sue. "Shut your eyes, and you won't see the dark," said Bunny Brown.

But, really, it was not very dark in the tent, after the two children had stood there awhile. The moon was brightly shining outside, and, as the tent was of white canvas, some of the light came through. So as Sue looked around she could begin to see things a little better now. There was not much to see. Just the ground, and a box or two in the tent. During the day Bunny and Sue had been playing with the boxes, and had left them in the tent.

"Come on, now," said Bunny. "We'll spread our blankets out on the ground, Sue, and go to sleep. Then we'll make believe we're camping out, just as we're going to do up at the lake."

As he spoke Bunny spread his two blankets out on the ground under the tent. He folded them so he could crawl in between the folds, and cover himself up, for it was rather chilly that spring night.

"I -- I want a pillow, Bunny," said Sue. "I want something to put my head on when I go to sleep."

"Hush!" cried Bunny in a whisper. "If you speak out loud that way, Sue, mother or daddy will hear us. Then they'll come and get us and make us sleep in our beds."

"Well -- well," answered Sue, and Bunny could tell by her voice that she was trying hard not to cry, "well, Bunny Brown, I -- I guess I'd better like sleepin' in my bed, than out here without no pillow. I want a pillow, an' it's dark an' cold, an' -- an' --  -- "

Sue was just ready to cry, but Bunny said:

"Oh, come on now, Sue! This is fun! You know we're making-believe camp out!"

"All right," Sue answered, after thinking it over a bit. "But can I -- can I sleep over by you, Bunny?"

"Yes. Put your blankets right down here by mine, and we'll both go to sleep. Won't daddy and mother be s'prised when they find we've camped out all night?"

"I -- I guess they will," Sue said. "It kinder s'prises me, too!"

Sue was dragging her blankets over toward the place when Bunny had his spread out on the ground, and she was just going to lie down, when the flaps of the tent were suddenly shoved to one side, and something came in.

"Oh! oh!" cried Sue, as she threw herself down in her blankets, and wrapped herself up in them, even covering her head. "Oh, Bunny! Bunny! What is it? What's after us?"

"I -- I don't know," said Bunny, and his voice trembled a little.

Then Sue raised her head and peeped out from under her blanket. She saw something standing in the front door of the tent, half way in, and half way out. The moon was still shining brightly, and Sue cried:

"Oh, Bunny! It's a bear! It's a bear!"

Just then there came a loud:

"Bow-wow-wow!"

Bunny and Sue both laughed then. Then were frightened no longer.

"Oh, it's our dog, Splash!" cried Sue. "It's only Splash!"

"Here, Splash!" called Bunny. Then with a joyous bark the dog sprang inside the tent, and snuggled close up to his two little play-mates.

"Now I isn't afraid," said Sue, as she put her arms around the big shaggy neck of her pet. "Now I isn't afraid any more. Splash can sleep with us; can't he, Bunny?"

"Yes, Sue. Now go to sleep. Isn't this fun?"

"Yes, it is when Splash is here," Sue said.

Though Bunny did not say so, he, too, was glad their dog had come to spend the rest of the night with them. Not that there was anything to be afraid of, oh, dear no! There were no bears, or wolves, or anything like that in Bellemere. There were big fish in the bay and in the ocean, but of course they never came up on land.

"And, even if they did," said Sue sleepily to Bunny when they were talking about this, as they lay close to the big dog in their blankets, "even if any fish did flop up, Bunny, Splash would catch them; wouldn't he?"

"Sure!" answered Bunny.

"You would; wouldn't you, Splash?" asked the little girl, her chubby arm around the dog's neck.

Splash whined softly, and rubbed his cold nose first against the warm cheek of Sue, and then against Bunny's. That was his way of kissing them, I think.

And so, strange as it may seem, Bunny and Sue went to sleep in the camping tent that night. They were well wrapped up in the warm blankets they had brought from their beds, and after the first few shivers they were not cold. And so they slept, and Splash slept with them. All this while Daddy Brown and Mother Brown knew nothing about their children having gone out in the night.

But Mother Brown soon found it out. I'll tell you about it.

About two o'clock every morning (when it was still quite dark, and when it was yet night, though you could call it morning), Mrs. Brown used to get up, and slip into the rooms of the children to see if they were covered up. For little folk often kick off the bed clothes in the night, and so get cold. Mother Brown did not want this to happen to Bunny and Sue.

This time, though, when Mother Brown went softly into Sue's room, to see if her little girl was all right, she did not find Sue in her bed.

"Why, this is queer," thought Mrs. Brown. "Where can Sue have gone? Perhaps she slipped out and went in with Bunny."

Sometimes Sue used to do this, when she would awaken and become a little frightened. But when Mother Brown went into Bunny's room Sue was not there, nor was Bunny. Mrs. Brown felt all over the bed, but there was not a sign of either of the children.

"Why -- why!" exclaimed Mother Brown. "What can have happened to them? Where can they be? Bunny! Sue!" she called, and she spoke out loudly now.

"What is it? What's the matter?" asked Daddy Brown, as he awakened on hearing his wife call. "What has happened?"

"Why, I can't find Bunny or Sue! They're not in their beds! I came in to cover them up, as I always do, but they're not here. Oh dear! I hope nothing has happened to them!"

"Of course nothing has happened!" said Daddy Brown. He sprang out of bed and lighted a light in Bunny's room. As he took one look at the tumbled bed, and saw that two of the blankets were gone, Mr. Brown laughed.

"What are you laughing at?" his wife asked him. "I don't see anything very funny to laugh at!"

"It's those children!" said Daddy Brown, "I know where they are!"

"Where?" cried Mother Brown, eagerly. "Where?"

"Out in the tent. They've taken their blankets and gone out there to sleep. They're playing camping out, I'm sure. We'll find them in the tent."

And, surely enough, as you well know, there they found Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, fast asleep on their blankets in the tent, with Splash sleeping between them.

Splash looked up and wagged his tail as Mr. and Mrs. Brown, wearing their bath robes and slippers, came softly into the little canvas house. Splash seemed to say:

"Hush! Don't wake up the children! They're sound asleep!"

And Bunny and Sue were sound asleep. Mr. and Mrs. Brown looked at one another, smiled, and then daddy picked up Bunny, blankets and all, while Mrs. Brown did the same with Sue.

"We'll put them right in their own beds, in the house, without waking them up," whispered Daddy Brown.

"Yes," nodded Mother Brown.

"What -- what's matter?" sleepily murmured Bunny as he felt himself being carried into the house. But that was all he said, and he did not even open his eyes.

Sue never said anything as her mother carried her. And as for Splash, once he saw that the children were being taken care of, he curled up in a corner of the tent, and went to sleep again.



Chapter V

Off To Camp


Bunny Brown opened his eyes, and sat up in bed. Then he blinked his eyes. Next he rubbed them. Then he looked all around the bed.

Yes, there was no doubt about it, he was in his own little room, with the pictures he so well knew hanging on the walls, with his toys on the box in the corner. It was his own room, and he had awakened in his own bed, and yet --  -- 

"Sue! Sue!" called Bunny in a whisper, looking toward the open door of the room in which his sister slept. "Sue, is you there!"

"Yes, Bunny, I'm here."

"And are you in your own bed?"

"Yes, I is."

Sometimes Bunny and Sue did not speak just right, as perhaps you have noticed.

"But, Sue -- Sue," Bunny went on, "didn't we go to sleep in the tent; or did we? Did I dream it?"

"I -- I don't know, Bunny," answered Sue. "I 'members about being in the tent. And Splash was there, too. But I'm in my bed now."

"So'm I, Sue. I -- I wonder how we got here?"

Bunny looked all around his room again, as if trying to solve the puzzle. But he could not guess what had happened. He remembered how he and Sue had gotten up in the middle of the night, and how they had crept inside the tent. Then Splash had come; and how funny it was when Sue thought their dog was a bear. Then they had all gone to sleep in the tent, and now --  -- 

Well, Bunny was certainly in his bed, and so was Sue in hers.

"How -- how did it happen?" asked Bunny.

He heard a laugh out in the hall. Running to the door he saw his father and mother standing there. Then Bunny understood.

"Oh, you carried us in from the tent when we were asleep; didn't you, Daddy?" asked Bunny, pointing a finger at his father.

"Yes, that's what I did."

"Oh, Bunny, what made you and Sue do a thing like that?" asked Mother Brown. "I was so frightened when I came in to cover you and Sue up, and couldn't find my little ones. What made you do it?"

"Why -- why," said Bunny slowly, "we wanted to get some practice at camping out, Sue and I did -- just like they practice piano lessons. So we went to sleep in the tent."

"Well, don't do it again until we really go camping," said Daddy Brown. "When we are in the woods, at Lake Wanda, you can sleep in the tent as much as you like, for then we'll have cot beds and everything right. Anyhow, I'm going to take down the tent to-day and get it ready to pack up for camp."

"When are we going?" asked Bunny.

"Oh, in about a week, I guess," answered his father.

"Then I'm going to pack up," declared the little boy. "I've got lots of things I want to take to camp."

"And so have I," called Sue, who had run out of her own room. "I'm going to take two of my best dolls, and all their clothes."

"You can take some of your toys and play-things but not too many," said Mrs. Brown. "You must remember that you'll be out in the woods a good part of the time, having fun among the trees, or perhaps on the lake. So you won't want too many home-toys."

"Are we going to have a boat on the lake?" asked Bunny eagerly.

"Yes, but you're not to go out in it alone. Bunker Blue is coming with us, and he will look after you on the water, and Uncle Tad will look after you in the woods -- that is when either daddy or myself is not with you children. Now you'd better get dressed for breakfast, and don't go out in the middle of the night any more and sleep in a tent."

"We won't," promised Bunny Brown and his sister Sue.

That week began the work of getting ready to go to camp. One of the first things Daddy Brown did was to get two other tents. One of these was to be the dining-room tent, where the table would be set for eating when in camp. Another tent, smaller than either of the two, would do to cook in.

Besides the tents they must take with them things to eat, knives, forks, spoons, dishes, pots and pans, an oil stove and bed clothing.

All these things Daddy Brown, or Mother Brown, with the help of Uncle Tad or Bunker Blue, packed. The big automobile, in which the Brown family had eaten and slept when on their trip to grandpa's farm, was once more made ready for a journey.

In this were packed the tents, the bedding, the stove, the good things to eat, and all that would be needed in camp. Of course, they could not take with them all they would want to eat through the summer, for they expected to stay in camp until fall. But there were stores not far from Lake Wanda, and in them could be bought bread, butter, sugar, tea, coffee, or whatever else was needed.

"Are we going to sleep in the automobile this time?" asked Bunny, as he looked inside the big moving van. "I don't see where we can make a bed," Bunny went on, for the van was quite filled with the tents, cot-beds, chairs, tables, the oil stove and other things.

"No, we're not going to sleep in the auto this time," said Mr. Brown. "It will only take us a day to get from here to Lake Wanda where we are going to camp. So we will get up here, in our own home in the morning, ride to camp, put up the tents, and that same night we will sleep in them."

"Oh, what fun it will be!" cried Sue, joyfully.

"It will be dandy!" exclaimed Bunny. "And I'll catch fish for our supper in the lake."

"I hope you won't catch them as you caught the turtle in the New York aquarium, the time we went to Aunt Lu's city home," said Mother Brown with a laugh.

"No, I won't catch any mud turtles," promised Bunny.

In the book before this one I've told you about Bunny catching the turtle on a bent pin hook with a piece of rag for bait. He had quite an exciting time.

Everyone at the Brown house was busy now. There was much to be done to get ready to go to camp. Bunny and Sue were each given a box, and told that this must hold all their toys and playthings.

"You may take with you only as much as your two boxes will hold," said Daddy Brown to Bunny and Sue. "So pick out the play-toys you like best, as the two boxes are all you may have. And when you get to camp I want you always, when you have finished playing, to put back in the boxes the toys you have finished with.

"In that way you will always know where they are, when you want them again, and you won't have to be looking for them, or asking your mother or me to help you find them. Besides, we must keep our camp looking nice, and a camp can't look nice if toys and play-things are scattered all about.

"So pick out the things you want to take with you, pack them in your boxes and, after you get to camp, keep your toys in the boxes. That is one of our rules."

"Aye, aye, sir!" answered Bunny making a funny little bob with his head as he had seen some of the old sailors, at his father's dock, do when they answered.

"I'm just going to take my dolls, and some picture books for them to look at," said Sue.

"Pooh! Dolls can't look at picture books!" exclaimed Bunny.

"Yes, they can too!" cried Sue.

"No, they can't!"

"Well, I mean make-believe, Bunny Brown!"

"Oh, well, yes; make-believe! I thought you meant real."

"Well, I can look at them real," said Sue, "and make believe I'm reading to my dolls."

"Oh, yes," agreed Bunny.

"What are you going to take?" asked Sue of her brother.

"Oh, I'm going to take my fish pole, and my pop gun --  -- "

"That only shoots a cork!" cried Sue. "You can't hit any bears with that."

"I can scare 'em with it when it pops!" cried Bunny. "That's all I want to do. I don't want to kill a bear, anyhow. I just want to scare 'em. And maybe when I scare a little bear I can grab it and bring it home and tame it."

"Oh, if you only could!" cried Sue. "Then we could make it do tricks, and we could get a hand-organ and go around with a trained bear instead of a monkey."

"Yes," said Bunny. "We could until the bear got too big. I guess I wouldn't want a big bear, Sue."

"No, little ones is the nicest. Maybe we'd better get a monkey, anyhow, 'cause they never grow big."

"I don't believe any monkeys grow in the woods where we're going to camp," observed Bunny. "But we'll look, anyhow, and maybe I can scare one of them with my pop gun."

Then the two children talked of what fun they would have in camp. They put things in their two boxes, took them out again and tried to crowd in more, for they found they did not want to leave any of their toys or play-things behind. But they could not get them all in two small boxes, so finally they picked out what they liked best, and these were put in the automobile.

Mr. and Mrs. Brown had done most of the other packing. The auto-moving van was quite full, there being just room enough for Mrs. Brown, Uncle Tad and the two children to ride in the back, while Daddy Brown and Bunker Blue sat on the front seat.

At last everything was ready. The last things had been put in the automobile, and tied fast. The children took their places, and called to Splash. Of course he was to go with them. He would run along the road, until he grew tired, and then he could ride in the automobile.

"All aboard!" called Bunker Blue as he sat at the steering wheel. "Is everybody ready?"

"I am!" answered Bunny Brown. "I've got my fishing pole, and I can dig some worms when I get to camp."

"Are you going to fish with worms?" asked Sue.

"Sure I am! Fishes love worms."

"I don't!" Sue said. "Worms is so squiggily." She always said that when Bunny spoke of worms.

"Well, I guess we're all ready," remarked Daddy Brown. "Start off, Bunker Blue."

"Chug-chug!" went the automobile.

"Bow-wow!" barked the dog Splash.

"Good-bye!" called Bunny and Sue to some of their little boy and girl friends who had gathered to wave farewell. "Good-bye! Good-bye!"

Then the big automobile rolled out into the road. The Browns were off to camp.



Chapter VI

Putting Up The Tents


"How long will it take us to get to Lake Wanda, Mother?" asked Bunny Brown, as, with Sue and Uncle Tad, he and his mother sat in the back of the big car that rumbled along the road.

"Oh, we ought to get there about noon," she answered.

"Just in time to eat," said Uncle Tad. "I suppose you children will be good and hungry, too."

"I'm hungry now," said Sue, "I wish I had a jam tart, Mother."

"So do I!" put in Bunny.

"I'll give you one in a few minutes," Mrs. Brown said. "We did have an early breakfast, and I suppose you are hungry now."

"Will we have to cook dinner as soon as we get to camp?" Bunny wanted to know.

"If we do I'll help," said Uncle Tad with a smile. "I can build a campfire. When I was a soldier, in the army, down South, we used to build campfires, and roast potatoes when we couldn't find anything else to eat."

"Did they taste good, Uncle Tad?" asked Sue.

"Indeed they did, little girl. And we had roast ears of corn, too. They were even better than the potatoes."

"I guess we'll have to make Uncle Tad the camp cook," said Mother Brown with a smile, as she brought out a basket of lunch for Bunny and Sue. In the basket were some cakes, sandwiches and a few of the jam and jelly tarts that Aunt Lu used to make. Only, as Aunt Lu had gone back to her city home, Mrs. Brown had learned to make the tarts, and Bunny and Sue were very fond of them.

As they rode along in the big automobile the children ate the little lunch, and enjoyed it very much. Uncle Tad took some too, for he had gotten up early, with the others, and he was hungry.

"I wonder if Daddy and Bunker Blue wouldn't like a tart," murmured Sue, after a bit, as she picked up the last crumbs of hers.

"Perhaps they would," said Mother Brown. "But they are away up on the front seat, and I don't see how we can pass them any. There is too much in the auto, or I could hand it to them out of the little window back of the seat. But I can't reach the window."

"I know how we could pass them a tart," said Bunny.

"How?" asked his mother.

"Climb up on the roof of the auto, and lower the lunch basket down to them with a string."

"Bunny Brown! Don't you dare think of such a thing!" cried his mother. "The idea of climbing onto the roof of this big automobile when it's moving!"

"Oh, I didn't mean when it was moving," Bunny said. "I wouldn't do that, for fear I'd be jiggled off. I meant to wait until we stopped. Then I could get up on the roof."

"No need to do that," said Uncle Tad. "For when we stop, then one of you can get down, and run up ahead with something for daddy and Bunker Blue."

And, a little later, the automobile did stop.

"What's the matter?" called Mrs. Brown to her husband, who was up on the front seat. "Did anything happen?"

"No, only the automobile needs a drink of water," answered Mr. Brown. I have told you how automobiles need water, as much as horses do, or as you do, when you get warm. Of course the automobile does not exactly drink the water. But some must be poured in, from time to time, to keep the engine cool. And this was why Bunker Blue stopped the automobile now.

While he was pouring water in, dipping it up with a pail from a cold spring beside the road, Bunny and Sue got out and took their father and the red-haired boy some jam and jelly tarts, and also some sandwiches.

"My! This is fine!" cried Mr. Brown, as he ate the good things Sue handed him. "I'm glad we're going camping; aren't you, children?"

"Oh, I should say we were glad!" cried Bunny, as he took a drink from the spring. There was half a brown cocoanut shell for a dipper, and Bunny thought he had never drunk such cool, sweet water.

Then, when Bunker Blue had eaten his sandwiches and tarts, they started off once more, rumbling along the country roads toward Lake Wanda.

"I wish we'd hurry up and get there," said Sue. "I want to see what camping is like."

"Oh, we'll soon be there," promised Daddy Brown, "and there'll be work enough for all of us. We'll have three tents to put up, and many other things to do."

On and on went the big automobile. Splash ran along the road, some time at the side of the car, sometimes behind it, and, once in a while, away up ahead, as if he were looking to see that the road was safe.

After a bit the dog came back to the automobile, and walked along so slowly, with his red tongue hanging out, that Sue said:

"Oh, poor Splash must be tired! Let's give him a ride, Mother!"

"All right. Call him up here."

"Come on, Splash!" called Bunny and Sue, for they each owned half the dog. They had pretended to divide him down the middle, so each one might have part of the wagging tail, and part of the barking head. It was more fun owning a dog that way.

Up jumped Splash into the back of the auto-moving van. He stretched out on a roll of carpet that was to be spread over the board floor of the big tent, and went to sleep. But first Bunny had given him some sweet crackers to eat. Splash was very fond of these crackers.

The automobile was going down hill now, and when it reached the bottom it came to a stop again.

"What's the matter now?" asked Mother Brown. "Does the auto want another drink?"

"No, not just now," answered daddy. "Something has happened this time."

"Oh, I hope nothing is broken!" said Mrs. Brown.

"Not with us," answered her husband. "But there is an automobile just ahead of us that seems to be in trouble. They are stuck in the mud, I think."

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, their mother, Uncle Tad and even Splash got out to see what the matter was. I don't really believe Splash cared what had happened, but he always went where Bunny and Sue went, and when he saw them go this time he went with them.

Walking up toward the front part of the big automobile, where Bunker Blue and Daddy Brown sat, Mrs. Brown, Uncle Tad and the children saw, just ahead, a small automobile, off to one side of the road. The wheels were away down in the soft mud, and a man at the steering wheel was trying to make the car move up onto the hard road, but he could not do it.

"You seem to be in trouble," said Daddy Brown. There were two ladies out on the road, watching the man trying to start the car.

"I am in trouble," said the man down in the mud. "I turned off the road to pass a hay wagon, but I did not think the mud was so soft down here, or I never would have done it. Now I am stuck and I can't seem to get out."

"Perhaps I can help you," said Daddy Brown. "I have a very strong automobile here. I'll go on ahead, keeping to the road, and I'll tie a rope to your car, and fasten the other end to mine. Then I'll pull you out of the mud."

"I'd be very thankful to you if you would."

"Yes, we'd be ever so much obliged," echoed the two ladies, whose shoes were all muddy from having jumped out of the automobile down into the ditch.

It did not take Daddy Brown and Bunker Blue long to fasten a rope from their automobile to the one stuck in the mud. Then when the big auto-moving van, in which the Browns were going to camp, started off down the road, it pulled the small car from the mud as easily as anything.

"Thank you, very much," said the man when he saw that he and the ladies could go on again. "The next time I get behind a hay wagon I'll wait until I have room to turn out, without getting into a mud hole. I'm very much obliged to you, Mr. Brown, and if ever you get stuck in the mud I hope I can pull you out."

"I'm afraid you couldn't do it with your small car, when my auto is such a large one." Mr. Brown answered, "but thank you just the same."

Then the man in his small automobile, rode off with the two women, and, a little later, the Browns were once more on their way.

It was a little before noon when they came in sight of a big lake, which they could see through the trees. It was not far from the road.

"Oh, what lake is that?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"That is Lake Wanda, where we are going to camp," said Mr. Brown. "We'll turn in toward it, pretty soon, and begin putting up the tents."

"You said we'd have dinner first!" cried Bunny Brown.

"Are you hungry again?" asked his mother.

"I guess riding and being out in the air make them hungry," said Uncle Tad. "Well, children must eat to grow big and strong."

"Then Bunny and Sue ought to be regular giants!" laughed Mrs. Brown, "for they are eating all the while."

A little later the big automobile turned off the main road into a smaller one, that led to the lake. And when the children and Mrs. Brown had a good view of the large sheet of water they thought it one of the most beautiful they had ever seen.

The lake was deep blue in color, and all around it were hills, and little mountains, with many trees on them. The trees were covered with beautiful, green leaves.

"Oh, this is a lovely place," cried Mother Brown. "Just lovely!"

"I'm glad you like it," said her husband.

"I like it, too," echoed Bunny.

"So do I," added Sue.

"Well, shall we begin putting up the tents?" asked Mr. Brown. "It will be night almost before you know it here. You see the hills are so high that the sun seems to go to bed sooner here than he does at home."

"Oh, let's rest awhile before we do anything," said Mother Brown. "Just rest awhile and look at the lake."

"Hurrah!" suddenly cried Daddy Brown. "That's it! I've been trying to think what to call it, but you've done it for me. That's just what we'll call it! There couldn't be a better name!"

"Why, what are you talking about?" asked Mrs. Brown, in surprise.

"The name of our camp," explained Daddy Brown, laughing. "I have been trying, ever since we started, to think of a good name for it. 'Rest-a-While,' will be the very thing. That's just what you said a moment ago you know. 'Let's rest awhile and look at the lake.' So we will call this Camp Rest-a-While! Isn't that a good name?"

"Why, yes, it does sound very nice," said Mother Brown. "Camp Rest-a-While! That's what we'll call it then, though I didn't know I was naming a camp. Well, children -- Uncle Tad -- Bunker -- and all of us -- Welcome to Camp Rest-a-While!"

"Hurrah!" cried Bunny and Sue, clapping their hands.

And so the camp was named.

Mrs. Brown set out a little lunch, and they gathered about one of the boxes, in which the bed clothes were packed, to eat. The box was set on the ground, under a big chestnut tree.

"Where are you going to put up the tents?" asked Mother Brown.

"Right where we are now," said Daddy Brown. "I think we could not find a nicer spot. Here is a good place for our boat, when we get it. It is nice and dry here, and we can see all over the lake. Yes, this is where we will put up the tents for Camp Rest-a-While."

And, after they had all eaten lunch, including Splash, who was as hungry as Bunny or Sue, the work of putting up the tents was begun. The canvas houses were unrolled, and spread out on the ground. Then Daddy Brown, with Bunker Blue and Uncle Tad to help, put up the tent poles, and spread the canvas over them. By pulling on certain ropes, raising the poles, and then tying the poles fast so they would not fall over, the tents were put up.

There was the big one, that could be made into two or even three rooms, for them all to sleep in, Bunny, Daddy Brown, Uncle Tad and Bunker Blue in one part, and Mother Brown and Sue in the other, with a third part for company.

The big tent was almost up. Only one more rope needed to be made fast. Bunker Blue was pulling on this when Bunny and Sue, who were helping, heard Splash give a sudden bark. Then the dog jumped into the lake, and the children, looking, saw a great commotion going on in the water near shore. Splash seemed either to have caught something, or to have been caught himself. He was barking, howling and whining.

"Oh, a big fish has caught Splash! A big fish has caught our dog!" cried Sue, and, dropping the tent rope, of which she had hold, down to the edge of the lake she ran.



Chapter VII

A Big Black Bear


Something certainly seemed to be the matter with Splash. Bunny and Sue had never seen their dog act in such a funny way. He would dash into the water, not going far from shore, though, and then he would jump back, barking all the while.

Once or twice he tried to grab, in his sharp teeth, something that seemed to be swimming in the water. But either Splash could not get it, or he was afraid to come too close to it.

"Oh, Daddy! What is it? What is it?" asked Bunny and Sue.

Mr. Brown, who with Bunker Blue and Uncle Tad, was fastening the last ropes of the tent, hurried down to the shore of the lake.

"What is it? What's the matter, Splash? What is it?" asked Mr. Brown.

Splash never turned around to look at daddy. He again rushed into the water, barking and snapping his sharp teeth. Then Mr. Brown, taking up a stick, ran toward the dog.

"Let it alone, Splash! Let it alone!" cried Daddy Brown. "That's a big muskrat, and if it bites you it will make a bad sore. Let it alone!"

Daddy Brown struck at something in the water, and Bunny and Sue, running down to the edge of the lake, saw a large, brown animal, with long hair, swimming out toward the middle. Splash started to follow but Mr. Brown caught the dog by the collar.

"No you don't!" cried Bunny's father, "You let that muskrat alone, Splash. He's so big, and such a good swimmer, that he might pull you under the water and drown you. Let him alone."

Bunker Blue, who had come down to the edge of the lake, threw a stone at the swimming muskrat. The queer animal at once made a dive and went under the water, for muskrats can swim under the water as well as on top, and Bunny and Sue saw it no more.

Splash rushed around, up and down the shore, barking loudly, but he did not try to swim out. I think he knew Mr. Brown was right in what he said -- that it was not good to be bitten by a muskrat.

"Is that what it was, Daddy -- a rat?" asked Bunny.

"Yes," answered his father. "Splash must have seen the muskrat swimming in the water, and tried to get it. The muskrat didn't want to be caught, so it fought back. But I'm glad it got away without being hurt, and I'm glad Splash wasn't bitten."

"What's a muskrat?" Sue wanted to know.

"Well, it's a big rat that lives in the water," said Daddy Brown. "It is much larger than the kind of rat that is around houses and barns, and it has fine, soft fur which trappers sell, to make fur-lined overcoats, and cloaks, for men and women. The fur is very good, and some persons say the muskrat is good to eat, but I would not like to try eating it. But this muskrat was a big one, and as they have sharp teeth, and can bite hard when they are angry, it is a good thing we drove it away."

Bunny and Sue looked out over the lake. They could see the muskrat no longer, though there was a little ripple in the water where it had dived down to get away.

"Now we must finish putting up the tents," said Daddy Brown. "It will be night before we know it, and we want a good place to sleep in at Camp Rest-a-While."

"And are we going to have a fire, where we can cook something?" asked Bunny.

"Yes, we'll have the oil stove set up."

"I thought we would have a campfire," said the little boy.

"So we shall!" exclaimed Uncle Tad. "I'll make a campfire for you, children, and we'll bake some potatoes in it. We'll have them for supper, with whatever else mother cooks on the oil stove."

"I'll get some sticks of wood for the fire!" cried Sue.

"So will I!" added Bunny.

And while the older folk were finishing putting up the tents, and while Mother Brown was getting out the bed clothes, Bunny and Sue made a pile of sticks and twigs for the fire their uncle had promised to make.

Soon the big sleeping tent was put up, and divided into two parts, one for Sue and her mother, and the other for Bunny and the men folk. Cot-beds were put up in the tent, and blankets, sheets and pillows put on them, so the tent was really like a big bedroom.

"It will be nicer sleeping here than on the ground, like we did in the tent at home that night," said Bunny to Sue.

"Yes, I guess it will," she answered. "My dollie won't catch cold in a nice bed."

"Did she catch cold before?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Well, she had the sniffle-snuffles, and that's almost like a cold," Sue answered.

In the second-sized tent the dining table had been set up, and the chairs put around ready for the first meal, which would be supper. Mother Brown got the dishes out of the box, and called:

"Now, Bunny and Sue, let me see you set the table."

She had taught them at home how to put on the plates, knives, forks, spoons, cups, saucers and whatever was needed, and now Bunny and Sue did this, as their share of the work, while Bunker Blue, and the older folk, were busy doing different things.

In the cooking tent the oil stove was set up and lighted, to make sure it burned well. Then Camp Rest-a-While looked just like its name -- a place where boys and girls, as well as men and women could come and have a nice rest, near the beautiful lake.

When everything was nearly finished, and it was about time to start getting supper, a man came rowing along the shore of the lake in a boat. He called to Mr. Brown:

"Hey, there! Is this where you want your boat left?"

"Yes, thank you. Tie it right there," answered Daddy Brown.

"Oh, is that going to be our boat?" asked Bunny, in delight.

"Yes," answered his father, "I wrote to a man up here that has boats to let, to bring us a nice one. We'll use it while we are in camp. But you children must never get in the boat without asking me, or your mother. You mustn't get in even when it's tied to the shore."

"We won't!" promised Bunny and Sue. Once they had gotten in a boat that they thought was tied fast, but it had floated away with them. They landed on an island in the river, and had some adventures, of which I have told you in the first book of this series.

Bunny and Sue remembered this, so they knew that sometimes it was not even safe to get in a boat which was tied fast, unless some older person was with them.

The man left the boat he had brought for Mr. Brown. It was a large one and would easily hold Bunny and Sue, as well as all the others at Camp Rest-a-While.

"Now for the roast potatoes!" cried Uncle Tad. "Come on, children! We'll start our campfire, for I see your mother getting the meat ready to cook, and it takes quite a while to roast potatoes out of doors."

The campfire was built between two big stones, Bunny and Sue bringing up the wood they had gathered. Uncle Tad lighted the fire, for it is not safe for children to handle matches, or even be near an open fire, unless some older person is with them. Bunny and Sue had often been told this, so they were very careful.

When the fire had blazed up good and hot, Uncle Tad let it cool down a bit. Then he raked away the red hot embers and put in them some nice, big, round potatoes. These he covered up in the hot ashes, and put on more wood.

"Now the potatoes are baking," he said. "They will be done in time for supper."

And what a fine supper it was -- that first one in camp! Bunny and Sue thought they had never tasted anything so good. They all sat in the dining tent, and Mother Brown put the things on the table.

"Now where are your potatoes, Uncle Tad?" she asked.

"Here they are!" cried the old soldier, as he went to the campfire. He raked away the ashes and embers with a stick, and on a platter, made from a large piece of bark, off a tree, the old soldier poked out a number of round, black, smoking things.

"Why -- why!" exclaimed Sue, in surprise. "I thought you baked potatoes, Uncle Tad!"

"So I did, Sue."

"They look like black stones," said Bunny.

"You wait -- I'll show you," laughed Uncle Tad. He brought the bark platter to the table. Taking up a fork he opened one of the round, black, smoking things. Though the outside was burned black from the fire, the inside was almost as white as snow.

"There's baked potatoes for you!" cried Uncle Tad. "Put some salt and butter on them, and you never tasted anything better! But be careful -- for they're very hot!"

Supper over, the dishes were washed and put away. Then there was nothing to do but wait until it was time to go to bed.

"And I think we're all tired enough to go early to-night," said Mother Brown.

"But, before we go," said her husband, "I think we will have a little row on the lake in our boat. It is not yet dark."

It was beautiful out on the water, and the sun, sinking down behind the hills, made the clouds look as though they were colored blue, pink, purple and golden.

Bunny and Sue were almost asleep when the boat was headed back toward shore, and their eyes were tight shut, when daddy and mother lifted them out to carry them up to Camp Rest-a-While. The children hardly awakened when they were undressed and put to bed, and soon every one was sound asleep, for it was a dark night.

Bunny Brown was sleeping in the outer part of the bedroom-tent, in a cot next to his father's. Just what made Bunny awaken he did not know. But, all at once the little fellow sat up on his cot, and looked with wide-open eyes toward the entrance. There was a lantern burning in the tent, and by the light of it Bunny Brown saw a big shaggy animal, standing on its hind legs, and sniffing with its black nose. At first Bunny could not make a sound, he was so frightened, but finally he screamed:

"Oh, Daddy! Daddy! Wake up! It's a bear! A bear! A big black bear in the tent!"

Then Bunny slipped down between the blankets and covered up his head with the bed clothes.



Chapter VIII

The Ragged Boy


Daddy Brown was used to being suddenly aroused in the night by either Bunny or Sue. At home the children often awakened, and called out. Sometimes they would be dreaming, or perhaps they would want a drink of water. So Daddy Brown and Mrs. Brown Were used to answering when they heard the children call out.

But it was something new to hear Bunny calling about a big, black bear. He had never done that before, though one time, when he ate too much bread and jam for supper, he screamed that there was an elephant in his room, and there wasn't at all. He had only dreamed it.

But this time Daddy Brown had plainly heard his little boy say:

"Oh, it's a bear! It's a bear!"

Mr. Brown awakened, and sat up in his cot. He looked over toward Bunny's bed, but could see nothing of the little fellow, for as I have told you, Bunny was covered up under the blankets and quilt. Even his head was covered.

Then Mr. Brown looked toward the entrance, or front door of the tent. And, to his surprise, he saw just what Bunny had seen, a big, shaggy, hairy animal, standing on its hind legs, with its black nose up in the air, sniffing and snuffing.

"Why -- why!" exclaimed Mr. Brown, rubbing his eyes to make sure that he was wide awake, and that he was not dreaming, as he thought Bunny might have been. "Why -- why! It is a bear!"

"Sniff! Snuff!" went the big, shaggy creature.

"Daddy -- Daddy!" cried Bunny, his voice sounding faint and far off, because his head was under the covers. "Daddy, is -- is he gone?"

"No, not yet," answered Mr. Brown.

"What is it? What's the matter?" called Mrs. Brown, from behind the curtain, where she slept.

"Why," said Mr. Brown slowly. "It -- it seems to be a --  -- "

Then he stopped. He did not want to scare his wife or Sue, by telling them there was a bear in the tent, and yet there was.

"Oh, what is it?" cried Mrs. Brown again. "I heard Bunny crying! Is anything the matter with him?"

"No, he's all right," answered Bunny's papa. That was true enough. There was really nothing the matter with the little boy. He was just a bit frightened, that was all.

"But something is the matter," said Mrs. Brown, "I know there is! Why don't you tell me what it is?"

Daddy Brown did not know just what to do. He sat up in bed, thinking and looking first at the bear and then at Bunny. All Mr. Brown could see of Bunny was a heap under the bedclothes. But the bear was in plain sight, standing in the doorway of the tent, sniffing and snuffing near the lighted lantern.

Mr. Brown did not want to speak about the bear. He thought the big, shaggy creature looked quite gentle, and perhaps it would go away if no one harmed it. Perhaps it was just looking for something to eat, and as it couldn't find anything in the bedroom tent it might go to the one where the cooking was done.

Bunker Blue was still sound asleep, and so was Uncle Tad. Nor had Sue, sleeping next to her mother, in the other part of the tent, been awakened. Just Bunny Brown, and his father and mother were wide awake. Oh, yes, of course the bear was not asleep. I forgot about that. His little black eyes blinked, and opened and shut, and he wrinkled up his rubber-like nose as he sniffed the air.

"Well, aren't you going to tell me what it is? What's the matter in there? What happened?" asked Mother Brown. "If you don't tell me --  -- "

By this time Bunny Brown made up his mind that he would be brave. He uncovered one eye and peered out from beneath the bed clothes. His first sight was of the bear, who was still there.

"Oh! Oh!" cried Bunny. "It is a bear! It's a big, black bear! I didn't dream it! It's real! a real, big, black bear!"

Mrs. Brown heard what her little boy said.

"Oh, Walter!" she cried to her husband. "Throw something at it. Here's my shoe -- throw that. I've got two shoes, but I can only find one. Throw that at the bear and make him go away!"

Mrs. Brown threw over the curtain, that divided the tent into two parts, one of her shoes.

She really had two shoes, but when she felt under her cot in the dark, she could only find one. You know how it is when you try to find anything in the dark, even if it's a drink of water in the chair at the head of our bed. You move your hand all over, and you think some one must have come in and taken the water away. And when you get a light you find that, all the while, your hand was about an inch away from the glass. It was that way with Mrs. Brown's other shoe.

But she threw one over the curtain, calling out again:

"Hit him with that, Walter! Hit the bear with my shoe!"

But there was no need for Mr. Brown to do anything. The shoe thrown by Bunny's mother sailed through the tent. Straight at the bear it went, and before the shaggy creature could get out of the way, the shoe hit him on the end of the nose.

"Bunk!" went the shoe.

"Wuff!" grunted the bear.

Now you know a bear's nose is his most tender part. You could hit him on his head, or on his back, or on his paw -- that is if you were brave enough to hit a bear at all -- but you would not hurt him, hardly any, unless you hit him right on the end of his soft and tender nose. That's the best place to hit a bear if you want to drive him away, out of your tent, or anything like that. Hit him on the nose.

"Whack!" went Mrs. Brown's shoe on the end of the bear's nose.

"Wuff!" grunted the bear, and down he dropped on all four paws.

Now Mrs. Brown really did not mean to hit the bear. She was just tossing her shoe over the curtain so her husband might have something to throw at the bear, and, as it happened, she hit the bear by accident.

Of course it might have been better if one of Mr. Brown's shoes had hit the bear. I mean it would have been better for the Brown family, but worse for the bear. Because Mr. Brown's shoes were larger and heavier than his wife's. But then, it turned out all right anyhow.

For, no sooner did the bear feel Mrs. Brown's shoe hit him on the nose, than he cried out:

"Wuff!"

Then he turned quickly around, and ran out of the tent.

"Did you throw my shoe at him? Did you make him go away?" asked Mrs. Brown. "Because if you didn't, Walter, I've found my other shoe now, and I'll throw that to you."

"You won't need to, my dear," said Mr. Brown with a laugh. "One shoe was enough. You hit the bear yourself!"

"I did?"

"Yes, and he's gone. It's all right, Bunny. You can put your head out now. The bear is gone."

Bunny peeped with one eye, and when he saw that the big, shaggy creature was no longer there, he put his whole head out. Then, with a bound he jumped out of bed, and ran toward the back part of the tent, where his mother and sister were sleeping.

"Where you going, Bunny?" asked his father. "There's no more danger; the bear has gone."

"I -- I'm just going in here to get my pop gun, so if the bear comes back --  -- " Bunny said, "My pop gun is in here."

"Oh," said Mr. Brown, "I thought you were going to crawl in bed with your mother."

"Oh, no -- no!" Bunny quickly answered, shaking his head. "I -- I just want my pop gun. But," he went on, "if mother wants me to get in bed with her, and keep the bear away, why I will. Don't be afraid. I'll get in bed with you, Mother!"

"Oh, I guess the bear won't come back," said Mr. Brown with a laugh.

"Well, I'll get in bed with mother anyhow," said Bunny. "I'll have my pop gun all ready."

By this time Uncle Tad, Bunker Blue and Sue had been awakened by the talk. Outside the tent Splash could be heard barking, and there was a noise among the trees and bushes that told that the bear was running away.

"I -- I hope he doesn't bite our dog," said Bunny.

"Oh, I guess Splash will know enough to keep away from the bear," replied Mr. Brown. "Besides, I think the bear was only a tame one, anyhow."

"A tame bear?" asked Uncle Tad, as he was told all that had happened.

"Yes. He didn't act at all like a wild one. Besides, there aren't any wild bears in this part of the country. This was a tame one all right."

"Where did it come from?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Oh, I think it got away from some man who goes about the country making the bear do tricks. Probably in the morning we'll see the man looking for his bear," answered her husband.

And that is just what happened. There was no more trouble that night. Everyone went to sleep again, Bunny in the cot with his mother; though when he was asleep and slumbering soundly, she carried him back to his own little bed near his father.

Soon after breakfast the next morning, when they were talking about the bear scare in the night, along came a man, who looked like an Italian organ-grinder. He said he had a pet, tame bear, who had broken away from where he was tied, in the night.

And it was this bear who had wandered into the tent where Bunny was sleeping. Where the bear was now no one knew, but the Italian said he would walk off through the woods, and see if he could not find his pet, which he had trained to do many tricks.

Two or three days later, Mr. Brown heard that the bear was safely found, so there was no more need to worry about his coming into the tent at night.

That day Daddy Brown, with the help of Uncle Tad and Bunker Blue printed a big cloth sign which they hung up between two trees. The sign read:

Camp Rest-A-While

"There," said Daddy Brown, "now the postman will know where to find us when he comes with letters."

"Oh, do they have mail up here?" asked Sue.

"No, daddy is only joking," said her mother. "I guess we'll have to go to the post office for letters."

One day, when they had been in camp about a week, Bunny and Sue, with the others, returned from a walk in the woods. As they came near the "dining-room tent," as they called it, they saw a ragged boy spring up from the table with some pieces of bread and meat, and dash into the bushes.

"Hold on there! Who are you? What do you want?" cried Daddy Brown. But the ragged boy did not stop running. He wanted to hide in the bushes.



Chapter IX

Tom Hears A Noise


Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, with their father, mother, Uncle Tad and Bunker Blue, hurried on toward the tent under which was set the dining table. They could see where the ragged boy had made a meal for himself, taking the bread and meat from the ice box. For a refrigerator had been brought to camp, and the iceman came on a boat, once a day, to leave ice.

"Who is he?" asked Bunny Brown, looking toward the bushes behind which the strange boy had run.

"What did he want?" Sue asked.

"I can answer you, Sue, but I can't answer Bunny," said Mr. Brown. "That boy was hungry, and wanted something to eat, but who he is I don't know."

"Poor little chap," said Mrs. Brown in a kind voice. "He didn't need to run away just because he wanted something to eat. I would be glad to give him all he wanted. I wouldn't see anyone go hungry."

"He looked like a tramp," said Bunker.

"But he was only a boy," remarked Uncle Tad.

"I wish he hadn't run away," said Mother Brown. "I don't believe he got half enough to eat. He took only a little." She could tell that by looking in the ice box.

By this time Splash, the big dog, who had not come up with the others, now rushed into camp. He sniffed around, and then, all of a sudden, he made a dash for a clump of bushes, and, standing in front of it began barking loudly.

"Oh, maybe the bear's come back and is hiding in there!" cried Bunny.

"More likely it's that ragged boy," said Uncle Tad. "That's where he made a rush for as soon as we came up."

Splash seemed about to go into the bushes himself, and drive, or drag, out whatever was hiding there.

But Mr. Brown called:

"Here, Splash! Come here, sir!"

The dog came back and then Bunny's father, going over to the bushes, looked down among them.

"You'd better come out," he said, to someone. The children could not see who it was. "Come on out," said Mr. Brown, "we won't hurt you."

Out of the bushes came the ragged boy. In his hand he still had some of the bread and meat he had taken from the ice box.

Bunny and Sue looked at him.

The boy's clothes were very ragged, but they seemed to be clean. He had on no shoes or stockings, but one foot was wrapped up in a rag, as though he had cut himself. He limped a little, too, as he came forward.

"I -- I couldn't run very fast with my sore foot, or I'd a' got away from you," he said slowly.

"But why should you want to get away?" asked Mr. Brown.

"Well, I took some of your stuff -- I was hungry and I went through the ice box -- and I s'posed you'd be looking for a policeman to have me arrested. That's why I ran. But I couldn't go very far, so I hid in the bushes. I thought I could get away when you weren't looking. Here's your stuff," and he held out to Mrs. Brown what was left of the bread and meat. Bunny and Sue thought the ragged boy looked hungrily at the food as he offered to give it back.

"You poor boy!" said Mrs. Brown, "I don't want it! You're welcome to that and more, if you need it. You must be hungry!"

"I am, lady. I haven't had anything since morning. I started to go back to the city, but it's farther than I thought, and I lost my way. When I struck this camp, I saw the sign -- 'Rest-a-While,' so I sat down to rest. Then I saw the ice box, and I was hungry, and -- and I -- well, I just helped myself."

His face was sunburned, so it could not be told whether he was blushing or not, but he hung his head as if ashamed of what he had done. He still held out the meat to Mrs. Brown.

Splash, who, now that he knew the boy was a friend of the family, did not bark any more, slid gently up, and began nibbling at the meat and bread in the boy's hand.

"Oh, look at Splash!" laughed Sue.

"Here, Splash! That isn't for you!" cried Mr. Brown. "But you might as well give it to him now, now that he's had his tongue on it," said Mr. Brown to the ragged boy. "We'll give you some more."

"Yes, sit right up to the table," said Mrs. Brown. "I'll get you a good meal."

The boy's eyes filled with tears, and he turned his head away so they would not be seen.

"Where did you come from?" asked Daddy Brown, as Mrs. Brown was setting out some food.

"I come from Benton," the boy answered, naming a city about twenty miles away. "I've lived there all my life until about a week ago, and I wish I was back there now."

"How did you come to leave?"

"Well, all my folks died, and I couldn't make much of a living selling papers, running errands and blacking shoes, so when a farmer down in the city market, said he wanted a boy on his farm, I said I'd come and work for him.

"I rode out on his wagon, after he had sold all his stuff one day, and I came to a place called Fayetteville."

"Yes, I know where that is," said Mr. Brown. "It's on the other side of the lake."

"I went to work for the farmer," said the ragged boy, who gave his name as Tom Vine, "but it was worse than being in the city. I never had a minute's rest and I didn't get enough to eat. I wasn't used to working out in the hot sun, and my legs and arms seemed as if they'd burn off me."

"Yes, I can see you're pretty well burned," said Mr. Brown. "Then you ran away?"

"Yes, sir. I couldn't stand it any longer. The farmer and his hired man used to whip me if I made a mistake, or if I didn't get up early enough. And they used to get up before daylight. So I made up my mind to run away, and go back to the city.

"I used to think the country was nice," the ragged boy went on, "but I don't any more. I don't mind working, but I don't want to be starved and whipped all the while. So I ran off, but I guess I got lost, for I can't find the way back to the city. I don't know what to do. When I got here, and saw that sign about resting, I thought that was what I needed. So I came in."

"And I'm glad you did," said Mrs. Brown. "Now you eat this and you'll feel better. Then I'll look at your sore foot, and we'll see what to do with you."

"You -- you won't have me arrested; will you?" asked the boy.

"No, indeed!" said Mr. Brown.

"And you -- you won't send me back to that farmer?"

"No, I think not. He has no right to make you work for him if you don't want to. Don't be afraid," said Bunny's father. "We'll look after you."

A little later the ragged boy had eaten a good meal. Then he was given some of Bunker Blue's old clothes, for he was almost as large as the red-haired boy, and the old clothes were thrown away.

Mr. Brown looked at the boy's sore foot, and found that there was a big sharp thorn in one toe. When this thorn had been taken out, and the toe bound up with salve, the ragged boy said he felt much better. Perhaps I shouldn't call him a ragged boy any longer, for he was not, with Bunker's clothes on.

"Mother, is he going to stay with us?" asked Bunny that evening when it was nearly supper time, and the new boy -- Tom Vine -- had gone after a pail of water at the spring.

"Would you care to have him stay?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Yes," said Sue. "He's nice. I like him."

"Well, we'll keep him for a while," answered Mrs. Brown. "He needs help, I think."

Tom Vine told more of his story after supper. He had never been away from the city's pavements in all his life before he went out to the country with the farmer who hired him. He had never seen the ocean, or the woods. He did not even know that cows gave milk until he saw the farmer's hired man milking one day.

"I just don't know anything about the woods or the country," the boy said to Bunny and Sue, "so you can fool me all you like."

"Oh, we won't fool you," said Bunny kindly. "We'll tell you all we know."

"Thanks," said Tom Vine.

He had offered to travel on, after supper, and try to get back to the city.

"I don't want to be a trouble to you folks," he said to Mrs. Brown. "In the city I know some fellows, and they'll lend me money enough to buy some papers, and start in business."

"You had better stay with us awhile," said Mrs. Brown. "We have enough room for you, and you can help about camp."

"I can wash and dry dishes!" cried Tom eagerly. "I worked in a restaurant for a week once, and I know how to handle dishes."

"Then we can give you plenty of work," said Mrs. Brown, with a laugh. "For if there is one thing, in camp or at home, that I don't like it is washing dishes."

"I'll do them for you!" cried Tom, "and I'll be glad of the chance, too!"

"All right then. You'll be the head dishwasher of Camp Rest-a-While," said Mr. Brown, smiling.

And that is how Tom Vine came to stay with the Browns while they lived in the woods near Lake Wanda.

Tom, indeed, knew very little about the country. As he said, he had never been away from the city pavements, winter or summer, in all his life before. The first night in camp, when he was sleeping next to Bunker Blue, in a little part of the tent that had been curtained off for them, Tom awakened Bunker, by reaching over and punching him in the ribs.

"Hey, listen to that!" cried Tom.

"To what?" asked Bunker, only half awake.

"Somebody is outside the tent, calling: 'Who? Who? Who?'" said Tom. "I didn't do anything, did you? What do they holler 'who' for?"

Bunker listened. Surely enough he heard very plainly:

"Who? Who? Too-who?"

"Hear it?" asked Tom.

"Yes, it's only an owl," Bunker answered. "There's lots of 'em in these woods."

"What's an owl?" Tom wanted to know.

"Oh, it's a bird with big eyes, and it can only see at night. It comes out to get mice and bugs. Owls won't hurt you. Go on to sleep."

Tom did not go to sleep at once. But he was no longer afraid of the owl.

Tom was just going to sleep once more, when he heard another funny noise. This time he was sure some one said:

"Katy did! Katy did! Katy did!"

Tom sat up in his cot. He reached over to punch Bunker, to ask him what this was, when all at once, another voice cried:

"Katy didn't! Katy didn't! Katy didn't!"

"Listen to that, now, would you!" exclaimed Tom. "Bunker! Bunker Blue! Wake up! There's two people outside, and one says Katy did it, and the other says she didn't -- who's right?"



Chapter X

Out In The Boat


Bunker Blue turned sleepily over on his cot.

"What -- what's that?" he asked of Tom.

"Listen," Tom answered. "Don't you hear that, Bunker? First someone is hollering about Katy's doing something, and then somebody else yells that she didn't do it. Say, I don't like it here."

Bunker Blue laughed aloud.

"What's the matter out there?" asked Daddy Brown.

"Oh, it's only Tom," said the red-haired boy. "He doesn't like the song of the katydids."

"Song! Is that a song?" asked Tom.

"Some people call it that," said Mr. Brown, for he knew that a city boy might be just as frightened of sounds in the country as a country boy might of sounds in the city.

"That noise is made by a little green bug, called a katydid," Mr. Brown explained. "It looks something like a grasshopper."

"But they don't all say 'Katy did,'" objected Tom.

"No, some of them seem to say 'Katy didn't,'" agreed Mr. Brown. "Of course they don't really say those words. It only sounds as if they did. Now go to sleep. In the morning I'll show you a katydid."

Tom was not frightened any longer. He turned over and was soon sound asleep. Mr. Brown and Bunker also closed their eyes and the tent in Camp Rest-a-While was quiet once more. Bunny and Sue had not awakened.

Early the next morning, before breakfast, Tom was seen walking about among the trees of the camp. He seemed to be looking for something.

"What are you looking for?" asked Bunny.

"For Katy," Tom answered.

"There isn't any Katy with us," said Sue. "We have a cook, but her name is Mary, and she isn't here with us, anyhow. She's at home."

"No, I'm looking for a Katy bug," explained Tom, and then he told about the noises he had heard in the night.

"I'll help you look," said Bunny.

"So will I," added Sue. "I'd like to see a Katy bug."

But, though the children and Tom looked all over, they could not find a katydid until Mr. Brown helped them. Then on a tree he found one of the queer, light-green grasshopper-like bugs and showed it to the children.

"Why doesn't it cry now?" Sue wanted to know. "Make it cry, Daddy, so I can hear it!"

"Oh, I can't do that," Mr. Brown said with a laugh. "The katydid cries, or sings, mostly at night. I guess they don't want anyone to see them. Besides, I don't just know how they make the noises, whether they rub their rough legs together, or make a sound somewhere inside them. So I guess we'll have to let them do as they please."

Tom and the children stood for some little time, watching the pretty, green bug, and then came the sound of a bell.

"There!" cried Mr. Brown, with a laugh. "I guess you all know who made that noise, and what it means."

"It means breakfast!" cried Bunny.

"And mother rang the bell!" added Sue.

"That's right," said Bunker Blue, coming along just then. "And your mother doesn't want you to be late, either, for she's baking cakes, and you know how you like them!"

"Oh, cakes!" cried Bunny, clapping his hands. "I just love them!"

Soon the little party, including the new boy, Tom Vine, were seated around the table under the dining tent, eating pancakes that Mrs. Brown cooked over the oil stove.

Bunny and Sue said nothing for several minutes. They were too busy eating. Then Bunny, looking at Tom, asked:

"Can you jump over an elephant?"

"Jump over elephants? I guess not!" the new boy cried. "I never saw an elephant, except in a picture."

"We did," said Sue. "We saw a real elephant in a real circus, and we had a make-believe circus with a pretend elephant in it."

"And we knowed a boy named Ben Hall, who used to be in a real circus," went on Bunny. "He could jump over an elephant, and I thought maybe you could, too."

"No," said Tom, with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that. About the only thing I can do is wash and dry the dishes."

"Well, it's a good thing to be able to do even one thing well," said Mrs. Brown, "and I'm glad you're here to wash and dry the dishes. There are plenty of them."

"I know something else you can do," said Bunny, smiling at Tom.

"What is it?"

"You can eat."

"Yes," and Tom laughed. "I like to eat, and I'm hungry three times a day."

"Bunny and Sue are hungry oftener than that," said Uncle Tad. "At least they say they are, and they come in and get bread and jam."

Bunny and Sue looked at each other and laughed.

After breakfast, just as he had said he would do, Tom Vine picked up the dishes, and got ready to wash them. Mrs. Brown watched him for a few minutes, until she was sure that he knew just how to go about it. Then she left him to himself.

"He is a very nice, neat and clean boy," she said to her husband. "I'm glad he came to us. But what are we going to do with him? We can't keep him always."

"Well, we'll let him stay with us while we are in camp here in the woods," said Mr. Brown, "and when we go back home, well, I can find something for him to do at the boat-dock, perhaps -- that is, if he doesn't want to go back to the city."

While Tom was doing the dishes Bunny and Sue had gone off into the wood a little way, to where they had made for themselves a little play-house of branches of trees, stuck in the ground. It was a sort of green tent, and in it Sue had put some of her dolls, while Bunny had taken to it some of his toys. The children often played there.

But they did not do anything for very long at a time, getting tired of one thing after another as all children do. So when Sue had undressed and dressed her two dolls, combing and braiding their hair, she said to Bunny:

"Oh, let's do something else now."

"All right," replied her brother. "What shall we do?"

"Can't you think of some fun?" Sue wanted to know.

Bunny rubbed his nose. He often did that when he was thinking. Then he cried:

"Let's ask mother to let Bunker Blue take us out in the boat. I want to go fishing."

"That will be nice," Sue said. "I'd like a boat ride, too."

Back to the camp went the children, but when they reached the tents they saw neither their father nor mother, nor was Uncle Tad or Bunker Blue in sight.

"They've gone away!" said Sue.

"Yes, so they have," agreed Bunny. "But I guess they didn't go far, or they'd have told us. Mother knew where we were."

"Let's go find them," said Sue. "Maybe they went out in the boat."

"We'll look," agreed Bunny.

The two children went to the edge of the lake, where a big willow tree overhung the water. The boat was kept tied to this tree.

"Oh, the boat's gone!" exclaimed Sue, as she reached the place and did not see it. "The boat's gone, Bunny!"

"Then they must have gone for a row, and they didn't take us!" and Bunny was much disappointed. He looked across the lake, up and down, as did Sue, and then both children cried out:

"Oh, look!" said Sue.

"There's the boat," added Bunny. "And Tom Vine is in it all alone! He hasn't got any oars, either. Look, Sue!"

Surely enough, there was the boat, some distance out in the lake, and Tom, the city boy, who knew nothing at all about boats, was in it. As he saw Bunny and Sue he waved his hands to them, and cried:

"Come and get me! I can't get back! I'm afraid! Come and get me!"



Chapter XI

Tom Sees A Man


Bunny Brown and his sister Sue stood by the lake shore, and didn't know what to do. Some distance out on the water floated the boat with Tom Vine standing up in it, waving his hands. And Tom cried once more:

"Come and get me! Come and get me!"

Bunny was the first to speak after that. And he said just the right thing.

"Sit down, Tom!" cried Bunny. "Sit down, or you'll tip over, and then you'll be drowned, and we can't get you."

Bunny shouted loudly, and his clear, high voice could easily be heard by Tom, for there was no wind, or at least only a little, to ruffle the water of the lake. Tom heard, and he knew what Bunny meant. Very carefully he sat down on one of the seats in the boat.

"Are you coming to get me?" he asked. "I can't get back to shore, and I can't swim. I don't like it out here!"

"Just sit still, and we'll think up a way to get you," called Bunny. "But don't stand up, whatever you do."

"No, you must keep sitting down," added Sue.

Mr. Brown had often told his children how to act when in boats. Small as they were they could both swim a little, Bunny, of course, better than Sue, because he was older. And they had both been told what to do in case they fell into the water -- hold their breath until they came to the top, when someone might save them, if they could not swim out.

But it was what Mr. Brown had told Bunny about not standing up in a boat that the little fellow now first remembered to shout to Tom. He did not want to see the new boy fall over into the lake.

And Tom must have known what Bunny meant, for he was now sitting very quietly in the boat, looking toward the shore where Bunny and Sue stood.

"How did you get out there?" Bunny asked. He had not yet thought of a way to get Tom back to land.

"I -- I didn't think the boat would float away," Tom answered. "I got in it and untied the rope. Then, the first thing I knew I was away out here. The wind blew me out, but it won't blow me back. I'll soon be out in the middle, I guess!"

Though there had been enough wind to blow Tom, in the boat, away from shore, there was hardly any wind now, so the boy could not be blown back. And how to get him to shore was something that Bunny and Sue could not tell how to do, especially as there were no oars in the boat.

"He can't row without oars," said Bunny.

"No, he can't," said Sue. She knew enough about boats to tell that. "And he hasn't any sail," she added.

"Haven't you got a stick, so you can push yourself back to shore?" called Bunny.

"I have a little stick, but it won't touch bottom," Tom answered. As he spoke he held up a short tree branch. Bunny had used it the day before as a fishpole, and when through playing had tossed it into the boat. Tom reached this stick over the side of the boat, and put it down into the water. But the lake was too deep there to let him touch the bottom, and so push himself to shore.

"Can't you swim out and get me, Bunny?" Tom cried. He was not as old a boy as was Bunker Blue, and so he was quite easily frightened, especially as he could not swim, and knew hardly anything about boats.

"Swim out and get me, Bunny!" Tom begged.

Bunny Brown shook his head.

"I couldn't swim that far," he shouted. "Besides, I'm not let go in the water unless my father or mother, or Uncle Tad or Bunker Blue is with me, and they're not here now."

"But how can I get back?" poor Tom wanted to know.

"We'll get you, somehow!" cried Bunny. "Won't we, Sue?"

"Yes," answered the little girl. But neither she nor her brother knew how they were going to save Tom.

"Anyhow, if I could swim that far, and daddy would let me," went on Bunny, speaking to his sister, "I couldn't take the oars out, and if I didn't have oars to row with, I couldn't bring the boat back, or Tom either."

"No, you couldn't," Sue said. She knew enough about boats to tell that, for she could row a little, with a light pair of oars.

"Call your father or mother!" called Tom, who was now farther from shore than ever. "Call them! Maybe they can get another boat, and come after me."

So Bunny and Sue called as loudly as they could, but neither Mr. Brown, his wife, Bunker nor Uncle Tad answered. They had taken a walk back in the woods, when Tom started to wash the dishes, and when Bunny and Sue were playing house in the leafy bower, and they had gone farther than they intended. So they could not hear Bunny and Sue calling.

"It's no use," said Bunny, after a bit. "We've got to save him ourselves, Sue. But I wonder how we can do it."

Sue thought for a minute. She did not rub her nose as Bunny had done. She could think without doing that. Then Sue said:

"If we only had a string on the boat, Bunny, we could pull Tom right to us. We could stand on shore and pull him in, just as we did with your little sail boat."

"That's right -- we could!" cried Bunny. Then he called:

"Tom, has you got a rope on your boat? If you has throw it to me and Sue, and we'll pull you in by it."

Tom looked in the bottom of the boat.

"There's a rope here," he said, "but it isn't long enough to reach to shore."

He held it up so the children could see. Certainly it was not half long enough. It was the rope by which the boat had been tied to the tree.

While Bunny and Sue stood there, wondering what to do, there came a rustling, cracking sound in the bushes back of them. They quickly turned, and saw their dog, Splash. He had been roving about in the woods, and had now come back to camp.

"Oh, Splash!" cried Bunny. "You can do it, I know you can!"

"What can he do?" asked Sue.

"He can swim out to Tom in the boat, and pull him back to shore. Go on, Splash!" cried Bunny, pointing to poor Tom. "Go on and get him! Bring him back!"

Splash bounded around and barked. He looked to where Bunny pointed, but though the dog could understand some of the things Bunny said, he could not tell just what his little master wanted this time. Tom was watching what was going on, and now he called:

"I know a better way than that."

"What?" asked Bunny.

"If you had a long cord, you could tie one end to a stick, and give it to Splash to bring to me. Then I could tie it to the boat, and you could pull me to shore."

"Oh, yes, we can do that!" cried Bunny.

"Have you got a long cord?" Tom asked.

"Yes, one I fly my kite with. I brought the cord along, but now I haven't any kite. I'll get that."

Bunny ran to the tent where he kept his box of playthings. He soon returned with a stick, on which was wound a long and very strong cord.

"This will pull the boat," he said.

He looked around for a stick to tie onto the end of the cord, and when he had done this he gave the stick to the dog.

"Take it out to Tom!" ordered Bunny.

But Splash only barked and dropped the stick. He wagged his tail, as if he were saying:

"I'll do anything you want me to, little master, but I don't know just what you mean."

Once more Tom called across the water.

"Throw the stick into the lake, Bunny. Then Splash will bring it to me. He knows how to jump in after sticks you throw into the water; doesn't he?"

"Oh, yes, Splash knows that all right," Bunny said. "Here, Splash!" he called.

Into the lake Bunny tossed the stick to which was fastened one end of his kite cord.

"Get it, Splash!" cried the little boy.

With a bark Splash sprang into the water. But instead of swimming out to Tom with the stick and string, he swam back to shore. That was what he had been taught to do, you see.

Splash dropped the stick at Bunny's feet, and wagging his wet tail, spattered drops all over Sue. The dog barked, looking up at Bunny, and seeming to say:

"There, little master! Didn't I do that fine? Wasn't that just what you wanted me to do?"

"No! No!" cried Bunny. "I don't want the stick, Splash! Take it to Tom -- out in the boat -- take it to him!" and he pointed to Tom.

Once more Bunny threw the stick into the water, and once more Splash sprang in and brought it to shore. It was not until Bunny had told Splash four times, that the dog knew what was wanted.

Then the fifth time, when Bunny threw the stick into the water, Splash jumped in after it and swam out to Tom in the boat. Tom kept calling:

"Here, Splash! Here, Splash! Come on, good dog!"

Up to the boat, with the stick and cord, swam the dog. Tom made the string fast to the boat, and then Bunny and Sue, standing on shore, pulled on their end. They pulled slowly at first, so as not to break the cord. But, once the boat was started, it came along easily, and soon Tom was on dry land again. Splash swam along behind the boat.

"There!" Tom cried, as he tied the boat fast. "I'll never do that again!"

"We're not let get in the boat," said Bunny, "but I guess daddy forgot to tell you."

"If he had I'd never have gotten in," Tom said. "But I'm glad you pulled me to shore."

The rest of the campers came back soon after that, and Mr. Brown got Tom to promise never to get in the boat alone again. Of course Tom was not in any real danger as long as he kept still, and Mr. Brown might easily have gone out and rescued him in another boat. But I think it was very clever of Bunny and Sue, and Splash, too, to get Tom back to shore as they did; don't you?

There were many happy, joyful days at Camp Rest-a-While. The children went on little picnics in the woods and often they were taken out in the boat by Bunker Blue. Bunny had a real fishpole and line and hook now, with "squiggily" worms, as Sue called them, for bait, and the little boy caught some real fish.

It was about a week after Tom's adventure in the drifting boat that one day, as he was walking through the woods with Bunny and Sue, on their way back from a farmhouse where they had gone after milk, that Tom suddenly came to a stop along the path.

"Wait a minute!" he said in a whisper, to Bunny and Sue.

"What's the matter?" Bunny wanted to know. "You look afraid, Tom. Are you?"

"Yes, I am," said Tom, and even Sue could tell that he was when she looked at him.

"Did you -- did you see a snake?" she asked, drawing closer to Bunny, for Sue did not like snakes, either.

"No, it wasn't a snake," returned Tom. "It was a man. Here, come on back among the bushes, and he can't see us," and, as he spoke, Tom drew Bunny and Sue away from the path, behind some thick bushes. Tom seemed very much afraid of something. And he had said he had seen a man. Bunny and Sue could not imagine why Tom should be afraid of a man.



Chapter XII

The Cross Man


"Come on! Come on!" whispered Tom to Bunny and Sue, as he led them still deeper back in among the bushes. "Don't let him hear you! Come on, and we'll hide!"

"Who is it? What's the matter?" Bunny wanted to know.

"Hush!" whispered Tom. "It's that man! He's after me, I guess. I'll tell you about it when we get away. He's coming! Hurry!"

Certainly someone, or something, was coming along the path from which Tom and the two children had just stepped to go in among the bushes. Tom was in such a hurry that he pulled Bunny and Sue along with him harder than he meant to. Finally Bunny said:

"Oh, Tom, I'm spilling the milk!"

Bunny was carrying the pail of milk they had bought at the farmhouse, and, though the pail had a cover on it, some of the milk had splashed out, and was running down Bunny's stocking.

"Set the pail down here, and we'll get it when we come back -- after that man goes," Tom said, in a whisper.

Bunny put the pail down on the ground, near a big stone, so he would know where to look for it again. Then, to hide, they all squeezed as far back in the bushes as they could, and waited.

"Is he coming after us?" asked Sue in a whisper.

"No, I guess he's only after me," answered Tom. "He won't touch you or Bunny."

"Is it a Gypsy man?" Bunny wanted to know.

"No, he isn't a Gypsy," replied Tom. "He's just a cross, bad man; and I don't want him to see me. Keep your heads down."

Bunny and Sue did so. Like frightened rabbits they crouched among the bushes. Tom kept hold of their hands, and though the children knew that Tom was afraid, for he had said so, still Bunny and Sue were not very much frightened, as long as the man was not a Gypsy and did not want them.

"There! He's gone past!" exclaimed Tom, as he stood up to look over the tops of the bushes. "He's gone, and we can come out. He didn't see us -- he won't get me this time."

"But who was he?" Bunny wanted to know. Tom, however, did not seem to hear him. Still holding Bunny and Sue by the hand, Tom led them back to the path. Bunny picked up the pail of milk.

"I'll carry it for you," Tom said. "We've got to hurry back to camp."

"Why?" asked Sue. "I can't hurry very much, for my legs hurt."

"I'll carry you," said Tom, "if Bunny will take the milk pail."

"Yes, I'll do that," said the little boy.

Once more he took the pail, while Tom hoisted Sue up onto his shoulder.

"Give me a piggy-back!" Sue begged, so Tom carried her pickaback, while Sue held tightly to her doll. Tom marched ahead along the path, and soon they were safely at the tent. Before Tom could say anything, Bunny and Sue, seeing their father and mother, called out:

"Oh, Tom saw a man, and we hid!"

Mr. and Mrs. Brown did not know what this meant.

"What sort of man was he?" asked Mrs. Brown quickly.

"He wasn't a Gypsy man," Bunny said.

"But he was after Tom, only he didn't see us," added Sue. "And I had a piggy-back ride home, and some milk got spilled on Bunny's stocking, but not much, and I'm hungry!"

Sue believed in telling everything at once, to have it over with.

"What is it all about?" asked Mr. Brown of Tom. "Did you and the children really, hide from a man?"

"Yes, sir."

"What man was it? I hope there aren't any tramps in these woods."

"Oh, no, he wasn't a tramp. He was the farmer I told you about -- the one I worked for, and from whom I ran away. I guess he was looking for me," Tom answered.

"Hum," said Mr. Brown. "Well, I suppose we'll have to wait and see what he wants. Was he coming this way?"

"No, he seemed to be wandering through the woods, as if he didn't know where to go."

"Oh, well, maybe he won't find you," said Mrs. Brown.

"I hope he doesn't," returned Tom, looking over his shoulder.

No strange man came to camp that night, and Bunny and Sue soon forgot all about the little fright Tom had had. But two days later, just as dinner was finished, there came a man rowing in a boat to the little wooden camp-dock Bunker Blue had built out into the lake.

Out of the boat climbed a man with black whiskers. He had on big, heavy boots, and in one hand he carried a whip. He walked up the path from the lake, and when he saw Mr. Brown and his family at the table, under the tent, which was wide open, the man stood still.

"Camp Rest-a-While, eh?" he said in rather a rough voice, as he read the sign. "Well, maybe this is the place I'm looking for. Have you seen a boy -- a ragged boy -- about fifteen years old in these woods?" he asked.

Before Mr. Brown could answer, Tom Vine, who had gone to the spring for a pail of water, came back. At the sight of the man Tom dropped the pail, spilling the water. At the same time the "ragged boy" cried out:

"There he is! There's the man! He's after me! Oh, please don't let him take me away!"

Tom turned to run back into the woods, but Mr. Brown called to him:

"Stay right where you are, Tom! This man won't hurt you. Stay where you are."

Though he was much frightened, Tom stood still.

"Now then, what do you want?" asked Mr. Brown of the man with the whip.

"I want that boy!" answered the man, pointing the whip at poor Tom. "I hired him to work for me, but he ran away. I want him back, and I'm going to have him!"

And oh, what a rough, cross voice the man had! He wasn't at all nice, Bunny and Sue thought.

"I've been looking for that boy, and now I've found him. I want to take him back with me," the cross man went on. "I was hunting all through these woods for him, and yesterday I heard that a boy like him was in a camp over here. So I came for to find out about it, and I've found him!"

"Is that the man you saw in the woods, when we went after milk the other day, Tom?" asked Bunny in a whisper.

"Yes," nodded Tom.

"Well, if this boy doesn't want to go with you I'm not going to make him," said Mr. Brown. "He came to us, and said you had not treated him well. I'll not send him back to you. Are you the farmer who hired him?"

"Yes, I'm that farmer," said the man, scowling. "Jake Trimble is my name, and when I want a thing I get it! I want that boy!"

"Oh, please don't make me go back to work for him!" begged Tom. "He beat me, and he didn't give me enough to eat!"

"Don't be, afraid," said Mr. Brown. "He shan't have you!"

"I say I will!" cried the cross man. "That boy hired out to work for me, and I want him!"

"You can't have him," said Mr. Brown quietly. "And I want you to go away from here. This is my camp, and it is a private one. Go. You can't have this boy."

"But he ran away from me!" said the cross man.

"Perhaps he did. He said he could not stand the way you treated him. Any boy would have run away," replied Mr. Brown. "I'm looking after this boy now, and I say you can't have him."

"Well, I'll get him, somehow, you see if I don't!" cried the cross man, as he turned to go back to his boat. And he shook his whip at Tom. "I'll get you yet!" he said. "And when I do I'll make you work twice as hard. You'll see!"

"Don't be afraid, Tom," said Mr. Brown, when the unkind man was gone. "I won't let him hurt you."

Tom picked up the overturned pail, and went again to the spring for water. When he came back he said:

"That was the farmer I met in the city. He took me out to his place, and was very mean to me. I just had to run away. I didn't think he'd try to find me. But I knew he must be looking for me when we saw him in the woods that day. I hid away from him then, but now he knows where I am."

"Don't you care," said Sue. "My daddy won't let him hurt you; will you, Daddy?" and she put her arms around her father's neck.

"We'll take care of Tom," said Mr. Brown. "I guess that man won't come back."



Chapter XIII

A Bad Storm


Bunker Blue was sitting out in front of the big camp-tent, on a bench, one day, with a pile of long sticks in front of him. With his knife Bunker was whittling the sticks to sharp points.

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue, who had been out in the woods, gathering wild flowers for the dinner table, came up to Bunker, and Bunny asked:

"What you doing, Bunker?"

"Why, I'm sharpening these sticks, Bunny," was the answer.

"What for?" asked Sue, as she put her wax doll down in the shade, so the sun would not melt the nose.

"Oh, I know!" cried Bunny. "You're making arrows! Are you going to have a bow, and shoot the arrows like an Indian, Bunker?"

Bunker Blue shook his head and smiled.

"You'll have to guess again, Bunny," he said.

Bunny took up one of the pointed sticks.

"Are they spears?" asked the little boy, as he put his finger gently on the sharp point. "Indians use spears to catch fish. Are you going to do that, Bunker?"

Bunker shook his head.

"You haven't guessed yet," he said.

"Oh, tell us!" begged Sue. "Is it a secret?"

"Sort of," said Bunker.

"Oh, how nice!" cried Sue. "I just love to guess secrets! Let me have a turn, Bunny."

The two children sat down in the shade near the tent. Bunker kept on making sharp-pointed sticks with his knife. Over in the dining-tent Tom Vine was setting the dinner table. This was some days after the cross man had come to the camp and had gone away. He had not come back since.

"Well, what is your guess, Sue?" asked Bunker, as he kept on making the sharp-pointed sticks.

"Let me see," pondered the little girl. "Oh! I know what they are for. You're going to put some other pieces of wood on the end of these sticks, Bunker, and make croquet mallets of them so we can have a game!"

"Is that it?" asked Bunny. "Is it for croquet?"

"No, that isn't what they're for," answered Bunker, smiling.

"Anyhow," went on Bunny Brown, "we couldn't play croquet in the woods here, 'cause we haven't any croquet balls."

"Oh, we might use round stones, mightn't we, Bunker?" Sue asked.

"Yes, we might," replied Bunker slowly, as he laid down one sharp-pointed stick and began whittling another. "We might, but that isn't the secret."

"Now, it's my turn to guess!" said Bunny. "You had a turn, Sue."

"Well, what do you say it is?" asked Bunker. "Go on, Bunny."

Bunny thought for about half a minute.

"Are you going to make a trap to catch something?" the little boy asked. Ever since he had come to Camp Rest-a-While he had begged Bunker to make a trap to catch a fox, or a squirrel, or something like that. Bunny did not want to hurt the wild animals, but he thought he would like to catch one in a trap, and try to tame it.

"No, I'm not making a trap," answered Bunker. "I don't believe you children could guess what these sticks are for if you tried all day. And, as it isn't my secret, I don't believe I'd better tell you. You go and ask your mother -- it's mostly her secret -- and if she wants to tell you -- why, all right."

"Oh, we'll go and ask mother!" cried Bunny. "Come on, Sue!"

The two children found Mrs. Brown in the cooking-tent, getting dinner ready.

"What's the secret?" cried Sue.

"What is Bunker making all the sharp-pointed sticks for?" Bunny wanted to know.

Their mother smiled at them. From a shelf over the oil stove she took down a large platter on which she put the eggs she was cooking.

"What is the secret, Mother?" begged Bunny. "Please tell us!"

"Yes," added Sue. "We've guessed and guessed, but we can't guess right. Bunker said you might tell us."

Mrs. Brown laughed, and, after she had put the platter of eggs on the table, she pointed to two large, round, tin boxes on a chair in the big tent.

"Can you read what it says on those boxes?" Mrs. Brown asked Bunny.

Bunny looked at the long word.

"It begins with a 'M'," he said, "and the next letter is 'A' and then comes --  -- "

"Oh, I know what's next!" cried Sue. "It's a 'R.' I can tell by the funny little tail that kicks up behind. It's just like the 'B' for Brown in our name, only the R has a kick-up tail at the end. That letter is a 'R'; isn't it, Mother?"

"Yes," answered Mrs. Brown. "But what is the whole word, Bunny? If you can tell what it is you'll know the secret."

Bunny could spell out each letter one after another and he did, until he had spelled this big word:

Marshmallow

But he could not say it. The word was too big for him. So his mother said it for him.

"Those are marshmallow candies in the tin boxes," said Mrs. Brown. "Now can you guess the secret?"

"Oh, I know!" cried Sue. "We're going to have a marshmallow roast by the campfire to-night! Is that it, Mother? And the sharp sticks Bunker is making are to put the marshmallow candies on to hold over the fire and roast! Isn't that it?"

"Yes, Sue, you have guessed it."

"Pooh! I was just going to say that," cried Bunny.

"Well, Sue said it first, dear," went on Bunny's mother. "Now get ready for dinner. After dinner we'll take a nice walk, and this evening, when it gets dark, Uncle Tad is going to build a campfire and we'll all roast marshmallows."

"Oh, what fun!" cried Sue, clapping her hands.

"Jolly, jolly fun!" laughed Bunny.

And that was why Bunker Blue was making the pointed sticks.

"Now for our walk!" called Mother Brown, when the dinner things had been cleared away, and Tom Vine had washed and dried the dishes, Bunny and Sue helping. "We'll take a walk over near the waterfall. I want to take a picture of it."

But, when they were all ready to start -- Bunker Blue, Splash and all -- Tom Vine could not be found.

"Why, where is he?" asked Bunny. "He was here a minute ago, for I saw him."

"Maybe he's losted," said Sue. She and Bunny got lost or "losted," as they called it, so often, that Sue thought that trouble could very easily happen to anyone.

"No, he isn't lost," said Daddy Brown. "Tom! Tom!" he called. "Where are you?"

"I'm here," was the answer, and Tom stood up. He had been sitting behind a thick bush, down near the edge of the lake.

"Oh, we were looking for you," Mr. Brown said. "Don't you want to come for a walk with us? We are going over toward the waterfall. It is very nice there."

Tom shook his head.

"I don't believe I'll go, thank you," he said.

"Why not?" asked Mrs. Brown. "Don't you feel well? Don't you like to walk in the woods, Tom?"

"Oh, yes'm, I like the woods, and I feel fine. I never had such good things to eat as I've had in this camp."

"Then why don't you want to come with us?"

"Well -- er -- well, because, you see that farmer I worked for lives over near the waterfall, and maybe he'll catch me if I go there."

"Oh, I won't let him catch you!" exclaimed Mr. Brown. "Come along, Tom. I'll look after you."

Then Tom came out of his hiding place, where he had gone after he heard Mrs. Brown say they were going to the fall. Soon the party of campers were marching through the woods, Tom holding Bunny's hand, while Bunker Blue looked after Sue.

The waterfall was very pretty, the water from a small river falling down over green, mossy rocks, into a deep glen, foaming and bubbling. Mrs. Brown took some pictures with her photograph camera, and then they sat down in a shady spot, and ate a little lunch they had brought with them. Splash, the big dog, had his share, too.

And that night was the grand marshmallow candy roast. Uncle Tad built a fire of wood in front of the big tent. When the smoke and the hottest flames had died away Bunny and Sue and the others, sitting on logs around the fire, toasted the candies, holding them over the fire on the pointed ends of the sticks Bunker Blue had made with his sharp knife.

"Oh, aren't they good!" cried Sue, as she began to eat a candy she had roasted.

"Look out! They're hot!" called Uncle Tad. But he was too late.

"Ouch!" cried Sue, as the hot candy burned her tongue. "Oh, it hurts!" she sobbed. "It hurts me!"

But Mother Brown put some cold, sweet cream on Sue's tongue, and soon the burning pain stopped.

After that Sue waited until the brown and roasted candy had cooled before she ate any.

"Oh, dear!" suddenly cried Bunny, as he was roasting a marshmallow for himself. "Oh, dear!"

"What's the matter with you?" asked his father. "Did you burn your tongue, Bunny?"

"No, but my candy slipped off my stick, and it's all burning up in the fire."

"Never mind," said Mother Brown. "Here's another candy. Next time don't hold the marshmallow over the fire so long. That makes it soft, so it melts, and it won't stay on the stick."

After Bunny and Sue learned how to do it they had no trouble roasting the marshmallows. Everyone roasted some except Splash, and he was very glad to eat the browned and puffed-up sweets, even if he could not hold them over the fire. But Splash took good care not to burn his tongue, as Sue had burned hers.

When the candies were all roasted, and eaten, it was time to go to bed. After Bunny and Sue were tucked in their cots, Bunny heard his father and Bunker Blue going about outside the tent. They seemed to be doing something to the ropes.

"What are you doing, Daddy?" Bunny asked.

"I think there's going to be a storm," answered Mr. Brown, "and I want to be sure the tents won't blow away. I'm making the ropes tight."

Pretty soon everyone at Camp Rest-a-While was in bed. It was not long before the wind began to blow and then, all at once, there came a bright flash of lightning, and a loud clap of thunder.

"Oh, what's that?" cried Bunny, sitting up in his cot, for the noise had awakened him. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"It's a thunder storm," replied his father. "Go to sleep, for it can't hurt you."

But Bunny could not go to sleep, nor could Sue. She, too, was awakened by the bright lightning, and the loud thunder. The wind, too, blew very hard, and it shook the sleeping tent as if it would tear it loose from the ropes.

"Do you think it is safe?" asked Mother Brown.

"Oh, I think so," answered her husband. "Bunker and I put on some extra ropes before we came in. I guess the tent won't blow away."

Everyone was wide awake now. The storm was a very heavy one. The wind howled through the trees in the wood, and, now and then, a loud crash could be heard, as some tree branch broke off and fell to the ground.

Then, suddenly, it began to rain very hard. My! how the big drops did pelt down on the tent, sounding like dried corn falling on a tin pan!

"Oh, the rain is coming in on me!" cried Bunny. "I'm getting all wet, Daddy!"

Surely enough, there was a little hole in the tent, right over Bunny's cot, and the rain was coming in there.

"Swish!" went the lightning.

"Bang!" went the thunder.

"Whoo-ee!" blew the wind.

It was certainly a bad storm at Camp Rest-a-While.



Chapter XIV

Tom Is Gone


"Daddy! Daddy!" cried Sue, from behind the curtain, in the part of the tent where she slept with her mother. "Daddy, do you think we'll blow away?"

"Oh, no," answered Mr. Brown. "Don't be afraid. Bunker and I fastened down the tent good and strong. It can't blow over."

"But I'm getting all wet!" cried Bunny. "The water's leaking all over my bed, Daddy!"

"Yes, I didn't know there was a hole in the tent. I'll fix it to-morrow," said Bunny's father. "You get in my bed, Bunny!"

"Oh, goodie!" Bunny cried. He always liked to get in his father's bed.

But as Bunny jumped out of his own little cot, and pattered in his bare feet across to his father's, he saw Daddy Brown getting up. Mr. Brown was putting on a pair of rubber boots, and a rubber coat over his bath robe, which he had put on when the storm began.

"Where you going, Daddy?" asked Bunny, as he crawled into the dry bed, and pulled the covers up over him, for the wind was blowing in the tent now. "Where you going?"

"I'm going out to see that the tent ropes are all right," said Mr. Brown.

"Going out? What for?" called Mrs. Brown. "You musn't go out in this storm. It's terrible!"

"Oh, but I must go!" answered Daddy Brown with a laugh. "I don't mind the thunder, lightning and rain. If some of the tent pegs come loose, the ropes will slip off, and the tent will blow over. Bunker Blue and I will go out and make sure everything is all right."

"I could go with you," said Uncle Tad from his cot. "Shall I?"

"No, you stay where you are," Daddy Brown said. "You might get the rheumatism if you got wet."

"I used to get wet enough when I was in the army," returned the old soldier. "Many a time, when it stormed, I used to get up to fix the tent."

"Well, Bunker and I will do it now, thank you," Mr. Brown went on. By this time Bunker Blue had on his rubber boots and coat. Then, taking a lantern with them, Mr. Brown and Bunker went outside.

"Fasten the tent door after us, Tom," called Mr. Brown to the city boy, "or everything will blow away inside. Tie the tent flaps shut with the ropes, and you can open them for us when we want to come in again."

Out in the storm went Daddy Brown and Bunker Blue. As they opened the flaps, or front door of the tent, a big gust of wind came in, and dashed rain in Bunny's face, so that he covered his head with the bed clothes. He had one look at a bright flash of lightning, and he could see the ground outside all covered with water.

"I'm glad I don't have to go out in the storm," he thought, and he felt sorry for his father and Bunker Blue.

But Mr. Brown had often been out on the ocean in worse storms than this, and so had Bunker, so they did not mind. With their lantern they walked all around the sleeping-tent, making sure that all the ropes were fast to the pegs, which were driven into the ground. Some of the wooden pegs were coming loose, and these Mr. Brown and Bunker hammered farther into the dirt.

All the while the wind blew, and the rain pelted down, while the lightning flashed brighter, and the thunder rumbled so loudly that it scared Sue.

"I -- I don't like it!" she sobbed, and she crept into bed with her mother. "Please make it stop, Mother!"

"No one can make the thunder stop, Sue, dear," said Mrs. Brown. "But the thunder won't hurt you, and the storm is almost over."

Just then there came a very loud clap.

"Oh, dear!" cried Sue. "I'se afraid!"

Bunny heard his sister, and called out:

"That sounded just like Fourth of July; didn't it, Sue? When the big boys fired the cannon on top of the hill."

"Isn't you afraid, Bunny?" asked Sue.

"No, I -- I like it," Bunny answered.

He tried to make himself believe he did, so Sue would not be so frightened.

"Well, if you isn't afraid I isn't goin' to be, either," said Sue, after a moment. And she stopped crying at once, and lay quietly in her mother's cot-bed. And then the storm seemed to go away. It still rained very hard, but the wind did not howl so loudly, and the lightning was not so scary, nor the thunder so rumbly.

The rain still leaked in through the hole in the tent, but Tom Vine moved Bunny's cot out of the way, and set a pail under the leak.

All at once there sounded a banging noise, as if a whole store full of pots and pans and kettles had been turned upside down.

"Oh, what's that?" cried Mother Brown.

"Sounded as if something blew away," said Uncle Tad. "I'll get up and look."

But he did not have to, for, just then, in came Daddy Brown and Bunker Blue, their rubber coats all shining wet in the lantern light.

"What made that noise?" asked Mother Brown.

"The cook-tent blew over," said Daddy Brown, "and all the pots, pans and kettles fell in a heap. But we'll let them go until morning, I guess, as the worst of the storm is over. Now we'll all go to bed again."

"This tent won't blow over; will it, Daddy?" asked Bunny.

"No, it's all safe now. Go to sleep."

But it was some little time before they were all asleep again. Nothing more happened that night, and Bunny and Sue were up very early the next morning to see what the storm had done.

Camp Rest-a-While was not a pretty sight.

Besides the cook-tent having been blown over, there were broken branches of trees scattered about. The tents were covered with leaves blown from the trees, and there were many mud puddles.

The oil stove, and the pots, pans and other things, with which Mother Brown cooked, were piled in a heap under the fallen cook-tent. The tent itself was soaking wet, and one of the poles that had held it up was broken.

"Oh, we can't ever have anything to eat!" said Sue sadly, as she looked at the fallen tent.

"We can build a campfire," said Bunny. "Uncle Tad used to cook breakfast over one; didn't you?" and he turned to the old soldier.

"Yes, Bunny, I did. But I guess we won't have to this time. We'll soon have the oil stove working."

Then he and Daddy Brown, with Bunker Blue and Tom Vine, set to work. The blown-down tent was pulled to one side, and it was seen that though everything under it was in a heap, still nothing was broken.

Soon some milk was being warmed for the children, and coffee made for the older folk. Then Mother Brown even made pancakes on the oil stove, which was set up on a box at one side of the dining-tent. The day was a fine one, and there was not enough wind to make the stove smoke.

So they had breakfast after all, and then began the work of making Camp Rest-a-While look as it had before the storm. A new tent pole was cut, and the tent put up again, stronger than before. Bunny and Sue helped by picking up the scattered pieces of tree branches, and piling them in a heap. Then they swept up the torn-off leaves, and by this time the sun had dried up some of the puddles of water. By noon time the camp looked as well as it had before the storm.

"And don't forget to fix the hole over my cot," cried Bunny. "I don't want to be rained on any more, Daddy."

"I'll fix it," said Mr. Brown, and he did.

"I didn't hear any fire engines last night," said Tom Vine as they sat at supper that evening, after coming in from a little sail around the lake, Bunker having fixed a sail onto the rowboat.

"Fire engines!" exclaimed Bunny. "Why should you hear fire engines, Tom?"

"Why, in the city, where I lived, before I went with that farmer, the fire engines used to come out after every storm. Places would be struck by lightning, you know. I've seen lots of fires. But I didn't hear any engines last night."

"There aren't any engines in these woods," said Daddy Brown. "Of course trees are often struck by lightning, and lightning often sets fire to houses in the country, but there aren't any engines out in the woods."

"And no policeman, either," added Tom. "It seems funny not to see a policeman, and have him yell at you to move on, or keep off the grass."

"Do you like it better here than in the city?" asked Mrs. Brown.

"Oh, heaps better, yes'm! I love it here. I hope I don't ever have to go back to the city -- or to that mean farmer."

Nothing had been seen of the man who wanted to get Tom back, since that day when he had called at the camp. Bunny and Sue had almost forgotten him, but it seemed that Tom had not. He was always a little bit afraid, thinking that the cross man might come back.

One morning, two days after the big storm, when Bunny, Sue and all the others were gathered around the breakfast table, Daddy Brown asked:

"Where is Tom Vine?"

"He was here a minute ago," Bunny said.

"I think he went to the spring to get a pail of water," put in Uncle Tad.

"Yes, that's where he went," said Mrs. Brown. "I said we would need some fresh water, and he went after it."

"Well, we won't wait for him," said Daddy Brown. "We'll eat, and he can have his breakfast when he comes."

But the others had finished breakfast, and Tom Vine had not come back from the spring, though they waited for some time.

"I wonder what's keeping him," said Mrs. Brown.

"He couldn't have fallen in; could he?" asked Uncle Tad.

"No, the spring isn't large enough," Bunker Blue answered. "I'll go to look for him."

Bunker ran off along the path that led to the spring. In a little while he came hurrying back. He carried a pail full of water, and he said:

"I found the empty pail by the spring, but Tom was gone!"



Chapter XV

Looking For Tom


Bunker Blue, with the pail of water, walked up to where Bunny, Sue and the others were still sitting at the breakfast table, though they had finished eating.

"Tom's gone," said Bunker again.

"Gone where?" asked Bunny.

"I don't know," answered the red-haired boy. "I looked all around by the spring, but I couldn't see him. The pail was there, but Tom wasn't."

"Could he have fallen in?" asked Mrs. Brown, just as Uncle Tad had asked.

Bunker Blue shook his head.

"The spring is only about big enough to dip a pail in," he said, "and Tom is bigger than the pail."

"But maybe he curled all up in a little heap when he fell in," said Bunny. "Oh, dear! I don't want Tom to be lost!"

Bunny and Sue had grown to like Tom very much.

Once more Bunker Blue shook his head.

"I could look right down to the bottom of the spring," he said. "It's quite deep, even if it isn't big. But Tom wasn't in it. There was a big bullfrog in the water, though."

"Was the frog big enough to -- to eat Tom?" asked Sue, her eyes wide open.

Sue's mother and father laughed, and Bunny said:

"A bullfrog couldn't eat anybody!"

"They could if they was a big enough frog; couldn't they, Daddy?" asked Sue.

"Well, I don't know," replied Mr. Brown. "Then you couldn't see anything of Tom, Bunker?"

"No, sir, not a thing."

"Had he filled the pail with water?" Uncle Tad wanted to know.

"The pail was empty, and it was tipped over," Bunker said. "I don't know whether Tom had filled it, and then something had knocked it over, or not. Anyhow, the pail had no water in it, so I dipped it into the spring to fill it, and came on back to tell you."

"That was right," said Mr. Brown. "We'll go over and look around. Tom may have seen some new kind of bird, or something like that, and have wandered off in the woods, following it."

"Maybe he saw a bear, and ran," suggested Bunny.

"No, I guess the only bear around here is the tame one that came in our tent the first night," said Mrs. Brown. "Oh, I do hope nothing has happened to Tom!"

They all hoped that, for the strange boy was very well liked.

Mrs. Brown remained at the tent to wash the breakfast dishes, since Tom was not there to do them, while the others -- Bunny, Sue, their father, Uncle Tad and Bunker -- went to the spring. It was on the side of a little hill, where grew many trees, and was about three minutes' walk from Camp Rest-a-While.

Mr. Brown and Uncle Tad looked all around the hole in the ground -- the hole was the spring, and it was filled with clear, cold water. The bottom of the spring was of white sand, and sitting down there, having a nice bath, was a big, green bullfrog. With his funny eyes he looked up at Bunny and Sue as they leaned over the spring.

"Oh, look!" cried Sue. "What a big frog!"

"But he isn't big enough to swallow Tom," said Bunny.

"No, that's so," agreed Mr. Brown. "We'll have to look for Tom. Bunny and Sue, you stay with me. Uncle Tad, you and Bunker walk around in the woods. It may be that Tom fell and hurt himself, when running after a bird or butterfly, and can't walk. We'll find him."

Tom, having lived all his life in the city, thought the birds and butterflies were most wonderful creatures. Every time he saw a new one he would run up to it to get a close look. He never tried to catch them, he just wanted to watch them fluttering about the flowers.

But, though they looked all around in the woods by the spring, there was no sign of Tom. Up and down, back and forth, they walked, looking beside big rocks or stumps, behind fallen logs and under clumps of bushes they peered, but no Tom could they find.

"Oh, he's losted, just like we was losted," said Sue, sadly.

"Yes, I guess he is," agreed Bunny. "Splash, can't you find Tom?"

The big dog barked: "Bow-wow!" But what he meant by that no one knew. Splash, however, could not find Tom.

"Let's call his name," said Uncle Tad.

So they called his name.

"Tom! Tom! Tom Vine! Where are you?"

But Tom did not answer.

"This is queer," said Mr. Brown. "I don't believe he'd run away and leave us. He liked it too much at our camp."

"Perhaps he saw that mean man," said Bunker Blue. "Tom may have seen the cross farmer who wanted him to come back to work, and Tom may have run away off and hid -- so far off that he can't hear us calling."

"Yes, that's so. He may have done that," agreed Mr. Brown. "We'll go back to camp, and wait for him. He may come when he thinks the man has gone away."

Back to camp they all went. Bunny and Sue felt bad about Tom's being lost. So did the others. Every time Splash would stop in front of a clump of bushes, and bark, as he often did, Bunny and Sue would run up, thinking their friend had been found.

But it would be only a bird, a rabbit or a squirrel that Splash had seen, which made him bark that way. Tom was not to be found.

They waited in camp all the rest of that day, only going out a little way for a row on the lake. Night came, and there was no Tom. It grew very dark, and still he had not come.

"Oh, dear!" cried Sue. "Will he have to sleep out alone all night?"

"Perhaps he'll come back before you are awake in the morning," said Mother Brown. "Anyhow, Tom isn't afraid of the dark, and it is now so warm that anyone could sleep out of doors and not get cold. I think Tom will be here in the morning."

But morning came, and there was no sign of Tom. A lantern had been left burning outside the tent all night, in case he should come. But he did not.

"Well," said Mr. Brown, after breakfast, "there's only one thing to do, and I'm going to do it."

"What is that?" asked his wife.

"I'm going over to Farmer Trimble's, to see if Tom is there."

"Oh, Trimble is the name of the man who wanted to take Tom away; isn't it?"

"Yes, that's the man who came here, and tried to get Tom. It may be that Mr. Trimble saw Tom at the spring, getting water, and made him go away. So I'm going over to the Trimble farm, and see."

"Oh, may we come?" asked Bunny.

"Yes," said Mr. Brown. "I guess so. I'll take you and Bunker Blue with me. And if we find Tom we'll bring him back with us. That man has no right to keep him!"



Chapter XVI

"Who Took The Pie?"


The shortest way to go to the Trimble farm was to row across the lake in the boat, and then to walk a little distance through the wood. Mr. Brown, with Bunny and Sue, started, with Bunker Blue at the oars, dipping them in the water, pulling hard on them, and lifting them out for another dip.

"Don't row too hard, Bunker," said Mr. Brown. "It is a hot day, and I don't want you to get tired out. Besides, we are in no hurry, so take it easy."

At the last minute, Splash, the dog, had run down the hill to the lake, and climbed into the boat. He did not want to be left behind.

"May we take him, Daddy?" asked Bunny.

"Oh, yes. Let him come along. He's a good dog, and maybe he can help us find Tom."

Splash was a regular water-dog. He could swim across the lake, he could jump in and bring back sticks that Bunny or Sue would toss in, and he liked to be in a boat. Splash knew that dogs, as well as boys and girls, must keep quiet in boats, especially small boats, so they would not tip over. And now Splash perched himself up in the bow, or front part of the boat, and quietly sat there, looking across at the other shore.

Bunny looked down over the side, where he was sitting, and saw some fish swimming about, for the water of the lake was very clear.

"I wish I had brought my fishpole," Bunny said. "I could catch some fish for dinner."

"We've something else to do besides catching fish to-day, Bunny," replied his father. "We've got to find Tom Vine."

"Do you think we'll find him, Daddy?" asked Sue, as she hugged one of her dolls, which she had brought with her.

"Well, maybe so, little girl. I can't think of anything else that would happen to Tom, except that he would be taken by Mr. Trimble. I think we'll find him."

They were half way across the lake when Sue suddenly cried:

"Oh, there she goes! Oh, she's fallen in!"

"What is it?" asked Mr. Brown, turning around quickly, for he was seated with his back toward his little girl.

"It's my doll!" Sue cried. "She jumped right out of my arms, and fell in the lake."

I guess Sue meant that her doll slipped out of her arms, for dolls can't jump -- at least not unless they have a spring wound up inside them, like an alarm clock, and Sue's doll wasn't that kind.

"Stop the boat, Bunker! Row back!" cried Mr. Brown. "Sue's doll fell overboard, and we don't want to lose her!"

Bunker stopped rowing, and he was reaching out with an oar to pull in the doll, which was floating like a little boat on top of the water, not far away. But before Bunker could save the doll, Splash, with a loud bark, jumped in and swam out toward the plaything of his little mistress.

Seizing the doll in his mouth, Splash swam back with her to the boat. Bunny stretched out his hand to take the doll, but Splash would not give it up to him. The dog knew that boys don't play with dolls, and that this one belonged to Sue. So Splash swam around to the other side of the boat where Sue was anxiously waiting, and he let her take the doll from his mouth.

"Good dog!" cried Sue, patting him with one hand. Then she began to squeeze the water out of her doll's dress.

"I'm glad I didn't bring my best doll," said Sue. "This is only one of my old ones, and it won't hurt her to get wet. I was going to give her a bath, anyhow, but I didn't mean to leave her clothes on. Anyhow, she'll soon dry, I guess."

Sue put the doll down beside her, on the seat, where the hot sun would dry up the water. Splash put his two paws on the edge of the boat, and Mr. Brown and Bunker Blue helped him in.

"Now you be quiet, Splash!" called Mr. Brown. "Don't go shaking the water off yourself, as you always do when you come in from a swim. For we can't get far enough away from you in the boat, and you'll get us all wet. Don't shake yourself!"

I don't know whether or not Splash understood what Mr. Brown said. At any rate, the dog went back to his place in the bow, and did not shake the water off his dripping fur. Whenever he did that he made a regular shower.

The boat was soon close to the other shore. Bunker Blue rowed up to a little dock, and tied fast. Then Mr. Brown helped out Bunny and Sue. Splash did not need any help. He jumped out himself and ran on ahead, now giving himself a good shake to get rid of the water drops.

A short walk brought the party to Mr. Trimble's farm. The cross farmer was not in the house, but his wife said he was out in the barn, and there Mr. Brown found him.

"Well, what do you want?" asked Mr. Trimble in that cross voice of his. He seemed never to smile.

"I came to see if you have that boy I'm taking care of -- Tom Vine," said Mr. Brown. "Did you take him away?"

"No, I did not," said Mr. Trimble, crossly.

"Do you know where he is?"

"No, I don't."

"Have you seen him at all?" asked Bunny's father. "Yesterday he went to the spring for a pail of water, but he did not come back. We are afraid something has happened to him. Then I thought perhaps you might have taken him, though you had no right to."

"Well, I didn't take him, though I had a right to," growled the farmer. "I hired that boy to work for me, and I gave him a suit of clothes, besides feeding him. He didn't stay with me long enough to pay for what I gave him. And if I catch him I'll make him work out what he owes me. But I haven't seen him since he was in your camp. I wish I did have him now. I'd make him step lively, and do some work!"

So Mr. Brown had his trip for nothing. Tom was not at the Trimble farm, that was sure.

"I guess he ran away from you the same as he did from me," said Mr. Trimble as Mr. Brown turned away.

Bunny's father shook his head.

"Tom Vine isn't that kind of boy," he said. "He may have run away from you because you didn't treat him well, but he would not run away from us. He liked it at Camp Rest-a-While."

"That's all you know about boys!" laughed the farmer. "I treated him as well as he needed to be treated. Boys are all lazy. They'd rather play than work. And you'll find out that Tom Vine has run away from you. He didn't want to work."

"He didn't work very hard at our camp," said Mr. Brown. "All he had to do was to wash the dishes and help with little things. He liked it. I'm sure something has happened to him, and I'm sorry, for I intended doing something for him."

"Well, I haven't got him, though I wish I had," grumbled Mr. Trimble. "If I catch him, I'll make him work hard!"

"Then I hope you don't catch him," Mr. Brown said.

He went down to the boat with the children and Bunker Blue, and they were soon back at camp.

"Did you see anything of him?" asked Mrs. Brown, coming down to the edge of the lake, as she saw the boat nearing the shore.

"No," answered Mr. Brown. "Mr. Trimble said he isn't at the farm, and I don't believe he is. You didn't see anything of him while we were gone, did you?"

Mrs. Brown shook her head.

"Uncle Tad has been looking up around the spring again," she said, "but he couldn't find him."

"Oh dear!" sighed Bunny. "Poor Tom is lost!"

"He must have been frightened by something at the spring," said Mr. Brown, "and have run off."

"Well, there's one thing we don't have to worry about," said Mrs. Brown. "There aren't any wild animals in these woods. None of them could get Tom."

She said that so Bunny and Sue would not be thinking about it.

Two days and nights passed, and there was no sign of Tom. One afternoon Mrs. Brown baked some pies in the oven of the oil stove. She was all alone in camp, for Mr. Brown, the children, and Bunker Blue had gone fishing. Uncle Tad had gone for a walk in the woods.

Mrs. Brown put the pies on a table in the cooking-tent to cool, while she went to the spring for a fresh pail of water. When she came back she looked at the pies. Then she rubbed her eyes and counted them.

"Why!" she cried. "One of the pies is gone! I baked four, and there are only three here. Who took the pie?"

She looked under the table, in boxes and on chairs, thinking perhaps a fox or a big muskrat might have come along and tried to drag the pie, tin and all, away. But the pie was not to be found.

"Who could have taken my pie?" asked Mrs. Brown.



Chapter XVII

A Noise At Night


When Mr. Brown, Bunny, Sue and Bunker Blue came back from their little fishing trip, they saw Mother Brown walking about the camp, in and out among the tents, looking here and there.

"Have you lost something, Mother?" asked Bunny.

"Well, yes, I have -- sort of," she said, smiling. "I've lost a pie!"

"Oh, a pie!" cried Sue. "Did you drop it, Mother, and did it fall down a crack in the board walk, like my penny did once?"

"No!" laughed Mrs. Brown. "It wasn't that way."

Then she told of having made four pies, setting them on the table to cool while she went to the spring for a pail of water.

"And when I came back, a whole pie was gone!" she said.

"Well, we certainly didn't take it, for we weren't here," said Daddy Brown. "And you were all alone in camp, Mother?"

"Yes, even Uncle Tad was gone."

"Oh, maybe he came back and took it!" exclaimed Bunny.

"No, he wouldn't do that," said his mother. "Some animal, perhaps a big muskrat, like the one Splash tried to catch, came up out of the lake and carried away my pie. I was just looking to see if I could find any marks of the rat's paws in the soft ground, when you came along. But I couldn't see any."

"I don't believe it was a rat, or any other animal, that took your pie," said Mr. Brown, as he, too, looked carefully on the ground around the table where the pie had been placed. The three other pies were there, but the fourth one was gone.

"There isn't a sign of any four-legged animal having been here," Mr. Brown went on. "I think it was some animal with only two legs who took the pie."

"Oh, you mean a -- a man!" cried Mother Brown.

Daddy Brown nodded his head for yes.

"Do you mean a tramp?" asked Bunker Blue.

"Well, yes, it might have been a tramp, though we haven't seen any around here since we've been in camp. However, if a pie is all they took we don't need to worry."

"Perhaps the poor man was hungry," said Mrs. Brown. "I'm sure I hope he enjoys my pie."

"He couldn't help liking it," said Bunny Brown. "Your pies are always so good, Mother!"

"I'm glad to hear you say that," exclaimed Mrs. Brown. "Well, we have enough for the next two days, anyhow, and I'll bake again to-morrow."

"Splash didn't take the pie," said Sue, "'cause he was with us in the boat."

"Then it must have been the tramp," Mrs. Brown said. "Never mind, we won't worry any more about it. Did you have a nice time?"

Then they told about their little fishing trip. When Uncle Tad came back from his walk in the woods, he, too, had to be told of the missing pie. Uncle Tad shook his head.

"We'll have to lock up everything around our camp if tramps are going to come in and take our pies, and the other good things Mother Brown makes," he said with a smile. "Or else one of us will always have to stay here to keep watch."

"I wish we had Tom Vine back," said Bunny. "I wonder where he is?"

Of course no one knew, and Mr. Brown began to think that, after all, Tom had done just as Mr. Trimble had said -- had run away.

The next day, after breakfast, Sue, who was changing the dress of one of her dolls, saw brother Bunny walking along the path that led toward the spring. Bunny carried a small wooden box.

"What are you going to do, Bunny?" she asked him. "Get a box full of water?"

"Nope. This box won't hold water. It's got holes in."

"But what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to make a trap to catch a fox."

"Oh, Bunny! Can I help you?"

"Yes. Come on. But you must keep awful still, 'cause foxes are easy scared."

"I will, Bunny. And may I bring my doll with me? I can put her to sleep on some soft dried leaves when you want me to help you."

"Yes, you may bring one doll," said Bunny. "But don't bring one of the kind that cries when you punch it in the stomach, or it might make a noise and scare the fox. I'm going to catch one and train him to do tricks."

"How are you going to catch him, Bunny?"

"In this box. Come on, I'll show you."

"I guess I won't bring any of my dolls," said Sue, after thinking about it for a minute. "A fox might bite her."

"Yes, that will be better," said the little boy.

So, carrying the box, and some other things, which Sue helped him with, Bunny and his sister went a little way into the wood.

"Don't go too far!" their mother called after them.

"We won't!" they promised. Since coming to Camp Rest-a-While Bunny and Sue had not been lost, and they did not now want to have that trouble if they could help it.

"Are there any foxes in here?" asked Sue, looking around as she and Bunny came near the spring.

"Hush! Don't speak so loud," whispered her brother. "You might scare 'em."

"Is they any here?" asked Sue, this time in a very soft whisper.

"I guess so," answered Bunny. "They must come to the spring to get a drink of water, same as we do. I'm going to put my trap near the spring."

There was a large flat stone, near the place where the water for the camp was found. On this stone Bunny put the box, bottom side up. It had no cover to it. One edge of the box Bunny held up by putting a stick under it, and to the stick he tied a long string.

"Is that a trap?" asked Sue.

"Yep," Bunny answered. "Now I'm going to put something under the box that foxes like. They'll crawl under to eat it, and when they're there I'll pull the string. That will make the stick come out and the box will fall down, and cover up the fox so it can't get away."

"Oh, that'll be fine!" cried Sue. "But what're you going to give the foxes to eat, Bunny?"

"I'll show you," said the little fellow. From his pocket he took some bits of bread, a few crumbs of dried cake, a little piece of pie wrapped in paper, and half an apple.

"There!" Bunny exclaimed as he put these things under the raised-up box. "Foxes ought to like all that. Now we'll hide back here in the bushes, Sue, and I'll have hold of the long string. As soon as we see a fox, or any other animal, go under the box, I'll pull away the little stick, and we'll catch him!"

"All right," said Sue. So, the trap having been set, Bunny and Sue hid themselves in the hushes to wait. But for a long time no fox, or any other animal, came along. Bunny and Sue grew tired of sitting in the bushes and keeping quiet. They could only whisper, and this was not much fun.

"I -- I guess I'll go home," said Sue, after a bit.

"Oh, no, stay with me!" Bunny begged. "Maybe I'll catch a fox pretty soon. Oh, look, Sue!" he cried, this time aloud, he was so excited. "There's a bird going into the box. I'll catch the bird, to show you how my trap works."

"You won't hurt the bird; will you, Bunny?" begged Sue.

"No, I won't hurt it a bit," Bunny replied.

A sparrow was hopping along the flat stone, toward the upraised box, under which were the bread and cake crumbs, and other good things that birds like. Closer and closer to the box went the bird, and finally it was all the way under, picking up the crumbs.

"Now watch me catch him!" cried Bunny.

He pulled the string, out came the stick, down came the box, and the bird was caught.

"I've got him! I've got him!" cried Bunny. "That's the way I'd catch a fox!"

He and Sue ran to the box trap. Bunny lifted it up and out flew the bird, not at all hurt, and only a little frightened. Bunny raised the box up again, and held it there with the stick. Then he and Sue went back among the bushes to wait; all ready to pull the string again.

But though Bunny's trap would catch a sparrow, there did not seem to be anything else he could catch. No foxes or other animals came to get a drink, and later Bunny's father explained to him that nearly all wild animals wait until after dark to get water, for fear of being caught.

After a while Bunny and Sue grew tired of waiting in the bushes.

"I'll just leave the trap here," said Bunny, "and maybe a fox will go in and knock the stick down himself. Then he'll be caught."

"But a fox could easy upset the box," said Sue.

"Maybe he could," agreed Bunny. "I'll put a stone on top of it." And he did.

Bunny and Sue reached camp in time for dinner. In the afternoon they went with their mother to pick huckleberries, and helped fill two pails.

"I'll make pies of these berries," said Mother Brown.

"And I hope nobody takes any of the pie," said Bunny. "'Cause I like huckleberry pie myself an awful lot."

That evening Daddy Brown built a campfire, and Bunny and Sue, with Bunker Blue, sat about it roasting marshmallows.

"I wish Tom Vine was here to help eat them," said Sue.

"So do I," agreed Bunny.

But Tom Vine was not there. Where was he? No one at Camp Rest-a-While could tell.

Bunny Brown did not sleep well that night. Perhaps he had eaten too many marshmallow candies. At any rate, he awoke soon after he went to bed. He was wishing he had a drink of water, and he was thinking whether he would best get up for it himself, or awaken his father, when the little fellow heard a noise outside the tent. It was a noise as if someone were walking around. At first Bunny thought it was Splash, but, looking over in the corner of the sleeping-tent, Bunny saw his dog there. Splash, too, had heard the noise, for he was getting up and growling deep in his throat.

Then, all at once, came a loud bang, as if someone had knocked down five or six tin pans.



Chapter XVIII

Splash Acts Queerly


"Daddy! Daddy!" cried Bunny Brown. "Daddy, did you hear that?"

"I couldn't very well help hearing it," said Mr. Brown sitting up on his cot, which was next to Bunny's. "Who's out there?" Mr. Brown cried, and with a jump he reached the flaps of the tent, which he opened, so he could look out.

Splash, who had jumped out, barking, when the noise sounded, rushed out of the tent. The tins had stopped rattling, and it was very quiet outside, except for the noise Splash made.

"What is it?" called Mrs. Brown, from her side of the tent.

"I don't know," answered her husband. "Someone -- or some animal -- seems to be making a noise. Maybe it is someone after more of your pies, Mother."

"We'll take a look," said Uncle Tad. He got out of his bed, and went to stand beside Daddy Brown at the opening of the tent.

"Can you see anything?" Mrs. Brown asked. Bunny could hear his sister whispering. Sue also, had been awakened, and wanted to know what had caused the noise in the night.

"No, I can't see anything," said Mr. Brown. "Splash is coming back, so I guess it wasn't anything."

He and Uncle Tad could see the children's dog walking back to his bed in the tent. Splash slept on a piece of old carpet. The dog was wagging his tail.

"What is it Splash? Did you see any tramps?" asked Mr. Brown.

Splash did not answer, of course, but he wagged his tail as he always did when he was with his friends.

"I guess it couldn't have been anything," Mr. Brown went on. "Maybe a squirrel or chipmunk was looking for some crumbs in the dining-tent, and knocked down the pans. I'll just take a look out there to make sure."

Mr. Brown and Uncle Tad went outside the tent. Splash did not go with them. He seemed to think everything was all right.

"Did you find him, Daddy?" asked Bunny, when his father came back.

"No, son. I don't believe there was anyone. I saw where the pans had been knocked down, but that was all."

Bunny was given the drink of water he wanted and soon was asleep. The others, too, became quiet and slept. But in the morning Mrs. Brown, in getting breakfast, found that a piece of bacon and some eggs had been taken from the ice box.

"The eggs and bacon were in the refrigerator all right when I washed up the supper dishes last night," she said. "I counted on having them for breakfast. Now they're gone!"

"Then there must have been someone in our camp, snooping around last night," said Daddy Brown. "It was a tramp, after all. And when he helped himself to something to eat he knocked down the pans. That's how it happened."

"I suppose so," said Mother Brown. "Well, I'm sure if the poor tramp was hungry I'm glad he got something to eat. But I wish he had not taken my bacon and eggs."

However, there was plenty else to eat in Camp Rest-a-While, so no one went hungry.

"I wonder if it was the same tramp that took the pie," said Bunny as he finished the last of his glass of milk.

"He must be a hungry tramp to eat a whole pie, and all those eggs, and the big piece of bacon," said Bunker Blue.

"Oh, I guess the things he took lasted him for several meals," Mr. Brown said. "The funny part of it is, though, that Splash did not bark. When he ran out of the tent last night the tramp could not have been far away. And yet Splash did not bark, as he always does when strangers are around at night. I think that's queer."

"So do I," put in Uncle Tad. "Maybe Splash knew the tramp."

"Splash doesn't like tramps," said Bunny.

"Well, he must have liked this one, for he didn't bark at him," added Bunker Blue with a laugh. "Maybe Splash knew this tramp before you children found your dog, on the island where you were shipwrecked."

For Bunny and Sue had found Splash on an island, as I told you in the first book of this series. That was when Bunny and Sue were "shipwrecked," as they called it.

Nothing else had been taken from Camp Rest-a-While except the bacon and eggs, and as Bunker Blue was going to the village that day he could buy more meat for Mother Brown. The eggs they could get at the farmhouse where they bought their milk. So, after all, no harm was done.

"The only thing is," said Daddy Brown, "that I don't like the idea of tramps prowling about our tents at night. I'd rather they would keep away."

BUNNY AND SUE OFTEN WENT BATHING IN THE COOL LAKE. Bunny Brown and His Sister Sue at Camp Rest-a-While. Page 181.

It was so lovely, living out in the woods, near the beautiful lake, as the Browns were doing, that they soon forgot about the noise in the night, and the tramps. Bunny and Sue were getting as brown as little Indian children. For they wore no hats and they went about with only leather sandals on, and no stockings, their sleeves rolled up to their elbows, so their arms and legs were brown, too. They often went bathing in the cool lake, for, not far from the camp, was a little sandy beach.

Of course, it was not like an ocean beach, or the one at Sandport Bay, for there were only little waves, and then only when the wind blew. In the ocean there are big waves all the while, pounding the sandy shore.

One day Mrs. Brown told daddy they needed some things from the village store -- sugar, salt, pepper -- groceries that could not be bought at the farmhouses near by.

"I'll take the children, row over, and get what you want," said Mr. Brown, for it was easier to row across the lake, and walk through the woods, than to walk half-way around the lake to the store. With Splash, Bunny and Sue in the boat Mr. Brown set off.

They landed on the other shore, and started to walk through the woods. On the way they had to pass along a road that was near to the farm of Mr. Trimble, the "mean man," as Bunny and Sue called him. Perhaps Mr. Trimble did not intend to be mean, or cross, but he certainly was. Some folk just can't help being that way.

"Huh! Are you coming over again to bother me about that runaway boy, Tom Vine?" asked Mr. Trimble, as he saw Mr. Brown.

"No, I've given Tom up," replied the children's father. "I guess he has gone back to the city. I'm sorry, for I wanted to help him."

"Boys are no good!" cried Mr. Trimble. "That Tom is no good. But I'll pay him back for running away from me!"

"Did he come back to you?" asked Mr. Brown, thinking perhaps, after all, the "ragged boy," as Sue sometimes called him in fun, might have thought it best to go back to the man who had first hired him.

"You don't see him anywhere around here; do you?" asked Mr. Trimble.

"No, I don't see him," said Mr. Brown, wondering why the farmer answered in that way.

"Well, he isn't here," said Mr. Trimble, and he went on hoeing his potatoes, for he was in a field of them, near the road, when he spoke to Mr. Brown.

As Bunny, Sue and their father walked on, Splash did not come with them. He hung back, and seemed to want to stay close to a small building, near Mr. Trimble's barn. Splash walked around this building three or four times, barking loudly.

"What makes Splash act so funny?" asked Bunny.

"I don't know," answered Mr. Brown. "Here, Splash! Come here!" he cried. But Splash would not come.



Chapter XIX

In The Smoke-House


"What makes Splash act so queer?" asked Bunny again.

"I'm sure I don't know," said his father. "I guess we'll have to go back and get him."

Certainly Splash did not seem to want to keep on to the village with Mr. Brown and the children. The dog was running around and around the small house, barking loudly. Mr. Trimble seemed not to hear the dog's barks, but kept right on hoeing potatoes.

"We'll go back and get Splash!" decided Mr. Brown.

He and the children walked slowly back. Splash kept on barking.

"You seem to have something in that little house which excites our dog," said Mr. Brown.

"It doesn't take much to get some dogs excited," answered the farmer. He did not seem to care much about it, one way or the other.

"What sort of house is that?" asked Mr. Brown. He looked at it closely. The little house had no windows, and only one door. And there was a queer smell about it, as though it had once been on fire.

"That's a smoke-house," said Mr. Trimble. "It's where I smoke my hams and bacon. I hang them up in there, build a fire of corn-cobs and hickory wood chips, and make a thick smoke. The smoke dries the ham and bacon so it will keep all winter."

"What a funny house!" said Sue.

"It hasn't any windows," observed Bunny.

"We have to have smoke-houses tight and without windows," explained Mr. Trimble, "so the smoke won't all get out."

"Are there any hams or bacon in there now?" asked Mr. Brown.

"No, we don't do any smoking until fall, when we kill the pigs."

"Well, there's something in there that bothers our dog," went on the children's father. For, all this while, Splash was running around the smoke-house, barking more loudly than before.

Just then Bunny Brown thought of something. He pulled at his father's coat and whispered to him:

"Oh, Daddy! Maybe Tom Vine is shut up in there -- shut up in the smoke-house!"

Mr. Brown looked first at Bunny and then at the strange little house which had no windows. The door of it was tightly shut.

"That's so, Bunny," said Mr. Brown. "Perhaps Tom is in there. That would make Splash bark, for he knows where Tom is." Mr. Brown thought as Bunny did, that Mr. Trimble might have caught Tom, and locked him up in the dark smoke-house.

"Oh, Daddy! Do you s'pose Tom's in there?" asked Sue in a whisper, for she had heard what Bunny had whispered.

Daddy Brown nodded his head. He walked up to Mr. Trimble and said:

"Now look here! There's something in that smoke-house, and I want to see what it is. Our dog knows there's something there, and I'm pretty sure of it myself."

"Well, what do you think it is?" asked Mr. Trimble. "If there's anyone in there I don't know it. But I'll open the door, and let you see. Your dog certainly is making a lot of noise."

"Have you got that poor boy, Tom Vine, locked up in there?" asked Mr. Brown.

The farmer laughed.

"Tom Vine locked up in there? Certainly not!" he cried. "I wish I did have. I'd like to punish him for running away from me. But I haven't seem him since he was at your camp. No, sir! He isn't in my smoke-house. I don't believe anything, or anybody, is in there. But I'll open the door and let you look inside. Why, the door isn't locked," the farmer went on, "and I guess I couldn't keep a boy like Tom Vine in a smoke-house without locking the door on him."

Mr. Brown did not know what to think now. As for Bunny and Sue they thought surely their new friend, Tom, was locked in the queer little house.

"Oh, now we'll see him!" cried Sue, and she felt very glad.

Mr. Trimble dropped his hoe across a row of potatoes, and walked to where Splash was still barking away in front of the smoke-house.

"Will your dog bite?" asked the farmer.

"No, he is very gentle," answered Mr. Brown. "But I'll call him away while you open the door."

"I'll hold him," said Bunny. "I'll hold him by his collar."

By this time Splash seemed to have barked enough, for he grew quiet. Perhaps he knew the door was going to be opened. He came away when Bunny called him, and the little boy held tightly to the dog's collar.

"I'll help you hold him," cried Sue, and she, too, took hold.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," said Mr. Trimble, with a sour sort of laugh, "but you won't see any boy, or anything else, as far as I know, in this smoke-house. I did pile in some bean poles last fall, and I guess they're there yet, but that's all. Now watch close."

He put his shoulder against the door, and pushed. As it swung open, an animal, something like a little red dog, with a sharp, pointed nose and a big, bushy tail, sprang out and ran down the little hill, on which the smoke-house stood.

"Why -- why!" cried Mr. Trimble. "There was an animal in there after all! I didn't know it."

"A fox! It's a fox!" cried Bunny Brown. He had once seen in a book a picture of a fox, and this animal looked just like the picture.

"Yes, that's a fox sure enough, and I guess it's the one that's been taking my chickens!" cried Mr. Trimble. "I wish I had my gun! I'd shoot the critter!"

He picked up a stone, and threw it at the fox, but did not hit the running animal. Then something queer happened.

Splash, who was being held by Bunny and Sue, gave a sudden bark. Then he gave a sudden jump. He went so quickly that he pulled Bunny and Sue after him, and they both fell down in the dirt. But it was soft, so they were not hurt.

They had to let go of Splash's collar, though, and the dog now began to run after the fox, barking again and again.

"Splash! Splash!" cried Bunny. "Come back. The fox will bite you!"

"Don't worry," said Daddy Brown. "Splash can never catch that fox. The fox can run too fast, and he has a good head-start. Splash will soon get tired of running, and come back."

"The idea! The idea," exclaimed Mr. Trimble, "of a fox being in my smoke-house! That's what made your dog all excited."

"Yes, that was it," said Daddy Brown. "But I thought you might have Tom Vine shut up in there. I'm sorry I made the mistake."

"Oh, well, that's all right," said Mr. Trimble. He did not seem so cross now. He even smiled at Bunny and Sue.

"Maybe I was too quick with that boy," he said. "But I'm a hard working man, and them as works for me has to work hard, same as I do. But maybe I was too hard on Tom. I certainly was mad when he ran away and left me, and I made up my mind I'd punish him, if I could get him back. But I haven't seen him since he was at your camp. And you thought he was in the smoke-house?" he asked.

"Yes, I really did," replied Mr. Brown. "But I guess you didn't know a fox was in there; did you?"

"No, I didn't," answered the farmer. "He must have gone in during the night, when the door was open. The place sort of smells of meat, you know. Then the door blew shut, and the fox couldn't get out.

"And Splash smelled him!" cried Bunny, who had gotten up and was brushing the dust off. Sue was doing the same thing.

"Yes, your dog smelled the fox," said Mr. Trimble. "That was what made him bark and get all excited."

"I'm going to catch a fox in my trap," said Bunny. "I've got a trap set over by our spring. Maybe this is the fox I'm going to catch," he went on.

"I'm afraid not," said Mr. Brown. "This fox is so scared that he'll run for miles. He'll never come back this way again. Well, we haven't found Tom Vine yet; have we?" and he looked at Bunny and Sue.

"No, and you never will find him," said Mr. Trimble. "Boys are no good. Tom ran away from you same as he did from me. But maybe I was a little too harsh with him. I wouldn't lock him up in a dark smoke-house, though. That's no place for a boy."

Bunny and Sue were glad to hear the farmer say that.

"Well, we'd better be getting on to the village," said Mr. Brown. "Come along, children."

"Oh, let's wait for Splash to come back," said Bunny. "I don't want him to be lost."



Chapter XX

In Bunny's Trap


Pretty soon Splash was seen coming over the hills. He did not run fast, for he was tired from having chased the fox. The dog was wet and muddy, too.

"Oh, Daddy! What happened to Splash?" asked Bunny, as the dog came slowly along, and stretched out in the shade of a tree.

"Did the fox bite him?" Sue wanted to know. "If he did I don't like foxes, and I don't want Bunny to catch any in his trap."

"No, the fox didn't bite your dog," said Mr. Brown. "I guess he just ran away from Splash. And Splash tried to catch him, and ran through mud and water until he got all tired out. You don't like foxes, either, do you, Splash?"

Splash barked once, and did not even wag his tail. That one bark must have meant "No." And I guess Splash was too tired to wag his tail, as he always did when he was happy, or pleased.

"Maybe he'd like a drink of water," said the farmer. "I'll bring him some from the well. It's good and cold. I'm going to drink some myself, as it's a hot day. I could give the children a glass of milk," went on Mr. Trimble to Daddy Brown. "I've got plenty up at the house."

"Oh, I don't want to trouble you," said the children's father.

"It's no trouble!" said the farmer. "My wife will be glad to give them some. Come on, Splash!" he called. "We'll get you a cold drink after your run. So the fox got away from you same as that boy Tom Vine ran away from me."

Mr. Trimble was smiling and laughing now. Somehow or other he did not seem as mean and cross as he once had. Bunny and Sue were beginning to like him now. He was quite a different man from the one who had called at Camp Rest-a-While looking for Tom.

Splash eagerly drank the cool water, and then he rolled in the grass to get some of the mud off his coat. Mrs. Trimble brought out some milk for Bunny and Sue, and also a plate of molasses cookies, which they were very glad to have.

"Sit down under this shady apple tree," said Mrs. Trimble, "and help yourselves. Maybe you'd like a glass of milk," she said to Mr. Brown.

"Well, I don't care much for milk, except in my tea and coffee," he said. "Thank you, just the same."

"How about buttermilk?" asked Mr. Trimble. "That's what I like on a hot day, and she's just churned."

"Yes, I should like the buttermilk," returned Bunny's father, and soon he was drinking a large glass.

"What funny looking milk!" remarked Sue, as she helped herself to another molasses cookie from the plate in front of her. "It's got little yellow lumps in it, Daddy."

"Those are little yellow lumps of butter," said Mr. Brown. "To make butter, you know, they churn the cream of sour milk. And when the butter is all taken out in a lump, some sour milk is left, and they call that buttermilk. Would you like to taste it, Sue?"

Sue, who had drunk the last of her glass of sweet milk, nodded her curly head. But when Daddy Brown put his glass to her lips, and just let her sip the buttermilk he had been drinking, Sue made such a funny face that Bunny laughed aloud.

"Oh -- oh! It -- it's sour -- like lemons!" cried Sue.

"Yes, it is sour!" said Mr. Brown. "But that is why I like it."

"I like molasses cookies better," said Sue, as she took a bite from one to cleanse away the sour taste in her mouth. "You can make just as good cookies as my mother or my Aunt Lu can," said Sue to Mrs. Trimble.

"Can I? I'm glad to hear that," said the farmer's wife, with a smile. "Have some to put in your pockets."

"Oh, I'm afraid you've given them too many already," objected Mr. Brown.

"Molasses cookies won't hurt children; nor milk won't either," the farmer said. "Any time you're over this way stop in. I'm sorry you can't find that boy Tom. And I'm sorry I was a bit cross with him, or maybe he'd be here yet. But I haven't seen him."

Splash was rested now, and clean. And he had had a good drink of cold water, so he was ready to start again. The children, too, felt like walking, and, after having thanked the farmer and his wife, Mr. Brown set off once more with Bunny and Sue, Splash following behind.

"Come again!" Mrs. Trimble invited them.

"We will, thank you," answered Daddy Brown.

"She's real nice; isn't she?" asked Bunny, when they were once more in the road.

"Yes," said Daddy Brown.

"And I like that farmer, too," said Sue. "I didn't like him at first, when he shook his fist and was so cross, but I like him now."

"Yes, he is different from what he was at first," returned her father. "But I'm afraid we've seen the last of Tom. He must have run away. Maybe he was afraid, after all, that Mr. Trimble would stay cross, and would try to get him back onto the farm. Well, it's too bad, for Tom was a nice boy, but it can't be helped."

"I'd like Tom back," said Bunny.

"So would I," added Sue.

"What's the matter, Splash?" asked Mr. Brown, for the big dog had run up the side of a little hill along the road, and was barking at a hole in the ground.

"Maybe he thinks the fox lives there," said Bunny.

"Maybe," said Daddy. "Come on, Splash. Even if that is the hole of the fox he isn't there now. You chased him too far away. Come on!"

But Splash did not want to come. He pawed away the dirt at the side of the hole, and put his sharp nose down inside it.

"There must be something there, Daddy," said Bunny, standing still, and looking up the hill at the dog. "Let's go and see what it is."

"If it's a fox I'm not going!" cried Sue, holding back.

"I don't believe it's a fox," said Mr. Brown. "But we'll take a look. I'll carry you, Sue, and then, even if it is some animal in the hole, you won't be afraid."

Sue didn't mind going closer if her father carried her, and soon the two children, and Mr. Brown, were looking down into the hole at which Splash was barking.

All at once a light brown animal, covered with fur, and larger than the muskrat Splash had barked at in the lake, stuck its head out of the hole.

"Oh, look!" cried Bunny. "It's a little bear!"

"No, that's a ground-hog, or woodchuck," explained Mr. Brown. "They won't hurt you. This must be the old father or mother, and there may be little ones in the hole, or burrow, so the old folks want Splash to go away."

But Splash did not want to go. He barked louder than ever at the sight of the woodchuck, and pawed at the dirt with his fore paws. But he could not reach the brown, furry animal.

"Come away, Splash!" called Mr. Brown.

Still Splash barked.

Then, all at once, the woodchuck thrust out his head quickly, and made a grab for one of Splash's paws. The dog howled, and ran down the hill.

"There!" exclaimed Mr. Brown. "Now I guess you'll leave the woodchucks alone, Splash."

"Oh, is Splash hurt?" asked Bunny, for the dog was running along on three legs, holding the other up off the ground.

"Oh, I guess he isn't hurt much," Mr. Brown said. "Come here, Splash, until I look at your foot."

Splash limped up. He was not badly bitten. The woodchuck had just pinched him to drive him away. Splash looked at the hole and barked. But he did not offer to go near it again. So the old lady, or old gentleman, ground-hog -- whichever it was -- with the little ones, was left safe in the burrow on the side of the hill.

Mr. Brown, Bunny, Sue and Splash went on to the village. They bought the things Mother Brown wanted and then started for camp again. Nothing much happened on the way back. Mrs. Brown was told of the visit to Mr. Trimble's, and how the fox ran out of the smoke-house.

"And now," said Bunny, as his father finished telling what had happened, "now I'm going up to see if we've caught a fox or a ground-hog in my box trap. Come on, Sue."

"All right. I'm coming, Bunny, but if it is a fox or a ground-hog, you won't let him bite me; will you?"

"Course I won't, Sue!" said the little fellow, picking up a stick from beside the sleeping-tent. "Come on!"

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue were soon at the place where Bunny had set the box-trap, with the stone on top to hold it down, in case an animal got beneath.

"Now go easy, Sue!" whispered Bunny, as they crept through the bushes. "If there's a fox, or anything else, just going in, we don't want to scare him away."

"No," said Sue. "I won't make any noise."

She walked along quietly behind her brother. Now they were in sight of the box-trap Bunny had made.

"Is -- is anything in it?" Sue asked.

"Yes, I think so," her brother answered. "Don't make a noise. The box is down, and I guess something is under it. I hope it's a fox."

"I don't," said Sue. "Foxes bite."

"Well, you can sell 'em for a lot of money," argued Bunny. "And maybe I could train this one. But maybe it's only a ground-hog."

"I don't like them either," said Sue, "'cause one bit Splash."

"Say, what kind of animals do you like?" asked Bunny, turning to look at his sister. "What would you like me to catch in my trap?"

"A nice kitty cat," said Sue quickly. "Then I could have her to play with, and she'd like me and my dolls. Couldn't you catch a nice white kitty cat, Bunny?"

Bunny did not answer. He was looking at his box trap. His eyes opened widely.

"Oh, look, Sue!" he cried. "Look! My trap is moving! Something big is under the box!"



Chapter XXI

Bunker Goes Ashore


"Bunny! Bunny! I -- I want to go home!" cried Sue.

"What for?" asked her brother. "It's nice here, and I've got something in the trap, Sue."

"I know it, Bunny. I can see it move. That's why I want to go back to camp."

"Are you 'fraid, Sue?"

Sue nodded her head, and clasped closer in her arms the doll she had brought with her.

"Wait until we see what's in the trap -- under the box," said Bunny. "I'll lift it up and look under. If it's a fox I won't let him out."

Bunny started toward the box that was still moving slowly about on the big flat rock where Bunny had set his trap.

"Don't you touch it!" cried Sue. "Don't lift up the box, Bunny!"

"Why not?" he asked.

"'Cause the fox might get out and bite us. Let it alone."

Bunny stood still and looked at the box. It had stopped moving for a while. Then it began again, going about in a sort of circle.

"Why -- why!" cried Sue. "It's just like Blind Man's Buff!"

And, really, that is how the box moved about, just like some boy or girl, with a handkerchief tied over his or her eyes, trying to move about to catch someone, and yet trying not to bang into a tree or the fence.

"The fox, woodchuck, or whatever it is under my box," said Bunny Brown, "can't see which way he's going. That's why the box jiggles around so funny. But I'm going to see what's under it."

"If you lift it up, I'm going back to camp," declared Sue, turning back.

"But I want to see what it is!" cried Bunny. "I've caught an animal, and I want to look at it!"

You remember I told you he had fixed up a box, raised at one end by a little stick. Under the box were some good things to eat, such as animals and birds like. Bunny had tied a long string to the stick, and he and Sue had hid in the bushes, ready to pull the string, pull out the little stick, and let the box trap fall down on whatever was eating the bait.

But all Bunny caught were some sparrows, which he let go. Then he had set the trap again, and had gone off. Now there was something under the box, that was sure.

"How do you think it got caught, Bunny?"

"I guess the fox -- or whatever it is -- crawled under the box to get the cake crumbs, and he bumped against the stick, knocked it away, and the box came down on him," Bunny said. "Sue, I do want to see what I've caught."

"You -- you might get bit," his sister said.

Bunny thought that over for a minute.

"I know how I could do it," he said.

"How?" Sue wanted to know.

"I could get a long stick, and lift the box up with that. Then as soon as the fox came out, we could run, and we wouldn't be near enough for him to bite us."

"Oh, Bunny! That would be a good way, I'll stay and watch if you do it like that."

Bunny found a long pole, like a fishing rod. Holding this out in front of him, he walked toward the box. He tried to raise it up, but the stone on top made it too heavy.

"Push off the stone first," said Sue.

Bunny had not thought of that. With two or three shoves of his pole he knocked the stone off the top of the box. Then, once more, he tried to raise his trap to see what was under it.

All at once the children heard some one calling:

"Bunny! Sue! Where are you?"

"That's Bunker Blue," said Bunny.

"Here we are!" answered Sue. "Bunny's got something in his trap! Come and help us get it, Bunker."

There was a noise in the bushes, a dog barked, and along came the red-haired boy and Splash. The box was moving about more quickly now, for the heavy stone was not on top.

"Say, you have caught something!" cried Bunker. "There's surely something under the box, Bunny."

"It's a fox," said Bunny.

"Or maybe a ground-hog," added Sue.

"Maybe, and maybe not," went on Bunker. "We'll have a look. Here, let me take your pole, Bunny. Splash, you be ready to grab whatever it is!"

With a sudden push Bunker upset the box. Out ran a gray and brown animal.

"Oh, look!" cried Bunny.

"Is it a fox? Oh, don't let it bite me!" cried Sue, and she ran toward Bunker, who caught her up in his arms.

Splash, with a bark, sprang toward the little animal that had run out of Bunny's box trap. But the little animal, instead of running away, just curled up into a ball and stayed there. And Splash stopped short. He barked at the animal but did not try to bite it.

"He's afraid of it, and no wonder!" said Bunker. "Best leave that alone, Splash!"

"What is it?" asked Bunny.

"It's a hedgehog, or a prickly porcupine," said Bunker. "That animal is all covered with sharp quills, like a lot of toothpicks. They aren't very tightly fastened to him, and if a dog, or some other animal, tries to bite, he gets his mouth full of sharp, slivery quills from the hedgehog. That makes the dog's mouth very sore, and he can't bite anything again for a long time. That's why the hedgehog curls himself up into a little ball. In that way he is all covered with quills that stick out in every way. No dog or any other animal, can bite without getting badly hurt. I guess you'd better let the porcupine go, Bunny."

"I will," said the little fellow. "I don't want Splash hurt. Come away, Splash!"

Splash did not care very much about biting or worrying the hedgehog. The dog barked once or twice, and then came away. Then the porcupine uncurled himself, and ran off into the wood.

"Well, I caught something in my trap, anyhow," said Bunny.

"That's what you did," said Bunker Blue. "And the hedgehog, walking around under the box, kept pushing it along with his head. He was trying to find a way out. Come on back to camp now. Supper is ready and your mother sent me to find you."

The next two days it rained, and Bunny and Sue did not have much fun at Camp Rest-a-While. They had to stay in the tents. But the third day it cleared off, and the wind blew away the storm clouds.

That afternoon Bunker took Bunny and Sue out in the boat, fishing. They took with them some lunch to eat, and a bottle of milk to drink if they got thirsty. Sue also took an old umbrella to keep the sun off herself and her doll.

Bunker rowed the boat half way across the lake, and tied it to one of the trees that grew on a little island. There he and Bunny fished, but they did not catch anything.

"Maybe if we went on the island we would catch something," said Bunny. "May we, Bunker?"

"Well, I don't know. We might," said the red-haired boy. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go ashore on the island, and try fishing a bit. If I have any luck I'll come back and get you two. You and Sue stay in the boat, Bunny, until I come back." Then the big boy got out and went ashore, leaving Bunny and Sue in the boat.



Chapter XXII

In The Woods


Bunker Blue seemed to be gone a long time. Five, ten -- fifteen minutes went past and he did not come back. Bunny and Sue began to get tired.

"He must be catching a lot of fish," said Bunny, after a bit, while he dangled his own hook in the water. Bunny wasn't catching anything -- he didn't have even a nibble, though he was using the right kind of hook and line, and he had a real "squiggily" worm on his hook -- Bunker had put it there for him.

"Maybe Bunker caught a big fish," said Sue, "and it pulled him into the water, eh, Bunny?"

Bunny shook his head.

"No," he said. "That didn't happen."

"Maybe it might," went on Sue. "There might be big fish in this lake. Or maybe it was a muskrat, like the one Splash barked at."

Splash, asleep up in the front of the boat, hearing his name spoken, looked up and wagged his tail.

"I didn't call you," said Sue. "But, oh, Bunny! maybe Bunker did fall in!"

Bunny shook his head again.

"No, he didn't fall in," said the little fellow. "If he had we'd have heard him holler, and he hasn't hollered."

Sue thought that over. It seemed all right. She knew she would "holler," as Bunny called it, if she fell into the water, and of course if a big fish or a muskrat had pulled in Bunker, he, too, would cry out. And it had been very still and quiet since the red-haired boy had gone ashore on the island.

"I know what we can do," said Bunny, after a bit.

"What?" asked Sue.

"We can untie the boat, and row around to the other side of the island where Bunker went," suggested Bunny. "He told us not to get out of the boat until he came back, and we won't, 'cause mother told us to mind Bunker. But he didn't tell us not to row the boat around where he is."

"That's right," agreed Sue. "We can do that."

Bunny and Sue knew something about boats, and they could each row a little. So while Bunny loosed the rope by which the boat was tied, Sue took up one oar. Then Bunny took the other. He shoved the boat out a little way. It began to move, first slowly, and then faster. All at once Sue cried:

"Oh, Bunny! My umbrella!"

It was open, and a gust of wind almost blew it out of the boat. Bunny caught the umbrella just in time. To do this he had to let go of his oar, and it slid overboard, into the water. But Bunny was not thinking about the oar just then. He had a new idea.

As he held the open umbrella he felt the wind blowing strongly against it. The wind was almost strong enough to blow the umbrella out of his hands. But he held on tightly.

"Oh, Bunny, your oar is gone!" cried Sue, as she saw it float away.

"I -- I can't help it," answered her brother. "I can't reach it, Sue. You get it."

"I can't. It's too far away."

"Well, let it go!" cried Bunny. "I know something else we can do, Sue. Oh, this will be fun! It's better than fishing!"

Sue was pulling, as best she could, on her one oar. But boats are not meant to be rowed with one oar, though you can scull, or paddle, with one. If you row with one oar your boat swings around in a circle, instead of going straight ahead.

"I can't row this way, Bunny!" called Sue. She knew enough about boats for that. "You'll have to get your oar, Bunny."

"We won't need it, Sue," called her brother. "Take in your oar. We won't need that either. We're going to sail. Look! the umbrella is just like a sail."

And so it was. The wind, blowing on the open umbrella Bunny held, was sending the rowboat along just as if a sail had been hoisted. The boat was moving quite fast now. Bunny and Sue were so pleased that they did not think about the lost oar, which had fallen overboard and had floated away. As Bunny had said, they did not need oars now.

"Isn't this fun!" cried Bunny.

"Yes," said Sue. "I like it. My dolly likes it, too! Do you like it, Splash?"

Splash did not answer. He hardly ever did answer, except with a bark or a whine, when Bunny or Sue spoke to him, and the children did not understand dog language. Anyhow, Splash seemed to like the umbrella sail, for he stretched out in the bottom of the boat and went to sleep.

Bunny held the open umbrella, and Sue held her doll. Of course, the doll had nothing to do with the sailing of the boat, but Sue kept her in her arms.

"You aren't going to sail very far; are you, Bunny?" asked Sue as the boat kept on going faster and faster.

"Not very far," Bunny answered. "We'll just sail around the end of the island where Bunker went fishing."

Now this would have been all right if the children had sailed around the end of the island where Bunker Blue happened to be. But they did not. It was not their fault, either. For Bunker had gone to the other end of the island, and he was sitting on a log, waiting for a fish to bite.

You see, this is the way it was. Bunker Blue told about it afterward. He went off the island, leaving Bunny and Sue in the boat. Bunker walked to the lower end of the island. Bunny and Sue saw him going. He was going to try for fish there.

But when the red-haired boy got to that end of the island he saw that the water was so shallow that no large fish could be caught in it.

"I'll just go to the other end," thought Bunker.

So, without calling to Bunny and Sue, Bunker walked along the other shore of the island, to the upper end. And Bunny and Sue, being behind a lot of trees and bushes, did not know that Bunker was not in the place where he had said he was going.

Bunker found the water deep enough at the upper end of the island, and there he sat down to fish.

"I'll just see if they're biting good here," he said to himself, "and, if they are, I'll go back and get the children."

Bunker had to wait quite a while for his first bite, and by that time Bunny and Sue had decided to start off themselves in the boat. And so they did, with the umbrella for a sail, as I have told you.

Faster and faster they went, around the lower end of the island. They expected to see Bunker there, but they did not, because he was at the upper end.

"Why -- why -- Bunker isn't here," said Sue, in surprise.

"Then we'd better go back," announced Bunny, still holding to the umbrella. "Stick your oar in the water, Sue, and steer back to where we were."

You can steer a boat with one oar, if you can't row it with one, and Sue knew a little bit about steering. But the oar was too heavy for Sue's little hands, and it soon slipped over into the lake. She tried to grab it, but was too late. The second oar was lost overboard.

"Oh, dear!" Sue cried. "It's gone."

"Never mind," said Bunny. "We don't need oars with the umbrella for a sail. Only we can't sail back where we were unless the wind blows the other way. And I don't see where Bunker is."

"Maybe he's gone home and left us," said Sue.

"He couldn't -- not without a boat," objected Bunny. "We'll have to sail over to camp and get daddy or Uncle Tad to row back for him."

"Yes, let's sail to our camp," agreed Sue. "Won't they be s'prised to see us come up this way with an umbrella?"

"I guess they will," said Bunny.

The wind blew stronger. It was all Bunny could do to hold to the umbrella now. The wind almost blew it from his hands. Even with Sue to help him it was hard work.

"If you could only tie it fast," suggested Sue.

"Maybe I can," said Bunny. "Here's a rope."

The rope by which the boat had been tied to a tree on the island lay in the bottom of the boat. The umbrella had a crooked handle, and the tying of one end of the rope around this, helped Bunny to hold the queer sail.

The boat now went on faster and faster.

"Why, there's our camp, away over there!" cried Sue, pointing. "Why don't you sail to it, Bunny?"

Bunny looked. Indeed, the white tents of Camp Rest-a-While were on the other side of the lake -- far away. And the wind was blowing the boat farther and farther off. Bunny and Sue could not get back to camp, for now they had nothing with which to steer their boat. Of course, if the wind had been blowing toward the tents, instead of away from it, they could have gotten there without steering. But now they could not.

"Oh, dear!" cried Sue. "Where are we going, Bunny?"

"We are going to the woods, I guess," he said. They were sailing toward the wooded shores of the lake, away on the other side from their camp, and a long way down from the island where they had left Bunker Blue.

Harder blew the wind on the umbrella sail. Faster went the boat. Finally it ran up on shore, right where the woods came down to the edge of the lake.

Splash jumped out with a bark, and began stretching himself. He did not like to stay too long in a boat. He wanted to run about on shore.

"Bunny, where are we?" asked Sue.

"I don't know," answered her brother. "But we are on land somewhere, I guess. It's nice woods, anyhow."

The trees and bushes grew thick all about.

"Let's get out," Bunny went on. He shut down the umbrella sail, and took off the rope. Then he tied the boat to a tree. He got out, and helped Sue.

"Where's our camp?" the little girl wanted to know.

Bunny looked across the lake. He could not see the white tents. Neither could Sue.

"Bunny -- Bunny," said the little girl slowly. "I -- I guess -- we're losted again."

"I -- I guess so, too," agreed Bunny Brown.



Chapter XXIII

In The Cave


Splash, the big, shaggy dog, ran up and down the shore of the lake, poking his nose in among the bushes here and there, barking loudly all the while.

"What's the matter with Splash?" asked Sue of her brother. "Is there a wild animal here, Bunny?"

"No, I don't guess so," the little boy answered. "Splash is wagging his tail, and he wouldn't do that if there were wild animals around. He doesn't like a wild animal. I guess Splash is just glad 'cause he is out of a boat. Splash doesn't like a boat."

"I do," said Sue. "But we didn't ought to have come away in the boat all alone, Bunny. Mother told us not to, you know."

"I know she did, Sue, but we couldn't help it. We were just going to look for Bunker Blue and the wind blowed us away from the island. We couldn't help it."

"No, I don't guess we could, Bunny. But what are we going to do now?"

"I guess we'll have to walk back to Camp Rest-a-While," answered Bunny. "We can leave the boat here, and Bunker can come and get it."

"Can't we sail back in our boat, with the umbrella, same as we sailed down here?" Sue wanted to know.

"We could if the wind would blow right, but it isn't," said Bunny. He had been among his father's boatmen often enough to know that you have to go with the wind, and not against it, when you're sailing a boat. "We'll have to walk, Sue."

"Let's holler and yell," said the little girl, as she straightened out the dress of her doll.

"What for?"

"So daddy or mother can hear us," Sue went on. "If we holler real loud they may hear us, and come and get us in another boat. If we hadn't lost the oars, Bunny, we could row back."

"Yes, but the oars are lost. I guess we'll just have to stay here, Sue. We're losted again. But I'm not afraid. It's nice here, and if we get hungry I can catch a fish. I have my pole, and there's a worm on my hook yet."

"Is he a squiggily worm?" Sue wanted to know.

"He was kind of squiggily," answered Bunny, "but I guess he's all done squiggling now. He's deaded."

"Then I wouldn't be afraid of him," Sue said. "I could fish with him, too. I don't like squiggily worms. They tickle you so."

Bunny walked back to the boat, which the wind had blown partly up on shore. He looked for his fishing pole and line, and, after he had taken it out, he saw the little basket of lunch his mother had put up. It had not yet been opened.

"Oh, Sue!" Bunny cried. "Look! We've got our lunch! And there's a bottle of milk, too! Now we can have a picnic!"

"And you won't have to catch any fish!" cried Sue, clapping her hands. "I'm hungry Bunny. Let's have the picnic now!"

Bunny was willing, for he was hungry too, and the children, taking the basket of lunch, sat down in a shady place on the shore to eat. As Sue was taking off the napkins, in which the sandwiches and cakes were wrapped, she happened to think of something.

"Oh, Bunny!" Sue said. "Part of this lunch was for Bunker Blue."

Bunny thought for a second or two.

"Well, Bunker isn't here now," he said, "and he can't get here, less'n he swims. I don't guess he'll want any lunch, Sue."

"And anyhow, he can catch a fish," said Sue. "Bunker is good at fishing, and he likes to eat 'em."

"I wonder where Bunker is now," pondered Bunny.

He looked back up the lake. He could not see the island where they had left Bunker. It was out of sight around a bend in the lake shore.

"Do you think he'll swim down here and want some lunch?" asked Sue.

"No," answered Bunny. "We can eat all this. Bunker won't come."

And so the children began on their lunch, sharing some of it with Splash, who, after a bath in the lake, lay down in the sun to dry himself.

By this time Bunker Blue, back on the far end of the island, had caught three fine, big fish. He was so excited and glad about getting them that, for a while, he forgot all about Bunny Brown and his sister Sue. Then he happened to remember them.

"I'll go back to the boat and get the children," said Bunker Blue to himself. "They can catch fish here, and that will tickle Bunny. He never yet caught real big fish like these."

But when Bunker went to the place where he had left Bunny and Sue in the boat, the children were not there, nor was there any sight of the boat. Bunker had been fishing by himself longer than he thought, and by this time Bunny and Sue were out of sight around a bend in the shore.

Bunker rubbed his eyes. Then he looked again. There was no doubt of it -- the boat was gone, and so were the children.

"Where can they be?" asked Bunker, aloud. But there was no one on the little island to answer him.

Then the red-haired boy happened to think that perhaps Bunny might have taken the boat around to the other end of the island. Bunker quickly ran there, but no boat was to be seen.

"They've either drifted away," said Bunker, "or else they've rowed themselves away. It's too bad; but they know how to behave in a boat, that's one good thing. They won't try to stand up, and so fall overboard. I wonder if I could call to them?"

Bunker shouted, but Bunny and Sue were too far away to hear him. Bunker then sat down on a stone. He did not know what to do. He looked over to the main shore, where he could just see the white tents of Camp Rest-a-While.

"Well, if we don't come back pretty soon, Mr. Brown will know something is wrong, and he'll get another boat and come over here," thought Bunker. "Then I can tell him what has happened, and we can go and look for the children. I guess they'll be all right. All I can do is to wait."

All this while Bunny and Sue were eating their lunch. They were not frightened now, and they very much enjoyed their little umbrella-sail excursion in the boat and the picnic they were having.

But, pretty soon, it began to grow cloudy, and then it began to rain.

"I don't like this," said Sue. "I want to go home, Bunny."

Bunny, himself, would have been glad to be in camp with his father and mother, but he thought, being a boy, he must be brave, and look after his little sister, so he said:

"Oh, I guess this rain won't be very bad, Sue. We'll go back into the woods, under the trees. Then we can keep dry. And we'll take the lunch, too. There'll be enough for supper."

"Will we have to stay here for supper?" asked Sue.

"Maybe," answered Bunny. "But if we do it will be fun. Come on!"

It was now raining hard. Bunny carried the lunch basket, with the bottle of milk -- now half emptied -- in one hand. The other hand clasped Sue's. They went back in the wood a little way, and, all at once, Bunny saw something that made him call:

"Oh, Sue! Here's a good place to get in out of the rain!"

"What is it?" Sue asked.

"A cave!" cried Bunny. "It's a regular cave, like robbers live in! Come on, Sue! Now we're all right! Oh, this is fun!" and Bunny ran forward into the dark hole in the side of the hill -- right into the cave he ran.



Chapter XXIV

"Who Is There?"


Sue did not run into the cave after her brother Bunny. She stood, hugging her doll close to her, under a big, evergreen tree, so that only a few drops of rain splashed on her.

Bunny Brown, standing in the "front door" of the cave, as he called it, looked at his sister.

"Come on in, Sue!" he called. "It's nice here, and you can't get wet at all."

"I -- I don't want to," Sue answered.

"Why not?" Bunny wanted to know.

"'Cause," and that was all Sue would say. Then it began to rain harder, and the drops even splashed down through the thick branches of the evergreen tree.

"Oh, come on!" cried Bunny. "It's nice here, and dry, Sue. Why won't you come?"

"'Cause I don't like those robbers!" answered Sue at last. "I'd rather stay out in the rain than go in with those robbers."

"What robbers?" asked Bunny, his eyes opening wide.

"You said that was a robbers' cave," declared Sue, "and I don't like 'em."

Bunny laughed.

"There's no robbers here, Sue," he said. "I only meant that this looks just like the pictures of a robbers' cave. There isn't any robbers here. Come on in. It's nice and dry here."

"Are you sure there's no robbers?" Sue wanted to know.

"Sure," said Bunny. "Listen!" He went back a little farther in the cave and cried:

"Robbers! Robbers! Go on away! That will drive 'em off, Sue," he said. "Now come on in."

The little girl waited a half minute, to make sure no robbers came out after Bunny's call. Then she, too, ran into the cave.

"Isn't it nice here?" Bunny asked.

"Ye -- yes, I -- I guess so," and Sue spoke slowly. She was not quite sure about it. "But it -- it's dark," she went on.

"All caves are dark," Bunny Brown answered. "They have to be dark or they wouldn't be caves. Nobody ever saw a light cave."

"Well, I like a light cave best," said Sue. "How long has we got to stay here, Bunny?"

"Till Daddy comes for us, I guess," he said. "We can't walk back to camp all alone. I don't know the way. We'd get losted worse than we are now."

"Has we got to stay here all night?" Sue wanted to know.

"Well, maybe," said Bunny slowly. "But we could easy sleep here. There's some nice dried leaves we could make into a bed, and we've some of our lunch left. We can eat that for supper, and save a little for breakfast."

"What will we give Splash?" asked Sue. She had looked over Bunny's shoulder as he now opened the lunch basket. There did not seem very much left for two hungry children and a dog. Splash was now nosing about in the cave. He did not bark, and Bunny and Sue knew there could be no one in the hole but themselves -- no wild animals or anything.

"There isn't enough to give Splash much," said Bunny slowly. "But maybe he can dig himself up a bone in the woods. We can leave the crusts for him. Splash likes crusts."

"I don't," Sue said. "He can have all of mine."

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue had not yet learned to like the crusts of their bread. But Splash was not so particular.

The wind was now blowing harder, and the rain was flowing in the front of the cave. It blew in the faces of the children.

"Come on farther back," said Bunny, as he saw Sue wrapping her dress around her doll to keep off the rain.

"It -- it's too dark," Sue answered.

Bunny walked back a little way. Then he cried:

"Oh, Sue. Come on back here. It's real light here. There's a chimbly here and the light comes down it fine!"

"You come and get me -- I can't see -- it's so dark," Sue answered.

Bunny had left her standing near the front part of the cave, where it was still light, and he had run back into the dark part. There, half way back, he had found a place where there was a hole in the roof -- a "chimbly," as Bunny called it.

Through this hole, or chimney, light came down, but between that place, and the entrance, was a dark spot. And it was this dark patch that Sue did not want to cross alone.

"I'll come and get you," Bunny called, and, a minute later, he and Sue were standing together under the hole in the cave roof. Some few drops of rain came down this chimney, but by standing back a little way the children could keep nice and dry, and, at the same time, they were not in the dark.

"Isn't this nice, Sue?" asked Bunny.

"Yes," she said. "I like it better here."

It was a good place for the children to be in out of the storm. They were far enough back in the cave now so that the wind could not blow on them, and no rain could reach them. Splash had come this far back into the cave with them, and was sniffing about.

Bunny walked around the light place, and found some boxes and old bags. In one of the boxes were some pieces of dried bread, and an end of bacon. There was also a tin pail and a frying pan. And, off to one side, were some ashes. Bunny also saw where a pile of bags had been made into a sort of bed.

"Look, Sue," said the little boy. "I guess real people used to live in this cave. Here is where they made their fire, and cooked, and they slept on the pile of bags. We can sleep there to-night, if daddy doesn't come after us."

"But I hope he comes!" exclaimed Sue.

Bunny hoped so, too, but he thought he wouldn't say so. He wanted to be brave, and make believe he liked it in the cave.

"I -- I'm thirsty," said Sue, after a bit. "I want a drink, Bunny."

"I'll give you some of the milk, Sue. There's half a bottle of it left."

"I'd rather have water, Bunny."

"I don't guess there's any water here, Sue," answered Bunny.

Then he listened to a sound. It was Splash, lapping up water from somewhere in the cave. It did not sound very far off.

"There's water!" Bunny cried. "Splash has found a spring. Now I can get you a drink, Sue. Splash, where is that water?"

Splash barked, and came running to his little master. Bunny walked to the place from which Splash had come, and there he found a spring of water coming out of the rocky side of the cave. It fell into a little puddle, and it was from this puddle that Splash had taken his drink. Bunny held a cup under the little stream of water and got some for Sue. Then he took a drink himself.

"Say, this cave is fine!" he cried. "It's got water in it and a place for a fire. All the smoke would go up that hole. We'll get Bunker and daddy and mother and Uncle Tad and come here and have a picnic some day. Don't you like it, Sue?"

"I -- I'd rather be back at Camp Rest-a-While," said the little girl. "Can't we go?"

"I'll go and see how hard it's raining," said the little boy.

He went to the front door of the cave, and looked out. It was storming very hard now. The wind was blowing the limbs of the trees about, and dashing the rain all over.

"We can't walk home in this storm," said Bunny to Sue. "We'll have to stay in this cave until they come for us."

"All right," Sue said. "Then let's eat."

The children ate some more of the lunch they had brought with them.

"Now let's make the bed," said Sue. "We'll sleep on a pile of the bags, Bunny, and pull some of 'em over us for covers. Splash won't need any covers. He never sleeps in a bed."

Bunny and Sue had often "played house," and they knew how to make the old blankets, and pieces of carpet they found in the cave, into a sort of bed. It was not so light now, for it was coming on toward night, and the sky was covered with clouds.

"If we shut our eyes and go to sleep we won't mind the dark," said Bunny.

"All right -- let's," agreed Sue.

They cuddled up on the bags, their arms around one another, with Sue's doll held close in her hand, while Splash lay down not far from them.

Bunny was not sure he had been asleep. Anyhow he suddenly opened his eyes, and looked toward the chimney hole in the roof of the cave. A little light still came down it. But something else was also coming down. Bunny saw a big boy -- or a small man -- sliding down a grapevine rope into the cave. First Bunny saw his feet -- then his legs -- then his body. Bunny wondered who was coming into the cave. He made up his mind to find out.

"Who is there?" he suddenly called. "Who are you? What do you want in our cave?"

The figure sliding down the piece of grapevine into the cave, through the chimney hole, suddenly fell in a heap on the floor, close to where Bunny and Sue were lying on the pile of bags. Splash jumped up and began to bark loudly.



Chapter XXV

Back In Camp


Bunny Brown tried to be brave, but when he saw someone come into the cave in the darkness, in such a queer way, the little boy did not know what to do. He thought of Sue, and felt that he must not let her get hurt, no matter what else happened.

"Oh, Bunny!" cried Sue. "Is that one of the robbers? Is it, Bunny? If it is I don't want to stay here! You said there weren't any but picture book robbers in this cave, Bunny Brown!"

Bunny did not answer right away. He did not know what to tell Sue.

But the big boy who had dropped down through the chimney hole straightened up suddenly. Bunny could see him patting Splash on the head.

And that was rather strange, for Splash did not easily make friends with strangers. He would not bite them, but he would bark at them, until some of his friends had said it was all right, and that he need bark no more.

But, after his bark of surprise this time, Splash seemed to have suddenly made friends with the big boy who had come sliding down the chimney hole of the cave.

"Who -- who are you?" asked Bunny again.

Instead of answering the big boy laughed. Then he asked:

"Are you Bunny Brown and his sister Sue?"

"Ye -- yes -- yes, we are," Bunny said. "But how did you know?"

"Oh, I can tell, all right."

Splash seemed very glad to meet the strange boy. There was still light enough coming down the chimney hole for Bunny to see the dog's wagging tail. And Splash did not wag his tail for persons he did not like. This must be a friend.

"Is -- is you a robber?" asked Sue. She had hidden her face in the pile of bags, and was holding closely to her doll.

Again the big boy laughed.

"No, I'm not a robber," he said, "though I did take a piece of your mother's bacon. But I'll pay her back for it. How in the world did you find my cave, and where is your father, or Bunker Blue? And what are you doing out alone in this storm? Are you --  -- "

But Bunny Brown broke in on the questions.

"Oh, I know who you are! I know who you are!" Bunny cried. "You're Tom Vine who ran away from us! Why did you run away? Daddy has been looking for you. You are Tom Vine; aren't you?"

"Yes, Bunny, I am. Wait a minute and I'll light a lantern, and you can see me better. Look out, Splash, so I won't step on you."

So that was why Splash had made such good friends with the big boy who came down the cave chimney hole -- Splash knew Tom Vine, of course, even in the darkness.

Tom walked over to one of the boxes, and brought out a lantern. This he lighted. Bunny and Sue blinked their eyes at the sudden light, but they were soon used to it. Then they looked at Tom.

Yes, it was he. But he was even more ragged than when they had first seen him. He was laughing, though, and did not seem sad.

"And to think when I came home, and slid down the chimney of my cave, which I sometimes do, when I don't want to go around to the front door -- to think when I did this I should find Bunny Brown and his sister Sue here!" said Tom. "How in the world did you find me?"

"We weren't looking for you," answered Bunny. "We were in the boat, with Bunker Blue. He went on an island to fish, and we sailed away with the umbrella. We landed here and I found this cave, to get out of the rain. I told Sue it was a make-believe robbers' cave."

"Well, I guess I'm the only robber who ever lived in it," said Tom. "But what are you children going to do? Tell me all about how you got here."

This Bunny and Sue did, from the time they started out with Bunker Blue, until Bunny opened his eyes to see Tom sliding down the grapevine rope.

"And now I'll tell you about myself," said Tom.

"Have you been living here in this cave ever since you went away from our camp?" asked Bunny.

"Yes," answered Tom. "This has been my home. No one knew I was here. I wanted to keep out of sight of Mr. Trimble, for fear he'd make me go back to his farm."

"Oh, he won't make you go back," said Bunny. "He's sorry he was so cross to you. He told daddy so; didn't he, Sue?"

"Yes, he did. I'm glad we found you, Tom," and she put her little hand in his big one.

"And I'm glad I found you and Bunny, Sue. And I'm glad that Mr. Trimble isn't looking for me. I was getting tired of hiding out this way. I want to go back to your camp."

"You can come," said Bunny. "Daddy wants you, I know, for he said he did. Come on back now."

"Wait a minute," said Tom. "First I'll tell you how I came here. And then, I guess, we'll have to stay until morning, as it is storming too bad to leave the cave now."

Tom then told that he had heard Mr. Trimble was looking for him, to make him go back to the farm.

"And, as I was afraid he'd catch me, I ran away from your camp that day when I went for the pail of water," said Tom. "As I was at the spring I saw Mr. Trimble going past behind some bushes. He didn't see me, because I stooped down. And when he got past I ran away. I didn't want him to get me.

"I found this cave, and I've lived in it. I took some old boxes and bags from a barn. They were thrown away, so no one wanted them, I knew. Then I found this lantern and I brought that here."

"How did you get anything to eat?" asked Bunny.

"Well, I took that," said Tom. "In the night I went back to your camp, and took some things. I didn't think your folks would care very much."

"They didn't," said Bunny. "Did you take the pie and the bacon and eggs?"

"Yes," said Tom, "I did. I have earned some money, though, and I'll pay for them."

"And did you knock down the pile of tins?" Bunny asked, "and make the noise in the night?"

"Yes," laughed Tom. "I thought sure your folks would catch me then, but I got safely away. And ever since then I've stayed in this cave. I found it by accident. It made a nice dry place. During the day I would go off to different farms and work enough to earn a little money to buy things to eat. All the while I was afraid Mr. Trimble would find me. He was such a mean man."

"But he's turned good now," declared Bunny, "and he's sorry he was bad to you. He wouldn't even shut you up in a smoke-house," and Bunny told of finding the fox in the little house.

"So then I can go back to your camp, and Mr. Trimble won't try to get me; will he?" asked Tom.

"Nope, he won't hurt you at all," said Bunny. "And please can't we go back to our camp now? Daddy and mother will be so worried about us."

"Why, yes, I guess I can take you," said Tom. "It isn't very far, and there's a good road. I see you have an umbrella. That will keep Sue dry. You and I won't mind getting wet, Bunny; will we?"

"Nope," said the little fellow.

When they went to the entrance of the cave they found that the rain had stopped, and the moon was shining. It was quite light in the woods. Leading Bunny and Sue by the hands, with Splash following after, Tom started for Camp Rest-a-While. He stopped for a moment on top of the cave, to show the children the chimney hole, and how he had slid down it by holding on to a long grapevine, that twined around a tree growing near the hole. The grapevine was like a long rope.

Through the woods went Bunny, Sue and Tom. As they came near the camp they saw lanterns flashing, and voices called:

"Bunny! Bunny Brown! Sue! Sue! Where are you?"

"Here we are, Daddy! Here we are!" cried Bunny and Sue together. "And Tom Vine is with us!" added Bunny.

Those carrying the lantern rushed forward, and soon Bunny and Sue were clasped in their father's and mother's arms, while Uncle Tad and Bunker were shaking hands with Tom, and listening to his story of how he had found the children in the cave where he made his home.

"And to think you two went off in a boat with an umbrella for a sail!" cried Mother Brown to the children. "Don't you ever do it again!"

"We won't!" promised Bunny. "But what happened to you, Bunker?"

"Well, after you left me on the island," said the red-haired boy, "I waited until I saw your father coming after me in a boat. He took me to camp, and I told him I thought you and Sue had drifted down the lake. So we set out to find you, but you got here all right."

"And I don't want to sleep in any more caves," said Sue.

"I like it," Bunny said. "It was nice!"

The children were soon asleep in their cots in the camp tent, and after Tom had told his story to Mr. and Mrs. Brown, he, too, was given his old bed. He had nothing more to fear from Mr. Trimble, and he need not have run away, only he was afraid of the farmer. And for that reason he did not go back to camp, or send any word to Mr. Brown.

But everything came out all right, and Mr. Trimble came over and told Tom how sorry he was for having been so unpleasant as to make him run away.

Bunny Brown and his sister Sue stayed at Camp Rest-a-While all that summer and they had much fun, and many more adventures, but I have no room to tell you about them in this book. Perhaps I may write another volume about them later. As for Tom Vine, he was taken to live in Bellemere, where he worked at Mr. Brown's boat business with Bunker Blue. He did not have to live in a cave any more, and had a good home.

And now, having told all there is to tell, I will let you say good-bye to Bunny Brown and his sister Sue.

<eob>

Six Little Bunkers At Grandma Bell's

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

All Upset


"There! It's all done, so I guess we can get on and start off! All aboard! Toot! Toot!" Russ Bunker made a noise like a steamboat whistle. "Get on!" he cried.

"Oh, wait a minute! I forgot to put the broom in the corner," said Rose, his sister. "I was helping mother sweep, and I forgot to put the broom away. Wait for me, Russ! Don't let the boat start without me!"

"I won't," promised the little boy, as he tossed back a lock of dark hair which had straggled down over his eyes. They were dark, too, and, just now, were shining in eagerness as he looked at a queer collection of a barrel, a box, some chairs, a stool and a few boards, piled together in the middle of the playroom floor.

"The steamboat will wait for you, Rose," Russ Bunker went on. "But hurry back," and he began to whistle a merry tune as he moved a footstool over to one side. "That's one of the paddle-wheels," he told his smaller brother Laddie, whose real name was Fillmore, but who was always called Laddie. "That's a paddle-wheel!"

"Why doesn't it go 'round then?" asked Violet, Laddie's twin sister. "Why doesn't it go 'round, Russ? I thought wheels always went around!" Vi, as Violet was usually called, loved to ask questions, and sometimes they were the kind that could not be easily answered. This one seemed to be that kind, for Russ went on whistling and did not reply.

"Why doesn't the footstool go around if it's a wheel?" asked Vi again.

"Oh, 'cause -- 'cause --  -- " began Russ, holding his head on one side and stopping halfway through his whistled tune. "It doesn't go 'round?"

"Oh, I got a riddle! I got a riddle!" suddenly cried Laddie, who was as fond of asking riddles as Vi was of giving out questions. "What kind of a wheel doesn't go 'round? That's a new riddle! What kind of a wheel doesn't go 'round?"

"All wheels go around," declared Russ, who, now that he had the footstool fixed where he wanted it, had started his whistling again.

"What's the riddle, Laddie?" asked Vi, shaking her curly hair and looking up with her gray eyes at her brother, whose locks were of the same color, though not quite so curly as his twin's.

"There she goes again! Asking more questions!" exclaimed Rose, who had come back from putting away the broom, and was ready to play the steamboat game with her older brother.

"But what is the riddle?" insisted Vi. "I like to guess 'em, Laddie! What is it?"

"What kind of a wheel doesn't go 'round?" asked Laddie again, smiling at his brothers and sisters as though the riddle was a very hard one indeed.

"Pooh! All wheels go around -- 'ceptin' this one, maybe," said Russ. "And this is only a make-believe wheel. It's the nearest like a steamboat paddle-wheel I could find," and he gave the footstool a little kick. "But all kinds of wheels go around, Laddie."

"No, they don't," exclaimed the little fellow. "That's a riddle! What kind of a wheel doesn't go 'round?"

"Oh, let's give it up," proposed Rose. "Tell us, Laddie, and then we'll get in the make-believe steamboat Russ has made, and we'll have a ride. What kind of a wheel doesn't go around?"

"A wheelbarrow doesn't go 'round!" laughed Laddie.

"Oh, it does so!" cried Rose. "The wheel goes around."

"But the barrow doesn't -- that's the part you put things in," went on Laddie. "That doesn't go 'round. You have to push it."

"All right. That's a pretty good riddle," said Russ with a laugh. "Now let's get on the steamboat and we'll have a ride," and he began to whistle a little bit of a new song, something about down on a river where the cotton blossoms grow.

"Where is steamboat?" asked Margy, aged five, whose real name was Margaret, but who, as yet, seemed too little to have all those letters for herself. So she was just called Margy. "Where is steamboat?" she asked. "Is it in the kitchen on the stove?" and she opened wide her dark brown eyes and looked at Russ.

"Oh, you're thinking of a steam teakettle, Margy," he said, as he took hold of her fat, chubby hand. "The teakettle steams on the kitchen stove," went on Russ. "But we're making believe this is a steamboat in here," and he pointed to the barrel, the boxes, the chairs and the footstool, which he and Rose had piled together with such care. For it was a rainy day and the children were having what fun they could in the big playroom.

"I want to go on steamboat," spoke up the sixth member of the Bunker family a moment later.

"Yes, you may have a ride, Mun Bun," said Rose. "You may sit with me in front and see the wheels go around."

Mun Bun, I might say, was the pet name of the youngest member of the family. He was really Munroe Ford Bunker, but it seemed such a big name for such a little chap, that it was nearly always shortened to Mun. And that, added to half his last name, made Mun Bun.

And, really, Munroe Ford Bunker did look a little like a bun -- one of the light, golden brown kind, with sugar on top. For Mun, as we shall call him, was small, and had blue eyes and golden hair.

"Come on, Mun Bun!" called Russ, who was the oldest of the family of six little Bunkers, and the leader in all the fun and games. "Come on, everybody! All aboard the steamboat!"

"Oh, wait a minute! Wait a minute!" suddenly called Vi. "Is there any water around your steamboat, Russ?"

"Water? 'Course there is," he answered. "You couldn't make a steamboat go without water."

"Is it deep water?" asked Vi, who seemed started on her favorite game of asking questions.

Russ thought for a minute, looking at the playroom floor.

"'Course it's deep," he answered. "'Bout ten miles deep. What do you ask that for, Vi?"

"'Cause I got to get a bathing-dress for my doll," answered the little girl. "I can't take her on a steamboat where the water is deep lessen I have a bathing-suit for her. Wait a minute. I'll get one," and she ran over to a corner of the room, where she kept her playthings.

"Shall I bring a red dress or a blue one?" Vi turned to ask her sister Rose.

"Oh, bring any one you have and hurry up!" called Russ. "This steamboat won't ever get started. All aboard! Toot! Toot!"

Vi snatched up what she called a bathing-dress from a small trunkful of clothes belonging to her dolls, and ran back to the place where the "steamboat" floated in the "ten-miles-deep water," in the middle of the playroom floor.

"Now I'm all ready, an' so's my doll," said Vi, as she climbed up in one of the chairs behind the big, empty flour barrel that Mother Bunker had let Russ take to make his boat. "Gid-dap, Russ!"

"Gid-dap? What you mean?" asked Russ, stopping his whistling and turning to look at his sister.

"I mean start," answered Vi. "Don't you know what gid-dap means?"

"Sure I know! It's how you talk to a horse. It's what you tell him when you want him to start."

"Well, I'm ready to start now," said Vi, smoothing out her dress, and putting the bathing-suit on her doll.

"Pooh! You don't tell a steamboat to 'gid-dap' when you want that to start!" exclaimed Russ. "You say 'All aboard! Toot! Toot!'"

"All right then. Toot! Toot!" cried Vi, and Margy and Mun, who had climbed up together in a single chair beside Vi, began to laugh.

"I know another riddle," announced Laddie, as he took his place inside the barrel, for he was going to be the fireman, and, of course, they always rode away down inside the steamboat. "I know a nice riddle about a horse," went on Laddie. "What makes a horse's shoes different from ours?" he asked.

"Oh, we haven't time to bother with riddles now, Laddie," said Rose. "You can tell us some other time. We're going to make-believe steamboat a long way across the deep water now."

"A horse's shoes aren't like ours 'cause a horse doesn't wear stockings -- that's the answer," went on Laddie.

"All aboard!" cried Russ again.

"All aboard!" repeated Laddie.

"Oh, let's sing!" suddenly said Rose. She was a jolly little girl and had learned many simple songs at school.

"Let's sing about sailing o'er the dark blue sea," went on Rose. "It's an awful nice song, and I know five verses."

"We'll sing it after a while," returned Russ. "We got to get started now. All ready, fireman!" he called to Laddie, who was inside the barrel. "Start the steam going. I'm going to steer the boat," and Russ took his place astride the front end of the barrel, and began twisting on a stick he had stuck down in one of the cracks. The stick, you understand, was the steering-wheel, even if it didn't look like one.

"All aboard! Here we go!" cried Laddie from down inside the barrel, and he began to hiss like steam coming from a pipe. Then he began to rock to and fro, so that the barrel rolled from side to side.

"Here! What're you doing that for?" demanded Russ from up on top. "'You're jiggling me off! Stop it! What're you doing, Laddie?"

"I'm making the steamboat go!" was the answer. "We're out on the rough ocean and the steamboat's got to rock! Look at her rock!" and he swung the barrel to and fro faster than ever.

"Oh! Oh!" cried Rose. "It's all coming apart! Look! Oh, dear! The barrel's all coming apart!"

And that's just what happened! In another moment the barrel on which Russ sat fell apart, and with a clatter and clash of staves he toppled in on Laddie. Then the chairs, behind the barrel, where Rose, Vi and Margy and Mun were sitting, toppled over. In another instant the whole steamboat load of children was all upset in the middle of the playroom floor, having made a crash that sounded throughout the house.



Chapter II

Daddy Bunker's Worry


"Dear me! What's that? What happened?" called Mother Bunker from the sitting-room downstairs. "Is any one hurt, children? What did you do?" she asked, as she stood, with some sewing in her hands, at the foot of the stairs, listening for some other noise to follow the crash. She expected to hear crying.

"Is any one hurt?" she asked again. She was somewhat used to noises. One could not live in the house with the six little Bunkers and not hear noises.

"No'm, I guess nobody's hurt," answered Russ, as he climbed out from the wreck of the barrel. "Get up," he added to his brother Laddie.

"I can't," answered Laddie. "My leg's all twisted up in the soap-box." And so it was. A box had been put on one of the chairs, and Mun Bun and Margy had been sitting on that. This box had fallen on Laddie's leg, which was twisted up inside it.

"But what happened?" asked Mother Bunker again. "You really mustn't make so much noise when you play."

"We couldn't help it, Mother," said Rose, who, being the oldest girl, was quite a help around the house, though she was only seven years old. "The steamboat turned over and broke all up, Mother," she went on.

"The steamboat?" repeated Mrs. Bunker.

"I made one out of the flour-barrel you let me take," explained Russ. "But Laddie rocked inside it, and it all fell apart, and then the chairs fell on top of us and Mun and Vi and Margy all fell out and -- "

"Oh, my dears! Some of you may be hurt!" cried Mrs. Bunker, as she heard a little sob from Mun Bun. "I must come up and see what it is all about," and, dropping her sewing, up the stairs she hurried.

There were six little Bunkers, as you have probably counted by this time. Six little Bunkers, and they were such a jolly bunch of tots and had such good times, even if a make-believe steamboat did upset now and then, that I'm sure you'll like to hear about them.

To begin with, there was Russ Bunker. Russell was his real name, but he was always called Russ. He was eight years old, and was very fond of "making things."

Next came Rose Bunker. She was only seven years old, but she could do some sweeping and lots of dusting, and was quite a little mother's helper. Rose had light hair and eyes, while Russ was just the opposite, being dark.

Violet, or Vi, aged six, was a curly-haired girl, with gray eyes, and, as I have told you, she could ask more questions than her father and mother could answer.

Then there was Laddie, or Fillmore, a twin of Vi's, and, naturally, of the same age. Just how he happened to be so fond of asking riddles no one knew. Perhaps he caught it from Jerry Simms, who had served ten years in the army, and who never tired of telling about it. Jerry was a not-to-be-mistaken Yankee who worked around the Bunker house -- ran the automobile, took out the furnace ashes and, when he wasn't doing something like that, sitting in the kitchen talking to Norah O'Grady, the jolly, good-natured Irish cook, who had been in the Bunker family longer than even Russ could remember.

Jerry was a great one for riddles, too, only he asked such hard ones -- such as why does the ginger snap, and what makes the board walk? -- that none of the children could answer them.

But I haven't finished telling about the children. After Laddie and Violet came Margy, aged five, and then Mun Bun, the youngest and smallest of the six little Bunkers.

Of course there was Daddy Bunker, whose name was Charles, and who had a real estate office on the main street of Pineville. In his office, Mr. Bunker bought and sold houses for his customers, and also sold lumber, bricks and other things of which houses were built. He was an agent for big firms.

Mother Bunker's name was Amy, and sometimes her husband called her "Amy Bell," for her last name had been Bell before she was married.

The six little Bunkers lived in the city of Pineville, which was on the shore of the Rainbow River in Pennsylvania. The river was called Rainbow because, just before it got to Pineville, it bent, or curved, like a bow. And, of course, being wet, like rain, the best name in the world for such a river was "Rainbow." It was a very beautiful stream.

The Bunker house, a large white one with green shutters, stood back from the main street, and was not quite a mile away from Mr. Bunker's real estate office, so it was not too far even for Mun Bun to walk there with his older sister or brother.

The six little Bunkers had many friends and relatives, and perhaps I had better tell you the names of some of these last, so you will know them as we come to them in the stories.

Mr. Bunker's father had died when he was six years old, and his mother, Mrs. Mary Bunker, had married a man named Ford. She and "Grandpa Ford" lived just outside the City of Tarrington, New York. "Great Hedge Estate" was the name of Grandpa Ford's place, so called because at one side of the house was a great, tall hedge, that had been growing for many years.

Grandma Bell was Mrs. Bunker's mother, and lived at Lake Sagatook, Maine. She was a widow, Grandpa Bell having died some years ago. Margy, or Margaret, had been named for Grandma Bell.

Then there was Aunt Josephine Bunker, or Aunt Jo, Mr. Bunker's sister. She had never married, and now lived in a fine house in the Back Bay section of Boston. Uncle Frederick Bell, who was Mother Bunker's brother, lived with his wife, on Three Star Ranch, just outside Moon City in Montana.

And now, when I have mentioned Cousin Tom Bunker, who had recently been married, and who lived with his wife Ruth at Seaview, on the New Jersey coast, I believe you have met the most important of the relatives of the six little Bunkers. You see they had a grandfather, and two grandmothers, some aunts, an uncle and a cousin. Well supplied with nice relatives, were the six little Bunkers, and thus they had many places to visit.

But I'll tell you about that part later on. Just now we must see what happened after the steamboat broke to pieces because Laddie jiggled himself inside the barrel, when Russ was sitting on the outside of it.

"Are you sure none of you is hurt? You look so!" cried Mother Bunker, as she saw the confused mass of children, barrel staves, box, footstool and chairs in the middle of the playroom floor.

"I'm all right," said Laddie, as he pulled his leg out from where it was doubled up in the box, and stood up straight.

"So'm I," added Russ. "Did I fall on you, Laddie?"

"Yep -- but it didn't hurt me much."

"My dear Mun Bun!" said his mother, pulling the little boy out from under a chair. "Are you hurt?"

Munroe Bunker was going to cry, but when he saw that Margy had no tears in her eyes, he made up his mind that he could be as brave as his little sister. So he squeezed back his tears and said:

"I just got a bounce on my head."

"Well, as long as it wasn't a bump you're lucky," said Russ with a laugh.

Vi pulled her doll out from under the pile of barrel staves. The doll's bathing-dress was torn, but Rose said that didn't matter because it was an old one anyhow.

"What made it break?" asked Vi as she did this. "Did somebody hit your steamboat, Russ? Or did it just sink?"

"I guess it sank all right," Russ answered, laughing.

"Well, what made it?" went on Vi.

"Oh, my dear! Don't ask so many questions," begged Mrs. Bunker.

"I got a new riddle," announced Laddie, as he rubbed his leg where it had been a little scratched on a box. "It's a riddle about a wheelbarrow and --  -- "

"You told us that!" interrupted Russ.

"Well, then I can make up another," Laddie went on. He was always ready to do that. "This one is going to be about a barrel. When does a barrel feel hungry?"

"Pooh! There can't be any answer to that!" declared Russ. "A barrel can't ever be hungry."

"Yes it can, too!" cried Laddie. "When a barrel takes a roll, isn't it hungry? A roll is what you eat," he explained, "I didn't think that riddle up," he added, for Laddie was quite honest. "Jerry Simms told me. When is a barrel hungry? When it takes a roll before breakfast -- that's the whole answer."

"That's a very good riddle," said Mrs. Bunker with a smile. "But I haven't yet heard what happened."

"Didn't you hear the noise?" asked Rose with a laugh. "It made a terrible bang."

"Oh, yes, I heard that," answered Mrs. Bunker. "But what caused it?" she asked anxiously.

Five little Bunkers looked at Russ, as the one best fitted to tell about the upset.

"We had a make-believe steamboat," explained the oldest boy. "Laddie was inside the flour barrel you let me take. He was the fireman. I sat outside the barrel to steer. But Laddie jiggled and wiggled and joggled inside the barrel and --  -- "

"I had to, Mother, 'cause I was making believe the steamer was on the rough ocean where the water is ten miles deep," interrupted Laddie. "So I rolled the barrel and joggled it and --  -- "

"And then it fell in!" added Rose. "I saw it."

"I felt it," remarked Russ, rubbing his back. "But it didn't hurt me much," he added.

"I guess the barrel was so old and dry that it couldn't hold together when you two boys got to playing with it," said Mrs. Bunker. "Well, I'm glad it was no worse. At first it sounded as though the house was coming down. You had better play some other game now."

"Oh, the rain has stopped!" cried Rose, looking out of a window. "We can play out in the yard now."

"Yes, I believe you can," said her mother. "But you must put on your rubbers, for the ground is damp. Run out and play!"

With shouts of glee and laughter the six little Bunkers started to go outdoors. It was a warm day, late in June, and even the rain had not made it too cool for them to be out.

As the six children trooped out on the side porch they saw their father coming up the walk.

"Why, it isn't supper time, and daddy's coming home!" exclaimed Rose.

"What do you s'pose he wants?" asked Russ.

"Maybe he heard the barrel break and came up to see about it," suggested Laddie.

"He couldn't hear the barrel break away down to his office," said Russ.

Just then Mrs. Bunker, from within the house, saw her husband approaching. She went out on the porch to meet him.

"Why, Charlie!" she exclaimed, "has anything happened? What is the matter? You look worried!"

"I am worried," said Mr. Bunker. "I've had quite a loss! It's some valuable real estate papers. They are gone from my office, and I came to see if they were on my desk in the house. Hello, children!" he called to the six little Bunkers. But even Mun Bun seemed to know that something was wrong. Daddy Bunker's voice was not at all jolly.

His loss was worrying him, his wife well knew.



Chapter III

Grandma's Letter


While the other children, being too young to understand much about Daddy Bunker's worry, ran down to play in the yard, Russ and Rose stayed on the porch with their father and mother. They heard Mrs. Bunker ask:

"What sort of papers were they you lost?

"Well, I don't know that I have exactly lost them," said Mr. Bunker slowly, as though trying to think what really had happened, "I had some real estate papers in my desk at the office. They were about some property I was going to sell for a man, and the papers were valuable. But a little while ago, when I went to look for them, I couldn't find them. It means the loss of considerable money."

"Perhaps they are in your desk here," said Mrs. Bunker, for her husband sometimes did business at his home in the evening, and had a desk in the sitting-room.

"Perhaps they are," said the father of the six little Bunkers. "That is why I came home so early -- to look."

He went into the house, followed by his wife and Russ and Rose. Mr. Bunker stepped over to his desk, and began looking through it. He took out quite a bundle of books and papers, but those he wanted did not seem to be there.

"Did you find them?" asked his wife, after a while.

"No," he answered with a shake of his head, "I did not. They aren't here. I'm sorry. I need those papers very much. I may lose a large sum of money if I don't find them. I can't see what could have happened to them. I had them on my desk in the office yesterday, and I was looking at them when Mr. Johnson came along to see about buying some lumber from the pile in the yard next to my office."

"Perhaps Mr. Johnson might know something about the papers," suggested Mrs. Bunker.

Her husband did not answer her for a moment. Then he suddenly clapped his hands together as a new thought came to him, and he said:

"Oh, now I remember! I left those papers in my old coat."

"Your old coat!" repeated Mrs. Bunker with interest.

"Yes. That old ragged one I sometimes wear at the office when I have to get things down from the dusty shelves. I had on that coat when I was holding the papers in my hand, and then Mr. Johnson came along. I wanted to go out in the lumberyard with him, to look at the boards he wanted to buy, so I stuck the papers in the pocket of the old coat."

"Then that's where they must be yet," said Mrs. Bunker. "Where is the coat?"

"Oh, I always keep it hanging up behind the office door. Yes, that's it. I remember now. When Mr. Johnson came in and I went out to look at the lumber with him, I stuck the papers in the inside pocket of the old, ragged coat. And then I forgot all about them until just now, when I had to have them. I'll hurry back to the office and get the papers out of the pocket of the coat."

"May we come with you?" asked Russ.

"Please let us," begged Rose.

Mr. Bunker, who did not seem quite so worried now, looked at his wife.

"Take the children, if you have time," she said. "At least Rose and Russ. The others are playing in the sand," for that's what they were doing. Vi, Laddie, Margy and Mun Bun were digging in a pile of sand at one end of the yard.

"All right, come along, Little Flower, and you, too, Whistler," said Mr. Bunker, giving Russ a pet name he used occasionally.

The two children, delighted to be out after the rain, went down the street with their father, leaving their smaller brothers and sisters playing in the sand. Russ and Rose felt they were too old for this -- especially just now.

"Did you hear what happened to us?" asked Russ, as he walked along, holding one of his father's hands, while Rose took the other.

"What happened when?" asked Mr. Bunker.

"When I made a steamboat partly out of a barrel," went on Russ. "It got broken when Laddie was inside it and I was outside. But we didn't any of us get hurt."

"Well, I'm glad of that," said Mr. Bunker with a smile.

"And Laddie made up a funny riddle about the barrel" went on Rose. "Jerry told it to him, though. It's like this -- 'Why does a barrel eat a roll for breakfast?'"

"Why does a barrel eat a roll for breakfast?" repeated Mr. Bunker. "I didn't know barrels ate rolls. I thought they always took crackers or oatmeal or something like that."

"Oh, she hasn't got it right!" said Russ, with a laugh at his sister. "The riddle is, 'When is a barrel hungry?' and Laddie says Jerry told him it was when the barrel takes a roll before breakfast."

"Oh, I see!" laughed Mr. Bunker. "Well, that's pretty good. Now I have a riddle for you. 'How many lollypops can you buy for two pennies?'" and he stopped in front of a little store with the two children -- one on each side of him.

Russ looked at Rose and Rose looked at Russ. Then they smiled and looked at their father.

"I think we can find the answer to that riddle in here," went Mr. Bunker, as he led the way into the candy store, for it was that kind.

And Russ and Rose soon found that they could each get a lollypop for a penny.

"You used to get two for a cent," said Russ. "But I guess, on account of everything being so high, they only give you one."

"Well, one at a time is enough, I should think," said Mr. Bunker, as they went out of the store. "If you had two lollypops I'd be afraid you wouldn't know which one to taste first, and it would take so long to make sure that you might grow old before you found out, and then you wouldn't have any fun eating them."

"Oh, you're such a funny daddy!" laughed Rose.

They walked down Main Street, and soon came to Mr. Bunker's real estate office. He hurried inside, followed by the children.

Mr. Bunker looked behind the door in the little room where he had his desk. The office was made up of three rooms, and in the large, outer one, were several clerks, writing at desks. Some of them knew the two little Bunker children and nodded and smiled at them.

"Where's that old coat of mine I sometimes wear?" asked Mr. Bunker of one of his clerks, when the office door had been opened but no garment was found hanging behind it.

"Do you mean that ragged one?" asked the clerk, whose name, by the way, was Donlin -- Mr. Donlin.

"That's the one I mean," said Mr. Bunker. "I stuck some real estate papers in the pocket of that coat yesterday when I went out to the lumber pile with Mr. Johnson, and now I want them. I must have left them in the pocket of the old, ragged coat."

"If you did they're gone, I'm afraid," said Mr. Donlin.

"Gone? You mean those papers are gone?"

"Yes, and the old coat, too. They're both gone. If there were any papers in the pocket of that old coat they're gone, Mr. Bunker."

"But who took them?" asked the real estate man, much worried.

"Why, it must have been that old tramp lumberman," answered the clerk. "Don't you remember?"

"What tramp lumberman?" asked Mr. Bunker.

"It was this way," said Mr. Donlin. "After you went out to the lumber pile with Mr. Johnson -- and I saw you had on the old coat -- you came back in here and hung it up behind the door."

"And the valuable papers were in the pocket," said Mr. Bunker. "I remember that."

"Well, perhaps they were," admitted the clerk. "Anyhow, you hung the ragged coat behind the door. And just before you went home for the night an old tramp came in. Don't you remember? He was red-haired."

"Yes, I remember that," said the children's father.

"Well, this tramp said he used to be a lumberman, but he got sick and had to go to the hospital, and since coming out he couldn't find any work to do. He said he was in need of a coat, and you called to me to give him your old one, as you were going to get another. Do you remember that?"

"Oh, yes! I certainly do!" cried Mr. Bunker. "I'd forgotten all about the tramp lumberman! And I did tell you to give him my old coat. I forgot all about having left the papers in it. I was so busy talking to Mr. Johnson that I never thought about them. And did the tramp take the coat?"

"He did, Mr. Bunker. And he said to thank you and that he was glad to get it. He went off wearing it."

"And my papers -- worth a large sum of money -- were in the pocket!" exclaimed Mr. Bunker. "I never thought about them, for I was so busy about selling Mr. Johnson the lumber. It's too bad!"

"I'm sorry," said the clerk. "If I had known the papers were in the old coat I'd have looked through the pockets before I gave it to the tramp."

"Oh, it wasn't your fault," said Mr. Bunker quickly. "It was my own. I should have remembered about the papers being in the coat. But do you know who that tramp was, and where he went?"

"I never saw him before," replied Mr. Donlin, "and I haven't seen him since. Maybe the police could find him."

"That's it! That's what we'll have to do!" cried Mr. Bunker. "I shall have to send the police to find the old lumberman; not that he has done anything wrong, but to get back my papers. He may keep the coat. Very likely he hasn't even found the papers. Yes, I must tell the police!"

But before Mr. Bunker could do this in came the postman with the mail. There were several letters for the real estate dealer, and when he saw one he exclaimed:

"Ah, this is from Grandma Bell! We must see what she has to say!"

Daddy Bunker opened the letter, which was written to him by his wife's mother -- the children's grandmother -- and when he had read a few lines, he exclaimed:

"Oh, ho! Here is news indeed! Good news!"

"Oh, what is it?" asked Russ. "Did grandma tell you in the letter that the tramp lumberman left your papers at her house?"



Chapter IV

Fourth Of July


Daddy Bunker looked at his little boy and girl. And, on their part, Russ and Rose looked at daddy. They were thinking of two things -- the letter from Grandma Bell and Mr. Bunker's real estate papers that the tramp lumberman had carried off in the old coat. Russ and Rose didn't know much about real estate -- except that it meant houses and barns and fields and city lots. And they didn't know much about valuable real estate papers, but they did know their father was worried about something, and this made them feel sad.

"Has grandma got your papers?" asked Russ again.

"Oh, no, little Whistler," answered Mr. Bunker with a laugh. "She doesn't even know I have lost them."

"But what's the letter about?" asked Rose.

"It's a letter from Grandma Bell inviting us all up to her home at Lake Sagatook, in Maine, to spend part of the summer," answered Mr. Bunker. "Grandma Bell wants us to come up to Maine, and have a good time."

"Oh, can we go?" cried Russ, and, for the moment, he forgot all about his father's lost papers.

"Oh, won't it be fun!" cried Rose. "I love Grandma Bell!"

"Yes, I guess every one who knows her does," said Mr. Bunker, for he was as fond of his wife's mother as he was of his own, who was the children's Grandma Ford.

"When can we go?" asked Russ.

"Oh, it's too soon to settle that part," answered his father. "We'll have to take this letter home and talk it over with mother. Then I must see if I can't get the police to find this red-haired tramp lumberman who is carrying those valuable papers around in my old coat. It's queer I never thought that I put them in the pocket. Very queer!"

"Maybe the tramp will bring them back," said Rose after a bit. "Lots of times, when people find things, they bring them back."

"Yes, that's so, he might do it, if he is honest," said Mr. Bunker. "But perhaps he isn't, and maybe he has not yet looked in the pockets of the coat. But I'll just telephone to the police, and see if any of them have seen the tramp that came to my office."

There were not many policemen in Pineville, and most of them knew Mr. Bunker. He telephoned from his office to the chief, or head policeman, and asked him to be on the watch for a red-haired tramp lumberman wearing an old coat.

"Get me back the papers. I don't care about the coat -- he may have that," said Mr. Bunker.

The chief promised that he and his men would do what they could, and some of the policemen at once began looking about Pineville for the tramp.

"But I guess maybe he has traveled on from here," said Mr. Bunker, as he came away from the telephone. "I'm afraid I'll never see my valuable papers again."

"Will you be so poor we can't go to Grandma Bell's?" asked Russ. That would be very dreadful, he thought.

"Oh, no, I won't be as poor as that," answered Daddy Bunker with a smile. "We'll go to see Grandma Bell all right. But I would like to get those papers."

He told the clerks in his office and some friends of his about his loss, and they promised to be on the lookout for the tramp. Then Daddy Bunker took Rose and Russ back home with him, along Main Street, in Pineville.

"Did you find them?" asked Mrs. Bunker anxiously, as she saw her husband coming up the walk toward the house. "Did you get your papers?"

"No," he answered. "I forgot that I had given the old coat to a tramp, and the papers were in one of the pockets," and he told his wife what had happened at the real estate office.

"And we got a letter from Grandma Bell!" exclaimed Rose as soon as she had a chance to speak.

"And we're going to see her -- up to Lake Sagatook, in Maine," added Russ.

"No? Really?" cried Mrs. Bunker in delight. "Did you get a letter from mother?" she asked her husband.

"Yes, it came to me at the office," he answered, giving it to his wife.

"Do you think we can go?" she asked, when she had read the letter.

"Why, yes, I guess so," slowly answered Mr. Bunker. "It will do you good and the children good, too. We'll go to Grandma Bell's!"

"Oh, goody!" cried Russ, and he began to whistle a merry tune. Rose started to sing a little song, and then she said:

"Oh, but I must go in and help set the table!" for she often did that, as Norah had so much else to do at meal-time.

"All right, Little Helper!" said Mother Bunker with a smile. "We can talk about the trip to grandma's when we are eating supper."

Some of the other children heard the good news -- the loss of the real estate papers did not bother them, for they were too little to worry; but they loved to hear about Grandma Bell.

"And I'm going to take some fire-to'pedos!" exclaimed Laddie. "I'm going to shoot 'em off for Fourth of July at grandma's."

Daddy Bunker shook his head.

"I think we'd better have our Fourth of July at home here, before we go," he said. "That will be next week, and we can go to Maine soon afterward. Grandma Bell doesn't like fire-crackers, anyhow. We'll shoot them off before we go."

"Goody!" cried Laddie again. Anything suited him as long as he could have fun. "We'll shoot sky-rockets, too. What makes 'em be called sky-rockets?" he asked, "Do they go up to the sky?"

"You go and ask Jerry Simms about that," suggested Mr. Bunker. "Jerry can tell you how they shot signaling rockets in the army. Trot along!"

Laddie was glad to do this. He liked to hear Jerry talk.

"Maybe he'll tell me a riddle about sky-rockets," said the little fellow.

Russ sat down on the porch and began whittling some bits of wood with his knife.

"What are you making now, Russ?" asked his father, while Mrs. Bunker went in to see that Rose was setting the table right, and that Norah had started to get the meal.

"I'm making a wooden cannon to shoot fire-crackers," the boy answered. "You can put a fire-cracker in it and light it, and then it can't hurt anybody."

"That's a good idea," said Mr. Bunker, "You can't be too careful about Fourth of July things. I'll be at home with you and the other children on that day, to see that you don't get hurt."

"Are you sure Grandma Bell wouldn't like to have us bring some shooting things down to her?" asked Russ.

"Oh, yes, I am very sure," answered his father with a laugh. "Grandma Bell doesn't like much noise. We'll have our Fourth before we go."

"That'll be fun!" said Russ, and he went on whittling at his cannon. His father did not really believe the little boy could make one, but Russ was always doing something; either whistling or making some toy.

At supper they talked about the fun they would have at Grandma Bell's. It was quite a long trip in the train, and they would be all night in the cars.

"And that'll be fun!" cried Russ. "We can all of us sleep when the train is going along."

"Can we, Daddy?" asked Laddie. "Really?"

"Oh, yes, they have sleeping-cars," said Mr. Bunker.

"Do the cars sleep?" asked Laddie, his eyes opening wide in surprise. "Oh, that's funny -- a sleeping-car. And -- and --  -- Say! maybe I can think up a riddle about a sleeping-car," he added.

"You'd better think about drinking your milk, and getting good and fat, with rosy cheeks, so Grandma Bell will like to kiss them," said Mother Bunker with a laugh. "Don't think so much about riddles or sleeping-cars."

"Maybe I can think of a riddle with a sleeping-car in it and some milk, too," said Laddie.

"Perhaps you can!" laughed Daddy Bunker. "A cow in a sleeping-car would do for that."

After the children had gone to bed -- each one eager to dream about Grandma Bell -- Mr. and Mrs. Bunker sat up and talked about what was to be done.

"It's too bad about those papers the tramp took in the old coat," said Mrs. Bunker.

"Yes, I am sorry to lose them," said her husband. "But perhaps the tramp may be found, and I may get them back."

Russ, Rose, and all the rest of the six little Bunkers got up early next morning.

"Is It Fourth of July yet?" asked Munroe.

"No, not yet, Mun Bun," answered Rose with a laugh. "But it soon will be -- in a few days."

"I'm going to finish my cannon," said Russ.

"Come on!" called Laddie to his twin sister Vi. "Let's go down and dig a hole in the sand pile."

"What for?" she asked. Violet hardly ever did anything without first asking a question about it.

"Huh?"

"What for we dig a hole?"

"To put fire-crackers in," answered Laddie. "And when they shoot off -- 'Bang!' -- they'll make the sand go up in the air."

"Like a sky-rocket?" asked Vi.

"Yes, I guess maybe like a sky-rocket," answered Laddie.

So down to the sand pile he and his sister went. Mun Bun and Margy played in the grass in the side yard, Russ whittled away at his wooden cannon, whistling the while, and Rose, after she had done a little dusting, made a new dress for her doll.

"'Cause I want her to look nice for Grandma Bell," said the little girl.

And thus they played at these and other things, and had a good time.

A few mornings after this Russ was suddenly awakened by hearing a loud noise under his window.

"What's that?" he cried. "Thunder?"

"It's Fourth of July!" answered his father. "Some boy must have shot off a big early fire-cracker! Get up, children! It's Fourth of July, and we are going to have some fun! Get up!"

"Hurray!" cried Russ. "Hurray for the Fourth of July!"



Chapter V

The Tramp


Such fun as the six little Bunkers had! Daddy Bunker was up before any of them, to see that little fingers were not burned by pieces of punk or stray ends of fire-crackers, and before breakfast Russ and Laddie had made enough noise, their mother said, to last all day.

"It's a good thing we decided not to go to Grandma Bell's until after the Fourth;" she said. "Dear mother never could have stood this racket."

"We like it," said Russ.

He and Laddie did, and Mun Bun did not mind it very much, though he did shut his eyes and jump when a big cracker went off.

Rose, Margy and Vi didn't like the fire-crackers at all, though they didn't mind tossing torpedoes down on the sidewalk, to hear them go off with a little bang.

Mrs. Bunker was afraid some of the children might get burned or hurt with the fireworks, and she wished they hadn't had any; but Daddy Bunker promised to stay with the little folk all day, and see that they got into no danger. And he did, firing off the big fire-crackers himself.

The wooden cannon Russ made didn't work very well. The first fire-cracker that was shot off in it burst the wooden affair all to pieces.

"But I don't care," said Russ with a jolly whistle. "It made one awfully good noise, anyhow."

"To-night we'll go down to the Square and see the big fireworks," said Daddy Bunker, for the town of Pineville was old-fashioned enough to have a Fourth-of-July celebration.

"And you said we could have ice cream and cake this afternoon," said Rose to her mother.

"Yes, I did," agreed Mrs. Bunker. "Norah is freezing the cream now, and she made the cake yesterday."

"Oh, goody!" cried Laddie, clapping his hands. "Ice cream and cake. Is it chocolate cake, Mother?" he asked.

"I don't know -- you'll have to ask Norah," was the answer.

"Come on, let's!" said Rose, and they ran around to the kitchen door, looking in where the good-natured cook was busy with pots and pans.

"Chocolate cake is it? Sure it's both kinds," Norah answered with a laugh. "It's regular thunder-and-lightning cake -- you wait an' see!"

"Thunder-and-lightning cake! Oh, what kind is that?" asked Rose.

"Maybe it's a riddle," suggested Laddie.

"Oh, you're always thinking about riddles!" exclaimed Russ. "Come on, let's go out to the barn and have some fun in the hay," for Mr. Bunker kept a horse for driving customers about to look at real estate.

"What kind of fun can we have?" asked Vi.

"Come on, and you'll see," returned Russ.

By this time most of their fireworks had been shot off, though Daddy Bunker had insisted that they save a few for afternoon. And, making sure that the children did not have smoldering pieces of punk, which might set the barn on fire, Mrs. Bunker watched the six little tots run out there to have fun.

"Have you heard anything about the papers the tramp carried away in your old coat?" she asked her husband, who did not go to the office that day.

"No, the police couldn't find the man," answered Mr. Bunker. "I guess my papers are gone for good. But I mustn't worry about them; nor must you. I want you and the children to have a good time at Grandma Bell's."

"Oh, we always have good times there," said his wife. "I'll be glad to go. It is lovely in Maine at this time of year."

Out in the barn the children could be heard laughing and shouting.

"I hope they don't try to make any more steamboats out of old barrels, and get caught in the ruins," said Mrs. Bunker with a laugh, as she thought of the funny accident that had happened in the playroom.

"Oh, I guess they'll be all right," said Mr. Bunker. "It's quiet now, so I'll lie down and have a nap, to get ready to take them to the fireworks to-night."

The six little Bunkers had played some games in the barn -- sliding down the hay, pretending an old wagon was a stage coach and that the Indians captured it -- games like that -- when they heard Norah calling loudly to them.

"What's she saying?" asked Laddie, who had found a hen's nest in the hay and was wondering whether he had better take in the eggs or let them stay to be hatched into little chickens. "What's Norah want, Russ? Have we got to come in?"

"She says come and get the thunder-and-lightning cake," said Russ, who was listening at the barn door.

"And ice cream! She said ice cream, too!" added Vi. "I heard her!"

"Yes, I guess she did say ice cream," admitted Russ. "Come on!" and he set out on a run toward the house.

"Wait for me! Wait for me!" begged Mun Bun, whose short legs could not go as fast as could those of Russ.

"I'll wait for you, Mun," said Rose kindly, and she turned back and took the little fellow's hand.

"Maybe all the cream'll melt if we don't run," said Mun, as he toddled along beside Rose.

"Oh, no, I guess not. Norah will save some for us," said the little girl, humming a song.

And Rose was right. Norah made all the children sit down on the side porch, and she waited until Mun and Rose -- the last to arrive -- reached the place, before she dished out the cream. Daddy and Mother Bunker were there, too, with their dishes, and so was Jerry Simms.

"This is better than bein' in the army," said the old soldier.

"Didn't you ever have ice cream there?" asked Russ.

"Oh, once in a while. But it wasn't at all the kind Norah can make. Sure she's a wonder at ice cream!"

"And we're going to have thunder-and-lightning cake, too!" added Rose.

"Well, I don't know what kind that is, but it sounds good on a Fourth of July," said Jerry with a laugh. "I hope it doesn't explode when I eat it, though, like a ham sandwich did once."

"Did a ham sandwich explode?" asked Russ, who always liked to hear the old soldier tell army stories.

"Well, sort of," answered Jerry. "It was over in the Philippines. I was eating my sandwich, and some of the soldiers were firing at the enemy, and the enemy was firing at us. And a shell came pretty close to where I was sitting. It went off with a bang, and a piece of the shell hit the sandwich I was just going to bite."

"It's a mercy the shell didn't hit you," said Mrs. Bunker.

"Part of it did -- my hand that held the meat and bread," explained Jerry. "But it's good I wasn't biting the sandwich at the time, or I might have lost my head. However, here comes the thunder-and-lightning cake. Now we can see what it is."

Norah came out of the kitchen with two heaping plates, and, at the sight of them, the six little Bunkers said:

"Oh! Ah! Oh!"

There were six "Ohs" and six "Ahs!" as you can imagine; one for each boy and girl.

"Is this thunder-and-lightning cake?" asked Russ.

"That's what it is," answered Norah. "It's the first time I've made it in a long while. I hope you'll like it."

"Sure they can't help it if you made it!" chuckled Jerry, who was exceedingly fond of Norah.

"Go 'long with you!" she told him, laughing.

"It does look just like thunder, it's so dark!" said Russ, biting into a slice of the cake.

"And where's the lightning?" asked Rose.

"That's the pink part," answered the cook. "You see I take some chocolate-cake dough, and mix it up with white-cake dough, and then I put in some dough that I've colored pink, and mix that through in lines and streaks, and that's the lightning," explained Norah.

And when the cake had been baked in this way, and cut, each slice showed a white part, a dark brown part and a pink, jagged streak here and there, as lightning is sometimes seen to streak through the dark clouds.

"Oh, it's awful good!" cried Laddie, as he took a second slice to eat with the home-made ice cream.

"Will it make a noise like a fire-cracker?" asked Vi, who always had some sort of question ready.

"It won't make a noise unless you drop it, darlin'," said Jerry with a laugh. "Then it'll go 'thump!'"

"Don't you dare talk that way about my cake!" said Norah. "The idea of sayin' it would make a noise if it fell."

"I was only joking" rejoined the former soldier. "The cake is so light, Norah, that I'll have to tie strings to it to keep it from goin' up to the sky like a balloon!"

"Go 'long with you!" laughed Norah, but she seemed pleased all the same.

"We're going to see balloons to-night at the fireworks," remarked Rose. "Did you ever see any, Jerry?"

"Yes, we had 'em in the army."

"Did you ever go up in one?" asked Russ eagerly.

"Once," said the former soldier.

"Oh, tell us about it!" begged Laddie, and Jerry did, while the six little Bunkers sat about him, finishing the last of their cream and cake.

Then Jerry had to go to get some gasolene for the automobile, as Mr. Bunker kept a machine, as well as a horse and carriage, and the children were left to themselves. They were thinking about the fireworks they were to see in the evening, and talking about the fun they would have at Grandma Bell's, when Russ, who got up to go down on the grass and turn a somersault, suddenly stopped and looked at a man coming up the side path.

The man was a very ragged one, and he shuffled along in shoes that seemed about to drop off his feet. He had on a battered hat, and was not at all nice-looking.

"Oh, look!" whispered Rose, who saw the ragged man almost as soon as Russ did.

"I see him!" Russ answered. "That's a tramp! I guess it's the one daddy gave his coat to with the papers in. Maybe he's come to give 'em back. Oh, wouldn't that be good!"



Chapter VI

Mun Bun's Balloon


Six little Bunkers looked at the ragged man coming up the walk toward the porch. He was a tramp -- of that even Mun Bun, the smallest of the six, was sure.

"Have you got anything for a hungry man?" asked the ragged chap, taking off his ragged hat. "I'm a poor man, and I haven't any work and I'm hungry."

"Did you bring back my daddy's papers?" asked Russ.

"What papers?" asked the tramp, and he seemed very much surprised. "I'm not the paper man," he went on. "I saw a boy coming up the street a while ago with a bundle of papers under his arm. I guess maybe he's your paper boy. I'm a hungry man --  -- "

"I don't mean the newspaper," went on Russ, for the other little Bunkers were leaving the talking to him. "But did you bring back the real estate papers?"

"The real estate papers?" murmured the tramp, looking around.

"'Tisn't any riddle," added Laddie. "Is it, Russ?"

"No, it isn't a riddle," went on the older boy. "But did you bring back daddy's papers that he gave you?"

"He didn't give me any papers!" exclaimed the tramp.

"They were in a ragged coat," added Rose. "In the pocket."

The tramp looked at his own coat.

"This is ragged enough," he said, "but it hasn't any papers in it that I know of. I guess they'd fall out of the pockets if there was any," he added. "This coat is nothing but holes. I guess you don't know who I am. I'm a hungry man and --  -- "

"Aren't you a lumberman, and didn't my father give you an old coat the other day?" asked Russ.

The tramp shook his head.

"I don't know anything about lumber," he said. "I can't work at much, and I'm hungry. I'm too sick to work very hard. All I want is something to eat. And I haven't any papers that belong to your father. Is he at home -- or your mother?"

"I'll call them," said Rose, for she knew that was the right thing to do when tramps came to the house.

But there was no need to go in after Mr. and Mrs. Bunker. They had heard the children talking out on the side porch, and a strange man's voice was also noticed, so they went out to see what it was.

"Oh, Daddy!" cried Russ. "Here's the tramp lumberman you gave the old coat to, but he says he hasn't any papers!"

"Excuse me!" exclaimed the tramp, "but I don't know what the little boy is talking of. I just stopped in to ask for a bite to eat, and he and the other children started talking about a lumberman and some papers in a ragged coat. Land knows my coat is ragged enough, but I haven't anything belonging to you."

Mr. Bunker looked sharply at the ragged man, and then said:

"No, you aren't the one. A tramp lumberman did call at my real estate office the other day, and I told one of my clerks to give him an old coat. In the pocket were some valuable papers. But you aren't the man."

"I know it, sir!" answered the tramp. "This is the first time I've been here. I'm hungry and --  -- "

"I'll tell Norah to get him something to eat," said Mrs. Bunker, who was kind to every one.

And while she was gone, and while the six little Bunkers looked at the ragged man, the children's father talked to him.

"I'd like to find that tramp lumberman," said Mr. Bunker. "I gave him the coat because he needed it more than I did, but I didn't know I had left the papers in the pocket. You're not the man, though. I didn't have a very good look at him, but he had a lot of red hair on his head: I saw that much."

"My hair's black -- what there is of it," said the ragged man. "But I don't know anything about your papers. But if I see a red-haired lumberman in my travels around the country, I'll tell him to send you back the papers."

"That will be very kind of you," said Mr. Bunker, "as I need them very much. Do you think you might meet this red-haired lumberman tramp, who has my old coat?"

"Well, I might. You never can tell. I travel about a good bit, and I meet lots of fellers like myself, though I don't know as I ever saw a lumberman."

"This man wasn't a regular tramp," said Mr. Bunker. "He was only tramping around looking for work, and he happened to stop at my place."

"That's like me," said the black-haired tramp. "I'm looking for work, too. Got any wood that needs cutting?"

"Not now," said Mr. Bunker with a smile. "Jerry Simms cuts all my wood. But I'll give you some money, and maybe that will help you along, and the cook will fix you something to eat."

"That's very kind of you," said the tramp. "And if ever I see the man with your papers I'll tell him to send 'em back." "Please do" begged Mr. Bunker.

By this time Norah had wrapped the tramp up a big paper bag full of bread and meat, with a piece of pie. Tucking this under his arm, he shuffled off to go to some quiet place to eat.

Soon it was time to go to the square in the middle of the city, where the fireworks were to be shown. The six little Bunkers, talking over the fun they had had that day, and thinking of the good times they were to have at Grandma Bell's, walked along with their father and mother. Behind them came Norah and Jerry Simms.

"Maybe the tramp will come to see the fireworks," said Rose, who was walking beside Russ.

"You mean the red-headed one that has daddy's papers?"

"No, I mean the one that came begging at our house to-night."

"Well, maybe he will," admitted Russ. "If I was a tramp I'd walk all around and go to every place that I was sure they were going to have fireworks."

"So would I," said Rose. "I love fireworks."

"But you couldn't be a tramp," declared her brother.

"Why not?" Rose wanted to know.

"'Cause you're a girl, and only men and boys are tramps. I could be a tramp, but you couldn't."

And then the fireworks began, and the six little Bunkers thought no more about tramps, missing papers, or even about the visit to Grandma Bell's for a time, as they watched the red, green and blue fire, and saw the sky-rockets, balloons and other pretty things floating in the air.

If the red-haired tramp, or the one for whom Norah had put up the lunch that evening, came to the fireworks, the six little Bunkers did not see the ragged men.

They stayed until the last pinwheel had whizzed itself out in streams and stars of colored fire, until the last sky-rocket had gone hissing upward toward the clouds, and until the last glow of red fire had died away in the sky.

"Now we'll go home!" said Mother Bunker. "You tots must be tired. You've had a full day, for you were up early."

"But we've had lots of fun," said Russ, "piles of it."

"And now we'll get ready to go to Grandma Bell's, won't we?" asked Rose.

"Yes. To-morrow and for the next few days we'll be busy getting ready to go to Maine," said Mrs. Bunker.

"I want a balloon!" suddenly said Mun Bun. He had not done much talking that evening. Probably it was because he was too excited watching the fireworks. It was the first time he had been taken to the evening celebration.

"Do you mean you want to go to Grandma Bell's in a balloon?" asked his father. "Maybe you mean you're so tired you can't walk any more, and you want a balloon to ride in. Well, Mun Bun, we can't get a balloon now, but I can carry you, and that will be pretty nearly the same, won't it?"

"I want a balloon," said the little boy again, "but I want you to carry me, too. Can't I have a balloon, Daddy?" and he nestled his tired head down on his father's shoulder. Norah was carrying Margy, but the other little Bunkers could walk.

"A balloon, is it?" said Mun's father. "Do you mean a fire-balloon?"

"No, they burn up," said Mun Bun, in rather sleepy tones. And, in truth, several of the paper balloons sent up that evening had caught fire. "I want a big balloon I can ride in," he said, "like Jerry told about. I want to go up in a balloon!"

"Well, maybe you'll dream about one," said Mother Bunker with a laugh. "And that will be better than a real one, because if you fall out of a dream balloon you land in bed. But if you fall out of a real balloon you may land in the river."

Mun Bun did not answer. He was asleep on his father's shoulder.

The next day, between times of walking around the yard looking for fire-crackers that, possibly, hadn't exploded the day before, and finding stray torpedoes, the six little Bunkers talked of the fun they had had. They went into the house, now and then, to see how Mother Bunker and Norah were coming on with the packing. For a start had been made in getting ready to go to Grandma Bell's, now that the Fourth of July was passed.

Mrs. Bunker was so busy that she did not keep as close watch over the children as usual, and it was nearly time for lunch before she thought of them.

"Norah, see if they're all in the yard, please," she said. "And count them, to be sure all six are there. Then we'll get them something to eat, and do some more packing this afternoon."

Norah looked out in the yard.

"I see only five of 'em, ma'am," she reported.

"Which one is gone?" asked Mrs. Bunker quickly.

"I don't see Mun Bun," said the cook.

Just then Rose came running into the house.

"Oh, Mother!" she cried. "Guess where Mun Bun is!"

"I haven't time to guess!" said Mrs. Bunker. "Tell me quickly, Rose! Has anything happened to him?"

"I -- I guess he's all right," answered Rose, who was out of breath from running. "But he's standing under a tree up the street, and he won't come home."

"He won't come home?" repeated Mrs. Bunker. "Why won't he come home, Rose?"

"'Cause his balloon is caught. He's got hold of the string and his balloon is up in the tree and he won't come home. He says he's going to take a ride up to the sky!"

"Oh, goodness me! what has happened now?" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker. "Norah!" she called. "Come! Something is the matter with a balloon and Mun Bun! We must go see what it is!"

One or the other of the six little Bunkers was always, so it seemed to their mother, in trouble of some sort, and she or Norah or Jerry Simms or their father had to drop anything they might be doing to rush to the help of the child who had gotten itself into something or some place it should not have got into.



Chapter VII

Laddie's New Riddle


Norah O'Grady, the cheerful cook for the six little Bunkers, saw their mother hurrying out of the house with Rose.

"What's the matter, Mrs. Bunker?" asked Norah. "Is there a fire, and are ye goin' for a policeman?"

Firemen and policemen, aside from Jerry Simms, were Norah's two chief heroes.

"No, there isn't a fire, Norah" answered Mrs. Bunker. "But Rose just told me that Mun Bun is caught up in a tree with a balloon, and I've got to go and get him down. Maybe you'd better come, too."

"Better come! I should say I had!" cried Norah, quickly taking off her apron. "The poor little lad caught up in a balloon! The saints preserve us! 'Tis probably one of them circus balloons, or maybe a German airship came along and caught him up! The poor darlin'!"

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Rose, as she trotted along with her mother and Norah, "Mun isn't in a balloon. His balloon is caught in a big tree and the little darlin' won't come away and --  -- "

"It couldn't be much worse!" gasped Norah. "We'll have to get a fireman with a long ladder, 'tis probable, to get him down."

"I don't see how it could have happened," said Mrs. Bunker. "He was in the yard playing, a little while ago. The next time I looked he was gone. Where did the balloon come from, Rose?"

"Mun Bun bought the balloon!" said the little girl.

"He bought it?" cried Norah and Mrs. Bunker.

"Yes, it's a five-cent one. He had five cents that Jerry Simms gave him, Mun had, and he bought the balloon, and it had a long string to it, and it got caught up in a tree -- the balloon did -- and Mun Bun's got hold of the string and he won't come away, 'cause if he does he'll maybe break the string and the balloon and --  -- "

Rose had to stop, she was so out of breath, but she had told all there was need to tell.

Mrs. Bunker and Norah, who had reached the street and could look down and see Mun Bun standing under a tree not far away, came to a sudden stop.

"And then the little darlin' isn't caught up by a German airship?" asked the cook.

"No. It's just a balloon he bought with the five cents Jerry gave him," explained Rose, "and it's caught in a tree, and --  -- "

"I see how it is," said Mrs. Bunker, and she laughed. "Mun Bun doesn't want to come away without his toy balloon. We must get it for him, Norah!"

"Sure, that we will! The saints be praised he isn't flyin' above the clouds this blessed minute!" and with Norah, now laughing also, the three of them went to where Mun stood under the tree. Caught on one of the branches overhead was a big red balloon. It was fast to a string, and the little boy held the other end of the cord.

"I can't get it down!" he exclaimed.

"Well, it's a good thing you didn't climb up after it," said his mother. "We'll get it down for you, Mun."

She took hold of the string, and Norah, finding a long stick, carefully poked it up among the tree branches until she had loosed the toy balloon. Then it floated free, and Mun Bun could walk along with it floating on the end of the string above his head.

"It's a awful nice balloon," he said. "If it was bigger I could have a ride in it like Jerry did in the one when he was in the army."

"Well, I'm glad it isn't any bigger," said Mrs. Bunker. "Small as it is, you gave us enough trouble with it, Mun."

"But Mun Bun's all right! Norah was scared about him," said the girl, hugging the little boy close to her as they all walked back toward the house.

"Where did you get the balloon?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Down at Mrs. Kane's store," answered Mun, mentioning a little toy and candy shop on the block on which the six little Bunkers lived. They spent all their spare pennies there.

And it was in bringing his toy balloon home, on the end of a long string, letting it float in the air over his head that Mun Bun had had the accident at the tree when the blown-up rubber bag got caught in the branch. He wouldn't leave it, of course, and Rose ran to tell her mother. That's how it all happened.

"Well, come in to lunch now!" called Mrs. Bunker to the other children, who were, playing in the yard. "And don't go away from the house this afternoon. It's quite warm, and I don't want any of you to go off in the blazing sun. If you do we can't go to Grandma Bell's."

This was enough to make them all promise they would spend the afternoon in the shade near the house, while Mrs. Bunker and Norah went on with the packing of the trunks. A great many things must be taken along on the visit to Maine, when so many children have to be looked after. They used up much clothing.

"How long're we going to stay at Grandma Bell's?" asked Russ, as he left the dining-room after lunch.

"Oh, perhaps a month," his mother answered. "She told us to come and stay as long as we liked, but I hardly think we shall be there all summer."

"Shall we come back home?" asked Rose.

"I hardly know," said Mrs. Bunker. "We may go to visit some of your cousins or aunts -- land knows you have enough!"

"Oh, wouldn't it be fun if we could go out West to Uncle Fred's ranch?" cried Russ.

"I'd like to go see Cousin Tom at the seashore," put in Rose. "I love the seashore."

"I like cowboys and Indians!" exclaimed Russ.

"Could we go see Aunt Jo, in Boston?" asked Laddie. "I'd like to go to a big city like Boston."

"Maybe we could go there, some day," said Mrs. Bunker. "But why would you like to go there, Laddie?"

"'Cause then maybe I could hear some new riddles. I didn't think up a new one -- not in two whole days!"

"My! That's too bad!" said Mr. Bunker, who had come home to lunch, and who had heard all about Mun's balloon. "I'll give you a riddle, Laddie. Why does our horse eat oats?"

"Wait a minute! Don't tell me!" cried the little boy. "Let me guess!"

He thought hard for a few seconds, and then gave as his answer:

"Because he can't get hay."

"No, that isn't it," said Mr. Bunker. And when Laddie had made some other guesses, and when Russ, Rose and the remaining little Bunkers had tried to give a reason, Daddy Bunker said:

"Our horse eats oats because he is hungry, the same as any other horse! You mustn't always try to guess the hardest answers to riddles, Laddie. Try the easy ones first!"

And then, amid laughter, Mr. Bunker started back to the office.

"Have you found that red-haired tramp yet, Daddy?" asked Russ. "And did you get back your papers?"

"No, Russ, not yet. And I don't believe I ever shall."

"Maybe I could find him if you'd let me come down to your office," went on the little boy.

"Well, thank you, but I don't believe you could," said Mr. Bunker. "You'd better stay here and help your mother pack, ready to go to Grandma Bell's."

Out in the shady side yard some of the little Bunkers were playing different games. Mun and Margy were making sand pies, turning them out of clam shells on to a shingle, and letting them dry in the sun. Mun's red balloon floated in the air over the heads of the children, the string tied fast to a peg Russ had driven into the ground.

Russ, after having done this kindness for his little brother, began to whistle a merry tune and at the same time started to nail together a box in which he said he was going to take some of his toys to Grandma Bell's. Rose had taken her doll and was sitting under a tree, making a new dress for her toy, and Laddie and Vi had gone down to the little brook which bubbled along at the bottom of the green meadow, which was not far from the house. This brook was not very deep or wide. It flowed into Rainbow River, and was a safe place for the children to play.

Laddie and Vi had taken off their shoes and stockings before going down to paddle in the water, and after a while Russ, stopping in his work of hammering the box to look for more nails, heard Laddie calling out in a loud voice:

"Oh, Vi! what made the boat sink? What made the boat sink?"

At the same time Vi gave a loud shriek.

Russ dropped his hammer and started to run toward the brook.

"What's the matter?" called his mother, who saw him running.

"I don't just know," answered Russ, over his shoulder, "but I guess Laddie has a new riddle. He's hollering about why does a boat sink. But Vi's crying, I think."

"Oh, my!" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker, again stopping in her work of packing a trunk. "I hope those children haven't fallen into the brook!"



Chapter VIII

"Where Is Margy?"


Led by Russ, Mrs. Bunker and Norah hurried down to the brook that ran through the green meadow. It was just like the time they ran when Rose called them about Mun's balloon.

"Did you see anything happen, Russ?" asked his mother.

"No'm, I didn't," he answered. "I was making a box to take some of my things to Grandma Bell's, and I heard Vi yell and Laddie asking a riddle."

"Asking a riddle?"

"Well, it sounded like a riddle," Russ answered. "He kept saying: 'What made the boat sink? Oh, Vi, what made the boat sink?'"

"I hope it was only a riddle, and that nothing has happened," said Mrs. Bunker.

"Maybe it'll be no worse than Mun and his balloon," said Norah. "Anyhow, I can see the two children!" and she pointed across the green meadow to the brook. "They seem to be all right."

There, on the grassy bank, was Laddie jumping up and down, and pointing to something in the water. And the something was Vi though she appeared to be out in the middle of the brook, in a part where it was deep enough to come over the knees of Russ.

"What's the matter, Laddie?" asked his mother. "Has anything happened to Vi?"

"She's in the boat, and it's sunk," was the answer. "Oh, what made the boat sink?"

"Silly boy! Stop asking riddles at a time like this!" cried Mrs. Bunker. "What do you mean, Laddie?"

"It isn't a riddle at all," he answered. "The boat did sink and Vi is in it. What made it?"

"A boat! Sure there's no boat on the brook, unless the boy made one himself," said Norah.

"I did make one -- out of a box, and Vi was riding in it, but it sank," said Laddie. "What made it sink?"

Then Mrs. Bunker, Norah and Russ came near enough to the shore of the brook to see what had happened. Out in the middle, standing in a soap box, was Violet. The little girl was crying and holding out her hands to Laddie, who seemed quite worried and excited.

"She's sunk! She's sunk!" he said over and over again.

"Be quiet, silly boy!" ordered his mother, who saw that Vi was in no danger. "We'll get her out. Why didn't you wade out to her yourself, and bring her to shore?"

"'Cause I thought maybe something was out there," said Laddie.

"Something out there? What do you mean?" asked his mother.

"I mean something that made the boat sink -- something that pulled it down in the water with Vi. A shark maybe, or a whale!"

"Nonsense!" laughed Mrs. Bunker. "There are only little baby fishes in the brook."

"But something made the boat sink!" insisted Laddie.

"We'll see about that when we get Vi to shore," said Mrs. Bunker. "Come on," she called to the little girl. "Wade to shore, Vi. You have your shoes and stockings off, haven't you?"

"Oh, yes, Mother."

"Then wade to shore. You're all right."

So Vi stepped out of the soap box, which Laddie had called the boat, and started for shore. The box floated down the brook, and Russ ran out on a little point of land to catch hold of it when it should float to him.

"Now you're all right," said Mrs. Bunker to her little girl, as Vi came ashore. "But what happened?"

"We were playing sailor," explained Laddie, "and I made the boat out of a box. Then Vi went for a ride, but the boat sank. What made it sink, Vi?"

"'Cause it's full of cracks and holes -- that's why!" answered Russ, who had caught the soap box as it floated down to him. "Look! It let in a lot of water, and that's what made it sink," he went on, as he held out the play boat.

The bottom and sides of the box were filled with many holes, from which the water now dripped. Laddie told how he had set it afloat in the brook, with Vi as a passenger. He had pushed her out from shore, hoping to give her a nice ride, but in the middle of the stream the boat went down, and Vi was frightened -- or maybe just cross because she was not getting the ride she expected. She screamed. Laddie couldn't understand why the boat sank, and called out to know. That was when Russ heard them.

"But you're all right now," said Mrs. Bunker. "And it's so warm to-day that wading in the brook won't hurt you. Only don't upset and fall in. I don't believe you can ride in your boat, Laddie. It won't float when it leaks so much."

"'Course not," said Russ, who knew something about boats. "You got to stuff up all the cracks and holes with putty, Laddie."

"All right; I'll do that," said the little fellow. "I like a boat. I'll give you a nice ride, Vi, a real long one, after I stuff up the holes."

"No, I guess I don't want to ride in the boat any more," said the little girl, who was wading in the shallow water near shore, "This is more fun."

"Well, I'll go in the boat myself," said Laddie, taking the box from his brother. "Got any putty?" he asked.

"No. But maybe Jerry Simms has," answered Russ. "He was putting a new window glass in the barn yesterday, and he had putty then."

Laddie ran off to beg some putty from the good-natured Jerry, and Vi, after paddling about a little longer in the brook, went back to the house with her mother and Norah.

"I guess I'll make me a boat, too," decided Russ. "I can fix the box for my things to-morrow."

He went to the barn with Laddie, and soon the two boys were building "boats" out of soap boxes, stuffing the cracks and holes with putty which Jerry gave them.

Then they went down to the brook and floated the boxes. They did not sink so quickly as had the one with Vi in it, and Russ and Laddie had lots of fun until supper time.

"I'm so tired I don't know what to do!" said Mrs. Bunker after supper. "I've packed two trunks, and I've helped rescue Mun Bun from a balloon and Vi from a sinking boat that wasn't a riddle after all." And the whole family, including the six little Bunkers, laughed as they thought of the queer things that had happened that day.

"I'll tell you what we can do," said Daddy Bunker. "It's early, and there is a nice moving picture show in town. We'll all go down and see it. That will rest you, Mother."

"Oh, yes! Let's go!" cried Rose.

And so they did.

The show was very nice, and there were some funny pictures. But Mun and Margy fell asleep before the show was over, and might have had to be carried home, only Jerry Simms came along in the automobile, which he had taken down to the shop to be repaired, and they rode to the house in that.

"Are we going to take our automobile with us to Grandma Bell's?" asked Russ.

"No, it's too far," his father answered. "But we can hire one there if we need one. Grandma hasn't one, I believe."

"She doesn't like to ride in them," said Mrs. Bunker. "Mother is old-fashioned. She has a carriage and a big carry-all."

"But we'll have fun there, anyhow, won't we?" asked Russ.

"I'm sure I hope so," his father answered.

The next few days were busy ones. More trunks were packed, Russ finished making his box for his things, and Laddie started to make one also. But he couldn't drive nails very straight, and his box fell apart almost as fast as he made it.

"I don't guess I'll take one," he said. "I'll put my things in your box, Russ."

"No, you can't," said the older boy. "There won't be room. But I'll make you a box for your own self," and this he did, much to Laddie's delight.

The other children brought from the playroom so many toys they wanted taken along that Mrs. Bunker said there would be no room in the trunks for anything else if she took all the youngsters piled up for her. So she picked out a few for each boy and girl, and put their best toys in.

At last the day came when they were to take the train for Grandma Bell's. Daddy Bunker had left one of his men in charge of the real estate office for the time he was to be away.

"And will that man find the red-haired lumber tramp that took your papers in the old coat?" asked Rose.

"I hope so," answered her father.

But it was not to happen that way, as you shall see.

The journey to Grandma Bell's was a long one. To get to Lake Sagatook, in Maine, the Bunkers would have to travel all of one afternoon, all night and part of the next day. They would sleep in the queer little beds on the train.

"And that'll be a lot of fun!" said Russ to Rose.

"Oh, yes, lots!" she agreed.

At the last minute it was found that many things which needed to be taken could not be put in any of the trunks.

"Make a big bundle of them," said Daddy Bunker. "Wrap up all the extra things in a bundle and roll 'em in a blanket. We can express that as we could a trunk."

So this was done.

At last everything was ready. The trunks and the big bundle were set out on the front porch for the expressman, and when he came the six little Bunkers, and their father and mother, watched the things being put on the auto truck.

"And now we'll start ourselves," said Mr. Bunker, when the expressman had started toward the depot. "Jerry will take us all down in the auto."

With final good-byes to Norah and some of the neighbors who gathered to see the party off, Mrs. Bunker started for the car, at the steering wheel of which sat Jerry Simms.

"Are we all here?" asked Daddy Bunker. "Wait until I count noses. Let me see: Russ, Rose, Vi, Laddie, Mun Bun and --  -- "

Just then Mrs. Bunker uttered a cry.

"Why, where is Margy?"

And where was Margy? She was not with the other little Bunkers!



Chapter IX

Rose's Doll


Daddy Bunker, who had started to "count noses," to make sure all his family was together, ready to start in the automobile with Jerry Simms for the depot, stopped suddenly when he found that little Margy was not with the other children. At the same time Mother Bunker also saw that one of her little girls was missing.

"Where did Margy go?" asked Mrs. Bunker. "I told her not to run back into the house."

"She didn't," said Norah. "I was standing right by the door all the while, and she didn't go in."

"Maybe she went in the back way," said Russ.

"The back door is locked," returned Norah. "She must have run down the street to say good-bye to some of her playmates while the expressman was loading in the trunks."

"I'll go and look," offered Russ.

"And you look in the back and side yards, Rose," said Mr. Bunker.

Rose ran around to the back yard. A hasty look showed her that her little sister was not there, and she hurried around to the front porch to tell her father and mother.

At the same time Russ came back from his trip down the street.

"I didn't see her anywhere," he reported, "and I called, but she didn't answer."

"Where can the child be?" cried Mrs. Bunker. "Norah, are you sure she isn't in the house?"

"Positive. But I'll take a look."

Just then Russ cried:

"Here comes the expressman back again. Maybe he forgot some of the trunks!"

"No, he took them all," said Mr. Bunker. "I don't see --  -- "

The express auto stopped in front of the Bunker house.

"Did you miss anything?" asked the man, laughing.

"Miss anything?" repeated the children's father.

"Oh! Margy! We missed her!" said Mrs. Bunker.

"Well, I guess I've got her here on my truck," went on the expressman, laughing some more.

"You have my little girl?" cried Mrs. Bunker, "How did she get into your auto?"

"That I don't know," the expressman said, "but here she is," and he lifted out the big bundle loosely wrapped in an old blanket. The bundle had in it the things that wouldn't go in the trunks. It was open at both ends, and tied with straps and ropes.

Out of one end stuck the dark, and now tangled, curls of Margy Bunker, and Margy was laughing.

"Oh, what a girl you are!" cried her mother. "How did you get in there, Margy?"

"I -- I wiggled in," was the answer, as the expressman carried the bundle, little Bunker and all, to the porch. "I wanted to get my rubber ball that was inside so I just wiggled in, I did."

"Did you really find her in that bundle?" asked Mr. Bunker, as the expressman put it down on the porch, and Margy, with the help of her mother, "wiggled" out.

"Yes, she was in there," was the man's answer. "I loaded that bundle on last, I remember, because it was soft and I didn't want to crush it with the heavy trunks. It's a good thing I did, though I didn't know there was a little girl inside."

"How did you find out she was in there?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Well, I stopped my machine when I got down the street a way, to take on some more packages," answered the expressman, "and I heard a funny sound. It was like a sneeze."

"I did sneeze," said Margy, while Norah was busy smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress. "Some dust got up my nose and I sneezed."

"First I thought it was a little puppy dog, or a cat -- sometimes people send animals by express," explained the driver. "But when I looked back I saw a little girl's head sticking out of the bundle, and I knew right away where she belonged. I thought you didn't want to ship her as baggage or by express, so I brought her back as fast as I could."

"I'm glad you did," said Mrs. Bunker. "We couldn't imagine where she had gone."

"What did you do, Margy?" asked Russ.

"I -- I just crawled inside the bundle," replied the little girl "I 'membered I put my rubber ball inside, and I wanted it, so I wiggled inside. And when I got there I was so tired I went to sleep, I guess."

And that is just what happened. Margy had wiggled herself all the way inside the bundle, which was not wrapped very tightly. It was big enough to hold her, and neither her feet nor her head stuck out of either end.

The bundle had been put on the porch with the trunks, and Margy found it easy to crawl into it after her ball, which, with other toys of the children, had been put in the bundle at the last minute.

"Well, now we'll start off again," said Daddy Bunker. "Don't any of you children crawl into any bundles, or shut yourselves up in trunks! We all want to go to Grandma Bell's together."

The expressman once more carried the bundle to his auto truck, and found it a little lighter this time, for Margy was not snuggled up inside it. Then, after "counting noses," Mr. Bunker, his wife and the children got into the auto with Jerry Simms, and started for the depot.

"Now I guess we're all right," said the children's father, as he saw that the baggage was safely put on the train, including the bundle into which Margy had "wiggled" herself. "All aboard!"

"That's what you called when we were playing steamboat," said Rose to Russ, as they got into the passenger car.

"Yes. We had lots of fun that day, didn't we?" he asked.

"Yes. And we'll have a lot of fun at Grandma Bell's," said his sister.

As the six little Bunkers were to stay on the train all the rest of that day and night, as well as part of the next day, they did not go in an ordinary day coach. They went in one that had big, deep seats, which, when the time came, could be turned into beds, with sheets, pillow cases, and curtains hanging in front. But, until the beds were needed, the seats were used by the passengers, some riding backward and some forward.

As there were eight Bunkers, including the father and mother, they needed several beds for sleeping at night. Daddy would take Mun Bun in with him, and Margy would be tucked in with her mother.

Russ and Laddie said they wanted to sleep together, while Rose and Violet were to share a berth between them, and thus they would be as comfortable as possible on the trip.

"But it will be quite a while before the berths are made up," said Mr. Bunker to the children. "So sit beside the windows and look out."

It was lots of fun riding in the train to Grandma Bell's. The smaller children had not traveled much, and everything was new to them. Rose and Russ had been on little trips, though, so they did not so much marvel at the things they saw. But every time the train passed cows or horses in a field, went under a bridge or over one, or through a tunnel, it was something for the other four little Bunkers to wonder at and say:

"Oh!" and "Ah!"

After a while, though, they grew less excited, and sat in the big, deep seats more quietly, looking at the trees and telegraph poles that seemed to rush by so swiftly. There were a few other passengers in the sleeping-car -- that is, it would be a sleeping-car when the berths were made up -- and for a time the children looked at the men and women who were traveling.

"I wonder if they have any Grandma Bell to go to?" asked Vi of her mother.

"Oh, yes, I suppose so," was the answer, for Mrs. Bunker was busy reading, and hardly knew what she said.

"Are they going to our Grandma Bell's?" asked Vi quickly.

"To our Grandma Bell's? No, I don't suppose that!" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker, realizing that Vi was surprised. "But they have some place to go."

"I don't believe they have any place as nice as our Grandma Bell's house," went on Vi. "When'll we get there, Mother? Do you know?"

"Oh, not for a long while. Now please don't ask so many questions, Vi. I want to read. Look out of the window."

Vi did for a little while. Then she turned to her father and asked:

"How many telegraph poles are there?"

"Oh, I don't know," he answered. Then, knowing that once Vi started to ask questions she would never stop, he bought her a picture book from the train boy.

"I want a book, too," demanded Laddie.

"So do I," said Margy.

"Here! Give 'em each one!" exclaimed Mr. Bunker with a laugh. "Maybe that will keep 'em quiet until bedtime."

"I don't want a book now, thank you," said Rose. "I'm going to get my doll to sleep." She had brought with her the largest doll she owned, almost as large, it was, as herself, and this she held in her arms as she sat in the seat away from the others, as the car was not crowded.

Five little Bunkers sat looking at the picture books Daddy Bunker had bought them. Mr. and Mrs. Bunker were reading papers and Rose was getting her doll to "sleep." The doll did really shut its eyes, so Rose did not have to pretend very hard that her pet was soon in slumberland.

"Now I'm going to put her to bed," she whispered, and, walking down to the end of the car ("where it'll be quiet," the little girl said to herself), she laid the doll, wrapped in a shawl, down in the deep corner of the seat.

The afternoon wore on. The little Bunkers looked at their picture books -- taking turns -- and again gazed out of the window. Rose thought her doll had slept long enough, so she walked down to the end of the car to get her pet.

The little girl came back with a bundle in her arms, and, sitting down beside her mother, began unwrapping the shawl.

And then something very queer happened. There was a tiny little cry, and the bundle in Rose's arms moved! The little girl cried:

"Oh, Mother, look! Look, Mother! My dollie has come alive! It has turned into a real, live baby! Look! Oh, Mother!"



Chapter X

The Wrong Daddy


Mrs. Bunker turned from her paper to look down at what Rose held in her arms. And, to the surprise of the children's mother, she saw that her little girl held, not a doll, that could open and close her eyes, but a real, live baby, which was kicking and squirming in its blankets, and wrinkling up its tiny face, making ready to cry.

"Oh, Rose!" cried Mrs. Bunker. "What have you done?"

"I -- I -- didn't do anything!" Rose answered. "But my doll turned into a live baby!"

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Bunker. "You have -- you have --  -- "

And just then, down at the other end of the car, a woman's voice cried:

"Oh, my baby! My baby! Where is my baby? This is only a doll!"

At once the car was a scene of great confusion. Mr. Bunker ran to where Rose and her mother sat, Rose still holding the live baby. The other little Bunkers wondered what had happened.

At the other end of the car a woman rushed frantically along, holding out a doll.

"Look! Look!" she cried. "Somebody took my dear baby and left this doll! Oh, conductor, stop the train!"

Daddy Bunker seemed to be the first to understand what had happened. He hurried to Rose, and tenderly lifted up the little baby, which was now crying hard. Perhaps it knew that something had happened, or perhaps it was hungry.

"Here is your baby, madam," said Mr. Bunker to the woman. "And I guess you have my little girl's doll. It's just a mix-up -- just a great, big mistake. Here is your baby!"

The woman, whose face showed delight now instead of fear and worry, clasped her baby in her arms, first handing the doll to Mr. Bunker.

"Oh, my baby! My precious!" she crooned, pressing her face close to the child. "I thought some one had taken you!"

"I -- I guess I took up your baby for my doll," put in Rose. "I laid my doll down in a seat at the end of the car so she would go to sleep nice and quiet."

"That's just what I did with my baby," said the woman.

"And then I went to get my doll, and I thought she'd come to life," went on Rose.

"The seats where the baby and doll were must have been right next to one another," said Mrs. Bunker. "That's how Rose picked up your little one in mistake for her doll."

"I suppose so," the baby's mother answered with a smile. "Well, it has all come out right, I'm glad to say. But at first I was dreadfully frightened."

"It was a queer mistake," said Mr. Bunker. "Rose put her doll down to sleep in the seat right next to where the live baby was sleeping. And the seats looked so much alike, and Rose's doll was in a white shawl, just like the real baby, so that's how it happened."

"And the baby is such a little one, and Rose's doll is so big, that no wonder she didn't know the difference until she saw the real baby open its eyes," went on Mother Bunker. "Well, it was a funny happening."

The other passengers laughed and talked about it, and so did the six little Bunkers. Then it was time to go into the dining-car for supper, after which the berths would be made up, so those who wished could go to bed.

The children were all sleepy, for they had gotten up early, so they hurried through their supper. They were interested in seeing the colored porter make the beds when they got back to their own coach.

He pulled out the bottom parts of two seats, until they met in the middle. Then he fastened them together, pulled down what seemed to be a big shelf overhead, and from this recess, or closet, he took blankets, curtains, sheets, pillows, cases and everything needed for nice, clean beds.

As Mrs. Bunker was afraid the children might roll out of the upper berths in the night if the train went fast or swayed, they all had lower berths. Soon the children with their heaviest clothing taken off, were stretched out and, a little later, lulled by the clickity-click-clack of the wheels, they were deep in slumber.

The younger children did not awaken all night, but Rose and Russ both said they did once during the hours of darkness.

"And I heard a baby cry," said Rose. "Was it the one I took for my doll?"

"I guess it was, Little Helper," answered her mother, the next morning when Rose told about it.

After breakfast, eaten at little tables in the dining car, the lady brought the baby down for Rose and all the other little Bunkers to see.

"Oh, isn't she cute?" cried Rose, "I wish we could keep her!"

"I'm glad you like her," said the baby's mother, "but I want to keep her for myself."

Once more it was daylight, and as the train rumbled on toward Lake Sagatook, the Bunkers looked from the windows, or looked again at the picture books their father had bought for them.

"When shall we be there?" asked Russ, for perhaps the tenth time. He was getting a bit tired of train travel.

"We'll get in at the station about noon," his father told him, "but we have to drive about five miles in a wagon or an auto to get to Grandma Bell's place. That is on the shore of Lake Sagatook."

"And I hope none of you fall in," said Mrs. Bunker.

"We'll get a boat," said Russ.

"And I hope it won't sink," added Vi, remembering her last boat ride.

"Oh, say! I've thought of a new riddle!" shouted Laddie. "Why don't the tickets get mad when the conductor punches 'em? Why don't they?"

"I don't know -- I give up," said Daddy Bunker. "What's the answer?"

"Oh, I haven't thought of a good answer yet," said Laddie with a laugh. "I just thought of the riddle!"

And he sat by the window, murmuring over and over to himself:

"Why don't the tickets get mad when the conductor punches 'em?"

On and on rumbled the train. They were getting near the end of the trip, and the children were counting the time before they would get to the station where they could start to drive to Lake Sagatook and Grandma Bell's house, when the conductor came through the coach and told Mr. Bunker that if he changed cars, and took another train at a junction station, he could save all of an hour.

"We'll do that," decided the children's father. "We'll change at Clearwell, and get on a train there that will take us to Sagatook earlier." The name of the station where they were to start to drive to grandma's was Sagatook. The lake was five miles back in the woods.

They were soon near the junction, where two railroad lines came together, and there the Bunkers were to change. They gathered up their belongings and stood ready to get off the car in which they had been nearly a whole day.

Clearwell was quite a large place, and the station, where the two different railroad trains came in, was a big one. There was quite a crowd getting off the train on which the Bunkers had ridden, and more of a crowd on the platform.

"Follow me!" called Daddy Bunker to his wife and children. "And don't lose any of your bundles."

He was carrying Mun Bun, while Mrs. Bunker had Margy in her arms. Russ, Rose, Laddie and Vi came along behind.

Laddie stopped for a moment to look at some pictures on the magazine covers at the news stand, and then, as he gave a quick glance, and saw the others crossing the platform, and leaving him, he ran on to catch up to them.

He saw a man's hand dangling among others in the crowd, and in another instant, Laddie had grasped it. He thought it was his father's, and he called, above the noise of the crowd:

"Why don't the tickets get mad when the conductor punches 'em?"

"Eh? What's that? Tickets? A conductor? I'm not the conductor!" a voice exclaimed. "Who's this grabbing my hand?"

Laddie looked up.

He had hold of the wrong daddy!



Chapter XI

The Funny Voice


The man whose hand Laddie had taken hold of in the crowd, thinking it was his father's, looked down at the little fellow and smiled. And when Laddie saw the smile he felt better.

"What was it you were asking me, little boy?" the man kindly inquired.

"I was -- I was asking you a riddle," said Laddie.

"What about?" the man wanted to know.

"It was about a conductor punching tickets on the train," said Laddie. "But I don't know the answer."

"First, what is the question?" the man inquired, still smiling.

"It's why don't the tickets get mad when the conductor punches 'em?" Laddie repeated.

"Hum," mused the man. "I don't believe that I know the answer to that riddle. Did you think I did?"

"Well, I -- I didn't know," said Laddie slowly. "Nobody seems to know the answer to that riddle. But, you see, I thought you were my father when I took hold of your hand."

"Oh, you did!" and the man laughed and gave Laddie's hand a gentle squeeze. "Well, I thought you were my little boy, for a moment. But then I happened to think that he is away down in New York City, so, you see, it couldn't be my little boy. But are you lost?"

"Oh, no," answered Laddie. "That is, I'm not very much lost. You see, we're going to my Grandma Bell's, and we changed cars here."

"How many of you are going to Grandma Bell's?" asked the man as he stopped in the crowed and began looking around.

"My father and my mother and six of us little Bunkers," answered Laddie.

"Six little Bunkers!" repeated the man. "Is that another riddle?"

"Oh, no. But you see there are six of us. There's Russ and Rose, and Vi and Margy, and then there's me -- I'm Laddie -- and Mun Bun."

"Mun Bun!" cried the jolly man. "Is that some pet?"

"No, he's my little brother," explained Laddie. "His real name is Munroe Bunker, but we call him Mun Bun for fun."

"Oh, I see," and the man laughed again. "Six little Bunkers, on a train arrive, one gets lost and then there are five," he chanted.

"Oh, that's like ten little Injuns!" laughed Laddie, and though he had picked the wrong daddy out of the crowd of railroad passengers, he didn't feel at all lost now.

"Yes, it is a little like 'ten little Injuns, standing in a line, one fell out and then there were nine,'" the man went on. "But are you sure you are not lost?"

"Oh, no. Only a little," answered Laddie. "My real daddy must be around here somewhere."

"With the rest of the little Bunkers?" asked the man.

"Yes, I -- I guess so," said Laddie, looking around for his father and mother, as well as brothers and sisters. "We came on the train from Pineville," he went on, "and we're going to Grandma Bell's. I stopped to look at some pictures by the news stand and then I --  -- "

"And then you picked me out of the crowd for your daddy," finished the man, as Laddie stopped, not knowing what else to say. "Well, there is no harm done. And, unless I'm much mistaken, here comes your daddy now, looking for you."

"Oh, yes! That is my daddy!" cried Laddie, as he saw his father pushing his way through the crowd, looking on all sides, as if hunting for something -- or for somebody. Why, to be sure, for Laddie himself!

"Better call to him," suggested the man. "I don't believe he sees you."

"Here I am, Daddy!" shouted Laddie, and, letting go of the man's hand, he ran straight into Mr. Bunker's arms.

"Why, Laddie! where have you been?" asked his father. "Your mother thought maybe you might have been left on the express train, but I was sure I saw you get off."

"I did," Laddie said. "I walked along but I picked out the wrong daddy."

"The wrong daddy?" asked Mr. Bunker, not knowing just what to think. "Is this another riddle, Laddie?"

"He means me," the man said, coming up just then. "I believe I got off the same train you did. Anyhow this little boy came along behind me in the crowd and began asking something about a conductor and punching tickets."

"That is a riddle, but the other wasn't," Laddie explained. "Only I don't know the answer."

"Well, never mind. You must hurry with me," said his father, "We missed you, and I had to come back to hunt you up. The other train is almost ready to start.

"Thank you for taking care of the boy," went on Laddie's father to the man. "If you have ever traveled with children you know what a task it is to watch out for them."

"Oh, indeed I know. I have four of my own," said the man. Then he waved his hand to Laddie, saying: "Good-bye, Little Bunker."

"Good-bye!" Laddie called to the man whose hand he had taken in mistake, then he hurried off with his father to where Mrs. Bunker and the others were waiting.

"Laddie! where were you?" asked his mother.

"He had the wrong daddy," explained Mr. Bunker.

"And he told me something like a riddle, only it wasn't," went on the little boy. "It was like the Injuns verse. 'Six little Bunkers in a bee hive, one got lost and then there were five.'"

"But we weren't in a bee hive!" cried out Russ.

"I know. The man didn't say bee hive, either," Laddie admitted. "But I don't know what it was. Anyhow he was a nice man and it was a funny little verse."

A little later the family got aboard another train, and started off on a short ride that would bring them to Sagatook, whence they could drive to the lake where Grandma Bell lived.

This part of the railroad journey was not very long, and they rode in an ordinary day coach, and not in a heavy sleeping car with big seats.

Now and then the train passed through places where there were big trees growing.

"Are they the woods?" asked Russ with much interest.

"Yes," his father told him. "Maine has in it many woods, and there are big forests around Lake Sagatook where Grandma Bell lives. You must be careful not to get lost in them."

"I'll be careful," promised Russ.

A little later the train puffed in at a small station and there the Bunkers got out. They saw, waiting, a big automobile, though it was not as nice as the one they had at home.

"Are you the Bunkers?" asked a man standing near the automobile.

"Yes," answered Mr. Bunker. "Were you waiting for us?"

"I was. Mrs. Bell hired me to come over and get you. You see I'm about the only one that's got an auto in these parts, and as it's quite a drive through the woods for a team, Mrs. Bell thought maybe I'd better come in my machine."

"I'm glad you did," said Mr. Bunker. "There will be room for all of us in it."

"Yes, and the baggage too," said the man, who said he was Mr. Jim Mead. "When I get an auto I want one big enough for the whole family. Pile in now, children, and make yourselves at home."

"Do you know our Grandma Bell?" asked Russ of Mr. Mead.

"I should say I did!" he answered. "She and I are neighbors and good friends. Pile in and I'll soon have you out at the lake."

"Is it a nice lake?" asked Vi.

"It is indeed, little pussy," answered Mr. Mead, playfully pinching her chubby cheek. "It's the finest lake in the world. And it's as blue as his eyes," and he pointed to Mun Bun, who was kicking the big auto tires with the toes of his shoes to see how hard they were.

"I guess we'll like it there," said Rose, as she smoothed out her doll's dress.

"I'm going to swim!" declared Russ.

"Well, pile in, and I'll soon have you at Grandma Bell's," said Mr. Mead, and very quickly the automobile was chugging along a woodland road, under tall, green trees.

"There's the house," said Mr. Mead, in about half an hour, as he pointed through the trees. The children had a glimpse of a big white house near the shore of a blue lake amid the trees, and a little later they were getting out of the machine on the drive, while a dear old lady, with pretty white hair, was kissing Mother Bunker.

"Oh, I'm glad to see you! Glad to see you -- every one!" cried Grandma Bell. "I'm very glad you came. Let me see if you're all here. Daddy, mother, and six little Bunkers, that's right. Now come right in and get something to eat! I'm so glad to see you!"

And as the six little Bunkers started to go into the house, suddenly a strange voice that seemed to come from the woods cried:

"Let me out! Let me out! Take me! Don't leave me behind!"

Every one looked at every one else. Were any of the little Bunkers missing?



Chapter XII

Russ Couldn't Stop


"Mercy me!" cried Grandma Bell as she heard the strange voice. "What is that?"

As if in answer the call came again:

"Take me out! Don't leave me here! I want to go! Take me! Oh, my eye, give me some pie!"

"It's in the automobile!" said Daddy Bunker.

"But who can it be?" asked his wife.

"You must have forgotten and left one of the children under a robe, though goodness knows it's hot enough without any covering to-day," said Grandma Bell. "Are all the children here?"

Once more she counted them, naming each one in turn: Russ, Rose, Vi, Laddie, Margy and Mun Bun -- six little Bunkers.

"All here -- every one," said Grandma Bell. "Unless you bought a little baby on the way up."

"Oh, I almost had one!" exclaimed Rose. "I laid my doll down in a seat, and when I picked her up she was alive, but it was a lady's baby and --  -- "

Once more the voice called from the auto:

"Take me out! Don't leave me here! Oh my eye, give me some pie!"

"There is a child in there!" said Grandma Bell "Who is it?" she asked of Mr. Mead, who had been taking some of the Bunkers' baggage into the house, and who came out just then.

"Who is what?" asked the man who had so kindly given the children a ride over from the station.

"What child is hidden in that auto?" asked Grandma Bell. "It isn't one of the six little Bunkers, for they're all here. But there is some child in that auto."

"Why no, there isn't," said Mr. Mead. "There's nobody in my machine but --  -- "

"Let me out! Oh, let me out!" cried the voice again.

"There!" exclaimed Grandma Bell.

A queer look came over Mr. Mead's face. Then he laughed. Once more the voice sounded.

"Let me out! Let me out!"

"Who is it?" asked Grandma Bell.

"Why that's Bill Hixon's parrot!" said the owner of the big auto. "I've got him in a cage in the back of my car. He's doing that yelling. I forgot all about him!"

"Are you sure it's a parrot and not a child in there?" asked Grandma Bell.

"Oh, sure!" answered Mr. Mead. "There he goes again. Listen!"

Again came the cry:

"Let me out! Let me out! Take me with you! Oh my eye, give me some pie!"

And this time it could be told that the voice was that of a parrot, though, at first, it had sounded like a little child crying.

"Now you keep still there, Polly," said Mr. Mead.

"Polly wants a cracker! Give Polly a cracker!" shrieked the parrot.

"I'll give you a fire-cracker if you don't keep still," said Mr. Mead with a laugh.

"Well, I do declare!" said Grandma Bell. "How did Bill Hixon's parrot get in your auto, Mr. Mead?"

"Oh, Bill's sending him over to his mother's to keep for him while he's off in the woods lumbering," said Mr. Mead. "He knew I was coming up this way, Bill Hixon did, so he asked me to bring his parrot along. I put the bird in his cage under the back-seat of the auto, and I forgot all about him, or her, whichever it is. I guess Polly has been asleep all the while until just now."

"Oh, let us see the parrot!" begged Rose. "I love to hear them talk," and she tucked her doll under her arm and walked toward the auto.

"Be careful, he might bite!" said Mother Bunker.

"Oh, he's in a cage -- he or she -- whichever it is," said Mr. Mead. "Bill said the parrot was a good one, and likes children. I guess it won't hurt any to let the tots see the bird."

Mr. Mead opened a sort of little cupboard under the back seat of his auto, and brought out a parrot's cage. In it was a green bird, which, as soon as it came out into the sunlight, began preening its feathers and moving about, climbing up on the wires, partly by its claw feet and partly by its strong beak.

"Polly wants a cracker! A sweet cracker!" squawked the parrot. "Lovely day! How are you? Here, Rover, sic the cats!" and the parrot whistled as well as Russ himself could have done.

"Oh, what a nice parrot!"

"Could we keep him?"

"Doesn't he talk plain?"

"Listen to that whistle!"

"Oh, isn't she nice!"

These were some of the things the six little Bunkers said as they listened to Bill Hixon's parrot, as it moved about in the cage on the back seat of Mr. Mead's auto.

"Couldn't we keep it, Mother?" asked Rose. "I'd like it almost as much as my doll!"

"Oh, mercy no, child! We couldn't keep Mr. Hixon's parrot!" said Mrs. Bunker.

"Have you one, Grandma Bell?" asked Russ.

"No, I'm thankful to say I haven't," said Mrs. Bell with a laugh. "I like children, and I love to hear them talk and laugh; but I don't like parrots. I have a dog and a cat; so I think we'll let Mr. Hixon have his own parrot."

"I don't care for 'em myself," said Mr. Mead. "Well, I'll be getting along with this one now. I guess I've got out all your baggage."

"Yes, and thank you very much," said Mr. Bunker.

"Come on! Gid-dap! Go 'long, horses!" cried the parrot. "Give me a cracker! Go long, horses!"

"He thinks you're driving horses," said Russ.

"I don't know what he thinks," said Mr. Mead. "He talks a lot, that's sure. I won't be lonesome for the rest of the way. I'll let the parrot ride outside with me, I guess. He'll be sort of company for me."

"Pretty Poll! Give me a cracker! Let me out and give me a cracker!" cried the green bird.

"Here's one!" said Laddie, holding out a bit of cracker which he had left from a package his mother had bought for him on the train.

"Look out! He might bite you!" said Laddie's father.

"Bill said his bird was gentle, but, still, maybe the little boy had better be careful," said Mr. Mead. "Here, I guess I had better feed him."

He held out the bit of cracker to Polly, who took it in one black claw, and then began to bite off pieces, saying, meanwhile:

"That's the way to do it! That's the way I do it!"

"Oh, he's awful cute!" said Rose. "I wish we had one!"

"But if grandma's got a dog and a cat, maybe the parrot wouldn't like 'em," put in Russ.

"Have you a dog and a cat, grandma?" asked Rose, as Mr. Mead drove off in his auto with the parrot.

"Yes, I have, my dear."

"Oh, where are they?"

"Zip, my dog, is out in the barn, I imagine. He generally goes out there when Tom is working around."

"Who's Tom?" asked Laddie. "Is he the cat?"

"No, Tom is the hired man. Thomas Hardy is his name."

"And where's the cat?" asked Vi, looking around the front yard, as if she might see the pussy under some flower bush.

"Oh, Muffin is in the house, I presume," said Grandma Bell. "And that's where we'd better go. I guess you're all hungry after your trip, aren't you? My, but I'm glad to see you -- every one!" and she smiled at the six little Bunkers through her glasses.

"And I guess they're glad, to be here -- I know we are," said Mrs. Bunker. "They've talked of nothing but Grandma Bell's ever since we got your letter inviting us to come here."

"Well, I hope they'll like it," said the dear old lady.

"We like it already," said Russ. "Please, may I go out and see the dog?"

"I want to go, too," put in Laddie.

"And I want to see the cat," added Rose, "Is her name Muffin?"

"That's her name," said Grandma Bell. "And I call my dog Zip because he runs around so much. But you'd better rest a bit first, and eat. Then you can go out and see things."

"I want to see the lake!" exclaimed Laddie. "Can we sail boats on it?"

"Now, first of all," said Mr. Bunker, and he spoke seriously, "I don't want any of you children to go near that lake unless some of us older folk are with you. Mind! Don't go too close unless we are with you, or until you have been here a little while and know your way about. You must be careful of the water."

The children promised they would; and then, when Grandma Bell's hired girl had set out a lunch, and it had been eaten, and the children had put on old clothes, out they ran -- all six of them -- to have fun.

"Will they be all right?" asked Mother Bunker.

"Oh, yes. They can't come to any harm if they keep away from the lake, and that isn't deep near the shore. Don't worry about them. Let them have a good time."

And this the children seemed bent on having. They raced around, shouting and laughing. A big maltese cat came out on the porch to see what all the noise was about, and did not run away, even when all six of the little Bunkers charged down on her at once.

"Oh, isn't she just too lovely!" cried Rose, as she caught the cat up in her arms. "She's almost as big as my doll!"

Muffin seemed to like children, and did not mind being petted. Rose, Vi and Margy as well as Mun Bun, stroked the soft fur, but Russ and Laddie soon tired of this.

"Come on, let's go out to the barn and find the dog," said Russ to his brother.

"That's what we will!" said Laddie, and away they went, Russ whistling a merry tune.

Grandma Bell's house was built on the edge of a patch of woods, with fields at the back and the lake to one side. There were some farms in that part of Maine, and about five miles from grandma's home was the village of Sagatook. It was a smaller place than Pineville.

The barn was back of the house. Once the place had been a big farm, but when Grandpa Bell died his widow sold off most of the land to other farmers, keeping the house, barn, a field or two and a patch of woods for her home. It was a lovely place, just the nicest spot in the whole world for the six little Bunkers.

"I hear a dog barking," said Laddie, as he and Russ drew near the barn.

"So do I," said Russ. "I guess that's Zip."

They went on a little farther, and saw a man standing in the barn door with a dog beside him. The dog barked, but wagged his tail, to show that he was friendly.

Russ and Laddie came to a halt, but the man waved his hand to them and asked:

"Are you some of the six little Bunkers?"

"Yes, we're two of 'em," answered Russ.

"Well, that leaves four. They're in the house, I suppose. Mrs. Bell told me you were coming to-day."

"Are you the hired man?" asked Laddie. "And is that Zip?"

"That's who I am, and that's who he is. Come and meet Zip. He's a fine dog and loves boys and girls."

Zip soon made friends with Laddie and Russ, and the boys, who felt sure they would like Tom Hardy, the hired man, ran about the barn, seeing all sorts of chances in it to have good times.

"Oh, I know we'll like it here!" said Russ.

"'Course we will," agreed Laddie.

Zip followed the boys about the barn as they poked into all the nooks and corners. Tom, as every one called the hired man, was busy about his work and paid little attention to Laddie and Russ.

It was about half an hour after the boys had gone out to the barn, and Mrs. Bunker was wondering if they were all right, when Laddie came running to Grandma Bell's house, very much excited and out of breath, crying:

"Oh, come quick! Come quick!"

"Mercy me! what's the matter now?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Russ can't stop! Russ is going and he can't stop!" panted Laddie.



Chapter XIII

The Red-Haired Man


For a moment or so no one seemed to know what answer to make to Laddie. He stood there, all out of breath, looking at his father and mother and Grandma Bell, who were sitting on the side porch.

"What -- what did you say?" asked Mr. Bunker.

"It's Russ," Laddie answered. "He's going and he can't stop! I tried to make him, and he tried himself, but he can't stop, and he's running like anything!"

"What in the world does he mean?" asked Mother Bunker.

"Tell me about it!" said Grandma Bell.

"It's out in the barn," explained Laddie. "Russ got on something, and he can't stop running!"

"Maybe he's in a trap!" exclaimed Laddie's mother.

"If he was in a trap he couldn't run," said her husband. "I'll go out and see what it is."

The other little Bunkers were still playing with Muffin, the big gray cat, as Mr. and Mrs. Bunker and Grandma Bell hurried out to the barn.

As they drew near it they heard a voice shouting:

"Oh, make it stop! Make it stop going! I'm so tired! My legs are so tired!"

At the same time a low rumbling could be heard, like that of very distant thunder.

"Oh, what is it?" gasped Mother Bunker. "Oh, Russ, what have you done now?"

But a moment later they were all relieved to see Tom, the hired man, come to the door of the barn, leading Russ by the hand. The boy looked frightened, but not hurt.

"What was it?" asked his father.

"I got to going and I couldn't stop," explained Russ, who was breathing almost as hard as Laddie had done after his run.

"What did you get to going on, and why couldn't you stop?" his mother wanted to know.

"Oh, it was a -- a sort of wooden hill," explained Russ. "I was running on it and --  -- "

"What does he mean -- a wooden hill in the barn?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"It was the treadmill," explained Thomas Hardy. "I was in another part of the barn, and I guess Russ must have wandered upstairs, where we keep the old treadmill they used for the threshing machine and churn. He started to walk on the wooden roller platform, and it moved from under him. He had to keep running so he wouldn't slip down. That's what he meant when he said he couldn't stop."

"That was it," explained Russ. "I saw a funny machine upstairs in the barn, and I got on it. I didn't know it would move."

"Well, you couldn't get hurt on it, that's one good thing," said Grandma Bell. "At the same time it's better not to get on queer machines, or play with things you don't know about, Russ. The next time you might be hurt."

"I'll be careful," promised the little boy.

"What is the treadmill?" asked Vi, who had come out to the barn to see what all the excitement was about.

"It's a sort of engine," Grandma Bell explained. "You see out here, years ago, when Grandpa Bell ran the farm, we didn't have gasoline engines such as are now used in automobiles and for pumps and other farm work. So we had to use a sort of engine that one or two horses could make go. It was called a treadmill, and some were made so that even dogs, trotting on a moving wooden platform, could work a churn. We used to have one of those, but the one Russ got on was a treadmill for one horse."

"I saw it," said Laddie. "Russ wanted me to get on, but I wouldn't. He did and then he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop running!"

"That's right!" exclaimed Russ. He could laugh now, as he remembered what had happened. "Then I told Laddie to run and get somebody to help me," he added.

"I ran, but I didn't run on that funny machine," Laddie said. "And maybe I can think up a riddle about it, after a while."

By this time the rest of the little Bunkers had come out to the barn and, led by Tom, they went upstairs to see the treadmill. It was a big machine, with wheels and rollers; and a wooden platform, made of cross sticks, so the feet of the horse would not slip, was what Russ had run on. As he walked up a "wooden hill," as he called it, the slats moved from under his feet, for this is what they were meant to do when the horse should walk on them. And this moving platform of wood spun a wheel around, which, in its turn, would work a churn, a machine for threshing wheat or rye or do other work on the farm.

"But we haven't used the treadmill for years," said Grandma Bell. "I forgot about its being in the barn. Well, I'm glad no one was hurt. But be careful after this."

"I'd like to see it work," remarked Rose, so Tom Hardy got on the wooden platform and walked up the little hill it made. Then came the rumbling sound, and the faster Tom walked the faster the treadmill went around.

The weather was warm, it being early in July, soon after the Fourth, and a more delightful time of year would be hard to find during which to spend a vacation in the woods on the shore of Lake Sagatook.

"May we go down and paddle in the water?" asked Russ of his mother, after he and the other little Bunkers had wandered out to the barn and had seen Zip, the dog, and Muffin, the cat. "Mayn't we go down and wade in the lake?"

"Do you think it will be safe?" asked Mrs. Bunker of her husband.

"Well, I'll go down there and have a look," he said. "If we are to stay here for a month or so the children will have to get used to playing near the water. If it's safe we'll feel we won't have to be with them all the while."

"I think it will be safe if they keep near the shore out on the little point of land that extends into the lake," said Grandma Bell. "There is a sandy beach there, and the water is not deep. Let the children play there. You can see them from the house; so, if we look out every now and then, we'll be sure they are all right."

"Very well," said Daddy Bunker. "We'll first have a look at the lake."

"Oh, goody!" cried Russ.

"Now we can have a lot of fun and sail boats!" added Laddie. "We can have a whole lot of fun."

"I'll take my doll down and give her a bath," said Rose.

"Oh, won't water spoil your doll, my dear?" asked Grandma Bell.

"I don't mean my big one, that the lady took for her baby," explained the little girl. "I mean my small rubber doll."

"Oh! Well, I guess it will be all right to bathe her in the lake," said Grandma Bell with a laugh.

Daddy Bunker found that the sandy point, which Grandma Bell told about, was a very nice and safe place for the children to play. So, dressed in their old clothes which water and sand would not soil, they all trooped down to Lake Sagatook, and there, in the shade of the big woods, they began to have fun.

Russ and Laddie made little boats and set them adrift in the blue water. Rose and Vi played with their dolls, for they had each brought two or three of them. Mun Bun and Margy dug in the sand with sticks which they picked up on the shore of the lake.

"It's almost like the seashore," said Rose, when she came back from having given her rubber doll a dip in the lake, "only the water doesn't taste salty like when you cry tears."

"I like it here," said Vi. "I wish we could stay always."

The children were having lots of fun when, in the midst of their play, they heard the sound of water being splashed and the noise made by the oars of a boat. Looking up, they saw a rowboat not far from shore, and in it sat a big man.

And, at the sight of this man, Russ dropped the chip he was floating about, pretending it was a submarine, and, in a whisper, said:

"Hi, Laddie! do you see his hair?"

"Yes -- it's red," returned Laddie.

"Well, maybe that's the tramp lumberman that took daddy's old coat and real estate papers," went on Russ. "He had red hair! Maybe this is the same one! Oh, Laddie! If it should be!"



Chapter XIV

The Doll's Buttons


For a little while Laddie and Russ watched the man in the boat as he rowed slowly toward the sandy point of land in the lake, on which the six little Bunkers were playing. The man's hair was certainly very red. The sun shone on it, and Russ and Laddie could see it quite plainly. And, too, he had on a ragged coat.

Rose and the other children were farther in toward shore, playing away. Laddie and Russ, as the two older boys of the family, thought they ought to do something toward getting back Daddy Bunker's papers.

"He's coming nearer," said Laddie, in a whisper to his brother.

"Yes," agreed Russ. "He'll soon be near enough for us to ask him if he's got 'em."

The red-haired man in the boat rowed nearer and nearer to the sandy point in Lake Sagatook. He did not seem to see the two small boys who were so anxiously waiting for him.

"What's he doing?" asked Laddie, for the man now and then would stop rowing and handle something he had in front of him.

"He's fishing," said Russ. "I can see his pole."

Laddie saw it too, a moment later. The man in the boat was a fisherman.

Pretty soon he was near enough for the boys to call to him.

"Hey!" exclaimed Russ. "Have you got 'em?"

He supposed, of course, that the man would know what he was talking about. And so it might seem, for the man made answer:

"Well, I had 'em but I lost 'em. But I'll get 'em again."

"Oh, daddy will be so glad!" cried Laddie. "Did you lose 'em out of your coat?"

The man looked up quickly.

"Lose 'em out of my coat? Why, no," he said. "I lost 'em off my hook -- two of the biggest fish I've caught this day! But I'll get 'em back -- or some just like 'em which will be as good. Hello, youngsters," he added with a smile. "Do you live at Mrs. Bell's place?"

"We're just visiting her," explained Russ. "She's our grandma. We're the six little Bunkers."

"Oh, ho!" exclaimed the man with a laugh. "That's so -- there are six of you! I can see now," and he looked beyond Russ and Laddie to where Rose, Vi, Margy and Mun Bun were playing on the sandy point and having lots of fun.

"But are you fond of fishing, that you ask if I lost 'em?" the man went on.

"If you please," replied Russ, "we didn't mean to ask about your fish, though we're sorry you lost any. But have you daddy's papers?"

"Daddy's papers? I don't know what you mean," the man said.

"Aren't you a lumberman?" asked Laddie, not liking to use the name "tramp," as the man, though he did have on a ragged coat, did not seem like the lazy wanderers who prowl about the country asking for food but not wanting to work.

"No, I'm not a lumberman," said the man. "What makes you ask that?"

"Well, you look like the lumberman -- only he was a tramp -- that my father gave a ragged coat to," went on Russ. "And there were real estate papers in the coat, and daddy wants 'em back."

"Ha! Is that so?" asked the man, "Well, I'm sorry but I don't know anything about 'em. I never saw your father that I know of, though I do know Mrs. Bell. I live on the other side of the lake. But I come over here fishing once in a while."

"And haven't you daddy's papers?" asked Laddie.

"No, I'm sorry to say I haven't."

"But you have red hair," went on the little boy.

"Yes, my hair is red all right," laughed the man, as he ran his hand through the fiery curls on his head. "My hair is very red. Sometimes I wish it wasn't so red. But it's of no use to worry about it, I suppose. But what has my red hair to do with your father's papers?"

Then Laddie and Russ, taking turns, told about their father's clerk in the real estate office giving the tramp lumberman the old coat, and how, in one of the pockets, were the valuable papers. The boys told of the search for the tramp, and also of their trip from Pineville to Lake Sagatook.

"And so you haven't yet found the red-haired man with the papers, have you?" asked the fisherman, smiling at the two boys.

"No," said Russ, a bit sadly. "First we thought you might have 'em."

"Do you know any red-haired lumberman -- one that's a tramp?" Laddie asked.

"No, I can't say that I do. But tell your father, and also your Grandma Bell, that I'll be on the watch for one. My name is Hurd -- Simon Hurd. Your grandma knows me. Tell her I'll be on the watch for a red-haired lumberman. We have all sorts up here in Maine, and some of 'em have red hair, though I don't know that any one will have your father's papers. Ha! There's one I've got, anyhow!" the man suddenly exclaimed.

He dropped the oars, with which he had been slowly rowing the boat, and caught up his pole. Then, as the boys watched, they saw him reel in his line and lift from the water a big fish, which sparkled in the sun as it leaped and twisted, trying to get off the hook.

"Hi, that's a big one!" cried Russ, leaping up and down on the sand, he was so excited.

"Yes, he's as big as one of the two I lost," the man went on.

He landed his prize in the boat, while the boys and, the other little Bunkers crowded to the end of the sandy point to watch what was going on.

"I guess you children brought me good luck," said Mr. Hurd, the red-haired fisherman. "I'm going to row along now, but I'll keep my eyes open for the tramp lumberman that may have your father's papers."

"Thank you," said Russ.

The six little Bunkers watched until the fisherman was out of sight around the next point, and then they started to play again.

"I thought sure he was the one that daddy wanted," said Russ, a little sadly.

"So did I," added Laddie. He, too, was disappointed. "Maybe I could make up a riddle about a red-haired man," he added more cheerfully.

"Maybe you could," agreed Russ.

"I guess I will, too," said Laddie. "I can think of a riddle the next time."

A little later the children heard a voice asking:

"Well, are you having a good time?"

They looked up to see Daddy and Mother Bunker walking toward them through the woods.

"Oh, we're having lots of fun!" said Rose, who had been amusing Vi, Margy and Mun Bun.

"And we almost found your lost papers," added Russ.

"How?" asked Mr. Bunker.

Then the boys told about the red-haired man.

"I'm afraid my papers are gone for ever," said Mr. Bunker with a shake of his head, "I'll have to lose that money. But it might be worse. Don't worry about it any more, children."

But, though the children were too little to worry very, much about their father's trouble, Russ and Laddie could not help thinking about it now and then.

"This is a lovely place for the children to play," said Mother Bunker. "I shall never feel worried about them when they are here. The water is so shallow near the shore."

And so it was. The six little Bunkers -- even Mun Bun, the smallest of them all -- could wade out quite a distance from shore on the smooth, sandy bottom, and not be in danger.

All that day -- except when it was time to go in to eat -- the children played on the shore of Lake Sagatook. They saw boats come and go -- some with fishermen in them, like Mr. Hurd, and others that carried lumber and other things from shore to shore.

"Can we go out in a boat some day?" asked Russ of his father.

"Yes, some day I'll get a boat and take you all for a row," Mr. Bunker promised.

But there were many other things to do at Grandma Bell's to have fun besides going out on the lake in a boat. There were chickens and cows to look at; there was Zip to play with, and Muffin too; and there were lovely places in the woods where they could take their lunches and have picnics.

"Grandma Bell's is the nicest place in the world!" said Rose.

"That's what!" exclaimed Russ.

And Laddie tried to think up a riddle about why Grandma Bell's house was like fairyland, only he couldn't get just the right sort of answer, he said.

One day Russ, Laddie, and Rose went out to the barn with Tom Hardy to watch him feed the chickens. He gave them grains of yellow corn.

"Where do you get the corn?" asked Laddie.

"Out of the corn crib," answered Tom. "See it over there," and he pointed to a shed, through the slat sides of which could be seen the yellow ears of corn.

"How do you get the little pieces off the cobs?" asked Rose.

"Oh, I shell the corn in a sheller," answered Tom. "Come on, I'll show you," and he took the children to the corn crib where there was a queer machine, turned by a handle on a wheel. In an iron spout Tom dropped big, yellow ears of corn. Then he turned the wheel. There was a grinding noise, and out of one spout ran the yellow kernels of corn in a stream, while from another hole dropped the shelled cob, with nothing left on it.

"That's how I shell the corn cobs for the chickens," said the hired man. "But be careful not to put your hands down the spout where I drop the ears of corn."

"Why not?" asked Rose, who was catching Vi's trick of asking questions.

"Because if you do that it might shuck the fingernails off your hand," answered Tom. "Keep away from the corn-sheller."

It was later that same afternoon when Rose, who had been out to the barn with Russ and Laddie, came running back, tears streaming from her eyes.

"Oh, Mother! Come quick!" she cried, "Come quick!"

"What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Oh, it's my doll!" answered Rose. "Laddie and Russ are shucking off all her buttons! Come quick!"



Chapter XV

Laddie's Queer Ride


When Rose, with tears streaming from her eyes, came running to her mother, Mrs. Bunker felt sorry for her little girl; but she was just a little puzzled to understand what was wrong. "Shucking off all her buttons" certainly sounded queer.

"What is it, Rose?" she asked. "What are Russ and Laddie doing?"

"They're shucking all the buttons off my doll."

"Shucking the buttons off your doll?"

"Yes. In the corn shucker, where Tom shucks the ears of corn for the chickens."

Mrs. Bunker didn't yet quite know what Rose meant, for the mother of the six little children had not been out to the corn crib, and did not know what was there.

"It's my middle-sized doll," explained Rose. "Please come and take her away from Russ and Laddie 'fore they shuck off all her buttons. Don't you know -- she's got yellow shoe buttons on her dress -- rows of 'em down the front and in the back. It's my messenger girl doll."

Mrs. Bunker followed Rose out to the corn crib. She began to understand what had happened. Among the many dolls Rose had was one she called her "messenger girl" doll It was about a foot tall, and the doll wore a blue dress, in color something like the suits worn by the telegraph messenger boys in the cities. To make the doll's dress more like a uniform, Rose had sewed on the back and front several rows of yellow shoe buttons, which she had cut from old tan shoes at home. The doll really had on her dress more buttons than she needed, but as some messenger and elevator boys in hotels and apartment houses have the same, I suppose Rose had a right to decorate her doll that way if she liked.

"How did it happen?" asked Mrs. Bunker, as she followed her little girl out to the corn crib.

"It was after we saw Tom shuck some corn to feed the chickens -- he showed us how he did it," Rose answered.

"But what did Russ and Laddie do?"

"Oh, they went in and looked at the corn shucker. But they didn't put their hands in and turn the wheel, 'cause Tom said if they did that their fingernails would come off."

"Mercy me! I shouldn't want that to happen," said Mrs. Bunker with a laugh. "But go on, Rose, tell me what they did do?" she went on, for she saw that Rose felt very sad.

"Well, they wanted to shuck some corn," went on the little girl, "but they didn't durst do it. Then Russ saw me have my messenger girl doll, with the yellow shoe buttons down her back and front, and he said she looked just like an ear of corn."

"That wasn't very nice of him," put in Mrs. Bunker.

"Oh, well, I didn't mind," said Rose. "The yellow shoe buttons are like the grains of corn the chickens eat. One button did come off and a rooster picked it up and swallowed it." Rose was no longer crying.

"Poor rooster! I hope it won't hurt him," laughed Mrs. Bunker.

"I don't guess it will," said Rose, "'cause he crowed awful loud right after it. He must have liked it. But, anyhow, Russ said my doll looked like an ear of corn, so he asked me to let him take her to shuck off her buttons."

"And did you?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Yes'm, I did, Mother. He and Laddie put my doll in the corn shucker and they started to turn the wheel. Then I thought maybe my doll would be hurt, and I wanted her back again. But they wouldn't give her to me, so I came to tell you!" And once more the tears came into the little girl's eyes.

"Well, I'll fix it all right," said Mrs. Bunker. "Don't cry, Rose. Even if her buttons are all shucked off we can sew more on. Don't cry!"

So Rose dried her tears and hurried on after her mother out to Grandma Bell's corncrib.

As they came near it they could hear a grinding noise, and then the voice of Laddie called:

"Oh, Russ! here come some of the buttons."

"Yes! A lot of 'em!" Russ added. "Oh, she's shucking fine, Laddie -- just like an ear of corn!"

"Dandy!" exclaimed Laddie. "It's too bad Rose didn't wait to see what we were doing. This is fun!"

"I'm here now! And you just give me my doll!" cried Rose. "I told mamma on you, that's what I did!"

The grinding noise kept up for a moment or two longer, and the laughter of the two little boys could be heard. Then Mrs. Bunker, followed by Rose, went into the corncrib. Mrs. Bunker saw a curious sight.

Standing at one side of the corn-shelling machine was Russ, turning the big wheel, which went round quite easily. On the other side was Laddie, and in his hat he was catching a little stream of yellow shoe buttons that came down through the spout.

"Boys! Boys! What are you doing?" cried Mrs. Bunker.

"Hello, Mother!" cried Russ. "She shucks dandy. All the buttons are coming off, just the way Tom made the kernels of corn come off the cobs for the chickens! Look!" and he pointed to the buttons dropping from the tin spout into Laddie's hat.

"Oh, my doll! My nice doll!" cried Rose. "She'll be spoiled now. She won't have any buttons left! Oh, I -- I'm mad at you!" and she cried again and stamped first one foot and then the other at Laddie and Russ.

"Oh, you mustn't do that," said Mrs. Bunker gently.

"I don't care!" pouted Rose, half tearfully. "They ought not to shuck all the buttons off my doll!"

"Are you doing that, Russ?" asked his mother.

"Yes'm. But Rose said we could, and then, after she let us take her doll, she wanted it back, and we can't get her out till she goes through the shucker and all her buttons come off. Then she'll pop out the other spout like an ear of corn."

"Here she comes!" shouted Laddie. "All the buttons are off now! But, gee! you can sew more on, Rose. And here's your doll!"

As he spoke the doll dropped from a tin spout on the other side of the machine, at the place where the shelled cobs dropped out. And there wasn't a single yellow shoe button left on the doll.

"Oh -- oh, dear!" sobbed Rose. "She's all spoiled!"

"Never mind," said Mrs. Bunker. "We can sew the buttons on again. But you boys shouldn't have done it," she told Russ and Laddie. "What made you?"

"Well, we wanted to shuck something," said Russ, who was beginning to feel a little sorry for what he had done, "Tom told us not to shuck any kernels off the corn, 'cause he'd fed the chickens enough. And he said we mustn't put our hands or any sticks in the machine. But we wanted to shuck something."

"And the yellow shoe buttons on Rose's doll looked just like corn," added Laddie.

Mrs. Bunker wanted to laugh, but she did not even smile. Rose felt too bad.

"There's a wheel inside this machine, Tom told us," said Russ, "and it's got a lot of sharp points on it. And when it goes around and the ears of corn get down inside, the points on the wheel knock and pull all the kernels off.

"We didn't durst take any ears of corn, so we took Rose's doll and we put her through the sheller. Rose said we might. And all her buttons came off just like kernels."

"So I see," said Mrs. Bunker. "Well, don't do it again."

"We won't," promised Laddie. "Here's your doll, Rose," he added, as he picked it up off the floor. Every button had been pulled off in the machine.

"Oh, dear!" sighed his sister. "She's spoiled!"

"Oh, no. I'll help you make her look like a messenger again, Rose," said her mother "But you boys had better keep away from the corn-shelling machine. You might be hurt."

Russ and Laddie promised. They had not really meant to annoy Rose, but they had just not stopped to think. They did so want to see the yellow shoe buttons pulled off their sister's doll. And that's just what happened. The doll was shaped something like an ear of corn, and the yellow buttons stuck out like kernels. And so the doll was "shucked."

After a while Rose got over feeling bad, and the next day all the yellow buttons were sewed back on the doll. And Tom kept the corncrib locked, so Laddie and Russ could not get into it again.

"But it was lots of fun seeing the yellow buttons drop out the spout," said Russ.

"And I could almost make up a riddle about it," added Laddie.

"I don't want any riddles about my doll," objected Rose. "She's too nice. I'm going to sew some yellow buttons on now, and black ones too, 'cause you lost some of the yellow ones."

"Well, we won't shuck her any more," promised Russ.

These were happy days at Grandma Bell's. Something new could be played by the children all the while. They loved it in the woods, and on the shores of beautiful Lake Sagatook.

"When are you going to get the boat, Daddy, and take us out?" asked Russ one afternoon, when they had seen the red-haired fishermen once more. He came close to the sandy point, and talked to the six little Bunkers, but he said he had not yet found the lumberman who had been given the ragged coat with Mr. Bunker's papers in the pocket.

"I'll get a boat next week," promised Mr. Bunker. "Then we can all go for a row."

"And fish, too?" asked Russ.

"Yes, we'll fish also," said his father.

But, as it happened, Laddie got tired waiting for the boat, and made one himself. At least he made a sort of raft.

He nailed some boards and pieces of wood together, and when he pushed the raft into the shallow water, near the shore of Sandy Point, as the children called their play-spot, Laddie found that he could stand up on his raft and push himself along. The raft floated with him on it, as though it were a boat. Of course the water came up over the top, but as Laddie went barefooted this did not matter.

One day he went down to the lake with a piece of clothesline. On the way he whistled to Zip, the playful dog.

"What are you going to do with him?" asked Russ.

"I'm going to see if he'll give me a ride," answered Laddie.

"A ride? How? There isn't any express wagon here."

"I don't need an express wagon," said Laddie. "I'm going to make Zip be a whale, or maybe a shark, and pull me on my raft-boat."

"How can you?" asked Russ.

"I'll show you," Laddie answered.

He tied one end of the piece of clothesline to his raft, and on the other end of the line he made fast a round stick.

"Here, Zip! Zip!" cried Laddie, "Go after the stick!"

He threw the stick, still tied to the rope, into the water of the lake, as far as he could from shore.

"You run down the shore a little farther and whistle to Zip," said Laddie to Russ. "You can whistle better than I can. When Zip swims to you with the stick in his mouth he'll pull me on the raft."

"Oh, I wonder if he will!" exclaimed Russ.

Zip, the big dog, was already swimming out to get the floating stick, and Laddie took his place on the raft, which he had pushed out from shore.

"I'll have a fine ride!" said the little boy.



Chapter XVI

Mun Bun Sees Something


"Here, Zip! Ho, Zip! Come here!" called Russ, and he whistled to the dog, which was swimming along with the stick in his mouth.

The dog heard, and, turning toward the shore of the lake, made his way to Russ, who was standing on the little sandy beach. And, as Zip swam along, and pulled on the clothesline, which was fast to the stick in his mouth, and also fast to the raft on which stood Laddie Bunker, the little boy was given a ride.

Zip was a strong dog, and as the raft was light, and as Laddie was not heavy, the swimming animal had no trouble in pulling the queer boat after him.

"Oh, I'm having a fine ride!" shouted Laddie, as he stood in his bare feet on the raft, over which the water washed. "Come on, Russ! You can have a ride after I do."

"Will your raft hold me?" asked his brother.

"We can put some more boards on and make it," Laddie answered. "Oh, we'll have lots of fun!"

"Come on, Zip! Come on! That's a good dog!" called Russ, and the dog, which was used to swimming out into the lake and bringing back sticks that the children threw, swam on toward shore with the round piece of wood to which the clothesline was fastened still in his mouth. And of course as Zip pulled on the line he also pulled the raft along, and so gave Laddie a ride.

"Oh, it was lots of fun!" shouted the little boy, as the raft came into shallow water where it would no longer float. For Zip had reached shore by this time, and had dropped the stick at the feet of Russ. Then Zip stood there, wagging his tail, and shaking the water off his shaggy coat, waiting for Russ to toss the stick into the water again.

"Here you go, Zip! Bring it back!" cried Russ. "Bring the stick back again!" and, once more, he tossed it into the water.

"Don't you want him to give you a ride?" asked Laddie.

"Wait till we see if he gives you another one," suggested Russ.

And Zip did. Out he swam to where the piece of wood floated, still tied to the clothesline that was fast to the raft. And when Zip swam along, of course he pulled the raft after him.

"Oh, he does it! He does it again!" cried Laddie, capering up and down on the raft. "Now we'll make the boat bigger, Russ, and you can have a ride, and so can --  -- "

But then, all of a sudden, something happened. Laddie was doing too much capering about on the raft. Before he knew it he stepped off with one foot, and, though he tried to get back on, he couldn't.

Off he fell, right into the water, splashing down with his clothes on. Zip pulled the raft along without the little boy on it.

"Hi! What are you doing?" asked Russ.

"I -- I didn't mean to! I slipped off!" answered Laddie. "But the water isn't cold."

"You're all wet, though," Russ said. "Oh, you'll get it!"

"These are my old clothes," answered the smaller boy. "Mother said it wouldn't hurt to get 'em wet."

"Did she say you could fall in with 'em on?" asked Russ.

"No," answered Laddie slowly, "I didn't know I was going to fall in, so I couldn't ask her. But I'm glad I did, 'cause it feels so nice, and he kicked around in the water. The bottom being of clean sand, there was no mud, and, as Laddie had said, he wore old clothes."

"Say, Zip is a regular steamboat engine!" exclaimed Russ, as the dog kept on pulling the raft, though Laddie had fallen off. "We'll make it bigger, Laddie, and then I can ride on it."

"Maybe we both can," said Laddie, who got up out of the water, and waded to shore.

"No, I guess the two of us would be too heavy for Zip to pull. We'll take turns," said Russ. "Come on, we'll make a bigger raft. There's lots of wood out by the barn."

And so the boys did. Russ was stronger than Laddie, and could handle bigger boards and pieces of wood. Soon the raft was made big enough so that Russ could stand up on it and not have it sink to the bottom of the lake near the shore.

"Do you like it? asked Laddie.

"It's lots of fun," answered Russ. "I'm glad you thought of this."

"I was trying to think of a riddle," said Laddie. "It was something about what makes the lake wet when it rains, and then I saw some pieces of board floating along and I thought of a raft and I made one."

"And I'm glad you thought of it instead of the riddle," said Russ with a laugh. "You can't ride on a riddle."

"You could if a riddle was a train or a boat," Laddie said. "And I made up a riddle about the conductor punching the tickets and they didn't get mad. Don't you 'member?"

"Oh, yes, I remember," said Russ. "But come on, we'll have some more rides."

So the boys took turns having Zip pull them along on the raft until the dog, much as he liked to go into the water after sticks, grew tired and would not splash out any more.

"Well, we'll play it to-morrow," said Laddie.

"Or this afternoon, maybe," said his brother.

They tied the raft to a tree near shore, leaving the stick fast to the rope, ready for more fun.

"Mercy, Laddie, what happened to you?" asked Mrs. Bunker, as she saw the two boys come through the garden up to Grandma Bell's house. "Did you fall into the water?"

"I -- I sorter -- sorter -- stepped in -- off the raft," answered the little boy. "Oh, it was lots of fun!"

"But you must be more careful," said his mother. "Was the water deep?"

"No, Mother. It was near shore," explained Russ, and he told how Zip had given them rides.

"Well, come into the house, and get on dry clothes," said Grandma Bell. "And, to make sure you won't catch cold -- though I don't see how you can on such a hot day -- I'll give you some bread and jam!"

"Oh, goody!" cried Laddie, for he knew how nice the bread and jam made by Grandma Bell tasted.

"I wish I'd fallen in," said Russ.

"Well, you may have some bread and jam also," said his grandmother, laughing. "And we'll call one, two, three, four more little Bunkers, and they may have bread and jam, too."

That afternoon and the next day the other little Bunkers had rides on the raft pulled by Zip. And when the dog got tired of splashing out in the water to bring back the stick and tow the raft, Laddie and Russ, in their bare feet, pulled it themselves, giving Rose, Vi, Margy and Mun Bun rides along the shore.

They had lots of fun, and thought Lake Sagatook the nicest place in all the world to spend part of their vacation.

Daddy Bunker and Mother Bunker liked it, too. They took long walks in the woods, and also went for rows in the boat Daddy Bunker hired.

For the children's father did as he had promised, and got a large, safe rowboat, in which they went for trips on the lake, and also went fishing. Mrs. Bunker did not care to fish, but she went along to hold the smaller children and keep them from falling out of the boat.

Several times Laddie, Russ or the other children saw Mr. Hurd, the red-haired fisherman. Each time they asked him if he had seen the tramp lumberman with the papers Mr. Bunker wished so much to get back, and each time the fisherman had to say that he had not seen the man wanted.

Once Mr. Hurd came in his boat and showed Daddy Bunker a good place to fish. Russ and Laddie went along also, and Russ caught two fishes. Laddie got only one, but as it was bigger than either of those his brother caught, Laddie felt very proud.

One day, when Laddie and Russ had gone with their father for a row in the boat, Mrs. Bunker, who was in the house with Grandma Bell helping her sew, said to Rose:

"You might take the smaller children down to the woods by the lake and play there. It's cool and shady, and you may take some cookies, or other little lunch with you, and have a sort of picnic."

"And may we take Muffin?" asked Vi.

"Yes, take Muffin," said Grandma Bell, for the maltese cat liked to be with the children as much as they liked to have her. Zip, the dog, had gone off with Tom Hardy.

Grandma Bell put up a lunch for the children, and then Rose led them down to the shady shore of the lake, where they were to have some fun.

"I'm going to make a dress out of green leaves for my doll," said Vi.

"And I'm going to make a new bathing suit for my rubber doll," said Rose. "What are you two going to do?" and she looked at Margy and Mun Bun, who were toddling along hand-in-hand.

"We's goin' in swimming'," said Mun Bun.

"He means wading with his shoes and stockings off," said Vi. "He asked mother if he could, and she said yes."

"Did she say Margy could, too?" asked Rose.

"Yes. Both of 'em."

Soon the two smaller children were paddling about in the water near the shore of the lake, while Rose and Vi sat under the shade of trees, not far away, and sewed.

The two older girls were trying on their dolls' dresses when, all of a sudden, Mun Bun came running up from the lake, his eyes big with wonder, and after him ran Margy.

"Oh, I saw it! I saw it!" cried Mun Bun. "It's a great big bear! He came right up out of the lake! Oh, come and look, Rose!" and he ran to take his sister's hand, while Margy hid behind Violet.

"What is it, Mun Bun?" asked Rose.

"Oh, I saw something big -- an animal -- I -- I guess it's a bear -- come up out of the lake!" cried the little fellow. "Come and look!"



Chapter XVII

A Red Coat


When Mun Bun had said that a bear had come up out of the lake, at first Rose felt she was going to be frightened, but when she saw that her littlest brother and sister were also afraid, Rose made up her mind that she must be brave.

She looked at Vi, and Vi was a little frightened, too, but not as much so as Mun Bun and Margy.

"What was it you saw, Mun?" asked Vi, even now not able to stop asking questions. "Where was it?"

"It was a big bear, I guess," answered the little fellow.

"Pooh!" cried Rose, in a voice she tried to make sound brave. "There aren't any bears in these woods. Grandma Bell said so."

"Well, anyhow, it was a -- a something!" said Mun Bun. "It came up out of the water and it made a big splash."

"It splashed water on me," said Margy.

"What did you think it was?" asked Vi.

"Maybe -- maybe a -- a elephant," replied the little girl. "It had a big long tail, anyhow."

"Then it couldn't be a elephant," declared Rose.

"Why not?" Vi wanted to know.

"Because elephants have little, short tails. I saw 'em in the circus."

"But they have something long, don't they?" Vi went on.

"That's their trunk," explained Rose. "But it isn't like the trunk we put our things in. Elephants only put peanuts in their trunks."

"Then what makes 'em so big? Their trunks, I mean," asked Vi.

"I don't know," Rose confessed. "Only I know elephants have little tails."

"This animal had a big tail," declared Mun Bun.

"Maybe it was the elephant's trunk they saw," suggested Vi. "Do you think it was?"

"Elephants don't live in the lake," decided Rose. Then she started down toward the shore where Mun Bun and Margy had been paddling in their bare feet.

In truth, she did not want to go very much. That was why she had done so much talking before she started.

"Where are you goin'?" asked Violet.

"I'm going to see what it is!" declared Rose.

"Oh-o-o-o!" exclaimed Vi. "Maybe it'll bite you. Did it have a mouth, Mun Bun?"

"I didn't see its mouth, but it had a flappy tail."

"I'm going to call mamma!" exclaimed Vi, "Don't you go, Rose!"

But Rose was already halfway to the shore of the lake. In another moment she called out:

"Oh, I see it! I see it!"

"What is it?" asked Mun, made brave by what he saw Rose doing, and he followed her. Vi and Margy trailed after them. "What is it?"

"It's a big rat, that's all, but it isn't the kind of rats we saw the hired man catch in a trap at the barn. It's a nicer rat than that, and it's eating oysters on a rock near the shore."

"Oh, is it really eating oysters?" asked Vi.

"They look like oysters," replied Rose. "Oh, there he goes!" and, as she spoke, the animal, which did look like a rat, plunged into the water and swam away, only the tip of its nose showing.

"Tisn't a bear," said Rose, "and 'tisn't an elephant."

"Then what is it?" asked Vi.

Rose did not know, but when the children went to the house and told Grandma Bell about it, she said:

"Why, that was a big muskrat. They won't hurt you. There are many of them in the lake, and in the winter the men catch them for their skins to make fur-lined coats from. It was only a big muskrat you saw, Mun Bun."

"And was he eating oysters?" asked Vi, who liked to know all about things.

"They were fresh-water clams," said Grandma Bell. "There are many of them in the lake, too. The muskrats bring them up from the bottom in their paws, and take them out on a rock that sticks up from the water. There they eat the clams."

"Well, I'm glad it wasn't a bear I saw," put in Mun Bun.

"So am I," said Mother Bunker with a laugh. "But you needn't be afraid -- there are no bears here."

While this had been going on Laddie and Russ, with their father in the boat, had been having a good time. They rowed up the lake, and once or twice Mr. Bunker let the boys take the oars so they might learn how to row.

"If you are going to be around the water," said Mr. Bunker, "you ought to learn how to row a boat as well as how to swim."

"I can swim a little," said Russ.

"Yes, you do very well," returned his father. "And before we go back I must teach Laddie."

"I like to wade in my bare feet," said the smaller boy.

"Well, when you learn to swim you'll like that," replied his father. "But now let's see if we can catch some fish. I told mother I'd try to bring some home, and I guess Muffin is hungry for fish, too. So we'll bait our hooks and see what luck we have."

Mr. Bunker stopped rowing the boat and got his own fishing-rod and line ready. Russ could fix his own, but Laddie needed a little help. Soon the three, sitting in the boat, were waiting for "bites."

All at once there was a little shake and nibble on Laddie's line. He grew excited and was going to pull up, but his father whispered to him:

"Wait just a moment. The fish hasn't taken hold of the hook yet. He is just tasting the bait. If you pull up now you'll scare him away. Wait a little longer."

So Laddie waited, and then, as he felt a sudden tug on his line, he quickly lifted the pole from the water. Up in the air went the dripping line, and on the end of it was a fine fish.

"Laddie has caught the first one," said Mr. Bunker. "Now we'll have to see what we can do, Russ."

"I think I have one now," said Russ in a low voice.

Mr. Bunker looked at his son's pole. The end of it was shaking and bobbing a little, and the line was trembling.

"Yes, you have a bite," said Mr. Bunker. "Pull up, Russ! Pull!"

Russ pulled, as Laddie had done, and he, too, had caught a fine fish.

"Well, well!" exclaimed Mr. Bunker, as he took this second one off the hook. "You boys are beating me all to pieces. I'll have to watch out what I'm doing!"

"Why don't you pull up your line. Daddy, and see what you've got on your hook?" asked Laddie.

"I believe I will," his father answered. "Here we go! Let's see what I have!"

Up came his line, and the pole bent like a bow, because something heavy was on the hook.

"Oh, daddy's got a big one! Daddy's got a terrible one!" cried Laddie.

"It's bigger than both our fishes put together," added Russ.

"I certainly have got something," said Mr. Bunker, as he kept on lifting his pole up. "But it doesn't act like a fish. It doesn't swim around and try to get off."

Something long and black was lifted out of the water. At first the two little boys thought it was a very big fish, but when Mr. Bunker saw it he laughed and cried:

"Well, look at my luck! It's only an old rubber boot!"

And so it was. His hook had caught on a rubber boot at the bottom of the lake and he had pulled that up, thinking it was a fish.

"Never mind, Daddy," said Russ kindly. "You can have half of my fish."

"And half of mine, too," added Laddie.

"Thank you," said their father. "That is very nice of you. But I must try to catch one myself."

And he did, a little later, though it was not as big as the one Russ has caught.

But after that Mr. Bunker caught a very large one, and Russ and Laddie each got one more, so they had enough for a good meal, as well as some to give to Muffin.

Then Daddy Bunker and the boys rowed home, and were told all about the muskrat that Mun Bun had seen come out of the lake to eat the fresh-water clams.

"How would you all like to go after wild strawberries to-day?" asked Grandma Bell of the six little Bunkers one morning, about two days after the fishing trip.

"Oh, we'd just love it!" said Rose.

"Well, get ready then, and we'll go over to the hill across the sheep meadow, and see if we can find any. There used to be many strawberries growing there, and I think we can find some to-day. Come on, children!"

Mrs. Bunker got ready, too, but Daddy Bunker did not go, as he had some letters to write. Margy wore a little red coat her mother had made for her, and she looked very pretty in it.

Down by the brook, and along the shore of the lake they went, until they came to a meadow, around which was a fence.

"What's the fence for?" asked Violet.

"To keep the sheep from getting out," said Grandma Bell. "There are sheep in this meadow belonging to Mr. Hixon, the man who owns the funny parrot."

They climbed in between the rails of the fence and started across the sheep meadow. Grandma Bell and Mother Bunker were talking of the days when the children's mother was a little girl. Russ and Rose were walking along together, and Laddie was trying to think of a riddle. Violet walked with Mun Bun, and, for a moment, no one thought of little Margy in her red coat.

"Are you all right?" asked Mrs. Bunker, turning to look back at the children. And then she saw Margy straggling along at the rear, all by herself. Margy had lagged behind to pick buttercups and daisies.

"Come, Margy! Come on!" cried Mrs. Bunker. "You'll get lost."

"Doesn't she look cute in her red coat?" asked Rose.

And hardly had she said that when there came from a clump of tall weeds near Margy the bleating of a ram, and the animal himself jumped out and started for the little girl, whose red coat made her look like a bright flower in the green meadow.



Chapter XVIII

Laddie And The Sugar


"Oh! Oh, Margy!" cried Mrs. Bunker.

"Oh, the poor little dear!" exclaimed Grandma Bell. "The old ram has seen her red coat and doesn't like it! I must get her away."

"I'll help!" cried Mother Bunker. Meanwhile they were both running toward Margy, where she stood with her back turned toward the ram, picking flowers.

"You had better leave the old ram to me. I know how to drive him off," said Grandma Bell. "You take the children, Amy, and get on the other side of the fence. It isn't far," and she pointed to the fence ahead of them.

"Won't the ram hurt you?" asked Rose, who had taken Mun Bun and Violet by their hands to lead them along.

"No, I'm not afraid of him," said Grandma Bell. "I've seen him before. You see he's like a bull -- or a turkey gobbler -- they don't any of 'em like the sight of red colors. Run, children! Amy, you look after them," she said to Mrs. Bunker. "I'll get Margy."

Mrs. Bunker knew that Grandma Bell knew a lot about farm animals. So, calling to Violet, Mun Bun and Rose, and seeing that Russ and Laddie were on the way to the fence, Mrs. Bunker followed the two boys.

"I could throw stones at the ram," said Russ.

"So could I," added his brother. "Let's go do it!"

"No. You do as grandma told you, and get on the other side of the fence," said his mother. "Grandma Bell can take care of the ram."

The ram, which had big, curving horns, walked toward Margy, now and then stopping to stamp his foot or give a loud:

"Baa-a-a-a!"

"What's he saying?" asked Vi.

"Never mind what he's saying," said Mrs. Bunker. "Run! Don't stop to ask questions."

"I guess the ram's saying he doesn't like red coats," put in Russ.

They were soon at the fence and out of any danger from the ram. Grandma Bell was now close to Margy, who had stopped picking flowers, and was looking at the animal with his shaggy coat of wool and his big, curved horns.

"Come to me, Margy!" cried her grandmother, and Margy ran, and was soon clasped in Mrs. Bell's arms.

"Baa-a-a-a!" bleated the old ram, again stamping his foot, as he shook his lowered head.

"Oh, he's going to bunk right into Grandma Bell!" cried Laddie, on the safe side of the fence.

"I'll go back and help her drive the ram off," said Mother Bunker. "You children stay here."

"Will the old ram-sheep come and get us?" asked Vi.

"No, he can't get through the fence," her mother answered after a look around. "Don't be afraid."

By this time Margy's grandmother had caught the little girl up in her arms, and was walking away from the ram.

"I must cover your red coat up with my apron, and then the ram can't see it," said Grandma Bell. "It's the red color he doesn't like."

"'Cause why?" asked Margy.

"I don't know why -- any more than I know why turkey gobblers and bulls don't like red," answered her grandmother. "But we had better get out of this meadow. I didn't know the ram was so saucy, or we should have gone around another way."

"Will he bite us?" Margy went on.

"Oh, no. He may try to hit us with his head. But that won't hurt much, as his horns are curved, and not sharp. Go on back, Bunko!" called Grandma Bell to the ram, Bunko was his name. "Go on back!"

But Bunko evidently did not want to go back. He bleated some more, stamped his feet, and shook his head. Margy's red coat was almost all covered now by her grandmother's big apron that she wore when she want to pick wild strawberries. But still the ram came on.

"Go on, Mother!" called Mrs. Bunker to Grandma Bell. "You take Margy to the fence and I'll throw clumps of dirt at the ram."

This she did, hitting the ram on the head with soft clods of earth, while Grandma Bell hurried to the fence with Margy.

"There we are!" cried the grandmother, as she set the little girl safely down on the far side, away from the ram. "Now Bunko can't get us."

"Baa-a-a-a!" bleated Bunko. He shook his big, curved horns at Mrs. Bunker, but he did not try to run at her and strike her with his head. Perhaps he felt that, as long as the little girl with the red coat had gone out of his meadow, everything was quite all right again.

"Well, that was quite an adventure," said Mother Bunker, as they were all together again, and on their way to the strawberry hill. "Did the ram ever chase you before, Mother?"

"Oh, no, but he often comes up to sniff at my dress when I take a short cut through the pasture. But I'm not afraid of him, and he knows it. I suppose he wondered what sort of new red flower Margy was."

"I picked some flowers," said the little girl, "but I dropped 'em when you carried me, Grandma."

"Never mind. We can get more," returned Mrs. Bell.

On they went to the place where the wild strawberries grew. They brushed aside the green leaves, and saw the fruit gleaming red underneath. They filled little baskets with the berries, though I think the children ate more than they put in the baskets.

"The old ram wouldn't like it here," said Russ, as he popped a berry into his own mouth.

"Why not?" asked Vi.

"'Cause there's so much red here. He wouldn't like it at all."

"Oh, I think he wouldn't mind strawberries," said Grandma Bell with a laugh. "However, the next time we won't go through the ram's meadow. We can go back another way. Now let's see who will get the most berries. We'll take some home to Daddy Bunker!"

The children had lots of fun on the warm, sunny hillside, picking the sweet, red, wild strawberries, but if Daddy Bunker had had to depend on the six little Bunkers to bring him home some of the fruit he would have got very few berries, I'm afraid. For the children ate more than they picked. But then, one could hardly blame them, as the strawberries were good.

However, Grandma Bell and Mother Bunker saved some for daddy, so he had a chance to taste them, and he ate them at supper that night as he listened to the story of the ram and Margy's red coat.

The next day, as Laddie, Russ and Rose were out in front of Grandma Bell's house, playing under the trees, they saw a farmer going down the road with a box under his arm.

"Do you suppose he's going after strawberries?" asked Rose.

"If he is we'd better tell him to look out for the old ram," remarked Laddie.

"I will," said Russ. And then he called out loudly:

"Hey, Mr. Parker!" for that was the farmer's name. "Hey, Mr. Parker, you'd better look out!"

"Look out for what?"

"For the old ram. He chased my grandma and my sister Margy yesterday," went on Russ. "But Margy had a red coat on."

"Well, I haven't anything red on," the farmer said with a laugh. "But I'm much obliged to you for telling me. And, as it happens, I'm going right where that old ram is."

"Oh, aren't you 'fraid?" asked Laddie.

"No," answered the farmer. "The ram will be glad to see me. You see, I'm taking him and the sheep some salt," and he showed the children that he had salt in the box under his arm. "I'm going to give my cattle some salt," went on the farmer, "and Mr. Hixon, who owns the sheep, asked me to salt them, too. So I'm going to. The ram will be so glad to see me with the salt that he won't hurt me at all."

"It's funny sheep like salt," said Laddie.

"It is. But they do," said the farmer, as he went on down the road.

It was a little later that afternoon that Russ, who had been making a toy sailboat, whistling merrily the while, wanted to go down to the lake to sail it.

"Come on, Laddie!" he called. "Let's go to the lake to sail the boat."

"Laddie went in the house," said Rose. "I'll find him then," returned Russ, and into the house he went, calling:

"Laddie! Laddie! Where are you? Come on and help me sail the boat!"

"Laddie was here a minute ago," said Jane, the hired girl, when Russ reached the kitchen in his search. "He asked me to give him some sugar in a cup."

"What'd he want of sugar?" asked Russ.

"I don't know," answered Jane. "But I gave him some and he went out in a hurry."

"Maybe he's going to make candy," said Russ.

"No, I don't believe so. He'd have to cook sugar on a fire to make candy, and you know your grandmother or your mother wouldn't let you play with fire."

"That's so," agreed Russ. "I wonder what Laddie wanted of the sugar. I've got to find him."



Chapter XIX

Down In The Well


Russ went out of the kitchen and looked all around the house for his brother Laddie. He did not see the little fellow, but, on the side steps he saw some white grains of sugar, and Russ could follow them a little way. The trail led down across the brook and toward the meadow.

"He went this way," Russ thought to himself, "and he had the sugar with him. Maybe he's going out to the woods to feed the birds. Or maybe he's going to have a play party with Rose and the others. I'll find 'em and have some fun myself."

But Laddie was not with the other little Bunkers, for Russ saw Rose, Vi, Margy and Mun Bun playing under one of the trees.

"Hi, Rose!" called Russ. "Have you found Laddie?"

"No," Rose answered, "I didn't look for him."

"I saw him," said Tom, the hired man. "He went over that way," and he pointed across the brook.

"Do you mean over to Strawberry Hill?" asked Russ, for so they had come to call the place where the wild red berries grew.

"Well, yes, I s'pose you might say towards Strawberry Hill," replied Tom.

Across the brook hurried Russ, and, a little way ahead of him, he saw his brother.

"Hi, Laddie!" he called. "Wait for me! Where are you going?"

Laddie waited, and Russ soon caught up to him. But Laddie did not at once answer his older brother's question. So Russ asked again:

"Where are you going?" Then, before Laddie had a chance to say anything, Russ went on: "I know! You're going to pick wild strawberries, and put sugar on 'em."

"No, I'm not," returned Laddie slowly. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to give some sugar to the sheep."

"Give sugar to the sheep?" cried Russ in surprise. "What're you going to do that for?"

"'Cause they don't like salt, I guess," answered Laddie. "I don't like salt, and I don't guess a sheep does. The farmer said he was going to give salt to the sheep, but they must like sugar better. So I got Jane to give me some, and I'm going to take it to the sheep."

"I'll help you take it," said Russ. "I should think sheep would like sugar better than salt."

Together the two little boys kept on over the meadow until they came to the field where the sheep were grazing. There were quite a number of them.

"What'll we do if the old ram runs at us?" asked Russ, as he and Laddie crawled under the fence.

"He won't run at us," said the smaller boy, who seemed to have thought it all out. "We haven't got anything red on, and he only runs at you if you have red on. Anyhow, if he does, we can give him some sugar and that will make him like us."

"Yes, I guess it will," agreed Russ.

With Laddie holding the bag of sweet stuff, the two boys walked toward the sheep. They were eating grass, but soon some of the woolly creatures noticed the two little fellows and stopped eating to walk toward them.

"Here they come!" exclaimed Russ. "Get the sugar ready, Laddie. And there comes the old ram over from the other side of the field. Save some sugar for him."

"I will," Laddie said. Then he poured some of the sugar out from the bag on the ground, and the sheep began to nibble at it.

I am not sure whether sheep like sugar better than salt or not. I should think they might, and yet salt on some things is better than sugar would be. I wouldn't like my roast chicken with sugar on it, but I do like it with salt. Anyhow, the sheep licked up the sugar that Laddie sprinkled on the grass for them.

"Let me give 'em some!" begged Russ, and he reached for the bag. Just how it happened the boys did not know, but the bag was knocked from Laddie's hand, and the rest of the sugar was spilled out on the ground. More sheep came up and soon all began eating it.

"They like it lots better'n salt!" said Laddie.

"Sure they do!" agreed Russ. "We'll bring more sugar, and we'll tell Mr. Hixon about it. I guess he'd like to give his sheep the things they like best. They like 'em to grow good and fat."

The boys were so interested watching the sheep eat the sugar, that they forgot all about the ram that had seemed so angry because of Margy's red coat. The first they knew was when they heard a loud:

"Baa-a-a-a-a!"

Then they heard a pounding of hoofs on the ground and the ram came running at them.

"Oh, look!" cried Russ. "Here he comes! We'd better get on the other side of the fence! Come on, Laddie!"

"I'm coming!" answered the little fellow. "Hurry!"

"It -- it's too bad we didn't save him some sugar," panted Russ, as he and Laddie ran on. "Maybe that's what makes him mad at us."

"Maybe it is," agreed Laddie. "Hurry, Russ!" he shouted, looking over his shoulder. "He's coming closer!"

The ram was, indeed, running faster than the boys, and only that they had a start of him he would have caught them before they got to the fence, and then he might have butted them with his head.

But, as it was, Russ reached the fence first. He turned to wait for Laddie, who was a little behind him.

"And if that old ram had hurt you I'd 'a' thrown stones at him," said Russ afterward. But Laddie, with an extra burst of speed, managed to get to the fence, and Russ helped him through. The ram was so close that his head struck the rails with a bang.

"It's a good thing it wasn't us he hit," said Russ, as they found themselves safe on the other side.

"That's right," agreed Laddie. "He's terrible mad 'cause we didn't save him any sugar. I was going to, but it all spilled."

They stood on the safe side of the fence looking at the ram, which shook its head, stamped its feet, and, now and then, uttered a loud "Baaa-a-a-a-a!"

I don't really believe the ram was angry at Russ and Laddie for not giving him sugar. I think the leader of the flock thought perhaps the boys might be troubling the sheep, and wanted to drive them from the field. That's just what he did, anyhow -- drive them from the field.

For a little while the boys stood watching the sheep. Those that had come to eat the sugar seemed to have licked up all there was on the grass, and they came with the others, to stand behind the ram, near the fence. They all looked at the boys.

"I guess they like us," said Laddie.

"All but the ram," said Russ. "And I don't like him."

"Neither do I," agreed his brother.

"Well, come on," said Russ, after a bit. "We can't have any fun here. Let's go and sail the boat I made. I was looking for you when Jane said she gave you the sugar. I couldn't think what you were going to do."

"I thought about the sugar for the sheep when I saw the man going with the salt," explained Laddie. "But I guess I won't do it any more -- not while the old ram is in the field. Come on, we'll go and sail your boat."

The boys went back to the house and got the new sailboat Russ had made. Going down to the sandy shore of the lake with it, they found Rose and Violet sitting in the shade, playing with their dolls.

"Oh, I know what we can do!" exclaimed Russ, who was carrying the boat.

"What?" asked his brother.

"We can take the dolls -- those Rose and Vi have -- and give 'em a ride on the boat."

"Give Rose and Vi a ride on the boat?" asked Laddie, who had not been listening very closely. "It isn't big enough."

"'Course 'tisn't!" agreed Russ. "I don't mean that. I mean give the dolls a ride."

"Oh, yes, we can do that!" cried Laddie. "It'll be fun! Will you let us?" he called to the two little girls.

"Let you what?" asked Rose.

"Let us give your dolls a ride on the boat?"

Russ had taken a board, whittled one end sharp, like the prow, or bow, of a boat, and had rounded the other end for the stern. In the middle he had bored a hole and stuck in this a stick for a mast. On the mast he had tied a bit of cloth for a sail. And when the boat was put in the shallow water of the lake, near shore, the wind blew it along nicely.

"Oh, yes! Let's give our dolls a ride!" cried Vi.

"You can give yours a ride, but I'm not," declared Rose.

"Why?" Russ wanted to know.

"'Cause she might fall off into the water."

"I can put a stone on her so she won't fall off the boat," said Russ.

"Huh! Think I'm going to let you put a stone on my doll? I will not!" Rose exclaimed.

"I could tie her on," suggested Laddie. "I've a piece of string."

"Well, maybe that's all right," Rose agreed, and then she and Violet let Russ and Laddie take the dolls, which they tied on the sailboat. Then along in the little sheltered cove of the lake the boat sailed, giving the dolls a ride.

But, suddenly, there came a strong puff of wind, and the boat tipped to one side. Laddie could not have tied the string on Vi's doll very strong, for she slipped off into the water.

"Oh, your doll will be drowned!" cried Rose.

"No, she can't drown! She's rubber," answered Vi. "I'll just play she had a bath in the lake."

"Well, it's a good thing it was your doll and not mine, that fell in," went on Rose, "'cause my doll's a sawdust one -- this one is. But I have a rubber doll up at the house, a nice one.

"Go and get her!" suggested Russ. "Then I can sail the boat in deeper water and it won't hurt if it tips over with two rubber dolls on."

So Rose got her other doll, and then the children had fun sailing the boat with two make-believe passengers, who did not mind how wet they got. If the boat didn't tip over of itself, Russ or Laddie made it, just to see the dolls go splashing into the water.

The children played at this game for some time, and then Jane called them to come to lunch. At the table Laddie and Russ told about taking sugar to the sheep, and how the ram chased them.

"You mustn't do it again," their father said. "Not only that it isn't good to waste sugar by giving it to the sheep, but the old ram might hurt you. Don't do it again."

The boys promised they wouldn't, and then Rose and Vi told of their fun with the rubber dolls and the boat.

In the afternoon, when Mrs. Bunker and Grandma Bell were getting ready to go for a walk with the children, Russ came running up to the house, from down near the barn, crying:

"Oh, Rose! Margy took your rubber doll, and now she's down in the well! She's down in the well!"

"Oh, mercy sakes!" cried Grandma Bell, who heard what Russ said. "Is Margy in the well or the doll?"

But Russ didn't stop to answer. Back toward the well he ran, as fast as he could go, having picked up the rake near the fence of the kitchen garden.



Chapter XX

The Dog-Cart


Mrs. Bunker saw Grandma Bell hurrying down toward the barn, halfway between which and the house, was the well, and at once the children's mother began to fear that something was wrong.

"Has anything happened?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"I'm afraid there has," answered Grandma Bell. "Russ came running up to the house, and said something about a doll having fallen into the well. Then he grabbed up the rake and ran back before I could ask him what he meant."

"Oh, I do hope none of the children will try to get it out!" cried Mrs. Bunker.

Then Grandma Bell and Mother Bunker ran down to the well. There they saw Mr. Bunker with the long-handled rake fishing down in the round hole, at the bottom of which was deep water.

"What has happened?" demanded Mrs. Bunker.

"It's all right -- don't be frightened," her husband told her, as he looked around. "It's only a doll that has fallen into the well. I'm trying to get it out with the rake."

"Only a doll -- that isn't so bad," said Mrs. Bunker. "Whose doll is it?"

"Mine," answered Rose. She and the other children now stood about the well house. "Margy took it, Russ says, and dropped it into the water."

"I was givin' the dollie a bath," Margy explained. "The other dolls had a ride on Laddie's boat, and they felled in the water and had a nice swim, but this doll didn't have any and I was givin' her one."

"Oh, but you shouldn't have done that without asking mother," said Mrs. Bunker. "And besides, I've told you to keep away from the well. You might fall in."

"Oh, I didn't go very near," said Margy. "I -- I just throwed the dollie in. I stood 'way back and I throwed her in 'cause I wanted her to have a swim like the other dolls."

"Can you get it out?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"I think so," answered her husband. "The doll is caught on one of the buckets, halfway down the well. I sent Russ up to get the rake, for I'm afraid If I pull up the bucket the doll will drop off and fall to the bottom of the well."

All watched Daddy fishing for the doll. The rake was not quite long enough, but by fastening a stick onto the handle it could be reached down far enough so the iron teeth caught in the doll's dress, and up she came.

"Why -- why!" exclaimed Margy, "she isn't wet at all."

"No," said Daddy Bunker, "she didn't get down to the water. If she had I don't believe I could have gotten her up, as the well is very deep. But don't do it again, Margy."

Rose took the doll, whose dress had been torn a little by the rake.

"I'll make believe she's had a terrible time and been sick," said the little girl, "and I'll give her bread pills."

The rake was carried back to the kitchen garden, Daddy Bunker put on his coat, which he had taken off to get the doll up from the well, and then Grandma Bell brought some pails and baskets from the kitchen.

"What are we going to do?" asked Russ.

"We are going after berries," his mother told him.

"Strawberries?" cried Laddie.

"Not this time," said Grandma Bell. "This time we are going to gather huckleberries."

"Then you must be going to bake huckleberry pies!" exclaimed Daddy Bunker.

"Well, I'll bake some if the children don't eat more berries than they put in the pails and baskets," said Grandma Bell, with a funny twinkle in her eyes.

"We won't eat very many," promised Russ. "We'll pick a lot of berries for the pies, won't we, Laddie?"

"Sure we will!"

Off to the place where the huckleberries grew went the six little Bunkers, with their mother and their grandmother.

"And I'm coming, too," said Daddy Bunker. "I'm too fond of huckleberry pie to risk having all the berries go into the children's mouths. I'll go along and pick some myself, then I'll be sure of one pie at least."

But the six little Bunkers were really very good. Of course, I'm not saying they didn't eat some berries. You'd do that yourself, when they grew on bushes all around you. But the children put into the pails and baskets so many that Grandma Bell said there would be a big pie for daddy, and several smaller ones for the children.

As the little party of berry pickers came back from the fields late that afternoon, Russ and Laddie, walking ahead, saw Zip, the dog, dragging along a piece of rope, fastened to a heavy bit of log.

"He's terrible strong, Zip is," said Laddie. "Look at him pull that log."

"Yes, he is strong," agreed Russ. And then he suddenly cried: "Oh, I know what we can do!"

"What?" asked Laddie, always ready for anything.

"We can make a cart and have Zip pull us in it. If grandma had a pony I guess she'd have a pony-cart, but she hasn't, so we can make a dog-cart."

"How can we do it?" asked Laddie.

"Well, you just take an old box -- we saw some of the kind I want down at the grocery store -- and you put wheels on it."

"Where are you going to get the wheels?" asked Laddie.

Russ had to stop and think about that part. Then he happened to remember that he had seen two wheels from an old baby carriage out in the barn. Grandma Bell had once had a woman working for her who had a little baby, and this woman had kept the carriage at the Bell farmhouse. But after a while it broke, or wore out, and when the woman and her baby went away there were only two wheels of the carriage left.

"We can take them," said Russ, "and maybe we can find two more somewhere. We'll ask daddy or grandma."

"Say, it'll be lots of fun if we can make a dog-cart!" cried Laddie. "Could we really ride in it, do you s'pose?"

"Why, yes!" answered Russ. "Zip is strong enough to pull us both. Look at him pull that log. Feel how hard he pulls on the rope!"

The boys took hold of the rope and tried to hold back on it. But Zip was so strong that he dragged them along a little way, as well as the log. And Zip growled and snarled, pretending he was very angry.

"Look out!" cried Mother Bunker. "He might bite you!"

"Zip is only playing," said Grandma Bell. "He never bites. But what are you doing?" she asked Russ and Laddie.

"We're trying how hard Zip can pull, to see if he can pull us when we make a dog-cart," explained Russ.

"Please, Grandma, may we?" asked Laddie. "And may we have the two old baby carriage wheels out in the barn?"

"Yes, certainly," his grandmother said. "But I don't know where there are any more wheels. You'll have to get along with two."

"Well, we could do that," Russ said. "But four would be better. Oh, Laddie! We'll have a lot of fun making the dog-cart!"

"That's what we will!" said the smaller boy.



Chapter XXI

Russ Hears News


When Daddy Bunker heard about the plan of Russ and Laddie to make a dog-cart, he at first thought the boys could not do it.

"How are you going to harness Zip to the cart?" he asked.

"Oh, we can do it," declared Russ. "We can make a harness out of pieces of rope and some straps in the barn. And we can get a box and put some wheels on it for a cart. It'll be easy."

"But maybe Zip won't let himself be hitched up," said Daddy Bunker. He wanted the boys to have fun while at Grandma Bell's, but he did not want them to go to a lot of work making something, and then be disappointed if it did not work.

"Oh, I guess Zip won't mind being harnessed," said Grandma Bell. "Once we had a man working for us who had a small boy. This boy -- his name was Bobbie -- made a little cart and used to drive Zip hitched to it, and the dog pulled Bobbie all around very nicely."

"Did he? Hurray! Then he'll pull us!" shouted Laddie.

As soon as Russ and Laddie got back to Grandma Bell's house they began to look for things of which to make the dog-cart and the harness. Two wheels were all they could find, but Daddy Bunker thought they would answer very nicely.

"I'll help you make the harness," said Tom Hardy. "I guess there are enough odd straps around the barn to make a harness for two dogs."

Russ and Laddie were glad to hear Tom say this. They felt that making the harness would be the hardest part of the work. The cart would be easier; at least so they hoped.

From the grocery store, down at the "Four Corners," where Grandma Bell traded, the boys, the next day, got a fine large soap box. It was quite strong, too.

"And it's got to be strong if you boys are going to ride around behind that dog Zip!" said the storekeeper. "He's a goer, Zip is! A goer!"

Tom helped the boys fasten the old baby carriage wheels to the box, and also helped them make a pair of shafts, just like those in between which a horse trots, only, of course, the ones for Zip were smaller. The hired man was as good as his word in the matter of a harness, and soon everything was in readiness for the first ride.

"The only thing I'm afraid of," said Mother Bunker, "is that Zip won't let himself be harnessed. He may not like it."

But the big dog did not seem to mind in the least. He came when Russ called him, and he wagged his tail when the boys showed him the soap-box cart and the harness.

"Now we're going to have some fun when you give us a ride!" said Russ, patting Zip's shaggy head.

"Bow-wow!" barked the dog, as much as to say:

"That's right! We'll have fun!"

Daddy Bunker, as well as his wife and Grandma Bell, came out to see how the first trip would turn out. Tom put the harness on Zip. The dog only sniffed at it and wagged his tail. Perhaps he thought of the time when he had been harnessed this way by Bobbie.

"Oh, it's nice! I like it!" cried Mun Bun, when he saw the home-made dog-cart with the baby carriage wheels. "I want a ride now."

"So do I," added Margy, who never liked to be left, out of anything in which her smaller brother had a share.

"You little folks had better not get in until Russ and Laddie try it," said Mr. Bunker "And they had better keep on the soft grass when they start to drive Zip."

"Why should we stay on the grass?" asked Laddie.

"So if you fall out of the cart you won't get hurt," his father answered with a merry laugh.

"Oh, we won't fall out," declared Russ. "The cart is big enough for two of us."

And the soap box was large enough for Russ, Laddie and one more little Bunker, though two made a more comfortable load than three. Tom had nailed in a board for a seat, and really the dog-cart, though rather roughly made, was very nice.

"Get in now, and let's see how you go," said Daddy Bunker. He was holding Zip by part of the harness that went around the dog's head. To this, which was a sort of muzzle, there were fastened two pieces of real horse reins, and by these Zip's head could be pulled to the left or the right, according to which way the little drivers wanted him to go.

"He guides just like a real horse or a boat," said Laddie. Of course there was no bit in Zip's mouth, as there is in the mouth of a horse, for dogs have to keep their mouth open so much, to cool off when they are hot, that a bit would be in the way.

In the soap box Laddie and Russ took their places. Daddy Bunker handed them the lines and let go of the dog's head.

"Gid-dap!" called Russ.

"Go fast!" ordered Laddie.

"Hold tight and don't get spilled out!" begged Mother Bunker.

"We will!" promised Laddie.

Russ was driving and he didn't feel much like talking just then. He had to give all his attention to Zip.

Away trotted the dog, pulling after him the cart with the two boys in it. Over the grass he went, and when Russ saw that the dog seemed to know just what to do, and didn't show any signs of wanting to turn around and upset the cart, Russ turned his steed toward the path.

"We can go faster here, where it isn't so soft," he said.

And Zip did pull the cart along at good speed. Around and around on the gravel paths he pulled the boys, and he seemed to be having as much fun from it as they were.

"He goes very nicely," said Daddy Bunker, smiling.

"I'd like a ride in the cart myself, if I were small enough," said the children's mother, laughing.

"Yes, Zip is a good dog for the six little Bunkers to play with," observed Grandma Bell. "They'll have a good time with that cart."

"Give us a ride! Give us a ride!" begged Rose.

"Yes, can't you take some of them for a turn now?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"As soon as Laddie and I go around once more," promised Russ.

Zip didn't seem a bit tired, though he had run fast part of the time. Laddie got out and this made room for Rose and Violet, for Daddy Bunker said Russ had better stay in and do the driving.

"But I'm going to drive after a while? when I learn how," declared Rose, and they said she might.

Zip gave Russ, Rose and Vi as nice a ride as he had given the two boys, and the girls clapped their hands in glee and laughed joyously as they rattled along over the paths.

Then came the turn of Margy and Mun Bun, and they liked it more than any one, I guess, and didn't want to get out of the cart.

"But Zip is tired now," said Mrs. Bunker. "See how fast he is breathing, and how his tongue hangs out of his mouth," for the dog had been pulling the cart for over an hour. "Get out, Mun and Margy, and you may have another ride after Zip rests."

The little children loved the dog, and wanted to be kind to him; so, when their mother told them this, they got out of the cart, and Zip was unharnessed and given some cold water to drink and a nice bone on which to gnaw.

"If he was a horse he could have oats," said Russ. "But I guess he likes a bone better."

"I guess so, too," said Grandma Bell, and she smiled.

With the dog-cart, taking rowing trips on the lake now and then, going fishing, hunting for berries and walking in the woods, the six little Bunkers at Grandma Bell's had a fine time that early summer. There seemed to be something new to do every day, or, if there wasn't, Russ or Laddie made it.

"And I've thought up a new riddle," said the smaller boy one day.

"What's it about?" asked Russ.

"It's about Zip," Laddie replied. "Why is Zip like a little boy when he's tired? I mean when Zip is tired. Why is he like a little boy then?"

"'Cause he wants to sit down and rest," answered Russ.

"Nope; that isn't the answer," said Laddie, shaking his head.

"Why isn't it?"

"'Cause it isn't. I know the answer, and it isn't that. Tom helped me think the riddle up. Maybe it's an old one, but Tom said it was good. Why is Zip, when he's tired, like a little boy?"

Russ thought for a while, and then he said:

"I don't know. I give up. Why is he, Laddie?"

"'Cause his breath comes in short pants. You see when Zip is tired his breath is short -- he pants, Tom told me. And a little boy, like you and me, Russ, wears short pants. So that's why Zip is like one."

"Oh, I see!" laughed Russ. "That's pretty good. I know a riddle too, Laddie."

"What is it?"

"This. What makes a miller wear a white hat?"

Laddie thought over this for a moment or two and then said:

"He wears a white hat so the flour dust won't show so plain."

"Nope; that isn't it," Russ declared.

"Is it because nobody would sell him a black hat?" asked Laddie.

"Nope. Shall I tell you the answer?"

"No. Let me guess!" begged the smaller boy.

He gave several other answers, none of which, Russ said, was right, and at last Laddie murmured:

"I give up! Why does a miller wear a white hat?"

"To keep his head warm, same as anybody else!" laughed Russ. "Tom told me that riddle, too," he added.

"Well," said Laddie slowly, as he took off his own hat to run his fingers through his hair, "that isn't as good a riddle as the one about Zip's breath coming in short pants."

"Maybe not. But it's harder to guess," said Russ.

Then the two boys, after waiting for Zip's breath to come out of short pants -- that is, waiting for him to get rested -- went for a ride in the dog-cart.

As they were going down the road they saw, coming toward them, a man with bright red hair. He was driving a horse and carriage.

"There's Mr. Hurd," said Russ. "He's the one we thought was the tramp lumberman that got daddy's real estate papers."

"I see him," said Laddie. "Look! He's waving to us! Let's go over and see what he wants."

Mr. Hurd was driving down a cross road, and waited for the boys to come up to him.

"Hello, Russ and Laddie!" he called, "I've got some news for you!"

"News?" asked Russ.

"Yes. Do you remember when you took me for the red-haired lumberman that you thought had your father's papers: Remember that?"

"Yes," answered Russ, "I do. But you weren't him. I wish we could find him."

"Maybe you can," said Mr. Hurd, and Russ looked at him in a queer way. What did Mr. Hurd mean?



Chapter XXII

Off On A Trip


"Are you sure this tramp lumberman who took the old coat with your father's papers in it, had red hair?" asked Mr. Hurd as Zip came to a stop near the carriage, and lay down in the shade, for, not being a big horse, the dog could do almost as he pleased when harnessed up.

"Yes, he had red hair," said Russ. "But he really didn't mean to take the papers. I heard my father say. It was just a mistake."

"Yes, I guess that was it," agreed Mr. Hurd. "Well, your father would like to get those papers back, wouldn't he?"

"Indeed he would!" exclaimed Russ. "He and mother were talking about 'em only last night. Daddy would like to get 'em very much."

"Well," went on Mr. Hurd. "I'll tell you the news I spoke about. Do you know where Mr. Barker's place is?"

"Yes," answered Russ. Laddie let his brother do most of the talking this time. "It's over on the road to Green Pond, isn't it?" and Russ, sitting in the dog-cart beside Laddie, pointed in the direction of the place he spoke of. It was about three miles from where Grandma Bell lived. Russ had heard his father, mother and grandmother speak of Mr. Barker's place. He was a man who owned many fields and woodlands.

"That's right, Russ," said Mr. Hurd. "Mr. Barker's place is over by Green Pond. I see you know it all right. Well, now I heard yesterday that there is a red-haired lumberman working for Mr. Barker, cutting down trees for him, and getting ready to build an ice-house on the shore of Green Pond."

"Is he a tramp lumberman?" asked Russ.

"As to that I don't know," answered Mr. Hurd. "That's what your father will have to find out for himself. But he can easily do that. All he'll have to do will be to go over to Mr. Barker's place -- it isn't far -- and ask for the red-haired lumberman. Mr. Barker has a big place, and hires a good many men, but almost anybody would know a red-haired lumber-jack. There aren't so many of 'em in these parts."

"And if he's the tramp that got daddy's old coat then he must have the papers," said Russ.

"Well, yes, I suppose so. Unless he's lost 'em or sold 'em," went on Mr. Hurd. "Your father said those real estate papers were worth money, so maybe the tramp that found them in the pocket of the old coat sold them."

Russ and Laddie looked sad on hearing this. Suppose, after all, Daddy Bunker should not get his papers back? That would be too bad!

"As I say," went on Mr. Hurd, "I know only what some one told me. It was another man who works for Mr. Barker. He said a red-haired lumberman came one day last week, and Mr. Barker hired him. I wouldn't be surprised if he was a tramp, for regular lumbermen wouldn't be down here this time of year. They'd be up in the woods. But, boys, you tell your father to go have a look at this red-haired man over at Mr. Barker's place."

"We'll tell him," said Russ. "And thank you."

"Gid-dap!" called Mr. Hurd to his horse, and down the road it went, the carriage soon being out of sight. Zip, the dog harnessed to the cart which Russ and Laddie had helped make, still lay in the shade. He was taking a good rest.

"Oh, wouldn't it be fine if this is the lumberman daddy wants, and he could get back his papers?" said Laddie.

"Very fine," agreed Russ. "We'd better go back and tell him right away. Maybe he'll take us to Mr. Barker's place with him!"

"Oh, maybe!" cried Laddie. "Let's hurry home."

But you can not always tell what is going to happen in this world. If, just then, a white rabbit had not scooted out of the bushes and run through the woods right in front of Zip, perhaps this part of the story would never have been written. It is certain that if there had been no rabbit to chase, Zip wouldn't have run as fast as he did. For he ran very fast.

And, just as I told you, it was because the white rabbit popped out of the bushes right in front of the dog.

"Bow-wow!" barked Zip, as he saw the bunny. "Bow-wow!" and that meant: "I guess I'd better chase you!"

And that's what Zip did. Up he sprang from the grass, and after the white rabbit he ran. The dog started off so quickly that Russ and Laddie were almost thrown out of the cart. If they had not held to the sides of the box very hard they would have fallen out. As it was they were jerked and tossed about as Zip ran after the rabbit.

"Oh, what's the matter?" asked Laddie, who had not seen the bunny. "Did a bee sting Zip?" This had happened once, and the dog had run around yelping and barking, no one knowing what was the matter with him for a while.

"No, I don't believe it was a bee," answered Russ. "It was a rabbit. Whoa, Zip! Whoa!" called the little boy, pulling on the leather lines.

But Zip did not stop. Very few dogs would, when once they had started to run after a rabbit.

"Bow-wow! Bow-wow!" barked Zip, and on he ran, faster and faster. He seemed to enjoy it very much.

It was a good thing the woods were not of the roughest kind just at this place, for otherwise the dog-cart would have been smashed to pieces. As it was it bumped and swayed from side to side, and Laddie and Russ had all they could do to keep from bouncing out.

"Whoa! Whoa!" called Russ, but Zip paid no attention. Nor did he care how much the little boy driver pulled on the lines. As Zip had no bit in his mouth to hurt him when it was pulled on hard, he was not going to stop. The leather muzzle around his nose did not hurt him as a bit would have done.

I don't know just how far Zip would have run after the white rabbit, if something had not happened to put an end to the chase. The rabbit, probably getting tired of being run after, suddenly darted down inside a hole. This was his burrow, or underground house, and once down in that, the rabbit knew no dog could get him.

So into his hole, as if he were going down cellar, went the bunny. And Zip, with a howl of disappointment, saw the rabbit disappear. The dog stopped at the outside edge of the hole, and barked as loudly as he could. Perhaps he thought he was giving the bunny an invitation to come up.

But the bunny never answered. They don't bark, but they can make a funny little squeaking sound at times. This one didn't do even that.

"He's gone, Zip! You can't get him," said Russ.

"Bow-wow," answered the dog, almost as if he understood what Russ said, and as though he answered:

"Yes, he's gone, but I'll get him the next time."

"He gave us a good ride, anyhow, didn't he, Russ?" asked Laddie. "I guess he rode us 'most a mile."

"Half a mile, anyhow," answered Russ. "And oh, look, Laddie! We can see Green Pond!"

They were up on top of a hill, and, looking through the trees, they could see, sparkling in the sun, the waters of Green Pond, about two miles away.

"That's where Mr. Barker lives," said Laddie.

"And maybe the red-haired lumberman is there with daddy's papers," said Russ. "Oh, Laddie! I know what let's do!"

"What?"

"Let's go down to Mr. Barker's place and ask the lumberman if he's a tramp, and if he is the one that took the old coat. Let's do that!"

"All right," agreed Laddie. "It isn't far and Zip will ride us there and home again, so we won't get tired. If we get the papers won't daddy be glad?"

"Terrible glad! Come on, we'll go!"

And, calling to Zip to come away from the rabbit hole, Russ and Laddie in their dog-cart started on a trip which was to have a strange ending.



Chapter XXIII

The Lumberman's Cabin


Along the road that led down the hill, and through the woods to Green Pond, went Zip the dog; pulling after him the cart in which Russ and Laddie rode.

"I'm glad we're riding," said Laddie. "It would be awful far to walk to Mr. Barker's place at Green Pond and back again, wouldn't it, Russ?"

"Oh, I don't know," Russ answered slowly, as he guided Zip around a turn in the crooked path. "I could walk it, but your legs aren't as long as mine. I walked two miles once, with daddy."

"What'll we do when we see that red-haired lumberman?" asked the smaller boy.

"We'll ask him for daddy's old coat and the papers."

"But maybe he'll want the old coat," suggested Laddie.

"Oh, well, he can have that," Russ answered. "Daddy gave him that, anyhow. But we can ask him for the papers."

"S'posin' he hasn't got 'em?"

"What makes you s'pose so much?" demanded Russ. "Wait till we get there, and we can tell what to do."

"All right," agreed Laddie. "I can be thinking of a riddle. Maybe I could ask the lumberman a riddle, Russ. Could I?"

"Maybe. But maybe he doesn't like 'em. Some folks don't."

"I could ask him an easy one, about the miller's hat, or about why the tickets don't get mad when the conductor punches 'em."

"No, don't ask him that one," Russ said.

"Why not?"

"'Cause that one about the tickets is too hard -- nobody knows the answer. You don't yourself."

"I know I don't, but maybe the lumberman might. Maybe he'd like to answer it. I guess I'll ask him."

"No, don't do it," advised Russ. "He's a poor lumberman, or he wouldn't want an old coat. And if he's poor he wouldn't pay money for tickets, so he wouldn't know why the conductor punched 'em."

Laddie thought about this a while.

"All right," he said, finally, as Zip trotted along down the hill, and came out on a level road that led to Green Pond. "I'll make up a new riddle for the lumberman," he went on. "Or I could ask him about Zip's breath coming in short pants."

"All right, ask him that," agreed Russ. "I hope he gives us the papers."

Mr. Barker's place was on the shores of Green Pond. In fact the man owned the whole pond -- or little lake, for that was what it was -- and all the woods around it. His house, a very big one, stood in the woods not far from the pond, and all about the house were beautiful grounds, with roads and paths leading through them. And around the house was a high iron fence, with gate-ways here and there.

Russ and Laddie, riding in their soap-box dog-cart, came along the public road. Ahead of them they could see the big iron fence around Mr. Barker's place. They knew it, for they had driven past it the week before with Grandma Bell, when she took the six little Bunkers and Daddy Bunker and Mother Bunker for a picnic ride in the big carriage.

"There's the place," said Laddie, pointing.

"I see it," returned Russ. "Now we'll drive in and find the lumberman and get daddy's papers."

Russ guided Zip up to one of the big iron gates, and as the boys turned into the drive a man came out of a little house near the entrance and held up his hand. It was just as the policeman does in the city street when he wants the automobiles and wagons to stop, so Russ called to Zip:

"Whoa!"

The dog had learned to stop when any one driving him said this, so now he halted and, being tired, he stretched out on the ground. His harness was loose, so he could do this.

"Where are you boys going?" asked the man at the gate.

"We want to find a lumberman," said Russ.

"A lumberman?"

"Yes. One works here and he has daddy's old coat and there are some papers in the pocket that daddy wants," Russ explained. "He's red-haired," he went on. "I mean the lumberman is, not my father."

"Oh," said the man at the gate. "So you're looking for some one. But Mr. Barker lives here and you can't go in, I'm afraid."

"We know Mr. Barker lives here," returned Russ. "We live over at Lake Sagatook -- that is, we don't zactly live there, but we're visiting Grandma Bell."

"Oh, are you some of the little children staying at Mrs. Bell's house?" asked the gate-tender. "I heard she had company. I know her well, but I don't often get a chance to see her. So you're her company."

"She's our grandma," explained Russ. "And we are the six little Bunkers -- everybody calls us that. 'Course Laddie and I are only two Bunkers -- there're four more at home -- Rose, Vi, Margy and Mun Bun."

"What's Mun Bun?" asked the gate-man. Nearly every one asked this on hearing the funny name.

"Mun Bun is our littlest brother," explained Russ, who was doing all the talking.

"His right name is Munroe, but we call him Mun Bun for short."

"Well, as long as you don't eat him for short I guess it will be all right," said the gate-man with a laugh.

"Is that a riddle -- about eating Mun Bun?" asked Laddie.

"No. That's supposed to be a joke," explained the gate-man. "Your brother's nickname is Bun, you say. Well, a bun is something good to eat, but I hope you don't eat your little brother -- joke, you see."

Russ and Laddie laughed. They didn't exactly understand the joke, but they thought the gate-man was jolly and they wanted to be jolly too.

"So you six little Bunkers -- at least two of you -- came to see Mr. Barker, did you?" asked the man at the entrance.

"No, we didn't zactly come to see him," answered Russ. "We want to see the lumberman that took daddy's ragged coat with the papers in the pocket -- only he didn't know they were there and he didn't take the coat. That was given to him."

"You want to see a lumberman?" repeated the guard at the gate, for he was a sort of guard. "But we haven't any lumbermen here."

"He's red-haired," Russ reminded him.

"Oh, I guess I know whom you mean!" said the gate-man. "There is a red-haired man cutting trees over in the woods. Mr. Barker is going to build a new dock for his boats in Green Pond, and there is a red-haired man chopping down trees for the work. He is a lumberman, I s'pose."

"And is he red-haired?" asked Laddie eagerly.

"Yes, his hair is red. I remember now. He came here one day and asked if there was any work on the place. I was going to tell him there wasn't, when one of the gardeners said the foreman was looking for a man to chop trees. So this red-haired man was hired."

"And is he a tramp?" asked Russ.

"Well, he did look sort of like that, ragged and dusty."

"And did he have a ragged coat?" Russ went on.

"I didn't notice particularly," answered the gate-man. "He was pretty much ragged all over, I guess, but I didn't pay much attention to him, as I was busy. But he certainly was red-haired."

"Oh, I do hope he's got daddy's papers!" went on Russ. "Mr. Hurd told us about the lumberman," he went on, "and we came to see him."

"Well, you can do that," said the guard at the gate. "Just follow this road until you come to the lake. This lumberman -- I think his name is Mike Gannon -- lives by himself in a little cabin near the place where the new dock is to be built. He said he was used to living by himself, so the foreman told him he could camp out there. And there you'll find him, if he isn't chopping down trees in the woods. Just follow this road to the lake. Will your dog pull you there?"

"Oh, yes, Zip is a good puller," said Russ. "He gave us this ride from Lake Sagatook."

"And he ran after a rabbit!" added Laddie. "And he might 'a' got it, only the bunny went down a hole."

"They mostly do that when a dog chases 'em," said the gate-man. "Well, you just follow the road along until you come to the cabin where the red-haired lumberman lives -- Mike Gannon is his name -- and then you can ask him about the ragged coat and the papers. Stop and tell me about it on your way out."

"We will," promised Russ and Laddie. Then Russ called to Zip:

"Gid-dap!"

Up jumped the dog with a bark, as much as to say "Good-bye!" to the gate-man, and down the gravel drive he trotted with the cart.

"He was a nice man, wasn't he?" observed Laddie.

"Yes, terrible nice," agreed Russ. "I hope we find the red-haired lumberman."

"I forgot to ask him a riddle," went on Laddie. "I mean the man at the gate. But I can ask him one when we go back."

"If we have time," Russ said. "We can't stay too long, or mother and daddy and Grandma Bell will wonder where we are."

"That's so," agreed Laddie. "Well, we'll just find the lumberman and get the papers and take them to daddy."

Only it was not going to be quite as easy as that, the boys were to learn.

Along the pretty drive, under the trees, they went in the dog-cart. Pretty soon they came to a part of the road where the little lake came close to the roadway, and, just beyond, was a log cabin.

"There's where the lumberman lives," said Russ.

"Yes, I guess he does," agreed Laddie.

And just then, all of a sudden, Zip saw a cat out in front of the cabin. With a growl and a bark the dog began to run toward the cat as fast as he could go, pulling the cart after him.

"Whoa! Whoa! Stop!" cried Russ.

"Stop! Stop, Zip!" yelled Laddie. "Stop!"

But the dog did not hear, or would not mind. Straight at the cat he rushed, and pussy, seeing a strange dog coming, and pulling a soap-box cart in which were two boys -- pussy, seeing this strange sight -- arched her back and made her tail get as big as a big bologna sausage.



Chapter XXIV

The Old Coat


"Bang!"

That was the soap-box cart hitting against a tree.

"Tunk! Tunk!"

Those were the soft sounds Russ and Laddie made as they were spilled out on the grass near the lumberman's cabin.

"Bow-wow!"

That was Zip barking at the cat.

"Hiss-siss!"

That was the cat making queer noises at Zip.

"Wow-ow-ow-Yelp!"

That was Zip howling because the cat scratched his nose.

For that's just what the cat did. Zip rushed at her so fast that he banged the cart against a tree, and turned it over on its side, spilling out Russ and Laddie. And Zip, not seeming to care what happened to his little masters, kept on after the cat.

But pussy was brave, and she didn't run and climb a tree, as most cats did when Zip chased them. She just stood, arching her back, making her tail big, and sissing queer sounds until the dog came near enough, when she darted out a paw, and the sharp claws scratched Zip on the nose. Then Zip howled and sat down to look at the cat. And the cat stayed right there looking at Zip.

For a moment or two Russ and Laddie didn't know just what had happened. But they scrambled to their feet. Then they saw Zip and the overturned cart and the cat, and they understood.

"He chased a cat," said Laddie.

"Zip, you're a bad dog!" cried Russ, and he shook his finger at the pet. "Didn't Grandma Bell tell you not to chase cats?"

This was true. Grandma Bell had told Zip that, but, like boys and girls, he sometimes forgot. Zip wasn't a bad dog, and he never bit cats. He just liked to chase them once in a while.

"Are you hurt, Laddie?" asked Russ.

"No. Are you?"

"Nope. Say! but didn't Zip run fast, though?"

"Terrible fast. Faster than when he chased the rabbit."

There were a few red spots on Zip's nose where the cat had scratched him. The dog licked them away with his tongue, and looked rather silly. It wasn't very often a cat stayed to fight him.

Russ and Laddie started for the overturned cart, to set it up on the wheels again, when the door of the log cabin opened and out came a red-haired man, whose clothes were quite old and ragged. He wore a pair of boots, into the tops of which his trousers were tucked, but he had on no coat. Russ and Laddie looked particularly to see if he had a coat, but he had none.

"Hello! What's going on here?" asked the man.

"If you please, our dog chased your cat," said Russ, "but he didn't hurt him -- I mean our dog didn't hurt your cat."

"I'm glad of that," said the man with a smile. "That's a good cat of mine. I haven't had her very long, but I wouldn't want a dog to hurt her. But your dog seems to be scratched," went on the man, as he looked carefully and saw some more red spots of blood on Zip's nose.

"Yes, your cat scratched him," returned Russ. "I guess Zip won't chase her any more."

"I guess not," the red-haired man agreed. "So you had an upset, did you?" he went on as he noticed the overturned cart. "Did either of you get hurt?"

"No, thank you," answered Russ. "We fell on the soft grass."

"That's good," returned the man. "I suppose you belong up in the big house, though I haven't seen you before, and I didn't know there were any children up there."

"No, we don't live in the big house," said Russ, for the man had pointed toward the residence of Mr. Barker. "We live over at Lake Sagatook -- I mean we're visiting Grandma Bell -- and we came to see you. We're two of the six little Bunkers."

"Oh, you're two of the six little Bunkers, are you?" asked the man. "Well, if the other four are as nice as you I'd like to see them. You say you came to see me?"

"Yes, sir," answered Russ. "You're the lumberman, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, I used to be a lumberman when I could get work at it," answered the man standing in the cabin door. "I know how to cut down trees and all that sort of thing."

"And you have red hair," added Russ.

"Yes, you're right, I have got red hair," and the lumberman ran his fingers through it as though to pull out some and make sure it had not changed color.

"Is your name Mike Gannon?" asked Russ.

"That's my name, little Bunker -- I don't know your first name."

"It's Russ, and his is Laddie," and Russ pointed to his brother.

By this time the cat, seeing that Zip was not going to chase her any more, had taken the arch out of her back and her tail looked like a small frankfurter sausage, and not like a big bologna one.

"Well, Russ and Laddie Bunker, I'm glad to see you," said Mr. Gannon. "And so you live over at Lake Sagatook, and not here at Green Pond. Why did you come so far?"

"To see you," answered Russ.

"To see me!" exclaimed the red-haired lumberman in surprise. "Well, I'm no great sight to look at, that's sure. But still I'm glad to see you. Are you sure you wanted me?"

"You're red-haired," said Russ slowly, as though going over certain points.

"That's right," said the lumberman.

"And you cut down trees," went on Russ.

"Correct."

"And were you ever a tramp?" Russ asked.

"Well, yes, you could call me that," admitted the red-haired man, speaking slowly. "I'm a sort of tramp lumberman. I never like to stay long in one place, and so I'm roving all over. You could call me a tramp."

"That's good," said Russ.

"Well, sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn't," said Mr. Gannon. "It isn't so bad tramping in the summer, but in the winter it isn't so nice. You get cold and hungry."

"I meant it's good 'cause you're the very one we want to see," went on Russ, who felt quite big and grown-up, now that he and Laddie had come this far alone. "Now where is the ragged coat?"

"The ragged coat?" questioned Mr. Gannon. He did not seem to know what Laddie meant.

"Didn't you get a ragged cent from my daddy's real estate office about a month ago?" went on Russ in surprise. "It was in Pineville, where we live when we aren't visiting Grandma Bell. Did you get a ragged coat there?"

"Pineville -- Pineville?" murmured the red-haired lumberman to himself, as if trying to remember. "Yes, I did tramp through there and -- Hold on!" he cried. "I remember now! I did ask at an office if they had an old coat they could give me. I hadn't one worth wearing. I did get an old coat, and, as you say, it was ragged."

"Our father gave you that," went on Laddie. "Or he told one of his real estate men to do it."

"Yes, that's right -- I remember now. I did beg a coat from a real estate office," said Mr. Gannon. "And that was your father's place, was it? Well, I'm glad to meet you boys. Your father was kind to me. But Pineville is a long way from here. It took me almost a month to walk it, stopping to work now and then."

"We came in the train," said Laddie, "and I know a riddle about the conductor punching the tickets, but I don't know --  -- "

Russ didn't want his brother to get to talking about riddles at a time like this. So he interrupted with:

"And have you got that ragged coat now, Mr. Tramp -- I mean Mr. Gannon? Have you got that coat now?"

"Have I got that ragged coat, you mean?" asked the man.

"Yes. Our daddy wants it back!"

Mr. Gannon looked a bit surprised.

"Not to wear," explained Russ quickly. "He doesn't want it to wear. You can keep it, I guess. But when he told the clerk in his office to give the coat to you there were some papers in one of the pockets and --  -- "

"Real estate papers," broke in Laddie, remembering this part.

"Yes, real estate papers," said Russ. "They were in the pocket of the old, ragged coat, and my daddy would like awful much to get 'em back. Have you got the coat?"

Mr. Gannon did not speak for a moment or two. He seemed to be trying to think of something. Then, as Russ and Laddie looked at him, and as Zip sat looking at the cat, the red-haired tramp lumberman said:

"Well, now, it's a funny thing, but I have got that old coat yet. It's too ragged for me to wear -- it got a lot more ragged after your father gave it to me -- but I sort of took a liking to it, and I kept it. I've got it yet."

"Where is it?" asked Russ eagerly.

"Right here in my cabin. Mr. Barker lets me stay here while I'm cutting down trees to build his dock. I like to be by myself. I've got the coat here. I'll get it."

He went inside and came out a moment later with a ragged coat in his hand. It was tattered and torn.

"This is the coat your father gave me," said the lumberman, "but I'm sorry to say there are no papers in the pockets. You can look yourself if you like. There isn't a paper at all!"

As Russ watched, the red-haired man thrust his hands first into one pocket and then into the others. But no papers came out. Russ looked sad and disappointed. So did Laddie.

"This is the coat all right that I got at a real estate office in Pineville," said Mr. Gannon. "But every pocket was empty when I got it. I remember feeling in them. There were no papers at all. If there were ever any in the pockets they must have dropped out before I got the coat. The pockets are full of holes, anyhow. I'm sorry!"

So were Laddie and Russ. They watched while Mr. Gannon went through each pocket of the ragged coat once more. But it was of no use. No papers were to be found.

"Come on, Laddie," said Russ in a low voice to his brother. "We'd better go back home. Good-bye!" he called over his shoulder to the red-haired lumberman.

"Good-bye," answered Mr. Gannon. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I haven't your daddy's papers."



Chapter XXV

"Hurray!"


Slowly and sadly Russ and Laddie drove their dog-cart back toward Grandma Bell's house. They went slowly because it was uphill from Green Pond, and Zip was tired. He had chased after a rabbit and a cat, and he had pulled Russ and Laddie all the way. No wonder the dog was tired. So the boys did not try to drive him fast.

And the two boys were sad because, though they had found the right red-haired tramp lumberman -- the same one that had Daddy Bunker's ragged coat -- still the real estate papers were not in it.

"It's too bad," said Russ, as Zip walked along.

"Yes," agreed Laddie.

"I thought surely we'd get the papers," Russ went on.

"And I didn't ask him any riddle," said Laddie.

"Oh, well, never mind that," went on Russ.

"Maybe I can ask him again, though," said Laddie, brightening up. "We can have daddy take us there, and I can ask him then."

"What would daddy want to take us there for?" asked Russ.

"To see the old coat. Maybe Mr. Gannon has another, and that has the papers in."

"I don't guess so," answered Russ. "Gid-dap, Zip."

Zip didn't "gid-dap" very fast, but he kept on going. And when he came to the top of the hill, and began to trot down toward Lake Sagatook, he went faster. I think he knew he could have a good rest in the barn, and also have some hot supper.

For it was getting near to supper-time. The sun was going down in the west, and in a little while it would be dark. Already the shadows were longer, and it was already a little dark when the boys drove through little patches of wood.

But they did not get lost, for Zip knew the way back, and soon the dog-cart was rattling up the gravel drive of Grandma Bell's house.

"There they come!" cried a voice, and there was a general rush to the porch. Daddy and Mother Bunker, with Grandma Bell, Jane the hired girl, and the four little Bunkers looked at the wanderers.

"Where in the world have you two been?" cried Mother Bunker.

"We were worried about you," said her husband.

"And we were just going to get Tom to hitch up the horse and go to look for you," added Grandma Bell.

"Were you lost?" Rose asked.

"Did the old ram chase you?" Vi wanted to know.

Margy and Mun Bun toddled down the steps to look at Zip, who had stretched out on the grass, still hitched to the cart.

"Oh-oo-o-o! His nose is all scratched," said Margy. "Does it hurt you, Zip?" she asked, gently patting him, and the dog wagged his tail.

"Did some other dog bite him?" asked Mun Bun.

"No, a cat scratched him," answered Russ.

"What cat?" the children's mother wanted to know.

"It was the red-haired lumberman's cat," Russ went on. "We went to his cabin, over at Green Pond, where Mr. Barker lives. His name is Mike Gannon -- the tramp lumberman, I mean. Mr. Hurd told us about him, and we went to see him and --  -- "

"I forgot to ask him a riddle!" broke in Laddie.

"Never mind about riddles now, my dear," said Mother Bunker softly. "Let us hear what Russ is saying."

"Did you really find a red-haired tramp lumberman?" asked Mr. Bunker.

"Yes," answered Russ. "And he had your ragged coat, but the papers weren't in it, Daddy. And he was sorry and so were we and I'm hungry!"

"So'm I!" added Laddie, before the words were fairly out of his brother's mouth. "I'm awful hungry!"

"But what does it all mean?" asked Mrs. Bunker. "Have you two boys really been somewhere?"

"We found the red-haired tramp lumberman, I told you," said Russ, "but he didn't have those papers."

"Let me hear all about it once again," begged Daddy Bunker. He seemed as much excited as Russ and Laddie had been when they first saw Mr. Gannon.

"First let me get them something to eat," said Grandma Bell. "We had our supper -- an early one," she went on, "but I saved some for you boys. You shall eat first, and then tell us your story."

"I guess Zip wants to eat, too," said Laddie. "He didn't catch the rabbit and the cat scratched him."

"I'll have Jane give Zip a good supper," said Grandma Bell. "And there is strawberry shortcake for you boys."

"Oh, goody!" cried Russ.

Laddie clapped his hands in joy.

And, taking turns, between bites, as it were, when they were eating supper, Russ and Laddie told of having met Mr. Hurd, who had spoken of the red-haired lumberman working at Mr. Barker's place.

"So we went there, and Zip chased his cat," explained Russ. "And we upset, but he was nice and he showed us the ragged coat, only the pockets were full of holes and there weren't any papers."

"Well, that's too bad!" said Daddy Bunker. "You two little boys were very kind to do as much as you did, though."

"Do you suppose, by any chance, this tramp lumberman might know something of your papers, Charles?" asked Grandma Bell.

"I'll go over and see him in the morning," said Mr. Bunker.

"May we go along?" asked Rose. "I'd like to see the cat that scratched Zip."

"He won't scratch him again," Laddie said. "They're good friends now."

"I don't want to see Zip scratched," returned Rose. "I just want to see Green Pond and the red-haired man and the cat."

"I'll tell you what we can do," said Grandma Bell. "We can all go on a picnic to Green Pond to-morrow. We'll go in the carry-all and take our lunch. I know Mr. Barker, and he'll let us eat our lunch in his woods. Then you can ask the red-haired man about the lost papers, Charles."

Mr. Bunker said this would be a good plan, and the next morning, bright and early, after the lunch had been put up, the six little Bunkers, with their father and mother and grandmother, started for Green Pond.

In a little while they were traveling along through the woods, down the same hill on which Zip had chased the rabbit. This time Zip had been left in the barn with Tom Hardy. Daddy Bunker was driving the horse.

"Here's the gate where the man told us about Mr. Gannon," said Russ, pointing out the driveway. The man on guard knew Grandma Bell, and let them go on through. They were soon at the log cabin.

Daddy Bunker knocked on the door, but there was no answer.

"I guess he isn't at home," said Grandma Bell.

"Are you looking for the lumberman -- the red-haired man who cuts trees?" asked a gardener, coming along just then.

"Yes, we should like to see him," said Daddy Bunker.

"Well, he's over in the woods, chopping. I'll call him for you."

They all waited at the cabin, and soon there came the sound of some one tramping through the bushes along the shore of the pond. Then the red-haired man came into view.

"Oh, ho!" he exclaimed, as he caught sight of Russ and Laddie. "The two little Bunkers who came to see me yesterday!"

"All of us are here now -- the whole of the six little Bunkers," said Russ. "And here is my father, and mother and Grandma Bell, too!"

"Well, I'm sure I'm glad to see you all," said Mr. Gannon, who had an axe over his shoulder.

"We came to see about that ragged coat," explained Daddy Bunker. "I guess my two boys told you why I wanted it. I remember you now. You are the man my clerk gave the coat to, back in Pineville, aren't you?"

"Yes, and I want to thank you. That coat seemed to bring me good luck. I got work right after you gave it to me, and I've been working ever since, though I did tramp a lot."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you had good luck," said Daddy Bunker. "But I'm sorry you didn't find the real estate papers I left in the coat pocket. They must have been in when my clerk let you have it, but perhaps they dropped out."

"I guess they must have," said the lumberman. "I never saw any of them, and I wore the coat right after you gave it to me. I'll get it and let you see for yourself."

He set down his axe outside the log cabin and went in. Pretty soon he came out again with, the ragged coat -- the same one he had showed to Laddie and Russ.

"Here it is," said the red-haired tramp lumberman, as he handed the garment to Mr. Bunker, "It's just as I got it from you. I don't wear it much now, as I have another. But you'll find no papers in the pockets."

"Yes, that's the old coat I used to wear around the office," said Mr. Bunker, as he took it from. Mr. Gannon. "And I'm sure I put those papers in the inside pocket, and then I forgot all about them."

As he spoke he reached his hand down in the pocket of the old coat. The pocket must have been pretty deep, for Daddy Bunker's hand went away down. Then a funny look came over the face of the father of the six little Bunkers.

He pulled out his thumb, and his whole hand, and, instead of pulling out a plum, as Little Jack Horner did, Mr. Bunker pulled out -- the missing papers!

"Look what I found!" he cried. "Hurray! The very papers I want!"

"Were they in the coat?" asked the red-haired lumberman in amazement.

"They were," said Daddy Bunker. "Away down inside the lining. They slipped through a hole in the pocket. And there they have been all this while -- in the lining of the old coat."

"And I never knew it," said Mr. Gannon. "Are you sure they are the papers you want?"

"The very ones," answered Mr. Bunker, glancing at them. "And they are worth a lot of money, too. I am very glad I found them."

"So am I," said the lumberman. "I would hate to think I lost the papers out of the old coat, even though I didn't know they were in the lining. Well, I'm glad you have them back."

"Oh, but this is good luck!" said Grandma Bell.

"And Russ and Laddie brought it to us, for they found out where the coat was," said Mother Bunker.

"But we wouldn't have known if Mr. Hurd hadn't told us," said Russ.

"And maybe we wouldn't have come, only Zip chased the rabbit," added Laddie.

"Well, it was good luck all around, and I have my papers back," said Daddy Bunker. "And now we'll go on with the picnic."

Daddy Bunker gave the lumberman some money, as his share in the good luck, and told him when he was through working for Mr. Barker to come to Pineville.

"I'll give you work there," said the children's father.

"All right, I'll come," promised Mr. Gannon. "And the next time any one gives me an old coat I'll look in the torn lining, as well as in the pockets, and if I find any valuable papers I can give them back right away."

Then he told of having tramped from place to place after leaving Pineville, wearing the old coat, until he reached Green Pond.

"It's just like a story in a book," said Rose.

"Yes, it surely is," agreed Daddy Bunker, as he put the valuable papers into his coat pocket, that had no hole in it.

Then the six little Bunkers and the others went on to a lovely spot on the shore of Green Pond and ate their picnic lunch.

"Oh, it's just lovely here," said Rose, as she gave Mun Bun another small piece of cake.

"I wish we could stay forever," added Laddie. "I like it! I can think up awful good riddles here."

"It's fun to sail boats," said Russ, as he whistled a merry tune.

"And there are so many things to see and do at Grandma Bell's house," added Vi.

"I won't throw any more dollies down the well," promised Margy, who remembered her little trick.

"That's good!" laughed Mother Bunker. "But, nice as it is, we can't stay much longer. We are going somewhere else."

"Where?" asked Russ eagerly.

"Well, we have an invitation from your aunt to spend the last of July and part of August in Boston," said his mother. "Would you like to go?"

"We love Grandma Bell, but we would like to go to Boston," answered Rose.

And what the children saw and did there you may learn by reading the next book in this series, to be called: "Six Little Bunkers at Aunt Jo's."

"We did have such a lovely time!" said Rose on their homeward way. "Didn't we, Russ?"

"Yes. And I'm glad daddy got his papers. Oh, look! There goes a bunny!" and he pointed. "Margy -- Mun Bun! Look! There's a bunny like the one Zip chased," and Russ turned to the two small children.

But Mun Bun and Margy were fast asleep on the seat between Mother Bunker and Grandma Bell.

<eob>

The Life Of George Washington In Words Of One Syllable

By

Josephine Pollard



Chapter I.

Boy-Hood.


George Wash-ing-ton was born in the State of Vir-gin-i-a, at a place known as Bridg-es Creek, on Feb-ru-a-ry 22, 1732. His great grand-sire, John Wash-ing-ton, came from Eng-land in the year 1657, and took up lands in that state and was a rich man. George was the son of his grand-son Au-gus-tine. Au-gus-tine's first wife was Jane But-ler who died and left him with two boys. His next wife was Ma-ry Ball, and George was her first child.

The old home-stead in which George was born stood near the banks of the Po-to-mac Riv-er, and was built with a steep roof that sloped down to low eaves that hung out far from the main wall. There were four rooms on the ground floor, and some near the roof, and at each end of the house was a great fire-place built of brick, with broad hearth-stones, such as were in style in those days.

A stone is all that marks the birth-place of George Wash-ing-ton. He was not more than eight years of age when his fa-ther went to live on a farm near the Rap-pa-han-nock Riv-er. The house was built much in the same style as the one at Bridg-es Creek, but it stood on high ground, and here all his boy-hood days were spent.

As there were no good schools in A-mer-i-ca at that time, those who had the means sent their sons to Eng-land to be taught and trained. Law-rence Wash-ing-ton was sent when he was 15 years of age, and as he was the first-born it was thought that he would in time take his fa-ther's place, as head of the house.

The school to which George was sent stood in a field on his fa-ther's land, and was taught by a man named Hob-by. This gave it the name of the "Hob-by School."

There were but three things taught there: How to read -- How to write -- and How to do sums -- and some folks thought that these were all their boys and girls had need to learn. Books were scarce and dear, and as most of the men raised fine crops, and kept up a brisk trade, they were well pleased to have their boys learn how to buy and sell, and to make out bills. George had been trained by his fa-ther, who was a strict and yet a just man, to love the truth and to do right at all times. He was made to feel that it was a sin to tell a lie, and much worse to hide a fault than to own it.

George had a small axe of which he was quite proud, and boy-like, he cut right and left with it, and thought not of the harm he might do. On the lawn stood a small tree which his fa-ther hoped to see grow up to a good height and to bear fine fruit. George made a great gash in this tree with his sharp axe, and when his fa-ther saw it he was quite sad. He called the boy to his side, and in a stern voice said:

"Who did this? Who cut this tree?"

George hung his head with shame. He knew he had done wrong; and he stood in fear of his fa-ther, who he knew would use the rod where there was need of it. It was a chance for the boy to show what kind of stuff he was made of. George raised his face, still red with the blush of shame, and said in his frank way, and with-out a sign of fear:

"I did it, fa-ther, I can-not tell a lie."

There was no need to use the rod on such a boy as that, and the fa-ther must have felt a thrill of joy when he found that the great truths he had taught his son had such a hold on his mind and had struck their roots deep in-to his heart.

It is told that he clasped George to his breast, and said with tears in his eyes; that it would grieve him less to lose scores and scores of trees, than to have his boy tell one lie.

But you must not think that George Wash-ing-ton was such a good-good boy that he could guide him-self, and did not need to be kept in check. He was high strung, as quick as a flash, and felt that he was born to rule, and these traits his mo-ther had to keep down and train so that they would not wreck the young boy, for when George was not yet twelve years of age his fa-ther died, and his mo-ther was left with the care of five young folks. The task was one for which she was well fit, as she had rare good sense, a fine mind, a strong will, and a kind heart.

She used to read to her boys and girls each day out of some good book, talk with them, and tell them how they could best serve God and man, and George laid up each word in his heart, and sought to pay her back as well as he could for all her kind love and care.

She said of George that he was "a good boy;" and it has been said in her praise that "a no-ble mo-ther must have borne so brave a son."

When George was 13 and his half-bro-ther Law-rence 21, Eng-land and Spain went to war, and Law-rence went with the troops that were sent to the West In-dies. The sight of Law-rence in war-like trim, the sound of drum and fife, and the march of troops through the streets, fired the heart of the young lad, and from that time his plays and games, in school and out, took on a war-like turn.

There was a boy at school, named Wil-li-am Bus-tle, who took up arms and marched with as much zeal as George Wash-ing-ton. But George was at all times com-mand-er-in-chief!

He was fond of all the sports that boys love, and could run, and jump, and climb, and toss bars, and took part in all those feats that kept him in health and strength.

He could pitch quoits with great skill, and the place is shown at Fred-er-icks-burg where, when a boy, he flung a stone a-cross the Rap-pa-han-nock. He was fond of a horse, and there was no steed so wild that George could not mount on his back and tame him.

Mrs. Wash-ing-ton had a colt which she thought so much of that she let it run loose in the field. He was so fierce that no one had dared to get on his back.

One day George went out to view the colt with some of his boy friends, and he told them that if they would help him put the bit in the colt's mouth he would mount. The boys drove the colt in-to a small lot, put the bit in his mouth, and Wash-ing-ton was soon on his back. The beast rushed in-to the field, but was soon curbed by the strong arms of the boy on his back. Then the colt reared and plunged and tried in all sorts of ways to get rid of the lad, who clung to the colt's bare back as if he had been glued there. Mad with rage the colt tried once more to throw him, but strained too hard, and fell to the ground and died in a short time.

The group of boys were well scared at this sad end of their fun, and scarce knew what to do. When they went back to the house Mrs. Wash-ing-ton asked the boys if they had seen her fine breed of colts. "The one I am most proud of," said she, "I am told is as large as his sire." Some of the lads hung their heads and knew not what to say; but George spoke up in his frank way and said that the colt was dead.

"Dead!" cried she; "and from what cause?"

Then George told her just what had been done, and how hard the beast had fought to get free, and how at the last, with one wild fierce plunge, he fell down and died.

A flush rose to the mo-ther's cheek, and then she said to her boy: "It is well; but while I grieve at the loss of my fine colt, I feel a pride and joy in my son, who speaks the truth at all times."

George was fond of his books too, and was so wise a lad, and so full of thought, and had so keen a sense of what was just, that his school-mates came to him when they got in-to a war of words, or of blows, that he might say which side was right and which was wrong, and thus put an end to the fight. This use of his mind made George look at things in a clear light, and gave him that look of true pride which all men of high mind, the real kings of earth, are wont to wear.

In due time George out-grew the Hob-by School, and was sent to live with his half-bro-ther Au-gus-tine, at Bridg-es Creek, where there was a school of a high grade. But George had no taste for Lat-in or Greek, and liked best to do sums, and to draw maps. He wrote with great care, page after page of what he called "Forms of Wri-ting."

These were notes of hand, bills of sale, deeds, bonds, and the like, such as one would think a boy of 13 would not care much a-bout.

In this same book (it is kept to this day) George wrote out one hun-dred and ten "Rules," which were to guide him in act and speech at home and a-broad. Some few of these I will give you, that you may see at how young an age this boy set out to train him-self, and fit him-self for the high place he was to fill. It al-most seems as if he must have known the high rank he was to take; but this could not be. His soul was fixed on high things; he had; no low tastes; and he was led by the hand of God.

Here are some of the rules that George Wash-ing-ton took as the guide of his youth.

"In the pres-ence of o-thers sing not to your-self with a hum-ming noise, nor drum with your fin-gers or feet.

"Sleep not when o-thers speak, sit not when o-thers stand, speak not when you should hold your peace, walk not when o-thers stop.

"Turn not your back to o-thers when speak-ing; jog not the ta-ble or desk on which an-o-ther reads or writes; lean not on a-ny one.

"Read no let-ters, books, or pa-pers in com-pa-ny; but when there is a need for do-ing it, you must ask leave. Come not near the books or wri-tings of a-ny one so as to read them, un-less asked to do so, nor give your o-pin-ion of them un-asked; al-so look not nigh when an-o-ther is wri-ting a let-ter.

"In wri-ting or speak-ing give to each per-son his due ti-tle ac-cord-ing to his rank and the cus-tom of the place.

"When a man does all he can, though it suc-ceeds not well, blame not him that did it.

"Be slow to be-lieve e-vil re-ports of a-ny one.

"Be mod-est in your dress and seek to suit na-ture rather than to win ad-mi-ra-tion. Keep to the fash-ion of your e-quals, such as are civ-il and or-der-ly with re-spect to times and pla-ces.

"Play not the pea-cock, look-ing all a-bout you to see if you be well decked, if your shoes fit well, your stock-ings sit neat-ly, and your clothes hand-some-ly.

"Make friends with those of good char-ac-ter, if you care for your own rep-u-ta-tion, for it is bet-ter to be a-lone than in bad com-pa-ny.

"Speak not of dole-ful things in time of mirth, nor at the ta-ble; speak not of mourn-ful things, as death, and wounds, and if o-thers men-tion them, change, if you can, the dis-course.

"Ut-ter not base and fool-ish things 'mongst grave and learn-ed men; nor hard ques-tions or sub-jects a-mong the ig-no-rant; nor things hard to be believed.

"Be not for-ward, but friendly and court-e-ous; the first to sa-lute, hear, and an-swer; and be not pen-sive when it is time to con-verse.

"Gaze not on the marks or blem-ish-es of o-thers, and ask not how they came.

"Think be-fore you speak, pro-nounce not im-per-fect-ly, nor bring out your words too hast-i-ly, but or-der-ly and dis-tinct-ly.

"Treat with men at fit times a-bout bus-i-ness; and whis-per not in the com-pa-ny of o-thers.

"Be not cu-ri-ous to know the af-fairs of o-thers, nor go near to those that speak in pri-vate.

"Un-der-take not to do what you can-not per-form, but be care-ful to keep your prom-ise.

"Speak not e-vil of the ab-sent, for it is un-just.

"Make no show of ta-king great delight in your food; feed not with greed-i-ness; cut your bread with a knife; lean not on the ta-ble; nei-ther find fault with what you eat.

"When you speak of God, let it be grave-ly and in re-ver-ence. Hon-or and o-bey your pa-rents, al-though they be poor.

"Let your a-muse-ments be man-ful, not sin-ful.

"La-bor to keep a live in your breast that lit-tle spark of ce-les-ti-al fire, called con-sci-ence."

It is not known where George found these rules he took so much pains to write out, but it is plain that he set great store by them, and made use of them through out his whole life.




Chapter II.

Youth.


George was a great pet with his bro-ther, Law-rence Wash-ing-ton, who thought it would be a nice thing for him to serve on board one of the King's ships-of-war. While Law-rence was in the West In-dies he was on good terms with Gen-er-al Went-worth and Ad-mi-ral Ver-non, and he had no doubt they would do their best to get his bro-ther a good place. He spoke to George a-bout it, and the boy was wild with joy. His mo-ther's pride was roused, and at first she did not put a straw in his way, but gave him all the help she could. But as the time drew near, her heart, which had been so strong and brave and full of pride, gave way and she felt that she could not part with her dear boy.

One of her friends wrote to Law-rence that Mrs. Wash-ing-ton had made up her mind not to let George go to sea. She said that some of her friends had told her it was a bad plan, and "I find," said he "that one word a-gainst his go-ing has more weight than ten for it."

So they gave up the scheme, and George was sent back to school.

He would, on fine days, go out in the fields and tracts of land a-round the school-house, and with line and rod take the size and shape, the length and width, and mark it all down in one of his books, and so much pains did he take that from the first to the last page not a blot or blur is to be seen.

These neat ways, formed in his youth, were kept up through all his life, and what seems strange is that day-books, and such books as you will find in great use now-a-days were not known at that time. The plan had been thought out by George Wash-ing-ton when a boy of 16, and shows the cast of his mind.

Near this time George was sent to live with his bro-ther Law-rence, at his fine place on the Po-to-mac, which he had called Mount Ver-non, to show how much he thought of the ad-mi-ral of that name.

Here George had a chance to make friends with those of high rank, and he spent much of his time with George Fair-fax who made his home at Bel-voir, near Mount Ver-non. Lord Fair-fax, a man of wealth and worth was much at Bel-voir at that time. He had bought large tracts of land in Vir-gin-i-a, which had not been staked out, or set off in-to lots. In fact he did not know their size or shape, but he had heard that men had sought out some of the best spots, and had built homes there, and laid out farms for which they paid no rent, and he thought it quite time to put a stop to such things.

In March, 1748, George Wash-ing-ton, who had been picked out by Lord Fair-fax for this task, went on his first trip with George Fair-fax to stake off these wild lands. He wrote down what was done from day to day, and by these notes we learn that he had quite a rough time of it, and yet found much that was to his taste. He and the men with him rode for miles and miles through lands rich in grain, hemp, and to-bac-co, and through fine groves of trees on the bank of a broad stream.

One night, writes George, when they had been hard at work all day, they came to the house where they were to be fed and lodged. The wood-men went to bed with their clothes on, but George took his off, and as he turned in he found his bed was of loose straw with not a thing on it but the thread-bare blank-et he was to wrap him-self in. The fleas and bugs soon forced George to get up and put on his clothes and lie as the rest of the men did, and "had we not been so tired," he says "I am sure we should not have slept much that night." He made a vow then that he would sleep out of doors near a fire when on such tramps, and run no more such risks.

On March 18, they reached a point on the Po-to-mac, which they were told they could not ford. There had been a great rain-fall and the stream had not been so high, by six feet, as it was at that time. They made up their minds to stay there for a day or two; went to see the Warm Springs, and at night camped out in the field. At the end of two days, as the stream was still high, they swam their steeds to the Mar-y-land side. The men crossed in birch-bark boats, and rode all the next day in a rain storm to a place two-score miles from where they had set out that morn. Wash-ing-ton writes that the road was "the worst that had ever been trod by man or beast."

On March 23, they fell in with a score or two of red-men who had been off to war and brought home but one scalp, and they had a chance to see a war-dance. The red-men cleared a large space, and built a fire in the midst of it, round which they all sat. One of the men then made a grand speech in which he told them how they were to dance.

When he had done, the one who could dance the best sprang up as if he had just been roused from sleep, and ran and jumped round the ring in a queer kind of way. The rest soon joined him, and did just as he did. By this time the band made it-self heard, and I shall have to tell you what a fine band it was.

There was a pot half full of water with a piece of deer-skin stretched tight on the top, and a gourd with some shot in it, and a piece of horse's tail tied to it to make it look fine. One man shook the gourd, and one drummed all the while the rest danced, and I doubt if you would care to hear the noise that was made.

Late in the day of March 26, they came to a place where dwelt a man named Hedge, who was in the pay of King George as justice of the peace. Here they camped, and at the meal that was spread there was not a knife nor a fork to eat with but such as the guests had brought with them.

On the night of the first of A-pril the wind blew and the rain fell. The straw on which they lay took fire, and George was saved by one of the men, who woke him when it was in a blaze.

"I have not slept for four nights in a bed," wrote Wash-ing-ton at this time to one of his young friends at home, "but when I have walked a good deal in the day, I lie down on a heap of straw, or a bear-skin by the fire, with man, wife, young ones, dogs, and cats; and he is in luck who gets the place next the fire."

For three years he kept up this mode of life, but as it was a hard life to lead he could be out but a few weeks at a time. His pay was a doub-loon a day, and some-times six pis-toles.

A doub-loon is a gold coin of Spain, worth not quite 16 dol-lars. A pis-tole is a small gold coin of Spain, worth not quite four dol-lars.

This rough kind of life, though he did not know it, was to fit him for the toils and ills of war, of which he may have dreamt in those days, as he still kept up his love for war-like things.

While at work on the land round the Blue Ridge, he now and then made his way to Green-way Court where Lord Fair-fax dwelt at this time. Here he had a chance to read choice books, for Lord Fair-fax had a fine mind though his tastes were queer. He lived on a knoll, in a small house not more than twelve feet square. All round him were the huts for his "help," black and white. Red-men, half breeds, and wood-men thronged the place, where they were sure they would get a good meal. He had steeds of fine breed, and hounds of keen scent, for he was fond of the chase, and the woods and hills were full of game.

Here was a grand chance for George, who had a great taste for field-sports, and his rides, and walks, and talks with Lord Fair-fax were a rich treat to the home-bred youth. This wise friend lent George good books which he took with him to the woods and read with great care, and in this way stored his mind with rich thoughts.

In Vir-gin-i-a there were some few men who had served in the late war 'twixt Eng-land and Spain, and they put George through such a drill with sword and with gun that he learned to use them both with great skill.

A Dutch-man, named Van-Bra-am, was one of these men, and he claimed to know a great deal of the art of war. He it was that took George in hand to teach him the use of the sword, and how to fence.

When he was 19 years of age the red-men and the French had made such in-roads on the front, that it was thought best to place men on guard to keep back these foes, and to up-hold the laws of the state of Vir-gin-i-a. There was need of some one to take charge of a school-of-arms at one of the chief out-posts where the French sought to get a foot-hold, and the choice fell on George Wash-ing-ton, who set to work at once to fit him-self for the place.

His broth-er's ill health caused this scheme to be dropped for a time, as Law-rence was forced to go to the West In-dies for change of air, and begged George to go with him. George gave up all thought of self, and the two set sail for Bar-ba-does, Sep-tem-ber 28, 1751. At sea he kept a log-book, took notes of the course of the winds, and if the days were fair or foul, and learned all he could of the ways of a ship and how to sail one.

They reached Bar-ba-does on No-vem-ber 3, and were pleased with the place, and all the strange sights that met their gaze. On all sides were fields of corn and sweet cane, and groves of trees rich in leaves and fruit, and all things held out a hope of cure for the sick man, whose lungs were in a weak state.

They had been but two weeks in Bar-ba-does when George fell ill with small-pox, and this for a time put an end to all their sports. But he had the best of care, and at the end of three weeks was so well that he could go out of doors.

Law-rence soon tired of this place, and longed for a change of scene. They had to ride out by the first dawn of day, for by the time the sun was half an hour high it was as hot as at mid-day. There was no change in the sick man's health, and he made up his mind to go to Ber-mu-da in the spring. He was lone-some with-out his wife, so it was planned that George should go back home and bring her out to Ber-mu-da.

George set sail, De-cem-ber 22, and reached Vir-gin-i-a at the end of five weeks. He must have been glad to step on shore once more, for the cold winds and fierce storms to be met with at sea, at that time of the year, made life on ship-board some-thing of a hard-ship.

Law-rence did not gain in health, and ere his wife could join him he wrote her that he would start for home -- "to his grave." He reached Mount Ver-non in time to die 'neath his own roof, and with kind friends at his bed-side. His death took place on the 26th of Ju-ly, 1752, when he was but 34 years of age.

He had been like a fa-ther to George, and their hearts were bound by ties so strong and sweet that it was a great grief for them to part.

But George had no time to sit down and mourn his loss. There was work for him to do. New cares were thrust on him by his bro-ther's death, that took up all his time and thoughts for some months; and he had to keep up his drills with the men at the school-of-arms, for which he was paid by the State.




Chapter III.

The First Step To Fame.


The time had now come when Wash-ing-ton was to take a fresh start in life, and win for him-self high rank.

The French, who thought they had just as good a right as the Eng-lish to take up land in A-mer-i-ca, pressed their claims, and built forts on the great Lakes and on the banks of the O-hi-o Riv-er. They made friends of the red-men at or near these posts, and made it known that they would fight the Eng-lish at all points.

The red-men on the north shore of Lake On-ta-ri-o were good friends with the French; but those on the south shore were not. They had been well dealt with by the Eng-lish, and their chief, Half-King did not like the war-like move that was made by the French.

He went to the French post on Lake E-rie, and spoke thus to the troops there: "You have no right to come here and build towns, and take our land from us by fraud and force. We raised a flame in Mon-tre-al some time a-go, where we asked you to stay and not to come here on our land. I now ask you to go back to that place, for this land is ours.

"Had you come in a peace-ful way, like the Eng-lish, we should have let you trade with us as they do, but we will not let you come and build on our land and take it by force.

"You and the Eng-lish are white. We live in a land be-tween you, to which you and they have no right. The Great Be-ing gave it to us. We have told the Eng-lish to move off, and they have heard us, and now we tell it to you. We do not fear you, and we mean to keep you both at arm's length."

The French-man said to Half-King: "You talk like a fool. This land is mine, and I will have it, let who will stand up a-gainst me. I have no fear of such as you. I tell you that down the O-hi-o I will go, and build forts on it. If it were blocked up I have troops e-nough to break through it and to tread down all who would try to stop me. My force is as the sand of the sea!"

This proud speech made Half-King feel as if he had been stabbed to the heart. It was the death-blow to his race. But he turned with hope and trust to the Eng-lish, who thus far had not shown a wish to do what was not just to his tribe.

On Oc-to-ber 30, 1753, Wash-ing-ton set out from Will-iams-burg in Vir-gin-i-a with a small band of men. He was just of age, and ranked as Ma-jor Wash-ing-ton. He was to go to the French out-post near Lake E-rie, with a note from Gov-er-nor Din-wid-die to the head man there, and to ask for a re-ply in the name of King George.

He was to find out where forts had been built, and how large a force of troops had crossed the Lakes, and to learn all that he could of those who had dared to set up the flag of France on soil which the Eng-lish claimed as their own.

Wash-ing-ton's route lay through thick woods and swamps where the foot of man had not trod; he had to climb steep and rough hills where wild beasts had their lairs; and to cross streams on frail rafts, if they could not swim or ford them. There were but eight men in the whole band, and the post they were to reach lay 560 miles off, and the whole of the way had to be made on horse-back or on foot.

They met some of the In-di-an chiefs at a place called Logs-town and Wash-ing-ton made his first speech to the red-men. He told them what he had come for, and asked that some of their braves might go with him as guides and safe-guards for the rest of the way. He then gave them what was called a "speech-belt," wrought with beads, as a sign that they were friends and full of peace and good-will.

The chiefs were mild and full of peace. They said that Wash-ing-ton might have some of their men as guides, but he would have to wait for two or three days as the young braves had gone out in search of game.

This Wash-ing-ton could not do. There was no time to lose, and so he set out with but four red-men as guides, and Half-King was one of them.

Through rain and snow, through a long stretch of dark woods that seemed to have no end, through deep streams and swamps where there was no sure foot-hold for man or beast, the brave band kept on their way. At the end of 35 days from the time they left Will-iams-burg they reached a place called Ven-an-go, where they saw a house from the top of which a French flag flew, and Wash-ing-ton called a halt. The head man in charge asked him and his friends to sup with him. The wine was passed with a free hand, but Wash-ing-ton did not drink like his French host. He knew he would need to keep a cool head for his work. When the French-man had his tongue loosed by the wine, he told a good deal.

"We have got the land," he said, "and we mean to keep it. You Eng-lish may have two men to our one, but you are slow. It takes you a long time to move."

The man's tongue wagged on in a free way, and Wash-ing-ton, who had kept his wits, wrote down all he said that could be of use to him.

The next day it rained hard and they could not go on. Then for the first time the French-man found that there were red-men with the Eng-lish. Wash-ing-ton had kept them back, for he feared to trust them to the wiles of the French. But now the shrewd man made a great time, and hailed them as dear friends. He was so glad to see them! How could they be so near and not come to see him? He gave them gifts and plied them with strong drink, till Half-King and his braves thought no more of what they had pledged to the Eng-lish. They were soon in such a state that they did not care to move. It took some time for Wash-ing-ton to get them free from the wiles of the French, and it took four days more of snow and rain, through mire and swamp, to reach the fort for which they had set out.

Here Wash-ing-ton met the chief of the fort and made known the cause that had brought him. He gave him the note from Gov-er-nor Din-wid-die, in which it was asked why the French had come in-to a State that was owned by Great Brit-ain, and they were bid to go in peace. The French took two days in which to think of the course they should take, and in this time Wash-ing-ton set down in his note book the size and strength of the fort and all that he could find out. He told his men to use their eyes, and to count the boats in the stream, and the guns in the fort.

The first chance he had, Wash-ing-ton drew a plan of this fort, and it was sent to Eng-land for King George to see.

Wash-ing-ton saw that the Half-King and the braves with him had much to say to the French, and he did not trust them. He heard that the Eng-lish who sought to trade on the O-hi-o were seized by the French, and that some red-men had passed the fort with two or three white scalps.

All this made him wish to get off safe with his small band, and when the French chief gave him a sealed note, he had a shrewd guess as to what was in it. At last, when the start was to be made, the French chief had large stores of food and wine put on their boats, and made a great show of good will, but at the same time he tried to keep the red-men with him, and told them he would give them guns for gifts the next day. Wash-ing-ton was pressed by the red-men to wait that long for them, and the next morn the French had to give the guns. Then they tried to get the red-men to drink once more, but Wash-ing-ton plead with them, and at last got them to start.

It was hard to steer the boats, as the stream was full of ice, and at times they had to leap out and stand in the wet for half an hour at a time, to drag the boats by main force off the shoals. On the part of the trip that had to be made by land, they had a hard time too. It was cold, the roads were deep in mire, and the steeds were so worn out, that it was feared they would fall by the way. Wash-ing-ton gave up his horse to help bear the food and things for use, and he asked his friends to do so too. They all went on foot, and the cold grew worse. There was deep snow that froze as it fell. For three days they toiled on in a slow way.

At last Wash-ing-ton made up his mind to leave the men and steeds in charge of one of his band, and to strike off with his pack on his back and his gun in his hand by a way which, it seemed to him, would take him home by a short cut. He had the sealed note that he wished to give up as soon as he could. He took but one man with him. At night they lit a fire, and camped by it in the woods. At two in the morn, they were once more on foot.

They fell in with a red-man who claimed to know Mr. Gist, the man who was with Wash-ing-ton, and called him by his name in his own tongue and seemed glad to see him. They asked the red-man if he would go with them and show them a short-cut to the Forks of the Al-le-gha-ny Riv-er. The red-man seemed glad to serve them, and took Wash-ing-ton's pack on his own back. Then the three set out, and walked at a brisk pace for eight or ten miles.

By this time Wash-ing-ton's feet were so sore that he could not take a step with-out pain, and he was well tired out. He thought it best to camp where they were, and the red-man begged Wash-ing-ton to let him bear his gun. But the Ma-jor would not let it go out of his own hands. This made the red-man cross, and he urged them to keep on and said there were red-skins in the woods who would scalp them if they lay out all night. He would take them to his own hut where they would be safe.

The white men lost faith in their guide, and were soon quite ill at ease. When the red-man found that he could not make them go his way, or do as he said, he ceased to wear the face of a friend. At heart he was the foe of all white men. All at once he made a stop, and then turned and fired on them.

Wash-ing-ton found that he was not hit, so he turned to Mr. Gist, and said, "Are you shot?"

"No," said Gist. Then the red-man ran to a big white oak tree to load his gun. Gist would have killed him, but Wash-ing-ton would not let him.

Gist says, "We let him charge his gun. We found he put in a ball; then we took care of him. The Ma-jor or I stood by the guns. We made him make a fire for us by a small run as if we meant to sleep there. I said to the Ma-jor; 'As you will not have him killed, we must get rid of him in some way, and then we must march on all night;' on which I said to the red-man, 'I suppose you were lost and fired your gun.'

"He said he knew the way to his log-hut and it was not far off. 'Well,' said I, 'do you go home; and as we are tired we will fol-low your track in the morn-ing, and here is a cake of bread for you, and you must give us meat in the morn-ing.' He was glad to get off," Wash-ing-ton says, "We walked all the rest of the night, and made no stop, that we might get the start so far as to be out of their reach the next day, since we were quite sure they would get on our track as soon as it was light."

But no more was seen or heard of them, and the next night, at dusk, the two white men came to the Al-le-gha-ny, which they thought to cross on the ice.

This they could not do, so they had to go to work with but one small axe, and a poor one at that, and make a raft. It was a whole day's work. They next got it launched, and went on board of it; then set off.

But when they were in mid-stream the raft was jammed in the ice in such a way that death seemed to stare them in the face.

Wash-ing-ton put out his pole to stay the raft so that the ice might pass by; but the tide was so swift that it drove the ice with great force. It bore down on the pole so hard that Wash-ing-ton was thrown in-to the stream where it was at least ten feet deep. He would have been swept out of sight if he had not caught hold of one of the raft logs. As they found they could not cross the stream, or get back to the shore they had left, they quit the raft, and got on a small isle near which they were borne by the tide.

But this was not the end of their ill luck. It was so cold that Mr. Gist's hands and feet froze, and both he and Wash-ing-ton were in great pain through-out the long dark night. A gleam of hope came with the dawn of day, for they found the ice 'twixt them and the east bank of the stream was so hard as to bear their weight, and they made their way on it, and the same day came to a place where they could rest. Here they spent two or three days.

They set out on the first of Jan-u-a-ry, and the next day came to Mon-on-ga-he-la, where Wash-ing-ton bought a horse. On the 11th he got to Bel-voir, where he stopped one day to take the rest he was in need of, and then set out and reached Will-iams-burg on the 16th of Jan-u-a-ry. He gave to Gov-er-nor Din-wid-die the note he had brought from the French chief, showed him the plans of the fort, and told him all that he had seen and done.

The fame of his deeds, of the ills he had borne, and the nerve and pluck he had shown, was soon noised a-broad, and George Wash-ing-ton, though a mere youth, was looked up to by young and old.




Chapter IV.

To The Front!


The French chief in his note to Gov-er-nor Din-wid-die had said, in words that were smooth but clear, that he would not leave the banks of the O-hi-o; so the Eng-lish felt as if it were time for them to make a move, though they did not wish to bring on a war.

Land was set off on the O-hi-o where a fort was built, and the rest of it left for the use of the troops.

Wash-ing-ton was asked to lead the troops, but he shrank from it as a charge too great for one so young. So Josh-u-a Fry was made Col-o-nel, and Wash-ing-ton Lieu-ten-ant Col-o-nel of a force of 300 men.

It was hard work to get men to join the ranks. The pay was small, and those who had good farms and good homes did not care to leave them. Those who had a mind to go were for the most part men who did not like to work, and had no house or home they could call their own.

Some were bare-foot, some had no shirts to their backs, and not a few were with-out coat or waist-coat, as the vest was called in those days.

If it was hard work to get this kind of men, it was still more of a task to find those who would serve as chiefs, and Wash-ing-ton found him-self left in charge of a lot of raw troops who knew no will but their own.

But Van-Bra-am, who had taught Wash-ing-ton how to use the sword, was with him, and gave him just the aid he had need of at this time.

On A-pril 2, 1754, Wash-ing-ton, at the head of 150 men, set off for the new fort at the Fork of the O-hi-o. The roads were rough, and the march was slow, and it was not till A-pril 20 that they reached Will's Creek. Here they were met by a small force, in charge of Cap-tain Ad-am Ste-phen. The rest of the force, with the field-guns, were to come by way of the Po-to-mac. These last were in charge of Col-o-nel Fry.

When Wash-ing-ton reached Will's Creek word was brought him that a large force of French troops had borne down on the new fort. Cap-tain Trent, who was in charge of the few troops in the fort, was a-way at the time, and the young En-sign Ward did not know what to do. He sought the aid of Half-King, who told him to plead with the French, and to beg them to wait till the Cap-tain came back, and the two went at once to the French camp. But the French would not wait, or make terms of peace. They had come as foes, and told En-sign Ward that if he did not leave the fort at once, with all his men, they would put him out by force. All the French would grant was that our men might take their tools with them; so the next morn they filed out of the fort, gave up their arms, and took the path to the woods. The French took the fort and built it up, and called it Fort Du-quesne (kane), which was the name of the Gov-er-nor of Can-a-da.

When the sad news was brought to Wash-ing-ton he was at a loss to know what to do, or which way to turn. Here he was with a small band of raw troops right in the midst of foes, red and white, who would soon hem them in and use them ill if they found out where they were. Yet it would not do to turn back, or show signs of fear. Col-o-nel Fry had not yet come up and the weight of care was thrown on Wash-ing-ton.

He let the Gov-er-nors of Penn-syl-va-ni-a and Ma-ry-land know of his plight, and urged them to send on troops. But none came to his aid.

He had a talk with his chief men, and they all thought it would be best to push on through the wild lands, make the road as they went on, and try to reach the mouth of Red-stone Creek, where they would build a fort. By this means the men would be kept at work, their fears would be quelled, and a way made for the smooth and swift march of the troops in the rear.

There was so much to be done that the men, work as hard as they might, could not clear the way with much speed. There were great trees to be cut down, rocks to be moved, swamps to be filled up, and streams to be bridged. While in the midst of these toils, the bread gave out, and the lack of food made the men too weak to work. In spite of all these ills they made out to move at the rate of four miles a day, up steep hills, and through dense woods that have since borne the name of "The Shades of Death."

While at a large stream where they had to stop to build a bridge, Wash-ing-ton was told that it was not worth while for him to try to go by land to Red-stone Creek, when he could go by boat in much less time.

This would be a good plan, if it would work; and to make sure, Wash-ing-ton took five men with him in a bark boat down the stream. One of these men was a red-skin guide. When they had gone ten miles, the guide said that that was as far as he would go. Wash-ing-ton said, "Why do you want to leave us now? We need you, and you know that we can not get on with-out you. Tell us why you wish to leave."

The red-man said, "Me want gifts. The red-men will not work with-out them. The French know this, and are wise. If you want the red-men to be your guides, you must buy them. They do not love you so well that they will serve you with-out pay."

Wash-ing-ton told the guide that when they got back he would give him a fine white shirt with a frill on it, and a good great-coat, and this put an end to the "strike" for that time. They kept on in the small boat for a score of miles, till they came to a place where there was a falls in the stream at least 40 feet. This put a stop to their course, and Wash-ing-ton went back to camp with his mind made up to go on by land.

He was on his way to join his troops when word was brought him from Half-King to be on his guard, as the French were close at hand. They had been on the march for two days, and meant to strike the first foe they should see.

Half-King said that he and the rest of his chiefs would be with Wash-ing-ton in five days to have a talk.

Wash-ing-ton set to work at once to get his troops in shape to meet the foe. Scouts were sent out. There was a scare in the night. The troops sprang to arms, and kept on the march till day-break. In the mean-time, at nine o'clock at night, word came from Half-King, who was then six miles from the camp, that he had seen the tracks of two French-men, and the whole force was near that place.

Wash-ing-ton put him-self at the head of two score men, left the rest to guard the camp, and set off to join Half-King. The men had to grope their way by foot-paths through the woods. The night was dark and there had been quite a fall of rain, so that they slipped and fell, and lost their way, and had to climb the great rocks, and the trees that had been blown down and blocked their way.

It was near sun-rise when they came to the camp of Half-King, who at once set out with a few of his braves to show Wash-ing-ton the tracks he had seen. Then Half-King called up two of his braves, showed them the tracks, and told them what to do. They took the scent, and went off like hounds, and brought back word that they had traced the foot-prints to a place shut in by rocks and trees where the French were in camp.

It was planned to take them off their guard. Wash-ing-ton was to move on the right, Half-King and his men on the left. They made not a sound. Wash-ing-ton was the first on the ground, and as he came out from the rocks and trees at the head of his men, the French caught sight of him and ran to their arms.

A sharp fire was kept up on both sides. De Ju-mon-ville, who led the French troops, was killed, with ten of his men. One of Wash-ing-ton's men was killed, and two or three met with wounds. None of the red-men were hurt, as the French did not aim their guns at them at all. In less than half an hour the French gave way, and ran, but Wash-ing-ton's men soon came up with them, took them, and they were sent, in charge of a strong guard, to Gov-er-nor Din-wid-die.

This was the first act of war, in which blood had been shed, and Wash-ing-ton had to bear a great deal of blame from both France and Eng-land till the truth was made known. He was thought to have been too rash, and too bold, and in more haste to make war than to seek for peace. These sins were charged to his youth, for it was not known then how much more calm, and wise, and shrewd he was than most men who were twice his age.

The French claimed that this band had been sent out to ask Wash-ing-ton, in a kind way, to leave the lands that were held by the crown of France. But Wash-ing-ton was sure they were spies; and Half-King said they had bad hearts, and if our men were such fools as to let them go, he would give them no more aid.

Half-King was full of fight, and Wash-ing-ton was flushed with pride, and in haste to move on and brave the worst. He wrote home: "The Min-goes have struck the French, and I hope will give a good blow be-fore they have done."

Then he told of the fight he had been in, and how he had won it, and was not hurt though he stood in the midst of the fierce fire. The balls whizzed by him, "and," said Wash-ing-ton "I was charmed with the sound."

This boast came to the ears of George II. who said, in a dry sort of a way, "He would not say so if he had heard ma-ny."

When long years had passed, some one asked Wash-ing-ton if he had made such a speech. "If I did," said he, "it was when I was young." And he was but 22 years of age.

He knew that as soon as the French heard of the fight and their bad luck, they would send a strong force out to meet him, so he set all his men to work to add to the size of the earth-work, and to fence it in so that it might be more of a strong-hold. Then he gave to it the name of Fort Ne-ces-si-ty, for it had been thrown up in great haste in time of great need, when food was so scant it was feared the troops would starve to death. At one time, for six days they had no flour, and, of course, no bread.

News came of the death of Col-o-nel Fry, at Will's creek, and Wash-ing-ton was forced to take charge of the whole force. Fry's troops -- 300 in all -- came up from Will's Creek, and Half-King brought 40 red-men with their wives and young ones and these all had to be fed and cared for.

Young as he was Wash-ing-ton was like a fa-ther to this strange group of men. On Sundays, when in camp, he read to them from the word of God, and by all his acts made them feel that he was a good and true man, and fit to be their chief.

The red-men did quite well as spies and scouts, but were not of much use in the field, and they, and some men from South Car-o-li-na, did much to vex young Wash-ing-ton.

Half-King did not like the way that white men fought, so he took him-self and his band off to a safe place. The white men from South Car-o-li-na, who had come out to serve their king, were too proud to soil their hands or to do hard work, nor would they be led by a man of the rank of Col-o-nel.

In the midst of all these straits Wash-ing-ton stood calm and firm.

The South Car-o-li-na troops were left to guard the fort, while the rest of the men set out to clear the road to Red-stone Creek. Their march was slow, and full of toil, and at the end of two weeks they had gone but 13 miles. Here at Gist's home, where they stopped to rest, word came to Wash-ing-ton that a large force of the French were to be sent out to fight him. Word was sent to the fort to have the men that were there join them with all speed.

They reached Gist's at dusk, and by dawn of the next day all our troops were in that place, where it was at first thought they would wait for the foe.

But this plan they gave up, for it was deemed best to make haste back to the fort, where they might at least screen them-selves from the fire of the foe.

The roads were rough; the heat was great; the food was scant, and the men weak and worn out. There were but few steeds, and these had to bear such great loads that they could not move with speed.

Wash-ing-ton gave up his own horse and went on foot, and the rest of the head men did the same.

The troops from Vir-gin-i-a worked with a will and would take turns and haul the big field guns, while the King's troops, from South Car-o-li-na, walked at their ease, and would not lend a hand, or do a stroke of work.

On the morn of Ju-ly 3, scouts brought word to the fort that the French were but four miles off, and in great force. Wash-ing-ton at once drew up his men on the ground out-side of the fort, to wait for the foe.

Ere noon the French were quite near the fort and the sound of their guns was heard.

Wash-ing-ton thought this was a trick to draw his men out in-to the woods, so he told them to hold their fire till the foe came in sight. But as the French did not show them-selves, though they still kept up their fire, he drew his troops back to the fort and bade them fire at will, and do their best to hit their mark.

The rain fell all day long, so that the men in the fort were half drowned, and some of the guns scarce fit for use.

The fire was kept up till eight o'clock at night, when the French sent word they would like to make terms with our men.

Wash-ing-ton thought it was a trick to find out the state of things in the fort, and for a time gave no heed to the call. The French sent two or three times, and at last brought the terms for Wash-ing-ton to read. They were in French. There was no-thing at hand to write with, so Van Bra-am, who could speak French, was called on to give the key.

It was a queer scene. A light was brought, and held close to his face so that he could see to read. The rain fell in such sheets that it was hard work to keep up the flame. Van Bra-am mixed up Dutch, French, and Eng-lish in a sad way, while Wash-ing-ton and his chief aids stood near with heads bent, and tried their best to guess what was meant.

They made out at last that the main terms were that the troops might march out of the fort, and fear no harm from French or red-skins as they made their way back to their homes. The drums might beat and the flags fly, and they could take with them all the goods and stores, and all that was in the fort -- but the large guns. These the French would break up. And our men should pledge them-selves not to build on the lands which were claimed by the King of France for the space of one year.

The weak had to yield to the strong, and Wash-ing-ton and his men laid down their arms and marched out of the fort.

A note of thanks was sent to Wash-ing-ton, and all his head men but Van Bra-am, who was thought to have read the terms in such a way as to harm our side and serve the French.

But there were those who felt that Van Bra-am was as true as he was brave, and that it was the fault of his head and not his heart, for it was a hard task for a Dutch-man to turn French in-to Eng-lish, and make sense of it.




Chapter V.

As Aide-De-Camp.


In spite of the way in which the fight at Great Mead-ows came to an end Gov-er-nor Din-wid-die made up his mind that the troops, led by Wash-ing-ton, should cross the hills and drive the French from Fort Du-quesne.

Wash-ing-ton thought it a wild scheme; for the snow lay deep on the hills, his men were worn out, and had no arms, nor tents, nor clothes, nor food, such as would fit them to take the field. It would need gold to buy these things, as well as to pay for fresh troops.

Gold was placed in the Gov-er-nor's hands to use as he pleased. Our force was spread out in-to ten bands, of 100 men each. The King's troops were put in high rank, and Col-o-nel Wash-ing-ton was made Cap-tain. This, of course, was more than he could bear, so he left the ar-my at once, and with a sad heart.

In a short time Gov-er-nor Sharpe of Ma-ry-land was placed by King George at the head of all the force that was to fight the French. He knew that he would need the aid of Wash-ing-ton, and he begged him to come back and serve with him in the field. But Wash-ing-ton did not like the terms, and paid no heed to the call.

The next Spring, Gen-er-al Brad-dock came from Eng-land with two large bands of well-trained troops, which it was thought would drive the French back in-to Can-a-da. Our men were full of joy, and thought the war would soon be at an end. Brad-dock urged Wash-ing-ton to join him in the field. Wash-ing-ton felt that he could be of great use, as he knew the land and the ways of red-men, so he took up the sword once more, as Brad-dock's aide-de-camp.

Ben-ja-min Frank-lin, who had charge of the mails, lent his aid to the cause, and did all that he could to serve Brad-dock and his men. Brad-dock, with his staff and a guard of horse-men, set out for Will's Creek, by the way of Win-ches-ter, in A-pril, 1755. He rode in a fine turn-out that he had bought of Gov-er-nor Sharpe, which he soon found out was not meant for use on rough roads. But he had fought with dukes, and men of high rank, and was fond of show, and liked to put on a great deal of style.

He thought that this would make the troops look up to him, and would add much to his fame.

In May the troops went in-to camp, and Wash-ing-ton had a chance to learn much of the art of war that was new and strange to him, and to see some things that made him smile.

All the rules and forms of camp-life were kept up. One of the head men who died while in camp, was borne to the grave in this style: A guard marched in front of the corpse, the cap-tain of it in the rear. Each man held his gun up-side down, as a sign that the dead would war no more, and the drums beat the dead march. When near the grave the guard formed two lines that stood face to face, let their guns rest on the ground, and leaned their heads on the butts. The corpse was borne twixt these two rows of men with the sword and sash on the top of the box in which he lay, and in the rear of it the men of rank marched two and two. When the corpse was put in the ground, the guard fired their guns three times, and then all the troops marched back to camp.

The red-men -- the Del-a-wares and Shaw-nees came to aid Gen-er-al Brad-dock. With them were White Thun-der, who had charge of the "speech-belts," and Sil-ver Heels, who was swift of foot. Half-King was dead, and White Thun-der reigned in his stead.

The red-men had a camp to them-selves, where they would sing, and dance, and howl and yell for half the night. It was fun for the King's troops to watch them at their sports and games, and they soon found a great charm in this wild sort of life.

In the day time the red-men and their squaws, rigged up in their plumes and war paint, hung round Brad-dock's camp, and gazed spell-bound at the troops as they went through their drills.

But this state of things did not last long, and strife rose twixt the red and white men, and some of the red-skins left the camp. They told Brad-dock they would meet him on his march, but they did not keep their word.

Wash-ing-ton was sent to Will-iams-burg to bring the gold of which there was need, and when he came back he found that Brad-dock had left a small guard at Fort Cum-ber-land, on Will's Creek, and was then on his way to Fort Du-quesne. He would give no heed to those who knew more of the back-woods than he did, nor call on the red-men to serve as scouts and guides. He was not used to that kind of war-fare, and scorned to be taught by such a youth as George Wash-ing-ton.

The march was a hard one for man and beast. Up steep hills and through rough roads they had to drag the guns, and Brad-dock soon found out that these new fields were not like the old ones on which he had been wont to fight.

Hard as it was for his pride to seek the aid of so young a man, he was at last forced to ask Wash-ing-ton to help him out of these straits.

They had then made a halt at Lit-tle Mead-ows. Wash-ing-ton said there was no time to lose. They must push on at once.

While at this place Cap-tain Jack, and his brave band of hunts-men came in-to camp. They were fond of the chase, and were well-armed with knives and guns, and looked quite like a tribe of red-skins as they came out of the wood.

Brad-dock met them in a stiff sort of way. Cap-tain Jack stepped in front of his band and said that he and his men were used to rough work, and knew how to deal with the red-men, and would be glad to join the force.

Brad-dock looked on him with a gaze of scorn, and spoke to him in a way that roused the ire of Cap-tain Jack. He told his men what had been said, and the whole band turned their backs on the camp, and went through the woods to their old haunts where they were known and prized at their true worth.

In the mean-time Wash-ing-ton, who had had a head-ache for some days, grew so ill that he could not ride on his horse, and had to be borne part of the time in a cart.

Brad-dock -- who well knew what a loss his death would be -- said that he should not go on. Wash-ing-ton plead with him, but Brad-dock was firm, and made him halt on the road. Here he was left with a guard, and in care of Doc-tor Craik, and here he had to stay for two long weeks. By that time he could move, but not with-out much pain, for he was still quite weak. It was his wish to join the troops in time for the great blow, and while yet too weak to mount his horse, he set off with his guards in a close cart, and reached Brad-dock's camp on the eighth of Ju-ly.

He was just in time, for the troops were to move on Fort Du-quesne the next day. The fort was on the same side of the Mon-on-ga-he-la as the camp, but twixt them lay a pass two miles in length, with the stream on the left and a high range of hills on the right. The plan was to ford the stream near the camp, march on the west bank of the stream for five miles or so, and then cross to the east side and push on to the fort.

By sun-rise the next day the troops turned out in fine style, and marched off to the noise of drum and fife. To Wash-ing-ton this was a grand sight. Though still weak and ill, he rode his horse, and took his place on the staff as aide-de-camp.

At one o'clock the whole force had crossed the ford north of the fort, and were on their way up the bank, when they were met by a fierce and sharp fire from foes they could not see. Wild war-whoops and fierce yells rent the air. What Wash-ing-ton feared, had come to pass. Brad-dock did his best to keep the troops in line; but as fast as they moved up, they were cut down by foes screened by rocks and trees.

Now and then one of the red-men would dart out of the woods with a wild yell to scalp a red-coat who had been shot down. Wild fear seized Brad-dock's men, who fired and took no aim. Those in the front rank were killed by those in the rear. Some of the Vir-gin-i-a troops took post back of trees, and fought as the red-men did. Wash-ing-ton thought it would be a good plan for Brad-dock's men to do the same. But he thought there was but one way for troops to fight, and that brave men ought not to skulk in that way. When some of them took to the trees, Brad-dock stormed at them, and called them hard names, and struck them with the flat of his sword.

All day long Wash-ing-ton rode here and there in the midst of the fight. He was in all parts of the field, a fine mark for the guns of the foe, and yet not a shot struck him to do him harm. Four small shots went through his coat. Two of his steeds were shot down; and though those who stood near him fell dead at his side, Wash-ing-ton had not one wound.

The fight raged on. Death swept through the ranks of the red-coats. The men at the guns were seized with fright. Wash-ing-ton sprang from his horse, wheeled a brass field-piece with his own hand, and sent a good shot through the woods. But this act did not bring the men back to their guns.

Brad-dock was on the field the whole day, and did his best to turn the tide. But most of his head-men had been slain in his sight; five times had he been forced to mount a fresh horse, as one by one was struck down by the foe-man's shot, and still he kept his ground and tried to check the flight of his men.

At last a shot struck him in the right arm and went in-to his lungs. He fell from his horse, and was borne from the field. The troops took fright at once, and most of them fled. The yells of the red-men still rang in their ears.

"All is lost!" they cried.

"Brad-dock is killed!"

Wash-ing-ton had been sent to a camp 40 miles off, and was on his way back when he heard the sad news.

But Brad-dock did not die at once. He was brought back to camp, and for two days lay in a calm state but full of pain. Now and then his lips would move and he was heard to say, "Who would have thought it! We shall know how to deal with them the next time!"

He died at Fort Ne-ces-si-ty on the night of Ju-ly 13. Had he done as Wash-ing-ton told him he might have saved his own life, and won the day. But he was a proud man, and when he made up his mind to do a thing he would do it at all risks. Through this fault he missed the fame he hoped to win, lost his life, and found a grave in a strange land.

His loss was a great gain to Wash-ing-ton, for all felt that he, so calm, so grave, so free from fear, was the right sort of man to lead troops to war. Those who had seen him in the field thought that he bore a charmed life, for though he stood where the shot fell thick and fast he was not hurt, and showed no signs of fear. But Wash-ing-ton was weak, and in need of rest, and as the death of Brad-dock left him with no place in the force, he went back to Mount Ver-non where he thought to spend the rest of his days.

The fight which he took part in as aide-de-camp, and which had so sad an end, goes by the name of Brad-dock's de-feat.




Chapter VI.

Col-O-Nel Of Vir-Gin-I-A Troops.


The troops in Vir-gin-i-a were left with-out a head. There was no one to lead them out to war, and if this fact came to the ears of the French, they would be more bold.

Wash-ing-ton's friends urged him to ask for the place. But this he would not do. His brother wrote him thus: "Our hopes rest on you, dear George. You are the man for the place: all are loud in your praise."

But Wash-ing-ton was firm. He wrote back and told in plain words all that he had borne, and how he had been served for the past two years.

"I love my land," he said, "and shall be glad to serve it, but not on the same terms that I have done so."

His mo-ther begged him not to risk his life in these wars. He wrote her that he should do all that he could to keep out of harm's way, but if he should have a call to drive the foes from the land of his birth, he would have to go! And this he was sure would give her much more pride than if he were to stay at home.

On the same day, Au-gust 13, that this note was sent, word came to Wash-ing-ton that he had been made chief of all the troops in Vir-gin-i-a, and the next month he went to Win-ches-ter to stay.

Here he found much to do. There was need of more troops, and it was hard work to get them. Forts had to be built, and he drew up a plan of his own and set men to work it out, and went out from time to time to see how they got on with it. He rode off thus at the risk of his life, for red-men lay in wait for scalps, and were fierce to do deeds of blood.

The stir of war put new life in-to the veins of old Lord Fair-fax. He got up a troop of horse, and put them through a drill on the lawn at Green-way Court. He was fond of the chase, and knew how to run the sly fox to the ground. The red-man was a sort of fox, and Fair-fax was keen for the chase, and now and then would mount his steed and call on George Wash-ing-ton, who was glad to have his kind friend so near.

In a short time he had need of his aid, for word came from the fort at Will's Creek that a band of red-men were on the war-path with fire-brands, and knives, and were then on their way to Win-ches-ter.

A man on a fleet horse was sent post-haste to Wash-ing-ton, who had been called to Will-iams-burg, the chief town.

In the mean-time Lord Fair-fax sent word to all the troops near his home to arm and haste to the aid of Win-ches-ter.

Those on farms flocked to the towns, where they thought they would be safe; and the towns-folks fled to the west side of the Blue Ridge. In the height of this stir Wash-ing-ton rode in-to town, and the sight of him did much to quell their fears.

He thought that there were but a few red-skins who had caused this great scare, and it was his wish to take the field at once and go out and put them to flight. But he could get but a few men to go with him. The rest of the town troops would not stir.

All the old fire-arms that were in the place were brought out, and smiths set to work to scour off the rust and make them fit to use.

Caps, such as are now used on guns, were not known in those days. Flint stones took their place. One of these was put in the lock, so that when it struck a piece of steel it would flash fire, and the spark would set off the gun. These were called flint-lock guns.

Such a thing as a match had not been thought of, and flint stones were made use of to light all fires.

Carts were sent off for balls, and flints, and for food with which to feed all those who had flocked to Win-ches-ter.

The tribes of red-men that had once served with Wash-ing-ton, were now on good terms with the French. One of their chiefs, named Ja-cob, laughed at forts that were built of wood, and made his boast that no fort was safe from him if it would catch fire.

The town where these red-men dwelt was two score miles from Fort Du-quesne, and a band of brave white men, with John Arm-strong and Hugh Mer-cer at their head, set out from Win-ches-ter to put them to rout.

At the end of a long march they came at night on the red-men's strong-hold, and took them off their guard. The red-men, led by the fierce chief Ja-cob, who chose to die ere he would yield, made a strong fight, but in the end most of them were killed, their huts were set on fire, and the brave strong-hold was a strong-hold no more.

In the mean-time Wash-ing-ton had left Win-ches-ter and gone to Fort Cum-ber-land, on Will's Creek. Here he kept his men at work on new roads and old ones. Some were sent out as scouts. Brig-a-dier Gen-er-al Forbes, who was in charge of the whole force, was on his way from Phil-a-del-phi-a, but his march was a slow one as he was not in good health. The plan was when he came to move on the French fort. The work that was to have been done north of the fort, by Lord Lou-doun, hung fire. It was felt that he was not the right man for the place, and so his lord-ship was sent back to Eng-land.

Ma-jor Gen-er-al Ab-er-crom-bie then took charge of the King's troops at the north. These were to charge on Crown Point. Ma-jor Gen-er-al Am-herst with a large force of men was with the fleet of Ad-mi-ral Bos-caw-en, that set sail from Hal-i-fax the last of May. These were to lay siege to Lou-is-berg and the isle of Cape Bre-ton, which is at the mouth of the Gulf of St. Law-rence. Forbes was to move on Fort Du-quesne, and was much too slow to suit Wash-ing-ton who was in haste to start. His men had worn out their old clothes and were in great need of new ones, which they could not get for some time. He liked the dress the red-men wore. It was light and cool, and, what had to be thought of most, it was cheap. Wash-ing-ton had some of his men put on this dress, and it took well, and has since been worn by those who roam the woods and plains of our great land.

I will not tell you of all that took place near the great Lakes at this time, as I wish to keep your mind on George Wash-ing-ton.

The schemes laid out by Gen-er-al Forbes did not please Wash-ing-ton, who urged a prompt march on the fort, while the roads were good. He wrote to Ma-jor Hal-ket, who had been with Brad-dock, and was now on Forbes' staff: "I find him fixed to lead you a new way to the O-hi-o, through a road each inch of which must be cut when we have scarce time left to tread the old track, which is known by all to be the best path through the hills." He made it plain that if they went that new way all would be lost, and they would be way-laid by the red-skins and meet with all sorts of ills.

But no heed was paid to his words, and the warm days came to an end. Six weeks were spent in hard work on the new road with a gain of less than three-score miles, when the whole force might have been in front of the French fort had they marched by the old road as Wash-ing-ton had urged.

At a place known as Loy-al Han-nan, the troops were brought to a halt, as Forbes thought this was a good place to build a fort. Some men in charge of Ma-jor Grant went forth as scouts. At dusk they drew near a fort, and set fire to a log house near its walls. This was a rash thing to do, as it let the French know just where they were.

But not a gun was fired from the fort. This the King's troops took for a sign of fear, and were bold and proud, and quite sure that they would win the day. So Brad-dock had thought, and we know his fate.

At length -- when Forbes and his men were off their guard -- the French made a dash from the fort, and poured their fire on the King's troops. On their right and left flanks fell a storm of shot from the red-skins who had hid back of trees, rocks, and shrubs.

The King's troops were then brought up in line, and for a while stood firm and fought for their lives. But they were no match for the red-skins, whose fierce yells made the blood run chill. Ma-jor Lew-is fought hand to hand with a "brave" whom he laid dead at his feet. Red-skins came up at once to take the white-man's scalp, and there was but one way in which he could save his life. This was to give him-self up to the French, which both he and Ma-jor Grant were forced to do, as their troops had been put to rout with great loss.

Wash-ing-ton won much praise for the way in which the Vir-gin-i-a troops had fought, and he was at once put in charge of a large force, who were to lead the van, serve as scouts, and do their best to drive back the red-skins -- work that called for the best skill and nerve.

It was late in the fall of the year when the King's troops all met at Loy-al Han-nan, and so much had to be done to clear the roads, that snow would be on the ground ere they could reach the fort. But from those of the French that they had seized in the late fight, they found out that there were but few troops in the fort, that food was scarce, and the red-skins false to their trust.

This lent hope to the King's troops, who made up their minds to push on. They took up their march at once, with no tents or stores, and but few large guns.

Wash-ing-ton rode at the head. It was a sad march, for the ground was strewn with the bones of those who had fought with Grant and with Brad-dock, and been slain by the foe, or died of their wounds.

At length the troops drew near the fort, and made their way up to it with great care, for they thought the French would be in wait for them, and that there would be a fierce fight.

But the French had had such bad luck in Can-a-da, that they had lost heart, and those in the fort were left to take care of them-selves. So when the Eng-lish were one day's march from the fort, the French stole out at night, got in-to boats, set the fort on fire, and went down the O-hi-o by the light of the flames.

So the fort which had been the cause of so much blood-shed, fell at last with-out a blow, and on No-vem-ber 25, 1758, Wash-ing-ton, with his van-guard, marched in and placed the Brit-ish flag on the wreck of the once proud strong-hold, the name of which was changed to Fort Pitt.

The French gave up all claim to the O-hi-o from that time. The red-skins were quick to make friends with those who held sway, and there was peace with all the tribes twixt the O-hi-o and the Lakes.

Wash-ing-ton had made up his mind to leave the field when this war came to an end, and in De-cem-ber of the same year he bade his troops good-bye.

He had been with them for five years in a hard school, and the strain on his mind had been so great that he lost his health, and felt that he could war no more.




Chapter VII.

The Home Of Wash-Ing-Ton.


In the year 1758, while Wash-ing-ton was with his troops at Win-ches-ter, he met and fell in love with Mrs. Mar-tha Cus-tis. Her home was known as the White House, and here she dwelt in fine style, for she had great wealth. She had a boy six years of age, and a girl of four.

Such were her charms that men of wealth and rank sought for her hand, but Wash-ing-ton, so calm and grave, and with his way yet to make in the world, won her heart, and they were to be wed at the close of the war.

She had heard of the brave deeds he had done, and was proud to be the wife of such a man, so on Jan-u-a-ry 6, 1759, the two were made one.

In the course of a few months Wash-ing-ton went to live at Mount Ver-non, where he spent much of his time in the care of his own lands, and those of his wife.

He had a seat with those who made laws for the State, and no man was thought more of than George Wash-ing-ton.

Wash-ing-ton loved to be at Mount Ver-non, where he had spent a great part of his boy-hood, with his bro-ther, Law-rence, of whom he was so fond. The house stood on a knoll, and near it were wild woods and deep dells, haunts of the fox and the deer, and bright streams where fish could be found at all times.

His chief sport was the chase, and, at the right time of the year, he would go out two or three times a week, with dogs and horns and trained steeds, in search of the sly fox who would lead him and his friends a fine run.

Some times he would go out with his gun and shoot wild-ducks, great flocks of which might be found on the streams close at hand. Or he would scour the woods for the game with which they were filled, and which none but those who owned the place had a right to kill.

A man who had a bad name and paid no heed to the laws that were made, was wont to make his way to the grounds near Mount Ver-non and shoot just what game he chose. More than once he had been told to leave and not come back, but he paid no more heed than if he had been deaf, and was sure to take his pick from the best kind of ducks.

One day when Wash-ing-ton was out on horse-back he heard the sound of a gun down near the edge of the stream. He put spurs to his horse, dashed through bush and brake, and soon came up to the rogue who had just time to jump in his boat and push from shore. Then the bad man raised his gun, cocked it, and took aim at Wash-ing-ton, whom he would no doubt have shot down in cold-blood.

But Wash-ing-ton rode at once in-to the stream, and seized the prow of the boat, and drew it to shore. Then he sprang from his horse, wrenched the gun from the thief's hand, and laid on the lash in such a way that the rogue took to his heels when let loose, and came no more near Mount Ver-non.

As I have told you, men of great wealth dwelt on the shores of the Po-to-mac, and kept house in fine style. They had a large force of slaves, and made great feasts for their friends. One of them used to come out in a rich barge to meet Wash-ing-ton. This barge was rowed by six black men in check shirts and black vel-vet caps.

Wash-ing-ton had a coach and four, with black foot-men, for Mrs. Wash-ing-ton to use when she drove out; but he chose to go on horse-back. Some-times he and his wife went to An-na-po-lis, to a ball or feast of some sort, where Wash-ing-ton took part in the dance, and all the belles of the day were proud to dance with him, for he had a grand style that made him seem like no one else in the room.

When storms kept him in the house, he would read, or spend the time at his desk with pen in hand.

He was kind to his slaves, and took the best of care of them when they were sick, but was quick to see that they did not shirk their work. He knew, too, just the kind of work each one was fit for, and which he could do the best.

Four of his slaves set out to hew and shape a large log. Wash-ing-ton kept his eye on them and thought they loafed too much. So he sat down, took out his watch, and timed them: how long it took them to get their cross-cut saw and the rest of their tools; how long to cut off the limbs from the tree they had laid low; how long to hew and saw it; what time they spent in talk; and how much work they did while he sat there and took notes. In this way he found out just how much work four men could do in the course of a day -- and take their ease.

Wash-ing-ton was quick to lend a hand in time of need, and once when word was brought him that the dam had broke loose, and the mill would soon be swept off, he ran at the head of all his slaves and work-men, and toiled as hard as they in a fierce rain-storm, to check the force of the flood.

The cares of home and state made such calls on his time and thoughts, that he could not be said to live quite at his ease, and he left his mark -- a high one -- on all that he did.

His crops were of the best, and he sought to cheat no one. The flour he sold from year to year was put up with so much care, and was of such a good kind and so true in weight that all that bore the brand of George Wash-ing-ton, Mount Ver-non, was held at a high rate in the West In-di-a ports.

Quite a trade was kept up with Eu-rope, where all the goods had to be bought that were used in the house or on the farm.

Twice a year Wash-ing-ton sent on a long list of such things as he had need of: ploughs, hoes, scythes, horse-goods, and clothes for all the house-hold. For these last he had to give size and height, name, and age, of those who were to wear them.

In one of these lists Wash-ing-ton, who had need of a new suit of clothes, said he was six feet in height, quite thin, and had long limbs. He was then 31 years old.

You will see by what I have told you just how Wash-ing-ton spent much of his time for at least five years. They were five sweet years to him; full of peace, and rest, and joy. He was fond of his home, and felt as much pride in Nel-lie and John Parke Cus-tis as if they had been his own boy and girl. Nel-lie was a frail child, and did not gain in strength, though she had the best of care. Her death took place June 19, 1773, when she was but 17 years of age.

This was a sad blow to Wash-ing-ton, as well as to his wife, and then all their hopes were placed on the son, who bade fair to be a fine strong man. But he died in the year 1781, at the age of 28.

While Wash-ing-ton dwelt in peace at Mount Ver-non, war was rife in the land, but as he had with-drawn from those who bore arms he took no part in it It was called Pon-ti-ac's war, as it was led by a chief of that name, but the O-hi-o tribes were with him, and the plot was deep laid.

Large tracts of wood-land were laid waste; homes were burnt, and those who dwelt in them robbed and slain; and so sly and shrewd were the red-skins that it was some time ere the white men could put a stop to their deeds of blood.

It was in 1760 that King George the Third made up his mind to tax the folks in A-mer-i-ca for all the goods they bought in Eng-land. The trade was large, and in this way the king could add much to his wealth. But the scheme did not work well. It was first tried in Bos-ton, and set all the folks there by the ears. They claimed that they had rights as well as the king. They had come to this land to be free, and free they would be. They would do with-out tea and such things, and dress as well as they could in clothes made out of home-made goods.

The king next said that goods bought from Eng-land must bear the king's stamp, for which a sum was to be paid more than the cost of the goods. This was known as the Stamp Act. The folks in A-mer-i-ca were poor. They had not the means to pay this tax. The thought of it filled them with rage; and for five years there was much talk of the wrong the king had done to those who dwelt in A-mer-i-ca.

On the first day of No-vem-ber, 1765, the Stamp Act was to go in-to force, and all New Eng-land was in arms. At Bos-ton bells were tolled; flags were hung at half-mast; shops were shut, and bon-fires built.

In New York, the Act -- in clear print -- was borne through the streets on a pole, on top of which was a death's head.

A man named Col-den whose place it was to serve out the stamps had to flee to the fort, round which was placed a strong guard from a ship-of-war. The mob broke in-to his coach-house, drew out his coach, put in it a form -- stuffed and dressed to look some-what like Col-den -- and marched up to the Park where they hung it on a tree.

At night they took the form down, put it in a coach, and bore it back to Bow-ling Green, where the whole thing -- coach and all -- was burnt right in range of the guns of the fort where the King's troops were.

In March 1766, the king drew back the Stamp Act, which gave great joy to those who had the good of A-mer-i-ca at heart, and to none more than to George Wash-ing-ton. But he made it known that he felt it to be his right as their king to tax them as he chose, and this hurt the pride of those who wished to make their own laws, and be in bonds to no one.

Wash-ing-ton -- as did most of those who had Eng-lish blood in their veins -- looked up-on that land as his home, and was loath to break the chain that bound him to it. But he did not think well of the Stamp Act, and saw what was sure to come to pass if the king pressed too hard on the A-mer-i-cans.

On Sep-tem-ber 5, 1774, a band of true men from all the States met for the first time in Phil-a-del-phi-a, and Wash-ing-ton set out from Mount Ver-non on horse-back to take his seat with them. With him were Pat-rick Hen-ry and Ed-mund Pen-dle-ton; and as they rode side by side they talked of the land they loved, and of the hopes they had that all would be well.

The band met with closed doors. Each man wore a grave face. Pat-rick Hen-ry made a strong speech at the close of which he said, "All A-mer-i-ca is thrown in-to one mass. Where are your land-marks? * * * They are all thrown down."

He said he did not call him-self by the name of the State in which he was born, but by the name of the land which gave him birth -- then known as "the land of the free."

Wash-ing-ton was not a man of words, but of deeds. But what he said was of great weight as it came from a wise brain and a true heart.

Pat-rick Hen-ry said there was no man in the whole band so great as George Wash-ing-ton. The band broke up in No-vem-ber, and Wash-ing-ton went back to Mount Ver-non. But not to the gay times and good cheer he once had known. George Fair-fax -- who had been his friend from boy-hood -- had gone to Eng-land to live, and Bel-voir took fire one night and was burnt to the ground.

The stir in Bos-ton, and in the West where the red-skins were on the war-path, made the whole land ill at ease. Troops were kept on drill, and the roll of the drum was heard in all the small towns. Men came to talk with Wash-ing-ton and to find out what he thought was the best thing to do, and the best way to drill or to arm troops.

It was of no use to plead with the king. He had made up his mind and would not yield an inch. A large force of the best men in Vir-gin-i-a met at Rich-mond, March 20, 1775, and Wash-ing-ton was called on for some plan as to what their course should be.

He told them that he thought there was but one thing to do. Pat-rick Hen-ry put it in-to words that rang through the land: "We must fight! I repeat it, Sir, we must fight! An ap-peal to arms, and the God of hosts, is all that is left us!"

All hearts were full of zeal; and Wash-ing-ton wrote to his bro-ther, Au-gus-tine, that if there was need of it he would lead troops to war, and risk his life and all his wealth in the cause, which seemed to him a most just one.




Chapter VIII.

The Battle Of Bunker Hill.


In the year 1775 war was rife in New Eng-land. The King's laws were felt to be more for slaves than for free-men, and all made up their minds to throw off the yoke. They could not bear the sight of the red-coats; and the King's troops were just as fierce in their hate of our men.

Ships-of-war brought a large force of troops to New Eng-land, led by men of rank and fame. They filled the streets of Bos-ton, and it was thought they might bring the A-mer-i-cans to terms, and not a drop of blood be shed. But this was not to be.

A large force of our men were in camp on the hills and fields near Bos-ton, the sight of whom might well cause the well-clad Brit-ish to smile. They had left their farms in great haste at the cry of "To arms!" had seized their guns, and come in the home-spun clothes it was their pride to wear. Those from Mas-sa-chu-setts were led by Gen-er-al Ar-te-mas Ward; those from New Hamp-shire by Col-o-nel John Stark; those from Rhode Isl-and by Gen-er-al Na-than-i-el Greene; and those from Con-nect-i-cut by Gen-er-al Is-ra-el Put-nam; all brave and true men, and full of fight.

But the troops had need to be well armed; and all the guns and such things as there was need of in war times were in Bos-ton, where the red-coats were on guard. But though sharp eyes were on the watch, sly deeds were done by those who knew the ways in and out of each store-house. Carts went out of town heaped high with dirt in which guns and balls were hid; and all sorts of tricks were used to get such things past the red-coats.

At length it came to the ears of Gen-er-al Gage, that some field guns were at Sa-lem, and he sent troops there to seize them. But when they reached Sa-lem they found no guns there.

Then word came to Gen-er-al Gage that there was a large stock of arms and war-stores at Con-cord, which was less than a score of miles from Bos-ton.

In the night of A-pril 18, the red-coats set out for Con-cord. Gen-er-al Gage had said that no one but the troops should leave the town, but the news was borne to Lex-ing-ton -- a town on the road to Con-cord -- by those who were as swift as the hare, and as sly as the fox.

The folks there met in groups, with hearts on fire. Bells were rung and guns were fired. Men who heard these sounds ran as fast as they could to Lex-ing-ton, to hold the bridge, and keep back the foe.

At five o'clock, on the morn of A-pril 19, the red-coats came in sight, and at once three-score and ten men stood out on the green near the wall to meet them.

Ma-jor Pit-cairn who was at the head of the King's troops called out to these brave men to lay down their arms and leave the place. But they paid no heed to his words. Then he sprang from the ranks, shot off a small gun, swung his sword in air, and told his men to fire. The troops ran up, with loud cheers, and poured a storm of shot on our men, some of whom were killed. Then they pushed on to Con-cord, and did all the harm they could at that place: spiked guns, threw pounds and pounds of shot down the wells, and spoiled a large lot of flour and food that had been stored there for use in time of need.

When the King's troops turned back to Lex-ing-ton, they were quite worn out with what they had done, and would have been cut down by our men if Gage had not sent a force to their aid.

For the blue-coats had flown to arms, and poured in-to Lex-ing-ton by all the roads that led led there-to. The red-coats might laugh at their clothes, and the way in which they tried to keep step, but they found out that they knew how to use guns, and that each man was a dead-shot.

The fresh troops Gage sent up from Bos-ton had to form a square, so that the worn out men who had had a long march and hard work might have a chance to rest. Then they all set out to march back to Bos-ton, with two field guns in the rear to keep off the "flock of Yan-kees," who dogged their steps, and kept up a fire in front and rear, and from each stone-wall and hedge that lined the road.

There was loss on both sides, but what hurt the King's troops the most was to be put to flight by such a lot of scare crows, as they thought our troops were.

A close watch was kept on Bos-ton by our men, who were soon in such force that it would not have been safe for the red-coats to try to leave the town. The Kings troops did not like to be shut in, in this way, and lost no chance to mock at and taunt those who kept them at bay.

On the north side of Bos-ton lay a long strip of land, from the heights of which one could see the town and all the ships at or near the wharves. Put-nam thought it would be a good plan to seize these heights and place troops there; but Ward and War-ner thought it was not safe to risk it. It might bring on a fierce fight and cause much blood to be shed.

Put-nam had no fear of his own men. He knew how brave they were, and how well they could fight back of a screen. "They have no fear of their heads," he said, "their chief thought is their legs. Shield them, and they'll fight on till doom's-day."

Two or three of those who had led troops in the French war, were of the same mind as Put-nam, and their words had weight. The chief man was Col-o-nel Pres-cott, who was just the style of man, in port and in dress, that a lot of raw troops would look up to. He wore a fine hat, a top-wig, and a blue coat faced and lapped up at the skirts.

He it was whom Gen-er-al Ward chose to lead the troops which were to seize the heights, build the earth-works there, and guard them from the foe. There were 1200 in all, and they set out on the night of June 16, 1775. Not a light was shown. Not a sound was heard, but the tramp -- tramp -- tramp of these men on their way to face death.

A small neck of land joined Charles-town to the main-land, and as they drew near this the troops hushed their steps, and moved with great care. For on this the red-coats kept a close watch. Five of their ships-of-war stood so that their guns would sweep this neck of land, and earth-works were on Copp's Hill, which faced Charles-town.

On the blue-coats went, past the guards, past the guns, past the Neck, and up to the heights of Bunk-er's Hill. Here they were to make their stand, but it was found that Breed's Hill, which was half a mile off, was not quite so steep, and would give them more of a chance at the red-coats, while Bunk-er's Hill would shield them in the rear.

Put-nam thought Breed's Hill was the right place and was in haste for the work to go on. There was no time to lose. So pick and spade were brought out, and the earth dug out so as to serve as a wall to screen them from the fire of the foe.

The night was warm and still. Now and then Pres-cott would steal down to the edge of the stream, to see and hear if the red-coats had made a stir. There was not a sound save the cry of "All's well! All's well!" from the watch-man on guard in the town, and on the ships-of-war.

All night the work on the heights went on. At dawn of day the men there were seen by the sea-men on the ships-of-war, and at once their guns were brought up and turned on the hill. Their shot did not harm the works, but one man who went out-side was killed, and this threw the rest in-to a great fright. They were not used to scenes of war, and the sight of a man shot down in their midst was more than their nerves could stand.

Some took to their heels at once, and did not come back, and had Pres-cott not been a brave man him-self he could not have held his troops as he did. He stood up on top of the earth-works in full view of the red-coats, and talked with his men, and his words of cheer put new strength in their hearts, so that they were in less dread of the balls that whizzed near them.

The noise of the guns roused the red-coats in Bos-ton, and Gen-er-al Gage gazed at Breed's Hill like one in a dream. A fort full of men had sprung up in the night! How had it been done? What kind of men were these he had to meet? As he stood on Copp's Hill and looked through his field glass, he spied the tall form of Pres-cott, in his blue coat, on the wall of the fort.

"Will he fight?" asked Gage, "Yes, sir," said one who stood near, and who knew Pres-cott. "He will fight to the last drop of blood; but I can't say as much for his men."

"We must seize the works!" cried Gage, and at once called up his chiefs for a talk, and to plan the best way to do this deed.

The noise in the streets of Bos-ton, the roll of the drum, the sound of the trump that calls to war, the sharp click of hoofs, and the deep roll of wheels that bore the field guns, were heard on the heights, and let the troops there know that war was at hand.

The men were worn out with their hard task, and their loss of sleep. They had not brought much food with them, and their thirst was great. The heat made them feel weak and dull. There was need of more men, and a lot of raw New Hamp-shire troops, led by Col-o-nel Stark came to their aid. In the mean time those on the height had to bear the fire of the guns from the ships and from Copp's Hill, which broke on them at ten o'clock.

At noon the blue-coats saw more than a score of boats full of troops cross from Bos-ton in straight lines. The sun shone on their red-coats, and flashed from the tips of the guns they bore, and from the brass field guns that stood on the deck. It was a gay scene. They made their way to a point north of Breed's Hill, where Gen-er-al Howe, who led them, could see the full strength of the blue-coats. They had more troops than he thought, and he caught sight of fresh ones on their way to Breed's Hill.

Howe at once sent to Gage for more troops, and more balls for the field guns, and as it would take some time for them to be sent round, the red-coats in the mean-time were served with food and drink. The "grog" was passed round in pails, and the men sat round on the grass, and ate and drank their fill, while the poor men on the heights looked down and longed to share their feast.

But while the red-coats took their ease, the blue-coats had a chance to add to the strength of their fort, and to push out the breast-works to a point known as the Slough.

Near this was a pass where the foe might turn the left-flank of the troops or seize Bunk-er's Hill.

Put-nam chose one of his men, a Cap-tain Knowl-ton, to hold this pass with his Con-nect-i-cut troops. He at once set to work to build a sort of fort, back of which his men could fight with more ease than if they stood out in the field. Not a long way off was a post-and-rail fence set in a low foot-wall of stone, and this fence ran down to the Mys-tic Riv-er. The posts and rails of a fence, near this, were torn up in haste, and set a few feet at the rear of it, and the space 'twixt the two was filled with new-mown hay brought from the fields near at hand.

While Knowl-ton and his men were at work on this fence, Put-nam and his troops threw up the work on Bunk-er's Hill.

In the mean time Stark had set out from Med-ford on a six mile march. He was a cool, calm man, and had been through the French war, of which I have told you. He led his men at a slow pace, so that they would be fresh and strong to take part in the fight. As they came up to the Neck, which they had to cross, and which was lined with guns on both sides, one of the aides urged him to let the men take a quick step.

The old man shook his head, and said, "One fresh man in a fight is worth ten tired ones," and kept on at the same pace; and did good work that day back of the post-and-rail screen.

War-ren, who had been made a Ma-jor Gen-er-al, came to serve in the ranks. Put-nam said he might lead the troops at the fence. He said he did not care to lead; he was there to fight. "Where will the fire be the hot-test?" he asked. He was told that the fort on Breed's Hill was the point the foe sought to gain. "If we can hold that," said Put-nam, "the day is ours."

War-ren at once made his way there, and the troops gave a round of cheers when he stepped in-to the fort. Pres-cott, who was not so high in rank, sought to have War-ren take charge of the troops. But he would not. "I have come to serve in the ranks," he said, "and shall be glad to learn from one so well-skilled as your-self."

The red-coats thought to take the works with ease, and win the day. Gen-er-al Pig-ot, with the left wing, was to mount the hill and seize the earth-works, while Gen-er-al Howe came up with the right wing to turn the left-flank of our men and stop all flight at the rear.

Pig-ot and his men came up the height, and not a gun was fired by our troops till the red-coats were in range. Then, as they were all good marks-men each shot told, and some of the best men fell at the first fire. The foe fell back in haste, but were brought up once more by those who stood at their head with drawn swords.

They were met by a fire more fierce than the first, and vexed by the guns that bore on their flank from the band of men in Charles-town. So much blood had been shed, and the men were in such a state of fright, that Pig-ot was forced to give the word to fall back.

We will now see what sort of luck Gen-er-al Howe had. He led his troops up the bank of the stream, and thought to take the slight breast-work with ease, and so get in the rear of the fort. But he did not know the ground, and could not bring his large guns through the swamp he met with. In the pause some of his men were hurt and some killed by the guns that were set by the post-and-rail fence.

Howe's men kept up a fire as they came on, but as they did not take good aim the balls flew o'er the heads of our troops, who had been told to hold their fire till the red-coats were quite near.

Some few did not do as they were told, and Put-nam rode up and swore he would cut down the next man that fired ere he had the word to do so. When the red-coats were in the right range, such a storm of lead poured on them from guns in the hands of men who did not miss a mark that the place was like a field of blood.

Such a host were slain that the red-coats lost heart, and fell back in great haste. Some of them ran back as far as the boats, and got on board of them that they might be safe from the fire of the marks-men.

Once more the red-coats charged the fort, which it was their aim to get in-to their own hands. In the mean time the shells from Copp's Hill and the ships-of-war had set Charles-town on fire. The town was built of wood, and was soon a mass of flames. The dense smoke put out the light of the sun On all sides was heard the din of war. The big guns kept up their great roar. Bomb-shells burst in the air. The sharp hiss of the small balls, and the shouts and yells of the men made a scene to strike the heart with awe.

Our men stood firm, and with eyes fixed on the foe, who, as soon as they were close at hand, were shot down by the guns whose aim was so sure.

The red-coats stood the first shock, and then kept on, but were met by such a stream of fire that they were soon brought to a halt. In vain did the men who led them urge them on with drawn swords. Whole ranks were mowed down. Some of Gen-er-al Howe's staff were slain, and the troops, wild with fear, broke ranks and fled down the hill.

For a third time Gen-er-al Howe brought up his men, some of whom threw off their knap-sacks and some their coats that they might not be weighed down by them.

The red-coats made a feint as if they would take the fort at the fence, and did much harm there to our men. While some of his troops were at work at that point, Howe brought the rest of his force to the front and rear of the main fort, which was then stormed on three sides at once.

Pres-cott told some of his men to stand at the back part of the fort and fire at the red-coats that showed them-selves on the wall. Soon one leaped up and cried out "The day is ours!" and was shot down at once, as were all those who had joined him.

But our men had fired their last round, and there was nought for them to do but to meet the foe in a hand-to-hand fight. With stones and the butt-ends of their guns they sought to drive back the red-coats, but the tide was too strong for them, and they had to give way.

War-ren, who had done brave work that day, was the last to leave the fort. He scarce had done so ere he was struck by a ball and fell dead on the spot.

As our troops fled by way of Bunk-er Hill, Put-nam ran to the rear and cried, "Halt! make a stand here! We can check them yet! In God's name form, and give them one shot more!"

But the troops could not be brought to a stand, and the red-coats won the day, but with the loss of more than half of their men. And it hurt their pride to think that it had cost them so dear to take these earth-works that had been thrown up in one night by a mere hand-ful of raw troops.

Their loss was 1,054.

Our loss was 450.




Chapter IX.

Commander-In-Chief.


The deeds done ere this by the King's troops had made a great stir through-out the land. The chief men of each State met in Phil-a-del-phi-a, and sought out ways and means to help those who were in arms, as foes of King George, and a large force of men, from Ma-ry-land, Penn-syl-va-ni-a, and Vir-gin-i-a, were soon on hand to march and join the troops near Bos-ton.

But who was to lead them? The choice at once fell on George Wash-ing-ton, but he held back. He thought that Mas-sa-chu-setts' troops might not care to be led by a man from the south; and, too, Gen-er-al Ward, who was then at their head had the first right, for Wash-ing-ton's rank was not so high as his.

There was much talk on this score, and in the midst of it a Mas-sa-chu-setts man, John Ad-ams, rose and said that the man he thought fit to lead our troops was in that room, and he came from Vir-gin-i-a.

All knew whom he meant, and as Wash-ing-ton heard his own name he rose from his seat and left the room.

Then votes were cast, and all were for Wash-ing-ton, and he felt that he could not say No to such a call. He spoke his thanks in a few words, and said that he would do the best that he could, and serve with-out pay. He set out from Phil-a-del-phi-a June 21, 1775. With him were Gen-er-al Lee and Gen-er-al Schuy-ler, and a troop of light-horse, which went all the way to New York.

As soon as it was known that Wash-ing-ton was on the road, crowds ran out to meet him, and to show their pride in him.

When he reached New York he heard of the fight at Bunk-er Hill, and made haste to join the troops in their camp at Cam-bridge. He reached there Ju-ly 2. The next day all the troops were drawn out in line, and Wash-ing-ton rode out at the head of his staff till he came to a large elm tree. Here he wheeled his horse, and drew his sword and took charge of all our troops as their Com-mand-er-in-chief.

He found much to do, and much to bear from his own men as well as from the red-coats. It came to his ears that our men who fell in-to the hands of the red-coats at Bunk-er's Hill, were not well used, and he wrote at once to Gage and asked him to be less harsh. Gage, who had fought by his side in 1753, when both were young men, wrote back that he thought he should have praise and not blame, since he had saved the lives of those who were doomed to be hung.

Wash-ing-ton at first thought he would do as he was done by, but his heart failed him, and those of the red-coats that were in the hands of our troops were set free, if they gave their word they would not fight for King George.

By such acts Wash-ing-ton sought to show that "A-mer-i-cans are as mer-ci-ful as they are brave."

The camps in which Wash-ing-ton found his troops were as odd as the men them-selves. Some of the tents were made of boards, some of sail-cloth, or bits of both, while here and there were those made of stone and turf, brick and brush-wood. Some were thrown up in haste and bore no marks of care, while a few were wrought with wreaths and twigs, and spoke well for the taste of those who made them.

The best camp of all was that of the Rhode Is-land men in charge of Gen-er-al Na-than-i-el Greene. Here were found as good tents as the red-coats had, and the men were well-drilled and well-dressed. Greene was brought up on a farm. His fa-ther was a black-smith, and at times his son worked with the plough, or took his place at the forge.

At the first note of war, Greene left the farm and in the month of May, 1775, was in charge of all the troops of his own small state. He went to Bos-ton, and took notes while there of all that the red-coats did, and in this way learned much that he could put to good use. His troops had fought at Bunk-er Hill, and there were none in the whole force that bore them-selves so well, or made so fine a show.

Greene was six feet tall, and not quite two score years of age. He was strong and well built, and his frank way won the heart of Wash-ing-ton, and the two were warm friends from that time.

Wash-ing-ton now set to work to add strength to the weak parts of his line, and to throw up fresh works round the main forts. All the live stock had to be kept off the coast so that they would not fall in-to the hands of the foe.

He sought to draw the red-coats out of Bos-ton, but they would not stir. When Wash-ing-ton took charge of the troops, he thought that he could go back to his home when the cold days came on, and spend some time there with his wife.

But there was no chance for him to leave, so he wrote to Mrs. Wash-ing-ton to join him in the camp. She came and staid with him till the next spring; and this was her course all through the war.

She came in her own coach and four, with her son and his wife. The black foot-men were drest in red and white, and the whole turn-out was in the style in use in Vir-gin-i-a at that day.

Wash-ing-ton had his rooms in the Crai-gie House, in Cam-bridge, and here Mrs. Wash-ing-ton took charge and gave the place more of a home-like air.

At that time the camp of Cam-bridge was filled with all sorts of troops. Some had spent the most of their lives in boats, some were brought up on farms, some came from the woods, and each group wore the dress that pleased them best, and laughed at those who were not drest the same.

This made sport for some time and jokes flew thick and fast.

One day some men came in-to camp drest in an odd garb, such as was worn to hunt in. The suit was made of deer-skin, and the long shirt had a deep fringe all round. This dress was the cause of much mirth to men who came from the sea-shore, and were used to short coats, and rough plain clothes.

There was snow on the ground, and when the jokes gave out, snow-balls took their place, for a war of words is quite sure to end in blows. Men came up to the aid of both sides. Fists were used, and all took part in the hand-to-hand fight, and there was a great stir in the camp.

While the fight was at its height Wash-ing-ton rode up. None of his aides were with him. He threw the reins of his own horse in-to the hands of the black-man who rode near, sprang from his seat, and rushed in-to the thick of the fray. Then he seized two of the tall stout hunts-men by the throat, and talked to them and shook them while he held them at arm's length.

This put an end to the brawl at once, and the rest of the crowd slunk off in haste, and left but three men on the ground: Wash-ing-ton, and the two he held in his grasp.

As the cold days and nights came on the men grew home-sick, and longed to be by their own fire-sides. It was right that some of them should go, for they had served out their time, and this made the rest lone-some and sad. Songs would not cheer them, and they paid no heed to the words of those who sought to rouse them from these depths of woe.

Wash-ing-ton was full of fears, which were shared by all those who were near him in rank, yet he did not lose hope. Gen-er-al Greene wrote, "They seem to be so sick of this way of life, and so home-sick, that I fear a large part of our best troops will soon go home." Still his heart did not lose hope. All would come right in time; and his words of cheer were a great help to Wash-ing-ton at this time.

The year 1775 had been a dark one for our land, and there was no ray of hope to light the dawn of 1776. There were but 10,000 troops to take the field. There was a lack of arms, a lack of clothes, and a lack of food, and these things made camp-life hard to bear, and were a great grief to the heart of the chief. He could not sleep. Had the foe known of their plight, they would have borne down on them and swept them out of sight. But God took care of them.

In the first month of the year there was a stir on the Bos-ton wharves. A large fleet of boats lay in the stream, on board of which the red-coats swarmed, and there were two sloops-of-war filled with guns and war-like stores.

All were in charge of Gen-er-al Howe, and Wash-ing-ton guessed what his plans were! and felt that the time had come for him to strive to wrest Bos-ton from the King's troops.

The out-look was bright. More troops had come to his aid, and he made up his mind to place part of his force on Dor-ches-ter Heights, and, if he could, draw out the foe to fight at that place. At a sign, the troops on the Heights and at Nook's Hill were to fire at the same time, and rake the town with balls and bomb-shells. At the same time boats full of troops were to start from the mouth of Charles Riv-er, and act in the rear of the red-coats. It was thought that these moves on the part of our troops would bring on such a fight as they had had on Breed's Hill.

On the night of March 4, our men made their way to the Heights, and at dawn of the next day strong forts loomed up, and seemed as if they must have been brought there at the touch of a wand.

Howe gazed on them and said, "The reb-els have done more work in one night than my whole ar-my would have done in a month."

He must drive them from the Heights, or leave Bos-ton. While pride urged him on, fear held him back, for he knew that his loss would be great. But he must make a move of some sort, so he made up his mind to send boats out that night with a force of troops in charge of Lord Per-cy. But a storm came up from the east; the surf beat high on the shore where the boats would have to land; and the scheme was put off till the next day. But it stormed just as hard the next day; the rain came down in sheets; and the boats staid where they were.

In the mean time our men kept at work on the hills on the north side and south side, and when the storm ceased Gen-er-al Howe saw that the forts were now so strong there would be no chance to take them.

Nor was it safe for him to stay in Bos-ton. Yet the Ad-mi-ral said that if Howe's troops did not seize the Heights, the ships-of-war should not stay near Bos-ton; so his lord-ship would have to leave with what grace he could, much as it might wound his pride.

When the word went forth that the troops were to leave, strange sights were seen in Bos-ton town and bay. For some days the red-coats went this way and that in great haste. More than three-score-and-ten boats were cast loose for sea, with at least 12,000 men on board of them. While this stir took place not a shot was sent from the Heights, and it was well that this was so, as the red-coats had laid plans to set the town in a blaze if our troops fired one gun.

The red-coats left Bos-ton March 17, and our troops, in charge of "Old Put" -- as the brave Put-nam was called -- marched in-to town in fine style.

For some days the fleet lay off the coast of Rhode Isl-and, and it was feared for a-while that they meant to strike a blow and win back what they had lost. But no such thing took place, and ere long the fleet sailed out of sight.

"Where they are bound," wrote Wash-ing-ton, "and where they next will pitch their tents, I know not."

He thought they were on their way to New York, but such was not the case. They had steered for Hal-i-fax, to wait there for more troops, and for the large fleet that was to come from Eng-land.

A vote of thanks and a large gold coin with his face on one side of it, were sent to Wash-ing-ton by the chief men of the land, as part of his due for what he had so far done to save A-mer-i-ca from King George's rule.

Wash-ing-ton, who thought the next move of the red-coats would be on New York, set out for that place, and reached there A-pril 13. He went to work at once to build forts, and to send out troops, and to make the place as strong as it ought to be. He did not know the plans of the foe, nor from what point they would hurl the bolts of war.

All was guess-work, but still in the midst of doubt it would not do to be slack.

The town was put in charge of the troops, and the rules were quite strict. Those who went in or out had to give the pass-word. "We all live here, shut up like nuns," wrote one who was fond of a gay life, "There's no one in town that we can go to see, and none to come and see us."

Good times in New York were at an end. Our troops had been forced to leave Can-a-da, and it was known that the red-coats would push their way to New York. Forts were built on high banks up the Hud-son, and on the isles at its mouth, and all done that could be done to check them in their march.

In the mean time it had been thought a good plan to set a day in which it might be shown through-out the land that A-mer-i-ca was, and, of a right, ought to be, a free land. So in Ju-ly an Act was drawn up and signed by the wise men who met in Phil-a-del-phi-a to frame the laws for the new States, and there was great joy, for it was a great day.

Bells were rung. Shouts and cheers rent the air. Fires blazed, and hearts burned, and men knelt to pray, and give thanks to God.

John Ad-ams said the Fourth of Ju-ly ought to be kept up with great pomp through-out A-mer-i-ca, -- "with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, and bon-fires" -- till the end of time.

The news did not reach New York till Ju-ly 9, and at six o'clock that night Wash-ing-ton read the Act to his troops.

New York was wild with joy, and felt that more must be done than just to ring bells and light fires.

In Bow-ling Green, in front of the fort, there stood a cast of George Third, made of lead. This a mob of men pulled down and broke up, that the lead might be run in-to small shot and be used in the cause for which they fought.

This did not please Wash-ing-ton, and he told his troops that they must not take part in such deeds.

The joy did not last long, for on Ju-ly 12, the ships-of-war in the bay sent out a broad-side, and it was thought they would at once fire the town. Crowds were on the streets. The troops flocked to their posts. Fear was in each heart, and New York was in a great stir. But two ships -- the Phoe-nix and the Rose -- left the fleet and shaped their course up the Hud-son.

Then the guns were still, and fear died out for a-while. That night there was a fresh scare. Guns boomed and clouds of smoke were seen near the ships-of-war down the bay.

Men on the look-out told that a ship-of-the-line had come in from sea, and each man-of-war gave her a round of guns as she passed by. At her fore-top mast-head she bore the flag of St. George. No need to tell more. "Lord Howe is come! Lord Howe is come!" was the cry that went from mouth to mouth, and the word soon flew through the town, and all felt that the hour of doom was close at hand.

Lord Howe sought peace, and not blood-shed, and hoped, by the terms he would make, to bring not a few hearts back to their King. But he came too late.

The Kings troops did not think much of the rank that was borne by our men, who, they felt, had no right to put on the airs they did, and call them-selves grand names.

In a few days Lord Howe sent one of his men on shore with a flag of truce, to seek speech with Wash-ing-ton. The man's name was Brown. His boat was met half-way by a barge which had on board one of our troops, named Reed, to whom Brown said he had a note for Mis-ter Wash-ing-ton.

Reed said that he knew no man of that name.

Brown held out to him the note he had in his hand, which bore on its face: George Wash-ing-ton, Esq.

Reed said that he could not take the note. He knew what was due to his chief. So there was naught for Brown to do but to take to his oars. He had not gone far when he came back to ask "What style should be used to please Gen -- (here he caught him-self and said) Mis-ter Wash-ing-ton." Reed told him that Wash-ing-ton's rank was well known, and Lord Howe could be at no loss as to the right style.

In a day or two an aide-de-camp came with a flag from Lord Howe, and asked if Col-o-nel Pat-ter-son might have speech with Gen-er-al Wash-ing-ton. Reed, who met the aide was prompt to grant this and pledged him-self that no harm should come to him who came in the King's name.

So the next day Pat-ter-son came, and when he stood face to face with Wash-ing-ton, bowed and said "Your Ex-cel-len-cy." Wash-ing-ton met him with much form and state. He was not a vain man, but was proud of the rank he held, and thought that no man -- were he a king -- had a right to look down on A-mer-i-ca, or show the least slight to her Com-mand-er-in-chief.

When he came to hear the terms on which Lord Howe sought to make peace, he found they were not such as he could take, so the war went on.




Chapter X.

In And Near New York.


The red-coats had a camp on Stat-en Isl-and, and for the next month or so ships-of-war came that far up the bay, and brought with them a large force of troops. North-east of them was the long stretch of land known as Long Isl-and, where they could land their troops with ease, and make their way to New York.

Wash-ing-ton knew that he could not keep them back, but he meant to vex them all he could. Gen-er-al Greene was placed with a large force on Brook-lyn Heights, to guard the shore, and troops were sent a mile back to throw up earth-works to check the march of the foe if they should try to come up on the land side.

At mid-night of Au-gust 21, a spy brought word that the King's troops were on the move, and would soon show their strength, and "put all to the sword."

The next day the sound of great guns was heard, and a cloud of smoke was seen to rise from the groves on the south side of Long Isl-and. Word soon came to New York that the King's troops were at Graves-end, and that our troops had fled and set fire to the stacks of wheat to keep them out of the hands of the foe.

Wash-ing-ton at once sent off a large force to check the foe at Brook-lyn, and to lend aid to those in the fort on the Heights. He told them to be cool, but firm; not to fire when the foe were a long way off, but to wait till they were so near that each shot would tell. And if one of them should skulk, or lie down, or leave his place in the ranks, he was to be shot down at once.

Sir Hen-ry Clin-ton led the King's troops, and Lord Corn-wal-lis had charge of the field-guns. Corn-wal-lis made haste to seize a pass that ran through the hills, but found Col-o-nel Hand there with a fine lot of marks-men, and so made a halt at Flat-bush.

This was so near New York that great fright spread through the town. Those who had the means left the place. There was good cause for fear, as it had been told that if our troops had to leave New York it would at once be set on fire. This was false, but they did not know it. Their hearts were full of dread.

Gen-er-al Put-nam was sent to take the place of Gen-er-al Greene who was sick in bed. The brave man was glad when he had leave to go, for he did not want to be kept in New York when there was a chance to fight for the land he loved.

It was nine o'clock on the night of Oc-to-ber 26, that Sir Hen-ry Clin-ton set out with his van-guard, on his march from Flat-bush. Lord Corn-wal-lis brought up the rear-guard with all the large guns, and the large force of troops led by Gen-er-al Howe.

Not a drum was heard, nor the sound of a trump as they took their course through by-roads and on cause-ways till they came near the pass through the Bed-ford Hills where they made a halt.

No guard had been put on the road or the pass by Gen-er-al Greene, who must have thought it too far out of the way to need such care.

Clin-ton was quick to see this, and at the first break of day his troops were on the Heights, and with-in three miles of Bed-ford.

In the mean-time scouts had brought word to our lines that the foe were in force on the right, and Put-nam at once sent out troops to hold them in check.

At day-light small fights took place here and there. A brisk fire was kept up at Flat-bush. Now was heard the big boom of a large field-piece. Then a ship-of-war would send forth a broad-side on the fort at Red Hook. Wash-ing-ton was still in doubt if this was part of the main fight in which New York was to share. Five ships of the line tried to beat up the bay, but were kept back by a strong head wind. As the day wore on, and there were no signs that the red-coats meant to strike New York, Wash-ing-ton went to Brook-lyn in his barge, and rode with all speed to the Heights. He was just in time to see the fight in the woods, which he could do naught to stay.

He stood on a hill, and through his large spy-glass had a view of the whole field. He saw his men cut their way through a host of foes. He saw them caught in traps, and hemmed in so that they were 'twixt two fires.

The whole pass was a scene of blood, and through it rang the clash of arms, the tramp of steeds, the storm of shot, and the cries of men who fought for their lives. On this side and that, our troops were swept down or put to rout by a force they had not strength to meet. Wash-ing-ton wrung his hands at the sight. "Good God!" he cried, "what brave men I must this day lose!"

The red-coats went in-to camp that night in front of our lines, but out of reach of the guns of the fort.

Our loss was 3,000.

Theirs less than 400.

The next day New York Bay and the small isles were wrapped in a dense fog, from which New York was quite free. Here was a chance for the troops to leave the works on the Heights, and make their way to New York.

Fresh troops were sent down from Fort Wash-ing-ton and King's Bridge, and Wash-ing-ton felt that no time should be lost. His fear was that the King's ships would come up the bay at the turn of the tide, sail up the East Riv-er and catch in a trap all our troops that were on Long Isl-and.

It was late at night when the troops stole out from the breast works. In the dead of night a big gun went off with a great roar, that gave a shock to the nerves of those who were in dread that the least sound might warn the foe of their flight to the New York side.

But no harm came of it, the fog shut out the view, and by day-break our troops had all left the fort and were safe on the New York side. Wash-ing-ton, who had not slept for two days and nights, and had spent the most of the time on horse-back, would not step in-to the boat till he saw that all his troops were on board.

The fog rose as the rear boats were in mid-stream, and when the red-coats climbed the crest of the earth-works they found not a sign of life there, and not a thing they could use. Our men had made a clean sweep, and were proud of the way in which they stole a march on the red-coats.

Still, New York was not safe; and Wash-ing-ton sought in all ways to find out the plans of the foe. Ships-of-war went up the Sound, and up the Hud-son, and guns were fired on the forts that lay on each side of the town. But he knew that if the red-coats took New York they would soon be made to give it up, and so he made up his mind that his best course was to with-draw his troops, to Har-lem Heights. This was done, with the loss of a few men who had a fight with some red-coats on the way, and there he staid a few days, and spent much time on horse-back.

He took note of the land, and chose sites for forts, and breast works, and on Oc-to-ber 23, took his stand at White Plains, where a strong fort was built.

Soon the din of war was heard. The guns from Fort Wash-ing-ton and Fort Lee poured their fire on the men-of-war, but could not keep them back, and the red-coats still gave chase to our troops. Fort Wash-ing-ton fell in-to the hands of the foe in spite of a strong fight made to hold it.

One day Wash-ing-ton went out with some of his staff to look at a height at the north where it was thought he might make a stand, and leave the camp where he then was.

One of them said, "There is the ground where we ought to be."

"Let us go then and view it," said Wash-ing-ton.

They were on their way to the place, when a horse-man rode up in haste and cried out, "The red-coats are in camp, Sir!"

"Then," said Wash-ing-ton, "we have some-thing else to do than this," and at once put spurs to his horse and set off for the camp at full speed.

When he reached there he found all his troops drawn up to meet the foe that was close at hand. In his calm way he turned to those who had been out with him on the hills, and said "Go back to your posts, and do the best you can."

A short, sharp fight took place, in which our troops made a brave stand, but the red-coats were too strong for them, and drove them back to the camp, and seized the hill on which they had stood.

That night the troops of Wash-ing-ton and Howe lay not far a-part. Wash-ing-ton kept his men at work, and forts were built, and earth-works thrown up. These works were made of the stalks of corn, or maize, which the men took from a field near at hand. The roots of the stalks, with the earth on them, were placed on the face of the works, in the same way that sods of grass, and logs of wood were used. The tops were turned in, and loose earth thrown on them so that they were held in place, and made a good shield from the fire of small-arms.

The next day, when Howe saw how much had been done by our troops to add to their strength, he made a change in his plans. His own men were in a sad plight, and not fit to cope with the well-fed troops that kept them at bay. The nights were cold, the Fall rains set in, and not a few of the red-coats were ill. Their chiefs knew how to fight in straight lines, but were not so shrewd and so quick to make use of what lay at hand as our chiefs were. So he broke up his camp, and in a few days the whole force of red-coats fell back from White Plains.

But the strife was kept up at the North, and the foes were at work on sea and on land from New York to Al-ba-ny. Our troops met with ill-luck, and Wash-ing-ton was filled with grief.

Fort Wash-ing-ton was in the hands of the foe; Fort Lee was of no use; and the next move of the red-coats was to cross the Hud-son, north of Fort Lee, and make their way through New Jer-sey. By that means they could shut in all our troops 'twixt the Hud-son and the Hack-en-sack.

Wash-ing-ton at once sent off his men to save the bridge at Hack-en-sack. No time was to be lost. They left the camp with all haste, but ere they could reach the Hack-en-sack the van-guard of the foe was close at their heels. It was thought that a fight would take place, but Corn-wal-lis turned back and some of his troops slept that night in the tents that our men had left.

These were dark days. Wash-ing-ton led his troops through New Jer-sey, hard pressed by Corn-wal-lis, whose van-guard came in-to New-ark just as Wash-ing-ton's rear-guard had left it. His whole camp were in flight. He staid a few days at New Bruns-wick, in hopes that fresh troops would be sent to his aid, but none came, though his needs were so great. The men who, as he thought, would seize their guns and join his ranks, fled from their homes and sought a safe place as soon as they heard that the red-coats were near.

On De-cem-ber 2, Wash-ing-ton was at Tren-ton, where he made but a brief halt. Then he crossed the Del-a-ware, and left New Jer-sey in the hands of the foe. If he and his men once got to Phil-a-del-phi-a, they would find troops there with whose aid they might hope to turn back the red-coats so close on their track.

Gen-er-al Lee, who was at the heels of the foe, was at Mor-ris-town, De-cem-ber 11, where his troops had been forced to halt for two days for want of shoes. He was a man who loved his ease, and to lie late in bed.

One day as he sat at a desk with pen in hand, one of his aides named Wil-kin-son, who was with him, looked down the lane that led from the house to the main road and saw a band of red-coats on horse-back.

He cried out to Lee "Here are the red-coats!"

"Where?" said Lee.

"Round the house!"

"Where is the guard?" said Lee with an oath. "Where is the guard? Why don't they fire?"

The guards had not thought it worth while to keep watch, when their chief was so much at his ease, so they had stacked their arms and sat down on the south side of a house to sun them-selves. As the horse-men came up they gave chase to the guards who fled for their lives, and left Lee and his aide to do the best that they could.

The red-coats drew near the house where Lee was, and swore that they would set fire to it if the Gen-er-al showed fight. So he was forced to yield, and was brought out in great haste -- for they wished to make sure of their prize -- and placed on Wil-kin-son's horse which stood at the door. He was but half-drest, had no hat on his head, and wore low shoes, and a loose rough coat. In this style he had to ride to New Bruns-wick, where the King's troops at sight of him set off their big guns, for their joy was great.

The loss of Lee was thought at the time to be a great blow to our cause, as it was hoped that he would do much to bring the war to an end, and to lead the troops out of their sore straits.

In the mean-time Wash-ing-ton was on his way to cross the Del-a-ware. There was snow on the ground, and the march of the troops could be traced by the blood-spots from the feet of those whose shoes were worn out.

The red-coats were in force at Tren-ton, in charge of a man, named Rahl, who had done brave work for King George at White Plains and Fort Wash-ing-ton.

Wash-ing-ton's plan was to add to his force, and, as soon as he could, cross the Del-a-ware and strive to wrest Tren-ton from the hands of the foe. He and his force were to cross the stream nine miles north of the town; Gen-er-al Ew-ing was to cross with his troops a mile south of the town; and Gen-er-al Put-nam to leave at a point south of Bur-ling-ton.

It was a bold scheme, full of risk to all who took part in it, yet there was naught to be done but to push on, and hope for the best.




Chapter XI.

A Sad Year.


Christ-mas night was the time set to cross the Del-a-ware, and at sun-set the troops were on the move. It was a dark, cold night. The wind was high, the tide strong, and the stream full of cakes of ice which drove the boats out of their course. It seemed at times as if the boats would be crushed to bits, Men who were used to boats, and had been brought up on the sea, and had fought with fierce storms and wild gales, found it hard work, with all their skill, to make their way from shore to shore.

Wash-ing-ton, who crossed with the troops, stood on the east bank till all the field-guns were brought to land, and it was four o'clock ere the men took up their line of march. Tren-ton was nine miles off, and they could not reach there till day-light, too late to take the King's troops off their guard.

Most of the troops at Tren-ton were Hes-sians, from Hesse, a small Ger-man state whose prince had lent his troops to King George for hire. As I have told you they were in charge of Rahl. Rahl thought more of his brass band than he did of his men, was full of good cheer and liked to have a good time. He would sit up till a late hour in the night, and then lie in bed till nine o'clock the next day.

The one who leads troops to war should be like a watch-dog, quick to see and to hear all that goes on, and to be on guard at all times.

Each day he had the guns drawn out and dragged through the town, just to make a stir and have the band out. But when the Ma-jor told him that he should have earth-works thrown up on which to place the guns he said, "Pooh! pooh! Let the foe come on! We'll charge on them with the bay-o-net!"

"But Herr Col-o-nel," said the old Ma-jor, "it costs not much, and if it does not help it will not harm."

But Rahl laughed as if he thought it a good joke, turned on his heel and went off, and the works were not thrown up.

On this night, too, there was a great stir in the camp at Tren-ton, for the men did their best to keep Christ-mas, and their thoughts were of home and the dear ones there. They made what cheer they could, and did not dream that the foe was so near.

A storm of hail and snow set in as soon as our troops took up their march. They could scarce see their way through the sleet they had to face. The night was so cold that two of the men froze to death. At dawn of day some of the men came to a halt at a cross-road, where they did their best to dry their guns. But some were past use, and word was sent to Wash-ing-ton of the state of their arms. They were in doubt what to do.

Wash-ing-ton in a burst of rage bade the man go back to his chief at once, and tell him to push on and charge if he could not fire.

At eight o'clock Wash-ing-ton drew near the town at the head of his troops. He went up to a man who had come out to chop wood by the road-side and asked him where the guard was who stood at the out-post of Rahl's camp.

The man said in a harsh voice, "I don't know."

"You may tell him," said one of our men who stood near, "for that is Gen-er-al Wash-ing-ton."

At once a great change came o'er the man to whom Wash-ing-ton spoke. He raised his hands, and cried, "God bless you! God bless you!" and then showed where the guards could be found.

Soon was heard the cry from Rahl's men, "The foe! the foe! turn out! turn out!" Drums beat to arms. The whole place was in a stir. Wash-ing-ton came in on the north, Sul-li-van on the west, and Stark at the south end of the town.

Rahl scarce knew how to act. He rode to the front of his troops and got them out of the town. Then he seemed to feel that it was a shame to fly in that way, for he was a brave man, so he led his men back in a wild dash out of the woods and in-to the town to meet the foe.

In the midst of the fight, a shot struck him and he fell from his horse. The troops would heed no voice but that of their chief, and fled up the banks of a creek on the way to Prince-ton.

Wash-ing-ton saw the stir and thought they had wheeled to form a new line. He was told that they had laid down their arms, and his joy was great. The day was ours!

But for the wild flight of Rahl's men, it would have gone hard with our troops. Wash-ing-ton did not know it at the time, but he found out that Ew-ing and Put-nam had tried to cross the stream but were kept back by the ice, and he with his raw troops would, he was sure, have been put to rout had Rahl and his men been on their guard.

The poor Ma-jor, who had in vain urged Rahl to throw up breast-works, had a bad wound of which he died in Tren-ton; and Rahl him-self, to whom the red-coats owed their ill-luck, was laid to rest in a grave-yard in that town.

And where was Gen-er-al Howe all this time? In New York, where he thought to take his ease till the Del-a-ware froze so that his troops could cross. He was much shocked at the news that the Hes-sians who had been brought up to war should have laid down their arms for a troop of raw men in rags. He sent Lord Corn-wal-lis back to take Jer-sey, and, as he said, "to bag the fox."

By the third of Jan-u-a-ry red-coats, with Corn-wal-lis at their head, were near at hand. Wash-ing-ton was in a tight place, with a small creek 'twixt his few raw troops and the large force of the foe. Back of him lay the Del-a-ware which it was now not safe to cross.

In this dark hour a gleam of hope came to his mind. He saw a way out of the trap, and that was by a quick night-march to get at the rear of the King's troops, dash on the camp at Prince-ton, seize the stores that were left there, and push on to New Bruns-wick.

A thaw had set in which made the roads deep with mire, but in the course of the night the wind veered to the north, and in two hours the roads were once more hard and frost-bound.

That the foe might not guess his plan, Wash-ing-ton bade some of his men keep at work with their spades on the pits near the bridge, go the rounds, change guards at each bridge and ford, and keep up the camp-fires till day-break, when they were to join those on the way to Prince-ton.

In the dead of the night Wash-ing-ton drew his troops out of camp and the march took place. The road which they had to take was cut through woods, and the stumps of the trees made the march a slow one, so that it was near sun-rise when Wash-ing-ton came to the bridge at the brook three miles from Prince-ton.

As our troops left the woods they came face to face with a force of red-coats, and a sharp fight took place, which did not last long.

Wash-ing-ton was in the midst of it. In the heat of the fight, his aide-de-camp lost sight of him in the dusk and smoke. The young man dropped the reins on the neck of his horse, drew down his cap to hide the tears in his eyes, and gave him up for lost. When he saw Wash-ing-ton come out from the cloud with his hat raised and the foe in flight, he spurred up to his side.

"Thank God you are safe!" cried he.

"A-way, and bring up the troops," said Wash-ing-ton, "the day is our own!"

At day-break, when Gen-er-al Howe thought to bag his fox, he found the prize had slipped from his grasp, and soon learned that the King's troops had lost their hold on New Jer-sey.

The fame of Wash-ing-ton, and of the brave deeds of those who fought to be free, went a-cross the sea, and made friends for him and the cause. Not a few came to their aid. One of these brave souls was a Pole, whose name was Kos-ci-us-ko.

The com-mand-er-in-chief said to him "What do you seek here?"

"To fight for the cause you have at heart."

"What can you do?"

"Try me."

This style of speech, and the air of the man, pleased Wash-ing-ton so well that he at once made him an aide-de-camp. This was in 1777. He served the cause well, and went back to his own land in 1786 with the rank of Brig-a-dier Gen-er-al.

In 1777 La-fay-ette came from France to join the troops led by Wash-ing-ton. He had wealth and high rank in his own land, and had lived but a score of years. He left his young wife, and the gay court of France, and made his way to A-mer-i-ca to do what he could to aid the foes of King George.

He came, he said, to learn and not to teach, and would serve with-out pay, and as one who came of his own free-will.

He soon won his way to the heart of Wash-ing-ton, and a strong bond of love grew up 'twixt the two which naught but death could break.

In the mean-time the whole of our land south of the Great Lakes was a scene of strife and blood-shed, and it was hard work for our troops to keep the red-skins and red-coats at bay.

I have not space to tell you of all the fights that took place, nor the ways in which Wash-ing-ton sought to vex the King's troops.

On the third of Oc-to-ber of this year -- 1777 -- we find him at Ger-man-town, where the main force of the red-coats were in camp. His plan was to drive them out, but though his troops fought with much skill and in the midst of a dense fog, they were forced back, and the day was lost.

The ships-of-war in the Del-a-ware led Wash-ing-ton to think that Lord Howe meant to turn his guns on Phil-a-del-phi-a, and his mind was filled with doubts and fears.

In the same month word came to him that Bur-goyne -- who was at the head of the King's troops in the north -- had been forced to yield to Gen-er-al Gates at Fish-kill. This was such a blow to the King's cause that the troops at West Point and else where on the Hud-son, who were to have gone to the aid of Bur-goyne, left the forts and made their way to New York.




Chapter XII.

Foes In The Camp.


It is much worse to have one foe in the camp than to have a host of foes out-side, for who can tell what harm he may do who comes in the guise of a friend?

In the year 1774 a young man, named John An-dre, came with the King's troops, and fought in their ranks at St. John's and Crown Point.

He had a brave heart, and a fine mind, and did much to keep up the hearts of the men when in the camp. He was fond of the fair sex and had praised in rhyme the charms of a Miss Ship-pen who wed Ben-e-dict Ar-nold in the year 1780.

Ar-nold had fought well on our side at the north, and won much praise. He had been a sea-man in his youth, and was both strong and brave. But he grew proud and vain, and sought to rank as high as the Com-mand-er-in-chief, with whom he found much fault.

Wash-ing-ton had great faith in him, and did not dream he was false at heart.

For some ill-deeds while at Phil-a-del-phi-a Ar-nold had been brought to court and tried and his guilt proved, and this had made him wroth with Wash-ing-ton, and the cause he had sworn to aid.

He sought for a way to pay back the slight and raise him-self to fame. With this end in view he wrote to Sir Hen-ry Clin-ton -- but did not use his own name -- that he would like to join the cause of King George on the terms that he set forth. He was in need of funds for he was deep in debt, but Clin-ton did not see fit to make use of him.

Two or three more of his schemes failed, and at last he asked that he might have charge of the post at West Point. This Wash-ing-ton gave him, and in Au-gust Ar-nold fixed him-self in a fine house that stood on the east side of the stream, half a mile or so south of West Point.

From this place he sent notes to An-dre, the aide-de-camp of Clin-ton, who wrote back and signed his name John An-der-son.

Ar-nold's plan was to throw West Point and the High-lands in-to the hands of Sir Hen-ry Clin-ton at the time that Wash-ing-ton was at King's Bridge, and the Eng-lish troops in New York.

A fleet, with a large land force on board, was to come up to the High-lands, and Ar-nold would at once yield up the post in-to their hands. This act he thought would bring the war to an end, with the flag of King George at high mast, and then great would be the name and fame of Ben-e-dict Ar-nold.

That the scheme might not fail, Ar-nold wrote to An-dre to meet him at Dobb's Fer-ry, Sep-tem-ber 11, at noon.

But Ar-nold had spent the night of the 10th at Hav-er-straw, on the west shore, and on his way back in his barge, as he had no flag, he was fired on by the guard boats of the King's troops. So he had to put off his plans for a day or two.

In the mean-time the sloop-of-war Vul-ture -- a good name for such a bird of prey -- was brought up the Hud-son so as to be near at hand to aid in the vile scheme.

On Sep-tem-ber 18, Wash-ing-ton with his suite crossed the Hud-son at Ver-planck's Point, in Ar-nold's barge, on his way to Hart-ford. Ar-nold went with him as far as Peeks-kill, and talked with him in a frank way, and as if he were most true to the cause.

An-dre went up the Hud-son on the 20th and went on board the Vul-ture where he thought to meet Ar-nold. But Ar-nold knew it would not be safe for him to be there; so he kept in the back-ground.

The next night a boat crept up to the side of the Vul-ture in which were two men. Their oars scarce made a sound.

An-dre, who wore a blue great coat, went on board this boat and was rowed to the west side of the stream. Six miles south of Sto-ny Point they came to shore at the foot of a high mount known as the Long Clove. It was mid-night. Dark was the hour, and dark the place, and dark the deed.

Ar-nold was there hid in the shade of the woods. A man was near who came to wait on him and take care of his horse. He and An-dre had a long talk. One, two, three hours passed, and still there was more to say. One of the men who had brought An-dre, and whose name was Smith, warned them that it was near day-break, and the boat would be seen by our guards if they did not go back soon.

Ar-nold feared that the sight of a boat on its way to the Vul-ture might bring harm to him and his scheme, so he urged An-dre to stay on shore till the next night. The boat was sent to a creek up the Hud-son, and An-dre on the horse that Ar-nold's man had rode, set off with Ar-nold for Smith's house.

The road took them through the small town of Hav-er-straw. As they rode on in the dark the voice of one of the guards at an out-post made An-dre start, for he knew he must be with-in our lines. But it was too late to turn back, and at day-break they reached Smith's house.

Scarce was the door closed on them when the boom of great guns was heard from down the stream. An-dre felt ill at ease, and had good cause for fear.

The fact was that as soon as Liv-ing-ston, who had charge of our troops at Ver-planck's Point, heard that the Vul-ture was with-in shot of Tel-ler's Point, which juts out 'twixt Hav-er-straw Bay and Tap-pan Sea, he sent some men and some big guns to that point in the night to fire on the sloop-of-war.

An-dre kept a close watch on the scene from a top room in Smith's house. At one time he thought the Vul-ture was on fire; but his heart gave a throb of joy when he saw the sloop-of-war drop down the stream out of reach of gun shot.

Ar-nold gave An-dre the plans of the works at West Point, and told him what and how he was to do. As the Vul-ture had changed her place, he told An-dre it would be far more safe for him to go back to New York by land. And he would reach there in less time.

But An-dre said that he must be put on board the sloop-of-war the next night; and in case he should change his mind Ar-nold gave him a pass that he might go by sea or by land. At ten o'clock that morn Ar-nold left him to his fate.

Time moved at a slow pace with poor An-dre. Once on board the Vul-ture he would be safe; his task would be done, and West Point would soon be in the hands of the red-coats. As night set in he grew still more ill at ease, and asked Smith how he had planned to get him on board the Vul-ture.

It gave him a shock to learn that Smith had not done the least thing. The boat-men had gone home, and he would not take him on board the Vul-ture. But he said he would cross the Hud-son with him and start him on the road to New York by land, and go some of the way with him on horse-back.

They set off at sun-set, and went for eight miles on the road to White Plains when they were brought to a halt by a band of our troops who were out as watch-men.

An-dre showed his pass signed with Ar-nold's name, and so they took him for a friend and not a foe. He wore a coat of Smith's that made him look like a plain man.

The two were warned that it was not safe for them to be on the road at night, as they might meet the Cow-Boys from the King's troops, who but a short time since had swept through that part of the land.

Smith was full of fears, and An-dre had to yield to his wish to take a bed in a farm-house near at hand. This they did, but An-dre could not sleep. He knew that he was not safe. At day-break he woke Smith, and made him haste to leave the place.

Two and a half miles from Pine's Bridge, on the Cro-ton Riv-er, An-dre and Smith took a scant meal at a farm-house which had been stripped by the Cow-Boys.

Here Smith took leave of An-dre, who was to go the rest of the way to New York a-lone. He felt no fear now, as he had passed our lines, and was clear of those who kept watch on the out-posts.

Six miles from Pine's Bridge he came to a fork in the road. The left branch led to White Plains. The right branch led to the Hud-son. He had thought at first that he would take the left hand road, as the right one was said to be filled with Cow-Boys. But he had naught to fear from them, as he was on their side; and as it was a more straight road to New York, he turned down it and took his course on the banks of the Hud-son.

He had not gone far when he came to a place where a small stream crossed the road and ran down a dell that was thick with trees. A man stepped out with a gun and brought An-dre to a stand. Two more armed men came up to aid the first one, whose name was Paul-ding. Paul-ding's coat was in rags, and was of the kind that was worn by the King's troops. When An-dre caught sight of it his heart leapt for joy, for he was sure he was safe. So sure that he did not guard his tongue. He asked the men if they were on his side, and they said they were. He then told who he was, and that he had been sent to a post up the Hud-son and was in haste to get back. As he spoke he drew out a gold watch, such as few owned in those days, and none but men of wealth.

Think what a shock it must have been to An-dre when Paul-ding said they were not his friends but his foes, and he was in their hands.

Then An-dre tried to make out that what he first told was a lie, but that he would now tell the truth; and he drew forth his pass to prove that he was all right. Had he done this in the first place he might have gone on his way. "A still tongue shows a wise head."

The men seized his horse by the rein and told An-dre to get off. He warned them that he had been sent out by Gen-er-al Ar-nold and that they would be ill dealt with if they held him back.

"We care not for that," they said, as they led him through the shrubs on the edge of the brook. They then went to work to search him, and took note of the way in which he was drest. They were poor men, and had not had a chance to see such fine clothes.

An-dre wore a round hat, a blue great-coat, 'neath which was a red coat decked off with gold-lace, a nan-keen vest, small-clothes and boots.

They made him take off his coat and vest, and found naught to prove that he had sought to harm their cause, and they had a mind to let him go.

Paul-ding, who had been twice in the hands of the red-coats and ill-used by them, was still not quite free from doubt. A thought came to his mind.

"Boys," said he, "his boots must come off."

At this An-dre's face flushed, and he said that his boots were hard to get off, and he begged that he might not lose time in this way.

But the men were firm. They made him sit down, his boots were drawn off, and the plans that Ar-nold gave him were brought to light.

Paul-ding looked at them and cried out,

"He is a spy!"

He then asked An-dre where he had got these plans. "From a man at Pine Bridge" he said; "a man whom I did not know."

As he put on his clothes An-dre begged the men to let him go. He would pay them a large sum, and stay with two of the men while one went to New York to get it.

Here Paul-ding broke in, "Keep your gold! We want none of it. Were it ten times as much, you should not stir one step!"

An-dre had to yield to his fate, and was led by the men to our post which was ten or twelve miles off. An-dre rode on horse-back with one man in front, and one at each side.

At noon they came to a farm-house, and those who dwelt there sat at the mid-day meal. The house-wife, whose heart was touched by a sight of An-dre's youth and look of grief, asked him to draw near and take some of the food. Then as she caught sight of his gold-laced coat, the good dame said that she knew it was poor fare for such as he, but it was the best she had.

Poor An-dre shook his head, and said, "Oh, it is all good, but in-deed I can-not eat!"

When the four reached the out-post and Jame-son, who was in charge, saw the plans that had been found on An-dre, he at once saw that they had been drawn up by the hand of Ben-e-dict Ar-nold.

He at once did the thing he ought not to have done, which was to write to Ar-nold, and tell him that a man who said his name was John An-derson had been caught, and held, though he bore a pass signed by him. The plans found on him had been sent to the Com-mand-er-in-chief, and An-dre, with a strong guard was sent with the note to Ar-nold.

In a short time, Ma-jor Tall-madge, who was next in rank to Jame-son, came back from a trip to White Plains. He had a clear head, and as soon as he heard the case he at once urged Jame-son to send a man in haste to bring An-dre back. This was done, but Jame-son had not thought to have the note to Ar-nold brought back, so it sped on to let the knave know that his plot had failed.

As soon as Ar-nold read the note he sprang on the horse of the man who brought it, and rode with all speed to the dock where his six-oared barge lay moored. He threw him-self in-to it and bade his men pull out in mid-stream and row as fast as they could to Tel-ler's Point, as he must be back in time to meet Wash-ing-ton, who was then on his way to West Point.

The guards knew his barge, so they did not fire on it, and a bit of white cloth waved in the air served as a flag of truce. He soon was on board the Vul-ture, where he gave him-self up, and the cox-swain and six barge-men with him. This was a mean act, and showed just what kind of a man Ar-nold was, but as soon as the men made it known that they had been led to think that all was right, and that a flag of truce gave them a safe pass, they were at once set free.

Ar-nold gave the red-coats much aid, and they were glad to make use of him. But they did not care to make friends with so base a man. At the close of the war, he went to Eng-land, and made his home there. He was shunned by all, and died in the year 1801, at the age of three-score.

As Wash-ing-ton drew near the fort at West Point, he thought it strange that no guns were fired. "Is not Gen-er-al Ar-nold here?" he asked of the man who came down to the shore to meet him.

"No, sir. He has not been here for two days past; nor have I heard from him in that time."

This was strange; but soon the note from Jame-son was placed in his hands, and when he had read of the deep-laid scheme, he said with a deep sigh, "Whom can we trust now?"

Word was at once sent out to the guards to check Ar-nold's flight, but it was too late. He had slipped from their grasp.

Let us now see how An-dre bore his hard fate. He had the best of care, and made hosts of friends, who grieved that one so young, so well-bred, and of such high rank, should have done a crime for which he must be hung.

It was a great grief to Wash-ing-ton, who would have felt no pang had Ar-nold been in An-dre's place. But death to the spy! was one of the rules of war, and Oc-to-ber 2 was the day set for An-dre to be hung. He had asked that since it was his lot to die he might choose the mode of death; and begged that he might be shot. This Wash-ing-ton could not grant, though in his heart he longed to do so; but thought it best that An-dre should not know.

On the morn of the 2d, An-dre drest him-self with great care, in the full suit worn by those who bore his rank in the King's troops. He was calm, while all those near him were in tears.

He walked with a firm step to the place where he was to end his life, arm in arm with two of our troops. When he caught sight of the rope he gave a start, and asked if he was not to be shot. When told that no change could be made, he said "How hard is my fate! -- But it will be but a brief pang!"

Then he stepped in-to the cart, took off his hat and stock, loosed his shirt at the throat, put the noose round his neck and bound his own eyes.

When told that there was a chance for him to speak if he chose, he said "I pray you to note that I meet my fate like a brave man."

Then the cart was moved off and he was left in mid-air, and death took place in a short time. An-dre was laid in a grave near the place where he was hung, but in 1821 was borne to the land of his birth, and placed near the tombs of Kings and Queens.

He that breaks laws must pay the price. If you want to make friends, and to have them love and trust you -- be true. Let no one coax you to sin. The eye of God is on you, and he sees all your deeds. You may hide your crime for a while, but you may "be sure your sin will find you out." Be not an Ar-nold nor an An-dre.




Chapter XIII.

The Hardships Of War.


We will now go back to the place we left, and see where Wash-ing-ton was at the close of the year 1777. He had been forced to leave New Jer-sey in the hands of the King's troops. His own troops were worn down by long and hard toil, and had need of rest. They were in want of clothes too, and could not keep warm in the tents, so he sought out a place where they could build huts and screen them-selves from the cold winds and storms.

He chose Val-ley Forge, which was on the west bank of the Schuyl (school)-kill Riv-er, and a score of miles from Phil-a-del-phi-a. Sad was the march of the troops to Val-ley Forge. Food was scant, their clothes were worn out, and a track of blood marked the way they trod. They had fought hard, but not to win, and this made their hearts low.

On De-cem-ber 17, they reached Val-ley Forge, and had to freeze in their tents till they could cut down the trees and build the huts they were to live in.

The walls were six feet and a half high, and were made of logs filled in with clay. The roofs were made of logs split in half.

No pen can paint the hard lot of those poor men shut in at Val-ley Forge. For some days they had no meat. For three days they had no bread. Some of the men had to sit up all night by the fires, as there were no clothes for their beds, and they could not sleep for the cold. Some of the men were so scant of clothes that they could not leave their huts.

Wash-ing-ton was kept short of funds and of troops, though he plead hard for both, and was sore pressed on all sides. He scarce knew what to do. There was but one thing he could do, and that was to wait.

While his troops were in this sad plight -- some of them sick un-to death -- the red-coats, who held Phil-a-del-phi-a in siege, led a gay sort of life, and were much at their ease.

Near the first of March a Ger-man came to Wash-ing-ton's camp to lend him his aid.

His name was Bar-on Steu-ben. He had fought for long years in the wars that had been waged in Eu-rope, had been aide-de-camp to Fred-er-ick the Great, and had won much fame by his brave deeds. The French, who were friends to our cause, knew that we had need of such a man as Bar-on Steu-ben, and urged him to come to A-mer-i-ca, and he was at once sent to join the troops at Val-ley Forge.

Our troops had had no chance to drill, there was no one to teach them, and they had fought with a rush and a dash, and in a pell-mell sort of way. Steu-ben went to work to drill these men, the best of whom had much to learn, and he found it a hard task at first as he could not speak our tongue. At last a man was found who spoke French, and him Steu-ben made his aide-de-camp and kept him close at hand.

The men were slow to learn, for the drills were new to them, and Steu-ben would get wroth with them and call them "block-heads," and all sorts of hard names. But though he had a sharp tongue, and was quick to get in a rage, he had a kind, true heart, and soon won the love of the men.

For eight months the red-coats had held Phil-a-del-phi-a. In the spring Gen-er-al Howe went home, and left his troops in charge of Sir Hen-ry Clin-ton, who made up his mind to lead the troops back to New York. But he did not wish his plans to be known.

In the mean-time, Wash-ing-ton knew that a scheme of some sort was on foot -- so he sent troops out to check the King's troops should they move by land. The red-coats left Phil-a-del-phi-a on June 18, and as there was but one road for them to take, their train stretched out for twelve miles. They made a halt at Al-len-town, and Clin-ton had not quite made up his mind which way to go from that place. He at first thought he would go as far as the Rar-i-tan Riv-er, and then ship his troops to New York; but when he found that our troops were not far off, he turned to the right and took the road to Mon-mouth.

His march was a slow one; the heat was great; the rains made the roads bad, and they had to stop to bridge the streams, and to build cause-ways so that they could cross the swamps.

Wash-ing-ton in the mean-time had gone on to Kings-ton; but as soon as he learned Clin-ton's course, he moved his troops so as to get in the rear of the red-coats.

On the night of June 27, the foe went in camp on the high ground near Mon-mouth Court House. The van-guard of our troops was five miles off, and in charge of Gen-er-al Lee.

At day-break the van-guard of the red-coats set forth down the hill, while Clin-ton with his choice troops staid in camp on the heights of Free-hold, to give the long train of carts and pack mules a chance to get well on the way. At eight o'clock all were in line of march to Mid-dle-town.

As soon as Lee heard that the foe were on the move, he set out to meet them, and was joined by the troops in charge of La-fay-ette. As Lee stood on one of the hills he caught sight of a band of red-coats hid some-what by the woods, which he thought was a part of the main force. So he sent some of his troops to draw their fire and check them in the rear, while he with the rest of his force would take a short cut, through the woods, get in front of the corps, and cut it off from the main force.

Wash-ing-ton was on his way with his main force, when the boom of big guns rang out on the air. The sound caused him to change his pace to a quick step, and when he drew near Free-hold church, where the road forked, he sent Greene with part of his force to the right, while he with the rest of the troops took the left hand road.

Wash-ing-ton stood on the ground with his arm thrown up on the neck of his horse, when a man rode up and said the blue-coats were in flight. Wash-ing-ton was vexed, for he was quite sure it was not true. Then up came one with fife in hand, quite out of breath, and in great fright. He was seized at once so that he would not scare the troops then on their way, and told that he would be flogged if he dared to spread the tale he had brought.

Wash-ing-ton sprang on his horse, and sent men out to learn the truth, while he spurred past the Free-hold church. The news seemed too strange to be true. He had heard but a few guns, and did not think there had been much of a fight. Was Lee to blame for this wrong move? He feared so. As he reached the high ground he saw Lee and his men in full flight, and by this time he was in a fine rage.

"What do you mean by this?" he asked in a fierce stern tone as Lee rode up to him.

At sight of Wash-ing-ton's face Lee was struck dumb for a-while, but when he could speak he tried to tell why he had thought it best to fall back. There was not much time for a talk, as the foe were not far off. The sight of their Com-mand-er-in-chief put a stop to the flight, and plans were at once made to turn the luck. The place where they were was good for a stand, as it was on high ground which the foe could not reach but by a cause-way.

Lee knew that Wash-ing-ton had lost faith in him, so he held back, and would give no aid to his chief. Wash-ing-ton rode back to Lee in a calm mood, and said to him; "Will you keep the com-mand on this height, or not? If you will, I will go back to the main force and have it formed on the next height."

Lee said it was all the same to him where he was placed, that he would do just as Wash-ing-ton said, and "not be the first to leave the ground."

Soon guns were heard on both sides. Lee and his men, who were in the fore-ground made a brave stand, but were at length forced to fall back. Lee brought off his troops in good style by the cause-way that crossed the swamps, in front of our troops in charge of Lord Stir-ling, and was the last to leave the ground. When he had formed his men in line back of the swamp, he rode up to Wash-ing-ton, and said, "Here, sir, are my troops, what do you wish me to do with them?"

Wash-ing-ton saw that the men were worn out with long tramps, hard fights, and the great heat, so he told Lee to take them to the rear, and call in all those he might meet with who had fled from his ranks.

The foe sought to turn both our flanks, but were checked by a sharp fire, and at length they gave way and fell back to the ground where Lee had been that morn. Here the woods and swamps were on their flanks, and their front could not be reached but by the cause-way. Great as was the risk, Wash-ing-ton made up his mind to charge on the foe, and this was his plan: Gen-er-al Poor was to move round on their right, Gen-er-al Wood-ford on the left, while the big field guns should gall them in front. But night set in ere they could act on this plan. Some of the troops had sunk on the ground, and all were in need of rest. Wash-ing-ton told them to lie on their arms just where they chanced to be when it grew dark, as he meant to go on with the fight at dawn of the next day. He lay on his cloak at the foot of a tree, and La-fay-ette lay near him.

At day-break the beat of drums roused them from their sleep, but the foe had fled, and had been so long on the way that Wash-ing-ton could not hope to check them.

Our loss in the fight at Mon-mouth was 69, while 250 of the King's troops were left dead on the field. Some of the troops on both sides had died in the swamp, and some were found on the edge of a stream that ran through it, where, worn out with their toils, and weak from heat and thirst they had crawled to drink and die.

Lee's pride had been so hurt that he wrote to Wash-ing-ton in a way that he should not have done to his Com-mand-er-in-chief, and he was brought to court by the Board of War and tried for his wrong deeds. His guilt was proved, and he was told that he could not serve for the next twelve months. He went to his home in Vir-gin-i-a where he led a queer kind of a life. His house was a mere shell, and had but one room, but lines were chalked on the floor and each space was used as if it was a room by it-self. Here was his bed, there were his books; in this space he kept all his horse gear, and in that one he cooked and ate his meals.

With pen and with tongue he strove to harm Wash-ing-ton, whom his shafts failed to hurt, and who spoke not an ill word of Lee. He liked him as a friend but did not think he was fit to lead troops to war. Lee died in the course of four years, and on his death-bed he thought he was on the field of war, and his last words were a call to his men to stand by him.

For a year or two more the strife was kept up on the coast from Maine to Flor-i-da, and both red-coats and red-skins took part in scenes that chill the blood to read of. Houses were burnt and land laid waste, forts were stormed and seized from our troops whose force was too small to hold them. Now and then there was a gain for our side, but in spite of his ill luck Wash-ing-ton held on with a brave heart, and would die at his post but would not yield.

In the first part of the year 1780 we find Wash-ing-ton in camp at Mor-ris-town, with a lot of half-fed and half-clad troops.

No such cold had been known in this zone. The Bay of New York froze so hard that the ships-of-war that lay in it were ice-bound. Food was scant, and there was a lack of fire-wood.

Wash-ing-ton saw what a chance there was for a bold stroke, but he had no funds with which to fit out his troops, or to move them to the coast. The cost of war was great, and gold was scarce. He could not strike a big blow for New York to wrest it from the hands of the foe, as he might have done at this time had his troops been well-fed and well-clad but he would do what he could in a small way.

A bridge of ice had formed 'twixt New Jer-sey and Stat-en Isl-and, so Wash-ing-ton sent Lord Stir-ling with 2,500 men to start up and seize a force of 1,200 red-coats. His lord-ship crossed in the night, but was seen and had to fall back to E-liz-a-beth-town. Some of his men fell in-to the hands of the King's troops, and some in-to the hands of Jack Frost.

This raid gave a start to the foe and they set out to tease and vex our out-posts, which they thought could be done at small risk, as there was snow on the ground, and the troops could be borne on sleighs.

Not far from White Plains -- and a score of miles from the out-posts of the red-coats -- 300 of our men had a post in a stone house known as Young's house, as that was the name of the man who owned it. It faced a road which ran north and south down through a rich plain, and so on to New York. Our men kept a close watch on this road, to stop the red-coats who might seek to pass with food or live-stock. The red-coats made up their mind to break up this nest of blue-birds, and the night of Feb-ru-a-ry 2, was set for the task.

The King's troops set out from King's Bridge, some in sleighs and some on horse-back. The snow was deep, and it was hard for the sleighs to break their way through. The troops at length left them, and marched on foot. They could not bring their field guns with them. Now and then they would come to a place where the snow was more than two feet deep, and they had to take by-ways and cross roads so as not to get near our out-guards.

The sun rose while they were yet six miles or more from Young's house. This spoiled their plan, but still they kept on. Ere they could reach the house, the news flew like wild-fire that the red-coats were near, and men left their farms and homes to aid those in Young's house. But though they fought well, they had not strength to hold the fort. Not a few were killed. The house was sacked and set on fire, and the red-coats made haste to get back to their lines with those of our men whom they had seized, and who were sent to New York and put in the vile jails there.

In the year 1780, France sent ships-of-war and troops to aid our cause, and to drive the red-coats from New York. The French troops were in charge of Count de Ro-cham-beau, who was told to do just as Wash-ing-ton said; for he was Com-mand-er-in-chief.

Wash-ing-ton's heart gave a throb of joy at this proof of good-will, and his grief was that he had not more troops of his own to join with these that he might push for New York at once. He must wait till the rest of the French troops, then on their way, came to port.

In the mean-time his thoughts were turned to the South, where the red-coats, led by Corn-wal-lis, waged a fierce war. Our troops there were in charge of Gen-er-al Greene, who was full of cheer, and did his best to keep the foe at bay, but with poor luck as his force was small.

But Wash-ing-ton had faith in him; yet such a large force of the King's troops had been sent by sea to aid Corn-wal-lis that Wash-ing-ton feared that Greene would not be safe. So he wrote to La-fay-ette, who was on his way to meet the French fleet that had been sent to Ches-a-peake Bay, to push on and join the troops at the South.

At this time Wash-ing-ton was at a place near West Point, and his whole force on the Hud-son, in May 1781, was not more than 7,000; half of whom were not fit to take the field.

Here word came to him of feuds at the North, and that the foe were in force on the north side of Cro-ton Riv-er.

Col-o-nel De-lan-cey, who led this raid, held the place that An-dre had filled, and bore the same rank, and De-lan-cey's horse-men were the dread of all those who dwelt in that part of the land. Our troops had an out-post not far from Pine's Bridge, in charge of Col-o-nel Greene of Rhode Isl-and, who had served all through the war.

De-lan-cey set out at night at the head of 100 men on horse-back and 200 on foot. They crossed the Cro-ton at day-break, just as the night-guard had been called off, and bore down on the out-post.

They first went to the farm-house where Col-o-nel Greene and Ma-jor Flagg slept, and put a strong guard round it. Ma-jor Flagg sprang from his bed, threw up the sash, and fired at the foe, but was shot through the head and then hacked with sword cuts and thrusts.

They then burst through the door of Greene's room. He was a man of great strength, and for some time kept the foes at bay with his sword, but at last he fell, for what could one man do in such a fight?

By the time the troops sent out by Wash-ing-ton reached the post, De-lan-cey's men had flown. They tried to take Greene with them, but he died on the way, and they left him at the edge of the woods.

Wash-ing-ton felt sad at heart when he heard of the death of his brave and true friend, Col-o-nel Greene, and the next day he had his corpse brought to the west bank of the Hud-son. Guns were fired to tell that one who had fought well had gone to his rest, and strong men shed tears as he was laid in his grave, for his loss was a source of great grief to all.




Chapter XIV.

The Close Of The War.


In the month of May, Corn-wal-lis had planned to bring his troops to Pe-ters-burg and strike a blow at La-fay-ette, who was near Rich-mond. La-fay-ette fled as soon as he heard that Corn-wal-lis had crossed the James Riv-er, for he had but few troops and did not care to bring on a big fight till the men came up who were then on the way to aid him.

Corn-wal-lis thought he could soon catch "the boy" -- as he called him -- but his youth made him spry, and the red-coats did not get up to him.

On June 10, Gen-er-al Wayne came up with 900 men, to add to La-fay-ette's strength, and this made him change his whole plan. With 4,000 men and Ba-ron Steu-ben he might hope to win in a fight with the red-coats, and he turned his face to the foe. Corn-wal-lis was at that time 'twixt La-fay-ette and Al-be-marle Court House, where stores were kept. The Mar-quis, by a night march through a road that had long been out of use, got in front of the King's troops, and held them in check.

Corn-wal-lis turned back, and marched first to Rich-mond, and then to Will-iams-burg, while La-fay-ette kept close in his rear. Here they had a fierce fight, in which the loss was great on both sides, and the gain but small.

At this time word came to Corn-wal-lis that Wash-ing-ton had borne down on New York and that he must send some of his troops to that town. This would leave him too weak to stay where he was, so on Ju-ly 4 he set out for Ports-mouth.

La-fay-ette gave chase the next day and took post nine miles from his camp. His plan was to fall on the rear-guard, when the main force should have crossed the ford at James-town. But Corn-wal-lis guessed what he meant to do and laid a trap for him. A sharp fight took place, in-to which Wayne threw him-self like a mad-man, but the foe were as ten to one and our troops were forced back to Green Springs.

In Ju-ly La-fay-ette wrote to Wash-ing-ton that Corn-wal-lis had left Ports-mouth by sea, and he thought he was on his way to New York. It was true the troops had gone on board the boats, but though wind and tide were fair they did not sail.

With the French fleet to help him, Wash-ing-ton saw a chance to fight the foe by land and sea, so he turned from New York and marched to Vir-gin-i-a to aid La-fay-ette, who longed to have his chief at the head of his troops but did not know he was so near.

As our war-worn troops went through Phil-a-del-phi-a they were hailed with shouts and cheers from the throngs that filled the streets. They kept step to the sound of the drum and fife, and raised a great cloud of dust, for there had been quite a drought.

The French troops passed through the next day, but not in the same style. They made a halt a mile from the town, where they brushed off the dust from their guns, and their gay white and green clothes, and then marched with a light step to the sound of a fine band. Crowds were on the streets, and bright smiles and loud shouts met these who had come from France to lay down their lives if need be for the cause we had at heart.

When Wash-ing-ton turned his back on New York, Sir Hen-ry Clin-ton sent word to Corn-wal-lis that he would not need the troops he had asked for; so Corn-wal-lis went from Ports-mouth to York-town, where he took his stand.

York-town was a small place on the south side of York Riv-er. The stream at this point was not more than a mile wide, but it was so deep that ships of large size and weight could go through. Here he threw up works on both sides of the stream, which gave him a fine strong-hold, as the banks were high and set out from the main-land. He thought there was no foe near but La-fay-ette, and he had no great fear of one so young.

He felt so safe that he wrote to Clin-ton that he could let him have a large force of men to add strength to New York, where it was thought our troops would strike the next blow.

In the mean-time La-fay-ette threw out troops to the rear, to work with the French fleets that would soon be in Ches-a-peake Bay, and so a net was drawn round Corn-wal-lis at a time when he thought he was most safe.

Wash-ing-ton was at Phil-a-del-phi-a on Sep-tem-ber 5, and at Bal-ti-more three days from that time. He left Bal-ti-more on the ninth, at day-break, with but one of his suite, as he was in haste to reach Mount Ver-non. The rest of his suite rode at their ease, and joined him the next day at noon. It was six years since Wash-ing-ton had seen his old home, and how full of toil and care those years had been! In three days he had to leave the dear old place, and with his guests push on to join La-fay-ette, who was at Will-iams-burg. By Sep-tem-ber 25, the French and our troops were in camp near that town, and at once set to work to get things in train for the next fight.

Corn-wal-lis had built forts on the north and south banks of the stream, and had done all he could to add strength to York-town. Ships-of-war were in front, and boats had been sunk at the mouth of the stream. Field-works were at the rear with big guns on top, and there were long rows of trees that had been cut down and left so that their limbs stuck out and made a fence it would not be safe to climb. At the right and left of York-town were deep dells and creeks, and it was not strange that Corn-wal-lis felt that he was in a sure strong-hold.

Our troops were twelve miles off when they took up their march on Sep-tem-ber 28, and that night they went in camp two miles from York-town. Wash-ing-ton and his staff slept on the ground, his head on the root of a tree. The next morn our troops drew out on each side of Bea-ver Dam Creek, the A-mer-i-cans on the east side and the French on the west. The Count de Grasse, with the main fleet, staid in Lynn Haven Bay so as to keep off the ships that might come from sea to aid the red-coats.

On the night of the first of Oc-to-ber our troops threw up two earth-works, on which the red-coats turned their guns at day-light and killed three of the men. While Wash-ing-ton stood near the works a shot struck the ground close by him and threw up a great cloud of dust. One of his staff who stood near was in a great fright, but Wash-ing-ton was calm and showed no signs of fear.

On Oc-to-ber 6, our troops set out to dig the trench that the first line would use in the siege of York-town. So dark was the night, and so still were the men, that the foe did not know of it till day-light. Then they fired on them from the forts, but the men were screened and kept at their work. By the ninth the trench was dug and the guns fixed to fire at the town.

Wash-ing-ton put the match to the first gun, and a storm of balls and bomb-shells dared Corn-wal-lis to come out and fight. For three or four days the fire was kept up on both sides, and bomb-shells crossed in mid-air, and at night flashed forth like great stars with tails a blaze of light. Our shells did much harm in the town, and to the earth-works of the foe.

The red-hot shot from the French forts north-west of the town reached the King's ships-of-war. The Char-on a 44 gun ship, and three large boats for troops, were set on fire by them. The flames ran up to the tops of the masts, and as the night was dark the scene was a grand one to the eye, but a sad one to the heart.

On the night of the 11th, a new ditch was dug by the troops led by Bar-on Steu-ben, and for two or three days the foe kept up a fire on the men at work.

At eight o'clock on the night of Oc-to-ber 14, they set out to storm both York-town and the Point on the north bank at the same time.

The van-guard of our troops was led by Al-ex-an-der Ham-il-ton. When at school he wrote to one of his boy friends, "I wish there was a war;" and in 1776 when he was but 19 years of age, he was placed at the head of the men who fired the guns and bomb-shells. The next year he was aide-de-camp to Wash-ing-ton, in whom he found a true and wise friend. With great joy and pride Ham-il-ton led the van in a head-long dash past the trees, which they pushed or pulled down with their own hands, where they could not climb them, and was the first to mount the wall. One of his men knelt so that Ham-il-ton could use him for steps, and the rest of the men got up the best way they could. Not a gun was fired, and the fort fell in-to the hands of our troops with a small loss on both sides.

The French stormed the fort at the Point in as brave a way, but with less speed, and lost more men.

Wash-ing-ton stood on the ground in the grand fort where he could see all that took place. An aide-de-camp near him spoke up and said that he ran a great risk from a chance shot through one of the port-holes. "If you think so," said Wash-ing-ton, "you can step back."

Soon a ball struck the gun in the port-hole, rolled on, and fell at his feet. Gen-er-al Knox seized him by the arm. "My dear Gen-er-al," said he, "we can't spare you yet."

"It is a spent ball," said Wash-ing-ton in a calm voice; "no harm is done."

When each charge was made and both forts were in our hands, he drew a long breath, turned to Knox and said, "The work is done and well done!" Then he said to his black man, "Bring me my horse," and rode off to see where next his lines should move, and how the trap could be closed on Corn-wal-lis.

Corn-wal-lis found that he could not hold his forts; no troops had come to his aid, and he would soon have to yield to the foe.

This was too much for his pride, so he made up his mind to leave those who were sick or had wounds, and fly from York-town. His scheme was to cross the stream at night, fall on the French camp ere day-break, push on with all speed, and force his way to the north and join Sir Hen-ry Clin-ton in New York.

A large part of his troops had crossed the stream on the night of Oc-to-ber 16, and the rest were on their way when a fierce storm of wind and rain drove the boats down the stream. They could not be brought back till day-light and it was then too late for them to move on or to turn back.

The hopes of Lord Corn-wal-lis were at an end, and on the 17th he sent a flag of truce and a note to Wash-ing-ton and asked that his guns might cease their fire for one day so that terms of peace could be drawn up.

Wash-ing-ton feared that in the mean-time troops from New York would reach Corn-wal-lis, so he sent word back that his guns should cease their fire for but two hours. Wash-ing-ton did not like the terms drawn up by Corn-wal-lis, so he made a rough draft of such terms as he would grant. These were sent to Corn-wal-lis on the 19th, and he was forced to sign them, and in two hours his troops were to march out of the forts.

At noon our troops were drawn up in two lines more than a mile in length; the A-mer-i-cans on the right side of the road, the French on the left. At two o'clock the red-coats passed out with slow steps, and were led to a field where they were to ground their arms. Some of them, in their rage, threw down their guns with such force as to well nigh break them.

On the day that Corn-wal-lis had been forced to lay down his arms at York-town, the large force that was to aid him set sail from New York. They did not reach Ches-a-peake Bay till Oc-to-ber 29, and when they found they were too late they turned their prows and went back to New York.

The down-fall of Corn-wal-lis was felt to be a death-blow to the war, and great joy was felt through-out the land. Votes of thanks were sent to Wash-ing-ton, to De Ro-cham-beau and De Grasse, and Wash-ing-ton gave high praise to all the troops for the way in which they had fought at the siege of York-town.

From that time the red-coats lost heart, and on No-vem-ber 25, 1783, they marched out of New York, and Wash-ing-ton marched in at the head of his brave men, who had fought and bled and borne all the ills that flesh could bear that the land they loved might be free.

In a few days Wash-ing-ton was called to An-na-po-lis to meet with those who made the laws, and his chief men who had been with him through all the sad scenes of the war, came to bid him good-bye.

With a heart full of love he said to them, "I can-not come to each of you to take my leave, but shall be glad if each of you will come and take me by the hand." This they did. No one spoke a word. Tears were in all their eyes.

Wash-ing-ton left the room, and went on foot to the boat which lay at the end of what was then and is now White-hall Street. His friends kept close in the rear. When Wash-ing-ton was in his barge he turned, took off his hat, and waved good-bye, and those on shore did the same, and watched the barge till it passed out of their sight.




Chapter XV.

First In Peace.


At the close of the war, and of the year 1783, Wash-ing-ton went back to Mount Ver-non. He reached his home to his great joy on the eve of Christ-mas day, and he was in a good state of mind to keep the feast.

"The scene is at last closed," he wrote, "and I am eased of a load of care. I hope to spend the rest of my days in peace."

Mount Ver-non was locked in ice and snow for some time. Wash-ing-ton wrote that he was so used to camp life that he could not help feel when he woke each day that he must hear the drums beat, and must go out to plan or to lead his troops. He was now at his ease, and longed for the spring so that his friends could come to him. "My way of life is plain," he said; "I do not mean to be put out of it. But a glass of wine and a bit of meat can be had at all times."

He would not give notes of his life to those who wished to write it up at this time lest it should look vain. "I will leave it to those who are to come to think and say what they please of me," he wrote. "I will not by an act of mine seem to boast of what I have done."

As spring came on, friends flocked to Mount Ver-non, and Wash-ing-ton met them in a frank way. His wife, too, was full of good sense and good cheer. She loved to knit, and had been used all through the war to knit socks for the poor men who were in the ranks.

But as Wash-ing-ton took his rides through his place, he felt the changes there since he had left. Old friends were gone, and the scenes of his youth were no more. La-fay-ette spent a few days with him, and the love he felt for the brave young man was as strong as at first.

He wrote a sad note to him when he was gone which showed what a warm place the young French-man had in his heart. He said, "As you left me, I asked if this were the last sight I should have of you. And though I wished to say 'No,' my fears said 'Yes.' I called to mind the days of my youth and found they had long since fled to come back no more. I must now go down the hill I have climbed all these years. I am blessed with strength, but I some of a short-lived race, and may soon go to the tomb. All these thoughts gave a gloom to the hour in which I parted with you."

Wash-ing-ton made a trip through some of the states of the West, and saw there was a chance for great trade there, and he wrote much of what he had seen. But his chief joy was in his home and land, where he planted trees and loved to watch them grow. He writes down each month of what he sets out; now it is a choice slip of grape vine from France; or it may be a tree that stays green all the year round. Some of the bushes he set out still stand strong in their growth on the place.

He notes the trees best for shade and which will not hurt the grass. He writes of rides to the Mill Swamp in quest of young elms, ash trees, and white thorn, and of the walks he lays out and the trees and shrubs he plants by them.

A plan of the way in which he laid out his grounds is still kept at Mount Ver-non, and the pla-ces are marked on it for the trees and shrubs. He owned five farms, and he kept maps of each. He read much of soils, the way to raise good crops, and the best style of ploughs and farm tools to use. He rode the first half of the day to see that all went well. When he had dined, he would write till dark if he had no guests. If friends came he did all he could to make them feel at ease and at home. He was kind, and loved by all. He would not talk much of the war nor of what he had done in it. He took great care not to talk of his own acts, so that if there had been a guest who did not know the facts, he would not have found out by a word from Wash-ing-ton that he was one who had won a great name in the eyes of the world.

Though grave in his looks and ways, he loved to see youth glad and gay. He was fond of the dance, and it was long the boast of more than one fair dame that she had danced with the chief. There had been balls in camp in the dark days of the war.

Wash-ing-ton, as we have seen, had been fond of the hunt in his youth, and La-fay-ette sent him some hounds from France, so he took up his old sport. But the French hounds did not do well, and he found they could not be trusted.

Ere the war had been long past, it was found that there was need of new laws by which the States should be ruled. The chief men of the land were called to Phil-a-del-phi-a to form them, and Wash-ing-ton went from Mount Ver-non to take part in the work. It was then that the code of laws was drawn up which bears the name of "Con-sti-tu-tion of the U-ni-ted States."

These laws said that the States should be ruled by a Pres-i-dent. The choice for this post fell on Wash-ing-ton, and in the spring of 1788 he bade good-bye to Mount Ver-non and made his way to New York, where he was to take the oath that he would serve the land and be true to her in peace and in war.

As he passed through the towns, crowds came out to cheer him, flags were raised, guns roared, and at night there was a great show of fire-works.

When he came to Tren-ton, the place where in the past he had crossed the stream in the storm, through clouds of snow and drifts of ice, he found a scene of peace and love. Crowds were on the bank, the stream gleamed in the sun, the sky was blue, and all hailed him with joy.

On the bridge that crossed the Del-a-ware an arch was raised and twined with wreaths of green and gay blooms. As Wash-ing-ton passed 'neath it a band of young girls, drest in white and with wreaths on their heads, threw bright blooms at his feet, and sang an ode that spoke the love and praise that were in all hearts.

At E-liz-a-beth-town Point he was met by men who had been sent from New York, and led to a barge which had been made for his use. It was filled with sea-men of high rank, who made a fine show in their white suits.

Boats of all sorts, gay with flags, and some with bands on board, fell in the wake of Wash-ing-ton's barge, and as they swept up the bay of New York the sight was a grand one. The ships at the wharves or in mid-stream, dipped their flags, and fired their guns, bells were rung, and on all the piers were great crowds that made the air ring with their shouts.

On the last day of A-pril, 1789, Wash-ing-ton took the oath in front of the hall where the wise men of the land had been wont to meet in New York. He stood in full view of a great crowd to whom this was a new and strange sight. The States were to be as one, and this man, whose name and fame were dear to them, was to pledge him-self to keep them so.

On a ledge that bulged out from the main part of the house, was a stand spread with a rich red cloth on which lay the Word of God, the Book of Books. Wash-ing-ton was clad in a full suit of dark-brown home-made cloth, white silk hose, and dress sword with steel hilt, and his hair was drest in the style of the day.

As he came in sight he was hailed with the shouts of the crowds in the streets and on the roofs. He came to the front of the ledge close to the rail, so that he could be seen by all, laid his hand on his heart, bowed three or four times, and then went back and took his seat in an arm-chair near the stand.

In a short time he rose and went once more to the front with John Ad-ams, who was to be next him in rank, and the friends who were to stand by him in this new field. While the oath was read Wash-ing-ton stood with his hand on the Word of God, and at the close he said, "I swear -- so help me God!" One of the men would have raised the book to Wash-ing-ton's lips, but he bent his head and kissed it.

Then there was a cry of "Long live George Wash-ing-ton!" and all the bells in the town rang out a peal of joy, and the crowd rent the air with their shouts and cheers.

Wash-ing-ton bowed and made a speech that was full of good sense. Then all went on foot to St. Paul's Church to pray that God would bless the land.

Wash-ing-ton felt most of all as he wrote to his friends, a fear lest he should come short of what the land hoped to find in him. The eyes of the world were on him. He had won fame in the field, but how would he rule the State? There was still much to be done. Great Brit-ain held some of the posts at the West, on the plea that debts due to some of her men had not been paid; the red-men were still a source of fear to the homes in the Wild West; and there was no hard cash with which the States could pay their debts.

He found that his time was no more his own. From dawn till dark men came to him, and he saw that he must be saved from this or he could do no work. Mrs. Wash-ing-ton joined him and soon days were fixed for the calls of friends. The house was kept well, but there was no waste. One who dined there wrote that there was no show. The Pres-i-dent said a short grace as he sat down. One glass of wine was passed to each, and no toasts were drank. He was kind to his guests and strove to put them at their ease. He was strict in the way he kept the Lord's day. He went to church and would have no calls on that day.

As to Mrs. Wash-ing-ton, those who knew her at the time speak of her as free from all art. She met her guests in a well-bred way as one who had ruled in a great house. She, too, was more fond of their home at Mount Ver-non than of the new rank and place. To stay at home was the first and most dear wish of her heart.

Wash-ing-ton was touched to the quick when he heard that I some one had said that there was more pomp at his house than at St. James, where King George held his court, and that his bows were much too stiff and cold.

Wash-ing-ton wrote, "I grieve that my bows were not to his taste, for they were the best I can make. I can say with truth that I feel no pride of place, and would be more glad to be at Mount Ver-non with a few friends at my side, than here with men from all the courts of the world." He then goes on to tell how they treat their guests. "At two or three o'clock each Tues-day they come and go. They go in and out of the rooms and chat as they please. When they first come in they speak to me, and I talk with all I can. What pomp there is in all this I do not see!"

The red-men, who could not be kept in peace, roused the land once more to arms. Wash-ing-ton did not wish for war, but he had to call out troops. They went forth and laid waste In-di-an towns. Wash-ing-ton thought it would be a good plan to meet the In-di-an chiefs and talk with them. Three chiefs came to him, and said they would go to the rest and try to make peace. Wash-ing-ton made a set speech and told them it would be a good work to do, or else those tribes, "if they thieved and killed as they had done, would be swept from the face of the earth."

He had thought much of the state of the red-men in the land. He had but small faith in schools for the youth, save as far as to teach them to read and write. The true means to do them good, he thought, was to teach them to till the ground and raise crops in the same way as the white folks, and he said if the tribes were pleased to learn such arts, he would find a way to have them taught.

In the end, Gen-er-al St. Clair had to be sent out with troops to put the red-men down. Wash-ing-ton's last words to him were to be on the watch, for the red-skins were sly and would wait for a chance to find him off his guard.

But St. Clair did not pay heed to these wise words, and the red-skins got in-to his camp, some of his best men were slain, and the whole force was put to rout.

When the news was brought to Wash-ing-ton he said in a quick way, "I knew it would be so! Here on this spot I took leave of him and told him to be on his guard! I said to him 'you know how the red-skins fight us!' I warned him -- and yet he could let them steal in-to his camp and hack and slay that ar-my!" He threw up his hands, and his frame shook, as he cried out "O what a crime! what a crime!"

Then he grew calm, and said that St. Clair should have a chance to speak, and he would be just to him. St. Clair was tried, and was found free from guilt.

Wash-ing-ton's mo-ther died at Fred-er-icks-burg, Vir-gin-i-a, Au-gust 25, 1789, aged 82. When her son first went to war, she would shake her head and say, "Ah, George should stay at home and take care of his farm." As he rose step by step, and the news of his fame was brought to her, she would say "George was a good boy," and she had no fear but that he would be a good man, and do what was right.

In the year 1789, a great war broke out in France, in which Lou-is XVI lost his crown and his head, and deeds were done that you could scarce read of with-out tears. Men seemed like fiends in their mad rage, and like wild beasts in their thirst for blood.

In 1793 France made war on Eng-land; and in 1797 sought to break up the peace of the U-ni-ted States, but of this I will tell you by and by.

In the mean-time the four years -- which was the full term Wash-ing-ton was to rule -- came to an end. He had no wish to serve for two terms, but the choice fell on him, and he once more took the oath, on March 4, 1792. In 1796, as France was still at war, it was thought best that Wash-ing-ton should hold his place for a third term.

But this he would not do. He had made up his mind to leave these scenes and to give up that sort of life, and those who plead with him could not move him. He took leave of his friends in a way that moved them to tears; and his fare-well speech, though in plain style, touched all hearts and made them feel what a loss it was to part with so great and good a man.

On March 4, 1797, John Ad-ams took the oath, and bound him-self to serve as Pres-i-dent for a term of four years. Wash-ing-ton was there, and as he rose to leave the house there was a great rush to the door, as all wished to catch the last look of one who had had for so long a time the first place in their hearts. So great was the crush that it was feared there would be loss of limbs if not of life.

As Wash-ing-ton stood in the street he waved his hat as cheer on cheer rose from the crowd, and his gray hairs streamed forth in the wind. When he came to his own door he turned to the throng with a grave face and tried to say a word or two. But tears rose to his eyes, his heart was full, and he could not speak but by signs.

He soon set off for Mount Ver-non, the dear home of his heart. He had been there but a few months when the French, by their acts, seemed to want to bring on a war with the U-ni-ted States. They took our ships at sea, and there was no way left but to stand up for our rights.

Pres-i-dent Ad-ams wrote to Wash-ing-ton, "We must have your name, if you will let us have it. There will be more in it than in a host of men! If the French come here we shall have to march with a quick step."

Wash-ing-ton wrote to Pres-i-dent Ad-ams, "I had no thought that in so short a time I should be called from the shade of Mount Ver-non. But if a foe should come in our land, I would not plead my age or wish to stay at home."

He saw the dark clouds that showed a storm, and he feared his days of peace would be few. It was with a sad heart that he felt his rest was at an end, but he had so strong a sense of what was right that he did not hold back. He said he would do all he could for the troops, but he would not take the field till the foe was at hand.

For months Wash-ing-ton led a life full of hard work. He had much to do for the troops, and at the same time work at home. He would write for hours, and took long rides each day. To his great joy, there was, in the end, no war with France.

He seemed in first-rate health up to De-cem-ber 12, 1799. On that day a storm set in, first of snow, then of hail, and then of rain, and Wash-ing-ton was out in it for at least two hours. When he reached the house his clerk, Mr. Lear, saw that the snow hung from his hair, and asked him if he was not wet through. "No," said Wash-ing-ton, "my great coat kept me dry." But the next day his throat was sore and he was quite hoarse; and though much worse at night he made light of it and thought it would soon pass off.

When he went to bed Mr. Lear asked him if he did not think it best to take some-thing. "Oh, no," said Wash-ing-ton. "Let it go as it came." But he grew worse in the night, and it was hard for him to breathe, and though his wife wished to call up one of the maids he would not let her rise lest she should take cold.

At day-break, when the maid came in to light the fire, she was sent to call Mr. Lear. All was done that could be done to ease him of his pain, but he felt him-self that he had but a short time to live. Mr. Lear was like a son to him, and was with him night and day.

When Mr. Lear would try to raise and turn him so that he could breathe with more ease, Wash-ing-ton would say, "I fear I tire you too much." When Lear told him that he did not, he said, "Well, it is a debt we must all pay, and when you want aid of this kind I hope you'll find it."

His black man had been in the room the whole day and most of the time on his feet, and when Wash-ing-ton took note of it he told him in a kind voice to sit down.

I tell you these things that you may see what a kind heart he had, and how at his last hour he thought not of him-self.

His old friend, Dr. Craik, who stood by his side when he first went forth to war, in the year 1754, was with him in these last hours, when Death was the foe that Wash-ing-ton had to meet. He said to Dr. Craik, "I die hard, but I am not a-fraid to go, my breath can-not last long." He felt his own pulse, and breathed his last on the night of De-cem-ber 14, 1799.

His wife, who sat at the foot of the bed, asked with a firm voice, "Is he gone?" Lear, who could not speak, made a sign that he was no more. "'Tis well," said she in the same voice. "All is now at an end, and I shall soon join him."

Thus lived and died this great and good man, "first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of" those who love "the land of the free."

Praise did not spoil him or make him vain; but from first to last he was the same wise, calm, true friend, full of love to God and of good-will to man.

Great and good men have been born in-to the world, but none whose name and fame rank as high as that of GEORGE WASH-ING-TON.

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Slicko, The Jumping Squirrel: Her Many Adventures

By

Richard Barnum



Chapter I

Slicko Learns To Jump


Half way up the side of a tall tree there was a round hole in the trunk. The hole was lined with soft, dried leaves, and bits of white, fluffy cotton, from the milkweed plant. And, if you looked very carefully at the hole, you might see, peering from it, a little head, like that of a very small kitten, and a pair of very bright eyes.

But it was not a kitten that looked from the little hole in the trunk of the tree. Kitties can climb trees, but they do not like to live in them. They would rather have a warm place behind the stove, with a nice saucer of milk.

Now if I tell you that the little creatures who lived in this hole-nest had big, fluffy tails, and that they could sit up on their hind legs, and eat nuts, I am sure you can guess what they were.

Squirrels! That's it! In the nest, half way up the big tree in the woods, lived a family of gray squirrels, and I am going to tell you about them, or, rather, more particularly, about one of the little girl squirrels whose name was Slicko.

One morning Mrs. Squirrel, who had gotten up out of the nest early, to go out and get some breakfast for her little ones, came back very quickly, jumping from one tree branch to another, and fairly scrambling down into the nest where the little boy and girl squirrels of her family were still asleep.

"Why, what's the matter, Mother?" asked Mr. Squirrel, in the queer, chattering language he and his wife used. "Why are you in such a hurry this morning? See, you have dropped a lot of nuts!"

He looked out over the edge of the nest, down to the ground, where he saw some of the nuts Mrs. Squirrel had dropped. She had been bringing them home for breakfast.

"What made you run so?" asked Mr. Squirrel, who had stayed home with the little ones, while his wife went after nuts.

"Well, I guess you'd have hurried too," said the mamma squirrel, "if you saw what I saw!"

"What was it?" asked Mr. Squirrel, and he pulled his head in from the nest-hole, so that if any bad animals were down below on the ground they could not see him.

"It was a man, with a dog and a gun," said Mrs. Squirrel. "He was out hunting, and I'm almost sure he saw me!"

"My, that would be too bad!" exclaimed Mr. Squirrel. "Do you think he followed you to shoot you?"

"I hope not," said Mrs. Squirrel. "I ran as fast as I could when I saw him, and I did not hear his gun go off, but I did hear the dog bark."

"Hum!" said Mr. Squirrel, in his own language, and he seemed as worried as your papa might be if he heard there was a bad animal, or a runaway horse, coming after you. "So the hunter did not shoot his gun, eh?"

"Not that I heard," answered Mrs. Squirrel. "But he may be trying to find this nest."

"I'll look out and see if he is coming," said Mr. Squirrel.

"Be careful he doesn't see you," said Mrs. Squirrel.

"I will," replied her husband. And then he carefully, carefully peeked out of the hole of the nest in the hollow trunk of the tree. Squirrels are smarter than we think. Though they do not know how to shoot a gun, they know that a gun can hurt them, and when one is shot off in the woods, all the squirrels, and the birds and wild creatures, are very much frightened, and run to hide.

So Mr. Squirrel looked out to see if he could see a man with a gun and a dog. But he saw nothing, and he was glad of it.

"I guess he didn't see which way you went, Mamma," he said to his wife. "Now we will give the children their breakfast, and then we must begin teaching them their lessons. For if hunters, with dogs and guns, are to come to our woods, it is time our little ones knew how to look after themselves, and how to hide, and jump to safe places."

"I think so, too," said Mrs. Squirrel. "Wake up, children!" she cried. "Come, Slicko! Hurry up, Chatter! Come, Fluffy and Nutto! Breakfast is ready!"

Four little squirrels -- two boys and two girls -- awoke in the tree-nest and sat up on their hind legs in the soft leaves and cotton. They saw the nuts their mother had brought, and at once began eating them. That was all they had to do to get ready for breakfast.

The squirrel children did not have to dress, for they wore their fur suits all the year 'round, never taking them off. In winter their fur grew much thicker than in summer, to keep them warmer.

The squirrel children did not have to wash themselves in a basin. All any of them did was to wet one paw with his little red tongue, and wipe it over his face. Then he was washed. But you wouldn't like to do that, I'm sure.

"Come, children, eat your breakfasts," said Mrs. Squirrel, "and then you are going to have a new lesson."

"A new lesson!" chattered Slicko, one of the girl squirrels, to her mamma, speaking in a language that you or I could not have understood. "What kind of a lesson is it going to be?"

You see the squirrel children had been taught how to gnaw open hard nuts, and to take out the sweet, juicy kernels inside. They had been taught how to climb trees, and wash their faces. But there were many other things for them to learn. Slicko was the largest of the squirrel children, and she asked the most questions.

"What is your lesson going to be, Mother?" Slicko wanted to know.

"I hope it's going to be a sleeping lesson," said Fluffy, one of the boy squirrels. "I'm sleepy yet," and he yawned and stretched himself, just like a little monkey.

"Oh, fie on you!" said his papa. "Squirrels should be lively, and hop about when they awake in the morning. Come now, if you have finished your nuts, your mamma and I will teach you a new lesson, and one that you must learn well, or there may be danger for you."

"Pooh, I'm not afraid! What sort of danger?" asked Nutto, the other boy squirrel. He was called Nutto because he was so fond of eating chestnuts.

"Oh, I'm afraid," said Chatter, the littlest girl squirrel. "Don't say such scary things, Nutto," and Chatter looked over the edge of the nest as though she might see a big hawk-bird swooping down, for her papa and mamma had told her to always hide when a big hawk flew over the woods. But no hawk was in sight, now.

"You are going to have some jumping lessons," went on Mr. Squirrel. "After you learn to jump, I will tell you why."

You see the papa squirrel did not want just then to tell the little ones about their mamma having seen a hunter-man, with a dog and gun, for fear, if he did, they might be too frightened to come out of the nest and learn to jump. But Mr. Squirrel knew there was no danger near, just then, at any rate, and he wanted his children to be as brave as they could be.

Soon, after the breakfast nuts were eaten, the four little squirrels went out on a straight branch, that stuck out from the tree trunk near the nest. Papa and Mamma Squirrel stood there with them.

"Now this is the idea," said Mr. Squirrel, in his chattering language, that you or I could not have understood, but which was as plain to the little squirrels, as a papa dog's language is to a puppy, or a mamma cat's mewing to her little kittens. "You are all going to learn to jump," said Mr. Squirrel.

"What's a jump?" asked Slicko, who, as I have said, was always asking questions. She asked more questions than her two brothers and her sister together. But Slicko wanted to know about things.

"See!" exclaimed Mr. Squirrel. "This is a jump. Now I am on this limb beside you. Now watch!"

He gave a little spring, or jump, through the air, and landed on the branch of another tree, some distance off.

"That is a jump," said Mr. Squirrel. "It is getting from one branch to another without running or walking. It is a quick way of walking, I suppose you could call it, and when you are in a hurry, as when some one is chasing you, and you have no time to run or walk, you must jump. Now let me see you jump down here, just as I did. Come on, all of you!"

"Yes, go on!" said Mamma Squirrel, who was still on the tree limb by the nest. "You little squirrels must learn to jump. That is the one, big lesson left for you to learn."

Slicko looked at Chatter. Fluffy looked at Nutto. Then they all looked down at their papa on the lower limb.

"Come on! Don't be afraid!" called Mr. Squirrel. "Jump! You won't be hurt!"

"But -- but I'm afraid," said Nutto, who, you remember, had said he was not at all frightened.

"Oh, you mustn't be afraid," said Mr. Squirrel. "There is nothing to hurt you. I'm sure you can jump if you try. Give a good, hard spring, and you'll land down here on the limb beside me. Besides, if you do fall, the ground is covered with soft leaves, and you won't be hurt. Come on. Jump!"

But the little squirrels did not want to.

"You go first," said Nutto to Fluffy.

"No, I'd rather watch you go first," spoke Fluffy.

"Maybe Chatter will go," suggested Nutto. "The girls are not as heavy as we are, and they won't be hurt if they fall."

"One of you boys ought to go first," said Slicko. "You are always saying you're not afraid. You jump first, Nutto, and Chatter and I will come after you."

"Oh, I don't want to," said Nutto.

And there the four little squirrels stood on the limb near the nest, each one afraid to jump. Their papa stood waiting for them, and he kept thinking that if the hunter and his dog should come along then, the little squirrels would be in danger of being shot, if they did not know how to jump out of the way, and hide.

"Come on. You must learn to jump!" called Mrs. Squirrel.

Slicko took a long breath. After all, though she did ask a number of questions, Slicko was rather brave.

"I'm going to jump," she said.

"That's the girl!" cried her father. "Come on; jump down here beside me!"

Slicko moved over close to the edge of the tree branch. Then, with another long breath, such as a boy takes before he dives, when he is in swimming, Slicko jumped from the tree branch.

She found herself sailing through the air. At first she was greatly frightened. She spread out her tail, and then she found that she was floating through the air almost as gently as a bird's feather. Her tail helped her to fall gently, for it was just like a big, open umbrella, and held her up, as the parachute holds up the man who jumps from a balloon.

"There goes Slicko!" cried her mamma. "Slicko is learning to jump!"

Down, down, down through the air went Slicko, the jumping squirrel. Would she land on the tree branch beside her father? Slicko certainly hoped so, but still it was her first jump.


Chapter II

Slicko Meets Squinty


"That's the way to do it!" cried Mrs. Squirrel, as she saw Slicko sailing down through the air toward the limb on which was perched Mr. Squirrel.

"Don't be afraid. You'll get down all right!" called Mr. Squirrel.

Slicko fluffed out her tail as wide as she could. She felt that it was her tail which would save her from landing too hard and hurting her paws. Nearer and nearer she came to the limb on which was her papa.

"Here you are!" cried Mr. Squirrel, a moment later, and with a little shaking up, Slicko found herself safely beside her dear papa.

"Wasn't that nice?" asked Mr. Squirrel, moving over close beside his little girl.

"Oh, indeed it was," said Slicko, breathing a little faster than usual, for this was her first jump, you see.

"Now, Chatter, Fluffy and Nutto! It's your turns!" said Mrs. Squirrel. "See, Slicko made a good jump, and you can each do the same. Come on."

"Yes, do!" said Mr. Squirrel. "You really must learn to jump, and then I'll tell you why."

"Oh, is it a secret?" asked Chatter, the other little girl squirrel. She was a sister to Slicko.

"Yes, it's a secret," answered Mrs. Squirrel.

Now I am not quite sure about it, but I suppose girl squirrels want to hear a secret just as much as real girls do, and I have always found that if you wanted to get a real little girl to do anything for you, that she would do it ever so much more quickly, if she thought there was a secret about it.

Perhaps that is why Chatter made up her mind to jump as Slicko had done. Mind, I am not saying for sure, for I don't know. But maybe it was so.

Anyhow, Chatter moved over close to the edge of the tree limb. She looked down to where her papa and Slicko sat up on their hind legs, watching her.

"Here I come! Catch me!" spoke Chatter.

"All right -- don't be afraid," answered her papa. "You won't fall."

Chatter gave a jump, and down she went. Almost before she knew it, she had landed on a smooth place on the limb, close beside her sister and papa.

"There! I did it!" cried Chatter, in delight.

"Of course you did!" said Slicko. "Wasn't it fine?"

"It certainly was," agreed Chatter.

"Come now! The girls have jumped, and you boys mustn't let them get ahead of you!" called Mr. Squirrel, to Nutto and Fluffy. "Come on, jump down here."

Well, of course the boy squirrels weren't going to let the girl squirrels beat them, so first Nutto jumped, and then Fluffy.

"There, now you have all learned to jump," said Mrs. Squirrel. "Of course this is only the beginning. You must practice every day, just as you did when you were learning to climb trees, by sticking your sharp toe-nails in the soft bark. Every day you do a little jumping."

"But why, Mamma?" asked Slicko. "Is that the secret?"

"That is the secret," answered Mr. Squirrel. "You must learn to jump because your mamma saw a hunter-man, with a gun and dog in our woods this morning, and we must be ready to run away, and hide, if he should find our nest.

"And, as you cannot always run or walk, and climb trees, you must need to know how to jump, so you can jump out of danger. That is why we gave you jumping lessons to-day. Now, when you are rested, you must jump some more. And you must learn to jump up as well as jump down, though jumping down is easier."

The squirrel children asked many questions about the hunter-man, with his dog and gun, and Papa and Mamma Squirrel told their little ones all they knew, warning them always to hide when they saw a man with a gun.

"Well, I'm going to learn to jump farther and higher," said Slicko. "No hunter is going to catch me, if I can help it."

So Slicko began practicing jumping, going from one tree branch to another, up and down, and sideways. The papa and mamma squirrel watched on all sides while their children were jumping, to make sure the hunter-man did not come.

Whether it was because Slicko was larger and stronger than her brothers and sister, or because she practiced harder, I do not know. But it is certain that, in a few days, Slicko was the best jumping squirrel in that part of the woods. She could jump farther than could Chatter, and even though Nutto and Fluffy were boy squirrels, Slicko could beat them.

"Yes, Slicko is certainly a fine jumper," said Mrs. Squirrel, to her husband one day. "She can jump almost as far as we can."

"Well, I hope she is careful," spoke Mr. Squirrel. "I was over near the swamp, to-day, looking to see if I could find any sweetflag root for supper, and I heard a noise like a gun. That hunter-man is still in the woods."

"Maybe it was thunder you heard," said Mrs. Squirrel.

"No, I'm sure it was the gun of the hunter-man," went on her husband. "Well, I am glad the little ones can jump. It will help them to keep out of his way."

"Indeed it will," said Mrs. Squirrel.

For a week or so after this, the little squirrels practiced jumping every day. As soon as they had had their breakfast of nuts, or oats or wheat, which their papa or mamma brought in from the farmer's fields, the little squirrels would begin jumping.

Sometimes they would run up and down the tree trunks, and again they would pretend to hide under the leaves, for their parents had told them that was a good way to keep out of sight when there was any danger in the forest.

The Squirrel family lived in the woods, a very nice woods indeed; with many green trees growing in it. The ground in some places was covered with brown leaves, that had fallen off the trees, and in other places there was soft green moss, like the velvet carpet in the parlor at your house.

And, not far from the tree where Slicko and the other squirrels lived, was a pretty brook that ran through the wood, making nice music as it trickled over the stones. The water was cool, and good to drink, and often Slicko, and her brothers and sister, would come to the edge of the brook to bathe, or get a drink.

One day, after she had practiced her jumping lesson for some time, Slicko said to her sister, Chatter:

"Come on, let's take a little walk in the woods. It is nearly time for chestnuts to be ripe, and we may find some."

"Oh, I don't want to go," Chatter said. "I am tired from having jumped so much. I am going to lie down on the green moss, and go to sleep."

"Oh, then will you come, Nutto?" asked Slicko, of her brother.

"No, for Fluffy and I are going to hunt hickory nuts," said the boy squirrel. "You had better come with us. Chestnuts are not ripe yet. You won't find any. But, if you come with us, you'll find some hickory nuts."

"Oh, I think I can find some chestnuts," spoke Slicko, and then, as neither her brothers nor her sister would come with her, the little girl jumping squirrel started off in the woods by herself.

She ran along on the ground a little way. Then she climbed up a tree, and running out on a branch of that, she leaped from the end of it to the end of another branch, in a tree a little farther on. Slicko was a good jumper.

In this way she hurried on until she was quite a way from her home-nest.

All of a sudden, Slicko heard a noise in the bushes, as if some big animal were breaking a way through them.

"My! I hope that isn't the hunter-man and his dog!" exclaimed Slicko in a whisper to herself. "I had better be careful, and take a look before I go on any farther."

So the little jumping squirrel cuddled down under some leaves on the tree branch where she was sitting, and peered out. At first she could see nothing, except the bushes below her waving as something pushed through them. Whatever it was, it seemed to be coming nearer and nearer her tree.

Slicko felt sure it was the hunter-man, and she was getting ready to give a big jump, and hurry home to the nest, when, all at once, she saw something sort of pink and white come out of the bush. As soon as Slicko saw this, she knew it was not a hunter-man, for it walked on four feet, whereas a hunter walks on two feet.

"Why, it's a little pig!" exclaimed Slicko, looking down. She knew it was a pig, because, not far from the woods where she lived, there was a farm, and on the farm was a pen of pigs. Slicko had seen them once.

"Yes, that's a pig! I'm not afraid of him," said the little squirrel girl. "Hello!" she called down to the pig, who was rooting along in the ground, looking for something to eat, I suppose.

"Hello!" called Slicko. "What's your name?"

"Oh, hello! How you frightened me, calling that way!" answered the pig. "My name is Squinty. What's yours?"

Now if you had been listening to this talk between the two animals -- the squirrel and the pig -- all you would have heard would have been something like this:

"Chatter! Chat! Chat! Chit! Chit! Chirp! Chir-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!"

And then:

"Uff! Uff! Wuff! Wuff! Ugh! Ugh!"

One was the squirrel talking, and the other was the pig answering.

Of course it would not sound like real talk, such as you use, but it was real enough for Slicko and Squinty, and they could understand each other very well. They could also understand man-talk, your talk, also, as I will tell you a little later. But neither Slicko nor Squinty could speak man-language.

"Ha! So your name is Squinty, eh?" asked Slicko, of the little pig. "Why are you called such a funny name?"

"Because one of my eyes squints a little," was the answer. "See!" Squinty looked up to show Slicko, and the little pig was such a funny picture, as he stood there, with one eye partly shut, and the other wide open, with his head on one side, and one ear cocked forward and the other backward, he was so funny, I say, that Slicko could not help laughing.

"Huh! What are you laughing at?" asked Squinty, in his funny grunting voice, with his little flat, rubbery nose wiggling sideways, and also up and down.

"I am laughing at you," answered Slicko. "Excuse me, but I can't help it. You are so funny, and you have such a funny name."

"Oh, I don't mind being laughed at," said Squinty, with a sort of pig-laugh. "I am glad if you want to laugh, for it is better to laugh than cry. And I don't mind my funny name," he said. I think that was very nice of Squinty to say, don't you?

"I am glad I met you," said the little girl squirrel. "At first I thought you were a hunter in the bushes."

"And I thought you were some one chasing me, when you called that way," said Squinty. "But you haven't told me your name yet."

"I am Slicko, the jumping squirrel," was the answer, "and I am hunting in these woods for some chestnuts. What are you doing here?"

"I am here because I have run away," said Squinty. "I am looking for something to eat. Are hickory nuts good?"

"Very good," Slicko answered. "I'll see if I can find some for each of us."

The little squirrel found some hickory nuts, but they were so hard that Squinty, the comical pig, could not eat them.

"I guess you'd like some acorns, they are softer," Slicko said.

"Indeed I would, thank you," spoke Squinty.

Then Slicko led the little pig to where there were some acorn nuts, and Squinty ate them. Very glad he was to get them, too, for he was quite hungry.

"Why are you called Slicko?" asked Squinty, when he did not feel quite so hungry as at first.

"My mamma called me that," answered the little squirrel, "because my fur is so slick and shiny."

"It is a good name," said Squinty. "Don't you want to travel along with me, through the woods, and have adventures?"

"Thank you, no. I guess not," replied Slicko. "Hark! What's that?"

They both listened, and heard a sound like:

"Chatter! Chatter! Chat! Chit! Chat! Chir-r-r-r-r-r!"

"What is it?" asked Squinty, in a whisper.

"That is my mamma calling me," answered Slicko. "I must go back to the nest now. Good-bye, funny little pig."

"Good-bye," answered Squinty, and he went on, looking for adventures. He had many of them, and I have told you about them in the first of these books, called "Squinty, the Comical Pig." He was bought by a boy, taught to do many tricks, and finally ran back again to his home in the pen on the farm.

After Slicko had said good-bye to Squinty, the comical pig, the little girl squirrel ran and jumped on through the woods, for her mother kept calling to her to come to the nest.

"My, I hope nothing has happened," said Slicko, as she hurried on. "And I didn't find any chestnuts," she said, as she looked at the few hickory nuts she was bringing home. "Fluffy and Nutto will laugh at me. But I don't care."

Pretty soon Slicko reached the nest.

"My! Where have you been?" asked her mamma.

"Looking for chestnuts," answered Slicko.

"Did you find any?" asked Nutto, as he and his brother came climbing up the tree just then.

"No, but I found some hickory nuts, and some acorns, and I gave some acorns to a cute little pig," said Slicko, explaining how she had met Squinty.

"I wish we had gone with you," said Fluffy. "I'd like to have seen that pig. Come on, Nutto. Let's go out and see if we can find him in the woods."

"No, you must not go away!" chattered Mrs. Squirrel. "I want you all to stay here. Something has happened, and we shall have to go away from our nice nest."

"Go away from our nest!" cried Slicko, in surprise.

"Yes," answered Mrs. Squirrel. "It is no longer safe to stay here. But here comes your papa. He will tell you all about it. We are in great danger, and that is why I called you all back. Now listen to what your papa has to say."


Chapter III

Slicko Goes On A Visit


Mr. Squirrel came along, hurrying and jumping through the leafy branches of the trees as fast as he could come. When he was still some distance away from the nest, he took a long jump, and landed on the limb near the hole in the tree.

"Did you see him?" asked Mrs. Squirrel.

"Yes. He is in the woods," chattered Mr. Squirrel. "But he may not be here for some minutes. We have time to run and hide. And we had better not keep together. We must all go different ways, and then he will not find us so easily."

"Oh, what is it?" cried Slicko. "What has happened?"

"The hunter-man, and his dog, have found out where our nest is," said Mrs. Squirrel. "At any minute he may come here to shoot us, or catch us."

"Oh, how dreadful!" cried Chatter, and even Nutto, who was supposed to be very brave, for a squirrel, looked frightened.

"But don't worry too much," said Mr. Squirrel. "I have seen the hunter in time -- him and his dog and gun -- and we will get safely away from him. Come now, we will separate, each going a different way; then the hunter will not find us, I hope."

"But where shall we go?" asked Slicko. "And what shall we do for something to eat, and a place to sleep nights, if we go away from our home-nest?"

"Well, you squirrels are old enough now, to hunt food for yourselves," said Mrs. Squirrel. "I am glad of that, for I shall not worry so much about you. And you know how to run and jump."

"I am glad we learned how to jump in time," said Slicko.

"Yes, if you had waited, and kept on putting it off," said Mr. Squirrel, "you would not now be ready to run and hide away from the hunter, and be able to take care of yourselves. As for a place to sleep, your mother and I are going to send you all on visits to our friends, or relations. You can stay with them for a while, until it will be safe for us all to come back to our nest again."

"Oh, then we are going on a visit!" exclaimed Slicko.

"Something like that, yes," answered her father. "And we must hurry, too, for the hunter may be here any minute. I passed him in the woods, and he was coming this way."

"Did he see you, Papa?" asked Nutto.

"No, for I kept well behind the leaves, and hurried on. My! how that dog did bark, though. He seemed very savage."

"Squinty, the comical pig, told me of a dog he knew," said Slicko, "but he said that dog was kind and gentle. His name is Don."

"This dog's name wasn't Don, I'm sure of that," spoke Mr. Squirrel. "But we must not stay talking here. Scatter, every one of you! Nutto and Fluffy, you go over to Grandpa Beechnut's nest, and stay with him. I don't believe the hunter knows where that is.

"Chatter, you can stay with Mr. and Mrs. Acorn, the squirrels who live in the hollow stump. Your mother and I will go off in the woods, and make a new nest, so if we can not come back to our old one, we will still have a home when winter comes."

"But what am I to do?" asked Slicko. "Where am I to go?"

"I have not forgotten you," said Mrs. Squirrel. "You can go over and stay with your Aunt Whitey until it is safe. Your aunt will be glad to have you, for she lives all alone, and she has room for only one small squirrel in her nest beside herself. You run over there, and tell her all that has happened -- how the hunter has found our nest."

"And go quickly!" suddenly cried Mr. Squirrel. "Here the hunter-man comes now -- with his dog."

Just then there sounded through the woods:

"Bow wow! Bow wow! Bow wow!"

"That's the dog," said Mr. Squirrel. "Hurry, children, and don't forget the lessons we have taught you."

"We won't!" promised Slicko.

Then came another sound, a dreadful noise, like thunder.

"Bang!" sounded through the woods, making the leaves on the trees shake.

"That's the hunter's gun!" exclaimed Nutto. "Run, everybody!"

Off through the woods scampered Slicko, her father and mother and her brothers and sister. Slicko climbed up one tree, jumped into another, and still another.

"I don't believe the hunter and his dog will get me," thought Slicko, as she hurried on toward the nest where her Aunt Whitey lived.

Pretty soon the hunter-man and his dog came to the foot of the tree where Slicko used to live.

"Ha! There's that squirrel nest I saw the other day," said the man to himself. "I wonder if there are any in it? I'll wait a while, and see if I can shoot any of them for my dinner."

"Bow wow! Bow wow!" barked the dog. Perhaps he, too, wanted some squirrels for his dinner.

All around the foot of the tree ran the dog, barking as loudly as he could. Maybe he was hoping he could scare the squirrels out of the nest so his master could shoot them with his gun.

The man waited and waited, looking up at the hole in the trunk of the tree, where he knew the squirrels had lived. But he did not know they had gone. That was the time the squirrels were smarter than the hunter.

Several hours passed, and still the man waited. Every now and then he would look up at the hole, with his gun all ready to shoot, and the dog, who had been running off in the woods, looking for more squirrels, would come back, barking louder than ever.

"Well, I guess those squirrels have gone away, Carlo," the man finally said to his dog. "It is of no use for us to stay here. Come, we will go look for other squirrels to shoot."

"Bow wow! Bow wow! That will be fun!" barked Carlo. Of course being a dog, he did not know any better.

And so the hunter-man went away from the empty nest, where Slicko and the other squirrels had lived.

All this while Slicko, the jumping squirrel, was hurrying along through the woods, toward the nest of her Aunt Whitey. Slicko's aunt had that name because there was a white spot on the end of her tail. Mrs. Whitey and Mrs. Squirrel were sisters, and of course that made the squirrel, with the white on the end of her tail, Slicko's aunt. And Slicko liked Aunt Whitey very much. There were always plenty of nuts in Aunt Whitey's nest, and Slicko, as well as her brothers and sister, liked to come on a visit. But this time Slicko was all alone.

Pretty soon the little jumping girl squirrel came to the tall tree where Aunt Whitey lived.

"Now I must be very careful," thought Slicko. "I must wait, before running in, to see if any hunter-men, or dogs, or other enemies are watching me. For if they are, they would see where I go in, and they could find the nest, and maybe catch Aunt Whitey and me."

Squirrels, like birds and other woodland creatures, do not like human beings to know where their nests or homes are. So they take care to make the front doors in such a way they can not easily be seen, and when the forest creatures go in, they always look around first, to see that no enemy is watching. In that way they keep their homes, or nests, secret. They have to, for they have so many enemies.

Slicko looked all around, and, seeing no dogs, wild animals or hunter-men on the watch, to spy on her aunt's nest, the little squirrel scrambled up the tree, sticking her sharp toe nails in the soft bark as she had been taught to do.

When Slicko was half way up, she saw a hole in the tree, just such a hole as at her nest at home. This was the front door to the home of her aunt.

Slicko gave two or three taps on the bark with her front paw.

The little girl squirrel always did this when she called on Mrs. Whitey, so the squirrel lady would know it was one of her little friends or relations, and not a bad owl, or hawk-bird, wanting to eat her up.

Slicko expected to hear her aunt chatter, as she always did:

"Come in and have some nuts!"

But there was no answer.

Slicko knocked again with her little paw, and then, thinking her aunt might be asleep, the little jumping squirrel gave a little hop down inside the nest. It was just like the nest at home, which she and the others had left because of the danger from the hunter-man.

At first, coming in the dark nest, after having been out in the bright sunlight, Slicko could see nothing. Just as when you come into the house, after having walked along the snowy road from school, you have to wait until your eyes get used to the darker house. It was that way with Slicko.

Pretty soon, however, she could look about the nest, and then her heart grew sad. For she saw that Aunt Whitey did not live there any more. The nest was deserted, and empty. Most of the soft leaves, and the cotton from the milkweed plant had been tossed out. The nest was all upset. Most of the nuts were gone, and it looked as though some boy, or man, or animal had been inside, catching the squirrel lady, and taking the nuts she had stored away to eat.

"Oh, dear!" thought Slicko. "This is terrible! Aunt Whitey has either run away, or been caught. There is no one here to take me! What shall I do? Can I stay here all alone? Oh, dear! Isn't it too bad!"

Slicko cowered down in the empty nest and wondered what she should do, now that she had no home to go back to.


Chapter IV

Slicko Sees A Circus


For a few minutes after jumping down into the empty nest of her Aunt Whitey, little Slicko did not know what to do. It had all happened so suddenly -- the breaking up of the family, each one going to a different place to hide, the coming of Slicko to these woods, and the finding of the empty nest -- that the little squirrel did not know what to think of it.

Slicko listened as sharply as she could for any sounds of danger. She bent her two little ears forward, just as her mamma had told her to do when she wanted to listen to any far-off sounds. But Slicko could hear nothing.

That is, she could hear nothing that sounded like danger. Of course she could hear the wind blowing through the trees, the singing of the grasshoppers, the call of the birds and noises like that.

And none of these sounds meant any harm to the little squirrel. She had heard them all her life.

"Oh, but it is so lonesome!" whispered Slicko to herself. She did not want to speak aloud in her queer, little chattering voice, for fear some one -- like a bad dog or a snake -- would hear her. And yet Slicko wanted to talk to some one, even if it was only herself.

She lifted up her head, from where she had nestled it down among the dried leaves in her aunt's nest, and looked about her. The nest was rather dark, but Slicko could see better now. And what she saw made her sure that her aunt had either been taken away by some enemy, or had run off in a great hurry.

For the nest was all upset. The leaves were scattered about, and most of the nuts were gone.

"Well, I guess I'd better stay here for a while," thought Slicko to herself. "There are a few nuts here, and I can eat them when I get hungry. When I want more, I shall have to go out and get them, but, by that time, it may be safe. Yes, I'll stay here to-night, anyhow."

Slicko peeped out of the opening to the nest -- it was a sort of front door to the squirrel house. Slicko could see that it was getting dark in the woods; that night was coming on. And night, Slicko knew, was no time for a little girl squirrel to be alone in the forest.

There were big-eyed owls flying about then, and other enemies that might catch her.

"So I shall be better off staying in the nest, even if Aunt Whitey isn't at home," thought Slicko. "Poor Aunt Whitey!" she whispered. "I wonder where she can be."

Then Slicko happened to think that perhaps her squirrel aunt might be hiding outside somewhere, as wild animals often do hide, near their nests, or homes, whenever they have been frightened away.

"I'll call to her," said Slicko to herself.

Going softly to the opening to the nest, Slicko put out her head, and called:

"Aunty! Aunty Whitey! Where are you?"

She listened, but all she heard in reply was the singing of a robin, the call of a grasshopper and the noise of the wind in the trees.

"I guess she has gone far off," thought Slicko. "Well, I will stay here until I find some other place to go. Oh dear! If mamma and papa only knew I was here all by myself, they would come to me, or take me with them. But now I shall have to stay all alone. Oh dear!"

It was the first time little Slicko had ever been alone at night, but she was going to be brave. Little animals have to be brave whether they want to or not, and they have to leave their homes and find their own things to eat, much younger than do real children.

So, in a way, animals do not so much mind being away from their papas and mammas as you children would.

At first Slicko was pretty lonesome. She shivered, and cuddled down in the leaves of her aunt's nest, and wished she had her brothers Fluffy and Nutto, and her sister Chatter, to play with. They had always played little jumping or running games before going to sleep nights. But now Slicko was all alone, and had no one to play with.

But, as I have said, Slicko was going to be brave.

After the little jumping squirrel got over her first feeling of fright, she began to be hungry. There were a few nuts left in the nest, and Slicko ate some of them, and felt better.

"And now I must make a warm place to sleep," she thought. Her mother had taught her how to make herself a bed in the dried leaves, and now Slicko did this. She smoothed out a little hole, and pulled up some leaves that would fall over her, and cover her up like a blanket, when she went to sleep. For though it was not yet winter, it was very cool in the woods at night.

Soon Slicko was fast asleep. Animals go to sleep very easily when they have eaten, and are not frightened. They do not have to be sung to, nor told stories, and they do not have to have the light turned down low. They always go to bed without a light.

Once, in the middle of the night, Slicko was awakened. She heard a noise at the opening of the nest, a scratching sort of noise, and it sounded as though some one were trying to come in.

"Oh, dear! I wonder who it can be?" thought Slicko. "But I'm not going to get up to look," she went on. "No, indeed!"

Instead, she covered herself up deeper in the leaves, and tried to go to sleep. She could not, though, for the noise kept up. And then, all of a sudden, something hooted:

"Who! Who! Who! Tu-whoo!"

"Oh, it's an owl!" thought Slicko. "A big owl. But he can't get in here to eat me. I'm safe. Maybe that's the owl that drove Aunt Whitey out of her nest."

Once more the owl hooted, and then Slicko heard the flapping of its wings as it flew away.

"He didn't get me that time," thought Slicko. "But I must be very careful! Very careful!"

Soon the little girl squirrel was asleep again, and when next she awakened, the sun was shining down, through the hole, into the nest.

"Oh, good! It's morning!" chattered Slicko. "Now the owl can't get me."

Slicko knew that owls fly only at night, for they have such funny eyes, that sunlight makes them almost blind, and they cannot see to catch little squirrels. So Slicko knew she was safe, for a while, at least.

"Now for breakfast, then to wash my face and paws, and we'll see what happens," whispered Slicko to herself. It did not take long to eat the nuts for breakfast. Then Slicko felt thirsty. She knew there was a nice spring of water not far from her aunt's nest, for, when she had come visiting other times, she had gone to it to get a drink.

"And I wonder if it would be safe now?" thought Slicko. "I'll take a look and see."

She peered from the nest and saw nothing to frighten her. Some birds were flitting through the leafy trees, and down on the ground some little hop-toads were jumping about. Perhaps they were playing some game, as you play tag, for you know animals have fun just as children do, though, to be sure, it is a different kind of fun.

"Yes, I'm going to get a drink," said Slicko, and she slipped out of the nest, and began to climb down the side of the tree. But she was very careful how she did it, for she knew danger might be near, though she could not see it.

She ran quickly half way around the tree and stayed there a second, with her body held flat against the trunk. Slicko was colored gray, and the tree bark was a sort of gray, so, unless you had looked very sharply, you might not have seen her yourself, until Slicko moved.

While she was holding herself there, very quietly, Slicko was looking about to see if the owl, or any other bad bird, or animal, were in sight. But she saw nothing, and then she scrambled down to the ground, and ran to the spring.

Taking a good drink of the cool water, Slicko washed her paws and face in it. Then she combed out her tail with her claws, for all squirrels are very clean and tidy animals.

"Well, I wonder what I shall do now," thought Slicko. "I guess I'll have to stay in Aunt Whitey's nest for a long time, maybe. I had better look about for more nuts, for when those in the nest are gone, I shall need more to eat. Yes, I will look for nuts."

She started off through the woods, but she had not gone very far, when, all of a sudden, she saw something brown moving up in a tree.

In a second Slicko hid herself under some leaves, and waited. She was in a place where she could watch the brown creature. At first Slicko thought it might be a big snake, or maybe the owl that had tried to get her in the night.

Then, as the brown creature moved closer, Slicko saw that it had a long tail, and four legs, and the legs had something like hands on the ends.

"Why, it looks just like a brown, hairy boy!" thought Slicko. "And I'm afraid of boys. Mamma said they were dangerous. I wonder what I had better do?"

Slicko hid deeper down in the leaves, and, a little later, as the brown animal came closer, the girl squirrel saw that it was not the kind of a boy she had ever seen before. For, though boys can climb trees, they can not climb up and down as fast as the brown animal was doing, nor can they hang by their tails. In fact, as Slicko knew, boys have no tails.

And then Slicko heard the brown animal say:

"Ha! Here are some of those chestnuts! I must get some, for, though they are not as good as cocoanuts, they will keep me from being hungry. Yes, I'll get some!"

"Ha!" thought Slicko. "That creature is not a boy, that's sure! And it eats nuts just as we squirrels do. I don't believe it will do me any harm. I'm going out to see."

Slicko crawled out from under the leaves, and, as soon as she moved, the brown creature called out:

"What is that? Who is there? Who is it?"

His voice was a sort of chatter and chirp, like that of some bird, but Slicko could understand it pretty well.

"It is I, if you please," said Slicko. "I am a little girl squirrel, and I am staying at my aunt's nest, but she isn't home. Who are you, if you please?"

"I am Mappo, the merry monkey," was the answer. "But I can't see you. Where are you?"

"Down in these leaves," answered Slicko, and she waved her tail, so Mappo could see her.

"Oh, there you are!" cried the monkey, and down he scrambled beside her. "What are you doing here?" asked Mappo.

"I am hiding away from a hunter and his dog," went on the little squirrel. "All our family ran away from our nest, and I came here. But my aunt is gone too, so I am all alone."

"Never mind," said Mappo, kindly, "I am all alone also, so we will keep each other company."

"Where did you come from?" asked Slicko, who had never before seen a monkey.

"Oh, I used to live in a big woods, with my brothers and sisters," said Mappo. "But, of late, I have been with a circus. I ran away from my cage in the circus though, and came to these woods. And I've had the most fun! I met a comical little pig named -- "

"Oh, I know what he was named!" interrupted Slicko.

"What was his name?" asked Mappo.

"Squinty!" cried the little girl squirrel. "And he had the funniest nose, and one of his eyes was half shut, and -- "

"That's the one!" exclaimed Mappo. "How did you meet him?"

Then Slicko told of having talked to Squinty, and Mappo also told how he had met the comical little pig, just as I have told you in the book about Squinty.

"But you said you used to be in a circus," spoke Slicko, after a while.

"So I did," answered Mappo.

"What's a circus?" Slicko wanted to know.

"What! Have you never seen a circus?" asked Mappo. "Well, I must show it to you. It is not far off. But I am not going back to it right away. Come along."

Mappo, the merry monkey, started off through the forest, with Slicko following. Pretty soon they saw a road in front of them. And, on the other side of the road, were some big white things, that looked like houses people live in.

"Those are the circus tents," exclaimed Mappo. "Listen and you can hear the music."

Slicko sat up on her tail and listened. She heard many strange sounds.


Chapter V

Slicko And Tum Tum


"Mappo," asked Slicko, as she sat under the shade of a tree, near the road, and looked across at the tents in the vacant lot, "is that what you call a circus, Mappo?"

"That is a circus, little Slicko," answered the monkey, kindly.

Slicko saw the white tents, she heard the bands playing music, she heard men and boys calling out strange words, such as "ice cream cones!" "pink lemonade!" and "peanuts!" The last word was the only one Slicko knew, for she had heard that before.

Once a squirrel who had lived in a city park came to visit Slicko's mamma and papa. And this city squirrel told how the children used to go to the park and feed the squirrels peanuts. So Slicko knew what peanuts were, when she heard the circus boys and men shouting about them.

"So that is a circus, is it?" asked little Slicko, as she looked at the big, white tents, all gay with colored flags, fluttering in the wind, and heard the nice music.

"Yes," answered Mappo, "that is a circus."

"And you ran away from it -- you ran away from a nice place like that?" asked Slicko in surprise.

"Oh, well, I got tired of being in a cage all the while," said Mappo, the merry monkey. "I am going back again soon, I guess, as it is no fun to have to hunt for things to eat all the while. In the circus, though I did have to stay in a cage, I got all I wanted to eat without any trouble. Yes, I think I shall run back again, soon."

"I should think, if you had run away, they would come after you, to find you," said Slicko.

"They did come once," spoke Mappo, with a laugh. "Once when I was in the woods, talking to Squinty, the comical pig, some circus men came after me to catch me, but I ran away. They haven't caught me yet," and he laughed and chattered, showing his many, white teeth.

For a little while Slicko and Mappo sat in the woods looking at the circus, and then, all of a sudden, the little girl squirrel cried out:

"Oh, Mappo! What are those funny animals, as big as houses, with two tails? What are they?"

"Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed Mappo, the merry monkey. "Two tails! Ho! Ho!"

"Well, they do have two tails," said Slicko. "What are they?"

"That's just what Squinty, the comical pig, wanted to know," spoke Mappo. "He thought they had two tails also. Ha! Ha!"

"Well, haven't they?" asked Slicko, frisking her big tail.

"No," answered Mappo. "Those are elephants, and they have only one tail. The short thing is their tail, and the long thing, in front of them, hanging down, is their nose."

"Their nose!" cried Slicko. "What a funny nose!"

"It is called a trunk," explained Mappo. "But it is really the elephant's nose. He breathes through it, but he can also use it like a hand. He picks up what he wants to eat in it, and it is hollow, like the hose with which they fill the circus tubs, so we animals can drink. Through his hollow trunk, the elephant sucks up water, squirting it down his throat when he is thirsty."

"What a funny animal an elephant is!" exclaimed Slicko. "And how big! Especially that first one, with the two big, white things sticking out of his mouth. What are those?"

"Those are his teeth, or tusks," explained Mappo. "But you need not be afraid of that big elephant."

"Why not?" asked Slicko.

"Because he is the kindest, and most jolly elephant in the whole circus," went on Mappo the monkey. "His name is Tum Tum, and if you were to meet him you would like him very much."

"Did Squinty, the comical pig, meet Tum Tum?" asked Slicko.

"No, Squinty did not have a chance," said Mappo, "but he saw him. If I can, I'll call Tum Tum over here to see you. I'm sure you'd like him. And he'd give you a ride on his back."

"Oh, I'd be afraid to let him!" exclaimed Slicko.

"Pooh! He wouldn't hurt a fly!" laughed Mappo. "Lots of the children who come to the circus ride on Tum Tum's back. He is very kind to them, and he would be kind to you. Only, if you should see him, be sure to tell him you're not a rat or a mouse."

"Of course I'm not a rat or a mouse," said Slicko. "Why should I tell Tum Tum, the elephant, that I am not, when he can see for himself, if he has any eyes?"

"Well, you do look a little like a great rat," said Mappo. "Not that it's any harm, Slicko. But, you see, Tum Tum and other elephants are very much afraid of rats and mice. I don't know why, unless they are afraid the little creatures will run up inside their trunks and make them sneeze. But, anyhow, you're not a rat or a mouse. And if you see Tum Tum, be sure to tell him that, the first thing."

"I will," promised Slicko, "but maybe I won't see Tum Tum to speak to."

"Oh, you might," answered Mappo. "You can't tell."

Just then the merry little monkey gave a jump, and cried out:

"Ha! There come some circus men over this way. I think they are going to hunt for me again. I don't want to be caught just yet, and be put back in my cage, so I'm going to run off and hide in the woods again. Good-bye, Slicko. I am glad I met you."

"Good-bye, Mappo!" cried the little girl squirrel. "I am glad I met you, and I'm sorry you're going to run away again. But I won't tell them where you are. I guess I'll go hide, too."

So Mappo, the merry monkey, ran off through the woods one way, and Slicko ran the other, and they did not see each other again for some time.

I might say that I expect to tell you, in a book after this one, some of the adventures of Mappo, the merry monkey, but I have no room for him in this story.

Slicko ran on through the woods, jumping from tree to tree as she had been taught. She was all alone again, and she was feeling rather lonesome without Mappo, or for some of her squirrel friends.

Slicko made her way back to the nest where her aunt had lived. She rather hoped Mrs. Whitey might be back there, waiting for her, but the nest in the tall tree was still empty. There was no sign of the nice old lady squirrel.

"Well, I guess I had better gather some nuts, and hide them away," thought Slicko. "I may have to stay in this nest a month or more, until papa and mamma make a new home for me, and my sister and brothers."

So Slicko scrambled down to the ground again, and began to gather nuts and acorns. These she carried up to the nest, hiding them away under the leaves. Some she put in a hollow stump, on the ground not far away from the tree where the nest was.

When Slicko had done this, she sat down on her tail, curling it up at her back like a feather, to take a rest, for she was rather tired.

"My!" she thought, as she sat there. "What a lot of things have happened to me since I had to leave my home. An owl got after me, I have seen a circus, I met a monkey and I have seen a creature, with two tails, called an elephant. At least an elephant looks as though it had two tails, no matter what Mappo says," went on Slicko. "I wonder if I shall ever meet Tum Tum, and tell him I am not a rat or a mouse? What a funny thing it would be if I did."

Slicko sat on the edge of the nest for some time, and then she began to feel hungry.

"I wish I had some of those peanuts I heard them talking about in the circus," said Slicko in a whisper. "I know they must be good, from what that city-park squirrel said. And I wonder what pink lemonade and ice cream cones are? I don't believe they are good to eat."

You can see that Slicko had many things to learn -- things that you know already, such as that ice cream cones are good to eat. But, if Slicko did not know that, she knew other things that you children do not know, such as where to find nuts, and how to gnaw through the shells, and get at the meat without using a nut cracker.

All of a sudden, as Slicko was running toward the spring of water to get a drink, after her dinner, she heard a crashing in the bushes.

"I wonder if that is Mappo coming back," thought Slicko. She looked through the trees, and saw something almost as large as a house, and dark in color, pushing through the bushes.

"Why, it's an elephant -- it's Tum Tum!" exclaimed Slicko, as she saw the big creature, with his trunk on one end, and his tail on the other, and two big, long, white teeth sticking out of his mouth. "Yes, that surely is Tum Tum!"

Slicko spoke the last words out loud.

"Ha! Who is calling to me?" asked the circus elephant in his deep, rumbling voice. "Who is calling me?"

"I spoke your name, Tum Tum," said Slicko. "Here I am, by this old stump."

Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, looked at the little squirrel, and then he began to shiver and shake as hard as he could. He shook so hard that he shook a lot of pine cones down off a pine tree up against which he was leaning.

"Oh my! Oh dear! This is terrible!" cried Tum Tum in his big, deep, rumbling voice. "Oh dear!"


Chapter VI

Slicko Goes Nutting


Slicko was so surprised, at first, by the cries of Tum Tum, and at the fear which the big elephant showed, that she did not know what to think. It really seemed that Tum Tum was afraid of her -- of a little, jumping squirrel girl!

Then Slicko happened to remember what Mappo had told her.

"If ever you see Tum Tum," the monkey had said, "tell him at once that you are not a mouse or a rat."

"Ha! That's what I must do!" thought Slicko. "Tum Tum must be afraid of me. I'll speak to him."

Scrambling half way up the trunk of a tree, to make herself higher, and nearer to the big ears of Tum Tum, Slicko cried out in her chattering voice:

"I'm not a mouse, Tum Tum! I'm not a rat!"

"Ha! What's that?" asked the elephant, flapping one of his ears sideways, so he could hear better. "What did you say?"

"I said I was not a rat or a mouse -- I'm only a little girl squirrel, and I wouldn't hurt you for the world," went on Slicko.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried the elephant, and he did not shiver and shake any more, and did not knock down any pine tree cones.

As first it might seem funny for a squirrel to say she would not hurt an elephant, because an elephant is so large. But I have told you that elephants are sometimes afraid of even such a little thing as a mouse.

"So you are not a rat, eh?" asked the elephant of Slicko.

"No, Tum Tum, and I'm not a mouse, either," answered the little girl squirrel.

"Ha! How do you happen to know my name?" asked Tum Tum.

"Mappo, the merry monkey, told me," said the little squirrel girl. "And Mappo told me I was to tell you I was not a mouse or a rat. I won't run up your trunk, and scare you."

"That's good," said Tum Tum. "Now I can see clearly that you are a little squirrel. I like you! But what about that little rascal, Mappo? Where is he? I came out to look for him. They want him back in his cage to ride around the circus ring on the back of a pony, and do other tricks to make the children laugh."

"Oh, he ran away," said Slicko. "He thought he heard some men coming after him. He said he did not want to go back to the cage just yet. He wants to have some fun in the woods."

"Well, well! He is a funny monkey," said Tum Tum. "And I came all the way from the circus grounds to find him. But if he is gone, I won't look any farther. I'll go back to my tent, for the men may be coming after me."

"Oh, can't you stay here with me a little while? I am so lonesome!" spoke Slicko.

"Well, I might stay a short time," Tum Tum said. "But what are you doing in the woods all alone, little Slicko?"

Then the little squirrel girl told how she had had to run away from her own nest, and how she had not been able to find her aunt, and how she was now living all by herself in the woods.

"Well, I wish I could stay with you, and keep you company, Slicko," said Tum Tum. "But I belong back in the circus, and I guess you would rather jump through the tree branches, and skip about in them, than go as slowly as I have to go, crashing through the bushes. And I certainly never could climb a tree, and sleep in a nest, as you do," went on Tum Tum, with a jolly laugh.

"No, I suppose not," said Slicko. "You are too big for a nest. Well, if you see Mappo, please send him back to me. I am so lonesome."

"If I see him I will," Tum Tum answered. And then he walked on back through the woods.

"Good-bye, Slicko!" called the jolly elephant. "I have to be in the show this afternoon. I have to make believe play ball, and eat my dinner at a real table, and then I have to play the hand organ with my trunk. Those are some of my tricks."

"Oh, I met a pig who said he could do tricks!" cried Slicko.

"Was his name Squinty?" inquired the jolly elephant.

"Yes," said Slicko, "his name was Squinty."

"I met him, too," said Tum Tum. "He was a comical little pig. But now I must hurry back," and on he went, crashing his way through the bushes. Some day, in another book, I shall tell you all the adventures of Tum Tum, the jolly elephant.

Slicko felt more lonesome than ever when the elephant had left her. She did not know what to do, and she wanted, more than ever, to see her mamma and papa, and sister and brothers again. Then, all at once, Slicko thought of something.

"Oh, I forgot to ask Tum Tum to give me a ride on his back!" exclaimed Slicko. "Mappo said he would, as he was such a kind elephant. I'm going to call to him."

So Slicko called, in her chattering voice:

"Tum Tum! Tum Tum!"

"Yes, I hear you. What is it?" asked the elephant, stopping.

"Would you please give me a ride on your back," begged Slicko. "Mappo, the merry monkey, said you gave children at the circus rides, and I am so little you would hardly feel me."

"Of course I'll give you a ride!" cried Tum Tum. "I thought I was forgetting something," he went on, as he crashed back through the bushes. "I meant to invite you for a little ride on my back," went on Tum Tum. "Why, I shouldn't feel you any more than I should a feather, Slicko. Besides, I am very strong; I could carry ten children on my back, and hardly know it."

"Oh, indeed you must be very strong!" cried the little squirrel girl.

Tum Tum, with a jolly noise that sounded as much like a laugh as any elephant can make, stood under the branch of the tree on which Slicko was perched.

"Hop down, little squirrel," invited the big, jolly elephant. Down hopped Slicko, landing on the back of Tum Tum, and then what a fine ride she had!

Tum Tum could step over bushes that would have taken Slicko some time to climb, and some bushes Tum Tum trampled under his big feet as though they were straw.

Other bushes the elephant pushed his big body through, as easily as the clown in the circus jumps off the horse's back through the paper hoop.

"Do you like riding on my back?" asked Tum Tum, swinging along.

"Oh, it is just fine!" cried Slicko, as she sat there, with her tail held over her head like a sun umbrella. "But don't go too far with me, Tum Tum, please."

"I won't," the elephant said. And pretty soon he turned back with Slicko, and left her on the same branch from which she had jumped -- right near her aunt's nest.

"Well, good-bye once more, Slicko," called Tum Tum. "I may see you again to-morrow. And if you meet that Mappo, tell him he is wanted back in the circus."

"I'll tell him," promised Slicko.

Once more the little jumping girl squirrel was all alone in the big woods. Somewhere in the forest were her father and mother, and her sister and brothers were somewhere about. But just where, Slicko did not know.

"Well," thought the little creature, in a way squirrels and other animals have of thinking, "well, I guess I shall have to stay alone to-night again. And perhaps for many more nights and days. I wonder what will become of me, and if I shall ever see my folks again. Oh dear!"

Slicko felt a little sad for a moment, but then she knew that she would have to be brave, and do things for herself, since there was no one to help her.

"I think I'll put some more leaves, and some cotton from the milkweed plant, in Aunt Whitey's nest," thought Slicko. "That will make it warmer."

Fixing up the nest so it would be nicer to stay in took Slicko until nearly dark. Then, after she had carried up some nuts to the nest, so she would have them ready for morning, Slicko curled up in the soft leaves and went to sleep.

Nothing bothered her this night. No bad old owl, with big, round, staring eyes, tried to get the little squirrel. Perhaps the owl, which had tried it before, was sure the nest was empty, and that he could not get anything to eat from it. At any rate the owl did not come, and Slicko was glad of it.

In the morning, after her breakfast, having had a drink and washed at the spring, Slicko said:

"I think I had better go off in the woods nutting, to-day. I shall need many nuts to eat, if I have to stay here all winter, and I had better begin to gather them now before they are all gone."

Slicko knew, as do all squirrels, the best places in the woods to look for nuts. Soon the little girl squirrel had found many chestnuts, acorns, hickory nuts and beech nuts. These she carried, a few at a time, up to her aunt's nest-house.

"If Aunt Whitey should come back, there would be enough for her and me too," thought Slicko.

The store-house of the nest was almost full of nuts, but still Slicko was not satisfied.

"I must get more," she said to herself, "for we may have a long winter, with much snow." Well, Slicko knew how hard the winter was for squirrels, and all animals.

So the next day Slicko went off nutting again. She had not gone very far through the woods before she came to a little grassy place, and there, in the middle of it, Slicko saw a nice pile of nuts, all gathered up, ready to be taken away.

"Oh, that's just fine!" thought Slicko to herself. "The nuts are all in a nice heap, and I don't have to pick them up, one by one, and carry them home. I can take a whole paw full at once."

Now Slicko was a wise little squirrel in some ways. But she had many things yet to learn. She did not stop to think that nuts in the woods never heap themselves up in a pile without some animal or some person doing it. Slicko thought the nuts were put there just for her. But it was all a trick, as you shall soon see.

Of course Slicko did not at once jump down to get the nuts. She knew enough not to do that, for she had often been told some animal might be waiting to grab her. So she looked all around, and, seeing nothing, down she scrambled.

As Slicko came nearer to the pile of nuts, and saw how nice they looked, she said to herself:

"Oh, there will be enough for all winter. How lovely!"

But there was something else besides the nuts there on the ground, though Slicko did not see it. If she had noticed it, and had kept out of the way, she might not have had as many adventures as she did have. But little squirrels are not always wise and smart, any more than real children are.

Right up to the pile of nuts scampered Slicko. She took up some chestnuts in her paws, that were like little hands, and then, all of a sudden, something clicked, and snapped, and Slicko felt herself caught by one leg, and held tightly.


Chapter VII

Slicko Is Caught


Poor Slicko was so surprised at first, and her leg pained her so much, from whatever it was that had grasped it, that the little squirrel lay quite still for a moment. Her heart beat very fast, and she thought of the many dangers, which her father and mother had told her might happen to little squirrels.

"And I'm sure something dreadful has happened to me!" thought Slicko, as she looked all around with her bright eyes. "Yes, something dreadful has happened. I wonder what it is. Can it be that an owl, or a hawk or a snake has caught me?"

Slicko tried to think of these different birds and the snake, for each one has a different way of catching a squirrel, and Slicko wanted to make sure which it was that had hold of her.

Then, as she heard no fluttering of wings, which she would have heard had it been a big bird which had caught her, and, as she did not hear the hiss of an angry snake, she felt sure it was none of those dangers.

"But what can it be that has hold of my leg?" thought Slicko.

She looked down, and there, partly hidden under the grass and the pile of nuts, where Slicko had not seen it before, was a steel trap. And her leg was caught in that trap, between two pieces of steel, that pressed together as hard as the rubber rollers of the wringer press on the clothes on washday.

"Oh dear!" though Poor Slicko. "I am caught in a trap! Papa and mamma told me to be careful of traps, but I didn't see this one. I guess I was thinking too much of the nuts. Oh dear! What shall I do? How can I get out?"

That is what Slicko thought as she lay there, her leg in the trap, hurting her very much. All animals, when they are caught in a trap, at once begin to think of how they can get out. Some think one way, and some another, but they all think, or else how could some of them get out the way they do? Of course I don't mean to say that animals think just the way we do, any more than they talk the way we do. But they talk and think in a language of their own.

Slicko was not a very old squirrel, and this was the first time she had ever been in a trap. If she had been an older squirrel, she would not have gone near the pile of nuts, for an older squirrel would have been sure they were put there on purpose to fool some animal.

But Slicko did not think. That was why she was caught in the trap.

"Oh, I must get out!" chattered poor Slicko. "I must get away from here, or some one may come and catch me!"

Slicko tried to pull her leg out of the trap, but the strong spring of it held the steel jaws tightly together. Some animal traps have sharp teeth on the steel jaws that spring together, and they hurt very much. But this trap was not that kind, and Slicko was glad of it. So the only thing that happened to her leg was that it was badly pinched, and squeezed tightly.

Still she knew that if she did not pull herself away, something else dreadful might happen to her.

"Well," said Slicko to herself, when she had tried several times to pull her leg out and could not, "if I can't get loose from the trap, maybe I can pull the trap with me, off into the woods, and I can find some other big man-squirrel to help me get loose. That's what I'll do."

But when Slicko tried to run off, with the trap still fastened to her leg, she found that she could not. The trap was chained to a tree, and Slicko was held fast.

"Oh dear!" cried the little squirrel. "I'm never going to get loose. I wish my mamma or papa would come!"

But Papa and Mamma Squirrel were away off in the woods, and they thought their little daughter was safe with her Aunt Whitey. They did not know all that had happened.

Slicko tried and tried again to get out of the trap, or to pull the trap away with her, but she could not. Then, as she was pretty tired, and as her little heart was beating very fast, she lay down to rest.

Finding some of the nuts close to her nose, she began to eat one, for she was quite hungry, even if she was fast in a trap.

After Slicko had eaten a few nuts, she felt better. She was a little stronger, too, and she thought perhaps now she could get out of the trap, but, when she tried, the jaws of it held her as tightly as ever.

"Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!" cried poor Slicko.

All at once she heard, off in the woods, the sound of bushes being trampled down. Twigs and branches snapped and broke, and Slicko knew something was coming.

"I hope it isn't a bear, or any bad animal that will get me," thought the little girl squirrel. With her bright eyes snapping, Slicko watched and waited.

All of a sudden, through the bushes, straight for the place where Slicko lay, near the pile of nuts, came a boy. Slicko knew it was a boy because he was just like the hunter-man, only smaller. But the boy had no gun, and Slicko was glad of that. However, there was a dog with him, and for that, Slicko was sorry.

"Here, Rover! Rover!" called the boy to his dog, for Rover was running all about, sniffing under stones and bushes. "Here, Rover! Let's see if we have anything in our trap," the boy called.

"Ah! so he is the one who put the trap here to catch me!" thought Slicko. She could understand some man or boy-talk, though she could not speak it herself, just as your dog understands how to run to you when you say: "Come here!" But, though he understands you, he cannot make you understand him.

"Bow wow!" barked the dog with the boy. "Bow wow!"

"Yes, I hear you. What is it?" the boy asked.

"Bow wow! Wow! Wow!" barked the dog, and Slicko saw him looking straight at her.

I guess the dog was trying to tell the boy there was something in the trap, but the boy didn't understand dog-talk very well.

"Bow wow!" barked the dog again. And then, as Slicko tried to hide herself down under the leaves, where the dog could not see her, that dog barked louder than ever.

"Bow wow! Wow! Wow! Woppity-wop-wow!"

"Well, you're making a lot of fuss!" exclaimed the boy, as he pushed his way through the bushes. "Have you caught something, Rover, old boy?"

"Bow wow! Yes!" answered the dog.

Then the boy came up to the trap.

"Ha! I have caught something!" he cried. "A squirrel, too! I thought I would if I piled up those nuts there, and hid the trap near them. Ha! I've caught a squirrel."

"Oh, what a mean boy you are!" said Slicko to herself. "You set the trap on purpose to catch me! Oh, how mean!"

Now this boy was not mean exactly, or cruel, as you shall soon see. He was only thoughtless, as most boys are. He never really intended to hurt the little squirrel. Perhaps he thought the fur on a squirrel's leg was so thick that the trap, springing shut, would not hurt. And, really, Slicko was not hurt such a terrible lot. But she felt badly enough, let me tell you.

"Yes, I have a squirrel!" the boy cried, and he seemed real glad of it. "Now I can take it home and tame it."

Slicko did not know what "tame" meant, but she thought if it meant being caught by your leg in a trap, that she would not like it at all.

"Yes," went on the boy, "I'll take the squirrel home and tame it, and teach it tricks."

"Ha! Tricks!" said Slicko to herself. "Where have I heard that word before? Oh, I know! Squinty, the comical pig, could do tricks, and so could Tum Tum, the jolly elephant.

"Well, maybe if this boy teaches me some tricks, it will not be so bad. Then I could go home and surprise Chatter, Fluffy and Nutto. I don't believe they can do tricks."

Slicko watched the boy and dog. The dog was barking and jumping about in the leaves. He seemed quite excited at seeing the squirrel in the trap.

"Quiet, Rover! Lie down!" said the boy, and Rover minded like the good dog he was.

"Now, let's see how I am going to get this little squirrel home," the boy went on. "I ought to have brought a box."

"I wonder if he means take me to his home or my home?" thought Slicko. "I guess he must mean his home, for he doesn't know where mine is -- I don't know myself."

"I hope the trap didn't break her leg," the boy went on. "I don't believe it did, for the spring wasn't very strong."

"Oh, I'm sure my leg is broken," thought poor Slicko. "It hurts very much."

The boy put out his hand very slowly to take the little squirrel out of the trap.

"I wonder if you'll bite," he said.

"Ha! That's so. I can bite!" said Slicko out loud, but, to the boy, her talk only sounded like chattering.

Slicko had sharp teeth, and very strong. They had to be, for with them she had to gnaw off the shell of hard hickory nuts. So Slicko knew she could bite fiercely if she wanted to.

"But I don't know that I want to," thought Slicko. "If I bite, the boy will be angry at me, and if he is to teach me tricks, it will be better if we are friends. No, I won't bite him, though I could if I wanted to."

Slowly and carefully, the boy put out his hand toward Slicko.

"I wish I had a thick pair of gloves," he said. "Then if you bit, it wouldn't hurt. I got bit by a squirrel once, and I don't want it to happen again."

"I won't bite you," said Slicko, though of course the boy could not understand her. Now his hand was on the soft fur of Slicko's back, and he stroked her gently.

"Poor little squirrel," said the boy. "I'm sorry you were caught in the trap, and I hope you're not hurt much. I -- I guess I'm never going to set any more traps."

The boy felt sorry now, for poor Slicko looked at him with such a sorrowful look in her bright eyes, that it really seemed as if she were crying tears of pain -- that is, if squirrels can cry. They can feel pain, at any rate.

So you see, though it was a sad thing for Slicko to be caught in a trap, in one way it was a good thing, for it taught the boy a lesson, and made him more kind-hearted.

"I'll soon have you loose, little squirrel," the boy went on. Then he quickly pressed on the spring of the trap with one hand, while he held Slicko with the other. The jaws of the trap came open, and Slicko's leg was loose. And oh! how good it felt not to be squeezed as she had been.

Then, all of a sudden, Slicko felt herself lifted up, and put into a soft, dark place -- a place as dark as the deepest, darkest part of the nest at home -- the cellar part where the nuts were stored away for winter.


Chapter VIII

Slicko's New Home


Slicko, the jumping squirrel, found herself all huddled up in a heap in the soft, dark place. She did not feel much like jumping just then -- indeed she could not have jumped if she had wished, for there was no room.

Besides, her leg, that had been caught in the trap, hurt her quite a lot, though not so much as it had at first.

"I -- I wonder where I am," thought Slicko, as she tried to look about her. Soon she could see better than at first, and, as a squirrel's eyes are made to see in the dark, much as are the eyes of the owl-bird, Slicko could soon make out where she was.

She was down inside a sort of bag, very soft and cozy, but even though it was so soft, Slicko could not get out. She tried, but there was no hole. Even the top, through which she had been put in, was tightly closed.

Slicko tried her teeth on some of the soft stuff, but it tickled her little red tongue, so she stopped.

"I wonder where I am," thought Slicko, again.

And, though she did not know it, she was in the boy's coat pocket, and he had pinned the flap down over it, so the little squirrel could not get out. Later on Slicko took many trips in that same pocket, and was not afraid, but this time her little heart beat very fast, for she did not know what was going to happen to her.

"Well, I don't believe I'll try to catch any more squirrels," said the boy. "I'll take this trap home with me."

"Ah, that's good!" thought Slicko. "If he takes the trap away, no more squirrels will be caught. That's very good!"

"And I guess I'll take some of these nuts home to feed my new squirrel," went on the boy, speaking out loud the way boys do sometimes, especially if they have their dogs with them.

"Bow wow!" barked Rover, the dog. "Bow wow!" That was his way of saying that he, too, thought it would be a good thing to take home some of the nuts.

Slicko heard the nuts rattling into the other pocket of the boy who had caught her, and then she felt him walking off with her. Through the woods he went, as Slicko could tell, for she heard the rattle and crack of the bushes, as the boy pushed his way through them.

After what seemed to Slicko a long time, she fell asleep in the boy's pocket, and, when she awoke, she was in such a bright light that it made her eyes blink very fast. The boy had opened his pocket, and had taken Slicko out in his hands.

"Oh, what have you got, Bob?" asked a small girl, one of the boy's sisters.

"A little squirrel," he answered.

"Where did you get it?" asked another girl.

"I caught it in a trap in the woods, Sallie," the boy answered.

"Oh, how cruel, to catch a poor little squirrel in a trap!" exclaimed the first little girl.

"Oh, I didn't hurt it," said Bob. "And, when it gets tame I'm going to teach it some tricks."

"Are you going to put the squirrel in a cage with a wheel?" asked the girl whose name was Mollie.

"Yes, as soon as papa gets me that kind of a cage," the boy said. "But, until then, I'll let it stay in a box."

"I hope it doesn't get away like Squinty, your pig, did," spoke Sallie.

"Oh, no, I won't let the squirrel get away," said the boy.

"Ha!" thought Slicko. "Squinty the pig! I wonder if this is the boy who made a pet of Squinty. If it is the same one, I am sure he will be kind to me."

"Where do you suppose Squinty is now?" asked Sallie.

"Back in the pen with the other pigs," the boy replied. "After he got away, he grew too big to keep for a pet. But this squirrel won't grow too big."

"I'm sorry for that," thought Slicko. "For if I grew big enough I, too, might be allowed to go back to my home. But I will wait and see what will happen. I will be as good as I can, and learn all the tricks I can, and the boy and his sisters will love me."

"Oh, isn't she cute!" cried one of the little girls, as she put her finger on the soft fur of Slicko's back.

"Look out, she might bite!" exclaimed the other little girl.

"Indeed I'll not!" chattered Slicko. "I wouldn't be so impolite as that."

That is what Slicko said, but of course the boy and his sisters could not understand. But they could see that Slicko was very gentle, and, as she lay there, in the boy's warm hand, the two little girls petted her, and loved Slicko.

"Now I'll put her in a box," the boy said, "and give her some nuts to eat and some water to drink."

"That will be fine!" thought Slicko, for she was very thirsty and hungry.

A little later she found herself in a small wooden box. In one corner were some nuts, in another a dish of water, and in a third corner some nice soft cotton, almost like the kind that comes on the inside of the pods of the milkweed plant.

"Well, this isn't like my home-nest in the tree, nor like Aunt Whitey's nest," thought Slicko, "but as long as I have to stay here, I might as well make the best of it. I can eat and drink, anyhow. I shall not be hungry or thirsty."

Slicko took up a hickory nut in her paws, that were like little hands, and, sitting up on her hind legs, with her tail spread out over her like an umbrella, she began to eat the meat of the nut.

"Oh, look!" cried one of the girls, who was watching. "Come and see the squirrel eat, Sallie!"

"Ha! It isn't so wonderful -- just to eat," thought Slicko. "I wonder how those girls would like it, if I came to look on every time they ate!"

Slicko could not get away, so she had to eat with the boy's sisters looking on. Not that Slicko minded very much, for she was beginning to like her new home, and she felt sure that she would be in no danger from dogs, or other animals. And if she got enough to eat, water to drink, and had a nice, warm place to sleep in, what more could a squirrel ask?

Slicko's leg hurt her a little bit, but it was getting better all the while, and she was feeling happier and happier every minute. True, she would have been very glad if her papa and mamma and her sister and brothers had been with her, but then she knew she could not have everything she wanted.

"And it's just wonderful that the same boy who has me had Squinty, the comical pig, for his pet," thought Slicko. "Squinty said the boy was good and kind, and I'm sure he'll teach me some nice tricks. I shall love to learn tricks."

For two or three days Slicko stayed in the box where the boy had first put her. Every day she was given fresh water, and this was what she needed almost more than she did nuts to eat. All animals need water, especially in hot weather, so if ever you have a squirrel, or any other pets, see to it that they have all the cool, clean water they wish to drink.

"I wonder when my new cage is to come, whatever a cage is," thought Slicko, after she had been in the box about a week. "I am anxious to see it, and I wonder what that wheel is the boy spoke about."

Slicko was soon to know, however.

One day, when Slicko was eating nuts in her box, she looked up at the top, over which had been fastened a bit of wire so she could not get out, and, looking down at her, Slicko saw the boy's big dog staring in.

"Bow wow!" barked the dog.

"Chatter-chat! Chit-chat-chatter-r-r-r-r-r-r!" went Slicko.

That was her way of saying: "How do you do?"

She did not feel afraid, for she knew the dog could not get at her in the box.

"Oh, Bob! The dog is after your squirrel!" suddenly called Mollie.

"Yes, come quickly!" shouted Sallie.

"Bow wow!" barked the dog. And he seemed to say:

"Don't worry! I wouldn't hurt that little squirrel for the world. I just want to look at her."

"Oh, Rover won't hurt Slicko," said the boy, who had given his new pet the same name as had the squirrel's mamma. In fact, Slicko was so smooth and slick, and so clean, that it would have been hard to get any other name to fit her as well as did Slicko.

"See, the dog and squirrel will be good friends," said the boy. With that he reached in and lifted Slicko out of the box, holding her close to Rover.

Rover put out his red tongue and touched Slicko with it. And Slicko put out her tiny-paw and touched Rover. That was her way of shaking hands.

"See, they are friends!" said the boy. "Soon, when Slicko gets a little tamer, I'm going to let her run out of the cage, and go all over the house."

"She may run away, like Squinty, the comical pig," said Mollie.

"Oh, I don't believe she will," answered the boy.

Just then some one called:

"Bob! Bob! Where are you? Come here! The new cage for your squirrel has come!"

"Oh, it's my new home!" thought Slicko. "I wonder what it is like."


Chapter IX

Slicko Does Some Tricks


Slicko was put back into the wooden box, and Bob fastened the wire over the top again.

"Ha! The boy didn't need to do that!" thought the little squirrel. "I won't run away -- at least not until I see my new house."

The boy and his sisters went to where their mamma had called them, and soon they came running back again. The boy carried a big wire cage, something like the one in which Slicko had once seen a canary bird flying about. But this new cage for Slicko was much larger, and, at one end, was a big round wheel of wire, something like a merry-go-round, only it whirled the other way, like a hoop, and there were no wooden animals, or seats, on this squirrel wheel.

"What can it be for?" thought Slicko.

Bob, the boy, lifted Slicko up out of her little wooden box.

"Let's see how you like your new cage," he said.

"Oh, but there's nothing for her to eat or drink in it," cried one of the girls.

"I'll put in some nuts and water," Bob said. "Come, Slicko, go into your new cage."

Bob opened a little wire door, and thrust Slicko through it into the cage. The door went shut with a click and a slam, that reminded Slicko of the time she had been caught in the trap. She looked around quickly, wondering if there were a trap near her now. But she saw only the clean, new, wire cage, with little dishes for nuts and water, a little covered-over dark place, where she could crawl in during the day, and go to sleep in the dark; and then there was that great big wire wheel, that spun around very easily when Bob touched it with his finger.

"Oh, I'm never going in that!" thought Slicko, somewhat afraid.

She crouched down, and looked carefully all around her new cage. She wanted to see if there were any danger near. But all she saw, through the wires, was the boy, his two sisters and Rover, the dog she had grown to like very much.

"Oh, I guess it will be all right here," thought Slicko. "I will not be afraid."

"Doesn't she look cute in there?" asked Mollie, laughing.

"She certainly does," agreed Sallie.

"You wait until I teach her some tricks," spoke the boy. "Then she'll be worth looking at."

Slicko made up her mind she would learn the tricks as soon as she could.

"Then I'll be like Squinty, the comical pig," she said to herself.

Soon Slicko felt quite at home in her new cage. She went inside the little bedroom, that was pretty dark, even in the daytime. Squirrels, and all wild animals, like to be in the dark, and off by themselves, once in a while.

Inside the little bedroom, which was made of tin and wire, like the rest of the cage, was some soft cotton, and in this Slicko could cuddle up and keep warm, even when winter came. And, as I have said, there was a dish for nuts and another for water. These the boy filled, and soon Slicko was eating her first meal in her new home.

"I wish she'd go in the wheel, and ride it," said Mollie.

"She will, after a while," the boy said. "I know how to make her."

Slicko wondered how he would do it, but she could not guess.

For several days the little jumping squirrel lived in her new cage. The boy and his sisters would come to watch her, and bring her nice things to eat, so Slicko soon became real tame. Often other children would come to look at her.

Sometimes the boy would take her out, and put her in his pocket, as he had done on the day he brought Slicko from the woods, after she had been caught in the trap. Then Slicko would stick her head out, just a little bit, and all the children would exclaim:

"Oh, isn't she cute!"

Slicko did not know exactly what "cute" meant, but she tried to be as nice and polite as she could.

"Have you taught your squirrel any tricks yet?" asked Mollie of her brother, one day.

"No, but I am going to try one now. Do you want to watch?"

"Indeed I do!" said the little girl.

Slicko saw the boy take all the nuts out of the eating dish.

"I wonder what he is doing that for," the little squirrel thought. "I'm hungry, and I want to eat those nuts." But the boy took every one.

"What are you going to do?" asked his sister.

"You'll soon see," he answered with a laugh. "I am going to teach Slicko her first trick."

Then the boy placed two or three nice, sweet, juicy chestnuts inside the wheel of the squirrel cage. This wheel went around and around, just as a barrel rolls over the ground, only the wire wheel of the squirrel cage stayed right in the same place, whirling about as does a merry-go-round.

"Now, when Slicko goes in to get the nuts, she'll make the wheel go around," the boy said to his sisters. "The faster she runs, the faster the wheel will go, and she'll be doing a trick."

"Oh, let's watch her!" cried Sallie.

"Well, you may watch all you like," said Slicko to herself, "but I am not going in that wheel. I'm afraid!"

So she stayed in the other part of the cage, looking at the chestnuts, and wishing she could get them, for she was getting more and more hungry every minute.

"Maybe I can pull one out without going in the wheel myself," thought Slicko. She reached her paw in through the little round hole that led into the wheel from her cage. She could almost touch the chestnuts, but not quite.

"There! She's going in!" cried one of the girls softly.

But Slicko did not go.

"If she wasn't afraid, she'd go in and have a ride," the boy said. "Come on, Slicko," he called, "it won't hurt you."

Slicko did not want to. However, she kept getting more and more hungry, and those chestnuts looked so good!

"I'm going to try it!" said the little jumping squirrel to herself, finally. "I don't believe that boy would do me any harm."

Very slowly and carefully, Slicko stepped into the moving wheel. It rocked gently to and fro. As soon as the squirrel was all the way inside, it moved more. She felt as though she were falling and then, so that she should not fall, she took two or three little steps.

The wire wheel seemed to slide out from under her. It went whirling around, and the faster Slicko ran, the faster the wheel went. The little squirrel stayed right in the same place, but the wire wheel went round and round under her pattering feet.

"There she goes!" cried Sallie.

"Oh, see how fast she can run!" exclaimed Mollie.

"Yes, she has learned to do the trick," said the boy. "I thought she would get so hungry that she would go in after the chestnuts, and then she'd make the wheel whirl."

And that was just what Slicko had done. She was so surprised at the fast motion of the wheel that she did not think to eat the nuts inside. But now, after whirling about for some time, Slicko did not run so fast. The wheel went slower and slower, and finally stopped. The nuts, which had been rattling around with Slicko, dropped down beside her, and she began to eat them, sitting up on her hind legs, and holding them in her front paws, while she gnawed off the shell.

"Oh, isn't she just too cute for anything!" cried Sallie.

"Just lovely," said her sister, Mollie.

"Well, that's one trick," the boy said. "It's the easiest of all. Now that she knows the wheel won't hurt her, she'll often take a whirl in it."

"Yes," said Slicko to herself, as she heard Bob say this, "I think I shall."

And, from then on, Slicko was no longer afraid of the whirling wheel of her cage. Bob did not have to put any more nuts in it to get her to go in. Slicko liked it, and went in herself, several times a day. It gave her something to do -- like playing a game.

The cage where Slicko was kept was too small to let her run about and jump very much, and the wheel was just the very thing. On that, Slicko could pretend she was running a race, as she used to do with her brothers and sister in the woods.

"Oh, I wonder what has become of Chatter, and all the rest of them," thought Slicko many times, as she thought of her former home. "And I wonder if I shall ever see them again!"

"What are you doing, Bob?" asked Mollie, one day as she saw her brother pasting some paper over a little wooden hoop. It was just like those the men in the circus jump through, only smaller.

"I am getting ready for another trick for Slicko," he said.

"Do you think you can get her to jump through one of those paper covered hoops?" asked Sallie.

"I think so," replied Bob. "I'm going to try."

Slicko was quite tame by this time, and often would be allowed to run about the room, being let out of her cage. Sometimes Bob would sit in a chair, and put some nuts in his pocket. Then Slicko would run along on the floor, crawl up Bob's leg, dive down into his pocket, and pull out the nuts.

"That's another trick," Bob would say with a laugh. "My squirrel is getting to be very smart!"

"But how are you going to get her to jump through a paper hoop?" asked Mollie.

"I'll soon show you," said Bob.

By this time he had two or three hoops all ready, pasted over with thin red, white and blue paper, so that they looked very pretty indeed.

"Now, Slicko," said Bob, as he took the little squirrel out of her wire cage, "you are going to learn a new trick to-day. And I want you to pay strict attention, and do as I tell you."

Bob took a piece of sweet apple, of which Slicko was very fond, and put it on top of a little box on the dining-room table. Then he put Slicko down at the other end of the table, and stood near her, with one of the paper hoops in his hand.

"Now, Slicko," said Bob, as he pointed at the apple, "that is for you, if you do as I want you to do. Go get the apple, Slicko."

Slicko knew what apple was. She could smell it, and she thought it must be meant for her. She scampered toward it, but, when she had almost reached it she found Bob holding a paper hoop out in front of her. The hoop was between Slicko and the apple.

Slicko started to go around to one side, to get out of the way of the hoop, but Bob moved it, so that it was still in front of her.

"Well, I can go the other way," thought Slicko. But, when she turned the other way, there was still the paper hoop in front of her. It was between her and the apple, and she wanted that apple very much.

"Ha!" thought Slicko, "if Bob doesn't take that paper hoop out of my way, I'll jump right through it and get the apple anyhow!"


Chapter X

Slicko Runs Away


"Come on, get the apple, Slicko!" called Bob.

"How can she, when you keep putting that paper hoop in front of her?" asked Bob's sister Mollie.

"She'll go right through it," said Sallie.

"That's just what I want her to do," Bob answered, with a laugh. "It will be a fine trick."

Slicko did not understand all of this talk, but she did want that apple, and when she heard Bob say "trick," she began to understand that, after all, perhaps the hoop was only put in front of her for fun.

So the next time she ran toward the piece of apple on the table, and the boy moved the paper hoop in front of her, Slicko gave a sudden little jump, and, right through the paper she went, breaking a hole in it, and landing close to the piece of apple.

"Hurrah!" cried the boy. "There she goes!"

"Oh, wasn't that cute!" exclaimed Mollie.

"Just too sweet for anything," spoke Sallie. "I hope she didn't hurt herself!"

"Hurt herself? Of course not!" cried Bob. "How could she, when the paper was so soft and thin? And she has learned another trick now, haven't you, Slicko?"

Slicko was too busy eating the apple to answer, even if she could have spoken boy language. She sat up on her hind legs, with her tail spread out over her head, and, holding the bit of apple in her paws, which were like little hands, she nibbled at the sweet pulp.

"Will she do it again?" asked Mollie.

"I guess so," answered the boy. "I'll try her once more. This time I'll give her a nut."

When Slicko had finished eating the apple, Bob took her gently up in his hands, and set her down at one end of the table. On the other end he placed some pieces of hickory nut meats, with the shells off.

"Ah, ha!" thought Slicko. "They look good! I can eat them without stopping to gnaw off the hard shell."

The little jumping squirrel started toward the pile of nut meats, but, before she could reach them, Bob put in front of her another hoop, covered with paper.

Just as she had done at first, Slicko tried to run to one side, but Bob kept the hoop in front of her. Slicko had forgotten about jumping through, even though she had done it only a little while before.

Most animals are that way when first they learn a new trick. They forget very easily, until they have done it over and over again. It was this way with Slicko.

But as Bob kept the hoop in front of her, and as she kept smelling the nice nuts at the other end of the table, it came into Slicko's head that she must jump through the paper of the hoop to get them, just as she had done to get the piece of apple.

"Here I go!" thought the little squirrel.

She gave another little jump, and right through the second paper hoop she went, coming down on the table close to the nut meats, which she began to eat; and very good they tasted, indeed.

"Ha! She did the trick again!" cried Bob.

"What a cunning squirrel!" exclaimed Mollie.

"She's just too dear for anything," said Sallie.

Slicko understood a little of this talk, and she was glad she had pleased the children. She was beginning to be very happy in her new home, and she liked Bob and his sisters very much.

The boy had Slicko jump through the paper hoops several more times that day, and then he put her back in the big wire cage, and let her rest. Wild animals do not like to be doing tricks all the while. They get tired just as you do.

The next day Slicko did the hoop tricks again, and soon she was so smart that she knew, as soon as she saw Bob with the paper-covered things, that she was to do her jumping trick. She did not have to have a piece of apple placed at one end of the table to make her jump, now.

But, each time, after she was through doing her little tricks, she was given something good to eat. That is always the way to train wild animals or pets -- be kind to them when they have done what you want them to do.

Slicko lived in the house with the boy for several weeks. The weather had gotten colder now, and winter would soon be here. Slicko could tell this, for sometimes the windows of the room, in which her cage stood, were left open, and she could feel the cold wind. But her fur coat was growing warm and thick now, and she would not have minded being outdoors, no matter how cold it was, if she had plenty to eat.

But, after all, Slicko was rather glad that she had a good home for the coming winter. She remembered how, when she had lived in the home-nest, she had heard her papa and mamma talking in their chatter language about how hard it was, sometimes, to find things to eat, when the white snow covered the ground. Squirrels always store away nuts, but sometimes they can not get enough, and sometimes the winter is so long that they eat up all they have in their nest, before it is time for spring to come and bring other food.

"But that can't happen to me here," thought Slicko. "No matter how cold it is outside, or how much snow there is, I shall be warm in this house, and Bob and his sisters will give me enough to eat. After all, maybe it is a good thing Bob caught me and brought me here."

Bob taught his pet squirrel other tricks. He taught Slicko to crawl right up to his pocket, and go to sleep there. He also taught her to go into his pockets after lumps of sugar, and other good things to eat. When she had found them, she would come out and sit on his shoulder to eat them. This always made the children who saw it laugh, and they thought Slicko was a very cute squirrel indeed.

Bob's sisters tried to teach Slicko tricks. But they wanted to make a sort of doll of her, and, though Slicko was a girl squirrel, she knew nothing of dolls.

"Oh, wouldn't she look cute dressed up in one of my dolls' dresses?" asked Mollie of Sallie, one day.

"Yes, indeed! Let's try it!" exclaimed Sallie.

They took Slicko out of her cage, and, though they handled her very gently, the little squirrel did not like being put inside a doll's dress.

"Oh, isn't she too cute!" cried Mollie.

"Yes," said Sallie. "Now let's put her in the doll carriage and wheel her about."

But this was too much for Slicko. It was bad enough to be dressed up as a doll, but when it came to being put in a thing on wheels, and ridden about the room, that was more than Slicko would stand. She did not mind her wire wheel in the cage, but she did not like to be wheeled in the carriage.

Out she jumped, and with her paws she pulled off the doll's dress that had been tied on her. Then, chattering as loudly as she could, she ran to her cage, and hid in the little place where she slept. There Mollie and Sallie could not get her.

"Oh, well, never mind. Let's play with our real dolls," said Mollie. "Maybe Bob wouldn't like us to dress up his squirrel."

"All right," agreed Sallie. And Slicko was glad to be left alone.

She did not mind when Bob taught her tricks.

"If I learn a number of them," thought Slicko, "I shall be as smart as Squinty, the comical pig, or as Mappo, the monkey, or Tum Tum, the jolly elephant. I wonder if I shall ever see them again."

Slicko felt a little sad when she thought of her animal friends. Then she began thinking of her father and mother, of her sister and brothers, and of Aunt Whitey.

"I wonder where Aunt Whitey could be?" thought Slicko. "I should like to see her again."

At these times Slicko became a little lonesome and homesick. But, whenever she was beginning to get too sad, Bob would come, take her out of the cage, and either give her something good to eat, or put her through some of her tricks. Then Slicko would be happy once more.

As the days went on, Slicko became so tame that the door of her cage was never shut. She could come and go as she pleased, and she roamed all about the house. She would come to the dinner table, and sit up near Bob, who would feed her from his plate. And then she would scramble into his pocket, to get a bit of sugar.

The winter came, with its cold and snow. Slicko stayed in the warm house. Then the days began to get warmer. Spring was coming. One day it was warm enough for the windows of the room, where Slicko's cage stood, to be opened. The little squirrel smelled the fresh air of spring. She seemed to smell the cool, green woods, where the trees were just beginning to put on their new green dresses of leaves.

Something seemed to be calling to Slicko. She heard the hum of bees, the song of birds and the chatter of other squirrels. A strange feeling came over Slicko. She wanted to run away to the woods.

She looked all around the room. No one was there. The door of her cage was open. Softly, on her pattering feet, Slicko ran to the window. She climbed to the sill, looked out into the garden, and off to the woods. Then Slicko jumped down into the soft, green grass, and ran away.


Chapter XI

Slicko's Big Adventure


Slicko had been a tame squirrel for several months. Before that, and for a longer time, she had been just a little wild squirrel, living in the woods, and doing as all wild squirrels do.

So, when she jumped out of the window and ran away, she became, for the time being, just as wild as she ever had been. For a little while she forgot all the tricks Bob had taught her, and she forgot the nice pieces of apples and the nuts he used to give her. Slicko was just the same, now, as were her brothers, or her sister -- a little, wild animal.

She ran over the grass, crouching down low, and taking big jumps so no one would see her. Most of all, Slicko wanted to keep out of the way of Muffins, the big black cat at Bob's house.

This cat was not a good friend of Slicko's. Often, when the little squirrel was not watching, the cat would come quietly up close to her, and look at Slicko with very hungry eyes. Sometimes Bob would see Muffins, and drive her away.

"Muffins wouldn't hurt your squirrel," said Mollie, who liked the cat very much.

"Of course she wouldn't," said Sallie. "Rover, your dog, wouldn't hurt Slicko, so why would our cat?"

"Well, a cat is different from a dog," Bob would say. "A cat can't help sneaking up, and wanting to jump on anything it sees moving. But a dog only barks, and makes a big fuss. He doesn't really do any harm. Of course I don't mean to say Muffins would intend to do Slicko any harm, but I won't give Muffins a chance."

So Bob never let the big cat come near his squirrel, and Slicko was glad of it, for Muffins had very hungry eyes. And now, when Slicko was running away, and Bob was not there to look after her, and when there was no strong wire cage to run and hide in, Slicko was very careful. She looked on both sides of her, as she ran along over the grass. Slicko was not going to be caught, if she could avoid it.

The little squirrel came to a tree, and up it she scrambled as fast as she could go. It was the first tree she had climbed since Bob had caught her in the trap, and Slicko was glad to find she had not forgotten how. Her leg, that had been pinched in the trap, was now as strong as the other ones.

Sticking her claws in the bark of the tree, Slicko went up, away to the top.

"There!" exclaimed the little squirrel, "if Muffins comes after me, she'll have trouble in reaching me."

Cats can climb trees, too, almost as well as squirrels can, though not so fast. But a cat does not very often go way up to the top of a tree, as Slicko had done.

The little runaway squirrel sat down on a tree branch and looked about her. The tree was just putting out its first green leaves, and the wind was blowing the branches gently to and fro, like a swing.

"Oh, this is lovely!" thought Slicko. "It is much nicer than my wheel in the cage. I am glad I ran away. I am never going back in the big house again."

You see, after all, though wild animals may seem contented to be pets, they always want to be free as they were at first.

Slicko began to look all over the tree to see if any nuts grew on it. She was not yet old enough to know that there would be no nuts until fall. Nor could she tell that the tree she was in was a pear tree, and never grew nuts. There would be no pears, either, until late in the summer.

Slicko was beginning to feel hungry. True, she had eaten her breakfast before running away, but now she felt hungry again. There seemed to be nothing to eat in the tree where she was hiding. It was no fun to be hungry.

"I must see about getting something to eat," thought Slicko. "I'll stay up here awhile, and then I'll go down and hunt for some nuts or bits of apple. Oh, I'll have a fine time, and I won't have to jump through paper hoops, or do any tricks."

Pretty soon Slicko, who sat on a limb of the tree where she could look at the window of the room where she used to live, heard the voice of Bob, her little master.

"I say!" cried Bob, "have any of you seen Slicko?"

"She was in her cage, a little while ago," said Mollie. "Isn't she there now?"

"No, and her cage is open, and so is the window of the room," went on Bob. "I'm afraid she has run away, or else maybe Muffins has caught her."

"Oh, you bad boy, to say such a thing!" cried Sallie. "Muffins wouldn't take Slicko. More likely it's Rover!"

"Rover wouldn't either," said Bob. "I wonder where Slicko can be. Here, Slicko! Slicko!" he called. "Come and get some nuts! Come and get some sugar!"

Slicko, up in the tree, heard Bob, but, though she was very hungry, she would not go down and get in his pocket, as she used to do. Slicko made up her little squirrel mind that as long as she had run away, she would not go back so soon.

"I want to have a little fun," she said to herself.

Bob called and called again. He looked all over for Slicko, even up in the trees, but Slicko managed to hide behind a leafy branch, and Bob could not see her. Bob even called Rover, thinking the dog might be able to help him find the lost squirrel.

From her perch in the tree, Slicko saw Bob and Rover running about. The dog barked:

"Bow wow! Bow wow! Bow wow!" as if he were calling Slicko to come down. But the little squirrel was not yet ready.

"I know what I'll do," said Bob. "I'll get some nuts and put them where Slicko can see them, close by the open window. I'll set her cage there, too, on a chair in the room. Maybe she's lost, and can't find her way home. But perhaps she can smell the nuts, and when she comes for them, she'll see her cage, and be glad to go back into it."

"Oh, yes, do that," said Mollie. "Once when my canary bird flew away, I hung the cage on a tree outside, and left the door open. And, pretty soon, Dick flew back into it."

"Well, I hope Slicko comes back to her cage," said Bob.

But Slicko had no idea of coming back so soon.

In a little while Bob had put some nuts on the ground outside the window, and near them, on a chair inside the room, he put the squirrel's cage.

"Now I'll hide and watch to see if Slicko comes back," said Bob. But Slicko did not want to be seen, so she stayed up in the tree. She was more hungry than ever, but she would not go down and get the nuts. After a while Bob got tired of hiding and waiting.

"I'll just go off and play ball," he said to his sisters. "When I come back, maybe Slicko will be in her cage."

Slicko waited until Bob had gone. The little squirrel looked down, and seeing Mollie and Sallie off on the front porch, playing with their dolls, she thought it would be safe to go down and get a few nuts.

Very carefully Slicko climbed down the tree. Stopping now and then, to make sure there was no danger, she reached the pile of nuts. She ate some, and oh! how good they tasted.

Then, all at once, Slicko heard something coming softly through the grass behind her. It was so soft that it sounded only like the wind blowing, but Slicko knew that it was not the wind.

Slicko turned quickly, just in time to see Muffins, the cat, make a spring for her.

"Oh my!" cried Slicko, and, turning quickly, the little squirrel made a mad dash for the pear tree. She had a nut in her paws, but she dropped that in running.

"Meaouw! Wow!" snarled Muffins, the big, black cat. She gave a spring, sticking out her claws, and trying to catch Slicko, but she was just too late. Slicko reached the tree, and up it she went almost to the very tip-top.

Muffins followed, and ran up the tree trunk a little way, but she did not go as far as Slicko had gone.

"My! That was the time she almost caught me!" thought Slicko, her little heart beating very fast. "I must be more careful after this. And oh! those nuts were so good. But I won't dare go down after them again until it's dark, when Muffins can't see me."

Slicko stayed in the tree all the rest of that day. She could see the pile of nuts on the ground, but, though she was very, very hungry, she did not dare go down to get any for fear of Muffins.

Slicko saw Bob come and look at the nuts. The boy cried out:

"Oh, my squirrel has been here! Some of the nuts are gone! Slicko is somewhere around here!"

But, though Bob looked in all the trees around the house, he could not find Slicko. Slicko saw Bob, though.

The little squirrel stayed in the tree all that night. But she did not have a very good time. It was cold, and it rained, and there was no hole, and no nest, into which Slicko could crawl to keep warm. She just had to shiver. And she was more hungry than ever, too.

"Oh dear! Running away isn't as much fun as I thought it would be!" said Slicko. "To-morrow, when Bob puts out the nuts again, and leaves the cage open, I'm going to run back into it. I have had enough of living like this. I had rather do tricks, such as jumping through paper hoops, than be cold and hungry."

But the next day Bob went away, and did not put out any nuts for his little squirrel. And those he had put out were carried away by the rats.

So Slicko got very few of them to eat, and she was quite hungry. She managed to find a few old acorns in the woods, but they were not so good as the nuts, apples and sugar Bob and his sisters used to feed her. And, as the window of the room was not open, and as the cage was not put out, Slicko could not run back home again.

"Isn't Bob going to try to catch his squirrel?" asked Mollie of Sallie, on the second day.

"No, I heard him say he guessed she was gone for good," said Sallie.

"Well, I haven't -- I'm here yet, and I'm coming back to my cage -- that is when I see it," Slicko said to herself.

That afternoon Slicko, perched in the top of her tree, saw one of the attic windows of Bob's house open.

"Ha!" exclaimed the little squirrel. "I can jump in there from my tree. I'll do it."

Slicko scrambled up to the highest branch. From there she could easily jump in through the attic window, and this she did.

She looked around, and she was glad when she saw some butternuts on the floor of the attic. Slicko soon gnawed a hole in one, and ate out the sweet meat. Then she felt much better.

It was nice and warm in the attic, and there was a pile of old clothes there. On these Slicko lay down and went to sleep.

When Slicko awoke, it was all dark. She had slept until it was night. She sat up on her hind legs and listened. She could hear nothing. The house was very quiet. Slicko looked at the window by which she had entered. It was tightly shut now.

All of a sudden Slicko felt thirsty. She knew there was no water up in the attic, but there was plenty down stairs in the kitchen. Bob always left a pan full there on the floor for his pet.

"I'll go down stairs and get a drink in the kitchen," said Slicko to herself.

Squirrels can see in the dark, almost as well as can owls, as I told you before. Soon Slicko was making her way safely down the front stairs.

As she got to the kitchen, she saw a light burning low. And, by this light Slicko could see a man, with a piece of black cloth over his face, taking knives and forks and spoons from a table, and putting them into his pocket.

Slicko, of course, did not know that the things were knives and forks and spoons. She only knew they were the things Bob and his sisters, and father and mother ate with. And, when she saw the man putting them into his pocket, Slicko thought they might be something good for her to eat.

"That must be Bob's papa," thought Slicko. "Well, I'll give him a surprise. I'll run up his leg and go into his pocket. Then he'll know I'm home again."


Chapter XII

Slicko Finds Her Nest


Scampering softly over the oilcloth of the kitchen floor, Slicko came close to the man. Slicko thought it was Bob's papa, but it was not. I'll soon tell you who the man was.

"I do hope he has some sugar for me," thought Slicko, for sometimes Bob's papa would play at tricks and games with the little squirrel, and do just as Bob did -- hide things in his pocket.

Slicko was almost at the man's leg. Her little claws made a patter-patter-pat sound on the floor oilcloth. The man heard it, and started.

"A rat!" he cried. "I don't like rats!"

"The idea of calling me a rat!" thought Slicko. "I'll soon show you who I am, Mr. Bob's papa."

The next moment Slicko scrambled up the man's leg, sticking her claws in the soft cloth of his trousers.

"Get away from me! Get away from me!" the man cried, very much excited, and he struck at Slicko. "Get off me!" and the man was fairly screaming now. "Get away! I hate rats! I'm afraid of 'em!"

"Why, he's worse than Tum Tum, the elephant," said Slicko to herself. "But maybe he's only fooling. I'll climb up on his shoulder and sit there. Then maybe he'll give me something to eat."

Quickly Slicko scrambled up to the man's shoulder. She put her soft, cold nose on his neck.

"Oh! Oh! Go away! A rat! It'll bite me!" cried the man.

He leaped aside and with his hand brushed Slicko away. She fell on the kitchen table. And then, all of a sudden the whole house was filled with light. Slicko sat up on the table in time to see the man give a jump through the window, while from his pocket fell a shower of knives and forks and spoons. For the man was a burglar -- a thief -- and he had come in the night to rob.

Out of the window he jumped. Slicko could see him very well, for the electric lights were turned on now. Up stairs Bob's papa had heard the burglar cry out, and he had switched on the lights.

"What a funny man," thought Slicko of the burglar, "to jump out of the window as I did. I wonder why he is running away."

Slicko saw a pan of water on the floor. She scrambled down and took a long drink, for she was quite thirsty. But she was not at all afraid.

"I wish that man had let me sit on his shoulder," she said to herself. "He might have given me a nut, or a piece of sugar. And he called me a rat -- I don't like that."

After getting her drink, Slicko sat up on the table again, and waited. She heard voices talking, and people coming down stairs. Bob and his father came into the kitchen.

"Oh, look! There's my squirrel Slicko!" cried Bob. "She's come back!"

"Chatter! Chatter! Chat-chat-chatter-r-r-r-r!" chirped Slicko. "Of course I'm your little pet squirrel come back again. I'm sorry I ran away." Only, of course, Bob did not understand this.

"What has happened?" asked the voice of Bob's mother.

"Slicko has come back," said Bob.

"Is that all?"

"No, something else happened," said Bob's father, "and I guess we have Slicko to thank that our house was not robbed."

"Our house robbed! What do you mean?"

"Why the kitchen window has been broken open, and here is some of our silver scattered about," said Bob's father. "I heard a man yell something about a rat, and I turned on the lights. He must have been a burglar, but he got away."

"What frightened him?" asked Bob. By this time Slicko was sitting on Bob's shoulder, eating a lump of sugar he had gotten for her from the pantry.

"I think Slicko, your squirrel, frightened him," said the boy's father. "That must have been it. The burglar came in here to rob us. In the night Slicko came back, somehow, and probably she tried to make friends with him, as she does with you, not knowing who he was. The man must have thought Slicko was a rat, and, being afraid, he ran off. Slicko saved us from being robbed, for see, the man dropped most of the things he took. Your squirrel is very smart, Bob. She scared away the thief."

"She is a good little squirrel," said Bob. "I am glad she came back to me."

Slicko was put back into her cage for the rest of the night. She was glad she had come back to Bob. Everybody went to bed.

The next day Slicko did her tricks again, and learned some new ones. She had many nuts and apples to eat.

Still Slicko was not happy. The weather grew warmer. It was very warm in the house, but Slicko was not allowed to be out of her cage.

"I don't want her to run away again," said Bob.

Poor Slicko was now very mournful. As the warm days came, she wanted to be free to run in the shady woods. She would rather have sat swinging on the branch of a tree, than whirl around in the wire wheel of her cage.

"Bob," said the boy's father to him one day, "don't you think your squirrel would be happier if you let it go out in the woods to live?"

"What! Let my pet squirrel go?" asked Bob, in surprise.

"Yes," answered his father. "Slicko is not happy in her cage now. She might have been, in the winter, but now it is summer, and she ought to be out in the open. I think she wants to go."

Oh, how much Slicko hoped she could go! Her little heart beat very fast, as she looked through the bars of her cage.

"Let Slicko go!" said Bob softly. "Oh, I can't do that!"

"Slicko did us a very great favor," said Bob's father. "She frightened away the burglar. I think, as a reward, you ought to let her go, Bob."

Bob said nothing for a long while. Then he spoke softly.

"Very well, father," he said. "I'll let Slicko go free!"

Bob took the cage, with his pet in it, to the edge of the woods. He opened the little wire door.

"You may go, Slicko," said Bob. "Go off to the woods where you belong. I'll set you free, but I hope you will come and see me, sometime."

"Chatter-chatter-chatter-r-r-r-r-r!" chirped Slicko. She sprang out of the cage, and stood upright for a moment on the ground. Then, she scrambled up on Bob's shoulder and put her cold, soft nose on his cheek. That was her way of kissing him good-bye.

Down scrambled Slicko, and off to the woods she ran.

"Good-bye, Slicko, my little jumping squirrel!" called Bob, as he went back to the house with the empty cage. And yet, after all, he felt happy that he had let Slicko go.

Slicko ran on and on through the woods. All that day she wandered about. She found a spring and got a drink of water, and in a field she found an early apple tree, and ate an apple.

The next day, as Slicko was jumping through the woods, she came to a tree that she was sure she had seen before. Half way up was a big lump, on which she knew she had often sat. A little farther up was a broken limb, and, close to that limb was a hole.

"Why, that's the nest where I used to live," said Slicko. "I wonder if papa and mamma, and Chatter and Fluffy and Nutto have come back! I'm going up to see."

Up the tree scrambled Slicko. She looked in her old nest. Something inside it moved.

"Hello!" said Slicko.

"Why -- why -- why it's Slicko -- come back!" cried Chatter. "Papa -- Mamma! Nutto, Fluffy! Come here. Slicko has come back!"

Out of the nest rushed all the Squirrel family. They sat on their tails and looked at Slicko.

"My! How she has grown!" cried her mother, patting Slicko with her paws.

"How long have you been here?" asked Slicko. "That time you sent me to Aunt Whitey's, I couldn't find her -- she wasn't home."

"No, Slicko," said her papa, "your aunt had hurriedly moved to another nest. We didn't know it when we sent you there. And, not long ago, we all came back here. For it is safe now. The hunter-man and his dog have gone from these woods."

"And so we are all together again," said Fluffy. "I'm glad."

"So am I!" exclaimed Slicko.

"But where have you been -- and what happened to you?" asked the mamma squirrel.

"Oh, I have had so many adventures!" cried Slicko. "I can jump through paper hoops, I can crawl in Bob's pocket and get sugar, and I scared away a burglar!"

"My, you did have some adventures," said Mrs. Squirrel. "But come in now, and have some dinner."

And so that was the end of Slicko's adventures for a while. She got safely back to her nest, and she lived there with her father and mother, and sister and brothers, for many years.

Sometimes she would meet Squinty, the comical pig, or Mappo, the merry monkey. And that reminds me. I have some stories to tell you about him. But I shall have to put them in another book. It will be named "Mappo, the Merry Monkey," and in it you may read all about his many adventures.

"Are you going to run away again, Slicko?" asked Nutto, one day about a week after his sister came back.

"No, I am only going to run up to the top of this tree, and down again," said the little squirrel, and she did.

<eob>

Three Sioux Scouts

By

Elmer Russell Gregor



Chapter I

Watching For Buffaloes


White Otter, the famous young war chief of the Ogalala Sioux, and his friends Sun Bird and Little Raven, of the Minneconjoux tribe, were searching the plains for buffaloes. It was early spring, the time of The-new-grass-moon, and the Sioux were expecting the great buffalo herds on their migration northward from the winter feeding grounds.

"Pretty soon Ta-tan-ka will come -- then we will have some good days and plenty of meat," White Otter told his friends. "Yellow Horse is singing the Medicine Songs to bring the buffaloes. They will come."

"My father does that," said Sun Bird. "I have seen him do it many times."

"Your father is a great Medicine Person, like Yellow Horse," declared White Otter.

Although the villages of the Ogalalas and the Minneconjoux were many days' travel apart, the young warriors visited one another with considerable frequency. The year previous White Otter had accompanied the Minneconjoux on a great war expedition against the Blackfeet. Now Sun Bird and his brother, Little Raven, had come to the Ogalala village to participate in the spring buffalo hunt.

The three young scouts made an impressive appearance as they cantered across the plain on their speedy little hunting ponies. White Otter was tall and lithe. Sun Bird was considerably shorter, and heavier in physique. Little Raven was younger and less matured in face and stature. All showed the characteristics of the Dacotah warrior. They were fearless, cautious and crafty. Each had proved his courage and skill in a number of thrilling exploits, and despite their youthfulness all three were famous warriors. They wore the simple dress of the hunter, which consisted of moccasins, and buckskin leggins reaching to the thighs. They were naked above the waist. Their hair was worn in two braids wrapped with fur. White Otter and Sun Bird, as chiefs of their respective tribes, were entitled to wear the coveted war bonnet of eagle plumes. Both had left it off to be as inconspicuous as possible in their search for game. White Otter, however, wore a single eagle feather in his scalp lock. They were armed with bows and arrows and flint hunting knives. White Otter and Sun Bird carried fire sticks. Each was provided with a robe of elkskin which was folded beneath him, across the back of his pony.

For two days they had searched the plains to the southward of the Ogalala camp. They had seen nothing, however, to indicate the approach of the great buffalo herds. Still they felt certain that it would be only a day or so until the buffaloes appeared.

"When we see them we will ride fast and tell my people," said White Otter.

"Yes, yes, we will be the first to tell about it," Little Raven declared, enthusiastically.

They were a considerable distance from the Ogalala village, and as the third day drew toward its close they began to wonder if it might not be foolhardy to venture farther to the southward. They knew that there was a possibility of encountering both the Kiowas and the Pawnees in that direction, and the Utes from the west and even their hated foes, the Crows, sometimes moved down into that disputed territory. The Sioux realized, therefore, that they were exposing themselves to considerable danger.

"We have come a long ways -- we must watch out," White Otter cautioned.

"It is true," agreed Sun Bird. "The Pawnees travel in this country. Perhaps they are looking around for buffaloes. We must be cautious."

They had stopped at a little grove of cottonwoods, which offered feed and water for the ponies. As the day had almost ended, they were tempted to spend the night at that spot. White Otter, however, decided against it.

"It would be foolish," he declared. "Our enemies know about this place. Perhaps they will come here when it gets dark. We must ride away."

"It is the best thing to do," said Sun Bird.

They loitered until the ponies had finished feeding, and then they prepared to ride away. At that moment a small band of antelopes suddenly appeared on the crest of a low ridge to the westward. They had stopped, and seemed to be watching something on the other side of the ridge. It was evident that they had been alarmed. The Sioux became suspicious. They watched closely.

"Something has frightened Ta-to-ka-dan," said Sun Bird.

"See, they are running down the ridge," Little Raven whispered, excitedly.

The antelopes were bounding down the slope. When they reached the bottom they turned toward the little grove in which the Sioux had taken shelter. The latter watched them with considerable uneasiness.

"It is bad," declared White Otter. "Perhaps some one is peeping over that hill. If those antelopes come close they will find out about us. Then they will run away. If hunters are watching on that ridge they will know that something is over here in this place. Perhaps they will come here to find out about it."

"It is bad," said Sun Bird.

The antelopes were still running toward the grove. Several old bucks, however, had stopped to look back at the ridge. The rest of the band continued across the plain. They were running against the wind. As they came within arrow range of the grove they suddenly stopped, and appeared suspicious. They had caught the danger scent.

"Ta-to-ka-dan is sharp," laughed Sun Bird.

"The wind has told about us," said Little Raven.

White Otter kept silent. He watched the antelopes with grave misgivings. Their behavior alarmed him. He felt quite sure that they would arouse the distrust of any foes who might be loitering within sight, and tempt them to investigate the grove. The idea suggested disturbing possibilities.

"See, Ta-to-ka-dan is standing out there like a frightened old woman," he said, irritably. "If our enemies are about they will come over here to see what has frightened Ta-to-ka-dan."

"Come, we will ride away," proposed Little Raven.

"Wait, wait," Sun Bird cried, excitedly. "I saw something peep over the top of that hill."

"I see it," said Little Raven. "It looks like Ma-ya-sh, the wolf."

They saw what appeared to be the head of a prairie wolf rising cautiously above the top of the ridge. The buck antelopes had discovered it, and were flashing the danger signal and stamping nervously.

"It is bad," White Otter said, uneasily. "Perhaps it is Ma-ya-sh, the wolf -- perhaps it is a hunter. We must watch sharp."

As they continued to watch the ridge, the little band of antelopes suddenly turned and bounded away toward the north. It was evident that they had determined to avoid the grove. In a few moments the bucks that had been watching the ridge cantered after them.

"It is good," said White Otter. "Now we will find out who is over there on that hill. If it is Ma-ya-sh and his people they will go away. If it is our enemies they will keep watching this place."

"Something is watching," Sun Bird told him.

The head of the mysterious prowler still showed above the ridge. It was boldly outlined against the fading sunset sky. It appeared to be the head of Ma-ya-sh, the prairie wolf. The Sioux distinctly saw the long, lean snout, and the pointed ears of Ma-ya-sh. Still they were suspicious. They knew that scouts often covered themselves with the skin of Ma-ya-sh to creep up on game, and also to spy upon their foes without arousing distrust.

"I do not believe it is Ma-ya-sh," White Otter declared, finally. "It keeps too still. Ma-ya-sh would move around. I believe it is a hunter."

"We will watch," said Sun Bird.

"Look, look, there is another!" cried Little Raven.

A second head had suddenly appeared. It, too, seemed to be the head of a prairie wolf. The Sioux, however, were doubtful. If the distant objects really were wolves, their actions were most unusual. They were careful to keep themselves well concealed behind the ridge, and as the antelopes were a considerable distance to the northward, it was evident that the mysterious creatures were watching the grove. The Sioux were concealed in the timber, and there was no possibility of being seen. They determined to watch, therefore, until the strange objects on the ridge either showed themselves or disappeared. In a few moments one withdrew from sight.

"That is bad," said White Otter. "Now I believe they are scouts. Perhaps one has gone away to call the hunters. We must watch out."

Daylight was fading. Twilight was settling upon the plain. The Sioux found it difficult to distinguish the remaining object on the ridge. They felt considerably relieved to know that night was close at hand.

"Pretty soon it will be dark," said White Otter. "Then we will ride away."

They waited impatiently for nightfall. Their one fear was that a company of foes might ride toward the grove before darkness made it possible to withdraw without being seen. They had little fear of being caught, but they were anxious to avoid being discovered. Once seen, they realized that it might be perilous to loiter in the vicinity, and they were eager to remain until they found the buffalo herd. They watched closely until night finally came. Then they mounted their ponies and rode from the grove.

"Well, White Otter, how do you feel about it?" Little Raven inquired, as they rode cautiously toward the east.

"I believe we are in danger," White Otter told him.

They continued across the plain until they came to a shallow ravine, which they had passed on their way to the grove. White Otter advised stopping there until daylight.

"This is a good place," he said. "We will wait here and listen."

They picketed the ponies in the bottom of the gully, and then they crawled to the plain to watch and listen. It was a long time before they heard anything to arouse their suspicions. Then they heard the dreary wail of a prairie wolf, in the direction of the grove. Although it sounded natural, the Sioux distrusted it. Twice it rose shrilly through the night, and then it ceased. They were almost certain that it had been a signal. They listened anxiously for an answer from the ridge. The silence, however, continued.

"I believe it was a scout," said White Otter. "Perhaps he was calling his people."

"Perhaps we will hear the ponies," suggested Little Raven.

"We are too far off," White Otter told him. "Those people will ride easy."

"Perhaps it was only Ma-ya-sh," said Sun Bird. "Perhaps he went there to drink."

"Yes, it may be true, but I believe it was some one different," replied White Otter. "We are in the country of our enemies. We must be sharp."




Chapter II

Mysterious Signals


Fearful that a company of foes might have taken shelter in the little grove of cottonwoods, the Sioux determined to take every precaution against a sudden attack. While Little Raven remained in the ravine with the ponies, White Otter and Sun Bird seated themselves upon the plain to listen for sounds from the grove. All was still. They began to wonder if they had been needlessly alarmed. At that moment one of the ponies whinnied softly. White Otter and Sun Bird scrambled wildly into the gully. Little Raven had already seized the pony and turned its head out of the wind. The other ponies also seemed restless and nervous, and White Otter and Sun Bird attempted to quiet them.

"It is bad," White Otter said, softly. "I believe some one is riding this way."

The thought was startling. The Sioux stood beside their ponies, listening uneasily. One question flashed through the mind of each of them. Were enemies approaching stealthily under cover of the darkness? They heard nothing to give them a clew. Many moments passed. The silence increased their suspense. They believed they were in peril. It seemed folly to loiter in the ravine.

"Come, we will go," whispered White Otter.

They mounted the ponies and rode from the ravine. Once on the plain, they stopped for a moment to listen. Then the pony again attempted to call, but Little Raven silenced it with his riding quirt. The warning was significant. The Sioux believed that strange horses were close at hand. They turned their ponies and rode silently away into the night. It was some time before they ventured to speak.

"Well, my brothers, I believe Ma-ya-sh came to find us," White Otter laughed, softly, when they were beyond earshot of the ravine.

"Yes, White Otter, I believe your words were true; I believe scouts were peeping over that ridge," Sun Bird told him.

"Do you believe they saw us?" Little Raven asked, anxiously.

"No," replied White Otter. "Perhaps they found out about our ponies."

Although they realized that it might be perilous to linger in the vicinity, the Sioux determined to remain within sight of the grove until they learned if their suspicions were real. When they reached a low ridge, a considerable distance to the eastward, they decided to stop and wait for daylight.

"See, pretty soon it will be light," said Sun Bird. "Then we will find out if there is any one over there in that place."

When the night shadows finally lifted from the plain, White Otter and Sun Bird concealed themselves below the crest of the ridge to watch, while Little Raven waited at the base of the slope with the ponies. The grove was in plain sight, and the Sioux watched expectantly.

"If there are hunters over there, pretty soon they will ride out to look for buffaloes," said Sun Bird.

"Perhaps they are watching," White Otter reminded him.

A few moments later they saw two horsemen ride from the grove, and turn toward the ravine. They rode across the plain at an easy canter, and showed little caution. As they drew near the ravine, however, they became more careful. Once within arrow range, they stopped, and it was apparent that they were watching the top of the gully. Then they rode slowly forward.

"Those are the scouts that peeped over that hill," declared White Otter. "I believe they are trying to find out about us."

The horsemen had disappeared into the ravine. The Sioux had been unable to identify them. They felt certain that the strangers would soon find the pony tracks. The idea alarmed them.

"Perhaps they will follow us," suggested Sun Bird.

"Watch," said White Otter.

The horsemen had suddenly appeared. They had crossed the ravine, and were riding slowly over the plain. The Sioux knew at once that they were looking for pony tracks. It was not long before they found them. They followed the trail a bowshot or more, and then they stopped. They were looking directly toward the ridge. The Sioux watched them in breathless suspense. They were straining their eyes to identify them, but the distance made it impossible.

"I cannot tell who they are," declared White Otter. "Can you tell about it?"

"No; they are too far away," Sun Bird told him. "Perhaps they will come closer."

"I believe they are talking about it," said White Otter.

At that moment the horsemen turned their ponies, and galloped off toward the west. They crossed the ravine, and rode toward the grove. They passed it, however, and continued toward the ridge farther to the westward. It was not long before, they disappeared.

"It is bad," declared White Otter. "Now we do not know who they are."

"Well, we know that our enemies are in this place," Sun Bird told him. "Now it will be useless to look for the buffaloes. If Ta-tan-ka comes, those scouts will tell their people about it. Yes, I believe they are looking for buffaloes."

"My brother, I feel different about it," said White Otter. "Perhaps those scouts are with a war party. Perhaps they are Pawnees. Perhaps they are going to fight my people. I must find out about it."

Sun Bird remained silent. It was not the part of a warrior to ask questions. He waited for White Otter to explain his plans.

"Now I will tell you what I propose to do," White Otter told him. "We must stay here and watch. Perhaps those scouts are trying to fool us. Perhaps they are trying to make us believe they have gone away. I believe they are peeping over that hill."

"Well, they will not catch us," laughed Sun Bird.

While White Otter continued to watch, Sun Bird crept down the slope to tell Little Raven about the two mysterious horsemen. The ridge to the westward was far away, and White Otter knew that it would be impossible to discover any one who might be hiding there. He had little doubt that at least one of the unknown riders had stopped to watch the plain.

"Did you see anything?" Sun Bird inquired anxiously, when he returned.

"No, I did not see anything, but I believe some one is watching over there on that hill," White Otter told him.

"Then we must be cautious," said Sun Bird.

They watched until the day was half gone, and then, having seen nothing to indicate that foes were loitering in the vicinity, they began to feel somewhat reassured. They wondered if the two horsemen might not have been stray hunters who had been led to the grove by the antelopes. Having found the fresh pony tracks, they might have feared to loiter in the locality. In spite of the possibility, however, the Sioux resolved to take no chances.

"We will keep watching," declared White Otter.

Soon afterward their patience was rewarded when they saw what appeared to be a cloud of dust or smoke rising behind the distant ridge. They watched it with great interest. For some time it puzzled them. It was faint and indistinct, and they wondered if it was dust raised by the hoofs of buffaloes or ponies. Then they noted that it seemed to rise intermittently in puffs, and continued in one particular spot.

"So-ta, smoke," White Otter said, finally.

"Yes, yes, it is smoke," agreed Sun Bird.

"Those scouts are calling their people," declared White Otter. "I believe it is a war party."

"We will see," said Sun Bird.

In a short time the smoke faded from the sky. The Sioux felt sure that the signal had been seen by those for whom it was intended. They had little doubt that a company of horsemen were riding across the plain on the other side of the ridge.

"It is bad," said White Otter. "Those scouts found pony tracks at the place where the trees grow. They followed them to that gully. They found them coming this way. Then they were afraid, and went to call their people. I believe they will try to find out about us."

"Well, my brother, they are a long ways off," Sun Bird reminded him. "We can keep away from them."

"We must stay here and watch," declared White Otter. "Perhaps it is a big war party of Pawnees. Perhaps they are going to fight my people. I believe something bad will come of it."

"We will keep watching until we find out about it," Sun Bird assured him.

As time passed and they saw nothing more, White Otter became uneasy. A disquieting possibility had suddenly presented itself to his mind. It filled him with distrust, and awakened fears for the safety of his people.

"I do not like this thing," he told Sun Bird. "That ridge goes a long ways. We cannot see over it. Perhaps a war party is riding along behind that hill. Perhaps they are going to the lodges of my people. I would like to look over that hill, and find out about it."

"You must not try to do that," Sun Bird cautioned him. "It would be foolish. I believe scouts are watching over there. If we show ourselves they will come after us."

White Otter remained silent. He was worried and perplexed. He believed that what Sun Bird had said was true. Still he knew that if a war party of foes was moving against the Ogalala camp it was his duty to learn of it, and carry a warning to his people. For the moment, however, he saw no way of accomplishing it. The ridge from which he was watching was parallel with the ridge to the westward, and there was a wide expanse of open plain between them. To reach the other ridge it would be necessary to ride out in full sight of any foes who might be watching from concealment. White Otter realized that such a maneuver would be foolhardy. He decided that it would be impossible to do anything before nightfall.

"Yes, my brother, I see that what you say is true," he said, finally. "The lodges of my people are three sun's travel away. It is a long ways. A war party travels slow so that the ponies will be fresh when the fight begins. There is only one thing to do. We must keep watching until it gets dark. Then we will ride over that hill, and try to find out about those people."

"I believe it is the best thing to do," said Sun Bird.

Late in the day, however, they saw something which convinced them that the two horsemen had been part of a clever stratagem to deceive any one who had been watching. An eagle suddenly appeared high over the plain, and flew toward the grove of cottonwoods. It was evident that the bird intended to alight in the timber. The Sioux watched closely. Once above the grove, the eagle set its wings and dropped toward the trees. Then, as it got nearer, it rose and circled far out over the plain. The Sioux were quick to understand the significance of the maneuver.

"Hi, Hu-ya saw something down there among the trees," White Otter cried, excitedly.

"Yes, I believe there is something over there in that place," said Sun Bird.

"I believe scouts are hiding there," declared White Otter. "Hu-ya has told us about them. It is good."

They watched the grove with new interest. They knew that Hu-ya, the great war bird, was not likely to be frightened by Ma-ya-sh, the prairie wolf, nor Ta-to-ka-dan, the antelope, nor even by great Ma-to-ho-ta, the bear. They felt quite certain, therefore, that Hu-ya had discovered other enemies in the grove.

"Perhaps a war party is hiding over there," said Sun Bird. "Perhaps they found out about the ponies. Perhaps they sent those scouts to fool us."

"I do not believe a war party is hiding in that place," White Otter told him. "A war party would go away while it was dark."

"Yes, I believe that is true," agreed Sun Bird.

The Sioux were perplexed. Although the actions of Hu-ya, the war bird, led them to believe that the grove concealed some of their foes, they were unable to guess why the latter had loitered in the timber. While they were trying to solve the mystery they saw another smoke signal rising behind the ridge. It appeared in the place where they had discovered the other signal. The smoke column was light and indistinct, and soon broke into intermittent puffs. In a few moments it ceased.

"Now I know that some one is hiding over there where the trees grow," declared White Otter. "I believe they are scouts. I believe they found out about the ponies. It made them cautious. I believe those riders went to bring the war party. I believe, they will come to that place when it gets dark. We must watch out."

"I believe they are Pawnees," said Sun Bird.

"I do not know who they are, but I am going to find out about it," White Otter told him.




Chapter III

Old Enemies


They watched until the grove finally faded out in the twilight. Then they listened for sounds which might warn them of the arrival of a war party. It was barely dark when they heard signals passing across the plain. The cry of Ma-ya-sh sounded faintly from the west. It scarcely died away before an answer rose from the vicinity of the grove.

"The war party is coming," said Sun Bird.

"Listen!" cautioned White Otter.

They listened closely. Many moments passed. The stillness was unbroken.

"What was it?" inquired Sun Bird.

"I heard something, far away," White Otter told him. "It sounded like a pony. I believe some one stopped the noise."

As time passed and they heard nothing further, they felt sure that a company of foes had arrived at the grove. The thought made them uneasy. They feared that the two scouts would be sure to tell their companions about the pony tracks which crossed the ravine and led away toward the east. The Sioux recalled that the mysterious riders had spent some time looking toward the ridge.

"Perhaps they know we are here," said Sun Bird.

"Yes, I believe that is why they went away," replied White Otter. "I believe they went to tell their people about it. Their friends waited behind those trees to see if any one came over to this place."

"Well, they did not see us," said Sun Bird.

"No, they could not see us, but perhaps they know some one is watching them," White Otter told him. "Perhaps scouts will ride over here to find out about it. I believe scouts were close by when we were hiding over there in that gully. Now they will come to this hill. It would be foolish to stay here."

"Well, my brother, what do you propose to do?" inquired Sun Bird.

"I propose to find out about those people," replied White Otter.

"How can you do that?"

"Come, we will go to Little Raven," said White Otter. "Then I will tell you about it."

They crossed back over the ridge, and found Little Raven waiting with the ponies. He said he had seen nothing but a stray antelope on that side of the ridge.

"My brothers, you must listen sharp to what I am about to tell you," said White Otter. "I believe a war party is hiding over there where those trees grow. I do not know who it is. That is bad. Perhaps it is the Pawnees. The Pawnees are our enemies. Once they came to our village and did much harm. Perhaps they are going again to make war on my people. It is true that we came here to look for buffaloes. Well, we found something different. We are Dacotahs. We must find out who is over there. We must try to find out where they are going. Then we will know what to do. Perhaps we will do a big thing for my people."

White Otter paused and waited for his companions to speak. Many moments passed before Sun Bird finally replied.

"My brother, your words are good," he said. "You are a great war chief. You are the leader. Come, tell us what you propose to do."

"My brothers, I am going over there where the trees grow to find out who is there," declared White Otter. "Now listen sharp. There is only one way to do this thing. I believe scouts will come to this place. If we cross over this hill and go straight ahead we will meet them. We must not do that. I will tell you what to do. That gully where we hid ourselves goes a long ways toward the lodges of my people. It is good. We will follow this ridge that way. When we get past those trees, we will cross this ridge and ride over to that gully. Those people will go the other way to look for us. They will follow the tracks of our ponies. When we get to that gully we will listen. If we do not hear anything, I will go ahead and creep up to those trees. Perhaps I will find out who is there."

"You are very brave, but you must not go there alone," said Sun Bird. "You will be in great danger. I will go with you."

"No, you must not do that," White Otter told him. "You must stay behind and help Little Raven with the ponies. Then if anything bad happens to me, perhaps you can help me. It is the best way to do. Come, my brothers, we will go away before those scouts come over here and find us."

They rode northward along the base of the ridge. They went a long distance before White Otter finally turned toward the west. Then they rode to the top of the ridge, and stopped to listen. All was still. Darkness hid the grove. They knew that the ravine was directly ahead of them, and they advanced cautiously toward the west.

"Perhaps the ponies will call," Little Raven suggested, uneasily.

"We must be ready," White Otter cautioned him.

They rode across the plain in silence, alert for the first warning of danger. They realized that at any moment they might encounter scouts moving cautiously through the night along the flank of an advancing war party. When they finally reached the ravine, the night was far gone. White Otter and Sun Bird immediately dismounted, and climbed to the top of the ravine. They looked anxiously in the direction of the grove. It was hidden far away in the darkness. They watched for the tell-tale glow of a fire, but had little hope of seeing it.

"No, those people are not so foolish," declared White Otter.

"Well, my brother, if there is no fire it will be hard to see who they are," Sun Bird told him.

"Perhaps my ears will tell me that," replied White Otter. "I know the words of the Pawnees. I know the words of the Crows. I know the words of the Kiowas. I will get close to that place and listen sharp."

"White Otter, I believe it would be foolish to go over there," said Sun Bird. "If you will listen to my words, I will tell you something better."

"You are my brother, and you are a chief of the brave Minneconjoux -- I will listen to your words," agreed White Otter.

"It is good," declared Sun Bird. "Now I will tell you how I feel about this thing. We are in a good place. Those people cannot see us when it gets light. You say perhaps those people are Pawnees. It may be true. You say perhaps they are going to fight your people. It may be true. You say it makes you feel bad. You say we must find out about it. It is true. I will tell you the best thing to do. We will stay here until the light comes. Then we will watch close. If any one comes away from that place we will see them. If they travel toward the lodges of your people they will go by this place. Then we will follow them. We will get close and find out who they are. If they go the other way, we will let them ride away. My brother, I believe it is the best thing to do."

White Otter kept silent. He was studying the plan of Sun Bird. The latter waited patiently for him to reply. It was some time before White Otter spoke.

"Sun Bird, I have listened to your words, but I will not do as you propose," he said, finally. "You say if those people are going to the lodges of my people they will pass this place. Perhaps they have passed by here in the darkness. If we wait here until the light comes perhaps it will be too late to help my people. My brother, I must find out about it. I am going to do what I told you about."

"Well, you are the leader," Sun Bird told him. "I will not talk any more against it."

"It is good," replied White Otter.

A few moments afterward he disappeared into the night. Choosing a star to guide him in the proper direction, he loped across the plain as easily and as silently as Ma-ya-sh, the wolf. Aware that there was a possibility of blundering into his foes, he stopped many times to listen. The great plain was steeped in silence. He believed that the strangers had remained in the grove. The thought somewhat relieved his anxiety for his people. He had little fear for himself. Having passed through many thrilling adventures, he had learned to look upon danger and death with the stolid indifference of the seasoned warrior.

White Otter had gone a long distance from the ravine when he suddenly heard the long, dismal wail of a prairie wolf rising through the night. The cry had sounded somewhere near the ridge upon which the Sioux had passed the day. White Otter smiled as he realized that his prophecy about the scouts had been verified.

"They did not find us," he murmured.

As the call was not repeated, he continued toward the grove. He believed that the scouts were notifying their comrades that the country was free of foes. White Otter found keen satisfaction in the thought of outwitting them. He had little doubt that they were his hated foes, the Pawnees, and he felt certain that they were on a war expedition.

As he approached the grove, White Otter slackened his pace and became as alert and cautious as To-ka-la, the little gray fox. He knew that if a war party had taken possession of the grove, sentinels had been stationed on the plain to watch for foes.

"Now I must be cautious," he told himself.

Soon afterward he saw the grim, black outlines of the grove directly ahead of him. It was a number of arrow flights away, however, and he stopped to listen. He heard nothing. Then he advanced. Slowly, cautiously, he moved through the darkness, listening and watching for the sentinels who he feared were close at hand. Then he heard a pony snort. He stopped and waited in breathless suspense. He decided that the sound had come from the grove. He advanced still more cautiously. When he finally came within bowshot of the trees, he suddenly realized his peril. Alone and on foot, he knew that once discovered there would be little chance of escape. Still he was unafraid. Familiarity with danger had given him confidence.

"I will get away," he kept telling himself.

Then he suddenly heard the murmur of voices. For an instant the sound alarmed him. He had approached nearer the grove than he had supposed. He sank noiselessly to the plain. He lay there some time, endeavoring to identify the speakers. It was hopeless. The voices were low and indistinct, and he could not distinguish the words. He realized that he must go nearer. He crept slowly forward, a bow length at a time. Then he stopped to listen. The voices had ceased. His heart beat wildly. An alarming possibility flashed through his mind. Had he been discovered? It seemed impossible. He banished the thought. The silence, however, made him suspicious.

"Perhaps they are listening," he whispered.

The silence continued. White Otter was perplexed. He was less than half a bowshot from the cottonwoods. He heard the leaves trembling. He moistened his finger, and found the direction of the breeze. It was stirring toward the grove. He felt relieved. It seemed less likely that he had been discovered. Still he was uneasy. The sudden hush alarmed him.

"Yes, they must be listening," he declared.

A moment afterward a pony whinnied. It seemed to be on the other side of the grove. It was answered by several ponies in the timber. Then some one called. The signal was low and guarded. A reply came from the grove. White Otter heard hoofbeats. Some one was riding toward the cottonwoods. White Otter listened in trying suspense. He heard many voices. He breathed easier. The mystery was explained. He suddenly realized that the scouts had returned. It was the sound of their approach that had hushed the speakers in the grove.

"It is good," White Otter said, with great relief.

He believed that as the scouts had failed to find evidence of foes, the company in the grove might grow bolder. The next few moments seemed to confirm his hopes. The strangers were talking with far less caution. Still he was unable to catch their words.

"I must go nearer," he said.

He crawled carefully toward the timber, stopping after each bow length to watch and listen. The sounds from the grove reassured him. The warriors were talking and laughing, and apparently had little fear of attack. The ponies, too, were making considerable noise. He heard them stamping, and grunting and shaking themselves. However, he felt quite certain that they were securely picketed.

The sky was sprinkled with stars, and it was possible to see several bow lengths through the night, but White Otter knew that it would be impossible to penetrate the sinister black shadows which enveloped the grove. His ears alone might tell him what he wished to know. He was quite familiar with the words of the Pawnees, and the Crows, and had heard the dialect of the Kiowas, and he hoped to identify the strangers by their talk. It was a difficult and perilous undertaking, for White Otter knew that to be successful he must approach close up to the edge of the timber.

The night was well advanced and he knew that there was little time to spare. The ravine was far away, and he realized that he would be compelled to exert himself to the utmost to reach it before daylight betrayed him to his foes. Once discovered on the open plain there would be little hope of escape. He determined to make his attempt without further delay. For a moment only he hesitated, while he turned his face toward the sky.

"Wa-kan-tun-ka, make me strong to do this thing," he murmured.

Then he began his perilous, stealthy advance toward the timber.

The sounds convinced him that the strangers were assembled at the pool in the center of the grove. He feared, however, that sharp-eared sentinels might be lurking at the edge of the plain. Aware that the slightest sound might betray him, he sank close to the earth and crept forward as cautiously as a panther stalking its prey. It took many moments to go a bow length. He had stopped behind a dense cluster of bushes close to the edge of the timber, when he was startled by the sound of voices within several bow lengths of him. He believed he had encountered the sentinels. Scarcely daring to breathe, he pressed his body against the plain and listened. The words of the speakers came distinctly to his ears. He failed to recognize them. They were not the words of the Pawnees. They did not sound like the words of the Crows. The dialect seemed strange and unfamiliar. For some moments White Otter was confused. He wondered if his ears were deceiving him. Then he suddenly identified the peculiar accent. Several years before he had heard it in the Kiowa camp. The mystery was solved. The people in the grove were Kiowas.

Having learned the identity of his foes, White Otter was equally eager to know if it was a war party or only a company of hunters. He saw little chance of gaining the information. Unable to see the warriors or to understand their words, there seemed no way to guess the intentions of the Kiowas. In the meantime the night was slipping by. Daylight was not far off. White Otter knew that it would be perilous to loiter. Nevertheless he waited, each moment hoping to hear something which might tell him whether the Kiowas were out for peace or war. At last he was rewarded. He heard sounds in the timber which convinced him that the Kiowas were dancing, and singing their war songs. The scouts at the edge of the grove had joined in the chant, and White Otter seized the opportunity to retreat.

Raising himself from the ground, he crawled slowly backward until he had gone a bow length. Then he stopped to listen. The sounds still came from the grove, but he heard nothing from the sentinels. Their silence aroused his fears. Alarming possibilities suggested themselves. Were the Kiowa sentinels listening? Had he betrayed himself? He sank to the plain and waited. The moments seemed endless. The uncertainty tried his courage. He was tempted to spring to his feet, and dash wildly across the plain. He realized that the Kiowas would soon overtake him. Then he heard the sentinels talking and making their way into the grove. They had abandoned their vigil. His heart filled with joy. He had accomplished his mission. The way was open. He was free to go.

The eastern sky was already turning gray when White Otter finally approached the spot where he had left Sun Bird and Little Raven. He stopped and imitated the bark of the little gray fox. Three times he gave the signal. Then he listened for an answer. A familiar voice sounded softly through the darkness.

"The way is clear," said Sun Bird.

A moment afterward White Otter joined him at the top of the ravine. They descended into the gully to join Little Raven.

"Well, my brothers, I have found out about those people," White Otter told his companions. "They are Kiowas. I believe it is a war party."

"How did you find out about it?" inquired Little Raven.

"I went ahead until I got close to those trees," said White Otter. "Then I crawled up behind some bushes. Then I heard some one talking. I did not know the words. Pretty soon I found out about it. It sounded like the Kiowas. I waited a long time. Then I heard those people dancing and singing. Then I said: 'It is a war party.' That is all I know about it."

"Well, pretty soon it will be light," Sun Bird told him. "Then we will find out what the Kiowas propose to do."

"Yes, we must watch them until we know where they are going," said White Otter.




Chapter IV

Trailing A War Party


At daylight the Sioux peered anxiously toward the grove. It was some time before the little cluster of trees emerged from the shadows. At that moment the Kiowas appeared.

"See, there are our enemies," said Sun Bird.

"Watch sharp," White Otter cautioned him.

Although the Kiowas were too far away to be counted, the Sioux saw at once that it was a large company. They felt sure it was a war party. The Kiowas had turned toward the north. White Otter watched them with considerable uneasiness.

"It is bad," he said. "There are many warriors. They are riding toward the lodges of my people. We must follow them."

"Yes, yes, we will follow them," declared Sun Bird.

They watched closely as the Kiowas rode slowly across the plain. They were a long distance to the westward of the ravine, and were moving directly toward the north. As they drew nearer, the Sioux began to count them. There were sixty horsemen in the company. They made an imposing spectacle as they rode along in pairs. Even at the distance the Sioux noted that some of the warriors in the lead wore great war bonnets, and they knew that those men were chiefs and war leaders. Then several riders left the column and galloped away in advance of the company.

"The scouts are going ahead to watch for enemies," said Sun Bird.

"Hi, they are coming this way," cried White Otter.

Two riders had turned toward the east, and were riding toward the ravine. They were some distance to the southward of the Sioux, but the latter were greatly alarmed. They felt quite certain that the crafty scouts would follow along the top of the ravine to make sure that it was free of foes. The Sioux were in despair. They feared that they had run into a trap. There seemed to be no way of escape. Discovery seemed certain.

"They will find us!" cried Sun Bird.

White Otter watched the horsemen in thoughtful silence. He was searching his brain for a way out of the predicament. The scouts had covered three-quarters of the distance to the ravine. Delay was perilous. Roused by the thought, White Otter suddenly determined to race away in full sight of his foes.

"Come," he cried, as he scrambled wildly into the ravine.

"The Kiowas are coming!" Sun Bird told Little Raven.

"Jump on your ponies and follow me," shouted White Otter.

They rode boldly out upon the plain, and turned toward the east. Glancing back they saw that the Kiowas had stopped at sight of them. The scouts made no effort to follow.

"It is good," cried White Otter. "The Kiowas do not know what to do. We will fool them."

Convinced that their foes had no intention of pursuing them, the Sioux slackened the speed of their ponies. Then, when they had gone a safe distance, they turned to watch the perplexed Kiowas. The latter were gathered in a close group, and appeared to be holding a council.

"Well, we are far enough away, now we will wait here and see what those people propose to do," said White Otter.

"Do you believe they know who we are?" Little Raven asked him.

"No," replied White Otter.

A moment afterward the Kiowas resumed their advance toward the north. The scouts had joined their comrades. White Otter was perplexed. He had expected the war party to turn in another direction. If the Kiowas really were bound for the Ogalala camp he believed they would attempt to conceal their intentions. The fact that they continued boldly on their way aroused his suspicions.

"I do not know what to make of it," he told his companions. "If those people are going to my village, I believe they will turn around to fool us."

"I do not believe they know who we are," said Sun Bird. "Perhaps they took us for Pawnees or Cheyennes. Perhaps they do not believe we will follow them."

"Yes, yes, I see that what you say is true," White Otter replied, hopefully. "They do not know who we are. I believe they take us for Cheyenne hunters. It is good. If they keep going ahead, we will circle around and get ahead of them. Then we will go to tell my people. When the Kiowas come to fight us, we will be waiting for them."

The Kiowas had urged their ponies into a canter. The scouts were riding toward the ravine. The Sioux watched curiously. They wondered if the Kiowas intended to ignore them.

"It is mysterious," White Otter declared, suspiciously. "My brothers, I believe those people are trying to fool us. We must be sharp."

The scouts turned and rode along the top of the ravine, and the war party continued toward the north. Sun Bird and Little Raven waited for White Otter to announce his plans. The latter, however, remained silent. He seemed bewildered by the unusual behavior of the Kiowas. He was watching the two scouts. They glanced back at frequent intervals to make sure that the Sioux were not following them. Otherwise they showed little interest.

"It is mysterious," White Otter said, again. "I do not know what to make of it. Come, Sun Bird, tell me how you feel about it."

"The Kiowas are going toward your village -- it looks bad," Sun Bird told him.

"We must follow them," said White Otter. "Come, we will try to fool them."

He rode away toward the east. The two Minneconjoux asked no questions. They looked upon him as the leader, and they were content to rely upon his judgment. As they cantered across the plain they glanced back at the Kiowas. The two scouts had stopped, and appeared to be looking after them.

"Those scouts are watching us," said Little Raven.

"It is good," laughed White Otter. "We will fool them. Come, ride faster."

They galloped the ponies. Then, as they again looked back, they saw that the war party, too, had stopped, far away to the westward. White Otter laughed gleefully. He turned to the southward, toward the ridge which they had left the day before. His companions believed that he was planning some wily stratagem to deceive his foes.

"Keep watching," cautioned White Otter. "Perhaps those scouts will follow us."

The Kiowas, however, showed no intention of riding after them. One of the scouts was racing toward the war party. The Sioux believed he had gone for instructions. They kept looking back to see what he would do after he had talked with his companions.

"See, see, he is riding back to that gully," cried Little Raven. "Perhaps they are going to follow us."

"No, I do not believe it," said Sun Bird.

The war party was moving on toward the north. A few moments afterward the scout rejoined his companion. Then they, too, rode northward along the top of the ravine. It was apparent that the Kiowas had decided to pay no further attention to the Sioux.

"The Kiowas are sly," declared White Otter. "I cannot tell what they propose to do. Perhaps they are going to the lodges of my people. Perhaps they are trying to fool us. We must follow them and find out about it."

When the Sioux finally reached the ridge, the Kiowas had already disappeared into a dip of the plain. Once over the ridge, White Otter and Sun Bird left their ponies with Little Raven, and climbed the slope to watch. They had little doubt that the crafty Kiowa scouts were similarly employed far away to the northward.

"Now I will tell you why I came here," said White Otter. "I do not believe the Kiowas know who we are. I believe they take us for scouts. Perhaps they take us for Cheyennes. The Cheyenne village is behind us. I came this way to make them believe we were going there. When those scouts do not see us, they will believe we have gone away. Then they will go ahead. We will follow them."

"It is good," Sun Bird told him.

They had not watched long, however, before White Otter became impatient. He realized that he was wasting valuable time. He wondered if he had blundered. If the Kiowas really intended to go to the Ogalala camp, he feared that he had given them a big advantage. They were a long distance ahead of him, and he knew that it would be necessary to ride hard to beat them to the goal. The thought shook his confidence. He began to doubt the wisdom of his maneuver. Each moment added to his uncertainty. He studied the plain for a way to follow the war party without being seen. The ridge offered the only opportunity. It extended a considerable distance toward the north, and by riding along the east side of it he believed he might again come in sight of his foes.

"Come, Sun Bird, we will ride along behind this hill, and try to follow the Kiowas," he said.

Then Little Raven called, and when they turned they saw him pointing excitedly toward the north. Looking across the plain, they discovered a riderless pony running toward the west.

"Bring up the ponies! Bring up the ponies!" White Otter called, in alarm.

They hurried down the ridge and met Little Raven. Then they sprang upon the ponies, and galloped over the ridge. Once over the top, they ran back to watch, while Little Raven took charge of the ponies. Two horsemen had already appeared in pursuit of the runaway pony. The Sioux realized that they had barely escaped discovery.

"They did not see us," declared Sun Bird.

"It is good," said White Otter.

They watched the race with great interest. The riders soon overtook the pony. Then they turned about and cantered away toward the east. The Sioux looked inquiringly at one another. Who were the strange riders? Where had they come from? Was another war party in the vicinity? The alarming questions flashed through their minds. They were puzzled.

"I believe it is the Kiowas," White Otter declared, finally. "I believe they have turned toward The-place-where-the-day-begins."

"Then they must be trying to fool us," said Sun Bird.

"I do not know what they are trying to do," White Otter replied, suspiciously.

In the meantime the distant horsemen had disappeared, and the plain seemed free of foes. The Sioux looked toward the east. They examined the tops of the knolls and ridges, and watched closely for dust, but saw nothing to convince them that the war party had gone in that direction.

"This thing is mysterious," said Sun Bird.

They realized that they were in an awkward predicament. They knew that if scouts were loitering in the vicinity of the spot where they had last seen the Kiowa war party it would be perilous to remain on the western side of the ridge. Still, if they crossed the ridge and attempted to advance along the other side they feared they would be discovered by scouts watching somewhere on that side of the plain. For some moments they were undecided as to just what to do.

"My brothers, I will tell you how I feel about this thing," Sun Bird said, suddenly. "If the Kiowas have turned toward The-place-where-the-day-begins, I do not believe they are going to the lodges of our people. If that is true, it would be foolish to follow them. I believe there are many enemies in this country. We must not stay here. Come, we will ride around and find out if the buffaloes have come into this place. Then we will go back to our people."

"Sun Bird, before we go away we must find out about this thing," White Otter told him. "Perhaps it is true that the Kiowas are not going to the lodges of my people. We are not sure about it. Perhaps they know who we are. Perhaps they turned around to fool us. Perhaps if we do not follow them they will circle around and come to the lodges of my people. My brothers, we must find out where those Kiowas are going."

"How can we do that?" inquired Little Raven. "A war party leaves scouts behind. If we try to follow the Kiowas before it gets dark those scouts will see us. If we wait until it gets dark the Kiowas will be too far away."

"Listen sharp, my brothers, and I will tell you how I propose to do this thing," said White Otter. "It would be foolish to follow along this hill. If we do that the Kiowas will see us. We will do something different. We will cross over this hill, and ride away toward The-place-where-the-day-begins. If the Kiowas are watching they will say, 'Hi, those scouts were hiding behind that hill. Now they believe we have gone away. See, they are going to tell their people about it. They are riding toward the Cheyenne camp. They must be Cheyennes.' We will keep going toward the Cheyenne lodges. Then we will circle around, and try to find the Kiowas. If we do not find them over there, we will know that they have gone to fight my people."

"It is good," agreed Sun Bird.

"We will go," said White Otter.

They crossed the ridge, and rode boldly away toward the southeast, in the direction of the Cheyenne camp. They had little doubt that sharp-eyed Kiowa scouts were watching them. They glanced back many times, but saw nothing to confirm their suspicions.

Toward the end of the day they came in sight of another little grove of cottonwoods. They circled about it many times before they finally ventured within arrow-range. The grove was unoccupied, and contained a tiny pool. They killed several sage grouse in the timber.

"It is good," said White Otter. "We will stay here until the sun goes away. Then we will circle around and try to find the Kiowas."

At the end of the day they left the grove and rode off toward the north, hoping to cross the trail of the war party. Twilight had already fallen upon the plain when they finally found the fresh tracks of many ponies. The trail led toward the east. The Sioux felt sure that it had been made by the Kiowas.

"Now we know that your people are safe," declared Sun Bird.

"Yes, I believe it is true," replied White Otter.

He was gazing thoughtfully across the plain. A new possibility had suddenly suggested itself. He felt certain that he had guessed the destination of his foes. He turned eagerly to his companions.

"Now I know about this thing," he told them, excitedly. "I believe those Kiowas are going to fight the Cheyennes. Yes, now I see how it is. They took us for Cheyennes. They tried to fool us. When we went away they circled around and came over here. Yes, yes, those Kiowas are going to fight the Cheyennes."

"I believe it is true," said Sun Bird. "Now we know about it. Well, we will not follow them. We will go back and look for buffaloes."

White Otter was silent. His friends saw that he was thinking about something. They waited for him to speak.

"The Cheyennes are our friends," he said at last. "Once we went with them to fight the Pawnees. Once we went with them to fight the Kiowas. We took away some good ponies in that fight. The Cheyennes are very brave. Red Dog, their chief, is our friend. My brothers, I am thinking about these things."

"How do you feel about it?" inquired Sun Bird.

"I will tell you," said White Otter. "We are Dacotahs. The brave Cheyennes are our friends. The boastful Kiowas are our enemies. A Dacotah helps his friends and fights his enemies. I am going to tell the Cheyennes about the Kiowas."

"It is good," declared Sun Bird.

"Hi, we will go to the village of our brothers the Cheyennes, and help them fight the Kiowas," Little Raven cried, enthusiastically.




Chapter V

Off To Warn The Cheyennes


Having resolved to carry a warning to their friends, the Cheyennes, the Sioux abandoned their peaceful hunting expedition, and prepared for war. The idea filled them with enthusiasm. The Kiowas were old foes who stole Sioux ponies and killed Sioux hunters at every opportunity, and the three young scouts were ready and eager to make war upon them. It was not the first time they had maneuvered against the Kiowas, and they had learned from experience that the latter were brave and crafty foes.

"White Otter, you are a great war chief, you must be the leader," declared Sun Bird.

"Yes, White Otter, you are the leader," agreed Little Raven. "Tell us what you propose to do."

"We must get to the Cheyenne village ahead of the Kiowas," White Otter told them. "We will not follow them. We will circle back toward the Cheyenne lodges. Come, we must go."

They turned about and rode in the direction of the Cheyenne camp. It was a day's journey distant, and they realized that to beat the Kiowas they must reach the village before the next sunrise. The day was almost gone, and the light was fading from the plain. Aware that it would be necessary to ride continuously through the night, they held the ponies to an easy canter. As they rode they kept a sharp watch to the eastward where the heavy night shadows were already forming. They were fearful that the Kiowas might have discovered them. In that event they felt sure that those crafty foes would endeavor to intercept them before they reached the Cheyennes.

"There is a hill over there," White Otter said, suspiciously. "It is bad. Perhaps the Kiowas are riding along behind it."

They looked anxiously into the east, but the ridge had vanished into the dusk. They wondered if grim Kiowa warriors were racing along behind the barrier. The idea troubled them. They rode faster. The approach of darkness, however, gave them confidence. They believed it would be possible to elude their foes under cover of the night.

When they finally turned toward the east the plain was dark. They rode more cautiously. It was not long before they heard sounds which made them suspicious. A wolf howled somewhere ahead of them. They immediately stopped to listen. They heard it a second time, but it seemed perfectly natural.

"It sounds like Ma-ya-sh," said Little Raven.

"I believe it is a Kiowa," White Otter told him. "We must watch out."

They turned from their course, and rode on at a walk. Before they had gone an arrow flight, they heard the cry of the wolf a short distance north of them. They wondered if the scout who had called before had circled to search for them.

"No, I believe it is some one different," whispered White Otter. "It did not sound the same."

"Your ears are sharp," said Sun Bird.

A moment afterward a pony whinnied shrilly. Little Raven's pony replied. They stopped in alarm. It was apparent that the Kiowas were on all sides of them. They feared that the pony had betrayed them. They were at a loss to know just what to do.

"Listen," cautioned White Otter.

They waited anxiously to hear the hoofbeats of advancing ponies. The plain was still. They wondered if the Kiowas, too, had stopped to listen. The possibility made them cautious. They feared to ride away before they located their foes. They believed that if the Kiowas heard them they might close in and make it impossible to escape. Their only chance seemed to be to withdraw quietly, and slip away in the darkness.

"It is bad," White Otter whispered. "Perhaps some of the Kiowas will try to keep us here until their friends ride to the Cheyenne camp."

"Yes, yes, I believe it is what they are trying to do," declared Sun Bird.

The thought aroused them. They realized that each moment of delay lessened the chance of arriving at the Cheyenne village in time to warn their friends. They feared that the war party was racing wildly through the night in an effort to beat them to the goal.

"We must go ahead," said White Otter.

They rode cautiously toward the east. When they had gone several arrow flights without encountering their foes they became bolder. They urged the ponies to a canter. A moment later a piercing yell rose behind them. It was answered on both sides of them. They heard the hoofbeats of galloping ponies.

"Keep going! Keep going!" cried White Otter.

Aware that further caution would be useless, they lashed the ponies to top speed, and began a wild race across the plain. They heard the Kiowas thundering after them. They were whooping savagely, and the Sioux learned that they were on three sides of them. The front appeared to be open. Then White Otter suddenly suspected a trap.

"Watch out for the hill!" he cried, warningly.

They feared that other Kiowas were waiting for them on top of the ridge. There seemed to be no way to avoid them. With foes on both sides of them, they were forced to ride ahead. Ready to fight those who might attempt to bar the way, they stared anxiously into the night for a sight of the low, black barrier that threatened them with disaster. It soon loomed up through the darkness. They drew their bows and prepared to fight. Then, when they had almost reached the base of the ridge, White Otter attempted a bold bit of stratagem to outwit his foes.

"Stop! Stop!" he cried.

They threw the ponies upon their haunches. Then they listened. The Kiowas rushed past them. White Otter saw his opportunity. There was not a moment to spare.

"Come!" he shouted, as he rode wildly toward the south.

The trick had been successful. The Kiowas rode part way up the ridge before they discovered that they had passed their foes. Then they dashed recklessly down the slope, and stopped for an instant to learn which way the Sioux had gone.

"Follow me," cried White Otter.

When they had gone a bowshot, the Sioux turned up the ridge and swept over the summit before the Kiowas who were waiting to intercept them learned what had happened. They reached the level plain and were a full bowshot away when they heard the Kiowas riding furiously down the ridge in pursuit of them.

"Ride faster!" shouted White Otter.

They forced the ponies to the utmost in an effort to get beyond hearing of their foes. The Kiowas had become quiet. Even the sounds from their ponies had died away. The Sioux felt encouraged. They believed they had ridden beyond earshot of their pursuers. Still they kept the ponies to the exhausting pace, for they determined to make the most of their advantage.

"We have fooled them -- it is good," laughed White Otter. "They cannot hear us. They do not know which way to go."

"White Otter, you are as sharp as To-ka-la, the fox," Sun Bird told him.

"Yes, yes, you were too sharp for the Kiowas," declared Little Raven.

"Well, my brothers, we must not feel too big about this thing," White Otter cautioned them. "The war party is ahead of us. We must watch out."

He had barely ceased speaking when they heard the wolf cry rising through the night. It sounded far behind them. Three times it echoed across the plain. They knew at once that it was a signal.

"The scouts are telling their friends about us," said White Otter.

They listened for an answer. They hoped it would give them a clew to the whereabouts of the war party. There was no reply. It was evident that the main company of Kiowas were either beyond hearing or too cautious to betray themselves. The first possibility gave the Sioux considerable concern. If the war party was beyond hearing, they realized that it was far in advance of them. They wondered if their ponies were equal to the task of overtaking their foes.

"We must go faster," White Otter said, impatiently.

The ponies were running at speed which few ponies in the Dacotah nation could equal, and the Sioux believed that if they could maintain the pace they would eventually overtake and pass the Kiowas. The gallant little beasts showed no signs of weakening, and the riders made no effort to spare them. White Otter rode a fiery little piebald which had been presented to him by Curly Horse, the war chief of the Minneconjoux Sioux. It had proved its powers on an expedition against the Blackfeet the year previous, when it outran the famous black war pony of the Blackfeet chief. Many Buffaloes. White Otter had little fear that it would fail him in the present emergency. Sun Bird rode a wiry little roan, that had proved a worthy competitor of the piebald. Little Raven was mounted upon a wild-eyed pinto, which White Otter had presented to him several years before. It, too, was famous for speed and endurance.

Convinced that there was slight danger of being overtaken by the scouts, the Sioux fixed their thoughts upon the war party. The wolf calls still came from the west, but there was no response from the east. White Otter wondered if the main force of Kiowas really were as far away as they appeared to be.

"Perhaps they are watching for us," suggested Sun Bird. "Perhaps they are keeping quiet so that we will not know where they are."

"It may be true," said White Otter.

They had little doubt that the Kiowas would make every effort to prevent them from carrying a warning to the Cheyenne camp. White Otter believed that the war party planned to approach the village under cover of the night, and make a sudden attack at daylight.

"We will tell the Cheyennes about it," he said. "They will be ready when the Kiowas come to fight them."

The Sioux were still a long distance from their goal, however, and they feared to become too confident. Two disturbing possibilities confronted them. One was that they might eventually encounter the war party. The other was that the courageous little ponies might suddenly collapse with exhaustion. The latter thought caused them the most anxiety. They decided to ride at an easier pace. Then White Otter resolved to turn more to the southward in the hope of passing the Kiowas. He also believed that it would offer a shorter and more direct route to the Cheyenne camp.

The signals from the west had ceased, and the Sioux wondered if the scouts had abandoned hope of getting into communication with the war party. Then the hateful call suddenly sounded across the plain. It seemed considerably nearer. They were perplexed. Had the Kiowas actually gained upon them? It seemed unlikely.

"Perhaps we have passed the war party," said Sun Bird.

"It is mysterious," declared White Otter. "I believe we are running into danger."

They stopped for a moment to listen. The ponies had barely come to a standstill when they heard another signal directly ahead of them. It was so distinct and close at hand that it startled them. The one who had made it seemed to be within arrow range. The Sioux believed that they had overtaken the war party. The thought roused them. They wondered if the Kiowas had discovered them. They heard a horse cantering across the plain. It was somewhere on their right. It passed, and they felt relieved. Then they heard voices. The speakers were within bow range. The rider was moving toward them. The voices ceased as the pony drew near. Then the Sioux heard a low, cautious challenge pass between the scouts. A moment afterward they resumed their talk. The rider had joined his friends.

"The Kiowas have left scouts behind to watch," White Otter whispered. "Pretty soon those other scouts will come. We must get away."

Then several of the Kiowa ponies called, and the Sioux rode away at a furious pace. The Kiowas instantly raised the alarm, and raced after them. White Otter heard an arrow pass over his head.

"Keep low on your ponies!" he cried. "The Kiowas are shooting their arrows."

The Sioux ponies soon carried their riders beyond danger, and then White Otter veered sharply in his course and threw the Kiowas from the trail. Although there seemed to have been a number of riders, the Sioux believed that they were scouts, and that the war party was still riding toward the Cheyenne camp.

"They will not catch us again," laughed White Otter, as he turned still farther to the southward.




Chapter VI

A Perilous Mission


Daylight was close at hand when the Sioux suddenly heard the dogs barking furiously in the Cheyenne village. The sounds filled them with alarm. Had they arrived too late to warn the Cheyennes? Had the Kiowas beaten them to the goal? Had the fight begun? The possibilities tried their courage. Lashing their exhausted ponies into a final, heart-breaking sprint they raced recklessly toward the camp.

As they came within bowshot of the village they heard a company of horsemen riding to meet them. They drew in the ponies, and listened in trying suspense. Had they encountered friends or foes? They determined to take no chances. Drawing their bows, they waited for the riders to approach. They had stopped. They, too, were suspicious and cautious.

"Ho, Cheyennes, we are Dacotahs," cried White Otter. "We have come to help you."

They heard the murmur of voices. A pony called. Then all was still. The Sioux waited impatiently. Many moments passed. They became suspicious.

"I believe it is the Kiowas," said Sun Bird.

As he spoke a voice sounded from the darkness. It addressed them in the Sioux dialect.

"Ho, Dacotahs, tell us who you are," it said.

"Watch out, perhaps the Kiowas are trying to catch us," said Sun Bird.

"I am White Otter; ask your chief Red Dog about me," White Otter called out.

"Ho, my brother, we will come to meet you," said the stranger.

"Wait," cried White Otter. "First tell me who you are."

"I am Painted Weasel -- do you know me?"

"Yes, I know you," said White Otter.

The Sioux advanced and found a small company of Cheyennes waiting a short distance from the village. Painted Weasel was an old friend whom the Sioux greeted warmly. They found a number of other acquaintances in the company that had ridden out to intercept them. Painted Weasel, however, was the only one who spoke their words.

"Your ponies have run fast," said Painted Weasel. "Has anything bad happened to you?"

"My brother, the Kiowas are coming to fight you," White Otter told him. "We found out about it, and came here to tell you. They are close by. There is little time. Ride to the camp and call your warriors."

Painted Weasel addressed his companions. When he finished speaking, three Cheyennes rode silently into the night. The Sioux knew that they had gone to watch for the Kiowas.

"Come," said Painted Weasel.

When they arrived at the camp they were met by Red Dog, the Cheyenne war chief, an old friend and ally whom White Otter and Sun Bird had saved from death at the hands of the Pawnees.

"Ho, my brothers, you have come to our lodges -- it is good," cried Red Dog.

"No, Red Dog, it is bad," White Otter told him. "We came here to tell you that the Kiowas are coming to fight you. They are close by. You must get ready."

When Red Dog repeated the warning to his tribesmen, they were thrown into a frenzy of excitement. In a few few moments the camp was in an uproar. All was confusion, as the alarmed Cheyennes ran through the village calling the people from the lodges. Then Red Dog took command, and restored order.

"Light the fires!" he cried. "Drive in the ponies."

The women and boys brought fuel for the fires. A company of young men rode out on the plain to drive in the ponies. The warriors gathered eagerly about their chief. The Sioux noted that the Cheyennes were few in numbers.

"It is bad," Red Dog told White Otter. "Many of our warriors have gone to hunt buffaloes. There are few of us here. It will be hard to hold off the Kiowas."

"We will help you," said White Otter.

"It is good," replied Red Dog. "I have seen you do big things. My people will feel strong because you are here."

Fires had been lighted to prevent the Kiowas from entering the camp under cover of the darkness. Soon afterward the young men drove in the ponies. They were driven into a stout corral. Then the warriors stationed themselves along the edge of the village to watch for the Kiowas. The Sioux joined Red Dog. The latter was a cripple, having had both legs broken at the time the Sioux saved him from the Pawnees.

"See, it is getting light," White Otter said, hopefully. "I believe the Kiowas will hold back. Perhaps they know that we have told you about them."

"Do they know who you are?" inquired Red Dog.

"No," replied White Otter. "I believe they took us for your people."

"It is good," declared Red Dog.

As darkness finally passed, and dawn lighted the plain, the little company of Cheyennes looked anxiously toward the west. The Kiowas, however, failed to appear. The Cheyennes felt more hopeful. They believed there was less chance of the Kiowas attacking the camp in daylight.

"If they do not know that our people are away, they will be cautious," said Red Dog. "Perhaps they were coming here to run off ponies."

"Yes, I believe that is what they proposed to do," White Otter told him.

Soon afterward they saw three of the Cheyenne scouts riding toward the camp. When they arrived, the warriors crowded about them to learn what they had discovered. They said that they had heard nothing of the Kiowas during the night, but at daylight they had discovered what appeared to be a wolf, at the top of a ravine some distance to the westward. The actions of the wolf had convinced them that it was a disguised scout, and they believed the war party was hiding in the ravine. Two of the Cheyenne scouts had remained out on the plain to watch.

"Yes, I believe that wolf was a Kiowa," White Otter told Red Dog. "That is how they tried to fool us, but we were too sharp."

"I do not believe they will come here while it is light," said Red Dog. "Thunder Hawk and Running Buffalo are watching. They are sharp. The Kiowas will not get past them."

Convinced that there was no immediate danger of an attack, the Cheyennes relaxed their vigilance. Red Dog appointed some of the older boys to watch along the edge of the camp, while the warriors assembled in council to discuss plans for defending the village.

"My brothers, the Kiowas are close by," said Red Dog. "Our brothers, the Sioux, have told us about them. It was a big thing to do. If these brave Sioux had not come here, perhaps the Kiowas would have run off many ponies. Now we know about it. The Kiowas are strong. There are few of us. It will be hard to keep them out of the camp. We must send scouts to bring back the hunters. Then we must make a big fight until our people come."

"Red Dog, give us fresh ponies, and we will go to find your brothers," White Otter told him.

"It is good," said Red Dog. "Cheyennes, the Sioux are our friends. They are going to bring back the hunters. They are great scouts. The Kiowas cannot fool them. Come, my brothers, lead out three of my best war ponies for these brave Sioux."

Three of the best ponies in the Cheyenne tribe were brought for White Otter and his companions. When they mounted them and prepared to ride away, an old man came forward and signaled that he wished to speak to them.

"It is Ghost Bear, he is a great Medicine Person," Red Dog told them.

"Young men, I have some words for you," he said in the Sioux tongue. "You came here to help us. You are our friends. I know about you. You are brave. You are going into great danger. You are going into the country of our enemies, the Pawnees. I do not wish anything bad to happen to you. That is why I am going to help you. But first tell me who is the leader."

"My brother, White Otter, is the leader," Sun Bird told him. "He is a great war chief of the Ogalalas. He has done many big things."

"Yes, yes, I know that White Otter is a great chief," said Ghost Bear. "I know that he saved the life of Red Dog. I know that he went with our people to fight the Kiowas. Now, White Otter, I am going to give you something to keep you safe. You must wear this mysterious Medicine Bag about your neck. It will make you strong and keep you from harm. It will give you power to overcome your enemies."

He advanced to White Otter and gave him a small buckskin bag. White Otter fastened it about his neck. The superstitious young Ogalala felt certain that it contained some mysterious Medicine Token which would guard him against misfortune.

"Ghost Bear, I see that you are a great Medicine Person," he said. "You have given me this mysterious Medicine Thing. I will keep it. I believe it will make me strong."

"My brothers, you are about to ride away, perhaps the Kiowas will try to catch you," said Red Dog. "I do not believe they will be able to come up with those ponies. We will keep watching. If the Kiowas go after you, we will ride out and drive them back."

"No, my brother, that would be foolish," White Otter told him. "Ghost Bear has given me this great Medicine Thing. I see that these ponies are fast. The Kiowas cannot harm us. You must keep watching. The Kiowas are sharp. Pretty soon we will bring back your brothers. Then we will ride out and chase away the Kiowas. We will take many ponies. Now we are going away. Be brave, my friends."

Then the three Sioux scouts rode away toward the south. The Cheyennes stood at the edge of the camp and looked after them. They kept a sharp watch to the westward. There was no sign of their foes. They wondered if the Kiowas had discovered the three horsemen.

"I do not believe the Kiowas will follow them," Red Dog said, hopefully.

They continued to watch until the Sioux were far away. Then they felt less anxious. Having gained a big lead, they believed the Sioux would have little difficulty in keeping ahead of their foes. Then they suddenly discovered something which filled them with gloomy forebodings of evil. A golden eagle, the war bird, had appeared in the sky. It was circling directly over the camp. The Cheyennes watched it with superstitious fear.

"It is bad," cried old Ghost Bear, the Medicine Man. "It means war."

"Look, look, the great war bird is flying toward the place where the Kiowas are hiding," cried the Cheyennes.

"It is a bad sign," the old men declared, solemnly.

"My brothers, we must get ready to fight," said Ghost Bear. "The war bird has warned us. I believe the Kiowas will come to the village."




Chapter VII

Red Dog's Stratagem


Shortly after the Sioux had disappeared, the Cheyennes discovered what appeared to be smoke, far away to the westward. They watched for some time before they became convinced that it was not a cloud. Then as they finally agreed that it was smoke, they felt sure that it was a signal from the Kiowa war party.

"It is bad," said Red Dog. "I believe the Kiowas are waiting for more warriors. They are sending up that smoke to tell them where they are."

"It must be so," declared Painted Weasel, a famous scout.

The possibility filled the Cheyennes with gloom. Already outnumbered by the war party in the distant ravine, they realized that there was little chance of holding the village against a still stronger force of foes. For a moment they gave way to despair. Some of them proposed to abandon the camp, and seek safety in flight.

"No, no, that would be useless," Red Dog cried fiercely. "Look about you. Do you see the old people and the women and children? Well, my brothers, think about it. They cannot travel fast. If we try to get away, the Kiowas will soon come up with us. Then most of us will be killed. We must stay here and fight. We are Cheyennes. Does a Cheyenne throw away his women and children to save himself? I am your chief. I will stay here and fight back the Kiowas until our brothers come to help us."

The words of Red Dog roused the fighting blood of his warriors. They replied with a ringing war cry that echoed threateningly across the plain, and carried a bold challenge to their foes. The courage of their chief gave them confidence, and they were eager to meet the Kiowas. Some of the old men ran for the war drums. Then the warriors gathered in the center of the camp, and began to dance and sing their boastful war songs.

"It is good," cried Red Dog. "I see that you are ready to fight. If the Kiowas come to the village we will kill them and take away their ponies."

Once begun, the war ceremonies were continued far into the day. Then they were suddenly brought to an end by the appearance of one of the scouts who was racing toward the camp. When he came nearer they recognized him as White Horse, a noted warrior. As he rode his sweating pony into the village, the Cheyennes gathered eagerly about him to learn what he had seen.

"It is bad," White Horse told them. "Many more Kiowas have gone into that gully."

"Come, get off your pony and tell us about it," said Red Dog.

"Well, my brothers, I was watching with Running Buffalo and Thunder Hawk," said White Horse. "For a long time we did not see anything. Then we saw some smoke. It was far away. Pretty soon it stopped. Then we saw some smoke coming out of that gully. Then we said, 'Some more Kiowas are coming. They are over there where we saw that first smoke. They are trying to find the war party.' Then we watched close. Pretty soon we saw a scout crawl out of that gully. He looked all around. He could not see us. Then he looked toward that place where the smoke was. He looked a long time. Pretty soon we saw some one on a pony over there. Then the man who came out of the gully began to wave a robe. Then the man on the pony began to ride around. Running Buffalo said, 'Those Kiowas are talking to one another.' We kept watching. Pretty soon we saw many riders coming out of the place where the smoke was. They were riding toward that gully. Then some more Kiowas came out of the gully to watch. They were waving their arms. The riders came faster. Then they all went into that gully. My brothers, it is a great war party. I believe they will come to the village when it gets dark. Now I have told you about it."

The Cheyennes remained silent for some moments after White Horse had ceased speaking. His words had confirmed the significance of the distant smoke signal. They believed that the odds against them had doubled. The thought sobered them. They felt little inclination to talk. At last, however, old Ghost Bear rose to address them.

"My friends, White Horse has brought bad words," he told them. "He says that many Kiowas are hiding over there in that gully. What I told you about the great war bird has come true. I believe we will have a big fight. Well, we are Cheyennes. We have fought the boastful Kiowas many times. We have killed many of their warriors. We have run off many of their ponies. Pretty soon I am going to burn some sweet grass, and sing the Medicine Songs. Then I am going to talk to the Above People. I am going to ask them to help us. They will make us strong. Cheyennes, you must be brave. I believe we will hold off the Kiowas until our brothers come. I have finished."

A few moments later Red Dog spoke. The Cheyennes turned to him with eager attention. He was a great war leader, the son of their beloved chief, War Eagle, who had been killed in a disastrous battle with the Pawnees, and they looked upon him with respect and admiration. They believed that he might find a way to overcome the advantage of the Kiowas, and save the camp.

"My people, Ghost Bear has given you good words," said Red Dog. "I believe what he says is true. I believe the Kiowas propose to fight us. I am not thinking about that. I am thinking about the old people and the women and children. We must try to get them away before the Kiowas come.

"Now, my brothers, listen sharp. I will tell you what I propose to do. We will keep watching until its gets dark. I do not believe the Kiowas will come while it is light. When it begins to get dark we will send the old people and the women and children away. Some of you must go with them. You must ride far over toward the Place-where-the-day-begins. Then you must circle around and go toward the lodges of our brothers, the Ogalalas. You must send a scout ahead to tell the Ogalalas about it. They will come to help you.

"After the women and children have gone away, the rest of us will get ready to fight the Kiowas. We will try hard to keep them out of the camp. Perhaps we will be wiped away. I cannot tell about that. We are Cheyennes. A Cheyenne is not afraid to die."

The Cheyennes immediately approved the plan of Red Dog. They believed it offered the only chance of saving the women and children. All of the warriors, however, wished to remain at the camp with Red Dog to fight the Kiowas.

In the meantime old Ghost Bear came from the Medicine Lodge with the sacred Medicine Pipe. He called the Cheyennes to assemble in the camp. When they had formed the council circle, Ghost Bear asked a boy to bring some dry willow sticks. Then he asked a warrior to kindle a fire. As the sticks began to burn, Ghost Bear unwrapped the Medicine Pipe. Then he rose, and tossed a handful of sweet grass upon the fire. As it burned he raised his aged face toward the sky, and chanted a Medicine Song. Then he took some dried bark of the red willow from a small buckskin bag, and filled the bowl of the pipe. Having made these preparations, he turned to the Cheyennes.

"My brothers, I have called you here to take part in the great Medicine Ceremony," he told them. "I have made many smokes to the Above People. It is good. I believe they will help us. Now I am going ahead with the great Medicine Ceremony. You must watch close, and see what I do."

He drew a blazing stick from the fire, and lighted the pipe. For several moments he extended the pipe stem toward the sky, while he invited the mysterious Above People to smoke. Then he drew upon the pipe and puffed the smoke toward the sky, the earth, the east, the south, the west and the north. Having begun the ceremony, he passed the pipe to Red Dog, who puffed the smoke toward the sky. The chief passed the pipe to the warrior at his right, and thus it went round the circle, each warrior puffing smoke toward the sky and calling upon the Above People to help him.

After all had smoked, the pipe was returned to Ghost Bear, who replaced it in its wrappings. Then he began a weird, melancholy chant, while he moved slowly around the little fire, shaking a medicine rattle. The Cheyennes watched him in superstitious fascination. They believed implicitly in the strange Medicine Beings with whom old Ghost Bear claimed relationship, and they hoped that he might arouse them against the Kiowas.

When Ghost Bear finally ended the mysterious Medicine Ceremony, the Cheyennes again stationed themselves along the edge of the camp to watch the plain. The day was almost finished. The thought of darkness filled them with doubts. They believed that the night threatened them with disaster.

"Pretty soon it will be dark," they told one another, uneasily.

As the sun finally disappeared behind the western rim of the plain, they saw a horseman riding toward the camp. They watched him in great suspense. It seemed a long time before he came within bow range. Then they recognized him as Running Buffalo, one of the scouts.

"Running Buffalo is coming to tell us something about the Kiowas," they said.

"My brothers, the Kiowas are singing the war songs and making many talks," Running Buffalo told them. "I believe they will set out to fight us as soon as it gets dark. It is bad. There are many Kiowas. Yes, each of us will have to fight three Kiowas. I do not know what will become of the old people, and the women and children. I will not talk about it. My heart is heavy."

"Running Buffalo, we know that many Kiowas are over there in that place, but we are not afraid," Red Dog told him. "We are ready. We will make a big fight, and try to hold them back until our brothers come to help us. Our friends, the Sioux, have gone to bring them.

"Now listen to what I am about to say. I am going to fool the Kiowas, and let the old people and the women and children get away. I am going to send them to our friends, the brave Ogalalas. Now I will tell you what I propose to do. When it gets dark some of us will ride away toward the Place-where-the-warm-wind-blows. We will not go far. Then we will turn around, and ride back to the camp. We will make a big noise. Our brothers in the camp will make a big noise. When the Kiowas hear it they will say, 'Hi, some people have come to help the Cheyennes.' Then they will stop, and send out scouts. Well, while we are making that noise, the women and children will get away. They will go toward the Place-where-the-day-begins. Then they will circle around and ride fast toward the Ogalala lodges. Some of us will go with them. Some one will ride ahead and ask the Ogalalas to help us. If the Kiowas go that way you must tell us about it. Now you know what I propose to do. See, the light is going. Ride back there and tell your brothers about it."

"It is good," said Running Buffalo. "I will go. When the Kiowas ride toward the village we will keep ahead of them. When you hear the little gray fox barking you will know that the Kiowas are coming."

He mounted his pony and rode away into the west. The Cheyennes watched him in gloomy silence. The light was fading. The day had ended. Night was close at hand.

Then Red Dog began preparations for the defense of the camp. The boys and old men were piling brush and wood along the edge of the village, to be lighted if the Kiowas attempted to enter. Fires had already been lighted in the center of the camp. The war ponies were brought in, and securely picketed. The frightened women were packing meat for their journey into the north.

Red Dog called the warriors to the fire. It was a pitiably small company. The Cheyenne chief looked upon them with pride. They were great broad-shouldered fellows in the prime of life. Their solemn faces and serious eyes told him that they understood the peril which threatened them. Still there was no trace of fear in their hearts. They waited calmly for the words of their chief.

"My friends, the light has almost gone," Red Dog told them. "We must get ready to send away the women and children, and the old people. I will ask some of you to go out on the plain. Do not go far. Then you must turn around, and ride to the village. Call out, and sing the war songs. Make a big noise.

"Now I will call out the names of some warriors to go with the women and children. Cloud Eagle, and Two Dogs, and Walks Alone, and Hairy Robe, and Lame Bear must take these people to the Ogalalas. I will make Cloud Eagle the leader. Now you must get ready to go. When we make that big noise you must ride away."

The five warriors who had been selected to guard the women and children on the perilous journey into the north were eager to remain and fight the Kiowas. They concealed their disappointment, however, and began to round up the ponies.

"Listen, Cheyennes," old Ghost Bear cried, excitedly. "I am an old man, but I am not going away. My arms are strong. My eyes are sharp. I will stay here and help you fight the Kiowas."

Encouraged by his example, many other valiant veterans of the war trail offered their services against the Kiowas. Red Dog accepted them. He realized that in the emergency their assistance might be valuable.

"My brothers, you are very brave," he told them. "All of you have fought in many battles. If you feel like staying here to fight, I will tell you to stay. Perhaps you will kill many Kiowas."

Having made preparations for the daring stratagem by which he hoped to save the women and children, Red Dog divided his little force into two companies. He appointed Painted Weasel as leader of the company that was to ride out on the plain, while Red Dog assumed command of the warriors in the camp. Then the Cheyennes waited for darkness.

When night finally settled upon the plain, Painted Weasel and his companions mounted their ponies and rode away toward the south. At the same time Cloud Eagle assembled the women and children. Then the Cheyennes listened for the signal that would set the camp in a tumult.

"Hi, they are coming!" cried Red Dog.

The hoofbeats of galloping ponies sounded across the plain, and a moment afterward the night rang with the wild shouts of the riders. The warriors in the camp replied with the piercing Cheyenne war cry. Then a perfect bedlam of sounds rose from the village. Men shouted, dogs barked and ponies whinnied.

"Come, come, ride away!" Red Dog told Cloud Eagle.

A moment afterward the little company galloped toward the east. The hoofbeats of the ponies were smothered by the noise from the camp. When the wild tumult finally subsided, the warriors raised their voices in the war songs, and the sounds carried far across the plain. Red Dog felt certain that the noise had reached the ears of the Kiowas.

"It is good," he cried. "We have frightened the Kiowas. They will be cautious. It will be a long time before they come close. The women and children have got away."

The Cheyennes became quiet. They stood at the edge of the village, listening anxiously. The plain was silent. A great joy filled their hearts. They believed that their women and children had escaped from the Kiowas.




Chapter VIII

The Attack On The Camp


Elated at the successful escape of the women and children, the Cheyennes awaited the Kiowas with less anxiety. They stood at the edge of the village, listening for a warning from the scouts. Some of the older boys had been appointed to stand beside the piles of brush, ready to light them at the command of their chief. A small detail of warriors surrounded the corral to prevent the Kiowas from running off the ponies. The old men kept the fires blazing fiercely in the center of the camp. Everything was ready. The Cheyennes were eager to begin the fight.

"Perhaps the Kiowas are afraid to come," laughed old Ghost Bear.

"Keep watching -- they will come," Red Dog warned him.

When half of the night had passed, and they had heard nothing of the war party, some of the younger warriors began to repeat the words of Ghost Bear. The older men cautioned them against becoming too confident. They believed that the Kiowas were delaying the attack with the hope of catching them off their guard.

"The Kiowas are sharp," said Red Dog. "We must watch out or they will fool us."

Soon afterward the warriors along the southerly side of the camp called out that they had heard a signal. The bark of the little gray fox had sounded far away to the southward. The Cheyennes listened in tense silence. In a few moments the signal was repeated. They knew it had come from one of their scouts. They turned to one another in surprise. Having expected the Kiowas to approach from the west, the call in the south perplexed them.

"It is bad," said Red Dog. "The Kiowas have separated."

"Perhaps scouts went over there to find out who came to the camp," suggested Painted Weasel.

"Yes, that may be true," Red Dog replied, thoughtfully.

Then they heard another signal. It sounded from the West, and was nearer the camp. Red Dog saw his suspicions confirmed. He was confident that the Kiowas had separated into two companies.

"They are coming up on both sides of us," declared Painted Weasel.

A moment later they heard hoofbeats. A pony was racing toward them, from the west. The dogs barked furiously. The Cheyennes believed that one of the scouts was approaching, but they determined to be prepared. They drew their bows, and watched suspiciously. The pony stopped when it came within arrow range. Then they heard the familiar signal.

"Who are you?" inquired Red Dog.

"Thunder Hawk," said a voice from the darkness.

"Ride ahead," Red Dog told him.

In a few moments Thunder Hawk entered the camp. He said that the Kiowas had separated into two companies. One had ridden toward the south. The other was approaching from the west.

"Running Buffalo followed the Kiowas who rode away," said Thunder Hawk. "White Horse is watching the Kiowas who are coming toward the village. He sent me here to tell you about it."

"Did you hear us making that noise?" Red Dog asked him.

"Yes, we heard ponies running, and shouts, and then we heard the war songs," said Thunder Hawk. "After that the Kiowas rode away."

"They must be scouts," said Red Dog. "Perhaps they are trying to find out who came here."

"No, they are not scouts," declared Thunder Hawk. "There are many ponies. It is a big war party. I believe they are the warriors who came from the Place-where-the-sun-sleeps."

"Then I know about it," said Red Dog. "I believe scouts saw the ponies out there on the plain. Those riders who went away are going to circle around, and try to run off those ponies. Well, we will fool them. The ponies are here."

"Yes, yes, that is what they propose to do," the Cheyennes told one another.

While they were talking, they heard some one approaching from the south. They felt certain it was Running Buffalo. He stopped and imitated the bark of the little gray fox. Then he galloped to the camp.

"Get ready to fight!" cried Running Buffalo. "The Kiowas are coming. They are close behind me. They are trying to find the ponies."

"The ponies are here," Red Dog told him, as he pointed toward the corral.

"It is good," said Running Buffalo. "My brothers, there are many Kiowas in that war party."

"We are ready," Red Dog said, grimly.

Having learned that the Kiowas were advancing upon the camp, the Cheyennes listened anxiously for the approach of White Horse. As time passed, and he failed to arrive, they became uneasy about him. They wondered what had caused him to loiter. They feared that the Kiowas who were approaching from the south might circle about the village and trap him.

"I will go out there and find him," Thunder Hawk proposed, impulsively.

"Wait," cautioned Red Dog. "White Horse is sharp. The Kiowas will not catch him. He is waiting to find out about something. He will come."

As he finished speaking they heard the signal in the north. It filled them with alarm. Their thoughts turned to Cloud Eagle and the helpless company in his care. Had the crafty Kiowas sent scouts into the north? The Cheyennes weakened at the possibility. They waited in breathless suspense for White Horse to reach the camp.

White Horse soon relieved their fears. He said that the Kiowas who were advancing from the west had stopped some distance out on the plain. Then he had circled toward the north to make sure that scouts had not gone in that direction. He had heard nothing to arouse his suspicions.

"It is good," declared Red Dog.

"I do not believe the Kiowas know anything about our people who went away," said White Horse. "I believe they came here to run off ponies. When they found out that we knew about it, they sent scouts to bring more warriors. Now they are going to make a big fight. Those people I was watching will wait out there until they hear their friends moving ahead. Then they will all rush in. I believe scouts are creeping toward the camp. We must watch sharp."

"White Horse, your words are good," said Red Dog. "I believe you have found out what the Kiowas propose to do."

Realizing that the Kiowas might begin the attack at any moment, the Cheyennes stood at the edge of the camp, weapons in hand, watching and listening for their foes. They had little doubt that scouts were moving cautiously through the darkness in an effort to reconnoiter the camp. The thought kept them alert. They listened sharply for the sound of stealthy footfalls. For a long time, however, all was still. Then a pony snorted, in the corral. A dog harked savagely outside the camp.

"Light the fires!" cried Red Dog.

The boys shoved glowing embers into the brush piles. A moment afterward they burst into flames. A wide circle of light spread about the camp. The Cheyennes looked for their foes. They had retreated into the night.

"It was a scout; he was trying to find the ponies," explained a warrior at the corral.

Believing that the Kiowas were close to the camp, Red Dog ordered the boys to keep the fires blazing. The warriors crouched in the shadows from the lodges. They heard nothing further from their foes. They wondered if the scouts had been frightened away.

"The Kiowas are like wolves," laughed Painted Weasel. "They are afraid of the fires."

As if to verify his words, the dismal wail of Ma-ya-sh, the prairie wolf, sounded from the south. The Cheyennes started at the sound. They knew it was a signal from the war party. They believed the Kiowas were ready to advance.

"Watch out!" shouted Red Dog. "The Kiowas are coming."

The wolf call was repeated in the west. It had barely died away before the Kiowa war cry echoed shrilly through the night. The Cheyennes answered the challenge. Then the Kiowas raced toward the camp. They rode close up to the lodges, but the Cheyennes were prepared, and drove them back with a deadly volley of arrows. The Kiowas turned and sought shelter in the darkness.

"We have chased them back," the Cheyennes cried, excitedly.

"Keep watching," Red Dog cautioned them.

The Kiowas were riding around the camp, and yelling fiercely. They appeared to be attempting to stampede the ponies. The latter were plunging and snorting in terror, and those in the corral threatened to break away at any moment. Then the Kiowas suddenly made another attempt to enter the village. They rode recklessly to the edge of the camp, and tried to drive the Cheyennes before them. The latter, however, refused to yield. They realized that to give way meant disaster, and they fought with a stubborn ferocity that bewildered their foes. The old men and the boys fought as fiercely as the warriors. Somewhat sheltered by the lodges, they shot their arrows with deadly accuracy, and the Kiowas were again compelled to withdraw. This time they went far out on the plain.

The Cheyennes seized the opportunity to turn to their disabled comrades. They had paid a heavy price for victory. A third of the little force had been killed or wounded. There was little time to think about it. The old men barely had time to drag the wounded to a place of safety before they heard the Kiowas again charging upon the village.

The Cheyennes were amazed when their foes passed beyond bow range of the camp, and thundered away toward the south. It was some moments before they recovered from their bewilderment. They were at a loss to understand the strange maneuver. At first they were suspicious, and expected to hear the Kiowas riding toward them from another direction. Then, as time passed and they heard nothing further, they became convinced that the Kiowas had actually gone away. It seemed too good to be true. Despair gave way to joy. The Cheyennes began to laugh, and shout and sing the war songs.

"My brothers, we have done a big thing," Red Dog told them. "We have chased away that great war party of Kiowas. They are running across the plain. It is something to tell about. I --  -- "

"Listen!" Painted Weasel cried, in alarm.

A moment afterward the startled Cheyennes heard the Kiowa war cry at the edge of the camp. Then, before they realized what had happened, they saw the warriors along the westerly side of the village driven back by a great company of Kiowas who swarmed into the camp on foot. At the same time the horsemen attacked the camp on the south. The wily Kiowas had completely outwitted their foes. The Cheyennes were bewildered and demoralized. They rushed wildly to reinforce their comrades along the threatened side of the village, and the Kiowa horsemen found little opposition. They quickly overcame the feeble guard at the corral, and stampeded the ponies. Then they swept into the camp. The Cheyennes were outnumbered four to one. The village was filled with Kiowas. Resistance meant death.

"Jump on the war ponies and save yourselves!" cried Red Dog.

The Cheyennes rushed toward the terror-stricken ponies in the center of the camp. The Kiowas followed after them. A furious hand-to-hand encounter ensued. Most of the old men were killed. A few escaped notice in the general confusion, and disappeared into the night. Old Ghost Bear ran far out on the plain, and hid in the sage.

The Cheyennes finally gained possession of the war ponies. They mounted and attempted to ride away. Less than half of the company escaped. Once out of the village, they rode frantically toward the north. The Kiowas made little effort to overtake them. A small company of warriors pursued them a short distance across the plain, but soon turned back to assist in rounding up the ponies, and share in the plunder.

When they found that they were not pursued, the little band of Cheyennes stopped to learn who had escaped. Many famous warriors were missing. Then they suddenly discovered that both Red Dog and Ghost Bear were absent.

"I saw Ghost Bear run out of the camp," declared Running Buffalo. "I believe he got away."

"Where is Red Dog?" Painted Weasel asked, anxiously.

"He was with us when we were fighting to get away," said Running Buffalo. "I saw him kill two Kiowas. Then the Kiowas rushed at us, and I did not see what became of him."

"Red Dog is dead -- the Kiowas have killed him," cried the disheartened Cheyennes.

"Perhaps they have carried him away," said Painted Hawk.

They rallied at the thought. If Red Dog had been captured, they resolved to rescue him. They turned toward the camp. Then they stopped in dismay. The village was ablaze. The Kiowas had set fire to the lodges. The Cheyennes heard them yelling triumphantly, far away to the southward.

"My brothers, there are few of us left," declared Running Buffalo. "It is useless to try to do anything. Come, we will ride after our people, and ask the Ogalalas to help us. Then we will bring a great war party to fight the Kiowas."

They turned toward the north with heavy hearts, and rode silently away into the darkness.




Chapter IX

Pawnees


As the Sioux scouts rode toward the south to find the Cheyenne hunters, they watched closely to make sure that the Kiowas were not following them. Then, as the day advanced and they saw nothing of their foes, they believed that they had escaped from the Cheyenne camp without attracting the attention of the Kiowa scouts. The thought encouraged them.

"It is good," said Sun Bird. "There is no danger."

"We must not be too sure about it," White Otter cautioned him. "Red Dog told us about the Pawnees. We must watch out."

At first they attempted to follow the trail of the Cheyennes, but as the latter had left the camp some days before the tracks were old and indistinct. The Sioux realized that they would be forced to ride slowly to follow them. Then, too, they feared that the Cheyennes might make many wide and unnecessary detours in their search for buffaloes, and an effort to follow them might cause much useless riding and a great loss of time. Aware that each moment was precious, White Otter finally determined to leave the trail and ride directly across the plain in the hope of encountering the hunters.

"It is the best thing to do," said White Otter.

"Yes, I believe it will be the quickest way to find the hunters," agreed Sun Bird.

Late in the day they discovered a number of fresh pony tracks leading toward the west. White Otter and Sun Bird dismounted to examine them. They decided that they had been made only a short time before. The trail made them suspicious. They looked anxiously across the plain. There was nothing in sight.

"Perhaps it is the Cheyennes," said Sun Bird.

White Otter remained silent. He was walking slowly along the trail, and examining the tracks with great care. His companions waited for his decision. At last he rose, and shook his head in doubt.

"Do you feel different about it?" Sun Bird inquired, anxiously.

"My brother, I am not sure about it," White Otter told him. "Only a few ponies passed this place -- there are many Cheyennes."

"Perhaps they were scouts, going over there to look for buffaloes," suggested Sun Bird.

"Perhaps," said White Otter.

He was looking anxiously toward the west. The plain was level and free of cover, and it was possible to see a long distance ahead. White Otter realized that the riders were farther away than he had supposed.

"Perhaps they are wild ponies," said Little Raven.

"Yes, that may be true," replied White Otter. "Well, we will try to find out about them. Come, we will follow them."

He rode slowly along the trail, and Sun Bird and Little Raven followed him. His doubts had made them suspicious, and they kept a sharp watch for foes. They had gone a considerable distance when White Otter suddenly stopped and dismounted. He stooped and lifted something from the ground. He examined it with great interest. Then he turned to his companions.

"See," he said. "I have found something that tells me what I wish to know."

He passed the object to Sun Bird. It was a small, round, highly polished piece of bone. It had a hole bored through the end of it. Sun Bird recognized it at once. It had come from a bone breast-plate, worn by warriors to protect them from the arrows of their foes. For some moments he stared at it in silence. Then he gave it to Little Raven.

"Now we know that those ponies carried riders," said White Otter. "They are not our friends, the Cheyennes. They are warriors."

"I believe they are Pawnees," declared Sun Bird.

At that moment White Otter discovered something far away to the northward. A column of smoke was rising against the sky. They watched it until it finally faded from view. They believed it had been a signal from the Kiowa war party. Then White Otter suddenly guessed the truth.

"My brothers, I believe those people are Kiowas," he said. "I believe they are going to help their friends fight the Cheyennes. I believe those Kiowas near the Cheyenne camp sent up that smoke to tell their friends where they are. Come, we will see if it is true."

A short distance farther on the trail turned abruptly toward the north. They felt certain that a company of Kiowas had gone to participate in the attack on the Cheyenne camp. The thought roused them to action. They realized that the little force of Cheyennes were in a desperate plight.

"My brothers, we must try to find the hunters," cried White Otter. "There is no time to spare."

They left the trail and cantered away toward the south. The day was far gone, and they were eager to find the Cheyennes before darkness fell. They feared that the Kiowas would attack the camp some time during the night. Would the Cheyennes be able to hold them off until their tribesmen came to their aid? The Sioux had grave doubts. They looked anxiously across the plain, hoping each moment to see the hunters come in sight. The day passed, however, and the Cheyennes failed to appear. The Sioux gave way to despair.

"It is bad," White Otter said, soberly, as they abandoned the search at dark.

They found a little spring at the base of a solitary cottonwood tree, and decided to remain there until daylight. After they had picketed the ponies they sat in gloomy silence, staring thoughtfully into the night. The Cheyennes had given them some dried elk meat, but they had no desire to eat. Their hearts were filled with fears for the people in the Cheyenne camp.

"If the hunters were close by I believe they would come here for water," said Sun Bird. "I believe they are far away."

"It must be so," agreed White Otter. "We looked hard but we could not find them. We did not find their tracks. Perhaps they have followed the buffaloes."

"Perhaps they have gone back to their village," suggested Little Raven.

For a moment the possibility gave them hope. Then they suddenly realized that it would have been difficult for the Cheyennes to have passed them without being seen. They feared that the hunters were still somewhere to the southward, searching for the buffalo herds.

"Well, when it gets light we will ride around until we find their tracks," said Sun Bird. "Then we will soon come up with them. I believe Red Dog and his friends will keep the Kiowas out of the camp until we bring the hunters."

"Red Dog and his friends are very brave, but there are many Kiowas," White Otter told him. "I feel bad about it."

Then their thoughts were diverted by the strange behavior of the ponies. They had raised their heads, and were looking nervously into the darkness. The Sioux seized their weapons, and sprang to their feet. They untied the ponies and stood beside them, ready to mount and ride away at the first warning of danger.

"Do you hear anything?" Little Raven asked White Otter.

"No," said White Otter.

The ponies still seemed restless and frightened, but they made no attempt to call. The wind was blowing directly toward them. The Sioux believed that if either men or horses were approaching the ponies would have called. Nevertheless, they determined to take every precaution.

"Perhaps something is coming here to drink," said Sun Bird.

"Listen," whispered White Otter.

They heard something moving about in the darkness. One of the ponies snorted and plunged wildly. It tore the lariat from the grasp of Little Raven, and dashed away. White Otter and Sun Bird sprang upon their ponies and raced after it. At that moment Little Raven saw two small awkward creatures galloping toward him. He shot his arrow before he recognized them. One of them rolled over, bawling lustily. The other ran off. Little Raven suddenly identified them as cubs of the grizzly bear.

"Hi, now I must watch out," he said.

The next moment a savage roar sounded close at hand, and he saw the mother bear running toward the wounded cub. He shot his arrow, and the bear turned to face him. For an instant he saw the threatening glare of her eyes. Then she rushed at him. He shot another arrow. Then he fled toward the cottonwood. He barely had time to draw himself to the lowest limb before the enraged bear was at the tree. She reared unsteadily, and tried to climb. Little Raven attempted to draw an arrow from his bow-case and almost fell from the limb. In the meantime the bear had dropped to the ground, and galloped back to her cubs. At that moment Little Raven heard his friends returning with the ponies.

"Watch out, Ma-to-ho-ta is here!" he cried. "I have killed one of her babies. She is very mad."

"Where are you?" White Otter inquired, anxiously.

"I am up here in this tree," said Little Raven.

"Ma-to-ho-ta has turned our brother into Zi-ca, the squirrel," laughed Sun Bird.

As the Sioux advanced, the bear rushed to meet them. Little Raven heard them shoot their arrows, and gallop away. There was no sound from the bear. He believed they had killed it.

"Ma-to-ho-ta is dead," he shouted.

"Stay where you are," cautioned White Otter. "We will find out about it."

Little Raven heard the ponies snorting nervously, as his friends rode forward to investigate. Then he heard one of the cubs whining. Some one shot an arrow. The cub became quiet. A moment afterward White Otter called him.

"Come down, my brother, Ma-to-ho-ta and her babies are dead," he said.

"I was like a feeble old man," Little Raven cried, angrily, as Sun Bird gave him the lariat of the runaway pony. "That horse fooled me."

"It is bad," said White Otter. "If the Pawnees came here instead of Ma-to-ho-ta they would have run off that pony."

They picketed the ponies, and went to examine the bear. It was unusually large, but thin, and poor in fur, as usual at that season. Little Raven cut off the claws and shared them with his companions. They fastened them to their rawhide belts. Then White Otter cut open the carcass and drew out the heart. He divided it into three portions, and they ate it. It was an old custom of their people, and they believed that it would give them the strength and courage for which Ma-to-ho-ta was famous.

The night passed without further alarm, and at the first signs of dawn the Sioux rode away to search for the Cheyennes. Red Dog had told them that the hunters proposed to go a day's journey to the southward, and then circle about the plain until they discovered the buffalo herd.

"Well, they must be close by," declared Little Raven.

"We must try hard to find them," White Otter told him.

His mind was filled with distressing possibilities concerning the people in the Cheyenne village. Had the Kiowas made an attack? Had Red Dog and his warriors beaten them off? White Otter feared to hope.

Half of the day had passed before the Sioux saw anything to give them encouragement. Then White Otter discovered a great dust cloud rising behind a long, undulating sweep of the plain, far to the westward. They watched it with breathless interest.

"I believe many buffaloes are running behind that hill," said Sun Bird. "I believe the Cheyenne hunters are chasing them."

"Yes, yes, it is the buffalo herd!" cried Little Raven. "Now we will find the hunters."

"Come, we will ride over there, but we must be cautious," White Otter told them.

They cantered hopefully across the plain. They felt quite certain that they would find the Cheyenne hunters pursuing the buffaloes behind the distant ridge. As they drew near, however, White Otter urged caution. The dust cloud had died away, and he was somewhat suspicious. His companions heeded his warning.

"Yes, we must watch out," agreed Sun Bird.

As they finally came within arrow range, they stopped and examined the top of the ridge with great care. It was exposed, and bare of cover, and offered a poor hiding place. The Sioux saw nothing to arouse suspicion.

"There is no one there," declared Sun Bird.

"I believe it is safe," said White Otter.

Eager to reach the Cheyennes before they got farther away, the Sioux galloped boldly toward the ridge. When they reached it, White Otter and Sun Bird dismounted and scrambled up the slope to reconnoiter. The plain was dotted with dead buffaloes, and farther to the westward they saw a great company of riders pursuing the herd.

"They are our friends, the Cheyennes," Sun Bird said, excitedly. "Come, we must catch up with them."

"I cannot tell who they are, but I believe they are the Cheyennes," White Otter told him.

They told Little Raven to bring the ponies. Then they rode impulsively across the plain. Their eagerness to overtake the hunters made them reckless. They raced after the distant horsemen at top speed. They passed a cluster of trees but took little notice of them. Convinced that they had found the Cheyennes, their one desire was to overtake them. Buffaloes and hunters had disappeared into a dip of the plain.

"They are riding fast, it will be hard to catch them," declared Sun Bird.

The hunters apparently had failed to notice them. The Sioux were somewhat surprised. They had expected to be discovered when they rode over the ridge. White Otter became suspicious.

"It is mysterious," he said.

They had begun to ascend the hill over which the hunters had disappeared. Great clouds of dust rose to the westward. It was evident that the chase was still continuing. Then White Otter suddenly glanced back across the plain. He stopped his pony and cried out in alarm.

"Stop!" he shouted.

A small company of horsemen were riding after them. They appeared to have come from the little grove of trees. The Sioux studied them with grave suspicion. At first they took them for Cheyenne scouts. As they came nearer, however, White Otter became doubtful.

"Watch out," he warned. "Perhaps we have run into a trap."

He had barely uttered the warning, when the horsemen whom they had been pursuing swept down upon them from the top of the ridge. For one brief moment the Sioux stared at them in astonishment. They could scarcely believe their eyes. The buffalo hunters were Pawnees. They were already within arrow range.

"Come!" cried White Otter, as he rode madly down the slope.

"Keep low, they are shooting their arrows," warned Sun Bird.




Chapter X

A Desperate Chase


The Sioux turned toward the south with the hope of encountering the Cheyennes somewhere in that direction. The Pawnees were close behind them, and the race was thrilling. The scouts who had followed them from the grove were riding desperately to get in front of them. The buffalo hunters were thundering after them. The Sioux feared that unless they could withdraw beyond bow range it would be only a matter of moments before either they or their ponies were pierced by Pawnee arrows. Having escaped from the first fierce volley, they crouched low and lashed the Cheyenne ponies into a terrific burst of speed to outdistance their foes.

"The Pawnee ponies are tired; they will soon give out," cried Sun Bird.

It was their one hope. They believed that the Pawnees had fatigued their ponies in the long chase after the buffaloes, and they had doubts that they could maintain the pace. The ponies of the scouts from the grove, however, appeared fresh and speedy, and the Sioux felt less hopeful of eluding them. There were nine riders in the latter company, and they were racing wildly along the flank of the Sioux in an attempt to pass them. They were still beyond range, but were riding at a sharp angle which would soon bring them within bowshot.

"See, the hunters are dropping back!" Little Raven cried, joyfully. "Their arrows are falling behind us."

"We must watch those other riders," White Otter cautioned him. "Their ponies are fresh. They are coming fast. We must keep ahead of them."

It seemed as if the hope of the Sioux was being realized. The main company of Pawnees appeared to be losing ground. They had ceased wasting their arrows. The Sioux glanced back and saw that the distance between them and their pursuers had increased considerably. The riders on their flank, however, were keeping up with them. Little Raven drew his bow.

"Save your arrows," cautioned White Otter.

Aware that the Sioux were distancing them, the Pawnee hunters were shouting encouragement to their tribesmen. The latter, however, were unable to gain. They were forcing their ponies to the limit, but the Sioux held their advantage. They were riding toward a small stand of timber, some distance ahead of them.

"The Cheyenne ponies are fast, they will carry us away," said Sun Bird.

A moment afterward Little Raven's pony stumbled and plunged to its knees. Little Raven was thrown heavily to the ground. His friends turned in dismay. The Pawnees yelled triumphantly, and lashed their ponies to a fresh burst of speed. Little Raven had kept tight hold of the lariat, however, and as the pony struggled to its feet he sprang upon its back. Then he discovered that the animal had been crippled. It ran with short, faltering strides, and had lost its speed.

"My pony is lame -- leave me and save yourselves," Little Raven cried, bravely.

"We will die together," White Otter told him. "Come, we will kill these Pawnees."

They drew their bows and prepared to fight. The Pawnees were within arrow range. The nine scouts were abreast of them. The hunters were close behind them. The crippled pony was steadily losing ground. Their situation was desperate. An arrow passed between White Otter and Sun Bird. Another grazed the flank of the injured pony. The Pawnees were almost upon them. The Sioux saw little chance of reaching the timber. Escape seemed impossible. They abandoned hope.

"Come, my brothers, we will show the Pawnees how to die," Sun Bird said, fiercely.

At that moment Little Raven's pony recovered from the effects of its fall. It sprang forward with new life. The injury appeared to have been only temporary. The Sioux yelled with joy. Their hopes revived. They determined to fight desperately for their lives. The Pawnee scouts were circling to get in front of them. White Otter shot his arrow at the foremost rider, and the Pawnee fell to the plain. Sun Bird's arrow sent a pony to its knees. Little Raven twisted about and wounded a Pawnee behind him. Then they raced forward and gained the lead. A volley of arrows came from the Pawnees. White Otter was struck in the shoulder. It was a slight wound, and he withdrew the arrow and shot it at his foes. Then the Sioux crouched low on their ponies, and rode toward the timber. They soon drew away from the exhausted ponies of the Pawnee hunters, but the scouts kept close beside them. The Sioux were within several arrow flights of their goal, however, and their hopes grew stronger. They made savage use of their heavy riding quirts, and the Cheyenne ponies increased their speed. Stride by stride they drew away from the Pawnees until they finally carried their riders beyond bowshot.

"Keep them running, keep them running!" cried White Otter. "We will get away."

They reached the timber more than a bowshot ahead of the nearest Pawnees. Then they jumped from the trembling ponies, and prepared to fight off their foes. The latter, however, had failed to follow them. Aware that the Sioux had suddenly gained the advantage, the Pawnees were cautious about exposing themselves. They had stopped a long bowshot beyond the trees, and appeared to be holding a council.

"The Pawnees are afraid to come after us," declared Little Raven.

"We must be ready," White Otter told him.

In a few moments the Pawnees separated, and surrounded the grove. Then they circled around the timber, shouting taunts, and whooping savagely. The Sioux laughed at them.

"They sound very fierce," Sun Bird said, sarcastically.

"They are very cautious," laughed White Otter.

They wondered what the Pawnees proposed to do. They showed little inclination to approach. They had stopped riding. Many of them had dismounted. The Sioux watched closely. They feared that the crafty Pawnees might be attempting to trick them.

"I believe they will go away," Little Raven said, finally. "They did not come out to fight. They are hunters. They have killed many buffaloes. If they leave them back there, Ma-ya-sh, the wolf, will eat them. I believe some of those warriors will go back there to watch. I believe some of them will go to their village to send their people for that meat. My brothers, how do you feel about it?"

"I do not believe they will go away," Sun Bird told him.

"No, they will not go away," declared White Otter. "We have killed some of their friends. They are mad. They will stay here."

Soon afterward they saw a number of warriors leave the circle and ride nearer the grove. Then they stopped, and began to shout, and shake their weapons. In a few moments the rest of the Pawnees began to cry out threateningly. Then a warrior on a spotted pony rode forward and began to talk. He spoke in loud tones, and Little Raven, who had been a captive in the Pawnee camp, understood many of his words.

"He is talking about those warriors who were making that noise," said Little Raven. "He is telling his friends how brave those young men are. He says they are coming in here to drive us out."

"Well, their friends will see that they are very foolish," declared Sun Bird.

"Do you know that warrior who is talking?" White Otter asked Little Raven.

"He talks like Jumping Horse, but he is too far away, I am not sure about it," said Little Raven. "I believe some of those warriors know who I am. It is bad. They will try to catch me."

"Hi, those foolish young men are getting ready to ride over here," said White Otter. "I believe they propose to throw themselves away. Watch out, they are coming."

A moment afterward the little company of Pawnees raced toward the timber. They were yelling and waving their bows, and their tribesmen were wild with excitement. The Sioux waited calmly at the edge of the timber. When the riders drew near, however, they suddenly swerved and rode around the grove at top speed. They were within easy arrow range, and the Sioux instantly realized the significance of the maneuver.

"They are trying to make us shoot our arrows," said White Otter.

"We are not so foolish," laughed Sun Bird. "We will wait until they rush in."

When the riders saw that the trick had failed, they returned to their companions. Then the Pawnees crowded together for another council. The Sioux saw the warrior on the spotted pony talking excitedly, but they were unable to catch his words.

"I believe that man is the leader," declared White Otter. "He is telling his friends what to do."

"I believe he is Jumping Horse -- he is a great war leader," said Little Raven.

"They are getting ready to rush in," Sun Bird declared, uneasily.

Then the same company of warriors again rode forward, shouting, and singing their war songs. They lashed their ponies into a gallop and rode recklessly toward the grove. This time, however, they did not turn aside.

"Get ready to fight," cried Sun Bird.

"Wait until they come close," cautioned White Otter.

There were ten Pawnees in the attacking party, and they kept close together and attempted to ride their ponies into the little patch of timber. The Sioux took shelter behind the trees, and waited until their foes were almost upon them. Then they raised the Dacotah war cry and shot their arrows. Two of the Pawnees toppled from their ponies. The others halted in dismay. Unable to see the Sioux, they were bewildered and alarmed. Before they could rally, the Sioux renewed the savage attack, and another rider slipped limply from his pony. Then the Pawnees lost hope and raced away in pursuit of the riderless ponies.

"Hi, we showed the Pawnees how to fight," Sun Bird cried, fiercely.

"Now they will try hard to kill us," White Otter warned him.

The defeat of the warriors who had attacked the Sioux threw the Pawnees into a rage. They began to race furiously around the grove, gradually drawing nearer until they were within close arrow range. Then they shot their arrows into the timber. The Sioux were well sheltered, however, and had little fear of being hit.

"It is good, the Pawnees are sending us arrows," Little Raven said, mockingly.

"Keep watching," replied White Otter. "They are very mad. I believe they will rush in."

It was not long before the Sioux saw the motive for the attack. The Pawnees were attempting to divert their attention, while several daring scouts rode close up to the timber and carried off the three unfortunate warriors who had been killed. Then the entire company withdrew beyond bow range.

"The Pawnees have carried away their brothers," said Sun Bird. "Perhaps they are going to give up the fight."

"No, I do not believe it," White Otter replied, doubtfully.

The Pawnees had formed in a great circle about the timber. They were watching quietly, like a company of wolves that had surrounded their quarry but feared to attack. The Sioux tried to guess their intentions. Sun Bird and Little Raven hoped that they might suddenly withdraw, but White Otter was suspicious.

"I believe they will stay here until it gets dark," he said. "Then they will try to creep up close. It is bad. We cannot help our friends, the brave Cheyennes."

The thought filled them with despair. For the moment their own peril was forgotten in their concern for the safety of Red Dog and his people. Having failed to find the Cheyenne hunters, the Sioux feared to think what might have happened to the little company in the distant village. The peril roused them.

"We have done a foolish thing," Sun Bird cried, hotly. "Now we must try to get away and do the thing we set out to do."

"I am thinking about it," White Otter told him.

"What do you propose to do?" inquired Sun Bird.

"When it grows dark we will try to get past the Pawnees," White Otter said, quietly.




Chapter XI

A Night Of Surprises


Late in the day half of the Pawnees withdrew toward the east. The Sioux felt certain that they had gone to watch the buffaloes which they had killed. The rest of the company came nearer to the timber. Then they began to taunt and threaten the Sioux. The latter took no notice of them. They waited anxiously for the end of the day, hoping that darkness might make it possible to escape.

"There are not so many Pawnees; perhaps we will be able to get away," Little Raven said, hopefully.

"They will watch sharp," White Otter told him.

Although the company had been reduced by half, the Sioux were still outnumbered by ten to one. They felt encouraged, however, when the Pawnees showed no further inclination to attack them. The sun was getting low in the west, and the day was passing. They were eager for night.

Then, as twilight was settling upon the plain, two scouts returned from the east. It was evident that they had brought word of great importance. The Pawnees appeared to be much excited. They had gathered about the scouts, and were talking earnestly. A few moments later the Sioux were amazed to see the entire company ride off toward the east.

"Watch out, it is a trick," said Sun Bird.

"I believe those riders came back to fool us," declared Little Raven.

White Otter offered no explanation. He was watching the Pawnees with grave interest. As they continued across the plain, an alarming possibility flashed through his mind. He turned excitedly to his companions.

"My brothers, I believe the Pawnees have found the Cheyenne hunters," he said.

"It is true," cried Sun Bird. "Perhaps the Cheyennes found those dead buffaloes. Come, we will follow the Pawnees, and find out about it."

"Wait," said White Otter. "We must be cautious. Perhaps scouts are watching to see what we propose to do. We will fool them. We will ride toward the Place-where-the-warm-wind-blows. Then when it gets dark we will circle around and come back to the place where the Pawnees killed those buffaloes."

"It is good," said Sun Bird.

They waited a few moments longer to make sure that the Pawnees had actually gone. Then, as they saw nothing of them, they mounted the ponies and rode toward the south. They held the ponies to an easy canter, and kept a sharp watch behind them. The Pawnees failed to appear.

"Wa-kan-tun-ka, the Great Mystery, has given us our lives," declared Sun Bird.

"It is true," said White Otter. "Perhaps we will be able to help the Cheyennes. I believe we will find them over there near those buffaloes."

At dark they turned sharply toward the east. They went a long way before they finally circled toward the north. They rode in silence, listening sharply for sounds from the Pawnees. The night was still.

"Perhaps the Cheyennes are getting ready to fight the Pawnees," suggested Sun Bird.

"That would be bad," declared White Otter. "If the Cheyennes are over there we must find them, and tell them to come away. They must go to help their people. There is little time. I am thinking about Red Dog, and the women and children in that camp. Perhaps the Kiowas have killed them."

When they finally drew near the place where the Pawnees had killed the buffaloes, they stopped to listen. Then, as they heard nothing to alarm them, they advanced with great caution. The sky was bright with stars, and they were able to see a short distance through the night. They knew that they were to the eastward of the place where they had first seen the buffaloes.

"Pretty soon we will circle around, and go over there," said White Otter.

They turned toward the west, and soon came in sight of the ridge from which they had discovered the Pawnee hunters. A few moments later a pony called within bowshot of them. They stopped in alarm. Then a voice challenged softly from the darkness. Little Raven recognized the Pawnee dialect. He immediately replied.

"It is good, my brother," he said in the Pawnee tongue. "Where are our enemies?"

"They are hiding over there among the trees," said the Pawnee. "Our brothers are watching."

"It is good," Little Raven told him. "We will go ahead. You must keep watching."

"Who is with you?" the Pawnee inquired, curiously.

"I hear something -- keep quiet," Little Raven said, craftily.

The next moment they rode up the ridge. They listened uneasily, for they feared that the Pawnee might become suspicious and follow them. As they heard nothing to verify their fears, they crossed the ridge and moved stealthily out across the plain.

"Little Raven, you are as sharp as an old wolf," whispered White Otter. "You have done a great thing. Now we know that the Cheyennes are over there where the trees grow."

They also knew that sharp-eared Pawnee scouts were on guard, and they feared that it would be difficult to avoid them. The Sioux moved forward with the alert, nervous caution of frightened deer. They had not gone far when the ponies snorted and swerved aside. They stopped in alarm. Then they discovered one of the dead buffaloes. They had difficulty in persuading the ponies to pass it.

"Perhaps the Pawnees will hear us," whispered Sun Bird.

"Listen," cautioned White Otter.

Some one was riding toward them. Their hearts beat wildly. They feared to move. Many anxious moments passed. Then the sounds gradually died away. What had become of the rider? Which way had he gone? They listened anxiously for a clew. It was a long time before they felt secure. Then, as the stillness continued, they moved slowly forward.

"The way is clear," White Otter whispered, finally.

They continued their perilous advance. Then they heard the cry of the big gray timber wolf, somewhere behind them. It was the favorite signal of the Pawnees. They feared that their foes had discovered them. They stopped and listened. In a few moments they heard the call farther out on the plain. The Pawnees were signaling. What did it mean?

"Perhaps that scout back there is telling his friends about us," said Sun Bird.

"No, no, he does not know about us," Little Raven assured him. "I fooled him. He took us for Pawnees."

"Perhaps the Pawnees are getting ready to rush against the Cheyennes," said White Otter.

The possibility startled them. They realized that if the Pawnees were closing in upon the grove there was not a moment to spare. They stared anxiously into the night in an effort to locate the timber. It was hidden in the darkness. There was nothing to guide them in the proper direction. They knew that it would be easy to pass beyond it. The blunder might prove fatal.

"We must watch sharp," whispered White Otter.

They circled cautiously until they eventually saw the clump of trees showing darkly through the night. Then they stopped and listened suspiciously. They felt certain that Pawnee scouts were close at hand, and they feared colliding with them. The wolf calls had ceased. The plain was steeped in silence. The Sioux moved forward.

"If the Pawnees find us, we must ride fast toward those trees," said White Otter.

"Perhaps the Cheyennes will take us for Pawnees, and kill us," Little Raven told him.

"When we get close we will call out and tell them who we are," replied White Otter.

They advanced directly toward the timber. There was not a sound. The silence aroused their suspicions. Were the Pawnees, too, advancing toward the grove? They wondered if a company of those crafty foes had dismounted, and were creeping quietly forward under cover of the darkness. Alert to catch the slightest sound, the three daring scouts moved on. When they were near the timber they stopped. They felt sure that the Cheyennes were watching at the edge of the grove. They believed that it would be perilous to go nearer without warning them. Still they feared to call. They listened for sounds from their friends. The grove was silent.

"Stay here with the ponies," White Otter whispered. "I will crawl ahead, and find our friends. If the Pawnees come, ride to the trees."

He left his pony with Sun Bird, and disappeared into the shadows. Realizing that the Cheyennes might take him for a foe, he feared to make the slightest sound. When he was close upon the grove he stopped to listen. The silence continued. White Otter dropped to his hands and knees and crept still nearer. He was within a few bow lengths of the timber. Each moment he expected to hear the subdued murmur of voices, or the restless stamping of ponies. He heard neither. The stillness puzzled him.

"Ho, Cheyennes, I am a Dacotah," he called, softly. "I have come to help you."

He waited in great suspense. There was no reply. Had the Cheyennes failed to hear him? Were they unfamiliar with his words? He knew that many of the Cheyennes understood and spoke the Dacotah dialect. He crept forward until he was within leaping distance of the trees. Then he repeated his message. Again it went unanswered.

"It is mysterious," he murmured, uneasily.

While he waited, the cry of the timber wolf sounded across the plain. It made him impatient. He feared that the Pawnees were preparing to charge upon the grove. His fears were strengthened a moment afterward when the cry was repeated from another part of the plain. Twice more it rang ominously through the night; each time from a different direction. White Otter believed that the Pawnees were ready to advance. There was no time for further caution. He rose, and ran recklessly to the edge of the timber.

"Cheyennes, I am a Dacotah, hold your arrows!" he cried.

There was no one there. White Otter hurried into the grove, calling the Cheyennes. They failed to answer. He circled frantically through the timber. The grove was deserted. He was overcome with astonishment. For a moment he stood staring wildly into the shadows. Then he was roused by the sound of ponies. They were close by. He ran to the plain. Sun Bird and Little Raven met him.

"There is no one here -- the Cheyennes have gone," White Otter told them.

They heard him in amazed silence. The announcement overwhelmed them. They had expected to find a strong force of Cheyennes waiting at the edge of the grove.

"Well, there is no time to talk about it," Sun Bird said, anxiously. "Listen, the Pawnees are closing in. That is why we came ahead."

"Yes, I hear them," replied White Otter. "If we stay here they will surely catch us. We must try to get away."

"It will be a hard thing to do," Sun Bird told him. "The Pawnees are all around us."

They heard the boastful war songs of their foes echoing weirdly across the plain. It was evident that the Pawnees saw little need of caution. Believing that they had trapped the Cheyennes in the timber, they were riding boldly forward to attack them. For an instant the Sioux forgot their peril in their joy at the escape of their friends. Then they realized that they had run into the trap from which the Cheyennes had apparently escaped.

"The Pawnees are getting close, we must go," said White Otter.

"Watch out for scouts," Sun Bird cautioned him.

Once again the Sioux rode carefully across the plain. This time they turned directly toward the east. They knew that the Pawnees were riding to meet them. There seemed little chance of avoiding an encounter. The possibilities filled them with gloomy misgivings. Once discovered, they feared that they would be surrounded and speedily annihilated. Still they believed that it would have been even more perilous to have taken shelter in the grove. Their one chance was to slip between the Pawnees in the darkness.

The Sioux were many arrow flights from the timber when they finally stopped to listen. The ponies raised their heads. The Sioux drew tightly on the lariats to prevent an outcry. Then they looked anxiously for their foes. They failed to discover them.

"Watch out, they are close by," whispered White Otter.

Then they heard the Pawnee ponies. They were coming directly toward them. The Sioux crowded closely together, and waited. They had drawn their arrows, and were prepared to make a fierce fight. The moments seemed endless. At last they heard the Pawnees talking. An instant later a rider confronted them. Before he had recovered from his surprise, the Sioux swept him aside, and broke through the circle of foes. Lashing their ponies to desperate speed, they rode safely away before the Pawnees recovered from their bewilderment.

"Ride fast!" cried White Otter. "Some of those warriors will follow us."

They had not gone an arrow flight before they heard a company of Pawnees racing after them. Determined to hold their lead, they forced the ponies to still greater speed. Then they heard the great company of Pawnees thundering toward the timber. They chuckled gleefully.

"They will find out something big," laughed Sun Bird.

In a few moments the night rang with the shouts of the Pawnees. They were attacking the grove. The Sioux listened with keen satisfaction. Then the noise suddenly subsided. Having encountered no resistance, it was apparent that the bewildered Pawnees were investigating. As the stillness continued, the Sioux felt certain that the Pawnees were racing silently about the plain in an effort to find their foes.

"Now we must fool those warriors behind us," said White Otter.

He turned sharply toward the north. Then they listened to learn if the Pawnees had followed them. Their hearts filled with joy as they heard them racing away toward the east.

"We are safe!" Little Raven cried, joyously.

"Yes, we got away from them," said White Otter.




Chapter XII

Friends


Having eluded their pursuers, the Sioux drew the ponies to an easy canter and continued toward the north. They heard the Pawnees signaling far away across the plain. They were still searching for the Cheyennes. The Sioux wondered how the latter had escaped, and which way they had gone.

"It is mysterious," declared White Otter.

"I do not know how they got away, but I believe they are ahead of us," said Sun Bird. "The Pawnees found the buffaloes and chased them off. The Cheyennes know about it. I do not believe they will stay in this place. I believe they will go to their people."

"Well, we must keep going ahead," said White Otter. "When it gets light the Pawnees will begin to look around. If we stay here they will find us. We did not find the Cheyennes, but we must go away. It is bad."

They continued to ride until the night was half gone, and then they stopped beside a little stream to rest the ponies. They believed that the Pawnees were far behind them, but they determined to take precautions. They took turns at watching until daylight. Then they looked anxiously across the plain for signs of their foes. They were nowhere in sight.

"It is good," declared Sun Bird. "Now we will go to the Cheyenne camp. Perhaps we will find our brothers there."

White Otter kept silent. He was troubled and depressed. His mind was filled with thoughts of Red Dog and his gallant little company. Having failed to bring the hunters to their assistance, White Otter had grave fears for their safety.

"Come, eat some of this meat, and then we will ride away," he told his companions.

While the ponies grazed, the Sioux ate heartily of the dried elk meat which Red Dog had given them. As they sat beside the stream they continued to watch the plain. They were about to ride away when White Otter discovered something moving along the top of a hill to the westward.

"Watch sharp, there is something over there," he said, suspiciously.

It was some moments before his companions discovered the distant object. Then they saw it moving slowly down the side of the ridge. They tried to identify it.

"It looks like Ma-ya-sh, the wolf," said Sun Bird.

"Perhaps it is a scout," suggested Little Raven.

"I believe it is Ma-ya-sh," White Otter told them. "See, it is moving down that hill. It does not see us. If it was a scout he would know about us. Then he would hide behind that hill and watch. I believe it is Ma-ya-sh."

"Yes, I believe it is Ma-ya-sh," said Sun Bird. "Now we know that there is no one over there. If the Pawnees were over there Ma-ya-sh would not show himself."

"It is true," replied White Otter.

Convinced that the object moving along the ridge really was a prairie wolf, they mounted the ponies and continued into the north. Hopeful that the Cheyenne hunters had preceded them, they determined to separate to search for the trail. Sun Bird rode farther to the westward, and Little Raven circled toward the east. As the plain was level, it was easy to keep within sight of one another.

The day was well advanced when White Otter saw Sun Bird riding in a circle. It was the danger signal, and White Otter immediately stopped. Then he, too, rode in a circle to warn Little Raven. When the latter saw him, White Otter galloped his pony toward Sun Bird. Little Raven also rode toward the west.

"What did you see?" White Otter inquired, anxiously, as he approached the Minneconjoux.

"Here are fresh pony tracks," Sun Bird told him.

The trail had come from the westward, and turned abruptly toward the north. It showed the hoof marks of many ponies. For some moments they studied it in silence.

"It must be the Cheyennes," Sun Bird said, finally.

"Yes, I believe those are the marks of the Cheyenne ponies," replied White Otter.

"What is it?" inquired Little Raven, who joined them at that moment.

"Here are the marks of some ponies," White Otter told him.

"I believe it is the trail of our brothers, the Cheyennes," said Little Raven.

"We are not sure about it," White Otter told him. "Perhaps it is the Pawnees. Perhaps they passed by us when it was dark. Perhaps they circled over here and went ahead to catch the Cheyennes. We must not let them fool us again. We will watch out."

"You are a good leader," declared Sun Bird. "I see that what you say may be true. Yes, we will be cautious."

They rode rapidly along the trail. It was plain and easy to follow. They had not gone far, however, when they saw something which brought them to a sudden stop. A riderless pony had appeared on a knoll directly ahead of them. They watched suspiciously. At sight of them the pony raised its head and whinnied. Then it began to feed. It moved in an awkward and unnatural manner that aroused their fears.

"I believe some one is hiding behind that pony," declared White Otter.

"If he is a scout why did he go up on that high place?" Little Raven asked, curiously. "If he kept hiding we would not know about him."

"Perhaps he was coming down that hill before we saw him," said White Otter. "Then he saw us and hid behind his pony. Now he is trying to lead it over the top of that hill."

"Yes, I believe that is what he is trying to do," declared Sun Bird.

The pony was still feeding, and moving slowly toward the top of the hill. They felt sure that it was guided by some one behind it. It was far beyond arrow range. As they were in no danger, the Sioux waited to watch it.

"Perhaps it is a Cheyenne," said Sun Bird. "Come, White Otter, make the signal."

At that moment a warrior sprang upon the pony, and disappeared over the top of the hill. The Sioux had been unable to identify him. His appearance, however, caused them considerable anxiety. They realized that if he was a Cheyenne he had probably mistaken them for foes. In that event he would warn his companions, and they might race away before the Sioux could get in touch with them. If he was a Pawnee the possibilities were more alarming.

"It is bad," said Sun Bird. "If we go ahead, perhaps we will run into the Pawnees. If we hold back perhaps our brothers, the Cheyennes, will ride away from us."

"We will go ahead," said White Otter.

They approached the hill with great care. They watched closely before they ventured up the slope. When they reached the top they saw a large company of horsemen, far away across the plain. They appeared to be watching the hill. The Sioux believed the scout had warned them.

"Come, make the signal," said Sun Bird. "We will see what comes of it."

"Yes, make the signal," urged Little Raven. "I believe they are Cheyennes."

White Otter raised his hands high above his head. It was the sign for peace. He repeated the signal several times. Then he rode his pony part way down the hill, and returned to the top. In the meantime Sun Bird had waved his robe up and down, and then spread it upon the ground. He, too, repeated the signal. It was an invitation to come and talk. Having thus proclaimed their peaceful intentions, and invited the strangers to meet them, the Sioux watched for an answer to the signals. The horsemen made no reply.

"They are cautious," said Sun Bird. "Perhaps they take us for Pawnees."

"Perhaps it is the Pawnees after all," declared Little Raven.

"Well, they are far away, they cannot catch us," White Otter told them. "We will go toward them. Then we will see what they propose to do."

They rode a bowshot across the plain. Then they stopped and repeated the signals. In a few moments a rider separated from his companions, and replied to the signs. He raised his hands above his head. Then he suddenly swept his right hand toward the ground. It, too, was an invitation to approach and talk.

"They are trying to draw us over there," said Sun Bird. "No, we are not so foolish. We will wait until we see who they are."

"It is the only thing to do," agreed White Otter.

Having previously mistaken the Pawnees for the Cheyennes, the Sioux determined to be careful. Sun Bird dismounted and again signaled with his robe. Then they waited. Many moments passed before they received an answer. Then three riders started slowly across the plain.

"It is too many, watch out," cautioned White Otter. "Come, we will tell them what to do. Follow me."

The Sioux rode forward abreast. When they had gone a short distance, they turned and rode back. Then White Otter rode forward alone. The signal was meant to warn the approaching horsemen that one only must come to the council. The strangers, however, ignored the suggestion. All three continued toward the Sioux. White Otter turned and cantered toward his friends.

"Come," he said. "I believe those people are trying to fool us."

They rode back toward the hill. Their action made it plain that they mistrusted the intentions of the strangers. The latter seemed to understand. They had stopped, and were holding their hands above their heads to proclaim their peaceful intentions. The Sioux continued toward the hill. Then two of the horsemen turned about, and cantered toward their companions. The third rider still waited with his hands raised.

"It is good," cried White Otter. "I will go and find out who he is."

"Be cautious," Sun Bird warned him.

"I will watch out," declared White Otter.

He turned his pony, and rode toward the stranger. The latter immediately lowered his arms. Sun Bird and Little Raven watched anxiously. White Otter advanced with great caution. He was making every effort to identify the horseman before he came within arrow range. Neither of them had drawn their weapons. To have approached weapons in hand would have been evidence of suspicion and lack of faith. When they finally came within bow range, they stopped and examined each other with close attention. Then White Otter suddenly recognized a friend.

"Ho, Running Crow, now I see who you are," he cried, eagerly.

"Hi, hi, it is my brother, White Otter," shouted the Cheyenne.

A moment afterward they met and clasped hands. The Cheyenne was a noted warrior and scout with whom White Otter had shared several perilous adventures. Aware that White Otter had found a friend, Sun Bird and Little Raven immediately rode forward to join them.

"Ho, my brothers," Running Crow cried cordially. "I see that one of you is Sun Bird. I do not know about that other warrior."

"He is my brother, Little Raven," said Sun Bird. "Little Raven is a great warrior."

"My brothers, how do you come to be in this place?" Running Crow inquired, anxiously.

"Red Dog sent us to find you," White Otter said, soberly.

"Has something bad happened to our people?" Running Crow asked quickly.

"The Kiowas were all around the camp," said White Otter. "It was a great war party. I believe your people are in much danger."

The Cheyenne remained silent. For some moments he stared wildly into the eyes of the Ogalala. The Sioux watched him with pity. They knew that he was striving to master his grief before he spoke.

"When did you leave my people?" he asked, finally.

"Two suns have passed since we came away from your village," White Otter told him.

"It is bad, it is bad," Running Crow declared gloomily. "Come, we will go and tell my brothers about it."

"Who is the leader?" inquired Sun Bird, as they rode toward the Cheyennes.

"I am the leader," said Running Crow.

The Sioux found many old friends and allies among the Cheyennes. There was Red Crane, and Turns Around, and Black Beaver, and Sitting Bear and Fighting Wolf and several more. Some were unable to speak the Dacotah dialect, but they clasped hands with the young scouts and made it plain that they were glad to see them. Then Running Crow addressed his warriors.

"My brothers, I have bad words," he said. "There is little time to talk. Listen sharp. These brave Dacotahs came here to find us. Red Dog sent them. The Kiowas were all around our village. They say it was a great war party. Two suns have passed since the Dacotahs came away. I do not know what has happened to our people. Perhaps the Kiowas have killed them. Come, my brothers, we must ride fast to the camp."




Chapter XIII

The Abandoned Camp


Early the following day the Cheyennes came in sight of their village. They looked anxiously across the plain, hoping to see something which would quiet their fears. They were a long way off, however, and it was impossible to learn what they wished to know. They rode furiously toward the lodges. As they approached they began to shout fiercely, and look for the Kiowas. There was no response from the camp.

"It is bad," Running Crow cried, in alarm.

When they finally came within bowshot, they suddenly realized that the village was deserted. Their hopes died at the thought. They rode frantically to the edge of the camp. It bore grim testimony to the success of the Kiowa attack. The corral was empty. Many of the lodges were burned. Still, silent forms lay about the village. A dog howled dismally.

"Our people have been wiped away," Running Crow cried, dolefully, as he rode his frightened pony into the camp.

The Cheyennes followed silently behind their leader. They looked solemnly upon the valiant friends who had given their lives in defense of the village. Grief overcame them. They were unable to speak.

"It is bad, it is bad," White Otter said, bitterly. "What I was thinking about has come to pass. Red Dog and his people have been killed."

The Sioux moved about the camp with bowed heads. It was a scene which stirred their sympathy and filled them with gloom. Many of the Cheyennes had dismounted, and were entering the lodges which had escaped the flames. It was evident that they were searching for friends and relatives whom they had failed to find in the camp. Other riders were searching about the plain in the vicinity of the village. Then Running Crow suddenly called them to the center of the camp.

"My brothers, a terrible thing has happened to our people," he said. "The ponies are gone. The lodges are burned. Many brave friends are dead. Our enemies, the Kiowas, have done this thing! Remember it. Keep it in your hearts. Keep thinking about it. It is useless to talk about it. You are Cheyennes. You see what I see. You feel what I feel. It is enough.

"My brothers, listen sharp. Many brave warriors are lying here, but many of our people are missing. Where are the women? Where are the children? Where is Red Dog? Where is Ghost Bear? Where are Cloud Eagle, and Two Dogs, and Walks Alone, and Hairy Robe and Lame Bear? Where are Painted Weasel, and Running Buffalo, and Thunder Hawk and White Horse? What has become of those people? --  -- "

"I will tell you!" cried a voice from the edge of the camp.

The Cheyennes turned in alarm. Old Ghost Bear, the Medicine Man, was tottering into the village. They gazed upon him with frightened, superstitious eyes. He looked like one who was dead. He stood before them, swaying dizzily, and holding his hand across his eyes. The Cheyennes waited silently for him to speak. It was some moments before he was able to control himself.

"Cheyennes, Cheyennes, Cheyennes, look about you!" he cried. "Everything has been wiped away. The Kiowas were too strong for us. We held them off a long time. We waited for you. You did not come. Then the Kiowas got into the village. We fought hard, but we could not drive them out. They killed many of our people. They ran off the ponies. They burned the lodges."

Ghost Bear suddenly covered his face with his hands, while his aged body shook with grief. The Cheyennes looked upon him with compassion. It was the first time they had seen him betray emotion, and they realized that the great catastrophe had broken his heart. They feared he was about to die. He had dropped to his knees, and was moaning and sobbing like a child. Running Crow went forward and placed his hand upon him. Ghost Bear dropped his hands, and looked wildly at his tribesman.

"Come," said Running Crow. "You are a great Medicine Person. You must help us. Tell us what has become of the women and children. Tell us what has become of Red Dog. Tell us what has become of all those warriors."

"Yes, yes, I will tell you about it," said Ghost Bear, as he struggled to his feet.

He gave a thrilling account of the desperate battle with the Kiowas. The Cheyennes listened with breathless interest. Their eyes flashed as he told how Red Dog got the women and children safely out of the camp. Then he told how the Kiowas had entered the village, and speedily overwhelmed the little company of Cheyennes. He said that some of the Cheyennes reached the ponies, and fought their way from the camp. He saw Red Dog kill two Kiowas.

"Then I ran away, and I do not know what became of Red Dog and those brave warriors," Ghost Bear continued. "Perhaps they were killed. I ran a long ways. Then I crawled into some bushes. It was very dark, and the Kiowas could not find me. I heard them passing around me many times. Then they went away. I heard them running off the ponies, and singing the war songs. Pretty soon I saw the lodges burning. I felt very bad. Well, my brothers, I waited in those bushes until you came here. At first I took you for the Kiowas. I wanted to die, so I came to the village. Then I saw you. Now I have told you all I know about it."

"Ghost Bear, you have told us how this thing happened," said Running Crow. "You have told how the women and children got away. It is good. You say you do not know what became of Red Dog and those warriors. We will try to find out about them."

Running Crow called several warriors, and told them to circle far out over the plain in a search for the missing Cheyennes. He feared that they might have been killed beyond the camp. The scouts rode away. The Cheyennes watched them closely, as they rode carefully about the plain. It was a long time before they returned. They said that they had found the tracks of many ponies going toward the north. They declared that there were no dead Cheyennes outside of the camp.

"It is good," cried Running Crow. "I believe our brothers got away. Perhaps they have gone into the country of the Ogalalas. I believe Red Dog went with them."

As he finished speaking, a warrior at the edge of the camp cried out and said that several riders were approaching from the north. The Cheyennes hurried from the village to see them. The riders instantly discovered them, and stopped the ponies. There were three. They were far away.

"I believe they are our people," Running Crow declared, excitedly. "They are coming back to find out about this thing. Come, we must let them know who we are."

One of the warriors rode forward and raised his arm high above his head. Then he rode rapidly to and fro. It was the rallying signal. A moment afterward the riders galloped forward. As they came nearer, they again became cautious. Then the Cheyennes began to call to them. They heard them, and raced the ponies toward the camp. As they came within arrow range, the Cheyennes recognized them. They were Painted Weasel, and Thunder Hawk and White Horse.

"Our brothers have come back -- it is good," cried the Cheyennes. "Now we will find out about this thing."

"Well, my brothers, I see that you are alive -- it is good," said Running Crow, as he met them at the edge of the camp.

"There are only a few of us left," Painted Weasel replied, soberly.

"Where are the warriors who were with you?" inquired Running Crow.

"They are following our people toward the lodges of the Ogalalas," Painted Weasel told him.

"Is Red Dog with them?" Running Crow asked, anxiously.

"No," said Painted Weasel. "We do not know what became of him. We came back here to find out about it. He was with us when we were fighting to get away. He was very brave. I saw him kill two Kiowas."

"Yes, yes, I saw him kill them," cried old Ghost Bear.

"What became of him?" Painted Weasel asked him.

"I cannot tell you that," said Ghost Bear. "I ran out of the village, and did not see any more of him."

"I was close beside him," declared Thunder Hawk. "Then the Kiowas rushed at me, and I had a hard time of it. When I looked around I did not see anything more of Red Dog. Then I heard my brothers riding away. I went after them. I thought Red Dog was with them. Well, my brothers, he was not there. No one knew anything about him."

"Perhaps he was killed," said White Horse. "Did you look all around?"

"Yes, we looked sharp," Running Crow told him. "We did not find him."

"Then I believe the Kiowas must have carried him off," said Painted Weasel.

The Cheyennes were crushed by the possibility. Dismay kept them silent. They knew only too well the fate that awaited Red Dog if he had fallen into the hands of his enemies. Their courage rose at thought of his peril. They determined to save him, or avenge his death.

"Yes, my brothers, I believe the Kiowas have carried off Red Dog," White Horse told them. "We must try to save him. There is only one thing to do. We must go to the Kiowa Camp, and try to take him away."

"My brothers, I have listened to your words -- they are good," said Running Crow. "I believe the Kiowas caught Red Dog. It is bad. He is our chief. He has done many good things for his people. We must try to help him. Now I will tell you how I feel about it. White Otter is a great war chief of the Ogalalas. He has done many big things. He has helped us fight the Pawnees. He has helped us fight the Kiowas. We know that he is a good war leader. He has been to the Pawnee village. He took away the great chief Wolf Robe and that great Medicine Person, Yellow Horse. He has been to the Kiowa camp. He went into that camp and ran off ponies. White Otter knows how to do big things. My brothers, I am going to ask this great Ogalala war chief to lead us to the Kiowa camp."

"It is good!" cried the Cheyennes. "White Otter is a great chief. He must be the leader."

"Come, White Otter, tell us how you feel about it," said Running Crow.

"My brothers, I will lead you to the Kiowa camp," White Otter told them. "Your people are my friends. We came here to help you. The Kiowas are our enemies. They have killed many of your people. They have burned your lodges. They have run off your ponies. I believe they have carried away your chief. Red Dog is my friend. My heart is bad against the Kiowas. I am going to the Kiowa camp to find out about Red Dog. Yes, Cheyennes, I will lead you to fight our enemies. I believe my people will come to help us."

"Hi, hi!" cried Running Crow.

When they learned that the Ogalala would lead them against the Kiowas, the Cheyennes felt sure of victory. They had great confidence in his ability, for his exploits had made him famous. For the moment they forgot their grief, as they thrilled at the call of the war trail. Their hearts burned with a fierce desire for vengeance, and they believed that White Otter would give them an opportunity to retaliate upon their foes. The thought stirred them. They began to sing the war songs, and make savage threats against the Kiowas. Some of the younger warriors began to dance. The village rang with their shouts. The older men soon yielded to the excitement. In a few moments the entire company joined in the wild antics of the war dance.

White Otter took no part. He, too, longed to shout, and sing, and dance and make fierce threats against his foes, but he realised that it was not the part of a great chief to yield to his emotions. Sun Bird and Little Raven, however, took a prominent part in the dance. White Otter heard their voices rising in the fierce Dacotah war cry, and his blood tingled at the sound.

Then the Cheyennes finally brought the wild ceremony to an end, and stood quietly beside their ponies, awaiting instruction from the Ogalala chief. White Otter looked upon them with admiration. They were a splendid body of warriors, and he was proud to command them. Tall and sinewy, their stern faces and flashing eyes proclaimed their courage. They compared favorably with the famous Dacotah fighting men, and having seen them in battle White Otter knew that they were equally bold and indomitable.

"Cheyennes, I see that you are ready," said White Otter. "It is good. You have made me the leader. I will tell you how I feel about this thing. I believe my people will come here to help us. Some of you must stay here to watch for them. Then you must bring them to the Kiowa camp. The rest of us will go ahead to fight the Kiowas. Their village is two sun's travel away. They have reached their lodges. We must follow them to their camp. When we get there I will tell you what to do. I have finished."

As Running Crow translated the words, White Otter saw disappointment on the faces of the Cheyennes. They began to talk softly to one another. He knew at once that they were discussing who should be left behind to watch. Each hoped to avoid the task. All wished to fight the Kiowas. Then Ghost Bear suddenly offered a solution of the difficulty.

"Listen, my brothers," he cried, eagerly. "All of you are young men. A young man must fight. I am old. I cannot ride the war ponies. I will stay here and watch for the Ogalalas. If they come I will tell them where to find you."

"If you stay here alone, perhaps something bad will happen to you," Running Crow told him.

"No, no, nothing will happen to me," Ghost Bear assured him. "I will put away those brave warriors who are lying here. Then I will wait for the Ogalalas. There is meat here. The Kiowas did not find it. I will have plenty to eat. I am a Medicine Person, nothing can harm me. If enemies come here, I will run away and hide in the bushes. Come, my brothers, ride away and leave me. There is little time."

"Ghost Bear, you are very brave," declared White Otter, when Running Crow told him of the old Medicine Man's proposal.

A few moments later the Cheyenne war party left the camp. They rode across the plain, singing their war songs, and old Ghost Bear cackled gleefully as he heard them. He watched until they were beyond range of his dim old eyes. Then he moved slowly into the village. He stopped and gazed sadly upon the forms of his friends.

"Listen, you Silent People," he cried. "The Kiowas have sent you on The Long Trail. You were very brave. Our people will talk about you a long time. Now our brothers have gone to kill many Kiowas. White Otter, the great war chief of the Ogalalas, is the leader. Soon you will hear a great noise. You will know it is the Kiowas. They will cry like women when our brothers begin to kill them. Then you must laugh at them."




Chapter XIV

In Pursuit Of The Kiowas


The Kiowa trail was easy to follow, for the great herd of ponies had left many tracks. White Otter felt sure that the Kiowas would lose little time in getting to their camp. The trail confirmed his decision. It led toward the southeast, the direction of the Kiowa village. White Otter believed that it would be useless to attempt to overtake his foes. Some of the younger, more impulsive warriors were eager to race ahead, but White Otter held them back.

"It is useless to kill your ponies," he told them. "The Kiowas have reached their lodges."

When they had passed beyond sight of the Cheyenne village, he began to take precautions. Two possibilities suggested themselves. He realized that the Kiowas might have expected pursuit and left scouts behind to watch their trail. He also knew that the Pawnees were abroad, and he feared that they might have followed the trail of the Cheyenne hunters. He sent scouts to ride ahead and on both sides of the war party.

"If you see anything, tell us about it," he told them.

Then the war party continued across the plain. White Otter realized that while his force was large enough for a sudden attack against the Kiowa camp, it was not sufficiently strong to risk a fight in the open. Besides, he hoped to accomplish his purpose without bringing further loss upon the Cheyennes.

The day passed without alarm. Toward sunset they saw one of the scouts returning. They believed he had discovered something. White Otter called Running Crow to act as interpreter.

"He says he saw some buffaloes over there," said Running Crow, as he pointed toward the south.

"Then I believe the Pawnees are near," White Otter told him. "We must watch out for them. Tell your brother to go back there, and keep watching. Tell him when it gets dark to come to the place where many trees grow. He will find us there."

Running Crow repeated the instructions, and the scout rode away. It was not long before one of the scouts who was riding in advance came back. He was a warrior named Standing Bull, who spoke the Sioux dialect.

"We looked sharp but we did not see anything," he told White Otter. "Sitting Bear and Black Beaver are riding ahead. I came back to find out where to find you when it gets dark."

"You will find us at the place where many trees grow," White Otter told him. "Do you know that place?"

"Yes, I know it," said Standing Bull. "There is good water there."

He rode ahead to join his companions. He had barely gone before one of the other scouts joined the war party. He, too, reported that he had seen nothing to arouse suspicion. When he learned where the Cheyennes planned to spend the night he rode away.

"It is good," said Running Crow, who rode beside White Otter. "Our brothers have seen nothing but some buffaloes."

"Perhaps those buffaloes will bring the Pawnees," replied White Otter.

"No, my brother, I do not believe we will see the Wolf People," Running Crow told him. "They have killed many buffaloes. They have plenty of meat. I believe they will take it to their people."

Shortly afterward they came in sight of a large grove of aspens. It was a familiar camp site, and White Otter had been there before. As they drew near the timber they stopped, while scouts went forward to investigate. They rode cautiously about the grove to make sure that it was free of foes. The Cheyennes watched closely. They realized that it offered a tempting hiding place to Kiowa scouts. One of the riders finally disappeared into the timber. A few moments afterward be signaled the war party to advance.

"The way is clear," said Running Crow.

When the Cheyennes entered the grove the scouts showed them a number of fresh pony tracks. White Otter examined them with much interest. They seemed to cause him considerable uneasiness.

"Well, my brother, how do you feel about those tracks?" Sun Bird asked him.

"It looks bad," said White Otter. "There were three ponies in this place. It was not long ago. Perhaps it was Kiowa scouts. Perhaps they saw us coming here. Perhaps they have gone to tell their people about it. We must watch out."

"If the Kiowas come here the scouts will tell us about it," said Running Crow.

"Yes, that is true," replied White Otter. "But some one must keep watching out there on the plain. The Kiowas are sharp. Perhaps they will creep past the scouts."

Several warriors offered to go out on the plain to watch. Then the Cheyennes picketed their ponies, and lay down to rest. For two days they had ridden hard, and they were tired and sore.

"White Otter, I have something bad to tell you," Sun Bird said, as he seated himself beside the Ogalala.

White Otter turned inquiringly.

"The Kiowas took away our ponies," said Sun Bird. "Painted Weasel told me about it. Running Buffalo found Little Raven's pony, but our ponies are with the Kiowas."

"Hi, that is bad," cried White Otter. "Well, I will get back my pony. Curly Horse, your chief, gave it to me. I will not let it go. It is the fastest pony I ever rode. Yes, I will take it away from the Kiowas."

"We will get them back," Sun Bird declared, confidently. "My pony is very fast. I will not let the Kiowas keep it."

The loss of the ponies saddened them. White Otter felt sure that neither friend nor foe owned a pony with the speed and endurance of the little piebald which he had received from the Minneconjoux chief. Sun Bird was equally attached to the little roan. It had beaten most of the ponies in the Minneconjoux camp, and had carried him to safety in several thrilling escapes from his foes.

"How did the Kiowas get those ponies?" White Otter asked, suddenly.

"Painted Weasel says that all the war ponies were in the camp," said Sun Bird. "When the Kiowas ran into the village, the Cheyennes ran to get the ponies. They had a big fight. The Kiowas got many of those ponies. Our ponies were with those ponies they took away."

The sun had disappeared, and the twilight shadows were forming on the plain. Many of the Cheyennes were asleep. The ponies had finished feeding, and most of them were lying down. The camp was in peaceful repose. White Otter looked on with satisfaction.

"It is good," he said. "The Cheyennes and their ponies are resting. They will be strong to fight."

Then, as night closed down, White Otter left his companions and seated himself at the edge of the grove. He was serious and thoughtful. He suddenly realized his responsibility. The Cheyennes had placed themselves under his leadership. They were depending upon him to save their chief. He knew the difficulties and perils which were before him. He wondered if he would be able to overcome them. For a moment he felt doubtful. Would he fail? Would he bring another staggering disaster upon the unfortunate Cheyennes? He grew weak at the thought. Then he realized that he was yielding to fear. The idea roused him. He felt ashamed. He rallied from the mood. He recalled that he had overcome the Kiowas under still greater difficulties. It restored his confidence. His courage returned. He laughed away his fears.

"I am an Ogalala," he said, proudly. "I will do what I have set out to do."

He rose, and turned his face toward the heavens. He asked Wa-kan-tun-ka, the Great Mystery, to give him strength and courage to overcome his enemies. Then he returned to his friends. He found Sun Bird and Little Raven asleep. Running Crow was seated a short distance away. White Otter joined him.

"My brother, why are you awake?" White Otter asked. "I am the leader. I will watch. Come, Running Crow, lie down and sleep."

"No, I cannot sleep," Running Crow told him. "My heart is heavy. I am thinking about my people. I am thinking about my friends who were killed by the Kiowas. I am thinking about Red Dog. Perhaps the Kiowas have killed him."

White Otter remained silent. The words of Running Crow revived his fears. He knew the bitter enmity between the Kiowas and the Cheyennes, and he feared that Red Dog might have been killed soon after entering the camp. Running Crow seemed to understand the significance of his silence.

"I see that you believe Red Dog is dead," Running Crow said, sharply.

"No, I do not believe it," White Otter told him. "We cannot tell about it until we get to the Kiowa camp. I --  -- "

He ceased speaking. A pony had called, close at hand. Running Crow sprang to his feet. The Cheyennes sat up to listen. White Otter stared anxiously into the night.

"It is one of the scouts," said Running Crow.

"Watch," White Otter cautioned him.

For some moments all was still. Then they heard some one riding toward them. They had little doubt that it was a scout, but they were cautious. The Cheyennes had risen and moved to the edge of the grove. The rider had stopped. They became suspicious. They waited anxiously for a signal. At last it came.

"Do not be afraid, my brothers," said a familiar voice.

A moment later Fighting Wolf, one of the scouts, appeared out of the darkness. Running Crow began to talk with him. The Cheyennes listened eagerly. The Sioux, however, were unable to understand his words.

"Fighting Wolf says that he heard the call of the great gray wolf," Running Crow told White Otter. "It was far away."

"The Pawnees made that call," declared White Otter. "We will be cautious."

At dawn the scouts returned to the grove. With the exception of Fighting Wolf and his companions who had heard the wolf call, they declared that the night had passed without alarm. White Otter felt considerably encouraged. He believed that the Kiowas had failed to guard their trail. It was evident that they had little fear of being overtaken before they reached their camp.

"I believe they will keep a sharp watch around their village," White Otter told Running Crow.

The sun had not appeared when the war party left the grove and cantered away toward the Kiowa camp. White Otter asked Running Crow to select the most expert warriors to ride in advance, as he believed there was great danger of encountering Kiowa scouts. When half of the day had passed, White Otter began to notice familiar landmarks which told him that he was approaching the vicinity of the Kiowa camp. He became more cautious.

"We are getting close to our enemies," he told Running Crow.

Soon afterward they saw the famous scout, Painted Weasel, racing toward them. White Otter immediately called a halt. They watched the scout with considerable anxiety. He was lashing his pony, and pointing behind him.

"Perhaps the Kiowas are coming," they told one another.

When Painted Weasel came within shouting distance he called out to White Otter in the Sioux tongue.

"So-ta, so-ta!" he cried.

"Painted Weasel says smoke," White Otter told them.

"My brother, we saw some smoke a long way ahead of us," Painted Weasel said, excitedly. "We were peeping over the top of a hill. We saw many trees. We were watching sharp. Then I saw that smoke. I believe the Kiowa camp is over there. I came to tell you about it."

"Yes, it is true," White Otter told him. "The camp is in that place. I know about it. Where are your brothers?"

"Standing Bull and Red Crane are watching."

"It is good," said White Otter. "Running Crow, tell your people about it."

The Cheyennes became greatly excited. Almost within sight of the Kiowa camp, they were eager to approach and begin the fight. Some of the warriors proposed riding back to the ridge with Painted Weasel to reconnoiter. White Otter kept them back.

"Cheyennes, you have made me the leader," he cried. "You must do as I tell you. Now listen to my words. Red Dog your chief is in that camp. If you let the Kiowas know that we are here, Red Dog will be killed. There is only one way to do this thing. We must hide until it gets dark. Then some of us will go ahead and try to find out something. There is a gully over there toward the Place-where-the-warm-wind-blows. I will take you over there. It is a good place to hide in. Before we go there we must call in our brothers, and tell them about it."

Running Crow repeated the words to his tribesmen. They heartily indorsed the plan.

"The Ogalala is a great leader," they said.

Then a warrior rode out on each side of the war party and galloped his pony in a circle. The scouts were visible, far away across the plain. They soon saw the riders and understood the signals. In a few moments the Cheyennes saw them riding in. In the meantime Painted Weasel had ridden away to acquaint his companions with the plans of the war party.

"Now we will go to that gully," said White Otter.

He circled more to the southward, and led them across the plain at a brisk canter. The scouts finally overtook them, and rode along beside them. They kept a sharp watch for their foes, but except for a few stray bunches of antelopes, the plain appeared lifeless. The day was well advanced when they eventually reached a deep ravine that extended far across the plain.

"We will hide here and watch until it gets dark," White Otter told them.

Guards were appointed to watch the ponies, and then most of the warriors crawled up the side of the ravine to watch the plain. They looked eagerly into the east in the hope of discovering smoke from the Kiowa camp.

"Perhaps it has died out; perhaps it is too far away," Running Crow told them.

Sun Bird and Little Raven had joined White Otter. The three young scouts lay beside each other at the top of the ravine. They stared silently across the plain. The sun had set, and the evening shadows were already gathering in the east.

"See, see, some one is riding this way," Little Raven cried suddenly.

Three horsemen were racing toward the ravine. The Cheyennes were talking excitedly. They felt certain that the riders were the scouts who had gone to watch from the ridge to the eastward. The Sioux also believed that Painted Weasel and his companions were returning with word of some important discovery. Running Crow hastened to join White Otter.

"It looks bad," he said suspiciously. "Something has happened."

"Pretty soon we will know about it," White Otter said, quietly.

As the scouts approached the ravine, the foremost rider raised his hand above his head as a token of friendship. Then they recognized him as Painted Weasel. When he reached them he called for White Otter.

"Here is White Otter," Running Crow told him.

"The Kiowa scouts have gone to that hill to watch," said Painted Weasel. "We got away before they saw us."

"It is good," replied White Otter.

"Now it will be hard to get near the camp," said Running Crow.

"We will fool them," White Otter assured him.




Chapter XV

Daring Scouts


At dark White Otter called the Cheyennes to assemble in the ravine. Then he announced his plans.

"My brothers, I am going to the Kiowa camp to find out about Red Dog," he said. "I will try to find out about the ponies. Then I will come back and tell you what to do. You must wait here. Keep a sharp watch. Do not let the Kiowas find you. If you hear them coming, ride away to that place where the trees are. If I do not come back before another sun goes away you will know that something bad has happened to me. I will watch out. I do not believe the Kiowas will catch me. Now I am going to ask Sun Bird and Little Raven to go with me. Sun Bird knows about that camp. Little Raven will help us with the ponies. Now, my friends, I am going away. Pretty soon I will come back and tell you about Red Dog."

When Running Crow told the plan to the Cheyennes, they expressed their disapproval. Most of them wished to accompany White Otter on the perilous expedition. They believed that it would be foolhardy for the three Sioux to go without them.

"White Otter, I will tell you how my brothers feel about this thing," said Running Crow. "They say that it would be foolish for the Dacotahs to go to that camp alone. The Kiowas are watching. Perhaps you will meet them. There will be only three of you. There will be many Kiowas. Perhaps you will be killed. Then your people will say, 'The Cheyennes held back. They were afraid. They sent our brothers ahead to die.' Then we would feel bad. Come, take some of these brave warriors with you. Then if the Kiowas come after you, it will be easy to get away."

"Running Crow, I have listened to your words," replied White Otter. "If too many of us go to do this thing, the Kiowas will hear us. We must not let them know that we are here until we are ready to rush into the camp. Do not feel afraid. Nothing will happen to me. Once I went to that camp with my brother Sun Bird, and took away ponies. I will go there again."

"Well, my brother, I see that you propose to go ahead with this thing, so I will not talk any more against it," said Running Crow.

"It is good," declared White Otter.

Soon afterward the three Sioux scouts rode away. When they were a bowshot from the ravine White Otter turned toward the south. He felt quite certain that the Kiowas would expect the Cheyennes from the north or the west, and he believed it would be safer to approach the camp from the southward.

"Yes, it is the best way to go," said Sun Bird.

They eventually circled toward the east, and crossed the ridge without encountering their foes. Then they rode cautiously in the direction of the Kiowa camp. They knew that it was located beside a wide stream to the eastward of another low ridge. Having passed the scouts, the Sioux hoped to reach the second ridge without being discovered. It seemed a long time before it finally loomed up before them. Then they stopped. The camp was only a short distance away. White Otter suddenly began to sniff.

"So-ta, smoke," he said.

The wind was blowing toward them, and they caught the odor from the Kiowa fires. They spent some time listening for voices from the ridge. The way appeared to be clear. They rode slowly forward. They had gone only a short distance when White Otter suddenly stopped his pony, and dismounted.

"It would be foolish to ride closer to that place," he said, softly. "I believe scouts are watching on the top of that hill. If we ride over there they will hear the ponies. I will tell you what I propose to do. Little Raven, you must stay here with the ponies. Sun Bird, you must go ahead with me. Little Raven, you must listen sharp. If you hear anyone coming toward you ride away. Do not let the Kiowas know who you are. When we come back we will make the call of To-ka-la, the little gray fox. Now we will go ahead."

"I will keep your words," Little Raven said, quietly.

White Otter and Sun Bird disappeared. A few moments later they stopped at the base of the ridge to listen. The silence reassured them, and they crawled cautiously up the slope. Once at the top, they looked eagerly toward the east. They located the camp by the glow from the fires. Then they saw them twinkling far away among the trees. They watched with the grim, silent satisfaction of a panther that has discovered its prey.

"Come," whispered White Otter. "We will go down there and look for the ponies. Then we will crawl up to the camp and try to find out about Red Dog."

They moved carefully down the ridge, and hurried across the plain. On a former expedition they had learned that the Kiowas pastured their ponies to the northward of the camp, and they turned in that direction. They had no thought of attempting to run off the ponies, however, for they realized that such a maneuver would cost the life of the Cheyenne chief. Besides, they felt certain that the piebald and the roan and the best of the Cheyenne war ponies had been taken to the camp for safe keeping. They believed that the rest of the stolen ponies were with the great herd of Kiowa ponies that were turned loose upon the plain in the vicinity of the village. White Otter was eager to locate them so that the Cheyennes would know exactly where to find them when they came to attack the camp.

"Perhaps the Kiowas drove them close to the lodges," suggested Sun Bird.

"Yes, it may be true," said White Otter.

They circled carefully about the plain, searching for the ponies, but were unable to find them. They finally became convinced that the crafty Kiowas had driven them close to the camp. It was the usual precaution in times of danger.

"Well, we will not look any more," said White Otter. "The night is passing. There is little time. Come, my brother, we will creep up close to the camp. Perhaps we will find the ponies there."

They turned toward the Kiowa village, and advanced with great caution. They stopped many times to make sure that the way was open, before they finally came within bow shot of the camp. It was located in a grove of cottonwoods that lined the banks of a stream. The lodges showed distinctly in the light from the fires, but the trees made it difficult to see into the village.

"We must go closer," declared White Otter.

At that moment a dog began to bark, and they stopped in alarm. Had the dog caught their scent? Their hopes weakened at the thought. They listened, fearfully, expecting to hear the other dogs take up the challenge. Their fears, however, were not confirmed. The dog soon became quiet. The peril had passed.

"It is good," whispered White Otter. "We will go ahead."

They moved through the darkness as silently as shadows, and approached close to the edge of the timber. Then they stopped. They were almost within leaping distance of the camp. They feared to advance nearer because of the dogs. Then White Otter suddenly thought of a way to overcome the peril.

"Come, my brother, we will climb into this big tree," he proposed. "Then we can see into the camp, and the dogs will not find us."

"It is good," said Sun Bird.

They climbed noiselessly into a large cottonwood, and went sufficiently high to obtain a splendid view of the Kiowa camp. The Kiowas were assembled about a large fire, and a warrior whom the Sioux took to be the chief was talking excitedly. In a few moments they recognized him. They had outwitted him several years before.

"Hi, I know that warrior -- it is 'The Lame Wolf,'" laughed Sun Bird.

"Yes, I see who it is," replied White Otter.

A moment afterward they made a still more interesting discovery. They saw a number of ponies tied at one end of the camp, and among them they identified the piebald and the roan. They were tied before a lodge, and the Sioux believed that the Kiowa who occupied it was the one who had taken the ponies from the Cheyenne camp.

"Pretty soon we will take them away," said Sun Bird.

White Otter kept still. He was searching the camp for Red Dog. The Cheyenne chief was not in sight. White Otter became alarmed. He wondered if the Kiowas had already killed their prisoner. The possibility staggered him. He fastened his attention upon the man who was addressing his people. He appeared to be telling them something important. They were listening with serious attention. The entire tribe seemed to have assembled at the council fire, for the Sioux saw men, women and children in the group. Then the speaker suddenly pointed toward one of the lodges, and the Sioux looked eagerly in the direction. A moment afterward the robe was drawn from the doorway of the lodge, and three warriors appeared. The Sioux instantly recognized one as Red Dog.

"Watch sharp!" said White Otter.

The appearance of the Cheyenne chief threw the Kiowas into a turmoil. They rose to their feet, and began to shout, and jeer, and threaten their foe. The latter walked slowly forward between his guards. He was badly crippled and walked with difficulty, and the Kiowas laughed at his misfortune. Several boys followed behind him, mimicking his gait. The eyes of the Sioux flashed dangerously.

"I would like to kill those people," declared Sun Bird.

"Wait," White Otter said, grimly.

Red Dog was led to the council fire. The Kiowas immediately began to threaten him. They crowded closely about him, shouting and shaking their fists, but the Cheyenne appeared calm and fearless. Then the warrior whom the Sioux had recognized called out sharply, and the Kiowas fell back. A moment afterward he addressed the prisoner. The Sioux wondered if he was speaking in the Cheyenne dialect. Red Dog gave no indication that he understood him. When the Kiowa finally paused, and appeared to be waiting for a reply, the Cheyenne remained silent. The Kiowa laughed scornfully, and turned away. Then Red Dog was taken back to the lodge.

The Sioux felt greatly relieved. They believed that Red Dog would be spared for the night at least. The thought gave them hope. They believed that the following night they might be able to rescue him from his predicament.

"We have found out what we wished to know," said White Otter. "Come, we will go and tell the Cheyennes about it."

"Yes, we must get far away before the light comes," declared Sun Bird.

They were about to descend, when they suddenly heard voices. The speakers were approaching the camp. They were close to the tree in which the Sioux had concealed themselves. The latter waited anxiously for the prowlers to pass. They believed that they were scouts who had been watching on the plain. Then the voices ceased, and the Sioux became uneasy. They wondered if the scouts had gone. They watched to see them enter the camp. Long moments passed. The scouts failed to appear. The Sioux wondered what had become of them. Then they heard them talking directly beneath them. They had stopped at the tree. The Sioux wondered if they had been discovered. They feared to move. At last they heard the Kiowas passing on. A moment afterward they saw two warriors enter the camp.

"Now we will go," said White Otter.

They descended from the tree, and sped safely into the night. Dawn was almost at hand when they finally found Little Raven.

"You have come -- it is good," he said. "Did you find Red Dog?"

"Yes, we saw Red Dog in the Kiowa camp," White Otter told him.

"Did you see the ponies?"

"Yes, our ponies are in that camp," said Sun Bird.

"Hi, that is good," declared Little Raven.

"Did anything happen to you?" White Otter asked him, as they rode toward the Cheyennes.

"No, nothing happened to me," said Little Raven. "I listened sharp, but I did not hear anything."




Chapter XVI

A Thrilling Rescue


Having crossed safely over the ridge where they believed the Kiowa scouts were watching, the Sioux rode desperately to reach the ravine before daylight. There was not a moment to spare. Dawn was flushing the eastern sky when they finally encountered the first Cheyenne scout. They stopped, and White Otter imitated the bark of To-ko-la, the little gray fox.

"You have come back -- it is good," cried Painted Weasel.

"Yes, it is good," White Otter told him.

They ran the ponies toward the ravine. The Cheyennes were overjoyed at their safe return. They gathered eagerly about them to learn if they had reached the Kiowa camp.

"Cheyennes, Red Dog is alive," White Otter told them. "We saw him in the Kiowa camp."

"It is good, it is good," cried Running Crow. "My brothers, you have done a big thing."

The Cheyennes were beside themselves with excitement. Their gloom vanished. Their hearts filled with hope. Having learned that their chief was alive, their one thought was to rescue him. They realized, however, that it would be foolhardy to make the attempt before night. The thought suddenly sobered them. The delay suggested alarming possibilities. They began to have doubts.

"Perhaps the Kiowas will kill Red Dog before the night comes," they told one another.

Aroused by the thought, some of the warriors made reckless proposals to attack the camp at once. The majority, however, talked against it.

"We must wait," Running Crow told them. "If we let the Kiowas see us, they will kill Red Dog before we can help him. I do not believe anything will happen to him before the night comes. Come, White Otter, you are the leader, tell us how you feel about it."

"My brothers, we must wait," declared White Otter. "I do not believe the Kiowas will kill Red Dog before the night comes. I will tell you how I feel about it. I believe the Kiowas are getting ready for a big talk. They will tell their people about the great fight. They will dance and sing the war songs. Then Red Dog will be in danger. I believe they will bring him out to kill him. I do not believe they will do anything until it gets dark. Then we will be close to the camp. We will rush in and carry away your chief. Pretty soon I will tell you how I propose to do it. You must wait until I tell you about it. If you do anything foolish, Red Dog will surely die.

"Now I will tell you something different. My brothers, we found the ponies. The war ponies are in the Kiowa camp. The other ponies are outside with the Kiowa ponies. We will run off the ponies when we carry away Red Dog. This will be a big fight. I know that all of you are brave enough to go through with it. You must also be sharp. We must fool the Kiowas. Then they will not kill Red Dog before we get into the camp. I believe some scouts are still watching over there on that long hill. I believe they will go away before it gets dark. We must keep hiding in this place until they go away. Now I have told you what I have to say about it."

His words made a favorable impression upon the Cheyennes. They were convinced that his plan offered the only hope of saving Red Dog. They were eager to learn how he proposed to overcome the Kiowa camp without sacrificing the life of the Cheyenne chief. White Otter showed no inclination to tell them.

"My brothers, White Otter is a great chief," said Running Crow. "A great chief does not tell what he is about to do. You must wait until it is time to go ahead with this thing. Then White Otter will tell us about it."

Day had dawned, and the sun was appearing above the plain. Most of the Cheyennes crept to the top of the ravine to watch for signs of the Kiowas. They wondered if scouts were still watching on the distant ridge. There was no way of learning.

The day was well advanced when the Cheyennes discovered a band of animals on the summit of the ridge. They studied them with eager attention. The distance made it difficult to identify them. Some thought they were ponies. White Otter and Sun Bird disagreed with them.

"He-ha-ka, elk," said the Sioux.

"Yes, yes, it is true," agreed Running Crow.

The animals were moving slowly along the ridge. Their appearance convinced the Cheyennes that the ridge was free of foes. They believed that the Kiowa scouts had returned to the village.

"The way is clear -- it is good," said Running Crow.

"Perhaps they are watching close to the camp," White Otter told him.

Then he called Sun Bird and Little Raven into the ravine.

"My brothers, I have some words for you," he said. "Pretty soon the day will pass away. I have been watching for our people. Now I do not believe they will come in time to help us. Perhaps the Cheyennes took a long time to go to our camp. Well, we cannot wait. We must go ahead with what we came to do. Red Dog is our friend. We must try to help him. I am about to do a big thing. I will ask you to help me. There will be great danger. Perhaps we will be killed. You are Dacotahs. You are brave. I know you are not afraid to die."

"White Otter, I will go with you," said Sun Bird.

"Yes, my brother, I will go," Little Raven told him.

"It is good," declared White Otter. "Now I will tell the Cheyennes about it."

He asked Running Crow to summon his tribesmen. They hurried into the ravine, and assembled before the Ogalala.

"My brothers, I have called you here to tell you what I propose to do," said White Otter. "The day has almost gone. Night is close by. We must get ready.

"Listen to my words. When we go to fight the Kiowas it would be foolish for all of us to go together. If we do that, the scouts will find out about it and tell their people. Then Red Dog will be killed before we get to the camp. There is only one way to do this thing. We must make three war parties. Now I will tell you about it. I am going to make Running Crow a leader. He must take some warriors and go away first. Running Crow and his brothers must circle far around and come up on the other side of the camp. I am going to make Standing Bull a leader. He must take some warriors and go away next. Standing Bull and his brothers must circle around and come up on the side where the ponies are. I am going to make Painted Weasel a leader. He must take some warriors and go away last. Painted Weasel and his brothers must ride straight ahead to the camp. All of you must send scouts ahead to watch for the Kiowas. You must watch sharp. If you let them find you we cannot help Red Dog. When you all get close enough to shoot an arrow into the camp, you must wait. When Painted Weasel is ready he must make the cry of Ma-ya-sh, the wolf. Then Painted Weasel and Standing Bull must lead their brothers ahead. You must make a big noise. Standing Bull and his brothers must run off the ponies. Painted Weasel and his brothers must go to the camp.

"Now, Running Crow, listen sharp. When you hear that noise you must bring your brothers to the other side of the camp. Do not make any noise until you are close. Then rush ahead.

"While you are all doing these things, Sun Bird and Little Raven will go with me into the camp. We will try to save Red Dog and lead away the war ponies. You must come fast, my brothers, or the Kiowas will kill us. Each of you must do as I have told you to do. Now, my brothers, I will ask you how you feel about it.

"White Otter, you have given us great words," declared Running Crow. "I believe you have told us how to fool the Kiowas. You have asked me to be a leader. It is good. I will keep your words. Yes, my brother, I will do as you have told me to do."

"It is good," said White Otter.

"My brother, you are a great war leader," said Painted Weasel. "If we do as you tell us to do, I believe we will save Red Dog and run off many ponies. I will keep your words. I will lead my brothers close up to the camp. We will make a big fight. We will try hard to help you."

"It is good," White Otter told him.

"Great chief of the Ogalalas, I have listened to your words," said Standing Bull. "They are good. I believe it is the only way to do this thing. I will keep your words. I will lead my brothers to run off the ponies."

"It is good," said White Otter. "Well, my brothers, I see that you all feel good about this thing. It makes me feel big."

Having learned the plan of attack, the Cheyennes looked forward to the fight with enthusiasm. They crept up the ravine and watched impatiently for the day to pass. They glared fiercely into the east, and murmured boastful threats against the hated foes in the distant camp.

"Hi, hi, pretty soon we will show the Kiowas how to fight," they cried, savagely.

When the purple evening shadows finally settled upon the plain, the war leaders called the warriors into the ravine, and began to select the men who were to accompany them. The Cheyennes watched with intense interest as Running Crow and Painted Weasel and Standing Bull went about making their selections. All were famous warriors who commanded the respect and admiration of their tribesmen, and the latter had little preference between them. Then White Otter suddenly called Running Crow.

"Running Crow, I believe Painted Weasel and his brothers will have the biggest fight," he said. "The Kiowas will run out that way when they hear the noise. Painted Weasel must take the most warriors. You will also have a big fight, because you must rush into the camp. You must take many warriors. Standing Bull will run off the ponies. I do not believe he will get into the fight. Standing Bull must not take so many warriors."

"It is true," agreed Running Crow. "I have told my brothers about it. Painted Weasel is calling the most warriors. Standing Bull has called only a few."

"It is good," said White Otter.

When the selections had finally been made, each war leader made a short, fiery address to his warriors. Their words roused the fighting spirit of the Cheyennes. They made it plain that they hoped to wipe out the sting of their recent defeat and take full vengeance upon the Kiowas.

"My people are very mad," Running Crow told White Otter. "They will make a big fight."

Darkness had already fallen, and White Otter determined to reconnoiter the plain before the first war party left the ravine. He sent White Horse and Red Crane and Fighting Wolf and Sitting Bear to look for the Kiowas. White Horse and Red Crane advanced toward the distant ridge. Sitting Bear circled toward the north. Fighting Wolf rode toward the south. The Cheyennes waited anxiously for them to return. Sitting Bear came first. He said he had ridden far out over the plain but had heard or seen nothing of their foes. Then Fighting Wolf rode in. He, too, declared that he had failed to find the Kiowas. It was a long time before White Horse and Red Crane arrived. They said they had searched carefully along the ridge, but had failed to locate their enemies.

"It is good," said White Otter. "Now we are ready to go ahead. Come, Running Crow, call your warriors."

When Running Crow and his companions were ready to depart, White Otter addressed them.

"My brothers, you are going into great danger," he warned them. "Perhaps you will have a hard fight. Running Crow is a good war leader. He will take you into the Kiowa camp. Then you must try to save your chief. When you get away come here and wait for your brothers. Do what I have told you to do. Do not try to do anything different. Go, my brothers, Red Dog is waiting for you."

"White Otter, we will keep your words," Running Crow told him. "When we hear that great noise we will rush ahead."

"It is good," said White Otter.

They rode silently from the ravine, and cantered away toward the south. White Otter listened soberly as the hoofbeats of the ponies gradually died away. He knew that they were staking their lives on his ability as a war leader. He realized his responsibility. Failure meant death for Red Dog, disaster for the Cheyennes, and disgrace for him. He drove the thought from his mind.

"I will do this thing," he murmured, fiercely.

Standing Bull and his warriors were impatient, and eager to depart. White Otter held them back. He waited until he believed that Running Crow and his companions were well on their way before he finally sent away the second war party.

"Standing Bull, you must run off the ponies," said White Otter. "There are only a few of you. Do not try to get into the fight. Keep the ponies going. Make a big noise."

"I will do as you tell me," replied Standing Bull.

After they had gone, White Otter called Painted Weasel.

"Painted Weasel, you are a brave scout and a good war leader," White Otter told him. "I have seen you fight the Pawnees. I have seen you fight the Kiowas. I know you are brave. That is why I made you the leader of this war party. You will have the hardest fight of all. You must follow us to the Kiowa camp. You must wait close by until we have time to get into the camp. Then you must give the cry of Ma-ya-sh, the wolf, and rush ahead. Make a great noise. Try to frighten the Kiowas. Perhaps you will find us at the edge of the camp. Perhaps the Kiowas will hold us in the village. You must try to help us carry off Red Dog."

"White Otter, you are my friend," replied Painted Weasel. "I have seen you do some big things. All of these warriors know about you. They will be very brave because you are here. I will keep your words. We will fight hard to get Red Dog out of the camp."

"It is good," said White Otter. "Come, my brothers, we will go."

They mounted the ponies and rode from the ravine. Then they cantered slowly across the plain. White Otter and Painted Weasel rode in front. Sun Bird and Little Raven followed close behind them. Then came the gallant Cheyenne fighting men. They rode along in grim silence. When they had crossed the second ridge, White Otter stopped them.

"Now, my brothers, we must leave you and go ahead," he told Painted Weasel. "Hold back until we have time to reach the camp. Then go ahead. Be cautious. Now send some one with us to hold the ponies."

Two young Cheyennes rode forward to join the Sioux. Then White Otter led his little company toward the Kiowa camp. They soon saw the camp-fires flickering between the trees. When they drew nearer they suddenly heard sounds which aroused their fears. The Kiowas were shouting and beating the war drums. White Otter listened uneasily.

"It is bad," he said. "The Kiowas are dancing and singing the war songs. Red Dog is in danger. There is little time."

They rode faster. When they finally came within bowshot of the camp, White Otter stopped and dismounted. Sun Bird and Little Raven also dismounted. Then they left their ponies with the Cheyennes, and hurried away. They kept farther to the southward than they had gone the previous night, for White Otter was anxious to conceal himself nearer the center of the village.

"Now, my brothers, I will tell you what to do," he said, softly. "When we get to the edge of the camp, we will look for Red Dog. Then we will look for the war ponies. I will ask Sun Bird to go with me to help Red Dog. I will ask Little Raven to creep into the camp and lead out the ponies. Now we will go ahead."

The plain was shrouded in darkness, and they crept to the border of the camp without being discovered. Then they looked upon their foes. The Kiowas were seated about a great fire in the center of the village. They had ceased dancing, and were listening to a warrior who appeared to be relating some thrilling experience. The Sioux felt sure that he was describing the battle at the Cheyenne camp. They took little interest in him, for their one thought was to discover Red Dog. He was not in sight. They felt relieved. They were within a few bow lengths of the lodge into which he had been taken the previous night.

In the meantime, Little Raven had discovered the Dacotah ponies. They were tied before a lodge, a short distance on his left. He touched White Otter and pointed toward them. White Otter nodded understandingly. Little Raven crawled away into the darkness.

A moment afterward the Kiowa finished his boastful tale, and received a noisy ovation from his people. The Sioux smiled. Then another warrior rushed into the circle and drove his tomahawk into a painted post near the fire. The Sioux were familiar with the ceremony. They knew that the Kiowa claimed a coup for some daring feat which he had performed in the fight with the Cheyennes, and was about to tell his tribesmen of his valor. As the speaker drew the attention of the Kiowas, White Otter seized the opportunity to creep closer to the lodge in which he hoped to find Red Dog. When he was within a bow length of it, he stopped and placed his lips to the ear of Sun Bird.

"I believe Red Dog is in this lodge," he whispered. "I am going to creep up behind it. Follow me."

They crawled cautiously forward until they were at the rear of the lodge. Then White Otter placed his ear at the bottom of the lodge cover, and held his breath to listen. All was still. He signaled to Sun Bird. He, too, lay close to the ground and listened. In a few moments he shook his head. He had heard nothing. They believed that Red Dog was alone in the lodge. The thought filled them with joy. The warrior was still telling his boastful tale. The Kiowas were silent. The Sioux believed their opportunity was at hand. They drew their knives and began to cut the lodge cover from the stakes which held it to the ground. Then they were suddenly interrupted by the shrill neighing of a pony somewhere at the other end of the camp. The warrior ceased speaking. The Kiowas cried out excitedly. The Sioux turned to each other in dismay.

"Run around the other side of the lodge!" cried White Otter.

They separated and circled the lodge. Two warriors were coming out with Red Dog between them. The Sioux shot their arrows, and the Kiowas fell. Before the people in the camp realized what had happened, White Otter had reached the Cheyenne chief and freed his arms. Then he drew him toward the edge of the camp. The Kiowas rushed forward. Sun Bird fought desperately to hold them back.

Then the cry of Ma-ya-sh sounded from the plain. The Kiowas stopped in alarm. A moment afterward the night rang with a wild din that filled their hearts with terror. They heard their foes advancing on three sides of the camp. For an instant they crowded together in panic. Then the warriors ran for the ponies. They heard them thundering across the plain. They saw a dim, shadowy form dash into the camp and disappear with the Sioux war ponies. Then they heard the Cheyennes yelling at the edge of the village. The Kiowas rushed forward to drive them out. At that instant another company of horsemen entered from the opposite side of the camp. The Kiowas became demoralized and fled wildly before their foes. The Cheyennes swept into the camp.

"Come, my brothers, here are the ponies," cried Little Raven, as he joined his comrades at the border of the village.

The three warriors who had waited with the ponies had already come forward. Red Dog mounted and raced away to lead his warriors. The Sioux followed close behind him. The Kiowas had abandoned the camp, and were fleeing across the plain. The Cheyenne victory was complete. They had overcome their foes without losing a man.




Chapter XVII

Disaster


When the Cheyennes finally returned to the ravine they found Standing Bull and his companions awaiting them with a great herd of ponies. Among them were the fast war ponies which the Cheyennes had liberated from a corral at the end of the Kiowa camp.

"White Otter, we have done what you asked us to do," said Standing Bull.

"You are a good leader," White Otter told him. "See, my brothers, we have brought back your chief."

"Hi, hi, here is Red Dog!" Standing Bull cried, delightedly.

It was the signal for a great ovation to the Cheyenne chief. His warriors gathered about him with wild enthusiasm. Their piercing yells echoed shrilly across the plain, and put new terror into the hearts of the fleeing Kiowas. Then the guards with the ponies called out and warned the Cheyennes that the frightened animals were threatening to stampede.

"Be quiet, be quiet!" shouted Running Crow, "You have frightened the ponies."

The Cheyennes heeded the warning and became quiet. A few moments afterward Red Dog addressed them.

"My brothers, first I will tell you about these brave Dacotahs," he said. "When the Kiowas came to kill me, the Dacotahs shot their arrows through them, and gave me my life. Then White Otter pulled me away. Sun Bird fought back the Kiowas. Little Raven took away the Dacotah ponies. It was a great thing to do. Dacotahs, my heart feels big. You saved me from the Pawnees. Now you have saved me from the Kiowas. My people will talk about it a long time.

"Now, Cheyennes, here are some words for you. You were very brave. You came to that camp and fooled the Kiowas. You chased them out of their lodges. You made them run like rabbits. The Kiowas killed our people, but you killed many Kiowas. The Kiowas took our ponies, but you got them back, and took away many Kiowa ponies. Now we feel different in our hearts."

"Red Dog, I will tell you who brought your people to that camp to help you," said Running Crow. "White Otter brought them. He was the leader. He told us how to fool the Kiowas."

"White Otter is a great chief," replied Red Dog.

"White Otter, my people want you to give them some words," said Running Crow.

"Cheyennes, you have done a big thing," White Otter told them. "You were very brave. Running Crow, and Painted Weasel and Standing Bull are good war leaders. All of them did what they set out to do. That is how your chief, Red Dog, happens to be alive. Cheyennes, I will tell you that my brother, Sun Bird, was very brave. He fought back many Kiowas, while I was helping Red Dog. Cheyennes, I will tell you that my brother, Little Raven, was very brave. He crawled into the Kiowa camp and led out our ponies. Hi, my brothers, we feel good to get back those ponies. Now Red Dog has come back to you. He must be the leader. I have finished."

The Cheyennes remained at the ravine until daylight, and then as they saw nothing of the Kiowas they set out toward the north. They rode away in buoyant spirits, laughing, and shouting and singing the war songs. As usual, scouts rode ahead and along either flank. The warriors rode in pairs with Red Dog and White Otter in the lead. The men in charge of the ponies followed close behind the war party. The Cheyennes had little fear of pursuit, for they had thoroughly demoralized the Kiowas and taken away most of their ponies.

"They will not follow us," laughed Red Dog.

Although they felt secure from the Kiowas, the Cheyennes realized that there was a possibility of encountering the Pawnees. Having found them upon their hunting grounds, they felt quite certain that the Pawnees would keep a close watch. They believed, however, that the latter were farther toward the west, and they hoped to avoid them.

"We will watch out," said Red Dog.

The warriors in charge of the captured ponies were having considerable difficulty in holding them together, and the war party was forced to travel slowly. It disturbed them, for they were eager to withdraw from the Pawnee hunting grounds as soon as possible. They knew that the Pawnees were constantly moving about the plain, and they feared that some sharp-eyed scout might discover them. In that event they felt quite certain that the large herd of ponies would tempt the Pawnees to make an attack.

Half of the day had passed before they discovered anything to make them suspicious. Then they saw one of the scouts racing toward them. They stopped to wait for him.

"It is Turns Around," said Red Dog. "I believe he has found something bad."

In a few moments Turns Around reached them. He rode directly to Red Dog. They talked earnestly. Then Red Dog called out to the Cheyennes. They looked anxiously toward the west.

"Turns Around says he saw a warrior over there," Red Dog told White Otter. "He says he believes the warrior was a Pawnee. He says he believes the warrior saw him. He came back to tell us about it."

"It is bad," White Otter said, soberly. "If that warrior saw Turns Around, perhaps he will follow him and see us."

"It is true," replied Red Dog. "Well, we must keep going ahead. We cannot travel fast. We must keep with the ponies. They are holding us back. It is bad. I will feel good when we get away from this place. Now I am going to send Turns Around, and Sitting Bear over there to watch."

"Perhaps that scout will circle around and get behind us," suggested White Otter.

"Yes, I am thinking about that," said Red Dog. "I will send Black Beaver, and Fighting Wolf back there to watch."

Red Dog told his plans to the Cheyennes. The scouts immediately rode away. At the same time the war party continued toward the north. Red Dog sent a number of warriors to assist in keeping the ponies in order. Then the Cheyennes attempted to make better speed.

"Perhaps that warrior is a hunter," Red Dog told White Otter, hopefully. "If he is a hunter I do not believe he will try to follow us."

White Otter was silent. The discovery of the solitary rider had made him suspicious. Having encountered the strong force of Pawnees farther to the westward, he feared that they were still roaming about the plain. If one of their scouts came in sight of the Cheyennes, he believed there would be a fight. He realized that it would be difficult to escape without abandoning the ponies, and he knew that the Cheyennes would be unwilling to make that sacrifice.

They heard nothing further from the scouts until late in the day, and then Black Beaver overtook them. His announcement caused considerable excitement. White Otter believed that the Cheyennes were alarmed. Red Dog had left him, and was talking seriously with Running Crow.

"My brother, I believe the scouts have seen the Pawnees," Sun Bird told White Otter.

"Something bad has happened," said White Otter.

Then Red Dog galloped up beside him. He appeared uneasy and troubled. The Sioux asked no questions. In a few moments, however, Red Dog told them what Black Beaver had said.

"Black Beaver says he saw three wolves peeping over the top of some rocks," said Red Dog. "He says they did not look right. He asked Fighting Wolf about it. Fighting Wolf said they did not look right. Then they went away. Our brothers rode ahead. They kept looking back. They did not see anything. Then they rode over a little hill. Then Fighting Wolf held the ponies, and Black Beaver ran back to watch. He peeped over the hill, and saw two warriors riding away toward the Place-where-the-sun-sleeps. Then he saw a wolf peeping over the rocks. Then Fighting Wolf stayed there to watch, and Black Beaver came to tell us about it. My brothers, it is bad. I believe the Pawnees have found out about us. Come, White Otter, you are a great war leader, tell me what you make of it."

"It looks bad," White Otter told him. "I believe what you say is true. I believe the Pawnees know about us."

"Well, if they know about us, they will bring a big war party to run off these ponies," declared Red Dog.

"I do not believe those scouts know about the ponies," said Sun Bird. "Perhaps they are only trying to find out who we are. We are going away. Perhaps they will not try to follow us."

"I believe they will follow us," declared White Otter.

"Well, there is only one thing to do," Red Dog told them. "We must get away as fast as we can. We are not afraid of those Pawnees, but we must not lose the ponies."

"Those are good words," said White Otter.

Fearful that they were being followed, the Cheyennes surrounded the ponies and lashed them into a sharp gallop. It was impossible to hold them together. They soon scattered, and some broke from the herd and raced wildly across the plain. The Cheyennes rode furiously to turn them back.

"It is useless," they cried. "We cannot run them so fast."

Black Beaver had already turned back to join Fighting Wolf. The day was far gone, and the Cheyennes believed that if they could avoid an encounter before dark, they might be able to throw the Pawnees from their trail under cover of the night. The thought encouraged them. They ran the ponies at a brisk pace, and kept a sharp watch behind them. Then they saw Turns Around and Sitting Bear approaching from the west. When they reached the war party they told Red Dog that they had seen nothing more of the solitary rider.

"It is good," said Red Dog. "Perhaps it was a hunter. I believe he has gone away."

At that moment, however, the Cheyennes heard shouts behind them. Looking back in alarm, they saw Black Beaver and Fighting Wolf racing after them. They were lashing their ponies and riding at a furious pace.

"Watch out, I believe the Pawnees are close behind them!" cried Red Dog.

"Run the ponies! Run the ponies!" cried the scouts. "Many Pawnees are coming!"

The two riders had barely reached them when the Cheyennes saw a great company of horsemen ride over a hill. They knew at once that they were Pawnees. When the latter discovered the herd of ponies they began yelling excitedly. They raced across the plain at break-neck speed, and the Cheyennes realized that they would soon be overtaken.

"Come, we will ride back there and fight them off," proposed several young warriors.

"No, no," cried Red Dog. "Stay where you are. We must keep together and try to hold the ponies. Keep them running. Stay on all sides of them. Do not fight until the Pawnees try to rush in. Perhaps they will be afraid to come close."

The Pawnees were gaining with each stride of the ponies, and the Cheyennes knew it was hopeless to attempt to escape. Aware that an encounter was inevitable, they had surrounded the ponies, and were prepared to fight off their foes. The Sioux rode together at the head of the herd.

"It looks bad," said Sun Bird. "The Cheyennes made a big fight to get these ponies, but I believe the Pawnees will run them off."

"We must fight them back," White Otter told him.

"See, see, they are trying to get ahead of us," cried Little Raven.

The Pawnees had suddenly separated, and were moving forward along the flank of the war party. The Cheyennes instantly guessed their plan.

"They are going to ride around and close us in!" cried Red Dog. "Come, stop the ponies, and make a circle!"

They made desperate attempts to stop the ponies, but the wild yells of the Pawnees had frightened them into a panic and they were beyond control. They were running madly, but the Pawnees were passing on both sides of them. Another company of foes were closing in from the rear. The Cheyennes at the rear of the herd turned about and drove them back with a fierce volley of arrows. Then the Pawnees who had passed began to close in ahead of them. The Cheyennes saw the danger.

"Come, Cheyennes, follow me!" cried White Otter.

He raced forward, and a number of Cheyennes left the ponies and followed him. Sun Bird and Little Raven rode close beside him. White Otter raised his voice in the war cry and rode straight at his foes. His reckless courage roused his companions, and they charged savagely upon the surprised Pawnees and swept them from the path.

"Follow the Sioux! Follow the Sioux!" cried Red Dog.

The Cheyennes lashed the ponies into a wild burst of speed. The Pawnees began to shoot their arrows. They charged within short bow-range and made a furious attack upon the riders along the edge of the herd. A number of Cheyennes fell from their ponies. Their companions instantly closed the gap, and drove the riderless ponies into the herd. Then they sent a deadly shower of arrows against their foes. The Pawnees dropped behind their ponies for protection, but the Cheyennes brought many of the ponies to the plain.

"Yes, yes, kill the Pawnee ponies!" cried Running Crow.

At that moment, however, the entire company of Pawnees charged recklessly upon the herd. The Cheyennes fought valiantly, but they were greatly outnumbered, and the Pawnees soon broke through them. Once past the guards they rode wildly into the herd, yelling and waving their arms. The terrorized ponies scattered like a covey of frightened grouse, and fled across the plain. The Pawnees raced after them.

"Come, we must catch them!" Running Crow cried, fiercely.

"Wait," shouted Red Dog. "The Pawnees are too strong for us. They are near their camp. If we follow them many more warriors may come to help them. It is useless to throw away our lives. If we let the Pawnees kill us, what will become of our people? We must hold back. We are not strong enough to fight them."

"Red Dog, your words are good," declared White Otter. "It is useless to throw yourselves away."




Chapter XVIII

Reenforcements


The Cheyennes were disheartened by the loss of the ponies. They rode across the plain in gloomy silence. Having rallied from the catastrophe which had fallen upon their village, they were completely disheartened by the fresh disaster which had overtaken them.

"It is bad," said Running Crow. "The Evil Ones must be working against us."

The credulous Cheyennes were impressed by the thought. It deepened their gloom, and filled them with superstitious dread. Their recent misfortunes suddenly assumed a new significance. They believed that they had aroused the displeasure of the Evil Ones. The idea startled them. They feared that still greater calamities might befall them.

As the disastrous day finally came to its end, they approached a familiar camp site beside a large pool on the open plain. It was the only water within a half day's travel, and as the plain offered splendid pasturage for the ponies Red Dog determined to stop. Some of the warriors were eager to pass by, and continue the retreat from the Pawnee hunting grounds.

"No, it would be foolish," Red Dog told them. "We must stop here and rest the ponies."

The Cheyennes slid dejectedly from the ponies, and threw themselves upon the ground. They held the lariats, and watched indifferently while the ponies grazed. There was little talk. Their hearts were heavy. Their spirits were crushed. A splendid victory had ended in a bitter defeat. A number of their comrades had been killed. The Cheyennes felt subdued.

"Our brothers feel bad," Little Raven said, softly.

"Bad things have happened to them," declared Sun Bird.

White Otter made no comment. He, too, was serious and depressed. He had expected a war party of his people to come to the aid of the Cheyennes. He was at a loss to explain why they had failed to appear. Having assured the Cheyennes that the Ogalalas would help them, he feared that they might doubt the sincerity of his pledge. The thought troubled him. He felt sure that if his tribesmen had joined the war party, the Pawnees would have been beaten off.

"My people did not come," he told Sun Bird. "It is bad. I do not know what to make of it."

"Perhaps the Cheyennes took a long time to go to your village," said Sun Bird. "There were many women and children. They held back the warriors."

"Many suns have passed," White Otter reminded him.

They became silent. For a long time they sat watching the plain. White Otter looked hopefully toward the north. He knew that the Pawnees were two full days' travel from their village, and they would be forced to travel slowly with the great herd of ponies. If the Ogalalas should appear before the night passed he believed they might still overtake the Pawnees and recover the ponies. The possibility thrilled him. Then, as darkness finally came, the great hope died from his heart.

"My brothers, night has come," Red Dog told his warriors. "I do not believe the Pawnees will turn back to find us, but we must watch out. We are in the country of our enemies. I will ask some of you to ride out on the plain and watch."

"I will go," White Otter said, eagerly.

"White Otter, you are a great chief," Red Dog told him. "You have done big things to help us. You must lie down and rest. My young men will watch."

"No, no, I will watch," insisted White Otter. "Perhaps something good will come of it. Red Dog, you must listen to my words."

"I will not talk against it," said Red Dog.

"I will go," replied White Otter.

"I will go with you," said Sun Bird.

"No, my brother, I must go alone," White Otter told him.

A few moments later four scouts left the company, and disappeared into the night. One was White Otter. He rode away toward the north.

"I believe White Otter has gone to watch for his people," Little Raven told Sun Bird.

"It may be true," said Sun Bird.

Once beyond hearing of the Cheyennes, White Otter struck the piebald with his riding quirt, and the wonderful creature bounded away at marvelous speed. He rode far into the north before he finally came in sight of a dense cluster of trees. They were several arrow flights away. He stopped the piebald, and listened sharply. All was still.

"It is bad," White Otter murmured.

He rode slowly toward the timber. Then the piebald suddenly stopped and raised its head. White Otter peered eagerly into the darkness. A moment later a pony called. It was within bowshot. White Otter drew his arrows, and waited in trying suspense. The piebald was restless. He believed that some one was approaching. Then he heard voices. They were close by. He imitated the bark of the little gray fox. The sounds subsided. He listened anxiously. Many moments passed. Hope gave way to suspicion. Had he betrayed himself to his foes? The possibility startled him. Then he heard an answer to his signal. The bark of the little gray fox sounded a short distance ahead of him. His eyes flashed. His heart bounded with joy.

"Ho, Dacotahs," he cried, eagerly.

"Ho, my brother, come ahead," some one replied.

"My ears tell me who you are, but I must be cautious," said White Otter. "Come, Ogalala, tell me your name."

"Black Moccasin," said the voice.

"It is good," cried White Otter.

He rode forward, and met the famous Ogalala scout. They cantered toward the trees.

"Have you fought the Kiowas?" Black Moccasin inquired, anxiously.

"Yes, we went to their village and took away Red Dog and many ponies," White Otter told him.

"Well, we came fast, but I see that we did not get here in time to help you," said Black Moccasin.

"My brother, you must help us fight the Pawnees," replied White Otter. "The Pawnees came up with us and ran off the ponies that we took away from the Kiowas. That is why I came to find you."

"Hi, hi, that is bad," said Black Moccasin.

At that moment some one challenged them.

"It is good, my brother," cried Black Moccasin. "White Otter is here."

"Ride ahead," the scout told them.

They advanced and met Hollow Bear, another noted Ogalala warrior. He accompanied them to the grove. White Otter was overjoyed to find a great company of Ogalalas assembled at the campsite. With them were the five Cheyenne scouts who had accompanied the women and children to the Ogalala camp, and the company of warriors who had escaped from the Cheyenne village. White Otter was welcomed with enthusiasm.

"My brothers, I have found you -- it is good," he said. "There is little time to talk. First I will tell these brave Cheyennes that Red Dog is alive. We took him away from the Kiowas. We also ran off many ponies. Come, Cloud Eagle, you know my words, tell your brothers about it."

The Cheyennes were wild with joy. It was some moments before White Otter could proceed with his talk.

"Now, Cheyennes, I will tell you something bad," he said, finally. "We were driving away those ponies. Everything was good. Then the Pawnees came. They were very strong. They caught up with us and ran off those ponies. We could not stop them.

"Ogalalas, we must ride after those Pawnees and try to get back those ponies. The Pawnees are not far ahead of us. I believe they stopped when it got dark. Their village is two sun's travel away. They cannot travel fast. I believe we can come up with them. I will lead you. Come, jump on your ponies, and follow me."

The warriors ran to untie the ponies. A few moments afterward they followed their famous young war chief across the plain. It was a great war party. Wolf Robe, the venerable Ogalala chief, had sent his best fighters to aid the Cheyennes. White Otter thrilled at the thought of leading them against the Pawnees.

"White Otter, how did you come to find us?" Black Moccasin asked curiously.

"I knew about that place -- it is a good place to stop," White Otter told him. "When Red Dog stopped over there by the water I kept watching to see you. You did not come. I felt bad. Then it got dark. Then I said, 'Perhaps my brothers are close by.' Then I thought about that place. I said, 'Perhaps my brothers are waiting there until it gets light.' Then I came ahead to find out about it."

"Are the Cheyennes far away?" Black Moccasin asked him.

"No, we will soon find them," said White Otter.

He led the way at a fast pace, for he was eager to set out on the trail of the Pawnees without further delay. When they finally approached the spot where he had left the Cheyennes, White Otter raced forward in advance of the war party.

"Watch out, some one is riding fast!" the Cheyennes cried in alarm, as they heard a pony galloping toward them from the north.

"It must be White Otter," said Red Dog. "Perhaps he has found out about something."

They sprang to their feet, and waited anxiously for the rider. As he came within bowshot, they began to call.

"Who are you?" they inquired, suspiciously.

"Do not be afraid, everything is good," cried White Otter.

"Yes, yes, it is White Otter," the Cheyennes told one another.

A few moments afterward the Ogalala joined them. They gathered around him to learn what had happened.

"Listen!" he cried. "Do you hear those ponies? They are bringing my people. Cheyennes, my words have come true. The Ogalalas are coming to help you."

They heard the hoofbeats of many ponies. The sound filled them with joy. A great hope entered their hearts.

"It is the Ogalalas! It is the Ogalalas!" they cried, excitedly.

Then the great Sioux war party dashed out of the night. Their arrival threw the Cheyennes into a tumult. For a moment all was confusion. Then White Otter took command, and restored order.

"Come, come, my brothers, we are making too much noise," he said, sharply.

The great company of fighting men instantly became quiet. They dismounted and waited for instructions from their chief.

"Cheyennes, my people have come here to fight," White Otter said, proudly. "We will ride after the Pawnees. We will bring back those ponies. A Dacotah does not turn back. We will do what we set out to do. Cheyennes are you ready to go into this fight?"

"Yes, yes, we are ready!" shouted the Cheyennes.

"It is good," declared White Otter.

"Wait, Ogalalas, I will give you some words," said Red Dog. "I have talked with Cloud Eagle and Two Dogs and Walks Alone and Hairy Robe and Lame Bear. Those warriors took our women and children to your village. They gave me good words. Now I know that our people are safe in your lodges. Now I know that they will have plenty to eat and a good place to sleep in. Now I know that our people will stay with you until we fight the Pawnees and bring back the ponies. It is good. Ogalalas, you have good hearts for your friends. The Cheyennes feel good about it. We will always try to help you.

"Ogalalas, your great chief, Wolf Robe, is too old to fight, but he has sent you here to help us. It is good. Now we are strong enough to fight the Pawnees. White Otter says that a Dacotah does not turn back. It is true. The Dacotahs are very brave. Well, the Cheyennes will keep close beside you.

"Ogalalas, White Otter, your chief, is a great leader. He took me away from the Kiowas. He was the leader. He told my people how to get into that camp. We did what he told us to do. Everything was good. All my people came out of that fight. It is something to talk about. Cheyennes -- Ogalalas -- listen to my words. I am going to ask White Otter to be the leader of this great war party. He is as brave as Ma-to-ho-ta, the bear. He is as sharp as To-ka-la, the fox. He fooled the Kiowas. I believe he will fool the Pawnees. If White Otter is the leader, I believe we will get back those ponies. Now you all know how I feel about it."

His proposal was approved by the entire company. The Cheyennes believed that the young war chief of the Ogalalas possessed some mysterious power which made him immune from peril, and enabled him to triumph over his foes. They believed that his leadership greatly increased their chances for a victory over the Pawnees. The Ogalalas were equally certain of success.

"I will be the leader," said White Otter. "Now we must get away. Pretty soon the light will come. There is little time. Come, Red Dog, send some one to call in the scouts. Then we will ride away."

Red Dog sent several riders to find the three Cheyenne scouts who were watching on the plain. Then the Cheyennes gathered about the warriors who had escaped from the Cheyenne camp to learn the details of the disastrous battle with the Kiowas. It was not long, however, before they were interrupted by the arrival of the scouts. They said that they had watched carefully but had heard nothing of their foes.

"It is good," said White Otter. "Come, my brothers, get on your ponies. We will go to fight the Pawnees."




Chapter XIX

The Pawnees At Bay


Aware that each moment was precious, White Otter rode through the night at a desperate pace. Behind him thundered the great war party of Sioux and Cheyennes. Beside him rode Red Dog, the Cheyenne chief, and Black Moccasin, the famous Ogalala scout. Convinced that they would see nothing of the Pawnees until they finally came up with them, White Otter saw little need for caution. He believed that the Pawnees had stopped for the night, to rest the ponies, and he was eager to cover as much distance as possible before daylight.

The Ogalalas were enthusiastic at the idea of an encounter with their old-time enemies, the Pawnees. They knew from experience that the hated "Wolf People" were brave and stubborn fighters, but they felt confident of victory. They followed gayly after their leader, talking, and laughing and chanting their war songs. Behind them came the Cheyennes. Their gloom had vanished. Their confidence was restored. The warriors who had returned with the Ogalalas had greatly strengthened their numbers, and with the formidable Dacotahs for allies they believed that success was assured.

"Pretty soon it will be light," said White Otter. "Then we will send scouts to find the tracks of the ponies. We will follow them until we come up with the Pawnees."

"While the foolish Pawnees are sleeping, we are rushing closer," laughed Red Dog.

"Perhaps they kept going ahead," said Black Moccasin. "Perhaps they were afraid some one would follow them."

"No, I do not believe it," declared Red Dog. "They saw that we were not strong enough to fight them. They do not expect any one to follow them."

"They cannot keep running those ponies," White Otter told them. "They must stop to rest."

At dawn White Otter became more cautious. He stopped the war party and made known his plans.

"The light has come, we must look for the Pawnees," he said. "I am going to send out some scouts to find the tracks of those ponies. I will send Sun Bird, and Little Raven, and High Eagle. Now, Red Dog, you must send three of your people with my brothers."

"It is good," said Red Dog. "I will send Running Crow, and Painted Weasel and Standing Bull."

"Now, my brothers, I will tell you what to do," said White Otter. "I will ask Sun Bird and Little Raven to go ahead. I will ask the rest of you to ride out on both sides of us. Look hard until you find the tracks of those ponies. I believe they are close by. If you find them, make the signal. We will keep watching. If we find those tracks, we will make the signal. Perhaps scouts are watching on the high places. Look out for them."

The six scouts went away. Then the war party rode ahead. Eager to prevent the Pawnees from increasing their lead, they rode at a stiff pace. It was not long before they saw Standing Bull riding rapidly in a circle, some distance to the westward.

"It is good," said White Otter. "Standing Bull has found the tracks. We will go over there."

Standing Bull and Painted Weasel had found the trail of the Pawnees. A close examination of the tracks convinced White Otter that the Pawnees were traveling at a moderate pace.

"They made those tracks before the last sun went away," he said.

"It is true," agreed Black Moccasin.

"Call the scouts," said White Otter. "Then we will go ahead, and find out where the Pawnees stopped."

They saw one of the scouts approaching from the east. The fact that he was alone made them suspicious. They believed that his companion had remained to watch something. As the rider came nearer they saw that it was High Eagle, the Ogalala.

"We saw some people far away toward the Place-where-the-day-begins," said High Eagle. "Three were on ponies. They rode ahead. Four were on foot."

"Which way are they going?" inquired White Otter.

"They are going straight ahead -- the same way we are going," High Eagle told him. "They are far away. Running Crow is watching them."

"I believe those people are Kiowas," said White Otter. "We chased them far away. Now they are going back to their village. We will not think about them."

"Yes, yes, it must be the Kiowas," laughed Red Dog.

"High Eagle, we have found the tracks of the Pawnees," said White Otter. "We are going to follow them. Go back there and bring Running Crow."

When they learned that the scouts had discovered a small company of Kiowas, some of the Cheyennes were eager to ride away in pursuit of them. White Otter immediately objected. He realized that the maneuver would cause delay and confusion, and might betray them to the Pawnees.

"No, you must not go over there," he said. "You must keep going ahead to catch the Pawnees. If you hold back they will get to their village. Then it will be hard to run off the ponies. I am the leader. You must do as I tell you."

Red Dog repeated the message to the Cheyennes, and they dismissed the Kiowas from their thoughts. They knew that White Otter and his warriors were risking their lives to help them, and they were eager to obey his commands. Then they saw High Eagle and Running Crow riding to join them. Sun Bird and Little Raven, however, had failed to appear. White Otter felt little fear for their safety. He believed that they were scouting carefully in advance of the war party in an effort to locate the Pawnees.

"Pretty soon they will come," he told Red Dog.

A few moments afterward they rode over a low ridge, and saw the two Minneconjoux scouts. They were waiting at a grove of cottonwoods. The war party raced forward to join them.

"Here is the place where the Pawnees stopped," said Sun Bird, as White Otter approached.

"Yes, I see where the ponies were feeding," replied White Otter.

He believed that the Pawnees had remained at the spot until daylight. In that event he realized that they could not be very far ahead of him. He hoped to come in sight of them before the end of the day.

"We must go on," said White Otter.

They galloped away on the trail. It led directly toward the south. As they advanced the plain became rough and broken, and there were many low knolls and ridges. White Otter realized that it offered splendid protection to hostile scouts, and he became more cautious.

"Come, Sun Bird, ride ahead and keep watching the high places," he said. "I will ask Little Raven to go with you. Follow the tracks of the ponies. We will ride behind you."

The Minneconjoux galloped away. The war party rode easily until the scouts were a long way ahead. Then they again raced their ponies at high speed in the hope of soon overtaking the Pawnees.

As the day advanced and they failed to see anything of their foes, some of the warriors feared that they would be unable to overtake them before they reached the great Pawnee camp. The thought discouraged them. White Otter, however, was still hopeful of coming up with them. He felt sure that he was steadily gaining upon them, and he expected to see them before the end of the day. Red Dog, too, was confident that they would come in contact with the Pawnees before nightfall.

"Hi, hi, I believe our brothers have found them!" Black Moccasin cried, excitedly.

The Minneconjoux were riding in a circle on the top of a low hill. The war party rode toward them with high hopes.

"What has happened?" White Otter inquired, anxiously.

"We saw two riders over there on that next hill," said Sun Bird. "They went away very fast. I believe they were Pawnee scouts."

"Did they see you?" asked White Otter.

"Yes," replied Sun Bird. "They must have been peeping over that high place. We looked sharp, but we could not see them. When we went up that hill we saw them riding away. They kept looking back. Then we rode here to call you."

"It is bad," said Red Dog. "They will tell their people about us. Now it will be hard to catch them."

"Well, my brothers, there is no use of talking about it," declared White Otter. "There is only one thing to do. We must rush ahead and try to catch the Pawnees before they get away."

"Yes, that is the only thing to do," said Black Moccasin.

They raced ahead at top speed. They had gone only a short distance when they saw a small company of horsemen sweep into view over a nearby rise of the plain. They stopped at sight of the war party. Then they turned and raced toward the south. They appeared to have been thrown into a panic. White Otter and his warriors rode after them with the fierce eagerness of wolves in sight of game.

"Those warriors came to find us, but they found something different," laughed Little Raven.

"Their people must be close by," declared White Otter.

The Pawnees had disappeared behind the ridge. When the war party reached it, they saw them still riding furiously toward the south. They had lost considerable ground, however, and White Otter felt encouraged.

"We will come up with them," he told his companions.

"Yes, yes, we are closing in," said Red Dog.

They heard the scouts whooping fiercely, and they believed that they were attempting to warn their tribesmen. Then they discovered a great smother of dust rising in the distance. They realized that they had come in sight of the Pawnees.

"Come, come, ride faster!" cried White Otter.

They forced the ponies into a terrific pace. They were steadily gaining upon the four scouts. The latter were making frantic efforts to escape.

"Pretty soon we will catch those riders," White Otter declared, grimly.

At that moment, however, the Pawnee scouts turned toward the east. White Otter instantly detected the clever ruse.

"Do not follow them," he cried. "They are trying to lead us off. Keep after the ponies."

Then they swept over a rise of the plain, and saw the Pawnees and the ponies directly ahead of them. They were a long distance away, however, and were riding desperately. They appeared to have the great herd of ponies under complete control, and White Otter realized that the chase threatened to be a long one.

"They are far ahead of us," he said, soberly.

Having actually sighted the Pawnees, the war party was determined to overtake them. Forcing the ponies to a killing pace, they began to gain upon their foes. Stride by stride they overcame the lead of the Pawnees until the latter were barely two arrow flights away. Then the Pawnees lashed the ponies into a furious sprint, and held off their pursuers. The wild race across the plain became a test of endurance between the rival ponies. Both companies of riders knew that the gallant little beasts must eventually collapse, but each hoped that their foes would be the first to weaken. The ponies appeared to be well matched, however, and the exhausting chase continued.

The Pawnees were approaching a long, straggling line of trees that reached far across the plain. White Otter knew that the timber marked the course of a stream. He rode wildly to overtake his foes before they reached it. Once they crossed the water he realized that it would be difficult to reach them, and still more difficult to secure the ponies. His efforts were useless, however, for the Pawnees held their lead. They were still safely beyond arrow range when they finally forced their gasping ponies across the stream, and came to a stand in the timber along the bank. White Otter pulled up the sweating piebald. The long pursuit had come to an end. The Pawnees had placed a formidable barrier between them and their foes. For the moment, at least, they were safe from attack.

"Now I know why they did not stop to fight," White Otter said, bitterly. "They were trying to get to that place. Now they are there. It is bad."

"Well, we made them stop," declared Red Dog.

"Yes, we kept them from getting to their camp," said Black Moccasin. "Now we are close. They cannot get away. Pretty soon we will go over there and run off the ponies."

"My brother, that will be a hard thing to do," White Otter told him.




Chapter XX

A Hard Won Victory


White Otter and his warriors approached within bowshot of the stream. Then they sat upon their tired ponies, and stared silently across at the Pawnees. The latter were in sight among the trees. They had driven the captured ponies from the timber, and were herding them upon the open plain. Less than a third of the company guarded them. The rest of the Pawnees were watching along the bank of the stream.

"Perhaps those warriors will try to hold us back while their friends get away with the ponies," Red Dog declared, suspiciously.

"I believe that is what they propose to do," said Black Moccasin.

"No, I do not believe it," White Otter told them. "Those ponies have come a long ways. They have run fast. The Pawnees will let them rest. When it gets dark perhaps they will try to take them away."

"I believe what White Otter says is true," declared Sun Bird.

The Pawnees had gained the advantage. White Otter realized that an attempt to cross the stream might result in heavy loss. He determined to wait until he had carefully studied the possibilities. Both the Ogalalas and the Cheyennes, however, were eager to make an attack. The Pawnees were jeering, and daring them to cross the stream.

"Hi, you Dacotahs, are you afraid to follow us through the water?" some one called, mockingly. "You came here to help the Cheyennes. Why are you holding back? Have we frightened you? Go back to your lodges and sit with the old women. Perhaps they will tell you how to fight."

The taunt roused the Ogalalas into a frenzy. They were wild with rage. Some of them rode recklessly to the edge of the stream. Many of the Cheyennes followed them. White Otter warned them against attempting to cross.

"Stop!" he cried. "The Pawnees are trying to catch you. Are you going to throw away your lives? The Pawnees are like Zi-ca, the squirrel. They make a big noise, but they hide behind the trees. They are trying to make you mad. If you ride into the water, they will kill you with their arrows. Come, my brothers, turn back. Shake the words of the Pawnees from your ears."

The Ogalalas saw the wisdom of his words. They lingered a moment or so, shouting boastful threats against the Pawnees. Then they turned back. The Cheyennes accompanied them. The Pawnees laughed fiercely.

A moment afterward a ringing shout sounded farther along the stream. The Pawnee scouts had crossed, a long distance to the eastward. They were riding to join their tribesmen.

"Those Pawnees feel very brave," laughed White Otter.

The day was passing, and White Otter realized that he must decide upon a plan of action. He left High Eagle and a small company of scouts to watch the Pawnees, and then he led the war party beyond earshot of their foes. He called a council and asked Running Crow to act as interpreter.

"My friends, we must find out the best way to run off those ponies," he said. "When it gets dark we must be ready to do something. Now I will tell you how I feel about it. I believe the Pawnees will try to send away those ponies. They will try to fool us. We must be sharp. I will tell you what I propose to do. If any of you feel different about it, you must talk against it.

"Now, my brothers, listen sharp. I believe there is only one way to get those ponies. When it gets dark we will send scouts along the water. They must follow along the water until they find a good place to go across. Then they must go across, and watch the Pawnees. If the Pawnees try to run off the ponies, the scouts must make the signal. After those scouts go away we will make two war parties. Our brothers, the Cheyennes, will keep together. Red Dog will be the leader. My people will keep together. I will be the leader. One war party must stay here. One war party must go toward the Place-where-the-day-begins. Then that war party must circle around and cross over the water. Those warriors must run off the ponies. The war party that stays here must go straight ahead to fight the Pawnees. Then we will be on two sides of them. Now I have told you how I feel about it."

"My brothers, you have heard the words of a great chief," said Red Dog. "White Otter is the leader. I will do as he proposes to do. I believe it is good."

"Cheyennes, I believe White Otter has told us the best way to fight the Pawnees," said Running Crow.

"My friends, White Otter is a great war leader," declared Black Moccasin. "He has led his people in many battles. If we do as he tells us to do, I believe we will get back those ponies."

Many more warriors indorsed the plan of the Ogalala chief. No one spoke against it. Having led them to a splendid victory over the Kiowas, the Cheyennes felt confident that he would be equally successful against the Pawnees.

"Well, my brothers, I see that there is no one to talk against this thing -- we will go ahead with it," White Otter told them. "Now I will call out the names of the scouts who must go to watch the Pawnees. I will call my brother Hollow Bear, and I will call Standing Bull. Hollow Bear is an Ogalala. Standing Bull is a Cheyenne. Both of them are great warriors. Now I will tell you about those war parties. I see that there are more Ogalalas than Cheyennes. The Ogalalas must fight the Pawnees. The Cheyennes must try to get the ponies. Come, Red Dog, tell me how you feel about it."

"It is good," agreed Red Dog.

Having decided upon the plan of attack, the war party again approached the stream. High Eagle and his companions said that the Pawnees had made no attempt to leave the timber. White Otter felt sure that they, too, were waiting to attempt some bold bit of stratagem under cover of the night. The thought made him suspicious, and watchful. He saw nothing which would give him a clew to the intentions of the Pawnees.

As the light slowly faded from the plain the Pawnees began to sing their war songs and shout fierce threats against their enemies. The Ogalalas and the Cheyennes listened in silence. The threatening flash of their eyes, however, betrayed the wrath that blazed in their hearts. They waited for darkness, and the opportunity to rush upon their foes.

In the meantime Hollow Bear and Standing Bull had ridden away on their perilous mission. They went a considerable distance toward the north before they finally turned to the eastward. Then they made a wide detour and approached the stream. They waited a long time at the edge of the water, listening for sounds from their foes. As they heard nothing to alarm them, they rode cautiously into the stream. They reached the opposite side in safety, and moved out upon the plain.

Soon afterward Red Dog and his warriors arrived at the stream, an arrow flight from the place where the scouts had crossed. They, too, stopped to listen. All was quiet. The Cheyennes, however, waited beside the water. They were listening for the signal which would warn them that the Ogalalas had begun the fight.

"My brothers, the scouts have gone," White Otter told the Ogalalas. "I believe they are across the water. Red Dog and his brothers have gone. I believe they are waiting for the signal. Everything is ready. We must begin the fight. I will ask you to be brave. Drive back the Pawnees and get to the ponies. Red Dog and his warriors will come to help us. Keep close around the ponies. Drive them across the water. Are you ready?"

"Hi, hi!" cried the Ogalalas.

"Come!" shouted White Otter.

At that moment they heard the thunder of hoofbeats across the stream. A piercing shout rang through the night. It was a warning from the scouts. Then the wild yells of the Pawnees sounded from the edge of the water. The Ogalalas realized what had happened.

"They are running off the ponies!" cried White Otter. "Follow me!"

The Ogalalas raised the great Dacotah war cry, and rode boldly into the stream. They heard Red Dog and the Cheyennes farther to the eastward. The Pawnees began to shoot their arrows. The Sioux sent a volley into the timber. Then they lashed their ponies forward, and charged recklessly upon their foes. The Pawnees held their ground, and offered desperate resistance. The Sioux, however, were thoroughly aroused, and they fought with a sullen ferocity that made them irresistible. The Pawnees finally gave way, and raced across the plain in pursuit of the ponies. The Ogalalas kept close behind them. They heard the Cheyennes whooping fiercely, and they believed that they had overtaken the herd.

"Hi, hi, the Cheyennes are making a big fight!" the Dacotahs cried, excitedly.

When they were within arrow range of the ponies, the Pawnees turned and fought savagely to hold them back. For a moment the Sioux were halted. Then they rallied, and swept forward in a ferocious attack that completely overcame their foes. A moment afterward they were at the rear of the herd.

In the meantime Red Dog and his tribesmen had raced ahead of the Pawnees, and were attempting to turn the ponies. Once at the front of the herd, they rode wildly among the Pawnees and drove the frightened ponies from their course. Whooping, and lashing furiously with their heavy riding quirts, they gradually forced the ponies toward the east. The Pawnees attacked them with great bravery, but the Cheyennes beat them off. Then a company of Ogalalas raced along the flank of the herd and came to the assistance of their allies.

"Turn the ponies -- run them to the water!" they cried.

They soon gained control of the herd and raced the ponies toward the stream. The Pawnees had no thought of yielding. Infuriated by the success of their foes, they fought valiantly to regain possession of the ponies.

"Hold them off, hold them off!" shouted White Otter.

While Red Dog and a company of Cheyennes rode ahead to drive aside the Pawnees, the rest of the war party surrounded the herd. The Pawnees found it impossible to reach the ponies. They rode close up to their foes and fought with reckless courage, but each time they were driven off.

"Hi, the Pawnees are brave," Sun Bird told White Otter.

"Yes, they are making a great fight," acknowledged White Otter.

When they finally reached the timber the ponies attempted to turn aside, and in a moment the herd was thrown into wild confusion. The Pawnees were quick to seize the opportunity. Yelling fiercely, they dashed forward like a pack of mad wolves, and attempted to cause a stampede.

"Come, Cheyennes, drive the ponies into the water!" cried White Otter. "Ogalalas, hold back the Pawnees!"

Then the Sioux and the Pawnees fought a thrilling hand-to-hand encounter, while the Cheyennes made frantic attempts to drive the unruly ponies into the timber. Wild with panic, the frenzied beasts plunged, and reared, and kicked in their efforts to break through the circle of riders that surrounded them. At last the Cheyennes lashed them into submission and drove them forward. They plunged down the bank, and floundered wildly across the stream. Then the Cheyennes raced them away into the north.

"Hi, my brothers, some of us must go back there, and help our brothers, the Ogalalas," said Red Dog, when they were several arrow flights from the stream.

Then they heard the Dacotah war cry ringing through the night. Soon afterward White Otter and his gallant fighters overtook them. They were in high spirits.

"Where are the Pawnees?" inquired Red Dog.

"They are running to their lodges," laughed White Otter.

"White Otter, you are a great chief," declared Red Dog. "The Ogalalas are as brave as Ma-to-ho-ta, the bear. We will go to your village, and tell your people what you have done. Yes, we will give some ponies to your chief, Wolf Robe."

"It is good," replied White Otter.

Then he called Sun Bird and Little Raven to ride beside him. It was a long time before he spoke.

"My brothers, we have done what we set out to do," he said, finally. "It was a great fight. Many brave warriors were killed. I will not talk about it. You were very brave. You have helped me to do a big thing. Sun Bird, I saw you drive back many Pawnees. Yes, you were always in the fight. Little Raven, I saw you fight off three Pawnees. Yes, I saw you do some big things. My brothers, I will tell your great chief Curly Horse about you. I will tell him that you did big things to help my people."

"White Otter, your words make me feel good," said Sun Bird. "You came to our lodges and went with us to fight the Blackfeet. Now we have helped you fight the Pawnees. It is good. We are Dacotahs. A Dacotah will fight for his brother."

"It is true," declared Little Raven.

<eob>

The Book Of Nature Myths

By

Florence Holbrook



The Story Of The First Humming-Bird.


Part I. The Great Fire-Mountain.

Long, long ago, when the earth was very young, two hunters were traveling through the forest. They had been on the track of a deer for many days, and they were now far away from the village where they lived. The sun went down and night came on. It was dark and gloomy, but over in the western sky there came a bright light.

"It is the moon," said one.

"No," said the other. "We have watched many and many a night to see the great, round moon rise above the trees. That is not the moon. Is it the northern lights?"

"No, the northern lights are not like this, and it is not a comet. What can it be?"

It is no wonder that the hunters were afraid, for the flames flared red over the sky like a wigwam on fire. Thick, blue smoke floated above the flames and hid the shining stars.

"Do the flames and smoke come from the wigwam of the Great Spirit?" asked one.

"I fear that he is angry with his children, and that the flames are his fiery war-clubs," whispered the other. No sleep came to their eyes. All night long they watched and wondered, and waited in terror for the morning.

When morning came, the two hunters were still watching the sky. Little by little they saw that there was a high mountain in the west where the light had been, and above the mountain floated a dark blue smoke. "Come," said one, "we will go and see what it is."

They walked and walked till they came close to the mountain, and then they saw fire shining through the seams of the rocks. "It is a mountain of fire," one whispered. "Shall we go on?" "We will," said the other, and they went higher and higher up the mountain. At last they stood upon its highest point. "Now we know the secret," they cried. "Our people will be glad when they hear this."

Swiftly they went home through the forest to their own village. "We have found a wonder," they cried. "We have found the home of the Fire Spirit. We know where she keeps her flames to help the Great Spirit and his children. It is a mountain of fire. Blue smoke rises above it night and day, for its heart is a fiery sea, and on the sea the red flames leap and dance. Come with us to the wonderful mountain of fire."

The people of the village had been cold in the winter nights, and they cried, "O brothers, your words are good. We will move our lodges to the foot of the magic mountain. We can light our wigwam fires from its flames, and we shall not fear that we shall perish in the long, cold nights of winter."

So the Indians went to live at the foot of the fire-mountain, and when the cold nights came, they said, "We are not cold, for the Spirit of Fire is our good friend, and she keeps her people from perishing."


Part II. The Frolic Of The Flames.

For many and many a moon the people of the village lived at the foot of the great fire-mountain. On summer evenings, the children watched the light, and when a child asked, "Father, what makes it?" the father said, "That is the home of the Great Spirit of Fire, who is our good friend." Then all in the little village went to sleep and lay safely on their beds till the coming of the morning.

But one night when all the people in the village were asleep, the flames in the mountain had a great frolic. They danced upon the sea of fire as warriors dance the war-dance. They seized great rocks and threw them at the sky. The smoke above them hid the stars; the mountain throbbed and trembled. Higher and still higher sprang the dancing flames. At last, they leaped clear above the highest point of the mountain and started down it in a river of red fire. Then the gentle Spirit of Fire called, "Come back, my flames, come back again! The people in the village will not know that you are in a frolic, and they will be afraid."

The flames did not heed her words, and the river of fire ran on and on, straight down the mountain. The flowers in its pathway perished. It leaped upon great trees and bore them to the earth. It drove the birds from their nests, and they fluttered about in the thick smoke. It hunted the wild creatures of the forest from the thickets where they hid, and they fled before it in terror.

At last, one of the warriors in the village awoke. The thick smoke was in his nostrils. In his ears was the war-cry of the flames. He sprang to the door of his lodge and saw the fiery river leaping down the mountain. "My people, my people," he cried, "the flames are upon us!" With cries of fear the people in the village fled far away into the forest, and the flames feasted upon the homes they loved.

The two hunters went to look upon the mountain, and when they came back, they said sadly, "There are no flowers on the mountain. Not a bird-song did we hear. Not a living creature did we see. It is all dark and gloomy. We know the fire is there, for the blue smoke still floats up to the sky, but the mountain will never again be our friend."


Part III. The Bird Of Flame

When the Great Spirit saw the work of the flames, he was very angry. "The fires of this mountain must perish," he said. "No longer shall its red flames light the midnight sky."

The mountain trembled with fear at the angry words of the Great Spirit. "O father of all fire and light," cried the Fire Spirit, "I know that the flames have been cruel. They killed the beautiful flowers and drove your children from their homes, but for many, many moons they heeded my words and were good and gentle. They drove the frost and cold of winter from the wigwams of the village. The little children laughed to see their red light in the sky. The hearts of your people will be sad, if the flames must perish from the earth."

The Great Spirit listened to the words of the gentle Spirit of Fire, but he answered, "The fires must perish. They have been cruel to my people, and the little children will fear them now; but because the children once loved them, the beautiful colors of the flames shall still live to make glad the hearts of all who look upon them."

Then the Great Spirit struck the mountain with his magic war-club. The smoke above it faded away; its fires grew cold and dead. In its dark and gloomy heart only one little flame still trembled. It looked like a star. How beautiful it was!

The Great Spirit looked upon the little flame. He saw that it was beautiful and gentle, and he loved it. "The fires of the mountain must perish," he said, "but you little, gentle flame, shall have wings and fly far away from the cruel fires, and all my children will love you as I do." Swiftly the little thing rose above the mountain and flew away in the sunshine. The light of the flames was still on its head; their marvelous colors were on its wings.

So from the mountain's heart of fire sprang the first humming-bird. It is the bird of flame, for it has all the beauty of the colors of the flame, but it is gentle, and every child in all the earth loves it and is glad to see it fluttering over the flowers.



The Story Of The First Butterflies.


The Great Spirit thought, "By and by I will make men, but first I will make a home for them. It shall be very bright and beautiful. There shall be mountains and prairies and forests, and about it all shall be the blue waters of the sea."

As the Great Spirit had thought, so he did. He gave the earth a soft cloak of green. He made the prairies beautiful with flowers. The forests were bright with birds of many colors, and the sea was the home of wonderful sea-creatures. "My children will love the prairies, the forests, and the seas," he thought, "but the mountains look dark and cold. They are very dear to me, but how shall I make my children go to them and so learn to love them?"

Long the Great Spirit thought about the mountains. At last, he made many little shining stones. Some were red, some blue, some green, some yellow, and some were shining with all the lovely colors of the beautiful rainbow. "All my children will love what is beautiful," he thought, "and if I hide the bright stones in the seams of the rocks of the mountains, men will come to find them, and they will learn to love my mountains."

When the stones were made and the Great Spirit looked upon their beauty, he said, "I will not hide you all away in the seams of the rocks. Some of you shall be out in the sunshine, so that the little children who cannot go to the mountains shall see your colors." Then the southwind came by, and as he went, he sang softly of forests flecked with light and shadow, of birds and their nests in the leafy trees. He sang of long summer days and the music of waters beating upon the shore. He sang of the moonlight and the starlight. All the wonders of the night, all the beauty of the morning, were in his song.

"Dear southwind," said the Great Spirit "here are some beautiful things for you to bear away with, you to your summer home. You will love them, and all the little children will love them." At these words of the Great Spirit, all the stones before him stirred with life and lifted themselves on many-colored wings. They fluttered away in the sunshine, and the southwind sang to them as they went.

So it was that the first butterflies came from a beautiful thought of the Great Spirit, and in their wings were all the colors of the shining stones that he did not wish to hide away.



The Story Of The First Woodpecker.


In the days of long ago the Great Spirit came down from the sky and talked with men. Once as he went up and down the earth, he came to the wigwam of a woman. He went into the wigwam and sat down by the fire, but he looked like an old man, and the woman did not know who he was.

"I have fasted for many days," said the Great Spirit to the woman. "Will you give me some food?" The woman made a very little cake and put it on the fire. "You can have this cake," she said, "if you will wait for it to bake." "I will wait," he said.

When the cake was baked, the woman stood and looked at it. She thought, "It is very large. I thought it was small. I will not give him so large a cake as that." So she put it away and made a small one. "If you will wait, I will give you this when it is baked," she said, and the Great Spirit said, "I will wait."

When that cake was baked, it was larger than the first one. "It is so large that I will keep it for a feast," she thought. So she said to her guest, "I will not give you this cake, but if you will wait, I will make you another one." "I will wait," said the Great Spirit again.

Then the woman made another cake. It was still smaller than the others had been at first, but when she went to the fire for it, she found it the largest of all. She did not know that the Great Spirit's magic had made each cake larger, and she thought, "This is a marvel, but I will not give away the largest cake of all." So she said to her guest, "I have no food for you. Go to the forest and look there for your food. You can find it in the bark of the trees, if you will."

The Great Spirit was angry when he heard the words of the woman. He rose up from where he sat and threw back his cloak. "A woman must be good and gentle," he said, "and you are cruel. You shall no longer be a woman and live in a wigwam. You shall go out into the forest and hunt for your food in the bark of trees."

The Great Spirit stamped his foot on the earth, and the woman grew smaller and smaller. Wings started from her body and feathers grew upon her. With a loud cry she rose from the earth and flew away to the forest.

And to this day all woodpeckers live in the forest and hunt for their food in the bark of trees.



Why The Woodpecker's Head Is Red.


One day the woodpecker said to the Great Spirit, "Men do not like me. I wish they did."

The Great Spirit said, "If you wish men to love you, you must be good to them and help them. Then they will call you their friend."

"How can a little bird help a man?" asked the woodpecker.

"If one wishes to help, the day will come when he can help," said the Great Spirit. The day did come, and this story shows how a little bird helped a strong warrior.

There was once a cruel magician who lived in a gloomy wigwam beside the Black-Sea-Water. He did not like flowers, and they did not blossom in his pathway. He did not like birds, and they did not sing in the trees above him. The breath of his nostrils was fatal to all life. North, south, east, and west he blew the deadly fever that killed the women and the little children.

"Can I help them?" thought a brave warrior, and he said, "I will find the magician, and see if death will not come to him as he has made it come to others. I will go straightway to his home."

For many days the brave warrior was in his canoe traveling across the Black-Sea-Water. At last he saw the gloomy wigwam of the cruel magician. He shot an arrow at the door and called, "Come out, O coward! You have killed women and children with your fatal breath, but you cannot kill a warrior. Come out and fight, if you are not afraid."

The cruel magician laughed loud and long. "One breath of fever," he said, "and you will fall to the earth." The warrior shot again, and then the magician was angry. He did not laugh, but he came straight out of his gloomy lodge, and as he came, he blew the fever all about him.

Then was seen the greatest fight that the sun had ever looked upon. The brave warrior shot his flint-tipped arrows, but the magician had on his magic cloak, and the arrows could not wound him. He blew from his nostrils the deadly breath of fever, but the heart of the warrior was so strong that the fever could not kill him.

At last the brave warrior had but three arrows in his quiver. "What shall I do?" he said sadly. "My arrows are good and my aim is good, but no arrow can go through the magic cloak."

"Come on, come on," called the magician. "You are the man who wished to fight. Come on." Then a woodpecker in a tree above the brave warrior said softly, "Aim your arrow at his head, O warrior! Do not shoot at his heart, but at the crest of feathers on his head. He can be wounded there, but not in his heart."

The warrior was not so proud that he could not listen to a little bird. The magician bent to lift a stone, and an arrow flew from the warrior's bow. It buzzed and stung like a wasp. It came so close to the crest of feathers that the magician trembled with terror. Before he could run, another arrow came, and this one struck him right on his crest. His heart grew cold with fear. "Death has struck me," he cried.

"Your cruel life is over," said the warrior. "People shall no longer fear your fatal breath." Then he said to the woodpecker, "Little bird, you have been a good friend to me, and I will do all that I can for you." He put some of the red blood of the magician upon the little creature's head. It made the crest of feathers there as red as flame. "Whenever a man looks upon you," said the warrior, "he will say, 'That bird is our friend. He helped to kill the cruel magician.'"

The little woodpecker was very proud of his red crest because it showed that he was the friend of man, and all his children to this day are as proud as he was.



Why The Cat Always Falls Upon Her Feet.


Some magicians are cruel, but others are gentle and good to all the creatures of the earth. One of these good magicians was one day traveling in a great forest. The sun rose high in the heavens, and he lay down at the foot of a tree. Soft, green moss grew all about him. The sun shining through the leaves made flecks of light and shadow upon the earth. He heard the song of the bird and the lazy buzz of the wasp. The wind rustled the leafy boughs above him. All the music of the forest lulled him to slumber, and he closed his eyes.

As the magician lay asleep, a great serpent came softly from the thicket. It lifted high its shining crest and saw the man at the foot of the tree. "I will kill him!" it hissed. "I could have eaten that cat last night if he had not called, 'Watch, little cat, watch!' I will kill him, I will kill him!"

Closer and closer the deadly serpent moved. The magician stirred in his sleep. "Watch, little cat, watch!" he said softly. The serpent drew back, but the magician's eyes were shut, and it went closer. It hissed its war-cry. The sleeping magician did not move. The serpent was upon him -- no, far up in the high branches of the tree above his head the little cat lay hidden. She had seen the serpent when it came from the thicket.

She watched it as it went closer and closer to the sleeping man, and she heard it hiss its war-cry. The little cat's body quivered with anger and with fear, for she was so little and the serpent was so big. "The magician was very good to me," she thought, and she leaped down upon the serpent.

Oh, how angry the serpent was! It hissed, and the flames shot from its eyes. It struck wildly at the brave little cat, but now the cat had no fear. Again and again she leaped upon the serpent's head, and at last the creature lay dead beside the sleeping man whom it had wished to kill.

When the magician awoke, the little cat lay on the earth, and not far away was the dead serpent. He knew at once what the cat had done, and he said, "Little cat, what can I do to show you honor for your brave fight? Your eyes are quick to see, and your ears are quick to hear. You can run very swiftly. I know what I can do for you. You shall be known over the earth as the friend of man, and you shall always have a home in the home of man. And one thing more, little cat: you leaped from the high tree to kill the deadly serpent, and now as long as you live, you shall leap where you will, and you shall always fall upon your feet."



Why The Swallow's Tail Is Forked.


This is the story of how the swallow's tail came to be forked.

One day the Great Spirit asked all the animals that he had made to come to his lodge. Those that could fly came first: the robin, the bluebird, the owl, the butterfly, the wasp, and the firefly. Behind them came the chicken, fluttering its wings and trying hard to keep up. Then came the deer, the squirrel, the serpent, the cat, and the rabbit. Last of all came the bear, the beaver, and the hedgehog. Every one traveled as swiftly as he could, for each wished to hear the words of the Great Spirit.

"I have called you together," said the Great Spirit, "because I often hear you scold and fret. What do you wish me to do for you? How can I help you?"

"I do not like to hunt so long for my food," said the bear.

"I do not like to build nests," said the bluebird.

"I do not like to live in the water," said the beaver.

"And I do not like to live in a tree," said the squirrel.

At last man stood erect before the Great Spirit and said, "O Great Father, the serpent feasts upon my blood. Will you not give him some other food?"

"And why?" asked the Great Spirit.

"Because I am the first of all the creatures you have made," answered man proudly.

Then every animal in the lodge was angry to hear the words of man. The squirrel chattered, the wasp buzzed, the owl hooted, and the serpent hissed.

"Hush, be still," said the Great Spirit. "You are, O man, the first of my creatures, but I am the father of all. Each one has his rights, and the serpent must have his food. Mosquito, you are a great traveler. Now fly away and find what creature's blood is best for the serpent. Do you all come back in a year and a day."

The animals straightway went to their homes. Some went to the river, some to the forest, and some to the prairie, to wait for the day when they must meet at the lodge of the Great Spirit.

The mosquito traveled over the earth and stung every creature that he met to find whose blood was the best for the serpent. On his way back to the lodge of the Great Spirit he looked up into the sky, and there was the swallow.

"Good-day, swallow," called the mosquito.

"I am glad to see you, my friend," sang the swallow. "Are you going to the lodge of the Great Spirit? And have you found out whose blood is best for the serpent?"

"The blood of man," answered the mosquito.

The mosquito did not like man, but the swallow had always been his friend. "What can I do to help man?" he thought. "Oh, I know what I can do." Then he asked the mosquito, "Whose blood did you say?"

"Man's blood," said the mosquito; "that is best."

"This is best," said the swallow, and he tore out the mosquito's tongue.

The mosquito buzzed angrily and went quickly to the Great Spirit.

"All the animals are here," said the Great Spirit. "They are waiting to hear whose blood is best for the serpent."

The mosquito tried to answer, "The blood of man," but he could not say a word. He could make no sound but "Kss-ksss-ksssss!"

"What do you say?"

"Kss-ksss-ksssss!" buzzed the mosquito angrily.

All the creatures wondered. Then said the swallow: -- 

"Great Father, the mosquito is timid and cannot answer you. I met him before we came, and he told me whose blood it was."

"Then let us know at once," said the Great Spirit.

"It is the blood of the frog," answered the swallow quickly. "Is it not so, friend mosquito?"

"Kss-ksss-ksssss!" hissed the angry mosquito.

"The serpent shall have the frog's blood," said the Great Spirit. "Man shall be his food no longer."

Now the serpent was angry with the swallow, for he did not like frog's blood. As the swallow flew near him, he seized him by the tail and tore away a little of it. This is why the swallow's tail is forked, and it is why man always looks upon the swallow as his friend.



Why The White Hares Have Black Ears.


In the forest there is a beautiful spirit. All the beasts and all the birds are dear to him, and he likes to have them gentle and good. One morning he saw some of his little white hares fighting one another, and each trying to seize the best of the food.

"Oh, my selfish little hares," he said sadly, "why do you fight and try to seize the best of everything for yourselves? Why do you not live in love together?"

"Tell us a story and we will be good," cried the hares.

Then the spirit of the forest was glad. "I will tell you a story of how you first came to live on the green earth with the other animals," he said, "and why it is that you are white, and the other hares are not."

Then the little hares came close about the spirit of the forest, and sat very still to hear the story.

"Away up above the stars," the gentle spirit began, "the sky children were all together one snowy day. They threw snowflakes at one another, and some of the snowflakes fell from the sky. They came down swiftly between the stars and among the branches of the trees. At last they lay on the green earth. They were the first that had ever come to the earth, and no one knew what they were. The swallow asked, 'What are they?' and the butterfly answered, 'I do not know.' The spirit of the sky was listening, and he said, 'We call them snowflakes.'

"'I never heard of snowflakes. Are they birds or beasts?' asked the butterfly.

"'They are snowflakes,' answered the spirit of the sky, 'but they are magic snowflakes. Watch them closely.'

"The swallow and the butterfly watched. Every snowflake showed two bright eyes, then two long ears, then some soft feet, and there were the whitest, softest little hares that were ever seen."

"Were we the little white hares?" asked the listeners.

"You were the little white hares," answered the spirit, "and if you are gentle and good, you will always be white."

The hares were not gentle and good; they were fretful, and before long they were scolding and fighting again. The gentle spirit was angry. "I must get a firebrand and beat them with it," he said, "for they must learn to be good."

So the hares were beaten with the firebrand till their ears were black as night. Their bodies were still white, but if the spirit hears them scolding and fighting again, it may be that we shall see their bodies as black as their ears.



Why The Magpie's Nest Is Not Well Built.


A long time ago all the birds met together to talk about building nests.

"Every Indian has a wigwam," said the robin, "and every bird needs a home."

"Indians have no feathers," said the owl, "and so they are cold without wigwams. We have feathers."

"I keep warm by flying swiftly," said the swallow.

"And I keep warm by fluttering my wings," said the humming-bird.

"By and by we shall have our little ones," said the robin. "They will have no feathers on their wings, so they cannot fly or flutter; and they will be cold. How shall we keep them warm if we have no nests?"

Then all the birds said, "We will build nests so that our little ones will be warm."

The birds went to work. One brought twigs, one brought moss, and one brought leaves. They sang together merrily, for they thought of the little ones that would some time come to live in the warm nests.

Now the magpie was lazy, and she sat still and watched the others at their work.

"Come and build your nest in the reeds and rushes," cried one bird, but the magpie said "No."

"My nest is on the branch of a tree," called another, "and it rocks like a child's cradle. Come and build beside it," but the magpie said "No."

Before long all the birds but the magpie had their nests built. The magpie cried, "I do not know how to build a nest. Will you not help me?"

The other birds were sorry for her and answered, "We will teach you." The black-bird said, "Put the twigs on this bough;" the robin said, "Put the leaves between the twigs;" and the humming-bird said, "Put this soft green moss over it all."

"I do not know how," cried the magpie.

"We are teaching you," said the other birds. But the magpie was lazy, and she thought, "If I do not learn, they will build a nest for me."

The other birds talked together. "She does not wish to learn," they said, "and we will not help her any longer." So they went away from her.

Then the magpie was sorry. "Come back," she called, "and I will learn." But by this time the other birds had eggs in their nests, and they were busy taking care of them, and had no time to teach the lazy magpie. This is why the magpie's nest is not well built.



Why The Raven's Feathers Are Black.


Long, long ago the raven's feathers were white as snow. He was a beautiful bird, but the other birds did not like him because he was a thief. When they saw him coming, they would hide away the things that they cared for most, but in some marvelous way he always found them and took them to his nest in the pine-tree.

One morning the raven heard a little bird singing merrily in a thicket. The leaves of the trees were dark green, and the little bird's yellow feathers looked like sunshine among them.

"I will have that bird," said the raven, and he seized the trembling little thing.

The yellow bird fluttered and cried, "Help, help! Will no one come and help me!"

The other birds happened to be far away, and not one heard her cries. "The raven will kill me," she called. "Help, help!"

Now hidden in the bark of a tree was a wood-worm.

"I am only a wood-worm," he said to himself, "and I cannot fly like a bird, but the yellow bird has been good to me, and I will do what I can to help her."

When the sun set, the raven went to sleep. Then the wood-worm made his way softly up the pine-tree to the raven's nest, and bound his feet together with grass and pieces of birch-bark.

"Fly away," whispered the wood-worm softly to the little yellow bird, "and come to see me by and by. I must teach the raven not to be cruel to the other birds."

The little yellow bird flew away, and the wood-worm brought twigs, and moss, and birch-bark, and grass, and put them around the tree. Then he set them all on fire. Up the great pine-tree went the flames, leaping from bough to bough.

"Fire! fire!" cried the raven. "Come and help me! My nest is on fire!"

The other birds were not sorry to see him flutter. "He is a thief," said they. "Let him be in the fire."

By and by the fire burned the grass and the pieces of birch-bark that fastened his feet together, and the raven flew away. He was not burned, but he could no longer be proud of his shining white feathers, for the smoke had made every one of them as black as night.



How Fire Was Brought To The Indians.


Part I. Seizing The Firebrand.

Oh, it was so cold! The wind blew the leaves about on the ground. The frost spirit hid on the north side of every tree, and stung every animal of the forest that came near. Then the snow fell till the ground was white. Through the snowflakes one could see the sun, but the sun looked cold, for it was not a clear, bright yellow. It was almost as white as the moon.

The Indians drew their cloaks more and more closely around them, for they had no fire.

"How shall we get fire?" they asked, but no one answered.

All the fire on earth was in the wigwam of two old women who did not like the Indians.

"They shall not have it," said the old women, and they watched night and day so that no one could get a firebrand.

At last a young Indian said to the others, "No man can get fire. Let us ask the animals to help us."

"What beast or what bird can get fire when the two old women are watching it?" the others cried.

"The bear might get it."

"No, he cannot run swiftly."

"The deer can run."

"His antlers would not go through the door of the wigwam."

"The raven can go through the door."

"It was smoke that made the raven's feathers black, and now he always keeps away from the fire."

"The serpent has not been in the smoke."

"No, but he is not our friend, and he will not do anything for us."

"Then I will ask the wolf," said the young man. "He can run, he has no antlers, and he has not been in the smoke."

So the young man went to the wolf and called, "Friend wolf, if you will get us a firebrand, I will give you some food every day."

"I will get it," said the wolf. "Go to the home of the old women and hide behind a tree; and when you hear me cough three times, give a loud war-cry."

Close by the village of the Indians was a pond. In the pond was a frog, and near the pond lived a squirrel, a bat, a bear, and a deer. The wolf cried, "Frog, hide in the rushes across the pond. Squirrel, go to the bushes beside the path that runs from the pond to the wigwam of the two old women. Bat, go into the shadow and sleep if you like, but do not close both eyes. Bear, do not stir from behind this great rock till you are told. Deer, keep still as a mountain till something happens."

The wolf then went to the wigwam of the two old women. He coughed at the door, and at last they said, "Wolf, you may come in to the fire."

The wolf went into the wigwam. He coughed three times, and the Indian gave a war-cry. The two old women ran out quickly into the forest to see what had happened, and the wolf ran away with a firebrand from the fire.


Part II. The Firebrand In The Forest.

When the two women saw that the wolf had the firebrand, they were very angry, and straightway they ran after him.

"Catch it and run!" cried the wolf, and he threw it to the deer. The deer caught it and ran.

"Catch it and run!" cried the deer, and he threw it to the bear. The bear caught it and ran.

"Catch it and fly!" cried the bear, and he threw it to the bat. The bat caught it and flew.

"Catch it and run!" cried the bat, and he threw it to the squirrel. The squirrel caught it and ran.

"Oh, serpent," called the two old women, "you are no friend to the Indians. Help us. Get the firebrand away from the squirrel."

As the squirrel ran swiftly over the ground, the serpent sprang up and tried to seize the firebrand. He did not get it, but the smoke went into the squirrel's nostrils and made him cough. He would not let go of the firebrand, but ran and ran till he could throw it to the frog.

When the frog was running away with it, then the squirrel for the first time thought of himself, and he found that his beautiful bushy tail was no longer straight, for the fire had curled it up over his back.

"Do not be sorry," called the young Indian across the pond. "Whenever an Indian boy sees a squirrel with his tail curled up over his back, he will throw him a nut."


Part III. The Firebrand In The Pond.

All this time the firebrand was burning, and the frog was going to the pond as fast as he could. The old women were running after him, and when he came to the water, one of them caught him by the tail.

"I have caught him!" she called.

"Do not let him go!" cried the other.

"No, I will not," said the first; but she did let him go, for the little frog tore himself away and dived into the water. His tail was still in the woman's hand, but the firebrand was safe, and he made his way swiftly across the pond.

"Here it is," said the frog.

"Where?" asked the young Indian. Then the frog coughed, and out of his mouth came the firebrand. It was small, for it had been burning all this time, but it set fire to the leaves and twigs, and soon the Indians were warm again. They sang and they danced about the flames.

At first the frog was sad, because he was sorry to lose his tail; but before long he was as merry as the people who were dancing, for the young Indian said, "Little frog, you have been a good friend to us, and as long as we live on the earth, we will never throw a stone at a frog that has no tail."



How The Quail Became A Snipe.


"It is lonely living in this great tree far away from the other birds," said the owl to herself. "I will get some one to come and live with me. The quail has many children, and I will ask her for one of them."

The owl went to the quail and said, "Will you let me have one of your children to come and live with me?"

"Live with you? No," answered the quail. "I would as soon let my child live with the serpent. You are hidden in the tree all day long, and when it is dark, you come down like a thief and catch little animals that are fast asleep in their nests. You shall never have one of my children."

"I will have one," thought the owl.

She waited till the night had come. It was dark and gloomy, for the moon was not to be seen, and not a star twinkled in the sky. Not a leaf stirred, and not a ripple was on the pond. The owl crept up to the quail's home as softly as she could. The young birds were chattering together, and she listened to their talk.

"My mother is gone a long time," said one. "It is lonely, and I am afraid."

"What is there to be afraid of?" asked another. "You are a little coward. Shut your eyes and go to sleep. See me! I am not afraid, if it is dark and gloomy. Oh, oh!" cried the boaster, for the owl had seized him and was carrying him away from home and his little brothers.

When the mother quail came home, she asked, "Where is your brother?" The little quails did not know. All they could say was that something had seized him in the darkness and taken him away.

"It crept up to the nest in the dark," said one.

"And oh, mother, never, never go away from us again!" cried another. "Do not leave us at home all alone."

"But, my dear little ones," the mother said, "how could you have any food if I never went away from our home?"

The mother quail was very sad, and she would have been still more sorrowful if she had known what was happening to her little son far away in the owl's nest. The cruel owl had pulled and pulled on the quail's bill and legs, till they were so long that his mother would not have known him.

One night the mole came to the quail and said, "Your little son is in the owl's nest."

"How do you know?" asked the quail.

"I cannot see very well," answered the mole, "but I heard him call, and I know that he is there."

"How shall I get him away from the owl?" the quail asked the mole.

"The owl crept up to your home in the dark," said the mole, "but you must go to her nest at sunrise when the light shines in her eyes and she cannot see you."

At sunrise the quail crept up to the owl's nest and carried away her dear little son to his old home. As the light grew brighter, she saw what had happened to him. His bill and his legs were so long that he did not look like her son.

"He is not like our brother," said the other little quails.

"That is because the cruel owl that carried him away has pulled his bill and his legs," answered the mother sorrowfully. "You must be very good to him."

But the other little quails were not good to him. They laughed at him, and the quail with the long bill and legs was never again merry and glad with them. Before long he ran away and hid among the great reeds that stand in the water and on the shores of the pond.

"I will not be called quail," he said to himself, "for quails never have long bills and legs. I will have a new name, and it shall be snipe. I like the sound of that name."

So it was that the bird whose name was once quail came to be called snipe. His children live among the reeds of the pond, and they, too, are called snipes.



Why The Serpent Sheds His Skin.


The serpent is the grandfather of the owl, and once upon a time if the owl needed help, she would say, "My grandfather will come and help me," but now he never comes to her. This story tells why.

When the owl carried away the little quail, she went to the serpent and said, "Grandfather, you will not tell the quail that I have her son, will you?"

"No," answered the serpent, "I will keep your secret. I will not whisper it to any one." So when the mother quail asked all the animals, "Can you tell me who has carried away my little son?" the serpent answered, "I have been sound asleep. How could I know?"

After the quail had become a snipe and had gone to live in the marsh among the reeds, the cruel owl looked everywhere for him, and at last she saw him standing beside a great stone in the water.

She went to the serpent and said, "Grandfather, will you do something for me?"

"I will," hissed the serpent softly, "What is it?"

"Only to take a drink of water," answered the owl. "Come and drink all the water in the marsh, and then I can catch the quail that I made into a snipe."

The serpent drank and drank, but still there was water in the marsh.

"Why do you not drink faster?" cried the owl. "I shall never get the snipe."

The serpent drank till he could drink no more, and still the water stood in the marsh. The owl could not see well by day, and the serpent could not see above the reeds and rushes, so they did not know that the water from the pond was coming into the marsh faster than the serpent could drink it.

Still the serpent drank, and at last his skin burst.

"Oh," he cried, "my skin has burst. Help me to fasten it together."

"My skin never bursts," said the owl. "If you will drink the water from the marsh, I will help you, but I will not fasten any skin together till I get that snipe."

The serpent had done all that he could to help the owl, and now he was angry. He was afraid, too, for he did not know what would happen to him, and he lay on the ground trembling and quivering. It was not long before his old skin fell off, and then he saw that under it was a beautiful new one, all bright and shining. He sheds his old skin every year now, but never again has he done anything to help the owl.



Why The Dove Is Timid.


A spirit called the manito always watches over the Indians. He is glad when they are brave, but if they are cowardly, he is angry.

One day when the manito was walking under the pine-trees, he heard a cry of terror in the forest.

"What is that?" said he. "Can it be that any of my Indian children are afraid?"

As he stood listening, an Indian boy came running from the thicket, crying in fear.

"What are you afraid of?" asked the manito.

"My mother told me to go into the forest with my bow and arrows and shoot some animal for food," said the boy.

"That is what all Indian boys must do," said the manito. "Why do you not do as she said?"

"Oh, the great bear is in the forest, and I am afraid of him!"

"Afraid of Hoots?" asked the manito. "An Indian boy must never be afraid."

"But Hoots will eat me, I know he will," cried the boy. "Boo-hoo, boo-hoo!"

"A boy must be brave," said the manito, "and I will not have a coward among my Indians. You are too timid ever to be a warrior, and so you shall be a bird. Whenever Indian boys look at you, they will say, 'There is the boy who was afraid of Hoots.'"

The boy's cloak of deerskin fell off, and feathers came out all over his body. His feet were no longer like a boy's feet, they were like the feet of a bird. His bow and arrows fell upon the grass, for he had no longer any hands with which to hold them. He tried to call to his mother, but the only sound he could make was "Hoo, hoo!"

"Now you are a dove," said the manito, "and a dove you shall be as long as you live. You shall always be known as the most timid of birds."

Again the dove that had once been a boy tried to call, but he only said, "Hoo, hoo!"

"That is the only sound you will ever make," said the manito, "and when the other boys hear it, they will say, 'Listen! He was afraid of Hoots, the bear, and that is why he says Hoo, hoo!'"



Why The Parrot Repeats The Words Of Men.


In the olden times when the earth was young, all the birds knew the language of men and could talk with them. Everybody liked the parrot, because he always told things as they were, and they called him the bird that tells the truth.

This bird that always told the truth lived with a man who was a thief, and one night the man killed another man's ox and hid its flesh.

When the other man came to look for it in the morning, he asked the thief, "Have you seen my ox?"

"No, I have not seen it," said the man.

"Is that the truth?" the owner asked.

"Yes, it is. I have not seen the ox," repeated the man.

"Ask the parrot," said one of the villagers. "He always tells the truth."

"O bird of truth," said they to the parrot, "did this man kill an ox and hide its flesh?"

"Yes, he did," answered the parrot.

The thief knew well that the villagers would punish him the next day, if he could not make them think that the parrot did not always tell the truth.

"I have it," he said to himself at last. "I know what I can do."

When night came he put a great jar over the parrot. Then he poured water upon the jar and struck it many times with a tough piece of oak. This he did half the night. Then he went to bed and was soon fast asleep.

In the morning the men came to punish him.

"How do you know that I killed the ox?" he asked.

"Because the bird of truth says that you did," they answered.

"The bird of truth!" he cried. "That parrot is no bird of truth. He will not tell the truth even about what happened last night. Ask him if the moon was shining."

"Did the moon shine last night?" the men asked.

"No," answered the parrot. "There was no moon, for the rain fell, and there was a great storm in the heavens. I heard the thunder half the night."

"This bird has always told the truth before," said the villagers, "but there was no storm last night and the moon was bright. What shall we do to punish the parrot?" they asked the thief.

"I think we will no longer let him live in our homes," answered the thief.

"Yes," said the others, "he must fly away to the forest, and even when there is a storm, he can no longer come to our homes, because we know now that he is a bird of a lying tongue."

So the parrot flew away sorrowfully into the lonely forest. He met a mocking-bird and told him what had happened.

"Why did you not repeat men's words as I do?" asked the mocking-bird. "Men always think their own words are good."

"But the man's words were not true," said the parrot.

"That is nothing," replied the mocking-bird, laughing. "Say what they say, and they will think you are a wonderful bird."

"Yes, I see," said the parrot thoughtfully, "and I will never again be punished for telling the truth. I will only repeat the words of others."



The Story Of The First Mocking-Bird.


Far away in the forest there once lived the most cruel man on all the earth. He did not like the Indians, and he said to himself, "Some day I will be ruler of them all." Then he thought, "There are many brave warriors among the Indians, and I must first put them to death."

He was cunning as well as cruel, and he soon found a way to kill the warriors. He built some wigwams and made fires before them as if people lived in each one.

One day a hunter on his way home heard a baby crying in one of the wigwams. He went in, but he never came out again. Another day a hunter heard a child laughing. He went in, but he never came out again. So it was day after day. One hunter heard a woman talking, and went to see who it was; another heard a man calling to people in the other wigwams, and went to see who they were; and no one who once went into a wigwam ever came out.

One young brave had heard the voices, but he feared there was magic about them, and so he had never gone into the wigwams; but when he saw that his friends did not come back, he went to the wigwams and called, "Where are all the people that I have heard talk and laugh?"

"Talk and laugh," said the cunning man mockingly.

"Where are they? Do you know?" cried the brave, and the cunning man called, "Do you know?" and laughed.

"Whose voices have I heard?"

"Have I heard?" mocked the cunning man.

"I heard a baby cry."

"Cry," said the cunning man.

"Who is with you?"

"You."

Then the young brave was angry. He ran into the first wigwam, and there he found the man who had cried like a baby and talked in a voice like a woman's and made all the other sounds. The brave caught him by the leg and threw him down upon the earth.

"It was you who cried and talked and laughed," he said. "I heard your voice and now you are going to be punished for killing our braves. Where is my brother, and where are our friends?"

"How do I know?" cried the man. "Ask the sun or the moon or the fire if you will, but do not ask me;" and all the time he was trying to pull the young brave into the flames.

"I will ask the fire," said the brave. "Fire, you are a good friend to us Indians. What has this cruel man done with our warriors?"

The fire had no voice, so it could not answer, but it sprang as far away from the hunter as it could, and there where the flames had been he saw two stone arrowheads.

"I know who owned the two arrowheads," said the brave. "You have thrown my friends into your fire. Now I will do to you what you have done to them."

He threw the cunning man into the fire. His head burst into two pieces, and from between them a bird flew forth. Its voice was loud and clear, but it had no song of its own. It could only mock the songs of other birds, and that is why it is called the mocking-bird.



Why The Tail Of The Fox Has A White Tip.


"I must have a boy to watch my sheep and my cows," thought an old woman, and so she went out to look for a boy. She looked first in the fields and then in the forest, but nowhere could she find a boy. As she was walking down the path to her home, she met a bear.

"Where are you going?" asked the bear.

"I am looking for a boy to watch my cows and my sheep," she answered.

"Will you have me?"

"Yes, if you know how to call my animals gently."

"Ugh, ugh," called the bear. He tried to call softly, but he had always growled before, and now he could do nothing but growl.

"No, no," said the old woman, "your voice is too loud. Every cow in the field would run, and every sheep would hide, if you should growl like that. I will not have you."

Then the old woman went on till she met a wolf.

"Where are you going, grandmother?" he asked.

"I am looking for a boy to watch my cows and my sheep," she answered.

"Will you have me?" asked the wolf.

"Yes," she said, "if you know how to call my animals gently."

"Ho-y, ho-y," called the wolf.

"Your voice is too high," said the old woman. "My cows and my sheep would tremble whenever they heard it. I will not have you."

Then the old woman went on till she met a fox.

"I am so glad to meet you," said the fox. "Where are you going this bright morning?"

"I am going home now," she said, "for I cannot find a boy to watch my cows and my sheep. The bear growls and the wolf calls in too high a voice. I do not know what I can do, for I am too old to watch cows and sheep."

"Oh, no," said the cunning fox, "you are not old, but any one as beautiful as you must not watch sheep in the fields. I shall be very glad to do the work for you if you will let me."

"I know that my sheep will like you," said she.

"And I know that I shall like them dearly," said the fox.

"Can you call them gently, Mr. Fox?" she asked.

"Del-dal-halow, del-dal-halow," called the fox, in so gentle a voice that it was like a whisper.

"That is good, Mr. Fox," said the old woman. "Come home with me, and I will take you to the fields where my animals go."

Each day one of the cows or one of the sheep was gone when the fox came home at night. "Mr. Fox, where is my cow?" the old woman would ask, or, "Mr. Fox, where is my sheep?" and the fox would answer with a sorrowful look, "The bear came out of the woods, and he has eaten it," or, "The wolf came running through the fields, and he has eaten it."

The old woman was sorry to lose her sheep and her cows, but she thought, "Mr. Fox must be even more sorry than I. I will go out to the field and carry him a drink of cream."

She went to the field, and there stood the fox with the body of a sheep, for it was he who had killed and eaten every one that was gone. When he saw the old woman coming, he started to run away.

"You cruel, cunning fox!" she cried.

She had nothing to throw at him but the cream, so she threw that. It struck the tip of his tail, and from that day to this, the tip of the fox's tail has been as white as cream.



The Story Of The First Frog.


Once upon a time there was a man who had two children, a boy and a girl, whom he treated cruelly. The boy and the girl talked together one day, and the boy, Wah-wah-hoo, said to his sister, "Dear little sister, are you happy with our father?"

"No," answered the girl, whose name was Hah-hah. "He scolds me and beats me, and I can never please him."

"He was angry with me this morning," said the boy, "and he beat me till the blood came. See there!"

"Let us run away," said Hah-hah. "The beasts and the birds will be good to us. They really love us, and we can be very happy together."

That night the two children ran away from their cruel father. They went far into the forest, and at last they found a wigwam in which no one lived.

When the father found that Wah-wah-hoo and his sister were gone, he was very unhappy. He went out into the forest to see if he could find them. "If they would only come again," he said aloud, "I would do everything I could to please them."

"Do you think he tells the truth?" asked the wolf.

"I do not know," answered the mosquito. "He never treated them well when they were with him."

"Wolf," called the father, "will you tell me where my children are?"

Wah-wah-hoo had once told the wolf when a man was coming to shoot him, and so the wolf would not tell where they were.

"Mosquito," said the father, "where are my children?"

Hah-hah had once helped the mosquito to go home when the wind was too strong for him, and so the mosquito would not tell.

For a long time Wah-wah-hoo and his sister were really happy in the forest, for there was no one to scold them and to beat them, but at last there was a cold, cold winter. All the earth was covered with snow. The animals had gone, and Wah-wah-hoo could find no food. Death came and bore away the gentle Hah-hah. Wah-wah-hoo sat alone in the gloomy wigwam wailing for his sister. Then in his sadness he threw himself down from a high mountain and was killed.

All this time the father had been looking for his children, and at last he saw his son lying at the foot of the mountain. Then he too wailed and cried aloud, for he was really sorry that he had treated them so cruelly. He was a magician, and he could make his son live, but he could not make him a boy again.

"You shall be a frog," said he, "and you shall make your home in the marsh with the reeds and the rushes. There you shall wail as loud as you will for your sister, and once every moon I will come and wail for her with you. I was cruel to you and to her, and so I must live alone in my gloomy wigwam."

Every summer night one can hear the frog in the marsh wailing for his dear sister Hah-hah. Sometimes a louder voice is heard, and that is the voice of the father wailing because he was so cruel.



Why The Rabbit Is Timid.


One night the moon looked down from the sky upon the people on the earth and said to herself, "How sorrowful they look! I wish I knew what troubles them. The stars and I are never sad, and I do not see why men should be troubled." She listened closely, and she heard the people say, "How happy we should be if death never came to us. Death is always before us."

The path of the moon lies across the sky, and she could not leave it to go to the earth, but she called the white rabbit and said, "Rabbit, should you be afraid to go down to the earth?"

"No," answered the rabbit, "I am not afraid."

"The people on the earth are troubled because death is before them. Now will you go to them and whisper, 'The moon dies every night. You can see it go down into the darkness, but when another night comes, then the moon rises again,' -- can you remember to tell them that?"

"Yes," said the rabbit, "I will remember."

"Say this," said the moon: "'The moon dies, but the moon rises again, and so will you.'"

The rabbit was so glad to go to the earth that he danced and leaped and sprang and frolicked, but when he tried to tell the people what the moon had said, he could not remember, and he said, "The moon says that she dies and will not rise again, and so you will die and will not rise again."

The moon saw that the people were still troubled, and she called the rabbit and asked what he had said to them.

"I said that as you die and do not rise, so they too will die and not rise," said the rabbit.

"You did not try to remember, and you must be punished," said the moon, and she fired an arrow tipped with flint at the rabbit.

The arrow struck the rabbit's lip and split it. From that time every rabbit has had a split lip. The rabbit was afraid of the moon, and he was afraid of the people on the earth. He had been brave before, but now he is the most timid of animals, for he is afraid of everything and everybody.



Why The Peetweet Cries For Rain.


"Come to me, every bird that flies," said the Great Father. "There is work to be done that only my birds can do."

The birds were happy that they could do something to please the Great Father, for they remembered how good he had always been to them. They flew to him eagerly to ask what they should do for him. "O Great Father," they sang all together, "tell us what we can do for you."

"The waters that I have made know not where to go," said the Father. "Some should go to the seas, some should go to the lakes in the hollows among the mountains, and some should make rivers that will dance over the rocks and through the fields on their way to the sea."

"And can even as small a bird as I show them where to go?" asked the sparrow eagerly.

"Yes," said the Father, "even my little humming-bird can help me."

Every bird that flies had come to the Father, but the peetweet had come last because he was lazy.

"I do not really wish to fly all over the earth," said he, "to show the waters where to go."

"Oh, I wish I were a bird," said a butterfly. "I should be so glad to do something for the Father."

But the peetweet went on, "I should think the lakes could find their way into the hollows of the mountains by themselves."

The Father heard the lazy peetweet, and he said, "Do you not wish to show the waters where to go?"

"They never showed me where to go," said the lazy bird. "I am not thirsty. Let whoever is thirsty and needs the water help the lakes and rivers."

The other birds all stood still in wonder. "He will be punished," they whispered.

"Yes, he must be punished," said the Father sadly. Then said he to the lazy peetweet, "Never again shall you drink of the water that is in river or lake. When you are thirsty, you must look for a hollow in the rock where the rain has fallen, and there only shall you drink."

That is why the peetweet flies over river and lake, but ever cries eagerly, "Peet-weet, peet-weet!" for that is his word for "Rain, rain!"



Why The Bear Has A Short Tail.


One cold morning when the fox was coming up the road with some fish, he met the bear.

"Good-morning, Mr. Fox," said the bear.

"Good-morning, Mr. Bear," said the fox. "The morning is brighter because I have met you."

"Those are very good fish, Mr. Fox," said the bear. "I have not eaten such fish for many a day. Where do you find them?"

"I have been fishing, Mr. Bear," answered the fox.

"If I could catch such fish as those, I should like to go fishing, but I do not know how to fish."

"It would be very easy for you to learn, Mr. Bear," said the fox. "You are so big and strong that you can do anything."

"Will you teach me, Mr. Fox?" asked the bear.

"I would not tell everybody, but you are such a good friend that I will teach you. Come to this pond, and I will show you how to fish through the ice."

So the fox and the bear went to the frozen pond, and the fox showed the bear how to make a hole in the ice.

"That is easy for you," said the fox, "but many an animal could not have made that hole. Now comes the secret. You must put your tail down into the water and keep it there. That is not easy, and not every animal could do it, for the water is very cold; but you are a learned animal, Mr. Bear, and you know that the secret of catching fish is to keep your tail in the water a long time. Then when you pull it up, you will pull with it as many fish as I have."

The bear put his tail down into the water, and the fox went away. The sun rose high in the heavens, and still the bear sat with his tail through the hole in the ice. Sunset came, but still the bear sat with his tail through the hole in the ice, for he thought, "When an animal is really learned, he will not fear a little cold."

It began to be dark, and the bear said, "Now I will pull the fish out of the water. How good they will be!" He pulled and pulled, but not a fish came out. Worse than that, not all of his tail came out, for the end of it was frozen fast to the ice.

He went slowly down the road, growling angrily, "I wish I could find that fox;" but the cunning fox was curled up in his warm nest, and whenever he thought of the bear he laughed.



Why The Wren Flies Close To The Earth.


One day when the birds were all together, one of them said, "I have been watching men, and I saw that they had a king. Let us too have a king."

"Why?" asked the others.

"Oh, I do not know, but men have one."

"Which bird shall it be? How shall we choose a king?"

"Let us choose the bird that flies farthest," said one.

"No, the bird that flies most swiftly."

"The most beautiful bird."

"The bird that sings best."

"The strongest bird."

The owl sat a little way off on a great oak-tree. He said nothing, but he looked so wise that all the birds cried, "Let us ask the owl to choose for us."

"The bird that flies highest should be our king," said the owl with a wiser look than before, and the others said, "Yes, we will choose the bird that flies highest."

The wren is very small, but she cried even more eagerly than the others, "Let us choose the bird that flies highest," for she said to herself, "They think the owl is wise, but I am wiser than he, and I know which bird can fly highest."

Then the birds tried their wings. They flew high, high up above the earth, but one by one they had to come back to their homes. It was soon seen which could fly highest, for when all the others had come back, there was the eagle rising higher and higher.

"The eagle is our king," cried the birds on the earth, and the eagle gave a loud cry of happiness. But look! A little bird had been hidden in the feathers on the eagle's back, and when the eagle had gone as high as he could, the wren flew up from his back still higher.

"Now which bird is king?" cried the wren. "The one that flew highest should be king, and I flew highest."

The eagle was angry, but not a word did he say, and the two birds came down to the earth together.

"I am the king," said the wren, "for I flew higher than the eagle." The other birds did not know which of the two to choose. At last they went to the oak-tree and asked the owl. He looked to the east, the west, the south, and the north, and then he said, "The wren did not fly at all, for she was carried on the eagle's back. The eagle is king, for he not only flew highest, but carried the wren on his back."

"Good, good!" cried the other birds. "The owl is the wisest bird that flies. We will do as he says, and the eagle shall be our king." The wren crept away. She thought she was wise before, but now she is really wise, for she always flies close to the earth, and never tries to do what she cannot.



Why The Hoofs Of The Deer Are Split.


The manito of the Indians taught them how to do many things. He told them how to build wigwams, and how to hunt and to fish. He showed them how to make jars in which to keep food and water. When little children came to be with them, it was the manito who said, "See, this is the way to make soft, warm cradles for the babies."

The good spirit often comes down from his happy home in the sky to watch the Indians at their work. When each man does as well as he can, the manito is pleased, but if an Indian is lazy or wicked, the spirit is angry, and the Indian is always punished in one way or another.

One day when the manito was walking in the forest, he said to himself, "Everything is good and happy. The green leaves are whispering merrily together, the waves are lapping on the shore and laughing, the squirrels are chattering and laying up their food for winter. Everything loves me, and the colors of the flowers are brighter when I lay my hand upon them."

Then the manito heard a strange sound. "I have not often heard that," said he. "I do not like it. Some one in the forest has wicked thoughts in his heart."

Beside a great rock he saw a man with a knife.

"What are you doing with the knife?" asked the manito.

"I am throwing it away," answered the man.

"Tell me the truth," said the manito.

"I am sharpening it," replied the man.

"That is strange," said the manito, "You have food in your wigwam. Why should you sharpen a knife?"

The man could not help telling the truth to the manito, and so he answered, but greatly against his will, "I am sharpening the knife to kill the wicked animals."

"Which animal is wicked?" asked the manito. "Which one does you harm?"

"Not one does me harm," said the man, "but I do not like them. I will make them afraid of me, and I will kill them."

"You are a cruel, wicked man," said the manito. "The animals have done you no harm, and you do not need them for food. You shall no longer be a man. You shall be a deer, and be afraid of every man in the forest."

The knife fell from the man's hand and struck his foot. He leaped and stamped, but the knife only went in deeper. He cried aloud, but his voice sounded strange. His hands were no longer hands, but feet. Antlers grew from his head, and his whole body was not that of a man, but that of a deer. He runs in the forest as he will, but whenever he sees a man, he is afraid. His hoofs are split because the knife that he had made so sharp fell upon his foot when he was a man; and whenever he looks at them, he has to remember that it was his own wickedness which made him a deer.



The Story Of The First Grasshopper.


In a country that is far away there once lived a young man called Tithonus. He was strong and beautiful. Light of heart and light of foot, he hunted the deer or danced and sang the livelong day. Every one who saw him loved him, but the one that loved him most was a goddess named Aurora.

Every goddess had her own work, but the work of Aurora was most beautiful of all, for she was the goddess of the morning. It was she who went out to meet the sun and to light up his pathway. She watched over the flowers, and whenever they saw her coming, their colors grew brighter. She loved everything beautiful, and that is why she loved Tithonus.

"Many a year have I roamed through this country," she said to herself, "but never have I seen such bright blue eyes as those. O fairest of youths," she cried, "who are you? Some name should be yours that sounds like the wind in the pine trees, or like the song of a bird among the first blossoms."

The young man fell upon his knees before her. "I know well," said he, "that you are no maiden of the earth. You are a goddess come down to us from the skies. I am but a hunter, and I roam through the forest looking for deer."

"Come with me, fairest of hunters," said Aurora. "Come with me to the home of my father. You shall live among my brothers and hunt with them, or go with me at the first brightness of the morning to carry light and gladness to the flowers."

So it was that Tithonus went away from his own country and his own home to live in the home of Aurora.

For a long time they were happy together, but one day Aurora said, "Tithonus, I am a goddess, and so I am immortal, but some day death will bear you away from me. I will ask the father of the gods that you too may be immortal."

Then Aurora went to the king of the gods and begged that he would make Tithonus immortal.

"Sometimes people are not pleased even when I have given them what they ask," replied the king, "so think well before you speak."

"I have only one wish," said Aurora, "and it is that Tithonus, the fairest of youths, shall be immortal."

"You have your wish," said the king of the gods, and again Tithonus and Aurora roamed happily together through forest and field.

One day Tithonus asked, "My Aurora, why is it that I cannot look straight into your eyes as once I did?" Another day he said, "My Aurora, why is it that I cannot put my hand in yours as once I did?"

Then the goddess wept sorrowfully. "The king of the gods gave me what I asked for," she wailed, "and I begged that you should be immortal. I did not remember to ask that you should be always young."

Everyday Tithonus grew older and smaller. "I am no longer happy in your father's home," he said, "with your brothers who are as beautiful and as strong as I was when I first saw you. Let me go back to my own country. Let me be a bird or an insect and live in the fields where we first roamed together. Let me go, dearest goddess."

"You shall do as you will," replied Aurora sadly. "You shall be a grasshopper, and whenever I hear the grasshopper's clear, merry song, I shall remember the happy days when we were together."



The Story Of The Oriole.


The king of the north once said to himself, "I am master of the country of ice and snow, but what is that if I cannot be ruler of the land of sunshine and flowers? I am no king if I fear the king of the south. The northwind shall bear my icy breath. Bird and beast shall quiver and tremble with cold. I myself will call in the voice of the thunder, and this ruler of the south, his king of summer, shall yield to my power."

The land of the south was ever bright and sunny, but all at once the sky grew dark, and the sun hid himself in fear. Black storm-clouds came from the north. An icy wind blew over the mountains. It wrestled with the trees of the southland, and even the oaks could not stand against its power. Their roots were tough and strong, but they had to yield, and the fallen trees lay on the earth and wailed in sorrow as the cruel storm-wind and rain beat upon them. The thunder growled in the hollows of the mountains, and in the fearful gloom came the white fire of the forked lightning, flaring through the clouds.

"We shall perish," cried the animals of the sunny south. "The arrows of the lightning are aimed at us. O dear ruler of the southland, must we yield to the cruel master of the north?"

"My king," said a little buzzing voice, "may I go out and fight the wicked master of the storm-wind?"

The thunder was still for a moment, and a mocking laugh was heard from among the clouds, for it was a little hornet that had asked to go out and meet the power of the ruler of the north.

"Dear king, may I go?" repeated the hornet.

"Yes, you may go," said the king of the south, and the little insect went out alone, and bravely stung the master of the storm-wind.

The king of the north struck at him with a war-club, but the hornet only flew above his head and stung him again. The hornet was too small to be struck by the arrows of the lightning. He stung again and again, and at last the king of the north went back to his own country, and drove before him the thunder and lightning and rain and the black storm-clouds and the icy wind.

"Brave little hornet," said the king of the south, "tell me what I can do for you. You shall have whatever you ask."

Then said the little hornet, "My king, on all the earth no one loves me. I do not wish to harm people, but they fear my sting, and they will not let me live beside their homes. Will you make men love me?"

"Little hornet," said the king gently, "you shall no longer be a stinging insect feared by men. You shall be a bright and happy oriole, and when men see you, they will say, 'See the beautiful oriole. I shall be glad if he will build his nest on our trees.'"

So the hornet is now an oriole, a bird that is loved by every one. His nest looks like that of a hornet because he learned how to build his home before he became an oriole.



Why The Peacock's Tail Has A Hundred Eyes.


Juno, queen of the gods, had the fairest cow that any one ever saw. She was creamy white, and her eyes were of as soft and bright a blue as those of any maiden in the world. Juno and the king of the gods often played tricks on each other, and Juno knew well that the king would try to get her cow. There was a watchman named Argus, and one would think that he could see all that was going on in the world, for he had a hundred eyes, and no one had ever seen them all asleep at once, so Queen Juno gave to Argus the work of watching the white cow.

The king of the gods knew what she had done, and he laughed to himself and said, "I will play a trick on Juno, and I will have the white cow." He sent for Mercury and whispered in his ear, "Mercury, go to the green field where Argus watches the cream-white cow and get her for me."

Mercury was always happy when he could play a trick on any one, and he set out gladly for the field where Argus watched the cream-white cow with every one of his hundred eyes.

Now Mercury could tell merry stories of all that was done in the world. He could sing, too, and the music of his voice had lulled many a god to sleep. Argus knew that, but he had been alone a long time, and he thought, "What harm is there in listening to his merry chatter? I have a hundred eyes, and even if half of them were asleep, the others could easily keep watch of one cow." So he gladly hailed Mercury and said, "I have been alone in this field a long, long time, but you have roamed about as you would. Will you not sing to me, and tell me what has happened in the world? You would be glad to hear stories and music if you had nothing to do but watch a cow, even if it was the cow of a queen."

So Mercury sang and told stories. Some of the songs were merry, and some were sad. The watchman closed one eye, then another and another, but there were two eyes that would not close for all the sad songs and all the merry ones. Then Mercury drew forth a hollow reed that he had brought from the river and began to play on it. It was a magic reed, and as he played, one could hear the water rippling gently on the shore and the breath of the wind in the pine-trees; one could see the lilies bending their heads as the dusk came on, and the stars twinkling softly in the summer sky.

It is no wonder that Argus closed one eye and then the other. Every one of his hundred eyes was fast asleep, and Mercury went away to the king of the gods with the cream-white cow.

Juno had so often played tricks on the king that he was happy because he had played this one on her, but Juno was angry, and she said to Argus, "You are a strange watchman. You have a hundred eyes, and you could not keep even one of them from falling asleep. My peacock is wiser than you, for he knows when any one is looking at him. I will put every one of your eyes in the tail of the peacock." And to-day, whoever looks at the peacock can count in his tail the hundred eyes that once belonged to Argus.



The Story Of The Bees And The Flies.


There were once two tribes of little people who lived near together. They were not at all alike, for one of the tribes looked for food and carried it away to put it up safely for winter, while the other played and sang and danced all day long.

"Come and play with us," said the lazy people, but the busy workers answered, "No, come and work with us. Winter will soon be here. Snow and ice will be everywhere, and if we do not put up food now we shall have none for the cold, stormy days."

So the busy people brought honey from the flowers, but the lazy people kept on playing. They laughed together and whispered to one another, "See those busy workers! They will have food for two tribes, and they will give us some. Let us go and dance."

While the summer lasted, one tribe worked and the other played. When winter came, the busy workers were sorry for their friends and said, "Let us give them some of our honey." So the people who played had as much food as if they, too, had brought honey from the flowers.

Another summer was coming, and the workers said, "If we should make our home near the lilies that give us honey, it would be easier to get our food." So the workers flew away, but the lazy people played and danced as they had done before while their friends were near, for they thought, "Oh, they will come back and bring us some honey."

By and by the cold came, but the lazy people had nothing to eat, and the workers did not come with food. The manito had said to them, "Dear little workers, you shall no longer walk from flower to flower. I will give you wings, and you shall be bees. Whenever men hear a gentle humming, they will say, 'Those are the busy bees, and their wings were given them because they were wise and good.'"

To the other tribe the manito said, "You shall be flies, and you, too, shall have wings; but while the workers fly from flower to flower and eat the yellow honey, you shall have for your food only what has been thrown away. When men hear your buzzing, they will say, 'It is good that the flies have wings, because we can drive them away from us the more quickly.'"



The Story Of The First Moles.


A rich man and a poor man once owned a field together. The rich man owned the northern half, and the poor man owned the southern half. Each man sowed his ground with seed. The warm days came, the gentle rain fell, and the seed in the poor man's half of the field sprang up and put forth leaves. The seed in the rich man's half all died in the ground.

The rich man was selfish and wicked. He said, "The southern half of the field is mine," but the poor man replied, "No, the southern half is mine, for that is where I sowed my seed."

The rich man had a son who was as wicked as himself. This boy whispered, "Father, tell him to come in the morning. I know how we can keep the land." So the rich man said, "Come in the morning, and we shall soon see whose land this is."

At night the rich man and his son pulled up some bushes that grew beside the field, and the son hid in the hole where their roots had been.

Morning came, and many people went to the field with the rich man. The poor man was sorrowful, for he feared that he would lose his ground.

"Now we shall see," said the rich man boastfully, and he called aloud, "Whose ground is this?"

"This is the ground of the rich man," answered a voice from the hole.

"How shall I ever get food for my children!" cried the poor man.

Then another voice was heard. It was that of the spirit of the fields, and it said, "The southern half of the field is the poor man's, and the northern half shall be his too."

The rich man would have run away, but the voice called, "Wait. Look where the bushes once stood. The boy in the hole and his wicked father shall hide in the darkness as long as they live, and never again shall they see the light of the sun."

This is the story of the first moles, and this is why the mole never comes to the light of day.



The Story Of The First Ants.


"This jar is full of smoked flesh," said one voice.

"This has fish, this is full of honey, and that one is almost running over with oil," said another voice. "We shall have all that we need to eat for many days to come."

These are the words that a villager coming home from his work heard his mother and his sister say.

"They have often played tricks on me," he said to himself, "and now I will play one on them." So he went into the house and said, "Mother, I have found that I have a wonderful sense of smell, and by its help I can find whatever is hidden away."

"That is a marvelous story," cried the sister.

"If you can tell me what is in these jars," said his mother, "I shall think you are really a magician. What is it now?"

"This is flesh, this fish, this honey, and this jar is full of oil," said the man.

"I never heard of such a marvel in all my life," cried the mother; and in the morning she called her friends and said, "Only think what a wonderful sense of smell my son has! He told me what was in these jars when they were closed."

It was not long before the people all through the country heard of the wonderful man, and one day word came that the king wished to see him at once.

The man was afraid, for he did not know what would happen to him, and he was still more afraid when the king said, "A pearl is lost that I had in my hand last night. They say you can find things that are lost. Find my pearl, or your head will he lost."

The poor man went out into the forest. "Oh, how I wish I had not tried to play tricks," he wailed. "Then this sharp sorrow, this dire trouble, would not have come upon me."

"Please, please do not tell the king," said two voices in the shadow of the trees.

"Who are you?" asked the man.

"Oh, you must know us well," said a man coming out into the light. "My name is Sharp, and that man behind the tree is named Dire, but please do not tell the king. We will give you the pearl; here it is. You called our names, and we saw that you knew us. Oh, I wish I had not been a thief!"

The man gave the pearl to the king, and went home wishing that no one would ever talk to him again of his sense of smell.

In three days word came from the queen that he must come to her at once. She thought his power was only a trick, and to catch him she had put a cat into a bag and the bag into a box.

When the man came, she asked sharply, "What is in this box? Tell me the truth, or off will go your head."

"What shall I do?" thought the man, "Dire death is upon me." He did not remember that he was before the queen, and he repeated half aloud an old saying, "The bagged cat soon dies."

"What is that?" cried the queen.

"The bagged cat soon dies," repeated the man in great terror.

"You are a marvelous man," said the queen. "There is really a bag in the box and a cat in the bag, but no one besides myself knew it."

"He is not a man; he is a god," cried the people, "and he must be in the sky and live among the gods;" so they threw him up to the sky. His hand was full of earth, and when the earth fell back, it was no longer earth, but a handful of ants. Ants have a wonderful sense of smell, and it is because they fell from the hand of this man who was thrown up into the sky to live among the gods.



The Face Of The Manito.


Many years ago the manito of the Indians lived in the sun. Every morning the wise men of the tribe went to the top of a mountain, and as the sun rose in the east, they sang, "We praise thee, O sun! From thee come fire and light. Be good to us, be good to us."

After the warm days of the summer had come, the sun was so bright that the Indians said to their wise men, "When you go to the mountain top, ask the manito to show us his face in a softer, gentler light."

Then the wise men went to the mountain top, and this is what they said: "O great manito, we are but children before you, and we have no power to bear the brightness of your face. Look down upon us here on the earth with a gentler, softer light, that we may ever gaze upon you and show you all love and all honor."

The bright sun moved slowly toward the south. The people were afraid that the manito was angry with them, but when the moon rose they were no longer sad, for from the moon the loving face of the manito was looking down upon them.

Night after night the people gazed at the gentle face, but at last a night came when the moon was not seen in the sky. The wise men went sorrowfully to the mountain top. "O manito," they said, "we are never happy when we cannot gaze into your face. Will you not show it to your children?"

The moon did not rise, and the people were sad, but when morning came, there was the loving face of the manito showing clearly in the rocks at the top of the mountain.

Again they were happy, but when dark clouds hid the gentle face, the wise men went to the foot of the mountain and called sadly, "O manito, we can no longer see your face."

The clouds grew darker and fell like a cloak over the mountain, the trees trembled in the wind, the forked lightning shot across the sky, and the thunder called aloud.

"It is the anger of the manito," cried the people. "The heavens are falling," they whispered, and they hid their faces in fear.

Morning came, the storm had gone, and the sky was clear. Tremblingly the people looked up toward the mountain top for the face of the manito. It was not there, but after they had long gazed in sorrow, a wise man cried, "There it is, where no cloud will hide it from us." In the storm the rocks had fallen from the mountain top. They were halfway down the mountain side, and in them could be seen the face of the manito.

Then the people cried, "Praise to the good manito! His loving face will look down upon us from the mountain side forever-more."

For a long time all went well, but at last trouble came, for they heard that a great tribe were on the war-path coming to kill them. "Help us, dear manito," they cried but there was no help. The warriors came nearer and nearer. Their war-cry was heard, "O manito," called the people, "help us, help us!" A voice from the mountain answered, "My children, be not afraid." The war-cry was still, and when the people looked, for the warriors, they were nowhere to be seen. The people gazed all around, and at last one of the wise men cried, "There they are, there they are!"

They were at the foot of the mountain, but the people no longer feared them, for now they were not warriors but rocks. To keep from harm those whom he loved, the manito had made the warriors into stone. They stood at the foot of the mountain, and to-day, if you should go to that far-away country, you could see the rocks that were once warriors, and above them, halfway up the mountain side, you could see the face of the manito.



The Story Of The First Diamonds.


The chief of an Indian tribe had two sons whom he loved very dearly. This chief was at war with another tribe, and one dark night two of his enemies crept softly through the trees till they came to where the two boys lay sound asleep. The warriors caught the younger boy up gently, and carried him far away from his home and his friends.

When the chief woke, he cried, "Where is my son? My enemies have been here and have stolen him."

All the Indians in the tribe started out in search of the boy. They roamed the forest through and through, but the stolen child could not be found.

The chief mourned for his son, and when the time of his death drew near, he said to his wife, "Moneta, my tribe shall have no chief until my boy is found and taken from our enemies. Let our oldest son go forth in search of his brother, and until he has brought back the little one, do you rule my people."

Moneta ruled the people wisely and kindly. When the older son was a man she said to him, "My son, go forth and search for your brother, whom I have mourned these many years. Every day I shall watch for you, and every night I shall build a fire on the mountain top."

"Do not mourn, mother," said the young man. "You will not build the fire many nights on the mountain top, for I shall soon find my brother and bring him back to you."

He went forth bravely, but he did not come back. His mother went every night to the mountain top, and when she was so old that she could no longer walk, the young men of the tribe bore her up the mountain side in their strong arms, so that with her own trembling hand she could light the fire.

One night there was a great storm. Even the brave warriors were afraid, but Moneta had no fear, for out of the storm a gentle voice had come to her that said, "Moneta, your sons are coming home to you."

"Once more I must build the fire on the mountain top," she cried. The young men trembled with fear, but they bore her to the top of the mountain.

"Leave me here alone," she said. "I hear a voice. It is the voice of my son, and he is calling, 'Mother, mother.' Come to me, come, my boys."

Coming slowly up the mountain in the storm was the older son. The younger had died on the road home, and he lay dead in the arms of his brother.

In the morning the men of the tribe went to the mountain top in search of Moneta and her sons. They were nowhere to be seen, but where the tears of the lonely mother had fallen, there was a brightness that had never been seen before. The tears were shining in the sunlight as if each one of them was itself a little sun. Indeed, they were no longer tears, but diamonds.

The dearest thing in all the world is the tear of mother-love, and that is why the tears were made into diamonds, the stones that are brightest and clearest of all the stones on the earth.



The Story Of The First Pearls.


There was once a man named Runoia, and when he walked along the pathways of the forest, the children would say shyly to one another, "Look, there is the man who always hears music."

It was really true that wherever he went he could hear sweet music. There are some kinds of music that every one can hear, but Runoia heard sweet sounds where others heard nothing. When the lilies sang their evening song to the stars, he could hear it, and when the mother tree whispered "Good-night" to the little green leaves, he heard the music of her whisper, though other men heard not a sound.

He was sorry for those other men, and he said to himself, "I will make a harp, and then even if they cannot hear all the kinds of music, they will hear the sweet voice of the harp."

This must have been a magic harp, for if one else touched it, no sound was heard, but when Runoia touched the strings, the trees bent down their branches to listen, the little blossoms put their heads out shyly, and even the wind was hushed. All kinds of beasts and birds came about him as he played, and the sun and the moon stood still in the heavens to hear the wonderful music. All these beautiful things happened whenever Runoia touched the strings.

Sometimes Runoia's music was sad. Then the sun and the moon hid their faces behind the clouds, the wind sang mournfully, and the lilies bent low their snow-white blossoms.

One day Runoia roamed far away till he came to the shores of the great sea. The sun had set, darkness hid the sky and the water, not a star was to be seen. Not a sound was heard but the wailing of the sea. No friend was near. "I have no friends," he said. He laid his hand upon his harp, and of themselves the strings gave forth sweet sounds, at first softly and shyly. Then the sounds grew louder, and soon the world was full of music, such as even Runoia had never heard before, for it was the music of the gods. "It is really true," he said to himself softly. "My harp is giving me music to drive away my sadness."

He listened, and the harp played more and more sweetly. "He who has a harp has one true friend. He who loves music is loved by the gods," so the harp sang to him.

Tears came into Runoia's eyes, but they were tears of happiness, not of sadness, for he was no longer lonely. A gentle voice called, "Runoia, come to the home of the gods."

As darkness fell over the sea, Runoia's friends went to look for him. He was gone, but where he had stood listening happily to the music of the gods, there on the fair white sand was the harp, and all around it lay beautiful pearls, shining softly in the moonlight, for every tear of happiness was now a pearl.



The Story Of The First Emeralds.


In the days of long ago there was a time when there were no emeralds on the earth. Men knew where to find other precious stones. They could get pearls and diamonds, but no one had ever seen an emerald, because the emeralds were hidden away in the bed of the sea, far down below the waves.

The king of India had many precious things, and he was always eager to get others. One day a stranger stood before his door, and when the king came out he cried, "O king, you have much that is precious. Do you wish to have the most beautiful thing in earth, air, or water?"

"Yes, in truth," said the king. "What is it?"

"It is a vase made of an emerald stone," answered the stranger.

"And what is an emerald stone?" asked the king.

"It is a stone that no one on earth has ever seen," said the stranger. "It is greener than the waves of the sea or the leaves of the forest."

"Where is the wonderful vase?" cried the king eagerly.

"Where the waves of the sea never roll," was the answer, but when the king was about to ask where that was, the stranger had gone.

The king asked his three wise men where it was that the waves of the sea never rolled. One said, "In the forest;" another said, "On the mountain;" and the last said, "In the sea where the water is deepest."

The king thought a long time about these answers of the wise men. At last he said: "If the emerald vase had been in the forest or on the mountain, it would have been found long before now. I think it is in the deepest water of the sea."

This king of India was a great magician. He went to the sea, and there he sang many a magical song, for he said to himself, "I have no diver who can go to the bed of the sea, but often magic will do what a diver cannot."

The king of the world under the water owned the beautiful vase, but when he heard the songs, he knew that he must give it up. "Take it," he said to the spirits that live in the deepest water. "Bear it to the king of India. The spirits of the air will try to take it from you, but see that it goes safely to the king whose magic has called it from the sea."

The spirits of the sea rose from the waves bearing the precious vase.

"It is ours, it is ours," cried the spirits of the air. "The king of India shall never have it." The spirits of the air and the spirits of the water fought together. "What a fearful storm!" cried the people on the earth. "See how the lightning shoots across the sky, and hear the thunder roll from mountain to mountain!" They hid themselves in terror, but it was no storm, it was only the spirits fighting for the emerald vase.

One of the spirits of the air bore it at last far up above the top of the highest mountain. "It is mine," he cried. "Never," said a spirit of the water, and he caught it and threw it angrily against the rocky top of the mountain. It fell in hundreds of pieces.

There was no vase like it in the east or the west, the north or the south, and so the king of India never had an emerald vase; but from the pieces of the vase that was thrown against the mountain came all the emeralds that are now on the earth.



Why The Evergreen Trees Never Lose Their Leaves.


Winter was coming, and the birds had flown far to the south, where the air was warm and they could find berries to eat. One little bird had broken its wing and could not fly with the others. It was alone in the cold world of frost and snow. The forest looked warm, and it made its way to the trees as well as it could, to ask for help.

First it came to a birch-tree. "Beautiful birch-tree," it said, "my wing is broken, and my friends have flown away. May I live among your branches till they come back to me?"

"No, indeed," answered the birch-tree, drawing her fair green leaves away. "We of the great forest have our own birds to help. I can do nothing for you."

"The birch is not very strong," said the little bird to itself, "and it might be that she could not hold me easily. I will ask the oak." So the bird said, "Great oak-tree, you are so strong, will you not let me live on your boughs till my friends come back in the springtime?"

"In the springtime!" cried the oak. "That is a long way off. How do I know what you might do in all that time? Birds are always looking for something to eat, and you might even eat up some of my acorns."

"It may be that the willow will be kind to me," thought the bird, and it said, "Gentle willow, my wing is broken, and I could not fly to the south with the other birds. May I live on your branches till the springtime?"

The willow did not look gentle then, for she drew herself up proudly and said, "Indeed, I do not know you, and we willows never talk to people whom we do not know. Very likely there are trees somewhere that will take in strange birds. Leave me at once."

The poor little bird did not know what to do. Its wing was not yet strong, but it began to fly away as well as it could. Before it had gone far, a voice was heard. "Little bird," it said, "where are you going?"

"Indeed, I do not know," answered the bird sadly. "I am very cold."

"Come right here, then," said the friendly spruce-tree, for it was her voice that had called. "You shall live on my warmest branch all winter if you choose."

"Will you really let me?" asked the little bird eagerly.

"Indeed, I will," answered the kind-hearted spruce-tree. "If your friends have flown away, it is time for the trees to help you. Here is the branch where my leaves are thickest and softest."

"My branches are not very thick," said the friendly pine-tree, "but I am big and strong, and I can keep the north wind from you and the spruce."

"I can help too," said a little juniper-tree. "I can give you berries all winter long, and every bird knows that juniper berries are good."

So the spruce gave the lonely little bird a home, the pine kept the cold north wind away from it, and the juniper gave it berries to eat.

The other trees looked on and talked together wisely.

"I would not have strange birds on my boughs," said the birch.

"I shall not give my acorns away for any one," said the oak.

"I never have anything to do with strangers," said the willow, and the three trees drew their leaves closely about them.

In the morning all those shining green leaves lay on the ground, for a cold north wind had come in the night, and every leaf that it touched fell from the tree.

"May I touch every leaf in the forest?" asked the wind in its frolic.

"No," said the frost king. "The trees that have been kind to the little bird with the broken wing may keep their leaves."

This is why the leaves of the spruce, the pine, and the juniper are always green.



Why The Aspen Leaves Tremble.


"It is very strange," whispered one reed to another, "that the queen bee never guides her swarm to the aspen-tree."

"Indeed, it is strange," said the other. "The oak and the willow often have swarms, but I never saw one on the aspen. What can be the reason?"

"The queen bee cannot bear the aspen," said the first. "Very likely she has some good reason for despising it. I do not think that an insect as wise as she would despise a tree without any reason. Many wicked things happen that no one knows."

The reeds did not think that any one could hear what they said, but both the willow and the aspen heard every word. The aspen was so angry that it trembled from root to tip. "I'll soon see why that proud queen bee despises me," it said. "She shall guide a swarm to my branches or" -- 

"Oh, I would not care for what those reeds say," the willow-tree broke in. "They are the greatest chatterers in the world. They are always whispering together, and they always have something unkind to say."

The aspen-tree was too angry to be still, and it called out to the reeds, "You are only lazy whisperers. I do not care what you say. I despise both you and your queen bee. The honey that those bees make is not good to eat. I would not have it a anywhere near me."

"Hush, hush," whispered the willow timidly. "The reeds will repeat every word that you say."

"I do not care if they do," said the aspen. "I despise both them and the bees."

The reeds did whisper the angry words of the aspen to the queen bee, and she said, "I was going to guide my swarm to the aspen, but now I will drive the tree out of the forest. Come, my bees, come."

Then the bees flew by hundreds upon the aspen. They stung every leaf and every twig through and through. The tree was driven from the forest, over the prairie, over the river, over the fields; and still the angry bees flew after it and stung it again and again. When they had come to the rocky places, they left it and flew back to the land of flowers. The aspen never came back. Its bright green leaves had grown white through fear, and from that day to this they have trembled as they did when the bees were stinging them and driving the tree from the forest.



How The Blossoms Came To The Heather.


Only a little while after the earth was made, the trees and plants came to live on it. They were happy and contented. The lily was glad because her flowers were white. The rose was glad because her flowers were red. The violet was happy because, however shyly she might hide herself away, some one would come to look for her and praise her fragrance. The daisy was happiest of all because every child in the world loved her.

The trees and plants chose homes for themselves. The oak said, "I will live in the broad fields and by the roads, and travelers may sit in my shadow." "I shall be contented on the waters of the pond," said the water-lily. "And I am contented in the sunny fields," said the daisy. "My fragrance shall rise from beside some mossy stone," said the violet. Each plant chose its home where it would be most happy and contented.

There was one little plant, however, that had not said a word and had not chosen a home. This plant was the heather. She had not the sweet fragrance of the violet, and the children did not love her as they did the daisy. The reason was that no blossoms had been given to her, and she was too shy to ask for any.

"I wish there was some one who would be glad to see me," she said; but she was a brave little plant, and she did her best to be contented and to look bright and green.

One day she heard the mountain say, "Dear plants, will you not come to my rocks and cover them with your brightness and beauty? In the winter they are cold, and in the summer they are stung by the sunshine. Will you not come and cover them?"

"I cannot leave the pond," cried the water-lily.

"I cannot leave the moss," said the violet.

"I cannot leave the green fields," said the daisy.

The little heather was really trembling with eagerness. "If the great, beautiful mountain would only let me come!" she thought, and at last she whispered very softly and shyly, "Please, dear mountain, will you let me come? I have not any blossoms like the others, but I will try to keep the wind and the sun away from you."

"Let you?" cried the mountain. "I shall be contented and happy if a dear little plant like you will only come to me."

The heather soon covered the rocky mountain side with her bright green, and the mountain called proudly to the other plants, "See how beautiful my little heather is!" The others replied, "Yes, she is bright and green, but she has no blossoms."

Then a sweet, gentle voice was heard saying, "Blossoms you shall have, little heather. You shall have many and many a flower, because you have loved the lonely mountain, and have done all that you could to please him and make him happy." Even before the sweet voice was still, the little heather was bright with many blossoms, and blossoms she has had from that day to this.



How Flax Was Given To Men.


"You have been on the mountain a long time," said the wife of the hunter.

"Yes, wife, and I have seen the most marvelous sight in all the world," replied the hunter.

"What was that?"

"I came to a place on the mountain where I had been many and many a time before, but a great hole had been made in the rock, and through the hole I saw -- oh, wife, it was indeed a wonderful sight!"

"But what was it, my hunter?"

"There was a great hall, all shining and sparkling with precious stones. There were diamonds and pearls and emeralds, more than we could put into our little house, and among all the beautiful colors sat a woman who was fairer than they. Her maidens were around her, and the hall was as bright with their beauty as it was with the stones. One was playing on a harp, one was singing, and others were dancing as lightly and merrily as a sunbeam on a blossom. The woman was even more beautiful than the maidens, and, wife, as soon as I saw her I thought that she was no mortal woman."

"Did you not fall on your knees and ask her to be good to us?"

"Yes, wife, and straightway she said: 'Rise, my friend. I have a gift for you. Choose what you will to carry to your wife as a gift from Holda.'"

"Did you choose pearls or diamonds?"

"I looked about the place, and it was all so sparkling that I closed my eyes. 'Choose your gift,' she said. I looked into her face, and then I knew that it was indeed the goddess Holda, queen of the sky. When I looked at her, I could not think of precious stones, for her eyes were more sparkling than diamonds, and I said: 'O goddess Holda, there is no gift in all your magic hall that I would so gladly bear away to my home as the little blue flower in your lily-white hand.'"

"Well!" cried the wife, "and when you might have had half the pearls and emeralds in the place, you chose a little faded blue flower! I did think you were a wiser man."

"The goddess said I had chosen well," said the hunter. "She gave me the flower and the seed of it, and she said, 'When the springtime comes, plant the seed, and in the summer I myself will come and teach you what to do with the plant.'"

In the spring the little seeds were put into the ground. Soon the green leaves came up; then many little blue flowers, as blue as the sky, lifted up their heads in the warm sunshine of summer. No one on the earth knew how to spin or to weave, but on the brightest, sunniest day of the summer, the goddess Holda came down from the mountain to the little house.

"Can you spin flax?" she asked of the wife.

"Indeed, no," said the wife.

"Can you weave linen?"

"Indeed, no."

"Then I will teach you how to spin and to weave," said the good goddess. "The little blue flower is the flax. It is my own flower, and I love the sight of it."

So the goddess sat in the home of the hunter and his wife and taught them how to spin flax and weave linen. When the wife saw the piece of linen on the grass, growing whiter and whiter the longer the sun shone upon it, she said to her husband, "Indeed, my hunter, the linen is fairer than the pearls, and I should rather have the beautiful white thing that is on the grass in the sunshine than all the diamonds in the hall of the goddess."



Why The Juniper Has Berries.


Three cranberries once lived together in a meadow. They were sisters, but they did not look alike, for one was white, and one was red, and one was green. Winter came, and the wind blew cold. "I wish we lived nearer the wigwam," said the white cranberry timidly. "I am afraid that Hoots, the bear, will come. What should we do?"

"The women in the wigwam are afraid as well as we," the red cranberry said. "I heard them say they wished the men would come back from the hunt."

"We might hide in the woods," the green cranberry whispered.

"But the bear will come down the path through the woods," replied the white cranberry.

"I think our own meadow is the best place," the red cranberry said. "I shall not go away from the meadow. I shall hide here in the moss."

"I am so white," the white cranberry wailed, "that I know Hoots would see me. I shall hide in the hominy. That is as white as I."

"I cannot hide in the hominy," said the green cranberry, "but I have a good friend in the woods. I am going to ask the juniper-tree to hide me. Will you not go with me?" But the red cranberry thought it best to stay in the moss, and the white cranberry thought it best to hide in the hominy, so the green cranberry had to go alone to the friendly juniper-tree.

By and by a growling was heard, and soon Hoots himself came in sight. He walked over and over the red cranberry that lay hidden in the moss. Then he went to the wigwam. There stood the hominy, and in it was the white cranberry, trembling so she could not keep still.

"Ugh, ugh, what good hominy!" said Hoots, and in the twinkling of an eye he had eaten it up, white cranberry and all.

Now the red cranberry was dead, and the white cranberry was dead, but the little green cranberry that went to the juniper-tree had hidden away in the thick branches, and Hoots did not find her. She was so happy with the kind-hearted tree that she never left it, and that is the reason why the juniper-tree has berries.



Why The Sea Is Salt.


Frothi, king of the Northland, owned some magic millstones. Other millstones grind corn, but these would grind out whatever the owner wished, if he knew how to move them. Frothi tried and tried, but they would not stir.

"Oh, if I could only move the millstones," he cried, "I would grind out so many good things for my people. They should all be happy and rich."

One day King Frothi was told that two strange women were begging at the gate to see him.

"Let them come in," he said, and the were brought before him.

"We have come from a land that is far away," they said.

"What can I do for you?" asked the king.

"We have come to do something for you," answered the women.

"There is only one thing that I wish for," said the king, "and that is to make the magic millstones grind, but you cannot do that."

"Why not?" asked the women. "That is just what we have come to do. That is why we stood at your gate and begged to speak to you."

Then the king was a happy man indeed. "Bring in the millstones," he called. "Quick, quick! Do not wait." The millstones were brought in, and the women asked, "What shall we grind for you?"

"Grind gold and happiness and rest for my people," cried the king gladly.

The women touched the magic millstones, and how they did grind! "Gold and happiness and rest for the people," said the women to one another. "Those are good wishes."

The gold was so bright and yellow that King Frothi could not bear to let it go out of his sight. "Grind more," he said to the women. "Grind faster. Why did you come to my gate if you did not wish to grind?"

"We are so weary," said the women. "Will you not let us rest?"

"You may rest for as long a time as it needs to say 'Frothi,'" cried the king, "and no longer. Now you have rested. Grind away. No one should be weary who is grinding out yellow gold."

"He is a wicked king," said the women. "We will grind for him no more. Mill, grind out hundreds and hundreds of strong warriors to fight Frothi and punish him for his cruel words."

The millstones ground faster and faster. Hundreds of warriors sprang out, and they killed Frothi and all his men.

"Now I shall be king," cried the strongest of the warriors. He put the two women and the magic millstones on a ship to go to a far-away land. "Grind, grind," he called to the women.

"But we are so weary. Please let us rest," they begged.

"Rest? No. Grind on, grind on. Grind salt, if you can grind nothing else."

Night came and the weary women were still grinding. "Will you not let us rest?" they asked.

"No," cried the cruel warrior. "Keep grinding, even if the ship goes to the bottom of the sea." The women ground, and it was not long before the ship really did go to the bottom, and carried the cruel warrior with it. There at the bottom of the sea are the two millstones still grinding salt, for there is no one to say that they must grind no longer. That is why the sea is salt.



The Story Of The First Whitefish.


One day a crane was sitting on a rock far out in the water, when he heard a voice say, "Grandfather Crane, Grandfather Crane, please come and carry us across the lake." It was the voice of a child, and when the crane had come to the shore, he saw two little boys holding each other's hands and crying bitterly.

"Why do you cry?" asked the crane, "and why do you wish to go across the lake, away from your home and friends?"

"We have no friends," said the little boys, crying more bitterly than ever. "We have no father and no mother, and a cruel witch troubles us. She tries all the time to do us harm, and we are going to run away where she can never find us."

"I will carry you over the lake," said the crane. "Hold on well, but do not touch the back of my head, for if you do, you will fall into the water and go to the bottom of the lake. Will you obey me?"

"Yes, indeed, we will obey," they said. "We will not touch your head. But please come quickly and go as fast as you can. We surely heard the voice of the witch in the woods."

It really was the witch, and she was saying over and over to herself, "I will catch them, and I will punish them so that they will never run away from me again. They will obey me after I have caught them."

The crane bore the two little boys gently to the other shore, and when he came back, there stood the witch.

"Dear, gentle crane," she said, "you are so good to every one. Will you carry me over the lake? My two dear children are lost in the woods, and I have cried bitterly for them all day long."

The spirit of the lake had told the crane to carry across the lake every one that asked to be taken over; so he said, "Yes, I will carry you across. Hold on well, but do not touch the back of my head, for if you do, you will fall into the water and go to the bottom of the lake. Will you obey me?"

"Yes, indeed, I will," said the witch; but she thought, "He would not be so timid about letting me touch the back of his head if he were not afraid of my magic. I will put my hand on his head, and then he will always be in my power." So when they were far out over the lake, she put her hand on the crane's head, and before she could say "Oh!" she was at the bottom of the lake.

"You shall never live in the light again," said the crane, "for you have done no good on earth. You shall be a whitefish, and you shall be food for the Indians as long as they eat fish."



Was It The First Turtle?


Once upon a time there was a great fight between two tribes of Indians. It was so fierce that the river ran red with blood, and the war-cries were so loud and angry that the animals of the forest ran away in terror. The warriors fought all day long, and when it began to grow dark, all the men on one side had been killed but two warriors, one of whom was known as Turtle. In those days there were no such animals as turtles in the ponds and rivers, and no one knew why he was called by that name. At last Turtle's friend was struck by an arrow and fell to the ground.

"Now yield!" cried the enemies.

"Friend," said Turtle, "are you dead?"

"No," said his friend.

"Then I will fight on," said Turtle, and he called out, "Give life again to the warriors whom you have killed with your wicked arrows, and then I will yield, but never before. Come on, cowards that you are! You are afraid of me. You do not dare to come!"

Then his enemies said, "We will all shoot our arrows at once, and some one of them will be sure to kill him." They made ready to fire, but Turtle, too, made ready. He had two thick shields, and he put one over his back and one over his breast. Then he called to his fierce enemies, "Are you not ready? Come on, fierce warriors! Shoot your arrows through my breast if you can."

The warriors all shot, but not an arrow struck Turtle, for the two shields covered his breast and his back, and whenever an arrow buzzed through the air, he drew in his head and his arms between the shields, and so he was not harmed. "Why do you not aim at me?" he cried. "Are you shooting at the mountain, or at the sun and the moon? Good fighters you are, indeed! Try again."

His enemies shot once more, and this time an arrow killed the wounded friend as he lay on the ground. When Turtle cried, "Friend, are you living?" there was no answer.

"My friend is dead," said Turtle. "I will fight no more."

"He has yielded," cried his enemies.

"He has not," said Turtle, and with one great leap he sprang into the river. His enemies did not dare to spring after him.

"Those long arms of his would pull us to the bottom," they said; "but we will watch till he comes up, and then we shall be sure of him."

They were not so sure as they thought, for he did not come up, and all that they could see in the water was a strange creature unlike anything that had been there before.

"It has arms and a head," said one.

"And it pulls them out of sight just as Turtle did," said another.

"It has a shield over its back and one over its breast, as Turtle had," said the first. Then all the warriors were so eager to watch the strange animal that they no longer remembered the fight. They crowded up to the shore of the river.

"It is not Turtle," cried one.

"It is Turtle," declared another.

"It is so like him that I do not care to go into the water as long as it is in sight," said still another.

"But if this is not Turtle, where is he?" they all asked, and not one of the wise men of their tribe could answer.



Why The Crocodile Has A Wide Mouth.


"Come to my kingdom whenever you will," said the goddess of the water to the king of the land. "My waves will be calm, and my animals will be gentle. They will be as good to your children as if they were my own. Nothing in all my kingdom will do you harm."

The goddess went back to her home in the sea, and the king walked to the shore of the river and stood gazing upon the beautiful water. Beside him walked his youngest son.

"Father," asked the boy, "would the goddess be angry if I went into the water to swim?"

"No," answered the father. "She says that nothing in all her wide kingdom will do us harm. The water-animals will be kind, and the waves will be calm."

The boy went into the water. He could swim as easily as a fish, and he went from shore to shore, sometimes talking with the fishes, sometimes getting a bright piece of stone to carry to his father. Suddenly something caught him by the foot and dragged him down, down, through the deep, dark water. "Oh, father!" he cried, but his father had gone away from the shore, and the strange creature, whatever it was, dragged the boy down to the very bottom of the river.

The river was full of sorrow for what the creature had done, and it lifted the boy gently and bore him to the feet of the goddess. His eyes were closed and his face was white, for he was dead. Great tears came from the eyes of the goddess when she looked at him. "I did not think any of my animals would do such a cruel thing," she said. "His father shall never know it, for the boy shall not remember what has happened."

Then she laid her warm hand upon his head, and whispered some words of magic into his ear. "Open your eyes," she called, and soon they were wide open. "You went in to swim," said the goddess. "Did the water please you?"

"Yes, surely."

"Were the water-animals kind to you?"

"Yes, surely," answered the boy, for the magic words had kept him from remembering anything about the strange creature that had dragged him to the bottom of the river.

The boy went home to his father, and as soon as he was out of sight, the goddess called to the water-animals, "Come one, come all, come little, come great."

"It is the voice of the goddess," said the water-animals, and they all began to swim toward her as fast as they could.

When they were together before her, she said, "One of you has been cruel and wicked. One of you has dragged to the bottom of the river the son of my friend, the king of the land, but I have carried him safely to shore, and now he is in his home. When he comes again, will you watch over him wherever in the wide, wide water he may wish to go?"

"Yes!" "Yes!" "Yes!" cried the water-animals.

"Water," asked the goddess, "will you be calm and still when the son of my friend is my guest?"

"Gladly," answered the water.

Suddenly the goddess caught sight of the crocodile hiding behind the other animals. "Will you be kind to the boy and keep harm away from him?" she asked.

Now it was the crocodile that had dragged the boy to the bottom of the river. He wished to say, "Yes," but he did not dare to open his mouth for fear of saying, "I did it, I did it," so he said not a word. The goddess cried, "Did you drag the king's son to the bottom of the river?" Still the crocodile dared not open his mouth for fear of saying, "I did it, I did it." Then the goddess was angry. She drew her long sword, and saying, "The mouth that will not open when it should must be made to open," she struck the crocodile's mouth with the sword. "Oh, look!" cried the other animals. The crocodile's mouth had opened; there was no question about that, for it had split open so far that he was afraid he should never be able to keep it closed.



The Story Of The Picture On The Vase.


On some of the beautiful vases that are made in Japan there is a picture of a goddess changing a dragon into an island. When the children of Japan say, "Mother, tell us a story about the picture," this is what the mother says: -- 

"Long, long ago there was a goddess of the sea who loved the people of Japan. She often came out of the water at sunset, and while all the bright colors were in the sky, she would sit on a high rock that overlooked the water and tell stories to the children. Such wonderful stories as they were! She used to tell them all about the strange fishes that swim in and out among the rocks and the mosses, and about the fair maidens that live deep down in the sea far under the waves. The children would ask, 'Are there no children in the sea? Why do they never come out to play with us?' The goddess would answer, 'Some time they will come, if you only keep on wishing for them. What children really wish for they will surely have some day.'

"Then the goddess would sing to the children, and her voice was so sweet that the evening star would stand still in the sky to listen to her song. 'Please show us how the water rises and falls,' the children would beg, and she would hold up a magic stone that she had and say, 'Water, rise!' Then the waves would come in faster and faster all about the rock. When she laid down the stone and said, 'Water, fall!' the waves would be still, and the water would roll back quickly to the deep sea. She was goddess of the storm as well as of the sea, and sometimes the children would say, 'Dear goddess, please make us a storm.' She never said no to what they asked, and so the rain would fall, the lightning flare, and the thunder roll. The rain would fall all about them, but the goddess did not let it come near them. They were never afraid of the lightning, for it was far above their heads, and they knew that the goddess would not let it come down.

"Those were happy times, but there is something more to tell that is not pleasant. One of the goddess's sea-animals was a dragon, that often used to play in the water near the shore. The children never thought of being afraid of any of the sea-animals, but one day the cruel dragon seized a little child in his mouth, and in a moment he had eaten it. There was sadness over the land of Japan. There were tears and sorrowful wailing. 'O goddess,' the people cried, 'come to us! Punish the wicked dragon!'

"The goddess was angry that one of her creatures should have dared to harm the little child, and she called aloud, 'Dragon, come to me.' The dragon came in a moment, for he did not dare to stay away. Then said the goddess, 'You shall never again play merrily in the water with the happy sea-animals. You shall be a rocky island. There shall be trees and plants on you, and before many years have gone, people will no longer remember that you were once an animal.'

"The dragon found that he could no longer move about as he had done, for he was changing into rock. Trees and plants grew on his back. He was an island, and when people looked at it, they said, 'That island was once a wicked dragon.' The children of the sea and the children of the land often went to the island, and there they had very happy times together."

This is the story that the mothers tell to their children when they look at the vases and see the picture of the goddess changing a dragon into an island. But when the children say, "Mother, where is the island? Cannot we go to it and play with the sea-children?" the mother answers, "Oh, this was all a long, long time ago, and no one can tell now where the island was."



Why The Water In Rivers Is Never Still.


All kinds of strange things came to pass in the days of long ago, but perhaps the strangest of all was that the nurses who cared for little children were not women, but brooks and rivers. The children and the brooks ran about together, and the brooks and rivers never said, "It is time to go to bed," for they liked to play as well as the children, and perhaps a little better. Sometimes the brooks ran first and the children followed. Sometimes the children ran first and the brooks followed. Of course, if any animal came near that would hurt the children, the brook or river in whose care they were left flowed quickly around them, so that they stood on an island and were safe from all harm.

Two little boys lived in those days who were sons of the king. When the children were old enough to run about, the king called the rivers and brooks to come before him. They came gladly, for they felt sure that something pleasant would happen, and they waited so quietly that no one would have thought they were so full of frolic.

"I have called you," said the king, "to give you the care of my two little sons. They like so well to run about that one nurse will not be enough to care for them, and of course it will be pleasanter for them to have many playmates. So I felt that it would be better to ask every river and every brook to see that they are not hurt or lost."

"We shall have the king's sons for our playmates!" whispered the rivers. "Nothing so pleasant ever happened to us before."

But the king went on, "If you keep my boys safely and well, and follow them so closely that they are not lost, then I will give you whatever gift you wish; but if I find that you have forgotten them one moment and they are lost or hurt, then you will be punished as no river was ever punished before."

The rivers and even the most frolicsome little brooks were again quiet for a moment. Then they all cried together, "O king, we will be good. There were never better nurses than we will be to your sons."

At first all went well, and the playmates had the merriest times that could be thought of. Then came a day when the sunshine was very warm, but the boys ran faster and farther than boys had ever run in the world before, and even the brooks could not keep up with them. The rivers had never been weary before, but when this warm day came, one river after another had some reason for being quiet. One complained, "I have followed the boys farther than any other river." "Perhaps you have," said another, "but I have been up and down and round and round till I have forgotten how it seems to be quiet." Another declared, "I have run about long enough, and I shall run no more." A little brook said, "If I were a great river, perhaps I could run farther," and a great river replied, "If I were a little brook, of course I could run farther."

So they talked, and the day passed. Night came before they knew it, and they could not find the boys.

"Where are my sons?" cried the king.

"Indeed, we do not know," answered the brooks and rivers in great fear, and each one looked at the others.

"You have lost my children," said the king, "and if you do not find them, you shall be punished. Go and search for them."

"Please help us," the rivers begged of the trees and plants, and everything that had life began to search for the lost boys. "Perhaps they are under ground," thought the trees, and they sent their roots down into the earth. "Perhaps they are in the east," cried one animal, and he went to the east. "They may be on the mountain," said one plant, and so it climbed to the very top of the mountain. "They may be in the village," said another, and so that one crept up close to the homes of men.

Many years passed. The king was almost broken-hearted, but he knew it was of no use to search longer, so he called very sadly, "Search no longer. Let each plant and animal make its home where it is. The little plant that has crept up the mountain shall live on the mountain top, and the roots of the trees shall stay under ground. The rivers" -- Then the king stopped, and the rivers trembled. They knew that they would be punished, but what would the punishment be? The king looked at them. "As for you, rivers and brooks," he declared, "it was your work to watch my boys. The plants and trees shall find rest and live happily in their homes, but you shall ever search for my lost boys, and you shall never have a home."

So from that day to this the rivers have gone on looking for the lost children. They never stop, and some of them are so troubled that they flow first one way and then the other.



How The Raven Helped Men.


The raven and the eagle were cousins, and they were almost always friendly, but whenever they talked together about men, they quarreled.

"Men are lazy," declared the eagle. "There is no use in trying to help them. The more one does for them, the less they do for themselves."

"You fly so high," said the raven, "that you cannot see how hard men work. I think that we birds, who know so much more than they, ought to help them."

"They do not work," cried the eagle. "What have they to do, I should like to know? They walk about on the ground, and their food grows close by their nests. If they had to fly through the air as we do, and get their food wherever they could, they might talk about working hard."

"That is just why we ought to help them," replied the raven. "They cannot mount up into the air as we do. They cannot see anything very well unless it is near them, and if they had to run and catch their food, they would surely die of hunger. They are poor, weak creatures, and there is not a humming-bird that does not know many things that they never heard of."

"You are a poor, weak bird, if you think you can teach men. When they feel hunger, they will eat, and they do not know how to do anything else. Just look at them! They ought to be going to sleep, and they do not know enough to do even that."

"How can they know that it is night, when they have no sun and no moon to tell them when it is day and when it is night?"

"They would not go to sleep even if they had two moons," said the eagle; "and you are no true cousin of mine if you do not let them alone."

So the two birds quarreled. Almost every time they met, they quarreled about men, and at last, whenever the eagle began to mount into the air, the raven went near the earth.

Now the eagle had a pretty daughter. She and the raven were good friends, and they never quarreled about men. One day the pretty daughter said, "Cousin Raven, are you too weak to fly as high as you used to do?"

"I never was less weak," declared the raven.

"Almost every day you keep on the ground. Can you not mount into the air?"

"Of course I can," answered the raven.

"There are some strange things in my father's lodge," said the pretty daughter, "and I do not know what they are. They are not good to eat, and I do not see what else they are good for. Will you come and see them?"

"I will go wherever you ask me," declared the raven.

The eagle's lodge was far up on the top of a high mountain, but the two birds were soon there, and the pretty daughter showed the raven the strange things. He knew what they were, and he said to himself, "Men shall have them, and by and by they will be no less wise than the birds." Then he asked, "Has your father a magic cloak?"

"Yes," answered the pretty daughter.

"May I put it on?"

"Yes, surely."

When the raven had once put on the magic cloak, he seized the strange things and put them under it. Then he called, "I will come again soon, my pretty little cousin, and tell you all about the people on the earth."

The things under his cloak were strange indeed, for one was the sun, and one was the moon. There were hundreds of bright stars, and there were brooks and rivers and waterfalls. Best of all, there was the precious gift of fire. The raven put the sun high up in the heavens, and fastened the moon and stars in their places. He let the brooks run down the sides of the mountains, and he hid the fire away in the rocks.

After a while men found all these precious gifts. They knew when it was night and when it was day, and they learned how to use fire. They cannot mount into the air like the eagle, but in some things they are almost as wise as the birds.



The Story Of The Earth And The Sky.


The sky used to be very close to the earth, and of course the earth had no sunshine. Trees did not grow, flowers did not blossom, and water was not clear and bright. The earth did not know that there was any other way of living, and so she did not complain.

By and by the sky and the earth had a son who was called the Shining One. When he was small, he had a dream, and he told it to the earth. "Mother Earth," he said, "I had a dream, and it was that the sky was far up above us. There was a bright light, and it made you more radiant than I ever saw you. What could the light have been?"

"I do not know, my Shining One," she answered, "for there is nothing but the earth and the sky."

After a long, long time, the Shining One was fully grown. Then he said to the sky, "Father Sky, will you not go higher up, that there may be light and warmth on the earth?"

"There is no 'higher up,'" declared the sky. "There is only just here."

Then the Shining One raised the sky till he rested on the mountain peaks.

"Oh! oh!" cried the sky. "They hurt. The peaks are sharp and rough. You are an unkind, cruel son."

"In my dreams you were still higher up," replied the Shining One, and he raised the sky still higher.

"Oh! oh!" complained the sky, "I can hardly see the peaks. I will stay on the rough rocks."

"You were far above the rocks in my dream," replied the Shining One.

Then when the sky was raised far above the earth and no longer touched even the peaks, a great change came over the earth. She, too, had thought the Shining One unkind, and she had said, "Shining One, it was only a dream. Why should you change the sky and the earth? Why not let them stay as they were before you had the dream?"

"O Mother Earth," he said, "I wish you could see the radiant change that has come to pass. The air is full of light and warmth and fragrance. You yourself are more beautiful than you were even in my dream. Listen and hear the song of the birds. See the flowers blossoming in every field, and even covering the rough peaks of the mountains. Should you be glad if I had let all things stay as they were? Was I unkind to make you so much more lovely than you were?"

Before the earth could answer, the sky began to complain. "You have spread over earth a new cloak of green, and of course she is beautiful with all her flowers and birds, but here am I, raised far above the mountain peaks. I have no cloak, nor have I flowers and birds. Shining One, give me a cloak."

"That will I do, and most gladly," replied the Shining One, and he spread a soft cloak of dark blue over the sky, and in it many a star sparkled and twinkled.

"That is very well in the night," said the heavens, "but it is not good in the daytime, it is too gloomy. Give me another cloak for the day." Then the Shining One spread a light blue cloak over the sky for the daytime, and at last the sky was as beautiful as the earth.

Now both sky and earth were contented. "I did not know that the earth was so radiant," said the sky. "I did not know that the sky was so beautiful," said the earth. "I will send a message to tell her how lovely she is," thought the sky, and he dropped down a gentle little rain.

"I, too, will send a message," thought the earth, "and the clouds shall carry it for me." That is why there is often a light cloud rising from the earth in the morning. It is carrying a good-morning message from the beautiful earth to the sky.



How Summer Came To The Earth.


Part I.

There was once a boy on the earth who was old enough to have a bow and arrows, but who had never seen a summer. He had no idea how it would look to have leaves on the trees, for he had never seen any such things. As for the songs of birds, he may have heard them in his dreams, but he never heard them when he was not asleep. If any one had asked, "Do you not like to walk on the soft grass?" he would have answered, "What is grass? I never saw any."

The reason why this boy had never heard of summer was because there had never been a summer on the earth. Far to the north the earth was covered with thick ice, and even farther south, where the boy lived, the ground was rarely free from ice and snow.

The boy's father was called the fisher. He taught his little son to hunt, and made him a bow like his own, only smaller. The boy was proud of his arrows, and was always happy when he went out to hunt. He had often shot a lynx, and once or twice he had shot a wolverine. Sometimes it chanced that he found nothing to shoot, and then he was not happy, for he realized how cold it was. His fingers ached, and his feet ached, and the end of his nose ached. "Oh, if I could only carry the wigwam fire about with me!" he cried, for he had no idea of any other warmth than that which came from the fire.

Now it chanced that Adjidaumo, the squirrel, was on a tree over the boy's head, and he heard this cry. He dropped a piece of ice upon the end of the boy's little red nose, and the boy bent his bow. Then he realized who it was, and he cried, "O Adjidaumo, you are warm. You have no fingers to ache with the cold. I am warm just twice a day, once in the morning and once at night."

"Boys do not know much," replied Adjidaumo, dancing lightly on the topmost bough. "The end of my nose is warm, and I have no fingers like yours to be cold, but if I had chanced to have any, I have an idea that would have kept them warm."

"What is an idea?" asked the boy.

"An idea is something that is better than a fire," replied the squirrel, "for you can carry an idea about with you, and you have to leave the fire at home. A lynx has an idea sometimes, and a wolverine has one sometimes, but a squirrel has one twice as often as a boy."

The poor boy was too cold to be angry, and he begged, "Adjidaumo, if there is any way for me to keep warm, will you not tell me what it is? A lynx would be more kind to me than you are, and I am sure a wolverine would tell me."

Adjidaumo had rarely been cold, but when he realized how cold the boy was, he was sorry for him, and he said, "All you have to do is to go home and cry. When your father says, 'Why do you cry?' answer nothing but 'Boo-hoo, boo-hoo, boo-hoo! Get me summer, get me summer!'"

Now this boy rarely cried, but his hands and feet were so very cold that he thought he would do as the squirrel had told him, and he started for home. As soon as he reached the wigwam, he threw himself down upon the ground and cried. He cried so hard that his tears made a river that ran out of the wigwam door. It was a frozen river, of course, but when the fisher saw it, he knew it was made of the tears of his little son. "What are you crying for?" he asked, but all the boy answered was "Boo-hoo, boo-hoo! Get me summer, father, get me summer!"

"Summer," repeated the fisher thoughtfully. "It is not easy to get summer, but I will find it if I can."


Part II.

The fisher made a great feast for the animals that he thought could help him to find summer. The otter, the lynx, the badger, and the wolverine came. After they had eaten, the hunter told them what he wished to do, and they all set out to find summer.

For many days they traveled, and at last they came to a high mountain upon whose summit the sky seemed to rest.

"That is where summer is," declared the badger. "All we have to do is to climb to the summit and take it from the heavens." So they all climbed and climbed, till it seemed as if they would never reach the top. After a long time they were on the very highest summit, but the heavens were above them.

"We cannot reach it," said the fisher.

"Let us try," said the lynx.

"I will try first," said the otter. So the otter sprang up with all his might, but he could not touch the heavens. He rolled down the side of the mountain, and then he ran home. The badger tried, and the beaver tried, and the lynx tried, but not one of them could leap far enough to reach the heavens. "Now I will try," said the wolverine. "I am not going to climb away up here for nothing." The fisher watched most eagerly, for he thought, "There's my boy at home crying, and what shall I do if I cannot get the summer for him?"

The wolverine leaped farther than any wolverine ever leaped before, and he went where no animal on the earth had ever been before, for he went straight through the floor of the heavens. Of course the fisher followed, and there they were in a more lovely place than any one on the earth had ever dreamed of, for they were in the land of summer, and summer had never come to the earth.

The soft, warm air went down through the hole in the floor and spread over the earth. Birds flew down, singing happily as they flew, and all kinds of flowers that are on the earth to-day made their way through the hole as fast as they could, for they knew all about the little boy in the wigwam who was wishing that summer would come.

Now there were people in the heavens, and when they found that summer was going down to the earth through the hole in the floor, they cried out to the Great Spirit, "Take summer away from him, take it away from him!" and they shot their arrows at the fisher and the wolverine. The wolverine dropped through the hole, but the fisher was not quick enough, and he could not get away.

The Great Spirit said, "The heavens have the summer all the year, but the earth shall have summer half the year. I shall close the hole in the floor so the fisher cannot go down to earth again, but I will make him into a fish and give him a place in the heavens."

When the Indians look up at the sky, they see a fish in the stars, and they say, "That is the good fisher who gave us the beautiful summer."



The Story Of The First Snowdrops.


An old man sat alone in his house. It Was full of shadows; it was dark and gloomy. The old man cared nothing for the shadows or the darkness, for he was thinking of all the mighty deeds that he had done. "There is no one else in the world," he muttered, "who has done such deeds as I," and he counted them over aloud. A sound outside of the house interrupted him. "What can it be?" he said to himself. "How dares anything interrupt me? I have told all things to be still. It sounds like the rippling of waters, and I have told the waters to be quiet in their beds. There it is again. It is like the singing of birds, and I have sent the birds far away to the south."

Some one opened the door and came in. It was a youth with sunny curls and rosy face.

"Who said you might come in?" muttered the old man.

"Did not you?" asked the youth, with a merry little laugh. "I am really afraid that I came without asking. You see, every one is glad to see me and" -- 

"I am not," interrupted the old man.

"I have heard rumors of your great deeds," said the youth, "and I came to see whether the tales are true."

"The deeds are more true than the tales," muttered the old man, "for the tales are never great enough. No one can count the wonderful things I have done."

"And what are they?" asked the young man gravely, but with a merry little twinkle in his eyes that would have made one think of the waves sparkling in the sunlight. "Let us see whether you or I can tell the greatest tale."

"I can breathe upon a river and turn it to ice," said the old man.

"I can breathe upon the ice and turn it to a river," said the youth.

"I can say to water, 'Stand still,' and it will not dare to stir."

"I can say, 'Stand no longer,' and it will go running and chattering down the mountain side."

"I shake my white head," said the old man, "and snow covers the earth."

"I shake my curls," said the young man, "and the air sparkles with sunshine. In a moment the snow is gone."

"I say to the birds, 'Sing no more. Leave me,' and they spread their wings and fly far away."

"I say, 'Little birds, come back,' and in a moment they are back again and singing their sweetest songs to me."

"No one can count the leaves," said the old man, "but whether I shake the trees with my icy touch, or whether I turn my cold breath upon them, they fall to the ground with fear and trembling. Are there any rumors of my deeds as great as that?"

The young man answered gravely, but with a laugh in his voice, "I never saw any leaves falling to the ground, for when I appear, they are all fair and green and trembling with the gladness of my coming."

So the two talked all night long. As morning came near, the old man appeared weary, but the youth grew merrier. The sunlight brightened, and the youth turned to the open door. The trees were full of birds, and when they saw him, they sang, "O beautiful spring! glad are we to look again upon your face."

"My own dear birds!" cried spring. He turned to say good-by, but the old man was gone, and where he had stood were only snowflakes. But were they snowflakes? He looked again. They were little white snowdrops, the first flowers of spring, the only flowers that can remember the winter.



Why The Face Of The Moon Is White.


An Indian chief had a fair young daughter. One day the wind came to him and said, "Great chief, I love your daughter, and she loves me. Will you give her to me to be my wife?"

"No," answered the chief.

The next day the maiden herself went to the chief and said, "Father, I love the wind. Will you let me go with him to his lodge and be his wife?"

"No," declared the chief, "I will not. When the wind was a child, he often came into my wigwam through some tiny hole, and try as I would to make my fire, he always put it out. He knows neither how to fight nor how to hunt, and you shall not be his wife."

Then the chief hid his daughter in a thick grove of dark spruces. "The wind might see her in a pine," he thought, "but he will never catch sight of her in a grove of spruces."

Now the wind could make himself invisible if he chose, and all the time that the chief was talking, the wind was close beside him listening to every word. When the next night came, the wind ran round and round the grove of spruces until he discovered a tiny place where he could get in. When he came out, the maiden was with him. He did not dare to go near the Indians to live, for he was afraid that the chief would come and take her away from him; so he built a new lodge far to the north-ward. To that lodge he carried the maiden, and she became his wife.

Neither the wind nor his young wife had thought that the chief could ever find them, but he searched and searched, and at last he came to their lodge. The wind hid his wife and made himself invisible, but the father struck all about with his great war-club, and a hard blow fell upon the head of the wind. He knew no more of what the chief was doing.

When he came to himself, he discovered that his wife was gone, and he set out in search of her. He roamed about wildly in the forest, and at last he saw her in a canoe with her father on the Big-Sea-Water. "Come with me," he called. She became as white as snow, but she could not see the wind, because after the blow upon his head he had forgotten how to make himself visible.

He was so angry with the chief that he blew with all his might upon the tiny canoe. "Let it tip over," he thought. "I can carry my wife safely to land." The canoe did tip over, and both the chief and his daughter fell into the water. "Come, dear wife," cried the wind. "Here is my hand." He did not remember that he was invisible, and that she could not see his hand. That is why she fell down, down, through the deep water to the bottom of the lake. The chief, too, lost his life, for the wind did not try to help him.

When the wind discovered that his wife was gone from him, he became almost wild with sorrow. "The wind never blew so sadly before," said the people in the wigwams.

The Great Spirit was sorry that the chief's daughter had fallen into the water and lost her life, and the next night he bore her up to the stars and gave her a home in the moon. There she lives again, but her face is white, as it was when she fell from the canoe. On moonlight nights she always looks down upon the earth, searching for the wind, for she does not know that he is invisible. The wind does not know that far away in the moon is the white face of his lost wife, and so he roams through the forest and wanders about the rocks and the mountains, but never thinks of looking up to the moon.



Why All Men Love The Moon.


Thunder and Lightning were going to give a feast. It was to be a most delightful banquet, for all the good things that could be imagined were to be brought from every corner of the world.

For many days before the feast these good things were coming. The birds flew up with what they could find in the cold air of the north and the warm air of the south. The fishes came from the east and from the west with what they could find in the cold water or in the warm water. As for what grew on the earth, there was no end to the luxuries that came every morning and every evening. Squirrels brought nuts, crows brought corn, the ants brought sweet things of many kinds. Food that was rich and rare came from India and Japan. The butterflies and the humming-birds were to arrange the flowers, the peacocks and the orioles promised to help make the place beautiful, and the waves and the brooks agreed to make their most charming music.

Thunder and Lightning were talking about whom to invite, and they questioned whether to ask the sun, the moon, and the wind. These three were children of the star mother.

"The star mother has been so kind to us that I suppose we ought to invite her children," said Thunder.

"The moon is charming, but the sun and the wind are rough and wild. If I were the star mother, I would keep them in a corner all day, and they should stay there all night, too, if they did not promise to be gentle," said Lightning.

"We must invite them," replied Thunder, with what sounded much like a little growl, "but it would be delightful if they would agree to stay away, all but the moon."

That is why the sun and wind were invited as well as the moon. When the invitation came, the two brothers said to their little sister, "You are too small to go to a feast, but perhaps they asked you because they were going to ask us."

"Star mother, I think I will stay at home," said the moon tearfully.

"No, little moon," replied the star mother; "go to the feast with the other children."

So the three children went to the feast, and the star mother waited for them to come home.

When they came, she asked, "What did you bring for me?" The hands of the sun were full of good things, but he said, "I brought only what I am going to eat myself," and he sat down in a corner with his back to the others, and went on eating.

"Did you bring anything for me?" she asked the wind.

"I brought some good things halfway home, and then I was weary of carrying them," answered the wind, "so I have eaten them."

"I should never have imagined that you would be so selfish," said the star mother sadly, and she asked the little moon, "My daughter, did you bring anything for me?"

"Yes, star mother," answered the little moon, and she gave her mother more good things than any one had ever seen in their home before. There were rare luxuries that the fishes and the birds had brought. There were rich colors that the peacocks and orioles had promised, and there was even some of the charming music that the waves and brooks had agreed to make.

The star mother praised the little maiden. Then she looked at her two boys. She was sad, for she knew that they must be punished for their selfishness. "Sun," said she, "you wish to turn your back on all, and your punishment shall be that when the warm days of summer have come, all men will turn their backs on you." To the wind she said, "Wind, you thought of no one but yourself. When the storm is coming and you are afraid and fly before it, no one shall think of you. All men shall close their doors against you and fasten them." Then to her little daughter she said, "My little moon, you were unselfish and thoughtful. You shall always be bright and beautiful, and men shall love you and praise you whenever they look upon your gentle, kindly face."

This is why men hide from the sun and the wind, but never from the moon.



Why There Is A Hare In The Moon.


Many strange things happened long ago, and one of them was that a hare, a monkey, and a fox agreed to live together. They talked about their plan a long time. Then the hare said, "I promise to help the monkey and the fox." The monkey declared, "I promise to help the fox and the hare." The fox said, "I promise to help the hare and the monkey." They shook hands, or rather shook paws. There was something else to which they agreed, and that was that they would kill no living creature.

The manito was much pleased when he heard of this plan, but he said to himself, "I should like to make sure that what I have heard is true, and that they are really gentle and kind to others as well as to themselves. I will go to the forest and see how they behave toward strangers."

The manito appeared before the three animals, but they thought he was a hunter. "May I come into your lodge and rest?" he asked. "I am very weary."

All three came toward him and gave him a welcome. "Come into our lodge," they said. "We have agreed to help one another, so we will help one another to help you."

"I have been hungry all day," said the manito, "but I should rather have such a welcome than food."

"But if you are hungry, you must have food," declared the three animals. "If there were anything in our lodge that you would care to eat, you might have part of it or all of it, but there is nothing here that you would like."

Then said the monkey, "I have a plan. I will go out into the forest and find you some food."

When the monkey came back, he said, "I found a tree with some fruit on it. I climbed it and shook it, and here is the fruit. There was only a little of it, for fruit was scarce."

"Will you not eat part of it yourself?" asked the manito.

"No," answered the monkey. "I had rather see you eat it, for I think you are more hungry than I."

The manito wished to know whether the fox and the hare would behave as unselfishly toward him, and he said, "My good friends, the fruit was indeed welcome, but I am still hungry."

Then the fox said, "I will go out into the forest and see what I can find for you."

When the fox came back, he said, "I shook the trees, but no more fruit fell. I could not climb the trees, for my paws are not made for climbing, but I searched on the ground, and at last I found some hominy that a traveler had left, and I have brought you that."

The manito had soon eaten the hominy. He wished to know whether the hare would behave as kindly as the others, and before long he said, "My good friends, the hominy was indeed welcome, but I am still hungry."

Then the hare said, "I will gladly go out into the forest and search for food." He was gone a long time, but when he came back, he brought no food.

"I am very hungry," said the manito.

"Stranger," said the hare, "if you will build a fire beside the rock, I can give you some food."

The manito built a fire, and the hare said, "Now I will spring from the top of the rock upon the fire. I have heard that men eat flesh, that is taken from the fire, and I will give you my own."

The hare sprang from the rock, but the manito caught him in his hands before the flame could touch him, and said, "Dear, unselfish little hare, the monkey and the fox have welcomed me and searched the forest through to find me food, but you have done more, for you have given me yourself. I will take the gift, little hare, and I will carry you in my arms up to the moon, so that every one on the earth may see you and hear the tale of your kindness and unselfishness."

The Indians can see a hare in the moon, and this is the story that they tell their children about it.



The Children In The Moon.


They had no idea where they came from. All they knew was that they lived on the hill, and that the old man of the hill called them Jack and Jill. They had plenty of berries to eat, and when night came, they had soft beds of fir to sleep on. There were all kinds of animals on the hill, and they were friendly to the two children. They could have had a most delightful time playing all day long if it had not been for having to carry water.

Every morning, just as soon as the first rays of the sun could be seen from their home, they heard the voice of the old man of the hill calling, "Jack! Jill! Take your pail and get some water." Whenever they were having an especially pleasant game with some of the animals, they heard the same call, "Take your pail and get some water." It is no wonder that Jack awoke one night when no one called and said, "Jill, did he say we must get some water?" "I suppose so," answered Jill sleepily, and they went out with the pail.

The moon was shining down through the trees, and they imagined that she was nearer than ever before. The forest was not half so lonely with her gentle face looking down upon them. Soon they felt happier than at first, and they played little games together, running from tree to tree.

"We have spilled half the water," said Jill.

"There's plenty left," said Jack, "if half is spilled."

"Do you suppose there are any children who play games whenever they like and do not have to carry water?"

"Plenty of them," declared Jack.

"Jack and Jill Went up the hill To get a pail of water,"

sang a voice so clear that it seemed close at hand, and so soft that it seemed far away.

Jack started, fell, and rolled down the hillside, and Jill came tumbling after. As for the water, what was left was spilled before Jack had rolled over once; and before he had rolled over twice, the same voice sang, -- 

"Jack fell down And broke his crown, And Jill came tumbling after."

"It is about us," cried Jill.

"I have not broken any crown," said Jack.

"It is the crown of your head," declared Jill.

"Oh!" said Jack; "but where's the water?"

"It has gone tumbling down the hill," answered the same voice.

"How can water go tumbling?" cried Jill. "We tumbled."

"Water tumbles too," replied the voice, "especially when it is frozen."

"Oh!" said Jack.

"Oh!" said Jill.

"The stream is frozen," called the voice.

"What stream?" asked the children together.

"The stream that goes down the hill," answered the voice. "Did you not know that you were bringing water to keep the stream full?"

"No, indeed," said the children.

"The old man of the hill is only a rock, and what you thought his voice was only the water flowing around it."

"Oh!" cried Jack.

"Oh!" cried Jill.

"The stream is frozen," said the voice, "and the earth has a cloak of snow and ice."

"Who are you?" asked Jill shyly.

"Do you really not know? What a strange child you are! I am the moon, of course. Very pleasant people live with me, and I have come to invite you both to go home with me. Will you come?"

The children looked up through the trees, and there was the gentle face of the moon, looking more gentle and kind than ever. "Come," said she, and they went very willingly. They have lived in the moon many years, but they never again carried a pail of water for a stream. "That is the work of the clouds and the sun," says the moon.



Why There Is A Man In The Moon.


"Goodman," said the goodwife, "you must go out into the forest and gather sticks for the fire. To-morrow will be Sunday, and we have no wood to burn."

"Yes, goodwife," answered the goodman, "I will go to the forest."

He did go to the forest, but he sat on a mossy rock and fished till it was dark, and so he brought home no wood. "The goodwife shall not know it," he thought. "I will go to the forest to-morrow morning and gather sticks."

When morning came, he crept softly out of the house when it was hardly light, and went to the forest. Soon he had as many sticks as he could carry, and he was starting for home when a voice called sternly, "Put those sticks down." He looked to the right, to the left, before him, behind him, and over his head. There was no one to be seen.

"Put those sticks down," said the voice again.

"Please, I do not dare to put them down," replied the goodman, trembling with fear. "They are to burn, and my wife cannot cook the dinner without them."

"You will have no dinner to-day," said the voice.

"The goodwife will not know that I did not gather them last night, and she will let me have some dinner. I am almost sure she will," the goodman replied.

"You must not gather sticks to-day," said the voice more sternly than ever. "It is Sunday. Put them down."

"Indeed, Mr. Voice, I dare not," whispered the goodman; and afar off he thought he heard his wife calling, "Goodman, where are you? There is no wood to burn."

"Will you put them down, or will you carry them forever?" cried the voice angrily.

"Truly, I cannot put them down, for I dare not go home without them," answered the goodman, shaking with fear from head to foot. "The goodwife would not like it."

"Then carry them forever," said the voice. "You care not for Sunday, and you shall never have another Sunday."

The goodman could not tell how it came about, but he felt himself being lifted, up, up, up, sticks and all, till he was in the moon.

"Here you shall stay," said the voice sternly. "You will not keep Sunday, and here you need not. This is the moon, and so it is always the moon's day, or Monday, and Monday it shall be with you always. Whenever any one looks up at the moon, he will say, 'See the man with the sticks on his back. He was taken to the moon because he gathered wood on Sunday.'"

"Oh dear, oh dear," cried the goodman, "what will the goodwife say?"



The Twin Stars.


In front of the little house was a pine-tree, and every night at the time when the children went to bed, a bright star appeared over the top of the tree and looked in at the window. The children were brother and sister. They were twins, and so they always had each other to play with.

"Now go to sleep," the mother would say when she had kissed them good-night, but it was hard to go to sleep when such a beautiful, radiant thing was shining in at the window of the little house.

"What do you suppose is in the star?" asked the sister.

"I think there are daisies and honey and violets and butterflies and bluebirds," answered the brother.

"And I think there are roses and robins and berries and humming-birds," said the sister.

"There must be trees and grass too, and I am sure there are pearls and diamonds."

"I can almost see them now," declared the sister. "I wish we could really see them. To-morrow let us go and find the star."

When morning came, the star was gone, but they said, "It was just behind the pine-tree, and so it must be on the blue mountain." The blue mountain was a long way off, but it looked near, and the twins thought they could walk to it in an hour. All day long they walked. They went through the lonely woods, they crossed brooks, they climbed hills, and still they could not find the radiant star that had looked in at their window. The hour had come when their mother always put them to bed and kissed them and said good-night, but now they had no mother, no good-night kiss, and no bed. They were tired and sleepy. They heard strange sounds in the forest, and they were frightened. "I am so tired," the sister whispered. "I am afraid a bear will come. I wish we could see the star."

The sky had grown dark, and a star could be seen here and there, but it was not their star. They went on till they could go no farther. "We will lie down on the grass," said the brother, "and cover ourselves up with leaves, and go to sleep."

Tired as they were, they did not have time to go to sleep before they heard a bear calling "Ugh! Ugh!" in the woods. They sprang up and ran out of the woods, and just before they came to the bottom of the hill, they saw right in front of them a beautiful little lake. They were not frightened any more, for there in the water was something radiant and shining. "It is our own star," said they, "and it has come down to us." They never thought of looking up into the sky over their heads. It was enough for them that the star was in the water and so near them. But was it calling them? They thought so. "Come," cried the brother, "take my hand, and we will go to the star." Then the spirit of the skies lifted them up gently and carried them away on a beautiful cloud.

The father and mother sat alone in the little house one evening, looking sadly out of the window through which the twins had looked. "There is the star that they loved," the mother said. "I have often listened to them while they talked of it. It is rising over the pine-tree in front of the house." They sat and watched the star. It was brighter and more radiant than ever, and in it the father and mother saw the faces of their lost children. "Oh, take us too, good spirit of the skies!" they cried. The spirit heard them, and when the next evening came, close beside the star there was another star. In that were the father and mother, and at last they and the children were all very happy to be together again.



The Lantern And The Fan.


In a Japanese village there once lived a man who had two sons. When the sons were grown up, each brought home a wife from another village a long distance away. The father was greatly pleased with his two daughters-in-law, and for many months they all lived very happily together.

At last the two young wives asked to go home to visit their friends. Among the Japanese the sons and the sons' wives must always obey the father, so the two wives said, "Father-in-law, it is a long, long time since we have seen our friends. May we go to our old home and visit them?" The father-in-law answered, "No." After many months they asked again, and again he answered, "No." Once more they asked. The father-in-law thought, "They care nothing for me, or they would not wish to leave me, but I have a plan, and I can soon know whether they love their father-in-law or not." Then he said to the older of the two wives, "You may go if you wish, but you must never come back unless you bring me fire wrapped in paper." To the younger he said, "You may go if you wish, but you must never come back unless you bring me wind wrapped in paper." The father-in-law thought, "Now I shall find out. If they care for me, they will search the country through till they find paper that will hold fire and wind."

The two young wives were so glad to visit their old friends that for almost a month they forgot all about the gifts that they were to carry to their father-in-law. At last, when it was time to go home, they were greatly troubled about what they must carry with them, and they asked a wise man where to find the strange things. "Paper that will hold fire and wind!" he cried. "There is no such paper in Japan." The two women asked one wise man after another, and every one declared, "There is no such paper in Japan." What should they do? They feared they would never see their home again. They were so sad that they left their friends and wandered a long distance into the forest. Great tears fell from their eyes.

"I do not let people cry in my woods," said a voice. "My trees do not grow well in salt water."

The poor wives were so sorrowful that they forgot to be afraid, and the older one said, "Can we help crying? Unless I can carry to my father-in-law fire wrapped in paper, I can never go home." "And I," wailed the younger, "unless I can carry wind wrapped in paper, I can never go home. None of the wise men ever heard of such things. What shall we do?"

"It is easy enough to wrap fire in paper," answered the voice. "Here is a piece of paper. Now watch." They watched, and the strangest thing in all the world happened right before their eyes. There was no one to be seen, but a piece of paper appeared on the ground and folded itself into a Japanese lantern. "Now put a candle inside," said the voice, "and you have paper holding fire. What more could you ask?"

Then the older woman was happy, but the younger was still sad. She saw now that fire could be carried in paper, but surely no one could carry wind. "O dear voice," she cried, "can any one carry wind in paper?"

"That is much easier than to carry fire," replied the voice, "for wind does not burn holes. Watch."

They watched eagerly. Another piece of paper came all by itself and lay on the ground between them. There was a picture on it of a tree covered with white blossoms. Two women stood under the tree, gathering the blossoms.

"The two women are yourselves," said the voice, "and the blossoms are the gifts that the father-in-law will give you when you go home."

"But I cannot go home," the younger wailed, "for I cannot carry wind wrapped in paper."

"Here is the paper, and there is always plenty of wind. Why not take them?"

"Indeed, I do not know how," the younger woman answered sorrowfully.

"This way, of course," said the voice. Some long, light twigs flew to the paper. It folded itself, over, under, together. It opened and closed, and it waved itself before the tearful face of the younger woman. "Does not the wind come to your face?" asked the voice, "and is it not the fan that has brought it? The lantern carries fire wrapped in paper, and the fan carries wind wrapped in paper."

Then, indeed, the two young women were happy, and when they came to the home of their father-in-law, he was as glad as they. He gave them beautiful gifts of gold and silver, and he said, "No one ever had such marvels before as the lantern and the fan, but in my home there are two more precious things than these, and they are my two dear daughters."

<eob>

Lives Of The Presidents: Told In Words Of One Syllable

By

Jean S. Remy



George Wash-Ing-Ton.


Way down in Vir-gin-i-a, near a small creek, called Bridg-es Creek, there is a shaft of white stone; -- on it is the name of George Wash-ing-ton and the date of his birth: Feb-ru-ar-y 22d, 1732.

On this spot once stood the big brick house in which George Wash-ing-ton was born; it was built in 1657 by John Wash-ing-ton; his grand-son, Au-gus-tine, was the fa-ther of the lit-tle boy who be-came our first pres-i-dent. The moth-er of George Wash-ing-ton was Ma-ry Ball; so sweet and fair was she, when she was a young girl, that she was known as "Sweet Mol-ly."

Now she was not the first wife of Au-gus-tine Wash-ing-ton; and he had two boys, Law-rence and Au-gus-tine, when he made her his wife. These boys were so kind to their small broth-er George, when he was young, and gave him so much help, all through his life, that their names should stay in your minds. When George was three years old his home was burned to the ground, and his fa-ther built a fine new house, just o-ver the riv-er from where the cit-y of Fred-er-icks-burg now stands. Here George went to his first school, and the name of the man who taught him was so queer, it will not go out of your mind; -- it was "Hob-by." In those old days, the boys wrote to their boy-friends, just as they do at this day. See what George, when he was nine years old, wrote to his best friend, Rich-ard Hen-ry Lee: -- "Dear Dick-ey, I thank you ver-y much for the pret-ty pic-ture book you gave me. Sam asked me to show him the pic-tures and I showed him all the pic-tures in it; and I read to him how the tame el-e-phant took care of his mas-ter's lit-tle boy, and put him on his back and would not let an-y-bod-y touch his mas-ter's lit-tle son. I can read three or four pages some-times with-out miss-ing a word. Ma says I may go to see you and stay all day with you next week if it be not rain-y. She says I may ride my po-ny. He-ro, if Uncle Ben will go with me and lead He-ro. I have a lit-tle piece of po-et-ry a-bout the book you gave me, but I mustn't tell you who wrote the po-et-ry.

"G. W.'s com-pli-ments to R. H. L. And likes his book full well. Hence-forth will count him as his friend, And hopes ma-ny hap-py days he may spend.

"Your good friend, "GEORGE WASH-ING-TON."

"I am go-ing to get a whip top soon, and you may see and whip it."

You see the boys in those old days were fond of books, and toys and hors-es just as the boys of to-day are; and there is a tale of George, and a young colt, which shows that he was a brave and strong boy, who did not fear to tell the truth, though he had done wrong. He and some of his boy-friends were in a field, in which were kept some young colts, some of which had been used.

The boys caught one colt, put a bit in its mouth, and held it, while George sprang on its back. The colt, mad with fear, sprang in the air, tore through the field, and tried in vain to throw the boy; at last he leaped with such force, that he broke a blood ves-sel, and fell to the ground dead. Just at this time George's moth-er came out, and saw the dead colt. She asked the boys if they knew how he died. "Yes, mad-am," at once said her own boy; and then he told the whole truth. There are more tales of the boy-life of George and all show that he was a brave, strong boy, full of life and fun, and at the head in games and sports of all kinds.

His fa-ther died when he was on-ly e-lev-en (11) years old; but his moth-er lived to be an old, old la-dy, who was, you may be sure, ver-y proud of her great son.

Af-ter his fa-ther's death George made his home with his broth-er, Au-gus-tine, un-til he was six-teen (16) years old; and the short notes which he wrote to his moth-er were not like those he sent to his boy-friends, or like those which you boys and girls write to-day. He be-gan, "Hon-ored Mad-am;" and end-ed the stiff lit-tle note, -- "Your du-ti-ful son."

In those days folks lived on great big farms, or plan-ta-tions, as they were called, and raised to-bac-co, which was sold for much mon-ey in Eng-land. George's fa-ther had a ver-y large plan-ta-tion and ma-ny slaves to work on it; some day this would all be-long to George, and so he was taught how to write in a big round hand, how to do sums, and to look out for those who were in his care.

All through these years there was talk of war; for a cru-el war be-tween the French and Eng-lish, known as King George-'s War, had be-gun; and the boys, who heard so much talk of war, of course played at it; and George was ev-er at the head, ev-er lead-ing these bands of young sol-diers; he longed, just as boys would to-day, to throw a-way his books, to leave school, to go to the true war and bear a real gun; and when he was fif-teen, his broth-er Law-rence, who was a sol-dier, tried to make his moth-er let him join the na-vy, as he was too young to go to the war. But this moth-er was a ver-y wise wo-man, and said no; that his place was at home un-til he knew how to care for the great plan-ta-tion and the ma-ny slaves that in five or six years would be his.

Now, at this time, this great land of ours was so wild that it was hard to tell how much land a man owned, just where one great farm end-ed and the next be-gan; and a man who knew the land so well that he could tell folks just these things would be of much use; so George now be-gan to give much time to just this work; and so well did he do it that soon folks came to him when they were in doubt.

In fact this work led, as you shall see, straight up to the pres-i-dent's seat. His broth-er Law-rence had mar-ried Anne Fair-fax, and in their home at Mt. Ver-non George met ma-ny great men; a-mong oth-ers was Lord Thom-as Fair-fax, who owned a piece of land so large that he did not know how big it was; he sent George to find this out; and now this young boy had a rough piece of real work to do.

In March, 1748, he and a young friend, George Wil-liam Fair-fax, left the ease of Mt. Ver-non to live in the wild woods, where they would see on-ly Indians, or, at the best, rough white men; in the log huts of the white men they found so much dirt that, af-ter one tri-al, rath-er than sleep on dir-ty straw, with no sheet, and but one torn, thin blan-ket, they ei-ther lay on the bare floor, near the big wood-fire, or else built a huge fire in the woods and lay close to it on the earth. They had to swim their hors-es o-ver streams; they shot wild deer and birds, and of-ten cooked and ate them, alone in the great wild woods, far from e-ven the camp of the In-di-ans. Once, at least, we know, from a little book in which each night George wrote of what they had done that day, that they saw a grand war-dance of the In-di-ans; the mu-sic by which they danced was made by a pot half full of wa-ter, with a deer-skin o-ver the top, and a gourd filled with shot; this must have made queer mu-sic to dance by.

The boys were gone six weeks, and did their work so well that the gov-ern-or heard of it, and he made George a "pub-lic sur-vey-or;" that is, it was his place to find out the size of all the new farms; and his word was to be law. He must have done this work well, too, for the lines which he laid down were the ones used by the new States years and years af-ter his death.

Now, for weeks at a time, he was a-lone in the woods with the In-di-ans; liv-ing in their camps, and learn-ing of their life; they taught him ma-ny things; and they, in turn, learned to love and trust him; this lone-ly life made him a grave and qui-et man; one who talked lit-tle; and it taught him to think for him-self, at an age when most boys are told what to do by their par-ents and friends.

When he was not in the woods, hard at work, he was at Mt. Vernon; and here the talk was of the great lands in the west; and of the war bet-ween the Eng-lish and the French, who were each try-ing to drive a-way the oth-er, and were both try-ing to force out the In-di-ans. It was pret-ty hard for the In-di-ans, who now had not on-ly to fight each oth-er, but the white men, too. At last they took sides, some with the Eng-lish, some with the French; and a fierce war broke out o-ver the land near the O-hi-o River; no white men had yet lived there, and both sides wished to own it.

The French moved ver-y fast, and built great forts, and sent men there to keep the Eng-lish a-way; it was no "play-war" in which Wash-ing-ton now took part; he had real men under him; but, just as he be-gan to learn what real war was, he had to go to the West In-dies with his broth-er Law-rence, who was ver-y sick. They spent the win-ter there, but Law-rence did not get well, and came back to Mt. Ver-non in the spring, where he died in Ju-ly, 1752.

He left his land in charge of Wash-ing-ton, who now made his home there; and when his broth-er's daugh-ter died he be-came the own-er.

Now, while Wash-ing-ton had been a-way, the French had been ver-y ac-tive; they had made friends with the In-di-ans, and had e-ven dared to send some Eng-lish tra-ders in a ship to France.

At this act Eng-land was up and in arms, and sent o-ver great ships and ma-ny men to help fight the French. The first step that Eng-land took was to send men to warn the French a-way from the Eng-lish forts in Penn-syl-va-ni-a; and Wash-ing-ton, who knew bet-ter than a-ny one else the rough wild woods, and who was a friend of the In-di-ans, led a lit-tle band of sev-en men through the dense, dark woods and o-ver riv-ers filled with float-ing ice, up to the French lines. He told the chief man of the French troops just what the Eng-lish said, but this French man would not give up one inch of ground that he had won from the In-di-ans, and gave Wash-ing-ton a note to take back with him, in which he said as much.

Of course Eng-land could take but one course now; and so the long, fierce war known as the "Sev-en Years' War" be-gan. Wash-ing-ton was made a colo-nel, and showed so much skill, and was so brave, that in a short time he took charge of part of the troops of Gen-er-al Brad-dock.

In June, 1755, the troops made a start for Fort Du-quesne, where they were to stay; and on this trip, while they were deep in the woods, the In-di-ans, with fierce shrieks and wild cries, sprang on them from the rocks and trees. The horse on which Wash-ing-ton rode was shot; Gen-er-al Brad-dock got such a wound that he died, and ma-ny poor men were killed. Here again Wash-ing-ton act-ed so brave-ly, and was so wise, that the sol-diers said that Brad-dock had lost the day and Wash-ing-ton had saved the ar-my.

At Brad-dock's death Wash-ing-ton was made chief of all the troops in the col-o-nies; and the first thing he did was to place men near the homes which the white men were mak-ing in the new lands, and so help these ear-ly set-tlers to stop the In-di-ans when they came to rob them and to burn up their lit-tle log cab-ins, for a great fear of the red men was o-ver all the land. Now, when the war came to a close with the fall of the French, we find that Wash-ing-ton is a very great man, that his troops love him ver-y much, and that the heads of the states feel that he is a strong, wise man, and one whom they can trust. All this time, you know, he was an Eng-lish sol-dier, fight-ing for Eng-land; but, deep in his heart, and in the hearts of all the brave men who fought with him, there was, we may be sure, a love for this fair land, and a long-ing for its best good.

After the war was at an end Wash-ing-ton, who was ver-y glad to give up his post, mar-ried Mrs. Eus-tis, a young wid-ow with two lit-tle chil-dren, a girl of six years and a boy of twelve, and went to Mt. Ver-non to live. For twen-ty years now he lived the qui-et life he loved so well. He took good care of his farm, was hap-py with his fam-i-ly and friends, and grew, day by day, in power. He did not lead an i-dle life, you may be sure; he rose ear-ly, had his break-fast at sev-en in sum-mer and eight in win-ter; then rode o-ver his farm and saw that all was right. He had his din-ner at two o'clock; then had an ear-ly tea, and of-ten was in bed by nine o'clock. Twice a year he sent to Lon-don for things need-ed in the way of dress for his fam-i-ly and slaves, for tools, books, drugs, etc. Some of the things he bought for the chil-dren I think you boys and girls would like, too. He sent for "tops, lit-tle books for chil-dren to read, a doll, and oth-er toys."

Wash-ing-ton loved hors-es and was ver-y fond of hunt-ing. The name of his pet horse was "Blue-skin"; he must have looked ver-y fine when he was on horse-back; for he was a big man, with bright blue eyes and high color, and he wore a red vest with gold lace on it, and a dark blue cloth coat. Mrs. Wash-ing-ton rode in a fine car-riage drawn by four hors-es, and her driv-er wore the Wash-ing-ton col-ors of red, white and gold. These old days were full of life and fun, but there was work as well, and soon came more talk of war.

All through these twen-ty years this land was grow-ing big-ger and big-ger; and at last came the time when folks did not see why they should not be free from Eng-land and rule their own land in their own way.

At last Eng-land made a law called the "Stamp Act," which put so high a tax on goods that folks here would not pay it; tea was one of the things on which this tax was put; and when Eng-land sent o-ver three ships full of tea to Bos-ton, our men would not let it be ta-ken from the ships, but broke the great chests and threw all the tea in the wa-ter. This act is known as the "Bos-ton Tea Par-ty"; and now the first signs of war were seen; a fierce fight took place at Lex-ing-ton, one Sun-day morn-ing, be-tween the Brit-ish and A-mer-i-can troops; and now, all o-ver the land, went up the cry, "To arms! To arms!"

This is how the great War of In-de-pend-ence be-gan; and you know the name of the man who was at once put at the head of the A-mer-i-can ar-my -- George Wash-ing-ton, of course! Now he is not an Eng-lish-man fight-ing for his king, but an A-mer-i-can fight-ing to free his own land. A long, hard fight it was, too, but not once did Wash-ing-ton or his brave men lose heart. He drove the Brit-ish out of Bos-ton, and then, for fear they would go to New York, he sent men there; but the Brit-ish ships went to Can-a-da in-stead, and made that land theirs.

It was just at this time that Rich-ard Hen-ry Lee, the boy-friend of Wash-ing-ton, made a move in Con-gress that our land should say to the whole world that it would be free from Brit-ish rule; and so the Dec-lar-a-tion of In-de-pend-ence was drawn up and sent out to the world on July 4, 1776.

From an English print, 1733.]

War now be-gan in dead-ly earn-est; and, at the great bat-tle of Long Isl-and, our men met with great loss of life, and had to flee from the foe. Soon af-ter this bad news the Brit-ish took Phil-a-del-phi-a, and now Wash-ing-ton was sad at heart; on Christ-mas day of 1776, though, our troops won in the great fight that took place at Tren-ton, and there was joy in the whole land; good news came with the New Year, too, for Wash-ing-ton won ma-ny fights; and at last, in Oc-to-ber, 1777, the Brit-ish troops in charge of Gen-er-al Bur-goyne gave up their arms to Gen-er-al Gates. That win-ter of 1777 was a bad one for Wash-ing-ton and his men; at no time in the war did they suf-fer so much; the time was spent at Val-ley Forge, and the men lived in log huts which they had first built, in long straight lines, like cit-y streets; twelve men lived in each hut, and there was a fire-place at the back, but no fire could keep out the aw-ful cold, and no hut was snug e-nough to keep out the snow that fell in great drifts a-round this lit-tle town of log huts. To make things worse there was lit-tle food to be had; the men had on-ly poor, thin clothes, and their bare feet oft-en left marks of blood on the white snow. But the men did not lose hope, and kept their faith through all the long months in their great lead-er, whose lot was quite as hard as theirs was; the farm-house in which he had a room still stands, and it is hard to be-lieve, as you look at this old house on the banks of the Del-a-ware Riv-er, that once the big or-chard back of it and all the pret-ty fields were filled with poor little wood-en huts in which, for the sake of free-dom, lived and suf-fered thou-sands of brave men.

In the spring things were bet-ter, for France joined A-mer-i-ca in her fight for free-dom, and three years from this time the Brit-ish were beaten at York-town and A-mer-i-ca was free. One of the great French-men, who gave us much help, and was a firm friend of Wash-ing-ton's, was the Mar-quis de La-fay-ette.

A ver-y sad thing dur-ing these last years of the war was the base act of Ben-e-dict Ar-nold, who made up his mind to sell to the Brit-ish some posts near West Point, of which he had charge. He sent a note to Clin-ton by a young Brit-ish spy, Ma-jor An-dre; but on his way to the Brit-ish lines this young man was caught by three of our men. They found the note in his boots and he was brought to the A-mer-i-can camp, tried for his life and hung as a spy. Ben-e-dict Ar-nold had made his way to a ship and set sail for Eng-land, and his name is hat-ed, not on-ly by his own land, but by e-ven the land to whom he tried to sell his coun-try.

It was in March, 1783, that the news of peace spread through the land, and it is said that Wash-ing-ton wept with joy, as he read the glad news to his troops; he gave or-ders that the whole ar-my should give thanks to God; and this was done at a great meet-ing on the day af-ter Lord Corn-wal-lis laid down his sword. Then there was a great ball giv-en at Fred-er-icks-burg, and Wash-ing-ton's old moth-er, sev-en-ty-four years old, was there lean-ing on the arm of her son; and do you not think she was proud, as one af-ter an-oth-er of the great French of-fi-cers bowed to her, and spoke in her son's praise?

It was on Christ-mas eve that Wash-ing-ton came home to Mt. Vernon, af-ter eight years of war: rid-ing in state, with his wife at his side, this great A-mer-i-can, feared now by kings, and loved more than ev-er by the coun-try he had made free, came glad-ly back to take up the qui-et coun-try life he loved so well; and here, could he have had his way, he would have lived un-til his death; but this new coun-try need-ed at its head a man whom folks loved and trust-ed, and of whom oth-er lands stood in fear. No man but Wash-ing-ton could fill this great place; and so, at the end of three years, once more at his coun-try's call, he left his home, -- this time to be-come the first Pres-i-dent of the U-ni-ted States. Not one voice was a-gainst him; eve-ry man in the new coun-try vot-ed to give him this last hon-or; and on Ap-ril 30th, 1789, in New York Ci-ty, he took the oath of of-fice. Wash-ing-ton, who was a ve-ry rich man, had tak-en no mon-ey for serv-ing his coun-try in the war; and said he would take none now; but be-cause oth-er Pres-i-dents might not be rich e-nough or good e-nough to want to do the same, the peo-ple made him take $25,000 a year; now, you know, the Pres-i-dent gets $50,000 a year.

Wash-ing-ton was in New York but one year, then the cap-i-tal was moved to Phil-a-del-phia, and here he lived in great state, un-til af-ter eight years in the Pres-i-dent's chair, once more, and for the last time, he came back home to Mt. Ver-non.

At the end of his term of of-fice, Wash-ing-ton on-ly wait-ed to see the next Pres-i-dent, John Ad-ams, take the chair, and soon af-ter he came back talk a-rose of war with France; and, of course, the coun-try turned to him; he was a-gain put in charge of the ar-my, and took up the pub-lic life he had so glad-ly laid down. But he had not long to bear it this time, for on De-cem-ber 12th, 1799, while rid-ing in a hard rain-storm, he took a heav-y cold, from which he died on Sat-ur-day night, De-cem-ber 14th, be-tween ten and twelve o'clock.

Wash-ing-ton was bur-ied at Mt. Ver-non, and to-day the tomb of "The Fa-ther of his Coun-try," as he is lov-ing-ly called is a sa-cred place; not on-ly to us, but to the men and wo-men of the old lands, which were taught by him so long a-go to hon-or and fear this great, new A-mer-i-ca.

Wash-ing-ton had been dead just one hun-dred years on De-cem-ber 14th, 1899, and the date was made much of in the U-nit-ed States: in New York Ci-ty, in Wash-ing-ton, and at Mt. Ver-non there was a great time in his hon-or, for this great man is as dear to his coun-try to-day as he was when he was a-live.




John Ad-Ams.


John Ad-ams was born, not in the far South with ma-ny slaves to wait on him, but on a small farm in Brain-tree, Mass. Here, from old Eng-land had come, in 1636, his great-grand-fa-ther, Hen-ry Ad-ams; and in this old home was born on Oc-to-ber 19th, 1735, John Ad-ams, who was to be the sec-ond Pres-i-dent of the U-nit-ed States. Now, on this farm in the east, there was much work to be done, and few to do it; the folks who had made their homes here did not lead such lives of ease as those who lived on the great farms in the South.

As a small boy, though, of course, he was taught to read and write, John Ad-ams had a good deal of hard work to do. There was wood to chop, and snow to be cleared a-way; there were hors-es and cows to care for, and there was much work to do in the fields. In all this work John took his part, like the brave, strong boy that he was. When the days grew long and cold, he was sent to an old school near his home, and here he at once took his place with the boys, as one who would lead in fun and sport of all kinds. There was a good deal of fun, too, in those days, for boys and girls both; in the cold days there was good, strong ice on which to skate; there was snow to play in, and to make fine roads for long rides in a sleigh; and, when the days were long and hot, there were fish in the big streams, and there was game in the wild woods. John was not fond of his books, but still he did good work at school; and when he was quite young went to Har-vard Col-lege. He left it in 1755, just at the start of the "Sev-en Years' War"; and the name of George Wash-ing-ton, the brave young Col-o-nel of Vir-gin-ia, rang loud in his ears.

He taught school in Wor-ces-ter to earn the means to take up law; and in 1758 he be-came a law-yer. He had ma-ny cas-es, and grew wise and great, though he did not make much mon-ey, as folks in the small town of Brain-tree were far from rich and paid small fees. But he did make ma-ny kind friends, and far and near he was known as a man of clear, strong mind and quick, bright thoughts; he had a fine, sweet voice, too, and his speech-es were al-ways wise and showed much thought.

In the strife with Eng-land he was, from the start, on the side of A-mer-i-ca. So much did Eng-land fear him in 1757, the Eng-lish king sent word that he would give him great wealth if he would serve him at this time. Ad-ams would not do this; he would speak and act just as he thought right, and be bound by no king. When the "Stamp Act" passed in 1764, he made a great speech, which was sent to those at the head of his State; and when, in 1770, a troop of Brit-ish fired on a mob of A-mer-i-can men and boys in the streets of Bos-ton, he took the case to the courts, and spoke for the Brit-ish Cap-tain and his men, though they had killed five of our men. It may seem strange to you that Ad-ams, who stood for A-mer-i-can rights, should here take sides with the Brit-ish; but, first of all, he stood for law; and, though he knew he ran the risk of los-ing his high place in the hearts of A-mer-i-can men, still he would do what he thought right. But men love truth, and like to see a brave man act as he thinks right, and so felt that he had just the clear, cool head and brain and the strong warm heart to give aid in the dark days that were to come to the land. He was sent to the First Con-gress and was one of the three men who drew up the Dec-la-ra-tion of In-de-pend-ence.

Where the first Continental Congress met September, 1774.]

He was al-so one of three men to go to France and ask for the aid which she gave to A-mer-i-ca, in the spring af-ter that hard win-ter at Val-ley Forge. Do you see why this trip at this time was a brave act, and one by which Ad-ams ran a great risk of los-ing his life? Eng-land had no wish that he should reach France, and her ships tried in vain to get him. If he had been caught he would have been hung, as a man who was false to his land and his king. You know that he went to France though, and did his work well. He stood up for our rights and had a bill passed which made the ports of France and Eng-land free to our goods. At the end of the war he was sent to Eng-land to look out for our rights there; and, though now this is a pleas-ant task, it was not then, for it was hard for Ad-ams to be true to A-mer-i-ca and yet not an-ger the Eng-lish king, George III.

From an anonymous print.]

But we have seen how bold and brave a man he was, so the first thing he said to the king was: "I must tell your Maj-es-ty that I love no coun-try but my own"; and said the king: "An hon-est man will nev-er love an-y oth-er." In spite of this, Ad-ams met with much rude-ness at the Eng-lish court; but he did his best for his coun-try, and when he came home in 1787, af-ter twelve years of hard work, he was met with great joy. He was made Vice-Presi-dent with Wash-ing-ton, and at the end of Wash-ing-ton's term of of-fice he was made Pres-i-dent. He served on-ly four years and then made way for Thom-as Jef-fer-son.

At the age of six-ty-eight years, with the love of the whole land, he went to his home in Quin-cy, Mass. His heart was ever with his coun-try; and he lived un-til his son, John Quin-cy Ad-ams, was made Pres-i-dent of the U-nit-ed States.

His last thoughts were for his coun-try. On June 30th, 1826, he gave as a toast for the great feast to be held on Ju-ly 4th the words: "In-de-pend-ence for-ev-er."

At Quincy, Mass.]

He died on the night of this, A-mer-i-ca's great day. His last words were of Jef-fer-son. He said: "Thom-as Jef-fer-son still lives." But this was not so, for Jef-fer-son had died a few hours be-fore on this same day; and this young land wept for two of her great men, both of whom, in giv-ing up their best to their coun-try, helped to make it the great, free land that it is to-day.




Thom-As Jef-Fer-Son.


When Thom-as Jef-fer-son was a boy his home was so near the In-di-ans' camp and he saw so much of them that I am sure all boys will like to read of him. His fa-ther, Pe-ter Jef-fer-son, took his bride, Jane Ran-dolph, to a house on a wild tract of land of o-ver 1,000 a-cres, way out in Vir-gin-ia, right in the midst of great woods. He was a big, strong man, and this strength was ve-ry use-ful to him in mak-ing his new home, for he had to chop down huge trees and then cut them up in-to the logs of which the lit-tle log cab-in was built. He took with him in-to this wild new land on-ly a few slaves, but with their help his farm soon grew large, and he be-came a rich man. The In-di-ans were great friends of his, and al-ways sure of a warm wel-come in his home.

Still, the In-di-ans were not al-ways at peace with the white men, who had come to make their homes so near them, and folks had to be on the watch for fear the red men would rob and kill them. Pe-ter Jef-fer-son was made Col-o-nel of the men who kept the In-di-ans back in the woods, and a-way from the lit-tle town that was fast grow-ing up near his home.

Now, this great, strong man was fond of books, and it was with his fa-ther that lit-tle Thom-as be-gan to stu-dy. He was al-so taught to ride, to swim and to shoot; and as he was fond of mu-sic he spent long hours in learn-ing to play on the vi-o-lin, or "fid-dle" as it was then called. The In-di-ans near his home liked him, and he used to play tunes for the lit-tle, brown In-di-an boys to dance by.

He was on-ly nine years old when he went to board-ing school with a Mr. Doug-lass, and here he be-gan to stu-dy Lat-in, Greek and French. He was so near home that he did not stay a-way long at a time; and in-deed, this home was such a hap-py one, so full of life and fun, that he did not want to be a-way from it long at one time.

But this hap-py time did not last long, for Thom-as was but four-teen years old when his brave fa-ther was shot in a fight with the In-di-ans. This boy was now at the head of as big a place as the fa-ther of George Wash-ing-ton had left to him, and though he kept on with his books he had the care of this great farm to think of and plan for. He was a bright, well-read boy; and was but six-teen when he took a place at Wil-liam and Ma-ry Col-lege. Here, his love for books and mu-sic kept him from the wild life led by some of the young men there, and made friends for him a-mong the great men, whose homes were in Wil-liams-town.

He met a great law-yer, George Wythe, and be-gan the stu-dy of law with him when, at the end of two years, he left col-lege. In five years he be-gan the prac-tise of law in his old home in Vir-gin-ia. In two years, so bright and quick was he, and of such a strong, clear mind, that he had 198 cas-es, held a high place in his State, and was a rich man.

In 1770, while he and his moth-er were a-way from home, the old house burned down. When news of this came to Jef-fer-son, his first thought was for his books, and he said to the slave who had told him: "Did you save an-y of my books?" "No, mas-ter," said the slave, "but we did save your fid-dle." You see e-ven when he was a great and bu-sy man he still loved his fid-dle; but the loss of all his law books was ve-ry hard for a bu-sy law-yer, and it took him a long while to get the new books that he must have.

The Home of Thomas Jefferson.]

He had be-gun to build a ve-ry large new house at Mon-ti-cel-lo, and so in the lit-tle end of this he now went to live. Two years lat-er, to this home, which was to be-come known all o-ver the world, he brought his bride, Mrs. Mar-tha Skel-ton, a young and ve-ry rich wid-ow. They were mar-ried on New Year's Day, 1772, and came to their home in such a hard snow-storm that the hors-es could not drag the coach through the big drifts, so these two young folks left the warm coach, and rode the tired hors-es up to the door of their new home. Jef-fer-son and his wife gave great care to Mon-ti-cel-lo, and it was known far and near for its great beau-ty and for its choice and rare fruits and flow-ers.

But Jef-fer-son was much from home. In 1762 he was sent to Con-gress, and here he at once stood at the head of the band of wise and great men who were then there. His mind was so clear and bright that in all the grave things that came up he knew at once just what to do, he had the trust of all men.

He was a great help in writ-ing the Dec-la-ra-tion of In-de-pend-ence; in fact, it may well be said that he wrote it. Soon af-ter this great act he left Con-gress and turned his mind to the laws of his own State; he made them safe and just for all men, both rich and poor. In 1779 he was made gov-ern-or of Vir-gin-ia; and now his work was hard; not on-ly must he find a way to keep the In-di-ans from the hous-es of the white men but the Brit-ish came down to the south and laid his fair home in ruins. Not for long years did Mon-ti-cel-lo grow in beau-ty once more. But through all the dark years of war Jef-fer-son did his work well; he forced back the In-di-an foes, and gave help and aid to his State while the War for In-de-pend-ence went on. When the war was at an end, this strong, just man, with his clear, wise brain, was just the one to stand up for our rights in the lands a-cross the sea, so he was sent to France at the time Ad-ams was in Eng-land. While here he had a bill passed by which Eng-land said she would look on our land as free; and this was a big point for us to gain.

When Jef-fer-son came home he was made Sec-re-ta-ry of State, and in this high of-fice did much good work; it was he who first gave us our own coins to use in place of the Eng-lish coins, which, up to that time had been in use here. Now, Al-ex-an-der Ham-il-ton was in charge of the work of mak-ing the coin, and a great feud came up be-tween him and Jef-fer-son as to how this should be done. Men, of course, took sides in this strife, and so two bands sprang up which were known as Re-pub-li-cans and Fed-er-al-ists; to-day these two bands are known as Re-pub-li-cans and Dem-o-crats. Al-ex-an-der Ham-il-ton was killed in a du-el by Aa-ron Burr in Ju-ly, 1804.

In 1801, Jef-fer-son was made Pres-i-dent; and while he was in the chair this land grew strong and great.

Our first steam-boat was built by Rob-ert Ful-ton while Jef-fer-son was Pres-i-dent; and it did not look at all like the great boats of to-day; it was a heav-y, clum-sy boat, which went by sails as well as steam.

Rob-ert Ful-ton's first Steam-boat.]

Jef-fer-son tried hard to put an end to the slave-trade, which he felt was a great wrong; he thought, too, that folks should have the right to serve God in their own way; and he held that on-ly men who could read and write should vote.

He was a great and a wise man; books were his dear friends; and so one of the hard-est things he had to do, af-ter he went home to Mon-ti-cel-lo, when he left the White House, was to sell all his books to Con-gress in or-der to get mon-ey to live on. To his own home hosts of friends and stran-gers came to see the great man, just as they had when he was in Wash-ing-ton. But he sold his books so cheap that the mon-ey did not help him much; and, at last, it seemed as if he must sell his dear old home. But now the peo-ple for whom he had done so much helped him, and a big fund was raised, so that he could keep his home and live there in com-fort un-til his death.

He lived to be a ver-y old man, and e-ven when he was so weak he could not rise from his bed, his great, strong brain was still clear. You know that he died on the 4th of Ju-ly, 1826, just a few hours be-fore the death of his old friend, John Ad-ams.

Next to the name of George Wash-ing-ton, there is no name a-mong the great men of our land, of which the peo-ple are so proud, as that of Thom-as Jef-fer-son.




James Mad-I-Son.


In the home of his grand-fath-er at Port Con-way, Vir-gin-i-a, was born, in the spring of 1751, the small boy who was to be our fourth Pres-i-dent. He was ver-y young, though, when he went to live at Mont-pel-ier, his fath-er's great farm in Vir-gin-i-a, and here he led much the same life as George Wash-ing-ton did when a boy. He was but a small boy when the French and Eng-lish War be-gan, and when Brad-dock lost the day, a great fear of the In-di-ans spread to the ver-y door of his home; and he grew up with the name of George Wash-ing-ton ev-er in his ears, as a great he-ro.

His school days were much like those of Jef-fer-son. He was a young boy when he could read French and Span-ish with ease, and was as well hard at work at Greek and Lat-in. In 1769 he went to Prince-ton Col-lege, and here, as well as when he was at home, Jef-fer-son was a great help to him. The old-er man wrote to the boy in the qui-et old col-lege town, a-bout the scenes of war; he told him much of the Brit-ish troops in the Bos-ton streets, of young John Ad-ams and of Wash-ing-ton. So, when in 1771 he left col-lege, he knew a great deal a-bout the strife of the day, and had deep, clear thoughts a-bout it. At home he led a qui-et life with his books, un-til 1774, then he was put at the head of a few men, who were to guard their own town if the Brit-ish troops came there. In this post he showed such a wise, clear mind and did his part so well that in a short time he was put in a high place in his State, and from there in 1779 was sent to Con-gress. Jef-fer-son was at this time Gov-ern-or of Vir-gin-i-a, and the two men were close, warm friends.

For twen-ty five years Mad-i-son was one of the first men in this land. He had no taste for war, but he soon took a high place with those who made the laws of the land. One of the great things he did was to help draw up the Con-sti-tu-tion of the U-nit-ed States.

In 1794 this grave and qui-et man mar-ried, as Wash-ing-ton and Jef-fer-son had done, a young and love-ly wid-ow. She was but twen-ty-two years old, twen-ty years young-er than he, and her name was Mrs. Dor-o-thy Payne Todd. Lat-er on, the folks who grew to love this fair la-dy so well, gave her the name by which we know her to-day -- "Dol-ly Mad-i-son." She was a Quak-er-ess, and so fair and sweet was she, in her qui-et lit-tle gown of gray, that once a friend said to her: "Dol-ly, tru-ly thou must hide thy face, so ma-ny stare at thee."

For one year af-ter his mar-riage, Mad-i-son lived at Mont-pel-ier; then a-gain he went in-to pub-lic life, first in his State, and af-ter that, in 1800, as Sec-re-ta-ry of State un-der Jef-fer-son.

Now, be-gan the gay life at the White House, for which "Dol-ly" Mad-i-son won so much fame. Jef-fer-son's wife was dead, and it was the wife of his friend that helped him en-ter-tain the White House guests. Well did this love-ly la-dy do her part, and in 1808 when, as the wife of the Pres-i-dent, she be-came the real mis-tress of the White House, more than ev-er did the peo-ple love her. To-day, of all the pic-tures of the Pres-i-dents' wives that hang up-on the White House walls, none is more love-ly than that of the gay and pretty "Dol-ly Mad-i-son."

Mad-i-son was most of all a man of peace, and yet it was while he was in of-fice that the U-nit-ed States was drawn in-to the War of 1812. Eng-land, then at war with France, said she had the right to search A-mer-i-can ships to see if they were tak-ing aid to France. A-mer-i-ca would not give this right to Eng-land, and so the war be-gan. In 1814 the Brit-ish came to the cit-y of Wash-ing-ton, and for the on-ly time in A-mer-i-can his-to-ry the Pres-i-dent had to leave his home.

Mad-i-son, with the Sec-re-ta-ry of State and some friends, went to a lit-tle inn near Wash-ing-ton, and here they were met by Mrs. Mad-i-son, who had stayed as long as she could at the White House to save some things from the hands of the Brit-ish. She had brought the great Dec-la-ra-tion of In-de-pend-ence, and had cut from its big frame the pic-ture of Wash-ing-ton and brought it safe-ly a-way. The Brit-ish troops set fire to the White House, the na-vy yard, the Cap-i-tol, and in fact the whole town. They left in great haste, though, when they heard that our troops were on the way, and the next day Mrs. Mad-i-son put on the dress of a wash-wo-man, so folks would not know her, and made a start for her home, but the British had set fire to a bridge she had to cross on the way and then she begged an A-mer-i-can sol-dier to row her o-ver the riv-er. He would not do so un-til she told him who she was, and then he was ver-y glad to take this brave lit-tle la-dy in his boat. On-ly black ash-es marked the spot on which the White House had once stood, so she had to go to her sis-ter's home, where the Pres-i-dent soon joined her.

The Eng-lish troops now tried to take Bal-ti-more, but our brave men drove them back; and when they tried to make a raid on New Or-le-ans, Gen-er-al Jack-son and his troops fought so hard that the foe could not get in-to the cit-y.

This was the last fight of this war, and peace was signed at Ghent, De-cem-ber 24th, 1814. From that day Eng-land has had to leave our ships a-lone and to treat A-mer-i-ca as one of the great nations of the world.

In 1817 Mad-i-son was not sor-ry to go back to his old home, and here ma-ny hap-py years were spent, for the fair la-dy of the White House kept o-pen house in her own home, and guests from far and near were glad to come here. One of Mad-i-son's dear-est friends was old Thom-as Jef-fer-son, who oft-en rode o-ver from his home at Mon-ti-cel-lo, which was on-ly thir-ty miles from Mont-pel-ier.

Mad-i-son wrote a good deal at this time; and once a-gain was seen in pub-lic life. In 1829 he was at the head of the great change made in all the laws of the whole land.

He died af-ter a long sick-ness at his home in Mont-pel-ier on June 28th, 1836.




James Mon-Roe.


James Mon-roe was, like Wash-ing-ton, Mad-i-son and Jef-fer-son, born in Vir-gin-i-a. Our first Pres-i-dent was just twen-ty six years old when, in West-more-land County, on A-pril 28th, 1758, was born the boy who was to be the fifth Pres-i-dent. His fa-ther, Colo-nel Spense Mon-roe, owned a big farm and was quite rich. Lit-tle James was sent to good schools and did not have to work to earn the means to stay in school. He learned at first to hunt, to skate and to swim; and was good friends with all the boys; but through all the fun and school work came up the talk of war; of the long strife with Eng-land and the fierce red men. It was hard for a brave boy to hear such talk and yet keep on at his books, and though Mon-roe did go to Wil-liam and Mary Col-lege, he did not stay long, for we hear of him in 1775 at the camp near Bos-ton. In 1776 we see him at the head of a band of men, and from that time on he was in the thick of the fight. He fought at White Plains and Har-lem Heights, and was so brave that the great Wash-ing-ton gave him high praise for his work, and made him, when but eight-een years old, a cap-tain in the ar-my. At the great fight at Tren-ton he got a bad wound and had to rest for some time. In the big fights of the war this brave young man was one of the first in the field; his hopes were ev-er high, and he put heart in-to the weak and worn men who looked to him for help in the sad years of the war. In 1780 he be-gan the stud-y of law with his old friend Thom-as Jef-fer-son and soon led the bright men of the day.

So good a friend of his was Jef-fer-son, that the home to which Mon-roe took his bride in 1785, was planned for him by Jef-fer-son, who, so it is said, al-so gave him the nails to build it with.

In 1794 he was sent to France to look out for A-mer-i-ca's rights, but he found talk of war there at that time. The peo-ple did not want a king an-y long-er, but wished to be-come a free land like A-mer-i-ca, with a pres-i-dent at the head; and Mad-i-son, who was a Re-pub-li-can, took sides with the Re-pub-li-cans in France. The king did not like this, and so Mad-i-son had to come home at the end of two years.

But he met with a wel-come at home, and his own State made him its Gov-ern-or. In 1803 he was once more sent to France; this time to buy the State of Lou-is-i-an-a from the French, and he paid Na-po-le-on for this large State $15,000,000.

Twice Mon-roe was sent to Spain and once to Eng-land, where his task was to force Eng-land to stop her search of A-mer-i-can ships. You know he could not do this, for that was the cause of the War of 1812.

Tired and sad at heart, he came back home, and was glad to rest for a while in his own home; but he was of too much use to his coun-try to be i-dle long. Once more, in 1811, he was made Gov-ern-or of Vir-gin-i-a.

Then came the War of 1812; and it was Mon-roe, now Sec-re-ta-ry of State, who, at the head of a few men, saw the Brit-ish land near Wash-ing-ton and sent word to Mad-i-son to leave the cit-y. He al-so act-ed as Sec-re-ta-ry of War at this time, and so well did he do his part that in 1816 he was named for Pres-i-dent by the Dem-o-crats. He got the most votes and so took the first place in our great land.

His first act was to pay off the great debt which the War of 1812 had brought on us. He did this in a ver-y short time; and now our trade grew so great that rail-roads were built; and so our first rail-road was made while Mad-i-son was Pres-i-dent.

There was a fierce war with the In-di-ans in Flor-i-da at this time; but Gen-er-al Jack-son was sent down there and he forced them to lay down their arms and keep the peace.

Just at this time, too, we got Flor-i-da from the King of Spain, and gave up Tex-as, af-ter pay-ing a big sum of mon-ey to the A-mer-i-cans, who had been robbed by Spain.

Mis-sou-ri came in-to the Un-ion while Mon-roe was Pres-i-dent, and there was a fierce storm of words; the North said she should not hold slaves after she was a State, the South said that she should.

At last Con-gress gave way to the South-ern States; but made a law that there should be a line drawn through the land, north of which no State should hold slaves.

In 1825 Mon-roe was free to go to his home at Oak Hill, Vir-gin-i-a, and here he lived un-til 1830. His wife died in that year, and then he went to live with his daugh-ter in New York. He died here on the 4th of Ju-ly, 1831, and his name is one that the whole land loves and hon-ors.

He was bur-ied in New York, but on the one hun-dredth an-ni-ver-sa-ry of his birth, his bod-y was tak-en to Rich-mond, Vir-gin-i-a, and a hand-some stone raised o-ver his grave.




John Quin-Cy Ad-Ams.


The lit-tle boy who be-came our sixth Pres-i-dent led a life not at all like that of an-y oth-er of the boys of whom you have read. His fa-ther was John Ad-ams, our sec-ond Pres-i-dent, and when, on Ju-ly 11th, 1767, lit-tle John Quin-cy Ad-ams was born in the old home at Brain-tree, Mass., his great fa-ther was al-read-y speak-ing brave-ly for his coun-try's rights in the cit-y of Bos-ton. In 1772 the fam-i-ly moved to Bos-ton, and lit-tle John, for two years, saw, as the oth-er boys did, the Brit-ish sol-diers in their bright red coats on pa-rade in the Bos-ton streets, and heard on all sides talk of war with Eng-land. He saw a lit-tle of real war, too; for when he was eight years old, his moth-er took him on top of a high hill, called Be-mis Hill, from which he saw the smoke and heard the roar of can-non in that aw-ful bat-tle of Bunk-er Hill. When, in 1776, the Brit-ish left Bos-ton, this lit-tle lad of nine years used to oft-en ride on horse-back in and out of the city to bring home the lat-est news. This was a ride of twen-ty-two miles from the old home at Brain-tree, where Mrs. Ad-ams had gone when her hus-band went to Con-gress, and I think it took a pret-ty brave and strong boy to ride all those long miles a-lone.

When John Ad-ams went to France to try and get her aid for A-mer-i-ca, he took with him his lit-tle boy, then ten years old. It was a rough, hard trip; for, not on-ly were there fierce winds which lashed the waves in-to fu-ry, but they were chased by Brit-ish ships, for Eng-land did not want John Ad-ams to get this help from France. But they reached Par-is in safe-ty, and lit-tle John was at once put in a French school. He on-ly stayed for a-bout a year and went back home with his fa-ther in the spring. Now for three months he was with his moth-er, and then in No-vem-ber he and some oth-er boys who were placed in his fa-ther's care, all start-ed for France, where they were to be put in a good school.

This trip was hard-er than the oth-er one, for the big ship, "Sen-si-ble," sprang a leak, and af-ter some days of great per-il, they were glad to go to the near-est land, which was Spain; and now there was a long, hard trip by land be-fore France could be reached. They had sailed on Nov. 13th, 1779, and it was not un-til Feb. 5th, 1780, that the lit-tle par-ty reached Par-is.

For two years now our lit-tle lad was hard at work with his books in Par-is; then his fa-ther was sent to the Neth-er-lands as A-mer-i-can Min-is-ter, and he took his lit-tle son there and placed him in a school in Am-ster-dam; from here he went to the U-ni-ver-si-ty at Ley-den, where he stayed un-til Ju-ly, 1781.

He was now on-ly four-teen years old; but you see he had been in so ma-ny lands, that he could speak as the folks did in those strange lands, and this was a rare thing in those days. In 1781 Fran-cis Da-na, then the A-mer-i-can Min-is-ter to Rus-sia, need-ing some one to help him in his work, sent to Ley-den for this young boy. They passed through Ger-ma-ny on the way to Rus-sia, and here John Quin-cy learned some-thing of an-oth-er new land. Then, af-ter a year in Rus-sia, he left Mr. Da-na and stud-ied for a year in Swe-den. The next spring he went to his fa-ther in Hol-land, and then went to Par-is with him, and was pres-ent when the trea-ty of peace be-tween Eng-land and A-mer-i-ca end-ed the War of In-de-pend-ence.

For two years more he stud-ied a-broad, and then sailed for home in May, 1783. He at once en-tered the jun-ior class at Har-vard Col-lege and grad-u-a-ted with next to the high-est hon-ors in 1787. Then he took up law, as his fa-ther had done, and be-gan to prac-tise in Bos-ton. He made few friends; folks did not love him as they had ei-ther Mad-i-son or Mon-roe, but he was al-ways known to be a man of great pow-er, and of great learn-ing; and know-ing so much of other lands, he was just the man to be sent as A-mer-i-can Min-is-ter to these coun-tries.

In 1794 Wash-ing-ton sent him to Hol-land, and in 1796 he was sent to Ber-lin.

When, in 1801, Ad-ams came back home, it was to find new hon-ors wait-ing for him. He was sent first to the State Sen-ate and then to Con-gress. You see the steps by which our Pres-i-dents rose to pow-er were much the same in ev-er-y case. A du-ty well done in a small place led to some-thing a lit-tle high-er, and so on to the great-est hon-or of all -- the Pres-i-dent's chair.

The State of Mas-sa-chu-setts was ver-y proud of John Quin-cy A-dams; not only was he a great states-man and the son of the man whom they all loved, but he was, as well, a fine schol-ar, and a bril-liant speak-er. In 1809 he was sent a-broad a-gain for his coun-try; this time to Rus-sia, where he had not been since he was a boy of four-teen; in 1815 he was sent to France, but he was here on-ly a few months, when war broke out in France, and all the min-is-ters from oth-er coun-tries were called a-way; he went at once to Eng-land, and here he had a much more pleasant time than his father had when he went there as the first Amer-i-can min-is-ter; the U-nit-ed States was now known as a big strong coun-try, and no one dared to be rude to her min-is-ter. In 1817 his own land felt the need of the great man who had served her so well a-broad, and he was called home to be-come Sec-re-ta-ry of State. No man was so well fit-ted for this post as he; for there were ma-ny men from the lands a-cross the sea, now com-ing and go-ing in the cap-i-tal of the U-nit-ed States, to talk o-ver great ques-tions; there were new states com-ing in-to the Un-i-on; and oth-er lands were al-ways try-ing to gain a lit-tle pow-er here; so John Quin-cy Ad-ams, who not on-ly was a great schol-ar, and a fine law-yer, but al-so knew well so ma-ny lands be-sides his own, was just the man to help Pres-i-dent Mon-roe through his eight years of work.

He al-so was the man best suit-ed for the Pres-i-dent's chair, at the end of Mon-roe's term of of-fice. Not once, while Ad-ams was in Wash-ing-ton work-ing hard, did he for-get his old fa-ther, watch-ing, in his home at Quin-cy, the bu-sy life of his great son. Once ev-er-y year he went to the qui-et old home, and told his fa-ther of the life in Wash-ing-ton, in which the old-er man had once held so great a place.

At the age of six-ty-eight, Ad-ams went back to his home in Quin-cy, but in 1830 once more he was sent to Con-gress, and for six-teen years he kept his seat there; he grew old and gray serv-ing his na-tive land; he made bit-ter en-e-mies, but ma-ny warm friends; he feared no one, and his voice was al-ways for the free-dom of this great land. On No-vem-ber 19th, 1846, he had a stroke of par-al-y-sis while walk-ing in Bos-ton; but three months later we saw him a-gain in Wash-ing-ton, and tak-ing his old seat in Con-gress. As the gray old man came feeb-ly in-to the hall, ev-er-y man pres-ent rose to his feet, and so stood un-til he took his seat. He was too weak now to talk, and on-ly once more did he try to speak his mind on one of the great ques-tions of the day. This was on Feb-ru-a-ry 21st, 1848. He rose to speak, but fell in-to the arms of a man near him; at once they took him in-to a cloak-room, and sent for his wife. For two days did he lay there, and then, on the morn-ing of Feb-ru-a-ry 23d, his great soul took its flight. His last words were: "This is the last of life, and I am con-tent."




An-Drew Jack-Son.


The boy who was to be our sev-enth Pres-i-dent did not lead the sort of life, as boy or man, that the oth-er Pres-i-dents did. He was the son of a poor I-rish-man who came here from Ire-land in 1765. He was born on March 15th, 1767, in a small place in South Car-o-li-na, called the Wax-haw Set-tle-ments. Poor and mean was the log house in which he first saw the light, and when his fa-ther died, which was when An-drew was a wee baby, the life of the lit-tle home was hard-er yet. His moth-er was a brave, good wo-man, and so well did she do her hard part in life that she was loved by all who knew her, and was known far and near as "Aunt Bet-ty."

Andrew was a great care to her when a boy, for, full of life and fun, he did not care for books, and was at the head in all sorts of wild sport. He was ev-er read-y for a fight with boys who made him an-gry; the small boys looked to him for help in any strife with boys big-ger than they; and so strong was he, or read-y to knock a boy down for a real or a fan-cied wrong, that they soon found it best to give him his own way, and let him take his place as lead-er a-mong them; when he was at the head all went well.

He was just nine years old when the Dec-la-ra-tion of In-de-pend-ence was signed, and then came four years of war with Eng-land. In 1780 this war was car-ried into the South, and on May 29th a number of Brit-ish sol-diers un-der Colo-nel Tarle-ton killed and wounded over 200 of the men and boys from the Wax-haw set-tle-ments. A-mong those who helped to care for the hurt and dy-ing men were Mrs. Jack-son and her boys. An-drew was on-ly four-teen when he fell in-to the hands of the Brit-ish, and he, with o-ver one hun-dred sick and dy-ing men, was kept for days in a dir-ty pen, with no beds, lit-tle to eat and on-ly stale wa-ter to drink. To make things worse, small-pox broke out and An-drew was one of those who had it. His brave moth-er was at last a-ble to free him, and it was ow-ing to her lov-ing care that he did not die at this aw-ful time.

Af-ter he was well e-nough to be left, his moth-er, who was ver-y sor-ry for the poor A-mer-ican sol-diers, went to Charles-ton to take care of those who were sick and wound-ed here. Just as she had be-gun her no-ble work she was ta-ken sick and died.

Soon af-ter her death came the good news of peace; and now young An-drew be-gan to pay some heed to his books, with the hope of stud-y-ing law. He al-so taught school for a while, though he could not have been a ver-y good teach-er, for he nev-er learned how to spell ver-y well him-self. Still, in 1787, we find he has learned e-nough to take up the prac-tice of law, and he be-gan this work in Nash-ville, Ten-nes-see; and now we see the boy who had been the lead-er in boy-ish sports, games and fights, be-come at once a lead-er a-mong men. He was tall and quite good look-ing, with bright blue eyes and red-dish hair, and he was full of fun and life; he rode horse-back well, and knew how to shoot straight; and a-bove all he was a brave man, a-fraid of noth-ing.

In 1788 he was giv-en a place in which he had to try for the State all men who had done wrong and it need-ed, in those wild days and in that new land, a brave man for such a work, for he would make ma-ny foes, both a-mong the bad white men and the In-di-ans. His work took him from Nash-ville to Jones-bor-ough, and here the In-di-ans were ver-y strong and ver-y cru-el, kill-ing and rob-bing the white men and wo-men, and e-ven the lit-tle ba-bies in their moth-ers' arms. Hear-ing and see-ing day by day more and more of this sav-age war-fare, al-ways in dan-ger of be-ing killed by night or day by some In-di-an hid-ing be-hind a tree or house, Jack-son learned to know the In-di-ans and their hab-its bet-ter than most men did, so was read-y to fight them in their own way in a few years.

He made his home in Nash-ville and built up a good law prac-tice. He grew in pow-er so fast that in 1797 he was sent as the first man from Ten-nes-see to Con-gress. He went all the way from his home to Phil-a-del-phi-a, a dis-tance of 800 miles, on horse-back. In 1798 we see him a-gain at home as Judge of the Su-preme Court, and here he stayed un-til 1804. Then came four-teen years of peace for the land, and a hap-py home life for him. A-mong oth-er things which Jack-son did at this time was to build a large log store in which he kept all sorts of things which both the white men and the In-di-ans want-ed. His home, which was called "The Her-mit-age," was a fine house for those days, and in later years it grew as well known as Mt. Ver-non and Mon-ti-cel-lo. Jack-son was all through his life a man who would stand up for his own way, if it led to strife with his best friend, and more than once he fought du-els to the death. In Con-gress he would, when he rose to speak, some-times choke with blind rage if he could not make his point and force men to yield to him.

Af-ter years of peace came the War of 1812, and from that hour Jack-son's name was first in the minds of men. He showed great skill in his fights with the red men, and won much fame in a fierce fight with the Creeks, a bad tribe of In-di-ans in Al-a-ba-ma.

He could force men to do as he said; the young men of that day looked up-on him with awe and fear, but rushed to fill his ranks and serve un-der him.

In 1815 he won the day at New Or-le-ans, and put the Brit-ish troops to flight with great loss of life. At the end of the war, back home went Jack-son for the rest of which he stood in sore need; but, in 1818, strife with the Sem-i-nole In-di-ans in Flor-i-da came up, and Jack-son was sent there.

At this time Spain owned Flor-i-da, and it was both Span-ish troops and In-di-an foes that Jack-son had to meet, but he won his way, and at last made Spain yield her rights in Flor-i-da and sign a peace. In 1823 she sold Flor-i-da to us for $5,000,000; not such a great sum when we think what a rich and great place this "Land of Flow-ers" is. Jack-son was now put at the head of things in Flor-i-da, and the hard-est part of his work was to keep peace in the bad tribe of Sem-i-nole In-di-ans. With their chief Os-ce-o-la at their head they would creep out from the woods and swamps of Flor-i-da, rush on the homes of the white men, and burn them to the ground, and then dash back to the woods, where they could safe-ly hide. At the end of four years Jack-son was glad to go home to the Her-mit-age; here he and his wife led a qui-et life and kept up ma-ny of the ways of their young days, though now they were quite rich. Af-ter din-ner, they would sit, one on each side of the great big wood fire, in the large hall, and smoke their old pipes, with the long stems, just as they had in their log cab-in of long a-go. But the great gen-er-al could not live this qui-et life long; in 1823 he was sent to Con-gress; and here he met with high hon-or. On New Year's Day, 1824, the great men of the day gave him the pock-et tel-e-scope that Wash-ing-ton had owned; a year from the day on which the Bat-tle of New Or-le-ans was fought, John Quin-cy Ad-ams gave him a great feast, at which were men, who held high rank here and in oth-er lands; and on the day that he was fif-ty-sev-en years old, Pres-i-dent Mon-roe gave him a gold badge for his brave acts in his fights for his coun-try. In 1828 this rough, but brave and kind, old man, was made pres-i-dent; and now he stood up for his own way, just as he had in the wars of his land, and when he was but a boy. His first act was to stop some states in the South from leav-ing the Un-ion. John C. Cal-houn was at the head of a band of men, who felt that the North had more rights than the South; had more than its share of wealth and land; so rose the wish to set up a rule just for the South. "But," said Jack-son, "if one state goes out oth-ers will; and our great land will be a ru-in." So he stopped this plan, just in time.

All the years that Jack-son was pres-i-dent, our great land gained in strength; new rail-roads were built; and new steam-boats; the land grew rich year by year.

In 1824 the slaves in Mex-i-co were set free, and Tex-as came in-to the Un-ion.

On the whole, Jack-son's term was a good one for the land; and so well did the peo-ple like him, that he is the on-ly pres-i-dent of whom it has been said that he was bet-ter liked when he went out of of-fice than when he went in.

The last years of his life were spent at "The Her-mit-age," where he died on June 8th, 1845.




The Life Of Mar-Tin Van Bu-Ren.


The place in which Mar-tin Van Bu-ren was born was far from the homes of the oth-er boys who be-came our pres-i-dents; and his life, as a boy, was not one bit like theirs. His fa-ther and moth-er were Dutch; Hoes was his moth-er's queer name; and the name of the small town, in which, on De-cem-ber 5th, 1782, he was born, was Dutch too -- Kin-der-hook; the lit-tle town was on the Hud-son Riv-er, way up in New York state. His fa-ther kept a good inn, and had a small farm; so he could send Mar-tin to good schools; Mar-tin was so quick and bright at his books that he took up the study of law when he was four-teen; and at twen-ty-one he was a law-yer and at work in Kin-der-hook. He was a man who made friends with great ease; and as he was a good law-yer as well, his state soon saw that he was the man to speak for it at Wash-ing-ton. So in 1821 he was sent to Con-gress; then in 1828 he was made gov-ern-or of New York state; and this was a big step toward the pres-i-dent's chair; he was sec-re-tary of state when Jack-son was pres-i-dent; and in 1837 he took the oath of of-fice, and be-came pres-i-dent.

He was in of-fice on-ly one term; and those four years were hard ones for him.

Just at this time the men in Can-a-da tried to be free from Eng-land, and have home-rule; and some of our men took sides with them; this made Eng-land an-gry of course; and if Van Bu-ren had not put a stop to such things, we should have had war once more; but he said all who tried to give aid to Can-a-da should be sent to jail; and so the fear of war was put down.

At the end of Van Bu-ren's first term some want-ed him to take the chair a-gain; but more want-ed Gen-er-al Har-ri-son, who had made a great name in the In-di-an wars. Van Bu-ren was rich, and Har-ri-son was poor; and this race for the pres-i-dent's chair was called the "Log Cab-in a-gainst the White House." Af-ter Har-ri-son took the chair, Van Bu-ren went back to his home at Kin-der-hook, where he lived in qui-et, until, in 1848, he was once more put up for pres-i-dent; but James K. Polk had more votes than he, and so won the e-lec-tion.

In 1853 Van Bu-ren and his son went to Eu-rope, where they stayed two years. He spent the rest of his life at his old home, where he died on Ju-ly 24th, 1862.




Wil-Liam Hen-Ry Har-Ri-Son.


Wil-liam Hen-ry Har-ri-son was born in Berke-ly, Vir-gin-i-a, on Feb-ru-a-ry 9th, 1773; his fath-er, Ben-ja-min Har-ri-son, was not a rich man, but lived at ease on a small farm; he was a man of much force in his state, and was at one time its gov-ern-or. He was a brave, strong man, and taught his small son to be like him; now while lit-tle Wil-liam was hard at work at school, he heard much talk of the In-di-an wars; and his heart was full of long-ing to fight these cru-el foes of the white men.

So, though he went to Hamp-den Syd-ney Col-lege, he did not stay long, but left to join the ar-my. He was such a brave fight-er that, when he was twen-ty-one, Wash-ing-ton put him in charge of the troops at Fort Wash-ing-ton, just the place where the In-di-ans were strong-est and most cru-el.

Ma-jor Gen-er-al Wayne was at the head of the ar-my, and so rash and fear-less was he, that his troops called him "Mad An-tho-ny." He knew well how to fight the red men though, and in 1794 beat them in a fierce fight, on the spot where the cit-y of De-troit now stands. So brave was young Har-ri-son at this time, that he was made a cap-tain; for six years Har-ri-son was in the heat of the In-di-an wars; and learned all the sav-age ways of war; then he went home to rest, but was soon sent to Congress. So well did he do his work here, that In-di-an-a now chose him for gov-ern-or; and here he was so much liked that he kept his seat three terms; the hard-est task that he had to do while gov-ern-or was to keep peace with the In-di-ans; and side by side with his name, stands that of a great and good In-di-an chief Te-cum-seh; for years these two men tried to help the In-di-ans and teach them to live in peace; but at last the hate of the red men for the whites who were forc-ing them from their lands, end-ed in a great fight at Tip-pe-ca-noe, where the In-di-ans lost the bat-tle. So brave had Har-ri-son been in this fight, that he was made a gen-er-al; and in the War of 1812 was put at the head of the ar-my. At the close of the war, the brave old In-di-an fight-er went to live on his farm at South Bend, In-di-an-a, in the then state of O-hi-o; but he was too great a man to live a qui-et life, and was sent to Con-gress twice and once a-broad in his coun-try's serv-ice. Then in 1836, he ran for Pres-i-dent, but did not get the most votes; four years la-ter he was put up once more, and he and John Ty-ler won by a big vote. It was in this race for Pres-i-dent, that the song was sung, whose cho-rus you hear to-day: "Tip-pe-ca-noe and Ty-ler, too."

On the 4th of March, 1841, Wil-liam Hen-ry Har-ri-son, the old In-di-an fight-er, now six-ty-eight years old, came from years of qui-et home life, to take up the cares and wor-ries of a pres-i-dent's life, but the task was too much for him, and a month af-ter-ward, on A-pril 4th, 1841, the brave old man died.




John Ty-Ler.


As a boy, the life of John Ty-ler was much the same as that of the boys of to-day. He was born on March 29th, 1790, in Charles Cit-y, Vir-gin-i-a, at a time when the whole land was at peace. No talk of the red men came to his young ears; and no fear fell like a dark cloud over the fun and play of his boy-hood. He was the son of a man who had for friends the great men of his day; -- Wash-ing-ton and Ben-ja-min Har-ri-son were warm, close friends of old John Ty-ler; and he was at one time Gov-ern-or of Vir-gin-i-a. Young John was sent to school when he was a ver-y small boy; and, though he was fond of sports and games, he kept hard at work at his books and won a high place at school. He was a mere boy when he could en-ter Wil-liam and Ma-ry Col-lege; and he left in 1806 at the head of his class. He at once took up law with his fa-ther, and soon showed the good stuff of which he was made. Clear and quick was his mind, swift to think and feel; and his words came as fast as his thoughts. He rose with great, quick strides towards the first place in the land. In 1825 he was made Gov-ern-or of Vir-gin-i-a; and in 1827, was sent to Con-gress, where he kept his seat for six years; these were years of strife as to the slave trade, and there were fierce, hard words and harsh thoughts be-tween the men of the North and those of the South. Ty-ler was at home for a few years af-ter he left Con-gress, and took a high place as a law-yer. In 1836 he was put up with Har-ri-son in the race for the pres-i-dent's chair. But it was not till 1840 that he won this place; then, as the vice-pres-i-dent had not a great deal to do, Ty-ler went home to Wil-liams-burg. It was here that the sad news of Har-ri-son's death was brought to him, and he at once went on to Wash-ing-ton. Here he found he had a hard task; for he and his Con-gress did not think the same on the great ques-tions of the day and were ev-er at strife. One of his first acts was to put down a state war in Mis-sou-ri. A Mor-mon, by the name of Smith, and a band of men who thought as he did went down there to live; folks there did not like this and tried to drive them out of the state, but this was a hard thing to do, for there were a-bout 12,000 Mor-mons. At last, Ty-ler sent troops there to put down the strife, and the Mor-mons were sent to Il-li-nois. They were here but a short time when the same old strife a-rose, and then they fled to the lands in the far west -- where they are to-day, in the state of Utah. War broke out in Tex-as while Ty-ler was in the chair, and af-ter fierce fights be-tween the Tex-ans and Mex-i-cans the Tex-ans won, and were at the head of the state. They asked at once to come in-to the Un-ion, and in 1845 this great state came in. In the last year of Ty-ler's rule Sam-u-el F. B. Morse found out how to send words in just a flash of time through miles and miles of space; and you chil-dren know well that the fine wire stretched from one great pole to the next on which the quick news was sent was called the "tel-e-graph."

At the end of Ty-ler's first term, James Knox Polk had the most votes, and so took the pres-i-dent's chair; and this news was the first that was sent o-ver the tel-e-graph wires.




James Knox Polk.


As a boy James Knox Polk led a life that would please a good ma-ny of the boys of to-day. He was born in Meck-len-burg County, North Car-o-li-na, on No-vem-ber 2d, 1705; but in 1806 his fa-ther went to Duck Farm, Ten-nes-see, and lit-tle James, e-lev-en years old, was of much help in the new home. Where the day's work took the big, strong fa-ther, there went the small son; if there was a long ride to get food or clothes from some big town, lit-tle James could help care for the hors-es and when his fa-ther and oth-er men, for weeks at a time, were in the great, wild woods, hunt-ing, mak-ing new roads, or helping each oth-er build the log cab-ins, which were the homes of these ear-ly set-tlers, James would be there too, cook-ing meals and keep-ing the camp neat and bright for the men who came back tired and hun-gry at night.

So years passed by with much work in the o-pen air and lit-tle of stud-y or books; but when James was four-teen years old it was time that he should earn mon-ey.

He was not a big, strong boy; he could not stand rough, hard work on a farm; he did not love to hunt; he had no taste for war; so he was put in a small store, that he might learn to man-age a big store when he grew old.

Here he first saw some books, and his love for them a-woke; for weeks and months he worked a-lone with an-y book or pa-per he could find.

At last his fa-ther took him from the store and sent him to school; he was now eight-een, but he was so quick to learn, so bright and smart, that five years from this time he left the U-ni-ver-si-ty of North Car-o-li-na at the head of his class.

When he came back to Duck Riv-er, not on-ly was his fa-ther proud of his boy, but all Ten-nes-see knew that he was one of the bright-est young men in the state.

Now, just at this time, Gen-er-al Jack-son was fight-ing so brave-ly a-gainst the In-di-ans and all the boys of Ten-nes-see were as proud of this great he-ro as the boys of Vir-gin-i-a had been of Wash-ing-ton. In 1819, when young James Polk went to Nash-ville, Ten-nes-see, to take up law, he was near Jack-son's home; and he and the great Gen-er-al be-came fast friends. It was ow-ing to Jack-son's help that, in 1824, Polk, then a bright young law-yer, took his first pub-lic step and was sent to the state leg-is-la-ture.

He a-rose so fast in the love and trust of his state that he was sent to Con-gress when on-ly thir-ty years old; and here he stayed for thir-teen years.

In 1840 he went back to his home at Grun-dy's Hill in Nash-ville, hav-ing made a great name in Wash-ing-ton; not once did he lose his hold on the great ques-tions of the day, e-ven while here at home; and in 1845 he was chos-en pres-i-dent of the U-nit-ed States.

While he was in of-fice, once more the U-nit-ed States was at war, and this war is known as the "Mex-i-can War." Its cause was this: -- 

Our peo-ple in Mex-i-co said that a big tract of land down there was theirs; the Mex-i-cans laid claim to it too; so Gen-er-al Tay-lor went down to see that our rights were looked af-ter.

In the first fight he won, and lost but nine men; then he laid siege to their great cit-y of Mon-te-rey, and af-ter a hard fight took the town.

That same year Gen-er-al Scott took the cit-y of Ve-ra Cruz; on Sep-tem-ber 14th, 1847, the A-mer-i-can troops took the cit-y of Mex-i-co, and the long war was at an end.

In 1848 came the news of great gold mines in Cal-i-for-ni-a; and men went in such num-bers to this state that the "Gold Fe-ver of 1849" is a well known term to-day.

While Polk was in the chair, three new states came in; and two of them were free states; that is, no slaves could be kept there; just at this time some men formed a band, and said that no slaves should be kept in an-y new state which the U-nit-ed States should gain.

In 1849 Polk went home to Nash-ville, Ten-nes-see; he was on-ly fif-ty-eight years old; but was so worn out with years of work that he lived but a few months af-ter he got home; he died on the 15th of June, in the same year.




Zach-A-Ry Tay-Lor.


Zach-a-ry Tay-lor was born in Vir-gin-i-a, on No-vem-ber 24th, 1784; but when he was a small boy his fa-ther went to live in Ken-tuck-y; and long af-ter the rest of the land was at peace this state was the scene of such fierce fights with the In-di-ans that it was known as "The dark and blood-y ground." It is not strange that this boy, who lived at a time when wo-men as well as men had to know how to load and fire guns, so that they could help to keep the red men from their homes, should have grown up to be a brave, strong man.

As a boy he went to good schools, but cared far more for the tales of war which his brave fa-ther told him than he did for his books; he did love books which told of great fights and brave men, and read all that he could get. When he was just of age he went to war, in place of a friend, and was so brave and fear-less that he soon took a high place.

He was in the great fight of Tip-pe-ca-noe; and all through the War of 1812 he showed great skill in his fights with the red men; -- well he knew all their tricks and modes of war. He gained great fame in Flor-i-da, when he was sent there to make the Sem-i-nole In-di-ans keep the peace. For years had this tribe of In-di-ans made war on the white men; their chief, Os-ce-o-la, had, years a-go, gone to one of the forts with his wife, who was a slave girl; he had been put in chains, and she held at the fort. In his rage, he had sworn to lead his men in war, when he could get to them; at last his chance had come, and he had fled by night from the fort. To rouse his tribe and hurl them at the whites, was his first thought; and long and cru-el were the fights that went on for years. At last Tay-lor was sent to Flor-i-da; and now a trick was played on this great chief of the In-di-ans; with a flag of truce, he came to the fort to talk with the gen-er-al; and by the or-ders of the gen-er-al, he was held there a pris-on-er; he was sent, at last, to Fort Moul-trie in Charles-ton har-bor, and there, in the year 1838, he died. With their chief dead, the Sem-i-nole In-di-ans had no heart for war; and soon the few red men left of this great, fierce tribe were put far a-way from each oth-er, in new states, and there was peace in Flor-i-da.

Gen-er-al Tay-lor won great fame in the Mex-i-can War; in 1847 he won the fight of Bu-e-na Vis-ta, which took place on Wash-ing-ton's birth-day; and he won too the fights of Pa-lo Al-to and Mon-te-rey. On Sep-tem-ber 24th, 1847, our troops took the cit-y of Mex-i-co, and the war was brought to an end. As Tay-lor went home to Ba-ton Rouge, he met with praise, at each place he passed; folks came in crowds to see the great he-ro; cheers filled the air; flags were raised and guns were fired; he was the i-dol of the land. His men too were fond of him, for all through the war he had been kind and good to them, and shared their hard life. He was such a he-ro to the whole land, that it is not strange that he was named for the next pres-i-dent, and got the most votes. He took the chair of state in 1849, but the brave old man came in just at the time when the strife a-bout slaves was at its height; and the cares of the of-fice were too much for him, as they had been for Har-ri-son. On Ju-ly 4th, 1850, there was a great time in Wash-ing-ton, in which he took part; but his health was too weak to stand this strain; and in the midst of his work, on Ju-ly 9th, 1850, the brave old In-di-an fight-er died.




Mil-Lard Fill-More.


In a log ca-bin way out in the western part of New York State, deep in the dense, wild woods, was born, on Jan-u-a-ry 7th, 1800, the boy who was to be the thir-teenth pres-i-dent of the U-nit-ed States. His fa-ther had gone there from Ver-mont, to get a-way from the In-di-ans, who gave no peace in his old home; and no house stood near-er than four miles to the lit-tle home he had built in the wild new land; there was no school; and if there had been lit-tle Mil-lard had not much time to go; for he was ver-y young, when he was taught to earn mon-ey and help in the lit-tle home. He learned how to make cloth from the soft white wool; and was hard at work, in this way, till he was nine-teen years old; then a love of books came to him; and a law-yer took note of him and gave him such aid that he soon took a high place in the law-stud-ies. When he was twen-ty-two, he went to Buf-fa-lo, and taught school, to help pay his way, as he went on with the stud-y of law. He was bright and quick, and, in 1823, he be-gan to prac-tise law and soon rose to such a high place in the state bar that his state sent him to Con-gress. Here his work was done so well that he was made vice-pres-i-dent, when Tay-lor took the pres-i-dent's seat; and on his death be-came pres-i-dent.

While he was in the chair one of his aids was the great Dan-iel Web-ster, who looked af-ter the laws of all the states. He had been in of-fice but a short time, when a band of men tried to get Cu-ba from Spain; but they were soon put down. He was in of-fice one term, and then went home to Buf-fa-lo, and took up the prac-tice of law a-gain. In 1855 he went to Eu-rope, where he stayed for one year; he then came home to lead a qui-et life, full of stud-y, till his death on March 8th, 1874.




Frank-Lin Pierce.


A brave sol-dier in the War of the Rev-o-lu-tion was Ben-ja-min Pierce, the fa-ther of the boy who was to be our four-teenth pres-i-dent; and it was in the old town of Hills-bor-ough, New Hamp-shire, that, on No-vem-ber 22d, 1804, Frank-lin Pierce was born. The fa-ther was a big strong man, fond of sports and fun of all kinds and much liked by all; he was the chief man in Hills-bor-ough, and was at one time gov-ern-or of his state. In such a home it is not hard to see that the life of lit-tle Frank-lin would be full of work and play as well. He was sent to good schools, and was just six-teen when he went to Bow-do-in Col-lege. He was full of fun, and at once took the lead in the col-lege life; but he worked hard at his books too; in 1824 he left col-lege, and took up the stud-y of law, and soon be-came one of the bar. He was now at his old home in Hills-bor-ough, and folks felt that he was a man of brains and great force; he was sent to Con-gress, and held high of-fice in his state while he was still a young man; and in the Mex-i-can War he showed him-self as brave a man as his fa-ther had been. At last, in 1853, he was made pres-i-dent. At this time, the strife as to the slave trade was at its height; some states wished to have slaves, while some held it wrong. At last Con-gress made a law that all new states should do as they pleased. The first "World's Fair" was held in New York, just at this time, in a great hall made of glass, which was known as "The Crys-tal Pal-ace."

Pierce was in of-fice one term; at the end of that time he went back home to Con-cord, Mas-sa-chu-setts, where he lived a qui-et life un-til his death, on Oc-to-ber 8th, 1867.




James Bu-Chan-An.


A strong, brave, young man from Ire-land was the fa-ther of our fif-teenth pres-i-dent. He had come here in 1783, and bought a small farm in Penn-syl-va-ni-a; so well did he do that he soon bought a store as well; and when, on A-pril 23d, 1791, at Cove Gap, lit-tle James was born, his fa-ther was quite a rich man. He sent his son to the best schools and he was just six-teen years old when he went to Dick-in-son col-lege. Here he took first place with ease. In 1809, when he left col-lege, he be-gan the stud-y of law. In the War of 1812 he served in the ar-my; and at the close of the war his state chose him to help make her laws. He was a young man when his state sent him to Wash-ing-ton where he held his place in Con-gress for ten years. In 1831 he was sent to Rus-sia to look out for our rights there; and in 1853 he held the same post in Eng-land. You see, he rose fast to the first place in the land, for in 1857 he was made pres-i-dent. While he was in the chair of state, the Prince of Wales came here for the first time, and this shows that Eng-land felt we were now one of the big coun-tries of the world, and that she must treat us as such.

It was while Bu-chan-an was pres-i-dent that Cy-rus W. Field laid the first wire un-der the O-cean, by which words could be sent from this new land to those old lands on the oth-er side. The talk a-bout slav-er-y was so fierce at this time that a fight in which brave lives were lost took place, and the name which shines out bright is that of John Brown of Kan-sas. He was a friend of the black men, and took their part. He struck the first blow in their cause at the fort at Har-per's Fer-ry, which he held for two days. He took all the guns that were there, as he wished to arm the black men and then lead them to the South to fight for their friends, held there as slaves. Of course this was a-gainst the law of the land, and troops were sent to seize this brave and good man. His two sons fought with him, and he saw them both shot down, but he did not give up till in the heat of the fight he fell with six wounds. He did not die at this time; af-ter this he was hung as one who had fought a-gainst the law of his land. His last act, as he was on his way to the place where he was to be hung, was to kiss a lit-tle ba-by which a poor slave held up to him as he passed.

His death was not in vain, for from now on the ques-tion of sla-ver-y was the talk of the whole land, and in 1860 South Car-o-li-na took the lead and said that she would not bear the laws of the Un-ion, but would rule her land in her own way. Soon, six more South-ern states said the same; and these states which cut loose from the North were called the "Con-fed-er-a-cy;" at the head as pres-i-dent was Jef-fer-son Da-vis.

This was the state of things when Bu-chan-an left the chair, and went to his home in Penn-syl-va-ni-a, at a place called Wheat-land.

In the last year of his life he wrote a book of his life, which is still in print. He died at his home on June 1st, 1868. He was the last of the "Peace" pres-i-dents, for it was A-bra-ham Lin-coln who took his place, and in his term the strife as to the slave trade led to our "Civ-il War."




A-Bra-Ham Lin-Coln.


Thom-as Lin-coln, who was the fa-ther of A-bra-ham Lin-coln, had seen a sad sight when he was but a boy of eight years; while he and his brothers were hard at work with their fa-ther in the dense, wild woods which grew close to their small home in Ken-tuck-y, an In-di-an chief crept close to them; he fired one shot, and the boys saw their big, strong fa-ther fall dead. They were brave boys, and while one ran for help, the oth-ers kept at bay the In-di-ans who came from the woods. A band of men soon came to their aid, and drove the fierce red men back to the woods. It was a rough, hard life in which Thom-as Lin-coln grew up; and he could not read or write when, at twen-ty years, he took as his wife Miss Nan-cy Hanks; she was a bright girl and soon taught him at least to write his name.

It was a poor log-house in Har-din Coun-ty, Ken-tuck-y, to which he took his bride; and yet in this home so mean and small, was born, on Feb-ru-a-ry 12th, 1809, the boy who was to be pres-i-dent of this great land. Few boys and girls know what it is to be as poor as this lit-tle boy was, or to lead as hard and sad a life. His clothes were thin and poor, his shoes, when he had an-y, were oft-en full of holes; he did not al-ways have as much as he would like to eat, and in the long, hard win-ters he was oft-en ver-y cold. It was not an eas-y life, and it was full of hard work, for peo-ple in this rough place could not read and there were no schools; but when he was still a young boy his folks moved to In-di-an-a, and though there was more work to be done, life was not quite so sad, for he and his sis-ter Nan-cy now had a play-mate, their cous-in, Den-nis Hanks, who was full of life and fun. "Abe," as folks called him, was but eight years old when his par-ents went out into the West to live, but he was so strong that he could help chop down the trees of which the new home was made; then, too, he learned how to shoot the game and wild fowl in the big woods, and so could bring good things in-to the house to eat. But a dark time came in his life soon, for the kind, good moth-er took sick and died. Her death was a great loss to "Abe," and he felt much grief that there was no one to say a pray-er at her grave; so he wrote to the min-is-ter in the old home in Ken-tuck-y, and asked him if he would not come there and bless his moth-er's grave. This good man came as soon as he could, but it was a long while af-ter her death be-fore "Abe" had his wish. That win-ter was long and hard for the poor lit-tle boy and girl with no moth-er to see that they were warm, or that they had good food to eat; but in the fall of 1819, the fa-ther brought home a new wife, Mrs. Sal-ly John-son and now at last a ray of bright light came to stay with "Abe" and Nan-cy. The new moth-er was a good, kind wo-man, and was quite rich for those days. She soon had the home bright and neat; she put good warm clothes on "Abe" and Nan-cy; saw that they had food to eat and at once sent them to school.

"Abe" was now e-lev-en years old, tall and big, and of more strength than most boys of his age. His fa-ther hired him out for all sorts of work; to pitch hay, to chop wood, to help on the farm; no work was too hard for this big, strong boy; but, with all this work, he kept at his books too. Late at night, while all the rest slept, he would stud-y his books; and as books were few he read them ma-ny times o-ver; one of the books he loved the most was the "Life of Wash-ing-ton."

He was a young man, for it was in March, 1828, that a chance came to him to see more of life; he was hired to take a boat filled with skins down the Mis-sis-sip-pi Riv-er to New Or-le-ans; he did this work well, and when he came back was paid a good price for it. He was just of age when his folks went to Il-li-nois to live; and now he helped build a home, cleared a big field in which it stood, split rails to fence it in, and then went off to make his own way in life.

The first thing he did was to help build a flat-boat and then take it down to New Or-le-ans; when he came back the man who owned the boat gave him a place in his store at New Sa-lem; and now he had a good chance to get books to read; and you may be sure he was glad of this. He was soon known in the place as a bright young man, and one who would not lie, or steal, or do an-y mean thing; he was full of fun and jokes, and the folks in the town were all fond of him; he was called "Hon-est Abe." When the "Black Hawk War" broke out he went at the head of a small band of men to the seat of war; he was in no great fight, but learned much of war and how to rule the rough men who were in his care.

When he came home he was felt to be one of the first men in the town, and in 1834 he took a high place in the state. He now took up the stud-y of law, and was soon in ac-tive prac-tise; he had a good, kind heart, and did much good to those who were too poor to pay him. In 1846 he was sent to Con-gress; this time he was there but one year; then came back to Spring-field, Il-li-nois, and built up a fine law prac-tise. His name was now known through all this great land; and in the slave strife he was al-ways on the side of the slaves. He spoke so oft-en for the slaves that in 1860, the South said if he was put up for pres-i-dent, by the North and West, they would leave the Union. But he was just the man to fill this high office at this time; and as he had the most votes he took the of-fice of Pres-i-dent in 1861. There is a sto-ry told of these days, which shows that Lin-coln, when a great man, had no shame for the days when he was poor. Old John Hanks, who had helped him build that rail fence so long a-go, came to Il-li-nois with two of those rails; and on them was a big card which told where they came from, and who split them. Lin-coln was just a-bout to make a speech to a big crowd; and when he saw these rails he said that he had split them when a boy, but thought he could do bet-ter now. Then shouts and cheers went up from the crowd, you may be sure; and from that time Lin-coln was known in the race for pres-i-dent as "The Rail Split-ter."

When he left his home to go to Wash-ing-ton, a great crowd came to see him off, but he was so sad he could not say much to them. There were plots to kill him at this time, and he knew it; but he gave no thought to his own life, and went straight to his post of du-ty as Pres-i-dent. It was with a sad heart that he saw this great land torn with war; and he would have been glad to keep peace, but this he could not do. When the South fired at the flag of the Un-ion at Fort Sum-ter, a cry went up through the whole land. The South fought for what it called "States Rights;" the right of each state to rule in its own way; but this Lin-coln would not have. He cared more for the Un-ion than he did for the slaves; for, though he thought all men should be free, he said, if he could save the Un-ion, he did not care if not one slave was made free; he had no wish to keep the South from its rights; but, at last, he felt it wise to send out a bill, which said that all the slaves should be free, and have the same rights as white men. This land was in no state for war; much had to be done; clothes and food got for the troops; and arms as well had to be made or bought at once. The first great fight was at Bull Run in Vir-gin-i-a; and the loss of life on both sides was great; the North lost from the first; men who had nev-er been in a fight be-fore went mad with fear and ran for their lives. But at the fight at Get-tys-burg the men of the North were brave and fought with such skill that the great fight was won by the North.

Grant was put at the head of the troops who went down to free Mis-sis-sip-pi; and it was not long be-fore he placed the Stars and Stripes over this fair state. The South made a brave fight, for what it thought was right and just; but as the war went on, the troops of the South were in a bad state; they could get no food, no clothes, and so ma-ny men had been shot that in the last years of the war young boys had to help fill up the ranks. Now came Sher-man's march to the sea, and he took Sa-van-nah and all its guns and stores. This was a great blow, and now one by one the sea-ports of the South fell in-to the hands of the North. At last Gen-er-al Lee, a great and good man of the South, sent word to Grant that he would come to terms and make peace. Grant was kind at this hard time; he let Lee keep his sword, and said that the men might keep all their hors-es. It was in A-pril, 1865, that peace came to our great land; and the North went mad with joys; bells pealed, and fires blazed in the streets; flags were raised and guns were fired; but in the South there was no joy; on-ly great grief.

From the grief of the South a great crime sprang; on the night of A-pril 14th, as Lin-coln sat in a box at the the-a-tre watch-ing a play he was shot by a man from the South named Wilkes Booth. When he had shot Lin-coln, this man sprang on the stage and tried to run from the place; he fell and broke his leg; but in this state he got to the door, where he jumped on his horse and fled for his life. He was found at last in a barn, and made such a brave fight for his life that the barn had to be set on fire be-fore he could be caught; e-ven then he would not come out and give him-self up; but fought till he was shot down where he stood.

Lin-coln had been shot in the back of his head, and could not move or speak; -- men took him with care to a house near by, but there was no help for him; and in the ear-ly morn of the next day a great life came to a sad end. The whole land, the South as well as the North, wept at his death; for no sane man felt that Booth's deed was wise or just; and to this day the name of A-bra-ham Lin-coln, the "Sav-iour of his Coun-try," is held dear by North and South.




An-Drew John-Son.


An-drew John-son's life as a boy was quite as hard as that of lit-tle "Abe" Lin-coln. He was born in Ra-leigh, North Car-o-li-na, on De-cem-ber 29th, 1808, in a small log cab-in; and near his home were the big farms of the rich men of the South, on which lived in more ease than he the slaves, who looked down on his fa-ther and mo-ther as "poor white trash."

His fa-ther died when An-drew was but four years old; he must have been a brave man, for he lost his life try-ing to save a man from drown-ing. Lit-tle An-drew was too poor to go to school; he had to try and earn mon-ey, when he was but ten years old; so he was sent to a tail-or to learn to make clothes; here, for five years he worked hard; and then he heard a man read; and for the first time it came to his mind that he could learn to do this; he got the men in the shop to teach him his "A, B, C;" and he was so quick to learn that soon he could read a lit-tle; but it was not till he was wed to a bright young girl that he learned a great deal of books; this was when he was eight-een, and he had gone to Green-ville, Ten-nes-see, to set up in life for him-self. These young folks were both poor, but both bright; and the wife was a great help to John-son all through his life. He rose fast in his new home; we see him, from the first, take the part of the poor; and he was soon put in high of-fice in the town; it was not long ere he rose to a high place in the state, and, in 1843, we see the poor lit-tle tail-or boy of 1826 in the halls of Con-gress, stand-ing up for the rights of the class in which he was born. In 1846 he took the seat of John Quin-cy Ad-ams, who was too sick to hold it; does it not seem strange that two men who had lived as boys so un-like should rise to just the same place? For ten years he was in Wash-ing-ton, where he helped make the laws of the land; then in 1853, he was made gov-ern-or of Ten-nes-see. When the Civ-il War broke out, he took sides with the North, though he was born in the South and lived there; and when Lin-coln was made pres-i-dent he took the next place as vice-pres-i-dent.

On Lin-coln's death, he took the pres-i-dent's chair. The whole land was now up-set; in the South the white men had no work; and the slaves did not know how to care for them-selves. In the North there was strife as to the terms on which the South should come back in-to the Un-ion; and on ma-ny things John-son and his Con-gress did not think the same; so there was strife be-tween them. It came to its height in 1868, when the Sen-ate tried John-son for "high crimes and mis-de-mean-ors;" this means that Con-gress thought the pres-i-dent did not act for the good of the land, and should be put out of of-fice; but the men who tried him did not all think the same; and most of them said he should keep his place.

So he was in the chair for four years, and then went home to E-liz-a-beth-town, Ten-nes-see, where he lived till his death on Ju-ly 29th, 1875.




U-Lys-Ses Simp-Son Grant.


The boy who was to be first a great gen-er-al in the ar-my, and then Pres-i-dent of the U-nit-ed States, was born at Point Pleas-ant, O-hi-o, A-pril 27th, 1822. As a boy he did not care for books, but was fond of sports and games, and had a great love for horses; he was but eight years old when he put a young colt to a sled, and hauled sticks and logs from the woods to his home; and he was but twelve when he made a trade of a horse he had for a young colt which had not been used much; on his way home a dog sprang at the colt, which, at once, mad with fear, tried to run a-way; the boy held fast to his reins, and stopped the colt just on the edge of a great cliff; but it was in such fear that it would not move, and the boy for a time knew not what to do. At last he took his hand-ker-chief, tied it o-ver the colt's eyes, and so drove him home. Folks near the Grant home said there was no horse which young U-lys-ses could not ride; he was a boy who had a firm will and strong nerves; and was at the head in all sports or games; for young boys soon learn which one of them must take the lead.

He did not stand so high in school, but did his tasks well; and in 1839 he went to West Point. Here he soon had ma-ny friends; and they gave him a name which clung to him for life; he was called "Uncle Sam," from the U. S. in his first two names. At West Point, he read a great deal of war, and the men who had done brave deeds for their coun-try; and when he left there he was, at heart, as well as in name, a sol-dier of his coun-try. He at once took his place with the troops, who were at war with the In-di-ans in the West; but his first big fight was at Pa-lo Al-to in 1846. At the close of this war Grant, who had shown much skill, and knew no fear, was sent to the West once more to force the In-di-ans to keep peace.

He was in Cal-i-for-ni-a while the gold craze was at its height, to try and make the rough men who came in search of gold keep the laws of the land. Then, from 1854, he had a few years of peace, and start-ed to tan hides and skins, in Ga-le-na, Il-li-nois; but his life was ev-er at his coun-try's call; and he was one of the first men to take up arms in the Civil War. He was made a gen-er-al soon af-ter the war broke out; and one of his first acts was to block all the streams and roads near his post at Cai-ro, on the O-hi-o River, so that the South could get no food or arms. Grant was known as a brave fight-er, and oft-en was in the midst of the fight at the head of his men. At a great loss of life to his troops, he took two strong forts from the South, Forts Hen-ry and Don-el-son; and then came that great fight at Shi-loh; where the troops of the South were cut down, and the North won the day; Grant was now put next to the head of the whole ar-my; and at once tried to take the cit-y of Vicks-burg. The siege of this cit-y was hard for those in its walls, and for the troops in front of it; for Grant and his men could get no food from the North, and the cit-y was quite cut off from help. The cit-y made a brave stand for two long months; but had to give in at last, and at the end of that time Grant and his men marched in-to the cit-y; now this great gen-er-al showed what a kind heart he had, for he gave food and clothes to the poor men who had fought so long and so well, to save their town; and he tried hard, at this time, to think of some way to bring the war to a close. Grant was not a hard man, but he was a just one; and in his camps, the men must live the right sort of lives; he would not let his men steal food from the farms a-bout them, or rob the poor folks in their homes. He was a plain man, and his dress showed his plain tastes; once, when he had his troops march past him, that he might see how they looked, he wore such a plain garb that his cap-tains were dressed bet-ter than he. He wore no sword, sash, nor belt; just a plain, dark suit, with a soft felt hat on his head, and a pair of kid gloves on his hands; he was a great smoker, and, it is said, his big plans were all made when his ci-gar was in his mouth. In 1863, Grant won a great fight at Chat-ta-noo-ga; and in the fierce fight in the Wil-der-ness, he and Gen-er-al Lee met for the first time.

Grant's next great work was to seize Pe-ters-burg; and so he laid siege to the town; he dug a huge mine in front of the doomed cit-y, and filled it full of pow-der that would go off when fired with a match; when this great charge went off, the fort was blown to small bits, and heaps of dead and dy-ing men lay in the midst of the ru-in; but the brave men of the South still held the fort, and drove back the troops from the North as they rushed up; and so well did they fight that Grant and his men had to draw back, and leave Pe-ters-burg a-lone for some time.

The next time he tried to take the town though, Gen-er-al Lee, who was in charge, was forced to yield; and soon the red, white and blue waved o-ver the South-ern cit-y. Soon af-ter this, Grant took from Lee all the troops in his charge; and it was now plain to see that the war must soon end.

You read in the life of Lin-coln, of the terms of peace which Grant gave to the great chief of the South; and it seems that these two men, Grant and Lee, had no hard thoughts for each other; for when peace was made, they shook hands, and part-ed friends. Each had done his best in the cause he thought right. Grant's trip to the North when the war was at an end was a grand one; crowds rushed to see the man who had saved the Union, and cheers and shouts rang to the skies. He was, of course, named for pres-i-dent and a great vote put him in of-fice.

He was in the pres-ident's seat for two terms; and was the on-ly man since Wash-ing-ton, who was thought of for a third term; but this the whole land said no to; as no man should be pres-i-dent longer than Wash-ing-ton had been. In Grant's last term, a big fair was held in Phil-a-del-phi-a, called the "Cen-ten-ni-al;" to keep in mind this was the great day on which this land was made free. At the end of Grant's two terms, he took a tour of the world; and all lands made much of the sol-dier pres-i-dent; rich gifts were placed in his hands; and at the courts of the old world, kings and queens were glad to have this plain qui-et man as a guest.

His last home was in New York; and here, in 1884, he fell sick; he lost much mon-ey at this time, and was, in truth, a poor man. But he was, to the last, a brave man; and in the midst of much pain, he wrote the book of his life, that when he was dead his wife should have mon-ey from its sale.

He died after eight long months of great pain, at Mt. Mc-Greg-or, near Sar-a-to-ga, on July 23d, 1885; his bod-y lay in state in New York for some days, and crowds from far and near came to view this great man for the last time.

He was laid to rest Au-gust 8th, 1885, at Riv-er-side Park, New York Cit-y; and the white mar-ble tomb that marks this spot is a gift to the great dead, from the land he served so well.




Ruth-Er-Ford B. Hayes.


Ruth-er-ford B. Hayes was born in Del-a-ware, O-hi-o, Oc-to-ber 4th, 1822; such a strong, ro-sy lit-tle boy was he, that he had the pet name of "Rud-dy;" his fa-ther had a big farm and a store as well, so he was quite rich, and lit-tle Rud-dy grew up in a bright and hap-py home. He came of a race of brave men, who had fought and died for this fair land in the wars of the Rev-o-lu-tion and of 1812; and he grew up as brave as they. He and his lit-tle sis-ter Fan-ny went when young to a small school near their home; and the good, wise moth-er helped them with their books at home; Ruth-er-ford worked hard at school, and went when quite young to the high school, where he soon stood at the head of his class. He was six-teen when he went to Ken-yon Col-lege, Ohio. Now, though he was so good at his books, he loved sport and fun as well; and he was so strong, that he could walk miles on the cold-est of days, and yet get no hurt. Once he walked all the way from col-lege to his home and back, when the snow lay deep on the ground, and this was for-ty miles; he could swim and skate, and knew how to fish and hunt; the boys at col-lege all liked him; he had hosts of friends, and the strong, brave will that kept him at the head in games and sports put him first in his class too. He left col-lege in 1842, and took up the stud-y of law at Har-vard Col-lege; in 1846, he was made one of the bar, and took up prac-tise of law in Cin-cin-nat-i. When the Civ-il War broke out, he, as cap-tain of a band of men from his home, did brave, good work. Once he was shot and fell to the ground; but he did not give up; he told his men what to do as he lay there in great pain, and kept up till some one came to take his place as lead-er. At the end of the war, he was a gen-er-al; and was much loved by his men. He was sent to Con-gress by his state; and then made its gov-ern-or for three terms. In 1876, he was made pres-i-dent; though some thought by a fraud in the count; and the Dem-o-crats said that their man, Sam-u-el J. Til-den, should have been pres-i-dent. While Hayes was at the White House, there was a great la-bor strike, from the East to the West, on all the rail-roads. The heads of the roads said that they would not pay the men, in their hire, as much as they had done; and so, all the men left their work and no trains could run, for the men came in great mobs to stop them; at last, they rose in arms, and then the troops were sent out to force them to keep the peace; nine men were killed, and some of the rest were bad-ly hurt. But the men did not give up for a long time; they held Pitts-burg for two days, and burned cars and the grain kept in them.

Of course, in the end, the law had to be o-beyed and the mobs were made to come to terms, and lay down their arms.

There was a war with the In-di-ans while Hayes was in the chair; but this was put down by Gen-er-al How-ard; and after some fierce fights, the chiefs were caught and bound to keep the peace. There was a change made in the way of life at the White House while Hayes was there, for no wine was ever put on the ta-ble for guests or for the pres-i-dent and his wife; this was the first time, and so far, the on-ly time, that wine has not had its place at least at the state meals at the White House. Hayes was in Wash-ing-ton for one term and then went to his home in Mas-sil-lon, O-hi-o. He died on Jan-u-a-ry 17th, 1893.




James A-Bram Gar-Field.


In rough log cab-ins, out in the midst of wild woods, we have read that six of our pres-i-dents were born; the sev-enth, James A-bram Gar-field, was born in Or-ange, O-hi-o, on No-vem-ber 19th, 1831.

His fa-ther had built, with his own hands, their small, rude home; and it stood deep in the wild wood, whose trees would, at times, catch fire from the sparks thrown from the steam en-gines some miles off. Near the Gar-field home was their field of grain; one day this caught fire, and in trying to save his wheat, the fa-ther of lit-tle James lost his life. It was a hard life to which he left his young wife and the four lit-tle ones; but she was a brave good wo-man; she had to work hard of course, and so did the boys; but the moth-er taught them from books as well; and lit-tle James was but four years old when he went to his first school. He was a tough, strong boy, and soon did a large part of the farm work; in the long sum-mers he had the most work to do, and then in the win-ters he could go to school; he was a brave boy, for the school was miles from home, and his road lay through the deep woods, in which wild beasts roamed at will. But he went his way, and if he felt fear, did not show it; he had a great love for books, and late at night, with the big wood-fire for his light, he would read o-ver and o-ver his few books. His moth-er had taught him to love the Bi-ble, and this Good Book he knew well. But, at last, the time came when he was so old that he could leave home, and so help the moth-er more than he had done. The first thing he did was to drive mules on the tow-path of the O-hi-o Ca-nal; here he earned $10.00 a month, but the men he met were coarse and rough, and the life rude and vile; so, with a sad heart, the young boy, fresh from his good home in the qui-et woods, took what he had made here, and went back to the place he loved. He was sick for a long while now; and as he lay on his bed, he made up his mind that he would go to col-lege, and lead a good, use-ful life out in the big world; that he would use his brains more than his hands. With this hope in front of him, he made mon-ey in the sum-mer to pay his way at school in win-ter; and soon knew all that they could teach and went to Hi-ram Col-lege; here at first he did all sorts of work to pay his way; rang the bells, swept the floors, and built the fires; but he was soon paid to teach in the col-lege, for he was too bright and quick to do such hard work long. In 1854, he went to Wil-liams Col-lege, and left at the head of his class in 1856.

From now on he rose fast; he taught school when he left col-lege; his boys loved the big strong man and said so much in his praise, that men learned to love him too; and in 1859 he was made one of the O-hi-o Sen-ate, and soon af-ter sent to Con-gress. Then came the Civ-il War, in which he fought brave-ly; he won much fame in some of the great bat-tles, and was made a gen-er-al. He was a warm, close friend of Lin-coln; and on the day of Lin-coln's death, it was Gar-field who spoke such calm, good words to a mob of men on Wall Street, New York, that he kept them from rash acts at this sad time. At the close of the war, Gar-field was in Eu-rope for a short time; and when he came home, he was sent to Con-gress, where he kept his seat for a long time. In 1880 he was named for pres-i-dent, and took his seat in 1881. But there was a great grief in store for this land, once more. On July 2d, 1881, just four months from the time he took his seat, Gar-field was shot by Charles Gui-teau, as he, with James G. Blaine, was on his way to take a train north from Wash-ing-ton. They bore him back to the White House, and the man who had done this foul act was seized. The whole land prayed for Gar-field's life, but he grew worse fast; and it was thought best at last to take him to Long Branch, where it was cool-er than in Wash-ing-ton. But the long, hot months dragged on; and the sick man did not grow well in the cool salt air, as it had been hoped; in spite of all care, the pres-i-dent failed day by day; and on Sep-tem-ber 19th, 1881, the whole world heard with sorrow of this good man's death. The great men of the day wept side by side, as Gar-field lay in state in Wash-ing-ton; and men of note, in all walks of life, felt his death as a great grief. He now lies at rest in Cleve-land, O-hi-o. Gui-teau was hanged for the crime he had done; and it is but just to say, that some thought he was not in his right mind when he shot Gar-field.




Ches-Ter Al-An Ar-Thur.


Ches-ter Al-an Ar-thur was born in Fair-field, Ver-mont, on Oc-to-ber 5th, 1830, and his fath-er had charge of the church in that place and was one of the first men to speak for the poor slaves. Now, in those days, those good men did not live as well as they do now; for folks were poor in the small towns; so this small boy was al-so born in a log cab-in; but he was sent to good schools, and was quite young when he knew so much that he could go to Un-ion Col-lege. All the time he was here he paid his own way, and when he left Col-lege he taught school, so that he could lay by means to go to New York and stud-y law. He was soon in law prac-tise, and he and an old school-mate made the name of their firm well known. Ar-thur took the part of the black race, just as his fa-ther had done, and in 1856, he won a suit which let the ne-groes ride in horse-cars with the whites. A slave-girl had been put off a car and Ar-thur took up her case and won it. For some years he held high of-fice in the state of New York and was a gen-er-al in the Civ-il War; he was not in the fights, but saw that the troops had clothes and food; he did this hard task so well that, when the war was at an end, the pres-i-dent gave him the best place in New York State; he was made chief of the great port of New York and held this post for two terms.

In 1880 he was made vice-pres-i-dent with Gar-field as pres-i-dent; and, of course, took the chair when Gar-field died. He held this place for one term and then went back to his home in New York Cit-y, and took up his law work. There was a split in his par-ty at the end of his term; some men wished Ar-thur to run once more for pres-i-dent, but more wished James G. Blaine of Maine; so, of course, Blaine was named. The Dem-o-crats named Gro-ver Cleve-land; and as all the men on that side wished this one man to win, he had the most votes; and for the first time in a long while, the Dem-o-crats won in the race for pres-i-dent.

Two years from the time that Ar-thur came home, and right in the midst of his law work, he died in New York Cit-y; this was on No-vem-ber 18th, 1886; and he was laid to rest in Al-ba-ny.




Ste-Phen Gro-Ver Cleve-Land.


The race of brave, strong men from whom Ste-phen Gro-ver Cleve-land sprang made their first homes here, in Mas-sa-chu-setts, as far back as 1635. His fa-ther had charge of a small church in Cald-well, New Jer-sey, and here, in a neat white frame house, which you may see for your-selves to-day, was born, on March 18th, 1837, the boy who was to rise, step by step, to the pres-i-dent's seat.

He was three years old when they moved to Fay-ette-ville, New York, and here he first went to school and lived till he was twelve years old. He showed a strong will, and a great love for books, as a small boy; he would have his own way, if he could get it; and this was why he was sent to a high school, when he was not so old by some years, as the rest of the boys there; he gave his fa-ther no rest till he sent him; and once there he made up his mind to lead his class.

He was just twelve when his strong will sent him to work in a store near his home, so that he could help care for the big fam-i-ly in the small home. The man who hired him, soon saw that, if he was young, he knew how to work well, and that he could trust him; for two years he worked in the store and then went back to his books.

But, just at this time, his fa-ther died; and he then had to find a way to care for those in great need at home. With the same pluck that he had shown in the past, he now went to work in a "Home for the Blind," in New York. In this big cit-y, the bright boy saw and heard much which gave him new thoughts, and put in his heart the wish to make his life a great one. At the end of two years in the "Home," he made up his mind to learn law; and he asked a man whom he knew to lend him twen-ty-five dol-lars to start him. The fact that this man did so shows that he had trust in young Gro-ver Cleve-land; he could now start his work, and went to Buf-fa-lo to do so. Here he lived for eight years; at first he helped his un-cle, in the care of a big farm, and the mon-ey he so made was sent to his moth-er. Soon he had the chance to stud-y law; the place where he went was two miles from his un-cle's home, but back and forth, rain or shine, he walked each day. There is told a tale that shows how he loved the books of law; for, the first day he went to this place, a book was put in his hands to read; he kept at it for hours, till dark came; then he found the rest of the men had gone home; all the doors were locked; and he must stay there all night.

Such hard work soon made him a man who well knew the law; and folks gave him big cases that brought him much fame. He did not go to the war, when it broke out, for he felt that he could not leave his folks at home with no one to care for them.

He rose fast in his law work; and more than one great case did he win; he cared far more to take the part of the poor than of the rich; and at no time in his life did he look for high place or fame; it came to him though, for he was just the man to fill a high post well. His name was soon known in his state and at Wash-ing-ton; for three years he was Sher-iff of E-rie Coun-ty and then he took up his law prac-tise once more; but soon he was put at the head of his cit-y as its May-or; and then was made the Gov-ern-or of the great state of New York. Here he did good work; he put down those who had tak-en bribes, and had not been good, true men, and he tried to see that the laws were well kept; men saw that he was the right man to fill this high place, for he had no fear of what might be thought of him; he just did as he felt right; and so, while he was still gov-ern-or, he was named for pres-i-dent by a great vote, and was e-lect-ed. When he took the oath of of-fice in Wash-ing-ton, he did not kiss the big Bi-ble which oth-er pres-i-dents had kissed, but a lit-tle old book, much worn with use, which his moth-er had giv-en to him when he first left home. He was in the chair four years and while here, he took for his wife Miss Fran-ces Fol-som; he was the first pres-i-dent to wed in the White House. Cleve-land was pres-i-dent for four years; at the end of that time, the Re-pub-li-cans placed Ben-ja-min Har-ri-son in the pres-i-dent's chair.

But, at the end of one term, once more the Dem-o-crats won the day; and a-gain, in 1893, we see Gro-ver Cleve-land pres-i-dent.

In May of 1894, the World's Fair was o-pened; and few boys and girls are too young to know some-thing of the beau-ty of the Great White Cit-y built on the shores of Lake Mich-i-gan in Chi-ca-go. In the last years of Cleve-land's term, there was much talk of the state of things in Cu-ba. The men there wished to be free from Spain, who had ruled them, with a hard hand, for hun-dreds of years.

Spain sent down troops of sol-diers; and harsh laws were made to force the Cu-bans to keep the peace. But Cu-ba would not give up; and the U-ni-ted States be-gan to feel pit-y for this brave lit-tle is-land, try-ing to get free.

In the midst of the strife, Cleve-land's term of of-fice came to an end, and he came to New York to live and take up law a-gain. He now has his home in Prince-ton, New Jer-sey, and has a large law prac-tise.




Ben-Ja-Min Har-Ri-Son.


In the first part of this book, you heard of a brave In-di-an fight-er, whose name was Wil-liam Hen-ry Har-ri-son; and you saw this brave man mount step by step to the pres-i-dent's chair. It is his grand-son, Ben-ja-min Har-ri-son, whom we now see pres-i-dent of the U-ni-ted States. He was born in his grand-fa-ther's home at North-Bend, In-di-an-a, on Au-gust 20th, 1833. There were no good schools near his home; so in a small log house, in his grand-fa-ther's grounds, he first went to school; he and a few oth-er boys and girls were taught here by those whom the Har-ri-sons hired. In this school the seats were of planks, laid on sticks that were stuck in holes in the floor; they had no backs; and were so high that the small boys and girls could not touch their feet to the floor. On-ly in the win-ter did this small boy go to school; in the sum-mer he had work to do on the big farm; he did his work well; but he also learned to shoot, to fish, to swim, and to ride.

He was much liked by all the boys, for he was full of sports and jokes. In 1820 he went to Mi-a-mi Col-lege, and left in 1822, to stud-y law. In one of his first cases, the light was so dim, that he could not see the notes he had made with such care. What should he do? There was but one thing he could do: fling to one side the notes and plead his case without an-y. This was a hard thing to do; but he did it so well, that he won his case; and the great men of the day gave him much praise for his speech.

When the Civ-il War broke out he raised a troop of men, from his own state, and was made the col-o-nel of this band, which was called the "70th In-di-an-a."

He served for two years, and won fame in some of the great bat-tles of the war; so brave was he at Re-sa-ca, that he was made a Brig-a-dier Gen-er-al. Through the long years of war, he was kind and good to the men in his care; they loved him well, and gave him the name of "Little Ben."

Not till the war was at an end, did he leave the field; then with much fame, he went back home, and took up his work at law. He took a high place in his own state and made some great speech-es.

It was now the year 1889; just one hun-dred years had passed since Wash-ing-ton, our first pres-i-dent, took his place as Pres-i-dent of the U-nit-ed States; and the whole land thought it right to cel-e-brate the date. So in New York Cit-y, on A-pril 29th and 30th, was held the "Wash-ing-ton Cen-ten-ni-al." The cit-y was hung from end to end, with red, white and blue; the grand, good face of Wash-ing-ton, framed in the flag of the land, or wreathed in green, looked down on the gay scene. Rank by rank, the troops filed by a-midst the shouts and cheers of the dense crowds that filled the streets, and looked from the win-dows of stores and hous-es. Rich and poor, great and small, kept this great day; the pres-i-dent and oth-er great men from Wash-ing-ton were brought to the foot of Wall Street, on a barge hung with flags; here all the ships of war were drawn up on each side; and as the par-ty went to the spot where Wash-ing-ton took his oath of of-fice, young girls, clad in white, cast flow-ers be-fore them. As the troops filed past the pres-i-dent, one saw, not just those from the North; but up from the South came hosts of men, bearing the flags of their states; all glad to share in this great day of the na-tion; and there were men from across the seas too; the Ger-mans and the French marched side by side with the A-mer-i-cans. By night, fire-works and bon-fires filled the streets with light, and blazed in beau-ty; no such great time had ever been known in this land; and this was as it should be; for it was all done for the great, good man, who had led our troops so well in our first war, that he had made us free; and had then, by a wise and just rule, helped us to be the great, strong land that we are to-day.

While Har-ri-son was in of-fice, work was be-gun for the "World's Fair," which was held in Chi-ca-go, in 1892, just four hun-dred years since Co-lum-bus first saw A-mer-i-ca. Har-ri-son went to Chi-ca-go and o-pened the fair with a speech on Oc-to-ber 14th, 1892; but folks could not go there till the next year. In 1893, Har-ri-son went home to In-di-an-a, and took up his law work, once more; he is still a-live, is well known as a good law-yer, and has many warm friends a-mong the great men of our day.

We have seen that Gro-ver Cleve-land now be-came pres-i-dent; at the end of his four years, the Re-pub-li-cans put Wil-liam Mc-Kin-ley in of-fice.




Wil-Liam Mc-Kin-Ley.


The man, who now, in the year 1900, stands at the head of our great land, was born at Niles, O-hi-o, on Jan-u-a-ry 29th, 1843. In the schools near his home he was taught his let-ters and, as a child, was fond of books, and quick to learn. He was a mere boy, when he taught school to earn the means to go to Col-lege. The school-house in which he taught still stands; it is a plain, square, white house, with two win-dows in front and three on each side. His moth-er was a good wo-man, with a clear, strong brain; she taught him, as well as his eight broth-ers and sis-ters, to love truth, and to live brave and strong lives.

Young Wil-liam was not long to lead a life of peace; for in 1861 he, then but a boy of eight-een, left his books and his home, and went to the war. Many sto-ries prove how brave he was while there; but two will show you why he rose so fast from the ranks. At one time the guns had been left on the road, af-ter a great fight; and it would be a hard task to go back near the foe to get them. But, young Mc-Kin-ley said, "The boys will haul them;" and he and a few oth-ers went back for them and brought them into our lines. Then he was at one time two miles from the fight, in charge of the food; he was quite safe; but he thought our men would fight bet-ter, if they had some cof-fee and food. So he filled a cart and drove straight to the lines, where our brave men were hard at work. Was this not a brave act? To risk his life for the sake of tak-ing food and drink to the worn men. He worked his way straight to the front and came out of the war a cap-tain. He went home at once and took up the stud-y of law in Can-ton; one of his first speech-es was for the rights of the black men; he said that they should have the same right to vote that white men had; and he was ev-er on the side of the black man. In 1869 Mc-Kin-ley was mar-ried to Miss I-da Sax-ton. They were both very young when their two lit-tle chil-dren died. The young law-yer did all he could to cheer his wife; and she was as brave as he, and did not let her grief keep him from his work. He rose fast in his state, and held high place more than once; then, in 1877, he was sent to Congress. In 1891 he was made gov-ern-or of O-hi-o; and in 1897, he had made such a great name for him-self that he was put up for pres-i-dent by the Re-pub-li-cans, and e-lect-ed. Just as he came in-to of-fice, the strife in Cu-ba was at its height; and men here in our great, free land had much pit-y for the Cu-bans, who were try-ing to get free from Spain, just as we had tried to shake off the hand of Eng-land long years a-go. The Span-ish rule grew worse and worse, as Spain found that Cu-ba would not give in. At last Gen-er-al Wey-ler, a harsh and cru-el man, was sent there to force peace on an-y terms; but Gen-er-al Go-mez knew his foes well, and his brave men fought with a strength born of a great hate for Spain. By and by, when Spain saw she could not win the day, she sent word that if Cu-ba would lay down her arms, she could have the rights for which she had asked in vain in the past.

But it was too late; Cu-ba had no faith in Spain, and would now be free from her hard yoke. There was much want in the big towns of Cu-ba at this time, for Wey-ler had made all the poor folks, who had lived in peace on their small farms, come in-to the towns. He said they gave help to the Cu-ban troops, and so he forced them to leave their homes and would on-ly let them bring with them just the few things that they could put on their backs. Then he had their lit-tle homes, and their crops which they had raised with care, all burned to the ground. He had lit-tle food to give this great host of poor peo-ple, and ma-ny died in the streets for the want of bread. You may be sure that our great land saw the pain and want down in Cu-ba, and longed to give aid; but an act of help on our part would mean war with Spain, and this Mc-Kin-ley did not wish. But there came a day when a great cry went up through the U-nit-ed States at a foul deed done in the bay of Ha-va-na. Our great war ship, the "Maine," was blown up by a bomb, as she lay at an-chor in the har-bor. The thought of our poor men sent to such a death raised the cry of war in all hearts. "Re-mem-ber the Maine," was the war-cry; and men cried for war at once with Spain. But Mc-Kin-ley gave Spain one more chance to stop the fight and free Cu-ba; this she would not do. So on A-pril 21st, 1898, once more the U-nit-ed States had to make read-y for war. From all the states men poured in and camps sprang up here and there, where the men were taught to load and fire their guns. Off at Hong-Kong, in charge of our war-ships, was brave Ad-mi-ral Dew-ey. He knew that the Span-ish fleet was in Ma-ni-la Bay, near the Phil-ip-pine Is-lands, which were ruled by Spain; the loss of these ships would be a great blow to Spain just at this time; so Dew-ey steered his ships there to strike a blow for his coun-try.

It was night when he reached the spot, and be-fore the Span-iards knew he was near, six of his great ships had slipped past their forts. Then a fierce fire poured on him from the forts; but it did not do much harm. At last the Span-ish fleet saw him, and at once the ships o-pened fire; but Dew-ey's flag-ship, the "O-lym-pi-a," sent out such a storm of shot and shell, that the first of the Span-ish ships was sunk, and all on board killed.

The fight last-ed two hours; and at the end of that time the Span-ish fleet had all been sunk. Great joy was felt in the U-nit-ed States when this glad news was heard, and Dew-ey was the he-ro of the whole land.

Our men down in Cu-ba fought well, and ma-ny brave deeds were done. On June 6th Ad-mi-ral Samp-son fired on the forts at San-ti-a-go; our men put their hearts in their work and their aim with the great guns was true and straight. The Span-iards did not aim so well, and their shots did not go so far, and so the shot and shell from their forts did not do us much harm.

Soon our men had stopped the fire from all the forts save Cas-tle Mor-ro, and this fort was rent and torn in great holes.

On June 24th our "Rough Ri-ders," with The-o-dore Roose-velt at their head, were sent out to clear the way to San-ti-a-go. The foe poured a hot fire on our men from the tall grass and weeds in which they lay hid-den; and there was great loss of life. Full of fire and pluck were these "Rough Ri-ders," and led by their brave colo-nels, Roose-velt and Wood, they forced the Span-ish troops back, foot by foot. The line of fight was five miles long; the heat was fierce; and food and wa-ter scarce. But at last the troops came to the fort of San Juan Hill; then, with a mad rush, up, up went our men to the Span-ish fort at the head! Cheers and shouts rose to the skies as the red, white and blue waved from the old Span-ish fort; but the cost of this fort had been great, for there was much loss of life on both sides. On Ju-ly 3d Cer-ve-ra, the Span-ish Ad-mi-ral, tried to sail his fleet out of the bay of San-ti-a-go; he was seen, though, by our men, and af-ter a hot chase and fierce fight-ing, the whole Span-ish fleet was burned or sunk.

Spain lost scores of brave men; but on our side not one man was killed, nor did we lose a ship.

The end of the war was near; on Ju-ly 10th we laid siege to San-ti-a-go, and on Ju-ly 17th we went in-to the cit-y and raised ov-er it the Stars and Stripes.

In this part of the world the last shot had been fired; but Dew-ey in the far east did not know this, and so he struck one more blow for his coun-try.

He took the cit-y of Ma-ni-la with the loss of but twelve men, and when our flag waved o-ver this cit-y, the end of the Span-ish war had come. On Jan-u-a-ry 1st, 1899, the Span-ish flag, which for four hun-dred years had waved o-ver Cu-ba, was hauled down; the red, white and blue of our own land took its place; and Cu-ba, free from the hard rule of Spain, blessed the great na-tion that had come to her aid.

In Sep-tem-ber of 1899 Ad-mi-ral Dew-ey came home; and from end to end of this land his name was cheered.

He was the guest of the cit-y of New York for three days; and well did the cit-y hon-or the he-ro of Ma-ni-la.

When we took Ma-ni-la from Spain, and so closed the Span-ish war, it did not give us the Phil-ip-pines. The men there were glad to have us drive out the Span-iards, but did not wish us to take their place. Long months of war fol-lowed, but now, A-gui-nal-do, their chief, has yield-ed and peace seems to be at hand.

It was not eas-y to see when Mc-Kin-ley be-came pres-i-dent that we were soon to be in the midst of war; but our land has borne her part well. We have gained new lands in the far east, and our flag waves o-ver strange peo-ple who have not yet learned that it stands for free-dom. They still fear that the yoke of the U-nit-ed States will be as hard to bear as that of Spain. This is not so, and it will not be long be-fore all these far-off lands will learn to love and bless the Red, White and Blue, just as ev-er-y State in our great Un-ion does to-day.

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Tum Tum, The Jolly Elephant: His Many Adventures

By

Richard Barnum



Chapter I

Tum Tum Goes Swimming


Tum Tum was a jolly elephant. I shall tell you that much at the start of this story, so you will not have to be guessing as to who Tum Tum was. Tum Tum was the jolliest elephant in the circus, but before that he was the jolliest elephant in the woods or jungle.

In fact, Tum Tum was nearly always happy and jolly, and, though he had many troubles, in all the adventures that happened to him, still, he always tried to be good-natured over them.

So I am going to tell you all about Tum Tum, and the wonderful things that happened to him.

Once upon a time Tum Tum was a baby elephant, and lived away off in a far country called India, with many other elephants, little and big, in the jungle.

The jungle is just another name for woods, or forest, only the jungle is a very thick woods. The trees grow big and strong, and between them grow strong vines so that it is hard for any living creature except an elephant, or maybe a snake to push his way along. A snake can crawl on the ground under the vines, you know.

Well, Tum Tum lived in this jungle, and with him lived his father and mother. His father was a great big elephant, named Tusky, and he was called this because he had two big, long, white teeth, called tusks, sticking out on either side of his long trunk, which was like a fat rubber hose.

Tum Tum's mother was named Mrs. Tusky, but she did not have any long teeth like her husband. Perhaps she had had some once, and had lost them, breaking down a big tree, or something like that.

Tum Tum had no brothers or sisters, but there were other little boy and girl elephants in the herd, or family of elephants, where he lived, and, altogether, he had a good time in the jungle, Tum Tum did.

One day Tum Tum, who had been eating his dinner of leaves, with his father and mother, heard a loud trumpeting in the woods back of where he was standing. Trumpeting is the noise an elephant makes when he blows through his long trunk, or nose. It is his way of speaking to another elephant.

"Who's that calling?" asked Mrs. Tusky, of her husband.

"Oh, it sounds like some of the little boy elephants," said the old papa elephant, as he pulled up a tree by the roots, so he could the more easily take a bite from the tender top leaves.

"I hope it doesn't mean any danger for us," said Mrs. Tusky, looking at Tum Tum, who was busy finishing his dinner.

Elephants, you know, no matter if they are big, are just as much afraid of danger as are other wild animals. Of course they are not so much afraid of the other beasts in the jungles, for the elephant can fight almost anything, even a lion or a tiger.

But an elephant is afraid of the black men, or natives, who live in the jungle, and an elephant is also afraid of the white hunters, who come into the big forest from time to time.

"I hope no hunters are about, to make one of our elephant friends trumpet that way," said Mrs. Tusky, speaking in a way elephants have.

"Oh, no, don't be afraid," said her husband, eating away at his tree leaves. "There is no danger." But, as he said this, he put up his long trunk-nose, and carefully sniffed the air. That is the way animals have of telling if danger is near. They do it by smelling as well as by listening and seeing. Only one cannot see very far in the jungle, as the trees are so thick.

Mr. Tusky also lifted up his big ears, about as large as ten palm-leaf fans, and listened for any sounds of danger. All he heard was the crashing of tree branches and bushes, as some of the other elephants, farther off in the jungle, pushed their way about eating their dinners.

Then, suddenly, some elephant called, trumpeting through his trunk:

"Tum Tum! Hello, Tum Tum! Can't you come out and play?"

"Oh, it's some of your little elephant friends," said Mr. Tum Tum, to the little boy elephant. I say "little," though Tum Tum was really a pretty good size. He was much larger than a horse.

"Oh, may I go and play with them?" asked Tum Tum, just as any of you might have done.

Of course Tum Tum did not speak in words, as you or I would have done. Instead he spoke in elephant language, though he could also speak and understand other animal talk. And he could also understand man-talk, just as, in my other books, I have told you how dogs, cats, pigs and monkeys can understand what we say to them, though they cannot talk to us.

"May I go out and play?" asked Tum Tum.

"Oh, I guess so," answered his father. "But do not go too far away. And you must listen for the sound of the danger trumpet from Mr. Boom. When he signals that there is danger, you must run back, for that will mean we shall have to go off farther in the jungle, and hide."

"I'll be careful," promised Tum Tum.

Elephants in the jungle live in big families, or herds. At the head is the largest elephant of them all, the leader. He is always on the lookout for danger, and when he sees, hears or smells any, he gives a signal, or trumpet, through his trunk, and then all the elephants run away and hide.

Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, stopped eating his dinner, for he had had enough, anyhow, and off through the jungle he crashed. He did not wait to go by the path, for he was so big and strong. Even though he was a little chap, as yet, he could crash through big thick bushes, and even knock over pretty large trees, if they were in his way.

"I'm coming!" called Tum Tum to his play-fellows, the other elephants. "I'm coming!"

Tum Tum came to a tree that stood in his way. He could just as well have gone around it, but that was not what he was used to. He lowered his head, and banged into it.

"Crash!" over went the tree, broken off short.

"I'll soon be with you!" Tum Tum called again, for he still could not see his little friends. "Who's there?" he asked.

Back through the jungle came the answer:

"We're all here -- Whoo-ee, Gumble-umble, Thorny and Zunga!"

These were the names of the elephants with whom Tum Tum played. Whoo-ee was a boy elephant, and he had that name, because he used to make a funny sound, almost like his name, when he whistled through his trunk. Gumble-umble was another boy elephant, and he was called that because he grumbled, or found fault, so often.

Thorny was a girl elephant, and she got her name, because she was so fond of eating the tender, juicy leaves from the thorn tree. Zunga was another girl elephant, and she was just called that name because her mother thought it sounded nice -- just as Tum Tum's mamma thought his name was the nicest one in the jungle.

"I'm coming!" trumpeted Tum Tum, and then he came to another tree that stood in his path.

"I guess I'll have to knock this out of the way," he thought to himself, and he lowered his strong head and started toward it.

"Crack!" went his head against the tree, but the tree did not break. It was very strong.

"Humph!" thought Tum Tum. "I guess I'll have to pull you up by the roots if I can't break you off."

So he wound his trunk around the tree. Then he pulled and he pulled and he pulled some more until, all of a sudden, the tree came up by the roots.

It came up so quickly that Tum Tum tumbled over backwards, head over heels.

"Smash!" down in the bushes went Tum Tum, holding up the tree in his trunk.

"Ha! Ha!" came an elephant laugh from the jungle in front of Tum Tum.

"Oh, just look at him!" a voice called.

"What happened, Tum Tum?" asked a third elephant.

"Are you playing one of your tricks?" some one else wanted to know.

Tum Tum looked up from where he lay on his back in the bushes. He saw Whoo-ee, Gumble-umble, Thorny and Zunga looking at him, their mouths wide open, laughing.

And then, instead of getting angry, and being cross, Tum Tum just laughed himself, such a jolly laugh!

"Ha! Ha!" he giggled. "I -- I fell over backward pulling up this tree. Did you see me?"

"Did we see you? Well, I guess we did!" cried Whoo-ee.

"Well, maybe you did, but I didn't," complained Gumble-umble. "Zunga got right in my way, when I wanted to look."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Zunga. "I didn't mean to."

"Oh, don't mind Gumble-umble," said Tum Tum, with another jolly laugh. "He's always finding fault. I'll pull up another tree, and fall again, Gumble-umble, so you can see me do it, if you like."

"No, don't. You might hurt yourself," said Thorny, the other girl elephant.

"Pooh!" cried Tum Tum. "I'm not afraid!"

"Well, never mind about pulling up more trees now," said Whoo-ee. "We called you to come out, and have some fun with us. We are going swimming."

"Where?" asked Tum Tum, as he got up off his back, and blew some dust over himself to keep away the flies.

"Oh, we're going down in the river," said Zunga. "It's so hot to-day, that a nice bath will cool us off. Come on."

"I'd better ask my mother," said Tum Tum. "I didn't know you were going swimming, when you called for me to come and play with you. I'll go ask her."

"All right, we'll wait for you. Only don't be all day," said Gumble-umble. "We want to go in the water before night."

"Oh, you mustn't mind him," laughed Whoo-ee. "I don't know what's the matter with him to-day; he's always finding fault. Did you get a thorn in your foot, Gumble, that makes you so cross?"

"No, I didn't," answered the other boy elephant. "But I don't want to stand here all the afternoon in a hot jungle, waiting for Tum Tum."

"I won't be long," promised the jolly elephant. He hurried back through the woods to where his father and mother were still eating.

"Mother, may I go in swimming?" he asked, as he came to where Mrs. Tusky stood.

"Yes, but don't go so far, that you can't hear any calls that may come from Mr. Boom. There's no telling when the hunters may find us."

"I'll listen, and be careful," said Tum Tum.

Back he crashed through the jungle, and soon he and his elephant friends were on their way to the river, that was not far from where the herd of elephants was feeding.

"There's the river!" suddenly called Whoo-ee, as he caught sight of the sparkling water through the trees.

"Let's see who'll be the first one in!" called Whoo-ee, as he began to run.

"Oh, don't leave us behind," begged Thorny and Zunga.

"Oh, that's the way with girls -- always making a fuss!" complained Gumble-umble. "Why can't you run like we boys do?"

"Because you're bigger and stronger than we are," said Zunga.

"Well, we're not going to wait for you," said Gumble-umble.

"Never mind, I don't care whether I'm first in the water or not," said Tum Tum. "I'll stay with you, Thorny, and Zunga."

"Isn't Tum Tum nice?" whispered Zunga to Thorny, as they went along through the jungle.

"Yes," said Thorny.

Whoo-ee and Gumble-umble hurried on through the woods, and Whoo-ee was the first to splash into the water.

"I beat!" he cried.

"Well, I'd have been first only I stumbled over a tree root," said Gumble-umble.

He was always finding fault, it seemed.

Into the water splashed the five elephant children. They went out where it was about deep enough to come up to their ears, and then they sucked water up in their trunks and sprayed it over their backs, to drive away the flies and gnats that bit them. Then they swam out into deep water, and rolled and tumbled about, having great fun. They splashed each other, squirted water all over, and soon were as cool as cucumbers on ice.

All at once, through the jungle, there sounded a loud trumpeting.

"Hark!" cried Whoo-ee, as he stopped squirting water on Thorny. "What's that?"

"It's Mr. Boom signaling that there's danger!" cried Tum Tum.




Chapter II

Tum Tum Is Caught


Tum Tum, and the other elephants who were in swimming, made no more noise than a fly walking up the window. They all kept quiet and listened.

Through the jungle again sounded the trumpet call:

"Umph! Umph! Boom! Boom! Toom!"

"That sure means danger!" cried Tum Tum. "Come on! We had better go back to where our fathers and mothers are."

"Indeed we had!" said Thorny, as she and Zunga waded to the shore, water dripping from them.

"That's always the way!" complained Gumble-umble. "Just as we are having fun, something has to happen."

"Look here!" exclaimed Whoo-ee, "you don't want to be caught in a trap, do you?"

"Of course not," said Gumble-umble.

"And you don't want a hunter to shoot you, or to carry you away far off somewhere, do you?"

"You know I don't," and Gumble-umble did not speak quite so crossly this time.

"Well, then," said Whoo-ee, "let's do as Tum Tum is doing, and start for home. There must be some danger, or Mr. Boom wouldn't have called to us that way."

"Indeed he wouldn't," said Tum Tum, and he did not laugh in his jolly way now. "My mother told me to be sure and listen for a call from Mr. Boom. She said he would be looking for danger, and when he called, I was to hurry home."

Tum Tum was out on the bank of the river now. Gumble-umble was the last one of the elephants to come from the swimming pool.

"Let's hurry," said Tum Tum.

"That's what I say!" cried Thorny. "I don't want to be caught by some hunter."

The elephant children knew what hunters were, for their fathers and mothers had often told them about the natives who tried to catch elephants. Indeed, some of the older elephants had more than once been caught in traps, but they had gotten out.

Without stopping to put on any clothes, for of course elephants do not wear any, Tum Tum and the others hurried off through the jungle toward where the rest of the herd was feeding. Several times as they hastened along, they could hear Mr. Boom trumpeting, and it sounded as though he said:

"Hurry along! Hurry along! There's danger! Danger!"

And Tum Tum and the others did hurry, you may be sure of that.

Before the elephant children reached the place where they had left the herd feeding, Tum Tum saw something pushing through the jungle toward them.

"Look out!" he warned his playmates. "Something is coming!"

The five elephants stopped short, and were beginning to get afraid when, all at once, Tum Tum's mother burst through the bushes and came up to him.

"Oh, I was so frightened!" she said, speaking through her trunk. "I thought you were never coming!"

"Oh, we heard Mr. Boom," said Tum Tum, "and we came on as soon as we could. But what's the matter, mamma?"

"Plenty is the matter, or, rather, is going to be, unless we can get away," said the mamma elephant. "A big band of hunters is in the jungle, and they are coming this way."

"Did you see them?" asked Whoo-ee.

"No, indeed! If we waited until they were close enough for us elephants to see them, they would be so close, that we could not get away. Some monkeys brought word that the hunters were on the march. So we are going to start at once and go afar off, into a deep, dark part of the jungle, where they cannot find us."

"Well, we had a swim, anyhow," said Tum Tum. "I'm hungry, mamma. Have we time to eat?"

"No, indeed," said the lady elephant. "We'll just have to eat as we go along. You children had better go to your fathers and mothers," she said to Whoo-ee, Gumble-umble, Thorny and Zunga. "They are, very likely, looking for you."

So the four friends of Tum Tum started off, and soon the whole herd of elephants was moving off through the jungle, led by Mr. Boom, who had heard of the danger from a monkey friend.

All that day the herd of elephants kept on, crashing their way through the jungle. They did not follow any path, but made one for themselves. Through the thick, strong vines they pushed their way, breaking down trees, or pulling them up by their roots. Nothing could stop the elephants when they were running away from danger.

"Oh, dear! This is no fun! I'm tired! I'm not going to run any more!" complained Gumble-umble. "I don't believe there is any danger, anyhow."

"Oh, but there must be," said Tum Tum, who, with Whoo-ee, was hurrying along beside his play-fellow. "Otherwise they wouldn't make us go so fast," and he pointed with his trunk to Mr. Boom, and some of the older men elephants, who were leading the herd.

"Well, I'm not going to go so fast," said Gumble-umble. "I'm going to stop and have a rest."

"No, you're not!" exclaimed his father, who came up behind Gumble-umble, just then. "I'm sorry," the papa elephant said, "but you must keep on. It would never do to stop now, or the hunters would get us. Here, I'll push you along," and with his strong head, Gumble-umble's father shoved his son along, whether Gumble-umble wanted to go or not.

Tum Tum needed no pushing. He was glad enough to hurry along as fast as he could. So were the other small elephants, for they did not want to be caught.

Then, after a while, Mr. Boom signaled that they were far enough off now, and need not hurry any more. They were safe, at least for a time.

"And I'm glad of it!" exclaimed Gumble-umble. "I can't walk another step," and he lay down to rest. All the elephants were tired, and hungry. But they had come to a place where there was plenty of food and water.

Soon they were eating, drinking and getting ready to spend the night in the jungle, for it was now almost dark. Tum Tum found a nice cozy place between his mother and father, and soon he was sound asleep.

For some time after this, the herd of elephants was kept on the move by the hunters. Then, finally, the men with guns were left so far behind that there was no more danger for them. Then all the elephants were glad. They did not have to run through the jungle any more, and they had time to eat and drink.

Tum Tum and his friends went in swimming many times, and Tum Tum grew so fat and large and strong, that he was soon the largest of all the children elephants in the herd. In fact, he was almost as large as his father and mother, and of all the elephants he was the strongest, except only Mr. Boom. No elephant was stronger or braver than Mr. Boom. That was what made him the leader.

One day, when Tum Tum had grown to be a big, fine strong elephant, though as jolly as ever, something happened to him. I shall tell you all about it now.

The herd of elephants was in the forest as before. They were eating away, when, all of a sudden, Mr. Boom gave the signal with his trunk.

"Danger! Danger!" he cried, in his deep, booming voice, that was like distant thunder.

"Oh, we've got to run again!" cried Mr. Tusky, who was the father of Tum Tum.

It is a good thing elephants do not live in houses, and also good that they have nothing to move with them, when they go from place to place, or they would have trouble, because they have to run away from danger so often.

Once again they were on the march, with Mr. Boom in the lead. Now Tum Tum was so big and strong, that he was allowed to march at the head of the herd with Mr. Boom.

"Oh, but I am afraid to have him there," said Mrs. Tusky to her husband.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed the papa elephant. "He must learn to take his place. Some day he will be the leader of the herd, and will warn the others of danger."

Through the forest jungle rushed the elephants, trampling down the trees and bushes. Behind them could be heard the shouts of the hunters, and the firing of guns. There was also the noise of big wooden and tin drums being beaten, and horns being blown. There was also the trumpeting of other elephants -- tame elephants. For hunters use tame elephants to help them catch the wild ones.

"Wait! don't run away! You will not be hurt!" called the tame elephants to Tum Tum, and the other wild ones.

But the wild elephants did not want to be caught. They did not know they would be kindly treated by their masters. All the wild elephants wanted to do was to get away. So with Tum Tum and Mr. Boom at their head, away they rushed through the jungle.

All at once the rushing herd of wild elephants came to a fence in the jungle. It was a strong fence, made of big bamboo trees stuck in the ground. It was such a strong fence that even Mr. Boom, try as he did, could not break it down. When he found that after one or two blows from his head would not break the fence, he called out to the other elephants:

"Never mind the fence! We can't break through it, so we'll run along beside it. Maybe there'll be a hole in it somewhere."

So the elephants rushed through the jungle, alongside of the fence, just as you might do, until you came to a gate, or hole. That was what Mr. Boom was looking for -- a hole in the fence.

But he did not see any. In fact, this fence was a trap, and soon Mr. Boom and the other elephants knew this.

"Run away from the fence! Run over this way!" called Mr. Boom.

The elephants ran, but soon they saw another fence in front of them -- a fence as strong as the first one. Mr. Boom and some of the strong elephants, including Tum Tum, tried to break it down, but they could not. If they had all gotten together, and pushed at one spot, they might have broken it, but they pushed in different places, and the fence held them back.

"Never mind!" called Mr. Boom. "Maybe this fence has a hole in it. We'll run along it and find out."

"Why can't we turn around and go back?" asked Gumble-umble of Tum Tum, behind whom he was now running.

"Because the hunters are behind us," said Tum Tum. "If we turned back, they would surely catch us. The only thing to do is to run on."

Tum Tum was beginning to be a smart elephant, you see. He knew many things about danger. But, had he only known it, there was something he did not know -- and this was that he and the others were, even then, running right into a trap.

On and on rushed the elephants. The two lines of fences that had been far apart, were now so close together that they could both easily be seen at once. It was like going down a long lane, in the cow pasture, with a fence on either side.

Then Mr. Boom saw the danger.

"Go back! Go back!" called the big leader elephant. "Go back!"

But it was too late. Right in front of the elephants was a big round place, like a baseball park, with a high fence all around it -- a very strong fence. There was a gate by which the elephants could be driven into this park, only it was a trap, and not a park. And there was no way out of it. The fence ran all about it, except this one hole. And through that hole the elephants were being driven.

"Go back! Go back!" cried Tum Tum, waving his trunk at the other elephants as Mr. Boom was doing.

But the elephants were afraid to go back because the hunters were rushing up behind them. The hunters had driven the elephants into the trap, and were going to keep them there.

Up rode the hunters on tame elephants. Into the trap they drove the wild ones, Tum Tum and all the others.

"Alas! We are caught!" cried Mr. Boom. "Come, let us see if we cannot break through this fence!"

He rushed at it with his big head, but the fence was too strong for him.

Into the midst of the wild elephants came the tame ones, with the hunter-men on their backs. The tame elephants talked to the wild ones.

"Be quiet!" said the tame elephants. "You will not be hurt! See us! We were once like you, but we were caught and we like it. Be quiet!"

Some of the elephants quieted down, but others rushed about, trying to break through the fence. Tum Tum was one of these. Then, all at once two tame elephants, with men on their backs, rushed at Tum Tum. Chains and ropes were thrown over his back, and around his legs. The chains and ropes were pulled tight.

Tum Tum was caught in the trap.




Chapter III

Tum Tum And Mappo


Tum Tum was not now such a jolly elephant as he had been the day he went in swimming, or as happy as when he pulled up the tree, fell over backward, and laughed at his own joke. No, indeed! Tum Tum was feeling very unhappy now.

"Oh, mamma!" Tum Tum cried. "Oh, papa! What has happened?"

Mr. and Mrs. Tusky were not able to answer Tum Tum. They, too, as well as nearly all the other elephants, had been caught in the trap. Some of them, like Tum Tum, were held fast with chains and ropes, and others were trying to batter down the fence of the trap with their heads. But they felt that they could not do it, as the fence was too strong.

"Let me go! Let me loose!" cried Tum Tum in his elephant language.

Of course the hunter men, who had taken Tum Tum and the others prisoners, did not understand this talk, but they could see that Tum Tum was very strong, and might break loose.

"Better put a couple more chains on that fellow," said one of the hunters to another.

"I guess so," agreed the second hunter. "That is the finest and biggest elephant we have caught in this herd."

At first Tum Tum thought they must be speaking of Mr. Boom, who surely was the largest and strongest elephant in the jungle. But, when Tum Tum looked around, Mr. Boom was not to be seen. He had gotten away. He had turned, and run out of the trap, and he was so big and strong that even the tame elephants, with the hunters on their backs, could not stop him. Away he rushed into the jungle. But he was very sad, for he alone, of all the herd, had escaped.

"I wonder of whom they can be speaking, so big and strong," thought Tum Tum. He saw two tame elephants, with hunters on their backs, and carrying chains, coming toward him.

"Why -- why, they must mean me!" said Tum Tum to himself. He stopped trying to break down the fence, which the hunters had built as a trap, and waited.

"Look out for him," said one of the men. "He looks dangerous. He looks like a bad elephant."

Tum Tum was not a bad elephant. He was very strong, but he was not bad.

"Oh, mamma, what shall I do?" cried Tum Tum, as he saw the tame elephants, with chains, coming closer to him.

For all his great strength, Tum Tum was yet only a boy elephant. He was not very wise. He did not know what to do.

"Listen," said Tum Tum's father. "You are now the leader of the herd, Tum Tum. Mr. Boom is gone, and I am too old to be the leader. So you must be. We elephants will do as you do. If you can break down the fence, and get away from the hunters, we will follow you."

"I will try, once more, to break down the fence," said Tum Tum. "Let some of the strong, young elephants come to help me. Come, Whoo-ee -- come, Gumble-umble! We will smash down the fence!"

But one of the tame elephants, who heard what Tum Tum said, called to him, and spoke:

"Oh, brother. Do not break down the fence."

"Why not?" asked Tum Tum, who could easily understand the language of the tame elephant. "Why should I not break the fence, and let my friends, and my father and mother, out of this trap. Why not?"

"Because," answered the tame elephant, with the chains, "you cannot do it. Already you are held with ropes, and soon we will put more chains on you, so that you cannot move."

"And why would you -- you who are elephants like ourselves -- why would you do this to us, who never harmed you?" asked Tum Tum.

"Because it is for your good," said the tame elephant. "The white hunters are very strong. You may get away from them now, but they will come after you again. It is better to give in now. If you are good, and do not try to break down the fence, you will wear no chains."

"But what will happen to us -- to me and my father and mother?" asked Tum Tum.

"You will be put to work, piling teak logs in the woods," said the tame elephant. "You will have enough to eat, you will have shelter from the rain and the flies. You will have water to drink and to wash in. It is a good life. I like it."

"Is that all that will happen to me?" asked Tum Tum.

"Perhaps not," answered the tame elephant. "You may be sent far across the big water, in a house that floats, and go, as other elephants have gone, to a circus, or menagerie, for the boys and girls to look at, and feed peanuts to."

"What are peanuts?" asked Tum Tum, who was hungry.

"I do not know, never having eaten any," said the tame elephant. "But one of my brothers, who was in a circus in a far off land, and who came back here, said they were very good. Now shall we put the chains on you -- I and my tame brothers -- or will you be quiet -- you and the others?"

Tum Tum thought for a minute. After all he was caught, and it would be hard to get away, even if he were the strongest elephant in the herd, now that Mr. Boom was gone. Then, too, it might be nice in a circus, and Tum Tum certainly wanted to see what peanuts were like.

"I -- I will be good, tame brother," he said. "You need not put the chains and ropes on me."

"You are wise, Tum Tum," said the tame elephant. "We will put no chains on you. And about the others?" he asked.

"The others will do as I do," said Tum Tum. "I am the leader now."

"Good!" trumpeted the tame elephant, whose name was Dunda. "My brother from the jungle is wise."

So Tum Tum had no more chains put on his legs or back, and those that were on him, with the ropes, were taken off.

"So we are not to try to break from the trap?" asked Whoo-ee.

"No, for we will be well treated here," said Tum Tum, "and some of us may go to a circus."

"What is a circus?" asked Zunga.

"It is a place where boys and girls look at us, and feed us peanuts," answered Tum Tum.

"I will not go to any circus!" cried Gumble-umble. "I am going to break out of this trap!"

"You must not!" cried Tum Tum. "I have said that we would all be good, and I am the leader."

"You cannot lead me!" trumpeted Gumble-umble, and he rushed at the fence of the stockade, or trap. But before he could reach it, two tame elephants rushed at him, and Gumble-umble was soon bound with strong chains and ropes, so that he could hardly move.

"It is all your fault!" he cried to Tum Tum.

"No, it is your own," said Gumble-umble's papa. "Now you must quiet down and be a good elephant. We are caught, we can go no more to the jungle, but perhaps it is best for us."

So Tum Tum and the wild elephants were thus caught.

For a time the herd of wild elephants was kept inside the fence. They were given good things to eat, and plenty of water to drink, and to blow over themselves with their trunks, to cool off. They did not try to get away, though once, in the night, Mr. Boom came as close to the outside of the trap, or stockade, as he dared, and trumpeted, trying to call his herd back to him. But they would not go. They were beginning to like it, with the tame elephants.

In a little while all the wild elephants, Tum Tum included, were quite tame. Then they were taken out, a few at a time, out to the forest, and shown how to pile up the heavy logs of teakwood, which is used for building ships, and sometimes for making tables and chairs.

The tame elephants showed the wild ones how to carry the logs on their tusks, or in their trunks, and how to pile them up as neatly as you can pile up your building blocks.

Tum Tum learned to do this, and also how to push heavy wagons about with his head. He also learned much of the man-talk, so that his driver, or mahoot, as he is called, could, by a few words, make Tum Tum understand just what was wanted.

One day Tum Tum was taken away from the rest of the herd, and he did not even have a chance to say good-by. He was led up what seemed to be a little bridge, and Tum Tum was afraid it would fall with him. But it did not.

Next he walked down into a dark place, and he found other elephants there. Some of them he knew.

"Where are we, and where are we going?" he asked.

"We are in a ship, and we are being taken across the ocean to a circus," answered Whoo-ee, who was one of the elephants in the dark place, which was the inside of a steamship.

"A circus! Good!" cried Tum Tum. "Now I shall know how a peanut tastes."

The ship began to move and rock. It rocked and swayed for many days, for it was on the ocean. And then, one day, a sailor came down to see the elephants. He brought with him a queer little animal, with thick, brown hair. And this animal chattered in jungle talk.

"Ha! I seem to know who that is!" thought Tum Tum.

"Chatter! Chatter! Chat! Chur-r-r-r-r-r!" went the little brown-haired animal, as he sprang from the arms of the sailor.

"Umph! Umph!" trumpeted Tum Tum.

Then the little brown monkey, for such it was, gave a jump from the arms of the sailor, and landed up on the back of the elephant.

"Hello, Tum Tum!" cried the monkey.

"Why, it's Mappo!" exclaimed Tum Tum. "How did you get here?"

"I was caught in a net, when I was eating some cocoanut," the monkey said. I have told you how that happened in a book called, "Mappo, the Merry Monkey."

"Caught in a net, eh?" said Tum Tum. "That is too bad. I was caught myself. But where are you going?"

"To a circus," answered Mappo.

"So am I!" cried Tum Tum. "This is fine! We'll be in the circus together!"

The monkey and the elephant were good friends, for they had known each other in the jungle, Tum Tum often having passed under the tree where Mappo's home was.

The sailor who had brought Mappo down to see the elephants, smiled as he saw Tum Tum making friends with him.

"I guess I'll leave them together," said the sailor.

So Mappo went to sleep on Tum Tum's big back.

The monkey had not slept very long, before he was suddenly awakened, by finding himself almost sliding off.

"What is the matter, Tum Tum?" asked Mappo.

"The ship is trying to stand on its head, I think," said the elephant. "Oh, here I go!" and he fell down on his knees, while Mappo sailed through the air and fell on a pile of hay.




Chapter IV

Tum Tum In The Circus


With Mappo chattering in his monkey language, and the elephants in the lower part of the ship trumpeting through their trunks, there was so much noise, that it is no wonder many of the animals were frightened.

"Oh, what is it? What is it?" Mappo chattered.

"I don't know," answered Tum Tum, "unless the hunters are coming after us again," and, raising his trunk, he gave the call of danger, as he had heard Mr. Boom, the big leader elephant, give it in the jungle.

"Hush! Be quiet!" called an old elephant near Tum Tum. "Why do you call that way, brother?" he asked in elephant language.

"There is danger," replied Tum Tum. "I must tell the others to get out of here."

"That cannot be done," said the old elephant. "We are in a ship, on the big water, and if we got out now, in the ocean, we would surely drown. Be quiet!"

"But why am I tossed about so?" asked Tum Tum. "Why can I not stand up straight?"

"Because the ship is in a storm," answered the old elephant. "I know, for I have been on a ship before. The wind is blowing and tossing the ship up and down.

"But there is no danger. Only keep quiet, and, since you are the new leader of the elephants, tell them to be quiet, or some of them may be hurt. See, down come the sailors to see what is the trouble."

Surely enough, down came a whole lot of sailors, in white suits, to see why all the elephants had trumpeted so loudly, and why Mappo, the merry monkey, had squealed.

"Hush! Be quiet!" called Tum Tum to the other elephants. "Be quiet or I shall beat you with my trunk, and make you."

When Tum Tum spoke that way, all the other elephants heard him, and they grew quiet. Some, who had fallen on their knees, when the ship tossed from side to side, now got up. They placed their big legs far apart, so they could stand steadily.

"We will be all right when the storm passes," said the old elephant who had spoken to Tum Tum.

Mappo picked himself up off the pile of hay, and, just then, his friend the sailor came to get him.

"I guess you have been here long enough, Mappo," said the sailor. "You might get hurt down here, with all these big elephants."

Mappo was glad enough to go, not that he felt afraid of the elephants, but he knew that one of them might, by accident, fall on him, and an elephant is so large and heavy that, when he falls on a monkey, there is not much left of the little chap.

"Good-by, Tum Tum!" called Mappo to his big friend. "I'll come and see you, when the storm is over."

"All right," answered Tum Tum. "And I hope the storm will soon be over, for I do not like it."

The ship was swinging to and fro, like a rocking chair on the front porch when the wind blows. But finally the elephants became used to it, and some of them could even go to sleep. But Tum Tum stayed awake.

"There might be some danger," he thought to himself, "and if there was, I could warn the others. I am the leader, and must always be on the watch for danger, just as Mr. Boom would be, if he were here."

But I am glad to say no more danger came to the ship. It rode safely through the storm, and in a few days, it was gliding swiftly over the blue sea.

"What will happen to us, when the ship stops sailing?" asked Tum Tum of the old elephant, who seemed to know so much.

"After it gets to the other side of the ocean," said the old elephant, "we shall be taken out -- we and all the animals. Then we shall go to the circus."

"Is the circus nice?" asked Tum Tum.

"I have been in one or two, and I like them," said the old elephant, whose name was Hoy. "There is hard work, but there is also fun."

"Tell me about the fun," said Tum Tum. "I do not like to hear about the hard work."

"The work goes with the fun," said Hoy, "so I will tell you about both. The hard work comes in marching through the hard city streets, that hurt your feet. That is when we go in the parade. I know, for I have been in many parades. But it is fun, too, for we elephants have a little house on our backs, and men and women ride in it. Then the bands play, and the people laugh and shout to see us pass by. Yes, that is fun," and the old elephant, who had been sent to make the voyage in the ship, so that he might keep the new, wild elephants quiet, shut his eyes as he thought of the circus days.

"Is there other hard work?" asked Tum Tum.

"A great deal," said Hoy. "You will have to push heavy wagons about with your head, and lift heavy poles, as you did in the lumber yard when you came from the jungle. And then you will have to do tricks in the circus ring."

"What are tricks?" asked Tum Tum.

"Tricks are what I call hard work, but they make the people in the circus laugh," answered Hoy. "You will have to stand on your head, turn somersaults and do many things like that."

"Now tell me about the fun," begged Tum Tum.

"Yes, there is some fun," spoke Hoy, slowly. "You will get nice hay to eat, and water to drink, and the children in the circus will give you popcorn balls and peanuts to eat. Also, you will wear a fine blanket, all gold and spangles, when you march around the ring in the tent. But now I am tired, and I want to go to sleep."

So the old elephant slept, and Tum Tum stood there, swaying backward and forward in the ship, wondering whether he would like a circus.

It took several weeks for the ship to make the journey from jungle land to circus land, and, during that period, Mappo, the merry monkey, came down to see Tum Tum several times.

"I am going to be in the circus, also," said Mappo, when one day Tum Tum spoke of the big show under the white tent.

"Are you?" asked the jolly elephant. "That will be nice. We'll see each other."

"And will you take care of me, so the tiger won't get me?" asked Mappo.

"Indeed I shall!" cried Tum Tum through his big trunk.

At last the day came when the ship reached her dock, and the animals were taken out. The chains were loosed from the legs of Tum Tum and the other elephants, and they were hoisted up from the lower part of the ship, and allowed to go ashore. Tum Tum was glad of it, for he was tired of the water. But his journey was not over, for, with the others, he was put in a railroad car, and hauled by an engine. At last, however, he reached a big wooden building, and the old elephant, Hoy, said:

"This is where the circus stays in winter. Now you will begin to have hard work, and also fun."

"Well," thought Tum Tum, as, with the other elephants, he marched toward the big barn-like building, "if there is enough fun, I shall not mind the hard work."

Then, as he felt rather jolly, after getting out of the big freight car, Tum Tum picked up a piece of stick from the ground, and began tickling another elephant in the ribs with it.

"Yoump! Umph! Woomph!" trumpeted this elephant. This was his way of saying:

"Hi, there! What are you doing? Stop it!"

"Oh, that's only in fun!" laughed Tum Tum.

"Well, my ribs are too sore to want that kind of fun," the other elephant said. "Now you just quit!"

But Tum Tum was so jolly that he wanted more fun, so he tickled another elephant. This elephant, instead of speaking to Tum Tum, just reached over with her long trunk, pulled one of Tum Tum's legs out from under him, and down he went in a heap.

"Ha! Maybe you like that kind of fun!" cried the elephant who had made Tum Tum fall.

"It didn't hurt me!" said Tum Tum, as he got up. But, after that, he was careful not to play any jokes on this elephant.

It was very cold in this new land to which Tum Tum had come, for it was winter. It was not at all like his green, hot jungle, and he was glad when he was led, with the other elephants, into the big barn, where the circus stayed in winter.




Chapter V

Tum Tum And Don


"Well, this is certainly a funny place," thought Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, as he looked about him. And well might he say so.

He found himself inside a large barn, which was nice and warm, and for this Tum Tum was glad, for it felt more like the warmth of his jungle, and Tum Tum, who had been shivering in the cold, outer air, now felt much better.

The earthen floor of the barn was covered with sawdust, and all around the sides of the barn were cages containing many animals. There were lions, tigers, wolves, leopards, monkeys, snakes, and many other strange beasts, some of which Tum Tum had seen in his jungle home, and some of which he had never before seen.

"I suppose that is where Mappo will be put," thought Tum Tum, as he looked at the cages full of lively little monkey chaps.

Then Tum Tum looked and saw a number of elephants, chained in a row on another side of the circus barn, and he knew that would be his place. Opening out of the big barn was a smaller one, and in that were many horses and ponies.

There were many men in the circus barn, and they all seemed to be doing something. Some were carrying pails of water to the animals, others were feeding hay to the elephants, and meat to the lions, tigers and spotted leopards. Tum Tum did not care for meat, but he was very hungry for some of the juicy, green leaves that grew on trees in his jungle.

As he could get none of those now, he had to eat dry hay, and very good that tasted, too. He had grown to like it on board the ship.

"Bring the elephants over here!" called one circus man to another, and Tum Tum felt himself being led along by a man who had a stick with a hook in the end of it. But the man did not stick the hook in Tum Tum, because Tum Tum was good and gentle now.

Tum Tum, though he had been a wild elephant in the jungle only a few weeks before, had learned many things, since he had been caught. He had learned that men were his friends, and would not hurt him, though they made him do as they wanted him to, and ordered him about as though he were a little dog instead of a big, strong elephant. The men did not seem to be afraid of Tum Tum, though he was a little afraid of them, especially when they carried sharp hooks, which hurt one's skin.

"Come along!" cried the man who was leading Tum Tum and the others, and over to one side of the circus barn they went, to be chained by a leg to a very strong stake driven into the ground.

"Feed them up well," said the first man, "and then we'll see about putting them through some tricks."

"Ha!" thought Tum Tum. "So the tricks are to begin soon, are they? I wonder what kind I shall do, and whether I shall like them or not?"

Tum Tum waited anxiously to see what would happen next. What did happen was that he got something to eat, and a little treat into the bargain.

For with the big pile of hay that was given him, there were some long, pointed yellow things.

"Ha! What are those?" asked Tum Tum of Hoy, the big, tame elephant who had been in a circus before.

"They are carrots," said Hoy.

"Are they good to eat?" asked Tum Tum.

"Try and see," answered Hoy, with a twinkle in his little eyes. He was eating the yellow carrots as fast as he could.

Tum Tum took one little bite, holding the carrot in his trunk. And, as soon as he chewed on it, he knew that he liked carrots very much.

"Ha! That is certainly good!" he said to Hoy. "I wish I had carrots every day."

"Oh, but you won't get them every day," said the old elephant. "They are just special, to get you to feeling jolly, so you will learn your tricks more easily."

"Well, I feel pretty jolly anyhow," said Tum Tum. "I'll do any tricks I can."

He did not know yet all that was to happen to him, before he learned to do his tricks.

Tum Tum had been in the circus nearly a week before he was taught any tricks. In that week he had plenty to eat, and good water to drink, some of which he spurted over himself with his trunk. That was his way of taking a bath, you see.

Then, one day, some circus men came to where Tum Tum was chained, and one of them said:

"Now, we'll take out this big elephant, and teach him some tricks. Get Hoy, so he'll show Tum Tum what we want done."

"Ha! So now the tricks begin!" cried Tum Tum to Hoy.

"Yes, and you want to watch out, and do as you are told, or you may not like it," said Hoy.

Tum Tum and the older elephant were led to the middle of the circus ring. The chains were taken off Tum Tum's legs, but a rope was put around his front ones, and he wondered what that was for. Then Tum Tum and Hoy were stood in a line with some other big elephants.

"All ready now!" cried a circus man, snapping his long whip. "Stand up!"

Hoy raised himself up on his hind legs, lifting his trunk high in the air.

"Do as I do! Do as I do!" called Hoy to Tum Tum. "Stand up on your hind legs."

"I -- I can't!" answered Tum Tum, who tried. But he found he could not.

Then a funny thing happened. All of a sudden Tum Tum found his front legs and head being pulled up in the air by the rope, and, before he knew it, he was standing on his hind legs whether he wanted to or not.

The circus men had pulled on the end of the rope, which ran through a pulley, hoisting Tum Tum in the air. That was the way they had of teaching him to stand up. Several times Tum Tum was let down to the ground, and hauled up again, and each time he was pulled up, the circus man would call out:

"Stand up on your hind legs! Stand up on your hind legs!"

"Is this a trick?" asked Tum Tum of Hoy, who did not have to have a rope around him to pull him up.

"Yes, it is one trick," answered the old elephant. "There are many more, though, to learn."

Tum Tum was beginning to be tired of being hauled up this way. So were some of the other elephants, and one of them tried to break loose. But he was hit with a rope, and squealed so that none of the others tried to get away.

"Now then, take off the ropes, and we'll see how many have learned their lesson," said the head circus man.

"Now's your chance to show how smart you are," whispered Hoy to Tum Tum. "When he tells you to stand up next time, do it all by yourself. Then you'll have learned this one trick."

"I'll try," promised Tum Tum.

The elephants stood in a row. The head circus man cracked his whip, and called:

"Up on your hind legs!"

Tum Tum gave a little spring, and raised his front legs from the ground. He settled back on his strong hind legs, and there he was, doing just as Hoy was doing! Tum Tum had learned his first lesson, just as he had learned to pile teakwood logs in straight piles.

"Ha! We have one smart fellow in the bunch, anyhow!" cried the circus man.

Tum Tum was glad when he heard this, just as you would be, if you had learned your lesson in school. For it is a good thing to learn to do things, even for an elephant.

But if Tum Tum thought he would get a rest after he had shown that he could do the trick without being hauled up by a rope, he was sadly mistaken. Over and over he had to do the trick, until he felt tired, large and strong as he was.

Some of the elephants could stand up on their hind legs for a second or so, and then they fell down again. They were made to practice again with ropes, but no ropes were needed for Tum Tum.

"Well, that's enough for one day," said the head circus man finally. "Give them all some carrots with their hay. To-morrow we shall try having them stand on their front legs."

"Will that be harder?" asked Tum Tum of Hoy as he marched to the side of the barn where the elephants were kept.

"Much harder," said the old elephant. "But I think you can do it."

"I'll try, anyhow," spoke Tum Tum, with a jolly laugh. "I think tricks are fun."

Standing on his front legs, with his hind ones in the air, was not as funny as he had thought. In the first place, he had to start with the rope, and, before he knew it, his hind legs were pulled out from under him, by the circus men, and Tum Tum was almost standing on his head. Hoy told him what to do, and how to balance himself, just as he told the other elephants, and soon Tum Tum could do it very well. When this practice was over, and when Tum Tum could stand on either his front or hind legs, without being pulled by a rope, he was given more carrots to eat.

Tum Tum could now do two tricks, but, as you children know, who have seen elephants in a circus, there are many others that can be done.

Elephants can be made to sit down in a low, strong chair, they can be made to stand on top of a small tub, to play see-saw, to ring bells, play hand organs with their trunks, and do many other queer things they never thought of doing in the jungle.

Why, I have seen elephants fire cannon, wave flags, and play baseball. Elephants are very wonderful, and very wise and lively, for such big animals.

As the winter days went by, Tum Tum learned many tricks in the circus. He learned to stand with other elephants, in a long row, and let the acrobats jump over him, and he also let the clowns jump right on his broad back. Tum Tum learned to do a little dance, too, but he never danced as well as the ponies could, for Tum Tum was very heavy. Tum Tum also learned how to walk across, and kneel down over his master, who lay flat on the sawdust, and though Tum Tum, with his big body, came very close to the man, he never touched him. If Tum Tum had stepped, even with one foot, on the man, he would have hurt him very much. But Tum Tum was careful.

One day, when spring was near at hand, and when it was nearly time for the circus to travel on the road, from one town to another, Tum Tum was out in front of the barn, helping push some of the big circus wagons about. He pushed them with his strong head.

All at once Tum Tum felt something bite him on the hind leg, and he heard a barking noise, such as monkeys sometimes make.

"Is that you, Mappo?" asked Tum Tum quickly. He could not turn around, for he was pushing the wagon up hill.

"Bow wow! Bow wow! Bow wow!" was the barking answer, and Tum Tum felt his legs nipped again.

"Stop that, Mappo, if you please," said the big elephant. "Please don't do that, when I am pushing this wagon."

But Tum Tum's leg was bitten again, and he cried:

"Mappo, I shall squeeze you in my trunk, if you do not let me alone. I like a joke as well as you do, but it is no fun to have your legs nipped when you are pushing a heavy wagon. Stop it!"

"Bow wow! Bow wow! Bow wow!" came the answer.

"That doesn't sound exactly like Mappo," said Tum Tum. "I wonder who it can be?"

When Tum Tum had pushed the wagon to the top of the hill, he could turn around. Then, instead of seeing the merry little monkey, he saw a big black and white dog, who was barking and nipping at his heels.

"Oh, ho! So it is you, eh?" asked Tum Tum. "Who are you, and what are you biting me for?"

"My name is Don," barked the dog, "and I am biting you to drive you away. I am afraid you might hurt my master. I never saw such an animal as you, with two tails. Go away!" and Don barked louder than before, and once more tried to bite the elephant's feet.

"Here, Don! Don!" called a man's voice. "Come away from that elephant!"

"Bow wow!" barked Don. "I am going to bite him!"

"Oh, are you?" asked Tum Tum. And with that he reached out with his trunk, caught Don around the middle, and lifted him high in the air. Don did not bark now. He howled in fear.




Chapter VI

Tum Tum And The Wagon


"Please let me down! Oh, please do!" begged Don, the dog, of Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, as the big creature from the jungle held the dog high up in the air.

Tum Tum did not feel so very jolly just then. He did not want to hurt Don, but neither did the elephant like to be nipped on his hind legs, when he was pushing a wagon.

"Oh, the elephant has our dog!" cried a boy who was with the man who had called after Don. "Oh, papa, will he hurt him?"

"No, Tum Tum won't hurt anyone," said a circus man. "I'll get your dog back for you, but he must be careful of elephants after this."

"He never saw one before," said the boy's father.

All this while Tum Tum was holding Don high in the air in his trunk.

"Oh, won't you let me down?" begged Don.

"I will, if you won't bark at me again, and bite me," said Tum Tum. "I don't want to hurt you, doggie boy, but I can't have you bothering me, when I'm doing my circus work."

"Oh, I'll be good! I'll be good!" promised Don, and with that Tum Tum lowered him gently to the ground, uncoiled his trunk from around Don's middle, and the dog ran howling to his master and the boy.

"Don, what made you bite the elephant?" asked the boy.

Don only barked gently in answer. He could not speak man or boy talk, you know, any more than an elephant could, though he understood it very well.

"I told you the elephant wouldn't hurt your dog," said the circus man. "Tum Tum is very gentle."

Don crept behind his master, and looked at Tum Tum. The elephant walked down to get another wagon to push up hill, as all the circus horses were too busy to pull it.

"Bow wow!" barked Don, but this time he was talking to Tum Tum, and not barking angrily at him. "Are you an elephant?" asked Don, in his own language, which the elephant understood very well.

"Yes, I am an elephant," said Tum Tum.

"And you have two tails," went on Don.

Almost anyone who sees an elephant for the first time thinks that.

"No, I have only one tail," Tum Tum answered. "The front thing is my trunk, or long nose. I breathe through it, pick up things to eat in it, and squirt water through it."

"My! It is very useful, isn't it?" asked Don, wagging his tail.

"Indeed it is," said Tum Tum. The elephant and the dog were fast becoming friends now, and were talking together, though the boy and his father and the circus men did not know this.

"Then was it your trunk that you picked me up in?" asked Don, of the elephant.

"Yes," replied Tum Tum, "and I am sorry if I frightened you."

"Oh, well, that's all right," answered Don. "I am all right now, and I suppose I did wrong to bark at you, and bite. I am sorry."

"Then I'll excuse you," spoke Tum Tum. "But what is your name, and where do you live?"

"My name is Don, and I live on a farm," answered the dog. "We have a comical little pig on our farm named Squinty. Did you ever see him?"

"I think not," answered Tum Tum. "You see I haven't been in this country very long. Did you bring the pig to the circus?"

"Gracious, no!" barked Don. "He had to stay home in the pen. But my master, his boy and I came to see you elephants, and other circus animals. Only I never knew what an elephant was like before."

"Well, now you know," said Tum Tum, "so you won't bark at, or bite, the next one you see."

"Indeed I shall not," said Don. "I have to bark at Squinty, the comical pig, once in a while, when he gets out of the pen, and once I took hold of his ear in my teeth."

"I hope you didn't hurt him," said Tum Tum.

"No, I wouldn't do that for the world," said Don. And those of you who have read about "Squinty, the Comical Pig," know how kind Don was to him.

"So you came to see the circus?" went on Tum Tum to Don, as the dog's master and his boy looked about at the strange sights.

"Yes, though I don't know exactly what a circus is," said Don.

"Well, this is the start of it," Tum Tum said. "These are our winter quarters. Soon we shall start out on the road, and live in a tent. Then I shall do my tricks, the children and the people will laugh and shout, and give me popcorn balls and peanuts. Oh, yum-yum!" and Tum Tum smacked his lips because he thought of the good things he was going to have to eat a little later on.

"Can you do tricks?" asked Don.

"Indeed I can, a great many," the elephant said. "I can stand on my hind feet -- so!" and up he rose in the air, until his little short tail dangled on the ground.

"Anything else?" asked Don. "That's a good trick. Let me see you do another."

"Look!" cried Tum Tum, and this time he stood on his front legs, and raised his hind ones in the air.

"That's harder to do," said the jolly elephant.

"I should think so," agreed Don. "I'm going to try it myself." Don did try, but when he wanted to stand on his front legs, he fell over and bumped his nose. And when he tried to stand on his hind legs, he fell over backward and bumped his head.

"I -- I guess I can't do it," he said to Tum Tum.

"It needs much practice to do it well," spoke the jolly elephant.

"Here, Tum Tum!" called one of the circus men. "This is no time to be doing tricks. Come and help push some more of these wagons. If the circus is ever to start out on the road, to give shows in the tent, we must start soon. Come, push some of these wagons, with your big, strong head."

"I'll have to go now," said Tum Tum to Don, the dog, for they were now good friends. "I may see you again, sometime."

"I hope you will," spoke Don. "Your circus is coming to our town, I know, for the barns on our farm are pasted over with posters, and bills."

"Then I may see you when we get there," said Tum Tum, as he walked slowly forward to push the wagon pointed out by the circus man.

That is how Don and Tum Tum became acquainted. As the dog went off with his master and the boy, he barked a good-by to Tum Tum, saying:

"If you come near our place, I'll show you Squinty, the comical pig. One eye is wide open, and the other partly shut."

"He must be a funny chap," said Tum Tum. The big, jolly elephant pushed into place the heavy wagon. Then it was dinner time. But as Tum Tum was eating his hay and carrots in the animal tent, for he was kept in that, now that the weather was warmer, all at once Tum Tum heard a loud shouting.

"Look out for that wagon. The tiger cage wagon is rolling down hill. It will turn over, be smashed, and the tiger will get out! Stop that wagon, somebody!"

Tum Tum heard this shouting, and looking out of the side of his tent, he saw a big red and gold wagon rushing down the hill backwards.

"I must stop that wagon," said Tum Tum.




Chapter VII

Tum Tum Looks For Mappo


Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, pulled hard on the chain that held his big leg fast to a stake driven into the ground. He wanted to get loose so he could stop the wagon from rolling down hill, maybe upsetting and letting the big tiger out.

"I know I can stop the wagon, if they will only take this chain off my leg, so I can get out there," thought Tum Tum, as he pulled and tugged at the chain and peg.

Outside the tent men were running and shouting. Some of them tried to put stones in the way of the wagon wheels, but the tiger's cage was so heavy that it rolled right over the stones.

The tiger was frightened and angry, and he growled and snarled, until you would have thought he was back in the jungle again.

"Let me loose! Let me loose!" trumpeted Tum Tum through his trunk, as he waved it to and fro. Of course none of the circus men could understand this language, but Tum Tum's keeper knew what the big elephant meant.

The keeper came running in the tent.

"Tum Tum!" he cried. "I believe you can stop that wagon. Stop the tiger cage! Get in front of it, and push on it with your big head. That will stop it from rolling down hill!"

"I will! I will!" said Tum Tum, only, of course, he spoke in elephant language.

The keeper soon took the chain off Tum Tum's leg, and the big elephant rushed out of the tent, and toward the rolling wagon. None of the men had yet been able to stop it, and it was half way down the hill now, going faster and faster. Inside, the tiger was growling and snarling louder than ever, and trying to break out through the iron bars.

"Look out! He'll get away!" cried Mappo, who had run and jumped inside the cage with the other monkeys. "Old Sharp Tooth will get loose."

"No, he won't!" said Tum Tum, who was now going toward the tiger's cage as fast as he could. "Don't be afraid, Mappo," the elephant went on, for he knew monkeys are very much afraid of tigers. "I won't let him get you, Mappo," said Tum Tum.

On rushed the big elephant toward the rolling cage. He got in front of it, and then he stood still, in the middle of the hill, waiting for the tiger's cage, on wheels, to roll down to him.

"Look out, Tum Tum, or it will hit you!" chattered Mappo.

"That's what I want it to do," said Tum Tum. "But it can't hurt me, as my head is so big and strong. Now you watch me!"

On came the tiger's cage. Tum Tum stood there ready to let it bunk into him. His legs were spread far apart so he himself would not be knocked over.

Bang!

That was the tiger's cage hitting Tum Tum on the head.

"Ouch!" yelled the big elephant through his trunk, for though it did not hurt him much, he felt a little pain.

Then he stood there, and pushed so hard on the big wagon, that it could not roll down hill any more. Instead, it began to roll back up the hill, as Tum Tum pushed on it.

"That's the way to do it, Tum Tum!" cried the elephant's keeper. "I knew you could do it. Come on now, old fellow. Push the cage right back where it belongs."

Tum Tum did so. Soon the tiger's cage was in line with those of the lions, wolves, bears and other animals, ready for the circus to begin.

"Oh, but I'm glad the tiger didn't get loose," said Mappo, to Tum Tum. "I was so afraid!"

"Why were you afraid?" the big elephant wanted to know.

"Oh, because Sharp Tooth, the tiger, does not like me. I am sure he would bite me, if he got loose."

"Why would he do that?" asked Tum Tum.

"Because I would not let him out of his cage, when he and I were caught in the jungle," answered the monkey.

Then he told about the time Sharp Tooth had tried to get out of his cage.

"Never fear, Mappo," said Tum Tum. "I'll not let Sharp Tooth hurt you as long as I am around."

"Thank you," said Mappo.

For several days after this the circus went from town to town, traveling after dark each night, so as to be ready to give a show in the day-time.

One day Sharp Tooth, the tiger, spoke to Tum Tum as the elephant was passing the cage.

"Why did you stop my wagon from rolling down hill, Tum Tum?" asked the tiger.

"Because I did not want to see it smashed, and see you thrown out, Sharp Tooth," answered Tum Tum.

"But that is just what I wanted to do -- get out," spoke the tiger. "I want to get loose! I am tired of staying in the cage!"

"But if you got out, you might bite someone," went on Tum Tum.

"Yes, that is just what I would do," growled the tiger. "I would bite and scratch until the men would be glad to let me go back to my jungle again. I am mad at you for not letting my cage run on. If you had, I would now be free."

"Well, I am glad you are not free," said Tum Tum, as he looked at the sharp teeth and sharp claws of the tiger, and thought of little Mappo.

"Then I am mad at you, and I am going to stay mad," said the tiger, and he sulked in his cage.

Tum Tum was not very much afraid of the tiger now, even though he knew the bad animal might some day get loose and scratch him.

"I don't believe Sharp Tooth will ever get out," said Tum Tum to himself.

The big elephant had good times in the circus. He had to do only a few tricks in the afternoon, and some more in the evening. The rest of the time he could eat or sleep, except when the circus moved from place to place. Then he would have to help the other elephants push the heavy wagons up on the railroad trains. But Tum Tum did not mind this.

What he liked, best of all, was to stand in the animal tent, before and after his trick performances, and watch the children and grown people come in to look at him and the other animals. Some of the little children seemed afraid of the elephants, but when Tum Tum saw one of these frightened little tots, he would just put out his trunk, and gently stroke some other little boy or girl, so as to show how gentle he was. Then the frightened one's mother or father would say:

"See, the good elephant will not hurt you. Come, give him some peanuts or popcorn."

Then the child would hand Tum Tum a peanut, and Tum Tum would eat it with a twinkle in his little eyes.

Of course Tum Tum would much rather have had a whole bag full of peanuts at a time, for he could put them all in his mouth, and more, at once.

Still, Tum Tum was glad enough to get single peanuts at a time, and though it was hard work to chew a single one in his big mouth, just as it would be hard for you to chew just one grain of sugar, still Tum Tum was very polite, and he never refused to take the single peanuts.

"A big ball of popcorn makes something pretty good to chew on," said Tum Tum to one of the elephants chained near him. "I like that, don't you?"

"Indeed I do," the elephant said. "We never got anything as nice as popcorn and peanuts in the jungle, did we?"

"No," answered Tum Tum, thinking of the days in the dense jungle. Tum Tum wondered what had become of Mr. Boom and where his father and mother, and his other elephant friends, might be.

"I suppose they are still back in the lumber yard, piling up teakwood logs," thought Tum Tum. "I am glad I am in the circus, even if I did have to be pulled up with a rope to make me learn how to stand on my head and my hind legs."

Tum Tum could do many other tricks besides these now, and he was such a jolly old elephant, always doing as he was told without any grumbling, that all the circus men liked him.

If there was anything hard to do, or any trick that none of the other elephants could go through, Tum Tum was sure to be called on.

"He is the smartest elephant of all," his keeper would say, and this made Tum Tum feel very proud and happy.

One day there was much excitement in the animal tent, and at first Tum Tum thought maybe the tiger had gotten loose again, or that another big cage had rolled down hill.

When one of the animal men rushed in and called out something, Tum Tum knew it was not that.

"One of the monkeys is missing," said one trainer to another. "It is Mappo, that smart one."

"Ha! Is that so?" asked the other. "How did he get loose?"

"He must have slipped out of the cage, when we were on the road. Come, we are going to try to find him."

"I know a good way," said the keeper of Tum Tum. "I shall take my elephant with me. My elephant and that monkey Mappo were good friends. If Mappo sees Tum Tum, he will be glad to come back. So we will take Tum Tum to hunt Mappo."

"Ha! That is good!" thought Tum Tum, as he listened.

Soon the hunt for Mappo began. Many of the circus men started for the woods to look for the lost monkey. Tum Tum went along also, his keeper riding on his back.

"I wonder if we will find Mappo?" thought Tum Tum.




Chapter VIII

Tum Tum And The Fire


Through the woods, near the circus town, went the men looking for lost Mappo. They wanted to get back the monkey because he was such a good one to do tricks, and because the children, many of whom came to the circus, liked to see him ride on the back of a dog, or pony, and jump through paper-covered hoops.

"We must find Mappo!" cried the keeper who had him in charge.

Mappo had run away, as I have told you in the book about his adventures, because he was afraid Sharp Tooth, the big tiger, would get loose and bite him. In the woods he had many wonderful adventures.

He met Slicko, the jumping girl squirrel, about whom I have told you, and also Squinty, the comical pig. Mappo liked Squinty, the pig, very much, for Squinty was a nice little chap.

On and on went Tum Tum and the men, looking for the lost monkey. After the search had gone on for several hours, Mappo, who was walking along through the woods with Squinty, saw the circus men coming after him.

"Here's where I have to run and hide," said Mappo.

"Why?" grunted Squinty, the comical pig.

"Because the circus men are after me. Look!" and the monkey chap pointed through the woods to where could be seen some men in red coats.

"Oh, and look at that funny animal with two tails!" cried Squinty. "I'd be afraid of him."

"You wouldn't need to be," said Mappo. "That is only Tum Tum, the elephant, and he is very jolly. He would not hurt a fly. I guess he is looking for me, but, as I don't want to go back to the circus just yet, I'll go off in the woods and hide."

"And I guess I'll go hide, too," said Squinty, for he, also, had run away, but not from a circus. He had run away from his pen at the farm -- the farm where Don, the dog, lived.

So Mappo hurried off to climb a tall tree. As Tum Tum went along through the bushes, he saw his little monkey friend.

"Ha! There is Mappo!" said Tum Tum to himself, and he hurried on through the woods.

"Wait a minute, Mappo!" called Tum Tum, in animal language.

But Mappo would not wait, and Tum Tum could not tell the circus men with him that the lost monkey was just ahead of them. Tum Tum could not speak man talk, you know, and the circus men had not yet seen Mappo. So the little monkey got away.

Tum Tum saw a little animal with Mappo, and the elephant said to himself:

"Ha! That must be Squinty, the comical pig, of whom Don, the dog, told me. I would like to meet Squinty, but I don't see how I can. He can run through these woods faster than I can. Well, maybe I will see him some day. And I do hope Mappo comes back to the circus. It will be lonesome without him."

But Mappo had many adventures before he came back to the circus.

"Well, I guess it's no use hunting for him any more," said one of the circus men. "That monkey has gotten far away. We had better go back to the tents."

"Yes, I think we had," said the man who was riding on the back of Tum Tum.

The elephant knew that Mappo was not so very far off, but Tum Tum had no way of telling his keeper about it.

Back to the circus went Tum Tum, and another monkey had to do the tricks that Mappo used to do in the performances that day.

"What happened?" asked Sharp Tooth, the tiger, of Tum Tum, as the elephant went past the cage of the striped beast. "Where did you go a little while ago?"

"Out looking for Mappo, the monkey," answered Tum Tum.

"Did he run away?" asked the tiger.

"Yes, I guess he was afraid you would bite him."

"And so I would, if I could get him," snarled the tiger. "He is to blame for me being shut up in this cage."

Tum Tum said nothing, for he did not want to get in a quarrel with the tiger.

Day after day went past in the circus, and still Mappo did not come back. Sometimes Tum Tum was lonesome for his little monkey friend, but there was so much to do, that no one in a circus could be lonesome for very long at a time.

Tum Tum was learning some new tricks, and this took up much of his time. Each day he was growing bigger and stronger, for he was not a very old elephant, when he had been caught in the jungle. Now he was very strong, and he could easily have pushed two heavy animal cages at once. He was the strongest elephant in the whole circus.

One day, when the circus was going along the road from one town to another, one of the wagons became stuck fast in the mud, for it had rained in the night. It was the wagon in which rode the hippopotamus, with his big red mouth that he could open so wide.

The whole circus procession had to stop, or at least all the wagons behind the hippopotamus cage, had to stop, as they could not get past.

"Bring up some of the elephants, and have them pull the hippo's cage out of the mud!" cried the head circus man. He called him "hippo" for short, you see.

Up came two big elephants, and chains were put about their necks, and made fast to the hippopotamus wagon.

"Now, pull!" cried the circus men, and the elephants strained and pulled as hard as they could.

But the wagon did not move out of the mud.

"Pull harder!" cried the circus man, and he cracked his long whip, but he did not hit the elephants with it.

But, no matter how hard the elephants pulled, they could not pull the hippopotamus wagon out of the mud.

"Well, what are we going to do?" asked the head circus man. "We cannot stay here all day."

"Suppose you let my elephant, Tum Tum, try to pull the wagon out of the mud," said Tum Tum's keeper. "My elephant is very strong."

"Ha! But is he as strong as two elephants?" asked the head circus man.

"I think so," said the keeper. "Let us try. But Tum Tum can push better than he can pull, so I shall put him in back of the wagon, and let him push it out of the mud with his head. Let some of the men steer the wagon in front, when Tum Tum pushes from behind."

"Very well, we shall try," said the head circus man.

The ten horses who pulled the hippopotamus wagon had been unhitched when the two elephants tried to pull it. Now the two elephants were led to one side, and Tum Tum came up.

"Ha! He thinks he can push that wagon out of the mud, when we two could not pull it," said one elephant to the other.

"Yes, he is very proud," spoke the other.

Tum Tum heard them.

"No, I am not proud," said Tum Tum, "and I am not sure that I can push the wagon out of the mud, but I am going to try."

His keeper led him up in back of the hippopotamus wagon. It was very large and heavy, and had settled far down in the soft mud of the road. The hippo was still in it, and the hippo was very heavy himself, weighing as much as two tons of coal. The circus men could not let the hippopotamus out of his cage, because he was rather wild, and might have run away or made trouble. So they had to leave him in.

"Now, Tum Tum, you have some hard work ahead of you!" said his trainer, as he led the elephant up behind the wagon. "Let me see, if you can push this out of the mud hole."

"Umph! Umph!" grunted Tum Tum through his trunk. That was his way of saying that he would do his best.

Tum Tum went close up to the wagon, and stuck his four big feet well down in the mud to brace himself. Then he put his large head against the wagon, and began to push.

Tum Tum took a long breath, and then he pushed, and pushed and pushed some more.

"He can never do it," said one of the two elephants who had tried to pull the wagon.

"Indeed he cannot," spoke the other.

"Wait and see!" grunted Tum Tum. "I have not finished yet."

He pushed harder and harder. His head was hurting him, and his feet were slipping in the mud of the road. Still he kept on pushing.

"I don't believe your elephant can do it," said one of the circus men. "We had better hitch about four of them to the wagon."

"No, let Tum Tum try once more. I am sure he can do it," spoke the elephant's kind keeper.

When Tum Tum heard this, he felt himself swell up inside. It was as though he had new strength.

"I will push that wagon!" he said to himself. "I will push it out of the mud!"

Then he took another long breath, and pushed with all his might on the wagon.

"Now it's going!" cried Tum Tum.

Slowly at first, and then faster, the big hippopotamus wagon rolled out of the mud, and on to the firm, hard road.

"There it goes!" cried a circus man.

"Hurray! Tum Tum has done it!" shouted another.

"I told you he was strong," said Tum Tum's keeper.

"He surely is," spoke the head circus man. "But I never thought he could push that wagon."

Tum Tum had not thought so himself, but even an elephant never knows what he can do until he tries.

"Huh! I s'pose he thinks he's smart, because he pushed a wagon we couldn't," said one of the two elephants to the other.

"Yes," said the second one, "but if they'd given us another chance, we could have done it, too."

But I do not believe they could. And Tum Tum did not think he was "smart," either. He only felt that he had done what he had been told to do, even though it was hard work, and did hurt his head.

So the hippopotamus wagon was pushed out of the mud, and the circus procession went on down the road.

It was not long after this that something else happened to Tum Tum. The elephant seemed to be having many adventures since he came from the jungle.

The circus had gone on and on, showing in many different places. Tum Tum, in each place, had looked to see if Mappo had come back, but the little monkey had not. Perhaps he was still off in the woods with Squinty, the comical pig.

It was a very hot day, and the animals in their cages, and the elephants, camels and horses, in the tent, had hard work to get a cool breeze or find any fresh air to breathe. In the west were some black clouds that looked as though they would bring a thunder shower.

Just before the show began, Tum Tum was taken out of the tent to help push some of the heavy wagons into place.

"Oh, look at the elephant!" cried some boys who had no money to go inside and see the show. They were glad to see even an elephant.

Tum Tum finished his work of pushing the wagons into place and his trainer led him toward a big tub filled with water, for he knew his pet elephant would want a drink, as it was so hot.

Near the water tub stood a peanut wagon, and the smell of the roasting nuts made Tum Tum hungry for some. But he knew the children in the circus would soon give him plenty.

All of a sudden some boys, who were trying to get closer to Tum Tum, ran into the peanut wagon, and tipped it over. All at once the red-hot charcoal that kept the peanuts warm, spilled out, and the wagon, and some straw near it, caught fire. My, how it blazed!

"Fire! Fire!" cried the peanut man. "Oh, somebody put out the fire, or all my peanuts will be burned up!"

Tum Tum looked at the fire, and wondered if he could help put it out.




Chapter IX

Tum Tum And The Balloons


"Come away, Tum Tum!" cried the elephant's keeper. "I don't want you getting all excited about a fire, and maybe burned. A few peanuts are not worth it. We'll let some of the tent men put out the fire. Come away!"

But Tum Tum did not want to go away from the fire. He was not much afraid of it. Most wild animals are afraid of fire, but Tum Tum was tame now, and he knew that though fire burns, it also does good, in cooking food, even for animals. Besides, Tum Tum had seen so much of fire, since he had come to the circus, and had seen so many flaring lamps at the night performances, that he was not afraid of just a blazing peanut wagon.

"I'm sorry to see all those peanuts burned up," thought Tum Tum. "I wonder if I can't save them -- maybe I'll get some for myself, if I do."

Tum Tum thought quickly. There was a great deal of excitement around him, for the straw was now blazing in many places and the peanuts and wagon were all in flames.

"Come away, Tum Tum!" called his keeper.

"Fire! Fire! Fire!" yelled the peanut man.

"Bring water here, somebody!" shouted another man.

"Get a pail! Get a pail!" one of the boys yelled.

"Call out the fire engines!" said another.

But Tum Tum knew a better way than that. His trunk was just like a hose, only, of course, not so long. He could suck it up full of water, and squirt it out again, just like a pop gun shoots out a cork. And that was what Tum Tum did.

He put his trunk into the tub of water, and sucked up as much as he could. Then Tum Tum aimed his trunk right at the blazing peanut wagon and the straw.

Whooo-ish! went the water, as Tum Tum squirted it out of his trunk. On the fire it spattered.

Hiss-s-s-s-s! went the fire, like an angry snake.

"Ha! That's the way to do it, Tum Tum!" cried his keeper. "You know how to put out a fire! That's the way. You're as good as a fire engine yourself!"

Tum Tum did not answer. In the first place, he could not talk to his keeper except in elephant language, which the circus man did not understand. And, in the second place, Tum Tum was going to suck up more water in his nose, for the fire was not quite out yet. And you know it is hard to talk when you have your nose full of water, even if you are an elephant.

Whooo-ish! went more water from Tum Tum's trunk on the blazing peanut wagon and straw.

Hiss! went the fire again, as it felt the wet water. Fire does not like water, you know.

"Once more, Tum Tum! One more trunk full, and you'll have the fire out!" cried the elephant's keeper.

Again Tum Tum dipped his trunk into the tub of water, and spurted it on the fire.

This time the fire went out completely. Tum Tum had made it so wet, with water from his trunk, that it could no longer burn.

"Oh, what a smart, good elephant!" cried the peanut man. "He saved my wagon from burning up. I must give him some peanuts!"

A few of the peanuts were burned, but there were plenty left, and, though some of them tasted a little like smoke, Tum Tum did not mind that. He chewed several bags full -- shells and all -- and was hungry for more.

But now it was time to go back into the circus tent, and have his handsome blanket put on, to take his place in the procession. The boys, one of whom had accidentally upset the peanut wagon, looked at Tum Tum eagerly.

"Say, he's a smart elephant all right!" he cried.

"That's what he is!" said another. "I'd like to have him!"

"Huh! What would you do with an elephant?" asked his friend. "An elephant would eat a ton of hay a day."

"Would he?"

"Sure he would."

"Well, then, I don't want an elephant," said the boy. "I guess a dog is good enough for me. A dog can eat old bones; he doesn't need a ton of hay a day."

The boys helped the peanut man turn his wagon right side up, and they also helped him gather the scattered peanuts. Then the man built another fire, and went around the tent, selling his peanuts.

"Tum Tum, you are getting smarter and smarter each day," said his keeper, as he led him back to get ready for the parade. "I am proud of you. You are the best elephant in the circus."

Tum Tum heard what was said of him, but he only flapped his big ears, that were nearly the size of washtubs. Then he stood in line with his companions, and ate the peanuts and popcorn balls the children fed to him over the ropes.

"My, I s'pose Tum Tum will be so stuck up, and proud, that he won't want to speak to us, after he has done so many wonderful things," said one of the jealous elephants. "He pushed the wagon out of the mud, and now he has put out a peanut wagon fire. Some elephants have all the luck in this world."

Tum Tum's eyes twinkled, but he said nothing. He just ate the popcorn balls and peanuts. But he was not at all proud or stuck up.

Tum Tum was now such a gentle and tame elephant, that children could ride on his back. At first, some of the circus performers, who had their children with them, let them get up on Tum Tum, and then, when his keeper found that Tum Tum did not mind, some of the boys and girls who came to see the show each day were allowed to ride. Up and down the tent they went on Tum Tum's back, sitting in the little house that was strapped fast to him.

Tum Tum was led about by his keeper when the children thus rode, and very glad Tum Tum was to give the boys and girls this fun, for he liked children very much.

Tum Tum would have been very glad if Mappo, the merry monkey, had come back to ride on his back, as he did sometimes. But Mappo was far away; where, Tum Tum did not know.

Nearly every day something new happened to Tum Tum in the circus. Every day he saw new faces, new boys and girls and once in a while, he did some new tricks. He had enough to eat, a good place to sleep, he did not have to work very hard, and, best of all, he was in no danger.

So, altogether, Tum Tum liked the circus life much better than he had liked being in the jungle. Still, now and again, he would wish himself back in the cool, dark woods, smashing through the thick bushes, and breaking down, or pulling up, big trees by their roots.

In the circus were some men from India, where Tum Tum had worked in the lumber yard, piling up teakwood logs, and these Indians could talk the language spoken in India -- the man-language Tum Tum had first learned. He liked to have them come to see him, rub his trunk, and talk to him in their queer words.

One day another adventure happened to Tum Tum. He was out in front of the circus tent, after he had helped roll some of the heavy animal wagons into place, when he saw some children, with their papa, coming to the circus.

"Oh, papa!" cried a little boy, "couldn't we ride on the elephant's back?" and he was so excited, this little boy was, that he danced up and down with his red balloon. All the children had these toy balloons.

"Oh, I don't believe you could ride on the elephant's back," said the little boy's papa.

"They can, if you will let them," said Tum Tum's keeper. "My elephant is very kind and gentle, and many children ride on him. I will hold them on, if you are willing."

"Oh, let us, papa!" cried a little girl.

"All right, I don't mind," he said.

Tum Tum was led close to a wagon, from which the children could easily get into the little house on his back. In that they sat with their papa and the keeper, and around the circus grounds they went. It was not yet time for the show, and Tum Tum did not have to go in.

"Oh, what a lovely ride!" cried the little boy, when it was over. "Thank you so much!"

Tum Tum was glad the children had enjoyed it.

Then, as the boy and girl got down from the elephant's back, their toy balloons slipped out of their hands and floated off through the air.

"Oh, there goes my balloon!" cried the little girl.

"And there goes mine, too!" cried the little boy. "Oh, papa!"

"Never mind, I'll get you some others," said the man.

"But I'd rather have that one," the little boy said, half crying.

"I would, too," added his sister.

Just then the wind blew the two balloons into the top of a tall tree. It was a tall, slender tree, too little for any one to climb up, or put a ladder against.

"Oh, now we can never get our balloons!" sobbed the little girl, as the toys bobbed about in the wind, the strings fast to a tree branch. Then Tum Tum made up his mind, just as he had done at the peanut fire.

"I'll get those balloons back for the children," thought the big, kind, jolly elephant.




Chapter X

Tum Tum And The Lemonade


The little boy and girl, who had ridden on the back of Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, stretched up their hands toward the balloons that had caught in the tree. They even got up again into the little house, and, standing up, tried to reach their floating toys.

"Sit down! Sit down!" called their father.

"Yes, you might fall," said Tum Tum's trainer, or keeper, who was also riding in the little house on the elephant's back.

"But we want our balloons!" cried the little boy.

"Yes, our nice toy balloons!" said the little girl, and there were tears in her eyes. Tum Tum felt sorry for her. He did not like to see little girls cry.

"I must get those balloons back for them," Tum Tum said to himself, over and over again.

"I'll get you other balloons," said the children's papa again, trying to make them feel happier. But the boy and girl wanted the same balloons they had had first.

"Now if Mappo were only here," thought Tum Tum, "he could easily climb up that tree, even if it is a slender one, and will easily bend. For Mappo is not very heavy, and he could go away up to the top of the tree.

"But no one else can, and none of the monkeys but Mappo is smart enough to do it. So I'll have to get the balloons myself."

And how do you think Tum Tum did it? Of course he could not climb a tree -- no elephant could, even if it were a big tree. But Tum Tum was very strong, and, just as he had often done in the jungle, he wrapped his long, rubbery hose-like nose, or trunk, around the tree.

"Here, Tum Tum, what are you doing?" called his keeper.

"Umph! Umph! Wumph!" Tum Tum answered. That meant: "You just watch me, if you please, and you'll see."

Then Tum Tum just pulled and pulled as hard on that tree, and up he pulled it by the roots. Right out of the ground the big elephant pulled the tree, and then, holding it in his strong trunk, he tipped it over so the top branches were close to the children on his back.

And, tangled in the branches were the cords of the toy balloons, that still bobbed about.

"Oh, look!" cried the boy. "Here are our balloons, sister!"

"Oh, so they are!" exclaimed the little girl. "Oh, what a good elephant he is to get our balloons back for us!"

"I should say he was!" cried the papa. "That is a smart elephant you have," he said to the keeper.

"Yes, Tum Tum is very good and smart," said the circus man. He reached over, loosed the strings of the balloons from the tree branch, and gave the ends of the cords to the children.

"Now you may let go of the tree, Tum Tum," the man said to the elephant, and Tum Tum dropped the tree on the ground.

"Oh, papa, the elephant was so good to us, can't we buy him a bag of peanuts?" asked the little girl.

"I guess so," answered her papa, with a laugh.

"And may I buy him some popcorn balls?" asked the boy.

"Oh, yes, but I hope Tum Tum doesn't become ill from all that sweet stuff," said the papa.

"Oh, I guess he won't -- he's used to being fed by the children," the circus man said.

When Tum Tum heard the boy and girl talking about getting him good things to eat, the big elephant felt very glad. For he was such a big fellow that he was nearly always hungry, and, no matter how many peanuts or popcorn balls he had, he was always willing to eat more.

It was now nearly time for the circus to begin, and Tum Tum was led back toward the tent, the children still riding on his back, holding tightly to the strings of their balloons. They were not going to lose them a second time, if they could help it.

Near the tent was the same peanut man whose stand had nearly burned up the time Tum Tum put out the blaze with water from his trunk. The boy and girl bought two bags full of peanuts from this man, and from another man they bought popcorn balls. These they fed to Tum Tum, who reached out his trunk for them, and put them into his mouth.

"Good-by, Tum Tum!" called the little girl to him, waving one hand, while in the other she held her balloon.

"Good-by, elephant!" called the little boy, also waving his hand. "I'll see you in the circus," he added.

Tum Tum waved his trunk. He was too busy chewing popcorn and peanuts to speak, even if he could have talked boy and girl language, which he could not.

Later on, in the show, Tum Tum, as he went through his tricks, saw the little boy and girl sitting near the ring, with their papa, watching the animals and performers.

Two or three days after that something else happened to Tum Tum, and it made him very happy.

He was in the tent, after the show, eating his hay, and blowing dust over his back now and then to keep away the flies and mosquitoes, when, all of a sudden, in came a monkey. Tum Tum gave one look at the monkey, and then another look.

"Why -- why!" cried Tum Tum, in elephant language. "That looks like Mappo."

"I am Mappo!" cried the little chap. "Oh, don't let him get me!"

"Let who get you?" cried Tum Tum. "What is the matter?" for Mappo looked very frightened.

"The hand-organ man is after me!" chattered Mappo, and with that he gave a jump, and landed right upon Tum Tum's broad back.

"Don't be afraid," said the elephant. "No one will get you while I am here, Mappo," and Tum Tum swung his long trunk.

Then in came the hand-organ man after the monkey, just as I have told you he did in the book about Mappo. But the circus men and Tum Tum would not let Mappo go. And Tum Tum looked so big and fierce and strong that the hand-organ man was afraid to try to take Mappo away.

So that is how Mappo came back to the circus again, after having had many adventures. He told Tum Tum all about them.

"Are you going to run away again?" asked Tum Tum.

"No, I guess not," answered Mappo, hanging by his tail.

Tum Tum was glad Mappo had come back, for the big elephant was lonesome for his little friend, and I guess Mappo was also lonesome for Tum Tum. At any rate, the two were soon as good friends as before.

The show went on from town to town, and it was nearing the time for the circus season to be over. Then the animals would be taken back to the big barn, there to stay all winter, until spring and summer should come again.

One day a bad man came into the tent where the elephants were standing, eating their hay, and held out something in his hand. Tum Tum, and the other elephants, stretched out their trunks, for it seemed as if the man had something good for them to eat. And Tum Tum, being the nearest, reached it first.

The thing the man held out was in a bag, and it smelled like peanuts. In fact, there were a few peanuts, and shells, in the bag but, besides that, there were also some sour lemons, which Tum Tum did not like at all. But he had chewed on them before he knew what they were, not stopping to open the bag the bad man gave him.

As he felt the sour juice running down his throat, Tum Tum gave a squeal. He was angry at the man who had played this trick on him.

"Ha! Ha!" laughed the man. "I fooled you that time, Mr. Elephant. How do you like lemons?"

Tum Tum did not answer.

He just reached his trunk in his mouth, and pulled out the sour stuff, and threw it away. The man laughed very hard at his mean trick, and one of the keepers said to him:

"You had better look out. Elephants have good memories, and if ever you get near Tum Tum, where he can reach you, you may be sorry for what you did."

"Oh, I'm not afraid of an elephant!" cried the man with another laugh.

"If ever I can reach that man with my trunk, I'll make him wish he'd never given me lemons," thought Tum Tum. But, try as he did, he could not stretch himself far enough to reach the man, for there were chains about the legs of the elephant.

Later on that day, the same man came walking past the elephants in the animal tent, after the circus was over. I guess he had forgotten about the trick he played. But Tum Tum and the other elephants had not forgotten.

All of a sudden Maggo, the elephant standing next to Tum Tum, saw the bad man, and, reaching out her trunk, Maggo caught him around the waist, and lifted him off his feet.

"Oh! Oh! Put me down! Oh, an elephant has me!" cried the man.

Instantly there was great excitement in the animal tent. The people yelled, and the trainers came running over to see what was the matter. They saw the man lifted high in the air in Maggo's trunk.

"Put him down! Put him down at once!" cried Maggo's keeper.

But Maggo was not going to do that at once.

"Now is your chance, Tum Tum," said Maggo. "I'll hold this bad man, who gave you lemons instead of peanuts, and you can hit him with your trunk."

"No, I'll not do that," said Tum Tum, who was very gentle. "If I did, I might hurt him, for I strike very hard with my trunk. But I will fix him, so he will not play any more tricks on elephants."

Then Tum Tum dipped his trunk in a tub of water near by, and, suddenly, spurted it all over the man, making him as wet as if he had gone in swimming.

"Oh, my! Oh, dear! Oh, stop it!" cried the man excitedly, with the water squirting all over him.

"Let him down now, Maggo," said Tum Tum, with a queer little twinkle, like laughter, in his eyes. "I guess he won't want to play any more tricks."

Maggo set down the dripping man, who was glad enough to run away. He did not once look back.

"It served you right, for giving Tum Tum lemons," said a keeper. "Some elephants would have done worse than just to squirt water on you."

One afternoon it was very hot in the circus. It was so hot that the sides of the animal tent were lowered to let in the air, but, even at that it was not very cool.

"Don't you wish we were back in the jungle, near some river, where we could wade in and float until the sun went down?" asked Maggo of Tum Tum.

"Indeed I do," was the answer. "But there is no use wishing."

"It doesn't seem so," spoke Maggo, and she fanned herself with her large ears, in a way elephants have. "I wish I had something cool to drink," went on Maggo.

"Yes, a nice, cool drink would be just fine," said Tum Tum. "But I do not see where we are going to get it," he went on.

Then he happened to look over the side of the tent, which had been let down low, to allow the breeze to come in. What Tum Tum saw made him feel very good.

Just outside the tent, was a lemonade stand, and on the ground by it was a big washtub full of pink lemonade, the kind they always sell at circuses. Tum Tum stretched out his trunk, and found that he could easily reach the pink lemonade.

"I say, Maggo," called Tum Tum, in an elephant whisper. "I know how to get a cool drink."

"How?" asked Maggo. "Now, don't play any joke on me. I could not bear that. I am so thirsty!"

"No, this isn't a joke," said Tum Tum. "At least it isn't a joke on you. Come, we shall both have a drink. Put your trunk out over the side of the tent. On the ground outside is a big washtub, full of pink lemonade. We can easily suck it up through our trunks and drink it. Come on, I'll show you how to do it."

"Oh, fine!" cried Maggo. Then she and Tum Tum, not thinking it was wrong, put their trunks down in the pink lemonade, and sucked it all out, putting it into their mouths.

"Oh, but that's good!" cried Tum Tum, for the lemonade happened to be very sweet.

"It certainly is," said Maggo. "I wish there were more."




Chapter XI

Tum Tum And The Tiger


The two elephants sucked up all the pink lemonade from the washtub near the stand outside the tent. Then they felt much better, and cooler. They did not mind the heat so much.

But, in a little while, there was a great sound of some one shouting and calling outside the tent. It was the voice of the man who had made the pink lemonade to sell to those who came to see the circus.

"Oh, my lemonade!" cried the man. "My pink lemonade! It is all gone! Some one drank it all up, or else it leaked out of the tub! What shall I do? What shall I do?"

The man ran up and down, trying to find his lemonade, but it was all gone.

"Say, Tum Tum," said Maggo, "was that his lemonade we drank?"

"I -- I guess it must have been," said Tum Tum. "But I didn't know it belonged to anybody. I thought it was just standing there in the tub, and that we might as well take it as anyone else."

"Well, it's too bad if we've taken the poor man's lemonade, that he was going to sell for money," said Maggo.

"Yes, it is," agreed Tum Tum. "But we can't help it now."

"Yes," spoke Maggo. "We can't do anything."

Just then the man who owned the lemonade looked up, and saw the trunks of the two elephants sticking out over the top of the tent. The man guessed what had happened.

"Ha! They took my lemonade!" the man cried. "They sucked it up through their trunks. Oh, they took my lemonade, and I'll make the circus pay for it!"

Tum Tum's keeper heard the noise the man was making, and came running up.

"What is the matter?" asked the circus man.

"Oh, yoy! Yoy!" cried the man. "Your elephants took all my pink lemonade, from the washtub where I had ice in it! They sucked it up in their rubber-hose trunks!"

"Tum Tum, did you and Maggo do that?" asked the keeper.

Tum Tum could not answer, of course. But the circus man looked at Tum Tum's long, white ivory tusks, and on one of them were some splashes of pink lemonade.

"Yes, Tum Tum, you did it," said the man. "Well, I won't punish you, for you did not know any better, I suppose."

"But what about my lemonade?" asked the peddler. "Don't I get paid for it?"

"Yes, I guess the circus will have to pay you," spoke the keeper. "After all, I am glad Tum Tum had it, for he has been a good elephant, and so has Maggo. I am glad they had it!"

The other elephants wished they had had some also, but there was not enough to go around. The keeper paid the man for the lemonade the elephants had taken, and the man made another washtub full. But this he took care to place far enough away from the tent, so the elephants could not reach over and suck it up in their trunks.

"Well, we made a lot of trouble, even though we did not mean to," said Tum Tum to Maggo that evening, when they were cooling off after the show. "But that lemonade tasted good, didn't it?"

"It certainly did," said Maggo with a sigh that almost shook the tent.

That night Tum Tum, and all the elephants, had to work very hard, pushing the heavy animal cages down the road to where they were loaded on the railroad cars to go to a distant city. As Tum Tum was pushing the cage of Sharp Tooth, the big tiger, he heard that striped animal talking with Roarer, the lion.

"Can you hear me, Roarer?" asked Sharp Tooth, as her cage was pushed alongside that of the King of Beasts.

"Yes, I can hear you, Sharp Tooth," said Roarer. "What is it you want to say?"

At this Tum Tum lifted wide his ears away from his sides, so he could hear better.

"I think something is going to happen," mused Tum Tum.

Then Tum Tum made up his mind that he would listen and find out what it was. He knew the tiger and lion were dangerous animals. They had never become tame, and were always trying to find a way to escape, or get loose from their cages.

"And if that's what they're trying this time, I'll stop them if I can," thought Tum Tum.

So, while he was pushing first the tiger, and then the lion cage along, he listened, though he pretended not to hear anything.

"What is it you want to tell me, Sharp Tooth?" asked Roarer.

"Listen carefully," answered the tiger. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, yes," growled the lion again. "What is it? Be quick!"

"I know a way to get out of our cages," said the tiger. "If I tell you, will you come with me? Then we can run off to the woods, and live there until we can find our way back to the jungle. Will you come with me, Roarer?"

"Yes," said the lion, "I will. Tell me how to get out of my cage and back to the jungle."

The lion and tiger did not know that the jungle, where they had lived, was many miles away, across the big ocean.

"This is how we can get out," said Sharp Tooth. "You know when the man cleans our cages each night, he leaves the door unlocked so the feeding man can follow and put meat in easily."

"Does he do that?" asked the lion. "I never noticed."

"Yes, he always does that," said the tiger. "For a little while each evening, just before we are fed, the doors of our cages are not locked. We can easily push them open, before the meat man comes to feed us and closes them. We can get out then."

"But if we go before we get our meat, we shall be hungry," roared the lion.

"What of it, silly?" cried Sharp Tooth. "Is it not better to get away, and be hungry for a little while, than to stay here shut up in a cage all your life?"

"Well, I suppose it is," said the lion with a big sigh. "Then we are to come out of our cages to-night?"

"Yes, soon after the man has finished cleaning them, and has left the door unlocked. He does not know that I know about the door. I suppose he imagines I think it is as tightly shut as ever. But it isn't!"

"Good!" cried the lion. "Then we'll run away! But when?"

"To-night," hissed the tiger. "Be quiet now, some one may hear us."

"Ha! Some one has already heard you," thought Tum Tum. "So you are going to get away to-night, are you? Well, not if I know it! I'll stop you all right! It would never do to have you loose in the woods; all the people would be scared. Let me see, how can I stop you?"

Tum Tum wished he could speak man-talk, so he could tell the keepers what the lion and tiger were going to do. But Tum Tum could speak only animal language.

"But I can stay near the tiger's cage, and when he does get out, I can grab him in my trunk, before he has time to scratch me, and push him back in his cage again," thought Tum Tum. "By that time the keepers will come, and shut the cage doors. Yes, I'll do that with Sharp Tooth; but what about Roarer? I need help there. I'll get Maggo."

So Tum Tum told Maggo, about the lion and tiger going to escape from the circus.

"And if you'll stand in front of the lion's cage, he won't dare run very far," said Tum Tum to Maggo. "If you'll look after the lion, I'll look after the tiger."

"All right," said Maggo, "I shall. It would not be right for those fierce animals to get away."

Toward evening, when the show was over for the afternoon, Maggo and Tum Tum were allowed to roam about the animal tent a little, the chains being taken off their feet.

"Now's our time, Maggo," whispered Tum Tum. "You go over by the lion's cage, and I'll stay by the tiger's."

"All right, I will," said Maggo.

Over she went to stand in front of the lion's cage. The cleaning man had been around, and the doors of the cages were open.

Then, before Tum Tum could get to the tiger's cage, that big, striped beast gave one blow with his paw on the unlocked door, pushing it open. He sprang out, crying:

"Come on, Roarer! Come on with me. I'm out! Jump out through the door and we'll go to the jungle!"




Chapter XII

Tum Tum's Brave Deed


Tum Tum tried to get in front of Sharp Tooth and stop the tiger from getting out of his cage, but the big elephant was not quick enough. Besides, the tiger moved so swiftly, that hardly any one could have stopped him.

"Come back here! Come back!" cried Tum Tum, when he saw Sharp Tooth running out of the tent.

"Indeed I will not! I'm off to the jungle!" snarled the striped beast. "Come on, Roarer!" she called.

But Roarer could not, for Maggo, the big elephant, had placed herself in front of the door of his cage, and was leaning against it. And Maggo was so big and heavy that Roarer could not push open the iron-barred door.

"Get out of my way!" cried the lion to the elephant.

"No, no! I will not!" answered brave Maggo.

Then the lion put his paws through the bars of the cage and scratched Maggo, but the lady elephant did not mind that. She made a loud noise through her trunk, and this call brought the keepers on the run. One of them saw what the matter was.

"Quick!" cried this keeper. "The lion's cage door is not fastened. He is trying to get out, but the elephant is holding him in. Quick! Fasten shut the door!"

Then the circus men, very quickly, made the door tightly shut, and that was the end of Roarer's chances for getting out. Oh, but that lion was angry!

He sprang about the cage, roaring loudly, but he could not get out to go and join Sharp Tooth, the tiger.

"Some of you put some salve on the elephant's scratches," said the head circus man, "while I look to see if any other animals have gotten loose."

Then he saw the open door of the tiger's cage, and he cried:

"Sharp Tooth is loose! We must go and find that tiger!"

Then some one else called:

"And Tum Tum is gone also!"

"What, Tum Tum gone!" cried the elephant trainer. "That's so," he said, as he saw that the place where Tum Tum used to stand was empty.

"I wonder where Tum Tum can be?" said the keeper. Maggo wished she could tell how Tum Tum had tried to stop the tiger from running away, but how the big elephant had not been in time. However, the head keeper must have guessed it.

"I don't believe Tum Tum ran away," he said. "He must have gone out after the tiger. Come on, we must find them both."

As it happened, the circus performance was over, so there were no boys or girls, or men and women, to be frightened by hearing that the tiger was loose. Sharp Tooth was so excited at getting out of the cage, that she did not try to bite anybody. She slipped out of the tent, and ran toward some woods near the circus lot.

But Tum Tum was right after her. The tiger could go along very fast, but the elephant could travel almost as quickly, and he kept right behind the striped beast.

"Ha! Go on back! Stop following me!" snarled Sharp Tooth.

"No, I'll not," answered the brave elephant. "I want you to come back to the circus."

"I'll never come!" snapped the tiger.

"Oh, yes, you will," the elephant said.

The tiger kept on, and Tum Tum followed. Finally the tiger ran up a tree and crouched out on a big limb.

"Ha! Now you can't follow me!" she said to the elephant. "You can't climb up this tree!"

"No, but I can stay here until you come down," said Tum Tum, "and that's what I'll do."

"Bah!" snarled the tiger. "Go away and let me alone!"

But Tum Tum would not. He stayed under the tree where the tiger was, for he knew that soon the circus men would come to hunt for Sharp Tooth, to put her back in her cage.

And, surely enough, that is just what happened. The head keeper could easily see which way the tiger and elephant had gone, for, though Sharp Tooth did not make much of a track, Tum Tum did. An elephant cannot crash and push his way through the bushes and trees without making a broad path. And this path the circus men followed. Soon they came to the tree in which Sharp Tooth was crouching.

"Here she is!" cried one. "Bring up the cage!"

The tiger's empty cage was wheeled under the tree, and the door was open. Inside was put a nice piece of meat, such as the tiger loved, and she was very hungry now.

"You had better go down in your cage and behave yourself," said Tum Tum.

"No, I will not!" snarled the tiger. But when the circus men snapped their whips, and fired off guns, and brought blazing torches, Sharp Tooth was afraid. Besides, she was very hungry, and as the lion had not run away with her, she was afraid she could never get to the jungle alone.

"I guess I had better go down in my cage," said the tiger. "But," she added to Tum Tum, "if ever I get a chance to scratch you, I will."

Into the cage she jumped, and the circus men slammed the door shut. The tiger was caught again.

"Good old boy, Tum Tum!" called the elephant's keeper to him, as they were going back to the animal tent. "You saved the tiger from getting away, and that was a good thing, for Sharp Tooth might have bitten someone. You are a very good elephant!"

This made Tum Tum feel quite happy, more happy even than did the nice big lumps of sugar, and loaves of bread, he was given for his supper as a reward.

For you know animals like to be spoken kindly to, as well we do, boys and girls. You just try it with your dog. Speak harshly to him, or scold him, and see how he cringes down, and tucks his tail between his legs. He knows when you are not kind to him.

And then try speaking nicely. Tell him what a good dog he is, and how much you like him, and see what a change there is.

He will jump up, and wag his tail, and bark, he is so glad because you are speaking kindly to him. And, if you let him, he will try to kiss you with his red tongue. Oh, yes, indeed, animals know a great deal more than most persons think they do.

So that was how Sharp Tooth got out of her cage, and how Tum Tum helped to catch her again. After that the animals' cages were never left open, even for a second.

"Did you get very scratched?" asked Tum Tum of Maggo, when everything was once more quiet in the animal tent.

"No, not much," answered the lady elephant.

"I'm sorry I was not quick enough for the tiger," said Tum Tum. "Never mind, it is all over now."

Then the two elephant friends stood side by side in the tent and ate hay and talked to each other in elephant language.

And now my story of Tum Tum is drawing to a close. I shall tell you one more thing that happened to him, and then I am finished.

One day the circus was showing near a large city, and great crowds of people came out to see it. There were boys and girls -- more than Tum Tum had ever seen before. The big tent was full.

Tum Tum did all his tricks as best he could. He stood on his head, and on his hind legs. He sat up at the table, and made believe eat a meal. In this trick Mappo, the merry monkey, had a part, for he sat up with Tum Tum, and they both ate.

When the circus was almost over, and Tum Tum had played soldier, and marched out of the ring carrying Mappo on his back, while Mappo waved a flag, the little monkey, who could see out of the top of the tent said:

"Tum Tum, we are going to have a big thunder shower. I can see the lightning and the black clouds."

"Well, it will not hurt us," said Tum Tum. "We often used to have thunder storms in the jungle, and here we are under a tent."

Then, suddenly the storm came. It grew very black, and the thunder and lightning frightened the big crowds in the circus tent. It rained very hard, too, so that some of the tent ropes were made loose and slipped.

"Run out, quick!" suddenly called a man. "The tent is going to fall on us! Run, everybody!"

"No! Sit still! Keep your seats!" the circus men cried, but the crowd was frightened and ran.

Just then, one of the big poles of the tent began to fall.

"That pole must not fall!" cried Tum Tum's keeper. "But how can I hold it up? I am not strong enough."

Then he looked at Tum Tum, the big elephant.

"Ha! Tum Tum will hold up the pole, until all the people get out of the tent!" cried the circus man. "Here, Tum Tum," he called. "Hold up this pole."

Tum Tum knew what was wanted of him. He pushed his strong head against the pole, and it did not fall over. Tum Tum held it up, and the tent did not come down.

"Tum Tum, you are a fine elephant!" cried his master. "I love you!"

The rain was soon over, and that night, after the evening performance, the circus went on to another town.

That brings me to the end of Tum Tum's adventures. But I have some stories about other animals, and in the next book I'll tell you about "Don, a Runaway Dog; His Many Adventures."

As for Tum Tum, he lived in the circus for many, many years, growing older and stronger and wiser every day, and everybody thought he was the jolliest elephant in all the world.

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The Bobbsey Twins On Blueberry Island

By

Laura Lee Hope



Chapter I

The Gypsies


"Oh, dear! I wish we weren't going home!"

"So do I! Can't we stay out a little while longer?"

"Why, Flossie and Freddie Bobbsey!" cried Nan, the older sister of the two small twins who had spoken. "A few minutes ago you were in a hurry to get home."

"Yes; they said they were so hungry they couldn't wait to see what Dinah was going to have for supper," said Bert Bobbsey. "How about that, Freddie?"

"Well, I'm hungry yet," said the little boy, who was sitting beside his sister Flossie in a boat that was being rowed over the blue waters of Lake Metoka. "I am hungry, and I want some of Dinah's pie, but I'd like to stay out longer."

"So would I," added Flossie. "It's so nice on the lake, and maybe to-morrow it will rain."

"Well, what if it does?" asked Nan. "You didn't expect to come out on the lake again to-morrow, did you?"

"Maybe," answered Flossie, as she smoothed out the dress of a doll she was holding in her lap.

"I'd like to come out on the lake and have a picnic every day," said Freddie, leaning over the edge of the boat to see if a small ship, to which he had fastened a string, was being pulled safely along.

"Don't do that!" cried Nan quickly. "Do you want to fall in?"

"No," answered Freddie slowly, as though he had been thinking that perhaps a wetting in the lake might not be so bad after all. "No, I don't want to fall in now, 'cause whenever I go in swimming I get terrible hungry, and I don't want to be any hungrier than I am now."

"Oh, so that's the only reason, is it?" asked Bert with a laugh. "Well, just keep inside the boat until we get on shore, and then you can fall out if you want to."

"How am I going to fall out when the boat's on shore?" asked Freddie. "Boats can't go on land anyhow, Bert Bobbsey!"

"That will be something for you to think about, and then maybe you won't lean over and scare Nan," said Bert, smiling.

"Do you want I should land you at your father's lumber dock, or shall I row on down near the house, Bert?" asked a man who was pulling at the oars of the boat. "It won't make any difference to me. I've got lots of time."

"Then, Jack, row us down near the house, if you don't mind," begged Nan. "I want to get these two fat twins ashore as soon as I can; Freddie especially, if he's going to almost fall overboard when I'm not looking."

"I'm not going to fall overboard!" cried the little fat fellow. "Can't I row, Jack?"

"Not now, Freddie. I'm in a hurry," answered the man, one of the workers from Mr. Bobbsey's lumberyard.

"But you told Bert, just now, that you had lots of time," insisted Freddie.

"Well -- er -- ahem -- I haven't time to let you row, Freddie. Maybe I will some other day," and Jack looked at Bert and smiled, while he said to himself: "You've got to get up early in the morning to match a smart chap like him," meaning Freddie, of course.

A short time before, the Bobbsey twins had returned from the city of New York where they had spent a part of the winter. Now it was spring and would soon be summer, and, as the day was a fine, warm one, they had gone on a little picnic, taking their lunch with them and pretending to camp on one of the many islands in the lake. Now they were on their way home.

"Well, here you are, safe on shore!" announced Jack, as the twins called Mr. Henderson, the man whom their father had sent with them to manage the boat.

"Yes, and there goes Freddie -- falling overboard!" cried Bert with a laugh, as his little fat brother stumbled over a coil of rope on the dock and tumbled down. "It's a good thing you didn't do that in the boat, little fat fireman."

"I didn't hurt myself, anyhow," said Freddie, as he got up. "Come on, Flossie, let's run home. I'm terrible hungry."

"So'm I," added his sister, who was as fat as he, and just the same size. The two smaller Bobbsey twins started on ahead, while Bert, after seeing that the boat was well tied, followed on more slowly with his sister Nan.

"It was a nice ride we had," Nan said, "wasn't it, Bert?"

"Yes, it's great out on the lake. I wonder if we'll ever go camping as we talked of when we were in New York?"

"Maybe. Let's tease mother to let us!"

"All right. You ask her and I'll ask father. There's one island in the lake where --  -- "

But Bert did not have a chance to finish what he was going to say, for just then Flossie and Freddie, who had hurried on ahead, came running back, surprise showing on their faces.

"Oh, Bert!" cried Freddie. "It's here! It's come!"

"Can we go to see it?" added Flossie. "Oh, I just want to!"

"What's here? What do you want to see? What is it?" asked Bert and Nan together, taking turns at the questions.

"The circus is here!" answered Freddie.

"Circus?" asked Bert in surprise.

"Yep! We saw the wagons!" went on Flossie. "They're all red and yellow, and they've got lookin' glasses all over the sides, and they have rumbly wheels, like thunder, and horses with bells on and -- and --  -- "

"You'd better save a little of your breath to eat some of the good things you think Dinah is going to cook for you," said Nan with a laugh, as she put her arms around her small sister. "Now what is it all about?"

"It's a circus!" cried Freddie.

"We saw the wagons going along the street where our house is," added Flossie. "All red and yellow and --  --  Oh, look!" she suddenly cried. "There they are now!"

She pointed excitedly down the side street, on which the Bobbsey twins then were, toward the main street of Lakeport, where the Bobbsey family lived. Nan and Bert, as well as Flossie and Freddie, saw three or four big wagons, gaily painted red and yellow, and with glittering pieces of looking glass on their sides. The prancing horses drawing the wagons had bells around their necks and a merry, tinkling jingle sounded, making music wherever the horses went.

Bert and Nan gave one look at the wagons, and then they both laughed. Flossie and Freddie glanced up in surprise at their older brother and sister.

"Look what they thought was a circus!" chuckled Bert.

"Isn't it?" asked Flossie. "Isn't that a circus?"

"No, dear," answered Nan. "Don't laugh so much," she said to Bert, as she saw that the two small twins felt hurt. "They do look something like circus wagons."

"They are circus wagons!" declared Freddie. "And pretty soon the elephants will come past. I like elephants."

"You won't see any elephants to-day," said Bert. "That isn't a circus procession."

"What is it?" Flossie demanded.

"Those are gypsy wagons," explained Nan. "Gypsies, you know, are those queer people, who are dark-skinned. They wear rings in their ears and live in wagons like those. They ride all over the country and tell fortunes. I wanted to have my fortune told by a gypsy once, but mother wouldn't let me," she added.

"It's silly!" declared Bert. "Just as if a gypsy could tell you what's going to happen!"

"Well, Lillie Kent had hers told," went on Nan, "and the gypsy looked at her hand and said she was going to have trouble, and she did."

"What?" asked Flossie eagerly.

"She lost a nickel a week after that -- a nickel she was going to buy a lead pencil with."

"Pooh!" laughed Bert, "she'd have lost the nickel anyhow. But say, there are lots of gypsies in this band! I've counted five wagons so far."

"Maybe they're going to have a circus," insisted Freddie, who did not like to give up the idea of seeing a show.

"Course they're going to have a circus," said Flossie. "Look at all the horses," for behind the last two wagons were trotting a number of horses, being led along by men seated in the ends of the bright-colored wagons. The men had straps which were fastened to the heads of the animals.

"No; gypsies don't give shows. They buy and sell horses," said Bert. "I've seen 'em here in Lakeport before, but not so many as this. I guess they're going to make a camp somewhere on Lake Metoka."

"Maybe we'll see 'em when we go camping," said Freddie.

"It isn't yet sure that we're going," returned Nan. "But, come on. There are no more gypsy wagons to see, and we must get home."

Flossie and Freddie, somewhat disappointed that, after all, it was not a circus procession they had seen, started off again. They wished they could have seen more of the gypsies, but the gay wagons rumbled on out of sight, though this was not the last the Bobbsey twins were to see of them. In fact, they were to meet the gypsies again, and to have quite an adventure with them before the summer was over.

"Well, we had a good time, anyhow," said Freddie to Flossie. "And we almost saw a circus, didn't we?"

"Yep," answered his sister. "I'm going to be a gypsy when I grow up."

"Why?" asked Freddie.


"'Cause they've got so many looking glasses on their wagons."

"I'm going to be a gypsy, too," decided Freddie, after thinking it over a bit. "'Cause they've got so many horses. I'm going to ride horseback, and you can ride in one of the wagons, Flossie."

"No. I'm going to ride horseback, too," declared the little girl. "I'm going to have a spangly thing in my hair and wear a dress all glittery and stand on the horse's back and ride --  -- "

"Gypsies don't do that," protested Bert. "It's the people in circuses that ride standing up."

"Gypsies do too," declared Freddie, not knowing a thing about it but feeling he must back up anything Flossie said.

"No, they don't, either."

"Well, maybe they have gypsies in a circus. They have Indians, you know."

"I don't believe they do," put in Nan. "Gypsies wouldn't like to be in a tent and work every afternoon and every evening. They want to live in their wagons and be more out of doors."

"Well, maybe we'll be gypsies and maybe we'll be in a circus," said Freddie. "We'll see, won't we, Flossie?"

"Yep."

By this time the Bobbsey twins had reached their house, or rather, they had turned the corner of the street leading out from the lake, and were in sight of their home. What they saw caused Bert, Nan, Flossie and Freddie to set out on a run. In front of their house was a crowd of people. There were men, women and children, and among them the twins could see their mother, fat Dinah, the cook, and Sam Johnson, her husband, who attended to the Bobbsey furnace in winter and the lawn in summer.

"What's the matter?" asked Nan.

"Something has happened!" cried Bert.

"The house is on fire!" shouted Freddie. "I must get my fire engine that squirts real water!" and he raced on ahead.

"Wait a minute!" called Bert.

The Bobbsey twins saw their mother coming quickly toward them. She held out her arms and cried:

"Oh, I'm so glad you're safe!"

"Why, what's the matter?" asked Flossie.

"I can't just say," answered her mother; "but Helen Porter can't be found. Her mother has looked everywhere for her, but can't find her."

"She's been carried off by the gypsies!" exclaimed John Marsh, an excited boy about Bert's age. "The gypsies took her! I saw 'em!"

"You did?" asked Bert.

"Sure I did! A man! Dark, with a red sash on, and gold rings in his ears! He picked Helen up in his arms and went off with her! She's in one of the gypsy wagons now!"

When John told this Flossie and Freddie huddled closer to their mother.



Chapter II

A Surprise


"What's all this? What's the matter?" asked a voice on the outside fringe of the crowd that had gathered in front of the Bobbsey home, and, looking up, Bert saw his father coming down the street from the direction of his lumberyard. "Has anything happened?" asked Mr. Bobbsey, after a glance had shown him that his own little family was safe and sound.

"Dere suah has lots done gone an' happened, Mistah Bobbsey," answered fat Dinah. "Oh, de pore honey lamb! Jest t' think ob it!"

"But who is it? What has happened?" asked Mr. Bobbsey, looking about for some one to answer him. Flossie and Freddie decided they would do this.

"It's gypsies," said the little "fat fireman," as his father sometimes called Freddie.

"And they carried off Helen Porter," added the little "fat fairy," which was Flossie's pet name. "An' I saw the wagons, all lookin' glasses, an' Freddie an' I are goin' to be gypsies when we grow up." Flossie was so excited that she dropped a lot of "g" letters from the ends of words where they belonged.

"You don't mean to say that the gypsies have carried off Helen Porter -- the little girl who lives next door?" asked Mr. Bobbsey in great surprise.

"Yep! They did! I saw 'em!" exclaimed John Marsh. "She had curly hair, and when the gypsy man tooked her in his arms she cried, Helen did!"

"Oh!" exclaimed Flossie, Freddie and other children in the crowd.

"There must be some mistake," said Mr. Bobbsey. "Those gypsies would never take away a child, even in fun, in broad daylight. It must be a mistake. Let me hear more about it."

And while the father of the Bobbsey twins is trying to find out just what had happened, I will take a few minutes to let my readers know something of the twins themselves, for this book is about them.

It may be that some boy or girl is reading this as his or her first venture into the volumes of the "Bobbsey Twins Series." If so, I will state that there are a number of books which come before this, though this story is complete in itself.

To begin with there were four Bobbsey twins, as you have guessed before this. Nan and Bert were about ten years old, tall and dark, with eyes and hair to match.

Flossie and Freddie were short and fat, and had light hair and blue eyes. So, now that you know them you will have no trouble in telling the twins, one from the other.

With their mother and their father, who owned a large lumberyard, the twins lived in the eastern city of Lakeport near the head of Lake Metoka. There were others in the family besides the twins and their parents. There was dear old, black, fat Dinah, the cook, who made such good pies, and there was Sam, her husband. And I must not forget Snoop, the black cat, nor Snap, the big dog, who once did tricks in a circus. You will hear more about them later.

"The Bobbsey Twins," is the name of the first book, and in that you may read of many adventures that befell the children. They had more adventures in the country, and there is a book telling all about that happy time, and also one about the seashore.

When the Bobbsey twins went to school there was more fun and excitement "than you could shake a stick at," as Dinah used to say, though why any one would want to shake a stick at fun I can't tell. Then came jolly times at "Snow Lodge," and on a houseboat. From there the twins went to "Meadow Brook," and afterward came home, there to have more fun.

The book just before this one you are reading is called "The Bobbsey Twins in a Great City." In that you may learn how Bert, Nan, Flossie and Freddie went to New York where Mr. Bobbsey had some business to look after. While there the twins helped to solve a mystery about a poor old man. I think, however, that I had better not tell you any more about it, but let you read it for yourself.

And now we find the twins back in Lakeport, ready for a good time during the summer that would soon be at hand. Only the gypsy scare had rather alarmed every one for the time being.

"But now let me hear what it is all about," said Mr. Bobbsey, who had come home from the office of his lumberyard to find an excited crowd in front of his house. "Were there really any gypsies?" he asked his wife. "And did they take away Helen Porter?"

"I don't know about that last part," said Mrs. Bobbsey; "but a caravan of gypsies did pass by the house a little while ago. I heard Dinah say something about the gaily painted wagons, and I looked out in time to see them rumbling along the street. Then, a little later, I heard Mrs. Porter calling for Helen, and, on seeing the crowd, I ran out. I was worried about our children until I saw them coming from the lake, where they had gone for a row in the boat."

"I can't believe that gypsies took Helen," said Mr. Bobbsey.

"Oh, but she's gone!" several neighbors told him. "We can't find her anywhere, and her mother is crying and taking on terribly!"

"Well, it may be that Helen is lost, or has even strayed away after the gypsies, thinking their wagons were part of a circus, as Nan says Flossie thought," said Mr. Bobbsey. "But gypsies wouldn't dare take a little girl away in broad daylight."

As he said this he looked at his own little children and at others in the crowd, for he did not want them to be frightened.

"Years ago, maybe, gypsies did take little folks," he said, "but they don't do it any more, I'm sure."

"But where is Helen?" asked John Marsh. "A gypsy man has her, I know, 'cause I saw him take her."

"Are you sure?" asked Mr. Bobbsey, for John was an excitable boy, sometimes given to imagining things that never happened.

"Course I'm sure," he said. "Cross my heart!" and he did so, while the other children looked on wonderingly.

"Suppose you go over to Mrs. Porter's house," said Mrs. Bobbsey to the children's father. "She's worried, I guess, and her husband isn't home yet. Maybe you can help her. I was just going in when you came along."

"All right, I'll go," said Mr. Bobbsey.

"Can't we come?" asked Freddie, and as he had hold of his little sister's hand, it was Flossie, of course, whom he included in his question.

"No, you must go with your mother," said his father, and when the little fat fireman seemed disappointed Mr. Bobbsey went on: "I guess supper is almost ready, isn't it, Dinah?"

"Deed it am. An' dere's puddin' wif shaved-up maple sugar scattered ober de top an' --  -- "

"Oh, I want some of that!" cried Flossie. "Come on, Freddie! We can look for the gypsies after supper."

"And we'll get Helen out of the shiny wagons," added Freddie, as he hurried toward the Bobbsey home with Flossie, fat Dinah waddling along after them.

"I'll go with you," offered Bert to his father. "Maybe you would want me to go on an errand."

"Yes, take Bert with you," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "I'll look after Nan, Flossie and Freddie. And be sure to tell Mrs. Porter that if I can do anything for her I will."

"I'll tell her," and then Mr. Bobbsey, with Bert, walked to the Porter house next door.

The crowd in the street grew larger, and there was much talk about the gypsies. Some said that several little boys and girls had been carried off, but, of course, this was not so.

As Flossie and Freddie tore on toward the house in front of fat Dinah, they continued to chatter about the gypsies.

"If gypsies take little girls we don't want to be them -- the gypsies, I mean -- Freddie."

"Humph-umph; that's so. Well, I guess we'll be in a circus anyhow. That'll be more fun. You can ride a horse in the ring, and sometimes I can ride with you and sometimes I can be a clown. When I'm a clown I can squirt water from my fire engine over the other clowns. That'll make the folks holler and laugh."

When Nan and Mrs. Bobbsey reached the house each of the little twins was munching on a piece of maple sugar, given them by Dinah to keep them from nibbling at the pudding before the time to serve it came.

"My, Momsie! aren't you glad the gypsies came and got Helen Porter? It gives us something to think about," remarked Freddie coolly.

"Freddie Bobbsey!" gasped his mother. "No, I am not glad the gypsies got Helen -- if they did. And you and Flossie find enough to think about, as it is. And give the rest of us enough to think about, what is more."

"There go daddy and Bert into Mrs. Porter's house now," said Nan.

"Now tell me just what happened, and I'll do all I can to help you," said Mr. Bobbsey to Mrs. Porter, when he got to her house and found her half crying in the sitting-room where there were a number of other women.

"Oh, Helen is gone, I'm sure she is!" cried the mother. "The gypsies have taken her! I'll never see her again!"

"Oh, yes you will," said Mr. Bobbsey in mild tones. "I'm sure it's all a mistake. The gypsies haven't taken her at all. What makes you think so?"

"Johnnie Marsh saw them carry her away."

"Then let's have Johnnie in here where we can talk to him. Bert, suppose you do one of those errands you spoke of," said his father with a smile, "and bring Johnnie in out of the crowd where I can talk to him quietly."

John, or Johnnie, as he was often called, was very ready to come when Bert found him outside the Porter house, telling over and over again to a crowd of boys what he had seen, or what he thought he had seen.

"Now tell us just what happened," said Mr. Bobbsey, when the small boy was seated in a chair in the Porter parlor.

"Well, I was coming from the store for my mother," said Johnnie, "and I saw the gypsy wagons. I thought it was a circus."

"That's what Flossie and Freddie thought," said Bert to his father.

"But it wasn't," went on Johnnie. "Then I saw Helen playing in Grace Lavine's yard down the street when I came past. And a little while after that, when I had to go to the store for my mother again, 'cause I forgot a yeast cake, I saw a gypsy man running along the street and he had Helen in his arms and she was crying."

"What made you think it was Helen?" asked Mr. Bobbsey.

"'Cause I saw her light hair. Helen's got fluffy hair like your Flossie's."

"Yes, I know she has," said Mr. Bobbsey. "What did you do when you thought you saw the gypsy man carrying Helen away?" and they all waited anxiously for Johnnie's answer.

"I ran home," said Johnnie. "I didn't want to be carried off in one of those looking-glass wagons."

"Quite right," said Mr. Bobbsey. "Then you really didn't see the gypsy man pick Helen up in his arms?"

"No," slowly answered the little boy, "he only just ran past me. But he must have picked her up in Grace's yard, for that's where Helen was playing."

"Then we'd better go down to where Grace Lavine lives and see what she can tell us," said Mr. Bobbsey.

"You don't need to," put in Bert. "I see Grace out in front now with some other girls. Shall I call her in?"

"Oh, please do!" exclaimed Mrs. Porter. "My poor Helen! Oh, what has happened to her?"

"We'll get your little girl back, even if the gypsies have her," said Mr. Bobbsey. "But I don't believe they have taken her away. Call in Grace, Bert."

Grace was not as excited as Johnnie, and told what she knew.

"Helen and Mary Benson and I were playing in my yard," said Grace. "We had our dolls and were having a tea party. Mary and I went into the house to get some sugar cookies, to play they were strawberry shortcake, and we left Helen out under the trees with her doll. When we came back she wasn't there, nor her doll either, and down the street we saw the gypsy wagons."

"Did you see any gypsy man come into the yard and get Helen?" asked Mr. Bobbsey.

"No," said Grace, shaking her head, "I didn't. But the gypsies must have taken her, 'cause she was gone."

"Oh, please some one go after the gypsies, and make a search among them, at any rate!" cried Mrs. Porter.

"We'll get right after them," said Mr. Bobbsey. "I don't really believe the gypsies took Helen, but they may have seen her. They can't have gone on very far. I'll call some policemen and we'll get after them."

"I'll come with you," said Bert. "Maybe we'd better get an automobile."

"It would be a good idea," said his father. "Let me see now. I think --  -- "

But before Mr. Bobbsey could say what he thought there was the sound of shouts in the street, and when those in the Porter home rushed to the windows and doors they were surprised to see, coming up the front walk, the missing little girl herself!

There was Helen Porter, not carried off by the gypsies at all, but safe at home; though something had happened, that was sure, for she was crying.

"Here she is! Here she is!" cried several in the crowd, and Mrs. Porter rushed out to hug her little girl close in her arms.



Chapter III

Worried Twins


"Oh, Helen! how glad I am to have you back!" cried Mrs. Porter. "How did you get away from the gypsies? Or did they really have you?"

The little girl stopped crying, and all about her the men, women and children waited anxiously to hear what she would say.

"Did the gypsies take you away?" asked Mr. Bobbsey.

"No, the gypsies didn't get me," said Helen, her voice now and then broken by sobs. "But they took Mollie!"

"Took Mollie!" cried Mr. Bobbsey. "Do you mean to say they really did take a little girl away?"

"They -- they took Mollie!" half-sobbed Helen, "and I -- I tried to get her back, but I couldn't run fast enough and -- and --  -- "

"Well, if they really have Mollie," went on Mr. Bobbsey, "we must get right after them and --  -- "

"Mollie is the name of Helen's big doll -- almost as large as she is," explained Mrs. Porter, who was now smiling through her tears. "Mollie isn't a little girl, though probably there are several in Lakeport named that. But the Mollie whom Helen means is a doll."

"Oh, I see," said Mr. Bobbsey. "But did the gypsies really take your doll, Helen?"

"Yes, they did," answered the little girl. "A bad gypsy man took her away. I was playing with Mollie in Grace Lavine's yard, and Grace and Mary went into the house to get some cookies. I stayed out in the yard with my doll, 'cause I wanted her to get tanned nice and brown. I laid her down in a sunny place, and I went over under a tree to set the tea table, and when I looked around I saw the gypsy man."

"Where was he?" asked Mr. Bobbsey.

"He was just getting out of one of the red wagons. And there was a little gypsy girl in the wagon. She was pointing to my doll, and then the man jumped down off the wagon steps, ran into the yard, picked up my doll, and then he jumped into the wagon again and rode away. And he's got my nice doll Mollie, and I want her back, and -- oh, dear!" and Helen began to cry again.

"Never mind," said Mr. Bobbsey quietly. "I'll try to get your doll back again. How large was it?"

"Nearly as large as Helen herself," said Mrs. Porter. "I didn't want her to play with it to-day but she took it."

"Yes, but now the gypsy man with rings in his ears -- he took it," explained Helen. "He carried my doll off in his arms."

"Then it must have been the doll which Johnnie saw the gypsy man carrying, and not Helen!" exclaimed Bert. "Did it look like a doll, Johnnie?"

"Well, it might have been. It had light hair like Helen's, though."

"Helen's doll had light hair," said Mrs. Porter. "And probably if a gypsy put the doll under his arm, and ran past any one it would look as though he were carrying off a little girl. Especially as the doll really had on a dress Helen used to wear when she was a baby."

"That is probably what happened," said Mr. Bobbsey. "The gypsy man's little girl saw, from the wagon, the doll lying in the Lavine yard. Gypsies are not as careful about taking what does not belong to them as they might be. They often steal things, I'm afraid. And, seeing the big doll lying under the tree --  -- "

"Where I put her so she'd get tanned nice and brown," interrupted Helen.

"Just so," agreed Mr. Bobbsey. "Seeing the doll under the tree, with no one near, the gypsy man made up his mind to take her for his little girl. This he did, and when he ran off with Mollie, Johnnie saw what happened and thought Helen was being kidnapped.

"But I'm glad that wasn't so, though it's too bad Mollie has been taken away. However, we'll try to get her back for you, Helen. Maybe the gypsies took other things. If they did we'll send the police after them. Now don't cry any more and I'll see what I can do."

"And will you get Mollie back?"

"I'll do my best," promised the Bobbsey twins' father.

There being nothing more he could do just then at the Porter home, Mr. Bobbsey went back to his own family, and told his wife, Flossie, Freddie and Nan what had happened.

"Oh, I'm so glad Helen is all right," said Mrs. Bobbsey.

"But it's too bad about her doll," sighed Nan. She had a doll of her own -- a fine one -- and she knew how she would feel if that had been taken.

"Helen's doll could talk," said Flossie. "I know, 'cause she let me make it talk one day. You wind up a winder thing in her back, and then you push on a shoe button thing in her front and she says 'Mamma' and 'Papa' and other things."

"Yes, that's right," said Nan. "Mollie is a talking doll. I guess she has a little phonograph inside her. Maybe that's the noise Johnnie heard when the gypsy man carried the doll past him, and Johnnie thought it was Helen crying."

"I guess that was it," agreed Mr. Bobbsey.

"Well, it's too bad to lose a big talking doll. I must see what I can do to help get it back. I'll call up the chief of police."

"It would be worse to lose your toy fire engine," declared Freddie.

"Why, Freddie Bobbsey!" exclaimed his little sister, "nothing could be worse than to lose your very best doll -- your very own child!"

Mr. Bobbsey, being one of the most prominent business men in the town, had considerable business at times with the police and the fire departments, and the officers would do almost anything to help him or his friends.

So, after supper -- at which Dinah had served the pudding with the shaved-up maple sugar over the top, Flossie and Freddie each having had two helpings -- Mr. Bobbsey called up the police station and asked if anything more had been heard of the gypsies.

"Well, yes, we did hear something of them," answered Chief Branford, over the telephone wire. "They've gone into camp, where they always do, on the western shore of the lake, and as I've had several reports of small things having been stolen around town, I'm going to send on officer out there to the gypsy camp, and have him see what he can find. You say they took your little girl's doll?"

"No, not my little girl's," answered Mr. Bobbsey, "but the talking doll belonging to a friend of hers."

"Her name is Molly, Daddy," said Flossie, who, with the other Bobbsey twins, was listening to her father talk over the telephone. "I mean the doll's name is Mollie, not Helen's name."

"I understand," said Mr. Bobbsey with a laugh, and he told the chief the name of the doll and also the name of the little girl who owned it.

"Well, what is to be done?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, as her husband hung up the receiver.

"I think I'll go with the policeman and see what I can find out about the gypsies," said Mr. Bobbsey. "If they are going to take things that do not belong to them they may pay a visit to my lumberyard, if they have not done so already. I think I'll go out to the gypsy camp."

"Oh, let me come!" begged Bert, always ready for an adventure.

"I wouldn't go -- not at night, anyhow," remarked Nan.

"Nor I," added Freddie, while Flossie crept up into her mother's lap.

"Oh, I'm not going until morning," said Mr. Bobbsey. "Then I'll take you, Bert, if you'd like to go. We'll see if we can find Helen's big, talking doll."

"She must feel bad at losing it," said Nan.

"She does," said Bert. "Though how any one can get to like a doll, with such stupid eyes as they have, I can't see."

"They're as good as nasty old knives that cut you, and kite strings that are always getting tangled," said Nan with a laugh.

"Yes, I guess we like different things," agreed her brother. "Well, I'm glad it wasn't Flossie or Freddie the gypsies took away with them."

"I wouldn't go!" declared Freddie. "And if they took Flossie, I'd get my fire engine and squirt water on those men with rings in their ears till they let my sister go!"

"That's my little fat fireman!" laughed Mr. Bobbsey. "But now I think you're getting sleepy. Your row on the lake made the sandman come around earlier than usual I guess. Off to bed with you."

Flossie and Freddie went to bed earlier than Nan and Bert, who were allowed to sit up a little later. There was much talk about the gypsies, and what they might have taken, and Nan and Bert were getting ready for bed when a pattering of bare feet was heard on the stairs, and a voice called:

"Where's Snoop?"

"Why, it's Flossie and Freddie!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey, as she saw the two small twins. "Why are you out of bed?" she asked.

"Freddie thought maybe the gypsies would take our cat Snoop," explained Flossie, "so we got up to tell you to bring him in."

"And bring in Snap, our dog," added Freddie. "The gypsies might take him, 'cause he does tricks and was once in a circus."

"Oh, don't worry about that!" laughed Mr. Bobbsey. "Get back to bed before you take cold."

"But you won't let the gypsies take them, will you?" asked Flossie anxiously.

"No, indeed!" promised her mother. "Snoop is safely curled up in his basket, and I guess Snap wouldn't let a gypsy come near him."

But Flossie and Freddie were not satisfied until they had looked and had seen the big black cat cosily asleep, and had heard Snap bark outside when Bert called to him from a window.

"The gypsies won't take your pets," their father told the small twins, and then, hand in hand, they went upstairs again to bed.



Chapter IV

The Goat


"Can't we come, too?"

"We're not afraid of the gypsies -- not in daytime."

Flossie and Freddie thus called after their father and Bert, as the two latter started the next morning to go to find the gypsy camp. The night had passed quietly, Snap and Snoop were found safe when day dawned, and after breakfast Mr. Bobbsey and his older son were to go to Lake Metoka and find where the gypsies had stopped with the gay red and yellow wagons. They were going to see if they could find any trace of Helen's doll, and also things belonging to other people in town, which it was thought the dark-skinned visitors might have taken.

"Please let us go?" begged the little Bobbsey twins.

"Oh, my dears, no!" said Mrs. Bobbsey. "It's too far; and besides --  -- "

"Are you afraid the gypsies will carry us off?" asked Freddie. "'Cause if you are I'll take my fire engine, and some of the funny bugs that go around and around and around that we got in New York, and I'll scare the gypsies with 'em and squirt water on 'em."

"No, I'm not afraid of you or Flossie's being carried off -- especially when your father is with you," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "But there is no telling where the gypsies are camped, and it may be a long walk before they are found. So you stay with me, and I'll get Dinah to let you have a party."

"Oh, that will be fun!" cried Flossie.

"I'd rather play hunt gypsies," said her brother, but when he saw Dinah come out of the kitchen with a tiny little cake she had baked especially for him and his sister to have a play-party with, Freddie thought, after all, there was some fun in staying at home.

"But take Snap with you," he said to Bert. "He'll growl at the gypsy men, and maybe he'll scare 'em so they'll give back Helen's doll."

"Well, Snap can growl hard when he wants to," said Bert with a laugh. "But still I think it wouldn't be a good thing to take him to the gypsy camp. They nearly always have dogs in their camp -- the gypsies do -- and those dogs might get into a fight with Snap."

"Snap could beat 'em!" declared Freddie.

"No, don't take him!" ordered Flossie. "I don't want Snap to get bit."

"I don't either," agreed Bert, "so I'll leave him at home I guess. Well, there's daddy calling me. I'll have to run. I'll tell you all about it when I come back."

So, while Flossie and Freddie, with the little cake Dinah had baked for them, went to have a good time playing party, Mr. Bobbsey, with a policeman and Bert, went to the gypsy camp. The policeman did not have on his uniform with brass buttons -- in fact, he was dressed almost like Mr. Bobbsey.

"For," said this policeman, whose name was Joseph Carr, "if the gypsy men were to see me coming along in my helmet, with my coat covered with brass buttons, and a club in my hand, they would know right away who I was. They could see me a long way off, on account of the sun shining on the brass buttons, and they would have time to hide away that little girl's doll, or anything else they may have taken. So I'll go in plain clothes."

"Like a detective," said Bert.

"Yes, something like a detective," agreed Mr. Carr. "Now let's step along lively."

Several persons had seen the gypsy caravan of gay yellow and red wagons going through Lakeport, and had noticed them turn up along the farther shore of Lake Metoka. There was a patch of wood several miles away from the town, and in years past these same gypsies, or others like them, had camped there. It was to these woods that Bert and his father were going.

"Do you think we'll find Helen's doll?" asked the boy.

"Well, maybe, Bert," answered his father. "And yet it may be that the gypsies have it, but will not give it up. We'll just have to wait and see what happens."

"If I get sight of it they'll give it up soon enough," said Policeman Carr.

After about a two-hours' walk Bert, his father and Mr. Carr came to the woods. Through the trees they looked and saw the red and yellow wagons standing in a circle. Near them were tied a number of horses, eating what little grass grew under the trees, while dogs roamed about here and there.

"I'm glad we didn't bring Snap," said Bert. "There'd have been a dog fight as sure as fate."

"Yes, I guess so," agreed his father.

By this time they had entered the gypsy camp, and some of the dark-faced men, with dangling gold rings in their ears, came walking slowly forward as if to ask the two visitors with the little boy what was wanted.

"We're after a big doll," said Mr. Bobbsey. "One was taken from a little girl in our town yesterday. Perhaps you gypsies took it by mistake; and, if so, we'd be glad to have it back."

"We haven't any doll," growled one big gypsy. "We have only what is our own."

"I'm not so sure about that," said Mr. Carr. "We'll have a look about the camp and see what we can find."

The gypsy growled and said something else, though what it was Bert could not hear. The gypsies did not seem pleased to have visitors, nor did the dogs who sniffed about the feet of Bert, his father and the policeman. One dog growled, while others barked, and then the gypsy man who had first spoken made them go away.

"You are wasting your time here," said this gypsy, who seemed to be the leader, or "king," as he is sometimes called. "We have nothing but what is our own. We have no little girl's doll."

"We'll have a look about," said Mr. Carr again.

But though the policeman and Mr. Bobbsey, to say nothing of Bert, who had very sharp eyes, looked all about the gypsy camp, there was no sign of the missing doll. If a gypsy man had taken it, of which Helen, at least, was very sure, he had either hidden it well or, possibly, had gone off by himself to some other camp in another part of the woods.

"If the doll would only talk now and tell us where she is, we could get her," said Bert with a laugh to his father, when they had walked through the camp and come out on the other side.

"That's right," agreed Mr. Bobbsey; "but I'm afraid the doll isn't smart enough for that. Do you see anything else that the gypsies may have taken?" asked the twins' father of the policeman.

"I'm not sure," answered Mr. Carr. "We had a report of two horses missing, and they may be here, but most horses look so much alike to me that I can't tell them apart. I guess I'll have to get the men who own them to come here and see if they can pick them out."

For half an hour Bert, his father and Mr. Carr roamed through the gypsy camp, the dark-faced men and women scowling at them, and the dogs now and then barking. If there were any boys or girls in the camp Bert did not see them, and he thought they might be hiding away in some of the many wagons.

"Well, we didn't find the doll," said Mr. Carr when they were on their way back to Lakeport. "But I'm sure some of the horses the gypsies have don't belong to them. The chief of police is going to make them move away from that camp anyhow, for the man who owns the land doesn't like the gypsies there. He says they take his neighbors' chickens."

Flossie and Freddie, as well as Helen Porter, were much disappointed when Mr. Bobbsey and Bert came back without the doll. Helen was sure some gypsy had it, but as it could not be found, nothing could be done about it.

"We'll help you look for your doll this afternoon," said Freddie to the little girl, into whose eyes came tears whenever she thought of her lost pet. "Maybe you left Mollie under some bush in Grace's yard."

"I looked under all the bushes," said Helen.

"Well, we'll look again," promised Freddie, and they did, but no doll was found.

The next day the gypsies were made to move on with their gaily colored wagons, their horses and dogs, and though they went (for they had no right to camp on the land near the lake), they were very angry about it.

"They said they had camped there for many years," reported Mr. Carr, telling about the police having driven the dark-faced men and women away, "and that they would make whoever it was that drove them away sorry that he had done such a thing."

"I suppose that means," said Mr. Bobbsey, "that they'll help themselves from somebody's chicken coop."

"We haven't got any chickens," said Freddie.

"But we've got a dog and a cat," put in Flossie. "If those gypsies take Snap or Snoop I -- I'll go after 'em, I will!"

"So'll I!" declared her little fat brother.

"What'll you do when you get to where the gypsies are?" asked Bert.

"Why, I -- I'll --  -- " began Freddie.

"Oh, I'll just pick Snoop up in my arms and tell Snap to come with me and we'll run home," answered Flossie.

"But maybe the gypsies --  -- "

"Don't, Bert," admonished his father. "I do not believe that you little twins need worry about your cat and your dog," he continued.

But for several days and nights after that Flossie and Freddie were very much worried lest their pets should be taken away. But the gypsies did not come back again -- at least for a time, and though the small Bobbsey twins again helped Helen hunt under many bushes for her talking doll it could not be found.

"I just know the gypsy man took my Mollie!" declared Helen.

"I'll help you get it back if ever I see those gypsies," declared Freddie, but at that time neither he, Flossie nor Helen realized what strange things were going to happen about that same talking doll.

It was about a week after this (and summer seemed to have come all of a sudden) that, when the mail came one morning, Mrs. Bobbsey saw a postal card that made her smile as she read it.

"What's it about, Momsie?" asked Freddie, when he noticed his mother's happy face. "Are we going back to New York?"

"No, but this postal has something to do with something that happened in New York," was Mrs. Bobbsey's answer. "It is from the express company to your father, and it says there is, at the express office, a --  -- "

Just then Mrs. Bobbsey dropped the postal, and as Nan picked it up to hand to her mother the little girl saw one word.

"Oh!" cried Nan, "it's a postal about a goat!"

"A -- a goat?" gasped Flossie.

"A goat!" shouted Freddie. "A live goat?"

"Why -- er -- yes -- I guess so," and Nan looked at the postal again.

"Oh, I know!" cried Freddie. "It's that goat I almost bought in New York -- Mike's goat! Oh, did daddy get a goat for us as he promised?" asked the little boy of his mother.



Chapter V

A Bumpy Ride


The Bobbsey twins -- all four of them -- stood in a circle about their mother, looking eagerly at her and at the postal card which Nan had handed to her. Freddie and Flossie were smiling expectantly while Nan and Bert looked as though they were not quite sure whether or not it was a joke.

"Is it really a goat, Mother?" asked Bert.

"Well, that's what this postal says," answered Mrs. Bobbsey. "A goat and cart have arrived at the express office, and your father is asked to come to get them and take them away."

"Course he's got to take 'em away," said Freddie. "The goat'll be hungry there, for he can't get anything to eat."

"And he might butt somebody with his horns," added Flossie.

"Daddy wouldn't buy a butting goat," Freddie declared. "Anyhow, let's go and get him. I want to have a ride."

"If there really is a goat outfit at the express office for us," said Bert, "we'd better get it I think. I'll take the postal down to the lumberyard office and ask daddy --  -- "

"I'm going with you!" cried Freddie.

"I'm comin', too!" added Flossie.

"Suppose you all go," suggested Mrs. Bobbsey. "Your father will tell you what to do, for I'm sure I don't know what to say. I never had a goat. Four twins, a dog and a cat are about all I can manage," she said laughingly, as fat Dinah came waddling into the room to ask what to order from the grocery.

"A goat! Good lan' ob massy!" exclaimed the colored cook. "Dere suah will be trouble if de honey lambs takes t' playin' wif goats! Um! Um! Um! A goat! Oh, landy!"

"I know how to drive a goat!" declared Freddie. "Mike, the red-haired boy in New York, showed me. Flossie and I had a ride in his wagon for two cents apiece. It was fun, wasn't it, Flossie?"

"Yep. I liked it. We had lots of fun in New York. Freddie rode on a mud turtle's back and we had bugs that went around and around and around."

"Maybe the goat will go around and around and around," said Nan, half laughing.

"Well, hurry down to your father's office with the postal," advised Mrs. Bobbsey. "He'll know what to do."

And when the four excited Bobbsey twins -- for even Bert was excited over the chance of owning a goat -- reached their father's office he told them all about it.

"You remember," he said, "that when Freddie and Flossie 'almost' bought the goat in New York I promised that if I could find a good one for sale, with a harness and wagon I'd buy it for you this summer. Well, I heard of one the other day, and I got it, having it sent on here by express. Now we'll go down and see what it looks like."

"It's going to be my goat -- Flossie's and mine, isn't it?" asked Freddie, as they started for the express office down near the railroad station.

"No more yours than it will be Nan's and Bert's, my little fat fireman," said Mr. Bobbsey with a laugh. "You must all be kind to the goat and take turns riding in the wagon."

"Can't we all ride at once?" asked Nan.

"Well I don't know how large the wagon is," answered Mr. Bobbsey, as he started from his lumberyard for the express office with the children. "Maybe you can all get in at once if the goat is strong enough to pull you."

"I hope he's a big goat," said Freddie. "Then me and Bert will drive him and ride you and Flossie, Nan."

"Don't let him run away with me, that's all I ask!" begged Nan, laughing.

They found the goat in a crate on the express platform. Near him was a good-sized wagon, like those the children had seen in Central Park when on their visit to New York.

"Oh, we can all get in it!" cried Freddie, as he ran from the wagon over to where the goat was bleating in his crate. The animal was a large white one, and he seemed gentle when Flossie and Freddie put their hands in through the slats of the crate and patted him.

"I think he'd like to get out where he can walk around and have something to eat and drink," said Mr. Bobbsey. "We must take him out of his crate."

This was soon done with the help of the express agent, and, when the last piece of wood was taken off, the goat stepped out of his crate in which he had traveled from a distant city, and gave a loud,

"Baa-a-a-a-a!"

Then he stamped his forefeet on the platform, and shook his head, on which were two horns.

"Oh, look out! He'll run away!" cried Freddie, who was afraid of losing his goat before there was a chance for a ride.

But the goat seemed tame, kind and gentle, and after walking about a little, stood still beside the crate and let the children pat him, while Mr. Bobbsey paid the express agent.

There was a piece of paper pasted on the crate in which the goat had traveled. One end of the paper was flapping loose, and, seeing it, the white animal nibbled at it, and finally ate it, chewing it up as though he liked it; as indeed he did, not so much for the paper as for the dried paste by which it had been stuck on.

"Oh, look!" cried Nan. "The goat's eating the label off his crate so we can't send him back. He likes us, I guess."

"We like him, anyhow," said Freddie, laughing and patting the billy. "Come on, Bert. Hitch him up and give us a ride."

"Shall I?" asked Bert of his father.

"Why, yes, I guess so. Might as well start now as any time. The man I bought him from said he was kind and gentle and liked children. Harness him up, Bert."

A complete harness had come with the goat and wagon, and when the white animal had been given a drink of water and fed some grass which Flossie and Freddie pulled for him, Bert, helped by his father and the express agent, put the harness on.

"What are we going to call him?" asked Nan. "We'll have to have a name for our goat. We don't want to call him 'it,' or 'Billy.'"

"Name him Whisker," said Bert. "See, he has whiskers just like an old man."

"Oh, that's a nice, funny name!" laughed Flossie, and Freddie thought so too. So the goat was named Whisker, and he seemed to like that as well as any. What he had been called before they got him, the children did not know.

Whisker did not seem to mind being hitched to the wagon, and when Mr. Bobbsey had made sure that all the straps were well fastened, Bert took the front seat, with Nan beside him, while Flossie and Freddie sat in the back. They set off, Mr. Bobbsey walking beside the goat to make sure he did not run away.

But Whisker seemed to be a very good goat indeed, and went along nicely, and so slowly and carefully that Freddie, several times, begged to be allowed to drive.

"I will let you after a while," promised Bert. "Let me get used to him first."

When the Bobbsey twins came riding down their street in the goat wagon you can imagine how surprised all the other children were. They gathered in front of the house and rushed into the yard when Bert turned Whisker up the driveway.

"Oh, give us a ride! Give us a ride!" cried the playmates of the Bobbsey twins.

"Yes, I'll give you all rides," promised Bert good-naturedly.

Then began a jolly time for the Bobbsey twins and their friends. Whisker did not seem to mind how many children he hauled around the smooth level yard at the side of the house, and sometimes the wagon was as full as it could hold. Nor did the goat try to butt any one with his horns, letting the boys and girls pet him as much as they pleased.

"He's almost as nice as my doll the gypsies took," said Helen Porter, after she had had a ride. "I like Whisker."

"Did you find your doll?" asked Flossie.

"No. I can't find Mollie anywhere. I just know she's been turned into a gypsy. Oh, dear!"

"Flossie and I'll help you find her," promised Freddie once again. "Some day I'm going to drive the goat all alone, and I'll give you and Flossie a long ride, Helen. Then we'll go off and find your doll."

"That'll be nice," said Helen.

The Bobbsey twins never knew how many friends they had until they got the goat wagon. For a time Snoop and Snap were forgotten, because there was so much fun to be had with Whisker. Bert gave many rides to his little sister and brother and to their playmates, and in a few days Freddie was allowed to drive the goat, so gentle was the white animal.

One day, soon after Bert had hitched Whisker to the wagon, and was going to give his two sisters and brother a ride, a telephone message came from Mr. Bobbsey, asking Bert to come to the lumber office to get something Mr. Bobbsey had to send home to his wife.

"I'll give you a ride when I come back," promised Bert, hurrying down the street.

"We'll leave Whisker hitched up," said Nan. "I'll go in and finish sewing up that hole in my stocking I was mending."

"And I'll stay out here in the goat wagon," said Freddie, while Flossie nodded her head to say she would do the same thing.

A little later, and before Bert had come back from his father's office, Helen Porter came walking past the Bobbsey house. Looking in the yard, she saw Flossie and Freddie seated in the goat wagon.

"Come on in," invited Flossie. "We're having a make-believe ride, and you can ride too. Can't she, Freddie?"

"Yep. An' I'm going to drive -- make-believe. Come on, Helen. When Bert comes I'll ask him to take us to help find the gypsies and get back your doll."

Helen hurried in and took her place in the wagon, and the three children had lots of fun pretending they were going on a long trip. They did not really go, for the goat was tied to a post.

"I wish Bert would hurry back," said Flossie, after a bit. "I'm tired of staying in one place so long."

"So'm I," said Freddie. Then he got out of the wagon and began loosening the strap by which the goat was fastened to the post.

"What're you doing?" Flossie asked.

"I -- I just want to see what Whisker'll do," answered the little boy. "Maybe he's tired of standing still."

Indeed, the goat seemed to be, for no sooner had Freddie got into the wagon again than off Whisker started, walking slowly toward the back of the yard, where there was a gate to a rear street which led to the woods.

"Whoa!" cried Freddie, but he did not say it very loudly. "Whoa, Whisker! Where you going?"

"Oh, he's runnin' away!" cried Helen. "Let me out! He's runnin' away!"

"No, he's only walking," said Freddie. "It's all right. As long as he walks, you won't get hurt. I guess I'd better drive him, though."

"Can't you stop him?" asked Flossie. "Bert won't like it to have us take him away."

"We aren't taking him away; he's taking us away," said Freddie. "I can't make him stop. Look!" Again he called: "Whoa!" but the goat did not obey.

On and on went Whisker, slowly at first, then walking a little faster and pulling after him the wagon with the children in it.

"Oh, he's going to the woods!" cried Flossie, as she saw the goat heading for the patch of trees at the end of the back street. "Stop him, Freddie!"

"Maybe he wants to go there," said Freddie. "He won't stop for me."

"But it -- it's such a bumpy road," said Helen, the words being fairly jarred out of her. "It's all -- all bu-bu-bumps and hu-hu-humps."

"That's 'cause we're in the woods," said Freddie, for by this time the goat had drawn the wagon into the shade of the woods, not far from the Bobbsey home. It was indeed a bumpy place, Whisker pulling the children over tree roots and bits of broken wood. But the wagon was stout, and the goat was strong. Then, suddenly, Freddie had an idea.

"Oh, Helen!" he cried, "I guess Whisker is taking us to find your lost doll!"



Chapter VI

Jolly News


Whisker, the big white goat, seemed to know exactly what he was doing, whether or not it was taking the two smallest Bobbsey twins and Helen Porter to the woods to find the lost doll. For the goat stepped briskly along, pulling after him the wagon in which the children rode. They were bumped about quite a bit, for the path through the woods was anything but smooth.

In some places there was no path at all, but this did not seem to worry Whisker. He went along anyhow, now and then stopping to nibble at some green leaves, and again turning to one side to crop some grass.

"Do you really think he's taking us to my doll?" asked Helen eagerly.

"I -- I hope so," answered Flossie, somewhat doubtfully.

"Maybe he is," said Freddie. "Anyhow, the gypsies that took your doll Mollie came to the woods, and we're in the woods, and maybe the doll is here and maybe we'll find her."

That was as much as Freddie could think of at one time, especially as he had to hold the reins that were fast to the bit in Whisker's mouth. For the goat was driven just as a horse or pony is driven, and Freddie was doing the driving this time.

At least the little boy thought he was, and that was very near the same thing. But Whisker went along by himself pretty much as he pleased, really not needing much driving by the leather reins. And he never needed to be whipped -- in fact, there was not a whip in the wagon, for the Bobbsey children never thought of using it. They were kind to their goat.

"Oh, I'm falling out!" suddenly cried Helen, as the wagon went over a very rough, bumpy place in the path.

"Hold on tight like me," said Flossie. "Anyhow," she went on, as she looked out of the wagon, "if you do fall you won't get hurted much, 'cause there's a lot of soft moss and leaves on the ground."

"But I'll get my dress dirty," said Helen.

"Then we'll go down to the lake and wash it off," said Freddie, for the woods in which they now were led down to the shore of the lake.

"Well, I don't want to fall, anyhow," said Helen. "'Most always when I fall I bump my nose, an' it hurts."

"It's smoother now, and I guess the wagon won't tip over," observed Freddie, a little later.

They had come now to a wider path in the woods, where it was not so bumpy, and the wagon rolled easily over the moss and leaves as Whisker pulled it along.

"It's nice in here," said Flossie, looking about her.

"Yes, I'm glad Whisker took us for a ride," said Freddie.

"He wouldn't have if you hadn't unhitched his strap," remarked Flossie. "What'll Bert say?"

"Well, Whisker was tired of standing still," went on her brother. "And, anyhow, Helen wanted to come for a ride to find her doll; didn't you?" he asked their little playmate.

"Yep, I did," she answered. "I want my doll Mollie awful much."

"Then we'll look for her," Freddie went on. "Whoa, Whisker!"

Whether the goat really stopped because Freddie said this word, which always makes horses stop, or whether Whisker was tired and wanted a rest, I can not say. Anyhow, he stopped in a shady place in the woods, and the children got out.

"I'll tie the goat to a tree so he can't go off and have a ride by himself," said Freddie, as he took the strap from the wagon.

But Whisker did not seem to want to go on any farther. He lay down on some soft moss and seemed to go to sleep.

"We'll leave him here until we come back," said Freddie. "And now we'll look for Helen's doll."

Perhaps the children had an idea that the gypsies may have left the talking doll behind in the woods when they were driven away by the police. For, though they were not near the place where the dark-skinned men and women had camped, Flossie, Freddie and Helen began looking under trees and bushes for a trace of the missing Mollie.

"Do you s'pose she can talk and call to tell you where she is?" asked Flossie, when they had hunted about a bit, not going too far from the goat and wagon.

"I don't know," Helen answered. "Sometimes, when I wind up the spring in her back she says 'Mamma' and 'Papa' without my pushing the button. My father says that's because something is the matter with her."

"Well, if she would only talk now, and holler out, we'd know where to look for her," added Freddie.

"Let's call to her," suggested Flossie.

"All right," agreed Helen.

So the children called:

"Mollie! Mollie! Where are you?"

Their voices echoed through the trees, but there was no other answer -- at least for a while. Then, when they had walked on a little farther, and found a spring of water where they had a cool drink, they called again:

"Mollie! Mollie! Where are you?"

Then, all at once, seemingly from a long way off, came an answering call:

"Wait a minute. I'm coming!"

"Oh, did you hear that?" gasped Flossie.

"It was somebody talking to us," whispered Helen.

"And it wasn't the echo, either," went on Flossie.

"Maybe it was your doll," suggested Freddie. "Did it sound like her voice?"

"A -- a little," said Helen slowly.

"We'll call again," suggested Flossie, and once more the children cried aloud:

"Mollie! Mollie! Where are you?"

"Wait a minute. Stand still so I can find you! I'm coming!" was the answer.

The three little ones looked at one another in surprise, and they were, moreover, a little frightened. Was it possible that the missing, talking doll was really in the woods and had answered them? That it could talk, because it had a phonograph inside, they all knew. But would it answer when spoken to?

"It didn't sound like Mollie," whispered Helen, after a bit. "Her voice wasn't as loud as that."

"Oh-o-o-o-o!" suddenly gasped Flossie. "Maybe it was -- the gypsies!"

That was something the children had not thought of before. Suppose it should be the same gypsy man who had taken away the doll?

"It couldn't be the gypsies," said Freddie, looking around him. "They all went away. Daddy said so."

"But maybe there was one left," suggested his sister.

"Pooh! I'm not afraid of one gypsy," declared Freddie. "If he bothers me I'll sic Whisker on him."

"You can't sic a goat -- they can't bite or bark like a dog," retorted Flossie.

"No, but Whisker can butt with his horns!" cried Freddie. "That's what I'll do! If it's a gypsy I'll sic Whisker on him!"

Just then the children heard the voice again, calling:

"Where are you? I want to find you!"

Once more they looked at one another rather afraid. And then came a loud "Baa-a-a-a-a!" from Whisker.

"Come on!" cried Freddie. "Maybe they're trying to take our goat away!"

He started on a run through the woods toward the place where they had left Whisker and the wagon, now out of sight behind some bushes.

"Wait! Wait for me!" cried Flossie, who was left behind with Helen. "Don't run off without us, Freddie!"

"Oh, excuse me," he said, politely enough. "But we don't want those gypsies to take Whisker."

"Whisker'll butt 'em," said Flossie. "Wait for us."

"Yes, I guess our goat won't let anybody take him," went on Freddie, walking now, instead of running. "Come on, Flossie and Helen! Maybe it's your doll talking and maybe it isn't. But we'll soon see!"

Together the three children hurried on, soon coming within sight of the goat. There was Whisker peacefully lying down, still asleep. And running toward him, along the woodland path, was Bert, who, as he caught sight of Freddie and the others, called:

"Oh, there you are! I've been looking everywhere for you. Didn't you hear me calling?"

"Was that you?" asked Freddie. "We thought maybe it was a gypsy man."

"Or Helen's doll," added Flossie. "Her doll, Mollie, can talk, you know, Bert. And Whisker gave us a ride here so we looked for the doll."

"Yes, and then I had to come looking for you," said her brother. "But never mind. I've found you and I've got jolly news."

"Do you mean jolly news because you found us?" asked Freddie.

"No, it's jolly news about something else," Bert said. "But I've got to hurry home with you so mother won't worry. Then I'll tell you."



Chapter VII

Where Is Snap?


"How did you youngsters come to run away?" asked Bert, when he was driving the goat wagon back through the woods again, taking a path that was not quite so bumpy as the first one. "My goodness! I came back from daddy's office to find mother and Nan looking everywhere for you. How did you happen to run away?"

"We didn't runned away," said Flossie, who was so excited over what had happened that she forgot to speak the way her teacher in school had told her to. "Whisker runned away with us."

"I guess he didn't go without being told, and without some one's taking off his hitching strap," said Bert, with a smile.

"Anyhow, we didn't run much, Whisker just walked most of the time," said Freddie.

"Well, it's all the same," returned Bert. "I had to chase after you to find you. Didn't you hear me calling?"

"Yes, but we thought it was gypsies or Helen's doll," answered Flossie. "We were looking for Mollie, you know."

"You'll not find her unless you find that band of gypsies," said Bert. "Anyhow, you mustn't come off to the woods alone, you little children."

"We had Whisker with us," Freddie declared. "And if any of the gypsy men had come he'd have butted 'em with his horns."

"He might, and he might not," went on Bert. "Anyhow, I guess you had a nice ride."

"We did," said Flossie. "Only we're sorry we couldn't find Helen's doll. How did you find us, Bert?"

"Oh, I could see by the wheel and hoof marks in the soft dirt which way Whisker had taken the wagon, and I just followed."

"But what is the jolly news?" Freddie demanded. "Are we going back to New York?"

"Better than that!" answered Bert. "We're going camping!"

"Camping?" cried the two little Bobbsey twins in the same breath. "Where?" asked Freddie. "When?" asked Flossie.

"It isn't all settled yet," answered Bert. "You know daddy and mother talked about it when we were in the big city. And to-day, when I was down at the lumberyard I heard daddy speaking to a man in there about some of the islands in Lake Metoka. Daddy wanted to know which one was the best to camp on."

"And did the man say which was a good one?" asked Freddie.

"I didn't hear. But I asked daddy afterward if we were going to camp this summer, and he said he guessed so, if mother wanted to."

"Does mother want to?" asked Flossie eagerly.

"She says she does," answered Bert. "So I guess we'll go to camp this summer all right. Isn't that jolly news?"

"Um," said Freddie, not opening his mouth, for in one pocket of his little jacket he had found a sweet cracker he had forgotten, and he was now chewing on it, after having given his sister and Helen some.

"Oh, I wish we could go now and take Whisker with us!" cried Flossie.

"If we go we'll take the goat cart!" decided Bert.

"And we'll take our dog Snap, and our cat Snoop, too!" announced Freddie. "They'll like to go camping."

Mrs. Bobbsey and Nan were anxiously waiting for Bert to come back with the runaways, and when he came in sight, driving the goat cart, the children's mother hurried down the back road to meet them.

"Oh, my dears! you shouldn't go away like that!" she called.

"Whisker wanted to go," said Freddie. "And we had a nice ride even if it was bumpy. And we thought we heard Mollie's doll calling, but it was Bert."

"Well, don't do it again," said Mrs. Bobbsey. She always said that, whenever either set of twins did things they ought not to do, and each time they promised to mind. But the trouble was they hardly ever did the same thing twice. And as there were so many things to do, Mrs. Bobbsey could not think of them all, so she could not tell Nan and Bert, Flossie and Freddie not to do them.

"When are we going camping?" asked Freddie, as he got out of the goat cart.

"And what island are we going on?" asked Flossie.

"Oh, my! I see you have it all settled so soon!" laughed Mrs. Bobbsey. "Your father and I have yet to talk it over.

"We'll do that to-night," she went on. "And now you children come in and get washed, and Dinah will give you something to eat. You must be hungry."

"We are," said Flossie. "And Helen's hungry, too. Aren't you, Helen?" she asked.

"Um -- yes -- I guess so."

"Well, we'll soon find out," laughed Mrs. Bobbsey. "I think your mother won't mind if I give you a little lunch with Flossie and Freddie. Nan can tell her that you are here and are all right. She doesn't know you had a runaway ride in the goat wagon."

"It was a bumpy ride, too," explained Flossie. "And we didn't find Mollie the talking doll."

"Well, maybe you will some day," said Mrs. Bobbsey kindly.

And while Flossie, Freddie and Helen ate the nice little lunch, fat, black Dinah got ready for them, Bert and Nan went for a ride in the goat wagon, stopping at Mrs. Porter's house to tell her that Helen was safe in the Bobbsey home.

"And now let's talk about camping!" cried Bert that night after supper when the family, twins included, were gathered in the dining-room, the table having been cleared. "When can we go?"

"I think as soon as school closes," said his father. "Summer seems to have started in early this year, and I want to get you children and your mother off to some cool place. An island in the middle of the lake is the best place I can think of."

"It will be fine!" cried Bert. "Which island are we going to camp on?"

"There are two or three that would do nicely," answered Mr. Bobbsey. "I talked to some friends who own them, but I think one called Blueberry Island would suit us best."

"It has a nice name," said Nan. "I like -- Blueberry Island! It sounds just as if it were out of a book."

"Is it a fairy island?" Freddie wanted to know, for he liked to have fairy stories read to him.

"Well, maybe it will turn out to be a fairy story," said Mr. Bobbsey with a laugh. "It's the largest island in the lake, and several other parties are going there camping, so Mr. Ames, the man who owns it, told me."

"Why do they call it Blueberry Island?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Because there are many blueberries on it," answered her husband. "And if we go there I shall expect you children to pick plenty of blueberries so Dinah can make pies. I'm very fond of blueberry pie."

"I like it, too," said Freddie. "We'll take Whisker with us, and he can haul a whole wagon load of blueberries."

"I wouldn't ask you to pick as many as that," said his father with a laugh. "Two or three quarts would be enough for a pie, wouldn't they, Mother?"

"I should hope so! But do you really mean we are to go camping on Blueberry Island?"

"Surely," answered Mr. Bobbsey. "It will be a nice way to spend the summer."

"And shall we live in a tent?" asked Freddie, "and cook over a camp fire? and go fishing? and -- and -- and --  -- "

"Yes, all of that and more, too," said his father, catching up the little fat fireman and bouncing him toward the ceiling.

Then followed a happy hour talking over the plans for going camping on Blueberry Island, until Mother Bobbsey said it was time for Flossie and Freddie, at least, to go to bed.

Off they went to Slumberland, to dream of living in a big white tent with a flag on top of it.

"Just like a circus!" as Freddie said the next morning at breakfast.

"Or a gypsy camp," added Flossie. "Are there any gypsies on Blueberry Island, Daddy?"

"No, not a one."

"'Cause if there was," went on the little girl, "I wouldn't take my doll with me. I wouldn't want her tooked away like Helen's was."

"We won't let any gypsies come," said Mr. Bobbsey.

One warm summer day came after another until it was nearly time to close the school, and all the boys and girls in Lakeport were thinking of vacation. The Bobbseys were getting ready to go to the Blueberry Island camp. Mr. Bobbsey had bought the tents and other things and they were to go to the island in a boat.

"And we'll take Whisker, our goat, and Snap and Snoop," said Flossie, "and my dolls and the bugs that go around and around and around and --  -- "

"You'll have a regular menagerie!" said Nan.

"We'll have some fun, anyhow," cried Freddie. "I wonder if we could hitch Snap and Whisker up together and make a team?"

"Let's try," suggested Bert. "Come on, Freddie, we'll find our dog."

But when they called Snap he did not come running in from the yard or barn as he had always done before. Bert and Freddie called, but there was no answering bark.

"Where is Snap, Dinah?" asked Bert, when a search about the house did not show the missing dog.

"I done seed him heah about half an hour ago," said the colored cook, "an' den, all to oncet, I didn't see him ag'in. I wonder if dat ole peddler could hab took him?" she asked, speaking half to herself.

Bert and Freddie looked at one another in surprise. Where was Snap?



Chapter VIII

Off To Camp


"This is queer," said Bert, when a more careful search about the house and barn failed to find Snap. "If he's run away, it will be about the first time he has done that since we've had him."

"Let's ask at some of the houses down the street," said Nan. "Sometimes the children coax him in to play with them, and he forgets to come home because they make such a fuss over him."

"Here's Snoop, anyhow!" cried Freddie, coming out of the barn with the big black cat in his arms. "He can go to camp with us."

"But we want Snap, too!" added Flossie. "We need a dog to keep the gypsies away."

"There won't be any gypsies on Blueberry Island!" Bert reminded them.

"You can't tell," declared Freddie.

"Maybe there'll be one or two, an' I don't want them to take my doll the way they did Helen's," added Flossie.

"Didn't Helen get her doll back?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, coming out of the house in time to hear what the children were saying.

"No'm, and she feels awful sad," replied Flossie. "And now the gypsies has took Snap."

"The gypsies have taken Snap -- really, Flossie, you must speak more correctly," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "But what do you mean about Snap's being taken?"

"He seems to be gone," reported Bert.

"We've looked everywhere for him, and now we're going to ask down the street," added Nan.

"But we've got Snoop," said Flossie, and so it was. "We" -- that is, she and Freddie both -- had the big black cat, one twin carrying the head and the other twin the hind legs. But Snoop was often carried that way and he did not mind.

"Snap not here? That is odd," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Have you whistled and called to him?"

"Every way we know," replied Bert. "Listen!" and, putting his fingers in his mouth, he gave such a shrill whistle that his mother and Nan had to cover their ears, while fat Dinah, waddling to her kitchen window, cried:

"Good land ob massy! What am dat -- a fire whistle?"

"I can whistle like that!" shouted Freddie, dropping his end of the black cat. As it happened to be the head end he was carrying, this left the hind legs to Flossie and poor Snoop was thus dangling head down.

"Miaou!" he cried sadly, and then he gave a wriggle, and another one, and got loose.

Freddie made a sort of hissing sound on his fingers -- not at all a nice, loud whistle as Bert had done -- but it was pretty good for a little fellow.

"He ought to hear that," Bert said, when he was done blowing his call, and his mother and sister had uncovered their ears. "But he doesn't come."

"Did you ask Dinah about him?" Mrs. Bobbsey questioned.

"Yes, and she said --  -- Oh, she said something about a peddler!" cried Nan. "We forgot to ask her what she meant."

"Did Snap chase after a peddler?" asked Bert, for the colored cook was still at the window.

"No, I didn't see you all's dog chase after de peddler, honey lamb," replied Dinah. "But jest a little while ago a woman wif a red dress on, all trimmed wif yaller, real fancy like, comed to de back do' sellin' lace work. Snap was heah den, eatin' some scraps I put out fo' him, an' de woman patted him an' talked to him in a queer like way."

"She did!" cried Bert excitedly. "What'd she say?"

"Lan' goodness! You all don't s'pose I knows all de queer languages in de United States, does yo'?" asked Dinah, shaking her kinky head. "But de woman talked queer t' Snap, an' he wagged his tail, which he don't often does t' strangers."

"No," put in Flossie, shaking her head vigorously, "Snap don't often talk to strangers. He's awful dig-dignified with 'em. Isn't he, Freddie?"

"Well, he doesn't like tramps, and they're strangers," replied her brother. "Are peddlers tramps, Bert?"

"No, I guess not. But some of 'em look like tramps -- pretty near, maybe."

"What happened to the woman peddler?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Oh, I soon got rid ob her," said Dinah. "I tole her we was gwine t' lib in de woods an' we didn't want no fancy lace 'cause it would git all ripped on de trees an' bushes. So she went off."

"And what happened to Snap?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Oh, he was eatin' his scraps de last I seen ob him," answered Dinah. "An' he wagged his tail ag'in at de woman in de gay dress what looked like she was gwine on a picnic."

"A dress of red and yellow," said Nan. "Isn't that the color the gypsies wear?"

"Was the woman a gypsy?" asked Bert quickly.

"She mought o' been," answered the cook. "She had gold rings in her ears, an' she was dark. Not as dark as me or Sam, but like some of them Eytalian men. I didn't pay much 'tention to her, 'cause I was makin' a cake. But maybe Snap done followed her to see to it she didn't take nuffin. 'Cause ef she was a gypsy she mought take things."

"Yes, and she's taken Snap -- that's what she's done!" cried Bert. "That's what's happened to our dog. The gypsies have him! I'm going to tell daddy, and have him get a policeman."

"Now don't be too sure," advised Mrs. Bobbsey. "Perhaps that peddler may have been a gypsy, and she may have made friends with Snap -- those people have a strange way with them about dogs and horses -- but it isn't fair to say she took your pet. He may have followed her just to be friendly. You had better ask at some of the houses down the street first."

"Come on!" cried Bert to Nan. "We'll go and ask."

"And I'm coming, too!" added Freddie. "I can call Snap and you can whistle for him, Bert."

"And I'll take Snoop, and Snoop can miaou for him," said Flossie.

"No, you two little ones stay here," directed Mrs. Bobbsey. "I want to wash and dress you for dinner. Let Bert and Nan hunt for Snap."

"Then can't we go in the goat cart?" Freddie asked.

"We'll all have a ride when we come back," promised Bert. "We first want to find Snap, if we can, to see if he'll hitch up with Whisker," the boy told his mother.

So while Flossie and Freddie went into the house to get freshened up after their play, Nan and Bert went from house to house asking about Snap. But though the big, trick dog sometimes went to play with the neighbors' children, this time there was no sign of him. One after another of the families on the block said they had not seen Snap.

Several servants had noticed the gypsy woman "peddler," as they called her, for she had made a number of calls on the block, trying to sell her lace, but no one had seen Snap with her.

"Oh, I guess Snap just ran away for a change, as Flossie and Freddie sometimes do," said Mr. Bobbsey when he came home that evening and had been told what had happened. "He'll come back all right, I'm sure."

But Nan and Bert were not so sure of this. They knew Snap too well. He had never gone away like this before. Flossie and Freddie, being younger, did not worry so much. Besides, they had Snoop, and the cat was more their pet than was the dog, who was Bert's favorite, though, of course, every one in the Bobbsey family loved him.

Several times that evening Bert went outside to whistle and call for his pet, but there was no answering bark, and when bedtime came Bert was so worried that Mr. Bobbsey agreed to call the police and ask the officers who were on night duty to keep a lookout for the missing animal. This would be done, the chief said, since nearly all the officers in Lakeport knew Snap, who often visited at the police station.

Morning came, but no Snap was at the door waiting to be let in, though Bert was up early to look. Snoop, the big black cat, was in his usual place, getting up to stretch and rub against Bert's legs.

"But where's Snap?" asked the boy.

"Miaou," was all Snoop answered. Perhaps he knew, but could not tell.

"Well, I'm afraid your dog is lost," said Mr. Bobbsey, when at the breakfast table Bert reported that Snap was still away. "We'll put an advertisement in the paper and offer a reward if he is brought back."

"Maybe he's gone to camp on Blueberry Island and is waiting over there for us," said Flossie.

"Maybe, my little fat fairy!" agreed her father, catching her up for a good-bye kiss. "Let's hope so. And now you must soon begin to get ready to go camping."

The children heard this news with delight, and, for a time, even lost Snap was forgotten. He had often visited the neighbors before, and had always come back, so Bert hoped the same thing would happen this time.

There was much to do to get ready to go to Blueberry Island. There were clothes to pack and food to be bought, for though it was not many miles from the island back to the mainland where there were stores, still Mrs. Bobbsey did not want to have to send in too often for what was needed.

The goat wagon was very useful for going on errands during the days that it took them to get ready to go off to live in the woods. Bert and Nan, sometimes with Flossie and Freddie, rode here and there about town, and Whisker was as good as a pony, being strong and gentle.

Everywhere they went Nan and her brother looked for Snap and asked about him. But, though many in Lakeport knew the dog, and had seen him on the day he was last noticed, no one could tell where he was. No one could be found who had seen him with the gypsy woman -- if he had gone with her -- though a number said they had noticed the gaudy, red-and-yellow-dressed peddler strolling about with her lace.

"Our dog's gone and Helen's doll is gone," said Nan the night before they were to go to camp. "I wonder what will be taken next."

"I hope they don't get our Snoop," said Flossie, as she went to look at the big black cat who was sleeping in the box, with a handle, in which he was to be taken to the island.

"And I hope they let Whisker alone," said Freddie.

"Whisker can take care of himself, with his horns," observed Bert. "I'm not afraid of a gypsy trying to get our goat."

The tents had been sent to the island, and a man would set them up. Plenty of good things to eat were packed in boxes and baskets. Dinah and Sam had made ready to go to camp, for they were included in the family. Dinah was to do the cooking and her husband was to look after the boats and firewood.

"And, oh, what fun we'll have!" cried Flossie the next morning, when the sun rose warm and bright and they started for Blueberry Island.

"It would be better if we had Snap," said Bert. "You don't know how I miss that dog!"

"We all do," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Perhaps we'll find him when we come back, Bert. Your father will come back from the island once or twice a week, and he'll come to the house to see if Snap has come back."

"He'll never come back," said Bert, with a sad face. "I'm sure the gypsies took him, and they'll keep him when they find out he can do circus tricks."

"Well, maybe we'll find the gypsies and, if they have Snap, we can make them give him up," said Nan.

"I hope so," murmured Bert.

There was a small steamer that made trips across the lake, and in this the Bobbseys were to go to Blueberry Island, as they had so many things to take with them that a small boat would never have held them all.



Chapter IX

A Night Scare


"Well, are you all ready?" asked Daddy Bobbsey, as he came out and locked the front door. On the steps in front of him, or else down the front walk, were his wife, Nan, Bert, Flossie, Freddie, Sam, Dinah, Snoop, in his traveling crate, Whisker, the goat, hitched to his wagon, and a pile of trunks, boxes and other things.

"If we're not ready we never will be," said Mrs. Bobbsey with a sigh and a laugh, as she looked over everything. "We aren't going so far, but what we can send for anything we forget, which is a good thing. But I guess we're all ready, Daddy."

"Good! Here comes the expressman for our trunks, and behind him is the automobile we're going to take down to the steamer dock. Now have you children everything you want?" and he looked at Flossie and Freddie particularly.

"I've got my best doll, and Snoop's in his cage," said Flossie. "And my other dolls are in the trunk and so are the toys I want. Is your fire engine packed, Freddie? 'Cause you might want it if the woods got on fire."

"Yep; my fire engine is all right," answered the little fellow. "An' I've got everything I want, I guess -- except -- maybe --  -- " he was thinking then. "Oh, I forgot 'em! I forgot 'em!" he quickly cried. "Open the door, Daddy! I forgot 'em!"

"Forgot what?" his father asked with a smile.

"The tin bugs that go around and around and around," answered Freddie. "You know, the ones I buyed in New York. I want 'em."

"Well, it's a good thing you thought of them before we got away, for I wouldn't have wanted to come back just to get the tin bugs."

"But they go around and around and around!" cried Flossie, who liked the queer toys as much as did her brother. "They're lots of fun."

"Well, as long as we're going to camp on Blueberry Island for fun as much as for anything else," said Mr. Bobbsey, "I suppose we'll have to get the bugs. Come on, Freddie."

The little twin had wrapped his tin bugs in a paper and left them on a chair in the front hall, so it was little trouble to get them. Then the trunks, bags and bundles were piled in the wagon and taken to the steamboat dock, while the Bobbsey family, all except Bert, took their places in the automobile. Bert was to drive Whisker to the wharf, as it was found easier to ship the goat and wagon this way than by crating or boxing the animal and his cart.

"I'd rather ride with Bert and Whisker than in the auto," said Freddie wistfully, as he saw his brother about to drive off.

"So would I!" added Flossie, who always chimed in with anything her twin brother did.

"But you can't," said Mrs. Bobbsey decidedly. "If you two small twins went with Bert in the goat wagon something would be sure to happen. You'd stop to give some one a ride or you'd have a race with a dog or a cat, and then we'd miss the boat. You must come with us, Flossie and Freddie, and, Bert, don't lose any time. The boat won't wait for you and Whisker."

"I'll be there before you," promised Bert, and he was, for he took a short cut. He said on the way he had stopped at the police station to ask if there was any news about the missing Snap, but the trick dog had not been seen, and so the Bobbseys went to camp without him.

If there had not been so much to see and to do, they would have been more lonesome for Snap than they were. As it was, they missed him very much, but Bert held out a little hope by saying perhaps they might find their pet on Blueberry Island, though why he said it he hardly knew.

"All aboard!" called the steamboat men as the Bobbseys settled themselves in comfort, their goods having been put in place. The goat wagon was left on the lower deck where stood the horses and wagons that were to be taken across the lake, for the steamer was a sort of ferryboat. "All aboard!" called the deck hands.

There was a tooting of whistles, a clanging and ringing of bells, and the boat slowly moved away from the dock.

"Oh, it's just lovely to go camping!" sighed Nan.

"We haven't really begun yet," said Bert. "Wait until we get to the woods and have to go hunting for what we want to eat, and cook it over an open fire -- that's the way to live!"

"I guess there won't be much hunting on Blueberry Island," said Mr. Bobbsey, with a laugh.

"Well, we can make-believe, can't we?" asked Freddie.

"Oh, yes, you can make-believe," said his mother. "And that, sometimes, is more fun than having real things."

I will not tell you all the things that happened on the steamboat, for so much more happened on Blueberry Island that I will have to hurry on to that. Besides, the trip to the middle of the lake did not take more than an hour, and not much can take place in an hour.

I say not much, and yet sometimes lots of things can. But not a great deal did to the Bobbseys this time, though, to be sure, a strange dog tried to get hold of Snoop in his crate, and Freddie nearly fell overboard reaching after his hat, which blew off.

"But I could swim even if I did fall in," he said, for Mr. Bobbsey had taught all four twins how to keep afloat in water.

"Well, we don't want you falling in," his mother answered. "Now you sit by me."

This Freddie did for a short time. Then he got tired of sitting still and jumped down from his chair, at the same time calling to his little sister:

"Say, Flossie, let's go and watch the engine."

"All right," answered the little girl, ready, as always, to do anything her brother suggested.

As Flossie jumped from her chair to join her brother, she accidently kicked an umbrella belonging to a man who was sitting near by, and the umbrella fell to the floor and slipped out under the railing right into the water.

"Oh -- oh -- oh!" gasped Flossie.

But Freddie turned and ran as fast as he could to the stairs that led to the lower deck.

"Here! where are you going?" cried his father, and started after his son.

"Goin' after that umbrella!"

"I think not!" and Mr. Bobbsey caught up with Freddie and picked him up in his arms.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Bobbsey told the man how sorry she was, and said that they would replace the umbrella. But the man returned that he would not allow that.

"No one needs an umbrella on such a lovely day, anyway," he said.

But a deckhand who was cleaning some mops in the water had already rescued the umbrella.

"Blueberry Island!" called a man on the steamer, after the boat had made one or two other stops. "All off for Blueberry Island!"

"Oh, let us off! Let us off!" cried Flossie, getting up in such a hurry from her deck chair that she dropped her doll. "We're going camping there."

"I guess the passengers know it by this time, without your telling them," laughed her father. "But come on -- don't forget anything."

Such a scrambling as there was! Such a gathering together of packages -- umbrellas -- fishing rods -- hats, caps, gloves and the crate with black Snoop in it. Sam and Dinah helped all they could, and between them and Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey and the children the family managed to get ashore at last.

A gangplank had been run from the boat to the dock, and over this Bert drove Whisker and the goat cart. The goat seemed glad to get off the steamboat.

"Oh, wouldn't Snap just love it here!" cried Nan, as they went on shore and looked at the island. "Isn't it too bad he isn't with us?"

"I'm going to find him!" declared Bert. "Those old gypsies sha'n't have our trick dog!"

Blueberry Island was, indeed, a fine place for a camp. In the winter no one lived on it, but in the summer it was often visited by picnic parties and by those who liked to gather the blueberries which grew so plentifully, giving the island its name.

In fact, so many people came to one end of the island in the berry season that a man had set up a little stand near the shore, where he sold sandwiches, coffee, candy, and ice-cream, since many of the berry-pickers, and others who came, grew hungry after tramping through the woods.

But where Mr. Bobbsey was going to camp with his family, the berry-pickers and picnic parties seldom came, as it was on the far end of the island, so our friends would be rather by themselves, which was what they wanted.

Mr. Dalton, the man who kept the little refreshment stand, had his horse and wagon on the island, and he had agreed to haul the Bobbsey's trunks and other things to where their tents, already put up, awaited them.

"And can't we ride there in the goat wagon?" asked Freddie of his mother, as he saw Bert get up behind Whisker in the little cart.

"Yes, I think you and Flossie may ride now that we are on the island," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Do you want to go, Nan?"

"No, I'll walk with you and daddy. I'll get enough goat rides later."

"Oh, how nice it is!" cried Mother Bobbsey when she and Nan came in sight of the tents of the camp. "I know we shall like it here!"

"I hope you will," said her husband. "And now we must see about something to eat. I suppose the children are hungry."

"Dey's always dat way!" laughed fat Dinah. "I neber seen 'em when dey wasn't hungry. But jest show me whar's de cook-stove an' suffin' t' cook, an' dey won't be hungry long, mah honey lambs!"

Dinah was as good as her word, and she soon had a fine meal on the table in the dining tent, for the men Mr. Bobbsey had hired to set up the canvas houses had everything in readiness to go right to "housekeeping," as Nan said.

There were several tents for the Bobbsey family. One large one was for the family to sleep in, while a smaller one, near the kitchen tent, was for Dinah and her husband. Then there was a tent that served as a dining-room, and another where the trunks and food could be stored. In this tent was an ice box, for a boat stopped at the island every day and left a supply of ice.

The children helped to unpack and settle camp, though, if the truth were told, perhaps they did more to unsettle it than otherwise. But Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey were used to this, and knew how to manage.

So the meal was eaten, Whisker was put in his little stable, made under a pile of brush-wood, and the children went out rowing in a boat. They had lots of fun that afternoon, and Bert even did a little hunting for Snap, thinking that, by some chance, the trick dog might be on the island. But Snap was not to be found.

"Though, of course, we didn't half look," Bert said. "We'll look again to-morrow."

And now it was evening in "Twin Camp," as the Bobbseys had decided to call their place on Blueberry Island. There had been quite a talk as to what to name the camp, but when Dinah suggested "Twin," every one agreed that it was best. So "Twin Camp" it was called, and Daddy Bobbsey said he would have a wooden sign made with that on it, and a flag to hoist over it on a pole.

Beds were made up in the sleeping tent, and soon even Nan and Bert declared that they were ready to go to Slumberland by the quickest train or steamboat which was headed for that place. They had been up early and had been very busy. Flossie and Freddie dropped off to sleep as soon as they put their heads on the pillows.

Freddie did not know what time it was when he awakened. It was in the night, he was sure of that, for it was dark in the tent except where the little oil light was aglow. What had awakened him was something bumping against him. His cot was near one of the walls of the sleeping tent and he awoke with a start.

"Hi!" he called, as he felt something strike against him. "Who's doin' that? Stop it! Stop it, I say!"

"Freddie, are you talking in your sleep?" asked his mother, who had not slept very soundly.

"No, I'm not asleep," Freddie answered. "But something bumped me. It's outside the tent."

"Maybe it's Whisker feeling of you with his horns," said Flossie, who slept near her brother, and who had been awakened when he called out so loudly.

"It -- it didn't feel like Whisker. It was softer than his horns," Freddie said. "Momsie, I want to come into your bed."

"No, Freddie, you must stay where you are. I guess it was only the wind blowing on you."

"No, it wasn't!" said Freddie. "It was a bump that hit me. I'm afraid over here!"



Chapter X

The "Go-Around" Bugs


Without waiting for his mother to tell him that he might, Freddie slipped off his cot and went scurrying over the board floor of the tent toward Mrs. Bobbsey's bed.

"I'm coming, too!" said Flossie, who generally went everywhere her small brother did.

"Did something hit you, too?" asked Freddie, turning to his sister.

"No, but it might. If you are afraid I'm afraid, too."

"Oh, you children!" said Mrs. Bobbsey with sigh. "I believe you only dreamed it, Freddie."

"No, Momsie, I didn't! Really I didn't! Somethin' bumped me from outside the tent. It hit me in the back -- not hard, but sort of soft like, an' -- an' I woked up. I want to sleep with you!"

"What's it all about?" asked Daddy Bobbsey. Then Freddie had to explain again, and Flossie also talked until Nan and Bert were awakened.

"It might have been Whisker," said Bert. "If he got loose and brushed against the tent and Freddie had rolled with his back close against the side it would be like that."

Just then there sounded in the night the "Baa-a-a-a-a!" of the white goat.

"There he is!" cried Bert.

"But it sounds as though he were still safely tied up," said Mr. Bobbsey. "I'll have a look outside. Too bad we haven't Snap with us. He'd give the alarm in a minute if anything were wrong."

The goat bleated again, but the sound did not seem near the tent, as it would have done if Whisker has been loose. Putting on his bath robe and slippers, Mr. Bobbsey took a lantern and went outside. Bert wanted to come with his father, but Mrs. Bobbsey would not hear of it.

"We want a little man in here to look after us," she said, smiling.

"Ain't I almost a man? I can make my fire engine go," Freddie said, forgetting his fright, now that the "big folks" were up, and the light in the tent was turned higher.

They could hear Mr. Bobbsey walking around outside, and they heard him speaking to the goat who bleated again. Mr. Bobbsey was as fond of animals as were his children, and Whisker was almost like a dog, he was so tame and gentle.

"Was the goat loose, Daddy?" asked Nan, when her father came back into the tent.

"No, he was tied all right in his little stable. It wasn't Whisker who brushed against Freddie, if, indeed, anything did."

"Something did!" declared the small boy. "Didn't I wake up?"

"Well, you might have dreamed it," said Nan. "You often talk in your sleep, I know."

"I did feel something bump me," declared Freddie, and nothing the others could say would make him change his idea.

"Did you see anything?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey in a low voice of her husband when the twins were in their beds again. Flossie's and Freddie's cots were moved over nearer to those of their parents', and they had dropped off to slumber again, after getting drinks of water.

"Well, I rather think I did," answered Mr. Bobbsey in a low voice.

"You did! What?"

"I don't know whether it was a horse or a man, but it was something. It was so dark I couldn't see well, and the trees and bushes come up around the tents."

"How could it be a horse?"

"It might have been the one that belongs to Mr. Dalton. If the horse were walking around, cropping grass wherever he could find it, he might have brushed past the side of the tent and so have disturbed Freddie."

"Yes, I suppose so," agreed Mrs. Bobbsey. "But couldn't you tell a horse from a man?"

"No, it was too dark. I only just saw a shadow moving away from the tents as I stepped out."

"And was Whisker all right?"

"Yes, though I guess he was lonesome. He tried to follow me back here when I left him."

"I suppose Whisker misses the children," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "But do you think it could be a man who was wandering about our tents?"

"It could be -- yes."

"One of the gypsies?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say as to that. In fact, I don't believe the gypsies are anywhere around here. The children have that notion in their heads, but I don't believe in it. Perhaps it was a blueberry picker who was lost."

"But if he was lost, and saw our tents, he'd stop and ask to be set on the right road," went on Mrs. Bobbsey. "Besides, blueberries won't be ripe for another week or so, and nobody picks them green."

"No, I suppose not," agreed her husband. "Well, I'm sure I don't know who or what it was, but I saw a dark shadow moving away."

"Shadows can't do any harm."

"No, but it takes some one or something to make a shadow, and I'd like to know what it was. I'll take a look around in the morning," said Mr. Bobbsey. "We don't want Twin Camp spoiled by midnight scares."

"Maybe we'd better get another dog, if Snap doesn't come back," suggested his wife.

"I'll think about that. We can't very well train Whisker to keep watch. Besides, he can't bark," and Mr. Bobbsey laughed as he got back into bed.

There was no more disturbance that night and the twins did not again awaken. Mr. Bobbsey remained awake for a while, but he heard nothing, and he believed that if it was a man or an animal that had brushed against the tent where Freddie was sleeping, whoever, or whatever, it was had gone far away.

Dinah had a fine breakfast ready for the twins and the others the next morning. There were flap-jacks with maple syrup to pour over them, and that, with the crisp smell of bacon, made every one so hungry that there was no need to call even Nan twice, and sometimes she liked to lie in bed longer than did the others.

"Did you find what it was that bumped me, Daddy?" asked Freddie, as he, as last, pushed back his plate, unable to eat any more.

"No. And we don't need to worry about it. Now we must finish getting Twin Camp in order to-day," went on Mr. Bobbsey, "and then we will begin to have fun and enjoy ourselves."

"Are we going to catch any fish?" asked Bert. "Always, when you read of camps, they catch fish and fry them."

"Yes, we can go fishing after we get the work done," said his father. "Work first and play afterward is a rule we'll follow here, though there won't be much work to do. However, if we're to go fishing we'll have to dig some bait."

"I can dig worms!" cried Freddie. "Worms are good for bait, aren't they, Daddy?"

"For some kinds of fish, yes. We'll fish part of the time with worms and see what luck we have. Bert, you and Freddie can dig the bait."

"I want to help," said Flossie. "I helped Nan get out my dolls and toys, and now I want to dig worms."

"All right, little fat fairy!" laughed Bert. "Come along."

"Mercy, Flossie, digging bait is such dirty work! What do you want to do that for?" asked Nan.

"I don't care if it is dirty, it's fun."

"You might have known, Nan," laughed Mrs. Bobbsey, "that Flossie would not object to dirt."

With a shovel for turning up the dirt, and a tin can to hold the worms, Bert and the two smaller twins were soon busy. But they did not have as good luck as they expected. Earthworms were not plentiful on the island. Perhaps they could not swim over the lake from the main shore, Freddie suggested.

"Aren't bugs good for bait?" asked Freddie, when he had looked in the tin can and found only a few worms wiggling about after more than half an hour's digging on the part of himself and Bert.

"Some kinds of bugs are good for fishing; yes," Bert answered, and, hearing that, Freddie started back for the tent where the trunks were stored.

"What are you going to do?" Bert called after his little brother.

"I'm going to get the go-around bugs. We can use them for bait. Water won't hurt 'em -- the store man told me so. We can use the go-around bugs."

"Oh, they're no good -- they're tin!" laughed Bert.

But Freddie was not listening. He had slipped into the tent and was searching for the toys he had bought in New York. Bert kept on digging for worms, now and then finding one, which Flossie picked up for him, until he heard another call from Freddie. The little fellow came running from the tent with an empty and broken box in his hand.

"Look! Look!" cried Freddie. "My go-around bugs comed alive in the night and they broke out of the box. Oh, dear! Now I can't have 'em to catch fish with! The go-around bugs broke out of the box and they've gone away!"



Chapter XI

The Blueberry Boy


"What's the matter, Freddie? What has happened? I hope you haven't hurt yourself," and Mrs. Bobbsey, who heard the small twin calling to Bert about the tin bugs, hurried from the tent, where she was making the beds, to see what the trouble was.

"No, Momsie, I'm not hurt," Freddie answered. "But look at my go-around bugs!" and he held out the empty and broken box.

"What's the matter with them?" asked Mr. Bobbsey who came up just then from the shore of the lake where he had gone to make sure the camp boats were securely tied.

"My bugs are all gone!" went on Freddie. "They broke out of the box in the night! They bited themselves out!"

"No, they didn't bite the box," said Flossie, coming up to look at what her small brother held. "They just went around and around and around, and they knocked a hole with their heads in the box and so they got out. Did you look for them on the floor of the tent, Freddie?"

"No, I didn't."

"Come on, we'll have a look," Bert said. He dropped the shovel with which he had been digging for worms and ran over to his little brother. He took the box from Freddie.

"That must have been smashed in the moving," Bert said to his father.

"No, it wasn't smashed," Freddie said, hearing what Bert remarked to Mr. Bobbsey. "Flossie and I were playing with the bugs yesterday after we got here, and the box wasn't broken then. It was all right, and so were the go-around bugs. But now they're gone!"

"Maybe the box fell off a table or something," said Mr. Bobbsey, "and broke that way. We'll look on the floor of the tent for your bugs, my little fat fireman."

But no bugs were to be found after a careful search had been made, and Freddie and Flossie were quite disappointed.

"We can't go fishing if we can't find any bugs for to bait the hooks," said Freddie, tears in his blue eyes.

"Never mind," his father answered. "The tin bugs wouldn't have caught many fish, and if we don't find your toys I'll get you some more when I go to town. You and Bert had better keep on digging the worms, I guess. They're better for fish."

"And I'll pick 'em up," offered Flossie. She was a queer little child in some ways, not afraid of bugs and "crawly things."

It did not take Freddie or Flossie long to forget what had made them unhappy, and though for a time they were sorry about the loss of the bugs, they soon became so interested in helping Bert dig for worms that they were quite jolly again.

"Here's an awful fat one, Flossie!" cried Freddie. "Pick that one up just terribly careful-like. I'm going to save him for my hook, and maybe I'll get the biggest fish of all."

"How'll you know where to find this one when you want it, I'd like to know, Freddie Bobbsey?" returned his sister.

"Tie a blue ribbon on it," suggested Bert.

"Yes, we might," said Flossie slowly. "Maybe Nan has a ribbon. I'll ask."

Bert laughed and said:

"I was just fooling, little fat fairy. I don't believe you can do that."

"I don't see why," dissented Freddie. "We can try, anyway. Here, I have a red string in my pocket. That'll do better than a ribbon."

He pulled out the string, and the two smaller children tied it around the middle of the earthworm, but, much to Flossie's dismay, they tied it so tightly that it almost cut the worm in two.

"Oh, Freddie Bobbsey! You fix that right away!" cried his twin sister, and he loosened the string.

Pretty soon Bert again dropped the spade he had taken up and said:

"There, Freddie, you dig awhile. I want to see about the lines and poles. We have almost worms enough."

Freddie was glad to do this, and Flossie was eager to pick up the crawling creatures. Bert went back to the tent to get out the poles, lines and hooks. There he found his father and mother looking at the broken box that had held the tin bugs.

"How do you think it became smashed?" Mrs. Bobbsey asked.

"I don't know," answered her husband. "It looks as though some one had stepped on it."

"But who could do that? Flossie and Freddie think so much of the bugs that they take good care of them, and they wouldn't put them where they would be stepped on. Do you suppose any of the men that have been helping set up the camp could have done it?"

"I hardly think so. If they did they wouldn't take the bugs away, and that is what has happened. It seems to me as though the box had been broken so the bugs could be taken out. For the cover fits on tightly, and it often sticks. Freddie and Flossie often come to me to open it for them. Probably whoever tried to open it could not do so at first, and then stepped on it enough to crack it open without damaging the tin bugs inside."

"But who would do such a thing?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey, and Bert found himself asking, in his mind, the same question.

"That's something we'll have to find out," said Mr. Bobbsey, and neither of them noticed Bert, who, by this time, was inside the tent where the fishing things were kept.

"Could it be the gypsies?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Well, I don't altogether believe all that talk about the gypsies," said Mr. Bobbsey slowly. "I think they may have taken Helen's talking doll, but that's all. However, if there are any gypsies here on the island, and if they saw those gay red, yellow and spotted bugs of Flossie's and Freddie's they might have taken them. They like those colors, and the crawling bugs might amuse them."

"Oh, but if there are gypsies on this island I don't want to stay camping here! They might take away some of the children -- Flossie or Freddie! Nan and Bert are too old."

"Nonsense!" laughed Mr. Bobbsey. "There are no gypsies here, and you needn't worry."

"All the same I wish Snap were here with us," went on Mrs. Bobbsey. "I'd feel safer if I knew the dog were with the children all the while, as he was before."

"Well, if he doesn't come back, or if we don't find him soon, I'll get another dog," promised Mr. Bobbsey. "Now don't worry about gypsies. Maybe this broken box was only an accident."

"But what about the shadow you saw last night. Maybe that was a --  -- "

Just then Dinah came waddling from the cook tent toward the large one where Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey stood. Bert could see and hear all that went on.

"Mrs. Bobbsey, did yo' take dat big piece ob bacon I cut a few slices off of last night?" asked the cook.

"Why, no, Dinah, I didn't," answered Mrs. Bobbsey. "Why do you ask?"

"'Cause as how dat bacon's gone. It's done gone complete! I hung it inside de tent, up high where none ob dem chatterin' squirrels or chipmunks could git it, an' now, when I want some fo' dinnah it's gone. Maybe de chilluns took some fo' dere fish hooks, 'cause I done heah Bert talk about bait."

"No, I didn't take it," answered Bert himself, stepping out of the small tent where the poles, oars for the boats and other camp articles were kept. "We've got worms enough for bait."

"Bacon gone, eh?" said Mr. Bobbsey. Then, as he looked at his wife and glanced at Bert, he went on: "Well, maybe a stray dog jumped up and got it. Some dogs can jump very high, Dinah. Snap could, I remember."

"Good land ob massy! Ef I t'ought dat 'er Snap had come back t' mah honey lambs I'd be so glad I wouldn't mind de bacon," said the fat cook. "But I don't reckon no dog took it, Mistah Bobbsey. I t'ink it war' a two-legged robber dat --  -- "

"Never mind that now, Dinah!" said Mrs. Bobbsey quickly. "Come here and finish making the beds, I want to walk down to the lake with Mr. Bobbsey," and she nodded to her husband. "One piece of bacon won't matter," she went on. "We have plenty more."

"Yes, I knows dat," said Dinah, who was puzzled. "But if no 'count folks is gwine t' come t' dish yeah camp an' walk off wif vittles dat way --  -- "

"It's time it was stopped, isn't it?" asked Bert, as he walked toward the fat cook. "Say, Dinah," he went on as he saw his father and mother stroll down to the shore of the lake, "did you hear a queer noise in the night?"

"Did I heah a queer noise around de camp las' night?" repeated Dinah. "Well, I suah did, honey lamb! I done heard a owl hoot, an' dat's a suah sign ob bad luck."

"No, I don't mean that kind of noise, Dinah. Did you hear anything else?"

"Yas. I done heah mah man Sam snore suffin' terrible! It were 'most like thunder. Did you all heah dat, honey lamb?"

"No, I didn't hear that, Dinah," answered Bert, with a laugh. "But something or somebody brushed past our tent in the night, and woke up Freddie. Then my father went outside and saw some one sneaking away."

"Oh, mah good lan' ob massy!" cried Dinah. "Dat's where mah bacon went to! Wait until I tells your fader, honey lamb, an' --  -- "

"No! Hold on! Wait a minute!" cried Bert, catching Dinah by her apron as she was hurrying away. "Dad knows it already, and so does mother. I guess they don't want to scare us children, but I'm not afraid. I'll tell you what I think, Dinah."

"What's dat?"

"I think there are gypsies on this island, and that they're after Flossie and Freddie!"

"Oh, mah goodness! Oh, mah goodness! Oh, mah goodness!" cried Dinah quickly. It seemed she could think of nothing else to say.

"But I'm not afraid," went on Bert. "We'll just have to keep a good watch, and not let those two little twins out of our sight. Don't tell my mother or father that you know this. You and I and Nan will keep watch."

"Dat's what we will!" exclaimed the fat cook. "An' if dem gypsies lays so much as a fingernail on mah honey lambs I'll pull de gold rings offen dere ears an' frow dish water on 'em -- dat's what I'll do to dem gypsies!"

"I wish we had Snap back, or that Whisker were a dog instead of a goat," said Bert. "But maybe if I let Whisker roam around the camp at night he'll be as good as a watch dog."

"He can butt wif his horns," said Dinah.

"Yes, and he can make a bleating noise. That's what I'll do," said Bert. "I'll use Whisker as a watch dog. Now don't say anything to father or mother about our knowing there're gypsies here," went on Bert.

"I won't -- I won't say a word," promised Dinah. "But I'll keep mah ole eyes skinned fo' Flossie an' Freddie, an' so will Sam. It's got 't be mighty smart gypsies dat'll take away mah honey lambs!"

Bert was really much excited by what he had seen and heard. The smashing of the box, what his father and mother thought about it, the taking of the bacon and the scare the night before -- all this was quite a surprise.

"Are you sure it's gypsies?" asked Nan when her older brother told her what had happened.

"I'm sure of it," said Bert. "Now what you and I've got to do is to keep a good watch over Flossie and Freddie. Course we're too big for the gypsies to take, but they could easy walk away with those little twins."

"What d'you s'pose they'd do with 'em, Bert, if they did take Flossie and Freddie?"

"Oh, they wouldn't hurt 'em, of course. They'd just black up Flossie's and Freddie's faces with walnut juice to make 'em look dark, like real gypsies, and they'd keep 'em until dad paid a lot of money to get the twins back."

"How much money?"

"Oh, maybe a thousand dollars -- maybe more."

"Oh!" exclaimed Nan. "Then we must be sure never to let Flossie or Freddie out of our sight. We've got to watch them every minute."

"Of course," agreed Bert. "We'll fool those gypsies yet."

Carrying out their plan to be very careful of their little brother and sister, Bert and Nan took the small twins in the boat with them when they went fishing an hour later. Bert would not go out far from the shore of Blueberry Island -- indeed, his mother had told him he must not, for the lake was deep in places -- and the older twins did about as much watching the bushes along the bank for signs of gypsies as they did fishing.

Flossie and Freddie, however, not worrying about any trouble, had lots of fun tossing their baited hooks into the water, and Freddie yelled in delight when he caught the first fish. Flossie also caught one, but it was very small, and Bert made her put it back in the lake.

The children caught enough fish for a meal, though when they started out neither their father nor mother thought they would. But the worms proved to be good bait.

"We'd have caught bigger fish if we'd had my tin bugs for bait," said Freddie.

"I don't want my bugs put on a hook," said Flossie. "When will you find them, Freddie, and make them go around and around?"

"I don't know," he answered.

The tents were put in good order and for two or three days the children had great sport playing, going fishing and taking walks in the woods with their father and mother, or going for trips on the lake. There were no more night scares.

"Maybe it wasn't gypsies after all," said Nan to her brother one day.

"Yes, it was," he said. "They were here, but they went away when they found out we knew about them. But they'll come back, and then they may try to take Flossie or Freddie. We've got to keep a good watch."

It was about a week after they had come to Blueberry Island that the Bobbsey twins -- all four of them -- went for a ride in the goat wagon. There was a good road which ran the whole length of the island, and Whisker could easily pull the wagon along it.

The twins had taken their lunch and were to have a sort of picnic in the woods. They rode under the green trees, stopped to gather flowers, and Nan made a wreath of ferns which she put over Whisker's horns, making him look very funny, indeed. Then the twins found a nice grassy spot near a spring of water, and sat down to eat the good things Dinah had put up for their lunch.

Freddie had taken one bite of a chicken sandwich when, all of a sudden, there was a noise in the bushes near him, and a queer face peered out. Freddie gave one look at it, and, dropping his piece of bread and chicken, cried:

"Oh, it's a blueberry boy! It's a blueberry boy! Oh, look!"



Chapter XII

The Drifting Boat


At first Nan and Bert did not know whether Freddie was playing some trick or not. Flossie had gone down to the spring to get a cupful of water, and so was not near her little brother when he gave the cry of alarm.

But Bert looked up and had a glimpse of what had startled Freddie. Certainly there was a queer, blue face staring at the three twins from over the top of the bushes. And the face did not go away as they looked at it.

"A blueberry boy! What in the world is a blueberry boy?" asked Nan.

"There he is!" cried Freddie, pointing. "He's been picking blueberries. That's why I call him a blueberry boy."

"Yes, and he's been eating them, too, I guess," added Bert. "Did you want anything of us?" he asked of the stranger.

By this time Flossie had come back with the water -- that is, what she had not spilled of it -- and she, too, saw the strange boy.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"My name's Tom," was the answer. "What's yours?"

"Flossie Bobbsey, an' I'm a twin an' we're campin' on this island, and we had some bugs that went around and around and --  -- "

"Flossie, come here," called Nan. She did not want her little sister to talk too much to the strange boy. Nan had an idea the boy might belong to the gypsies.

"I saw him first," put in Freddie. "I saw his face all covered with blueberries, and I dropped my standwich -- I did."

He began looking on the ground for what he had been eating, but finding, when he picked up the bread and bits of chicken, that ants were crawling all over the "standwich," he tossed it away again.

"Aw, what'd you do that for?" asked Tom, the blueberry boy. "That was good to eat! Ain't you hungry?"

"Yes, but I don't like ants," returned Freddie. "'Sides, there's more to eat in the basket!"

"Cracky!" exclaimed Tom. "That's fine! There isn't anything in my basket but blueberries, and not many of them. You get tired of eatin' 'em after a while, too."

"Are you -- are you hungry?" asked Bert. As yet no one else had appeared except the boy. He seemed to be all alone. And he was not much larger than Bert.

"Hungry? You'd better believe I'm hungry!" answered the boy with a laugh that showed his white teeth with his blueberry-stained lips and face all around them. "I thought I'd have a lot of berries picked by noon, so I could row back to shore, sell 'em and get somethin' to eat. But the berries ain't as ripe as I thought they'd be -- it's too early I guess -- so I've got to go hungry."

Nan whispered something to Bert who nodded.

"We've got more sandwiches here," Bert said to the blueberry boy. "Would you like one?"

"Would I like one?" asked the boy, who seemed to answer one question by asking another like it. "Say, you just give me a chance. I ain't had nothin' since breakfast, and there wasn't much of that."

With a bound he jumped through the bushes and stood in the little grassy glade where the Bobbsey twins were having a sort of picnic by themselves. They saw that Tom had on ragged clothes and no shoes. Indeed, he looked like a very poor boy, but his face, though it was stained with the blueberries he had eaten, was smiling and kind. The Bobbsey twins thought they would like him.

"Here -- eat this," and Bert held out some sandwiches. Dinah had put in plenty, as she always did.

"And he can have some cake, too," said Freddie. "I don't want but two pieces, and I told Dinah to put in three for me."

"Oh, what a hungry boy!" laughed Nan.

"And the blueberry boy can have one of my pieces of cake," said Flossie. "Where did you get the blueberries?" she asked, looking into his basket.

"I didn't get many -- that's the trouble," he said. "It's a little too early for them. But the earlier they are the better price you can sell 'em for. So I came over alone to-day."

"Where do you live?" asked Bert, as the boy was hungrily eating the sandwich.

"Over in Freedon," and Tom Turner, for such he said was his name, pointed to a village on the other side of the lake from that where the Bobbsey twins had their home. "Our folks come here every year to pick blueberries, but never as early as this. I guess I've had my trouble for nothing. I've eaten more berries than I put in my basket, I guess. But I was so hungry I had to have something. I didn't find many ripe ones at that, and I guess I got as much outside of me as I did inside," and he laughed again, showing his white teeth.

"Where do you folks live?" Tom asked, as he took a piece of cake Nan offered him.

"We're camping on this island."

"You don't mean to say you are gypsies, do you?" asked the blueberry boy in surprise.

"No, of course not!" Bert answered. "We live in Lakeport -- Bobbsey is our name and --  -- "

"Oh, does your father have a lumberyard?"

"Yes."

"Oh! Well, then you're all right! My father drives one of your father's lumber wagons. He just got that job this week -- been out of work a long while. I heard him say he had a place in the Bobbsey lumberyard, but I never thought I'd meet you. I thought maybe you was gypsies at first."

"That's what I thought you were," said Nan.

"We're going to be gypsies when we get older -- Freddie and me," announced Flossie.

"No, we're not, Flossie. We're going to be in a circus."

"Oh, yes! And I'm going to ride a horse standing up."

"And I'm going to be a clown --  -- "

"And he'll have his little fire engine --  -- "

"And squirt water on the other clowns and --  -- "

"And the folks'll holler and laugh. And I'm going to have a glittery --  -- "

"Dear me, Flossie and Freddie, we've heard all about that at least a dozen times lately," protested Bert.

"But Tom hasn't heard about it. He's int'rested," declared Freddie.

"I knew a feller once that had been in a circus," said Tom. "He said they had to work awful hard. There's the show every afternoon and every night and the parade in the mornin' and the practisin' and gettin' ready. He said too that the fellers at the head of the show was awful strict about how everybody behaved themselves. It wasn't much fun, he said, and it was lots of work."

"My!" gasped Freddie. "I -- I guess we'll be gypsies. I don't like to work -- much."

"That is, not very much," agreed Flossie.

"Are there any gypsies here?" asked Bert, for he thought it would be a good chance to find out what he wanted to know.

"Yes, there are some," was Tom's unexpected answer. "They had a camp on the lower end of the island last week. I expected to see some of 'em to-day. They're great blueberry pickers, and that's one reason I came early. Most always the gypsies get the best of the blueberries 'fore we white folks have a chance."

"Are there gypsies on this island now?" asked Nan, looking over her shoulder into the bushes, as though she feared a dark-faced man, with gold rings in his ears, might step out any moment and make a grab for Flossie or Freddie.

"Well, I guess they're here now, 'less they've gone," said Tom. "I saw some of the men and women here day before yesterday. They had been over to the mainland buyin' things from the store, and they rowed over here. I'd come to look for blueberries, but there wasn't as many ripe as there is to-day, though that isn't sayin' much. But the gypsies are here all right."

"Then we'd better go," said Nan to Bert.

"Why?" Tom asked.

"Because," said Nan slowly, "we don't like gypsies. They might take --  -- "

"They took Helen's talking doll!" exclaimed Flossie. "She cried about it, too. I would if they'd take my doll, only I got her hid under my bed. You won't tell the gypsies, will you?"

"No, indeed!" laughed Tom. "You're afraid of them, are you?" he asked Nan.

"Yes -- a little," she said slowly.

"They won't hurt you!" Tom said. "They're not very fond of workin', and they'll take anything they find lyin' around loose, but they won't hurt nobody."

"They took Helen's doll," said Freddie, who had finished his two pieces of cake, "and maybe they got my bugs that go around and around --  -- "

"And around! They go around three times," put in Flossie.

"I was going to say that, only you didn't wait!" cried Freddie. "But we've got a goat!" he went on, "and he's almost as good as Snap, our dog, and maybe the gypsies got him."

"My, you don't think of anything but gypsies!" said Tom with a laugh. "I'm not worried about them. If I see any of 'em on the island I'll ask 'em if they have your dog and bugs."

"And Helen's doll," added Flossie. "She wants Mollie back."

"I'll ask about that," promised Tom. "You've been awful good to me, and I'd like to do you a favor. I know some of the gypsy boys."

"I guess I'll tell my father they're camping on this island," said Bert.

"Let's go tell him now," suggested Nan. "We've stayed here long enough."

"And I guess I'll row back to the mainland," added Tom. "There's no use waiting here for the blueberries to get ripe. I'll come next week."

He walked back a little way with the Bobbsey twins to where he had left his boat. Then he was soon rowing across the lake, waving his hand to his new friends, his white teeth showing between his berry-stained lips.

"He's a nice boy -- that blueberry boy," said Freddie. "I saw him first, I did!"

Mr. Bobbsey nodded his head thoughtfully when the twins, taking turns, told him what Tom had told them.

"Gypsies on the island, eh?" remarked Mr. Bobbsey. "Well, I suppose they think they have a right to camp here. But I'll see about it. Maybe some of them are all right, but I don't like the idea of staying here if the place is going to be overrun with them. I must see about it."

For the next few days and nights a close watch was kept about Twin Camp, but no gypsies were seen. Nor did any more blueberry-pickers come. Indeed, the fruit was not ripe enough, as the Bobbseys could tell by looking at some bushes which grew near their tents.

It was about a week after this, when Mr. Bobbsey had gone to Lakeport one morning on business, that Flossie and Freddie went down to the shore of the lake not far from their camp.

As they looked across the water they saw drifting toward the island an empty rowboat. There was no one in it, as they could tell, and the wind was sending it slowly along.

"It's got loose from some dock," said Freddie, who knew more about boats than most boys of his age.

"Maybe it'll come here and we can get it," said Flossie. "Let's throw stones at it."

"No, that would only scare it away," said Freddie. "Wait till it gets near enough, and then I'll wade out and poke it in with a stick."

So the two little twins waited on shore for the drifting boat to come to them.



Chapter XIII

In The Cave


"Look out, Freddie! Don't you go wadin' too far!" cried Flossie, as she saw her little brother kick off his low shoes, quickly roll off his stockings, and start out toward the boat which now a strong puff of wind had blown quite close to the island shore.

"I'll be careful," he answered. "Mother said I could wade up as far as the wig-wag cut on my leg, and I'm not there yet."

Freddie had several scars and scratches on his legs, reminders of accidents he had suffered at different times. One scar was from a cut which he had got when he had fallen over the lawn mower about a year before. It was the biggest cut of all, and was near his right knee. He called it his "wig-wag" cut, because it was a sort of wavy scar, and when he wanted to go in wading his mother always told him never to go in water that would come above that cut, else he would get his knickerbockers wet.

So now he was careful not to go out too far. He watched the water rising slowly up on his bare legs as he waded along on the sandy bottom of the lake toward the drifting boat.

"If you took a stick you could reach it now," called Flossie.

"I guess I could," Freddie said.

"I'll hand you a stick," Flossie offered, looking for one along the shore. There were many dead branches, blown from the trees, and she soon handed Freddie a long one. With it the little boy was able slowly to pull the boat toward him, and he had soon shoved the "nose," as he sometimes called the bow, against the bank of the island.

"Now I can get in!" laughed Flossie. "And I won't have to take off my shoes and stockings either," and into the boat she scrambled.

"Oh!" exclaimed Freddie. "Are you going to get in the boat?"

"I am in," answered his sister. "Aren't you comin' in, too?"

Freddie looked at the boat, at his sister, at the lake, and at his shoes and stockings on the shore. Then he said:

"Well, it doesn't belong to us -- this boat don't."

"I know," said Flossie. "But you pulled it to shore and we can keep it till somebody comes for it. And we can make-believe have a ride in it. Momsie won't care as long as it's fast to the shore. Come on, Freddie!"

It seemed all right to Freddie when Flossie said this, especially as the boat was close against the shore. He put on his shoes and stockings, drying his feet in the grass, and then he took his seat in the boat beside his little sister.

"Now we'll play going on a long voyage," she said. "We'll take a trip to New York and maybe we'll be shipwrecked."

"Like Tommy Todd's father," added Freddie.

"Yep. Just like him," said Flossie, "only make-believe, of course."

"And I'll be captain of the ship, and you can be a sailor," went on Freddie. "It'll be lots of fun!"

Bert and Nan had gone riding in the goat wagon to the other end of the island, Mr. Bobbsey was at his office and Mrs. Bobbsey, with Dinah, was working about Twin Camp, so there was no one to watch Flossie and Freddie. Mrs. Bobbsey supposed they were playing safely at the lake shore, and, as a matter of fact, they were on shore, though in the boat.

"I wonder whose it is?" said Freddie, when they had made a make-believe voyage safely to New York, after having been shipwrecked at Philadelphia -- a place the little twins remembered, as one of their aunts lived in that city.

"Maybe it's a gypsy boat," said Freddie.

"Or else it's the one the blueberry boy had," added his sister.

"Oh, yes, maybe it is his!" cried Freddie. "And if it is, didn't we better ought to take it to him?"

"How?" asked Flossie.

"Why, we can push it along the shore with sticks, 'cause there's no oars in it, and when we see him picking blueberries we can holler to him to come an' get his boat."

Flossie thought this over a few seconds. Then she said:

"Let's!"

This meant she would do as Freddie said. The twins did not stop to consider whether they were doing something they ought not to do. They planned to keep near shore, and that was as much as they remembered of what their mother had told them -- that they were not to go out on the lake in any boat without her permission or their father's.

"But paddling along the shore isn't going out," said Freddie. "Anyhow, mother and father would want us to give back the boat to the blueberry boy, wouldn't they?"

"Course," said Flossie. "Get another stick, Freddie, and we can poke the boat along, and we won't have to go far out at all."

In a little while the two twins were shoving the drifted boat along the shore by pushing the ends of their sticks into the soft bank. The boat was of good size, and it was flat-bottomed, which meant it would not easily tip over. Flossie and Freddie each knew how to row, though they had to have oars made especially for them. But they knew how to keep in the middle of a boat, and never thought of rocking it or changing seats, so they were much safer than most children of their age would have been.

Having lived near Lake Metoka all their lives, they knew more about boats and water than perhaps some of you small boys and girls do; and they could both swim, though, of course not very far, nor were they allowed to try it in deep water.

"Oh, this is lots of fun!" cried Flossie, as she and Freddie poled the boat along. "This is real trav'lin'!"

"But we mustn't go too far," said Freddie, not quite sure whether or not his mother would think what he and his sister were doing was just right. "As soon as we see the blueberry boy we must give him his boat and go back home."

"If he wants to row us back, can't we let him?" asked Flossie.

"Yes, but he can't row, 'cause there are no oars in the boat," said Freddie.

"Maybe he has 'em with him. I guess that's what happened," went on the little girl. "You know we take the oars out of our boat and put them up on shore. And then maybe the blueberry boy forgot to tie his boat."

"And it blew away and we found it," finished Freddie. "Come on, push hard, Flossie. Let's go fast and make believe we're a steamboat."

That suited Flossie, and they were soon pushing the boat along the shore quite fast. They went out past a little point on the island, some distance away from their own camp, the white tents of which they could see.

"Oh, how nice the wind is blowing!" cried Flossie, after a bit. "I don't hardly have to push at all, Freddie."

"That's good," he said. "We'll be a sailboat instead of a steamboat. If we only had a sail now!"

"Maybe you could hold up your coat," suggested his sister. "Don't you remember that shipwreck story mother read us. The men in the boat held up a blanket for a sail. We haven't any blanket, but if you held one end of your coat and I held the other it would be a sail."

"We'll do it!" cried Freddie, as he slipped off his jacket. It was small, but when he and his sister held it crosswise of the boat, the wind, which had begun to blow harder, sent the boat along faster than the children had been pushing it.

"Oh, this is fine!" Freddie cried. "I'm glad we played this game, Flossie."

"So'm I. But look how far out we are, Freddie!" Flossie suddenly cried. "We can't reach shore with our sticks."

Freddie looked and saw that this was so.

"I wonder if we can touch bottom out here," he said. "I'm going to try."

He let go of his coat, and as it happened that Flossie did the same thing, the little jacket was blown into the water.

"Oh!" cried Flossie. "Oh! Oh!"

"I can get it!" excitedly shouted Freddie. "I'll reach it with my pushing stick."

He managed to do this, taking care not to lean too far over the edge so the boat would not tip. Then he caught the coat on the end of the stick and pulled his jacket into the boat.

"Oh, it's all wet!" cried Flossie.

Freddie did not stop to tell her that every time anything fell into the water it got wet. Instead, he began to search in his pockets.

"What's the matter -- did you lose something?" asked Flossie.

"I guess we can eat 'em after they dry out," said Freddie, after a bit, pulling out some soaked sugar cookies.

Freddie spread them out on one of the boat-seats where the sun would dry them, and then he wrung from his coat as much water as he could. Next he spread the jacket out to dry, Flossie helping him.

All this time the children failed to notice where they were going, but when they had seen that the soaked cookies were getting dry and had eaten them, Freddie looked about and, pointing to shore, cried:

"Oh, look, Flossie!"

"We're going right toward a big, dark hole!" said the little girl.

"That isn't a hole -- it's a cave," Freddie said. "Maybe it's a pirate cave, and there'll be gold and jewels in it. The wind is blowing us and our boat right into it!"

And that was what was happening. The wind had changed, and, instead of blowing the boat away from the island, was blowing it toward it. And directly in front of Flossie and Freddie was a big hole in the steep bank of the island shore. As Freddie had said, it was a cave. What was in it?



Chapter XIV

Helen's Visit


While the two children sat in the drifting rowboat, which was being slowly blown toward the island shore again, Flossie suddenly gave a little jump, which made the boat shake.

"What's the matter?" asked Freddie. "Did something bite you?" for his sister had started, just as you might do if a fly or a mosquito suddenly nipped your leg.

"No, nothing bit me," she answered. "But I felt a splash of rain on my nose and --  --  Oh, Freddie! Look! It's going to be a thunder-lightning storm!"

Freddie, whose eyes had seen nothing but the cave, now looked up at the sky. The blue had become covered with dark clouds, and in the west there was a dull rumble.

"I -- I guess it is going to rain," said Freddie slowly.

"I know it is!" Flossie answered. "There's 'nother drop!"

"I felt one, too," said her brother. "It went right in my eye, too!" and he winked and blinked.

"And there's another one on my nose!" cried Flossie. "Oh, Freddie! What are we going to do? I haven't an umbrella!"

For a moment the little boy did not know what to do. He looked at his coat, but that was still wet, though it had been spread out on the seat to dry. He could not wrap that around Flossie, as he thought at first he might.

The wind, too, was blowing harder now, and there were little waves splashing against the side of the boat. But the wind did one good thing for the children -- it blew the boat toward shore so much faster, and shore was where they wanted to be just now. They knew they had drifted out too far, and they were beginning to be afraid. The shore of the island looked very safe and comfortable.

"We can get under a tree -- that will be an umbrella for us," said Flossie. "Aren't you glad we're going on shore, Freddie?"

"Yes, but I guess we can get in a better place out of the rain than under a tree, Flossie."

"Then we'd better get," she said, "'cause it's rainin' hard now. I've got about ten splashes on my nose."

The big drops were beginning to fall faster. The clouds had quickly spread over the sky, which was now very dark, and the wind kept on blowing.

"Where can we go out of the storm?" asked the little girl.

"Huh?"

"Where we goin', Freddie?"

"In there," answered her brother, pointing.

"What! In that dark hole?"

"It isn't a hole -- it's a cave. An' maybe we'll find gold and diamonds in there, like in the book Momsie read to us. Come on. We can go into the cave, and we won't get wet at all. I'll take care of you."

"I -- I'm not afraid," said Flossie slowly. "But I wish Snap was with us; or Whisker. I guess Whisker would like a cave."

"So would Snap," said Freddie. "But we can't get 'em now, so we've got to go in ourselves. Come on. And look out, 'cause the boat's goin' to bump."

And bump the boat did, a second later, against the shore of the island, close to the open mouth of the black cave. It was raining hard now, and Freddie helped Flossie out of the boat, and then, holding each other by the hand, the children ran toward the cavern. No matter what was in it, there they would be sheltered from the rain they thought.

The cave, as Freddie and Flossie saw, could be entered from either the land or the water. At one side it was so low that a boat could be rowed into it for a little way. On the other one could walk into it by a little path that led through the trees. The water of the lake splashed into the cave a short distance, and then came to an end, making a sort of little bay, or cove, large enough for two or three boats. And the cave, as the children could see when their eyes became used to the darkness, was quite a large one.

"I wonder if anybody lives here," whispered Flossie, as she kept close to her brother.

"We live here now," he said. "Anyhow, we're going to stay here till the rain stops."

"Maybe a bear lives here," said Flossie in a whisper.

"Pooh!" laughed Freddie. "There are no bears on Blueberry Island, or daddy would have brought a gun. And he said I didn't even need my popgun, 'cause there wasn't a thing here to shoot. But I did bring my popgun."

"You haven't got it here now, though," said Flossie.

"I know I haven't. I left it in the tent by the go-around bugs. I mean before the go-around bugs got away. But my popgun is there. I saw it. Only I haven't it now, so I can't shoot anything. But there's nothing to shoot, anyhow." Freddie added the last for fear his sister might be frightened in the dark cave.

It was very dark, especially back in the end, where Flossie and Freddie could see nothing. But by looking toward the place where they had come in, they could see daylight and the lake, which was now quite rough on account of the wind. They could also see the rain falling and splashing.

"I'm glad we're in here," said Flossie. "It's better than an umbrella."

"Lots better," agreed Freddie. "If we had some cookies to eat we could stay here a long time, and live here."

"We couldn't sleep, 'cause we haven't any beds," declared Flossie.

"We could make beds of dried grass the way Bert told us to do if we went camping."

"But have you any more cookies?" asked Flossie, going back to what her brother had first spoken of. "I'm hungry!"

"Only some crumbs," Freddie said, as he put his hand in the pockets of his coat, "and they're all soft and wet. We can't eat 'em."

"Well, we can go home when it stops raining," said Flossie, "an' Dinah'll give us lots to eat."

The two children were not frightened now. They stood in the cave, and looked out at the storm. It was raining harder than ever, and the thunder seemed to shake the big hole in the ground, while the lightning flashes lighted up the cave so Freddie and Flossie could look farther back into it.

But they could not see much, and if there was any one or anything in the cave besides themselves, they did not know it. They saw the boat blown inside the cave, and it came to rest in the little cove, which was a sort of harbor.

Then, almost as quickly as it had started, the storm stopped. The wind ceased blowing, the rain no longer fell, the thunder rumbled no more and the lightning died out. For a few minutes longer Flossie and Freddie stayed in the cave, and then, as they were about to go out, the little girl grasped her brother by the arm and cried:

"Hark! Did you hear that?"

"What?" asked Freddie.

"A noise, like something growling!"

Freddie looked back over his shoulder into the dark part of the cave. Then, speaking as boldly as possible, he answered:

"I didn't hear it. Anyhow, I guess it was the wind. Come on, we'll go home!"

"Are we going back in the boat?" Flossie asked.

"I guess not," Freddie replied. "It'll be rough out on the lake -- it always is after a storm. We can walk down the path to our camp. Besides, this isn't our boat. Maybe it belongs here and we'd better leave it."

"Then you'd better tie it," said Flossie. She and her brother had been told something of the care of boats, and one rule their father had given them was always to tie a boat when they got out of it. In the excitement of the storm the children had forgotten this at first, but now Flossie remembered it.

"Yes, I'll tie the boat," Freddie said, "and then whoever owns it can come and get it."

It did not take him long to scramble around to the edge of the little cove. Once there, he tied the rope of the boat fast to a large stone that was half buried in the ground. Making sure it would not slip off, Freddie came back to where Flossie waited for him.

She was quite ready to leave the cave, and soon the two children were outside under the trees that still were dripping with rain.

The sun was now shining. Flossie and Freddie had had an adventure, they thought, and that was fun for them.

"Which way is home -- I mean where our camp is?" asked Flossie, as she and Freddie walked along together.

"Down this way," he said. "See the path?"

Certainly there was a path leading away from the cave, but Freddie did not stop to think it might lead somewhere else than to Twin Camp. It was a nice, smooth path, though, and he and Flossie set out along it not at all worried.

"I'm hungry," said the little girl, "and I want to get home as soon as I can."

"I'm hungry, too," Freddie said. "We'll soon be home."

But the children might not have reached the camp soon, only that a little later they heard their names called in the wood, and, answering, they found Nan and Bert looking for them in the goat wagon drawn by Whisker.

"Where in the world have you been?" asked Bert of his little brother and sister.

"Oh," answered Freddie, "we've been out in a boat and in a cave and we only had cookies to eat and they were wet and --  -- "

"We heard a noise in the cave. Maybe it's a bear, an' if it is Freddie can take his popgun the next time we go there. Can't you, Freddie?"

"Dear me!" laughed Nan. "What's it all about?"

Then the two small twins told more slowly what had happened to them, and Nan and Bert told their small brother and sister that, coming back from their little trip, they had found Mrs. Bobbsey much worried because she could not find Flossie and Freddie.

"Then it began to rain," said Nan, "and we were all as worried as could be. We looked at our boats, and when we found they were tied at the dock we didn't think you were out on the water. Then when it stopped raining Bert and I started out to find you and so did Sam, though he went a different way."

"And we called and called to you," said Bert. "Didn't you hear us shouting?"

"Maybe that was the noise we heard in the cave," said Freddie to his sister.

"What about this cave?" asked Bert. "Tell us where it is."

Then, riding back to camp in the goat wagon, the two small twins told again of the big hole in which they had taken refuge from the storm.

"I'd like to see that," Bert said. "We'll go there to-morrow."

"We can walk there, or Whisker can take us," said Freddie. "And then we can come home in the boat, but you'll have to take some oars, Bert."

"That's so -- there is a boat!" exclaimed the older Bobbsey boy. "I wonder whose it can be?"

But they did not learn at once, for the next day, when they all went to the cave -- including Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey -- the boat was not there.

"Somebody untied it and took it away," said Freddie, as he pointed out the rock to which he had made fast the rope.

"Are you sure you tied it tightly?" asked his father.

"Yep. I made the same kind of knot you showed me," and Freddie told how he had done it. Flossie, too, was sure her brother had fastened the boat properly.

"Well, then somebody's been here in the cave," said Bert. "Say, it's a big place, Daddy! Can't we get a lantern and see where it goes to back there," and he motioned to the dark part.

"Some time, maybe, but not now," said Mr. Bobbsey, who, with his wife, had walked along the island path to the cave while the children rode in the goat wagon. "I didn't know there was a cave on Blueberry Island. I don't believe many persons know it is here. But the boat might belong to some of the berry pickers, and they hunted for it until they found it."

"Did the blueberry pickers make the funny noise in the cave?" asked Flossie.

"I don't know," replied her father. "I don't hear any noise now. I presume it was only the wind."

Mr. Bobbsey and Bert, lighting matches, went a short way back into the cave, but they could see very little, and the children's father said they would look again some other day.

"But, Flossie and Freddie, you mustn't come here alone again," said Mr. Bobbsey.

"If it rains and we're near here can't we come in if we haven't an umbrella?" asked Freddie.

"Well, yes, perhaps if it rains. But you mustn't go out in a drifting boat again, rain or no rain," ordered Mr. Bobbsey.

Flossie and Freddie promised they would not, as they always did, and then the camping family started back for their tents.

"What do you think of that cave, the boat's being taken and all that's happened?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey in a whisper of her husband, as they walked toward camp together.

"I don't know what to think," he said slowly.

"Do you suppose the gypsies could be in there?"

"Well, they might. But don't let the children know. They are having a good time here and there's no need, as yet, to frighten them."

For the next few days there were happy times in Twin Camp. The children went on many rides in the goat wagon and had other fun. Then, one afternoon when they were all sitting near the tents waiting for Dinah to get dinner, they saw a steamer heading toward the little dock.

"Oh, maybe it's company!" cried Flossie, clapping her hands.

And so it proved, for when the boat landed Mrs. Porter and her little girl, Helen, got off.

"We came to see how you were," said Mrs. Porter. "Helen wanted a trip on the water, so we came on the excursion boat. We're going back this evening. How are you?"

"Very well, indeed," said Mrs. Bobbsey, "and glad to see you. Helen can play with Flossie and Freddie."

"Did you see any of the gypsies, and did they have my talking doll?" asked Helen as soon as she had taken off her hat in the tent and had gone outside to play with the two small Bobbsey twins.



Chapter XV

The Doll's Dress


"Haven't you got your lost doll back yet?" asked Freddie, as he moved over on a board, nailed between two trees, to make room for Helen to sit down between him and Flossie.

"No, I haven't found Mollie," answered the little girl, who had come to visit her friends. "I guess she's a gypsy by this time."

"Helen, are you sure a gypsy man took your doll?" asked Nan, who had been sent out by her mother to see if the little ones were all right.

"Yes, I'm sure," answered Helen. "I left her in the yard; and, besides, didn't Johnnie Marsh and me both see the gypsy man runnin' off with her?"

"Well, maybe it did happen that way," said Nan. "But what makes you think we might have seen that gypsy man here, Helen?"

"'Cause Johnnie Marsh said gypsies were camped on Blueberry Island."

"We haven't seen any yet," remarked Bert, who had come out to ask the little girl visitor about some of his boy friends in Lakeport.

"Maybe they're hiding 'cause they've got Helen's doll," said Flossie. "And maybe they're in the cave Freddie and I found."

"Did you find a cave?" asked Helen. "My mamma read me a story once about a cave and a giant that lived in it. Did your cave have a giant inside?"

"It had a noise!" answered Flossie excitedly. "Me and Freddie heard it! But we didn't go see what it was. Are you hungry, Helen?" she asked, suddenly changing the subject.

"Yes, I am. I only had some cake and ice-cream on the boat."

"We're goin' to have ice-cream!" Freddie cried. "Sam chopped up the ice this morning and I heard him turning the freezer. I wish dinner would hurry up and be ready."

It was not long after this that fat Dinah rang the gong which told that the meal was cooked, and soon they were all seated in the dining tent making merry over it. Mrs. Porter told how Helen had been teasing, ever since the Bobbseys had come to Blueberry Island, to be brought for a visit.

"She says that maybe the gypsies who took her doll are here," went on Mrs. Porter; "though I tell her she will never see Mollie again. But Helen begged hard to come, and so -- here we are."

"And we're very glad to see you," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "Can't you stay longer than just until this evening?"

"No, not this time, as we didn't bring any extra clothes with us. But Helen might come later for a visit of a few days."

"Oh, yes, please let her come!" begged Flossie.

"We'll see," said Mrs. Porter. "Did you find Snap?" she asked Bert.

"No, we haven't heard anything of him. I was going to ask if you had," and he looked anxiously at Helen's mother.

"No, I haven't heard a word about your pet," answered Mrs. Porter, "though I've asked all your boy friends, and so has Helen. Tommy Todd and the others say they are keeping watch for Snap, and if they see him they'll let you know. Has anything else happened since you've been here?" she asked Mr. and Mrs. Bobbsey.

"Nothing much," answered Nan's mother. "We have had a lovely time camping, and --  -- "

"Flossie's and my go-around bugs broke out of their box!" cried Freddie, and then he begged his mother's pardon for interrupting her when she was speaking. His mother smiled, excused him, and then she let him and Flossie, in turn, tell about the missing bugs.

"Come on, we'll play hide-and-go-to-seek," proposed Flossie after dinner, while her father and mother and Mrs. Porter were still sitting about the table talking. "Do you and Nan want to play, Bert?" she asked her older brother.

"No, Flossie," he answered with a smile. "I'm going to help Sam cut wood for the campfire. We're going to have a marshmallow roast to-night."

"Oh, I just wish I could stay!" cried Helen. "I love roast marshmallows!"

"We'll roast some when you come again," said Nan, who was going to do some sewing, so she could not play with the smaller children just then. Soon the game of hide-and-go-to-seek began.

Freddie said he would hide first, and let both girls hunt for him. He thought he could hide so well that he could fool them both, and still get "home safe" before they spied him.

So while Flossie and Helen "blinded" by hiding their faces in their arms against a tree, Freddie stole quietly off to hide. He found a good place behind a pile of brush-wood, and there he cuddled up in a little bunch and waited, after calling "coop!", until he heard the two girls searching for him.

By peeping through the brush Freddie could see Helen and his sister looking all about for him -- behind trees, down back of fallen logs, and in clumps of ferns.

Then Freddie saw the girls go far enough away from "home," which was a big oak tree, so that he thought he would have a chance to run in "free."

This he did, and how surprised Flossie and Helen were when they saw him dash out from the pile of brush-wood!

"I'll blind now and let you hide," said Freddie, though if the game was played by the rules it would be his turn to hide again, as he had not been caught.

So this time the little boy hid his head in his arms and began counting up to a hundred by fives, and when he had called out loudly: "Ninety-five -- one hundred! Ready or not, I'm coming!" he opened his eyes and began searching.

Freddie had to be more careful about going away from the "home" tree than had the two little girls. Either one of them could have spied him and have run to touch "home" before he did. But Freddie was all alone hunting for his sister and Helen, and when he had his back turned one or the other might run in ahead of him.

"But I'll find 'em," he told himself. "I'll spy 'em both and then it will be my turn to hide again."

Meanwhile, Flossie and Helen were well hidden. Flossie had found two logs lying on a pile of leaves, not far from the "home" tree, and she had crawled down in between them pulling leaves over her. Only her nose stuck out, so she could breathe, and no one could have seen her until they were very close.

Helen had picked out a hollow stump in which to hide. It was deep enough for her to get inside, and the bottom was covered with old leaves, so it was soft and not very dirty. Helen had been given an old dress of Flossie's to put on to play in, so she would not soil her own white one.

"I'm going to have a good place to hide," thought Helen, as she climbed up on a pile of stones outside the old stump and jumped down inside, crouching there.

Then she waited for Freddie to come to find her, and as there was a crack in the stump, she could look out and see where he was. As soon as he got far enough away from "home," Flossie, who was nearer the oak tree, would run in free, -- and then she would try to reach it.

Meanwhile she crouched in the hollow stump, trying not to laugh or cough or sneeze, for if she did that Freddie would hear and know where she was. Helen saw something white in the stump with her. At first she thought it was a piece of paper, but when she picked it up she knew it was cloth. And as she looked at it her eyes grew big with wonder.

Without stopping to think that she was playing the hide-and-go-to-seek game Helen suddenly stood up in the hollow stump, her head and waist showing above the edge like a Jack-in-the-box. In her hand she held the white thing she had found.

Flossie, from her hiding place between the two logs, could look over and see what Helen was doing. Seeing her standing up in plain sight Flossie, in a loud whisper, called to her friend:

"Get down! Get down! Freddie will see you and then you'll be it! Get down!"

"But look! Look at what I found! In the hollow stump!" answered Helen. "Oh, I must show you!"

"No! Get down!" cried Flossie, pulling more leaves over herself. "Here comes Freddie. He'll see you!"

The little boy was coming from the "home" tree. He caught sight of Helen, and cried:

"Tit-tat, Helen! Tit-tat, Helen! I see her in the hollow stump!"

"I don't care if I am it," Helen answered. "Look what I found!"

"What is it?" asked Flossie, sitting up amid the leaves.

"It's the dress Mollie wore when the gypsy took her away!" exclaimed Helen. "Oh, my doll must be somewhere on this island!" and holding the white object high above her head she ran toward Flossie.



Chapter XVI

Snoop Is Missing


The children suddenly lost interest in the game of hide-and-go-to-seek. Freddie thought no more of spying Flossie or Helen. Flossie no longer cared about hiding down between the two logs, and Helen did not care about anything but the white dress she was holding up as she scrambled out of the hollow stump.

"It's my doll's dress!" she said over and over again. "It's my lost doll's dress!"

"Are you sure?" asked Flossie, as she shook the leaves from her dress and hair, and came over to her friend.

"Course I'm sure!" answered Helen. "Look, here's a place where I mended the dress after Mollie tore it when she was playing with Grace Lavine's dollie one day."

Mollie hadn't really torn her dress. Helen had done it herself lifting her pet out of the doll carriage, but she liked to pretend the doll had done it.

"Let's see the torn place," said Flossie, and Helen showed where a hole had been sewed together.

"I 'member it," Helen went on, "'cause I sewed it crooked. I can sew better now. It's my doll's dress all right."

"It's all wet," said Freddie, who, though a boy, was not too old to be interested in dolls, though he did not play with them. "Maybe the gypsies live around here," he went on, "and they washed your doll's dress and hung it on the stump to dry."

"Maybe!" agreed Helen, who was ready to believe anything, now that she had found something belonging to her doll.

"No gypsies live around here," said Flossie, "'cause we haven't seen any. But maybe they live in the cave."

"The cave's far off," said Freddie. "But it's funny about that dress."

"I -- I found it when I hid in the stump," explained the little visiting girl. "First I thought it was a piece of paper, but as soon as I touched it I knew it wasn't. Oh, now if I could only find Mollie!"

"Maybe she's in the stump, too," Freddie said. "If the gypsies washed her dress they'd have to cover her up with leaves or bark so she wouldn't get cold while her dress was drying."

"The gypsies didn't wash her dress," said Helen.

"How do you know?" asked Flossie.

"'Cause nobody washes dresses an' makes 'em all up in a heap an' puts 'em in a hollow stump," Helen went on. "You've got to hang a dress straight on a line to make it dry."

"That's so," added Flossie. "You only roll a dress up the way this one was rolled when you sprinkle it to iron, don't you, Helen?"

"Yep. Oh, I do wish I could find my Mollie!"

"Well, she must be somewhere around here if she isn't in the stump," insisted Freddie. "If the gypsies took off her dress they must have dropped the doll. Let's look!"

This was what the two little girls wanted to do, so with Freddie to help they began poking about with sticks in the leaves that were piled around the stump. They searched for some time, but could find no trace of the lost doll.

"We'd better go and tell my mamma and your mamma," said Flossie. "Maybe they'll get a policeman and he'll find the gypsies and your dollie, Helen."

"All right -- come on!"

Out of breath, the children ran to the tents where Mrs. Porter was just thinking about going in search of her little girl, as it was nearly time for the steamboat to come back for them.

"Oh, I found Mollie's dress! I found Mollie's dress!" cried Helen, waving it over her head.

"It was in a stump!" added Freddie.

"And it was all wet from bein' rained on, I guess," said Flossie, for indeed the doll's dress was still damp, and very likely it had been out in the rain. That stump would hold water for some time, like a big, wooden pitcher.

Mrs. Porter was very much surprised to hear the news, and thought perhaps her little girl was mistaken. But when she had looked carefully at the dress, she knew it was one she herself had made for Helen when that little girl was a baby.

"But how did it come on this island?" she asked.

"It must have been dropped by the gypsies," said Mr. Bobbsey. "In spite of what they said to us some one of them must have picked up the doll and carried her away for some little gypsy girl. And the gypsies must have been on this island. Some of the blueberry pickers said they saw them, but when I looked I could not find them. By that time they must have gone away."

"And did they take my doll with them?" asked Helen.

"Well, I'm afraid they did," said Mr. Bobbsey. "If they wanted your pet badly enough to take her away so boldly, as they did from the yard, they'd probably keep her, once they had her safe. It isn't every day they can get a talking doll, you know."

"I wish there was some way of getting Helen's doll back," said Mrs. Porter. "She does nothing but wish for her every day. She has other dolls --  -- "

"But I liked Mollie best," Helen said. "I want her. If she only knew I had her dress she might come to me," she added wistfully.

"She might, if she were a fairy doll," said Mrs. Bobbsey, as she patted Helen on the head. "But we'll look as carefully as we can for your little girl's pet, Mrs. Porter. If Mollie is on this island we'll find her."

"And I'll leave this dress here," said Helen, "so you can put it on her when you do find her. Then she won't take cold."

"I'll wash the dress and have Dinah iron it for you," promised Flossie. "I can't iron very well."

"Thank you," said Helen. "Oh, I'm so glad I came here, for I found part of Mollie, anyhow."

Helen and her mother left Blueberry Island, promising to come again some day, and Flossie and Freddie said they would, in the meanwhile, look as well as they could for the lost doll.

That night, in front of the tents, there was a marshmallow roast. The Bobbsey children, with long sticks, toasted the soft candies over the blaze, until the marshmallows puffed out like balloons and were colored a pretty brown. Then they ate them.

Flossie and Freddie dropped about as many candies in the fire as they toasted, but Bert and Nan at last showed the small twins how to do it, and then Freddie toasted a marshmallow for his father and Flossie made one nice and brown for her mother.

"I dropped mine in the dirt, after I cooked it," said Freddie to his father, as he came running up with the hot candy, "but I guess you can eat it."

"I'll try," laughed Mr. Bobbsey, and he brushed off all the dirt he could, but had to chew the rest, for Freddie stood right in front of his father, to make sure the marshmallow was eaten.

"Is it good?" asked the little boy.

"Fine!" cried Mr. Bobbsey. "But I can't eat any more," he said quickly, "because I might get indigestion."

"Then I'll eat 'em," said Freddie. "I'm not afraid of id-idis-idisgestion."

It was jolly fun toasting candies at the campfire, but as everything must come to an end some time, this did also, and the children went to bed and the camp was quiet, except that now and then Whisker gave a gentle "Baa-a-a-a!" from his resting place under a tree, and Snoop, the black cat, purred in his sleep.

The next day it rained, so the twins could not go to look for the doll, as they wanted to. They had to stay around the tents, though when the shower slackened they were allowed to go out with their rubber coats and boots on.

Toward night the sun came out, and they all went down to the dock to meet the steamboat, for Mr. Bobbsey had gone over to the mainland after dinner, to attend to some business at the lumber office, and was coming back on the last boat.

It was after supper that Dinah, coming into the dining tent to clear away the dishes, caused some excitement when she asked:

"Has any ob you all seen Snoop?"

"What? Is our cat gone?" asked Bert.

"Well, I hasn't seen 'im since Flossie an' Freddie was playin' hitch him up like a hoss to a cigar box wagon," went on Dinah. "He come out to me an' I gib 'im some milk, an' now, when I called 'im t' come an' git his supper, he ain't heah!"

Flossie and Freddie looked at each other. So did Nan and Bert. Even Mr. Bobbsey seemed surprised. But he said:

"Oh, I guess he just went off in the woods for a rest after Flossie and Freddie mauled him when they were playing with him. Go call him, Bert."

So Bert went out in front of the tent and called: "Snoop! Snoop! Hi, Snoop, where are you?"

But no Snoop answered. Then Flossie and Freddie called, and so did Nan, while Sam went farther into the woods among the trees. But the big black cat, that the children loved so dearly, was missing. Snoop did not come to his supper that night.



Chapter XVII

Freddie Is Caught


"Hark! Wasn't that Snoop?"

"Listen, everybody!"

Bert and Nan suddenly made these exclamations as they, with the rest of the Bobbsey family, were sitting in the main tent after supper. The lanterns had been lighted, the mosquito net drawn over the front door, or flap of the tent, to keep out the bugs, and the camping family was spending a quiet hour before going to bed.

Bert thought he heard, in the woods outside, a noise that sounded like that made by the missing cat Snoop, and Nan, also, thought she heard the same sound.

They all listened, Mr. Bobbsey looking up from his book, while Flossie and Freddie ceased their play. Mrs. Bobbsey stopped her sewing.

"There it is again!" exclaimed Nan, as from the darkness outside the tent there came a queer sound.

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "It doesn't sound like Snoop."

"Maybe it's Snap!" exclaimed Freddie. "He used to howl like that."

"It did sound a bit like a dog's howl," admitted Bert. "May I go out and see what it is, Daddy?"

"I'll take a look," said Mr. Bobbsey. He stepped to the flap of the tent and listened. The queer sound came again, and he went outside, while Bert went near the tent opening to listen. He, as well as his father, then heard another noise -- that made by some one walking across the ground, stepping on and breaking small sticks.

"Who's there?" suddenly called Mr. Bobbsey, exactly, as Bert said afterward, like a soldier sentinel on guard. "Who's there?"

"It's me -- Sam," was the answer. "I done heard some queer noise, Mr. Bobbsey, an' Dinah said as how I'd better git up and see what it was."

"Oh, all right, Sam. We heard it too. Listen again."

Sam stood still, and Mr. Bobbsey remained quietly outside the big tent. Sam and his wife lived in a smaller tent not far away, and they usually went to bed early, so Sam had had to get up when the queer noise sounded.

Suddenly it came again, and this time Bert, who had stuck his head out between the flaps of the tent, called:

"There it is!"

"Who! Who! Who!" came the sound, and as Mr. Bobbsey heard it he gave a laugh.

"Nothing but an owl," he said. "I should have known it at first, only I couldn't hear well in the tent. You may go back to bed, Sam, it's only an owl."

"Only an owl, Mr. Bobbsey! Yas, I reckon as how it is; but I don't like t' heah it jest de same."

"You don't? Why not, Sam?"

"'Cause as how dey most always ginnerally bring bad luck. I don't like de sound ob dat owl's singin' no how!"

"He wasn't singing, Sam!" laughed Bert, after he had called to the rest of the family inside the tent and told them the cause of the noise.

"Ha! Am dat yo', Bert?" asked the colored man. "Well, maybe an owl don't sing like a canary bird, but dey makes a moanful soun', an' I don't like it. It means bad luck, dat's what it means! An' you all'd better git t' bed!"

"Oh, I'm not afraid, Sam. We thought it was Snoop mewing, or Snap howling, maybe. You didn't see anything of our lost dog, did you?"

"Not a smitch. An' I suah would like t' hab him back."

"Ask him if he or Dinah saw Snoop," called Flossie.

Bert asked the colored man this, but Sam had seen nothing of the pet cat either.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Freddie. "Both our pets gone -- Snap and Snoop! I wish they'd come back."

"Maybe they will," said his mother kindly. "It's time for you to go to bed now, and maybe the morning will bring good news. Snap or Snoop may be back by that time."

"That's what we've been thinking about poor Snap for a long while," grumbled Nan.

"Well, I'm afraid Snap is lost for good," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "He never stayed away so long before. But Snoop may be back in the morning. He may have just wandered off. It isn't the first time he has been away all night."

"Only once or twice," said Bert, who came back to the book he was reading. "And both times it was because he got shut by accident in places where he couldn't get out."

"Maybe that's what's happened this time," suggested Nan. "We ought to look around the island."

"We will -- to-morrow," declared Bert.

"And look in the cave Flossie and I found," urged Freddie. "Maybe Snoop is there."

"We'll look," promised his brother.

When Flossie and Freddie were taken to their cots by their mother, Flossie, when she had finished her regular prayers, added:

"An' please don't let 'em take Whisker."

"What do you mean by that, Flossie?" asked her mother.

"I mean I was prayin' that they shouldn't take our goat," said the little girl.

"I want to pray that, too!" cried Freddie, who had hopped into bed. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to pray that, Flossie?"

"'Cause it just popped into my head. But you stay in bed, an' I'll pray it for you," and she added: "Please, Freddie says the same thing!"

Then she covered herself up and almost before Mrs. Bobbsey had left the sides of the cots both children were fast asleep.

"Poor little tykes!" said the mother softly. "They do miss their pets so! I hope the cat and dog can be found, and Helen's doll, too. It's strange that so many things are missing. I wonder who Flossie meant by 'they,' I must ask her."

And the next morning the little girl, when reminded of her petition the night before and asked who she thought might take the goat, said:

"They is the gypsies, of course! They take everything! Blueberry Tom said so. And I didn't want them to get Whisker too."

"Who in the world is Blueberry Tom?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"He's the boy who was so hungry," explained Freddie. "He came to the island to pick early blueberries only there wasn't any."

"Oh, now I remember," Mrs. Bobbsey said with a laugh. "Well, I don't believe there are any gypsies on this island to take anything. Snoop must have just wandered off."

"Then we'll find him!" exclaimed Nan.

During the next few days a search was made for the missing black cat. The twins, sometimes riding in their goat wagon, and again going on foot, went over a good part of the island, calling for Snoop. But he did not answer. Sam, too, wandered about getting firewood, and also calling for the lost pet. Mr. Bobbsey made inquiries of the boatmen and the man who kept the soda-water stand, but none of them had seen the children's pet.

Bert printed, with a lead pencil, paper signs, offering a reward for any news of Snoop, and these were tacked up on trees about the island so the blueberry pickers might see them. But though many read them, none had seen Snoop, and, of course, Snap was missing before the Bobbseys came to camp, so, naturally, he would not be on the island.

But in spite of the missing Snap and Snoop, the Bobbsey twins had lots of fun in camp. During the day they played all sorts of games, went on long walks with their father and mother, or for trips on the lake. Sometimes they even rowed to other islands, not far from Blueberry Island, and there ate their lunch.

The fishing was good, and Freddie and Bert often brought home a nice mess for dinner or supper. Whisker, the big white goat, was a jolly pet. He was as gentle as a dog and never seemed to get tired of pulling the twins in the wagon, though the roads of the island were not as smooth as those in Lakeport.

But though the twins had fun, they never gave over thinking that, some day, they would find Snap and Snoop again.

"And maybe Helen's doll, too," said Flossie. "We'll hunt for her some more."

"But it's easier to hunt for Snoop," said Freddie, "'cause he can holler back when you holler at him."

"How can a cat holler?" asked his sister.

"Well, he can go 'miaou,' can't he?" Freddie asked, "an' ain't that hollerin'?"

"I -- I guess so," Flossie answered. "Oh, Freddie, I know what let's do!" she cried suddenly.

"What? Make mud pies again? I'm tired of 'em. 'Sides, Momsie just put clean things on us."

"No, not make mud pies -- I'm tired of that, too. Let's go off by ourselves and hunt Snoop. You know every time we've gone very far from camp we've had to go with Nan and Bert; and you know when you hunt cats you ought to be quiet, an' two can be more quiet than three or four."

"That's right," agreed Freddie, after thinking it over.

"Then let's just us two go," went on Flossie. "We won't get lost."

"Nope, course not," said Freddie. "I can go all over the island, and I won't let you be lost. Snoop knows us better than he does Nan and Bert anyhow, 'cause we play with him more."

"And if we find him," went on Flossie, "and he's too tired to walk home we'll carry him. I'll carry his head part an' you can carry his tail."

"No, I want to carry his head."

"I choosed his head first!" said Flossie, "The tail is nicest anyhow."

"Then why don't you carry that?"

"'Cause it's so flopsy. It never stays still, and when it flops in my face it tickles me. Please you carry the tail end, Freddie."

"All right, Flossie, I will. But we had better go now, or maybe Momsie or Nan or Bert or Dinah might come out and tell us not to go. Come on!"

So, hand in hand, now and then looking back to make sure no one saw them to order them back, Flossie and Freddie started out to search for the lost Snoop. They wandered here and there about the island, at first not very far from the camp. When they were near the tents they did not call the cat's name very loudly for fear of being heard.

"We can call him loud enough when we get farther away," said Freddie.

"Yep," agreed his sister. "Anyhow he isn't near the tents or he'd've come back before this."

So the two little twins wandered farther and farther away until they were well to the middle of the island, and out of sight of the white tents.

"Snoop! Snoop! Snoop!" they called, but though they heard many noises made by the birds, the squirrels and insects of the woods, there was no answering cry from their cat.

After a while they came to a place where a little brook flowed between green, mossy banks. It was a hot day and the children were warm and tired.

"Oh, I'm goin' in wading!" cried Freddie, sitting down and taking off his shoes and stockings.

"You hadn't better," said Flossie. "Mamma mightn't like it."

"I'll tell her how nice it was when I get home," said the little fellow, "and then she'll say it was all right. Come on, Flossie."

"No, I've got clean white stockin's on and I don't want to get 'em all dirty."

"Huh! They've got some dirt on 'em now."

"Well, they aren't wet and they'd get wet if I went in wading."

"Not if you took 'em off."

"Yes they would, 'cause I never can get my feet dry on the grass like you do. You go in wading, Freddie, and I'll sit here an' watch you."

So Freddie stepped into the cool water and shouted with glee. Then he waded out a little farther and soon a queer look came over his face. Flossie saw her brother sink down until the brook came up to the lower edge of his knickerbockers, wetting them, while Freddie cried:

"Oh, I'm caught! I'm caught. Flossie, help me! I'm caught!"



Chapter XVIII

Flossie Is Tangled


Flossie Bobbsey, who had been sitting on the cleanest and dryest log she could find near the edge of the stream to watch Freddie wade, jumped up as she heard him cry. She had been wishing she was with him, white stockings or none.

"Oh, Freddie, what's the matter?" she cried. "What's happened?"

"I -- I'm caught!" he answered. "Can't you see I'm caught?"

"But how?" she questioned eagerly. "You aren't caught in a trap like Snap was, are you?"

"No, it isn't a trap -- it's sticky mud," Freddie said. "My feet are stuck in the mud!"

"Oh -- oh!" said Flossie, and a queer look came over her face. "You are stuck in the mud! How did you do it, Freddie?"

"I didn't do it! It did it! I just stepped in a soft place, and now when I pull one foot out the other sticks in deeper. Can't you help me out, Flossie?"

"Yes, I'll help you out!" she cried, and she ran down to the edge of the stream, as though she intended to wade out to where poor Freddie was trying to pull his feet loose from the sticky mud.

"Oh, don't come in! Don't come in!" cried Freddie, waving her back with his hand. "You'll be stuck, too!"

Flossie stood still on the edge of the little brook. She looked at Freddie, who was in the middle of the stream, too far out for Flossie to reach with her outstretched hands, though she tried to do so.

"Can't you pull your feet out?" she asked.

"Nope!" answered Freddie. "I can't, for I've tried. As soon as I get one foot up a little way the other goes down in deeper."

"Then I'll go and call mamma!"

"No, don't do that!" begged Freddie. "Maybe if you would get a long stick, Flossie, and hold it out to me, I could sort of pull myself out."

"Oh, I know. It's like the picture in my story book of the boy who fell through the ice, and his sister held out a long pole to him and he pulled himself out. Wait a minute, Freddie, and I'll get the stick. I'm glad you didn't fall through the ice, though, 'cause you'd get cold maybe."

"This water is nice and warm," said Freddie. "But I don't like the mud I'm stuck in, 'cause it makes me feel so tickly between the toes."

"I'll help you out," said Flossie. "Wait a minute."

She searched about on the bank until she found a long smooth branch of a tree. Holding to one end of this she held the other end out to her brother. Freddie had to turn half around to get hold of it as his back was toward Flossie, and she could not cross the brook.

"Now hold tight!" cried the little boy. "I'm going to pull!"

Flossie braced her feet in the sand on the bank of the brook and her brother began to pull himself out of the mud. His feet had sunk down to quite a depth, and when he first pulled he made Flossie slide along the ground until she cried:

"Oh, Freddie, you're going to make me stuck, too! Don't pull me into the water!"

Freddie stopped just in time, with the toes of Flossie's shoes almost in the water.

"Did you pull loose a little bit?" she asked.

"Yes, a little. But I don't want to pull you in, Flossie. If you could only hold on to a tree or a rock, then I wouldn't drag you along."

"Maybe I can hold to this tree," and Flossie pointed to one near by. "If I can stretch my arms I can reach it."

"Look for a longer tree branch to hold out to me," said Freddie, and when his sister had found this she could reach one end to her brother, keep the other end in her right hand, and with her left arm hold on to a small tree. The tree braced Flossie against being pulled along the bank, and when next Freddie tried, he dragged his feet and legs safely from the sticky mud, and could wade out on the hard, gravelly bottom of the brook.

"I guess that was a mud hole where some fish used to live," said the little fellow, as he came ashore, a little bit frightened by what had happened.

"Your feet are all muddy," said Flossie, "and you are all wet around your knees."

"Oh, that'll dry," said Freddie. "And I can wash the mud off my feet. It was awful sticky."

It certainly seemed to be, for it took quite a while to wash it off his bare feet and legs, though he stood for some time in the brook, where there was a white, pebbly bottom, and used bunches of moss for a bath sponge.

But at last Freddie's legs were clean, though they were quite red from having been rubbed so hard with the moss-sponge. Flossie, too, having helped her brother scrub himself, had gotten some water on her shoes and stockings, and a little mud, too.

"But we can walk through places where the grass is high," said Freddie, "and that will brush the mud off, and the sun will dry your stockin's same as it will my pants."

"And we'll keep on calling for Snoop," said Flossie.

Freddie having put on his stockings and shoes, the two children set out again, wandering here and there, calling for the black cat. But either he did not hear them or he would not answer, and when, after an hour or two, they got back to camp, they had not found their pet.

"Where have you two been?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "I was just getting anxious about you."

"We've been looking for Snoop," said Flossie.

"And I went in wadin' an' got stuck in the mud, and my pants got a little wet, and Flossie's shoes and stockin's got wet an' muddy, but we waded in tall grass and we're not very muddy now," said Freddie, all out of breath, but anxious to get the worst over with at once.

"Oh, you shouldn't have gone in wading!" cried Mrs. Bobbsey.

"You didn't tell me not to -- not to-day you didn't tell me," Freddie defended himself.

"No, because I didn't think you'd do such a thing," replied his mother. "I can't tell you every day the different things you mustn't do -- there are too many of them."

"But there are so many things we can do too -- oh, just lots of them."

"Yes, and the things we may do and the things we're not to do are just awful hard to tell apart sometimes, Momsie," put in Flossie.

"Yes'm, they are," added Freddie. "And how is a feller and his sister to know every single time what they're to do and what they're not to do?"

"Suppose you try stopping before you do a thing to ask yourselves whether you ought to do it or not, and not wait until after the thing is done to ask yourselves that question," suggested Mrs. Bobbsey. "That might help some."

"Well, I won't go wading any more to-day," promised the little fellow. "But I didn't think I'd get stuck in the mud."

Mrs. Bobbsey wanted to laugh, but she did not dare let the two small twins see her, for they would think it only fun, and really they ought not to have gotten wet and muddy.

"And so you couldn't find Snoop," remarked Mr. Bobbsey at supper that night. "Well, it's too bad. I guess I'll have to get you another dog and cat."

"No, don't -- just yet, please," said Nan. "Maybe we'll find our own, and we never could love any new ones as we love Snap and Snoop."

"Nope, we couldn't!" declared Flossie, while Freddie nodded his head in agreement with her.

"But you could get us some new go-around bugs," the little girl went on. "We haven't found ours yet."

"That's so," remarked Mr. Bobbsey. "It's queer where they went to. Well, I'll see if I can get any more, though I may have to send to New York. But you two little ones must not go off by yourselves again, looking for Snoop."

"Could we go to look for Snap?" asked Freddie, as if that was different.

"No, not for Snap either. You must stay around camp unless some one goes with you to the woods."

It was a few days after this, when Mrs. Bobbsey, with the four twins, went out to pick blueberries, that they met a number of women and children who also had baskets and pails. But none of them was filled with the fruit which, now, was at its best.

"What is the matter with the berries?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "We have been able to pick only a few. The bushes seem to have been cleaned of all the ripe ones."

"That's what they have," said Blueberry Tom, who was with the other pickers. "And it's the gypsies who's gettin' the berries, too."

"Are you sure?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "We haven't seen any gypsies on the island."

"They don't stay here all the while," said Tom. "They have their camp over on the main shore, and they row here and get the berries when they're ripest. That's why there ain't any for us -- the gypsies get 'em before we have a chance. They're pickin' blueberries as soon as it's light enough to see."

"Well, I suppose they have as much right to them as we have," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "But I would like to get enough for some pies."

"I can show you where there are more than there are around here," offered Tom. "It's a little far to walk, though."

"Well, we're not tired, for we just came out," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "So if you'll take us there, Tom, we'll be very thankful."

"Come on," said the boy, whose face was once more covered with blue stains. "I'll show you."

The other berry pickers, who did not believe Tom knew of a better place, said they would stay where they were, and, perhaps, by hard work they might fill their pails or baskets, and so Tom and the Bobbseys went off by themselves.

Tom, indeed, seemed to know where, on the island, was one spot where grew the largest and sweetest blueberries, and the gypsies, if the members of the tribe did come to gather the fruit, seemed to have passed by this place.

"Oh, what lots of them!" cried Bert, as he saw the laden bushes.

"Yes, there's more than I thought," said Tom. "I'll get my basket full here all right."

Soon all were picking, though Flossie and Freddie may have put into their mouths as many as went in their two baskets. But their mother did not expect them to gather much fruit.

They had picked enough for several pies, and Mrs. Bobbsey was looking about for the two smaller twins who had wandered off a little way, when she heard Flossie scream.

"What is it?" asked her mother quickly. "Is it a snake?" and she started to run toward her little girl.

"Maybe she's stuck in the mud, as Freddie was!" exclaimed Bert.

"Mamma! Mamma!" cried Flossie. "Come and get me!"

"She -- she's all tangled up in a net!" cried the voice of Freddie. "Oh, come here!"

Mrs. Bobbsey, Nan, Bert and Tom ran toward the sound of the children's voices.



Chapter XIX

The Twins Fall Down


Again Flossie cried:

"I'm all tangled! I'm all tangled up! Come and help me get out!"

"What in the world can she mean?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey.

"I'm sure I don't know," answered Bert.

"What did Freddie say about a net?" asked Nan, as she stumbled and spilled her blueberries. She was going to stop to pick them up.

"Never mind them," her mother said. "Let them go. We must see what the matter is with Flossie."

They saw a few seconds later, as they turned on the path. On top of a little hill, in a place where there was a grassy spot with bushes growing all around it, they saw Flossie and Freddie.

Freddie was dancing around very much excited, but Flossie was standing still, and they soon saw the reason for this. She was entangled in a net that was spread out on the ground and partly raised up on the bushes. It was like a fish net which the children had often seen the men or boys use in Lake Metoka, but the meshes, or holes in it, were smaller, so that only a very little fish could have slipped through. And the cord from which the net was woven was not as heavy as that of the fish nets.

"Flossie's caught! Flossie's caught!" cried Freddie, still dancing about.

"Come and get me loose! Come and get me loose!" Flossie begged.

"Mother's coming! Mother's coming!" answered Mrs. Bobbsey. "But how in the world did it happen?"

She did not wait for an answer, but, as soon as she came near, she started to rush right into the net herself to lift out her little girl. But Bert, seeing what would happen, cried:

"Look out, Mother! You'll get tangled up, too. See! the net is caught on Flossie's shoes and around her legs and arms. She must have fallen right into it."

"She did," said Freddie. "We were walking along, picking berries, and all of a sudden Flossie was tangled in the net. I tried to get her out, but I got tangled, too, only I took my knife and cut some of the cords."

"And that's what we've got to do," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "The net is so entangled around Flossie that we'll never get her out otherwise. Have you a knife, Bert?"

"Yes, Mother. Stand still, Flossie!" he called to his little sister. "The more you move the worse you get tangled."

With his mother's help Bert soon cut away enough of the meshes of the queer net so that Flossie could get loose. She was not hurt -- not even scratched -- but she was frightened and she had been crying.

"There you are!" cried Mother Bobbsey, hugging her little girl in her arms. "Not a bit hurt, my little fat fairy! But how in the world did you get in the net, and what is it doing up on top of this hill in the midst of a blueberry patch?"

"I -- I just stumbled into it," said Flossie, "same as Freddie got stuck in the mud, only I didn't wade in the water."

"No, there isn't any water around here," returned Nan. "I can't see what a net is doing here. I thought they only used them to catch fish."

"Maybe they put it up here to dry, as the fishermen at the seashore dry their nets," said Mrs. Bobbsey.

"No," announced Tom, who had been looking at the net, "this ain't for fishes."

"What is it for then?" asked Bert.

"It's for snarin' birds. I've seen 'em before. Men spread the nets out on the grass, and over bushes near where the birds come to feed, and when they try to fly they get caught and tangled in the meshes. I guess this net ain't been here very long, for there ain't any birds caught in it."

"But who put it here?" asked Mrs. Bobbsey. "I think it's a shame to catch the poor birds that way. Who did it?"

Tom looked carefully around before he answered. Then he said:

"I think it was the gypsies."

"The gypsies!" cried Bert.

"Yes. They're a shiftless lot. They don't work and they take what don't belong to 'em. They're too lazy to hunt with a gun, so they snare birds in a net. Why, they'll even eat sparrows -- make a pie of 'em my mother says. And when they get robins and blackbirds they're so much bigger they can broil 'em over their fires. This is a bird-net, that's what it is."

"I believe you're right," said Mrs. Bobbsey, when she had looked more closely at it. "It isn't the kind they use in fishing. But do you really think the gypsies put it here, Tom?"

"Yes'm, I really do. They put 'em here other years, though I never seen one before. You see the gypsies sometimes camp here and sometimes on the mainland. All they have to do is to spread their net, and go away. When they come back next day there's generally a lot of birds caught in it and they take 'em out and eat 'em."

"Well, they caught a queer kind of bird this time," said Bert, with a smile at his little sister. "And it didn't do their net any good," he added, as he looked at the cut meshes.

"I'm sorry to have destroyed the property of any one else," said Mrs. Bobbsey, "but we had to get Flossie loose. And I don't believe those gypsies have any right to spread a net for birds."

"My mother says they haven't," replied Tom. "It's agin the law."

"Let's take the net away," suggested Bert.

"No, we haven't any right to do that," said his mother, "but we can tell the man who has to enforce the laws against hunting birds. I'll speak to your father about it. Are you all right now, Flossie?"

"Yes, Momsie. But it scared me when I was in the net."

"I should think so!" exclaimed Nan, petting her sister. "Did you just stumble into it?"

"Yep. I was walkin' along, and I saw a bush with a lovely lot of blueberries on it. I ran to it and then my foot tripped on a stone and I fell into the net. First I didn't know what it was, and when I tried to get up I was all tangled. Then I hollered."

"And I helped her holler," said Freddie.

"Indeed, you did, dear. You were a good little boy to stay by Flossie. But you're both all right now, and next time you come berrying stay closer by mother."

"You've got lots of berries," said Flossie, looking at Bert's basket.

"Yes. Tom showed us this good place. And now I guess we'd better go," said Bert. "Maybe those gypsies might come to look in their net."

He glanced around as he spoke, but though it was lonely on this part of Blueberry Island there were no signs of the dark-skinned men with rings in their ears who had set the bird net.

Dinah made enough blueberry pie to satisfy even the four twins, and when Mr. Bobbsey heard about the net he told an officer, who took it away. Whether or not the gypsies found out what had happened to their snare, as the net is sometimes called, the Bobbseys did not hear, nor did they see any of the wandering tribe, at least for a while.

Jolly camping days followed, though now and then it rained, which did not make it so nice. But, take it all in all, the Bobbseys had a fine time on Blueberry Island. Mr. Bobbsey got Flossie and Freddie some new "go-around" bugs, and the small twins had lots of fun with them. The old ones they did not find.

Snoop was not found either, though many blueberry pickers, as well as the Bobbseys themselves, looked for the missing black cat. Nor was Snap located, though an advertisement was put in the papers and a reward offered for him. But Whisker did not go away, nor did any one try to take him, and he gave the twins many a fine ride.

"And I'm glad the gypsies didn't get Whisker," observed Flossie. "I like him. Maybe not so much as I like Snap and Snoop, but awfully well I like him."

"Yes, he's a nice goat. Nicer'n Mike's goat that we 'most bought, but didn't. I'm glad now that we didn't get Mike's goat, aren't you, Flossie?"

"Yes, I am."

The Bobbseys had been camping on the island about a month, when one day Mrs. Bobbsey went over to Lakeport to do some shopping, taking Nan and Bert with her, and leaving Flossie and Freddie in charge of their father. Of course Dinah and Sam stayed on the island also.

But you can easily imagine what happened. After Mr. Bobbsey had played a number of games with the small twins he sat down in a shady place to rest and read a book, thinking Flossie and Freddie would be all right playing near the big tent.

The two little ones were making a sand city. They made a square wall of sand, and inside this they built sand houses, railroads, a tunnel and many other things, until Freddie suddenly said:

"Oh, if we only had some of the clam shells that are down by the lake we could make a lot more things."

"So we could!" cried Flossie. "Let's go and get some!"

So, never thinking to ask their father, who was still reading, away rushed the two twins, after "clam" shells. They were not really shells of clams, but of fresh water mussels, but they were almost like the shells of the soft clams one sees at the beach. The mussels are brought up on shore by muskrats who eat the inside meat and leave the empty shells. The small twins often used the shells in their play and games.

The place where the mussel shells were usually to be found was not far from the tents, but like most children in going to one place Flossie and Freddie took the longest way. They were in no hurry, the sun was shining brightly, and it was such fun to wander along over the island. So, before they knew it, they were a long distance from "home," as they called Twin Camp.

"Maybe we oughtn't to've come," said Flossie, as she stopped to pick some blueberries.

"We're not so far," said Freddie. "I know my way back. Oh, Flossie! look at that butterfly!" he suddenly called, making a grab for the fluttering creature. The butterfly flew on a little way and Freddie raced after it, followed by Flossie.

"Now I'm goin' to get it!" the little boy cried. With his hat he made a swoop for the butterfly, and then suddenly he and Flossie, who was close behind him, tumbled down through a hole in the ground, which seemed quickly to open at their very feet, between two clumps of bushes.

"Oh!" cried Freddie, as he felt himself falling down.

"Oh, dear!" echoed Flossie.

Then they found themselves in great darkness.



Chapter XX

The Queer Noise


Freddie Bobbsey sat down with a thump. Flossie Bobbsey sat down with a bump. This was after they had fallen down the queer hole. And yet it had not been so much of a fall as it was a slide.

Both of them being fat and plump -- much fatter and plumper since they had come to Twin Camp than before -- the thump and the bump did not hurt them very much.

They had slid down into the hole on a sort of hill of sand, and if you have ever slid down a sandy hillside you know the stopping part doesn't hurt very much. And, after all, the part of a fall that hurts, as the Irishman said, is not really the falling, it's the stopping so suddenly that causes the pain.

"Freddie! Freddie!" called Flossie, a few seconds after she and her little brother had fallen down the hole. "Freddie, are you there?"

"Yep, I'm here, Flossie," was Freddie's answer, "only I dunno 'xactly where it is. I can't see."

"Nor me neither. But are you been hurted, Freddie?"

"No, are you?"

The children were forgetting all about the right way to use words, which their mother had so often told them, but as they were excited, and a little frightened, perhaps we must excuse them this time.

"I -- I just sort of -- of bumped myself, Flossie," said Freddie. "Are you all right? And where are you?"

"I'm right here," replied the little girl, "but I can't see you. I -- I --  -- It's awful dark, Freddie!"

"I can see a little light now," Freddie went on. "Let's get up and see if we can crawl back. My legs are all right."

"So's mine, Freddie. I guess I can --  -- " and then Flossie suddenly stopped and gave a scream.

"What's the matter?" asked Freddie, and the little boy's voice was not quite steady.

"I -- I touched something!" gasped his sister. "It was something soft and fuzzy."

"Oh, was that you?" asked Freddie, and his voice did not sound so frightened now. "Well, that was my head you touched. I -- I thought maybe it was something -- something after me. I didn't know you were so close to me, Flossie."

"I didn't either. But I'm glad I touched you. Where's your hand. I'm sort of stuck in this sand and I can't get up."

By this time the eyes of both the children had become more used to the darkness of the place into which they had fallen, and they could dimly see one another. Freddie scrambled to his feet, shaking from his waist and trousers the sand that had partly filled them when he had slid down the incline, and gave his hand to Flossie. She had about as much sand inside her clothes as he had, and she shook this out. Both children then turned and looked up at the slide down which they had so suddenly fallen.

Up at the top -- and very far up it seemed to them -- they could see, at the end of the sandy slide where they had started to slip, a hole through which they had fallen. It was between two big stones, and had a large bush on either side. It had been covered with grass and bushes so that the small twins had not seen it until they stepped right into it. Then the grass and bushes had given way, letting the children down.

"We -- we've got to get back up there -- somehow," said Freddie with a doleful sigh, as he looked at the place down which he and his sister had tumbled.

"Yes, I would like to get up out of here," said Flossie, "but how can we, Freddie?"

"Climb up, same as we falled down. Come on."

Taking his sister by the hand, Freddie started to climb up the hill of sand. But he and Flossie soon found that though it was easy enough to slide down, it was not so easy to climb back. The sand slipped from under their feet, and even though they tried to go up on their hands and knees it was not to be done.

"Oh, dear!" cried Flossie after a while, "I wish we were Jack and Jill."

"Why?" asked Freddie.

"'Cause they went up a hill, an' we can't."

"Maybe we can if we try again," said Freddie. "Anyhow, I don't want to be Jack, and fall down and break my crown."

"You haven't any crown," said Flossie. "Only kings an' -- an' fairies have crowns."

"Well, it says in the book that Jack has a crown; an' if I was Jack I'd have one too. Only I'm not and I'm glad!"

"Well, I wish I was Jill, so I could have some of that pail of water," sighed Flossie. "I'm firsty," and she laughed as she used the word she used to say when she was a baby.

"So'm I," said Freddie. "Let's try to get up to the top, an' then we can get a drink, maybe. Only I'd rather be Ali Baba than Jack, then I could say, 'Open Sesame,' and the door to the cave would open of itself, and we could walk out and carry diamonds and gold with us."

"I'd rather have bread and butter than gold. I'm hungry. And I'd most rather have a drink," sighed the little girl. "Come on, Freddie, let's try to get up that hill. But it's awful hard work."

"Yes, it's hard," agreed Freddie; "but we've done lots harder things than that." You see, Freddie was trying to keep up his little sister's courage.

Once more the two little twins tried to climb the hill of shifting sand, but they could get up only a little way before slipping back. They did not get hurt -- the sand was too soft and slippery for that, but they were tired and hot, and, oh! so thirsty.

"I'm not goin' to climb any more!" finally said Flossie. "I'm tired! I'm goin' to stay here until mamma or papa or Nan or Bert comes for us."

"Maybe they won't come," Freddie said.

"Yes, they will," declared Flossie, shaking her head. "They allers comes when we're lost and we're losted now."

"Yes, I guess so," agreed Freddie. "I wonder where we are anyhow, Flossie?"

"Why, in a big hole," she said. "Oh, Freddie!" she suddenly cried, "maybe we can get out the other way if we can't climb up."

"Which other way?" asked her brother.

"Out there," and in the light that came down the hole through which the twins had fallen Freddie could see his sister pointing to what seemed another dim light, far away at the end of the big hole. For Flossie and Freddie had fallen into a big hole -- there was no doubt of that. Though it was pretty dark all about them, there was enough light for them to see that they were in a cavern.

"Maybe it's a cave, like the one we went into from the lake when we found the boat," said Flossie, after thinking it over a bit, "and if we can't get out one end we can the other."

"Maybe!" cried Freddie eagerly. "Anyway, we can't get up that hill of sand," and he pointed to the one down which they had slid. "Come on, we'll walk toward the other light."

Far away, through what seemed a long lane of blackness, there was a dim light, like some big star, and toward this, hoping it would lead to a hole through which they could get out, the children walked.

As they neared it the light grew brighter, and they were beginning to feel that their troubles were over when suddenly they both came to a stop.

For, at the same time, they had heard a queer noise. It came from the darkness just ahead of them and was such a funny sound that Flossie put both her arms around Freddie, not so much to take care of him as that she wanted him to take care of her.

"Did -- did you hear that?" she whispered.

Freddie nodded his head, and then, remembering that Flossie could not very well see his motions in the darkness he said:

"Yes, I heard it. I wonder --  -- "

"Hark!" whispered Flossie. "There it goes again!"



Chapter XXI

"Here Comes Snap!"


The sound came once more through the darkness to the little Bobbsey twins, and as they listened to it Flossie and Freddie looked at one another in surprise. They could just dimly make out the faces of each other in the dimness.

"Mamma! Mamma!" cried a voice, for it was a voice that had caused the queer sound; yet it did not sound like the voice of man, woman or child. "Mamma! Mamma!" it cried.

"Hear it?" asked Flossie again.

"Yep," answered Freddie. "It's a little boy or girl -- like us -- an' it's in this cave. I guess lots of childrens get lost here like us. Now I'm not afraid."

"Mamma! Papa! Mamma!" came the voice again.

"It -- it's kind of funny," whispered Flossie to Freddie. "Don't you think it's kind of funny, Freddie?"

"Yes, but I know what makes it."

"What?"

"It's being in this cave. You know how we used to holler at the hill, when we went to the country -- 'member that?"

"Yep," answered Flossie.

"An' how our voices used to come back an' sort of hit us in the face?" went on her brother.

"Yep."

"Well, that was an echo," said Freddie, "an' that's what makes it sound so queer here. It's an echo."

"Oh," said Flossie. She had not thought of that.

Once more the voice sounded out of the darkness.

"Mamma! Papa! Mamma!"

"There! Hear it? It's an echo!" cried Freddie.

Flossie listened a moment. Then she said:

"If it was an echo, Freddie, why didn't your voice echo too?"

"Oh, -- er -- well -- 'cause I didn't want it to," Freddie made answer. "I can do it now. Hello! Hello! Hello!" he called as loudly as he could.

And then, to the surprise of the children, back came a voice in answer, and in more than an answer, for it asked a question. No longer did the voice call: "Mamma! Papa!"

Instead it cried:

"Hello, there! What's the matter? Who are you and what do you want? Where are you?"

Flossie and Freddie were so startled that, for a moment, they could only hold on to each other in the darkness.

Then Freddie found his voice enough to speak. He said:

"Did you hear that echo, Flossie?"

"That wasn't an echo," declared his little sister quickly. "Echoes only say the same things you say and this -- this was different."

"Yes, it was," Freddie agreed. "But maybe it's a different kind of echo."

"Try it again," suggested Flossie, when they had remained quietly in the darkness for a time. And during that time they had not heard the strange voice calling. It seemed to have been hushed after the "echo," if that is what it was, made answer. "Call again," Flossie begged her brother. Once more he called:

"Hello! Hello! Hello!"

"Well, what do you want?" back came a voice in question. This time there was no doubt about its not being an echo. It had not repeated a single word that Freddie had cried.

"Oh, how funny!" cried Flossie. "What makes it do that?"

Before Freddie could answer, even if he had known what to say, the two children saw a light coming toward them. It was the light of a lantern, bobbing about in the darkness, and because it was a light, which chased away some of the gloom, they were glad, even though they had been a bit frightened by the queer voice and the echo which did not repeat words as the other echo had done.

"Oh, maybe it's daddy and Bert come to look for us!" cried Flossie eagerly.

Freddie thought the same thing, for he called out:

"Here we are, Daddy!"

But, to the surprise and disappointment of the children, a surly voice answered them:

"I'm not your father! Who are you, anyhow, and what are you doing in this cave?"

Flossie and Freddie, clinging to each other, shrank back in fear. Then, as the light came nearer, they saw that the lantern was carried by a tall man -- a man with a very dark face. He had gold rings in his ears, on his feet were big boots, and around his neck was a bright yellow handkerchief.

"Oh!" gasped Flossie. "Oh, he -- he's a gypsy!"

Freddie saw it, too. The man seemed surprised to see the children. He gave a sort of grunt, held the lantern up to their faces, and exclaimed:

"Why, there's two of 'em!"

"Yes, we -- we're twins!" stammered Flossie.

"Twins are always two," Freddie added, thinking, perhaps, that the gypsy man did not know that.

"Twins, eh?" remarked the man in a questioning voice.

"The Bobbsey Twins," said Freddie. "We came from our camp, and we --  -- "

"How'd you get in this cave? That's what I want to know!" cried the man, and he spoke harshly. "Tell me, how did you get here?" he asked, and he held the lantern in front of the faces of the two little children.

"We -- we fell in here!" said Freddie, pushing Flossie behind him. He felt that he must look after his little sister and protect her.

"Fell in?" cried the man.

"Yes, through a hole. We slid down a sandy hill, and we couldn't climb back again. We saw a little light over this way and we walked to it and then we heard some one cry: 'Mamma!' Are there any more little children here?" Freddie asked.

"Hum! Yes, some," half-grunted the gypsy. "But not your kind. I don't see how you came here," he went on, speaking to himself, it seemed, for he did not glance at Flossie or Freddie and there was no one else near by. The man looked all about the cave.

"Which way did you come?" he asked.

"Back there," and Freddie, who was doing most of the talking, pointed toward the place where he and Flossie had tried so hard to climb up.

"Come and show me," the man ordered them, and when they walked back with him, the lantern making queer shadows on the side walls of the cave, Flossie and Freddie pointed to the place down which they had slid.

"Hum!" murmured the gypsy. "I never knew there was a way into the cave from there. I must see about that. It wasn't open before. Well, now you're here I've got to make up my mind what I'll do with you," he went on, as he motioned for Flossie and her brother to walk back in front of him. He held the lantern so they could see where to step, but the earthen floor of the cave was smooth, and the children did not stumble.

"Will you take us back to Twin Camp, where we live?" asked Freddie. "We're the Bobbseys you know, and we didn't mean to run away again, though I guess we're lost. My mamma and my papa will be looking for us, and if you'll take us to the camp --  -- "

"Well, maybe I will after a bit, but not now," said the gypsy, shaking his head so that his earrings jiggled. "You'll have to stay here with us awhile. If you went out now, and told your folks you had found us here we'd all be sent to jail, most likely. I'll see what the others say."

Flossie and Freddie wondered what others he meant, but he did not tell them. He kept walking close behind them, and there was nothing for them to do but to keep on.

Suddenly they turned a sort of corner of the cave, and then the children saw something that surprised them. Seated around a table, on which some candles, stuck in bottles, were burning, were a number of men. They were all gypsies, like the man who had met the children farther back in the cave, and as he walked forward, behind Flossie and Freddie, the other gypsies looked up.

"Who was calling?" asked one of the dark men at the table.

"These two," said the first man, pointing to the little Bobbsey twins. "They answered my call and I found them. They fell down a hole at the far end of the cave, near the sand. I never knew it was there."

"It is an old entrance," put in a gypsy who was eating some bread and tomato, cutting first a slice of one and then of the other with a big knife. "That entrance was overgrown with grass long ago," he added.

"Well, these two stumbled on it," grumbled the man who had found Flossie and Freddie. "We'd better stop it up. And now what's to be done with 'em?"

"We'll have to keep 'em here for a while," said two or three at once, and hearing this the hearts of Flossie and Freddie were sad.

"Yes," went on the first gypsy, "we'll have to keep 'em here until we're ready to go, and that won't be for two or three days yet. The only trouble is that some of their folks may find where we have hidden 'em and --  -- "

"Hi!" suddenly cried an old gypsy, and then he said something very quickly, but in words the children could not understand. It was gypsy talk. After that all the men spoke in this queer way, but Flossie and Freddie felt sure they were being talked about, for the men looked at them many times in the light of the lantern and candles.

Suddenly, when there came a lull in the talk, and the twins were wondering what was coming next, they heard a dog barking. Now, ordinarily, this would not have surprised them, for they knew the gypsies kept many dogs, and some might be in the cave. But there was something different about this bark.

In wonder Flossie and Freddie looked at each other. Then Freddie cried out:

"That sounds like Snap!"

All at once there came a regular chorus of barks, and with them a man's voice could be heard shouting. Then came a dog's growl and yells from a man's voice, then more barks.

"Look out!" shouted some one in the cave. "The dog's loose!"

Flossie and Freddie saw a big dog spring into view from somewhere out of the darkness of the cave, and as the eyes of the twins lighted on him, Freddie cried:

"Here comes Snap! Here comes Snap! Oh, Flossie! our dog that was lost is found! Here's Snap!"



Chapter XXII

Happy Days


There was no doubt about it. There was Snap, alive and happy, if one could tell that last by the way he barked and tried to kiss both Flossie and Freddie at the same time with his red tongue. It was Snap, but he was thinner than when at home in Lakeport, and his nice coat of hair was muddy in some places, and not at all neat.

"Oh, but it's Snap! It's our Snap!" cried Freddie in delight.

"And he found us!" added Flossie. "Now the gypsies can't make us stay here," and standing beside the big dog she looked boldly at the dark men who were now standing about the table.

A man came running out of the darkness of what seemed to be a small cave inside the larger one, and cried:

"He broke away! I couldn't keep him any longer. He seemed to hear some one calling him."

"Keep still!" sharply ordered the gypsy who had had the lantern.

"Oh!" exclaimed the other man, as he saw Flossie and Freddie. "Is it their dog?"

There was no need to answer him. Any one could see that Snap belonged to the Bobbsey twins. He was so happy with them.

"Did you -- did you have our dog all the while?" asked Freddie, as he played with Snap's long ears.

The gypsy who had had the lantern said something in his strange language and no one answered. Probably he had told them not to speak.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you!" cried Flossie. "We looked everywhere for you, Snap. Didn't we, Freddie?"

"Yes, we did. And now we've got him we can go home. Snap knows the way home. He can take us there."

"Oh, no, he can't," said Flossie.

"Why?" asked her brother.

"'Cause he's never been in our tent-camp. He doesn't know where it is. But maybe you know, Freddie."

"Yes, I know the way -- if -- if we can get out of this cave," and he looked at the gypsies. They were talking among themselves. One of them walked toward Snap and held out his hand toward a broken rope around the dog's neck. But the animal growled in such a fierce way that the gypsy drew back in fear.

Then there was more talk among the dark-faced men about the children and the dog. The men seemed to be worried. Snap barked and ran a little way ahead, as though to lead the way out of the cave. Again a man tried to catch him, but the dog's savage growl made him draw back.

"I guess Snap wants us to come with him," said Flossie. "Let's go, Freddie."

"All right -- come on;" and Freddie, taking Flossie's hand, started out of the cave. They were afraid, the children were, that the gypsies might stop them, but the man who had had the lantern said:

"Come on. I'll show you two the way out and you can go to your camp. No use keeping you, now that your dog is loose. He'd make trouble for us. Hurry up, you fellows, get things out of the way!" he called to the other gypsies, and they began taking things off the table as though they were going to leave.

But Flossie and Freddie did not care about that. All they knew was that they had found Snap, and that they were going home with him to Twin Camp. And Snap was as glad as were they.

"There you are!" said the gypsy in rather a growling voice, as he led the children to where a big patch of sunlight shone into the cave. "I guess you can find your way home from here."

Flossie and Freddie ran on, Snap going ahead, and, to the surprise of the twins they found themselves at the mouth of the cave -- the same place where they had taken shelter from the rain the day they were in the drifting boat.

"Why, look here!" cried Freddie. "Isn't this funny, Flossie? We've come out of the same cave we were in before. How did we get in?"

"I don't know," answered the little girl, "'cept maybe it's a fairy cave an' changes."

But it was not that kind at all. The children had only fallen down a hole at one end of the cave, and when the gypsy man led them through they came out at the other end, where they had first gone in. Snap barked and ran down to the edge of the lake to get a drink of water.

"He's glad to come out," said Flossie.

"Awful glad," agreed Freddie. "So'm I."

"Me, too," added the little girl. "I wonder how he got in there?"

"I guess the gypsies took him," said Freddie. "They liked him 'cause he is such a good dog. I'm so glad we've got him back. Now if we could get Snoop back we'd be all right, wouldn't we, Snap?" and he put his arms around the dog's shaggy neck, while Flossie patted his back.

Happy because they had found their dog, and not worrying at all about having been so nearly kept prisoners by the gypsies in the cave, the two little Bobbsey twins hurried away from the cavern. They were anxious to get back to camp to tell the others how they had found Snap. And the dog seemed just as anxious to get away from the cave as were the little boy and girl.

Every once in a while Freddie would turn and look back, and when his sister asked him why he did this he told her he was looking to see if he could see the black cat.

"She ought to be easier to find than Snap," he said, "'cause she was with us here on Blueberry Island, and Snap must have been taken by the gypsies in Lakeport." Afterward they found that this was so.

As the children, with their dog, walked along through the woods, keeping close to the lake shore, as they knew that path led to their camp, Flossie and Freddie heard a shout among the trees.

"There's Nan!" Freddie said.

"Yes, and Bert," added his sister. "I guess they're looking for us."

They were sure of this a little later, for they heard the cry:

"Flossie! Freddie! Where are you?"

"Here we are!" they answered, and then sounded a noise of some one coming toward them. The next moment Nan and Bert came into view. Both stopped in surprise at the sight of the dog.

"Where'd you get him?" asked Nan.

"Is he really Snap?" cried Bert.

"Yep! He really is," answered Freddie. "We found him!"

"In a cave," added Flossie.

"In a cave?"

"And there were gypsies there," went on the little girl.

"An' they wanted to keep us," said Freddie.

"But they didn't," added Flossie.

"No. But Snap was there."

"And he growled at the gypsy man."

"And he came away with us."

"Snap was awful glad to see us, Nan."

"And here we are now," said Freddie, putting an end to this duet.

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Nan. "This is dreadful! Gypsies on this island, and they almost kidnapped you! You must tell daddy right away. We've been looking everywhere for you. We thought you were lost again. And you're all dirty and sandy!" she cried.

"That's where we fell down a hole into the cave," said Freddie, and he told Nan and Bert what had happened. Mr. Bobbsey was much surprised when the twins came home with the long-missing Snap. So was Mrs. Bobbsey, as well as Sam and Dinah.

"Gypsies here, are there?" exclaimed Mr. Bobbsey. "Well, I'll have to see about that. We don't want them hiding in a cave and stealing our things. I guess I'll get some police officers and pay the tribe a visit."

But when Mr. Bobbsey got to the cave with the officers the gypsies were not there. They must have known that when the children went out they would tell what had happened and that the police would come. So there was nothing for the police to do. The gypsies had run away. They went to the mainland in boats, some of the blueberry pickers said who had seen them.

"And now that the island is free from the gypsies we'll have lots more fun," said Mrs. Bobbsey. "The thought of them made me nervous."

"Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Nan. She, as well as all the other members of the Bobbsey family, had followed the police to the cave, even Flossie and Freddie going along, riding to the place in the goat wagon drawn by Whisker.

"Hark to what?" asked Bert.

"I thought I heard a noise," said the little girl. "Yes, there it goes again, a sort of squeaky noise."

"It's a -- it's a cat!" cried Flossie. "Oh, if it should be --  -- "

Before she could finish one of the policemen flashed his lantern around the sides of the cave, and then, from a dark corner, some animal came slowly out.

"It is a cat!" cried Flossie.

"And it's our Snoop!" added Freddie. "Oh, we've got him back again!"

"Oh, goody!" cried Nan.

"Well, well," said Mr. Bobbsey, "everything is turning out right for you children now."

"And Snoop really was in this cave!" exclaimed Bert.

And so it proved. Whether he had wandered off and had become lost in some little hole of the cave, where he could not get out, or whether the gypsies had stolen him, as they had Snap, the Bobbseys never heard. But they knew they had their black cat again, and they were happy, especially the little twins.

"I want to hug him!" cried Flossie, as the cat rubbed up against her legs.

"So do I!" cried Freddie. "And I want to hug the head part. You can hug the tail end!"

"That end doesn't purr!" exclaimed Flossie. "I want the end that purrs."

"You must take turns," said Mrs. Bobbsey, laughing. "You ought to be glad you have Snoop back instead of quarreling about him. Well, we have found nearly everything we wanted now, except that bacon some one took the first night."

"I guess the gypsies got that," said Mr. Bobbsey. "It must have been one of them who was sneaking around in the night, and who awakened the children. They probably wanted to have something to eat in their cave. But they've gone now."

"Yes, and they seem to have left something behind them," observed one of the policemen. "I see something white over on one of the boxes they used for a table. Maybe it's only some old papers, though."

Bert hurried over and picked up the white thing.

"It's a doll!" he cried. "Flossie, did you leave your doll here?"

"Nope," answered the little twin.

"A doll!" cried Nan. "Oh, maybe it's Helen's talking doll! Let me see, Bert!"

But Bert had already pressed a spring and the doll began to call in a queer phonographic voice:

"Mamma! Papa!"

Flossie and Freddie looked at one another.

"That's the noise we heard when we fell into the cave," they said.

"Then the gypsies did take Helen's doll after all, and brought it with them to this island," said Mr. Bobbsey. "My, but they are great rascals! They took our dog, our cat, our bacon, and Helen's doll."

"But we've got everything back except the bacon," said Bert. "The doll seems to be all right, too, except she hasn't a dress."

"Oh, Helen found that the day she was here on the island," said Flossie. "She found it in an old stump, you know, and I guess maybe the gypsies hid it there, or dropped it."

"I guess so," agreed her mother. "Well, now, isn't this just wonderful! We've found Helen's doll, and your dog and cat. It's a good thing we came to Blueberry Island."

"But I'm sorry the gypsies came here," said Nan. "They made a lot of trouble."

"They've gone now, though," remarked Bert. "It's queer that they brought our dog and Helen's doll here with them."

"Maybe the little gypsy girl, whose papa took away Helen's doll, brought it here to play with," said Nan.

And perhaps that is how it had happened. But the gypsies had gone away, and no one knew just how they came to leave the doll in the cave. They may have been afraid to take it away for fear a policeman would see them have it. And then, too, it might suddenly speak when they had it, as it spoke in the cave when Flossie and Freddie heard it.

"Well, everything's come out all right," said Mr. Bobbsey, "and now for some happy days on Blueberry Island, with nothing to worry about." And, indeed, the Bobbsey twins did have very happy times.

Snoop and Snap were back with them again, and with Whisker, the goat, played with the children. Helen was told about her lost doll having been found, and she came to the island to get it. The go-around bugs were not found. Maybe the gypsies took them. But Mr. Bobbsey bought new ones for the little twins.

The police said the gypsy man who had picked the doll up from the yard where Helen had left it for a moment, must have taken it for his little girl, and have hidden it in one of the wagons. Then, some one of the band, going about Lakeport before the Bobbseys went to the island, saw Snap about the house and enticed him away. They probably took him over from the mainland in a rowboat. Snap was a friendly dog. As for Snoop he either wandered away or was stolen. But now no more fear need be felt about the gypsies, for they were far away, and when it rained the Bobbsey twins used to play in the gypsy cave, as they called it.

"Oh, but I just love it on Blueberry Island!" said Flossie, as they all came back to camp from a little picnic in the woods one day.

"So do I," said Freddie. "Now let's hitch up Whisker and have a ride." And they did.

And so I must bring this story about the adventures of the Bobbsey twins to an end. They had many other good times, some on Blueberry Island, and others when they went back to their Lakeport home, and I may tell you about them later. Snap and Snoop had a large part in the good times, and the dog and cat were none the worse for having been kept in the gypsy cave. Nor was Helen's doll, which the little girl was very glad to get back. It talked as well as ever.

And now I will say good-bye for you to the Bobbsey Twins.

<eob>

Tommy Smith's Animals

By

Edmund Selous



Chapter I.

The Meeting

"The owl calls a meeting, and has an idea: They all think it good, though it SOUNDS rather queer."


THERE was once a little boy, named Tommy Smith, who was very cruel to animals, because nobody had taught him that it was wrong to be so. He would throw stones at the birds as they sat in the trees or hedges; and if he did not hit them, that was only because they were too quick for him, and flew away as soon as they saw the stone coming. But he always meant to hit them -- yes, and to kill them too, -- which made it every bit as bad as if he really had killed them. Then, if he saw a rat, he would make his dog run after it, and if the poor thing tried to escape by running down a hole, he and the dog together would dig it out, and then the dog would bite it with his sharp teeth until it was quite dead. It never seemed to occur to this boy that the poor rat had done him no harm, and that it might be the father or mother of some little baby rats, who would now die of hunger. Even if the rat got away, he would whip the dog for not catching it, yet the dog had done his best; for, of course, dogs must do what their masters tell them, and cannot know any better. It was just the same with hares or rabbits, squirrels, rooks, or partridges. Indeed, this boy could not see any animal playing about, and doing no harm, without trying to frighten it or to hurt it.

When the spring came, and the birds began to build their nests, and to lay their pretty eggs in them, then it is dreadful to think how cruel this Tommy Smith was. He would look about amongst the trees and bushes, and when he had found a nest, he would take all the eggs that were in it, and not leave even one for the poor mother bird to sit on when she came back. Indeed, he would often tear down the nest too, after he had taken the eggs. Perhaps you will wonder what he did with these eggs. Well, when he had brought them home and shown them to his father and mother, who never thought of scolding him, or to his little brothers and sisters (for he was the eldest of the family), he would throw them away, and think no more about them. If he had left them in the nest, then out of each pretty little egg would have come a pretty little bird. But now, for every egg he had taken away, there was one bird less to sing in the woods in the spring and summer.

At last this boy became such a nuisance to all the animals round about, that they determined to punish him in some way or other. They thought the first thing to do was for all of them to meet together and have a good talk about it. In a wood, not far off, there was a nice open space where the ground was smooth and covered with moss. Here they all agreed to come one fine night, for they thought it would be nice and quiet then, and that nobody would disturb them, as, perhaps, they might do in the daytime.

So, as soon as the moon rose, they began to assemble, and I wish you could have been there too, to see them all come, sometimes one at a time, and sometimes two or three together.

The rat was one of the first to arrive, and then came the hare and the rabbit arm in arm, for they knew each other well, and were very good friends. The frog was late, for he had had a good way to hop from the nearest pond, where he lived, so that his cousin, the toad, who was slower, but lived nearer, got there before him. The snake had no need to make a journey at all, for he lived under a bush just on the edge of the open space. All the little birds, too, had gone to roost in the trees and bushes close by, so as to be ready in good time; and, when the moon rose, they drew out their heads from under their wings, and were wide awake in a moment. The rook and the partridge, and other large birds, were there as well, and the squirrel sat with his tail over his head, on the branch of a small fir tree. Then there were weasels, and lizards, and hedgehogs, and slow-worms, and many other animals besides.

In fact, if you had seen them all together, you would have wondered how one little boy could have found time to plague and worry so many different creatures. But you must remember that even a very little boy can do a great deal of mischief. Perhaps there were some animals there that little Tommy Smith had not hurt, because he had not yet seen them, but these came because they knew he would hurt them as soon as he could; and, besides, they were angry because their friends and companions had been ill-treated by him.

At last it seemed as if there was nobody else to come, and that everything was ready. Still, they seemed waiting for something, and all at once a great owl came swooping down, and settled on a large mole-hill which was just in the middle of the open space. Now, the owl, as perhaps you know, is a very wise bird, and, for this reason, all the other animals had chosen him to be the chief at their meeting, and to decide what was best to be done, in case they should not agree amongst themselves. He at once showed how wise he was, by saying that before he gave his own opinion he would hear what everybody else had to say. Then everybody began to talk at once, and there was a great hubbub, until the owl said that only one should speak at a time, and that the hare had better begin, because he was the largest of all the animals there.

So the hare stood up, and said he thought the best way to punish Tommy Smith was for every one of them to do him what harm he could. For his part, he was only a timid animal, and not at all accustomed to hurt people. Still, he had very sharp teeth, and he thought he might be able to jump as high as Tommy Smith's face and give him a good bite on the cheek or ear, and then run off so quickly that nobody could catch him. The rabbit spoke next, and said that he was just as timid as the hare, and not so strong or so swift. All he could do was to go on digging holes, and he hoped that some day Tommy Smith would fall into one of them. The hedgehog then got up, and said he would hide himself in one of these holes and put up his prickles for Tommy Smith to fall on. This would be sure to hurt him, and perhaps it might even put one of his eyes out. The rat thought it would be better if the hedgehog were to get into Tommy Smith's bed, so as to prick him all over when he was undressed; but the hedgehog would not agree to this, as he did not understand houses, and thought he would be sure to be caught if he went into one.

"Well, then," said the rat, "if you are afraid I will go myself, for I know the way about, and am not at all frightened. In the middle of the night, when it is quite dark, and when Tommy Smith is fast asleep, I will creep up the stairs and into his room, and then I can run up the counterpane to the foot of his bed and bite his toes."

"Why his toes?" said the weasel. "I can do much better than that, and if you will only show me the way into his room, I will bite the veins of his throat, and then he will soon bleed to death."

"That would be taking too much trouble," said the adder, coming from under his bush. "You all know that my bite is poisonous. Well, I know where this bad boy goes out walking, so I will just hide myself somewhere near, and when he comes by I will spring out and bite his ankle. Then he will soon die."

The birds, too, had different things to suggest. Some said they would scratch Tommy Smith's face with their claws, and others that they would peck his eyes out. The frog wanted to hop down his throat and choke him, and the lizard was ready to crawl up his back and tickle him, if they thought that would do any good.

At length, when everyone else had spoken, the owl called for silence, and then he gave his own opinion in these words: -- "I have now heard what every animal has had to say, and I have no doubt that we could easily hurt this boy very much, or perhaps even kill him, if we really tried to. But would it not be a better plan, first to see if we cannot make little Tommy Smith a better boy? Many little boys are unkind to animals because they know nothing about them, and think that they are stupid and useless. If they knew how clever we all of us really are, and what a lot of good we do, I do not think they would be unkind to us any more. I am sure that they would then have quite a friendly feeling towards us. But they cannot know this without being taught. Tommy Smith's father and mother ought, of course, to teach him, but as they will not do so, why should not we teach him ourselves? To do this, we shall have to speak to him in his own language, as he does not understand ours; but that is not such a difficult matter to us animals. I myself can speak it quite well when I want to, for I often sit on the trees near old houses at night, or even on the houses themselves, and I can hear the conversations coming up through the chimneys. That is why I am so wise. So I can easily teach all of you enough of it to make you able to talk to a little boy. My idea, then, is to teach little Tommy Smith before we begin to punish him, and it will be quite as easy to do the one as the other. Only let the next animal that he is going to kill or throw stones at, call out to him, and tell him not to do so. This will surprise him so much that he will be sure to leave off, and then each of us can tell him something about ourselves in turn. In this way he will get such a high idea of all of us, that he will never annoy us any more, but treat us with great respect for the future."
All the other animals thought this was a very clever idea of the owl's, and they agreed to do what he said, before trying anything else. So they begged him to begin teaching them the little-boy language at once (all except the rat, for he knew it too), so that they should lose no time. This the owl was quite ready to do, and he taught them so well, and they all learnt so quickly, that when little Tommy Smith got up next morning to have his breakfast, there was hardly an animal in the whole country that was not able to talk to him.




Chapter II.

The Frog And The Toad

"Tommy Smith takes a turn in the garden next day, And he finds the frog ready with something to say."


AS soon as he had had his breakfast, Tommy Smith went out into the garden. It had been raining a little, and the first thing he saw was a large yellow frog sitting on the wet grass. Tommy Smith had a stick in his hand, and he at once lifted it up over his shoulder.

"Don't hit me," said the frog. "That would be a very wicked thing to do."

Tommy Smith was so surprised to hear a frog speak that he dropped his stick and stood with both his eyes wide open for several seconds.

"Why do you want to kill me?" said the frog.

Tommy Smith thought he must say something, so he answered, "Because you are a nasty, stupid frog."

"I don't know what you mean by calling me nasty," said the frog. "Look at my bright smooth skin, how nice and clean it is -- cleaner than your own face, I daresay, although it is not long since you have washed it. As for my being stupid, you see that I can speak your language, although you cannot speak mine; and there are lots of other things which I am able to do, but you are not. I think I can catch a fly better than you can."

By this time it seemed to Tommy Smith as if it was quite natural to be talking to an animal, so he said, "I never thought that a frog could catch a fly."

"You shall see," said the frog. And as he spoke a fly settled on a blade of grass just in front of him. Then all at once a pink streak seemed to shoot out of the frog's mouth; back it came again -- snap! His mouth, which had been wide open, was shut once more, and the fly was nowhere to be seen.

"Have you caught it?" said Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the frog, "and swallowed it too."

"But how did you do it?" said Tommy Smith; "and what was that funny pink thing that came out of your mouth?"

"That was my tongue," the frog answered.

"Your tongue!" cried Tommy Smith. "But it looked so funny -- not at all like my own tongue."

"No," said the frog. "My tongue is quite different to yours, and I do not use it in the same way. Hold out your hand so that I can hop into it, and then I will show you all about it."

Tommy Smith did as he was told, and -- plop! there was the frog sitting in his hand. He at once opened his mouth, which was a very wide one, and allowed Tommy Smith to look at his tongue. What a funny tongue it was! It seemed to be turned backwards, for the tip, which was forked, instead of being just inside the lips as it is with us, was right down the throat, whilst the root of it was where the tip of our tongue is.

"But how do you use a tongue like that?" said Tommy Smith.

"Put the tip of your forefinger against your thumb," said the frog; "only, first, you must turn your hand so that the back of it is towards the ground, and the palm upwards." Tommy Smith did so. "Now shoot your finger back as hard as you can." Tommy Smith did this too. "That," said the frog, "is the way I shoot my tongue out of my mouth when I want to catch a fly. Like this" -- and he shot it out again. "You see it flies out like the lash of a whip, and my aim is so good that it always hits what I want it to, whether it is a fly or any other insect. Then I bring it back, just as you would bring your finger back to your thumb again, or as the lash of a whip flies back when you jerk the handle. The tip of it goes right down my throat where it was before, and the fly goes down with it."

"But why does the fly stay on your tongue?" said Tommy Smith. "Why doesn't it fly away?"

"It would if it could, of course," said the frog; "but it can't. My tongue, you see, is sticky -- just feel it, -- and so whatever it touches sticks to it, and comes back with it, if it isn't too large."

"Well, it is very curious," said Tommy Smith. "But when you said you could catch a fly, I did not know that you were going to eat it too. Then, do you like flies? and do you eat them every day?"

"I eat them when I can get them," said the frog; "but I like them better at night than in the daytime, if only I can catch them asleep. You eat during the day, and go to sleep at night. That is because you are a little boy. I am a frog, and we frogs like to be quiet in the daytime, and come out to feed when it is dark. We eat all sorts of insects -- beetles, and flies, and moths, and caterpillars, and we eat slugs as well, and that is why we are so useful."

"Useful?" cried Tommy Smith. "Oh, I don't believe that! I am sure that a frog can be of no use to anybody."

"If you were a gardener you would think differently," said the frog; "at least, if you were not a very ignorant one. Have I not told you that I eat slugs and insects, and do you not know that slugs and insects eat the leaves of the flowers and vegetables in your garden? Have you never seen your father or his gardener pouring something over his rose-trees to kill the insects upon them? Now, I eat a great many insects in a single night, and I am only one of the frogs in your garden. There are others there besides me. If we were all to be killed, your father would find it much more difficult to have nice roses, and he would lose other flowers too, for there are insects which do harm to all of them. As for the slugs, if you will go out some night with a lantern, you may see them feeding on some of the handsomest plants, with your own eyes. That is to say, unless one of us frogs has been there; for if we have, you will not see any. Then you have seen caterpillars feeding on the cabbages. Well, I feed on those caterpillars. So always remember that the boy who kills a frog, does harm to his father's garden."

"I don't want to do that," said Tommy Smith; "so, if what you say is true" -- 

"You can find it in a natural history book, if you look," said the frog; "but I ought to know best myself. And I can tell you this, that when a frog speaks to a little boy, he always speaks the truth."

"Well, then," said Tommy Smith, "I will never hurt a frog again."

How pleased the poor frog was when he heard that. He gave a great hop out of Tommy Smith's hand, and came down upon the grass again, and then he hopped about for a little while, jumping higher each time than the time before. "Frogs always speak the truth," he said, -- "when they speak to little boys. And now, perhaps, you would like to learn something more about me. Ask me any question you like, and I will answer it, because of what you have just promised."

This puzzled Tommy Smith a little, because he did not know where to begin, but at last he said, "You seem to me a very big frog. Were you always as big as you are now?"

"Why, of course not," said the frog, "a frog grows up just as much as a little boy does. I was once so small that you would hardly have been able to see me. But, besides being smaller, I was quite a different shape to what I am now. I had no legs at all, but instead of them I had a long tail, with which I used to swim about in the water, so that I was much more like a fish than a frog, and many people would have thought that I was a fish."

"That sounds very funny," said Tommy Smith.

"But were not you once much smaller than you are now?" said the frog.

"Oh yes!" Tommy Smith answered, "but however small I was, I was always a little boy, and had hands and feet, just as I have now."

"With you it is different," said the frog; "but there are some animals who are one thing when they are born, but change into another as they grow older. It is so with us frogs, and, if you listen, I will tell you all about it."

"Go on," said Tommy Smith, "I should like to hear very much."

"In the nice warm weather," the frog continued, "we hop about the country, and then we like to come into gardens. But in the winter we go to ponds and ditches and bury ourselves in the mud at the bottom, and go to sleep there. In the early spring, when the weather begins to get a little warmer, we come up again, and then the mother frog lays a lot of eggs, which float about in the water, and look like a great ball of jelly. After a time, out of each egg there comes a tiny little brown thing, and directly it comes out, it begins to swim about in the water, as well as if it had had swimming lessons, although, of course, it has never had any. It soon grows bigger, and then you can see that it has a large round head and a long tail, but you cannot see any legs. But, as it goes on growing, a small pair of hind legs come out, one on each side of the tail, and then every day the tail gets smaller and the hind legs larger. Still there are no front legs yet, but at last these come too. The tail is now quite short, and the head and body begin to look like a frog's head and body, which they did not do before, and they go on looking more and more like one, until, at last, the little brown thing with a tail, that swam about like a fish in the water, has changed into a little baby frog, that hops about on the land. Then this little baby frog grows larger and larger, until, at last, he becomes a fine fat frog, as big and as handsome as I am."

"It all seems very curious," said little Tommy Smith; "and I never knew anything about it before."

"That is because nobody ever told you," said the frog, "and you have never thought of finding out for yourself. But have you not passed by ponds in the spring time and seen those little brown things with tails that I have been telling you about swimming about in them?"

"Oh yes, I have!" said Tommy Smith; "but I always thought that those were tadpoles."

"They are tadpoles," said the frog, "but they are young frogs for all that. A little tadpole grows into a big frog, just as a little boy grows into a big man. So you see, what a funny life mine has been, and what a lot of curious things have happened to me."

"Yes, you have had a funny life, Mr. Frog," said Tommy Smith, "and I think it is very interesting. But is there any other clever thing you can do besides catching flies? I can catch flies myself, but I do it with my hand instead of with my tongue."

"I can change my skin," said the frog, "and that is something which you cannot do."

"No," said Tommy Smith; "and I do not believe you can do it either. I think you are only laughing at me."

"Well," said the frog, "as it happens, my skin fits me quite comfortably now, and is not at all too tight, so I do not want to change it yet. But I have a cousin -- a toad -- who is quite ready to have a new one. He lives a little way off, in the shrubbery; so if you would like to see how he does it, I can bring you to him. He is very good natured, like myself, and if you will only promise to leave off hurting him, as well as me, he will be very pleased to show you, I am sure. I must tell you, too, that he is almost as useful in a garden as I am, for he lives on the same things, and catches flies and slugs just as I do."

"Then isn't he quite as useful?" said Tommy Smith; but as the frog didn't seem to hear, he went on with -- "Then I will not hurt him any more than I will you."

"Come along, then," said the frog; and he began to hop in front of the little boy until they came to the shrubbery, where, in the mould beside a laurel bush, there sat a great, solemn-looking toad.

"I have brought someone to see you," said the frog. "This is little Tommy Smith, who used to be such a bad boy, and kill every animal he saw; but now he has promised not to hurt either of us."

"I am glad to hear it," answered the toad, "and I hope he will soon learn to leave other creatures alone too. Well, what is it he wants?"

"He wants to see you change your skin," said the frog.

"He had better look at me, then," said the toad, "for that is just what I am doing."

Tommy Smith bent down to look, and then he saw that the toad was wriggling about in rather a funny way, as if he was a little uncomfortable. He noticed, too, that his skin had split along the back, and it seemed to be wrinkling up and getting loose all over him, although it had been too tight before. This loose skin was dirty and old-looking, but underneath it, where it was split, Tommy Smith could see a nice new one that looked ever so much better. The more the toad wriggled, the looser the old skin got, and it was soon plain that he was wriggling himself out of it, just as you might wriggle your hand out of an old glove. At last he had got right out of it, and there lay the old skin on the ground.

"You see," said the frog, "that is how we change our skin, just as you would change a suit of clothes. Does he not look handsome in his new one?"

"Very handsome -- for a toad," said Tommy Smith. (The toad only heard the first two words of this, so he was very pleased.) "But what is he doing with his old skin, now that he has got it off?"

"If you wait a little, you will see," said the frog.

All this time the toad was pushing his old skin backwards and forwards with his two front feet, and he kept on doing this until, at last, he had rolled it up into a sort of ball. Then all at once he opened his great wide mouth and swallowed the ball, just as if it had been a large pill.

Tommy Smith was so surprised that he could hardly believe his eyes. "He has swallowed his own skin!" he cried.

"Of course I have," said the toad; "and the best thing to do with it, I think. I always like to be tidy, and not to leave things lying about. Now, good-morning," and he began to crawl away, for he was not an idle toad, but had business to attend to.

"And I have something to see about," said the frog, "so I will say good-bye, too, for the present. But remember what you have promised -- never to hurt a frog or a toad;" and, with two or three great hops, he was out of sight.

Tommy Smith stood thinking about it all for some time, and then he ran into the house to tell everybody all the wonderful things he had learnt about frogs and toads, and to beg them never to kill any, because they do good in the garden.




Chapter III.

The Rook

"The rook gives advice which we must not neglect. I hope that his CAWS will produce an effect."


IT was a nice, fine afternoon, and Tommy Smith was just going out for a little walk. He thought he would take his little terrier dog with him, so he called, "Pincher! Pincher!" But Pincher was not there, so he had to go without him. He was very sorry for this, for when he had got a little way from the house, what should run across the road but a rat, which sat down just inside the hedge and looked at him. "What a pity," he said out loud. "It's no use my trying to catch him alone, for he's sure to get away; but if Pincher had been with me, we would have hunted him down together."

"Then you would have done very wrong," said the rat, as he peeped at little Tommy Smith through the hedge. "You are a naughty boy yourself, and you teach Pincher to be a naughty dog."

"What!" said Tommy Smith; "then can you talk as well as the frog and toad?"

"Of course I can," the rat answered; "and I think if I were to talk to you for a little while as they did, you would not wish to hurt me any more either. I am sure I am just as clever as a frog or a toad."

"Can you change your skin like them?" said Tommy Smith.

"My skin never wants changing," said the rat; "but there are many other things I can do which are quite as clever as that."

"Well, do some of them," said Tommy Smith.

"I will," said the rat, "but not now. I can do things much better at night, and I prefer being indoors. To-night, when everybody is in bed and asleep, and the house is quiet, I will come to your room and wake you up. We can talk without being disturbed then, and I will soon teach you what a clever animal I am."

"I wonder what you will have to tell me," said Tommy Smith. "But say what you will, I believe that rats were only made to be killed."

The rat looked very angry. "They have as much right to be alive as little boys have," he said. "But good-bye for the present," and he scampered away.

Tommy Smith walked on, and when he had gone some little way, he saw a number of rooks walking about a field. There was a haystack in the field, and he thought that perhaps if he were to get behind it and wait there for a little while, some of the rooks would come near enough for him to throw a stone at them. So he put several stones in his pocket, and then, with one in his hand, he began to walk towards the haystack. When he got there, he sat down behind it, and peeped cautiously round the corner. Yes, the rooks were still there, and some of them were coming nearer. "Oh," thought Tommy Smith (but I think he must have thought it aloud), "I have only to wait a little while, and then, perhaps, I shall be able to kill one."

"For shame!" said a voice close to him.

Tommy Smith looked all about, but he saw no one. "Who was that?" he said.

"Oh, fie!" said the voice. "What? kill a poor rook? What a wicked, wicked thing to do!"

Tommy Smith thought that there must be someone on the other side of the haystack, so he went there to see; but he found no one. Then he walked all round it, but nobody was there. But the rooks had seen him as he went round the haystack, and they all flew away. Then the same voice (it was rather a hoarse one) said, "Ah! now they are gone; so you will not be able to kill any of them."

"Who are you?" said Tommy Smith. "I hear you, but I cannot see anybody;" and, indeed, he began to feel rather frightened.

"If I show myself, will you promise not to hurt me?" said the hoarse voice.

"Yes, I will," said Tommy Smith.

"Very well, then. Throw away that stone you have in your hand, and the ones in your pocket as well."

Tommy Smith did this, and then, what should he see, standing on the very top of the haystack, but a large black rook. "Why, where were you?" he said. "I did not see you there when I looked."

"No," the rook said; "I hid myself under a little loose hay, for I did not want a stone thrown at me. I saw you coming, and I knew very well what you wanted to do, so I thought I would wait till you came, and then give you a good talking to. And, indeed, a naughty boy like you, who wants to kill rooks, ought to be scolded."

"I don't see why it is so naughty," answered Tommy Smith; "I have always thrown stones at the rooks, and nobody has ever told me not to."

"That is just why I have come to tell you how wrong it is," said the rook. "Would you like anybody to throw stones at you?"

Tommy Smith had to confess that he would not like that at all.

"Then, do you not know," the rook went on, looking very grave, "that you ought to do the same to other people that you would like other people to do to you? Have not your father and mother taught you that?"

"Oh yes, they have," said Tommy Smith; "but I don't think they meant animals."

"They ought to have meant them," said the rook, "whether they did or not, for animals have feelings as well as human beings. If you are kind to them, they are happy; but if you are unkind to them and hurt them, then they are unhappy. An animal, you know, is a living being like yourself, and surely it is better to make any living being happy than to make it unhappy."

Tommy Smith looked rather ashamed when he heard this, and did not quite know what to say. He thought the rook spoke as if he were preaching a sermon, and then he remembered having heard some old country people talk of "Parson Rook." Still, what he said seemed to be sensible, and all he could say, at last, as an answer was, "Oh, it's all very well, but you know you rooks do a great deal of harm."

"That shows how little you know about us," answered the rook. "We do not do harm, but good; and if the farmers knew how much good we did them, they would think us their best friends."

"Why, what good do you do them?" said Tommy Smith. "I always thought that you ate their corn."

"Perhaps we may eat a little of it," the rook said; "that is only fair, for if it were not for us, the farmer would have very little corn or anything else. I am sure, at least, that he would have scarcely any potatoes."

"Oh! but why wouldn't he?" said Tommy Smith.

"I will explain it to you," said the rook. "So now listen, because you are going to learn something. There is an insect which you must often have seen, for it is very common in the springtime. It is about the size of a very large humble-bee, and it has wings too, but you would not think it had at first, for they are hidden under a pair of smooth, brown covers, which are called shards. In the daytime it sits upon a tree or a bush, or sometimes you may see it crawling along a dusty road. But in the evening it begins to fly about with a humming noise. This insect is called the cockchafer. The mother cockchafer lays her eggs in the ground, and, after a few weeks, there comes out of each egg something which you would not think was a cockchafer at all, because it is so different. It has a yellow head and a long white body, which is bent at the end in the shape of a hook. On the front part of its body it has three pairs of legs, like a caterpillar's, only they are very small; but behind, it has no legs at all. It has a very strong pair of jaws, and with these it cuts through the roots of the grass and corn and wheat under which it lies, for these are the things on which it feeds. There is hardly anything which the farmer plants, and would like to see grow, that this grub or caterpillar (for that is what it is) does not eat and destroy; but what it likes best of all is the potato.

"The cockchafer-grub lies in the ground for four years before it turns into a real cockchafer, and all this time it keeps growing larger and larger; and, of course, the larger it grows, the more it eats and the more harm it does. Now if there were no one to kill this great, greedy thing, I don't know what the farmers would do, for all their crops would be spoilt. But we rooks kill them, and eat them too, for they are very nice, and we like them very much. We eat them for breakfast, and dinner, and supper, so you can think what a lot of them we eat in the day. When you see us walking about over the fields, we are looking for these great white things, and, whenever we give a dig into the ground with our beaks, you may be almost sure that we have either found one of them or something else which does harm too. When the fields are ploughed, a great many grubs and worms are turned up by the ploughshare, and then you may see us following the plough, and walking along in the furrow it has made, so as to pick up all we can get. So think what a lot of good we must do, and remember that the boy who kills a rook is doing harm to somebody's corn, or wheat, or potatoes."

"I do not want to do that," said Tommy Smith.

"Of course not," said the rook; "so you must not throw stones at us any more."

"I won't, then," said Tommy Smith. "But why do the farmers shoot you, if you do them so much good?"

"You may well ask," the rook answered. "They ought to be ashamed of themselves. I will tell you something about that. Once upon a time some farmers thought they would kill us all because we stole their corn; so they all went out together with their guns, and whenever they saw any of us, they fired at us and killed us, until, at last, there was not a rook left in the whole country; for all those that had not been shot had flown away. The farmers were so glad, for they thought that next year they would have a much better harvest. But they were quite wrong, for, instead of having a better harvest, they had hardly any harvest at all. The slugs and the caterpillars, and, above all, the great, hungry cockchafer-grubs, had eaten almost everything up; for, you see, there were no hungry rooks to eat them. The little corn we used to take from the farmers they could very well have spared, but now, without us, they found that they had lost much more than they could spare. Then the farmers saw how foolish they had been, and they were very sorry, and did all they could to get the rooks to come back again; and when they did come back, they took care not to shoot them any more."

Tommy Smith was very interested in this story which the rook told him, and he was just going to ask where it all happened, and whether it was near where he lived or a long way away, when the rook said, "Well, I must be flapping" (just as an old gentleman might say, "Well, I must be jogging"); "there is a meeting this afternoon which I ought to attend."

"A meeting!" Tommy Smith said, feeling quite surprised.

"Certainly," replied the rook. "Why not? I belong to a civilised community, so, of course, there are meetings. I should be sorry not to go to some of them."

It seemed very funny to Tommy Smith that birds should have meetings as well as men. "But, perhaps," he thought, "it is not quite the same kind of thing." Only he didn't like to say this, in case the rook should be offended, so he only asked, "What sort of a meeting is it that you are going to, Mr. Rook?"

"A very important one," the rook answered. "It is a meeting to try someone who is accused of having done something wrong."

"Why, then, it is a trial," said Tommy Smith. "But do rooks have trials?"

"Of course," said the rook. "Have I not just said that we are a civilised community? We are not wild birds. Amongst civilised people, when someone is accused of doing wrong, he is tried for it, is he not?"

"Oh yes!" said Tommy Smith. "If he is a man, he is."

"If he is a man, men try him," said the rook; "but if he is a rook, rooks do."

"But what do you do if you find him guilty?" said Tommy Smith.

"Why, we punish him, to be sure," said the rook; "and if he has been very wicked, we peck him to death."

"Oh, but that is very cruel," said Tommy Smith. He forgot that he had seen innocent rooks shot without thinking it cruel at all.

"Not more cruel than hanging a man," the rook answered. "Do you think it is?" and Tommy Smith couldn't say that he did. He thought he would very much like to see this trial that the rook was going to. "Oh, Mr. Rook," he said, "do let me go with you." But the rook said, "Oh no! that would never do. No men are allowed at our trials. There are no rooks at yours, you know."

"No," said Tommy Smith; "but that is because" -- 

"Never mind why it is," interrupted the rook; "no doubt there is some good reason, and we have our reasons too. We could not try a rook properly if we thought a man was watching us. It would make us nervous. Sometimes (but not very often) a man has watched us without our knowing it, and then he has told everybody about our wonderful trials. But people have not believed him; and other men, who sit at home and see very little, and only believe what they see, have written to say it was all nonsense. But now, when they tell you it is all nonsense, you will not believe them, because a rook himself has told you it is all true."

"Oh yes, and I believe it," said Tommy Smith. "But do tell me what the rook you are going to try has done."

"I cannot tell you that till we have tried him," said the rook, "for perhaps it may not be true after all. As yet, I do not even know what he is accused of. Perhaps it is of stealing the sticks from another rook's nest to make his own with. Perhaps it is of something even worse than that. But this you may be sure of, that if we do peck him to death, it will be because he has behaved himself in a manner totally unworthy of a rook. Now I really must go, or I shall be late. Good-bye, -- and, let me see, I think you promised never to throw stones at rooks again."

"Oh no!" said Tommy Smith, "I promise not to."

"Or to shoot us when you grow up," said the rook, just turning his head round as he was preparing to fly.

"Oh no! indeed, I won't," said Tommy Smith; and the rook flew away with a loud caw of pleasure.



Chapter IV.

The Rat

"The rat is a king. Tommy Smith has a peep At his palace: but is he awake or asleep?"


"I SEE you," said the rat, as Tommy Smith passed through the yard of his father's house. "I see you, but it is not the right time yet. Wait till to-night."

So all that day Tommy Smith kept thinking of what the rat had promised; and when his bedtime came, instead of wanting to stay up longer, as he usually did, he was quite pleased to go, and went upstairs without making any fuss. "Now," thought he, as he made himself nice and snug in bed, "I shall keep awake till the rat comes. I am not at all sleepy. I can see the branch of the cedar tree by the window shaking in the wind, and I can hear the clock ticking on the staircase. 'Tick, tick -- tick, tick,' -- I wonder if it gets tired of saying that all day long, and all night long, too, without ever once stopping, -- unless they don't wind it up. 'Tick, tick -- tick, tick.' If I keep on counting it, I shan't go to sleep. 'Tick, tick -- tick, tick -- tick, tick -- tick -- squeak!'"

"What was that?" said Tommy Smith, as he sat up in bed. "That wasn't the clock;" and then, all at once, the old clock on the stairs struck one. "One? Then it must be wrong. When I got into bed it was only" -- 

"It is quite right," said a squeaky little voice close to Tommy Smith's ear, "I don't know what time it was when you got into bed, but you have been asleep for a good many hours; and now it is one in the morning, which is what I call a nice, comfortable time."

"I suppose you are the rat," said Tommy Smith, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes, I am," the same voice answered. "But it is too dark for you to see me here. Get up, and put on some of your clothes, and then we will come down to the kitchen. The fire is not quite out, and you can put a few more sticks on it. Then you will be able to see me as well as I can see you now, and we can talk together comfortably."
"But can you see in the dark?" said Tommy Smith, whilst he sat on the bed and began to put on his stockings.

"Oh yes," the rat answered; "just as well as I can in the light."

"I wish I could," said Tommy Smith, "for I can't see you at all."

"Of course not," said the rat. "So, you see, it has not taken a very long time to find out something which I can do, but you can't. Well, you are ready now, so come along. You will be able to follow me, for I will pat the floor just in front of you with my tail, -- and that is another thing which you couldn't do, even if you were to try for a very long time."

"Because I haven't got a tail," said Tommy Smith.

"That is one reason," the rat answered; "but you can't be sure you could do it even if you had one. It might be too short, you know. Now, come along." Pat, pat, pat. "Do you hear?"

Tommy Smith heard quite plainly, and he followed the rat through the door, and down the stairs, and right into the kitchen. The fire was still alight, as the rat had said. There were some sticks lying in the fender, and Tommy Smith put some of them on to make it burn up. Then there was a blaze of light, and he could see the rat sitting up on his hind legs, and holding his front paws close to the bars so as to warm them.

"Now," the rat said, "we will begin at once. I promised to show you that I could do some clever things as well as the frog and toad. Do you see that bottle of oil standing there on the dresser?"

"Oh yes, I see it," said Tommy Smith.

"Well," the rat went on, "I should like to taste a little of it. But how do you suppose I am to get at it?"

"Why, by knocking it over," said Tommy Smith at once. "That is the only way that I can see."

"Fie!" said the rat. "That may be your way of drinking oil, but I should be ashamed to make such a mess. I am a rat, and I like to do things in a proper manner."

Tommy Smith felt a little offended at this, and he said, "I never knock a bottle over when I want to get oil or anything else out of it, for I am a little boy, and have a pair of hands to lift it up with, and pour what is in it out of it. But you have no hands, and you cannot get your head into it, because the neck is too narrow, and your tongue is not long enough to reach down to where the oil is. So I don't see what you can do, unless you knock it over."

"Fie!" said the rat again. "Well, you shall soon see what I can do." And almost as he said this, he was on the dresser, and from there he gave a little jump on to the window-sill, and sat down, with his long tail hanging over the edge of it. Now the neck of the bottle came almost up to the edge of the window-sill, and the rat's tail was as long as the bottle.

"Oh, I see!" cried Tommy Smith.

"You will in a minute," said the rat, and he drew up his tail, and began to feel about with the tip of it till he had got it right inside the mouth of the bottle. Then he let it down again until it was dipped more than an inch deep into the oil at the bottom -- for the bottle was not quite half full.

"Oh, how clever!" cried Tommy Smith, clapping his hands.

"I should think so," said the rat, as he drew out his tail, and then, putting the end of it to his mouth, he began to lick off the delicious oil. "You say that I have not a pair of hands," he went on. "That is true, but you see I have a tail, and I make it do just as well."

"So you do," said Tommy Smith; "and I see that you are a very clever animal indeed."

"We are clever in many other ways besides that," said the rat. "Oil, you know, is not the only thing which we care about. We like eggs for breakfast, just as much as you do, and when we find any, we take them to our holes, even if they are a long way off. Now, how do you think we do that?"

"Let me see," said Tommy Smith. "You have no hands, and I don't think you could carry an egg in your tail. I think you must push it in front of you with your nose and paws."

"Oh, we can do that, of course," said the rat, "but it takes so long, and, besides, the eggs might get broken. We have better ways than that. Sometimes, if there are a great many of us, we all sit in a row, and pass the eggs along from one to the other in our fore-paws. But we have another way which is cleverer still, and as there is a basket of eggs in that cupboard there, I don't mind showing it you; for, between ourselves, when we do that trick, we like to have a little boy in the kitchen at nights to look at us. But, first, I must call a friend of mine." The rat then gave rather a loud squeak, and out another rat came running; but Tommy Smith didn't see where it came from.

"What is it?" said the second rat.

"Oh, I want to show little Tommy Smith how we carry eggs about," said the first rat.

"Very well," said the second rat. "Come along." And they both scampered into the cupboard together. (The door of the cupboard was half open. I think it ought to have been shut.)

Very soon the two rats came out again, but whatever do you think they were doing? Why, one of them was on his back, and the other one was dragging him along the floor by his tail, which he had in his mouth. But what was that white thing which the rat who was being dragged along was holding? Was it an egg? Yes, indeed it was; and he was holding it very tightly with all his four feet, so that it was pressed up against his body, and didn't slip at all.

Tommy Smith could hardly believe his eyes. "Is that how you do it?" he cried. "I see. One rat holds the egg, and the other pulls him along by the tail."

"Of course he does," said the rat. "He pulls him and the egg too."

"Well," Tommy Smith said, "of all the clever things I have ever seen, I think that is the cleverest. But where are you going with it?"

Yes, it was easy to ask, but there was no one to answer him; for both the little rats were gone all of a sudden, -- and, what is more, the egg was gone too. "That will be one egg less for breakfast," thought Tommy Smith to himself. "I wonder that I didn't think of that before. Ah, Mr. Rat," he called out, "you may be very clever, but you are a thief, for all that. That egg which you have just taken away belongs to me. I mean it belongs to my father and mother. I call that stealing."

"Oh, do you?" said the rat, for he had come out of his hole again. "Then just let me ask you one question. Who laid that egg?"

"Why, the hen did, of course," answered Tommy Smith.

"Oh, did she?" said the rat. "Then I suppose your father, or someone else, took it away from her, and I call that stealing."

"Oh no," said Tommy Smith; "I don't think it is."

"Don't you?" said the rat. "Well, you had better ask the hen what she thinks. I feel sure she would agree with me."

Tommy Smith felt certain that the rat was wrong, and that the egg had not been stolen. Still, he thought he had better not ask the hen; and, whilst he was considering what he should say, the rat went on with -- "There are other things we rats do which are quite as clever as what you have just seen. But, perhaps, if I were to show them you, you would make some other rude remark about stealing."

"Perhaps I should," Tommy Smith answered; "and, besides, I feel very sleepy, and should like to go upstairs to bed again."

As he said this, he yawned, and looked straight into the fire; but, dear me, what was happening there? The coals in it seemed to be getting larger and larger, till they looked like the sides of great red mountains, and the spaces between them were like great caves, so deep that Tommy Smith could not see to the bottom of them. In and out of these caves, and all down the sides of the red mountains, hundreds of rats were running, and they all met each other in the centre of -- what? Not of the fireplace. Of course not, for they would have been burnt. Nor of the kitchen either. There was no kitchen now. It had all disappeared. It was in the centre of a great hall, or amphitheatre, that Tommy Smith stood now; and when he looked round him, he saw only those great rugged mountains, which seemed to make its walls on every side. He looked up but he could see nothing. There was neither sun, nor moon, nor stars, yet everything was lit up with a strange light, which seemed to Tommy Smith like the red glow of the fire, though he couldn't see the fire any more. It had gone with the kitchen.

"Where am I?" he cried.

"In the great underground store-cupboard of the rats," said a voice close beside him; and, looking round, he saw the same rat who had come up into his bedroom, and taken him down to the kitchen, and shown him his clever tricks.

Yes, he was the same rat, -- but how different he looked! On his head was a yellow crown, which was either of gold, or else it must have been cut out of a cheese-paring; and in his right fore-paw he held his sceptre, which looked exactly like a delicate spring-onion. He had a necklace of the finest peas round his neck, from which a lovely green bean hung as a pendant upon his breast, and his tail was twisted into beautiful rings. "I am the king of the rats," he said, "and all the other rats are my subjects. Those great caves which you see in the sides of the mountains are so many passages that lead into all the kitchens of the world. Through them we bring all the good things that we find in the kitchens, and larders, and pantries, and then we feast on them here in our own palace; for a rat's palace is his store-cupboard. See!" And with this the rat king struck his sceptre on the ground, and at once all the rats left off scampering about, and formed themselves into a great many long lines, which stretched from the mouths of all the caves right into the very middle of that wonderful place. There they all sat upright, side by side, waiting to be told what to do. Then the king of the rats waved his sceptre three times round his head, and called out, "Supper." Immediately all kinds of things that are good for rats to eat, such as bits of cheese, scraps of bread or toast, beans, onions, bacon, potatoes, apples, biscuits, -- everything of that kind that you can possibly think of (besides some things that you can't possibly think of), began to pour out from all the great caves, and to fly like lightning from rat to rat down all the long lines. One rat seized something in his fore-paws and passed it on to another, and that one to the next, so quickly that it made Tommy Smith quite giddy to look at it; and he hardly knew what was happening, till all at once there was an immense heap of provisions piled up in the very centre of the floor. Then the king of the rats climbed up to the top of the heap, and called out, "Take your places," and in a moment all the other rats came scampering up, and sat in a large circle round the great heap of provisions. "Begin!" said the king; and every rat made a leap forward, and fixed his teeth into the first piece of bread, or cheese, or toast, or bacon, that he could get hold of, and there was such a noise of nibbling, and gnawing, and scratching, and squeaking. Tommy Smith was quite frightened, and put his fingers to his ears.
"What are you doing that for?" said the king of the rats. "Didn't you hear me tell you to begin?"

"But I don't want to begin," said Tommy Smith.

"Why not?" said the king; and all the other rats stopped eating, and said, "Why not?"

"Because I don't like eating in the night," Tommy Smith answered; "and, besides, I can't eat what rats eat."

At this there was a great commotion, and the king of the rats cried out, "Bite him!" in a very loud and shrill voice.

Oh, how fast little Tommy Smith ran! "The caves!" he thought. "They lead to all the kitchens of the world, so one of them must lead to ours." He got to one, but the rats were close behind him. He could see their eyes shining in the dark as he looked back. "Oh dear!" he said; "I shall be caught. It's getting narrower and narrower, and, of course, it must be a rat's hole at the other end. Ah, there! I'm stuck, and I shall be bitten all over." As he said this, he kicked and squeezed as hard as he could, and, to his great surprise, he found that the sides of the rat-hole were quite soft -- in fact, they felt very like bedclothes; and the next moment his head was on his own pillow, and the old clock on the staircase struck two.

"Well, good-night," said a squeaky little voice, that he seemed to have heard before. "If you will go to sleep, I can't help it, but I think the way in which little boys turn night into day is quite dreadful."

The next time Tommy Smith heard the old clock on the stairs, it was striking eight, so, of course, it was broad daylight, and high time to get up. "What a funny dream I have had," he said, as he rubbed his eyes; "or did the rat really come, as he said he would?" Then, after thinking a little, he said to himself, "Rats are certainly very clever animals, and I don't think I'll kill another, even if they do steal a few things. At anyrate, I won't hurt them until they hurt me."




Chapter V.

The Hare

"When you've read through this chapter, I'm sure you'll declare That you hate everybody who hunts the poor hare."


WHAT a beautiful day it was!

How bright the sun shone, and how pleasantly the birds were singing, -- for it was the lovely season of spring. All the air was full of melody, so that it seemed to Tommy Smith as if he had somehow got inside a very large musical box, which would keep on playing. And so he had, really, only it was Nature's great musical box, -- the music was immortal, and the works were alive.

Far up in the sky the lark was doing his very best to please little Tommy Smith and everybody else, for he made whoever heard him feel happier than they had felt before. But what was little Tommy Smith doing to show how grateful he was to the bird that gave him so much pleasure? Why, I am sorry to say that he was trying to find the poor lark's nest, so that he might take away the eggs which were in it, -- those eggs which the mother lark had been taking so much trouble to keep warm, so that little baby larks might come out of them, which she meant to feed and take care of till they were grown up, and could fly and sing like herself. It was the thought of those eggs, and of the mother bird sitting upon them, which made the lark himself sing so gladly up in the air, for, when he looked down, he fancied he could see them; and he knew that there was someone waiting for him there who would be glad to see him again, when he came down to roost. But Tommy Smith did not think of this, for nobody had talked to him about it. All he thought of was how he could get the eggs, so that he could take them away with him, and show them to other boys.

Ah! what was that? How gracefully the cowslips waved, and up went a lark into the sky; and as he rose he seemed to shake a song out of his wings. Tommy Smith thought there was sure to be a nest close to where he had risen, so he went to look; but before he had got to the place, away went something -- something brown like a lark, but ever so much larger, and, instead of flying, it galloped along over the ground; so, you see, it was not a bird at all. What was it? Tommy Smith knew well enough, for he had often seen such an animal before. "Ha!" he cried. "Puss! puss! A hare! a hare!" and he sent the stick which he had in his hand whizzing after it; but, I am glad to say, he did not hit it.

The hare did not seem so very frightened. Perhaps he knew that he could run away faster than any stick thrown by a little boy could come after him. At anyrate, before he had gone far, he stopped, and then he turned round, and raised himself right up, almost on his hind legs, and looked back at Tommy Smith.

"Well," he said, as Tommy Smith came up; "you see you cannot catch me."

"No," said Tommy Smith -- he was getting quite accustomed to having talks with animals, -- "you run too quickly."

"For my part," said the hare, "I wonder how any little boy who has a kind heart can like to tease and frighten a poor, timid animal who is persecuted in so many ways as I am."

"What do you mean by 'persecuted'?" said Tommy Smith. "That is a word which I don't understand. It is too long for me."

"It is a great pity," the hare went on, "that a little boy should always be doing something which he does not know the word for. To 'persecute' people is to be very cruel to them, and whenever you hurt, or annoy, or frighten, or ill-treat any of us animals, then you are persecuting us."

"If I had known that," said Tommy Smith, "I would not have done it."

"Then you mustn't do it any more," said the hare; "and especially not to me, because I have so many enemies who are always trying to injure me."

"Why, what enemies have you?" said Tommy Smith.

"Plenty," the hare said. "First, there is that wicked animal the fox, who is always ready to kill and eat me whenever he has the chance. He is very cunning, and, as he knows he cannot run fast enough to catch me, he tries all sorts of ways to pounce upon me when I am not expecting it. Sometimes he will wait by a hole in the hedge that he has seen me go through, and when I come to it again, he springs out and seizes me with his teeth and kills me, for he is much stronger than I am. Then sometimes one fox will chase me past a place where another fox is hiding, and then the fox that was hiding jumps out at me, and they both eat me together."

"How wicked!" said Tommy Smith.

"Is it not?" said the hare. "And then there is that horrid little creature the weasel. He follows me about till he catches me, and then he bites me in the throat, so that I bleed to death."

"That is horrid of him," said Tommy Smith. "But there is one thing which I cannot understand. The weasel does not go so very fast, and you can run faster than a horse. I am sure that if you were to run away, he would never be able to catch you."

"You don't know what it is," said the hare. "That odious little animal follows me about, and never leaves off. You see, wherever I go I leave a smell behind me."

"Do you?" said Tommy Smith. "That seems very funny. Why, I am close to you, and I don't smell anything."

"Little boys cannot smell nearly as well as animals," said the hare. "However, I don't quite understand it myself, for I am sure I am as clean as any animal can be, and there is nothing nasty about me; and yet whenever my feet touch the ground, they leave a smell upon it. That is my scent; but other animals have their scent too as well as I, so I needn't mind about it. Now the weasel has a very good nose, so that he is able to follow the scent that I have left on the ground, until he comes to where I am; and, besides, when I know that that cruel little animal is following me, I get so frightened that I cannot run away, as I would from you, or from a fox, or a dog. And so he comes up and kills me."

"Poor hare!" said Tommy Smith. "I feel very sorry for you. I am afraid that you are not clever like other animals, or else you would escape and get away more often. The rat would run down a hole, I am sure, and so would the rabbit. I have often seen him do it."

"Pray do not compare me to the rabbit," said the hare. "I have twice as much sense as he has, and I can tell you that you make a great mistake if you think I am not clever, for I am very clever indeed, as I will soon show you. If you will follow me a few steps, I will take you to the place where I was lying when you frightened me out of it. See, here it is. Look how nicely the grass is pressed downward and bent back on each side, so that it makes a pretty little bower for me to rest in when I am tired of running about. That is better, I think, than a mere hole in the ground; and, for my part, I look upon burrowing as a very foolish habit. I prefer fresh air, and I think that it is much nicer to see all about one than to live in the dark. This little bower of mine is what people call my form, and I am so fond of it that, however often I am driven away, I always come back to it again. And now, how do you think I get into this form of mine? I have told you that wherever I go I leave a scent upon the ground, so if I just came to my form and walked into it, any animal that crossed my scent would be able to follow it till he came to where I was. Now, what do you think I do to prevent this?"

"I don't know," said Tommy Smith, after he had thought a little; "I don't see how you can prevent it, for you must come to your form on your feet, -- you cannot fly."

"No," said the hare; "but I can jump. Look!" And he gave several leaps into the air, which made Tommy Smith clap his hands and call out, "Bravo! how well you do it!"

"Now," said the hare, "when I am coming back to my form, I leap first to this side and then to that side, and then I make a very big jump indeed, and down I come in my own house. Of course, by doing this, I make it much more difficult for a fox or a weasel to smell where I have been, for it is only where my feet touch the ground that I leave my scent upon it."

"Ah, I see," cried Tommy Smith; "so, when you make long jumps, your feet will not touch the ground at so many places as they would if you only just ran along it."

"Of course not," said the hare.

"And then there will not be so many places for a dog or a fox to smell where you have been," said Tommy Smith.

"Not nearly so many," said the hare; "that is the reason why I do it. I hope you think that quite as clever as just running down a hole, which is what the rat and the rabbit do."

"I think it very clever, indeed," said Tommy Smith; "and I see now that you are a clever animal."

"I have other ways of escaping when I am chased," the hare went on; "and I think, when you have heard them, you will confess they are quite as clever as anything which that conceited animal, the rat, has shown you. As to the rabbit, I say nothing. He is a relation of mine, and we have always been friendly. But the brains are not on his side of the family."

"Please go on, Mr. Hare," said Tommy Smith. "I should like to hear all you can tell me."
"Well," the hare said, "I have told you about the fox and the weasel, but they are not my only enemies. I have others -- horses and dogs, and, worst of all, hard-hearted men and women, who ride the horses, and teach the dogs to run after me, and to catch me. It is a pretty sight to see them all meet together in some field or lane. First one rides up, and then another, until there are quite a number. They laugh and talk whilst they wait for the huntsman to come with his pack of hounds. All are merry and light-hearted; even the horses neigh, they are in such spirits. Does it not seem funny that one creature's wretchedness should make so many creatures happy? And there are women -- ladies, some of them quite young, and so pretty -- like angels. I have seen them smile as if they could not hurt any living thing. You would have thought that they had come to stroke me, instead of to hunt me to death. But I know better. They are not to be trusted. They have soft cheeks, and soft eyes, and soft looks, but their hearts are hard.

"At last, up comes the huntsman, in his green coat and black velvet cap. He cracks his whip, and the dogs leap and bark around him -- such a noise! I hear it all as I lie crouched in my form, and my heart beats with terror. But I cannot lie there long, for now they are coming towards me. I start up, and run for my life. Away I go, one poor, timid animal, who never hurt anyone, and after me come men and women, boys and girls, horses and dogs, all happy, and all thinking it the finest thing in the world to hunt and to kill -- a hare."

"Are the dogs greyhounds?" said Tommy Smith.

"No," answered the hare; "the dogs I am talking about now are not greyhounds, but beagles. They hunt me by scent, but the greyhound hunts me by sight, for he runs so fast that he can always see me."

"Does he run as fast as you do?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Yes, indeed," said the hare; "he runs much faster, but he does not always catch me, for all that. When he is close behind me, I stop all of a sudden, and crouch flat on the ground. The greyhound cannot stop himself so quickly, for he is not so clever as I am. He runs right over me, and it is several seconds before he can turn round again. But I turn round as soon as he has passed me, and then I run as fast as I can the other way, so that, when he starts after me again, he is a good way behind. When he catches up to me, I do the same thing again. This clever trick of mine is called doubling, and I AM so proud of it, for if it was not for that, the greyhound would catch me directly."

"Then does he never catch you?" said Tommy Smith.

"He never has yet," said the hare. "But I have other ways of getting away from him, as well as from other dogs, and I will tell you some of them. Sometimes I run under a gate. The dogs are too big to do this, so they are obliged to jump over it. Then, when they are near me, on the other side I double, in the way I told you, run as fast as I can back to the gate, and go under it again. Of course they have to jump over it a second time, and in this way I keep running under the gate and making them jump over it until they are quite tired, for, of course, it is more tiring to jump over anything than only to run under it. At last, when they are too tired to run any more, I slip quietly through a hedge and gallop away."

"Bravo!" cried Tommy Smith.

The hare looked very pleased, and said, "I see that you are not at all a stupid boy, so I will tell you something else. Now, supposing you were being chased across the fields by a lot of dogs, and you were to come to a flock of sheep, what would you do?"

Tommy Smith thought a little, and then he said, "I think I should call out to the shepherd and ask him to help me."

"Yes, and I daresay he would help you," said the hare, "for he would remember the time when he was a little boy, and he would feel sorry for you. But he would not feel sorry for me, who am only a little hare (he was never that, you know). He would throw his stick at me, as you did, and then he would do all he could to help the dogs to catch me. No, it is not the shepherd that I should ask to help me, but the sheep -- they are so gentle, -- and when I came to them I should run right into the middle of them, and then the dogs would not be able to find me."

"But would not the dogs follow you in amongst the sheep and catch you there?" said Tommy Smith.

"No," said the hare, "they would not be able to; for the flock would keep together, so that the dogs could only run round the outside of it. But I should keep right in the middle, and wherever the sheep went, I should go with them; I could run between their feet, you know. Besides, the dogs would not be able to see me amongst so many sheep."

"No," said Tommy Smith. "But could not they still follow you by your scent?"

"No, indeed, they could not," said the hare; "for, you see, sheep have a stronger scent than I have, and they would put down their feet just in the very place where I had put down mine, and then their scent would hide mine. So, you see, by hiding amongst a flock of sheep I should save my life, for the dogs would not be able either to see me, or smell me, or to follow me, even if they could."

"Have you ever done it?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh yes!" said the hare; "and there is something else which I have done. Sometimes when the dogs were chasing me, I have run to where I knew another hare was sitting, and I have pushed that hare out of his place, so that the dogs have followed him instead of me. I sat down where he had been sitting, and they all went by without finding it out."

"Well," said Tommy Smith, "that may have been very clever, but I don't think it was at all kind to the other hare."

The hare looked a little surprised at this, as if he had not thought of it before. "One hare should help another, you know," he said; "and, besides, I daresay the dogs did not catch him after all. He may have found another hare."

Tommy Smith was just beginning with "Oh, but" -- when the hare said, "Never mind!" rather impatiently, and then he continued, "And now I am going to tell you something which will show you that, although I am not a large or a fierce animal, I can sometimes be revenged on those who injure me, though they are larger and fiercer than myself."

"Oh, do tell me," said Tommy Smith, for the hare had paused a little, and seemed to be thinking.

"Ah!" he began again; "how well I remember it. I was very nearly caught that time. How fast the greyhounds ran, and how close behind me they were! What could I do to get away? I had gone up steep hills to tire them; and I had tired them, but then I had tired myself still more. I had run up one side of a hedge and down the other, so that they should not see me, and then I had gone through the roughest and thorniest part of that hedge, in hopes that they would not be able to follow. But they had kept close after me all the time, and now they were just at my heels. Then I doubled. Oh, how close I lay on the ground as the greyhounds leaped over me! I saw their white teeth, and their glaring eyes, and their red tongues lolling out of their great open mouths. But they had missed me, and I was saved for a little while. But where was I to run to next? There were no hedges now; no woods, or hills, or rocky ground, nothing but smooth level grass, which is just what greyhounds love to race over. Was there no escape? Yes. What was that long line far away where the green grass ended and the blue sky began? White birds were wheeling above it, and, from beneath, came a sound as though a giant were whispering. That was the sound of the sea, and the long line meeting the sky was the line of the cliffs. Oh, if I could reach it! But, first, I had to double -- once -- twice -- three times; over me they flew, and off I darted again. And now the line grew nearer, the white birds looked larger as they sailed in the air, and the whispering sound was changing to a moan -- to a roar. Yes, I was close to it now, but the greyhounds were just behind me, and their hot breath blew upon my fur. They had caught me! No. On the very edge of the cliffs I doubled once more, and once more they went over me."

"And over the cliffs?" said Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the hare; "over me, and over the cliffs as well. Something hid the sky for a moment, -- a dark cloud passed above me. Then the sky was clear again; and there were no greyhounds now. Over and over, down, down, down they went, and were dashed to pieces on the black rocks, and drowned in the white waves. I know they were, for I peeped over the edge and saw it. You may ask the seagulls, if you like. They saw it too."

"Were they all drowned?" said Tommy Smith.

"Yes, all," said the hare.

"And were you glad?" he asked, for it seemed to him very dreadful.

"Well," the hare said, "I was glad to escape, of course, and so would you have been. But yet I could not help feeling sorry for the poor dogs, because they had been taught to chase me, and it was not their fault. Do you know who I should have liked to see fall over the cliffs instead of them?"

"Who?" said Tommy Smith.

"The cruel, hard-hearted men who taught them," said the hare. "It is they who ought to have been drowned, and I am very sorry that they were not."

"You poor hare!" said Tommy Smith, as he stroked its soft fur, and played with its long, pretty ears. "It is very hard that you should always be hunted, and I do think that you are very badly treated. But what clever ways you have of escaping! Do you know, I think you are the cleverest animal I have had a talk with yet, and I like you very much."

"Ah! it is all very well to say that now," said the hare. "But who was it that threw a stick at me?"

"I never will again," said Tommy Smith. "You know you jumped up all of a sudden, so that I had no time to think. But I did not come out on purpose to throw it at you. I only wanted to find a lark's nest, so as to get the eggs."

When the hare heard that, I cannot tell you how sad and grieved he looked. "What!" he said. "Would you take the poor lark's eggs away, and make it unhappy? No, no; if you really like me, as you say you do, you must promise me not to do anything so cruel as that. The lark is the best friend I have. He sings to me as I lie in my form, and consoles me for all my troubles. His voice cheers me too, when I am being chased by the dogs, for he always seems to be saying, 'You will get away; I know you will get away.' Then sometimes he comes down to roost quite close to me, and we talk to each other. He tells me what it is like up above the clouds, and I tell him all that has been going on down here. He has his trials too, for there are hawks that try to catch him, just as there are greyhounds that try to catch me; so we sit and comfort each other. Promise me never to be unkind to my friend the lark."

"I won't hurt him," said Tommy Smith. "And if ever I find his nest with eggs in it, I will only just look at them and leave them there."

"Oh, thank you," the hare said; "and you won't hurt me either?"

"No, indeed, I won't," said Tommy Smith. "Do you know, I begin to think that it would be better not to hurt any animal."

"Oh, much better!" said the hare, as he skipped gladly away. "Except the fox, -- and the weasel, you may hurt him -- if you can catch him." He said that, of course, because he was a hare, and felt prejudiced. You must not think I agree with him. Only a critic or a silly person would think that.




Chapter VI.

The Grass-Snake And Adder

"Tommy Smith has a talk with the grass-snake, and then With the adder: they're both as conceited as men."


WHEN Tommy Smith had said good-bye to the hare, he thought he would walk home through some woods which were not far off. So off he set towards them, and as he went along he said to himself, "I know there are a great many animals that live in the woods. Now I wonder which of them will be the first to have a talk with me. Let me see. The pigeon and the squirrel both live there, for I have often seen them together on the same tree. And then there is the -- " Good gracious! What was that just gliding out from under a bush? Tommy Smith gave a start and a jump, and well he might, for it was a large snake, perhaps three feet long. He was so surprised that, at first, he didn't quite know what to do, and before he had made up his mind, it was too late to do anything, for the snake had wriggled away into another bush. "It was an adder," said Tommy Smith out loud. "That, at least, is an animal which I ought to kill, because it is poisonous."

"I beg your pardon," said a sharp, hissing voice. "I am not an adder, and I am not poisonous."

Tommy Smith looked all about, but he could see nothing. Still, he felt sure that it must be the snake who had spoken, because the voice came from the very centre of the bush into which he had seen it go. So he answered, "Of course it is very easy for you to say that, but everybody knows that snakes are poisonous, and, if you are not a snake, I should just like to know what you are."

"I did not say that I was not a snake," said the voice again. "Of course I am, but I am not an adder for all that. There are two different kinds of snakes in this country. One is the adder, which is poisonous, and the other is the grass-snake, which is quite harmless. Now I am the grass-snake, so if you had killed me, you would have done something very wrong, for you would have killed a poor harmless animal."

"Well," said Tommy Smith, "if that is true, I am glad I didn't kill you. But are you quite sure?"

"If you don't believe me," said the snake, "you must get some good book of natural history, and there you will find it mentioned that we grass-snakes are quite harmless. It is the great superiority which our family have always had over that of the adder. People may call him a 'poisonous reptile,' but they cannot speak of us in that way. If they were to, they would only show their ignorance."

"But how am I to know which is one and which is the other?" asked Tommy Smith.

"You will not find that very difficult," the grass-snake answered; "and if you will promise not to hurt me, I will come out from where I am and show you."

Of course Tommy Smith promised (you see he was getting a much better boy to animals than he used to be), and directly he had, the snake came gliding out from under the bush, and lay on the ground just at his feet. "Now", he said, "to begin with, I am a good deal longer than an adder. I should just like to see the adder that was three feet long, and I am an inch longer than that. No, indeed! Whenever you see such a fine, long snake as I am, you may be sure that it is a nice grass-snake, and not a nasty adder."

"I won't forget that," said Tommy Smith. "But, I suppose, snakes grow like other animals. How should I be able to tell you from an adder if I were to meet you before you were three feet long?"

"Why, by my skin, to be sure!" said the grass-snake. "Look how beautifully it is marked, and what a fine greenish colour it is. I may well be proud of it, for a very great poet indeed has called it 'enamelled,' and says that it is fit for a fairy to wrap herself up in. Think of that! The adder's is quite different, only a dull, dirty brown, which I might call ugly if I were ill-natured. But I am not, so I will only say that it is plain. I don't think any fairy would like to wrap herself in his skin."

"But are there fairies?" said Tommy Smith.

"There are, as long as you are a little boy," said the grass-snake; "but as soon as you are grown up there will be none."

"How funny!" said Tommy Smith. "But do you know, Mr. Grass-Snake, I should not like to wrap myself up in your skin, even if I could, because it is so hard and covered with scales. And besides, how could the fairies get into it without killing you first? I don't suppose you can change it as the frog and the toad do."

"Not change it!" said the grass-snake. "And why not, pray? I should think myself a very stupid animal if I could not do that. Of course I change it, and then it looks and feels quite different to what it did when it was on me. You see, it is only just the outer part which comes off. That is quite thin, and I don't think you would find it very much harder than the petal of a flower. Some day, perhaps, you may find it if you look about in the grass or the bushes; for I rub myself against the grass or bushes to get it off."
"Then you do not swallow your skin as the toad does?" Tommy Smith asked.

"I should not like to do anything so nasty," said the grass-snake angrily, "and I wish you wouldn't keep talking to me about frogs and toads. They are very low animals, and only fit to be eaten."

Tommy Smith was quite shocked when he heard this, and he said, "Take care, Mr. Grass-Snake. Frogs and toads are very useful animals, and my friends, too. So I won't let you eat them."

"That is talking nonsense," said the grass-snake. "You can't help my eating them, especially frogs. Why, there are three frogs in my stomach at this moment."

Directly Tommy Smith heard that, he made a dart at the grass-snake, and caught hold of him before he could get away. I don't know what he meant to do. Perhaps he meant to kill the poor snake, which would have been very wrong, as you will see. But before he had time to do anything at all, two curious things happened. One was that the snake opened his mouth very wide indeed, and out of it came first one, then another, and then a third frog. Yes; three large frogs came out of the snake's mouth, one after the other, and there they all lay on the grass. That was one funny thing, and the other was that, as soon as Tommy Smith caught hold of the snake, the snake began to smell in a way that was not at all pleasant. Indeed, it was such a very nasty smell that Tommy Smith was glad to drop him, so that he got away into the bush again.

"Ah, ha!" the snake said, as soon as he was safe, "I thought you wouldn't hold me very long. Just look at your hand now."

Tommy Smith looked at his hand. It had a thick yellowish fluid on it, which made it feel quite moist, and it was this fluid which had such a disagreeable smell. He was very much offended with the grass-snake, and he called out to him, "I think that is a very nasty trick to play, indeed."

"I thought you wouldn't like it," replied the grass-snake, "and that is just why I did it. I wanted you to let me go, and, you see, you very soon had to. I always do that when anyone catches me; and, for my part, I think it is a very clever idea of mine."

"But how do you do it?" asked Tommy Smith, whilst he stooped down and wiped his hand on the grass.

"Why, I hardly know," said the grass-snake. "It comes naturally to me. Nobody can be cleaner or more well-behaved than I am, as long as I am treated properly. But when I am attacked, and my life is in danger, I do the only thing which I can do to protect myself. It is just as if you had a bottle of something which smelt so strongly that when you took out the cork and sprinkled it about, nobody could stay in the room. Now I have something which smells like that, only instead of keeping it in a bottle, I carry it under my skin, and when I want to use it, then, instead of taking out a cork, I just open my skin, and it comes out in little drops all over me."

"Open your skin?" said Tommy Smith. "Why, how do you do that?"

"I don't know how I do it," said the grass-snake, "but I do do it."

"Well," Tommy Smith said, "however you do it, I think it is a very nasty habit. And besides, I shouldn't have caught hold of you if you hadn't told me that you had been eating frogs. I think it is very cruel of you to eat them. Why do you do it?"

"Why do I do it?" answered the grass-snake. "Why, because I feel hungry, to be sure. Why do you eat sheep, and oxen, and pigs, and ducks, and fowls, and turkeys?"

"Oh! but everybody eats them," said Tommy Smith.

"Every snake eats frogs," said the grass-snake. "We were made to eat them, and the frogs were made for us to eat. That is my theory. It is a good one, I feel sure, for it explains the facts and makes me feel comfortable."

"But they are so useful," said Tommy Smith; "and they do so much good in the garden."

"I don't eat them all," said the grass-snake, "and I don't often go into gardens. Frogs and toads may be very useful, but perhaps if I didn't eat some of them there would be too many of them in the world, and then, instead of being useful, they would be a nuisance. You see, I don't eat them all. I leave just as many as are wanted, as long as you don't kill them. But if you were to kill them too, then there would be too few."

Tommy Smith thought a little, and then he said, "Are you obliged to eat them?"

"Of course I am," said the grass-snake, "just as much as you are obliged to eat beef and mutton. You would think it very hard if you were to be killed just for eating your dinner. Then why should you want to kill me for eating mine? No, no; take my advice, and learn this lesson. Never kill one animal for eating another animal."

Tommy Smith thought over this for a little, and it seemed to him to be right. "After all," he thought, "the frog and the toad eat insects, and if no animal might eat any other animal, then a great many animals would die of starvation, and that would be very dreadful." So he said to the grass-snake, "Well, Mr. Grass-Snake, I think you are right, and, if you come out of your bush, I will not try to catch you any more." So the grass-snake came wriggling out again, and then Tommy Smith asked him why he had brought the frogs out of his mouth after he had eaten them.

"It was because you frightened me," said the grass-snake. "You see, I wanted to get away, and, with three frogs inside me, I felt rather heavy. But as soon as the frogs were gone I was much lighter, and could go much quicker. Now don't you think it was a very clever idea?"

"I don't think it was a very clean idea," said Tommy Smith; "but as you were frightened, perhaps you couldn't help it. But now, Mr. Grass-Snake, are there any other clever things which you can do, and which are not quite so nasty? If there are, I should like to hear about them."

"I can lay eggs," said the grass-snake, "which is more than the adder can do."

"But can you really lay them?" said Tommy Smith; "and do you make a nest for them, like a bird?"

"No," said the grass-snake. "A bird makes a nest for her eggs because she has to sit on them, and she wants a nice, comfortable place to sit in. Now I don't sit on my eggs, for that is not at all necessary. I just find a nice, warm, moist place for them, and when I have laid them there, I go away and leave them. I have no time to sit on them like a bird. I am much too busy."

"But how are your eggs ever hatched?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh," said the grass-snake, "I am so clever that I know the heat of the place where they lie will be enough to hatch them. So when they are once safely laid, I don't bother about them any more."

"Yes," said Tommy Smith; "but if you go away, who is there to look after the young snakes when they come out of the egg?"

"They look after themselves," said the grass-snake. "Birds are like little boys and girls. They are great babies, and want someone to take care of them whilst they are young. But we snakes are so clever that as soon as we come into the world we can take care of ourselves, and don't want anyone to help us."

"I should like to see some of your eggs," said Tommy Smith. "What are they like?"

"They are white," said the grass-snake, "and they are joined together in a long string, sometimes as many as sixteen or even twenty. So you may think how beautiful they look, like a necklace of very large pearls. Only they are not hard like pearls. Their shell is soft, and not at all like the shell of a bird's egg."

"I should like to see them," said Tommy Smith.

"Well," said the grass-snake, "you must look about in manure-heaps, and then, perhaps, you will find some. That is the sort of place that I like to lay them in."

Tommy Smith thought that this was another nasty habit of the grass-snake, but he didn't like to say so, because he had said it twice before; so, after a little while, he said, "And do you really like being a snake, Mr. Grass-Snake?" You see he had to say something, and he didn't quite know what to say.

"Like it?" said the grass-snake. "Of course I do. I should be very sorry to be anything else. Yes, we snakes have a happy life. In summer we crawl about and eat frogs, and in winter we find some nice place to go to sleep in."

"Then do you sleep all the winter?" said Tommy Smith.

"Of course," said the grass-snake. "What else is there to do? There are no frogs in winter, and it is cold and unpleasant. The best thing is to go to sleep, and that is what I always do."

Now whilst Tommy Smith was talking to the grass-snake he kept looking at the poor dead frogs that were lying on the grass, and you can think how surprised he was when, all at once, one of them moved a little, and then began to crawl away very slowly. Then the others moved, and began to crawl away too. So they were not dead after all. You see, when a snake eats a frog (or anything else), he does not chew it, as we do, but just swallows it whole, and then sometimes the frog will keep alive for some time inside the snake's stomach. Tommy Smith spoke to the frogs, but they were too faint to answer. So he took them up, and washed them in a little ditch which was close by, and then laid them in a nice long tuft of grass. When he had done that, he came back to where he had left the grass-snake, but he did not find him there again. "Where are you?" he called out. "Do you mean me?" said a voice quite near him. It was a hissing voice, certainly, and sounded a good deal like the grass-snake's. But still it did not sound quite the same, Tommy Smith thought. So he said, "I mean you, if you are the grass-snake," in rather a doubtful tone of voice. "No, indeed," hissed the voice again, "I am something better than a grass-snake. I am an adder." And as the adder said this, he came crawling out from a little clump of furze-bush, where he had lain hidden.

Tommy Smith saw that what the grass-snake had said was true, for the adder's body was shorter and of a duller colour than the grass-snake's. His head, too, was different. It was flatter, and swelled out more on each side where it joined the neck, so that the neck looked smaller in proportion to the size of the head. Altogether, Tommy Smith felt sure that the next time he went out for a walk and saw a snake, he would be able to tell whether it was a grass-snake or an adder. "And if it is an adder," he said to himself, "why, I ought to kill it." And then he said out loud, "Mr. Adder, you don't seem at all afraid of me; but, do you know, I think I ought to kill you, because you are poisonous."

"I think you ought to leave me alone because I am poisonous," said the adder. "For if you were to try to kill me, I should have to bite you, and then, perhaps, I should kill you."

Tommy Smith did not like this remark of the adder's at all. He began to feel afraid himself, and he would have liked to have run away. But he thought that if he did, the adder might attack him when his back was turned. So he stood quite still, and only said, "Why aren't you harmless like the grass-snake?"

"That is not a very polite question!" said the adder in reply. "I belong to the poisonous branch of the family, and I am proud to belong to it. The grass-snake is a poor creature, and I pity him. I should like to see anyone catch me in the same way that they catch him. I would soon teach them the difference between us."

"But you do so much harm," said Tommy Smith.

"What harm have I ever done you?" said the adder.

"You have not done me any harm," said Tommy Smith, "but that is because I have never seen you before now."

"You may never have seen me," said the adder, "but I have seen you very often. Sometimes I have been quite near to where you were walking, but when I have heard you coming, I have just crawled out of the way, and let you go by without hurting you. Now don't you think that was very good of me? I should just like to know what you have to complain of."

"You have never hurt me, I know," said Tommy Smith. "But think how many people you do hurt."

"Do you know anybody that I have hurt?" asked the adder.

"No," answered Tommy Smith, "I don't know anybody; but I am sure you must have hurt a great many people, because you are poisonous."

"Well," said the adder, "I think you might walk about a long while asking people before you found anyone that I had done any harm to. I never interfere with people unless they interfere with me, so I think the best thing they can do is just to let me alone. It is true that my two front teeth are poisonous, and that I can kill some creatures by biting them. But these creatures are not men or women, but only mice or small birds or frogs. You know I have to eat them, so I may just as well kill them before I begin. The grass-snake eats his frogs alive. That is much more cruel than if he killed them first, as I do."

"How do you kill them?" said Tommy Smith. "I suppose you sting them with your forked tongue, and then they die."

"Did you not hear me say that I bit them," said the adder; "and that I had two poisonous teeth? My tongue is not poisonous at all. There is no more harm in it than there is in yours."

"Oh! but, Mr. Adder," cried Tommy Smith, "do you know I once went to the Zoological Gardens in London, and I saw the snakes there, and whenever one of them put out his tongue, as you do yours, the people all said, 'Look at its sting! Look at its sting!'"

"That is only because they were ignorant people," said the adder, "and did not know any better. No; it is the two long teeth in my upper jaw that are poisonous, and, if you will just kneel down, I will open my mouth so that you can see them, and then I can explain all about it to you."

Tommy Smith didn't quite like the idea of kneeling down and putting his face close to the mouth of the adder. He had heard of men who put their heads inside a lion's mouth, and he thought that this would be almost as dangerous. However, the adder promised not to bite him, and as he said he never had bitten a little boy in the whole of his life, and should not think of doing so without a proper reason, he thought he might trust him. So he knelt down and looked. Then the adder opened his mouth, and, as he did so, two little white things like fish-bones seemed to shoot forward into the front part of it. "Those are my two poison-fangs," he said. "When my mouth is shut, they lie back against my upper jaw, but as soon as I open it to bite anyone, they shoot forward so as to be in the right place." Tommy Smith looked at the teeth. They were as sharp as needles and almost as thin, but they were not straight like common needles, but curved backwards like crochet-needles. "What curious teeth!" he said.

"Perhaps they are more curious than you think," said the adder; "just look at the tips of them, and see if you notice anything."

Tommy Smith looked as the adder told him, and he was surprised to see a tiny little hole at the tip of each tooth. "Why, Mr. Adder," he said, "it seems to me as if your teeth were hollow and wanted stopping."

"They are hollow," said the adder, "and I will tell you why. At the root of each of them I have a little bag which is full of poison. You cannot see it, of course, because it is hidden under the flesh of my upper jaw. But things which cannot be seen are very often felt. Now, when I bite an animal, these little bags open, and a drop or two of poison runs down each tooth where it is hollow, so that it goes into the flesh of that animal and mixes with its blood."

"And does that kill it?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Oh yes!" answered the adder; "because I only bite small animals. It would not kill a horse, or a cow, or even a pig, unless it was very young. But it kills field-mice, and shrew-mice, and things of that sort."

"But there is one thing, Mr. Adder, which I don't understand," said Tommy Smith. "I thought that one had to swallow poison for it to kill one. But you say that this poison of yours goes into the blood."

"I don't know anything about poisons that have to be swallowed," said the adder; "I only know about my poison, and I use that in the way I have told you. My poison must go into the blood. If you were only to swallow it, I daresay it would not hurt you at all."

"I should not like to try," Tommy Smith said. "But are you going?" for the adder had begun to crawl away.

"Yes," said the adder; "I am going now, for I have plenty to do. I should not have wasted my time like this, only I heard that poor creature, the grass-snake, talking about himself, so I thought I would just show you what a much more important animal I am than he."

"I think that you are rather conceited, Mr. Adder," said Tommy Smith. "The grass-snake is very clever. He can lay eggs, and he says that is more than you can do."

"I should be ashamed to do such a thing," said the adder. "A young grass-snake requires an egg, but a young adder knows how to do without one. We can crawl as soon as we come into the world. As for my being conceited, perhaps I am, just a little. But that is natural. I can never forget that I have poison flowing in my veins. Now I will say good-bye, for I have plenty to do, and must not waste my time any longer."

"Good-bye, Mr. Adder," Tommy Smith called after him, for he thought he had better be friendly with such an animal. "I hope that you will never bite me." But the adder merely gave a contemptuous hiss, and was gone.




Chapter VII.

The Peewit

"To eat peewit's eggs to a peewit seems wrong, So a hen MAY think hen's eggs to hens should belong."


"PEE-WEE-EET! Pee-wee-eet!" That is what a bird kept saying as he flew in circles round Tommy Smith. Sometimes he flew quite a long way off, and sometimes he came so near him that it seemed as if he would settle on his head. "Pee-wee-eet! Pee-wee-eet!" And what a pretty bird this was! How his white breast glanced in the sun, and how the glossy green feathers of his back shone in it. He kept turning about in the air as he flew, so that Tommy Smith could see every part of him.

In fact, this bird was playing the strangest antics. Sometimes he would clap his wings together above his back, at least Tommy Smith thought he did; and then he would make such a swishing and whizzing with them, that really it was quite a loud noise -- almost like a steam-engine. Then, all at once, he would turn sideways and make a dive down towards the ground, and sometimes (this was the funniest trick of all) he would tumble right over in the air, as if he had lost his balance and was really falling. If Tommy Smith had ever seen a tumbler pigeon it would have reminded him of one, but he never had. And all the while this bird kept on calling out, "Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet!" as if he wanted Tommy Smith to speak to him, as, perhaps, he did.

"I know what bird you are," said Tommy Smith. "I have often seen you flying over the fields, but you have never come so close to me before. I think your name is" -- 

"Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet! That is my name. They call me the peewit."

"Yes," said Tommy Smith; "because you say" -- 

"Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet!" screamed the bird. "Yes, that is why. It is because I say 'Pee-wee-eet'"; and as the peewit said this, he made a sweep down and settled on the ground just in front of Tommy Smith. So close! Tommy Smith could almost have touched him with his hand. He was a handsome bird! Now he could see that, besides his beautiful green back and his white breast, he had a handsome black crest at the back of his head, that stuck out a long way behind it -- as if his hair had been brushed up behind, Tommy Smith thought, only, of course, it was not hair, but feathers.

The peewit was not at all afraid, but looked up at Tommy Smith, with his head on one side, and said, "Yes, that is my name. A name isn't sensible if it hasn't a meaning. Some people call me the lapwing, but I don't know what that means. I would rather you called me the peewit. I like that name best. Well, now you may ask me some questions if you like." Tommy Smith would rather have listened to what the peewit had to tell him about himself first, and then asked him some questions afterwards, for, just then, he didn't quite know what questions to ask. But, of course, he had to say something, or it would have seemed rude, so he began with, "Please, Mr. Peewit, will you tell me why you say 'pee-weet' so often?"

"Why shouldn't I say it?" said the peewit. "It is my song, and I think it is a very good one too."

"But I don't call it a song at all," said Tommy Smith.

"Don't you?" said the peewit.

"No," said Tommy Smith. "It is not at all like what the lark or the nightingale sings. That is what I call singing."

"If all birds were to sing as well as each other," the peewit said, "perhaps you would not care to listen to any of them half so much. Now you say, 'How sweetly the lark sings,' or 'How beautifully the nightingale sings,' because they sing better than other birds. But if every bird was as clever at singing as they are, then to sing well would be such a common thing, that you would hardly notice it at all. As it is, you don't think about the lark nearly so much as the nightingale, because you hear him much oftener. So perhaps, after all, it is better that some birds should sing more sweetly than other birds. Don't you agree with me?"

"I don't know," said Tommy Smith. "I should never have thought of that, myself."

"There are a number of things that little boys would never have thought of," said the peewit. "Besides," he went on, "however well a bird may sing, all he means by his singing is that he is very happy. That is what the lark means when he sings high up in the blue sky; and it is what the nightingale means when he sings all night long by his nest. And that is what I mean, too, when I sing, 'Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet!' So if you look at it in that way, my song is just as good as theirs, or any other bird's."

Tommy Smith did not think the peewit was right in this opinion of his, but he thought that he had better not contradict him so early in the conversation. So he only said, "Then, I suppose, you must always be happy, Mr. Peewit, for you are always saying 'Pee-wee-eet'?"

"I am always happy as long as people don't shoot me, or take away my eggs," said the peewit. "Why should I not be? It is very pleasant to be alive."

"And the grass-snake said he was happy too," thought Tommy Smith. "Then, are all animals happy, Mr. Peewit?" he asked.

"Oh yes," the peewit answered, "they all enjoy their life. That is why it is so wrong to kill them. For when you kill an animal, you take some of the happiness that was in the world out of it, and you can never put it back there again, however much you try."

"I never will kill animals any more," said Tommy Smith. "But now, Mr. Peewit, won't you tell me something about yourself? Do you do any clever things as well as the other animals that I have spoken to?"

"Why, haven't you seen the way I tumble about in the air?" said the peewit. "And don't you think that that is very clever? You couldn't do it yourself, however much you were to try."

"No," said Tommy Smith, "but then I have not got wings, you know. Perhaps if I had got wings, I would be able to do it as well as you."

"Do you think so?" said the peewit. "That is only because you are very conceited. Why, even the swallow can't do it. He is a splendid flier, and goes very fast. But, though you were to watch him for a whole day, you would not see him do such funny things in the air as I do. As for the other birds -- well, look at the cuckoo. What do you think of the way in which he flies? Why, he just goes along without doing anything at all. Do you think he could turn head over heels or make the noise with his wings that I do? If he can, then why doesn't he? I should just like to know that."

"Are you playing a game in the air when you fly like that, Mr. Peewit?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Yes," answered the peewit; "that is just what I am doing. Sometimes I play it by myself, but I like it better when there are some other peewits to play it with me. We do it to amuse ourselves, and because we are so happy and have such good spirits. But it is only in the springtime that we play such games, for we are happier then than at any other time of the year. In the autumn and winter we fly about in great flocks over the fields and marshes, or come down upon them and look for worms and slugs and caterpillars, for those are the things we eat. We are happy then, too, but not quite so happy as we are in the springtime, and you won't see us playing such pranks then, although there are a great many more of us together. Oh yes! it is a game, but it is a very useful kind of game, I can tell you."

"How is it useful?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Why, it prevents people from finding our eggs," answered the peewit. "I have told you that we only fly like this in the spring. Well, that is just the time when we lay our eggs. Now whilst the mother peewit is sitting quietly on her eggs, the father peewit keeps flying and tumbling about in the air. When you go for a walk over the fields, you do not notice the mother peewit on her eggs, for she sits quite still and never moves. But you can't help noticing the father peewit, and you only think of him. If you happen to go too near the place where the eggs are, the father peewit comes quite close to you, and flies round and round your head, as I did just now. You think that is very funny, and so you keep looking at him up in the air, and never think of looking on the ground where the eggs are."

"Are the eggs laid on the ground?" said Tommy Smith.

"Of course," said the peewit. "But let me go on. When the father peewit sees you are looking at him, he flies a little farther away from the eggs, and, of course, you follow him. Then he flies a little farther off still, and in this way he keeps leading you farther and farther away from the eggs, till he thinks they are safe, and then off he flies altogether."

"That is very clever," said Tommy Smith. "But supposing you didn't follow the father peewit, but kept walking towards where the eggs were, what would the mother peewit do?"

"Why, she would fly away before you got to her," said the peewit. "And you would find it very difficult to find the eggs even then."

"Then, is it only the father peewit that tumbles over in the air?" said Tommy Smith.

"It is he who does it most," said the peewit. "He has more time, and besides it would not be thought right for a mother peewit to throw herself about in that way whilst she has a family to attend to. When the mother peewit goes up from her eggs, she flies quietly away till she is a long way off. Then she settles somewhere on the ground, and waits for you to go away, and when you have gone away, she comes back to her eggs again."

"Then I suppose you are a father peewit?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh yes," the peewit answered. "You have seen how I can tumble. And besides, look how long my crest is. The crest of the mother peewit is not nearly so long."

"Where is the mother peewit?" asked Tommy Smith -- for he thought he would like to see her too.

"She is not far off," the peewit answered, "and she is sitting on her eggs."

"Oh! I should so like to see them," cried Tommy Smith. "May I?"

"If I show you them," said the peewit, "will you promise not to take them away."

"Oh yes, I promise not to," said Tommy Smith. "I will only look at them -- unless you would be so kind as to give me one," he added.

"Give you one!" cried the peewit. "I would rather give you the bright green feathers from my back, or the beautiful crest that is on my head. Give you one, indeed! No, no; they are not things to be given away. But come along. You have promised that you will not take them, and I know you will not break your word." Then the peewit spread his wings, and rose into the air again, and began to fly along in front of Tommy Smith, who had to run to keep up with him. "Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet!" he cried. "Come along. Come along."

"Oh, but you go so fast!" said Tommy Smith, panting. "I wish I had wings like you."

"I don't wonder at your wishing that," the peewit said. "I should think it dreadful if I could only walk and run." All at once the peewit flew down on to the ground again. "Here they are," he said, as Tommy Smith came up; "and what do you think? Why, one of them has hatched already; a day earlier than I expected."

"But where are the eggs?" asked Tommy Smith. "I don't see them, and I don't see any nest either. But what -- Oh! there is the mother peewit sitting on the ground," he cried out suddenly. And so she was, with her eggs underneath her. This time she did not fly away, for the father peewit had told her not to be uneasy.

"Oh, but there is no nest," said Tommy Smith. "She is sitting on the bare ground."

"Bare, indeed!" exclaimed the mother peewit. "There is plenty of sand on the ground, and what more can one want? Just look!" and as she spoke she moved a little to one side, and there, in a slight hollow, Tommy Smith saw four -- no, three eggs, and something else, something that was soft and fluffy, so it could not be an egg, although it was the same size, and the same sort of colour, yellowish, with black spots. Why, could that be a little baby peewit? Yes, indeed it was, for it moved a little, and made a little chirping noise.

"Don't touch him," cried the father peewit. "He is too young for that."

"And little boys are so rough," said the mother peewit.

"But you may look at him," said the father peewit.

"Oh yes, do," said the mother peewit; "and tell me what you think of him. Isn't he the prettiest little fluffy thing in the whole world?"

"Until the others are hatched," said the father peewit. "Then there will be three more, you know."

"To be sure there will," said the mother peewit, looking very proud; "and they will all be as pretty as each other. But I think this one will be the cleverest," she added. "There was a certain something in the way he chipped the shell, and he has lain in a thoughtful attitude ever since he came out."

"I am glad to hear it," said the father peewit. And then they both looked up at Tommy Smith, as if they expected him to say something.

But Tommy Smith was too busy to say anything just then. He had gone down on his hands and knees, and was looking at the eggs, for they interested him more even than the little peewit that had just been hatched. They were such funny-shaped eggs, large at one end and pointed at the other, something like a small pear, Tommy Smith thought, and they lay in the little hollow with their pointed ends all meeting together in the middle of it. They were of a greenish yellow colour, with great black splotches upon them. Of course they were much smaller than the eggs that a hen lays, but still, Tommy Smith thought, they were large eggs for a peewit to lay. A peewit is hardly so large as a pigeon, but these eggs were a good deal larger than a pigeon's egg. "Yes, they are very nice eggs," he said at last, as he got up from his hands and knees. "Are they good to eat?"

"Yes," said the father peewit, "they are"; and as he said this he looked very, very sad.

"Yes, they are good to eat," said the mother peewit, as she nestled down on her eggs again. "Oh, how I wish they were not!"

"Why?" said Tommy Smith. (He was only a little boy, or he would not have asked such questions.)

"I will tell you why," said the mother peewit. "There are bad men who come and take our eggs because they are so good to eat, and then they sell them to greedy wretches, who are still worse than themselves. Oh, how wicked men are! Just fancy! They eat our poor little children whilst they are still in their cradles."

"Yes," said the father peewit, "for the mere pleasure of eating, they will ruin thousands of families."

"Is it so very wicked to eat eggs?" asked Tommy Smith. "I have eaten a great many myself."

"What! peewit's eggs?" cried both the birds together.

"Oh no," said Tommy Smith feeling very uncomfortable. "But I have often eaten fowl's eggs."

"That is different," said the mother peewit. "We will say nothing about that."

"No, no," said the father peewit. "We do not wish to be censorious."

"What does that mean?" asked Tommy Smith, for it was a long word, and he did not remember having heard it before.

"I mean," said the father peewit, "that if people only ate fowl's eggs, peewit's eggs would be let alone, and that would be a very good thing. Fowls, you know, are accustomed to it, but we peewits have finer feelings."

"Yes," said the mother peewit; "we are more sensitive than common poultry."

Tommy Smith couldn't help remembering what the rat had said to him about asking the hen, and he thought he would ask her some day. But now he was talking to peewits. "You told me it was very difficult to find your eggs," he said.

"So it is," said the father peewit; "but it is not impossible."

"I wish it were," said the mother peewit. "But there are wicked men who learn how to do it, and then they can find them quite easily. Oh, what a wicked world it is!"

Tommy Smith didn't know what to say to comfort the poor peewits, until all at once an idea occurred to him. "Why do you lay eggs at all?" he said. "You know, if you didn't lay them, nobody could take them away from you."

"Not lay eggs?" cried the mother peewit. "Why, it is our duty to lay them. We have our duties to perform, of course."

"If we did not lay eggs," said the father peewit (he looked very grave as he spoke), "there would soon be no more peewits in the world, and what do you suppose would happen then?"

Tommy Smith didn't know, so he said, "What would happen, Mr. Peewit?"

"It is too dreadful to think about," the peewit said. "The very idea of it makes one shudder. A world without peewits! Oh dear! a nice sort of world that would be!"

The mother peewit shook her head. "It could hardly go on, dear; could it?" she said.

"It might," answered the father peewit, "but there would be very little meaning in it."

Tommy Smith certainly thought the world might go on without peewits, but he didn't quite understand the last part of the sentence. "But it seems to me," he said to himself, "that animals think themselves very important." "And are you a useful animal?" he said aloud to the father peewit, -- for the mother peewit was busy again with her eggs and the young one.

"Useful!" exclaimed the peewit. "Why, we are sometimes put into gardens to eat the slugs and the insects there. I suppose that is being useful."

"Oh yes," said Tommy Smith; "if you don't eat the cherries, or the strawberries, or the asparagus, or" -- 

"We are not vegetarians," said the peewit, "we prefer an animal diet, and we only eat things that do harm."

"But don't you eat worms?" said Tommy Smith.

"Of course we do," said the peewit.

"But I don't think worms do harm."

"If they don't, it is because we eat them," the peewit retorted. "If we didn't eat them, there would be too many of them, and then, of course, they would do harm."

"Well, when I grow up," said Tommy Smith, "I will have peewits in my garden as well as frogs, and -- Oh! but do you agree with frogs?" he asked, for this was an important point.

"Young frogs agree very well with us," said the peewit. "So it comes to the same thing, doesn't it?"

"I don't know," said Tommy Smith. "Not if the old ones don't."

"As for the old ones," said the peewit, "we leave them alone. They are too big to be interfered with. So, you see, that's all right too."

Tommy Smith didn't feel quite so sure about this. He couldn't help thinking that perhaps the peewits ate the little frogs. But, just as he was going to ask them this, he remembered that if he didn't make haste home, he would be late for dinner. Of course, as soon as he began to think about his own dinner, he forgot all about the peewit's, and said good-bye at once. So off he ran. The mother peewit just nodded to him as she sat on her eggs, but the father peewit rose up into the air again, and flew round him, and swished his wings, and tumbled about, and cried, "Pee-wee-eet! pee-wee-eet!" and Tommy Smith felt quite sure that he meant "Good-bye, good-bye."




Chapter VIII.

The Mole

"If we're only contented, some cause we shall find To be thankful: the mole thought it nice to be blind."


THE next walk that Tommy Smith took was over some fields where there were a great many mole-hills. Of course, Tommy Smith had often seen mole-hills before, but I am not sure if he had ever seen a mole; for a mole, as you know, lives underneath the ground, and does not often come up to the top of it. So, when he saw a little black thing scrambling about in the grass, he cried out, "Oh! whatever is that?" and ran to it and picked it up.

"You won't hurt me, I know," said the mole (for it was one) -- "and I don't mind your looking at me." You see Tommy Smith was getting a much better boy to animals, now that they had told him something about themselves, and the animals were beginning to find this out, and were not so frightened of him as they used to be.

Tommy Smith looked at the mole, and stroked it as it lay in his hand, and then he said, "Why, what a funny little black thing you are."

"Little!" said the mole; "I don't know what you mean by that. I am much bigger than the mouse or the shrew-mouse. You don't expect me to be as big as the rat, do you?"

"I don't know," said Tommy Smith, "but, you know, the rat is not so very big."

"He is as big as he requires to be, I suppose," said the mole, "and so am I. I have never felt too small in all my life, and I wonder that you should think me so. Why, look at those great hills of earth which I have flung up all over the fields. I am big enough to have made those, anyhow, and strong enough too. And look, how large and high they are."

"But are they so very high?" said Tommy Smith. "Why, I step over them quite easily."

"Dear me, that seems very wonderful," said the mole. "But I advise you not to do it often, for it must be a great exertion, and you might hurt yourself. But you must not think that because you are very big, I am very small. That would be very conceited."

Tommy Smith saw that he had not said the right thing, so he tried to think of something to say that the mole would like better. "Oh," he said at last, "what a very pretty, soft coat you have! I like it very much, indeed."

"Yes; feel it," said the mole. "It is a very handsome fur; and I can tell you something about it which is curious."

"What is that?" said Tommy Smith.

"Why, you may stroke it whichever way you like," answered the mole, "without hurting me. It is not every animal that has a coat like that. There is the cat, poor thing! If you stroke her fur one way, she is very pleased and begins to purr; but if you stroke it the other way, it hurts her, and she does not like it at all. That is because her hair is long and lies all one way. Now my hair is short, and it does not lie any way."

"I suppose you mean that it does not point either towards your head or your tail," said Tommy Smith.

"Yes, that is what I mean," said the mole. "Instead of that, it sticks straight up, and when you stroke it, it moves whichever way your hand moves, without making me feel at all uncomfortable."

"That is a very nice fur to have," said Tommy Smith. "Then, I suppose that sometimes if you were burrowing, and you wanted to go backwards for a little way, it would not hurt you to do so."

"Not at all," said the mole. "Now the poor cat could not do that. She could not go backwards in a burrow, because it would rub all her hair up the wrong way."

"But cats don't burrow," said Tommy Smith.

"Of course not," said the mole. "They know that they would not be able to, so they don't try. They are poor things."

Tommy Smith could not see why cats should be poor things because they didn't burrow, but the mole seemed quite sure of it, and he did not like to contradict him. "I suppose, Mr. Mole," he said, "that you are made for burrowing."

"Yes, I am," said the mole, "and I can do it better than any other animal in the world. You see, I have a pair of spades to help me, and I dig with both of them at the same time."

"A pair of spades!" cried Tommy Smith in surprise. "Why, where are they? I don't see them."

"Where are they?" said the mole; "why, here they are, to be sure," and he stretched out his two little front feet, and moved them about.

"Ah, now I see what you mean," said Tommy Smith, and he bent down his head and began to look at them more closely.

The mole might well have called his feet spades, for they were shaped something like them, and he used them to dig with, -- which is what spades are used for. They were short and broad, with five little toes, and each toe had a very strong claw at the end of it. These funny little feet stuck out on each side of the mole's body, and they were so very close to the body that they looked as if they had been sewn on to it. There did not seem to be any leg belonging to them at all. Of course there were legs, and very strong ones too, but they were so short, and so hidden under the skin, that Tommy Smith could not see them, although he felt them directly. The hind legs and feet were much smaller, and not nearly so strong, which, the mole said, was because they had not so much work to do. Between them there was a very short tail, just long enough, Tommy Smith thought, to take hold of and lift the mole up by. But he did not do this, in case he should be offended. "Well," said the mole, after Tommy Smith had looked at him for a little while, "what do you think of me? I hope you think me handsome."

"Yes, I think you are," Tommy Smith answered, though he did not feel quite sure of this. "At anyrate, your fur is handsome, for it is like velvet."

"Yes," said the mole; "and, do you know, I am sometimes called the little gentleman in the black velvet coat."

"It is not quite black," said Tommy Smith. "There is a greyish colour in it too. I think it would look very pretty if it was made into something. Oh, Mr. Mole," he cried all of a sudden, "now I remember that I have heard people talk about moleskin waistcoats!"

At this the mole gave a little squeak, and jumped quite out of Tommy Smith's hand, and then he began to burrow into the ground as fast as he could, and this was very fast indeed, so that before Tommy Smith had got over his surprise, he was almost out of sight. "Oh, Mr. Mole," he cried, "do come back!" but the mole was very angry, and would not consent to for some time.

"If I do," he said at last, "you must promise me never to talk in that way again."

"Oh, I never will," said Tommy Smith. "I quite forgot who I was talking to."

"Moleskin waistcoats, indeed!" said the mole. "I think the people who wear them are very wicked people. They never think how many poor little moles must be killed only to make one. I hope you have never worn a waistcoat like that?"

"Oh no," answered Tommy Smith, "I never have. Nobody has ever given me one."

"I hope you never will," said the mole; "for if you do, you will be almost as wicked a man as a mole-catcher, and he is the wickedest person I know of."

"A mole-catcher!" cried Tommy Smith; "then are there men who catch moles?"

"Oh yes, indeed there are," said the mole. "There are men who do that and nothing else."

"How do they do it?" asked Tommy Smith.

"They have traps," answered the mole, "which they put in the passages and corridors of our great underground palaces."

"Your houses, I suppose, you mean," said Tommy Smith.

"I mean what I say," said the mole. "You may live in a house, I daresay, but I think the place that I live in is quite large and fine enough to be called a palace, so I call it one."

"Oh! but it cannot be so big as the house that I live in," said Tommy Smith.

"Well," said the mole, "I should just like to know how long the longest corridor in your house is."

Tommy Smith thought to himself a little. The house he lived in was not a very large one, for his father was not a very rich man. There were not many passages in it, and he did not think the longest of them was long enough to be called a corridor. Still, he thought that they must be longer than the passages of a mole's house, and he couldn't help feeling rather proud as he said, "Oh! I don't know exactly, because I have never measured it, but perhaps it is six yards long."

"Six yards?" cried the mole. "Do you call that a corridor? Why, some of mine are more than twenty times as long as that. You might walk over a whole field without coming to the end of them. And how many corridors has your house got, then?"

"Oh, I think there are three," said Tommy Smith; but this time he didn't feel nearly so proud.

"Good gracious!" cried the mole. "Why, yours must be a very poor place to live in. I wish I could show you over my palace, but you are such an awkward size that you would never be able to get into it. My corridors are longer than yours, but they are not nearly so high. However, perhaps it is just as well that you can't get into it, for if you were once there, I am sure you would never want to go back again."

"Perhaps, Mr. Mole," said Tommy Smith, "as you can't show me over it, you will tell me what it is like."

"Well," said the mole, "I will; and perhaps, if you are always a good boy, and never think of wearing a moleskin waistcoat, I will show it you some day from the outside; but that can only be when I have done with it, and am going to build a new one, for I should have to break open the roof for you to see into it. Well, then, the principal part of my palace is called the keep, or fortress, -- I call it the fortress. It is very large, and the roof goes up into a beautiful, high dome. You know what a dome is, I suppose?"

"Oh yes," said Tommy Smith; for once he had been to London, and he remembered the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral.

"I wish you could see how high and stately it is," said the mole. "It goes right up into the bush ever so high."

"You mean 'into the air,' I think," said Tommy Smith.

"I mean what I say," said the mole; "into the bush. That is why you can't see it."

"Oh, but I can see it," said Tommy Smith. "I can always find your fortresses, Mr. Mole. I see lots of them every time I go out walking. They are not hidden at all. Why, there they are all over the field, and you know you told me to look at them yourself."

The mole gave a little choky laugh. "Oh dear!" he cried, "and do you really think that those are my fortresses? You are very much mistaken if you do. Why, they are only the hills that I throw up when I am making my tunnels and corridors. All you will find if you open them is a hole going down into one of those. Oh no; my fortress is not built there. It is carefully hidden under a bush or the root of a tree, so that you can't see it, however high it is. Only the wicked mole-catcher is able to find it, and I am very sorry he can."

This was a great surprise to Tommy Smith, for he had always thought that the mole lived under those little brown heaps of earth. But he had only thought so because he had never taken any trouble to find out about it. "I see you are cleverer than I thought, Mr. Mole," he said; "but I should like you to tell me something more about your palace and fortress."

"I told you that it was very large," said the mole, "and that it went up into a high dome outside. Inside, it is not nearly so high, but it is very nice and comfortable; and the floor and the sides and ceiling are always quite smooth and polished, for I polish them myself, and never leave it to the servants."

"But how do you polish them?" said Tommy Smith.

"Why, with my fur to be sure," said the mole. "I prefer that to a piece of wash-leather." (He laughed again as he said this, but Tommy Smith didn't know what for.) "My fur, as you see, is smooth too. If you were to walk down one of my corridors, you would be surprised to find how hard and smooth the sides of it are. That is because I am always running up and down them, and rubbing them with my fur."

"But doesn't that make you very dirty?" said Tommy Smith. "Surely the earth must get into your fur and stay there."

"It never stays there," said the mole with great pride. "I have a very strong muscle which runs all along my back just under the skin, and when I twitch that, every little piece of mould or earth that is in my fur flies out of it again. There! now I have twitched it. Look at me and see how clean I am, although I have only just come out of the ground. Oh no; there is never anything in my coat! It is a saying in our family that a mole may live in the dirt, but he is never dirty."

"That seems very funny," said Tommy Smith. "But tell me some more about the fortress that you live in."

"That is just what I was going to do," said the mole, "but you ask so many questions, that I am not able to get on. Now I will begin again, and perhaps it would be better if you were to say nothing till I have done."

So Tommy Smith sat down on the ground to listen, and the mole went on in these words:

"Inside my fortress there is a large room which is quite round. I call it my bedroom or dormitory, because sometimes I go to sleep there. There are two different ways of getting into it. One of them is by the floor, and that is easy. But the second way is by the ceiling, and that is much more difficult."

"By the floor and the ceiling?" cried Tommy Smith, quite forgetting what the mole had said. "How very funny! I get into my room through a door in one of the sides."

"Dear me!" said the mole. "Well, I should not like to enter a room in that way."

"Why not?" asked Tommy Smith.

"The idea of such a thing!" said the mole. "As for doors, they are things I don't understand. Galleries and tunnels are what I use, and I think them much grander."

"But" -- Tommy Smith was beginning.

"Let me get on," said the mole. "I have two galleries inside my fortress, an upper one and a lower one. The lower one is the largest. It runs all round the ceiling of my bedroom. From it there are five little passages which run up into the upper one. That goes round in a circle too, but it is high up inside the dome of my fortress, and a long way above the ceiling of my bedroom. So what do you think I have done? I have made three little tunnels, which go from my upper gallery right into the top of my bedroom. I just run down one of them, and tumble into it through the ceiling."

"But can't you get into your bedroom from the lower gallery too?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Oh no," said the mole; "that would never do. It would be so easy; and a mole likes to do things that are difficult. I go into my lower gallery first, and then I go from that into my upper gallery. I can go by five different passages, and choose which I like."

"Five different passages! That is a lot," cried Tommy Smith.

"Yes; and there are three more from the upper gallery into the bedroom!" said the mole. "How many doors are there into your rooms?"

"Oh, one," said Tommy Smith.

"Only one!" said the mole. "That is very sad. Why, if I had only one tunnel into my room I should be almost ashamed to go through it. But then you have only a house to live in, and not a palace, as I have."

Tommy Smith thought that this was rather a grand way of talking, and he was just beginning, "Perhaps, if you were to see my house" -- when the mole went on with, "Of course, such a fine palace as mine ought to have a good many fine roads leading up to it."

"Ought it?" said Tommy Smith; "and how many has it?"

"Seven," said the mole.

"Seven!" exclaimed Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the mole, "and I make them all myself. Why, how many has yours?"

"It has only one," said Tommy Smith, "but I think that is quite enough."

"For a house, perhaps, it may be," said the mole; "but I should be sorry to have to put up with it. My palace has seven, and I know some very rich moles who have eight. These are the great corridors which some people call the high roads. Some of them run through fine avenues of tree-roots, and, you know, a fine avenue of tree-roots has a splendid appearance. They wind all about, and go for ever such a way, and there are smaller corridors which run out of them on each side, and spread all over the fields."

"You mean under the fields, Mr. Mole," said Tommy Smith; "for, you know, the grass grows over your corridors, and nobody can see them."

"I am very glad they can't," said the mole, "or my bedroom, or my nursery either."

"What, have you a nursery too?" said Tommy Smith. "Why, that is just as if you were a person."

"Of course I have a nursery," said the mole. "What should I do with my children if I had not? I could not have them always in the fortress, or playing about in the corridors. They would be quite out of place there, and very much in the way. So I have a nursery for them, and they lie there upon a nice warm bed, which I make myself, of young grass and other soft things."

"Oh, then I suppose that you are the mother mole," said Tommy Smith.

"Yes, I am," said the mole; "and you should call me Mrs. Mole, and not Mr. as you have been doing; and as for my being like a person, why, I am one, of course, and an important person too, I think. Why, do you know that I drain the land?"

"Do you really, Mrs. Mole?" said Tommy Smith; "but is not that very difficult?"

"You would find it so, I daresay," answered the mole, "but to me it is quite easy."

"How do you do it?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Why, by digging to be sure," the mole said. "I just make my tunnels, and my trenches, and my corridors, and then when the rain comes it runs off into them, and doesn't lie on the ground so long as it would if they were not there."

"Oh, but if the water runs into your tunnels," said Tommy Smith, "how is it that you are not drowned?"

"Oh, it does not stay there long enough for that," said the mole; "and, besides, I am a very good swimmer. Just take me up again and put me into that little pond there, and I will show you," -- for there was a pond not far off where some ducks and geese were swimming about. "Drive those rude things away first," said the mother mole, as Tommy Smith stood with her in his hand, at the edge of the pond, just ready to drop her in. "If they see me, they will be sure to make some rude remark, and, indeed, there is no saying what liberties they might take."

So Tommy Smith drove away the ducks and geese, and then dropped the mother mole into the water, and, -- would you believe it? -- she swam almost as well as if she had been a duck or a goose herself, moving all her four little feet at a great rate, and going along very quickly. She did look so funny. She went across the pond, and then turned round and came back again, and, as she scuttled out on to the bank, she said, "So now you see that a mole can swim. Can you?"

"No," answered Tommy Smith; for he had not learnt to, yet.

"Dear me," said the mother mole, "you cannot swim, or dig, or drain the ground, and I am so much smaller and can do all three, besides a great many other things. But then I am a mole."

"I didn't say that I couldn't dig," Tommy Smith said. "I can, a little, only I do it with a spade. I mean a real spade," he added. "Of course, I can't do it with my hands."

"What stupid hands!" said the mole. "Why, what can they be good for? But are you sure you could dig properly, even if you had a spade? Do you think you could do anything useful now? For instance, could you dig a well?"

"I shouldn't like to do it all by myself," said Tommy Smith; "it would take me a very long time. But I don't suppose you dig wells either."

"Oh, don't you!" said the mole; "then how do you think we get our water to drink when the weather is dry? Of course, if we have a pond or a ditch near us we can easily make a tunnel to the edge of it, but it is not every mole who is so fortunate as to live by the waterside. Those who do not, have to dig deep pits for the water to run into; for I must tell you that there is always water to be found in the earth, if only you dig deep enough for it. If you make a hole which goes right down into the ground, very soon the water will begin to trickle into it through the sides and the bottom, and then, of course, it is a well. I wish you could see some of our wells. They are so nicely made, and sometimes they are brim full."

"So you have real wells with water in them!" cried Tommy Smith; for it seemed to him so very funny that moles should have wells as well as men.

"To be sure, we have," said the mole; "and I think it is very clever of us to have thought of it."

"Yes, it is indeed," said Tommy Smith; "and I begin to think that all the animals are clever."

"I don't know about that," said the mole; "but we are."

"Oh yes; and so is the rat, and the frog, and the peewit, and" -- 

"I am glad to hear it," said the mole. "I should not have thought so."

"Oh! but they are really," Tommy Smith went on eagerly. "Do let me tell you how the peewit" -- 

"I have nothing to learn from him, I hope," said the mole; "a poor foolish bird who wastes all his time in the air."

"Oh, but if you only knew how the mother peewit" -- Tommy Smith was beginning again.

"I should be sorry to take her as an example," said the mole sharply; "she is a flighty thing, without solid qualities. Other animals may be all very well in their way," she went on, after a pause, "but they are not moles, and they none of them know how to dig."

"Oh, but the rabbit" -- 

"The rabbit, indeed!" cried the mole very indignantly. "Why, what can he do? He can just make a clumsy hole, and that is all. He is a mere labourer; and I hope you do not compare him with a real artist like myself."

"Oh no," said Tommy Smith; but he thought the mole was very conceited.

"Not that it is his fault," the mole continued. "Of course, he cannot be expected to make such wonderful places as I do. After all, what has he got to dig with? His feet are only paws, they are not spades, as mine are; and then he has two great big eyes for the dirt to get into, which must be a great inconvenience to him."

"But haven't you eyes, too, Mrs. Mole?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Would you like to try and find them?" answered the mole. "You may, if you like."

So Tommy Smith knelt down on the ground and began to look all about where he thought the mole's eyes were likely to be, and to feel with his fingers in the fur. But look and feel as he might, it was no use, he couldn't find the eyes anywhere. But, just as he was going to give up trying, all at once he thought he saw two little black things hardly so big as the head of a small black pin. Could those be eyes? Tommy Smith hardly believed that they could be, for some time; they were so very small. "Are those your eyes, Mrs. Mole?" he asked at last.

"Yes, indeed they are," the mother mole answered; "and are they not a beautiful pair? How difficult they are to find, and how well my fur hides them! It would not be easy for the mould to get into them; they are not like those great staring things of the rabbit."

"They are very small," said Tommy Smith.

"I should think so!" said the mole; "and what an advantage it is to have small eyes."

"But can you see with them?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh no," said the mole; "and what an advantage it is not to be able to see."

Tommy Smith did not understand this at all. "The rabbit can see," he said, "and so can all the other animals."

"They are obliged to," answered the mole, "and so they have to put up with it; but a mole lives in the dark, and therefore it does not require to see."

"But what are eyes for, if they are not to see with?" Tommy Smith asked. He felt sure it was a sensible question, and it seemed to him that the mole was talking nonsense.

"They are for not getting in the way when you make tunnels in the ground," said the mole. "Mine never get in the way, so I know that they are the best eyes that anyone can have."

This was quite a new idea to Tommy Smith, and he tried to think what it would be like to live in the ground, and to have eyes that you couldn't see with, and that didn't get in the way. At last he said, "It seems to me, Mrs. Mole, that it would be much better if you had not any eyes at all."

"That is a strange idea, to be sure!" said the mole. "Not have eyes, indeed! That would be a fine thing."

"But if you can't see with them," said Tommy Smith.

"What of that?" said the mole; "we have them, and so we are proud of them. It is a saying in our family that a mole may be blind, but he has eyes for all that."

"Poor little mole," said Tommy Smith, for though the animal seemed to be quite happy itself, he couldn't help feeling very sorry for it. "But are you quite blind?"

"If I am not quite, I am very nearly," the mole answered, "and I am thankful for that. I just know when it is light and when it isn't, which is all a mole requires to know."

"But can't you see me?" Tommy Smith asked.

"You, indeed!" answered the mole. "And why should I want to see you?"

"I'm afraid you are blind," Tommy Smith said quite sadly.

"At anyrate," said the mole, "I have less seeing to do than almost any other animal, and, when I think of that, I can't help feeling proud, though I know I oughtn't to be. But I think you have talked enough about my eyes," the mole continued. "Perhaps you would like to know something about my teeth now. Look! there they are," and she opened her mouth as wide as she could, which was not very wide, for her mouth was so small. What funny little white teeth they were, and how sharp, -- as sharp and as pointed as needles.

"Why are they so pointed?" asked Tommy Smith. "The rabbit's teeth are not at all like that, and the rat's are not either."

"It is because we eat different things," said the mole. "Different kinds of animals have different food, and so they have different kinds of teeth to eat it with. Mine are nice and sharp, because they have to bite and kill whatever they catch hold of."

"But what is it that they have to bite and kill?" said Tommy Smith.

"Ah, you would never guess," answered the mole. "You must know that we moles are very brave animals, and we fight a great deal; sometimes with each other, but mostly with great serpents which live in the ground, although it really belongs to us."

"Serpents?" said Tommy Smith. "Why, do you mean snakes?"

"Of course I do," said the mole.
"Snakes that live in the ground!" Tommy Smith cried. "Why, I don't know of any that do. The grass-snake doesn't, or the adder either. What are these snakes like, Mrs. Mole?"

"They are smooth and slimy," said the mole. "They have no head, or, if they have, it looks like another tail, and they are always crawling through the ground, which is ours, of course, and trying to break into our palaces."

"Oh, but I call those worms!" said Tommy Smith.

"You may call them so if you like," said the mole, "but I call them snakes. You should see the way I fight with them! How they writhe and twist about when I seize them between my sharp teeth. They try hard to get away, and they would kill me if only they could. But I am too brave and too strong for them, so I kill them instead, and eat them as well. We moles are very heroic."

"Do you eat anything else?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Caterpillars sometimes, and a beetle or two," answered the mole. "But I like snakes best of all."

"Worms," said Tommy Smith.

"Snakes," said the mole. But Tommy Smith was right, the mole's snakes were harmless worms; but it is nice to think oneself a hero.

"Good-bye," said the mole rather suddenly. "I am tired of talking, and I want to have a little sleep."

"Oh, but it is the middle of the day," said Tommy Smith.

"What of that?" said the mole. "I feel tired, so I shall go to sleep."

"Then do you always sleep in the daytime?" asked Tommy Smith.

"I know nothing about daytime or nighttime," the mole answered, "and perhaps if you lived under the ground, as I do, you would not either. I feel tired now, so I shall go to sleep now. Good-bye"; and the mother mole began to sink into the earth, and all at once she was gone, -- just as Tommy Smith was going to ask her what was the use of having such a grand palace to live in if she was blind and couldn't see it.

One sometimes thinks of a good question just too late to ask it.




Chapter IX.

The Woodpigeon

"The woodpigeon greets Tommy Smith with a coo, Which he modifies slightly to 'How do you do?'"


WHAT could be more beautiful than the woods that fine spring morning on which Tommy Smith walked through them? The sky was blue, and the air was soft, and the birds were singing everywhere. There was a concert, surely; the trees had given it. That is what came into Tommy Smith's head, and perhaps he was right. It is in spring that the season begins. Then ladies and gentlemen dress themselves finely, and come and stand together in a crowd, and there is talking, and laughing, and singing. And here in the woods the trees had all put on fine new dresses of bright green, for their season of spring had come, and green was the fashionable colour. They stood together too, -- ever so many of them, -- and bent their heads towards each other, and seemed to be whispering. Then their leaves rustled, which was a much pleasanter sound than ladies' and gentlemen's talking and laughing (though perhaps it did not mean quite as much); and, oh! what beautiful sounds came from their midst. Tommy Smith knew that it was not the trees who were singing, but the birds in them. "But it seems as if it were the trees," he thought, "because I can't see the birds. But perhaps the trees ask the birds to sing for them, as we ask people to play and sing for us. That is how they give their concerts and parties, perhaps. The large ones are like rich people who can afford to hire a whole band, but the little ones and the bushes are the people who are not so well off, and they can only have a bird or two." Tommy Smith thought all this, because he was a little boy, and liked to pretend things, but a long time afterwards, when he was much wiser, he used to remember those walks of his in the woods, and sometimes he would say to himself, "Yes, those were the best seasons; those were the concerts and parties most worth going to."

A fallen tree lay across Tommy Smith's path. It had once been a tall, stately oak, now it made a nice mossy seat for a little boy. We are not all of us so useful when we grow old. "I will sit down on it," thought Tommy Smith, "and listen to the birds singing, and pretend they are people, and not birds at all." So Tommy Smith sat down and listened. A thrush was sitting on the very tip-top of a high fir tree, and soon he began to fill the whole air with his beautiful, clear, joyous notes. "I like that as well as the piano," said Tommy Smith, "and I don't think I know any lady who could sing such a beautiful song." Then the robin began. "That is lower and sweeter," he thought. "People make a great deal more noise when they sing, but it doesn't seem to mean so much, or, if it does, I don't like the meaning so well. Then a jay screamed, and some starlings began to chatter. "Oh, there!" cried Tommy Smith, clapping his hands. "That is much more like people. Ladies talk and sing just like that. But not like that," he continued; for now another sound began to mingle with the rest, such a pretty, such a very pretty sound, so soft, and so tender and sleepy, "like a lullaby," Tommy Smith thought. And, as he listened to it, all the woods seemed to grow hushed and still, as if they were listening too. "Oh," said Tommy Smith, "it is no use pretending any more. That couldn't be people. No men, and no women either, have such a pretty voice as that."

"Coo-oo-oo-oo, coo-oo-oo-oo," said the voice. It had been some way off before, but now it sounded much nearer. "Coo-oo-oo-oo, coo-oo-oo-oo." Why, surely it was in that tree, only just a little way from where Tommy Smith was sitting. "I will go and look," he thought. "I know who it is. It is the woodpigeon. Perhaps he will stay and talk to me."

So he got up, and walked towards the tree. But -- was it not strange? -- as he came to it the voice seemed to change just a little. Only just a little; it had still the same pretty, soft sound, and the end part was just the same, but, instead of "Coo-oo-oo-oo, coo-oo-oo-oo," which it had been saying before, now it was saying -- yes, and quite distinctly too -- "How do you do-oo-oo-oo? How do you do-oo-oo-oo?" Yes, there could be no doubt of it, and as Tommy Smith came quite up to the tree, there was the woodpigeon sitting on one of the lowest branches, bowing to him quite politely, and asking him how he was.

"Oh, I am quite well, Mr. Woodpigeon," answered Tommy Smith. "I hope you are."

"Oh, I am quite well too-oo-oo-oo," cooed the woodpigeon, bobbing his head up and down all the while.

"Why do you move your head up and down like that whilst you speak?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Why, because it is the proper thing to do-oo-oo-oo," replied the woodpigeon.

"But I don't do it when I speak," said Tommy Smith.

"Oh no; but then I am not you-oo-oo-oo," said the woodpigeon.

Tommy Smith didn't know how to answer this, so he thought he would change the subject. "What have you been doing this morning, Mr. Woodpigeon?" he said.

"Why, sitting here in the woo-oo-oo-oods and coo-oo-oo-ing," the woodpigeon answered.

"Oh, but not all the morning, have you?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh no," said the woodpigeon. "From about six to nine I was having my breakfast in the fields."

Tommy Smith thought that three hours was a very long time to take over one's breakfast, and he said so. "I don't take half an hour over mine," he added.

"That is all very well," said the woodpigeon; "but your breakfast is brought to you, whilst I have to find mine for myself. What you eat is put down before you on a table, but my table is the whole country, and it is so large and broad that it takes me a long while to find what is on it, and to eat as much of it as I want."

"I wonder what your breakfast is like, Mr. Woodpigeon," said Tommy Smith. "I suppose it is very different to mine."

"Let me see," cooed the woodpigeon. "This morning I had a few peas and beans, besides some oats and barley. I got those in the fields, and I found some green clover there too, as well as some wild mustard, and some ragweed and charlock, and a few other seeds and roo-oo-oo-oots."

"Oh dear, Mr. Woodpigeon," said Tommy Smith; "why, what a lot you do eat."

"I don't call that much," said the woodpigeon. "When I was tired of looking about in the fields, I went to the woods again, and got a few acorns, and some beechnuts, and" -- 

"Oh! but look here, Mr. Woodpigeon," said Tommy Smith. "You couldn't have eaten all those this morning, because they are not all ripe now, and" -- 

"I didn't say they were ripe," said the woodpigeon; "and if I didn't eat them this morning, then I did on some other morning, so it's all the same. Those are the things I eat, at anyrate, and I can't be expected to remember exactly when I eat them. I had a few stones though, of course. They are always to be had, whatever time of year it is. Stones are always in season."

"Stones!" cried Tommy Smith in great surprise. "Oh, come now; I know you don't eat them."

"Oh, don't I?" said the woodpigeon. "I should be very sorry if I couldn't get any, -- I know that. It would be a nice thing, indeed, if one couldn't have a few stones to eat with one's meals. That would be a good joke."

Tommy Smith thought that he wouldn't think it a joke to have to eat stones, and he could hardly believe that the woodpigeon was speaking the truth. But he was such an innocent-looking bird, and seemed so very respectable, that he thought he must be. "Are they very large stones?" he asked at last.

"Oh no," answered the woodpigeon. "They are not large, but very small -- just the right size to go into my mill."

"Into your mill?" said Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the woodpigeon; "the little mill which is inside me."

Tommy Smith was getting more and more puzzled. What could the woodpigeon mean? "And yet he is such a nice bird," he said to himself. "I don't think he would tell stories."

"I see that you don't understand me," said the woodpigeon; "so, if you like, I will explain it all to you."

"Oh, I should so like to know!" said Tommy Smith.

So the woodpigeon gave a gentle coo, and began to tell him all about it. "Yes," he said, "I have a mill inside me, and everything that I eat goes into it to get ground up."

"Why, then, you are a miller," said Tommy Smith.

"In a way, I am," said the woodpigeon; "for I own a mill. But then, you know, a miller lives inside his mill, but my mill is inside me."

"I should so like to see it," said Tommy Smith.

"You never can do that," said the woodpigeon in an alarmed tone of voice; "for you would have to kill me first, and that would be a most shocking thing to do. But it is there, all the same, though you can't see it, and it is called the gizzard."

"Oh, the gizzard!" said Tommy Smith. "I know what that is, because I have" -- and then he stopped all of a sudden. He had been going to say that he had tasted it sometimes when there was fowl for dinner, but he thought he had better not. It didn't seem quite delicate to talk to a woodpigeon about eating a fowl.

"The gizzard is the mill that I am talking about," said the woodpigeon. "All the food that we eat goes into it, and then it is ground up, just as corn is ground between two hard stones. But though our gizzard is very hard, it is not quite so hard as stones are, so we swallow some small sharp stones, which go into our gizzard, and are rolled about with the grain and seeds there, and help to crush them. Then, when they are nice and soft, they are ready to go on into the stomach. So now you know what sort of thing a gizzard is, and why we swallow stones."

"But don't the stones hurt you?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Do you think we would swallow them if they did?" answered the woodpigeon. "What a foolish question to ask!"

Tommy Smith stood for a little while thinking about it, and wondering if he had a mill inside him, till at last the woodpigeon said, "Perhaps you would like to ask me a sensible question."

"Oh yes," said Tommy Smith, and he tried to think what was a sensible question. He had thought of a good many questions to ask, and they had seemed sensible at the time, but now he began to feel afraid that the woodpigeon would think them foolish. At last he said, "Please, Mr. Woodpigeon, where do you live?"

"Oh, in this tree," said the woodpigeon, "half-way up on the seventeenth storey."

"I suppose you mean the seventeenth branch," said Tommy Smith.

"Of course I do," said the woodpigeon. "I have my nest there, and my wife is sitting on the eggs now."

"Oh, do let me see them," cried Tommy Smith.

"Oh no," said the woodpigeon. "They are too high up for that. You would not be able to climb so far, and you cannot fly as we birds do, for you are only a poor boy, and have no wings."

"I wish I had wings," said Tommy Smith. "Is it very nice to fly, Mr. Woodpigeon?"

"It is nicer than anything else in the whole world," the woodpigeon answered. "Just fancy floating along high above everything, as if the air were water, and you were a boat. Only you go much quicker than a boat does, and sometimes you need not use the oars at all."

"Your wings are the oars, I suppose," said Tommy Smith.

"Yes, indeed," said the woodpigeon, "and how fast they row me along. Swish! swish! swish! and when I am tired I just spread them out and float along without using them. That is delightful. I call it resting on my wings."

"It must be something like swinging, I think," said Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the woodpigeon; "only you swing upon nothing, and you only swing forwards. Oh, how cool and fresh the air is, even on the hottest day in summer! The sun seems shining quite near to me, and the sky is like a great blue sea that I am swimming through; but oh, so quickly! quicker than any fish can swim. When I look up, I see great white ships with all their sails set. They are the clouds, and sometimes I am quite near them. How fast we go! We seem to be chasing each other. And when I look down, I see green islands far below me. Those are the tops of trees that I am flying over. My nest is in one of them, and I always know which one it is. When I am above it, I pause as a boat pauses on the crest of a wave, and then down, down, down I go, such a deep, cool, delicious plunge, till at last the leaves rustle round me, and I am sitting amongst the branches again, and cooing."

"By your nest?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Oh yes; when I have one," said the woodpigeon. "I have now, you know, because it is the springtime."

"I wish I could see it with the eggs in it," said Tommy Smith. But it was no use wishing, he hadn't wings, and he couldn't climb the tree. "How many eggs are there?" he asked.

"Two-oo-oo-oo," said a voice, higher up amongst the foliage; and Tommy Smith knew that the mother woodpigeon was sitting there on her nest, and looking down at him all the while.

"Only two eggs!" he said. "I don't call that many."

"It may not be many," said the mother woodpigeon, "but it is the right quantity. Three would be too many, and one would not be enough. Two is the only possible number."

"Oh no, indeed it isn't," said Tommy Smith eagerly. "Fowls lay a dozen eggs sometimes, and pheasants" -- 

"Possible for a woodpigeon, I meant," said the mother woodpigeon. "With fowls, no doubt, anything may take place, but large families are considered vulgar amongst us."

"Fowls may do what they please," said the father woodpigeon. "They are lazy birds, and don't feed their young ones."

"That is why they lay so many eggs," said the mother woodpigeon. "They don't mind having a herd of children, because they know they won't have to support them."

Tommy Smith was surprised to hear the woodpigeons talk like this of the poor fowls, for he had often seen the good mother hen walking about with her brood of children, calling to them when she found a worm, and taking care of them so nicely. "It seems to me," he thought, "that every animal thinks itself better than every other animal; and they all think whatever they do right, just because they do it, and the others don't. But I suppose that is because they are animals, and not human beings." Then he said out loud, "But I am sure the mother hen feeds her chickens, because I have seen her scratching up worms for them out of the ground, and" -- 

"Yes, that is a nice way to feed one's little ones," said the mother woodpigeon. "A raw, live worm! Why, what could be nastier? No wonder they are forced to pick up things for themselves."

"If they waited till their parents put a worm into their mouths, they would starve," said the father woodpigeon. "It is quite dreadful to think of."

"But I think the little chickens like picking up their own food," said Tommy Smith. "They look so pretty running about."

"They would look much prettier sitting in a warm nest, as ours do," said the mother woodpigeon.

"And they would feel much more comfortable with you feeding them, my dear," said the father.

"And with you helping me, you know," said the mother bird, and she stretched her neck over the branch, and cooed softly to her husband, who looked up at her, and cooed again.

"Then do you both feed them?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the father woodpigeon; "and we take it in turns. You would not find many cocks who would do that, I think."

"No; or help to hatch the eggs," said the mother woodpigeon. "He does that too. Oh, he is so good!"

"Nonsense!" said the father woodpigeon. "It is what all birds ought to do-oo-oo-oo."

"Yes; but it isn't what they all do do-oo-oo-oo," said the mother woodpigeon.

"More shame for those who do not," said the father woodpigeon; "but I hope there are not many." And then they both waited for Tommy Smith to ask them another question.

"Please, Mrs. Woodpigeon," said Tommy Smith, "what do you feed your young ones with?"

"We feed them with whatever we eat ourselves," said the mother woodpigeon, "and we always swallow it first, to be sure that it is quite good."

This surprised Tommy Smith very much indeed, for it seemed to him almost as wonderful as eating stones. "Oh! but if you swallow the food yourselves," he said, "how can your young ones have it?"

"They don't have it till we bring it up again," said the father woodpigeon. "They put their beaks inside ours, and then it comes up into our mouths all ready for them to swallow."

"Isn't that rather nasty?" said Tommy Smith.

"You had better ask them about that," said the mother woodpigeon. "They will tell you whether it is nasty or not."

"They think it nice," said the father woodpigeon.

"And no wonder," said the mother woodpigeon. "When we swallow it, it is hard and cold, but when it comes up again for them to swallow, it is soft and warm, and very like milk. It is not every bird who feeds its young ones like that."

"Oh no," said Tommy Smith; "most birds fly to them with a worm or a caterpillar in their beaks, and give it to them just as it is."

"That is the old-fashioned way," said the mother woodpigeon; "but we are more civilised, and have learnt to prepare our children's food."

"Besides," said the father woodpigeon, "we eat seeds and grains, and little things like that, and it would take us a very long time to carry a sufficient number of them to the nest. Our young ones would be so hungry, and we should not be able to bring them enough to satisfy them, and then they would starve. So we have thought of this way of managing it, and I think it is one of the cleverest things in the whole world."

"Yes, indeed," cooed the mother woodpigeon, as she looked down from the branch where she sat on her nest; "one of the cleverest things in the whole world."

"Is it only pigeons that do that?" asked Tommy Smith.

"I won't say that," answered the mother woodpigeon. "There are some other birds, I believe, who have followed our example."

"Yes, they imitate us," said the father woodpigeon; "but they can never be pigeons, however much they try to be."

"Never," said the mother woodpigeon. "They don't drink water as we do. That is the test."

"Why, how do you drink water?" asked Tommy Smith. "Don't you drink it like other birds?"

"I should think not," said the father woodpigeon. "Other birds take a little in their bills, and then lift their heads up and let it run down their throats, but we pigeons would be ashamed to drink in such a way as that. We keep our beaks in the water all the time, and suck it up into our throats. That is how we drink, and nothing could make us do it differently. We don't lift our heads up."

"But why shouldn't you lift them up?" said Tommy Smith; for he thought to himself, "If all the other birds drink like that, it ought to be the right way."

"Why shouldn't we?" said the father woodpigeon. "Why, because it would be stupid, -- and wrong too," he added after a pause, during which he seemed to be thinking.

"There is a still stronger reason," said the mother woodpigeon, "the strongest of all reasons; at least, I cannot imagine one stronger. It would be unpigeonly." And from the tone in which she said this, Tommy Smith felt that it would be no use to say anything more on the subject.

"If there was any water here," said the father woodpigeon, "I would drink a little just to show you, but the nearest is some way off. However, you can watch some tame pigeons the next time they are drinking, for we all belong to one great family, and have the same ideas upon important points. Now I am going for a short fly, but if you like to stay and talk to my wife, I shall be back again in an hour."

But Tommy Smith had to go too, for his lessons began at eleven o'clock, and of course it would not do to miss them, though it seemed to him that he was getting a much better lesson from the woodpigeons. "But I wish," he said, "before you fly away, Mr. Woodpigeon, you would just tell me what you do all day." But as Tommy Smith said this, there was a rustle and a clapping of wings, and the father woodpigeon was gone.

"He is so impetuous," said the mother woodpigeon. "There is no stopping him when he wants to do anything. But I will tell you what we do all day, so listen. We rise early, of course, and fly down to breakfast at about six. After three or four hours we come back to the woods again, and coo and talk to each other there for about an hour. Then we go off to drink and to bathe, which is the nicest part of the whole day. After that we feel a little tired and sleepy, so we sit quietly in the woods till about two. Then it is quite time for dinner, so off we go again and feed till about five. After dinner it is best to sit quiet and coo a little. A quiet coo aids digestion. Then we have a nice refreshing drink in the cool of the evening, and after that we go straight to tree."

"Do you mean to bed?" said Tommy Smith.

"Of course I do," said the mother woodpigeon. "We sleep in trees. They are the only beds we should care to trust ourselves to."

"Aren't they rather hard?" said Tommy Smith.

"Not at all," said the woodpigeon. "You see, we have our own feathers, so that makes them feather-beds. They are soft enough and warm enough for us, you may be quite sure."

"But it must be very windy up in the trees," said Tommy Smith.

"That is the great advantage of the situation," said the mother woodpigeon. "Our beds are always well aired, so we need never feel anxious about that. However much it rains they can never be damp, for how can a bed be damp and well-aired at the same time?"

Tommy Smith couldn't think of the right answer to this, and the woodpigeon went on, "So, now, I have told you how we pass the day. What a happy, happy life! He must have a cruel heart who could put an end to it." (And Tommy Smith thought so too.)

"But is that what you always do?" he asked.

"Of course, when there are eggs and young ones it makes a difference," said the mother woodpigeon; "and in winter we keep different hours. But that is our usual summer life, and I think it a very pleasant one."

"Oh, so do I!" said Tommy Smith. "Thank you, Mrs. Woodpigeon, for telling me. Now I must go to my lessons, and I will tell them all about it at home."

"If you come back afterwards, I will tell you some more," said the mother woodpigeon.

Tommy Smith said he would, and then he ran away as fast as he could to his lessons, for he was a little late. And as he ran, he could hear the mother woodpigeon saying, "Come back soo-oo-oo-oon! come back soo-oo-oo-oon!"




Chapter X.

The Squirrel

"The pert little squirrel's as brisk as can be; He calls his house 'Tree-tops,' and lives in a tree."


SO Tommy Smith went home to his lessons, and when he had finished them, he put on his hat and came out again, and began to walk through the woods to where the mother woodpigeon was waiting for him on her nest. "Tommy Smith! Tommy Smith! Where are you going to, Tommy Smith?" said a voice which he had not heard before. At any rate, he had not heard it talk before. Such a funny little voice it was, something between a cough and a sob, and if it had not said all those words so very distinctly, it would have sounded like "sug, sug, -- sug, sug, -- sug, sug, sug, sug, sug." Now I come to think of it, Tommy Smith must have heard it before, for he had often been for walks in the woods. But when a voice which has only said "sug, sug" before, begins to talk and say whole sentences, it is not so easy to recognise it. "Who can that be?" said Tommy Smith; and then he looked all about, but he could see no one. "Who are you?" he called out; "and where are you calling me from?"

"From here, Tommy Smith, from here," answered the voice. "Can't you see me? Why here I am."

"Are you the rabbit?" said Tommy Smith; but he thought directly, "Oh no, it can't be the rabbit, because it comes from a tree, and no rabbit could burrow up a tree."

"The rabbit, indeed!" said the voice. "Oh no, I am not the rabbit. That is a funny sug, sug, sug, sug-gestion."

"Oh, I know!" cried Tommy Smith. "It is the" -- 

"Look!" said the voice. And all at once there was a red streak down the trunk of a beech tree and along the ground, and there was a little squirrel sitting at Tommy Smith's feet, with his tail cocked up over his head. "Oh!" cried Tommy Smith, -- and before he could say anything else the squirrel said "Look!" again, and there was another red streak, up the trunk of a pine tree this time, -- and there he was sitting on a branch of it, with his tail cocked up over his head, just the same as before.

"Oh dear, Mr. Squirrel," said Tommy Smith -- the branch was not a very high one, and they could talk to each other comfortably -- "how fast you do go!"

"Oh, I like to do things quickly," said the squirrel. "Mine is an active nature during three-parts of the year."

"And what is it during the other part?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Oh, I don't know anything about it then," the squirrel answered.

This puzzled Tommy Smith a little. "Why not?" he said.

"Oh, because I'm asleep," said the squirrel. "One can't know much about oneself when one's asleep, you know; and, besides, it doesn't matter."

"But do you go to sleep for such a long time?" said Tommy Smith. "I know that the frogs and the snakes go to sleep all the winter, but I didn't know any regular animal did."

"Why, doesn't the dormouse?" said the squirrel. "He's a much harder sleeper than I am. I suppose you call him a regular animal."

"Oh yes," said Tommy Smith. He had forgotten the dormouse, and, of course, he was a regular animal. By a "regular animal," I suppose Tommy Smith meant one that wasn't an insect, or a reptile, or a worm, or something of that sort. Perhaps he couldn't have said exactly what he meant, but whatever he did mean, you may be sure that it was not very sensible, because all living creatures are animals, and one is just as regular as another, if you look at it in the right way.

"Well," said the squirrel, "I think we are to have a little chat, are we not? It's you that must ask the questions, you know."

"Oh, I should so like to," said Tommy Smith, "but I promised the mother woodpigeon to go back and talk to her, and I am going there now."

"The mother woodpigeon will be on her nest for another hour or two," said the squirrel, "so you will have time to talk to her and to me too. And let me tell you, it is not every little boy who can have a talk with a squirrel."

Tommy Smith thought that it was not every little boy who could have a talk with a woodpigeon either. But he wanted to have both, so he said, "Very well, Mr. Squirrel, and I hope you will tell me something interesting about yourself."

The squirrel only nodded, and said nothing; and then Tommy Smith remembered that he had to ask the questions, so he said, "Why is it, Mr. Squirrel, that you go to sleep in the winter? It seems so funny that you should. I stay awake all the time, you know -- except at night, of course, -- so why can't you?"

"That is easily answered," said the squirrel. "You have food in the winter, don't you?"

"Oh yes," said Tommy Smith.

"Of course you do," said the squirrel. "It is all got for you, so you have no trouble. I have to find mine myself, but in the winter there is none to find. So if I didn't go to sleep, I should starve."

Tommy Smith remembered, then, that the grass-snake had told him that he went to sleep in the winter, because he could get no frogs to eat; and the frog had said he did, because he could find no insects. So he saw that there was the same reason for all these three animals, who were so different from each other, doing the same thing. "And that's why the dormouse goes to sleep too, I suppose," he said to himself, and then he began to think that if any other animals went to sleep all the winter, it must be because they could get no food.

"But I don't think I could go to sleep if I was very hungry," he said to the squirrel; "and if I did, I'm sure I should wake up again very soon and want my dinner."

"I daresay you would," said the squirrel; "and if you couldn't get it, you would soon die."

"But do you never wake up and want your dinner, Mr. Squirrel?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh yes," said the squirrel, "I often wake up, but whenever I do, I can always get it. Do you know why? Because I am such a clever animal, that I hide away food in the autumn, so that I can find it in the winter."

"But you said you couldn't find food in the winter," said Tommy Smith.

"Oh, I meant that I couldn't find it growing on the trees and bushes," said the squirrel. "Of course I can find what I have stored away, and that is enough for all the time I am awake. But it wouldn't be enough for the whole winter, so I sleep or doze most of the time, and then I don't require anything."

"But why don't you store away enough food for the whole winter?" said Tommy Smith. "Then you needn't go to sleep at all, you know."

"Good gracious!" said the squirrel, "that would take a great deal too much time. It is all very well to put a few things aside, so as to have something to eat on sunny days -- for those are the days I like to wake up on, -- but just fancy having to find dinners beforehand for every day all through the winter. I could never do that, you know. One dinner to think about is quite enough as a rule. How should you like to have to cook two dinners every day, and always put one of them in a cupboard?"

"But you don't cook your dinners, Mr. Squirrel," said Tommy Smith.

"And you don't look for yours," said the squirrel. "I do. You see," he went on, "I only begin hiding things away towards the end of autumn, so there isn't so very much time."

"But you have the rest of the year to do it in too," said Tommy Smith.

"Oh no," said the squirrel; "that's quite a mistake. In the spring and summer I have something else to think about. Besides, there is nothing worth hiding away then -- no acorns, or beechnuts, or filberts, and, of course, one wants to have something really nice to eat when one wakes up in the winter. But in the autumn all those things are ripe. The autumn is the great eating-time. That is the time of the year that I like best of all."

"What! better than the spring or the summer?" said Tommy Smith.

"Well, in the spring there are buds on the trees," the squirrel reflected; "and the birds' nests have got eggs inside them. They are both very nice, though I like nuts better still. But, you see, buds and birds' eggs don't keep, and so" -- 

"Oh but, Mr. Squirrel," cried Tommy Smith, "you surely don't eat the eggs of the poor birds! Oh, I hope you don't!" (You see he was not at all the same Tommy Smith now that he used to be, and he didn't go birds'-nesting any more.)

The squirrel looked just a little bit ashamed. "I wouldn't, you know," he said, "if they didn't make their nests in the trees."

"Of course they make their nests in the trees!" said Tommy Smith indignantly. "They have just as much right to the trees as you have, and I think it is very wicked of you to eat their eggs."

"Perhaps it is," said the squirrel; "but, you see, I get so hungry, and fresh eggs are so nice. By the bye, on what tree did you say the woodpigeon was sitting? I think I will go there with you."

"Indeed, you shan't!" said Tommy Smith (and he was very angry). "I won't take you there. You want to eat her eggs, I know; and I think you are a very naughty animal."

The squirrel looked at Tommy Smith for a little while without speaking, and then he said, "You know, I never eat hen's eggs."

"Don't you?" said Tommy Smith. It was all he could think of to say, for he remembered that he did eat hen's eggs. Of course he knew that that was different -- the peewit had told him that it was -- but just at that moment he couldn't think of why it was different, and he couldn't help wishing that he hadn't been quite so angry with the squirrel. "Perhaps you don't eat too many eggs," he said in a milder tone.

"Of course not," said the squirrel. "Wherever there are plenty of squirrels, there are plenty of birds too, as long as people with guns don't shoot them. That shows that we don't eat too many. And then, as for our killing trees" -- 

"Oh, but do you kill trees?" said Tommy Smith. "I didn't know that you did that."

"Why, sometimes when we are very hungry," said the squirrel, "we gnaw the bark all round the trunk of a small tree, and then it dies. So those people who are always finding out reasons for killing animals say we do harm to the forests. But I can tell them this, that no forest was ever cut down by the squirrels that lived in it. Men cut down the forests, and shoot the birds and the squirrels; but if they left them all three alone, they would all get on very well together. Once, you know, almost the whole of England was covered with forests. Do you think it was the squirrels who cut them all down?"

"Oh no," said Tommy Smith. "It was men with axes, I should think."

"Yes," said the squirrel. "It is that great axe of theirs that does the mischief, not these poor little teeth of mine. It is axes, not squirrels, that they should keep out of the woods."

Tommy Smith thought the squirrel might be right, but he wanted to hear something more about what he did and the way he lived, so he said, "Oh, Mr. Squirrel, you haven't told me where you hide the nuts and acorns that you eat when you wake up in the winter."

"Oh, in all sorts of places," said the squirrel. "Sometimes I scrape a hole in the ground and bury them in it, and sometimes I put them into holes in the trunks of trees, or under their roots, if they run along the ground, or into any other little nook or crevice near where I live. In fact, I put them anywhere where it is convenient, but not where it is inconvenient. That is another of my clever notions."

"But isn't it rather difficult to find them again when you wake up a long time afterwards?" said Tommy Smith.

"It would be to you, I daresay," said the squirrel; "but it is quite easy to me. You see, I have a wonderful memory, and never forget where I once put a thing. Even when the snow is on the ground, I know where my dinner is. It is under a white tablecloth then, instead of being upon one. I have only to lift up the tablecloth, and there it is."

"Do you mean that you scrape the snow away, Mr. Squirrel?" said Tommy Smith.

"Yes, that is what I mean," said the squirrel; "but I like to talk prettily. Well, have you anything else to ask me? You had better make haste if you have, because we squirrels can never stay still for very long, and I shall soon have to jump away. Look how my tail is whisking. I always go very soon after that begins."

Tommy Smith thought that, as the squirrel had proposed having a chat himself, and had prevented him from going on to the woodpigeon, it was not quite polite of him to be so very impatient. But he thought he would be polite, at anyrate, so he went on, all in a hurry, "I suppose, Mr. Squirrel, as you go to sleep in the winter, you have to come out of the trees and find a place on the ground to" -- 

"Out of the trees!" exclaimed the squirrel. "I should think not, indeed. That would be very unsafe. Besides, I should never feel comfortable if I did not rock with the wind when I was asleep. I should have a nasty fixed feeling, which would wake me up every minute."

This surprised Tommy Smith a good deal. He knew that squirrels lived in the trees all day, but he did not know before that they slept in them at night too. "Then do you make a nest like a bird, Mr. Squirrel?" he asked.

"Like a bird, indeed!" said the squirrel. "No; I make one like a squirrel. It is not necessary for me to imitate a bird. We squirrels can make nests a great deal better than birds can."

Tommy Smith did not quite believe this. At anyrate, he felt sure that a squirrel could not make a better nest than some birds can. But he remembered that some other birds make only slight nests, or none at all. "And perhaps," he thought, "he only means those kinds of birds." But he thought he had better not ask the squirrel this, in case he should be offended, so he only said, "Oh, Mr. Squirrel, will you please tell me all about your nest, and how you make it, and what it looks like."

"Well," the squirrel began, "it is very large; much larger than you would ever think, to look at me. I could get inside the cap you have on your head. But how large do you think the house I make, and go to sleep in, is?"

"Perhaps it is a little larger than my cap," said Tommy Smith. He did not think it could be much larger.

"Why," said the squirrel, "it is larger than you sometimes. You know those great heaps of hay that stand in the fields -- haycocks I think they call them, -- well, if you were to take my house to pieces, it would sometimes make a heap almost as big as one of them."

"Would it, really?" said Tommy Smith. "But why is it so large?"

"You see," said the squirrel, "if the walls were not nice and thick, they would not keep out the cold properly, and so I have to find a great deal of moss and grass, and a great many sticks and leaves, to make it with. Then I have to repair it every year -- it would be too much trouble, you know, to build a new one, -- and so it keeps on getting bigger, because of the fresh sticks and things I bring to it. That is why my house is so large."

"And are you always quite comfortable inside it?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh yes," said the squirrel; "always comfortable, and always dry. I knit everything so closely together, that neither the rain nor the snow can get through."

"I suppose your house has a door to get in and out by," said Tommy Smith.

"It has two doors," said the squirrel, "a large one and a small one. Why, what a question to ask! You will be asking if it has a roof to it next."

"Has it a roof?" said Tommy Smith. (So, you see, the squirrel was quite right.)

"Of course it has," said the squirrel. "The idea of living in a house without a roof to it! I build it high up in the fork of a tree," he went on; "and I lie curled up inside it, as snug and as warm as can be."

"But isn't it too warm in the summer?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Oh, I don't go into it then," said the squirrel. "The house I have been telling you about is for the winter, but in the summer I have my summer-house to go into."

"Oh, then you have two houses!" said Tommy Smith. "That is cleverer than a bird, for they have only one nest."

"I have two," said the squirrel, "and they are not at all the same."

"Oh, do tell me what the summer-house is like," said Tommy Smith.

"It is more lightly built than the winter-house," said the squirrel, "and not nearly so large. That is how summer-houses are always built, you know. Perhaps you have one in your garden."

"Oh yes, we have," said Tommy Smith.

"And isn't it much smaller than the other one?" said the squirrel.

"Oh yes, it is," said Tommy Smith.

"Well," said the squirrel, "my summer-house is constructed on the same principle. I will show it you, if you like, for I really can't sit still any longer. Just look at my tail! It will whisk itself off soon if I don't jump about."

"Oh, I should so like to see it, Mr. Squirrel!" cried Tommy Smith. "Yes, do come down, and" -- 

"Oh, I'm not coming down," said the squirrel. "I shouldn't think of doing that. I shall go home by the treeway, and you can walk underneath me. Now then!" And as the squirrel said this, he gave his tail such a whisking, and away he ran along the branch he had been sitting on, right to the end of it, and then gave such a jump on to the branch of another tree, and then out of that tree into another one, and so from tree to tree, so fast that Tommy Smith could hardly keep up with him as he ran along the ground underneath.

It was not always that the squirrel had to jump from one tree to another, because their branches often touched each other, and then he would run along them without jumping at all. Sometimes they would be very near together without quite touching, and then when he came to the end of the branch he was on, he would lean forward, and, with his little fore-paws, catch hold of the tips of several of those belonging to another tree, and draw them all together, and then give a little spring amongst them, and away he would go again. This was when he was in the fir trees. But to see him run down the long, drooping branch of a beech tree, right to the very end, and then drop off it on to another one far below -- that was the finest sight of all. He did it so very gracefully. His tail was not turned up over his back now, as it had been whilst he was sitting up, but went streaming out behind him like a flag. And sometimes he would whisk it from side to side, and say, "Sug, sug, -- sug, sug, -- sug, sug, sug, sug, sug!"

"Here it is!" cried the squirrel at last, from one of the very top branches of the tree he was on (it was a large beech tree). "Here is 'Tree-tops.' Can you see it?"

"Oh yes, I can see the top of the tree you are on," said Tommy Smith; "but" -- 

"Oh, I don't mean that!" said the squirrel. "'Tree-tops' is the name of my residence. You know, houses have usually a name of some sort. So I call mine 'Tree-tops.' That describes it very well, because it is in a tree-top, and there are tree-tops all round it."

"But aren't all squirrels' nests like that?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh yes," said the squirrel; "and they can all be called 'Tree-tops.' I daresay you've seen more than one house that was named 'The Elms,' or 'The Firs,' or 'The Beeches.' But now look about, and see if you can see my summer-house."

Tommy Smith looked all about near where the squirrel was sitting high up in the tree, and at last he saw something that looked like a little black ball. "Is that it?" he said.

"Yes," said the squirrel, "that's it. Look! Now I am in it," and he made a little spring at the ball of sticks, and disappeared inside it. The jump made the thin end of the branch swing about, and the squirrel's summer-house swung with it, so that it looked as if it might be shaken off.

"Oh, do come out," Tommy Smith cried. "I'm sure it can't be safe in there."

"Not safe!" said the squirrel, as he poked his little head out, and looked down at Tommy Smith. "Do you think I would live with all my family in a house that was not safe? I have a wife and five children, you know, and we all live here together."

"Do you really, Mr. Squirrel?" said Tommy Smith, for he could hardly believe it.

"Why, of course we do," said the squirrel; "and great fun it is, too. You should see how we swing about in a high wind. Delightful!"

Tommy Smith thought that it would make him giddy. "It must be dangerous," he said. "Suppose you were all to be swung out, or the branch were to be blown off, or" -- 

"Oh, we never think of such things," said the squirrel. "They are sure not to happen; and even if they did, we should be all right, somehow, I daresay."

"I don't think you would," said Tommy Smith. "The woodpigeon might, perhaps, but, you see, you can't fly, and so" -- 

"Oh, can't I?" said the squirrel. "Why, how did I get here then, from tree to tree? Didn't you see me?"

"Oh, but that was jumping," said Tommy Smith.

"Jumping? Nonsense!" said the squirrel. "Why, I went through the air, you know, and that is just what one does when one flies, isn't it?"

"Oh yes, of course," said Tommy Smith, "but" -- 

"Very well," said the squirrel; "then when I jump, I fly."

"But you haven't got wings," said Tommy Smith. He knew he was right, but he didn't know how to prove it.

"That makes it all the more clever of me," said the squirrel. "It is easy enough to fly if you have wings, but very difficult indeed if you haven't. But we squirrels are a clever family, and can do anything. Why, one of us is called the 'Flying Squirrel,' you know; and why should he be called a flying squirrel if he can't fly? Not fly? Why, look here! -- look here! -- look here!" -- and at each "look here!" the squirrel was in a different tree, and still he went on jumping, or flying (which do you think it was?), from one to another, until very soon he was quite out of sight.

And he never came back -- at least not whilst Tommy Smith was there. I think he must have come back at some time or other, to sit in his little summer-house again with his wife and children. But Tommy Smith had not time enough to wait for him; so, as soon as he was sure that he was really gone, he walked away to his friend the woodpigeon.




Chapter XI.

The Barn-Owl

"In at Tommy Smith's window the owl has a peep; He talks to him wisely, and leaves him asleep."


IT was just the very exact time for a little boy like Tommy Smith to have been in bed for about five minutes (your mother will know what time it was); so, of course, he had been in bed for about five minutes, and he wasn't asleep yet. It was a beautiful night, the window was open a little at the top, and Tommy Smith was looking through it, right away to where the moon and the stars were shining. All at once a great white bird flitted across the window -- so silently! -- without making any noise at all. Most birds, you know, make a swishing with their wings, which you can hear when you are close to them (sometimes when a good way off too, like the peewit), but this bird made none at all.

"Oh!" cried Tommy Smith, "whatever was that?" As he said this, the great white bird flew back again, but -- just fancy! -- instead of passing by the window as it did before, it flew up on to it, and sat with its head inside the room, looking at Tommy Smith. "Oh, who are you?" said Tommy Smith. And yet he knew quite well that it was an owl. No other bird could have such great, round eyes, and such a funny wise-looking face.

The owl sat looking at Tommy Smith for a little while, and then he said in a very wise tone of voice, "Guess who I am."

"I think you are the owl," said Tommy Smith.

"That is right," said the owl. "But what kind of owl do you think I am?"

"Oh," said Tommy Smith, "I suppose you are the owl that says 'Tu whit, tu whoo.'"

"I am not," said the owl very decisively. "I have never said anything so absurd in the whole of my life. Why, what does it mean? Nothing, I should say. It has simply no meaning. What I do say is 'Shrirr-r-r-r,' which is very different, is it not now?"

"Yes," said Tommy Smith, "it is very different, but" -- 

"Of course it is," said the owl; "when I say that, I feel that I am making a sensible remark."

Tommy Smith didn't think that "shrirr-r-r-r" was a much more sensible remark than "tu whit, tu whoo," but he thought he had better not say so, as the owl spoke so positively.

"There are a great many different kinds of owls in the world, you know," the barn-owl continued. "Some are very large, as large as an eagle, and others are a good deal smaller than I am. Here, in England, there are three kinds, -- the wood-owl, the tawny owl (I can't answer for what they say), and the barn-owl. Now I, thank goodness, am a barn-owl. I must ask you to remember that, because, naturally, I shouldn't like to be mistaken for one of the others."

"Oh, I'm sure I shall remember it," said Tommy Smith, "because" -- 

"Never mind saying why," said the owl, "it would take too long. Well, and were you surprised to see me?"

"Oh yes, I was a little," said Tommy Smith. "I just looked up, and I saw a great white thing going past the window."

"I suppose I looked white to you," said the owl; "but that is because you are not nocturnal, as I am. But, if you were an owl, like me, you would see that I am not really white. At anyrate, there is more of me that isn't white, than that is. My face is white, I know, -- these beautiful, soft, silky feathers that make two circles round my fine dark eyes, -- my face-discs they are called (what a pity you can't see them better!), they are white, and very handsome they look. I am very proud of them, for I am the only owl in England that has them. But, after all, my face, though it is beautiful, is only a small part of me. My back, which is much larger, is not white at all, but a light reddish yellow. There, now you get the moonlight on it nicely. Such pretty, delicate colouring. What a pity you are not nocturnal! Then, even my breast is not quite white. It has some very pretty grey tints about it. And yet I am called the 'white owl,' as well as the 'barn-owl,' and often that name is put first in books. It is very annoying. The barn-owl is a good sensible name; for I do know something about barns, and I am very fond of catching the mice that live in them. But why should I be called white, when I have such pretty colours? It is one of my grievances. You know I have a good many grievances."

"Have you?" said Tommy Smith. (He knew what a grievance was; one of those things that ought never to be made out of anything.)

"Yes," said the owl; "and do you know what I do with them?"

"No," said Tommy Smith. He didn't quite understand what the owl meant.

"Well," said the owl -- "mind, I'm going to say something very wise now (you know I'm an owl), -- I put up with them."

"Oh!" said Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the owl. "It will take you a very long time to find out what a wise remark that was. You couldn't have made it, you know; I mean, of course, with the proper expression. I couldn't myself once, when I was only a young owl, but now that I am grown up, and have a wife and family to assist me, I can."

"Oh yes," said Tommy Smith. (It was all he could think of to say.)

"You've no idea," the owl went on, "what a time it takes one to make some remarks properly. Now take, for instance, the one, 'It's a sad world!' It seems very easy, but even if you were to repeat it a hundred times a day for the next fortnight, you wouldn't be able to say it in the way it ought to be said -- like this," and the owl snapped his beak, and said it again. "That sounds convincing," he remarked; "but as for a little boy saying it in that way, -- no, no."

"Is it so very difficult," said Tommy Smith.

"Well, it wants help," said the owl; "that's the principal thing. If you were left to yourself, you'd never manage it; but first one person helps you, and then another, until at last -- after a good many years, you know -- you get into the way of it. It's like shrugging one's shoulders. It takes one half a lifetime to do that -- well."

"Does it?" said Tommy Smith.

"Ask your father," said the owl; "only you mustn't expect him to make such a wise answer as I should, because, of course, he isn't an owl, like me."

Tommy Smith didn't think the owl had said anything so very wise, but he had used a word twice which he didn't know the meaning of, and so he said, "Please, Mr. Owl, what does being 'nocturnal' mean?"

"To be nocturnal," said the owl, "is to wake up and see at night, and go to bed in the daytime, which is what we owls do."

"Oh yes, I know," said Tommy Smith; "and if an owl ever does come out in the daytime, a lot of little birds fly after him and" -- 

"Yes," said the owl. "It is very grand, is it not, to be attended in that way? Common birds have to fly about by themselves, but, of course, when one is a great owl, it is natural that people should make a fuss about one."

"But, Mr. Owl," said Tommy Smith (he really couldn't help saying this, though he was afraid the owl might be angry), "don't the little birds fly after you because they don't like you, and" -- 

"Dear, dear!" said the owl, "what funny notions little boys do get into their heads. Not like me, don't they? That is very ungrateful of them, because I like them very much. Sometimes I like them almost as much as a mouse, you know. But, after all, what does it matter whether they like me or not? The important thing is to have a retinue, all the rest is of no consequence. Why do you suppose" -- The owl stopped all of a sudden, as if he had just thought of something, and then he said, "But, perhaps, hearing so many wise things, one after the other, in such a short time, may be bad for you, -- too much strain on the brain, you know. What do you think?"

"Oh, I don't think it will do me any harm," said Tommy Smith.

"Very well," said the owl; "in the cool of the night, perhaps, it may not, but I wouldn't answer for it in the daytime, if the sun was at all hot. Well, now do you suppose that if all the people in the world who had retinues were to know what their retinues thought about them, they would be any the happier for it?"

"I don't know," said Tommy Smith.

"Well," said the owl (I really cannot tell you how wise he looked as he said this), "I do."

"But what is a retinue?" asked Tommy Smith.

"Oh dear," said the owl, "I have been forgetting that I am a wise owl, and that you are only a little boy who doesn't know long words. A retinue is an entourage, you know, and" -- 

"But I don't know what that word means either," said Tommy Smith (and, indeed, he thought it was rather a more difficult one than the other).

"Oh dear," said the owl, "I am forgetting again. Why, when there are a lot of little birds, who fly round you and twitter whenever you come out and show yourself, that is what I call having a retinue or an entourage; and, depend upon it, it is a very grand thing to have. The more birds there are to twitter about you, the grander bird you are. But it doesn't so much matter what they twitter, and as for what they think, you had better know nothing at all about that."

It was all very well for the owl to talk in this very wise way, but Tommy Smith felt sure that the little birds didn't like him at all, and only flew round him to annoy him when he happened to come out in the daytime. And he didn't think it was such a very grand thing to have a retinue like that. "They would peck at him too, I daresay, if they weren't afraid," he said to himself; "and no wonder, if he eats them." But he wasn't quite sure whether the owl did this or not, so he thought he had better ask him before feeling angry with him.

"Do you eat the little birds, Mr. Owl?" he said.

"Not very often," the owl answered. "The fact is, I don't so very much care about them. Only, sometimes, when I want a change of diet, or if they happen to get in my way, I like to try them. They can't complain of that, you know."

"Why not?" said Tommy Smith.

"They haven't time," said the owl. "You see, I catch them asleep, and by the time they wake up, they've been eaten."

"I think it's a great shame," said Tommy Smith; "and I think you're a wicked bird to do it. You ought to be shot for doing such things, and when I am grown up, and have a gun" -- 

"Wait a bit," said the owl. "Do you know what you would be doing if you were to shoot me? Why, you would be shooting the most useful bird in the whole country. You wouldn't want to do that, I suppose?"

Tommy Smith didn't quite know what to say to this. "Of course, if you really are very useful," he began -- 

"Well, if you were a farmer," the owl went on, "I don't suppose you would like to have all your corn, and wheat, and hay, and everything eaten up by rats and mice, would you?"

"Oh no," said Tommy Smith.

"That is what would happen, though, if it wasn't for me," said the owl. "You see, I eat the rats and mice. They are my proper food, especially the mice. A full-grown rat is rather large for me -- too large to swallow whole, at anyrate; and I like to swallow things whole if I can. But the mice and the young rats are just the right size, and you've no idea what a lot of them I eat. I have a very good appetite, I can tell you, and so have my children. Of course, I have to feed them as well as myself, so there is plenty of work for me to do. Every night I fly round the fields and farmyards, and when I see a mouse, or a rat, or a mole, or a shrew-mouse, down I pounce upon it. Now think how many owls there are all over the country, and think what thousands and thousands of rats and mice they must catch every night, and then think what a lot of good they must do. Or, here is another way. Think how many rats and mice there are even now, although there are so many owls to catch them, and think how much harm they do, and think how many more there would be, and how much more harm they would do if there were no owls to catch them. That is a lot of thinking is it not? Well, have you thought of it all?"

"I've tried to," said Tommy Smith.

"It's difficult, isn't it?" said the owl. "It's all very well to say 'think,' but the fact is, you can't think what a useful bird an owl is -- and especially a barn-owl. But, perhaps, you don't believe me."

"Oh yes, I do," said Tommy Smith. "I always thought that owls killed rats and mice."

"You can prove it, if you like," said the owl, "and I'll tell you how. I told you that I liked to swallow animals whole, so, of course, everything goes down -- fur, bones, feathers (if it does happen to be a bird), and all. But I can't be expected to digest such things as that, so I have to get rid of them in some way or other. Well, what do I do? Why, I bring them all up again in pellets about the size and shape of a potato."

"Oh, but potatoes are of different sizes and shapes," said Tommy Smith.

"I mean a smallish-sized oblong potato," said the owl. "That is what my pellets look like, only they are of a greyish sort of colour. Sometimes they are quite silvery."

"How funny!" said Tommy Smith.

"How pretty, I suppose you mean," said the owl. "Yes, they are pretty. Now, if you look about under the trees in the fields where I have been sitting, you will see these pretty pellets of mine lying on the grass. Pick them up and pull them to pieces, and you will find that they are nothing but the fur, and skulls, and bones of mice, and shrew-mice, and young rats. Sometimes the skull and beak of a bird will be there, and then it will almost always be a sparrow's. Sparrows are a nuisance, you know, because there are too many of them. But, as for mice, there will be three or four of them in every pellet (you can count them by the skulls), and you know what a nuisance they are. Let anyone who is not quite sure whether I am a useful bird or not look at my pellets. Then he'll know, and if he shoots me after that, he must either be very stupid, or very wicked, or both. Well, do you still mean to shoot me when you grow up?"

"Oh no," said Tommy Smith, "I never will, now that I know how useful you are, and what a lot of good you do."

The owl looked very pleased at this, so Tommy Smith thought he would take the opportunity to ask his advice about something which had been puzzling him a good deal. "Please, Mr. Owl," he said, "I promised the rat not to kill him any more. But, if rats and mice do such a lot of harm, oughtn't I to kill them whenever I can?"

"Certainly not," said the owl. "A little boy should be kind to animals, and not trouble his head about anything else. No, no; be kind to animals and leave the rats and mice to me." That was the wise owl's advice to Tommy Smith, and I think it was very good advice.

"Where do you live, Mr. Owl?" (that was the next question that Tommy Smith asked). "I suppose it is in the woods."

"No," the owl answered. "Barn-owls do not live in the woods. The tawny-owls and the wood-owls do. Woods are good enough for them, but we like to have more comfortable surroundings. We don't object to trees, of course. A nice hollow tree is a great comfort, and I, for one, could not do without it. But it must be within a reasonable distance of a village, and the closer it is to a church, the better I like it."

"Do you, Mr. Owl," said Tommy Smith.

"Yes," said the owl. "I don't mind how far I am from a railway station or even a post office, but the church must be near."

"I suppose you like to sit in the tower, Mr. Owl," said Tommy Smith.

"I should think so," said the owl; "the belfry is there, you know, and I am so fond of that. It is so nice to sit in one's belfry and think of one's barns, and farms, and haystacks. And then, when the bells ring, you can't think what fun that is -- especially on the first day of January when they ring in the New Year. I get quite excited then, and I give a scream, and throw myself off the old tower, and fly round it, and whoop and shriek until I seem to be one of the mad bells myself. For they are mad then, you know. They go mad once every year -- on New Year's day. People come out to listen sometimes. They look up into the air, and say, 'Hark! There they go. It is the New Year now. They are ringing it in.' Then all at once the bells stop ringing, and it is all over; the New Year has been rung in. But what there is new about it is more than I can say, wise as I am. It all seems to go on just the same as before, and sometimes I wonder what all the fuss has been about. I have never been able to see any difference myself between the last minute of the thirty-first of December and the first minute of the first of January. On a cold rainy night especially, they seem very much alike. But, of course, there must be a difference, or the bells wouldn't ring as they do."

"Oh, they ring because it's the new year, Mr. Owl," said Tommy Smith.

"Yes, that's it," said the owl; "but I should never have found it out without them."

Tommy Smith began to think that the owl couldn't be so very wise after all, or surely he would have known the difference between the old year and the new year. He was going to explain it to him thoroughly, but he was getting rather sleepy by this time, and it is difficult to explain things when one is sleepy.

So he didn't, and the owl went on with, "Oh yes, we love churches, we owls do. We have our nests there, you know, and we could not find a safer place to make them in. Anywhere else we might be disturbed and rudely treated, for people are not nearly so polite to us as they ought to be. But we are always safe in a church, for no one would be so wicked as to annoy us there. Besides, a church is a wonderful place to hide in. People pass by it, and come into it, and sit down and go out again, without having any idea that we are there, and have been there all the time. They never think of that."

"What part of the church do you build your nest in, Mr. Owl?" said Tommy Smith.

"Oh, that is in the belfry too," said the owl. "The belfry is my part of the church. I think it must have been built for me, it suits me so well. I am called the belfry-owl sometimes, and that is a very good name for me too. But now don't ask me any more questions, because you are getting sleepy, and I have something to tell you before you go to sleep."

And then the owl told all about the grand meeting that the animals had held in the woods, and all that they had said to each other, and what they had decided to do to try and make Tommy Smith a better boy to animals, and how, at first, they had wanted to hurt him (or even to kill him), because they were so angry with him, until the owl had persuaded them not to. It was all the wise owl's doing. He knew that the best way to make a little boy kind to animals was to teach him something about them; and who could teach him so well as the animals themselves?




Chapter XII.

The Leave-Taking

"All 'Tommy Smith's Animals' take leave with joy, For they know Tommy Smith is a different boy."


WHEN Tommy Smith had gone to sleep, the owl flew away, and he flew to the same place where he had met the other animals before, and found them all there again waiting for him (of course, it had been arranged). Then all the animals began to tell each other about the conversations they had had with Tommy Smith, and what a very much better boy he had become. They were all so glad; and, of course, they all thanked the owl, because it had been his idea.

Then the owl thanked all the animals for thanking him, and he said that it was his idea, but that it might just as well have been the idea of any other animal there, and he wished that it had been, because, then, he could have called it clever, but now, of course, he couldn't, for that would be praising himself, -- which would never do. You see, he wanted to be modest. One ought always to be modest when one makes a speech. And now (the owl said) he was quite sure that Tommy Smith would never be unkind to animals any more as long as he lived, because, just before he flew away, he had asked him to promise that he wouldn't. But Tommy Smith had just gone off to sleep then, and so he had had to promise it in his sleep. "And, you know," said the owl, "that when a promise is made in that way, it is always kept." Then all the animals clapped their -- well, whatever they could clap, and said "Hurrah!" and the meeting broke up.

And the owl was right. As Tommy Smith grew older, and became a big boy, he found that animals did not talk to him any more in the way they used to do. It seemed as if they only cared to talk to little boys or girls. But there was one way of having conversations with them, which he got to like better and better, and that was to go out into the woods and fields and watch what they were doing. He soon found that that was quite as interesting as really talking to them. In fact, it was talking to them in another kind of way, for they kept telling him all about themselves, only without speaking. And the more Tommy Smith learnt about them, the more he liked them, until the animals became his very best friends. Of course, one is never unkind to one's very best friends, and, besides, Tommy Smith had given the owl a promise -- in his sleep.

<eob>

The Apple Dumpling, And Other Stories For Young Boys And Girls

By

Frances Elizabeth Barrow



The Apple Dumpling.


Many years ago, there was a little old woman who lived a long way off in the woods. She lived all by herself, in a little cottage with only two rooms in it, and she made her living by knitting blue woollen stockings, and selling them.

One morning the old woman brushed up the hearth all clean, and put everything in order; then she went to the pantry and took out a great black pot, and filled it full of water, and hung it over the fire, and then she sat down in her arm-chair by the fire. She took her spectacles out of her pocket and put them on her nose, and began to knit a great blue woollen stocking.

Very soon she said to herself, "I wonder what I shall have for dinner? I think I will make an apple dumpling." So she put her knitting down, and took her spectacles off her nose, and put them in her pocket, and, getting out of her arm-chair, she went to the cupboard and got three nice rosy-cheeked apples. Then she went to the knife-box and got a knife; and then she took a yellow dish from the dresser, and sat down in her arm-chair, and began to pare the apples.

After she had pared the apples, she cut each one into four quarters. Then she got up again, and set the dish of apples on the table, and went to the cupboard, and got some flour and a lump of butter. Then she took a pitcher, and went out-of-doors to a little spring of water close by, and filled the pitcher with clear, cold water. So she mixed up the flour and butter, and made them into a nice paste with the water; and then she went behind the door, and took down a rolling-pin that was hung up by a string, and rolled out the paste, and put the apples inside, and covered the apples all up with the paste. "That looks nice," said the old woman. So she tied up the dumpling in a nice clean cloth, and put it into the great black pot that was over the fire.

After she had brushed up the hearth again, and put all the things she had used away, she sat down in her arm-chair by the fire, and took her spectacles out of her pocket and put them on her nose, and began to knit the big blue woollen stocking.

She knit eight times round the stocking, and then she said to herself, "I wonder if the dumpling is done?" So she laid down her knitting, and took a steel fork from the mantelpiece, and lifted the lid of the pot and looked in.

As she was looking in, her spectacles tumbled off her nose, and fell into the pot.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! -- that's bad! that's bad!" said the old woman.

She got the bright tongs, and fished up her spectacles, and wiped them with the corner of her apron, and put them on her nose again, and then she stuck the fork into the apple dumpling.

The apples were hard. "No, no, no," she said; "it is not done yet."

So she put on the lid of the pot, and laid the fork on the mantelpiece, and sat down in her arm-chair, and began to knit again on the big blue woollen stocking.

She knit six times round the stocking, and then she said to herself, "I wonder if the dumpling is done?"

So she put her knitting down, and took the fork from the mantelpiece, and lifted the lid of the pot and looked in.

As she was looking in, her spectacles tumbled off her nose, and fell into the pot.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! -- that's bad! that's bad!" said the old woman.

She got the bright tongs and fished up her spectacles, and wiped them with the corner of her apron, and put them on her nose again, and took the fork and stuck it into the dumpling. The apples were just beginning to get soft.

"No, no, no; it is not quite done yet," said the old woman.

So she put on the lid of the pot, and laid the fork on the mantelpiece, and sat down in her arm-chair, and began to knit again on the big blue woollen stocking.

She knit twice round the stocking, and then she said to herself, "I wonder if the dumpling is done?"

So she laid down her knitting, and took the fork from the mantelpiece, and lifted the lid of the pot, and looked in.

As she was looking in, her spectacles tumbled off her nose, and fell into the pot.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! -- that's bad! that's bad!" said the old woman.

She got the bright tongs and fished up her spectacles, and wiped them with the corner of her apron, and put them on her nose again, and took the fork and stuck it into the dumpling.

The apples were quite soft. "Yes, yes, yes; the dumpling is done," said the old woman.

So she took the dumpling out of the pot, and untied the cloth, and turned it into a yellow dish, and set it upon the table.

Then she went to the cupboard and got a plate, and then to the knife-box and got a knife; then she took the fork from the mantelpiece, and drew her arm-chair close up to the table, and sat down in it, and cut off a piece of the dumpling, and put it on her plate.

It was very hot, and it smoked a great deal; so the old woman began to blow it. She blew very hard. As she was blowing, her spectacles tumbled off her nose, and fell into the dumpling.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear! -- that's bad! that's bad!" said the old woman.

She took her spectacles out of her plate, and wiped them with the corner of her apron, and said to herself, "I must get a new nose. My nose is so little, that my spectacles will not stick on my nose."

So she put her spectacles into her pocket, and began to eat the dumpling.

It was quite cool now. So the old woman ate it all up, and said it was very good indeed.



The Little Boy That Was Afraid Of The Water.


Once on a time there were two little boys. William was five years old, and Johnny was not quite three. The weather was very warm, and these little boys got so weak, and looked so pale and sick, that the doctor said their parents had better take them to Hastings, and let them bathe in the sea. So their Mother packed up their clothes, and some books, for she did not wish them to be idle; and one pleasant afternoon they all went by the railway to Hastings.

The little boys were very much amused at all they saw. There were several other boys in the carriage, and William and Johnny looked very hard at them, and wished they knew what their names were, and whether they had a Noah's Ark and Rocking-Horse like theirs.

After three hours' ride by the puffing, screaming railway, they arrived safely at Hastings, and they found a carriage waiting for them, which soon took them to the house which their papa had hired. Tea was immediately brought up, and then, as they were all very tired, they went early to bed.

After breakfast the next morning, William and Johnny walked down to the smooth and beautiful beach with their parents, where a great many people, some of them children, were bathing. They seemed to like it very much; and it really did look very inviting, for the sun made the water sparkle like diamonds, and the waves seemed dancing and leaping, and looked as if they longed to give everybody a good splashing.

William was delighted. He could hardly wait to be undressed, he was in such a great hurry to be ducked; and when the bathing-woman took him and plunged him under the water, although he gasped for breath, he laughed, and kicked, and splashed the water, and cried, "Duck me again! duck me again!" and he looked so pleased, that some other children came to where he was, and they all had a grand frolic together.

Little Johnny laughed too, as he stood in the machine; but, when his Mother said, "Come, Johnny, now it is your turn," he made a terrible face, and cried, "Dear Mamma, please let me go home. I shall never see you again if you put me in that great big water." But his Mamma said he must go in, because it would do him a great deal of good, and she undressed him, and put him into the woman's arms.

Johnny now began to scream as loud as he could, and cried out, "Mamma, Mamma, I want to go back to you." But the old woman did not mind him a bit, and holding him by his arms, she plunged him under the water.

The poor little fellow came up gasping and panting, and sobbed out, "Oh, my dear Mamma, come and kiss me 'fore I die."

Everybody laughed -- for there was no danger -- except his kind Mother. A tear started to her eye, for she knew her dear little son really thought he was dying, and would never see her again. But in a little while he felt better, and, after his Mother had taken him, and had rubbed him all over and dressed him, and he had run up and down the beach with William and the other children, he felt such a nice warm glow all over him, that he forgot all about his fright.

Very soon he said, "Mamma, I am so hungry -- I am as hungry as a little bear."

"That is because you have been in the water," replied his Mother.

"Are the fishes always hungry? -- does the water make them hungry too?" said Johnny.

"I believe they are always ready to eat," replied his Mother; "you know that they are caught by bait. This bait is often a little worm, put upon a sharp hook. The fish snap at the bait, and the hook catches them in the mouth. Come, little hungry fish," added his Mother, "and I will give you something to eat; but I will not put it on a hook to hurt you."

The next day the little boys went into the water again, and, although Johnny made up a doleful face, he did not think he should die this time; and, when he saw the other children laughing and splashing each other, and crying, "Duck me again! what fun we are having!" he tried to like it too, and after a little while did begin to like it; for when children try to overcome their foolish fears, they will almost always succeed, and be rewarded, as Johnny was, by the pleasure they enjoy, and the happiness they give to their parents.

After a few days Johnny got to be so brave, that he was the first to run down to the beach and jump into the bathing-woman's arms, and he cried louder than any, "Duck me again!" and splashed everybody that came near him; and both William and Johnny got so strong, and ate so heartily, and had such great red cheeks, that when they went home to London, a few weeks after, their friends hardly knew them, and Johnny never again had any foolish fears about going into the water.

<eob>

The Third Little Pet Book, With The Tale Of Mop And Frisk

By

Aunt Fanny



Part I.

The Dogs Leave Home.


In a small town by the side of a lake, there once lived two dogs named Mop and Frisk.

Frisk was a pert black and tan dog, with a tail that stood bolt up in the air, and a pair of ears to match; while Mop was a poor old cur, with a head like a worn-out hair-broom; ears like bell-pulls; a mouth that went from ear to ear, and a great bush of a tail. Then he had to drag the cart of an old rag-man round the town, to earn his meals; while Frisk, who lived with a pie-man, had a fine ride in the cart each morn; and all the work he had to do was to bark at the bad boys who tried to steal the pies. The rest of his time he spent in play.

One day the old rag-man, who was as cross as ten bears, and far too fond of beer, came out of a shop where he had been to drink, while poor Mop had to wait in the cold. The rag-man's legs went from side to side; he could not walk; so he got in the cart, on top of all the rags, and cried to Mop:

"Come, go on, you bad cur, or I'll make you!" and with these words, he let fall a great stick on the back of the poor dog, and gave him a kick with his thick hob-nail shoes. Mop tried to start, but it was more than he could drag. Down came the stick once more; and this time, made quite wild with pain, he gave one yelp and one jump, broke the old ropes that held him to the cart by a great jerk, and made off down the road like a flash. The bad old man did bawl to him to come back; but Mop was too wise for that, and did not stop to see if the wind was west or not, till he came to a part of the town which was quite new to him.

The place where our dog now found him-self was a sort of blind court, with the blank wall of a house on each side, and, worse than all, with not the sign of a thing to eat to be seen.

"A fly to snap at would be a good thing," said the poor dog with a sigh. "I think I could eat a bit of brick, if I could get one up. But cheer up! it will all come right in time! I'm free at least -- that is one good thing!" and he gave three jumps and three barks for joy, so loud that they most took the top of his head off.

Just then there came up, at a smart pace, Frisk the pie-man's dog. He held his head in the air as proud as you like. When he saw Mop, he tried to turn up his nose at him, but it was so flat, there was no turn up to it. Then he gave a loud sniff, and said with an air:

"Who are you? Where did you come from?"

"I am as good a dog as you," said Mop. "My coat is not quite so fine to be sure, and my ears don't stick up so much; but I'm a nice sort of chap for all that. Shake a paw."

"What! shake a paw with such an old flop-ear as you? You must be mad."

Mop did want to say, "You are a pert, stuck-up cur," but he was too well-bred; so he made a bow, and put his paw on his heart; and said: "I meant no wrong; but I took you for Frisk, the pie-man's dog."

"Well, so I am -- or so I was, I mean; till last week; but, you see, the trade was too low for a dog of my style -- with such ears and such a long tail. I was not made to bark out of the back of a pie-cart at all the rag-tags in town; so I have cut the pie-man, and mean to try high life in some big house. My own aunt lives with a judge; and it will be odd if some rich man does not like my looks, and take me home with him. But I must be off; it would not do to be seen with you, if I hope to rise in the world. A good time to you, my boy. He! he! you are such a beau, you can't fail to cut a dash. G-o-o-d day!"

"Stop a bit!" cried Mop, as Frisk ran off. "You don't think much of me now I see, but time may show me to be the best dog yet. What if we were each to try to find a new place, and meet here in a month from now, to tell what has past in the mean time? Don't you think that would be a nice plan?"

"Oh! I'll do so if you wish!" said Frisk; "but don't ask me to bow when we meet, I beg; it won't do, you know."

"Shake a paw then," said Mop.

Frisk, very loth, put the tip of one claw on Mop's paw. Then the two dogs stood back to back, and, with a one! two!! three!!! off they went as if a mad bull was at their heels.




Part II.

The Dogs Meet Once More.


On the last day of the month, Mop and Frisk, true to their word, came to the place where they last said good-by. But how each one did look to see if his mate were the same dog he last saw!

Mop's coat was rough no more -- it shone like silk; his ears were cut; he wore a fine brass neck ring, with a new name on it; and his whole air was that of a dog in luck.

Poor Frisk was so thin that you could count all his ribs. His tail stood up in the air no more. He hung his head and crept close by the wall, as if he did fear some one would beat him if he dared to run or jump.

Good Mop did not look on him with scorn when he saw him in this sad way; but ran up to him on three legs, with one paw held out for "How d'ye do," and his great fly-brush of a tail a-wag for joy.

"Why, Frisk, old dog!" he cried, "how glad I am to see you! How have you been this long time?"

"O Mop!" said Frisk in a sad tone, "will you speak to me now I am so poor? It is I who am not fit to be seen this time."

"Frisk, my good dog," said Mop in a grave tone, "real worth is not a thing of looks. Let me tell you that if I knew you to steal a bone, you would lose my good-will in truth. But I do not look down on dogs if they are poor and good. Come home with me; we can talk more at our ease in my nice house, where you will find some first-rate bones, if you would like them."

"O yes! I guess I would!" cried Frisk.

So the dogs set off on a trot by the side of a fine lake, on the banks of which the town was built. They soon came to a large house, with a court-yard in front, tall green rails all round, and a great gate by which to go in. There was a small gate near the large one, the latch of which Mop could lift with his nose, for Frisk and him-self to pass; and then the dogs ran round to the back of the house. On one side of the yard Frisk saw a fine dog-house, fit for the king, with a roof that ran to a peak, a porch in front, and a dove-cote on a pole on top. In-side there was a heap of clean, warm hay, and on a blue plate were some nice bones.

"There!" said Mop, "don't you call that prime? Help your-self to the bones, Frisk; I can get lots more."

Frisk did not wait to be asked twice, but fell to, and soon made way with the legs of a fowl. When these were gone, kind Mop ran to the house and got a beef-bone for him. Poor Frisk ate as if he was not used to such fine fare, and the good dog Mop, who gave up his own meal to feed Frisk, felt as glad as if he had had it all him-self.

When Frisk had made an end of the bones, he and Mop laid down in the dog-house; and as Frisk had asked him to do so, Mop told his tale, as you shall hear.

But first he asked Frisk to rise, so he could put more of the soft hay on his side. "Do you feel quite warm?" he asked.

"O yes! thank you, dear Mop," said Frisk; "as warm as a toast. You will make me cry, if you are so kind to me. When you were poor, I was a cross dog to you. Oh! I can not bear to think how bad I was;" and a great big tear came out of each of Frisk's eyes, and ran off at the end of his nose.

"Oh! that is all gone. We will be kind old dogs now, and do all the good we can in the world. And now here goes for the grand tale of all my joys and woes since I saw you."


Mop's Tale.

"You know, Frisk, that when we left the court, you chose to go in the town, and I by the lake. I felt sad to think I had no one to care for me in the world. But my watch-word is, 'Don't give it up!' and I could not think that all would leave me to want a bone. So I laid down by the road-side, in hopes to see some one who would take care of me.

"First, I saw a man on a fine horse; and as he had no dog, I said to my-self, 'Who knows but what he wants one to keep the flies from his horse's legs!' So I ran by him a short way, when -- would you dream the man could be so bad? -- he gave me a cut with his whip, that made me hop and yelp for pain. 'Serve you right for a vile cur!' he said with a loud laugh, and on he rode.

"Next came a blind man; but he had a dog to lead him. The blind man's hat was laid on the ground, and when a cent was put in it, the dog gave one bark; when two cents were put in, he gave two barks, and so on. So, you see, there was no room for me there, and I had to trot on.

"At last I saw a small boy and girl trip down the road, hand in hand, with their nurse close by them. They wore such fine coats and hats, that it was plain they were rich; but when the boy put his small hand on my head, and said, 'Good dog,' and the girl did the same, I knew they must be kind too.

"So I ran by them, in hopes they would speak to me once more.

"There were some wild rose-buds on the bank of the lake, and when the girl saw them she cried: 'O Hal! just see those sweet rose-buds! How nice they look! They have just come out! Won't you pick me a few?'

"'Yes, dear May,' said the boy; and he let go her hand and ran to where the rose-buds grew.

"'Don't go there, dear child,' cried nurse; 'you may fall in the lake.'

"'No I won't! I'll take care,' cried Hal; and as he spoke he bent way down the bank. O me! the earth gave way, his foot did slip, and ere the nurse could run to his aid, the poor child fell, with a loud cry, in the lake.

"There was no time to be lost; and, more glad than I can say, that I was on the spot, I leapt in the lake, swam to the side of the child, and in as short a time as it takes to tell, I had his coat in my teeth, and got him safe to shore.

"The nurse took her dear boy in her arms and cried for joy; and May was so glad that she put her arms round my wet head, and gave me a long hug.

"'We must take the good dog home with us, Miss May,' said nurse, 'and tell your pa-pa what he has done for Hal. And now let me wrap my shawl round you, Hal, and then we must all run home as fast as we can, for fear you may take cold.'

"We were soon at this house, where Mr. and Mrs. Grey, the pa-pa and mam-ma of Hal and May, live; and nurse soon told them how I had saved the life of their dear son.

"You may think how great was my joy to have them call me, 'Good dog! brave dog! the best dog in the world!' and give me a hug and say I must live with them from that time.

"So Mr. Grey sent me out with Hal to the yard; and he got Jim, the groom, to wash and trim me, while May ran to ask the cook for some meat to feed me. The dear child did wish so much to make me glad, that she tied her own white bib round my neck to keep me neat while I ate, and fed me with her own hand; while Hal, and a wee bit of a girl, who came to see them, did look on.

"It was not quite as much to my taste as hers to be fed; but she was so full of the fun of it, that I would not for the world have made one growl.

"Next day their pa-pa got me this nice house, and Hal put round my neck the brass ring you see me wear; which they say has on it: 'To Dash, the good dog, from Hal and May.'"

When Mop, or Dash, as we must now call him, had come to an end, Frisk drew a deep sigh, and said: "Well, Dash, as that is your name, if I had been as good as you, I might be as well off by this time; but I think, when you hear what a sad life I have led for the past month, you will say I am well paid for my fine airs to you. So now to my tale."


Frisk's Tale.

"I made haste to the best part of the town, when I left you and the court, and, late in the day, found my-self in a fine place. Near the best house was a group of three small boys; they were at play with some small, round, smooth stones; and when one stone hit the next, a boy could cry out: 'That is mine!'

"Well, for my sins, I came to a halt just in front of these boys.

"'Oh! oh! look at that nice dog!' cried one whose name I found was Bob. 'I guess he is lost. I mean to have him for my dog.'

"'No, you shall not,' said Ned, the next in size. 'He shall be my dog.'

"'No, he shall be mine,' said Sam. 'I want him! I will have him!' and on that they all tore up the steps of the house, and burst in-to a room where their mam-ma was, with:

"'Ma, I want the dog!'

"'Ma, give me the dog!'

"'No, no, no, ma! -- me! me! me!'

"'O dear! what a noise!' said their mam-ma. 'Do be still. If you want the dog, take him; but don't whine, or go on as if you all had the tooth-ache.'

"All this time I was such a gump, I sat quite still; but when I saw the boys come out and rush at me with rude words, I said to my-self, 'Come on, Frisk; I do not think it will do to get a new place here.' So I made up my mind to take to my heels; when, O my dog-star! down came a great bat on my head, and the three boys fell on me all at once; grab'd me by the ears, tail, and one leg, at the same time, and would have torn me to bits, I am sure, if their mam-ma had not come and made Bob and Ned let go.

"I was put in the front room then, in a whole skin, and here, in spite of all he could do, I broke from Sam and hid my-self at the back of a couch that stood by the fire-place.

"'Now what's to be done?' said Sam.

"'Let's hunt him out with sticks,' said Ned.

"'Good! come on!' cried Bob and Sam; and with-out more words, Bob armed him-self with the broom, and Ned and Sam got canes, as if they were in chase of some wild beast, and all flew, with a loud whoop! to bang poor me out of my strong-hold.

"I don't know what would have been my fate, if I had not hit on what to do just in time. The sides and front of the couch, by good luck, came down past the seat, and bands of broad tape were put from side to side, to keep the white slip in its place. I gave a jump, made out to land on the tapes, and sat on them in great fear lest they might give way.

"It was well I did so; for the boys made their sticks fly from side to side at such a rate, that the first blow would have been the death of me. This game went on for some time, till they were quite at a loss to know why I did not come out or make a cry.

"'Why where can he be?' cried Sam. 'Look and see, quick!'

"Ned went down on his knees -- 'Why he's gone!' he said with a gasp.

"'O the b-a-a-d thing!' cried Sam. 'Ma! ma! our dog's lost! Boo! hoo! hoo!' and to my great joy, all three left the room to treat their dear 'ma' to a howl. Oh! how I did long to snap at their legs.

"By this time so much fluff and dust had got up my nose in my close nook, that I was fit to choke; and as the boys were gone, I dared to come out. There was a large arm-chair close by, with a deep, soft seat that was just to my taste. I hopt in, laid down, and was soon in a fine nap.

"Think, then, what was my state of mind to wake up with a yell and a land-slide on top of me! Up flew a fat old dame from the arm-chair, where she had just sat down, as if she was shot! Bang! came a great gilt book, that she let fall in her start, right on the end of my poor tail, as I leapt to the floor! 'E-e-e!' went she; 'yi! yi! yi!' went I; and 'Hur-ra! here's the dog!' cried Ned, as he came bang in at the door, caught me by one ear, and ran up to the top floor with me in wild joy; which put the last touch to my woes!

"Once in their play-room, the bad boys made me drag a toy-cart full of dirt, ran straws in-to my ears, beat me with sharp sticks, and shot peas at me out of a pop-gun. They kept up these nice plays till tea-time; when they were so kind as to let me go, and treat me to a few old scraps of cold meat for my share of the meal.

"When tea was done, their mam-ma bid them go right to work and learn their tasks; and, with pouts and whines from all three, they sat down. As soon as their mam-ma left the room, Ned took out of his desk a mouse-trap, with a poor wee mouse in it, all in a shake of fear, and cried: 'Here, Sam, just see what I've got! An't that gay?'

"'What? what? let me look!' cried Bob, who had sat till now with his legs spread out, and a book be-fore him up-side down.

"'No, you shan't. Go 'way!' said Ned, in a whine.

"'I will! I will!' Bob did bawl; and as he spoke he did jump up and give Ned's hair a great pull! Then Sam gave Bob a punch, and the three boys did fight and kick each other at a fine rate; in the midst of which pow-wow I left the room, and ran off down the back stair.

"Here the maids were more kind to me than the boys; for cook made me a nice soft bed in a box, and gave me some bones to pick; while Jane, the maid, took me in her lap, and let me sleep there, snug and warm, till she went to bed.

"But you could no more guess what the next day had in store for me, than you could say how deep the sea is; so I will tell you.

"Just as Jane came in with the tea-tray, and cook had got a tin pan to pour me out some milk, down came those vile boys full tilt, to grab hold of me once more. The kind cook asked them to let me be, till I had had my milk; but she might as well have asked the wind not to blow; and with Bob to hold me, and Ned and Sam to mount guard on each side, they made haste once more to the play-room.

"When they had me safe, and the door shut, Bob cried in great glee: 'Now, boys, I tell you what we'll do: let's play our dog was a slave, that we had caught just as he was on the point to run off. We will tie him by the fore paws and flog him well.'

"Oh! oh! how I felt when I heard these words! My hair stood on end with fear. I threw my-self on the floor, and cried for help. Ah me! no help came. One would think they might have felt for a poor dog that could not help it-self. But no; they were with-out heart.

"Bob found a cord, and tied my feet to a large nail in the wall. Ned and Sam did each fetch the strap that they had round their task-books, and then these bad boys beat me till I felt as if I must die.

"At last they heard their mam-ma call from her room, 'Boys, boys, come right to your tasks -- it is past nine o'clock;' for she did teach them her-self I found out. At the sound of her voice, they left off, and ran to the door to beg for a short time more.

"Now was my time at last. I freed my paws by a great jerk, shot past Sam's legs, flew down the stair, and out of the house; for by great good luck, Jane had just gone to the door to let in the post-man. I am glad to say I sent Sam too down the stair like a shot, with a boot-jack and a pair of tongs, which Ned and Bob threw, and which were meant for me, at his heels. This made up, in part, for the pain he had put me to. But, oh! how sore and lame I was! I sank on the earth when I was clear out of sight, and felt as if my death was near. If it had not been for what next took place, my end would have come that day; but as I lay there all in a shake, I heard a child's voice say: 'O dear Fred! here is such a poor dog! Just see! he looks half dead! Let us stop and pat him!'

"'Dear me! Poor toad!' cried Fred. 'Where could he have come from? Pat him well; don't fear.'

"Her soft hand on my head made me raise my eyes, and I saw a boy and girl of nine and ten years old. They did not seem to be rich, but they were just as neat and nice as two pins, and their kind looks and words made me feel sure they were good.

"'Poor dog! I fear he wants food,' went on Nell. 'I mean to give him a bit to eat, Fred.'

"'Let me feed him too!' cried the boy. 'Here, take my knife and cut some bread for him.'

"Nell took a loaf from the bag on her arm, and with Fred's knife cut off a good thick slice. She gave half to him, and they broke it in bits and fed me by turns.

"'You dear pet,' said Nell, with a sigh, 'how I wish I could take you with me! But we are too poor; it can not be.'

"'Oh! don't you think mam-ma would let us have him?' cried Fred.

"'No, dear,' said Nell; 'we must not think of it. Come, bid the dog good-by, and let us make haste home.'

"I could but lick her hand to thank her for the food, and as I could rise now, I felt that it was best to run on.

"'Good-by, you dear doggy!" cried both; and they did stand and watch me till I was out of their sight. Oh! how I did wish I could go home with them!

"Just as I did turn round the end of the street, I heard an odd sound --  -- "

Here Frisk rose in haste and said: "But I dare not stay, dear Dash; I ought now to be at home. Some day when I can get out, I will come and tell you the rest of my sad tale, for the worst part is yet to come."

"But where must you go, Frisk?" said Dash.

"Why, to the show, where I play," said Frisk.

"You play! Can you act?" cried Dash.

"Yes! come out-side. Now, just see here!" and while Dash did stare at him, with his mouth and eyes so wide open that you would not think he could close them at all, Frisk stood on his hind legs, and went thro' a jig, with a look on his face as if he had lost his last hope; then fell down on the grass, stiff and stark, as if he had been shot; got up, made a low bow, and then went lame on three legs.

"Dear me!" cried Dash, "how smart you are! Where did you learn all that?"

"It would take a long time to tell," said Frisk. "If I can, I will come and see you next week, and you shall then hear all. Now, good-by."

"Here, take this nice sweet bone with you," cried Dash. "Good-by, old chap. I hope I shall see you soon;" and the good dog went back to his house, full of Frisk's tale. He tried so hard to think of a way to do him some good, that he got quite a bald spot on the top of his head, and at last laid down with his nose in his paws, to sleep on it, and dream of bones with-out end; for, you know, he gave up his own to feed one worse off than him-self. Good Dash! I hope each dear girl and boy who reads this will try to be like him, for that is the way to be loved by all.




Part III.

Dash Sees A Play.


The same eve, when Mr. Grey came home he said in a sly way: "I see there is a show of dogs, who dance and act a play, in town; but Hal and May do not care to see them, I know."

"O yes! yes! we want to go!" cried both at once. "Do take us to see them, pa-pa."

"Well, get your hats then," said Mr. Grey, "and we will go."

"Let's take Dash," said May. "He wants to see the dog-show too!"

Her pa-pa said, with a laugh, that he did not think Dash would care to see a play; but Hal and May did beg so hard, that at last he said they might take Dash if they chose.

So the two ran up the stair in high glee to their nurse, who put on May's round straw hat and silk sack, and got her nice black mitts to put on her wee hands.

May said, "I want to put on my mitts my-self, nurse;" so nurse said she might do so, and went on to dress Hal.

But when May went to put the mitts on, she was in such haste, that she tried to get the right mitt on the left hand. The mitt would not go on, of course, and she cried out: "Why, nurse, this is all wrong; it's got no thumb at all!"

How Hal and nurse did laugh when they saw what May had done! May had to laugh too, when nurse did show her that the mitts were quite right, if they were put on in the right way. They had great fun. But their pa-pa came to bid them make haste; so they told nurse good-by, and ran down the stair, hand in hand, as gay as two larks. Dash came to join them in the court-yard, and soon they were all four on their way to the show.

But, dear me! when the man at the door of the show saw Dash, he said: "I can't let dogs in, sir."

Here was a blow! and May, with her sweet blue eyes quite sad, cried out: "But you will let our Dash in, Mr. Show-man, won't you? You don't know what a good dog he is; he saved Hal's life!"

Now when the show-man heard dear May say this, and saw her sweet face and blue eyes raised to his, he could not help a smile, and said: "Well, for such a dear pet, I must say, yes. Dash may go in, but he must lie still and make no noise. One bark, and out he goes!"

"Oh! he will be as still as a deaf and dumb mouse!" cried Hal and May both at once. So, to the great joy of all, Dash went in. Hal and May took their seats with their pa-pa on a long bench, in a large room full of gay folks, and Dash sat on the floor close by them.

There was a stage at one end of the room; a fall of green baize hung in front of it. In a short time a bell went "ting-a-ling! ting-a-ling!" and up rose the baize. Then Dash saw a small house, with a grape-vine at the side and tall trees, which he took for real ones, but Mr. Grey said were wood and green paint. You could see a green field at the back of the stage, and high hills, while the blue sky was as clear as it was out of doors.

Mr. Grey had a bill with the names of the dogs that were to act on it, and Dash heard him read it to Hal and May.

The name of the play was:

The Death Of Poor Jack, The Run-A-Way.

Jack, Frisk. Col. Grape-Shot, Trip. The Guard, Tray And Wasp. Jack's Mam-Ma, Fan. The Sexton, Snap. The Judge, Short.

Dash, when he found Frisk was to act, scarce drew a breath for fear he should lose a bit of the play, and sat so still that not a hair moved.

First, in came two dogs on their hind-legs as the guard, in red coats and caps and blue pants. They had guns too; and they had such an odd look with their own tails up in the air out-side their coat-tails, and their head held as stiff as ram-rods to keep their caps on, that all the folks burst out in a laugh.

Then the guard did peep round all the trees, and in all the holes they could find, on a hunt for Jack; and when they did not find him, they shook their heads as if to say: "No one here! that's a fact!"

At last one of the guard went to rap at the door of the house. He gave such a hard knock, that he shook his cap down on one eye, and had to hold his head on one side, as if he had the tooth-ache, so as to see at all. It made him feel so bad, that he went off in a pet to the back of the stage, and left the guard whose cap was all right to knock for him-self. This one was so short, that he had to make a jump and stand on tip-toe to do it.

Out came a dog in the dress of an old dame, who, Mr. Grey said, was Jack's mam-ma. She wore a black gown, a white cap, and plaid shawl, and had a work-bag on her arm, or fore-leg, and a big pair of specs tied on her nose. When she saw the guard, she spread out her paws, and gave each a look in turn, as if to ask what they came there for.

The short guard made signs to her, to show they were on a hunt for a man who had left the camp with-out leave. The old dame shook her head at this, and put a paw on her heart, as if to say she hadn't heard of such a thing; but the one-eyed guard shook his head too, and did point thro' the door, as much as to say that the man was in there, he was sure. Then the old dame shook her head once more, and spread her skirt to keep them out of the house; but the guard were too smart for that. They aimed their guns at the wall of the house, to shoot Jack if he was in-side; and when the old dame saw that, she moved from the door-way, with a high squeak, and let them pass.

In they went full tilt, and the one-eyed guard, in his haste, quite lost sight of his part, let fall his gun, and ran off on all four legs! It pains me to tell that a sad yelp was heard in-side the house, as if he had got a box on the ear for this fault; and Dash could not but think that to act was not such fine fun as you might take it to be.

Soon out came the guard, with Jack held fast by both fore-legs, and the old dame at their backs, who cried with all her might and main. The run-a-way, who was Frisk to be sure, wore a coat and cap like the guard, and made a sad noise at his hard fate. He put his paw on his heart, and cast up his eyes as if to beg them to let him off; but they shook their heads. Then he held out both paws to his mam-ma, and she ran to him, put her paws round his neck, and did kiss him as well as she could. The guard gave him a pull to make him come. Frisk did kiss his paw and wave his cap to his mam-ma, who fell down in a swoon; and then they all three did march off. And that was the end of Part One.

Just as the scene was to close, the old dame did lift up her head and fore-paws and look round. When she saw it was not time, she fell down once more; so flat, that all the folks burst out in a laugh. I fear they would not have been so gay if they knew how the poor dog was beat by the show-man, when the play was done, for this small fault.

Next came a horn-pipe by a dog in a Scotch dress. He did it so well, that all the folks did clap their hands, and want him to do it once more; but it was now time for Part Two of the play; and he ran off with a low bow.

When the baize was drawn up once more, the small house was gone, and a high desk was set on one side of the stage, with a bench in front for Col. Grape-shot. And at the desk sat the judge who was to try Jack for his life. The dog who was judge wore a fine black silk gown, with white fur down the front; he had white bands at his neck, and a great white wig on top of his ears, which made him look droll, I can tell you.

And now, O dear! the deep roll of a drum was heard, and in came, one by one, a sad set in-deed!

First did march the dog who beat the drum, and next to him Col. Grape-shot, in a grand blue and gold coat; a gold-laced hat, with red and white plumes; white pants, with a red stripe down each leg, and a sword by his side.

Then came the guard with Jack, and, last of all, a dog with a long box in a hand-cart, which he drew. O dear! dear! this was to put poor Jack in when he was dead. The dog wore a black coat and an old red night-cap; and tied fast to one leg was a spade. He led the poor mam-ma by the paw, and once in a while tried to cheer her up; for he would lift his leg and give her a kind pat on the back with the end of his spade. But I think this did more harm than good, for each time he did so she gave a short howl, and half fell down. But now the guard, with Jack and Col. Grape-shot, were in a row in front of the judge, who waved his paw, and made a bow, as much as to say: "Go on."

Col. Grape-shot, on this, did first point to Jack, and then pat the bench he sat on, as much as to say he had bid him stay in the camp. Then he shut his eyes, and leant his head on his right paw, to show that he went to sleep, and then he made two or three quick steps to the back of the stage, to let them know that Jack had run off while he slept. Then he shut his eyes once more, woke up with a start, flew to the guard, and, with a bark and a growl and a yap! yap! yap! let them know that Jack had cut off, and they must go and find him. Then he did point to the guard and Jack, to tell the judge that the run-a-way was found; and at last he made a low bow, and spread out his paws, by which, I dare say, he meant that his part was at an end.

And now it was the turn of the judge, and he must say what was to be done to a man who was so bad as to run out of camp in time of war. The judge cast up his eyes, and threw up his paws, as if it was a sad shock to him to hear that Jack had been so bad. Then he did point to the guns of the guard and to Jack, and did nod his head as if he would nod it off. It was too plain! Poor Jack must be shot!

His mam-ma, when she saw this, ran to the judge and fell on her knees; that is, she sat down on her hind-legs, with her paws held out, to beg him to let Jack off; but he shook his head "no." Then she did the same to Col. Grape-shot; but it was all of no use. Jack put his paws round her neck, and did kiss her good-by, at which Hal and May cried quite hard, and then gave him-self up to the guard. They took him to the back of the stage, put a white cloth on his eyes, and made him kneel down. Then they stood in front of him, side by side, put up their guns, and, flash! bang!! off went two shots; and poor Jack fell dead on the stage!

Down popt his mam-ma once more in a swoon; while the guard took off the lid of the box, and put Jack in-side, who laid as stiff as a ram-rod. The dog who drew the hand-cart put on the lid, and went off first; then the Col. and judge, arm in arm; then the guard, who had to drag Jack's mam-ma by the arms, and didn't seem to like it much; and last, the dog who beat the drum and who did bang a-way for dear life all the time.

But just as the folks were quite in tears for the fate of poor Jack, in came the dog with the hand-cart full tilt, and in a great scare; for the lid of the box was half off, and you could see one of Jack's paws stuck out of a crack on top. All at once, off flew the lid, and out came Jack in a new dress, to dance a jig, and show that he had come to life once more, and was just as good as new.

Oh! how the folks did laugh at this, and clap their hands! while Jack went on to show all his queer tricks. First, he held up both his legs on his right side, and took a walk with the two on his left side; then he leapt thro' a ring or hoop, that was let down from the top of the stage, and took a turn round in the air as he went; and, by way of a wind up, he stood on his head in the ring, and let him-self be drawn up out of sight, as the green baize came down.

O dear! how much May and Hal liked all this, while Dash did not know how in the world Frisk could do it; and when all the boys and girls were as full as they could hold of the fun of the thing, Dash had as much as he could do to keep in a howl of grief; for, you must know, the dog could tell by poor Frisk's face that all this was no fun to him.

And now the show was done, and it was time to go home.

As they went, May and Hal had a nice long talk. May said: "O dear Hal! how I wish we had a dog that knew how to dance! What fun, when Sue and Kate Brown came, to have him show off!"

"Dear pa-pa, do buy one for us, won't you?" said Hal. "O my! buy that queer dog -- what was his name? -- the one that stood on two legs, and on the top of his head, and was shot -- that one!"

When Dash heard Hal ask his pa-pa to buy Frisk, his heart went pit-a-pat, and he gave a short, glad bark, which meant, "O yes! do buy Frisk!"

"But," said pa-pa, "you know that Frisk acts 'Jack, the Run-a-way;' and what if I should buy him, and he should trot off the next day! You know Dash could not have a red coat on, and run on his hind-legs to bring Frisk back; and what would you do then?"

Then Dash did wish with all his might that he could talk, "O dear!" he said to him-self; "I would give all my ears, and half my nose, if I could let them know that Frisk would not run off;" and then, strange to say, his love and wish to help Frisk made him get up on his hind-legs, and put his fore-paws up in the air; and he gave such a droll whine, that May and Hal burst out in a laugh, and said, "Look, pa-pa! just look at Dash! He too begs you to buy Frisk!" and then they both went and stood one on each side of the dog, put their hands up, and made such a queer whine just like him, that it was the best fun in the world to see and hear them.

"But," said pa-pa, "if the show-man will sell him to me, do you not know it would be wrong to make the poor dog keep up his tricks?"

"Wrong! why how, pa-pa?"

"Well, my dears, it seems too sad a thing to tell you, but it is too true. The show-man has to beat his dogs, and starve them, to get them to learn the tricks that made you laugh so much. You saw how thin they were, and you heard them cry out, when they left the stage. If they made the least slip or mis-take, they got a hard blow for it. In this way they find out that they must do all their tricks quite right, or they will have the whip laid on their poor thin sides and heads; and so not a day goes by that the dogs are not starved and made to feel the whip.

"Oh! oh!" cried Hal and May, "we did not know that. We would not beat or starve a dog, or a cat, or a worm. What a bad show-man! We would like to beat him."

"Oh! I hope not," said pa-pa. "The show-man may not think that dogs feel as much as we do. But I know you will be kind to all. I know you would not strike Dash, if he, by chance, broke one of your toys or hurt you in play."

"O no! in-deed," they both cried; and they ran up to the dog, and gave him a good hug, and a kiss on the top of his head.

You may be sure that Dash had not lost one word of all this talk; and he was still more sad when he knew how much poor Frisk had to bear. He made up his mind to tell Frisk to run off, and come to him. "I will hide him in my house till the show-man goes," he said to him-self. "I saw a great ham-bone on the shelf to-day. I know it will fall to my share, and, oh! won't it be good! I will give this to Frisk, and eat bits of bread. Yes, I will save up all the nice bones for him. Was he not a good dog?"

But a whole week went by, and no Frisk. The ham-bone got quite dry; and Dash was sure poor Frisk must be ill or dead.

At last one day, when Dash had lost all hope, he heard the pit-a-pat of four small feet in the yard. He had just gone in his house to take a short nap; but, I can tell you, he made but one jump out, for there was Frisk, on all fours, to be sure, but with his blue pants on his hind-legs, his red coat on his fore-legs, with the coat-tails, one on each side of his own tail, which was up in the air in an arch of joy, for here he was a real, true run-a-way.

Dash flew to meet him. "Why, Frisk!" he cried; "make haste -- fast -- come -- get right in my house. Don't mind if you tear those old coat-tails with the thorn-bush. There! that's the thing! -- here you are, all safe! Now tell me, how did you get off?"

Frisk had run so fast that he could not speak; he could just pant, and lay his head on Dash's, with a look full of love. At last he said: "O Dash! I have run off in the midst of the play -- the show-man struck me so hard for what I could not help -- for my cap fell off -- and I did think I must die with the pain. O Dash! if you knew what I have gone thro', your heart would break, and you would say, I did right to run a-way." The big tears ran down his nose, and his sobs did seem as if they would choke him; and Dash gave such a long howl of woe, that it makes me cry as I write these words, and I am quite sure you will cry as you read them.

Then Dash got out all his best bones to feed poor Frisk, who ate as if he had not seen a bone an inch long in a month.

When he had done, Dash said: "Now, dear Frisk, if you feel like it, tell me all you have gone thro'."

So they sat down, and while the tears ran down Dash's nose, Frisk told the rest of his sad tale.




Part IV.

The Conclusion Of Frisk's Tale.


You will bear in mind, Dash, that I left off where the good child fed me with bread. Well, this made me strong, and I went on my way. Soon I heard a sound, like that of a flute or fife; it was quite near, but I could see no one. All at once, a great mob of boys and men came down the road, and made a crowd close by me. I went in the midst of them to find out what it all meant. Dear me! it was some-thing queer to be sure. There was a man with a big drum fast to his back, which he beat with a drum-stick tied to one of his feet. In the front of his coat was a set of Pan's pipes, out of which he blew the tune the old cow died of. In his left hand he held a whip, while in his right was a cord, which led three dogs. The first one was an old dog, with bow-legs, who when the crowd did stop, got up on his hind-legs, and gave a look round at the two be-hind, who stood, right up on their hind-legs, all in a grave, glum way. One of these was in the dress of a girl. She had on a large round hat, full of big red bows. The hat was so big, and shook so much, that it did seem as if her head, hat, and all, would drop off, if it got a hard knock.

"The dog with the bow-legs wore a blue coat, a flat hat with a broad brim, and such a high shirt col-lar, that the sharp ends all but put his eyes out. He had a pair of specs tied on his black nose with twine. The third had on a cap and coat like those of a small boy. And all did look as if they were on their way to be hung.

"Then the man made a jig tune on his pipe, and beat the drum with his foot till he was as red as fire in the face, while the dogs kept time with hop, skip, and jump, with one eye on the whip.

"The men and boys were full of the fun. O dear! how they did clap their hands and laugh! and I, great goose that I was, stood on my hind-legs, to try how it felt, and kept near the dogs all day, and saw them dance at least ten times.

"At last, when the sun had set, the man came to an old house, and let him-self in with a key; the dogs went in too, while I stood out-side on two legs, to try to peep thro' a small crack in the door. Soon there came -- oh! such a good smell of hot beef-bones. I felt as if I would give all four of my legs for just one bone.

"I gave the door a push, and found it moved; and then, to make a long tale short, I went in; for I said to my-self: 'The man may beat me to death, but if I stay here I shall starve to death; so I can but try for a bone.'

"I found my-self in a low, dark room. The walls were black with dirt and smoke. The dogs lay in one part of the room, and the man sat by the fire. On a hook was a great pot, and from this came such a nice smell, that all the dogs, and I with them, did lick our lips the whole time.

"And now there came in the room an old dame, with a dry, brown face, for all the world like the nut-shell dolls the pie-man's boy used to make.

"'Well, John,' she said, 'have you had a good day?'

"'Yes, Gran-ny; I took a hat full of cents. See here, what a lot of them! But that dog there, he lost me a three cent piece to-day; so he goes with-out his bone.'

"The poor dog with the bow-legs gave a great howl when he heard this; but the show-man hit him on the nose with his whip, and he slunk off, while the big tears ran in a stream down his face.

"The rest stood on their hind-legs in a row, while the old dame with the nut-shell face took the pot from the fire.

"'Here,' said she to the show-man, 'hold the dish while I pour the stew out.'

"Oh! how it did smoke! and what a fine smell it had! The man got a loaf of bread and two blue plates from the shelf, and a knife and fork for each; and then they went to work to eat as fast as they could, while the dogs and I did look on with all the eyes we had. When the show-man had eat-en all he could, he took some more meat, cut it up in bits, and said: 'Now, I shall give each dog a bit in turn. Look sharp you! If the wrong dog starts when I call, he gets none at all. Now then, Pete!'

"The dog in the cap made a jump and one snap, and the meat was gone.

"'Now then, Hop!' said the man; and the dog in the girl's hat got it; and then it was Pete's turn, while poor Bob with the bow-legs, who lost the three cents, kept up a kind of soft howl and a sob, as if his heart would break.

"All this time I did think I must die for want of food, and I made up my mind to stand on my hind-legs till the show-man gave me some meat too. So I got up and did not fall, while you could count ten, then I ran up to the show-man, and stood on my hind-legs at his side.

"'Why bless me, dame!' he cried, 'where did this dog come from?'

"'Where to be sure,' said the dame; 'you let him in your-self.'

"'Did I, Gran-ny? Well, that is queer. I did not see him. He seems to know how to stand up -- sit down, sir.'

"Down I went like a flash.

"'Get up, sir,' and up I got once more as stiff as a po-ker.

"'Why don't you take him for one of your set,' said the old dame. 'He must be lost, for just see here! his name is on the brass ring round his neck.' Then she put on a pair of old horn specs to spell my name out. 'F-r-i-s-k Frisk; what a nice name! and what a clean, trim chap he is! Why, John, he would be a great help to you, he seems so smart.'

"'So he would,' said the man. 'He would soon learn to dance, and he knows now how to stand up. I can soon teach him more. Here, you, sir! take that!' and he threw me a large bit of meat, which I was glad to get, you may be sure. Then I took the rest of my share in my turn with Pete and Hop, and, O dear! how nice it was, and how glad I was to get it!

"When we had eat all up, the show-man took off the hats and coats of his dogs, and sent them and me to sleep in a large flat box, that stood at the end of the room. It was full of straw and quite nice.

"Then the man sat down by the fire to smoke his pipe and have a chat with his old brown nut-shell Gran-ny.

"I was so glad to rest, that I went fast to sleep right off. But, O dear! O dear! the next morn, it was sad as it could be, for I had to learn to dance a jig, and stand on my head, and he beat me so, that I had a fit. I did think he would break each bone I had, and the more I cried the more he beat me.

"But I had to learn; and in two weeks' time I went out with the rest.

"One day the same man I ran from to-day saw me dance in the street. He was a big show-man, and had dog plays, and was quite rich and great; so he tried to buy me. I heard him tell my man, that the dog who used to play 'Jack, the Run-a-way,' was just dead, and I would make a first-rate Jack in his place.

"So he paid, I don't know how much, and got me, and set me to learn my part. O my dear Dash! my life was one scene of hard blows and hard fare. The poor wee dog who acts the old dame in the play is worse off than I, for she is so weak, that she can not do her part well; and oh! how he beats her! She has told me more than once that she would be glad to die, and I get quite wild when I think I can not help her. If the bad man would whip me for her, I would be glad to take it, tho' I get blows all the time for my own share."

"Oh! how sad!" cried Dash, the big tears in his eyes. "What a bad, bad man! How glad I am you have run a-way from him. But what shall we do to hide you?"

"Dear Dash, if you will keep me here for four or five days, I may get some one to take me, who is as good and kind as Mr. Grey, and then some day I will try to show you how much I feel what you have done and will do for me."

"Don't speak of it," said Dash. "It is as much of a joy to do good as to have good done to one's self. You shall stay here with me, dear Frisk! and we will wait and see what comes of it."

"O you good old dog! you dear Dash! I will stay in your house all the time. I will be as still as a drum with a hole in it."

"Yes, and I know you will come out all right at last. I tell you what! I heard May and Hal ask their pa-pa to buy you. O my! they want you so much!"

"Do they? O dear! then I can stay here all the rest of my life." And in his joy he tried to stand on his head; but the roof of the dog-house was too low, and his legs came down on top of Dash's back, and gave him quite a start.

"But," said Dash, "I must tell you that May and Hal said you were to dance for them."

"O dear! if that is all, I will dance the whole day for a good home."

So the two dogs kept house for a week, and Dash went out and got the bones, while Frisk made the straw beds, and swept the scraps out with his paws for a broom. Not the tip of his nose did he show in the day-time, but at night he took a run round the lawn to get the twist out of his legs.

The fat old cook in the house said she did not know how Dash could eat so much; for he would beg for bones five or six times a day. She was a good old soul, and she gave him all the bones she had, and he would lick her hand and wag his tail, and all but speak to thank her.

At last one day, Dash heard Mr. Grey say that the show-man had gone a-way. He had tried his best to find Frisk. He said he would give a large sum to get him back; and all the boys in town went out to hunt the poor dog. But they did not find him, as you and I know.




Part V.

Frisk Finds A New Home.


And now, as I shall tell you, one day May and Hal went out on the lawn, when lo! there stood Frisk, first on his hind-legs, and then on his head; then he danced a jig, and then ran up to lick their hands.

"O my! O look! here is that dear Jack we saw in the play," cried May.

"Yes, so it is! Why, Jack, where did you hide all this time?" said Hal, and he gave him a soft pat, and May put her white arms round his neck.

Tears of joy stood in Frisk's eyes, and he ran with May and Hal and Dash up to the house, where their pa-pa and mam-ma were.

You may be sure the two went hard to work to kiss and coax pa-pa to let Jack or Frisk stay. They asked him to look how thin the poor dog was, and how sad it would be to send him back to the show-man, who would beat him, and may-be kill him, he would be in such a rage.

"O now, dear pa-pa! do let him live with us!" they cried; "we will not beat him, and he may dance or not, as he likes. Come, we will kiss you ten times;" and they both got his face down, and gave them to him on each cheek at the same time, and made him and mam-ma laugh so, they could not speak a word for quite a while.

Well, the end of all this long tale is, that Mr. Grey wrote to the show-man, and said he had got his dog, Frisk, and he would like to keep him. I do not dare to tell you how much he said he would give to buy him; but it was such a large sum, that the show-man took it. And now Jack -- Frisk, as they call him -- and Dash have each a house to live in, but they eat and take their naps in one, for they love to get as close, side by side, as they can. Frisk stands on his hind-legs and his head, and does his jig dance in great style for May and Hal, and all the boys and girls who come to see them. If you want to see him, you must speak quick; for I fear he will soon be so fat, with all the nice bones and kind words he gets, that his hind-legs won't hold him up. But of this you may be quite sure, that Frisk and Dash will have a good home as long as they live, and when they die of old age, if you don't cry for their sad loss, May and Hal will; for, you know, Dash saved Hal's life; and life is dear to the young when they have no sad times, but joy and fun each day.

And now May, and Hal, and Dash, and Frisk, must bid you good-by. If you want to hear how they get on, you must come and tell me, and if you give me a good kiss, I will let you know.

Good-by! my dear pets! May the good God bless you all.

<eob>

The Curlytops Snowed In

By

Howard R. Garis



Chapter I

A Letter From Grandpa


"Ted! Teddy! Look, it's snowing!"

"Oh, is it? Let me see, Mother!"

Theodore Martin, who was seldom called anything but Teddy or Ted, hurried away from the side of his mother, who was straightening his tie in readiness for school. He ran to the window through which his sister Janet, or Jan as she liked to be called, was looking.

"Oh, it really is snowing!" cried Ted in delight. "Now we can have some fun!"

"And look at the big flakes!" went on Jan. "They're just like feathers sifting down. It'll be a great big snowstorm, and we can go sleigh-riding."

"And skating, too!" added Ted, his nose pressed flat against the window pane.

"You can't skate when there's snow on the pond," objected Jan. "Anyhow it hasn't frozen ice yet. Has it, Mother?"

"No, I think it hasn't been quite cold enough for that," answered Mrs. Martin.

"But it'll be a big snowstorm, won't it?" asked Jan. "There'll be a lot of big drifts, and we can wear our rubber boots and make snowballs! Oh, what fun, Ted!" and she danced up and down.

"And we can make a snow man, too," went on Teddy. "And a big snowball!"

"An' I frow snowballs at snow man!" exclaimed the voice of a smaller boy, who was eating a rather late breakfast at the dining-room table.

"Oh, Trouble, we'll make you a little snow house!" cried Jan, as she ran over to his high chair to give him a hug and a kiss. "We'll make you a snow house and you can play in it."

"Maybe it'll fall down on him and we'll have to dig him out, like the lollypop-man dug Nicknack, our goat, out of the sand hole when we were camping with grandpa," added Ted with a laugh. "Say, but it's going to be a big storm! Guess I'd better wear my rubber boots; hadn't I, Mother?"

"I hardly think so, Teddy," said Mrs. Martin. "I don't believe the snow will get very deep."

"Oh, Mother, won't it?" begged Jan, as if her mother could make it deep or not, just as she liked.

"Why won't it be a big storm, Mother?" asked Teddy. "See what big flakes are coming down," and he looked up at the sky, pressing his face hard against the window. "Why won't it?"

"Because it seldom snows long when the flakes are so big. The big flakes show that the weather is hardly cold enough to freeze the water from the clouds, which would be rain only it is hardly warm enough for that. It is just cold enough now to make a little snow, with very large flakes, and I think it will soon turn to rain. So you had better wear your rubbers to school and take an umbrella. And, Teddy, be sure to wait for Janet on coming home. Remember you're a year older than she is, and you must look after her."

"I will," promised Teddy. "If I have to stay in, Jan, you wait for me out in front."

"Will you have to stay in, Teddy?"

"I don't know. Maybe not. But our teacher is a crank about things sometimes."

"Oh, The-o-dore Mar-tin!" exclaimed his mother, speaking his name very slowly, as she always did when she was displeased or was quite serious, "you must not say such things about your teacher."

"Well, the other boys say she's cranky."

"Never mind what the other boys say, you must not call her that. Teachers have it hard enough, trying to see that you children know your lessons, without being called cranks. Don't do it again!"

"I won't," promised Teddy, just a bit ashamed of himself.

"And get ready to go to school," went on his mother. "Did you clean your teeth -- each of you -- and comb your hair?"

"I did," said Janet.

"I cleaned my teeth," announced Ted, "but my hair doesn't need combing. I combed it last night."

For most boys this would hardly have been of any use, but with Teddy Martin it was different. Teddy's hair was so curly that it was hard work to pull a comb through it, even though he went slowly, and when he had finished it was curlier than before, only more fluffed up. Janet's was the same, except that hers was now getting longer than her brother's.

No wonder then that the two children were called "Curlytops;" for their hair was a mass of tangled and twisted ringlets which clung tightly to their heads. Everyone called them Curlytops, or just Curlytop, of course, if one happened to meet Teddy or Janet alone.

"I think you'd better give your hair a little brushing this morning, anyhow, Teddy," his mother said. "You can get a few of the wrinkles out."

"Well, if I do they won't stay," he answered. "Oh, but look at it snow!" he cried. "The flakes are getting smaller; don't you think so, Jan?"

"I think so -- a little."

"Then it'll last and be a big storm, won't it, Mother?" he asked anxiously.

"Well, maybe so. But you don't want too big a storm, do you?"

"I want one big enough for us to go coasting on the hill and have sleigh-rides. And we can skate, too, if the pond freezes and we scrape off the snow. Oh, we'll have fun, won't we, Jan?"

Without waiting for an answer Ted ran upstairs to take a few of the "wrinkles" out of his curly locks, while Nora Jones, who helped Mrs. Martin with the housework, looked for the children's umbrella and rubbers.

It was the first snowstorm of the season, and, as it always did, it caused much delight, not only to the Curlytops but to the other children of Cresco where the Martin family lived. Janet watched eagerly the falling flakes as she put on her rubbers and waited for Teddy to come down from the bathroom, where he had gone to comb his hair, though he could not see much use in doing that.

"It'll only be all curly again," he said. But still he minded his mother.

"The flakes are getting lots smaller," said Janet, as she and Teddy started for school. "We'll have big heaps of snow, Ted, and we can have fun."

"Yes, I think it will be more of a storm than I thought it would amount to at first," said Mrs. Martin. "I'm glad we have plenty of coal in the cellar, and an abundance of dry wood. Winter has started in early this year."

"And pretty soon it'll be Thanksgiving and Christmas!" cried Ted. "Then what fun we'll have!" exclaimed the excited boy.

"Now don't get any snow down inside your collars," called Mrs. Martin to her children, as they went down the street.

"We won't!" they promised, and then they forgot all about it, and began snowballing one another with what little snow they could scrape up from the ground, which was now white with the newly-fallen crystals.

"I'm going to wash your face!" suddenly cried Ted to his sister.

"You are not!" she cried, and away she ran.

Meanwhile, Trouble Martin, which was the pet name for Baby William, the youngest of the family, sat in the dining-room window and laughed at the falling flakes and at his brother and sister going to school, romping on their way.

"There, I did wash your face!" cried Ted, as he finally managed to rub a little snow on his sister's cheek, making it all the redder. "I washed your face first this year!"

"I don't care. You got some down inside my collar and my neck's wet and I'm going to tell mother on you!"

"Oh, don't!" begged Ted. "I won't do it again, and I'll wipe your neck with my handkerchief."

"Well, maybe I won't tell if you don't do it again," promised Janet, while her brother got out his pocket handkerchief.

"Ouch! Oh!" cried Janet, as Teddy started to dry her neck. "Your handkerchief's all wet! It's got a lot of snow on it! Let me alone!" and she pushed him away.

"Wet? My handkerchief wet?" asked Ted. "So it is!" he exclaimed. "I guess some snow must have got in my pocket. I'll use yours, Jan."

"No, I don't want you to. I'll wipe my own neck. You let me alone!"

Jan was laughing; she did not really care that Ted had washed her face, and she soon had her neck quite dry. Then the two Curlytops hurried on to school.

The street was filled with children now, all going to the same place. Some paused to make a slide on the sidewalk, and others took turns running and then gliding along the slippery place.

"Oh, here's a dandy one!" called Tommie Wilson, who lived not far from Teddy Martin. The two boys saw a long smooth place on the sidewalk in front of them, where some early school children had made a slide.

"Come on!" cried Tommie, taking a run.

"Come on!" yelled Teddy.

One before the other they went down the sidewalk slide.

"Look out for me!" called Janet and she, too, took a running start.

But alas for the children. Near the end of the slide one of Tommie's feet slid the wrong way and after he had tried, by waving his arms, to keep upright, down he went in a heap.

"Get out the way!" cried Teddy. But Tommie had no time, and right into him slid Ted, falling down on top of his chum, while Jan, not able to stop, crashed into her brother and then sat down on the slide with a bump. All three were in a heap.

"Oh, Tommie Wilson!" cried Janet, looking at her books which had fallen out of her strap. "See what you did!"

"I couldn't help it!"

"You could so! You tripped on purpose to make me fall!"

"I did not, Janet Martin."

"No, it wasn't Tommie's fault," declared Teddy. "He couldn't help it. Are you hurt Jan?"

"No -- not much -- but look at my books."

"I'll pick 'em up for you," offered Tommie, and he did, brushing off the snow. Then he helped Janet to get up, and she began to laugh. After all it was only fun to fall on a slippery slide.

"There goes the bell!" cried Teddy, when he had helped brush the snow off his sister's skirt.

"One more slide!" exclaimed Tommie.

"I'm going to have one, too!" called Teddy.

"You'll be late for school, and be kept in!" warned Janet.

"We'll run," Tommie said, as he started at the top of the slippery place.

He and Ted had their one-more slide, and then, taking hold of Janet's hands, they hurried on to school.

Behind them and in front of them were other children, some hurrying to their classes, others waiting for a last slide, some falling down in the snow. Others were washing one another's faces and some were snowballing.

In school the teachers had hard work to keep the minds of their pupils on their lessons. Every now and then some boy or girl would look out of the window when his eyes ought to have been on spelling book or geography. All wanted to see the snow sifting down from the clouds.

The flakes, that had been large at first, were now smaller, and this, as most of the children had been told, meant that the storm would last. And they were glad, for to them snow meant grand winter fun with sleds and skates.

"We'll have some bobsled races all right," whispered Teddy Martin to Tommie Wilson, and the teacher, hearing what Teddy said, kept him after school for whispering. But she did not keep him very long, for she knew what it meant to have fun in the first snow of the season.

Teddy found Janet waiting for him when he came out, for it was now snowing hard and Teddy had taken the umbrella with him when he went to his room. He was a year older than his sister and one class ahead of her in school.

"Were you bad in class?" Janet asked.

"I only whispered a little. She didn't keep me in long. Come on now, we'll have some fun."

And fun the Curlytops and their playmates did have on their way home from school. They slid, they snowballed, they washed one another's faces and some of the boys even started to roll big snowballs, but the flakes were too dry to stick well, and they soon gave this up. It needs a wet snow to make a big ball.

When Teddy and Janet got home, their cheeks red, their eyes sparkling and their hair curlier than ever because some snow had gotten in it, they found their mother reading a letter which the postman had just left.

"Oh, what's it about?" asked Jan. "It's from Cherry Farm, isn't it, Mother? I can tell by the funny black mark on the stamp."

"Is it from grandpa?" asked Teddy.

"Yes," answered Mrs. Martin. "The letter is from grandpa."

"Is he coming here to spend Christmas, or are we going there just as you said we might?" asked Janet.

"I'm not sure about either one yet," replied her mother. "But grandpa sends his love, and he also sends a bit of news."

"What is it?" asked Ted.

"Grandpa Martin writes that an old hermit, who lives in a lonely log cabin in the woods back of Cherry Farm, says this is going to be the worst winter in many years. There will be big snowstorms, the hermit says, and Grandpa Martin adds that the hermit is a good weather prophet. That is, he seems to know what is going to happen."

"A big snowstorm! That will be fun!" cried Teddy.

"Maybe not, if it is too big," warned his mother. "Grandpa Martin says we ought to put away an abundance of coal and plenty of things to eat."

"Why?" asked Janet.

"Because we may be snowed in," answered her mother.




Chapter II

A Runaway Sled


For a moment Ted and Janet looked at their mother. Sometimes she told them strange things, and she did it with such a serious face that they could not always tell whether or not she was in earnest.

"Do you mean that the snow will come up over the top of the house so we can't go out?" asked Teddy.

He remembered a picture his mother had once showed him of a lonely log cabin in the woods, almost hidden under a big white drift, and beneath the picture were the words: "Snowed in."

"If it comes up over the top of the house we can't ever get out till it melts," went on Jan. "Will it happen that way, Mother? What fun!"

"Dandy!" cried Ted.

"Oh, indeed! Being snowed in isn't such fun as you may think," said Mrs. Martin, and then the Curlytops knew their mother was now a little bit in earnest at least.

"Of course," she went on, "the snow will hardly cover our house, as it is much larger than the one in the picture I showed Teddy. But being snowed in means that so much snow falls that the roads are covered, and the piles, or drifts, of the white flakes may be high enough to come over the lower doors and windows.

"When so much snow falls it is hard to get out. Even automobiles and horses can not go along the roads, and it is then people are 'snowed in.' They can not get out to buy things to eat, and unless they have plenty in the house they may go hungry.

"That is what Grandpa Martin meant when he said we might be snowed in, and why he warned us to get in a quantity of food to eat."

"But shall we really be snowed in, Mother?" asked Ted.

"I don't know, I'm sure. Grandpa was only telling us what the hermit told him. Sometimes those old men who live in the woods and know much about nature's secrets that other persons do not know, can foretell the weather. And the snow has certainly come earlier this year than for a long time back. I am afraid we shall have a hard winter, though whether or not we shall be snowed in I cannot say."

"Well, if we're going to be snowed in let's go coasting now, Janet!" suggested Ted to his sister.

"May we, Mother?" asked the little girl.

"Yes. But don't go on the big hill."

"No. We'll stay on the small one."

Teddy ran out of the room to get the sled.

"Me want to go on sled!" cried Baby William.

"Oh, Trouble! We can't take you!" said Jan.

"I wish you could," said Mrs. Martin. "He hasn't been out much to-day, and I want to get him used to the cold weather. It will be good for him. He loves the snow. Just give him a little ride and bring him back."

"All right," agreed Janet. "Come on, Trouble. I'll help you get your cap and jacket on."

"Is he comin' with us?" demanded Ted, as he got his sled and Janet's down out of the attic, where they had been stored all summer. "I'm not goin' coasting with him!"

"Don't forget your 'g's,' Teddy," said his mother gently.

"Well, I don't want to take the baby coasting," and Teddy was careful, this time, not to drop the last letter as he sometimes did from words where it belonged. "Can't have any fun with him along!"

"I'll just give him a little ride," whispered Janet. "You boys will have to make the hill smooth anyhow, and we girls can't have any fun till you do that. So I'll ride Trouble up and down the street for a while."

"Oh, all right. And I'll take him coasting some other time," promised Ted, a little bit ashamed of the fuss he had made. "We'll go on and get the hill worn down nice and smooth."

It was still snowing, but not very hard, and the ground was now two or three inches deep with the white flakes -- enough to make good coasting when it had been packed down smooth and hard on the hill which was not far from the home of the Curlytops. There were two hills, the larger, long one being farther away.

At first the runners of the two sleds were rusty, but Ted scraped them with a piece of stone and they were soon worn smooth and shiny so they would glide along easily.

Trouble was delighted at the chance of being taken out on his sister's sled. Janet gave her little brother a nice ride up and down the sidewalk, and then she ran and rode him swiftly to the house where her mother took him up the steps. Trouble did not want to go in, and cried a little, but his mother talked and laughed at him so that he soon smiled. Mrs. Martin wanted Janet to have some fun with Teddy on the hill.

There were a number of boys and girls coasting when Janet reached the place where her brother had gone. The hill had now been worn smooth and the sleds shot swiftly down the hill.

"Come on, Janet!" cried her brother. "It's lots of fun! I'll give you a push!"

Janet sat on her sled at the top of the hill, and Ted, with a little running start, thrust her along the slope. Down went Janet, the wind whistling in her ears.

"Look out the way! Here I come, too!" cried Ted behind her. "I'll race you to the bottom!"

But Janet had a good start and Ted could not catch up to her, though he did beat Tommie Wilson who had started at the same time the Curlytop lad had.

With shouts and laughter the children coasted on the hill. At the bottom they came to a stop on a level place, though some of the older boys gave their sleds an extra push and then went on down another hilly street that was a continuation of the first. At the foot of this street ran the railroad and there was some danger that sleds going down the second hill might cross the tracks. Of course, if there were no trains this would have been all right. But one could never be certain when a train would come, so most of the children were told never to go down the second hill. They could not do it unless they pushed their sleds on purpose, over the level place at the bottom of the first hill.

"I wouldn't want to ride down there," said Teddy, as he saw some of the larger boys fasten their sleds together in a sort of "bob," and go down the second hill together.

"No, this little hill is good enough," Janet replied.

She and Teddy, with their boy and girl friends had great sport coasting on the snow. It was getting dusk, and some of the smaller children had gone home.

"We'd better go, too," said Janet. "It's snowing again, Ted, and maybe it will happen -- what grandpa's letter said -- we'll be snowed in."

"Well, I'm going to have one more coast," Teddy answered.

"I'll wait for you," returned his sister.

She saw her brother slide down the small hill and come to a stop on the level place at the bottom. Then, before Ted could get off his sled, down came a lot of the big boys, riding together on a bob.

"Look out the way!" they called to Teddy. "Look out the way! We're going fast and we can't stop! We're going down the second hill! Look out the way! Clear the track!"

But Teddy had no time to get out of the way. In another second, before he could get up off his sled, the bob of the big boys crashed into him and sent him over the level place and down the second hill.

Ted's sled was really running away with him, and down the dangerous slope.

"Oh, Teddy! Teddy!" cried Janet when she saw what had happened. "Come back! Come back!"

But Teddy could not come back. His sled was a runaway and could not be stopped. Luckily Teddy had not been hurt when the big boys ran into him, and he managed to stay on his sled. But he was going very fast down the second hill.

"Oh, dear!" cried Janet, and down she ran after her brother.

I will take just a moment here to tell my new readers a little about the Curlytops, so they may feel better acquainted with them. Those who have read the first volume of this series may skip this part. That book is entitled "The Curlytops at Cherry Farm," and tells of Janet and Ted's summer vacation, which was spent at the home of Grandpa Martin. They found a stray goat, which they named Nicknack, and they had many good times with their pet. They also met a boy named Hal Chester, who was being cured of lameness at a Home for Crippled Children, not far from grandpa's house. Grandpa Martin had on his farm many cherry trees and how the "lollypop" man helped turn the cherries into candy is told in the book.

The second volume is called "The Curlytops on Star Island," and relates the experiences of the two children, with Trouble and their mother, when camping with grandpa on an island in Clover Lake. On the island Ted and Janet saw a strange blue fire, though they did not learn what caused it until after they had met a strange "tramp-man" who sometimes stayed in a cave.

When their camping days on Star Island came to an end, the Curlytops went back to their home in the town of Cresco, where Mr. Martin owned a large store. And now we find them coasting down hill.

As for the children themselves, you have already been told their names. Theodore and Janet they were, but more often they were called just Ted and Jan. Baby William was generally called "Trouble," because he got in so much of it. But Mother Martin usually called him "dear Trouble." He often went with Jan and Ted when they rode with Nicknack, and Trouble had adventures of his own. Besides Mr. and Mrs. Martin there was Nora, the maid.

Grandpa Martin has been mentioned, and of course there was Grandma Martin. They lived at Cherry Farm. Mrs. Martin's sister, Miss Josephine Miller, lived in the city of Clayton.

Aunt Jo, as the children called her, owned, besides her city home, a country place in Mt. Hope on Ruby Lake. She said she would some day build a nice, new bungalow at the lake.

Another relative, of whom the Curlytops were fond, was Uncle Frank Barton. He was really Mr. Martin's uncle, but Ted and Jan claimed him as their own. He had a big ranch near Rockville, Montana, and the children hoped to go there some day.

Besides their goat, Ted and Jan had a dog named Skyrocket and a cat called Turnover, because she would lie down and roll over to get something to eat. The dog's name was given him because he was always so lively, running and jumping here, there and everywhere.

And now that you have learned more about the family, you will, perhaps, wish to hear what was happening to Teddy.

Down the second hill he went on his runaway sled, very fast, for the bob of the big boys had struck his coaster quite a blow. And the second hill was much more slippery than the first, some of the boys having sprinkled it with water, that had frozen into ice.

"Oh, dear!" thought poor Ted, as he went sliding down faster and faster. "I'm afraid!"

And well he might be, for at the foot of the hill, where the railroad crossed, he could now hear the puffing of an engine and the ringing of a bell.

"Ted! Teddy! Come back! Stop!" cried Jan, as she ran down the hill. But Teddy could neither stop nor come back just then.




Chapter III

Nicknack On The Ice


Janet Martin did not know what to do. In fact, a girl much older than Ted's sister would have been puzzled to know how to stop the little boy on his runaway sled from going across the railroad tracks. Of course he might get across before the train came, but there was danger.

"Oh, dear!" cried Jan. "Those big boys were mean to bunk into Ted, and push him over the second hill!"

She was tired now, and running down a slippery hill is not easy. So Jan stood still. Many of the other coasters did not know that Ted was in danger. They saw the larger boys coasting down the second hill, and perhaps they thought Teddy knew what he was about as long as his sled was going so straight down the same slope.

For Ted was steering very straight. With his feet dangling over the back of his sled he guided it down the hill, out of the way of other boys, some of whom he passed, for his sled was a fast one.

Teddy was frightened. But he was a brave little fellow, and some time before he had learned to steer a sled with his feet, so he was not as afraid as he might otherwise have been.

"Oh, what will happen to him?" wailed Janet, and tears came into her eyes. As soon as she had shed them she was sorry, for it is not very comfortable to cry wet, watery, salty tears in freezing weather.

"What is the matter, Curlytop?" asked a bigger girl of Jan. This girl had been giving her little brother and sister a ride on her sled.

"My brother is sliding down the second hill, and there's a train coming," sobbed Jan. "He'll be hurt! We never go on that hill!"

The big girl looked down at Ted. He was quite far away now, but he could easily be seen.

"Maybe he'll stop in time," said the big girl. "Oh, look!" she cried suddenly. "He's steered into a snow bank and upset!"

And this was just what Ted had done. Whether he did it by accident, or on purpose, Jan could not tell. But she was still afraid.

"He'll get hurt!" she said to the big girl.

"Oh, I guess not," was the answer. "The snow is soft and your brother would rather run into that, I think, than into a train of cars. Come on, I'll go down the hill with you and see if he is all right. You stay here, Mary and John," she said to her little brother and sister, placing them, with their sled, where they would be out of the way of the other coasters.

"I'll leave my sled here, too," said Jan, as she went down the hill with the older girl.

When they reached Teddy he was brushing off the snow with which he had become covered when he slid, head first, into the drift alongside the road.

"Are you hurt?" cried Jan, even before she reached him.

"Nope!" laughed Ted. "I'm all right, but I was scared. I thought I'd run over the track. Those fellows nearly did," and he pointed to the boys on the bobsled, which they had made by joining together two or three of their bigger sleds, tying them with ropes, and holding them together as they went down hill by their arms and legs.

The boys on this bobsled had stopped just before going over the track when the switchman at the crossing had lowered the gates. He was now telling the boys they must not coast down as far as this any more, as trains were coming. And, as he spoke, one rumbled by.

"You might have been hurt by that if you had not stopped your sled in time," said the big girl to Ted.

"That's what I thought," he answered. "That's why I steered into the snow bank."

"Those big boys were mean to shove you down the second hill," declared Janet.

"Well, maybe they didn't mean it," said the big girl.

"No, we didn't," put in one of the larger boys, coming up just then. "We're sorry if we hurt you, Curlytop," he added to Ted.

"You didn't hurt me, but you scared me," was the small boy's answer.

"You certainly know how to steer," said the bigger boy. "I watched you as we passed you on the hill. I knew if we got to the bottom first we could keep you from getting hurt by the train. Now you and your sisters sit on my big sled, and we'll pull you to the top of the hill to pay for the trouble we made."

"I'm not his sister," said the big girl.

"I am!" exclaimed Jan quickly.

"I might have known that. You two have hair just alike, as curly as a carpenter's shaving!" laughed the big boy. "Well, hop on the sled, and you, too," he added, nodding at the big girl. "I guess we can pull you all up."

"Course we can!" cried another big boy, and when Ted, Jan and the larger girl, whose name was Helen Dolan, got on the largest of the sleds that had made up the bob, they were pulled up the two hills by a crowd of laughing boys, Teddy's sled trailing on behind.

So the little incident did not really amount to much, though at one time both Ted and Jan were frightened. They coasted some more, being careful to keep out of the way of the bigger boys and girls and then, as it was getting dark, Jan said again they had better go home.

"One more coast!" cried Ted, just as he had said before. "It may rain in the night and melt all the snow."

"It's awful cold," shivered Janet, buttoning up her coat. "If it tries to rain it will freeze into snow. And it's snowing yet, Ted."

"Yes. And almost as hard as it was this morning. Say, maybe we'll be snowed in, Jan! Wouldn't it be fun?"

"Maybe. I never was snowed in; were you?"

"No. But I'd like to be."

The time was to come, though, when Ted and Janet were to find that to be snowed in was not quite so much fun as they expected.

They reached home with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, to find supper ready for them.

"Did you have a good time?" asked their mother.

"Fine!" answered Janet.

"And I got run away with," added Ted, who always told everything that happened.

"Run away with!" exclaimed his father. "I thought they didn't allow any horses or automobiles on the coasting hill."

"They don't," Ted answered. "My sled ran away with me, but I steered it into a snow bank and upset," and he told of what had happened.

"You must be very careful," said his father, when Ted had finished. "Coasting is fun, but if everyone is not careful you may get hurt, and we wouldn't like that."

It was still snowing hard when Ted and Jan went to bed, and it was with eager faces that they looked out into the night.

"Do you s'pose we'll be snowed in?" asked Jan.

"I hope so -- that is, if we have enough to eat," answered Ted. "That's what grandpa said to do -- buy lots to eat, 'cause the hermit said it was going to be an awful bad winter."

"Did you ever see a hermit, Ted?"

"No. Did you?"

"No. But I'd like to, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I would, Jan."

"Maybe I'll be a hermit some day," went on the little girl, after she had gotten into bed, her room being across the hall from Ted's.

"Huh! You can't be a hermit."

"I can so!"

"You can not!"

"Why?"

"'Cause hermits is only men. I'll be the hermit!"

"Well, couldn't I live with you -- wherever you live?"

"Maybe I might live in a dark cave. Lots of hermits do."

"I wouldn't be afraid in the dark if you were there, Teddy."

"All right. Maybe I'd let you live with me."

"Does a hermit like snowstorms, Teddy?"

"Children, you must be quiet and go to sleep!" called Mrs. Martin from downstairs. "Don't talk any more."

Ted and Janet were quiet for a little while, and then Janet called in a loud whisper:

"Teddy, when you're a hermit will you have to eat?"

"I guess so, Jan. Everybody has to eat."

"Children!" warned Mrs. Martin again, and then Jan and Ted became quiet for the rest of the night.

It was very cold when the children awoke in the morning, and as soon as they were up they ran to the windows to look out. It had stopped snowing and the air was clear and bright with sunshine.

"We didn't get snowed in," called Janet, in some disappointment.

"No," answered Ted. "But it's so cold I guess the pond is frozen and we can go skating."

"Oh, that'll be fun!" cried Jan. "Will you help me skate, Ted? 'Cause I can't do it very well yet." She had just learned the winter before.

"I'll help you," her brother promised.

There was a pond not far from the Martin home, and it was so shallow that it froze more quickly than the larger lake, which was just outside the town, and where the best skating was. The smaller boys and girls used the little pond, though sometimes they went to the lake when it was perfectly safe.

After school Jan and Ted, taking their skates, went to the pond. There they found many of their little friends.

"How's the ice?" asked Teddy of Harry Kent.

"Slippery as glass," was the answer.

"Then I'll fall down!" exclaimed Jan.

And she did, almost as soon as she stood up on her skates. But Ted and Harry held her between them and before long she could strike out a little. Then she remembered some of the directions her father had given her when he taught her to skate the year before, and Jan was soon doing fairly well. Ted was a pretty good skater for a boy of his age.

"You're doing fine, Curlytop!" called Harry Morris, one of the big boys who had pulled Ted and Jan up the hill on his sled the previous night. He had come to see how thick the ice was. "You're doing fine. But why don't you hitch up your goat and make him pull you on the ice?"

"Oh, Ted, we could do that!" cried Janet, as the big boy passed on.

"Do what?"

"Harness Nicknack to a sled and make him give us a ride. Maybe he could pull us over the snow as well as on the ice."

"We'll try it!" cried Teddy.

He took off his skates and hurried home, telling Janet to wait for him at the pond, which was not far from the Martin house. In a little while Teddy came back driving Nicknack hitched to Ted's sled. The goat pulled the little boy along over the snow much more easily than he had hauled the small wagon.

"This is great!" cried Ted. "I'm going to drive him on the ice now. Giddap, Nicknack!"

Teddy guided the goat to the ice-covered pond. Nicknack took two or three steps on the slippery place and then he suddenly fell down, the sled, with Ted on it, gliding over his hind legs.

"Baa-a-a-a!" bleated Nicknack, as if he did not at all like this.




Chapter IV

The Snow House


"Oh, Teddy, you'll hurt Nicknack!" cried Janet, when she saw what had happened.

"I didn't mean to," Ted answered, jumping off the sled. "He slipped on the ice and I couldn't stop the sled."

"Help him get up," went on Jan. "He can't get up himself with that sled on his hind legs."

Teddy pulled back the sled, but still Nicknack did not get up.

"Maybe one of his legs is broken," suggested Tom Taylor, a boy who lived near the Martins.

"If it is he'll have to run on three legs. Our dog did that once, when one of his legs had been run over," said Lola Taylor, Tom's sister.

"Come on, Nicknack, get up!" cried Ted. "Stand up and give us a ride on the ice."

But the goat only went: "Baa-a-a-a!" again, and he seemed to shake his head as if to say that he could not get up.

"His legs are all right," Teddy said when he had looked at them as well as he could, and felt of the parts that stuck out from under Nicknack's body. "Why doesn't he stand up?"

"What's the matter, Curlytop?" asked Harry Morris.

"My goat won't stand up on the ice," Ted answered. "He fell down and his legs are all right, but he won't stand up."

"Maybe it's because he knows he can't," said Harry. "Goats aren't made to stand on slippery ice you know. Their hoofs are hard like a cow's. They are all right for walking on snow or on the ground, but they can't get a good hold on the ice. I guess the reason Nicknack won't stand up is because he knows he'd fall down again if he tried it. Here, I'll help you get him over into the snow, and there you'll see he'll be all right."

With the help of Harry, the goat was half led and half carried off the pond to the snow-covered ground. There Nicknack could drag the sled easily, and he gave Ted and Jan a nice ride, also pulling Lola and Tom.

Ted offered the big boy a ride behind the goat, but Harry said:

"I'm much obliged to you, Curlytop, but I'm afraid your sled is too small for me. Your goat is strong enough to pull me, I guess, but I'd fall off the sled, I'm afraid."

"I wish I could make him pull me on the ice," said Teddy. "How could we make him stop slipping?" he asked the big boy.

"Well, you'd have to have sharp-pointed iron shoes put on his hoofs, the same as they shoe horses for the winter. Only I don't know any blacksmith that could make shoes small enough for a goat. Maybe you could tie cloth on his hoofs, or old pieces of rubber, so he wouldn't slip on the ice."

"That's what we'll do!" cried Teddy. "To-morrow we'll make some rubbers for our goat, Jan."

"Do you think he'll let us put 'em on?" asked Jan.

"Oh, course he will. Nicknack is a good goat."

Ted and Jan drove him around some more in the snow, and this was not hard pulling for Nicknack, as the sled slipped along easily and he had no trouble in standing up on his sharp hoofs in the soft snow. But Ted did not again drive him on the ice that day.

"I know what we can do to have some fun," said Jan, as she and her brother started Nicknack toward home after having had some more rides themselves, and giving some to their little friends.

"What?" asked Ted. "Haven't we had fun enough?"

"Yes, but we can have more," went on Jan. "And this fun is good to eat."

"If you mean stopping at a store and getting some lollypops -- nopy!" and Ted shook his head quickly from side to side.

"I didn't mean that," declared Jan.

"It's good you didn't," came from her brother, "'cause if you did we couldn't."

"Why not?" Jan asked.

"I haven't got a penny," returned Teddy. "I asked mother for some when I went home to get Nicknack, but she told me to wait a minute while she paid the milkman."

"Didn't you wait?" asked Jan in some surprise. It seemed strange that Teddy would miss a chance like this, as Mrs. Martin did not give the Curlytops pennies every time they asked for them. She did not want them to get in the habit of spending money too freely, especially when it was given them, and they had done no little thing to earn it. Nor did she want them to buy candy when she did not know about it. So the giving of pennies was really an event in the lives of Ted and Jan, and the little girl wondered very much now, why it was her brother had not taken the money when his mother was willing to give it.

"Why didn't you want to wait, Ted?" asked Jan.

"Oh, I wanted to all right," he answered; "but Nicknack didn't want to. I got him -- Nora and me -- all harnessed up, and I tied him out in front; then I went in to ask for the pennies -- one for you and one for me."

"Oh, I wish you'd got 'em," said Jan, rather sorrowfully.

"I would have, only for the goat," explained her brother. "Mother told me to wait; but, just as she said it, I saw an automobile come along in front of our house close to where I'd tied Nicknack.

"Our goat got scared and tried to run away, 'cause the auto chucked snow on him, and then I had to run out to catch him. That's why I couldn't wait for the pennies. I jumped on the sled just as Nicknack was startin' to run away --  -- "

"Star-ting!" corrected Janet.

"Well, star-ting, then," laughed Ted. "Anyhow, I couldn't make him turn around to go back for the pennies, so I came on right over to the pond."

"And we had a lot of fun there," stated Jan. "Only I didn't like to see our goat fall down."

"Well, he'll stand up when we get rubbers for him," said Ted. "But how're we going to have more fun, Jan?"

"Make snow-cream," answered the little Curlytop girl.

"What's that?" asked Ted. "Like ice-cream?"

"Yes, only different. Don't you know? Mother lets us make it sometimes. You take a lot of snow -- clean snow in a pail -- and you stir some eggs and milk and sugar and flavoring in it, and that makes almost the same as ice-cream."

"How're we going to do it?" asked Ted, as the goat pulled him and his sister slowly along the snow-lined street. "We haven't got any sugar or milk or eggs or flavoring -- not even a pail."

"We can stop at Aunt Sallie's and get 'em all," said Janet. "She'll like us to make snow-cream, I guess. She can help us eat it."

"Then let's!" cried Teddy. "Go on, Nicknack, we're going to make snow-cream! Is it awful good?" he asked his sister.

"Terrible good," she answered. "I didn't have any yet this winter, but we had some last. It's better'n lollypops."

"Then it must be specially extra good," decided Ted. "Hurry up, Nicknack."

The goat hurried as much as he could, but, though it was easier going on the snow than on the ice, still it was not as easy as on the dry ground in summer.

Along the street, around this corner, then around the next went the Curlytops on the sled pulled by Nicknack, until, at last, they came to the house of Aunt Sallie, a dear old lady who was always glad to see them.

"My gracious sakes alive!" she cried, as she met the two children. "Here we come, in our coach and four, just like Cinderella out of the pumpkin pie!"

"Oh, Cinderella didn't come out of a pumpkin pie, Aunt Sallie!" gasped Janet.

"No? Well, I was thinking of some pumpkin pies I just baked, I guess," said Aunt Sallie Newton, who was really Mrs. Martin's aunt, and so, of course, the Curlytops' great-aunt, though they called her "Aunt" Sallie, and not "Great-aunt" Sallie. "Yes, I guess that was it -- the pumpkin pies I baked. Maybe you'd like some?" she asked, looking at the children.

"Oh, I just guess we would!" cried Teddy eagerly.

"And we'd like some snow-cream, too, if you please," said Jan. "Could we make some, Aunt Sallie?"

"Snow-cream?"

"Yes, like mother used to make. You take some snow," went on the little girl, "and stir it up with milk and sugar and eggs --  -- "

"Oh, yes! I know!" laughed Aunt Sallie. "I used to make that when I was a little girl. Now I'll tell you what I'll do; if you're sure it will be all right with your mother, I'll get you each a little piece of pumpkin pie and then I'll make the snow-cream."

"Oh, goodie!" cried Jan and Teddy exactly together.

So, while Nicknack stayed outside in a sheltered corner by the house and nibbled the dried leaves of some old flowers, Aunt Sallie got the pieces of pie for the children, each slice on a nice little plate with a napkin under it.

"And now for the snow-cream!" said Aunt Sallie.

She went out into the kitchen, and almost before Jan and Ted had finished their pieces of pie back she came with two dishes with something good in them.

"I made it just as you told me," she said to Jan. "I stirred the eggs and sugar and milk up in some clean snow and flavored it. Tell me if you like it."

The children tasted, and Ted exclaimed:

"I could eat three dishes!"

"But I guess one will be enough after the pie," said Aunt Sallie, and Ted thought so, too, after he had finished the nice dessert. Then he and his sister, after thanking Mrs. Newton, went out and got on the sled again, hurrying Nicknack on, for it was growing late. They were soon safe at their own home.

"Mother, are there any old rubbers in the house?" asked Ted that night, after having told of the fun skating on the pond and riding over the snow behind Nicknack.

"Old rubbers? What do you want of them?" asked Mrs. Martin.

"I want to make some overshoes for the goat."

"Overshoes for the goat! What will you try next, Teddy?" and his mother laughed.

"We really are going to do it," added Jan. "Nicknack can't stand up on the slippery ice without something on his hoofs."

"Why don't you get him a pair of skates?" asked Father Martin with a laugh. "Though you'd have to get him two pairs, to have enough to go around, as Nicknack has four feet."

"He couldn't stand up on skates," answered Ted. "His hoofs are like skates now, they're so hard and shiny."

"And so you think overshoes would be the thing?" asked his father. "Well, maybe they would do. I'll see if I can find some old rubbers or rubber boots that you can cut up."

A pair of boots that had holes in them and could no longer be used by Mr. Martin, were found in the attic. Some pieces of rubber were cut from the legs and when the inside lining had been partly peeled off four thin squares of rubber could be cut out.

"We'll tie these on Nicknack's hoofs and see if he can stand up on the ice," said Teddy. "I wish it was to-morrow now, so we could do it."

Ted and Jan hurried home from school the next day to hitch Nicknack to Ted's sled and drive him down to the ice to try the goat's new rubbers. They were tied on his hoofs with pieces of string, Mrs. Martin helping the children do this. Nicknack was a gentle and patient goat, but he acted rather strangely when the rubber squares were tied over his hoofs.

He stamped his feet, shook his head and bleated. He did not quite understand what was going on, but he made no special trouble and started off well when he had been hitched to the sled.

"Me want a wide!" called Trouble from the veranda, as Ted and Jan went gliding away over the snow.

"Next time!" answered Ted.

"This sled isn't big enough," added Janet. "We ought to get a bigger sled, Teddy," she went on. "One as big as our goat wagon, and then we could have fine rides and take Trouble with us."

"We'll ask daddy to get us one," said her brother.

When they reached the pond the only skaters on it were Tom and Lola Taylor. Tom laughed as he saw Nicknack.

"Ho!" he cried, "your goat will fall down on the ice again."

"Maybe he won't," answered Teddy. "Just you watch!"

He drove Nicknack toward the frozen pond, but the goat stood still at the very edge.

"He's afraid to go on -- he knows he'll slip," said Tom.

"I guess that's it," agreed Teddy. "Go on, Nicknack!" he called. "Giddap! You won't fall 'cause you've your rubbers on."

"Oh! has he, really?" asked Lola.

"'Deed he has. We made him some out of an old rubber boot," replied Teddy. "Look!" and he pointed to the black squares tied on Nicknack's hoofs.

"How funny!" gasped Lola.

"Maybe he won't slip with them on," remarked Tom, "but I guess he isn't sure of it. He won't go on the ice."

And indeed Nicknack did not seem to want to do this. He turned first to one side and then the other as Ted tried to drive him on to the frozen pond. Nicknack did not mind pulling the Curlytops over the snow, where he knew he would not slip, but he was afraid of the ice.

"I know how to get him on," said Teddy.

"How?" asked Tom.

"Here, you hold this cookie in front of him," went on Teddy. "I put it in my pocket to eat myself, but I'll give it to Nicknack. Hold it in front of his nose, Tom, and when he goes to bite it you just walk away with it. Then he'll follow after you, and when you walk on the ice he'll do the same."

"Say, that is a good way!" cried Tom. "I'll do it!"

"Once he's on the ice, if the rubbers keep him from slipping, he'll be all right," went on Ted.

He tossed Tom the cookie and Tom held it in front of the goat's nose. Surely enough Nicknack reached out for it, but as soon as he did this Tom stepped back a little way, the goat following.

This was done two or three times, Nicknack getting nearer the icy pond each time, until at last he had all four rubber-covered feet on it.

"Shall I give him the cookie now?" asked Tom.

"No, make him come a little farther for it," answered Ted, who was sitting on the sled in front, holding Nicknack's reins, while Janet sat behind her brother.

So Tom backed a little farther away from the goat, that still walked on to get the cookie which he could smell, and which he wanted very much. And before Nicknack knew it he was walking over the ice and he did not slip at all, for the pieces of rubber on his hoofs held him up, just as they would have held up Teddy or Janet.

"Now he's all right!" called Teddy. "He can walk on the ice now, and run, too, I guess. Give him the cookie, Tom."

So Nicknack had the cookie, and then Teddy drove him over and around the pond. Nicknack seemed to like it, now that he did not slip.

When Teddy and Janet had had a good ride they let Tom and Lola take a turn, Tom driving, and the goat went as well for him as it had gone for Teddy.

"I didn't know a goat was as much fun in winter as it is in summer," said Tom. "I wish I had one."

"We'll give you more rides when we get a big sled," promised Ted.

"Are you going to get one?" Lola asked.

"We're going to ask our father for one," replied Ted. "And I guess he'll let us have it so we can take Trouble out for rides. Giddap, Nicknack!" and once more he started the goat across the ice.

The Curlytops and their friends had great sport with the goat and sled that day, and Nicknack hardly slipped at all. He was getting used to the ice, Tom said.

After two days during which the Curlytops had fun with their sleds and skates, it began to snow again, covering the ground yet deeper with the white flakes, while the frozen pond and lake were buried out of sight.

"No more skating for a while," said Tom Taylor, as he walked to school with Teddy and Jan one morning.

"No. But we can sleigh-ride and build a snow fort," answered Ted.

"And a snow man, too," added Janet.

"Why not make a snow house?" asked Lola. "The snow is soft and it will pack well. Let's make a snow house!"

"We will!" cried Ted. "We'll start one after school in our back yard. We'll make one big enough for us all four to live in."

"And we can stay there even if the snow covers the top," added Janet.

"Wouldn't we freeze?" asked Lola.

"No. Mother read us a story about a man who was caught out in a big snowstorm, and he dug down under the snow and let it cover him all up, except a place to breathe, and he was warm."

"Well, we'll build a snow house, but I guess there won't be enough snow to cover it," cried Tom.

"I like lots of snow," put in Teddy.

All that day it snowed, even when the Curlytops and the other children ran laughing and shouting out of school. Tom and Lola went with Jan and Ted to the Martins' back yard and there they began to build a snow house.




Chapter V

Nicknack Sees Himself


The snow was just right for making snow houses, or for rolling big balls that grow in size the more you push them along. For the snow was wet -- that is, the flakes stuck together. Sometimes, when the weather is cold, the snow is dry and almost like sand. Then is not a good time to try to make snow houses, snow men or big snowballs.

"But it's just right now!" cried Teddy, as he ran into the back yard with his sister and the other girl and boy. "We'll make a fine snow house!"

"First we'll make some big snowballs," said Tom Taylor.

"I thought we were going to make a snow house!" exclaimed Ted.

"So we are," agreed Tom. "But the way to start is to make big snowballs. Roll them as big as you can and they'll make the sides of the house. We'll pile a lot of snowballs together and fill in the cracks between. That's the way to start."

Ted and the others saw that this was a good way, and so they began. First they each made a little snowball. But as they rolled them along around the big yard the balls gathered the snow up from the ground, packing it around the little ball that had first been started, until Ted's was so big that he could hardly move it.

"It's big enough now!" called Tom. "Put it over here, where we're going to start the snow house, and I'll roll my big ball next to yours, Ted."

This was done. Then Jan's snowball, and that of Lola were put in a row and the four walls of the snow house were started. There was plenty of the snow to be had and the children worked fast. Before dusk they had the four walls of the house made, with a doorway and windows cut, but there was no roof on, though the walls of the white house were above Tom's head, and he was the tallest.

"Aren't we going to make a roof?" asked Ted.

"We'll do that to-morrow," answered Tom. "We ought to have some boards to lay across the top, and then we could pile snow on them. It's easier that way, but you can make a roof of just snow. Only it might fall in on our heads."

"We don't want that," said Janet. "Boards are better, Tom."

When it was too dark to see to do any more work on the snow building, the Curlytops went into the house and their playmates hurried to their home for supper.

"We'll finish the house to-morrow," called Teddy to Tom.

The next afternoon, when they came home from school, the children started to make the roof. Ted had asked his father to get him some boards, and this Mr. Martin had done. They were laid across the top of the four walls, and snow was piled on top of them, so that from the outside the house looked as if made entirely of snow. From the inside the boards in the roof showed, of course, but no one minded that.

The snow house was large enough for five small children to get in it and stand up, though Tom's head nearly touched the roof.

"But that doesn't count," laughed Ted. "You can pretend you're a giant and you could lift the roof off with your head if you wanted to."

"Only you mustn't want to!" cautioned Jan.

"I won't," promised Tom.

"We ought to have a door so we could close it, and then it would be like a real house," Lola said.

"Couldn't we make one?" asked Ted.

"It would be hard to make a door fast to the snow sides of the house," answered Tom. "If we had a blanket we could hang it up for a curtain-door, though."

"I'll get one!" cried Janet, and she ran in to ask her mother for one.

The blanket was tacked to the edge of one of the boards in the roof, and hung down over the square that was cut out in the snow wall for the door. When the blanket was pulled over the opening it was as cozy inside the snow house as one could wish.

"And it's warm, too!" cried Ted. "I guess we could sleep here all night."

"But I'm not going to!" exclaimed Jan quickly. "Anyhow we haven't got anything to sleep on."

"We can make some benches of snow," Tom said. "Let's do it!"

"How?" asked Ted.

"Well, we'll just bring in some snow and pile it up on the floor along the inside walls. Then we can cut it square and level on top, as high as we want it, and we can sit on it or lie down on it and make-believe go to sleep."

"That'll be fun!" cried Lola.

With their shovels the Curlytops and the others were soon piling snow up around the inside walls of the white house. Then the benches were cut into shape, and they did make good places to sit on; though it was too cold to lie down, Mrs. Martin said when she came out to look at the playhouse, and she warned the children not to do this.

"We ought to have a chimney on the house," suggested Tom, after he had gone outside to see how it looked.

"We can't build a fire, can we?" asked Jan, somewhat surprised.

"No, of course not!" laughed Ted. "A fire would melt the snow. But we can make a chimney and pretend there's smoke coming out of it."

"Let's do it!" cried Lola.

"All right," agreed Tom. "You're the lightest, Teddy, so you get up on the roof. You won't cave it in. I'll toss you up some snow and you can make it square, in the shape of a chimney."

This Ted did, and with a stick he even marked lines on the snow chimney to make it look as if made of bricks.

"That's fine!" cried Tom. "It looks real!"

"It would look realer if we had something like black smoke coming out," declared Janet.

"Oh, I know how to do that!" exclaimed Lola.

"How?" asked her brother.

"Get some black paper and stick it on top of the chimney."

"Maybe my mother's got some," said Ted. "I'll go and ask her."

Mrs. Martin found an old piece of wrapping paper that was almost black in color, and when this had been rumpled up and put on top of the snow chimney, where Ted fastened it with sticks, at a distance it did look as though black smoke were pouring out of the white snow house.

"Now we ought to have something to eat, and we could pretend we really lived in here," said Janet, after a bit, when they were sitting on the benches inside the house.

"You go and ask mother for something," suggested Ted. "I got the paper smoke. You go and get some cookies."

"I will," Janet promised, and she soon came running from the house with a large plate full of molasses and sugar cookies that Nora had given her.

"Um! but these are good!" cried Tom, as he munched some with the Curlytops and his sister.

"This is a fine house!" exclaimed Teddy. "I'm glad you helped us build it," he said to Tom.

"Only it wants some glass in the windows," said Ted, looking at the holes in the snow walls of the house.

"We don't need glass," immediately put in Tom.

"Why not?" asked Jan. "If we put wooden windows in we can't see through 'em."

"We can use sheets of ice!" cried Tom. "My father said that that's the way the Eskimos do up at the north pole. They use ice for glass."

"You can see through ice all right," said Ted. "But where could we get any thin enough for windows for our snow house?"

"All the ice on the pond and lake is covered with snow," added Lola.

"We can put some water out in pans," went on Tom. "If it's cold to-night it will freeze in a thin sheet of ice, and then to-morrow we can make windows of it for our snow house."

"Oh, that'll be fun!" cried Ted.

"It will be almost like a real house!" added Jan.

Mrs. Martin said, when the Curlytops asked her, that Tom's plan might work if the night turned cold enough to freeze. And as after dark it did get colder she put some water out in large shallow pans. In the morning the water was frozen into thin sheets of ice, clear as crystal, and Ted and Jan could see right through them as well as they could see through glass.

"They're great!" cried Tom when he saw them, and that afternoon when school was out, the ice windows were set in the holes in the walls of the snow house.

"'Dis nice place!" Trouble said, when he was taken out to it. "I 'ikes it here! I stay all night!"

"No, I guess you won't stay all night," laughed Tom. "You might freeze fast to the snow bench."

"How plain we can see out of the windows," said Lola. "Oh, see, Ted, here comes your goat! I guess he's looking for you."

"He must 've got loose and 've run out of his stable," said Teddy. "I'll go to fasten him up. Here, Nicknack!" he called as he walked out of the snow house toward his pet.

Nicknack kept on coming toward the white house. He walked up to one of the windows. The sun was shining on it and as Ted looked he cried:

"Oh, I can see Nicknack in the glass window just as if it was a looking glass. And Nicknack can see himself!"

This was true. The goat came to a sudden stop and looked at his own reflection in the shiny ice window. Nicknack seemed much surprised. He stamped in the snow with his black hoofs, and then he raised himself up in the air on his hind feet. At the same time he went:

"Baa-a-a-a! Baa-a-a-a-a!"

"Oh, Nicknack's going to buck!" cried Ted.

"Who's he going to buck?" asked Tom, sticking his head out of the blanket door of the snow house.

"I guess he thinks he sees another goat in the shiny ice window," went on Ted, "and he's going for that. Oh, look out! Come back, Nicknack! Come back!" Teddy yelled.

But with another bleat and a shake of his head Nicknack, having seen himself reflected in the ice window, and thinking it another goat, started on a run for the snow house, inside of which were Jan, Tom, Lola and Trouble.




Chapter VI

The Snow Man


Sounding his funny, bleating cry, like a sheep, Nicknack gave a jump straight for the ice window in which he had seen himself as in a looking glass.

"Crash!" went the ice window.

"Oh, my!" screamed Lola, inside the snow house.

"What is it?" asked Jan, for Lola stood in front of her.

Trouble looked up from where he was sitting beside Tom on the snow bench, and just then the goat went right through the soft, snow side of the house and scrambled down inside.

"Dat's our goat!" exclaimed Trouble, as if that was the way Nicknack always came in. "Dat's our goat!"

For a moment Jan and Lola had been so frightened that they did not know what it was. Luckily they were not in Nicknack's way when he jumped through, so he did not land on them.

But the snow house was so small that there was hardly room for a big goat inside it, besides the four children, even with Ted outside, and Nicknack almost landed in the laps of Tom and Trouble when he jumped through. In fact, his chin-whiskers were in Trouble's face, and Baby William laughed and began pulling them as he very often did.

"Baa-a-a-a!" bleated the goat and then he quickly turned around to see, I suppose, what had become of the other goat against which he had leaped, intending to butt him out of the way.

"Oh, Nicknack!" cried Jan. "What made you jump in on us like that?"

"Oh, my, I'm so scared!" gasped Lola. "Will he bite us?"

"Nicknack never bites," answered Janet reprovingly. "But what made him jump into the snow house and break the ice window?"

"'Cause he saw himself in it," answered Ted, coming in just then. "I knew what he was goin' to do but I couldn't stop him. Say, Tom, he made an awful big jump!"

"I should say he did!" exclaimed Tom. "I thought the whole place was coming down! You'd better call your goat out, Curlytop, or he may knock our snow house all to pieces."

"All right, I will," agreed Ted. "Here, Nicknack!" he called. "Come on outside!"

Nicknack turned at the sound of his little master's voice, and just then he saw another ice window. The sun was shining on that, too, and once more Nicknack noticed the reflection of himself in the bright ice, which was like glass.

"Baa-a-a-a-a!" he bleated again. "Baa-a-a-a!"

"Look out! He's going to jump!" cried Tom.

He made a grab for the goat, but only managed to get hold of his short, stubby tail. To this Tom held as tightly as he could, but Nicknack was not going to be stopped for a little thing like that.

Forward he jumped, but he did not quite reach the ice window. Instead his horns and head butted against the side wall of the snow house, and in it he made a great hole, near the window.

This made the wall so weak that the snow house began to cave in, for the other wall had almost all been knocked down when the goat jumped through that.

"Look out!" cried Ted. "It's going to fall!"

"Come on!" yelled Tom, letting go of Nicknack's tail.

"Take care of Trouble!" begged Jan of her brother.

Ted caught his little brother up in his arms. It was as much as he could do, but, somehow or other, Ted felt very strong just then. He was afraid Trouble would be hurt.

And then, just as the children hurried out of the door, pulling away, in their haste, the blanket that was over the opening, the snow house toppled down, some of the boards in the roof breaking.

"Oh, it's a good thing we weren't in there when it fell!" cried Lola. "We'd all have been killed!"

"Snow won't kill you!" said her brother.

"But the boards might have hurt us," said Lola. "Our nice house is all spoiled!"

"And Nicknack is under the snow in there!" cried Ted.

"No, he isn't! Here he comes out," answered Janet. And just as she said that, out from under the pile of boards and the snow that was scattered over them, came Nicknack. With a wiggle of his head and horns, and a scramble of his feet, which did not have any rubber on now, Nicknack managed to get out from under the fallen playhouse, and with a leap he stood beside the children.

"There, Nicknack! See what you did!" cried Janet.

"Spoiled our nice snow house!" added Lola.

"We'll build you another," promised Ted. "Say, I never knew our goat was such a good jumper."

"He's strong all right," agreed Tom.

"Nicknack a funny goat!" laughed Trouble, as his brother set him down on a smooth place in the snow.

"I guess Trouble thinks it was all just for fun," said Tom. "He isn't scared a bit."

"Oh, Trouble doesn't get scared very easy," answered Jan. "He's always laughing. Aren't you, Trouble?" and she hugged him.

"Well, shall we build the house over again?" asked Tom, when Ted had taken the goat back to the stable and fastened him in so he could not easily get loose.

"It'll be a lot of work," said Lola. "You'll have to make a whole new one."

"Yes, Nicknack didn't leave much of it," agreed Tom. "Shall we make a bigger one, Ted -- big enough for Nicknack to get in without breaking the walls?"

"Oh, I don't know," returned Ted slowly. "There isn't much snow left, and some of the boards are busted. Let's make a snow man instead."

"All right!" agreed Tom. "We'll do that! We'll make a big one."

"I don't want to do that," said Jan. "Come on, Lola, let's go coasting."

"An' take me!" begged Trouble.

"Yes, take him," added Ted. "He'll throw snowballs at the snow men we make if you don't."

So Baby William was led away by the two girls, and Tom and his chum started to make a snow man. But they soon found that the snow was not right for packing. It was too hard and not wet enough.

"It's too cold, I guess," observed Tom, when he had tried several times to roll a big ball as the start in making a snow man.

"Then let's us go coasting, too," proposed Ted, and Tom was willing.

So the boys, leaving the ruins of the snow house, and not even starting to make the snow man, went to coast with the girls, who were having a good time on the hill with many of their friends.

"Oh, it's snowing again!" cried Ted when the time came to go home, as it was getting dusk.

"We've had a lot of storms already this winter," added Lola.

"My grandpa wrote in a letter that a hermit, up near Cherry Farm, said this was going to be a bad winter for storms," put in Jan. "Maybe we'll all be snowed in."

"That'll be great!" cried Tom.

"It will not!" exclaimed his sister. "We might all freeze to death. I don't like too much snow."

"I do!" declared Ted. "And there's a lot coming down now!"

There seemed to be, for the white flakes made a cloud as they blew here and there on the north wind, and it was quite cold when the Curlytops and their friends reached their homes.

All the next day it snowed, and Ted and Jan asked their father and mother several times whether or not they were going to be snowed in.

"Oh, I guess not this time," answered Mr. Martin. "It takes a regular blizzard to do that, and we don't often get blizzards here."

Though they felt that possibly being snowed in might not be altogether nice, still Ted and Jan rather wanted it to happen so they could see what it was like. But that was not to come with this storm.

Still the wind and snow were so bad, at times, that Mrs. Martin thought it best for the Curlytops to stay in the house. Trouble, of course, had to stay in also, and he did not like that a bit. Neither did Jan or Ted, but there was no help for it.

"What can we do to have some fun?" asked Teddy, for perhaps the tenth time that day. He stood with his nose pressed flat against the window, looking out at the swirling flakes. "Can't I be out, Mother?" he asked again.

"Oh, no, indeed, little Curlytop son," she answered.

"But we want some fun!" chimed in Jan. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

"Have you played with all your games?" asked her mother.

"Every one," answered the little girl.

"And we even played some of 'em backwards, so's to make 'em seem different," put in Teddy.

"Well, if you had to do that it must be pretty hard!" laughed Mrs. Martin. "I know it isn't any fun to stay in the house, but to-morrow the storm may be over and then you can go out. I know that won't help matters now," she went on, as she saw that Teddy was about to say something. "But if you'll let me think a minute maybe I can plan out some new games for you to play."

"Oh, Mother, if you only can!" cried Jan eagerly.

"Don't talk -- let her think!" ordered Teddy. "We want to have some fun -- a lot of fun!"

So he and his sister sat very quietly while his mother thought of all the things that might be possible for a little boy and girl and their baby brother to do when they had to stay in the house.

"I have it!" cried Mrs. Martin at last.

"Something for us to play?" asked Janet.

"Yes. How would you like to play steamboat and travel to different countries?"

"Not real?" cried Ted, with a look at the snow outside.

"Oh, no, not real, of course," said his mother, with a smile. "But you can go up in the attic, and take the old easy chair that isn't any good for sitting in any more. You can turn that over on the floor and make believe it's a steamboat. In that you and Jan and Baby William can pretend to travel to different countries. You can say the floor is the ocean and you can take some blocks of wood to make the islands, and if any one steps in the make-believe water he'll get his feet wet."

"Make-believe wet," laughed Teddy.

"That's it," his mother agreed with a laugh. "Now run along up and play, and then you won't think about the snow and the storm. And before you know it -- why, it will be night and time to go to bed and in the morning the storm may be over and you can be out."

"Come on!" cried Jan to her brother.

"Wait a minute," he said, standing still in the middle of the room, while Trouble, who seemed to know that something was going on different from usual, jumped up and down, crying:

"We hab some fun! We hab some fun!"

"But you mustn't jump like that up in the attic," said his mother, shaking her finger at him. "If you do you'll rattle the boards and maybe make the plaster fall."

"Do you mean the plaster like the kind I had on when I was sick?" asked Jan.

"No, my dear, I mean the plaster on the ceiling," said her mother. "Well, Teddy, why don't you go along and play the game I told you about?" she asked, as she saw the little boy still standing in the middle of the sitting-room. "Play the steamboat game with the old chair. The chair will be the ship, and you can take the old spinning wheel to steer with, and maybe there's a piece of stovepipe up there that you can use for a smokestack. Only, for mercy's sake, don't get all black, and don't let Trouble get black."

"Come on, Ted!" cried his sister to him.

"I was just thinkin'," he said thoughtfully. "Say, Mother, don't folks get hungry when they're on a ship?"

"I guess so, Ted."

"And even on a make-believe one?"

"Well, yes, I suppose they do. But you can make believe eat if you get make-believe hungry."

"But what if we get really hungry?" asked Teddy. "I'm that way now, almost. Couldn't we have something real to eat on the make-believe steamboat, Mother?"

Mrs. Martin laughed.

"Why, yes, I suppose you could," she answered. "You children go on up to the attic and get the old chair ready to play steamboat, and I'll see what I can find to bring up to you to eat."

"Now we can have some fun!" cried Ted, and he no longer looked out of the window at the snow, and wished he could be in it playing, even though that was not exactly good for him.

Up the stairs trooped the Curlytops, followed by Trouble, who grunted and puffed as he made his way, holding to the hem of Jan's dress.

"What's the matter, Trouble?" asked Jan, turning around.

"Maybe he's making believe he's climbing a mountain," said Ted. "You always have to breathe hard when you do that."

"Did you ever climb a mountain?"

"No, but I ran up a hill once," answered her brother, "and that made my breath come as fast as anything. I guess that's what Trouble is doing."

"No, I is not!" exclaimed the little boy, who heard what his sister and brother were saying about him. "I 'ist is swimmin', like I did at Cherry Farm," he said. "I play I is in the water."

"I guess he's ready to play steamboat, all right," laughed Jan. "Come along, little fat Trouble!" she called, and she helped him get up the last of the steps that led to the attic.

The children found an old easy chair. It was one Mr. Martin had made some years before, and was a folding one. It had a large frame, and could be made higher and lower by putting a cross bar of wood in some niches. The seat of the chair was made of a strip of carpet, but this had, long ago, worn to rags and the chair had been put in the attic until some one should find time to mend it. But this time never seemed to come.

Often, before, Ted, Jan and Trouble had played steamboat with it. They laid it down flat, and then raised up the front legs and the frame part that fitted into the back legs. These two parts they tied together and could move it back and forth, while they made believe the carpet part of the chair was the deck of the boat.

"All aboard!" called Janet, as Teddy laid the chair down on the floor.

"Wait a minute!" called her brother.

"What for?" Janet wanted to know.

"'Cause I haven't got the steerin' wheel fixed. I got to get that, else the boat will go the wrong way. Wait until I get the old spinning wheel for a steerer."

Up in the attic, among many other things, was an old spinning wheel, that used to belong to Mrs. Martin's mother's mother -- that is the great-grandmother of the Curlytops. The spinning part of the wheel had been broken long before, but the wheel itself would go around and it would make something to steer with, just as on the real large steamers, Ted thought.

The spinning wheel was put in front of the chair steamboat, and then Jan got on "board," as it is called.

"Wait for me!" cried Trouble, who was hunting in a corner of the attic for something with which to have some fun.

"Oh, I won't forget you," laughed Jan, and then all three of the children were ready for the trip across the make-believe ocean.

They crowded together on the carpet deck of the chair boat while Ted twirled the wheel and Jan moved the legs back and forth as if they were the engine. Trouble cried "Toot! Toot!" he being the whistle, and they rode about -- at least they pretended they did -- and had lots of fun, stopping at wooden islands to pick cocoanuts and oranges from make-believe trees.

"Here comes mother with something real to eat!" cried Teddy, after a bit, and up to the attic did come Mrs. Martin with some molasses cookies. The children had lots of fun eating these and playing, and before they knew it, night had come, bringing supper and bedtime.

Toward evening of the second day it stopped snowing, and the next day was quite warm, so that when Ted and Jan went out to play a bit in the snow before going to school, Ted found that the white flakes would make fine snowballs.

"Oh, it packs dandy!" he cried. "We can make the snow man this afternoon!" and he threw a snowball at Nicknack's stable, hitting the side of it with a bang.

"Yes, this will make a good snow man," said Tom after school, when he and Ted tried rolling the large balls. "We'll make a regular giant!"

And they started at it, first rolling a big ball which was to be the body of the snow man.




Chapter VII

A Strange Bedfellow


Around and around in the back yard, near what had once been a snow house, but which was only a big drift now, went Ted and Tom, rolling balls to make the snow man. Finally Ted's ball was so large that he could not push it any more.

"What'll I do?" he asked Tom. "Shall I leave it here and make the snow man right in this place?"

"No. I'll help you push it," Tom said. "We want that for the bottom part of the snow man, so it will have to be the biggest ball. Wait, I'll help."

The two boys managed to roll the ball a little farther, and it kept getting larger all the while, for as it rolled more snow clung to it and was packed on.

"There, I guess it's big enough," panted Tom, after a while. "Now, we'll pile my ball on top and then we'll put a head on our man."

"Where's his legs goin' to be?" asked Jan, who came out of the house just then to look on for a while, bringing Trouble with her.

"Oh, we'll carve them out of the lower part of the big snowball," answered Ted. "I'll show you."

With a shovel he and Tom cut away some of the snow, making big, fat, round, white legs for the man, who, as yet, had neither eyes, a nose nor a mouth, to say nothing of ears.

"Now we've got to have some buttons for his coat and some eyes for his head," said Tom, when the legs were made. On them the snow man stood up very straight and stiff.

"What do you want for eyes?" asked Ted.

"I saw a snow man in Grace Turner's yard last year," said Jan, "and that one had pieces of coal for eyes."

"That's just what we'll use!" cried Tom.

"I'll get the coal in our cellar," offered Ted, as he ran away to get the black lumps.

"Bring a lot and we'll make some buttons for his coat," called Tom.

"I will," Ted answered.

"Don't get the lumps too big!" shouted Jan.

"No, I won't," replied Ted; then he ran on to do his errand.

Two of the largest chunks of coal were stuck in the snow head of the man, and now he really began to look like something. The rest of the coal was stuck in the larger snowball and the black lumps looked just like coat buttons in two rows.

"There's his nose!" exclaimed Tom, as he fastened a lump of snow in the middle of the man's fat face. "And here's his mouth," he went on as he made a sort of cut in the snow with a stick.

"Oh, that doesn't look like a mouth," cried Janet. "I know a better way than that."

"Pooh! girls don't know how to make snow men!" exclaimed Ted. "You'd better go and get your doll, Janet."

"I do so know how to make a snow man, Theodore Martin! And if you think I don't I won't tell you the best way to make a mouth! So there!" and Janet, with her head held high in the air, and her nose up-tilted, started away, taking Trouble with her.

"Oh, I didn't mean anything!" protested Ted. "I was only foolin', Jan!"

"That's right!" added Tom. "Go on, tell us how to make a good mouth. Mine doesn't look much like one, but that's the way I always make 'em when I build a snow man."

"Well, I'll tell you," said Jan, turning back. "You want to take a piece of red flannel or red paper. Then it looks just like the snow man had red lips and was stickin' out his red tongue. I mean sticking," she added, as she remembered to put on her "g."

"Say! that is a good way to make a mouth, Ted!" cried Tom. "We'll do it. But where'll we get the red flannel?"

"I've got a piece of red cloth left over from my doll's dress," went on Janet. "I'll get that for you."

"Thanks," murmured Ted. "I guess girls do know something about snow men," he added to Tom.

"Course they do," the other boy agreed. "I like your sister Janet."

Ted began to feel that, even if Janet was a year younger than he, she might be smarter in some ways than he was. He was sure of it when he saw how well the snow man looked with his red tongue and lips which Tom made from the scarlet cloth Jan gave him.

"Now if we only had a hat for him he'd look great!" cried Ted, when the last touches were being put on the snow man, even ears having been given him, though, of course, he could not hear through them.

"I know where there's an old hat -- a big stovepipe one," said Jan. She meant a tall, shiny, silk hat.

"Where is it?" asked Tom.

"Up in our attic. Daddy used to wear it, mother said, but it's too old-fashioned now. Maybe she'd let us take it."

Mrs. Martin said the children might have the old tall hat, which was broken in one place, but the snow man did not mind that. It was soon perched on his head and then a very proper figure indeed he looked, as he stood up straight and stiff in the yard back of the house.

More than one person stopped to look at what the Curlytops had made and many smiled as they saw the tall silk hat on the snow man. He even had a cane, made from a stick, and he was altogether a very proper and stylish snow man.

Trouble seemed to think the white man with his shiny black hat, was made for him to play with, for no sooner was it finished than Baby William began throwing snowballs at "Mr. North," as Mrs. Martin said they ought to call the gentleman made from white flakes.

"Oh, you mustn't do that!" cried Ted, as he saw what his little brother was doing. "You'll hit his hat," for one of Trouble's snowballs came very near the shiny "stovepipe" as Jan had called it.

"Trouble 'ike snow man," said the little fellow, laughing.

"Well, we like him, too," answered Janet, "and we don't want you to spoil him, baby. Don't throw snowballs at Mr. North."

"Here, I'll help you make a little snow man for yourself," offered Ted to his brother.

"Oh, dat fun!" laughed the little fellow. "I want a biggest one."

"No, a small one will be better, and then you can throw as many snowballs at it as you want," went on Ted.

Jan helped Ted make the snow man for Trouble, for Tom and Lola were called home by their mother. In a short while Trouble's white image was finished. Jan found more red cloth to make the lips and tongue, Ted got more coal for eyes and coat buttons and then he made a paper soldier hat for the small snow man.

"Do you like it, Trouble?" asked his brother, when it was finished.

"Nice," answered Baby William. "Bring it in house to play wif!"

"Oh, no! You mustn't try to do that!" laughed Janet. "If you brought your snow man into the house he would all melt!"

"All melt away?" asked the little fellow.

"Yes, all melt into water. He has to stay out where it's cold. Play with him out here, Trouble."

So Trouble did, making a lot of snowballs which he piled around the feet of his man, so that they might be ready in case the snow man himself wanted to throw them.

Then Teddy and Janet went coasting just before supper, coming home with red cheeks and sparkling eyes, for it was cold and they had played hard.

"Well, Trouble, is the snow man all right?" asked Ted, as he and Jan sat down to supper a little later.

"Iss. Big snow man in yard," answered Baby William.

"He'll take care of your little snow man all night," added Janet. "Then your little snow man won't be afraid to stay out in the dark, Trouble."

"Trouble's snow man not be in dark," was the answer. "He gone bed. Trouble's snow man gone bed."

"What does he mean?" asked Ted.

"Oh, I presume he's just pretending that he put his snow man to bed in a drift of snow," said Mrs. Martin. "The poor child is so sleepy from having played out all the afternoon that he can't keep his eyes open. I'll put you to bed right after supper, Trouble."

"Trouble go to bed -- snow man go to bed," murmured Baby William. He was very sleepy, so much so that his head nodded even while he was eating the last of his bread and milk. And then his mother carried him off to his room.

Ted and Janet sat up a little later to talk to their father, as they generally did.

"Did you hear any more from Grandpa Martin?" asked Ted, after he had finished studying his school lesson for the next day.

"What about?" asked Mr. Martin.

"About the big snowstorm that's coming."

"Oh, you mean about what the hermit said," laughed his father. "No, we haven't had any more letters from grandpa."

"But we will have enough to eat even if we are snowed in, won't we?" Jan queried.

"Oh, yes, I guess so," answered Daddy Martin. "Don't worry about that."

"Can those hermits really tell when there's going to be a big storm with lots of snow?" asked Ted.

"Well, sometimes," admitted Mr. Martin. "Men who live in the woods or mountains all their lives know more about the weather than those of us who live in houses in towns or cities most of the time. Sometimes the hermits and woodsmen can tell by the way the squirrels and other animals act and store away food, whether or not it is going to be a hard winter. But don't worry about being snowed in. If we are we'll make the best of it."

A little later Ted and Jan, still thinking what would happen if a storm should come heavy enough to cover the house, started for their bedrooms. As Janet undressed and turned back the covers of her bed she gave a scream.

"What's the matter?" asked her mother from the hall.

"Maybe she saw a baby mouse!" laughed Ted.

"Oh, no. Mother! Daddy! Come quick!" cried Jan. "There's somebody in my bed!"

Mrs. Martin ran into her little girl's room, and there, on the white sheet, half covered, she saw a strange bedfellow.




Chapter VIII

The Lame Boy


"Oh, what is it? What is it?" cried Jan, backing into the farthest corner of her room. "What's in my bed?"

"It's a man!" cried Ted, who had run in from his room. "Oh, Daddy, there's a man in Jan's bed!" he shouted down the stairs.

"It can't be -- it isn't large enough for a man!" said Mrs. Martin, who was going toward the gas jet to turn it higher.

Her husband dropped the paper he had been reading as the children were getting ready for bed, and came racing up the stairs. Into Jan's room he went, and, as he entered, Mrs. Martin turned the light on so that it shone more brightly.

Daddy Martin gave one look into Jan's bed and then began to laugh.

"Oh, Daddy! what is it?" cried the little girl. "Is it a man in my bed?"

"Yes," answered her father, still laughing. "But it's a very little man, and he couldn't hurt anybody."

"Not if he was a -- a burglar?" asked Ted in a whisper.

"No; for he's only a snow man!" laughed Mr. Martin.

"A snow man!" exclaimed Mrs. Martin.

"A snow man in my bed!" gasped Jan. "How did he get there?"

By this time so much noise had been made that Trouble, in his mother's room, was awakened. He came toddling into Jan's room, rubbing his sleepy eyes and holding up his little nightdress so he would not stumble over it.

"Dis mornin'?" he asked, blinking at the bright lights.

"No, it isn't morning, Trouble," answered his mother with a laugh. "But I guess Jan will have to sleep in your bed and you'll have to come in with me. The snow man has melted, making a little puddle of water and her sheets are all wet. She can't sleep in that bed."

They all gathered around to look at the strange sight in Jan's bed. As her mother had said, the snow man, which was about two feet long, had melted. One of his legs was half gone, an ear had slid off and his nose was quite flat, while one of the pieces of coal that had pretended to be an eye had dropped out and was resting on his left shoulder.

"Dat my snow man!" announced Trouble, after a look. "Me put him s'eepin's in Jan's bed!"

"You did?" cried Mother Martin. "Well, it's a good thing you told us, for I was going to ask Ted if he had done it as a joke."

"No'm, Mother; I didn't do it!" declared Ted.

"And it is the little snow man we helped Trouble make," added Jan, as she took another look. "I couldn't see good at first 'cause it was so dark in my room. But it's Trouble's snow man."

"Did you really bring him in and put him to sleep in Jan's bed?" asked Baby William's father.

"Iss, I did," answered Trouble, still rubbing his eyes. "My snow man not want to stay out in dark cold all night alone. Big snow man might bite him. I bringed him in wif my two arms, I did, and I did put him in Jan's bed, I did. He go s'eepin's."

"Well, he's slept enough for to-night," said Mr. Martin, still laughing. "Out of the window you go!" he cried, and raising the sash near the head of Jan's bed he tossed the snow man -- or what was left of him -- out on the porch roof.

"Here, Nora!" called Mrs. Martin. "Please take the wet clothes off Jan's bed so they'll dry. The mattress is wet, too, so she can't sleep on it. Oh, you're a dear bunch of Trouble!" she cried as she caught Baby William up in her arms and kissed his sleepy eyes, "but you certainly made lots of work to-night. What made you put the snow man in Jan's bed?"

"So him have good s'eepin's. Him very twired an' s'eepy out in de yard. I bringed him in, I did!"

"Well, don't do it again," said Mr. Martin, and then they all went to bed, and the snow man -- what was left of him -- slept out on the roof, where he very likely felt better than in a warm room, for men made of snow do not like the heat.

"Well, Trouble, what are you going to do to-day?" asked his father. He was just finishing his breakfast and Baby William had just started his.

"Trouble goin' make nudder snow man," was the answer.

"Well, if you do, don't put it in my bed," begged Jan, with a laugh.

"Put him in wif Nicknack," went on Trouble.

"Yes, I guess our goat doesn't mind snow, the way he butted into our house," observed Ted.

"Oh, aren't we going to build another ever?" asked Jan. "It was lots of fun. Let's make another house, Ted."

"All right, maybe we will after school. It looks maybe as if it would snow again."

"We have had more snowstorms than we usually do at this time of the year," remarked Mrs. Martin. "I guess Grandpa Martin's old hermit told part of the truth, anyhow."

"Come on, Jan!" cried Ted to his sister, as they left the table to get ready for school. "We'll have a lot of fun in the snow to-day."

"Will we go coasting or skating?" Janet asked.

"There isn't any skating, unless we clean the snow off the pond," replied Ted. "And that's an awful lot of work," he added. "When we come home from school we'll build a great big snow house, if the snow is soft enough to pack."

"On your way home from school," said Mrs. Martin to Ted and Jan, "I want you to stop at your father's store. He'll take you to get new rubber boots. Your old ones are nearly worn out, and if we are to have much snow this winter you'll need bigger ones to keep your feet dry. So stop at daddy's store. He'll be looking for you."

"New rubber boots!" cried Ted. "That's dandy!"

"Oh, may I have a high pair?" asked Jan. "I want to wade in drifts as high as Ted does, and I can't if you get me low boots."

"Your father will get you the right kind," said Mrs. Martin. "The boot store is near his, and he'll go in to buy them with you."

Jan and Ted were very glad they were going to have new rubber boots, and Ted was thinking so much about his that when his teacher in school asked him how to spell foot he spelled "b-o-o-t!"

The other boys and girls laughed, and at first Ted did not know why. But, after a bit, when he saw the teacher smiling also, he remembered what he had done. Then he spelled foot correctly.

"Theodore was thinking more of what to put on his foot, than about the word I asked him to spell," said the teacher.

Mr. Martin's store was not far from the school, and Ted and Jan hurried there when their lessons were over.

"Where you goin'?" asked Tom Taylor, as he came running out of the school yard. "Come on, Curlytop, and let's make another snow man."

"I will after I get my new rubber boots," promised Ted. "You can start making it in our yard if you want to. But don't let Trouble make any more little snow men. He put one in my sister's bed last night."

"He did?" laughed Tom. "Say, he's queer all right!"

"Well, Curlytops, did you come to buy out the store?" asked Mr. Martin with a laugh as he saw his two children come in and walk back toward the end, where he had his office.

"We want rubber boots," said Ted.

"And I want big high ones, just like those he's going to have," begged Jan, pointing to her brother.

"We'll get them just alike and then you won't have any trouble," laughed her father. "Only, of course, Ted's will have to be a little larger in the feet than yours, Jan."

"Oh, yes, Daddy! That's all right," and she smiled. "But I want mine high up on my legs."

Telling one of his clerks to stay in the office until he came back, Mr. Martin took Ted and Jan to the shoestore a few doors down the street. There were many other boys and girls, and men and women, too, getting boots or rubbers.

"Well, Mr. Martin," said the clerk who had come to wait on the Curlytops, "I see you're getting ready for a hard winter. If you get snowed in out at your house, these youngsters can wade out and buy a loaf of bread."

"We're going to have a lot to eat in our house," put in Ted, "'cause a hermit my grandpa knows said we might get snowed in."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the clerk. "Well, it looks as though we would have plenty of snow. We've had more so far this year than we did in twice as long a time last season. Now about your rubber boots," and he took the measure of the feet of Ted and Jan, and soon fitted them with high boots, lined with red flannel.

"Do they suit you, Jan?" asked her father.

"Yes, they're just right," she answered. "I like 'em!"

"They're fine!" cried Ted, stretching out his legs as he sat on the bench in the shoestore. "Now I can wade in deep drifts," for the boots could be strapped around his legs at the top, as could Jan's, and no snow could get down inside.

"Well, run along home and have fun in the snow!" said their father. "Oh, I forgot something! Come on back to the store a minute. I bought a new kind of chocolate candy to-day and I thought maybe you might like to try it."

"Oh, Daddy! We would!" cried Jan, clapping her hands.

"Mind you! I'm not sure you'll like it," her father said, trying not to smile, "but if you don't, just save it for Nicknack. He isn't particular about candy."

"Oh, we'll like it all right!" laughed Ted. "Hurry, Jan. I'm hungry for candy now!"

The chocolate was very good, and Ted and Jan each had as large a piece as was good for them, and some to take home to their mother, with a little bite for Trouble. As the Curlytops were getting ready to leave their father's store the clerk came from the office and said:

"While you were gone, Mr. Martin, a lame boy came in here to see you."

"A lame boy?" Mr. Martin was much surprised.

"Yes. He said he had been in a Home up near Cherry Farm, where you were last summer," went on the clerk.

"What did he want?" asked Mr. Martin.

"I don't know. He didn't say, but stated that he would wait until you came back. So I gave him a chair just outside the office. He seemed to know about you and Ted and Jan."

"A lame boy! Oh, maybe it was Hal Chester!" cried Jan.

"But Hal isn't lame any more," Mr. Martin reminded her. "At least he is only a little lame. Did this boy limp much?" he asked the clerk.

"Well, not so very much. He seemed anxious to see you, though."

"Where is he?" asked Mr. Martin. "I'll be glad to see him. Where is he now?"

"That's what I don't know. I had to leave the office a minute, and when I came back he was gone."

"Gone?"

"Yes, he wasn't here at all. And, what is more, something went with him."

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Martin.

"I mean the lame boy took with him a pocketbook and some money when he went out," answered the clerk.




Chapter IX

Through The Ice


Mr. Martin said nothing for a few seconds after hearing what his clerk told him. Ted and Jan looked at each other. They did not know what to say.

"Are you sure the lame boy took the pocketbook and the money?" asked the Curlytops' father of his clerk.

"Pretty sure; yes, sir. The pocketbook -- it was a sort of wallet I had some papers in besides money -- was left on this bench right near where he was sitting while he was waiting for you. I went away and when I came back he was gone and so was the pocketbook. He must have taken it."

"Was there much money in it?"

"Only about fifteen dollars."

"That's too bad. I wonder what the boy wanted. Didn't he say?"

"Not to me, though to one of the other clerks who spoke to him as he sat near the bench he said he was in need of help."

"Then it couldn't have been Hal Chester," said Mr. Martin, "for his father is able to provide for him. Besides, Hal wouldn't go away without waiting to see Ted and Jan, for they had such good times together at Cherry Farm and on Star Island.

"Hal Chester," went on Mr. Martin to the clerk, who had never been to Cherry Farm, "was a lame boy who was almost cured at the Home for Crippled Children not far from my father's house. He left there to go to his own home about the time we broke up our camp. I don't see why he would come here to see me."

"Maybe his father lost all his money and Hal wanted to see if you'd give him more," suggested Jan.

"Or maybe he wanted to get work in your store," added Ted.

"I hardly think so," remarked his father. "It is queer, though, why the boy should go away without seeing me, whoever he was. I'm sorry about the missing pocketbook. I know Hal would never do such a thing as that. Well, it can't be helped."

"Shall I call the police?" asked the clerk.

"What for?" Mr. Martin queried.

"So they can look for this lame boy, whoever he was, and arrest him for taking that money."

"Maybe he didn't take it," said Mr. Martin.

"He must have," declared the clerk. "The pocketbook was right on the bench near him, and after he went away the pocketbook wasn't there any more. He took it all right!"

"Well, never mind about the police for a while," said the children's father. "Maybe the lame boy will come back and tell us what he wanted to see me about, and maybe he only took the pocketbook by mistake. Or some one else may have walked off with it. Don't call the police yet."

"I'm glad daddy didn't call the police," said Ted to Jan, as they went home a little later, carrying their fine, new, rubber boots.

"So'm I," agreed his sister. "Even if it was Hal I don't believe he took the money."

"No, course not! Hal wouldn't do that. Anyhow Hal wasn't hardly lame at all any more. The doctors at the Home cured him," said Ted.

"Unless maybe he got lame again in the snow," suggested Janet.

"Well, of course he might have slipped down and hurt his foot," admitted Ted. "But anyhow I guess it wasn't Hal."

Neither of the Curlytops liked to think that their former playmate would do such a thing as to take a pocketbook that did not belong to him. Mother Martin, when told what had happened at the store that day, said she was sure it could not be Hal.

"There's one way you can find out," she said to her husband. "Write to Hal's father and ask him if he has been away from home."

"I'll do it!" agreed Mr. Martin, while Ted and Jan were out in the snow, wading in the biggest drifts they could find with their high rubber boots on. Their feet did not get a bit wet.

In a few days Mr. Martin had an answer from the letter he had sent to Mr. Chester, Hal's father. The letter was written by a friend of Mr. Chester's who was in charge of his home and who opened all the mail. Mr. Chester, this man wrote, was traveling with his wife and Hal, and no one knew just where they were at present.

"Then it might have been Hal, after all, who called at your office," said Mrs. Martin to her husband. "He may have been near here, and wanted to stop to see the children, and, not knowing where we lived, he inquired for your store. But if it was Hal I'm perfectly sure he didn't take the pocketbook."

"So am I," said Mr. Martin. "And yet we haven't found it at the store, nor was there anyone else near it while the lame boy was sitting on the bench. It's too bad! I'd like to find out who he was and what he wanted of me."

But, for the present, there seemed no way to do this. Ted and Jan wondered, too, for they would have liked to see Hal again, and they did not, even for a moment, believe he had taken the money. Hal Chester was not that kind of boy.

The Curlytops had much fun in the snow. They went riding down hill whenever they could, and made more snow men and big snowballs. Ted and Tom Taylor talked of building a big snow house, much larger than the first one they had made.

"And we'll pour water over the walls, and make them freeze into ice," said Ted. "Then Nicknack can't butt 'em down with his horns."

But there was not quite enough snow around the Martin yard to make the large house the boys wanted, so they decided to wait until more of the white flakes fell.

"There'll be plenty of snow," said Ted to his chum. "My father had another letter from my grandfather, and he says the hermit said a terribly big storm was coming in about two weeks."

"Whew!" whistled Tom Taylor. "I guess I'd better go home and tell my mother to get in plenty of bread and butter and jam. I like that; don't you?"

"I guess I do!" cried Ted. "I'm going in now and ask Nora if she'll give us some. I'm awful hungry!"

Nora took pity on Ted and the other boy who was playing in the yard with him, and they were soon sitting on the back steps eating bread and jam.

They had each taken about three bites from the nice, big slices Nora had given them, when around the back walk came a man who was limping on one leg, the other being of wood. Though the man's clothes were ragged, and he seemed to be what would be called a "tramp," he had a kind face, though as Ted said afterward, it had on it more whiskers than ever his father's had. Still the man seemed to be different from the ordinary tramps.

"Ah, that's what I like to see!" he exclaimed as he watched the boys eating the bread and jam. "Nothing like that for the appetite -- I mean to take away an appetite -- when you've got more than you need."

"Have you got an appetite?" asked Tom Taylor.

"Indeed I have," answered the man. "I've got more appetite than I know what to do with. I was just going to ask if you thought I could get something to eat here. Having an appetite means you're hungry, you know," he added with a smile, so Ted and Tom would understand. The man looked hungrily at the bread and jam the boys were eating.

"Would you -- would you like some of this?" asked Teddy, holding out his slice, which had three bites and a half taken from it. The half bite was the one Ted took just as he saw the man. He was so surprised that he took only a half bite instead of a whole one.

"Would I like that? Only just wouldn't I, though!" cried the man, smacking his lips. "But please don't ask me," he went on. "It isn't good for the appetite to see things and not eat 'em."

"You can eat this," said Teddy, as he held out his slice of bread and jam. "I've taken only a few bites out of it. And I cleaned my teeth this morning," he added as if that would make it all right that he had eaten part of the slice.

"Oh, that part doesn't worry me!" laughed the tramp. "But I don't want, hungry as I am, to take your bread and butter, to say nothing of the jam."

He turned aside and then swung back.

"There is butter on the bread, under that jam, isn't there?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Tom. "It's good butter, too."

"So I should guess," went on the man. "I can most always tell when there's butter on the bread under the jam. There's always one sure way to tell," he said.

"How?" asked Ted, thinking it might be some trick.

"Just take a bite!" laughed the man, and the two boys on the back steps laughed, too.

"Are you sure you don't want this?" the tramp went on, as he took the partly eaten slice Ted held out to him. "I wouldn't for the world, hungry as I am, take your slice --  -- "

"Oh, Nora'll give me more," said Ted eagerly. He really wanted to see the man bite into the slice. Ted said afterward that he wanted to know how big a bite the man could take.

"Well, then, if you can get more I will take this," said the man, as he eagerly and, so it seemed to the boys, very hungrily bit into the slice -- or what was left of it after Ted had taken out his three and a half nibbles. What Ted took were really nibbles alongside the bites the man took.

"Were you in a war?" asked Tom, as he watched the tramp take the last of Ted's bread.

"No. Why did you think I was -- because I have a wooden leg?"

The boy nodded.

"My leg was cut off on the railroad," went on the tramp. "But I get along pretty well on this wooden peg. It's a good thing in a way, too," he added.

"How's that?" asked Tom.

"Well, you see havin' only one leg there isn't so much of me to get hungry. It's just like having only one mouth instead of two. If you boys had two mouths you'd have to have two slices of bread and jam instead of one," went on the tramp, laughing. "It's the same way when you only have one leg instead of two -- you don't get so hungry."

"Are you hungry yet?" asked Tom, as he saw the tramp licking off with his tongue some drops of jam that got on his fingers.

"I am," the man answered. "My one leg isn't quite full yet -- I mean my one good leg," he added. "You can't put anything -- not even bread and jam into this wooden peg," and he tapped it with his cane.

"Take my slice of bread," said Tom kindly. "I guess I can get some more when I get home."

"Nora'll give you some same as she will me," said Teddy. "Go on and eat -- I like to watch you," he added to the tramp.

"Well, you don't like to watch me any more than I like to do it," laughed the ragged man, as he began on the second slice of bread and jam.

He ate that all up, and then, when Teddy and Tom went in and told Nora what had happened, the good-natured girl insisted on getting some hot coffee and bread and meat for the hungry man.

"Jam and such like isn't anything near enough," she said, "even if he has but one leg. I'll feed him proper."

Which she did, and the tramp with the "wooden peg," as he called it, was very thankful. Before he left he cut some wood for Nora, and also whittled out two little wooden swords for Ted and Tom.

"I'm glad we gave him our bread and jam; aren't you?" asked Ted of his chum.

"Yep," was the answer. "I liked him, and it was fun to see him take big bites."

A snowstorm came a few days later, and, for a time, the Curlytops thought it might be the big one Grandpa Martin's hermit had spoken of. But the snow soon changed to rain and then came a thaw, so that there was not a bit of snow left on the ground, all being washed away.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Jan, as she looked out of the window. "This isn't like winter at all! We can't have any fun!"

"Wait till it freezes," said Ted. "Then we'll have lots of fun skating on the pond."

Two nights later there came a cold spell, and the ice formed on the pond. But, though the Curlytops did not know it, the ice was not as thick as it ought to have been to make it safe.

On the big lake, where the larger boys and girls went skating, a man, sent by the chief of police, always tested the ice after a freeze, to make sure it was thick enough to hold up the crowds of skaters. But on the pond, where the water was not more than knee-deep, no one ever looked at the ice. The little boys and girls went there just as they pleased.

"Come on skating!" cried Ted, after school the first day of this cold weather. "Well have a race on the ice, Jan."

"All right," she answered. "I can skate faster than you if I am a girl!"

"No, you can't!" exclaimed Ted.

"I want to come!" cried Trouble, as he saw his brother and sister starting out with their skates on straps over their shoulders.

"Oh, no! You're too little!" said his mother. "You must stay with me."

But Trouble did not wish to do that, and cried until Nora came in and said he might help her bake a cake. This pleased the little fellow, who, if he were given a piece of dough, not too sticky, to play with, had a fine time imagining he was making pies or a cake.

So Ted and Janet hurried off to the pond and were soon skating away with other boys and girls of their own age and size.

"Come on, now, let's race!" cried Ted, after a bit. "I'll get to the other side of the pond 'fore you do, Jan!"

"No, you won't!" she exclaimed, and the Curlytops started off on their race, the others watching.

For a while Ted was ahead, and then, whether it was because she was a better skater or because her skates were sharper, Jan passed her brother. He tried to catch up to her but could not.

And then, when Jan was about twenty feet ahead of Teddy and in the middle of the pond, the ice suddenly began to crack.

"Look out! Come on back! You'll go through!" cried Tom Taylor.

"Oh, she's in now!" screamed Lola.

And, as Lola spoke, Jan went through the ice into the black water beneath.

"Skate to shore! Skate to shore!" called Tom to the others. "Get off the ice or you'll go in, too!"

The other children did as he said, and it was well that they did, for the ice was now cracking in all directions from the big hole in the middle, through which Janet had gone down.

Teddy, who was skating as hard as he could, could not stop himself at once, but went on, straight for the hole through which his sister had slipped.

"Stop! Stop!" yelled Tom, waving his hands at Ted. "Stop!"

Ted tried to, digging the back point of his skate into the ice as he had seen other skaters do when they wanted to stop quickly. But he was going too fast to come to a halt soon enough, and it looked as though he, also, would go into the water.

"Fall down and slide! Fall down!" cried a bigger boy who had come over to see if his own little brother was all right on the pond.

Ted understood what this boy meant. By falling down on the ice and sliding, he would not go as fast, and he might stop before he got to the hole where the black water looked so cold and wet.

Flinging his feet from under him Ted dropped full length on the frozen pond, but still he felt himself sliding toward the hole. He could see Janet now. She was trying to stand up and she was crying and sobbing.




Chapter X

Thanksgiving


"Look out, Teddy! Look out, or you'll fall in same as I did!"

This is what Janet Martin called to her brother as she saw him sliding toward her when she was in the pond where she had broken through the ice. She stopped crying and shivering from the icy water long enough to say that.

"Stop, Teddy! Stop!" she shouted.

"I'm tryin' to!" he answered. He pressed hard with his mittened hands on the smooth ice on which he had thrown himself. It was very slippery. He was sliding ahead feet first and he could lift up his head and look at his sister.

Luckily the water was not deep in the pond -- hardly over Janet's knees -- and when she had fallen through the ice she had managed to stand up. Her feet, with the skates still on them, were down in the soft mud and ooze of the pond, the bottom of which had not frozen.

"I can't stop!" yelled Teddy, and it did seem as though he would go into the water also. But he stopped just in time, far enough away from the hole to prevent his going through the ice, which had cracked in three or more places.

"Crawl back to shore!" yelled the big boy, named Ford Henderson, who had come to look after his own little brother, whom he found safe. "Crawl back to shore, Curlytop. Don't stand up, or you might fall down where the ice is thin and crack a hole in it. Crawl back to shore!"

"But I want to help Janet!" said Teddy, who was almost ready to cry himself, since he saw in what plight his sister Janet now was.

"I'll get her out!" called Ford.

Then, while Teddy slowly crawled back over the ice, which every now and then cracked a little, as if the whole frozen top of the pond were going to fall in, Ford, the big boy, not in the least minding his feet getting wet, ran to where Janet stood up in the hole. Ford broke through the ice also, but as he was quite tall the water did not even come to his knees.

"Don't cry. You'll be all right soon," said Ford in a kind voice to the little girl. "I'll take you home!"

Then, being strong, he lifted her up in his arms, skates and all, and, with the mud and water dripping from her feet while his own were soaking wet, the big boy ran toward the Martin home with Janet.

"You come along, too, Curlytop!" called Ford to Teddy. "If I bring in your sister, all wet from having fallen through the ice, your mother will be afraid you are drowned. Come along!"

So Teddy, quickly taking off his skates, Tom Taylor helping him, ran along beside Ford, who was carrying Janet. The other boys and girls who had run from the cracking ice in time to get off before they broke through, followed, so there was quite a procession coming toward the Martin house. Mrs. Martin, looking out of the window, saw it and, seeing Jan being carried by the big boy, guessed at once what had happened.

"Oh, my goodness!" she cried to Nora. "Jan has fallen through the ice. She'll be soaking wet and cold. Get some hot water ready, and I'll bring some blankets to warm. She must be given a hot bath and put to bed in warm clothes. Maybe Teddy is wet, too, or some of the others. Hurry, Nora!"

And Nora hurried as she never had before, so that by the time Ford had set Jan down in a chair by the stove in the kitchen and had helped Mrs. Martin take off her wet skates and shoes, the water was ready and Janet was given a hot foot bath.

"You must dry yourself, Ford," said Mrs. Martin. "I can't thank you enough for saving my little girl!"

"Oh, she was all right," answered Ford. "She stood up herself, because the water wasn't deep, and I just lifted her out of the mud. Ted did well, too, for he stopped himself from going into the hole."

"I was going to get Janet out," Teddy answered.

"I knew you would be a brave little boy when your sister was in danger," said Mrs. Martin. "Now here is some hot milk for you, Janet, and I guess you're old enough to have a little coffee, Ford. It will keep you from catching cold I hope."

"Couldn't he have some bread and jam with it, Mother?" asked Janet, as she sipped her warm drink. "Maybe he's hungry."

"Maybe he is!" laughed Mrs. Martin.

"Oh, don't bother!" exclaimed Ford.

But Mrs. Martin got it ready and Ford ate the bread and jam as though he liked it. So did Ted, and then Nora took some cookies out to the boys and girls from the pond who had gathered in front of the Martin home to talk about Janet's having gone through the ice and of how Ford had pulled her out of the mud.

Altogether there was a great deal of excitement, and many people in town talked about the Curlytops that night when the boys and girls went to their homes with the news.

"Some one ought to look after the ice on the little pond as well as on the lake when there is skating," said Mr. Martin, when he heard what had happened. "We want our little boys and girls to be safe as well as the larger ones. I'll see about it."

So he did, and after that, for the rest of the winter and each winter following, a man was sent to see how thick the ice on the little pond was, and if it would not hold up a big crowd of little boys and girls none was allowed on until it had frozen more thickly.

"But when are we going to build the big snow house?" asked Jan one night at supper, when she and Ted had played hard on the hill after school.

"You can't build it until there's more snow," said her mother. "You'll have to wait until another storm comes. I expect there'll be one soon, for Thanksgiving is next week, and we usually have a good snow then."

"Oh, is it Thanksgiving?" cried Ted. "What fun we'll have!"

"Is grandpa or grandma coming to see us this year?" asked Jan.

"No, they have to stay on Cherry Farm. I asked them to come, but grandpa says if there is going to be a blizzard, and any danger of his getting snowed in, he wants to be at home where he can feed the cows and horses."

"Aren't we going to have any company over Thanksgiving?" asked Ted.

"Well, maybe," and his mother smiled.

"Oh, somebody is coming!" cried Jan joyfully. "It's going to be a surprise, Ted! I can tell by the way mother laughs with her eyes!"

"Is it going to be a surprise?" Ted asked.

"Well, maybe," and Mrs. Martin laughed.

The weather grew colder as Thanksgiving came nearer. There were two or three flurries of snow, but no big storm, though Jan and Ted looked anxiously for one, as they wanted a big pile of the white flakes in the yard so they could make a snow house.

"We'll make the biggest one ever!" declared Ted. "And maybe we'll turn it into a fort and have an Indian fight!"

"I don't like Indian fights," said Janet.

"They'll only be make-believe," Ted went on. "Me an' Tom Taylor an' some of the fellows'll be the Indians."

But the big snow held off, though each morning, as soon as they arose from their beds, Jan and Ted would run to the window to look out to see if it had come in the night. There was just a little covering of white on the ground, and in some places, along the streets and the sidewalks, it had been shoveled away.

"Do you think it will snow for Thanksgiving?" asked the Curlytops again and again.

"Yes, I think so," their mother would answer.

Such busy times as there were at the Martin house! Mrs. Martin and Nora were in the kitchen most of each day, baking, boiling, frying, stewing and cooking in other ways. There was to be a pumpkin pie, of course -- in fact two or three of them, as well as pies of mincemeat and of apple.

"There must be a lot of company coming," said Ted to Janet; "'cause they're bakin' an awful lot."

"Well, everybody eats a lot at Thanksgiving," said the little girl. "Only I hope we have snow and lots of company."

"Did you hear anything more about the lame boy and the missing pocketbook and money?" asked Mrs. Martin of her husband two or three days before Thanksgiving.

"No, not a thing," he answered. "He did not come back to the store, and we haven't found the lost money. I am hoping we shall, though, for, though I can't guess who the lame boy was, if he wasn't Hal, I wouldn't want to think any little chap would take what did not belong to him."

"Nor would I," said the Curlytops' mother.

The next afternoon something queer happened. Teddy and Janet had not yet come home from school, and Mrs. Martin and Nora were in the kitchen baking the last of the things for Thanksgiving and getting things ready to roast the big turkey which would come the next day.

The front doorbell rang and Mrs. Martin said:

"You'd better answer, Nora. My hands are covered with flour."

"And so is my nose," answered the maid with a laugh. "You look better to go to the front door than I do."

"Well, I guess I do," agreed Mrs. Martin with a smile. She paused to wipe her hands on a towel and then went through the hall. But when she opened the door no one was on the steps.

"That's queer," she said to herself, looking up and down the street. "I wonder if that could have been Teddy or Jan playing a joke." Then she looked at the clock and noticed that it was not yet time for the children to come home from school.

A man passing in the street saw Mrs. Martin gazing up and down the sidewalk.

"Are you looking for someone?" he asked.

"Well, someone just rang my bell," answered Mrs. Martin. "But I don't see anyone."

"I saw a lame boy go up on your veranda a few minutes ago," went on the man. "He stood there, maybe four or five seconds and then rang the bell. All at once he seemed frightened, and down he hurried off the steps and ran around the corner, limping."

"He did?" cried Mrs. Martin. "Why, how strange! Did he say anything to you?"

"No, I wasn't near enough, but I thought it queer."

"It is queer," agreed Mrs. Martin. "I wonder who he was, and if he is in sight now?"

She ran down the steps and hurried around the corner to look down the next street. But no boy, lame or not, was in sight.

"Maybe he was just playing a trick," said the man. "Though he didn't look like that kind of boy."

"No, I think it was no trick," answered the mother of the Curlytops, as she went back into the house.

"What was it?" asked Nora.

"A lame boy, but he ran away after ringing," answered Mrs. Martin. "I wonder if it could have been the boy who was at Mr. Martin's store, and who might know something about the stolen pocketbook, even if he did not take it. Perhaps he came to tell us something about it and, at the last minute, he was too frightened and ran away."

She told this to Mr. Martin when he came home, and he said it might be so.

"If it is," he went on, "that lame boy must be in town somewhere. I'd like to find him. I'll speak to the police. The poor boy may be in trouble."

The police promised to look for the lame boy and help him if he needed it. And then all else was forgotten, for a time, in the joys of the coming Thanksgiving.

The night before the great day, when the Curlytops were in the sitting-room after supper talking of the fun they would have, and when Trouble was going to sleep in his mother's lap, Daddy Martin went to the window to look out.

"It's snowing hard," he said.

"Oh, goodie!" laughed Jan.

"Now we can build the big snow house!" cried Ted.

Just then the doorbell rang loudly.




Chapter XI

The Snow Bungalow


"Who's that?" asked Mrs. Martin, without thinking, for, of course, there was no way of telling who was at the door until it was opened.

"I'll go to see," offered Daddy Martin.

"Oh, maybe it's that queer lame boy," suggested Ted.

"Don't let him get away until you talk to him," cautioned Mother Martin. "I'd like to know who he is."

"Whoever is there doesn't seem to be going to run away," remarked the Curlytops' father. "They're stamping the snow off their feet as if they intended to come in."

"Oh, I wonder if it could be them?" said Mrs. Martin questioningly.

"Who, Mother? Who do you think it is?" asked Jan, but her mother did not answer. She stood in the hall while her husband went to the door. Outside could be heard the voices of people talking.

Then the door was opened by Mr. Martin, letting in a cloud of snowflakes and a blast of cold air that made the Curlytops shiver in the warm house.

"Well, here we are!" cried a jolly voice.

"Sort of a surprise!" some one else added; a woman's voice Jan decided. The other was a man's.

"Well, how in the world did you get here at this time of night?" asked Daddy Martin in surprise. "Come right in out of the storm. We're glad to see you! Come in and get warm. It's quite a storm, isn't it?"

"Yes. And it's going to be worse," the man's voice said. "It's going to be a regular blizzard, I imagine."

"Oh, goodie!" murmured Ted.

"But who is it -- who's come to see us so late at night?" asked Janet.

"Pooh! 'Tisn't late," said her brother. "Only a little after eight o'clock. Oh, it's Aunt Jo!" he cried a moment later as he caught sight of the lady's face when she took off her veil and shook from it the snowflakes.

"Yes, it's Aunt Jo, Curlytop!" cried the lady. "I'd hug you, only I'm wet. But I'll get dry in a minute and then I will. Where's my little Curlytop girl, and where's that dear bunch of Trouble?"

"Here I is!" cried Baby William, who had been awakened when the bell rang. He had been put on the couch by his mother, but now came toddling out into the hall. "Who is it?" he asked, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

"It's Aunt Jo!" cried Ted. "Aunt Jo's come to visit us for Thanksgiving. Oh, I'm so glad!" and Teddy danced wildly about the room.

"And it's Uncle Frank, too!" cried Mother Martin. "You children don't know him as well as you do Aunt Jo, for you haven't seen him so often. But here he is!"

"Is it Uncle Frank from out West where the cowboys and Indians live?" asked Ted, stopping his dance to think of this new interest.

"That's who I am, young man!" answered the hearty voice of the man who had come through the storm with Aunt Jo. "As soon as I shake off this fur coat, which has as much snow on it as a grizzly bear gets on him when he plays tag in a blizzard, I'll have a look at you. There! It's off. Now where are the children with such curly hair? I want to see 'em!"

"Here they are," answered Daddy Martin. "They were just going to bed to get up good appetites for the Thanksgiving dinner to-morrow. But I guess we can let them stay up a little longer. We didn't expect you two until to-morrow."

"We both managed to get earlier trains than we expected," explained Aunt Jo.

"And we met each other at the Junction, without expecting to, and came on together," added Uncle Frank. "Thought we'd give you a surprise."

"Glad you did," returned Mr. Martin. "I was beginning to get afraid, if the storm kept up, that you wouldn't get here for Thanksgiving."

"Wouldn't have missed it for two dozen cow ponies and a wire fence thrown in!" laughed Uncle Frank, in his deep voice. "Now where's that curly hair?"

Jan and Ted, just a little bashful in the presence of their Western uncle, who did not often leave his ranch to come East, went forward. Uncle Frank looked at them, ran his fingers through Ted's tightly curled hair and then cried:

"Oh, I'm caught!"

"What's the matter?" asked Aunt Jo with a laugh.

"My fingers are tangled in Ted's hair and I can't get them loose!" said Uncle Frank, pretending that his hand was held fast. "Say, I heard your hair was curly," he went on, after he had finally gotten his fingers loose, having made believe it was very hard work, "but I never thought it was like this. And Jan's, too! Why, if anything, hers is tighter than Ted's."

"Yes; we call them our Curlytops," said Mother Martin.

"And here's another. His hair isn't curly, though," went on Uncle Frank. "What did you call him?"

"His name is William Anthony Martin," said Aunt Jo. "I know, for I picked out the name."

"But we call him Trouble," said Ted, who was looking eagerly at his big uncle from the West, hoping, perhaps, that he might bring out a gun or a bow and some arrows from the pockets of his fur overcoat. But Uncle Frank did nothing like that.

"Come out in the dining-room and have something to eat," invited Mr. Martin.

"No, thank you. Miss Miller and I had supper before we came here," answered Uncle Frank. "We knew we'd be a little late. But we'll sit and talk a while."

"Mother, may Ted and I stay up and listen -- a little bit?" begged Janet.

"Oh, yes, let them, do!" urged Aunt Jo. "It isn't so very late, and they don't have to go to school to-morrow. Besides if this storm keeps up all they can do is to stay in the house."

"We got big rubber boots, and we can go in deep drifts," explained Jan.

"Did you? Well, I guess the drifts will be deeper to-morrow than you've ever seen them if I'm any judge of weather," remarked Uncle Frank. "It's starting in like one of our worst blizzards."

"Then we'll be snowed in like the hermit said we'd be!" cried Ted. "That'll be fun!"

"What does he mean about a hermit?" asked Aunt Jo.

Then Daddy Martin told about the letter from grandpa at Cherry Farm, and of the hermit's prediction that there was going to be a hard winter.

"Well, Thanksgiving is a good time to be snowed in," said Uncle Frank. "There's sure to be enough to eat in the house."

"Were you ever snowed in?" asked Ted, when he was seated on one of Uncle Frank's knees and Jan was on the other.

"Oh, lots of times," was the answer.

"Tell us about it!" eagerly begged the Curlytops.

"I think you had better hear Uncle Frank's stories to-morrow," said Mother Martin. "It is getting late now, and time you were asleep. You may get up early, if you wish and you'll have all day with our nice company."

"Oh, Mother! just let Uncle Frank tell one story!" pleaded Jan.

"We haven't heard one for an awful long while," added her brother. "I mean a story like what he can tell," he added quickly. "Course you tell us nice stories, Mother, and so does Daddy, but can't Uncle Frank tell us just one?"

"I don't know," returned Mother Martin, as if not quite sure.

"Oh, please!" begged Jan and Ted together, for they thought they saw signs of their mother's giving in.

Trouble seemed to know what was going on. He wiggled down from his father's knees and climbed up on those of Uncle Frank. Then he cuddled down in the big man's arms, and the big man seemed to know just how to hold little boys, even if their pet names were like that of Trouble.

"I 'ikes a 'tory!" said Trouble simply. "I 'ikes one very much!"

"Well, now that's too bad," said Uncle Frank with a laugh. "But if daddy and mother say it can't be done, why -- it can't!"

"Do you know any short ones?" asked Mr. Martin. "I mean a story that wouldn't keep them up too late, and then keep them awake after they get to bed?"

"Oh, I guess I can dig up a story like that," said Uncle Frank, and he scratched his head, and then stuck one hand down deep in his pocket, as if he intended digging up a story from there.

"Well, I suppose they won't be happy until they hear one," said Mrs. Martin. "So you may tell them one -- but let it be short, please."

"All right," agreed Uncle Frank.

"Oh, this is lovely!" murmured Janet.

"What's the story going to be about?" asked Ted.

"What would you like it to be about?" inquired Uncle Frank.

"Tell us of the time you were snowed in," suggested Jan. "And maybe we'll have something like that happen to us."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Uncle Frank. "Well, maybe after you hear about what happened to me you won't want anything like it yourselves. However, here we go!"

He settled himself in the easy chair, cuddled Trouble a little closer to him, and, after looking up at the ceiling, as if to see any part of the story that might be printed there, Uncle Frank began:

"Once upon a time, not so very many years ago --  -- "

"Oh, I just love a story to begin that way; don't you, Ted?" asked Janet.

"Yep. It's great! Go on, Uncle Frank."

"You children mustn't interrupt or Uncle Frank can't tell, or it will take him so much longer that I'll have to put you to bed before the story is finished," said Mother Martin, playfully shaking a finger at Ted and Jan.

"All right, we'll be quiet," promised the little girl.

"Go on, Uncle Frank," begged Teddy.

"Once upon a time, a few years ago," began Uncle Frank the second time, "I was living away out West, farther than I am now, and in a place where hardly anyone else lived. I had just started to make my living in that new country, and I wanted to look about a bit and see a good place to settle in before I built my log cabin.

"I took my gun and rod, as well as something to eat, so I could hunt and fish when I wished, and I set out one day. I traveled over the plains and up and down among the mountains, and one night I found that I was lost."

"Really lost?" asked Jan, forgetting that no questions were allowed.

"Well, I guess you could call it that," said Uncle Frank. "I didn't know where I was, nor the way back to where I had come from, which was a little settlement of miners. There I was, all alone in the mountains, with night coming on, and it was beginning to snow.

"It was cold, too," said Uncle Frank, "and I was glad I had on a fur coat. It wasn't as big as the one I wore here," he said, "but I was very glad to have it, and I buttoned it around me as tight as I could and walked on in the darkness and through the snowstorm, trying to find my way back.

"But I couldn't. I seemed to be getting more lost all the while, and finally I made up my mind there was no help for it. I'd have to stay out in the woods, on top of the mountain all night."

"All alone?" asked Jan.

"All alone," answered Uncle Frank. "But I wasn't afraid, for I had my gun with me, and I'd been out all night alone before that. But I didn't like the cold. I was afraid I might freeze or get snowed in, and then I never could find my way back.

"So, before it got too dark, and before the snow came down too heavily, I stopped, made a little fire and warmed some coffee I had in a tin bottle. I drank that, ate a little cold bread and meat I had, and then I felt better.

"But I wanted some place where I could stay all night. There were no houses where I could go in and get a nice, warm bed. There were no hotels and there wasn't even a log cabin or a shack. I couldn't build a snow house, for the snow was cold and dry and wouldn't pack, so the next best thing to do, I thought, would be for me to find a hollow log and crawl into that.

"So I looked around as well as I could in the storm and darkness," went on Uncle Frank, "and finally I found a log that would just about suit me. I cleared away the snow from one end, kicking it with my boots, and then, when I had buttoned my fur coat around me, I crawled into the log with my gun.

"It was dark inside the hollow log, and not very nice, but it was warm, and I was out of the cold wind and the snow. Of course it was very dark, but as I didn't have anything to read, I didn't need a light.

"After a while I began to feel sleepy, and before I knew it I was dozing off. Just before I began to dream about being in a nice warm house, with some roast turkey and cranberry sauce for supper, I felt some one else getting inside the hollow log with me.

"I was too sleepy to ask who it was. I thought it was somebody like myself, lost in the storm, who had crawled in as I had done to keep from freezing. So I just said: 'Come on, there's lots of room for two of us,' and then I went fast asleep. I thought I'd let the other man sleep, too.

"Well, I stayed in the log all night and then I woke up. I thought it must be morning, but I couldn't see in the dark log. Anyhow, I wanted to get up. So I poked at what I thought was the other man sleeping with me. I poked him again, and I noticed that he had on a fur coat like mine.

"'Come on!' I cried. 'Time to get up!'

"And then, all of a sudden there was a growl and a sniff and a snuff, and, instead of a man crawling out the other end of the log, there was a big, shaggy bear!"

"Really?" asked Jan, her eyes big with surprise.

"Really and truly," said Uncle Frank.

"Oh! Oh!" gasped Teddy. "Weren't you scared?"

"Well, I didn't have time to be," answered Uncle Frank. "You see, I didn't know it was a bear that had crawled into the log to sleep with me until he crawled out, and there wasn't any use in getting frightened then.

"Out of the log scrambled the bear, and I guess he was as much surprised as I was to find he'd been sleeping in the same hollow-tree-hotel with a man. Away he ran! I could see him running down the hill when I crawled out of the log. Morning had come, the snow had stopped, and I could see to find my way back to the town I had left. But I was glad the bear got in the log with me, for he helped keep me warm. And, all the while, I thought it was another man with a fur coat on like mine.

"There, now that's all the story, and you Curlytops must go to bed! Hello! Trouble's asleep already!"

And so the little fellow was, in Uncle Frank's arms.

"Oh, that was an awful nice story!" said Jan. "Thank you!"

"Yes, it was," added her brother. "I'm awful glad you came to see us," he went on. "I hope you'll stay forever and tell us a story every night. We like stories!"

"Well, one every night would be quite a lot," said his uncle. "But I'll see about it. Anyhow, Aunt Jo and I are glad to be here -- at least I am," and Aunt Jo nodded to show that she was also.

"Come, children!" called Mrs. Martin. "Uncle Frank was very good to tell you such a nice, funny story. But now you really must go to bed. To-morrow is another day, and our company will be here then, and for some time longer."

"Did you know they were coming, Mother?" asked Jan, as she slid off her uncle's knee.

"Well, I had an idea," was the smiling answer.

"Is this the surprise daddy was talking about?" Ted queried.

"Yes, this is it," answered his father. "Do you like it?"

"Um, yes!" laughed Ted, and Jan smiled to show that she was of the same mind.

When the Curlytops were in bed Aunt Jo and Uncle Frank told Mr. and Mrs. Martin of their journey. For some time each one had been planning to come to visit their relatives, Aunt Jo from her home in Clayton and Uncle Frank from his Western ranch in Montana. Of course he had started some time before Aunt Jo did, as he had farther to travel. But they both reached the railroad junction, not far from Cresco, at the same time. Then they came the rest of the way together, arriving in the midst of the storm.

"Well, we're glad you're here," said Mrs. Martin, "and the children are delighted. They knew we had some surprise for them, though we did not tell them you were expected. Now I expect they'll hardly sleep, planning things to do in the snow and on the ice."

Indeed Ted and Jan did not go to sleep at once, but talked to each other from their rooms until Mrs. Martin sent Nora up to tell them if they did not get quiet they could not have fun with Aunt Jo and Uncle Frank.

"Oh, it's snowing yet, Jan!" cried Ted, as he jumped out of bed the next morning. "It's going to be a fine storm!"

"That's good!" laughed Janet. "I wonder if Uncle Frank knows how to build a snow house."

"We'll ask him. Come on! Let's hurry down and see if he's up yet."

Uncle Frank was up, and so was Aunt Jo and the whole family, except Trouble, for it was later than the Curlytops thought.

"Make a snow house? Of course I know how!" laughed Uncle Frank. "Many a one I've made out on the prairie when I've been caught in a blizzard."

"Why don't you build a snow bungalow?" asked Aunt Jo.

"What's a bungalow?" asked Jan.

"Well, it's a sort of low, one-story house, with all the rooms on one floor," explained her aunt. "There is no upstairs to it."

"We did build a snow house, and it hadn't any upstairs," said Ted. "But Nicknack, our goat, saw his picture in one of the glass-ice windows, and he butted a hole in the wall."

"Well, he's a great goat!" laughed Uncle Frank. "But if you're going to build another snow house, do as Aunt Jo says, and make it a low bungalow. Then it won't be so easy to knock down. We build low houses out West so the wind storms won't knock them down so easily, and you can pretend your goat is a wind storm."

"That'll be fun!" laughed Ted.

"And we'll make the bungalow with sides and a roof of wood," went on Aunt Jo, "and cover the boards with snow. Then it will look just like a snow house, but it will be stronger. I'll help you. I'm going to build a bungalow myself this summer," she went on, "and I'd like to practise on a snow one first."

"Come on!" cried Ted. "We'll build the snow bungalow!"

"Better get your breakfasts first," said his mother.

This did not take long, for Ted and Jan were anxious to be at their fun. And a little later, with Aunt Jo and Uncle Frank to help, the snow bungalow was started.




Chapter XII

Trouble Is Lost


"What sort of house are you going to build, Uncle Frank?" asked Ted, as he and his sister watched their uncle and their aunt out in the big yard back of the house.

"Well, I call it a shack, though your aunt calls it a bungalow," was the answer. "Between us I guess we'll manage to make something in which you Curlytops can have fun. I've made 'em like this on the prairies -- those are the big, wide plains, you know, out West, where there are very few trees, and not much lumber," he went on. "We have to use old boards, tree limbs, when we can find them, and anything else we come across.

"It used to be that way, though there is more lumber now. But I've often taken a few sticks and boards and made a sort of shelter and then covered it with snow. It will stand up almost all winter, if you don't let a goat knock it down," he added with a laugh.

"We won't let Nicknack knock this snow bungalow down," said Janet.

"No, we'll coax him to be good," added Aunt Jo.

It had stopped snowing, though heavy clouds overhead seemed to hold more that might fall down later, and the Curlytops had not given up hope of being snowed in, though really they did not know all the trouble that might be caused by such a thing.

There were plenty of boards and sticks in the Martin barn and around it, and Aunt Jo and Uncle Frank had soon made a framework for the bungalow. It was larger than the first snow house the children had made, and it was to have a wooden door to it so the cold could be kept out better than with a blanket.

"What are you doing?" asked Tom Taylor on Thanksgiving day morning, when he came over to play with Jan and Ted.

"Making a snow bungalow," Ted answered. "Want to help?"

"My, yes!" answered Tom. "Say, it's going to be a dandy!" he exclaimed when he had been introduced to Aunt Jo and Uncle Frank, and was told what they were doing to give the Curlytops a good time.

When the dinner-bell rang the wooden part of the bungalow was nearly finished and there were two windows in it of real glass, some old sashes having been found in the barn. These had once been in a chicken coop.

"Well, we're glad to have Uncle Frank and Aunt Jo with us for the Thanksgiving dinner," said Daddy Martin, as they all sat at the table.

"And I'm going to be right next to my dear little Trouble!" cried Aunt Jo, reaching over to hug Baby William.

"Look out he doesn't eat everything off your plate," warned Mother Martin with a laugh. "He says he's very hungry."

"Well, that's what everybody ought to be on Thanksgiving day," said Uncle Frank. "We ought to be hungry enough to like a good dinner, and be thankful we have it, and wish everybody else had the same."

"That's right!" cried Daddy Martin, and then he began to carve the big, roasted turkey, while Mother Martin dished out the red cranberry sauce.

I will not tell you all the good things there were to eat at the Martins' that Thanksgiving, for fear I might spoil your appetite for what you are going to have to-day -- whatever day it happens to be. Not that you might not have just as nice a dinner, but it will be different, I know.

Such a brown, roasted turkey, such red cranberry sauce, such crisp, white celery and such a sweet pumpkin pie -- never were they seen before -- at least as far as I know.

There was eating and talking and laughter and more eating and more talking and more laughter and then they began all over again.

At last even Uncle Frank, who was a bigger man than Daddy Martin, said he had had enough to eat. So the chairs were pushed back, after Nora had brought in some snow cream, which was something like ice cream only made with snow instead of ice, and Uncle Frank told about a prairie fire.

Then Aunt Jo told one about having been on a ship that struck a rock and sank. But no one was drowned, she was glad to be able to say.

Ted and Jan liked to listen to the stories, but they kept looking out in the back yard, and finally Uncle Frank said:

"I know what these Curlytops want!"

"What?" asked Mother Martin.

"They want to go out into the yard and finish the snow bungalow! Don't you, Curlytops?"

"Yes!" cried Jan and Ted.

"And I want to go out, too," went on Uncle Frank, "for I'm not used to staying in the house so much, especially after I've eaten such a big dinner. So come on out and we'll have some fun."

"I'm coming, too!" cried Aunt Jo. "I love it in the fresh air and the snow."

"Come on, Mother Martin!" called Mr. Martin to his wife. "We'll go out with them. It will do us good to frolic in the snow."

"All right. Wait until I get on some rubbers."

"Me come, too!" cried Trouble, who had fallen asleep after dinner, but who was now awake.

"Yes, bring him along," said Daddy Martin.

They were soon all out in the yard. The storm had not started in again, but Uncle Frank said it might before night, and there would, very likely, be much more snow.

Then they began the finishing touches on the snow bungalow. They piled the masses of white flakes on top of and on all sides of the board shack, or cabin, Uncle Frank and Aunt Jo had built. Soon none of the boards, except those where the door was fastened on, could be seen. They were covered with snow.

"There!" cried Uncle Frank, when the last shovelful had been tossed on. "There's as fine a snow bungalow as you could want. It will be nice and warm, too, even on a cold day."

"And Nicknack can't knock it down, either," added Ted.

"Well, he'll have harder work than he did to knock down the plain snow house you built," said Aunt Jo. "Now let's go inside and see how much room there is."

The bungalow would not hold them all at once, but they took turns going in, and it was high enough for Uncle Frank to stand in, though he had to stoop a little.

Some benches and chairs were made of the pieces of wood left over and Uncle Frank even built a little table in the middle of the play bungalow.

"You can eat your dinners here when it's too warm in the house," he said with a laugh.

Then Ted, Janet, Tom Taylor and his sister Lola had fun in the new bungalow while the older folk went in to sit and talk of the days when they were children and played in the snow.

Daddy Martin told about the strange lame boy who had come to his store and, later, to the house, but who had gone away without waiting to tell what he wanted.

"Ted and Jan are anxious to see him to make sure he is not their friend Hal," said Mr. Martin. "But I do not think it is. Hal would not take a pocketbook."

"Then you have never found the lost money?" asked Mrs. Martin.

"No, never," her husband answered. "Still I do not want to say the lame boy took it until I am more sure."

The Curlytops and their friends played in the yard around the snow bungalow until it was getting dark. Trouble had been brought in some time before by his mother, and now it was the hour for Jan and Ted to come in.

"We'll go coasting to-morrow, Tom!" called Ted to his chum.

"All right," was the answer. "I'll call for you right after breakfast."

"We'll hitch Nicknack to the big sled and make him pull us to the hill," said Janet, for Mr. Martin had bought a large, second-hand sled to which the goat could be harnessed. The sled would hold five children, with a little squeezing, and Trouble was often taken for a ride with his brother and sister, Tom and Lola also being invited.

"Come to supper, children!" called Mrs. Martin, as Ted and Jan came in from having spent most of the afternoon in the snow bungalow. "I don't suppose you are hungry after the big dinner you ate," she went on, "but maybe you can eat a little."

"I can eat a lot!" cried Ted.

"I'm hungry, too," added Janet.

"Well, I wish you'd wash Trouble's hands and face, Jan," went on Mrs. Martin. "I hope you didn't let him throw too many snowballs."

"Why, Trouble wasn't with us -- not after you brought him in!" exclaimed Ted.

"He wasn't?" gasped Mrs. Martin. "Hasn't he been out with you since about an hour ago, and didn't he come in with you just now?"

"No," answered Jan.

"Why, I put on his mittens, little boots and jacket," said his mother, a worried look coming over her face. "He said he wanted to go out and play with you. I opened the back door for him, and just then Aunt Jo called me. Are you sure he didn't go out to you?"

"No, he didn't," declared Jan. "We haven't seen him since you brought him in. Oh, dear! is Trouble lost?"

Mrs. Martin set down a dish that was in her hand. Her face turned pale and she looked around the room. No Trouble was in sight.

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Martin, coming in just then.

"Why, I thought Baby William was out in the yard, playing with Jan and Ted," said Mrs. Martin, "but they came in just now and they say he wasn't. Oh, where could he have gone?"

"Maybe he went out in the front instead of to the back when you put on his things," said Aunt Jo, "and he may be in one of the neighbor's houses. We'll go and ask, Uncle Frank and I."

"I'll come, too," said Mr. Martin. "Mother, you call through the house. He may not have gone out at all."




Chapter XIII

Nicknack Has A Ride


Mrs. Martin hurried into the hall and in a loud voice called:

"Trouble! Trouble! Where are you? Baby William! Come to Mother!"

There was no answer. Ted and Jan looked anxiously at each other. Their father had gone with Uncle Frank and Aunt Jo to inquire in the houses next door and those across the street. Sometimes Trouble wandered to the neighbors', but this was in the summer, when doors were open and he could easily get out. He had never before been known to run away in winter.

"Oh, where can he be?" exclaimed Janet.

"We'll find him," declared Teddy.

He saw that Janet was almost ready to cry.

"Help me look, children," said Mrs. Martin. "He may be in one of the rooms here. We must look in every one."

So the search began.

The Curlytops and their mother had gone through about half the rooms of the house without finding Trouble when Uncle Frank and Aunt Jo came back.

"Did you find him?" they asked Baby William's mother.

"No," she answered. Then she asked eagerly: "Did you?"

"He hadn't been to any of the neighbors' houses where we inquired," said Uncle Frank.

"Dick is going to ask farther down," added Aunt Jo. "I think he said at a house where a little boy named Henry lives."

"Oh, yes! Henry Simpson!" exclaimed Ted. "Trouble likes him. But Henry's house is away down at the end of the street."

"Well, sometimes William goes a good way off," said his mother. "I hope he's there. But we must search all over the house."

"And even down cellar," added Uncle Frank. "I know when I was a little fellow I ran away and hid, and they found me an hour or so later in the coal bin. At least so I've been told. I don't remember about it myself. I must have been pretty dirty."

"Oh, I don't think Trouble would go in the coal," said his mother. "But, Nora, you might look down there. We'll go upstairs now."

With Uncle Frank and Aunt Jo to help in the search the Curlytops and their mother went up toward the top of the house. Mother Martin looked in her room, where Trouble slept. He might have crawled into her bed or into his own little crib, she thought. But he was not there.

"He isn't in my room!" called Ted, after he had looked about it.

"Are you sure?" asked the anxious mother.

"Yes'm."

"And he isn't here," added Janet, as she came out of her room. "I looked under the bed and everywhere."

"In the closet?" asked Uncle Frank.

"Yes, in the closet, too," replied Janet.

"Maybe he's in my room," said Aunt Jo. "It's a large one and there are two closets there. Poor little fellow, maybe he's crying his eyes out."

"If he was crying we'd hear him," remarked Ted.

He and Janet followed Aunt Jo into her room. The light was turned on and they looked around. Trouble was not in sight and Aunt Jo was just starting to look in her large clothes closet when she suddenly saw something that caused her to stop and to cry out:

"Oh, what made it move?"

"What move?" asked Uncle Frank, who had followed her and the Curlytops in. "What did you see move?"

"My big suitcase," replied Aunt Jo. "See, it's there against the wall, but I'm sure I saw it move."

"Did any of you touch it?" asked Uncle Frank.

"No," answered Aunt Jo; and Ted and Jan said the same thing.

"What is it?" Mother Martin asked, coming into the room. "Did you find him?" she asked anxiously. "He isn't in my room, nor in Ted's or Janet's. Oh, where can he be?"

"Look! It's moving again!" cried Aunt Jo.

She pointed to the suitcase. It was an extra large one, holding almost as much as a trunk, and it stood against the wall of her room.

As they looked they all saw the cover raised a little, and then the whole suitcase seemed to move slightly.

"Maybe it's Skyrocket, our dog," said Ted. "He likes to crawl into places like that to sleep."

"Or maybe it's Turnover, our cat," added Janet.

Uncle Frank hurried across the room to the suitcase. Before he could reach it the cover was suddenly tossed back and there, curled up inside, where he had been sleeping, was the lost Trouble!

"Oh, Trouble, what a fright you gave us!" cried his mother.

"Were you there all the while?" Aunt Jo demanded.

Trouble sat up in the suitcase, which was plenty big enough for him when it was empty. He rubbed his eyes and smiled at those gathered around him.

"Iss. I been s'eepin' here long time," he said.

"Well, of all things!" cried Aunt Jo. "I couldn't imagine what made the suitcase move, and there it was Trouble wiggling in his sleep."

"How did you come to get into it?" asked Uncle Frank.

"Nice place. I like it," was all the reason Trouble could give.

He still had on his jacket and rubber boots which his mother had put on him when he said he wanted to go out and play in the snow with Jan and Ted.

"And, instead of doing that he must have come upstairs when I wasn't looking and crawled in here," said Mrs. Martin. "You mustn't do such a thing again, Baby William."

"Iss, I not do it. I'se hungry!"

"No wonder! It's past his supper time!" cried Aunt Jo.

"Did you find him?" called the anxious voice of Daddy Martin from the front door. He had just come in. "He wasn't down at the Simpsons'," he went on.

"He's here all right!" answered Uncle Frank, for Mrs. Martin was hugging Trouble so hard that she could not answer. She had really been very much frightened about the little lost boy.

"Well, he certainly is a little tyke!" said Mr. Martin, when he had been told what had happened. "Hiding in a suitcase! That's a new kind of trouble!"

They were all laughing now, though they had been frightened. Trouble told, in his own way, how, wandering upstairs, he had seen Aunt Jo's big suitcase, and he wanted to see what it would be like to lie down in it. He could do it, by curling up, and he was so comfortable once he had pulled the cover down, that he fell asleep.

The cover had not closed tightly, so there was left an opening through which Trouble could get air to breathe. So he did not suffer from being lost, though he frightened the whole household.

Supper over, they sat and talked about what had happened that day, from building the snow bungalow to hunting for Trouble. Before that part had been reached Trouble was sound asleep in his mother's lap, and was carried off to his real bed this time. A little later the Curlytops followed, ready to get up early the next day to have more fun.

"Well, we haven't got that big storm yet, but it's coming," said Uncle Frank, as he looked at the sky, which was filled with clouds.

"And will we be snowed in?" asked Ted.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say that," his uncle answered. "Would you like to be?"

"If you and Aunt Jo will stay."

"Well, I guess we'll have to stay if we get snowed in, Curlytop. But we'll have to wait and see what happens. Where are you going now?"

"Over on the little hill to coast. Want to come with me, Uncle Frank?"

"No, thank you. I'm too old for that. I'll come some time, though, and watch you and Janet. What are you going to do with your goat?" he asked, as he saw Ted taking Nicknack out of the stable.

"Oh, our goat pulls us over to the hill in the big sled, and then we slide down hill on our little sleds. I'm going to take Jan and Tom Taylor and Lola."

"And Trouble, too?" Uncle Frank asked.

"Not now. Trouble is getting washed and he can't come out."

"No, I guess he'd get cold if he did," laughed Uncle Frank.

He helped Ted hitch Nicknack to the big sled, not that Ted needed any help, for he often harnessed the goat himself, but Uncle Frank liked to do this. Then the Curlytops and Tom and Lola Taylor started for the hill.

There they found many of their playmates, and after Nicknack had been unhitched so he could rest he was tied to a tree and a little hay put in front of him to eat. The hay had been brought from home in the big sled which stood near the tree to which Nicknack was tied, and Ted and Jan began to have fun.

Down the hill they coasted, having races with their chums, now and then falling off their sleds and rolling half way down the hill.

"I know what let's do, Teddy," said Jan after a bit.

"I know something, too!" he laughed. "I can wash your face!"

"No, please don't!" she begged, holding her mittened hands in front of her. "I'm cold now."

"Well, it'll make your cheeks nice and red," went on Teddy.

"They're as red now as I want 'em," answered Jan. "What I say let's do is to see can go the farthest on our sleds."

"Oh, you mean have a race?"

"No, not zactly a race," answered the little girl. "When you race you see who can go the fastest. But now let's see who can go the longest."

"Oh, I see!" exclaimed Teddy. "That will be fun. Come on!" and he started to drag his sled to the top of the hill, Janet following after, "like Jack and Jill," as she laughingly told her brother.

When the two children were about half way up the hill, their heads bowed down, for the wind cut into their faces, they heard a shout of:

"Look out the way! Look out the way! Here we come!"

Ted and Jan looked up quickly and saw, coasting toward them, another little boy and girl on their sleds.

"Come over here!" cried Teddy to his sister. "Come over on my side of the hill and you'll be out of the way."

"No, you come over with me!" said Janet. "This is the right side, and mother said we must always keep to the right no matter if we walked up or slid down hill."

"Well, maybe that's so," agreed Teddy. "I guess I'll come over by you," and he started to move across the hill, while the little boy and girl coasting toward him and Jan kept crying:

"Look out the way! Look out the way! Here we come!"

And then a funny thing happened. Teddy thought he was getting safely out of the way, and he certainly tried hard enough, but before he could reach the side of his sister Janet, along came the sled of the little boy, and right into Teddy's fat legs it ran.

The little boy tried to steer out of the way, but he was too late, and the next Teddy knew, he was sitting partly on the little boy and partly on the sled, sliding down the hill up which he had been walking a little while before.

"Oh!" grunted the little boy when Teddy part way sat down on him.

"Oh!" grunted Teddy.

The reason they both grunted was because their breaths were jolted out of them. But they were not hurt, and when the sled with the two boys on it kept on sliding downhill all the other boys and girls laughed to see the funny sight.

"Well!" cried Teddy when he reached the bottom of the hill and got up, "I didn't know I was going to have that ride."

"Neither did I," said the little boy, whose name was Wilson Decker. "Me and my sister were having a race," he went on, "and now she beat me."

"I'm sorry," said Teddy. "I didn't mean to get in your way. My sister and I are going to have a race, too, and that's what we were walking up to do when I sat on you. Don't you want to race with us? We're going to have a new kind."

"What kind, Curlytop?" the little boy asked.

"To see who can go the longest but not the fastest," answered Teddy. "Come on, it'll be a lot of fun!"

So the little boy and his sister, whose sled, with her on it, had first gotten to the bottom of the hill, went up together with Teddy, to where Jan was waiting for him.

"Oh, Teddy!" cried the little Curlytop girl, laughing, "you did look so funny!"

"I -- I sort of felt funny!" replied Teddy. "They're going to race with us," he went on, as he pointed to Wilson Decker and his sister.

"That'll be nice," returned Janet. "Now we'll all get on our sleds in a line at the top of the hill. It doesn't matter who goes first or last, but we must start even, and the one who makes his sled go the longest way to the bottom of the hill beats the race."

They all said this would be fair, and some of the other children gathered at the top of the hill to watch the race, which was different from the others.

"All ready! I'm going to start!" cried Janet, and away she went, coasting down the hill. The other three waited a little, for there was no hurry, and then, one after the other, Wilson, Teddy and Elsie (who was Wilson's sister) started down the hill.

Janet's sled was the first to stop at the bottom, as she had been the first to start, and she cried:

"Nobody can come up to me!"

But Elsie on her sled was exactly even with Janet.

"Well, if Teddy or your brother don't go farther than we did then we win the race -- a half of it to each of us," said Janet.

And that's just what happened. Teddy's sled went a little farther than did Wilson's, but neither of the boys could come up to the girls, so Jan and Elsie won, and they were proud of it. Then they started another race.

They were having grand fun, shouting and laughing, when suddenly a strange dog, which none of the children remembered having seen before, ran along and began barking at Nicknack.

The goat, who was used to the gentle barking of Skyrocket, did not like this strange, savage dog, which seemed ready to bite him.

"Baa-a-a-a!" bleated the goat.

"Bow-w-w!" barked the dog, and he snapped at Nicknack's legs.

This was more than the goat could stand. With another frightened leap he gave a jump that broke the strap by which he was tied to the tree. Then Nicknack jumped again, and this time, strangely enough, he landed right inside the sled which, a little while before, he had pulled along the snow to the hill.

Right into the sled leaped Nicknack, and then another funny thing happened.

The sled was on the edge of the hill, and when the goat jumped into it he gave it such a sudden push that it began sliding downhill. Right down the hill slid the sled and Nicknack was in it.

"Oh, your goat's having a ride! Your goat's having a ride!" cried the other children to the Curlytops.




Chapter XIV

Snowed In


Nicknack was indeed having a ride. Whether he knew it or not, or whether he wanted it or not, he was sliding downhill in the very sled in which he had pulled the Curlytops a little while before.

"Oh, look!" cried Janet.

"You'd better catch him 'fore he gets hurt!" added Tom.

"I never knew a goat could ride downhill!" laughed Jack Turton, a funny, fat, little fellow.

"Did you teach him that trick, Curlytop?" asked Ford Henderson, the big boy who had carried Janet home the day she went through the ice.

"I guess he must have learned it himself," answered Ted.

"That bad dog made him do it," said Janet. "Go on away, you bad dog!" she cried, stamping her foot.

Then Janet caught up some snow in her hand and threw it at the dog, which gave a surprised bark and ran away, with his tail between his legs, the way dogs do when they know they have done something wrong for which they deserve a whipping.

Perhaps, too, this dog was so surprised at seeing a goat ride downhill that he ran away on that account, and not because Janet threw a snowball at him. For a goat riding down a snow hill in a sled is certainly a funny sight. I never saw one myself, though I have seen a goat in a circus ride down a wooden hill made of planks and this goat sat on a seat in a wagon that, afterward, he drew about the ring with a clown in it.

So, I suppose, if a goat can ride downhill in a wagon it is not much harder to do the same thing in a sled.

At any rate, Nicknack rode down the hill, and the big sled kept going faster and faster as it glided over the slippery snow.

"Get out, Nicknack! Get out!" cried Janet, as she saw what was happening to her pet. "You'll be hurt! Jump out of the sled!"

Ted ran down the hill after the sliding sled, but as it was now going very fast, the little boy could not catch up to it.

"I guess your goat won't be hurt," said Ford Henderson to Jan. "Goats can climb rocks and jump down off them, so I guess even if his sled upsets and spills him out Nicknack won't get hurt."

"The snow is soft," said Lola.

"Look, he is going to upset!" cried Ted, who had stopped running and, with the other children, was looking down the hill. Nicknack was half way to the bottom now.

Just as Ted spoke the sled gave a twist to one side and Nicknack cried:

"Baa-a-a-a!"

Then, just as the goat was about to leap out, the sled ran into a bank of snow, turned over on the side and the next moment Nicknack went flying, head first, into a big, white drift.

"Oh, our nice goat will be killed!" cried Jan. "Oh, Teddy, you'd better go for a doctor!"

"No, Nicknack won't be hurt!" said Ford Henderson, the big boy, trying not to laugh, though Jan did make a very funny face, half crying. "Goats often land head first on their horns. Anyhow, I've read in a book that they do, and they don't get hurt at all. Goats like to fall that way. He's all right. See! He's getting out of the drift now."

And so Nicknack was. He had not been in the least hurt when he jumped, or was thrown, head first into the soft snow, though he might have broken one of his legs if he had rolled downhill with the sled. For that is what the sled did after it upset.

Kicking and scrambling his way out of the snow bank, Nicknack climbed up the hill again. He could easily do this, even without the pieces of rubber tied on his hoofs, for they were sharp hoofs, and he could dig them in the soft snow, as boys stick their skates into the ice.

Up came Nicknack, and then with a little waggle of his funny, short, stubby tail he walked over to a little hay still left near his feeding place, and began to eat.

"Say, he's a good goat all right!" cried Tom Taylor. "He's a regular trick goat! He ought to be in a circus."

"Maybe we'll get up a circus and have him in it some day next summer," promised Ted.

"You'd better go an' get our sled 'fore it's broke," called Janet to him.

"That's right," agreed Ford. "Some of the coasters might run into it and break it, or hurt themselves. I'll get it for you."

Ford was not coasting on the little hill, being too big a boy. But he liked the Curlytops and was always helping them when he could, even before he helped get Janet out of the frozen pond when she broke through the ice.

The heavy sled, to which Nicknack could be hitched, was not easy to pull up the hill, but Ford managed to do it. Then, after Ted, his sister and their playmates had coasted all they wanted to, the goat was harnessed again, and back home he trotted over the snow, pulling the Curlytops.

Ted had fastened some sleighbells to his pet, and they now made a merry jingle as Nicknack trotted along. The goat went quite fast, for I suppose he knew a nice supper of the things he liked was waiting for him in his stable. And it was not altogether pieces of paper off tin cans, either, though some goats like to chew that paper because it has sweet paste on it.

"Well, did you have a nice time?" asked Uncle Frank, as the Curlytops came home.

"Fine!" cried Janet.

"And Nicknack had a ride downhill!" added her brother.

"No!" exclaimed Uncle Frank, in surprise. "Now you're fooling me!"

"Nope!" said Ted earnestly. "He did, honest!" and he told all about it.

Aunt Jo and the other grown-ups also had to hear the story, and there was many a good laugh as the little Curlytops and the grown folks sat in the living-room that evening and talked over the things which had happened during the day.

"It's getting colder," remarked Daddy Martin, as he went out on the porch to look at the thermometer before going to bed.

"Does it look as if it would snow?" asked his wife.

"Well, there are no stars out, so it must be cloudy, and cloudy weather in winter generally means snow."

"Have we any of the roast turkey left from Thanksgiving?" asked Uncle Frank.

"Oh, yes, plenty," answered Daddy Martin. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, so if we get snowed in we'll have plenty to eat."

"Oh, we'll have plenty besides turkey," put in Mother Martin. "But I don't believe we'll get snowed in."

It was not quite time for Ted and Janet to go to bed, and they liked to sit up and listen to what their father and mother, Aunt Jo and Uncle Frank had to say. The Curlytops loved company as much as you children do.

Trouble had been put to bed, though not before he had made his sister and brother tell, over and over again, how Nicknack rode downhill on the sled. Trouble laughed each time he heard the story.

The Curlytops were playing a little game with Uncle Frank, and Aunt Jo, Daddy and Mother Martin were talking about the good times they used to have in winter when they were children, when Mrs. Martin said:

"I feel a cold wind blowing, don't the rest of you?"

"It is chilly," agreed her husband. "The wind must have sprung up suddenly and is coming through the cracks of the windows."

"There's more wind than comes through a crack," said Mrs. Martin. "I think a door is open. It comes from the front. Did you shut the hall door, Dick?"

"Yes, I closed it after I came in from looking at the thermometer," answered her husband.

"Well, I'm going to see what makes such a draft on my back!" exclaimed Mrs. Martin, getting up.

She went out into the hall, and the others did not think much more about it for a little while until Mrs. Martin suddenly cried:

"No wonder I felt a cold wind! Trouble Martin! What will you do next? Oh, dear! You're always doing something! Come in this instant!"

"What's he doing now? I thought he was safe in bed and away over in Dreamland," said Daddy Martin.

"So did I," returned his wife. "But he must have gotten up and come downstairs. I didn't hear a sound, but here the little tyke has the front door open! Oh, how cold it is!"

"What made you do it, Trouble?" his father asked, as he caught the little fellow up in his arms.

"Trouble want to see snow," was the answer.

"It is snowing, and snowing hard!" exclaimed Ted. "Hurray, it's a regular blizzard!"

Indeed it was snowing hard. Those inside had a glimpse of the storm before Daddy Martin closed the door Trouble had opened. It had not been fastened tight and the little boy had managed to pull it open. He had awakened after being put to sleep for the night in his crib, and had crept downstairs. His mother thought the wind blowing the hard flakes of snow against a window near him must have awakened him.

"I'll go up to bed with him now," she said, "and I'll see that he doesn't get up again until morning."

"I guess we'll all go to bed," said Aunt Jo. "I'm tired and sleepy myself."

Ted and Jan looked out of the window as they began to undress.

"It's snowing hard," said Teddy.

"And maybe we'll be snowed in!" added his sister.

All night the storm raged. The wind blew hard and the snow came down in great, white feathery piles. Ted and Jan slept soundly, for they had played hard the day before. It was late in the day when they awakened, and they saw a light in the hall outside their room.

"What's the matter?" asked Janet, as she saw her mother up and dressed. "What you dressed for at night, Mother?"

"Hush! Don't wake Trouble. He was restless all night, but he is sleeping now. It isn't night, it's morning."

"But what makes it so dark?" asked Teddy.

"Because the snow covers nearly all the windows, especially on this side of the house."

"Is it snowing yet?" asked Jan.

"Yes; snowing hard," her mother answered.

"Are we snowed in?" asked Ted.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Martin, "I'm afraid we are snowed in, Teddy boy. It's a terrible storm, and very cold!"




Chapter XV

Driven Back


Teddy and Janet, who had put on their bath robes as they crawled out of bed, looked at one another in the light that streamed into their mother's room from the hall. Their faces were happy. They were not afraid of the big storm. It was just what they had hoped would happen. But they did not know all the trouble that it was to cause.

"Are we really snowed in?" asked Janet.

"Yes, I think we really are," answered her mother, motioning to the children to come out into the hall so they would not awaken Trouble.

"Just like that hermit grandpa wrote about said we'd be?" Ted wanted to know.

"Well, I don't know just how big a storm that hermit thought would come," said Mrs. Martin; "but this is certainly a bad one. If you get dressed you can look out of the windows at the back of the house. The snow isn't so high there, and you can see what a lot has fallen in the night."

"Where's daddy?" asked Ted.

"He's getting ready to go out to the barn to see if the horse and cow are all right." The Martins had lately bought a cow, and they had had a horse for some time, though the children would rather ride behind their goat Nicknack than in the carriage with old Jim, who was not a very fast horse.

"Come on, Jan!" called Ted. "We'll get dressed and we'll go out and have some fun."

"Oh, no, you can't go out!" exclaimed his mother. "And please don't make much noise."

"Why can't we go out?" asked Janet at once.

"Because the snow is too deep. It's over your heads in some of the drifts, and it's so cold and still snowing so hard that I wouldn't dream of letting you Curlytops go out."

"Not even with our new rubber boots?" Teddy asked. "They are good and high and we could wade through the snow with them."

"Not even with your new rubber boots, Teddy boy. Now be good and don't tease. Get washed and dressed, and Nora will give you some breakfast."

"Come on!" called Ted in a whisper to his sister. "We'll have some fun anyhow! Snowed in! That's just what we wanted!"

"Snowed in, is it?" exclaimed Uncle Frank, coming from his room. "So you have got a real snowstorm here at last, have you?" he went on to Mrs. Martin. "Well, this makes me think of my ranch in the West. Where's Dick?" he asked.

"He's trying to see if he can get out to the barn to make sure the horse and cow have water and something to eat," said Mrs. Martin, for her husband had gotten up a little earlier.

"Well, I'll go and help him," said Uncle Frank. "I'm used to storms like this. It's a regular blizzard by the sound of it."

Indeed the wind was howling around the corner of the house, and at times it seemed to blow so hard that the house shook. As yet Ted and Jan had not had a look outside, for the windows upstairs, from which they had tried to see the storm, were coated with snow. The window sills had drifted full of the white flakes, and more had been piled on top of them. Then the warmth inside the room had made the snow that blew on the windows melt a little. This had frozen and more snow had fallen and been blown on the glass until from some of the windows nothing at all could be seen.

"But if you go downstairs to the kitchen I think you can look out a little," said Mrs. Martin to her two Curlytops.

Downstairs hurried Janet and Teddy. They only stopped to call "Good-morning!" to Nora, who was busy at the stove, and then the two children pressed their faces against the window panes.

They could not see much at first -- just a cloud of swirling snowflakes that seemed to fill the air to overflowing. Then Janet cried:

"Why, it's almost up to the window sill, Teddy!"

"That's right! The back yard is full of snow, Nora!"

"I know it is. I went in over my knees when I went out to see if the morning paper had come."

"Did it come, Nora?"

"Indeed it didn't! I guess there won't be any paper for a few days if this storm keeps up, for the boys can't get around to deliver it. I could hardly get the door shut after I opened it. It's terrible!"

"It's fun!" cried Teddy.

"Course it is!" agreed Janet. "We wanted to be snowed in!"

"Well, you got your wish, Curlytops, and I hope it isn't any worse than that," said Nora. "Though how we're to get out of the house and get things to eat is more than I know."

"We've got lots left from Thanksgiving," said Teddy.

"Haven't we got any milk?" asked Janet.

"Oh, yes, there's plenty left from last night, though if the storm keeps up I don't see how your father is going to get out to the barn to milk the cow, and Patrick cannot get over to do it through this storm."

Patrick was a man who milked for the Martins and sometimes did other work for them about the place.

"Daddy can milk," said Ted.

"Yes, I know he can," agreed Nora, "if he can only get out to the barn. But look at the big drifts in the yard."

Jan and Ted looked out again. The yard was indeed filled with great heaps of snow, many of them higher than the heads of the children. The yard was a big one and at the far end was the barn.

"Oh, look!" cried Ted. "Our snow bungalow is gone, Janet!"

"Oh, it's blowed down!" cried Janet.

"No, it hasn't," said Nora. "I could just see the tip top of it when I got up early this morning, but now the snow has covered it. The bungalow is there all right, but you can't see it. It's under a big drift."

"Oh, wouldn't it be fun if we were out in it now?" cried Teddy.

"Indeed, and you'd starve and freeze," laughed Nora.

"No, we wouldn't," declared Teddy. "It's nice and warm out there. Uncle Frank said he used to make snow bungalows like that out West and he's lived in one a whole week in a blizzard."

"But he had something to eat," went on Nora, "and there's nothing in your bungalow."

"Yes, there is, a little," remarked Teddy. "We had a play party in it yesterday -- Jan, me and Trouble, and we left some of the things we couldn't eat. I put 'em in a box and tied 'em up in a piece of carpet we had there. I was going to come back and make-believe I was a tramp and awful hungry, only I forgot it. There's things to eat out there, Nora. We wouldn't starve."

"Well, I guess your mother wouldn't let you go out there and play anyhow, in this storm."

"We'll have some fun in the house," said Janet. "Oh, doesn't it snow, Ted!"

There came a big gust of wind just then and a cloud of snow hid the yard from sight. All the children could see was a lot of whiteness.

"Oh, what about Nicknack?" asked Jan suddenly.

"What you mean?" asked her brother.

"I mean will he have enough to eat? Maybe we've got to go out and feed him."

"I gave him something to eat last night," said Teddy, "and I left a big pail of water in his stable. I guess he'll be all right. Anyhow Daddy and Uncle Frank are going out to the barn and they can feed our goat."

Nicknack had a little stable, like a big dog house, built next to the main barn, of which it was a part, though he had his own little door to go in and out.

"Get your breakfasts, children, and then you can sit by the window and watch the storm," said Mrs. Martin, coming into the kitchen just then. "Trouble is waking up and I'll want you to help take care of him. You'll all have to stay in the house to-day and play quiet games."

"Let's go and look out the front windows," proposed Janet.

She and Ted ran through the hall to the parlor. But from those windows they could see nothing, for the glass was either so crusted with snow, or the drifts were really so high in front of the windows, that it was impossible to look out.

"It is an awful big storm!" cried Janet as she went back to the warm dining-room. Not much could be seen from those windows, either.

"Maybe it will stop in a little while," said Teddy, "and then we can go out and have a ride with Nicknack."

"Indeed, Nicknack would be buried deep in the snow over his head if you took him out," said Aunt Jo, as she came downstairs. "You Curlytops haven't an idea how bad this storm is. I never saw a worse one. We may be snowed in for a week!"

"Hurray!" cried Teddy.

"It'll be fun," added Janet.

As the children sat down to breakfast, the lights being turned on because it was so dark, though it was nearly nine o'clock, their father and Uncle Frank got dressed ready to go out to the barn.

The men had on their overcoats, caps and big rubber boots. On their hands were warm gloves and each one carried a snow shovel, which the Curlytops' father had brought up from the cellar.

"We're going to try to get out to the barn," said Mr. Martin. "I'm not sure the cow and horse have enough to eat."

"Oh, can't I come?" begged Teddy.

"And me, too!" added Janet.

"No, indeed, Curlytops!" cried Mr. Martin. "You'd be lost in the snow and maybe Uncle Frank and I couldn't dig you out again. Stay here until we come back."

The children hurriedly finished their breakfasts, and then ran to the kitchen windows to see their father and Uncle Frank try to dig their way to the barn. And the men really had to dig their way, for between the barn and the house the drifts were too deep to wade through. Many of them were over the heads of Daddy Martin.

The Curlytops could see little, as the snow was still blowing and drifting. Now and then they saw their father or their Uncle Frank for just a moment, but the men were so covered with the white flakes that they looked like snow men.

Finally there was a stamping of feet in the back entry, and when Nora opened the door there stood Uncle Frank and Daddy Martin. They were covered with snow and looked very tired.

"What's the matter?" asked Mrs. Martin. "Couldn't you get to the barn, Dick?"

"No, we were driven back," her husband answered. "It is a terrible storm, and very cold. We dug a path part way to the barn, but the wind blew the snow in it, filling it up as fast as we could dig it out. I guess we can't get to the barn. We surely are snowed in!"




Chapter XVI

Digging A Tunnel


Even seeing their father and uncle so tired out from shoveling snow and from struggling with the storm did not make the Curlytops think how bad it was to be snowed in. They still thought it was going to be fun. And so, in a way, it was, I suppose. At any rate they had a warm house in which to stay and plenty of good things to eat.

"Well, what are you going to do?" asked Mrs. Martin of her husband as, standing in the entry, he brushed some of the snow off his boots with the broom.

"We'll have to try again," said Uncle Frank.

"Is it like your out-West blizzards, Uncle Frank?" asked Teddy.

"Yes, this is almost as bad as the ones we have out there," he said. "Only this isn't quite so cold."

"It's cold enough for me!" exclaimed Mr. Martin. "Here, Jan," he called to his little girl. "Just take hold of my nose, will you, my dear?"

"What for, Daddy?" asked the little girl.

"I want to see if it is still fast to my face," answered her father. "It got so cold when I was shoveling snow that I thought maybe it had frozen and dropped off."

Janet grasped her father's nose in her warm hands.

"Oh, it's awful cold!" she cried with a little shiver.

"I know it is!" laughed Mr. Martin. "That's what made me afraid it was going to drop off. I'm glad I still have it."

"Are you cold, too, Uncle Frank?" asked Teddy.

"A little, yes. But I shoveled hard at the snow and I'm warmer now."

"Take some hot coffee," said Mrs. Martin. "Nora will pour it out for you. No, Trouble! You mustn't do that!" she cried, as she saw Baby William crumbling a slice of bread into the pitcher of milk.

"What's he doing?" asked Aunt Jo.

"Goin' make a cake," the little fellow answered. "Make cake an' have p'ay party."

"Well, you can have a play party with something else," laughed his mother. "We can't let you waste milk that way when we can't tell when we'll get more if daddy can't get out to the barn to milk the cow."

She took the slice of bread away from William and set him down from the table to which he had climbed up in a chair.

"'Member the time he made a cake when we were camping with grandpa on Star Island?" asked Janet of Ted.

"I guess I do!" he laughed. "The dough was all over everything!"

"Well, let's try it again now," said Uncle Frank to Daddy Martin, when they had had some hot coffee. "We've got to get out to the barn, somehow."

"Yes," agreed the father of the Curlytops. "I don't want the horse and cow to be hungry or thirsty. I hope the water in the barn isn't frozen. If it is we'll have to carry some from the house."

"And that might freeze on the way out," said Uncle Frank.

"You could take a pail of hot water and that wouldn't freeze," Teddy remarked.

"Our horse or cow couldn't drink hot water," objected Janet.

"Well, they could wait for it to cool just as we do for our hot milk sometimes."

"Yes, they could do that," agreed Janet. "Oh, I wish we could go out in our bungalow!"

"Don't dare try it!" cried Daddy Martin. "If you children went out in the snow you might not get back until your ears and fingers were frost-bitten, to say the least."

"What does frost-bitten mean?" Teddy asked.

"Well, it means almost frozen," explained his mother. "Now you and Janet can take Trouble up to the playroom and have a good time, while I help Nora with the work."

"We want to see daddy and Uncle Frank dig in the snow out to the barn," said Teddy.

"Well, you may watch them a little while, and then take care of Baby William."

"You can't see very much," said Uncle Prank, "The snow is still coming down hard and it blows so we can hardly see one another. So you won't see much of us from the windows."

"Well, maybe we can see a little," remarked Janet, and she and Teddy, with Trouble between them, perched on chairs with their faces close against the snow covered glass. Of course the snow was on the outside, but it made the inside of the window-pane quite cold, and in a little while, Jan drew her face away and, feeling her nose, cried:

"Oh, Ted! It's frozen 'most, like daddy's was!"

"So's mine!" exclaimed Ted, feeling of his nose.

"Mine cold, too!" added Trouble, putting his chubby palm over his "smeller" as he sometimes called his nose.

Indeed the noses of the children were cold from having been pressed so long against the window, and when Aunt Jo heard what they had been doing she said:

"I wouldn't stay near the window any longer if I were you. The wind blows in a little, and it's drafty. You will get cold all over -- not only your little noses. Go up to the playroom and I'll come, too. We'll have some fun."

"Just wait until we see if we can watch daddy and Uncle Frank a minute," pleaded Teddy.

They all looked out of the window again. Once in a while they had a glimpse of their father or his uncle tossing the snow to one side. The two men were trying to dig a path from the house to the barn, and they were down in a deep trench, with white walls on either side.

"This is a terrible storm!" said Aunt Jo as she went up to the playroom with the Curlytops and Trouble. "I hope no little boys or girls are out in it."

"I hope not, either," echoed Jan with a little shiver, as she heard the wind howl around the corner of the house and dash the hard flakes of snow up against the windows.

"If any boys or girls were out in it they could stay in our bungalow," said Ted. "There's some blankets in there and a little to eat."

"And they could drink snow for water," said Jan. "I ate some snow once and it tickled my throat."

"Snow isn't good to eat," said Aunt Jo. "Up near the North Pole, the Eskimos and travelers never eat snow. It would make them ill. They melt it and drink the water when they are thirsty. But I hope no little boy or girl has to leave his or her warm house and live in your bungalow, nice as it may be. I'm afraid they'd be pretty cold in it even with a blanket and a piece of carpet."

"If daddy and Uncle Frank would dig a path we could go out to our bungalow and see," observed Jan.

"Maybe there's a tramp in it, like we thought there was on Star Island," went on Ted.

And, though neither Ted nor Jan knew it, there was someone in their snow bungalow.

Up in the playroom the Curlytops and Trouble had fun with Aunt Jo. She told them stories and made up little games for them, while outside the storm raged and the snow came down faster than ever.

"Come on!" cried Teddy after waiting a bit, "let's play that guessing game some more."

"Oh, let's!" agreed Jan. "It's lots of fun!"

This was a game in which one of them would think of something in the attic -- the old spinning wheel, the steamboat chair or maybe a string of sleigh bells. Then the one who had the turn of thinking would tell the others the first letter of the name of the thing thought of, and perhaps something about it. The others had to guess what it was, and whoever guessed first was next in turn to think of something.

Teddy, Jan and Aunt Jo played this game for a while, but it was not much fun for Trouble. He was too little to know how to spell the things he thought of, though he could name almost everything in the attic, even if he called some by nicknames he made up himself.

"Let's play something that will be fun for Trouble," said Aunt Jo after a while.

"What?" asked Teddy.

"How would hide the bean bag be?" asked Aunt Jo.

"We haven't any bean bag," replied Teddy. "We had one, but Trouble threw it in the hedge and we can't find it."

"Well, I can easily make one," said Aunt Jo, and this she quickly did, getting beans from the kitchen, and sewing a bag from a piece of cloth from the rag-bag.

"Now we'll let Trouble hide the bag first," said Aunt Jo, "as he hasn't had much fun this last hour. You take the bag of beans, Trouble dear, and hide it anywhere you like. Only you must remember where you put it, so when we give up, if we can't find it, you can get it to hide again."

"All right!" laughed the little fellow, and then they told him all over again so he would be sure and not forget.

"Maybe you look where I put it," said Trouble, when he was about to take the bag and hide it.

"No, well blind our eyes so we can't see," promised Jan.

"And we won't look until you tell us you're ready," added Ted.

"And I promise I won't peep!" laughed Aunt Jo.

"Aw wight!" said Trouble, with a wise look on his chubby little face.

Then the others closed their eyes, and turned their backs, so they would be sure to see nothing, and Trouble, with the bag of beans in his hand, went wandering about the attic looking for a place to hide what he hoped Aunt Jo and the others would have to look a long time for.

"Are you ready, Trouble?" asked Jan, after a bit.

"Have you hid it yet?" inquired Ted.

"Yes, I put it hid," answered Baby William, and when they looked they saw him sitting on the floor near the chimney.

Then began the hunt for the bean bag. Aunt Jo and the two Curlytops looked in all the places in which they thought Trouble might have hidden it. They peered into boxes and old trunks, under boards, around the ledges of rafters and beams and everywhere.

"I guess we can't find it!" said Aunt Jo at last. "You hid it too well, Trouble. Tell us where you put it and then hide it in an easier place next time. Where is the bean bag, dear?"

"I -- I sittin' on it!" laughed Trouble, and when he got up, there, surely enough, was the bag under him on the attic floor.

How they both did laugh at him, and Trouble laughed, too, and they had lots more fun, each one taking a turn to hide the bag.

Now and then the children would go to the window to look out, but they could see little. All Cresco was snowed in. As far as the children could see, no one was in the street.

Cresco, where the Curlytops lived, was a large town, and there was a trolley line running through it, but not near the home of Janet and Ted.

"But I guess the trolley isn't running to-day," Teddy remarked, after a game of bean-bag.

"I guess not," agreed Aunt Jo. "The cars would be snowed under."

Just then Mrs. Martin called Aunt Jo to help her with some work, and the children were left to themselves. They ran to the window, hoping they could see something, but the snow was either too high on the sill or the glass was frosted with the frozen flakes so no one could look through.

"Let's open the window!" suddenly proposed Ted. "Then we can get a little snow and make snowballs and play with 'em in here."

"Oh, let's!" cried Janet.

"Me want snowball, too!"

"We'll give you a little one," promised his sister.

By standing on a chair Teddy managed to shove back the catch of the window, but to raise the sash was not so easy. It was frozen down, and held fast by the drift of snow on the sill.

"I know how to raise it," said Jan.

"How?" asked her brother.

"Get daddy's cane and push it up. I saw Aunt Jo do it the other day."

Mr. Martin's cane was down in the hall, and Ted soon brought it upstairs. He put one end of it under the upper edge of the lower window sash and then he and Jan pushed with all their might. But the window did not go up.

"Push harder!" cried Teddy.

"I am!" answered Janet.

They both shoved as hard as they could on the cane and then it suddenly slipped. There was a crash and a tinkle of glass, and the children toppled over on the floor while the room was filled with a swirl of snowflakes blown in through the broken window.

"Oh, it's busted!" cried Teddy. "You did it, Janet Martin!"

"Oh, The-o-dore Baradale Martin! I did not! You pushed it yourself!"

"I didn't!"

"You did so!"

"Well, who got the cane, anyhow?"

"Well, who told me to get it?"

"I got some snow! I got some snow!" cried Trouble, and he tossed handfuls at his brother and sister, who had risen to their feet and were looking at the broken glass. The end of the cane had gone through it and the wind and snow were blowing into the room. On the carpet was a white drift that had fallen from the window sill.

"Oh, children! what are you doing?" cried Mrs. Martin, when she saw what had happened.

"The window broke," said Teddy slowly.

"Yes, I see it did," answered his mother. "Who did it?"

Then Teddy proved himself a little hero, for he said:

"I -- I guess I did. I got the cane and it slipped."

"I -- I helped," bravely confessed Janet. "I told him to get the cane and I pushed on it, too."

"Well, I guess you didn't mean to," said Mrs. Martin kindly. "But it's too bad. We can't get the window fixed in this storm, and daddy will have to nail a board or something over the hole. Trouble, come away from that snow!"

Trouble was having fun with the snow that came in through the hole, and did not want to stop. But his mother caught him up in her arms and took him out of the room, sending in Nora to sweep up the pile of white flakes on the carpet.

Then Daddy Martin nailed a heavy blanket over the window to keep out the cold wind, though a little did come in, and snow also.

"Did you and Uncle Frank dig a path out to the barn?" asked Teddy, when the excitement over the broken window had died down.

"Not yet," answered his father. "I guess we'll have to make a tunnel."

"Oh, a real tunnel, like railroad trains go through?" cried Ted.

"Yes, only made of snow instead of earth and rocks. We're going to make a snow tunnel."

"Oh, that'll be fun!" exclaimed Jan.




Chapter XVII

In A Big Drift


"What are you men going to do now?" asked Mrs. Martin, as her husband and Uncle Frank sat near the stove in the kitchen warming their feet, for they were very cold, having come in after a second attempt to make a path to the barn.

"We're going to try a tunnel," said Mr. Martin. "The snow is too deep between the back door and the barn to try to shovel a path through it. As fast as we toss the snow away it blows in again and fills up the path so we can hardly get back to the starting place. Now if we begin in front of the house, where there is a big drift, we can tunnel out to the side of the barn."

"What good will that do?" asked Aunt Jo.

"When we make a tunnel it will have a top on it, like a roof over a house. It will be a long snow house, the tunnel will, and the snow can't blow in and fill it up."

"But what will you do with the snow you dig out of the tunnel?" Mrs. Martin enquired. "You'll have to dig ahead and pile the snow back of you and you'll be just as badly off."

"No," said her husband. "In front of the house is a big drift that goes all the way to the barn. But one side of the drift, near the house, is low and we can make a hole there to start. Then as we dig away the snow we can bring it back to this hole and dump it outside. If we work long enough we'll have a tunnel right through to the barn."

"In what will you carry the snow out of the tunnel?" asked Aunt Jo.

"In the big clothes baskets," answered Daddy Martin. "A tunnel is the only way I can see by which we can get out to the barn. Come on, Uncle Frank! If your feet are warm enough we'll begin. The horse and cow will be glad to see us."

"Can't you make a place so the children can watch you?" asked Mother Martin. "I can't have them in the playroom now as the window is broken. Scrape off some snow around the front windows so they can see what you're doing."

"We will," promised Uncle Frank.

So before he and Daddy Martin began to dig the tunnel they made a cleared place in front of one of the parlor windows so a view could be had of the big drift where the tunnel was to be started.

"Oh, I wish I could dig!" cried Ted.

"So do I!" echoed Janet.

"Don't you Curlytops open any more windows, or try to get out where your father and Uncle Frank are making the tunnel," warned Mrs. Martin. "This storm is getting worse instead of stopping."

So the children stayed by the window and watched.

With their big, wooden shovels and the big clothes baskets in which to pile the snow they dug from the tunnel, Daddy Martin and Uncle Frank started off to their work.

As the children's father had said, there was a large drift near the front of the house. On one side it sloped sharply to the ground, making a sort of snow wall, almost straight up and down. It was in the middle of this snow wall that the tunnel hole was to be started.

"Well, here we go!" cried Uncle Frank, as he waved his shovel at the watching children in the window.

He made a jab into the snow wall, and cut out a big square chunk of whiteness. This he tossed back of him out of the way. For a time this could be done, and there was no need to use the baskets. But as the tunnel was dug farther in, the pile of white flakes would have to be carried out. As the tunnel was only going to be big enough for one person to walk in at a time, and not wide enough for two to go side by side, the two men were to take turns digging, one using the shovel and the other bringing out the clothes basket filled with snow which would be emptied outside.

"Oh, I can't see Uncle Frank any more!" cried Ted, who was eagerly watching with his sister and Trouble.

"Where's he gone?" asked Janet.

"He's dug a hole for himself inside the snow bank -- in the tunnel -- and I can't see him now. He's away inside! Oh, what fun! I wish we could be in there," he added.

"So do I," echoed Janet. "Maybe we can when it gets warmer and the snow stops coming down."

"We'll ask mother," decided Teddy.

"I see my papa!" suddenly called Trouble. "He's bringin' out de clothes!"

"No, that's a basket of snow he has," said Janet with a laugh, for her father had just then come out of the tunnel with the first load of snow that had been dug loose by Uncle Frank.

From then on, for some time, the children had a sight of their father or their Uncle Frank only once in a while, as either one or the other came to the mouth of the tunnel to empty the basket filled with snow. Sometimes it would be Daddy Martin and again Uncle Frank, as they were taking turns.

"I guess the tunnel must be most finished," said Janet, when they had been watching for some time.

"Anyhow here they come in," added Teddy, as he heard a noise at the back of the house.

"Did you tunnel your way to the barn?" asked Mrs. Martin, as her husband and Uncle Frank came into the kitchen.

"Not yet. It's farther than we thought, and hard work," answered Mr. Martin. "We came in to get some dinner and then we're going at it again."

"And will you see if Nicknack is all right when you get out to the barn?" asked Teddy.

"I surely will," promised his father. "I thought I heard him bleating when I first went out, so I guess he's all right."

"Couldn't you bring him into the house?" asked Janet.

"He's lonesome out there," added Ted.

"Bring your goat into the house?" cried Mother Martin. "Oh, my goodness, no!"

"Then we'd like to go out and see him," went on Teddy.

"Well, maybe, when we get the tunnel finished, and if it isn't too cold, I'll take you out," promised their father.

After dinner he and Uncle Frank began work on the tunnel again. The storm seemed to be stopping a little and the wind did not blow so hard.

"Please, Mother, couldn't Jan and I go out, just for a little while?" begged Teddy toward evening, when it was getting almost too dark for Mr. Martin and Uncle Frank to see to dig in the tunnel.

"What do you think, Aunt Jo?" asked Mrs. Martin.

"Oh, I should think it wouldn't hurt them to go out for a few minutes. Wrap them up well, and I'll go with them, on the side of the house where there isn't so much snow. But I wouldn't let Baby William go."

"No, I'll not."

So Ted and Jan and Aunt Jo got on their warm wraps and stepped out of the front door, where Daddy Martin and Uncle Frank had cleared a place on the veranda. Trouble cried to go, but, though the storm was not as bad as it had been at the start, it was too cold for him.

Ted and Janet did not mind it at first. They ran around, laughed, shouted and threw the snow. Then they began to feel the cold, which was more severe than they had thought.

"Oh, what big drifts!" cried Teddy, as he saw some out in the road.

"Awful big!" agreed Janet. "Let's go and look in the tunnel."

There was little to see, however, except a big white hole in the great drift, for Daddy Martin and Uncle Frank were at the far end, digging their way to the barn and Nicknack.

"Come now, it's time to go in," said Aunt Jo. "I promised your mother I'd keep you out only a little while. I think it's going to storm worse than ever. Come on in!"

"Please wait until I take one jump!" begged Teddy.

He gave a run and a jump, down a little side hill in the yard near the house. Into a pile of snow he leaped, and the next instant he had disappeared from sight! The snow had closed over his head!

"Oh, where is he? Where's Teddy?" cried Janet, very much frightened.

"I guess he's in the big drift!" answered Aunt Jo.

"Oh, Daddy! Uncle Frank!" cried Janet. "Come quick! Teddy's in a big drift!"




Chapter XVIII

Nicknack Is Gone


Daddy Martin and Uncle Frank came running from the snow tunnel. Each one carried a shovel, for while the Curlytops' father had been digging away at the snow with his shovel, Uncle Frank had used the other to pile into the basket the loosened heap of white flakes.

"What's the matter?" asked Janet's father as he looked at her. "Why did you call me?"

"'Cause Teddy's in a big drift -- down there!" she answered, pointing.

"Yes, he really did jump down there, and the snow was so soft that he went all the way through," added Aunt Jo.

"Then we must get him out in a hurry!" cried Uncle Frank. "Come on, Dick! This will be a new kind of digging for us."

"I should say so!" exclaimed Mr. Martin.

The two men ran toward the big drift, but when they got close they walked more carefully, for they did not want to make more snow fall in on top of Teddy through the hole he left when he jumped into the big drift.

"Are you down there, Son?" asked Mr. Martin, leaning over the hole and calling to the little boy.

Janet began to cry. She was afraid she would never see her brother again, and she loved him very much.

"Don't cry," said Uncle Frank kindly. "Well get Teddy out all right. Did he answer you?" he inquired of Daddy Martin.

"Not yet, but I guess --  -- "

Just then a voice seemed to call from under their very feet.

"Here I am!" it said. "Down in a big pile of snow. Say, can you get me out? Every time I wiggle more snow falls in on top of me!"

"We'll get you out all right, Ted!" shouted his father. "Just keep as still as you can. Can you breathe all right?"

"Yep!" came back the answer, as if from far away.

Then Daddy Martin and Uncle Frank began to dig in the big drifts with their shovels, while Aunt Jo and Janet looked on. As yet Mrs. Martin and Nora knew nothing about what had happened, nor did Trouble.

"But it's of no use to tell your mother and frighten her, Janet," said Aunt Jo. "They'll have Teddy dug out in a minute, and then he can tell her himself what happened to him, and we'll all have a good laugh over it."

"Won't he smother?" asked Janet.

"Oh, no," answered Aunt Jo. "Falling under snow isn't like falling under water. There is a little air in snow but not any in water -- at least not any we can breathe, though a fish can. But still if a person was kept under heavily packed snow too long he would smother, I suppose. However, that won't happen to Teddy. They're getting to him."

Uncle Frank and Daddy Martin were tossing the snow away from the drift by big shovelfuls. In a little while they had dug down to where Teddy stood in a little hollow place he had scooped out for himself with his hands. He was covered with snow, but was not hurt, for falling in the big drift, he said, was like tumbling into a feather bed -- the kind Trouble had once cut up when he was at his grandmother's on Cherry Farm.

"Well, how in the world did you get down there?" asked Teddy's father, when the little boy was lifted up safe on the path again, and the snow had mostly been brushed from him.

"I -- I just jumped," Teddy answered. "I wanted to see how far I could go and I didn't think about that being the edge of the terrace."

For the big drift was on the edge of a terrace, where the front lawn was raised up from the rest of the yard. So the drift was deeper than any of the other piles of snow around it.

"However, you're not hurt as far as I can see," went on Mr. Martin. "But please don't go in any more drifts. Uncle Frank and I won't have time to dig you out, for we must keep at work on the tunnel."

"Isn't it finished yet?" asked Aunt Jo.

"No. And I don't believe it will be to-night. It's getting late now and we can't work much longer. It's going to snow more, too," added the father of the Curlytops as he looked up at the sky, from the gray clouds of which more white flakes were falling.

"Can't we go into the tunnel?" asked Teddy, who did not seem much frightened by what had happened to him.

"Well, yes, I s'pose you could go in a little way," his father answered. "We won't do any more digging to-night," he said to Uncle Frank.

"No, but we'd better put some boards in front of the hole we have dug to keep it from filling with snow in the night."

"Yes, we'll do that," said Mr. Martin.

The two men led the way to the tunnel, in which they had been digging most of the day. Aunt Jo, Teddy and Janet followed. At the window, one of the few out of which she could look into the big storm, Mrs. Martin motioned for the Curlytops to come in. Daddy waved his hand and called that he would bring them in as soon as he had showed them the tunnel.

The Curlytops thought this a wonderful place. They had been through railroad tunnels, but they were black and smoky. This snow tunnel was clean and white, not a speck of dirt being in it. Though it was cut through a great, white drift it was getting dark inside, for the sun was not shining, and night was coming.

"Wouldn't this be a dandy place to play?" cried Ted.

"Fine," answered Janet. "Nicer than our snow bungalow. When can we dig out to our bungalow?" she asked her father.

"Oh, in a day or two, I presume. It's pretty well covered with snow, and we must first see that the horse and cow are all right. It will be time enough to think of play after we have done that."

"And we've got to feed and water Nicknack, too," added Janet.

"Yes, we mustn't forget your goat," laughed Uncle Frank.

"Did you leave him any hay and water?" asked Daddy Martin.

"I did," Teddy answered. "I put a lot of hay where he could get it and some water to drink in a pail."

"Well, then maybe he'll have enough until we can dig our way out to him," said Mr. Martin. "But it isn't going to be easy. This has been a terrible storm, and I'm afraid it's going to be worse. I hope the poor of our town have coal enough to keep warm and enough food to eat. Being snowed in is no fun when one has to freeze and starve."

Teddy and Janet were glad they were so comfortable. They, too, hoped no one was suffering, and if they had known that not far away a poor boy was in great distress they would not have slept as well as they did that night. But they did not know until afterward, when they found out the secret about the snow bungalow.

"Well, come on out now," called Daddy Martin, as the Curlytops were looking at the snow tunnel. "It's time to go in. You've been out in the cold long enough."

"It is very cold," agreed Aunt Jo. "I'm just beginning to notice it."

Into the warm house they went, stamping and brushing off the snow that clung to them. As they gathered about the supper table, which was well filled with good things to eat, Nora came in to say that it was snowing again.

"I thought it would," remarked Daddy Martin. "We surely must finish that snow tunnel to-morrow," he said to Uncle Frank. "We may need the horse to help us break a way to the road."

"And we'll need more milk to-morrow," said Mother Martin.

That evening, as they sat in their warm house playing games and listening to the crackling of the corn which Aunt Jo popped, the Curlytops were very thankful for the nice home they had to stay in.

"How the wind blows!" cried Aunt Jo as she took the children up to bed.

"Is it snowing yet?" asked Teddy.

"I can't see," his aunt answered. "It's so dark and the snow covers the windows. But I wouldn't be surprised if it were. The storm is not over yet. I guess you children will have all the snow you want for once."

"We can have rides downhill for a long while," remarked Janet.

"And make snow men and snow forts and snowballs as much as we like," added Teddy.

All night long the storm raged again. The wind blew and the snow came down, but not as hard as it had the night before. If it had, there is no telling what would have happened. The Curlytops would have been snowed in worse than they were.

But it was bad enough, as they saw when they awakened and looked out the next morning. That is they tried to look out, but it was little indeed that they could see. For some of the windows from which they had had a glimpse of the outer world the day before were completely covered now.

"We'll have to do some digging to get to the opening of the tunnel," said Daddy Martin to Uncle Frank, "and we'll have to dig all day to get to the barn. But we've got to do it."

"That's right!" agreed Uncle Frank.

"Couldn't I help?" asked Teddy.

"No, I'm afraid not, Curlytop," answered his father. "It's pretty hard work for us men."

"But will you let me go out and see Nicknack as soon as you dig to his stable?" the little boy asked.

"I'll see about it -- if the snow isn't too deep," his father replied.

"I want to come, too!" added Janet.

"Well, maybe you can," said Uncle Frank. "We'll see."

Then, after they had had a warm breakfast, the two men started the digging again. Teddy and Janet could not see them because they were so far inside the tunnel. And as the Curlytops could not be out to play they had to amuse themselves as best they could in the house.

Aunt Jo played with them and Trouble. Baby William was the hardest to amuse, as he was very active. He wanted to run about and do everything, and two or three times, when they looked for him, they found he had slipped away and was out in the kitchen, teasing Nora to let him make a cake.

It was well on in the afternoon when there came a stamping and pounding in the back entry.

"Oh, there's daddy and Uncle Frank knocking the snow off their feet!" exclaimed Janet.

"Maybe they've been out to the barn," said her brother.

"And maybe they've brought Nicknack in," added Janet.

The Curlytops ran to the kitchen, not stopping to wait for Trouble, who cried to be taken along. There in the entry, brushing the snow from them and stamping it from their boots, were Daddy Martin and Uncle Frank.

"Did you get to the barn?" inquired Teddy.

"Yes, we got there all right."

"And is our horse and cow all right?" Janet inquired.

"Yes, they're all right, and were glad to see us."

"Did you see our goat?" cried Teddy next.

"No, we haven't dug out to his stable yet. We're going to in a minute," said Daddy Martin.

"We thought we'd come in and get you two Curlytops and take you out to see Jim and the cow," added Uncle Frank.

"It isn't snowing quite as hard as it was, and it isn't quite so cold. We thought it might do the children good, for they've been cooped up all day," the children's father explained to his wife.

"So they have, but they haven't fretted much, except Trouble, and he didn't know any better. All right, take them out and then come in. We'll have an early supper. I do hope the storm will be over by to-morrow."

"I think it surely will," her husband said.

Teddy and Janet were soon warmly bundled up and were taken out of doors by their father and uncle. The keen wind cut their faces and the snowflakes blew in their eyes, but they liked it.

Through the snow tunnel they were carried to the barn door, which was open. It opened right into the snow tunnel, and inside was a lantern, for the barn was dark, being more than half covered with snow and there being only one or two windows in it.

Jim, the horse, whinnied when he heard his friends come in, and the cow mooed.

"They're glad to see us," said Janet.

"Yes, I guess they are," laughed her father. "I'm going to milk the cow. Then we'll shake down some hay for her and Jim, and give them more water, too. I'm glad the pump wasn't frozen."

So while Daddy Martin milked the cow, Uncle Frank tossed down hay from the mow upstairs in the barn and pumped some water.

"And now can't we get Nicknack?" asked Teddy, when a foaming pail of milk was ready to be carried to the house.

"Yes, I think so," answered his father.

"I called to him but he didn't answer," said Janet.

"I'll soon dig a way to Nicknack's place," said Uncle Frank, and he started at a point where the tunnel ran to the barn door. It did not take him long, with the big shovel, to clear a place so that the door to Nicknack's stable was free, for the drifts were not so deep on this side of the barn.

"Now for the goat!" cried Daddy Martin. "Stand back, Curlytops, and let Uncle Frank go first."

Uncle Frank, holding the lantern over his head, entered the goat's stable. He stood still for a few seconds.

"Is he all right?" asked Teddy anxiously.

"Well, I can't see him at all," Uncle Frank answered.

"You can't see him?" echoed Mr. Martin.

"No, Nicknack isn't here. He's gone!"




Chapter XIX

What Nicknack Brought


Teddy and Janet were so surprised they did not know what to say. They just stood and looked at one another in the light of the lantern their father held after having milked the cow. Uncle Frank was in Nicknack's little stable with another lantern.

"Are you sure he isn't there?" asked Mr. Martin, for well he knew how sorry the Curlytops would feel if anything happened to their goat.

"There isn't a sign of him," answered Uncle Frank. "You can come and look for yourselves."

"Maybe he's lying down asleep," suggested Teddy.

"I've looked all over," said Uncle Frank.

Teddy darted out of the barn, followed by Janet.

"Here! Come back!" cried their father. "You may get lost in the storm. It's snowing and the wind is blowing and it's hard to see where you're going, especially after dark."

"We want to see where Nicknack is," pleaded Teddy.

"Wait, and I'll go with you," his father remarked. "Perhaps he has burrowed down under the hay or straw to keep warm."

But when all four of them stood in front of Nicknack's little stable, which was too small for more than two to get in at a time, the Curlytops saw that their pet was not there. Uncle Frank flashed the lantern up high and down low, but no goat was to be seen.

"Where can he be?" asked Teddy, anxiously.

"Was the door fastened?" Daddy Martin inquired.

"Yes, it was shut and the catch was on. I had to take it off to get in," replied Uncle Frank. "Nicknack couldn't have gotten out that way."

"And there is only one door," went on Mr. Martin. "Did you look to see if any boards were loose on the sides of the stable, Uncle Frank?"

"No, I didn't, but I will."

With his lantern Uncle Frank began looking around the goat's stable, pushing against the boards, on the outside of which the snow was piled. Finally Uncle Frank gave a shout.

"What is it?" cried Teddy. "Have you found Nicknack?"

"No, but I've found the place where he got out. Look!"

Holding the lantern so all could see, Uncle Frank showed where a large board had been knocked loose. It swung to one side and showed a hole in the snow outside.

"Is he in there?" asked Jan, as she saw the hole. It was like the tunnel her father and Uncle Frank had dug, but smaller.

"I don't know whether he's there or not," answered Uncle Frank. "I'll have a look, though."

He pulled the board loose. It hung by one nail only. Then, stooping down so he could look into the hole, which seemed to have been dug in the snow outside, and flashing his lantern into it, Uncle Frank called:

"Here, Nicknack! Are you there? Come here!"

There was no answer, the only sound being the howl of the wind and the swish of the snowflakes in the storm.

"Isn't he there?" asked Teddy, his voice sounding as though he wanted to cry.

"I can't see him," answered Uncle Frank. "But I think he must be in the snow somewhere around here. We'll have to dig him out just as we dug you out of the big drift, Teddy."

"Is Nicknack in a drift?" Janet whispered. Somehow, if Nicknack were in a drift, it seemed better to Jan to talk in whisper.

"I can't imagine where else he would be," Uncle Frank said. "He must have gotten tired of staying here all alone, so, with his horns and head he just knocked this big board loose. That gave him room enough to get out, and then he began to dig his way through the snow. There was a little hollow place in the edge of the drift that is on this side of his stable, and that gave him a chance to start. He didn't paw any snow inside his stable, and that's why I didn't at first see which way he had gone."

"But how can we get him?" asked Jan, who felt the tears coming into her eyes.

"Oh, we can dig him out," her father said. "Don't worry. We'll soon get Nicknack for you."

"To-night?" Teddy demanded.

"Well, maybe not to-night," his father answered. "It's pretty late now, and getting colder. And there's no telling how far away Nicknack has dug himself into the snow bank. He's a strong goat, Nicknack is, and once he started to burrow through the snow, one couldn't say when he'd stop. He might even dig his way to the house."

"Honest and truly?" asked Teddy.

"Well, he might," said Mr. Martin. "Anyhow, we'll wait until morning before we start digging for him."

"But won't he die?" asked Janet.

"No, he can get air under the snow for quite a while, just as Teddy could when he jumped into the drift. And if he gets hungry he can wiggle his way back to his stable the same way he wiggled out. The way is open and we'll leave this board off so he can get in easily. There is hay and water here. The water didn't freeze, being warm under so much snow and down in the hay where you put the pail, Teddy. So Nicknack will be all right until morning I think."

"What made him go out?" asked Teddy.

"I think he got lonesome," laughed Uncle Frank. "He missed you two Curlytops, and he wanted to come to see you."

"But where is he?" asked Janet.

"Oh, somewhere in the snow between here and the house," answered her father. "Don't worry about Nicknack. He's able to take care of himself. Maybe he'll be back in his stable in the morning."

Janet and Teddy were not at all sure of this, but they hoped it might prove true. They liked their goat very much. He was a fine playfellow for them.

"Let us call, Jan," suggested Ted. "Nicknack likes us, and maybe he'll answer if we holler. You call first."

"All right," Jan responded. Then, at the top of her voice, she yelled: "Nicknack, come here!"

Then Teddy shouted: "Nicknack! Oh, Nicknack!"

Then they all waited in silence, but heard nothing in reply to their calls.

"Well, it's of no use to stay here any longer," said Daddy Martin, as they stood looking at Nicknack's empty stable. "We'll leave everything as it is and come here in the morning. It will be easy enough for us to get out, now that we have the tunnel made."

"Yes, come on back to the house, and I'll tell you some stories about my Western ranch," added Uncle Frank. "Some day I want you Curlytops to come out there and have pony rides."

"Oh, can we?" cried Teddy.

"To be sure you can."

"And shall we get snowed in?" asked Janet.

"Well, not if I can help it. But come in the summer when there won't be any snow. You'll like it out on my ranch in Montana."

The Curlytops were sure they would, and they were so anxious to hear more about it and talk of getting pony rides among the cowboys that, for the time, they forgot about Nicknack's trouble.

Back to the house they went, locking the stable door after seeing that the horse and the cow had plenty to eat. Daddy Martin carried the pail of milk, of which Trouble was to have his share, for he drank a great deal of it.

"Nicknack's gone!" cried Teddy as they entered the house, after brushing and shaking off the snow.

"Gone!" cried Mother Martin.

And then she and Aunt Jo were told what the Curlytops had discovered when they went to the goat's stable.

"Well, maybe he'll come back," said Aunt Jo. "After supper I'll tell you about a new bungalow I'm going to build at Ruby Lake, and I want you two Curlytops to come to see me there."

"Oh, won't we have fun at Uncle Frank's ranch and Aunt Jo's bungalow!" cried Teddy.

"Yes, we will!" echoed his sister.

After supper Uncle Frank began to tell a Western story of things that had happened at his ranch. He told of Indians having taken some of his ponies, and of how he and his cowboys chased and caught the Red-men and took back the little horses.

"We didn't want them to steal our ponies," he said.

"Daddy didn't want that lame boy to take the pocketbook in his store, but the lame boy did," said Janet, who was fast falling asleep.

"What made you think of that?" asked her father.

"Oh, I was just thinking," answered the little girl. "Maybe that lame boy was hungry like Uncle Frank said the Indians were."

"Maybe," agreed her mother. "But it isn't sure he took the pocketbook. You never found out who he was, did you?" she asked her husband.

"No, the poor fellow seemed to be too frightened to come back. I hope nothing happened to him. I'd rather lose the money than have him hurt, though, of course, I wouldn't want to learn that he would take what was not his. But now, Aunt Jo, it's your turn to tell about your new bungalow."

So Aunt Jo began her story, and by the time it was finished Teddy and Janet were ready for bed, where Trouble had gone long before.

"Still snowing," said Uncle Frank, as he went to the back door and looked out. "I imagine this is the biggest storm you folks in the East ever had."

"Yes, it is," agreed Daddy Martin.

The house was soon dark and quiet, while outside the cold wind blew and the snow piled in big drifts.

Janet and Teddy had fallen asleep, wondering what had happened to their pet goat, and the first thing they asked, on awakening in the morning was:

"Is Nicknack here?"

"We haven't seen him," answered their mother. "But daddy and Uncle Frank are going to dig for him after breakfast."

When the meal had been finished it was found that the snow had stopped, at least for a time, and that the weather was a little warmer. Janet and Ted were allowed to play out in a cleared place in the yard.

"Part of the tunnel caved in during the night," said their father, "and we'll have to dig it out before we can get to Nicknack's stable. But we'll call you as soon as we find him."

It took some time to dig through the snow, and while their father and Uncle Frank were doing this Ted and Janet made a little hill in the yard and slid down that on their sleds.

Then they saw Uncle Frank coming toward them.

"Did you find Nicknack?" called the Curlytops.

"No. We dug through the hole he made in the snow, but it came to an end at your bungalow, and there's no sign of the goat."

"Maybe he's in our play bungalow," said Teddy.

"The door is closed," went on his uncle. "I'm afraid your goat is snowed under farther off. We're going to dig some more after dinner. But we'll find him."

Janet and Teddy were worried about Nicknack.

"Please dig hard for him!" begged Janet, as the two men started out with their shovels after dinner.

"We will," they promised.

Just as they were going out to the kitchen, to get their shovels which they had left in the back entry, there came a pounding in that very place as though some one were stamping snow off his boots.

"What's that?" asked Uncle Frank.

"Someone coming to see us -- one of the neighbors perhaps," remarked Mr. Martin. "This is the first any of them have broken out after having been snowed in."

Once more the pounding noise sounded.

"Come in!" cried Uncle Frank, as he started toward the door.

"Baa-a-a-a!" came the answer.

"Nicknack!" cried Teddy and Janet joyously.

Uncle Frank threw open the door. There stood the goat, covered with snow, and stamping to get off as much as he could. Into the kitchen he walked as though he felt at home there, and Teddy and Janet began to hug him.

"Hold on there! Wait a minute!" called their father.

"What is it?" asked Mrs. Martin. "What's the matter, Dick?"

"There's something on that goat's neck!"

"Something on his neck?"

"Yes, a note or something. Nicknack has brought in something out of the storm. We must see what it is!"




Chapter XX

In The Bungalow


The Curlytops were very much excited when they heard their father say Nicknack had something on his neck. They had been so anxious to hug their pet that they had not thought of anything else, and had not noticed anything.

"We thought you were lost in the snow," murmured Janet.

"So he was," declared Teddy. "But he came in out of the snow," he added. "Didn't you, Nicknack?"

"Yes, and he brought something with him," went on Mr. Martin. "You must stop hugging Nicknack, Curlytops, until I see what it is."

He led the goat gently away from the children. Nicknack bleated again.

"I guess he's hungry," said Teddy.

"I'll get him a cookie!" offered Janet.

"You'd better give him a real meal," put in Nora. "He'll be hungry and want more than cookies, I'm thinkin'."

"Get him anything you like," said Mr. Martin, "as long as I get this off his neck. It is a note!" he cried. "It's tied on with a piece of string. It's a note -- a letter!"

"Who in the world would send a note by Nicknack in that queer way, I wonder," remarked Mrs. Martin.

"I've read of persons lost in the mountains sending a note for help tied around the neck of a St. Bernard dog," said Uncle Frank. "Maybe somebody used Nicknack as a dog."

Meanwhile Teddy and Jan had to run to the pantry to get Nicknack something to eat. Trouble was now petting the goat and asking:

"Where you been, Nicknack? Where you been all dis while?"

"It is a note from some one in trouble!" cried Daddy Martin as he pulled the bit of paper from Nicknack's neck.

"What does it say?" asked Uncle Frank.

"And who is it from?" Mrs. Martin inquired.

"It's signed 'The Lame Boy,'" answered her husband. "And he must be in the snow bungalow the children built!"

"In the snow bungalow!" cried Aunt Jo in surprise.

"That's what it says. I'll read it to you," went on Mr. Martin. Then, while Teddy and Janet fed cabbage leaves and pieces of cookie to their goat, their father read aloud the short note.

"I am out in a little playhouse in your yard," the note read. "I hurt my foot so I can't walk and I am snowed in. This goat came in to see me and I tied this note on his neck. I thought maybe he would take it to somebody who would help me. I have only a little piece of bread left to eat. Please help me, whoever finds this."

"Help him! Of course we will!" cried Uncle Frank. "Where's my shovel? Come on, Dick! We've got to dig him out! Come on, everybody!"

"I want to help!" cried Teddy.

"So do I!" added Janet.

"Let me dig!" begged Aunt Jo. "I can handle a snow shovel as good as a man, and you must be tired, Uncle Frank."

"No, we'll soon dig him out," said Daddy Martin. "The rest of you stay here. Ruth," he went on to his wife, "get some hot water ready, and a bed. If that poor boy has been snowed up in that bungalow for two or three days he must be almost dead, and half starved, too."

"But how did he get there?" asked Mrs. Martin.

"And who is he?" asked Aunt Jo.

"All I know is what I read in the note," replied the father of the Curlytops. "It may be the same lame boy who was in my store and ran away before I had a chance to talk to him."

"And maybe he's the one who you thought might have taken the pocketbook," added Uncle Frank.

"Well, we won't talk of that now," said Daddy Martin. "We'll get him dug out of the snow first, and ask him questions later. Come on!"

"How do you suppose Nicknack got to the bungalow?" asked Teddy.

"Oh, I guess he just dug his way through the snow, making a tunnel for himself from his barn," answered Mrs. Martin.

Whatever had happened to Nicknack he seemed glad now to be with his Curlytop friends. He ate the pieces of cookie and the cabbage leaves they gave him, and bleated to ask for more.

Turnover, the cat, and Skyrocket, the dog, who had been in the house ever since the big storm, were also glad to see their friend the goat.

"And we'll be glad to see that lame boy, whoever he is, when daddy and Uncle Frank dig him out," said Mother Martin.

With their big shovels it did not take the two men long to dig their way to the snow bungalow. The pile of white flakes was deep over it but not so deep that a tunnel had to be cut, though it was through a tunnel, as they found out afterward, that Nicknack had made his way from the bungalow to the house. Only it was a small tunnel, such as an animal would make wallowing his way through the drifts.

The day before, when looking for Nicknack, Uncle Frank and Daddy Martin had tunneled to the bungalow door, but in the night this tunnel had caved in, so they had to do the work over again.

"Here we are!" cried Uncle Frank, as his shovel struck on some wood. "This is the bungalow. Now to see who's inside of it!"

"Here's the place where the goat got out," went on Mr. Martin. "Whoever tied that note on his neck must have pulled loose a board to let him get out into the snow. Hello in there!" he called, striking with his shovel on the bungalow.

"Yes -- I'm here," came back the faint answer.

"We'll have you out in a few minutes," cheerfully called Daddy Martin. "You'll soon be all right!"

Then he and Uncle Frank made larger the hole where the board had been torn off, for the snow was piled up against the door, having drifted heavily during the night.

As they entered the bungalow, after knocking off more boards, they saw, lying on the rug and a piece of carpet in the corner, a boy who, when he tried to stand up, almost fell.

"I -- I'm sorry," he began, "but I --  -- "

"Now don't say another word!" exclaimed Daddy Martin. "We'll take you to the house and you can talk afterward -- after you've had something to eat and when you get warm. You'll be all right! Don't worry!"

Picking the boy up in his arms Mr. Martin carried him through the snow to the warm house. There the Curlytops and others gathered about him.

"He isn't Hal," whispered Janet after a look.

"No," answered her brother. "That isn't Hal."

"But he's lame," went on Janet, as she saw the boy limping across the room to a chair near the fire which Mrs. Martin made comfortable for him with blankets. "He's lame a whole lot!"

The Curlytops were anxious to hear the boy's story, but Daddy Martin would not let him talk until he had eaten some food and taken some warm milk.

"Now we'll listen to you," said Uncle Frank. "How did you come to go into the bungalow?"

"I went in there to get out of the storm," answered the boy. "My name is Arthur Wharton, and I used to be in the same Crippled Children's Home with Hal Chester. That's how I knew your name and where you lived. Hal told me. And when I was taken out of the Home I came to Cresco to find you, for I thought maybe you would help me," and he looked at Daddy Martin.

"Who took you away from the Home?" asked the Curlytops' father.

"A man who had charge of me after my father and mother died. They put me in the Home to get cured, but when they died this man, who had charge of what money my father left, said there was not enough to keep me there with the other boys and girls.

"So he took me out and made me go to work. Only I couldn't do much on account of my lame foot. So I ran away from that man. I had a little money saved up, and I came here. I heard Hal say how kind the Curlytops were and I wanted to see if their father could help me."

"Did you once come to my store?" asked Mr. Martin.

"Yes, I did," answered the lame boy. Mr. Martin did not speak of the lost pocketbook and money.

"Why didn't you wait to see me?" asked Ted's father.

"Because, after I was sitting in your store waiting for you, I got to thinking and I got scared for fear you'd send me back to that bad man who used me so hard. So I went out when the clerk wasn't looking. I got another place to work, and made enough to live on, but it was not as nice as when my father and mother were alive."

"And did you afterward come to this house and ring the bell?" asked Mrs. Martin.

"Yes, I was going to ask you to help me. But, at the last minute, I got afraid again and ran away. After that I didn't know what to do. I got a little work, but it wasn't much, and three or four days ago I was discharged because I was too slow on account of my lame foot. I worked in a store over at Butler." This was a place about five miles from Cresco.

"I thought maybe I could get work in your store," went on Arthur to Mr. Martin, "so I started to walk here again from Butler. I wasn't going to run away from you this time. But the storm came up, I lost my way and in the dark I crawled into the snow-covered house back of yours. First I thought it was a part of the stable. I found some things to eat in it."

"We left them from our play party," said Teddy.

"I'm glad you did," went on the lame boy with a smile, "for that is all I had. Then my foot got worse when it began to storm. Then I saw I was snowed in and I knew I'd have to stay. But I got hungry and I had only a crust of bread left, for I ate all the rest of your things, and I had to let snow melt in my hand and drink the water. Then the goat came in. I knew he was your goat, 'cause Hal had told me about Nicknack. The goat stayed with me all last night, and I snuggled up to him and kept warm. Then I thought maybe I could send him for help. I'd read of men in the mountains doing that with the dogs.

"I had a pencil, a paper and some string in my pocket. So I wrote a note and tied it on the goat's neck. Then I tore loose a board in the side of the little house and the goat began to burrow out through the snow. The hole he came in by was snowed shut. Then I guess I must have gone to sleep for that's all I remember until I heard you calling to me just now."

"Well, you have had a hard time," said Mr. Martin, "but now we will take care of you. Don't worry any more."

And Arthur did not. After a good meal to make him forget his hunger, he was put in a warm bed, and the next day he was much better. The storm was over now, and people were beginning to dig themselves out after having been snowed in for so long a time.

One of Mr. Martin's clerks came up from the store to say that everything was all right down there, and he brought other good news.

"That pocketbook we thought the lame boy took," he said, "has been found."

"Where?" asked Mr. Martin, eagerly.

"It had fallen under a box and I saw it there when I cleaned the store and moved the box," was the answer.

"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Teddy, when he heard the news.

"So'm I!" added Janet

They did not tell Arthur that, at one time, it was thought he might have taken the money. They did not want to make him feel bad. For he was happy now, with the Curlytops.

"Can he always live with us?" asked Janet.

"I like him," added Ted.

"I'm glad you do," said their father. "But I think it will be best to send him back to the Home for a while, as a doctor told me he could be cured of his lameness if he stayed about a year. So we'll send Arthur back and in the summer we can go to see him when we visit at Cherry Farm."

Arthur said he would be glad to go back to the Home, for he had many friends there and liked it, though he liked the Curlytops, too. The man who was his guardian tried to make trouble and keep the boy from going back to be cured, but Mr. Martin and Uncle Frank soon had matters straightened out, and another guardian was put in charge of Arthur.

When the big storm was over the Curlytops had more fun on their skates and sleds. Then they got ready for Christmas. Arthur stayed with them until after the holidays. Then, much better than when he ran away and went wandering about in the cold, he was sent back to the Home, where, a year later, he was cured so he did not limp any more.

"And if it hadn't been that Nicknack found him in the bungalow and brought the note to us through the snow, we might not have known until too late that Arthur was there," said Mother Martin.

"Nicknack is a good goat!" exclaimed Teddy. "We'll always take him with us."

"Are you going to bring him out to the ranch when you come to see me?" asked Uncle Frank.

"Are we going out to your ranch?" asked Janet.

"Yes. I have spoken to your father about it, and he says you may come. But not until winter is over. It is no fun out there when it is cold."

What the children did when they went out to Montana you may learn by reading the next book of this series to be called: "The Curly tops at Uncle Frank's Ranch; or, Little Folks on Ponyback."

"Well, we had lots of fun being snowed in, didn't we?" asked Janet of her brother, after New Year's Day, when Arthur had said good-bye and gone back to the Home.

"Oh, we had an awful good time!" cried Teddy. "The best ever!"

Then Teddy and Janet went skating and had fun, with plenty more in prospect when they should go out West to Uncle Frank's ranch.

<eob>

A Primary Reader: Old-Time Stories, Fairy Tales And Myths Retold By Children

By

E. Louise Smythe



The Ugly Duckling.


A duck made her nest under some leaves.

She sat on the eggs to keep them warm.

At last the eggs broke, one after the other. Little ducks came out.

Only one egg was left. It was a very large one.

At last it broke, and out came a big, ugly duckling.

"What a big duckling!" said the old duck. "He does not look like us. Can he be a turkey? -- We will see. If he does not like the water, he is not a duck."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

The next day the mother duck took her ducklings to the pond.

Splash! Splash! The mother duck was in the water. Then she called the ducklings to come in. They all jumped in and began to swim. The big, ugly duckling swam, too.

The mother duck said, "He is not a turkey. He is my own little duck. He will not be so ugly when he is bigger."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Then she said to the ducklings, "Come with me. I want you to see the other ducks. Stay by me and look out for the cat."

They all went into the duck yard. What a noise the ducks made!

While the mother duck was eating a big bug, an old duck bit the ugly duckling.

"Let him alone," said the mother duck. "He did not hurt you."

"I know that," said the duck, "but he is so ugly, I bit him."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

The next duck they met, said, "You have lovely ducklings. They are all pretty but one. He is very ugly."

The mother duck said, "I know he is not pretty. But he is very good."

Then she said to the ducklings, "Now, my dears, have a good time."

But the poor, big, ugly duckling did not have a good time.

The hens all bit him. The big ducks walked on him.

The poor duckling was very sad. He did not want to be so ugly. But he could not help it.

He ran to hide under some bushes. The little birds in the bushes were afraid and flew away.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

"It is all because I am so ugly," said the duckling. So he ran away.

At night he came to an old house. The house looked as if it would fall down. It was so old. But the wind blew so hard that the duckling went into the house.

An old woman lived there with her cat and her hen.

The old woman said, "I will keep the duck. I will have some eggs."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

The next day, the cat saw the duckling and began to growl.

The hen said, "Can you lay eggs?" The duckling said, "No."

"Then keep still," said the hen. The cat said, "Can you growl?"

"No," said the duckling.

"Then keep still," said the cat.

And the duckling hid in a corner. The next day he went for a walk. He saw a big pond. He said, "I will have a good swim."

But all of the animals made fun of him. He was so ugly.

*    *    *    *    *

The summer went by.

Then the leaves fell and it was very cold. The poor duckling had a hard time.

It is too sad to tell what he did all winter.

At last it was spring.

The birds sang. The ugly duckling was big now.

One day he flew far away.

Soon he saw three white swans on the lake.

He said, "I am going to see those birds. I am afraid they will kill me, for I am so ugly."

He put his head down to the water. What did he see? He saw himself in the water. But he was not an ugly duck. He was a white swan.

The other swans came to see him.

The children said, "Oh, see the lovely swans. The one that came last is the best."

And they gave him bread and cake.

It was a happy time for the ugly duckling.



The Little Pine Tree


A little pine tree was in the woods.

It had no leaves. It had needles.

The little tree said, "I do not like needles. All the other trees in the woods have pretty leaves. I want leaves, too. But I will have better leaves. I want gold leaves."

Night came and the little tree went to sleep. A fairy came by and gave it gold leaves.

woke     cried      glass little    again      pretty

When the little tree woke it had leaves of gold.

It said, "Oh, I am so pretty! No other tree has gold leaves."

Night came.

A man came by with a bag. He saw the gold leaves. He took them all and put them into his bag.

The poor little tree cried, "I do not want gold leaves again. I will have glass leaves."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

So the little tree went to sleep. The fairy came by and put the glass leaves on it.

The little tree woke and saw its glass leaves.

How pretty they looked in the sunshine! 'No other tree was so bright.

Then a wind came up. It blew and blew.

The glass leaves all fell from the tree and were broken.

*    *    *    *    *

Again the little tree had no leaves. It was very sad, and said, "I will not have gold leaves and I will not have glass leaves. I want green leaves. I want to be like the other trees."

And the little tree went to sleep. When it woke, it was like other trees. It had green leaves.

A goat came by. He saw the green leaves on the little tree. The goat was hungry and he ate all the leaves.

happy     best

Then the little tree said, "I do not want any leaves. I will not have green leaves, nor glass leaves, nor gold leaves. I like my needles best."

And the little tree went to sleep. The fairy gave it what it wanted.

When it woke, it had its needles again. Then the little pine tree was happy.



The Little Match Girl.


It was very cold. The snow fell and it was almost dark.

It was the last day of the year.

A little match girl was running in the street. Her name was Gretchen. She had no hat on.

Her feet were bare. When she left home, she had on some big slippers of her mama's. But they were so large that she lost them when she ran across the street.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Gretchen had a lot of matches in her old apron.

She had a little bunch in her hand.

But she could not sell her matches. No one would buy them.

Poor little Gretchen!

She was cold and hungry.

The snow fell on her curly hair. But she did not think about that.

She saw lights in the houses.

She smelled good things cooking.

She said to herself, "This is the last night of the year."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Gretchen got colder and colder.

She was afraid to go home. She knew her papa would whip her, if she did not take some money to him.

It was as cold at home as in the street. They were too poor to have a fire. They had to put rags in the windows to keep out the wind.

Gretchen did not even have a bed. She had to sleep on a pile of rags.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

She sat down on a door step.

Her little hands were almost frozen.

She took a match and lighted it to warm her hands. The match looked like a little candle.

Gretchen thought she was sitting by a big stove. It was so bright.

She put the match near her feet, to warm them. Then the light went out. She did not think that she was by the stove any more.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Gretchen lighted another match.

Now she thought she could look into a room. In this room was a table.

A white cloth and pretty dishes were on the table. There was a roast turkey, too. It was cooked and ready to eat. The knife and fork were in his back. The turkey jumped from the dish and ran to the little girl.

The light went out and she was in the cold and dark again.

Christmas   candles many     until

Gretchen lighted another match. Then she thought she was sitting by a Christmas tree. Very many candles were on the tree. It was full of pretty things.

Gretchen put up her little hands. The light went out.

The lights on the Christmas tree went up, up -- until she saw they were the stars.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Then she saw a star fall.

"Some one is dying," said little Gretchen.

Her grandma had been very good to the little girl. But she was dead.

The grandma had said, "When a star falls some one is going to God."

The little girl lighted another match. It made a big light.

Gretchen thought she saw her grandma. She never looked so pretty before. She looked so sweet and happy.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

"O grandma," said the little girl, "take me. When the light goes out you will go away. The stove and the turkey and the Christmas tree all went away."

Then Gretchen lighted a bunch of matches. She wanted to keep her grandma with her. The matches made it very light.

The grandma took the little girl in her arms. They went up, up -- where they would never be cold or hungry.

They were with God.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

The next day came.

Some men found a little girl in the street. She was dead.

In her hand were the burned matches.

They said, "Poor little thing, she froze to death."

They did not know how happy she was in heaven.



Little Red Riding-Hood.


When May was six years old, her grandma made her a red coat with a hood. She looked so pretty in it that the children all called her "Red Riding-Hood."

One day her mama said, "I want you to take this cake and some butter to grandma."

Red Riding-Hood was very glad to go. She always had a good time at grandma's.

She put the things into her little basket and ran off.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

When Red Riding-Hood came to the wood, she met a big wolf.

"Where are you going?" said the wolf.

Red Riding-Hood said, "I am going to see my grandma. Mama has made her a cake and some butter."

"Does she live far?" said the wolf.

"Yes," said Red Riding-Hood, "in the white house by the mill."

"I will go too, and we shall see who will get there first," said the wolf.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

The wolf ran off and took a short way, but Red Riding-Hood stopped to pick some flowers.

When the wolf got to the house, he tapped on the door.

The grandma said, "Who is there?" The wolf made his voice as soft as he could. He said, "It is little Red Riding-Hood, grandma."

Then the old lady said, "Pull the string and the door will open."

The wolf pulled the string and the door opened.

He ran in and ate the poor old lady.

Then he jumped into her bed and put on her cap.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

When Red Riding-Hood tapped on the door, the wolf called out, "Who is there?" Red Riding-Hood said, "It is your little Red Riding-Hood, grandma."

Then the wolf said, "Pull the string and the door will open."

When she went in, she said, "Look, grandma, see the cake and butter mama has sent you."

"Thank you, dear, put them on the table and come here."

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

When Red Riding-Hood went near the bed, she said, "Oh, grandma, how big your arms are!"

"The better to hug you, my dear."

"How big your ears are, grandma."

"The better to hear you, my dear."

"How big your eyes are, grandma."

"The better to see you, my dear."

"How big your teeth are, grandma!"

"The better to eat you."

Then the cruel wolf jumped up and ate poor little Red Riding-Hood.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *

Just then a hunter came by. He heard Red Riding-Hood scream. The hunter ran into the house and killed the old wolf.

When he cut the wolf open, out jumped Little Red Riding-Hood and her grandma.



The Apples Of Idun.


Once upon a time three of the gods went on a journey.

One was Thor and one was Loki. Loki was ugly and mean.

The gods liked to walk over the hills and rocks. They could go very fast for they were so big.

The gods walked on and on.

At last they got very hungry. Then they came to a field with cattle.

Thor killed a big ox and put the pieces into a pot.

*    *    *    *    *

They made a big fire but the meat would not cook. They made the fire bigger and bigger, but the meat would not cook.

Then the gods were very cross.

Some one said, "Give me my share, and I will make the meat cook."

The gods looked to see who was talking. There in an oak tree was a big eagle.

The gods were so hungry that they said, "Well, we will."

*    *    *    *    *

The supper was ready in a minute.

Then the eagle flew down to get his share. He took the four legs and there was not much left but the ribs.

This made Loki cross for he was very hungry. He took a long pole to hit the eagle. But the pole stuck to the eagle's claws. The other end stuck to Loki.

Then the eagle flew away. He did not fly high. He flew just high enough for Loki to hit against the stones.

*    *    *    *    *

Loki said, "Please let me go! Oh, please let me go!"

But the eagle said, "No, you tried to kill me. I will not let you go."

And the eagle hit him against the stones.

Loki said again, "Please let me go!"

But the eagle said, "No, I have you now."

Then Loki knew the eagle was a giant and not a bird.

This giant had a suit of eagle's feathers. He was flying in his eagle suit when he saw Loki.

*    *    *    *    *

Now the gods lived in a city named Asgard.

In this city Idun kept the beautiful golden apples. When the gods felt they were growing old, they ate the apples and were young again.

The giant wanted to be like the gods. So he said to Loki, "I will let you go, if you will get me the apples of Idun."

But Loki said, "I can't do that."

*    *    *    *    *

So the eagle bumped him on the stones again.

Then Loki said, "I can't stand this. I will get the apples for you."

Loki and the eagle went to the city. The eagle stayed by the gate, but Loki went into the city. He went up to Idun. She was putting the apples into a beautiful golden box.

Loki said, "Good morning, Idun Those are beautiful apples."

And Idun said, "Yes, they are beautiful." "I saw some just like them, the other day," said Loki.

strange    show bring     picked

Idun knew there were no other apples like these, and she said, "That is strange. I would like to see them."

Loki said, "Come with me and I will show them to you. It is only a little way. Bring your apples with you."

As soon as Idun was out of the gates the eagle flew down. He picked her up in his claws. Then he flew away with her to his home.

*    *    *    *    *

Day after day passed and Idun did not come back. The gods did not have the golden apples to eat, so they began to get old.

At last they said, "Who let the apples go?"

Then Loki looked pale and the gods said, "Loki, you did it." And Loki said, "Yes, I did."

He did not tell a story that time.

Then Loki said, "I will get Idun and the apples back, if I may have the falcon suit."

*    *    *    *    *

The gods said, "You may have it, if you will bring the apples back."

Loki put on the falcon suit and flew away. He looked like a big bird flying.

When Loki came to the giant's home, he was glad the giant was not there. He changed Idun into a nut and then flew away with the nut.

When the giant came home, Idun was gone. The golden apples were gone, too.

Then the giant put on his eagle suit and flew after Loki.

Loki heard the eagle coming. Loki flew faster.

*    *    *    *    *

Poor Loki was all out of breath. The eagle flew faster and faster.

Then the gods got on the walls to look for Loki. They saw him coming and the eagle after him.

So they made fires on the walls. At last Loki flew over the walls.

Then the gods lighted the fires. The fires blazed up.

The eagle flew into the fire and was burned.

As soon as Loki put the nut down, it changed to Idun.

The gods ate the beautiful golden apples and were young again.



How Thor Got The Hammer.


Sif was Thor's wife.

Sif had long golden hair. Thor was very proud of Sif's golden hair.

Thor was always going on long journeys. One day he went off and left Sif alone. She went out on the porch and fell asleep.

Loki came along. He was always playing tricks.

He saw Sif lying asleep. He said, "I am going to cut off her hair."

So Loki went up on the porch and cut off Sif's golden hair.

*    *    *    *    *

When Sif woke up and saw that her hair was gone, she cried and cried. Then she ran to hide. She did not want Thor to see her.

When Thor came home, he could not find Sif.

"Sif! Sif!" he called, "Where are you?"

But Sif did not answer.

Thor looked all around the house. At last he found her crying.

"Oh, Thor, look, all my hair is gone! Somebody has cut it off. It was a man. He ran away with it."

*    *    *    *    *

Then Thor was very angry. He said, "I know it was Loki. He is always getting into mischief. Just wait until I get him!"

And Thor went out to find Loki. Pretty soon he found him.

Thor said, "Did you cut off Sif's hair?" Loki said, "Yes, I did."

"Then you must pay for cutting off my wife's hair," said Thor.

"All right," said Loki, "I will get you something better than the hair."

*    *    *    *    *

Loki went down, down into the ground to the home of the dwarfs. It was very dark down there. The only light came from the dwarfs' fires.

The dwarfs were ugly little black men. They were not any bigger than your thumb. They had crooked backs and crooked legs. Their eyes looked like black beads.

Loki said, "Can you make me a gold crown that will grow like real hair?"

The dwarfs said, "Yes, we can." So the busy little dwarfs worked all night.

*    *    *    *    *

When morning came the dwarfs gave Loki his crown of golden hair. They gave him a spear and a ship, too.

Loki took the things up to Asgard, where the gods all lived.

Then the gods all came up to him. He showed them the things.

The gods said, "They are very wonderful."

And Loki said, "Oh, nobody else can make such things as my little dwarfs."

A little dwarf, named Brok, was standing near by. He heard Loki say that. Then he stepped up and said, "My brother can make just as good things as these."

Loki laughed and said, "If you can get three things as wonderful as these, I will give you my head."

*    *    *    *    *

Brok went down into the ground where his little dwarfs were working.

Brok's brother was named Sindre. He said to his brother, "Loki says that you can't make such nice things as his dwarfs can. He said that he would give me his head if I could get him such wonderful things as his."

This made the dwarfs angry. Their eyes grew big. They said, "He will see what we can do."

Sindre wanted to know what the wonderful things were.

Brok said, "Loki has a golden crown that will grow like real hair. A ship that can go anywhere. A spear that never misses the mark."

"We will show him," said the dwarfs.

*    *    *    *    *    *

The dwarfs soon had the fires burning. Then Sindre put a pigskin into the fire.

He gave the bellows to Brok and said, "Now blow as hard as you can."

Then Sindre went out. Brok blew and blew.

A little fly came in and bit him on the hand.

The fly bit him so hard that Brok thought he would have to stop blowing, but he did not.

Then Sindre came back. He took out a golden pig from the fire.

*    *    *    *    *

He next put a lump of gold into the fire.

He said to Brok, "Blow and blow and blow, and do not stop."

Then Sindre went out again.

So Brok blew as hard as he could.

Then the same fly came in and bit him again.

Brok thought that he could not stand it, but he kept on.

When Sindre came back, he took a gold ring from the fire.

*    *    *    *    *

Then Sindre put a lump of iron into the fire.

He said to Brok, "Now blow as hard as you can."

And Sindre went out. Brok blew and blew. The same mean fly came again, and bit him on the forehead. It bit so hard that the blood ran into his eyes.

Brok put up his hand to brush away the fly.

Just then Sindre came back.

He took the hammer out of the fire.

"There!" he said, "You have almost spoiled it. The handle is too short, but it cannot be helped now."

*    *    *    *    *

Brok hurried up to Asgard with his things.

All the gods came around to see. Then Loki came up to show his things.

He put the crown of gold on Sif's head and it began to grow like real hair.

He gave the spear to Odin and said, "This spear will never miss its mark."

Then he took out the ship. He said, "This is a wonderful ship. It will sail on any sea, and yet you can fold it up and put it into your pocket."

Loki felt very proud, for he thought his things were the best.

*    *    *    *    *

All the gods felt very sorry for little Brok. They thought Loki's things were fine. They were afraid Brok's would not be so nice.

They said, "Now, Brok, show your things."

Brok took out the gold ring. He said, "Each night this ring will throw off a ring just like it. He gave the ring to Odin."

Then Brok took out the golden pig. He said, "This pig can go anywhere, on the ground or in the air. It can go faster than any horse. If the night is dark, the shining pig will make it light."

*    *    *    *    *

Then Brok showed the hammer. He said, "This is not a very pretty hammer. When I was making it, Loki turned himself into a fly and made me spoil it. The fly bit me so hard that I had to stop blowing. So the handle is a little short. But it is a wonderful hammer. If you throw it at anything, it will hit the mark and come back to you."

The gods picked up the hammer and passed it around.

They said, "It will be just the things with which to keep the Frost Giants out of Asgard."

*    *    *    *    *

The gods said, "Brok's things are the best."

Brok gave the hammer to Thor. That is the way Thor got his wonderful hammer.

Then Brok said to Loki, "You said I could have your head if my things were the best."

And Loki was angry and said, "Yes, I told you that you could have my head. But you can't touch my neck."

Of course, Brok could not get his head without touching his neck.

So Brok did not get Loki's head.



The Hammer Lost And Found.


The Frost Giants did not like the sunshine. They did not like to see the flowers. They did not like to hear the birds sing. They wanted to spoil everything.

The Frost Giants wanted to get into Asgard. But they did not know how. They were afraid of Thor and his hammer. They said, "If we can only get the hammer, we can get into Asgard."

They talked and planned all night. At last one Frost Giant said, "I know how we can get the hammer. I will dress in a bird suit. Then I will fly up to Thor's house and get the hammer."

*    *    *    *    *

The next night the Frost Giant flew into the house while Thor was asleep.

He took the hammer and flew away with it.

When Thor woke, he put out his hand to get the hammer. It was gone.

He said, "Loki, the hammer is gone. The Frost Giants have taken it. We must get it back."

Loki said, "I can get it back, if Freyja will let me have her falcon suit."

So he went to Freyja and said, "Will you let me have your falcon suit? I can get the hammer back if you will." Freyja said, "Yes, of course I will. If I had a gold suit you could have it. Any thing to get the hammer back."

*    *    *    *    *

Loki took the falcon suit and put it on. He flew over the city. All the people saw him flying. They said, "What a strange bird!" They did not know that it was Loki going for the hammer.

When Loki came to the city of the Frost Giants, he took off the falcon suit. He walked and walked until he came to Thrym's house. Thrym was the giant who took the hammer.

Thrym was sitting on the porch, making gold collars for his dogs.

When he saw Loki, he said, "What do you want?"

Loki said, "I have come for the hammer."

The old giant laughed and said, "You will never get that hammer. It is buried eight miles deep in the ground.

"But there is one way you can get it. I will give you the hammer if you get Freyja for my wife."

*    *    *    *    *

So Loki went back to Asgard.

Thor said, "Well, did you get the hammer?"

"No, but we can get it if Freyja will be Thrym's wife."

Then they went to Freyja's house. They said, "Put on your very best clothes and come with us. You must be Thrym's wife."

Freyja said, "Do you think I will be the Frost Giant's wife? I won't be his wife."

Thor said, "We can get the hammer back if you will."

But Freyja said, "No, I will not be his wife."

Loki said, "You will have to, if we get the hammer back."

Still Freyja said, "I will not go." And she was very angry. She shook so hard that she broke her necklace and it fell to the floor.

*    *    *    *    *

Then the gods said, "Thor, you must dress like Freyja. You will have to play you are the bride."

Thor said, "I won't do it. You will all laugh at me. I won't dress up like a girl."

They said, "Well, that is the only way we can get the hammer back."

Thor said, "I do not like to dress like a girl, but I will do it." Then they dressed Thor up like Freyja.

They put on Freyja's dress, necklace and vail, and braided his hair.

Loki said, "I will dress up too, and be your servant."

They got into Thor's goat wagon and went to the Giants' home.

*    *    *    *    *

When the Frost Giants saw them coming, they said, "Get ready, here comes the bride! We will sit down to the table as soon as they come."

The dinner was ready on time. The table was full of good things. All sat down.

The bride ate a whole ox and eight salmon before the others had a bite.

"She must be very hungry," the Frost Giants said.

"Yes," Loki said, "she was so glad to come. She hasn't eaten anything for eight days."

Then they brought in the mead.

The bride drank three barrels of mead.

"How thirsty she is!" said the Frost Giants.

Loki said, "Yes, she is very thirsty. She was so glad to come. She did not drink anything for eight days."

*    *    *    *    *

Old Thrym said, "I had every thing I wanted but Freyja. Now I have Freyja."

And Thrym went to kiss the bride. He lifted her vail, but her eyes shone like fire.

Thrym stepped back. He said, "What makes Freyja's eyes shine so?"

Loki said, "Oh, she was so glad to come. She did not sleep for eight nights."

Then Loki said, "It is time for the hammer. Go and get it and put it in the bride's lap."

As soon as the hammer was in his lap, Thor tore off the vail.

He took the hammer and whirled it around. Fire flew from it. The fire burned the house and the Frost Giants ran away.

So Thor got his hammer back.



The following stories by Miss Smythe were originally published under the title of "The Golden Fleece." They have been carefully revised and illustrated for this book.



The Story Of The Sheep.


Long, long ago there lived a king in Greece. He had two little children, a boy and a girl.

They were good children and loved each other very much.

One day they were playing in the garden.

"Oh, Helle, look!" said the boy.

There on the grass was a fine large sheep. This sheep had a fleece of gold and his horns were gold, too.

The children wanted to pat the sheep, but they could not catch him. When they went near, he ran away on the clouds.

*    *    *    *    *

Every day they played in the garden and every day the sheep came, too.

By and by he grew tame and let the children pat his golden fleece.

One day the boy said, "Helle, let us take a ride."

First he helped his sister on the sheep's back.

Then he got on and held to the horns.

"Hold tight to me, Helle," he said.

*    *    *    *    *

The sheep went up, up into the sky, and ran a long way on the clouds. But Helle got dizzy and fell down into the sea.

The boy felt very bad to lose his sister, but went right on.

Then he came to the land Colchis. He killed the sheep and gave the golden fleece to the king.

The king was glad to have it and nailed it to an oak tree.

By the tree was a dragon. The dragon never went to sleep. He would not let any one but the king come to the tree.

So no one could get the golden fleece.



The Good Ship Argo.


Jason was a brave young man. He lived a little way from the king's city.

One day the king gave a big party and invited Jason.

It was a very dark night and it rained hard.

Jason had to go across a creek, but there was no bridge.

The creek was full of water and Jason had to wade.

One of his shoe-strings came untied and he lost his shoe in the water.

When he came to the king's house, he had but one shoe.

*    *    *    *    *

The king did not like this, for a fairy had said, "The man who shall come to your house with one shoe, will be king."

So he knew Jason was to be king.

Then he said to Jason, "You may be king when you bring me the golden fleece."

Jason was glad to go, and asked many brave men to go with him.

To get the golden fleece they would have to fight wild men and animals.

They made a big ship which they named "Argo."

The men who went on the Argo were called Argonauts.



Jason And The Harpies.


The ship Argo sailed a long way. There were two strong men on the ship. They had wings and could fly.

One day the Argo came to a land where the blind king lived.

This poor king had a hard time. When he sat down to the table to eat, some ugly birds called Harpies, came too. The Harpies had skin like brass and nobody could hurt them. They had claws of iron, and scratched people when they tried to drive them away.

When the king's dinner was ready, the Harpies came and took it away. When Jason and his men came, the king told them all about it. Jason said they would help him.

*    *    *    *    *

They all sat down to the table. When the food was put on the table, the Harpies came flying in. Jason and his men took their swords.

They cut at the Harpies but could not hurt them.

Then the two men with wings flew up in the air. The Harpies were afraid and flew away. The men flew after them.

At last the Harpies grew very tired and fell into the sea and were drowned.

Then the men with wings came back.

Now the blind king could eat all he wanted.

*    *    *    *    *

It was now time for Jason and his friends to go away.

The king thanked them over and over again for helping him.

When they said good-bye, he told them how to get to the land where they would find the golden fleece.

On the sea where Jason and his men had to sail, were two big rocks. These rocks moved on the waterlike icebergs.

They were as high as a big hill. They would come close to each other, then they would go far apart.

*    *    *    *    *

When fishes swam in the water the rocks would come together and kill the fishes.

If birds flew in the air, the rocks would come together and kill birds.

If a boat sailed on the water, the rocks would come together and break the boat into little pieces.

These rocks had been put in the sea, so no one could go to the land where the golden fleece was.

When the ship Argo came to the rocks, Jason sent a dove out.

The rocks came together when the dove was almost past.

Then they went far apart. Jason made his men row as hard as they could.

The rocks began to come together. "Row hard, my men," said Jason.

Just as they got past, the rocks hit, but Jason and his men were all right.

So they came to Colchis.



The Brass Bulls.


When Jason came to Colchis, he went to the king and said, "Will you give me the golden fleece?"

The king wanted to keep the fleece.

So he said to Jason, "You may have it, but you must do something for me first."

"You must plow with the brass bulls, and plant the dragon's teeth."

The brass bulls looked like real bulls, but they were larger and stronger.

They blew out fire and smoke from their noses and mouths.

The bulls had a stall made of iron and stone. They had to be tied with strong iron chains.

*    *    *    *    *

When the dragon's teeth were planted, iron men grew up.

They always killed the one who had planted them.

The king wanted the bulls to kill Jason.

He said, "If the bulls do not kill him the iron men will."

The king had a daughter named Medea. She saw Jason was a brave young man and did not want him killed.

She knew how to help him. She stepped into her carriage, which was pulled by flying snakes.

Then Medea flew through the air. She went to hills and creeks and picked all kinds of flowers.

She took the flowers home and cooked them.

*    *    *    *    *

Then Medea went to Jason when the king did not know it.

She said to Jason, "Rub your face and hands and legs with this juice."

When he did this, he was as strong as a giant.

Nothing could hurt him then. Fire could not burn him, and swords could not cut him.

The next day Jason had to plow with the brass bulls and plant the dragon's teeth.

*    *    *    *    *

Early in the morning, the king and princess went out to the place.

They had good seats where they could see well.

All the people in the city came out to see Jason plow.

The little boys climbed the trees so they could see better.

Then Jason came to the place. The stall where the brass bulls were tied was not far off.

The door was opened and Jason went in.

He untied the bulls and took hold of their horns.

Then he made the bulls come out of their stall.

*    *    *    *    *

The bulls were very angry and blew fire and smoke from their mouths.

This made the cruel king glad. But the people who saw it were afraid. They did not want Jason killed. They did not know that the princess had helped him.

Jason pushed the bulls' heads down to the ground. Then they kicked at him with their feet, but could not hurt him.

He held their heads down on the ground until the plow was ready.

*    *    *    *    *

Jason took the chains in one hand. He took the handle of the plow in the other.

The bulls jumped and wanted to run away.

But Jason held so hard they had to go very slowly.

When it was noon the ground was all plowed.

Then Jason let the bulls go.

They were so angry that they ran away to the woods.

Now Jason went to the king and said, "Give me the dragon's teeth."

The king gave him his hat full.

Then Jason planted the dragon's teeth, just as a man plants wheat.

By this time he was very tired, so he went to lie down.

In the evening he came back.

The iron men were growing up. Some of the men had only their feet in the ground.

Some of them were in the ground up to their knees.

Some had only their heads out. They all tried to get out so they could kill Jason.

Then Jason did what Medea told him he should do.

He took a giant's marble and threw it near the men.

All the iron men wanted to get the marble.

So they began to fight each other. As soon as one had his feet out of the ground, he cut at the man next to him. So they killed each other.

Then Jason took his sword and cut off all the heads that were out of the ground.

So all the iron men were killed and the king was very angry.

But Medea and the people were glad.



Jason And The Dragon.


The next day Jason went to the king and said, "Now, give me the golden fleece."

The king did not give it to him, but said, "Come again."

Then Medea said, "If you want the golden fleece, you must help yourself. My father will not give it to you. A dragon is by the tree where the golden fleece is, and he never sleeps. He is always hungry and eats people if they go near him. I can not kill him but I can make him sleep. He is very fond of cake. I will make some cake and put in something to make the dragon sleep."

*    *    *    *    *

So Medea made the cakes and Jason took them and threw them to the dragon.

The dragon ate them all and went to sleep.

Then Jason climbed over the dragon and took the nail out of the tree.

He put the golden fleece under his coat and ran to the ship Argo.

Medea went with him and became his wife.

Oh, how angry the king was! He had lost the golden fleece and the brass bulls and the dragon's teeth. And now his daughter was gone.

*    *    *    *    *

He sent his men in ships to take Jason, but they could not get him.

At last Medea and Jason and the other Argonauts came to Greece.

Jason's father was there. He was a very old man. Jason wanted his father to be king, so he asked Medea to make the old man young.

Then Medea took her carriage and flew through the air.

She did not come back for nine days. She picked flowers from the hills. She found all kinds of stones, too.

*    *    *    *    *

When she went home she put all these things into a pot and cooked them.

Then she put a stick into the pot and leaves grew on it.

Some of the juice fell on the ground and grass grew up.

So Medea knew the juice would make things grow.

Jason's father went to sleep and Medea put some of the juice into his mouth.

His white hair turned black and teeth grew in his mouth.

When he woke up, he looked and felt like a young man.

He lived many years and when he died Jason was king.

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